♡

Dean really did think he was cursed. It seemed like everyone that he cared about died, that as soon as someone came into his life they were suddenly fated to a cruel death. His mom, his dad, Sam, Jo, Ellen, Ash. He had a list about a mile long of people who had died because they’d been involved with him.

He was poison.

He’d made peace with it over time, he’d never have anything truly good in his life. Besides, the men in his family didn’t seem to have good luck with love— his father losing his mother, Sam losing Jess, he had no doubt they were all a curse. He’d accepted that he’d never be able to be truly loved or seen, he’d never wake up to someone’s head on his chest with light seeping in from the window of a shared bedroom, he’d never have someone that understands and sees every crevice of him.

He wanted that.

He may not voice it often, and everyone that knew him thought he preferred the one night stands and the flings with no strings attached. Which he did— like them, he did, it was fun, but it wasn’t real. It wasn’t the love that he so desperately craved, but had realised he’d never get.

That was, until he met you. When Dean met you he thought that maybe he could have something good after all.

You had just been normal, you hadn’t had a clue about the monsters that lurked in the dark until you’d been face to face with the vengeful spirit that had been killing people in your town, luckily Dean and Sam had already figured out who it was and who it was going after next— you.

They’d split up, Sam going to find and burn the bones, Dean rushing to your house to try and keep you alive until Sam had finished it.

Dean had gotten there and kicked the front door in just in time to see you— oh. Oh you were… really, really pretty. He’d seen alot of pretty women, but you? You’d made him stop for a split second. Not for very long though, because you had a very murderous spirit moving towards you. He’d shot at it with a rock salt shotgun pellet and temporarily dispelled it, he hadn’t had time to explain to you, who was stood there staring at his unfamiliar face with wide eyes looking a mix of absolutely terrified and convinced you were going crazy, that there was a killer ghost after you and he was there to save you and he wasn’t just some maniac with a shotgun.

Instead he’d rushed over and grabbed you by the hand, his grip as gentle as it could be while also being insistent. You hadn’t said anything as he’d pulled you towards the front door of the house to try and get you away from danger, but that hadn’t worked. The door was locked, so was the back door, so were all of the windows. That spirit didn’t want you to get out of there. Dean had asked you if you had any salt, he remembered you’d opened your mouth to try and speak but nothing but a weak croak had left your lips, so instead you’d just nodded and pointed with a shaky hand to the kitchen.

He drew a salt circle in the living room, ushered you into it and explained to you that as long as you stayed in the salt circle, you couldn’t be hurt.

“Listen t’me,” He’d said while making the circle, “I know you’re probably confused as hell and i’ll explain everything t’you, but for now do not— under any circumstance, step outta this circle, you got that? It can’t get you in here.”

When he’d stood back up and looked at you again, you hadn’t been looking at him like he was just some psycho anymore. He didn’t know how to explain how you were looking at him, just knew he hadn’t been looked at like that before.

The ghost seemed to still be gone, so he took that as his chance to quickly message Sam to tell him to hurry up and then explain to you what was happening. You didn’t react loudly, you didn’t even call him crazy and say that monsters being real was insane and not possible. Which was a nice change for once.

You’d decided to trust him, and that right there had been the start of something Dean would’ve never guessed would happen.

Sam did eventually find the bones and burn them, but not before Dean got an ass kicking from a pissed off dead chick. She’d been mid choking the living crap outta him when Sam finally burnt the bones and she burst into flames, dropping him to the ground coughing as air flooded his lungs. You’d ran over to him then, still scared and confused but you’d still ran over to him and knelt down to his side, fussing over him and insisting to help him.

That was something he found himself really liking, someone who didn’t know that he’d had much worse showing so much concern for him when anyone that did know him better would’ve brushed it off after a simple “are you okay?”

He’d learnt your name after that, and you’d learnt his. He’d also got your number, but he didn’t find himself just wanting to sleep with you and spend one fleeting night sharing a bed like he usually did, sex was something that to Dean was extremely casual. He’d treated it as a pass time, something to do and something just.. ordinary.

He stayed in that town an extra day longer than he usually would of, he’d told Sam that he just wanted to check on you after what’d happened, truth was he just really wanted to be around you for a little longer. He’d gone to your house again and knocked instead of kicking the door open, and you’d opened the door looking happy to see him instead of looking terrified out of your mind. You asked him questions, and he’d answered. Questions about his life at first, mainly his job, which was understandable and he’d explained it. Explained that monsters were real, that he and his brother travelled around putting them down to stop them from killing any more than they already had.

You’d called it brave, but lonely. Not cool, not crazy, lonely, and you were right, it was lonely.

Then you asked questions that he didn’t think he’d ever been asked by a woman, and he’d given honest answers which also wasn’t a common occurrence. You asked about what he’d want to do if he didn’t chase around monsters, he’d said a mechanic or a fire fighter. You asked about what seemed like anything that came to mind, and despite himself he’d answered every single one. Not only did he answer, he asked his own questions. Not out of feeling obligated to, or to keep the conversation flowing, but he’d asked because he genuinely wanted to know more about the woman whose couch he was sat on.

He was there for hours, and before he’d left you’d ran off into your kitchen and came back out with a pie. Homebaked and smelling like heaven and you’d made it to thank him for saving you the day before, and you’d kissed him on the cheek just before he walked out of the door.

That made him realise that he was completely screwed.

He kept finding himself always coming back to you over the next couple of months, whenever him and Sam were near for a hunt he’d disappeared in the time Sam was doing research in the motel room and Dean would end up at your house again. After hunts too, when he was sore and aching, when the guilt of the job and not being able to save everyone weighed down on him, he always found himself drawn straight back to you.

To the way you let him inside like he was meant to be there with you, to the way you’d look at him and listen as he ranted, or he yelled, or he spoke with his voice strained by the effort it was taking him not to break down infront of you. He sought out everything about you. He started doing things differently too, the flirting with random women in bars and diners continued but he never went further than flirting anymore. He didn’t rush into things like his life was only worth what he could save by risking it anymore. He didn’t drink as much. Everything added up and Sam started to get curious, he’d asked, but Dean had brushed it off and made some stupid excuse. Not because he was embarrassed of what he was starting to feel, but because he didn’t want to jinx anything by saying it outloud.

When Dean finally did ask you to be his girlfriend, officially, it was unplanned and it was an in the moment thing. He’d stumbled onto your doorstep, beaten up and dirty after a hunt, you’d taken him inside and you’d sat him down without looking at him like he was a wreck or a mess that needed to be fixed. You wiped the blood off of his face with a kind of care he didn’t think had ever been directed at him and instead of asking questions and demanding answers you’d told him that it was okay, that whatever happened it was over now and he could let it go.

He’d kissed you before saying anything. He’d always been better with actions rather than words, words weren’t his strong suit but after you’d kissed him back and ended up breathless with your forehead rested against his, and your eyes searching his trying to figure out if he’d meant to do that he knew he had to try.

He couldn’t remember exactly what he’d said, but he could remember a rough summary of it.

“I don’t.. i ain’t exactly good at.. this,” he’d muttered, your faces so close together that he could feel your breathing across his skin and vice versa. “but I know that, uh, i care about you. A lot. It scares the crap outta me, and ‘m not used to it, but i like it. Like caring about you, and… having you, i mean. ‘nd i do, want you. Want you so bad it drives me crazy.”

You’d been quiet for a second and his heart had almost dropped out of his ass, but then he saw you smile. He saw you smile and it felt like a physical weight off of his shoulders.

“I know, you don’t hide it very well.” Had been your reply, and then you’d kissed him again before he got the chance to scoff or say something stupid.

The two of you had ended up in a bed for the first time together that night, and for once it felt special. It didn’t feel like a way to pass the time, or a way to make himself feel good just for a little while. It was good— hell it was amazing, but in a completely different way. When he woke up that next morning, he woke up to what he’d only ever let himself daydream about having. A bed that was warm in a home that he was fully welcomed in, the orange hue of the sun leaking in through the windows splaying over the woman that was lay on his chest. For once there was no expectation for him to quietly get up, dressed, and leave. There was no waking up to someone saying that last night was fun, and then giving a goodbye.

He woke up somewhere that he knew he was allowed to stay, with someone that wanted him to do exactly that.

Obviously, a relationship with Dean was different to the typical relationships of people that were normal. He had to leave all the time to go and kill things, he was hurt a lot, he was bad with feelings and he clammed up, but it was good. It was so, so good. Dean did his best to make it feel as close to normal as they’d get, he introduced you properly to Sam, as his girlfriend. You met bobby, he let you in to his life fully and completely.

He’d never had the kind of happiness that he’d had when he’d had you.

But good things never seemed to last for people in that family.

Following Dean coming back from hell before meeting you, being yanked out by an angel, Sam and Dean were being hunted down by demons, and Lillith. They wanted them dead, Lillith wanted to raise lucifer. Demons were nasty sonsofbitches, they hurt just to hurt, it didn’t matter if the person they hurt had nothing to do with any of it. It was just what they did.

Dean had been away from you for a couple of days spending time at Bobbys place as him, Sam, and Bobby— Castiel too, all searched for ways to try and stop the mess that was happening, when he got a call from your phone. It didn’t alarm him, you called often and he liked it when you called to check on him— but this wasn’t that. It wasn’t your voice that he heard when he accepted the phone call, it was a voice that was cruel and full of malice. It made his heart drop, Dean thought he knew fear better than anyone but he’d never felt fear like that.

“Pretty girlfriend you have Dean, such a shame you dragged her into your mess of a life.”

He was a fast driver normally, but that drive to your house after that call was a kind of speed that only came from sheer terror. Sam was sat in the car flinching at every sharp turn Dean made.

It took him 40 minutes to get there, he’d thought that was quick, he’d thought he’d been fast enough. He kicked the door down again, just like he had the first time he met you, but this time was so much different.

He hadn’t gotten there in time and what he saw through that door was something that haunted him everytime he closed his eyes.

He’d kicked the door down just in time to watch as you had a knife plunged into your stomach, just in time to see all of the colour drain from your face as the pain exploded making your knees buckle and you drop to the ground. The demon hadn’t stuck around, it’d expelled itself as soon as the job was done in a haze of black smoke flowing out of the window but Dean didn’t care about that. His gun dropped from his hands but he hardly heard the loud clatter it made because all of his attention was on you.

You, on the ground, your face pale and tear stained, your hands pressing over the growing red patch on your shirt.

“No!—“ He’d yelled your name, his eyes widening and he didn’t bother to try and hide the devastation written all across his face.

He’d been by your side in an instant, dropping down to his knees next to you and pulling your head onto his lap, his own larger hands pressing down onto the wound but despite how hard he held down it wouldn’t stop bleeding.

“Dean..” You’d said quietly, your voice weaker than he’d ever heard it, and it was like you knew that you weren’t getting out of there.

He’d shook his head, his expression tight as he blinked back the tears stinging his eyes and blurring his vision.

“No— no, damnit don’t- don’t you dare. Don’t you dare do that. You’re not dyin’, you’re not.” His voice had cracked more times than he’d like to admit, and his voice was thick with a kind of agony he didn’t think he’d ever felt. He didn’t know what Sam was doing, right then he didn’t even remember that Sam was there, all he could see was you, bleeding out in his arms.

“It’s okay.. It- it doesn’t hurt.” You’d said to him, trying to console him even while dying, even as blood stained the inside of your mouth leaving a coppery taste. You hadn’t been scared to die, you’d been scared of what it was going to do to him.

He held you until your eyes closed from something they’d never open from and your chest stopped the rise and fall of breathing, but he didn’t let go. He’d held you, he’d held you and he cried in a way Dean never let himself cry.

You may have been the one to die that day, but a part of Dean died with you too. A part of himself he’d never get back. So two things had died that day, you, and the chance of Dean ever feeling whole again because with you went so much of him.

He was a wreck after your death, he drank like he had a few livers to spare, he was reckless on hunts in a way that he’d never been, he hardly ate, he didn’t make stupid goofy jokes anymore, he refused to go anywhere near your town, and he made it his mission to find the demon that’d done it. To find the thing that’d taken away from him what he had always wanted and finally had the chance to have, Lillith and the seals being broken didn’t come before you, nothing did. Sam was worried about him, and so was Bobby— even Castiel had noticed something was wrong with Dean, but bringing it up only pissed Dean off. He’d gotten angrier after her death, worse at keeping it in. He lashed out more, said things he didn’t mean but would never apologise for. He was a shell of himself, full of anger and loss.

Then he found it, he found the demon that’d killed the love of his life, and he’d given it right back. It’d taunted him, said things to him about you that he’d never forget. There was no hesitation when it came to it, he didn’t even spare a thought for the vessel the thing was occupying, he just killed it. Just like that, watched as it fizzled and died.

After that, the anger fizzled out too and just left a deep ache. Revenge never really fixed anything after all, it just gave a temporary motivation.

Then it’d happened, Dean had died- again. That might’ve sounded crazy to other people, dying more than once, but it seemed like dying was something that never stuck for him and Sam. So he didn’t expect it to this time.

He didn’t know where he was when he woke up, he just knew he was dead or at least on the brink of it, now he was just waiting to inevitably be brought back by Castiel, or maybe this time he really was dead. He didn’t know, he couldn’t find it in him to care either.

“Hey stranger.”

Dean froze, he fully froze. He knew that voice, he’d never forget that voice, he mourned that voice. He couldn’t believe it- no, he could, but he didn’t want to because he didn’t want to get his hopes up, but he slowly turned his head to the voice and there you were.

You. Stood there with a little smile on your face, pale and.. dead, but you. You weren’t crying, you weren’t bloody, and you weren’t in pain like you had been the last time Dean had seen you.

“..You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

If he had a beating heart in him as a spirit, it would’ve flipped in his chest. He just stared at you for a second, wide eyes blinking like he was expecting you to disappear everytime they reopened, but you didn’t. You were there. Dead, and a ghost, but you were there.

His legs moved before his mind even had a chance to catch up with them, once second he was standing looking around the space he was in, the next he was stood right infront of you, looking down at you and his hand hovering near your cheek— too scared to actually reach out to your face incase his hand went right through and you disappeared.

You’d smiled, a smile that was a mix of happy to see him again and sad that they were meeting like this. You placed your hand over his and he felt it, he felt it and it didn’t phase through, and you’d brought his own hand to your cheek where he’d been too afraid to actually touch. His hand didn’t phase through, and you didn’t disappear.

That did it for him, something snapped like a taught string being snipped. His hand that was on your cheek slid into the hair at the back of your head and he pulled you into him, his other arm wrapping around your shoulders to keep you as close as you could possibly be. He’d never thought he’d get that again, and he’d never thought he’d feel your hands on his back hugging him again, or your chin on his shoulder, but here he was— feeling exactly that.

“I missed you— god i missed you so much.” He’d choked out, feeling that stinging in his eyes that had become really familiar to him in the last few months.

“I got it,” He told you, his voice cracking slightly under the weight of everything, “I got— i got the bastard that killed you, sent it straight back down to hell.”

He didn’t even really realise what was coming out of his mouth, he just couldn’t stop the words from coming because it’d been so long since he’d gotten to talk to you. He’d missed you, he’d missed you more than he thought it was possible to miss someone.

“I’m- shit, i’m so fucking sorry. God, baby i’m so sorry i wasn’t- i wasn’t fast enough I couldn’t- i couldn’t save you.” His voice was a rough whisper, thick with the guilt and the grief he’d been carrying like rocks on his back since your death. Dean blamed himself for what had happened, he may not have been the one to hold the knife but he hadn’t been there quick enough. He hadn’t been able to get there and stop it from happening to you, and that was something that he’d carry with him forever.

“Dean..” You murmured quietly, pulling away just enough to look at his face, pressing one hand to his freckled cheek. “It’s not your fault, none of it is your fault. You can’t blame yourself for that.”

He had a habit of taking on the guilt for everything that happened around him, you wished he wouldn’t, but that was just how he is.

“Can’t?” A rough laugh escaped him as he looked you in the eyes, taking in your face while he still could, his hands stayed on your shoulders needing to keep some sort of contact. “Course I can, i should’ve been faster. Shoulda- hell, i shoulda never left you alone when all this started. I should’ve.. i could’ve saved you i..” His voice broke off and he felt like a kid again, crying over stuff he couldn’t fix.

He missed you, he missed you so badly it hurt. You and him should’ve had more time, deserved more time. It wasn’t fair. He should still be waking up with a numb arm from where your head had been, he should still be able to introduce you to people as his girlfriend, he should still be able to talk to you without having to sit near a headstone to do so.

“You’re.. You’re dead, Dean.” You frowned, “Aren’t you scared? Or.. sad? Anything?”

He shouldve been. He knew that, he should be sad, he should be worried that he was dead for good, should be worried about the world ending if he couldn’t stop it. But he wasn’t. He wasn’t scared, and he wasn’t sad, and he wasn’t angry— because if being dead meant he got to see you again, and stay with you, Dean would choose to stay dead. For once he didn’t feel like he had to go back, he didn’t feel like if he chose peace he’d be betraying everyone around him.

“Not scared.”

He told you, one of his hands leaving your shoulder to cup your face.

“I’m with you again baby.. That’s all i want, don’t need a beating heart t’get all fuzzy around you.”

He smiled slightly, partly at his own joke, partly at how it felt to be with you again.

“Dean.. you’re not ready to die, not yet.”

You murmured.

“You’re still young, and way too pretty to be dead. You still have the world to save, people to save.” You told him, taking in his face just the way he was doing to you.

“There’s always gonna be people t’save.. monsters ain’t going away any time soon.”

You frowned at him again, a small chiding little tug of your lips.

“It’s just not your time Dean.”

Not his time.

Not his time to what, to die, or to finally find peace, because right now the two were sounding pretty damn similar.

You didn’t want him dead, fine, he didn’t want you dead either. If he gets to come back, you should get to come back. You were better than he was, he was broken, and damaged, but you? You were the kind of person that made the world good. He didn’t care about what he’d have to do, he’d get you back.

“Then i’m g’nna get you back. I’ll find a way, swear t’god i’m gonna find a way to get you breathing again.” He declared, his throat working and his jaw clenched tight. He hadn’t realised he’d been crying, and you hadn’t pointed it out.

It was a big promise to make, a dangerous thing to set his mind to, but he didn’t care. It’d been 7 months without you, and it hadn’t gotten easier, Dean was losing his mind and he needed you back. Bringing people back from the dead was something only idiots tried, but Dean had never claimed to be smart. There were ways, there was a way for anything if you looked hard enough, and Dean would look.

“Dean…”

You frowned at him a little, he’d always said that the dead should stay dead.

“No, nah, it’s.. it can’t stay like this. Shouldn’t be like this anyway. You shoulda never died.. i’ll fix it.”

You’d wanted to argue, to protest and tell him not to do anything stupid, but you didn’t have the time. Dean started to feel himself being pulled away, their time was up once again, and he was being dragged back to his body and away from you.

He didn’t waste another second, with his hands on her jaw he pulled you closer and pressed his lips to yours. It was rushed, and it was clumsy, and his nose bumped yours but it was genuine and full of so much grief.

“Gonna fix this.” He muttered against your lips, “gonna,” another kiss, “get you back.”

You didn’t reply, or maybe you did, it wouldn’t have mattered. He woke up. He jolted upright, gasping for air and coughing as it rentered his lungs. He was back at a motel, Sam stood at one side of the bed with a tense expression and Castiel at the other side, pulling his hand back from where he’d just placed it over Deans heart to restart it and fix the injuries he’d gotten.

“Jesus!- ..Dean? You- you okay man?..”

Sam had been worried, obviously with an angel around them dying didn’t stick, but that didnt make finding his brother dead any easier.

Dean just grunted with a nod, rubbing a hand over his face.

You were gone again, but he’d fix that.

He was gonna get you back.

Dean hadn’t had any idea that they were hunting a freaking Djinn.

If he had, he would’ve been more careful about coming into contact with the damn thing, he wouldn’t have even given it the chance to touch him.

If he’d have known, being the key there.

He hadn’t known, it’d touched him, poisoned him, and locked his mind in a weird dream coma.

He woke up in a bed that was unfamiliar, yet felt like he knew it. Cracking his eyes open the first thing he noticed was the sun shining through the curtains of the bedroom and for a second he thought the djinn had been the dream, then he noticed the bedroom. It was tidy, cream walls, no guns or knives anywhere in reach or sight, no eyesore motel wallpaper- and then he noticed the weight on his shoulder.

More specifically, the weight of someone lying on him.

Even more specifically, you.

You asleep with your head on his shoulder, your expression completely relaxed, your breath hitting his collar bone, your hair splayed beneath you.

The sight made his breath hitch and his body tense, everything in him screamed to jolt up and get out of there but he didn’t dare move. Didn’t dare disturb you. Just stared at you with wide eyes.

His girlfriend was right next to him again.

You and Dean had dated for a while, a real long while, and with you Dean had actually felt like someone worthy of love. He hadn’t felt like a weapon, or a shield, he’d felt like exactly what he was—a boyfriend that worshiped his girl— he was away on hunts often, but when he hadn’t been every second had been spent with you. It didn’t matter what it was, whether it was just lying in bed together, or going on drives, or taking you to places you’d never been before, he spent as much time with you as he possibly could and it still wasn’t enough.

You had been one of the very, very few people that he’d willingly told about who he actually was and what he did. The family business and all. He’d braced himself for you to call him crazy, for you to tell him to get out and stay away from you. You hadn’t, you’d told him to prove it. You believed him and you didn’t leave.

You were perfect, for him and just in every sense of the word.

But it seemed like the world had it out for him, he never got to stay happy for long.

You died, you died bloody and brutal and Dean had gotten there just a second too late, instead of saving you he held you as your body went slack and your eyes closed for the last time, covered in your blood and his face soaked in tears that he couldn’t have held back no matter how much effort he put into it.

He buried you, gave you a hunters funeral so your ghost wouldn’t end up trapped on earth, and he mourned you.

He mourned you everytime he opened his eyes and you weren’t there next to him.

Of course you’d be his biggest wish, his biggest wish would always be that you’d never died. That he’d been quick enough to save you. It was his fault after all, he got you involved with him, he kept coming back to you instead of staying away, he wasn’t fast enough—

“Dean?… Baby?”

Your sleep tinged voice broke him out of his rapid fire thoughts, he blinked a few times— you weren’t real, he should get out, he should end this, but this was you. He’d missed you for so, so long. The longer he stayed, the closer he came to dying, but he couldn’t pull himself away yet.

“Yea— yea.. g’dmorning baby.”

It was surreal going through the motions of waking up with you again after so long, like hell was he gonna waste this. He wasn’t ever gonna get the chance to be with you like this again.

He lay back down fully next to you, his face so close to yours that your noses were almost brushing, your breaths mixing and grazing eachothers faces. You had a small, tired smile on your face as your bleary eyes cracked open, you hummed quietly as one of your hands slid up to rest on his chest.

He could’ve sworn it felt like his heart was being ripped out. He tried not to show it on his face, but this might’ve been worse than the original grief he’d not yet let go of, and he was gonna have to let go of you all over again if he wanted to live and get back to Sam.

That made him think, though, as his eyes slowly, thoroughly retook in every part of your face and his hand traced up and down your arm. Maybe, this was the best death he’d get. He’d always known he’d die on the job, hunting would take his life and thats just how it was gonna end for him, but maybe it didn’t have to be at the end of a knife or the bang of a gun.

Maybe it could be here, maybe it could be basked in morning sun in a normal bed, in a normal house, with you again. If this was how he died, Dean would die happy.

“How’d you sleep?”

His voice was thick with emotion but he hoped you didn’t notice it, he hoped you’d mistake it for still lingering sleep, he didn’t want the lightness of this moment to end.

“Mmh, I slept great.. considering i have the worlds twitchiest sleeper in bed with me.”

He let out a dry chuckle at your little jab, God he’d missed you. He’d missed your face, he’d missed your voice, the things you’d say, the way you’d look at him, how it felt to have your hands on him so gentle compared to the rest of his life, how it felt to have his hands on you.

He reminded himself that this wasn’t real.. Then he reminded himself that he couldn’t waste this.

He grunted in reply, burying his face into your neck and letting his hands slide down to your waist and bring you closer. He didn’t say anything, honestly he didn’t trust his voice to stay steady, he just wanted to hold you. He just wanted to hold you and not have you ripped away from him this time. He’d been angry at the world when you died, and he hadn’t let go of that anger, and he never would.

You should never have died, especially not like that, not bloody and brutal and at the hands of something that only wanted to get to him through you. If he’d have kept his distance from you—maybe even just slightly— you’d still be alive, and that’s something he thinks about everyday. It’s something he thinks about and uses to reinforce his mindset that he was poison, undeserving of love, because whenever he got it somehow it always died out. People died out.

You’d taken a piece of Dean with you when you’d died, and that was a piece of him that no one would ever see again because it was fully, and wholly with you and solely with you.

He couldn’t move on, he wouldn’t.

You were it for him. In life and in death.

“Dean?.. Are you.. baby are you crying?”

He hadn’t noticed the damn waterworks until he’d heard your voice— so soft, so gentle and so concerned for him. For him and always for him. He was a tough guy, big, intimidating, and he could kill damn near anything, but that didn’t mean he didn’t need love. He did need it, he needed it so bad— he needed your love. You treated him like no one else ever had, you freaked out over the smallest of cuts on him even though he’d had so much worse that hadn’t made anyone else bat an eyelid because he was Dean, and Dean could handle it. He wasn’t a big, tough hunter around you. He was just.. Dean.

The Dean that made you sit and watch scoobydoo and asked you questions like a critic, the Dean that made ridiculous food combinations with your groceries and sat with a dopey grin on his face as he stuffed his mouth, the Dean that held onto you all night because he was afraid if he didn’t something would take you from him. That was the man you brought out in him, and that was the piece of him that had died with you.

“I’m— shit, ‘m fine baby jus’.. bad dream is all.”

He pulled his face from your neck to look at you, not feeling embarrassed about the wetness of his eyes because he knew you’d never judge him or see him as weaker than for crying, he just wanted to reassure you. He wanted you to know that he really was okay because right now he was with you, real or not, and despite knowing that he was dying outside of this dream it was the most okay he’d felt since your death.

“Oh. That sucks.. What about?”

Your hand grazed his temple lightly, and he melted and leaned into it embarrassingly quick, but you just smiled. Just like you always did.

“T’was, uh.. yknow, whole room fulla pissed off howler moneys. Think they were pissed at me. Freakin’ terrifying.”

You had a mix of a frown and a smile on your face, partly amused, partly knowing what he’d just said was complete bullshit. Howler monkeys were, for some reason, always his go to.

“Adorable. Don’t lie to me, talk to me Dean, what happened?”

“..You, uh, y’got hurt.” He told you, his jaw tightening slightly, but softening again as you ran the back of your fingers lightly under his eye to wipe away any fallen tears and his lashes fluttered. “Real hurt, and i— .. I couldn’t.. I wasn’t fast enough i.. I didn’t get there in time.”

It was a nightmare, and back out in the real world Dean was living in it everyday. His eyes met yours, his hands tighter on your waist than before, he was desperate for some sort of reassurance, he didn’t know what you could say to soothe him over—unbeknownst to you— your real death, but he just wanted something. Just needed you, needed you, as not real as this was, to say something to help him.

“I’m right here, alive and very not dead.” Your smile had lightened into something softer, not pity, closer to compassion or sympathy. “But even if i was, dead i mean, it’s not like id just.. be gone, yknow?”

“That’s.. thats sorta what being dead means, pretty.”

You laughed slightly and shook your head, lightly swatting his shoulder and he caught your hand in his and brought it to his lips, kissing your palm as his thumb stroked over the back.

“That’s not what i meant and you know it Dean.”

“What’d y’mean then? If you’re dead, you’re gone. th‘ts sorta what makes death so suckish.”

“Quit being all broody and cynical. I’d be gone.. but i wouldn’t be, like, yknow.. gone gone. It’s not like i’d just disappear, never have existed. People would remember me, you’d remember me. You’d like… i don’t know, keep my memory alive. I’d trust you to do that.”

Dean felt his heart being twisted in his chest with every word that you spoke and he was genuinely concerned it might burst out and ruin the moment, he didn’t know if it was what you were saying or if it was whatever was happening to his actual body, but god it hurt. Keep your memory alive, that’s what he’s supposed to do. He’s supposed to keep a photo of you with him and keep showing you places you’ve never been, he’s meant to buy a stupid, useless trinket every so often because thats what you would do. Not drink himself half to death and try to walk himself into an early grave.

“What if—“ His voice cracked slightly and he closed his eyes for a second again, dropping his head slightly and holding your hand in the space between under his chin and his collar bones.

“What if i couldn’t do that? Couldn’t.. live normally, without you, did stupid crap?”

You most likely—no, definitely— had no idea why he was taking this so seriously, but you indulged him anyway. He’d never been more grateful.

“Well.. you’d be tallying up a crapload of ass kickings when you finally join me— at an old enough age. But.. i’d get it, i’d just hope you could get out of that eventually.”

That made him feel.. something. It wasn’t better, exactly, but it felt like that was what could push him into finally feeling better. Your understanding, and knowing that even now, with how he’d been living, you’d still have his back no matter what.

“I love you, i love you so damn much it hurts, you know that?”

He hoped you knew, hoped you’d always know, but he didn’t give you chance to answer. He had to get back, he had to start living the way you’d want him to live, had to take your photo to new places, he just had one more thing he wanted to do.

His hand moved across your cheek and threaded through the hair back at your head and pulled you into a kiss. It started soft, your lips more so pressing together rather than devouring eachother— but it soon deepened.

He couldn’t let you go, god knows he didn’t want to, but he knew he had to. Just not yet, not before he got to experience what it’s like to be loved by you one last time.

His hand slid down to your thigh and hooked it over his hip, his hand exploring up and down everywhere it could reach— your leg, your ass, your hip, waist, ribs— everything while his other slid around to the other side of you and with one smooth manoeuvre and without breaking the kiss once he turned onto the back and pulled you with him, leaving you straddled above him.

You pulled away slightly with a breathy laugh, your forehead pressing to his and your hands on his shoulders. His hands were still exploring, this would be the last time and he wanted to make damn sure he didn’t forget a single thing about you.

Apparently, weird freaky djinn coma or not, his body was still very fond of you. He was hard just from kissing you. He felt like a horny teenager again, but with a hell of a heavier heart.

“Seriously?” You mumbled with a small amused, fond smile as you peppered kisses all over his face and his neck, “It’s nine in the morning Dean..”

“Don’t care— y’know how my internal clock works baby, always want time with you.”

Especially when it was the last chance he had. He didn’t care about the time, or the fact that he’d been so affected by the very simple act of sleepily making out. What he did care about was loving the crap outta you, one last time.

With his hands on your hips and a grin on his face that held the deep, underlying devastation he was feeling, he flipped you both again, you on your back underneath him now, looking up at him with the eyes that he’d get tattooed just to be able to look into them whenever he needed to feel better.

The expression on your face made it clear as day that you’d noticed that he wasn’t happy, or at least not fully, but he wasn’t gonna let you linger on that nor bring it up. His head ducked down and his mouth went straight to your neck, kissing, licking, mouthing at wherever he could reach. His hands moved down, and down, purposely over your chest just to hear the hitch in your breath as he did so which made him already feel a small victory, and down to the hem of your shirt. He pulled away just enough to pull your shirt over your head and drop it onto the floor and for a second he just sat above you marvelling at you. You were,without a doubt or any competition, the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen to this day, and in every following day it’d stay that way.

“Y’re so beautiful baby.. ’m so goddamn lucky, never gonna stop wanting you.” He murmured absentmindedly as he very slowly placed kisses down from your jaw, down your neck, down the very middle of his chest while his hands strayed and lightly palmed at you as his mouth went lower. When he got to your lower abdomen he stopped for a second, glancing back up at you through hooded eyes just to see you with a smile on your face. He’d do anything to see you smile, anything you wanted he’d get it for you, he didn’t care if it was the moon, he’d find a way.

He licked a line back up your abdomen and pulled away to lightly blow on it, you’d always hated that, or at least told him you did— he knew damn well you didn’t hate it. You hated that it made you laugh, and even in this dream it did. Your laugh made him feel all fuzzy.

“Dean!— quit that you ass!”

He grinned, warm and victorious and placed a kiss over where he’d previously blown.

“Sorry baby.. makes you laugh, can’t miss a chance to hear that.”

You rolled your eyes and dropped your head back into the pillow calling him a sap, but he saw that smile on your face and the furthering redness spreading. He didn’t think he’d miss being called names so much.

“You gonna let me love on you? Gonna let me show you how much i love you baby?”

The grin on his face slowly turned even more adoring when he saw you nod your head, looking down at him with—thanks to him— needy eyes.

“Words, baby.. cmon, don’t go mute on me now.” He murmured, his fingers hooking into the waistband of your shorts.

“Don’t— .. don’t be all mean. You started it i just— God, please, Dean?”

That was more than enough for him, much more than enough. He slid your shorts down to your ankles and discarded them in one smooth motion before settling back inbetween your legs like a king taking his throne. All of sex was great, yeah, but this part, this might be his favourite part because he’s doing something for you, and—not to toot his own horn— he does it damn well.

His hands massaged and palmed at your thighs as he grinned up at you, his green eyes glimmering with a very victorious satisfaction.

“Whatever you need baby, don’t gotta ask me twice.”

You really, really didn’t.

He lowered his head and licked a slow, appreciate stripe into you, groaning like it was the best thing he’d ever done as he did so, his eyes fluttering closed and his hands tightening slightly where he had your thighs pushed open. He couldn’t see your expression with his eyes shut, but from the surprised, choked gasp you’d let out and the sound of your head dropping back into the pillow, he was guessing it was a damn vision. He repeated what he did, only this time once reaching it he kept his attention on your clit. Kissing, licking, sucking— everything he knew you liked, in exactly the way you liked it. He remembered it like it was muscle memory.

He groaned into you again when your hand threaded through his hair, not pulling or really even holding, just needing to hold onto something.

“Fuck— you’re my favourite damn thing baby, god, favourite damn thing.” He mumbled right into your clit, one of his hand releasing your leg and sliding inbetween your legs, sliding his middle finger into you. You inhaled sharply, and when he crooked his finger just slightly, just right, your mouth dropped open in a broken moan and your back arched off of the bed slightly.

He was sure as hell glad he had his eyes open for that.

He went back to working you with his mouth, only this time only focusing on your clit, keeping one finger slowly moving in and out of you, crooking at just the right time and in the right places. Only stopping when he knew you were close, not that he wanted to be cruel and deny you of it, but he wouldn’t be for long. He just.. wanted to do it together, he was gonna make this last time count. He was already close, he hadn’t noticed it, but he’d been rutting his hips against the bed to the look of you, and the sound of you, like a damn dog. He would’ve let you finish first, hell, twice, before actually fucking you, but he didn’t have the time. The longer he stayed, the closer he got to actually dying, and he’d found a reason to atleast try to live for some time longer.

“Wh— D- Dean! Oh, Cmon! Baby Dont- don’t do that to me!” You groaned as he pulled away just as you were on the brink of falling over the edge but Dean just chuckled. He wiped his mouth on the back of his hand and crawled back over you, taking a second to just look at you again.

“Sorry baby.. just wanna feel you, won’t do it again.. promise.” He murmured, pressing kisses along your jaw as he slid his own pants and boxers down, freeing his dick— which by now was screaming at him for something more than a twitch against the bed.

He lowered himself back over you, lining himself up just right. Your eyes were on his face, the expression on your face almost killed him. It was so full of love, your eyes were so full of love, and adoration, for him. Full of all of the things he never thought he’d get before you, and he didn’t want from any else without you.

He slid in slowly, so torturously slow but he didn’t want to rush this, any of it. He stopped his own eyes from closing as he bottomed out just so he could watch your head drop back and yours flutter closed, your expression now completely blissed out and your hands clinging to his biceps.

The first roll of his hips was tentative, hardly even moving but it drew a sound out of both of you. His forehead dropped down to yours and he finally let his eyes close, cutting himself to anything but you in that moment as he repeated his movements, again, and again, gaining more rhythm and strength with each roll and meeting of your hips. He wasn’t usually ever as vocal as he was being currently, but just this once, he let it all spill out. Every groan, every rough moan, all blending in with your own.

“God— shit- love y’so, so damn much.” He told you again through gritted teeth, his expression— if your eyes had been open to see— pathetically devastated, this time by the feeling of you, of being quite literally as close as two people could be after having no closeness at all.

“Love- oh, god— i love you too, Dean, i- more than anything.”

That was it for him, he knew he wouldn’t last as long as usual, but that’s what proved it, he almost finished right there. Even now though, he was a stubborn asshole and he wanted you to finish first, or at least at the same time.

He snaked a hand down between you, his thumb finding your clit with the pressure he knew always undid you.

“Cmon baby.. y- shit, y’know you can give it t’me.. want it, wanna feel you so bad.”

That was it for you, your eyes screwed even tighter and your back arched up off of the bed and up into him, your body tightening around him. He came straight after, spilling into you as his head fell into your heaving chest.

He stayed like that for a minute, not pulling out, not speaking, just being with you.

Until he heard your breathless laugh from above him, he lifted his head to see you looking down at him with a flushed face and a stupid soft grin, one which he mirrored without even meaning to.

“That good for you baby?”

“Mhmm, better than good, always better than good Dean.”

He’d remember that after this too but not for any smug or arrogant reasoning, because he liked knowing that he made you feel good. That he made you feel loved even if he hadn’t been great at expressing it with words a lot of the time. It was nice, to know he was genuinely good at something that wasn’t killing.

He was genuinely good at being a boyfriend, at being someone’s someone. Your someone.

He shifted so that he was lay next to you on his back and he pulled you into him, melting into the feeling of your head on his chest and your arm over his stomach.

“I’ll help y’get cleaned up in a minute just..” He trailed off, pressing a kiss to your hair.

He didn’t get the chance to finish what he was saying anyway, you beat him to it.

“I’m good here, we can do that later.. we have sleep to catch up on.”

Yeah. Sleep. Dean wouldn’t be sleeping.

He huffed a light chuckle, rubbing his hand over your back and watching you as you closed your eyes, completely comfortable and safe with him like you still should be.

“Yea, you get some more rest.. i’ll be right here.”

He had been right there, his hand drawing light patterns across your back, his other holding your head close to him right up until you fully fell asleep. Once you’d fallen asleep, he’d gotten up and went into the bathroom and found a bottle of pills.

“Just hurry up, would you? Stop using this as an excuse to get out of doing research,” Sam cut in with a huff. 

“I would never,” Dean gasped, feigning offence as he held a hand to his chest. 

“Sure you wouldn’t,” Sam sarcastically agreed, taking a sip of his beer. 

“Whatever,” Dean muttered, sharing a look of contempt with you that had you giggling quietly, and Sam rolling his eyes. 

“Dean-” Sam began to chastise, before being quickly cut off. 

“I’m going!” Dean said defensively, holding his hands out in surrender as he backed away from the table. “Call me if you need me.” 

“Yup,” you and Sam agreed in unison, both locking back onto the task of researching the case. 

Footsteps sounded heavy on the stairs, and the bunker door screeched open and shut before plunging you and Sam into silence. 

“How long do you think he’ll take this time?” you asked after a few minutes, a smile playing on your lips.  

Sam laughed, running a hand through his hair. “Probably long enough for us to figure this all out.” 

You hummed in response, closing your book and selecting a new one. “Probably,” you agreed, flipping through the pages with a chuckle.

The fact that Dean was gone for just over an hour at this point wasn’t entirely intentional. He may have spent some extra time chatting to the patrons when he stopped in for some cases of beer. He may have spent longer than necessary reading the menu once he walked over to the diner you liked - he knew your order by heart, but no one needed to know that, did they? And yes, maybe he put up with the flirtations of the waitress a little longer than he should have, but it’s not like he was purposely avoiding getting back to help with research. 

Yet it still came as no surprise to him when your name showed up on his caller id, your irritation practically palpable through the screen already. 

“Yeah, I know, I know,” Dean placated, answering the call as he made for the door. “Food’s hot, I’m on my way back.”

“Are you actually on your way back, or are you just saying you’re on your way back?” you questioned, and Dean couldn’t help but chuckle as your inquisitive stare came into his mind's eye. 

“I’m on my way back, smartass,” Dean grumbled, setting the food on Baby’s roof as he fumbled for his keys. “Though don’t wait up for me to come save the day and crack the code on this thing,” he added playfully. 

“Aw, don’t worry, De,” you comforted lightly, before taking on a more serious tone. “We’re not.”

A grin found its way to Dean’s face as you abruptly ended the call, and he laughed quietly as he unlocked his door. 

He really, truly, was on his way back. He was halfway in the car when a noise reached his ears, his attention snapping to the alley across the street. He stilled, waiting in silence for a few moments as he listened for anything else. His hand was on the door, ready to snap it shut when it happened again. 

Heaving a sigh, he got back out of the car and gazed across the street, a feeling of unease brewing under his skin.

“It’s just a cat,” he rationalised to himself, resisting the urge to reach for his pistol as he surveyed his surroundings. “Or, it’s whatever the hell we’ve been trying to track down.” 

Inching slowly across the street, he carefully pulled the pistol from the confines of his jeans and mentally ran through all the things he could possibly encounter, trying his best to ready himself. 

“Please be a cat, please be a cat, please be a cat,” he pleaded quietly, stepping into the shadows of the alley. As soon as his foot stepped over the threshold of darkness, a hunched shadow darted across the back wall, taking on all the likeness of a terrible Hollywood movie villain. “Not a cat,” he determined, quickly making his way through the alley. 

Unable to find anything after searching three times over, Dean decided to cut his losses; he’d get back to the bunker, fill you and Sam in, and the three of you could regroup here later and see what could be found. 

It was a good plan, except Dean never got to execute it - he never even made it out of the alley. He only made it halfway before he was met with blinding blue light, pain, and then nothing but darkness. 

Dean woke with a start, a pounding in his head and cotton in his mouth as he frantically surveyed his surroundings.

“Oh, thank fuck,” he mumbled, throwing his head back on his pillow after recognizing his own room. 

He laid there for a few minutes, running through the events of last night - or, what he thought was last night, but was maybe only a dream - before getting ready and making his way to the kitchen. 

“Hey, there he is!” Sam greeted cheerfully. “I was starting to think you’d miss breakfast all together.” 

“Nothin’ can keep me from my bacon,” Dean teased, making himself a cup of coffee as Sam fixed a plate for him. 

“Well, here’s an extra helping,” Sam announced, sliding the plate onto the table before Dean. “Since today’s a special day.” 

“Right, thanks,” Dean muttered, his mind running into overdrive as he tried to determine what made today special. “So, uh, what exactly happened last night?” 

“What do you mean?” Sam questioned, sitting down across from his brother. 

“I mean what happened,” Dean repeated gruffly, taking a hefty bite of his food. “I don’t even remember getting back to the bunker, next thing I know, I’m waking up in my room not even fifteen minutes ago.” 

“Yeah, well, that’s not really shocking,” Sam replied with a snicker. “You were pretty out of it.” 

“I was?” Dean asked through a mouthful of food. 

“Yeah,” Sam confirmed with a grimace. “Look, just shut up and eat your food so we can go meet up with [Y/N].” 

“[Y/N]?” Dean repeated. “Where is she?” 

“At the house,” Sam answered, off-handed. 

Dean only stared at him, trying to determine if he was seriously supposed to know what the hell Sam was talking about or not. “The house?” 

“Yes, Dean,” Sam confirmed, already exasperated. “You guys got the keys today, remember? [Y/N] wanted to get a head start on setting up the nursery and we’re supposed to go help her. And we’re late, so hurry the hell up.” 

“Nur-... the nursery?” Dean spat, eyebrows drawn in confusion. “Since when the hell is she even pregnant?” 

Sam stared at him like he suddenly grew three heads before rolling his eyes. “Hilarious, Dean. You know full well it’s for Ellen.” 

“Harvelle?” Dean wondered, feeling like he was losing his mind - or Sam his; hell, or both. 

“Winchester,” Sam supplied in disbelief. “Your daughter - dude, are you still drunk?” 

Dean felt his blood run cold, his heart getting lodged in his throat. “I, uh, yeah - yeah, probably, I don’t know,” Dean sputtered, chugging the rest of his coffee with a shaky hand. Having completely lost his appetite, he pushed his plate away and abruptly stood. “Let’s go.” 

“You’re not gonna finish eating?” Sam asked curiously. 

“Nah. Like you said, we’re late,” Dean answered, hurrying from the kitchen before Sam could see the look of terror on his face. “You should probably drive,” he added over his shoulder. 

“Yeah, okay,” Sam agreed, following Dean out. “Sure.” 

Dean spent the entire car ride feeling like he was going insane. Half of him wanted to search through his phone, figuring it would have most, if not all, of the answers to whatever the hell was going on. Though the other half of him was terrified by what he may find, and he was having a hard enough time trying to fend off the panic attacks already. So he settled for sitting in silence, wracking his brain for a single clue. He barely even noticed that they pulled into a driveway until Sam’s voice startled him out of his daze. 

“Welcome home!” Sam cheered, eagerly exiting the car. 

Dean felt like he was being weighed down with lead as he climbed out of the car, following Sam to the front door. “[Y/N/N] always loved this house,” he muttered softly, cluing in to the fact they were headed into the very house you always gushed over when driving by. 

“Why do you think she was so excited to finally get the keys?” Sam asked with a laugh.

Dean continued to follow him up the stairs and across the front porch, feeling as though he was on autopilot and copying his brothers every move. 

“Ready?” Sam asked with a grin. 

“Uh, yeah. Yeah, sure am,” Dean replied awkwardly, nodding in agreement. 

“You’re nervous,” Sam pointed out, not entirely wrong. “Look, I know it’s a big change, but you have nothing to worry about. You’ve already been such an amazing dad, and that’s not gonna change just because you three won’t be living in the bunker anymore. Okay?” 

Everything inside Dean started burning, screaming at him to get the hell away from this situation. It only just now truly sunk in that this wasn’t just his house. It was your house. He would be living here with you and his daughter. Wait, did that mean the two of you- 

The front door was suddenly yanked open, jarring him from his thoughts. His bewildered eyes landed on your mother - grinning from ear to ear as she took in the sight of him and Sam - and your father, standing a few steps behind her with a polite smile. “I thought I heard you two!” 

Stepping aside, she eagerly ushered them in, and Sam nearly had to shove Dean over the threshold as he grumbled incoherently about how weird he’s being. 

Dean, once inside, had to steady himself when he saw you. 

It wasn’t because you suddenly appeared from around the corner without warning. 

It wasn’t because you had an infant resting on your hip; a precious little copy of you. 

It wasn’t because the first words out of your mouth were a melodious “Daddy’s home!” when you spotted him. 

Hell, it wasn’t even the ring on your left hand, catching the light so perfectly that it almost put the brightness of your smile to shame. 

It was because when he saw you - grinning from ear to ear, dishevelled and exhausted from a never ending list of things to do, mysterious stains littered across your shirt - Dean swore you had never looked more beautiful. 

“Hi,” he breathed out, wiping his suddenly clammy hands on his jeans. 

“Hi,” you repeated with a laugh, advancing towards him as the child in your arms reached out for him. 

He wasn’t sure what was more surprising: how natural it felt when he reached for her in return, how comfortable it was to hold her, or how easily he reciprocated the kiss you casually placed on his lips; as if you’ve been doing so for years. 

“Sorry I left without waking you,” you confessed, wiping away a stray crumb from the corner of his mouth. “I figured you could use the extra sleep given how hard you went at Garth’s party.” 

“It wasn’t that bad,” Dean replied automatically, despite not having a clue what you were talking about. 

You and Sam both laughed, which irritated him. It felt like there was some inside joke that he was the butt of and wasn’t allowed to know. 

“No, of course it wasn’t,” you teased, turning your attention to Ellen. “Daddy’s just as young as ever, isn’t he, baby?” you added, playfully pinching her cheek to elicit a laugh from her that made his heart soar. 

Dean grinned mischievously, adjusting his grip on Ellen. “Yeah, well, I don’t think my age was a problem for you back when we made this little angel, now was it?” 

Part of him was surprised he even said it, given he has no recollection of his life with you, let alone that, while the other half of him beamed with pride over how easy it was to play along.

“Oh, god,” Sam groaned, cutting off any chance you had to reply. “That’s my cue to leave. Who wants to help me make coffee?” 

Quickly agreeing, your parents followed Sam towards the kitchen, leaving you and Dean grinning at each other in the hallway like smitten teenagers. 

“Okay, come on! I need your opinion on paint colours for her room,” you gushed, tugging on his sleeve. 

Firmly taking your hand in his, he followed in your wake as he listened to you ramble over the ideas you had. He wasn’t sure if he was really supposed to give his opinion or not, considering you never gave him much time to speak up, though he knows he would have agreed with you anyway just to keep that smile on your face. 

He was glad you never gave him time, though, because at some point he completely stopped listening. It was neither intentional nor because he didn’t care. It was simply because you looked so happy, so excited and at ease. It felt like forever since Dean saw this sparkle in your eyes; he didn’t want to do anything to take it away. 

It took you staring at him with raised eyebrows to realize he was supposed to say something. 

“You weren’t even listening, were you?” you asked. 

“Yes, I was!” he argued, setting Ellen down in her playpen. 

“Okay, which colour is the one I like most?” your voice held a challenge, but the look on your face showed you were more amused than angry, much to Dean’s relief. 

Scanning the colour samples on the wall, he confidently chose the one he knew to be your favourite before grinning in triumph. 

You sighed, shaking your head with the shadow of a fond smile on your face. “Please, we both know that’s only there to make my mom think it has a chance. That colour is just awful.” 

Playing it off as a joke, Dean laughed as casually as he could without making it obvious he was losing his footing all over again. 

This was your favourite colour. He helped you paint your room in the bunker this colour. Nearly every trinket or accessory he ever bought you was this colour. Hell, he almost lost a bet that had him upholstering Baby in this colour - a bet he, to this day, has no idea why he accepted. Dean knew this was your favourite colour. 

Yet, apparently, it wasn’t. 

“So, like I said, I was thinking of this colour,” you continued, pointing to the last colour Dean would’ve thought you’d ever pick. “I figured it’d go really well with the wallpaper we picked out for the accent wall, don’t you think?” 

Dean had no idea what the hell wallpaper you were talking about, but he nodded away. “Almost a perfect match.” 

You grinned enthusiastically, planting a firm kiss on his cheek before beginning to ramble again. Not even Sam coming in to deliver mugs of coffee and steal away Ellen could stop your ideas from being known. 

As the day carried on, you dragged Dean throughout the house to have him help you decide on final touches in each room, littering kisses across his face whenever you could and leaving him flustered each time. 

As the day carried on, he grew more and more at ease, leaning into your touch every time. 

Before he knew it, he had learned Ellen's nighttime routine while he helped you get her ready for bed, and was now sitting beside you at the dinner table to enjoy what seemed like a feast created by your parents. 

“The first dinner in your home should be a special one,” your mother declared, seemingly reading his mind as she added the last dish to the table with a grin. 

After expressing his thanks, he quickly fixed your plate before serving himself; a gesture that was familiar to him, as he knew he'd done this countless times before in the bunker. The kiss he received from you in return, though, was a gesture he still wasn't familiar with. Yet, it was one he guiltily realized he wouldn't mind getting used to. 

The conversation flowed so easily between the five of you that Dean almost felt fooled into believing he's done this time and time again. Hell, maybe at this point he just wanted to believe it. Or better yet, maybe there just wasn't anything abnormal going on after all. If he had a crazy night out like you and Sam said, then maybe all his confusion could be chalked up to a crazy hangover. Maybe this really was his life. Maybe-

“Everything okay?” you asked quietly, breaking him from his thoughts. 

“What?” he asked, turning to look at you. “Yeah, why wouldn't it be?” 

You arched an eyebrow at him, clearly picking up on the waver in his voice. “You were lost in space. What're you thinking about?” 

“Nothing,” he assured, wiping some sauce from your cheek. “Just a long day.” 

It looked as if you wanted to argue at first, though you quickly plastered a smile back on your face. “Alright.” 

“He's tired,” your mother announced. “Remember that he isn't as young as you are,” she chided playfully, pointing a finger at you. 

“Yeah, and neither are we!” your father cut in with a laugh. “I think it's time we call it a night.”

“That sounds like a wonderful idea,” agreed your mother. “Let's just clean up first.” 

“No, absolutely not,” Dean declined with a shake of his head. “You two did all the hard work, we can handle the clean up.” 

“Don't bother arguing,” you pitched in, cutting off your mothers reply. “I'll make Dean kick you out if you don't go willingly.” 

Dean stammered over his response, trying to figure out if that was really something you expected from him or not, before he was met with laughter from everyone; laughter he belatedly joined in on. 

“We're going, we're going!” appeased your father, standing from the table with a laugh. “No need to sic your attack dog on us.” 

Dean laughed on time at that, because, well, he'd gone to bat for you many times before, and he doubts your parents are where he'd draw the line - and he's glad your father seems to know that. 

Having said your farewells with them, Sam pitched in to help you and Dean clean up, carrying on your idle conversations from dinner as you did so. This is when Dean felt like things were finally normal again. With you and Sam tackling the dishes and laughing over your dumb jokes, while he tried to ignore you both and put the food away. Just like how it always was. 

“Well, I think that about does it,” Sam announced, tossing the dish towel onto the counter - which earned him a glare from you as you quickly hung it up. “I should head out, too.” 

“Already?” you questioned. 

“Yeah,” Sam shrugged. “I got a new lead I wanna follow up on.” 

Dean almost jumped for joy over his brother's response. “You hunting something?” 

“Uh, yeah,” Sam informed awkwardly. “Yeah, I've been working on a few cases.” 

They were still hunting. Another sign of normalcy. This was good. He really was starting to think this was somehow just one massive misunderstanding. “Great! What do we got?” Dean asked eagerly. 

The look shared between you and Sam made his blood run cold again, and he felt a pang in his heart as he watched you dip your head to play with your ring, a deep frown on your face. 

“Well…” Sam started, clearing his throat uncomfortably. “We don't have anything, Dean. I'm still working alone.”

“What?” Dean asked curtly. “Why the hell are you hunting by yourself? I'm not allowed to help you anymore?” 

The sound of your defeated sigh filled the room, and his attention snapped back to you. Avoiding his gaze, you said goodnight to Sam before practically running from the kitchen. 

“Sometimes I don't know whether you're an asshole or just an idiot, Dean,” Sam said haughtily, running a hand through his hair. 

“What did I do?” he asked helplessly. 

“Dude, come on,” Sam sighed, taking a seat in the breakfast nook. “Why would you say that in front of her?” 

“Say what? That I wanna help you?” he asked, joining his brother where he sat. 

“Yes!” Sam exclaimed. “You don't do that anymore, Dean.” 

Dean felt like he was caught in a sea of confusion, and every time he thought he'd break the surface, tendrils weaved from mystery and misunderstanding wrapped themselves around him, pulling him back under to where he was destined to drown. 

“I don't… help you anymore?” Dean wondered, not understanding anything. 

“You don't hunt anymore!” Sam replied, being as loud as he could dare without waking Ellen. “You stopped hunting as soon as you and Y/N learned she was pregnant, and you swore off hunting altogether as soon as Ellen was born.” 

“Yeah, but-” Dean tried to say, before falling silent. What the hell was he supposed to say to that? 

“Look,” Sam butt in. “I'm sure you were only offering to help with research, but that's how it starts.”

“What do you mean?” he inquired, and he almost had to laugh, because he was suddenly reminded of when he first had to give the hunting talk to Sammy as kids - only this time, he was the one asking Sam all the questions. 

“You have a wife, Dean,” Sam announced somberly, and Dean wondered fleetingly if his heart would ever stop skipping a beat when someone mentioned you as being his in such a way. “You've got a beautiful daughter, a house, a family. A family that you and Y/N are trying to make bigger. Why would you want to go back to hunting in any capacity?” 

Dean fell silent, taking in what his brother had said and feeling like his head would explode. 

All because he doesn't remember. 

He doesn't remember dating you. He doesn’t remember proposing or getting married. He doesn't remember you being pregnant or getting you pregnant. He doesn't remember Ellen being born, or when you both apparently decided to have another child. He doesn't remember his life. But this is his life, and something in him doesn't want to lose any part of it. 

“I guess I don't,” he finally admitted quietly, shocked at how true that answer felt to him.

Sam nodded, remaining quiet for a minute as they each gathered their thoughts. “I know you've been… freaked out, I guess, today. I don't know why, but if the reason has you wanting to start hunting again, you need to talk to Y/N about it.” 

“That's not what's happening,” Dean denied, shaking his head. 

“Alright,” Sam accepted with a nod. “Whatever it is, it's between you two, anyway.” With that, he placed a hand on Dean's shoulder in consolidation before standing up to take his leave. “I'll see you all tomorrow.” 

Dean only nodded, his mind too far away to formulate any other response. He remained sitting there after Sam had left, staring at his surroundings for who knows how long. By the time he came to his senses, his initial instinct was to get up and find you, but instead he decided to wander around the house in search of some answers.  

There was still so much left to do with the place, yet there were pictures littering the mantle and hanging up on walls that made him want to tear his hair out as he examined them. Engagement photos, wedding photos, maternity photos, vacation photos - an entire life with you portrayed right in front of him that didn't stir even the faintest bit of recollection within him. 

Terror laid claim on his heart, his mind growing hazy as the world around him began to crumble. He felt like he couldn't breathe, a weight on his chest so heavy that the air was trapped in his lungs. 

“Who the hell am I?” he asked himself, the picture before him beginning to blur as tears clouded his vision. 

He was stuck. Stuck in a net made up of lies and deceit and impossibilities and he needed to get out but those woven tendrils had him wrapped up tight, binding him to a mind he couldn't trust and dragging him down, down, down into the sea. 

“Dean?” you called softly, sounding muffled and far away. 

He opened his mouth to answer, but nothing came out; he couldn't even fucking breathe let alone talk. He tried to answer again, but it felt like he was choking, his throat burning every time he opened his mouth. 

“Baby?” you pressed, sounding louder to him this time. 

It wasn't just because you were closer now, having tentatively approached him during his struggle. It was the hand you gently placed on his arm, pulling him out of the black abyss and onto dry land once more. 

“How is this real?” he choked out, unable to peel his gaze away from the photo above the fireplace. 

“What do you mean?” you asked tenderly, taking his hand in yours. 

“I mean this,” he breathed, squeezing your hand for effect. “How can this all be real? It shouldn't be real.” 

He kept muttering to himself, and you gently took his face in your hands to get him to look at you. 

“You feel that?” you asked quietly, wiping away his stray tears with your thumbs. “I'm real.” 

“It just doesn't make sense,” he confessed, struggling to meet your gaze. 

“Everything is alright, baby. I'm real. You're real. We’re real,” you told him, gentle yet firm.

“We're real,” he repeated shakily. “This is real,” he added, needing to convince himself further. 

“I know this is all a big change for you, De,” you admitted, trailing your hands down to rest on his chest. “But why didn't you tell me it was this hard for you?” 

“I don't think it's the move,” he told you, resting his hands on yours. “I just- I feel like I'm forgetting something. Like something important is slipping away from me, and I can't figure out what it is.” 

You studied him carefully for a moment before threading your fingers through his. “Well, we'll just have to figure it out together, won't we?” 

Dean smiled sadly, tightening his grip on your hands. “Yeah, I guess we will.” 

All Dean could do was hope that everything would be better come tomorrow. 

“Did you get a hold of him?” you asked, re-entering the library after shedding your pyjamas.  

“No, still going to voicemail,” Sam said with a frown, pulling the phone away from his ear as he glanced over at you. “Why the hell did you change, where are you going?” 

“Where do you think I’m going?” you asked in turn, staring at him as though the answer were obvious - which, in your defence, it really was. 

“We don’t even know for sure if something’s wrong,” he sighed. “And you’re gonna… what? Just march around town looking for him?” 

“Yes,” you said stubbornly. “That’s exactly what I’m gonna do.” 

Sam stared at you for a moment, and you readied yourself for his speech about it being a stupid idea; but it never came. Instead, he simply nodded and stood from his seat. “I’ll get my jacket.” 

You wanted to grin in triumph, as you almost never got away without bickering with Sam over things like this, but the worry you had for Dean prevented it. Something just wasn’t right here. You aren’t exactly sure how it was that you knew, but you knew. 

“Let’s go,” Sam called, heading for the garage. 

You hurried after him, patting yourself down along the way to make sure you did in fact have your weapons on you - yeah, every vehicle you guys drove had some kind of arsenal, but you needed to know you had something at the ready. Just in case. 

“So, what exactly is it that you think happened to him?” Sam questioned, starting the car. 

“I don’t know,” you admitted. “All I know is that he should be back by now, and not only is he not back, but neither of us can reach him, and we’re in the middle of working a case fully revolving around people going missing and never being seen again, so clearly there has to be some kind of connection because-”

“Hey, okay,” Sam gently interrupted your rambling. “I know you’re worried, but let’s just see what we can find in town before we start thinking like that, okay?” 

“Okay,” you muttered, wringing your fingers together as you stared at the passing scenery. “We should check around the pub first.” 

“Wouldn’t that’ve been the first place he went?” he asked, casting a glance at you. 

You shook your head, keeping your gaze outside. “Yes, but the diner I like is just up the street.” 

“Well, that’s good for you, but I’m not really hungry right now,” he replied, shifting in his seat. 

Caught off guard by his response, your head snapped in his direction as you stared at him in surprise. You were about to make a snarky comment until you saw the corner of his mouth twitching, and you realized what he was doing. 

“You’re such an idiot,” you snorted, grateful for his attempt to lighten your mood. 

His poker face finally crumbled as he chuckled along with you, and the atmosphere surrounding you both really did feel lighter for the rest of the drive.

It felt lighter right up until Sam turned the final corner and you caught sight of Baby parked up the block, stationed and solitary, glistening under the glow of the streetlamp. 

“Sam,” you said quietly, sitting up a little straighter. 

“I see it,” he said, matching your uncertain tone as he pulled up to the curb.

You both seemed to struggle with leaving the car - wanting to run out to not waste any time, while simultaneously being held back by the fear of what you may find. 

Surveying the immediate surroundings, nothing seemed out of the ordinary as you both approached the impala - an observation that was voiced by Sam. 

“Everything looks normal,” he said, shoving his hands in his jacket pockets. “Maybe he’s just getting another drink.” 

“I don’t think so,” you said confidently, eyes catching sight of the takeaway left abandoned on the passenger’s seat. 

Sam noticed your gaze, though being on the driver’s side, he couldn’t see what you were looking at. “What?” he asked stiffly, bending down to glance through the window. “Okay, definitely weird, but not panic worthy,” he cautioned, coming back into view over the roof to give you a meaningful look. 

“It’s unlocked,” you declared, ignoring his attempts to keep you from panicking. “He’d never leave it unlocked.” 

“It’s not-” he started to argue, wanting to prove you wrong by pulling on the handle, but his words stopped short when the door opened with ease. “Okay, getting weirder,” he breathed out, looking over at you like a deer caught in headlights.

“I told you something was wrong!” you exclaimed. 

“We still don’t know for sure!” he exclaimed in return. Yet you could see in his eyes that he was just as afraid as you were, and you suddenly weren’t sure if his denial remained for your sake or his. 

“Should we split up?” you asked, trying to move on. 

“No,” he stated, closing the door. “I don’t feel like losing both my brother and my best friend all in one night.” 

“Sam,” you started, wanting to offer him some comfort, but he cut you off. 

“Come on, let’s start asking around.” 

He came around the car and nudged you in the direction of the pub, to which you quickly obliged, silently hoping you were wrong and Dean would be there. Though as you stepped inside, your hope was immediately shattered, for none of the gazes that you met held that familiar sense of home you’d grown accustomed to. 

With a heavy sigh, you started talking to the patrons, while Sam did the same. You both ended up with the same information: Dean got there maybe two hours ago, stayed about thirty minutes to have some drinks and chat, bought some cases of beer, and left. Nothing new, and nothing helpful. 

Refusing to acknowledge the time wasted, the two of you made your way over to the diner to start your next line of questioning - which was started by someone else as soon as you walked through the door. 

“Oh, no. Did we mess up your order?” Lori, a greying server you often got whenever you came in, asked you. 

“I- what?” you wondered, confused by why she was asking. 

She tsked, tucking her notepad back into her apron. “That man of yours was in earlier and ordered your favourite, figured he was bringing it back to you.” 

“My-... Dean?” you asked in confusion. 

“Yeah, that green eyed statue of a man you stop in with from time to time,” she informed, giving you a smile that suggested she knew more than you. 

“How long ago was he here?” you questioned, ignoring the feeling of unease her expression gave you. 

Lori sighed, tucking her pen behind her ear. “Let me check the slips,” she answered, jerking her head towards the counter before heading in that direction. 

You and Sam followed close behind, watching with increasing impatience as she sifted through the order slips. 

“Aha!” she exclaimed, finding the right one. “It was about… an hour ago.” 

“Was he here long? Did he talk to anyone? Did anyone leave around the same time he did?” you fired off anxiously. 

Lori stared at you, her eyes narrowing slightly. “Are we thinking he’s cheatin’ or something?” she asked conspiratorially.  

“I- we- he-” you stammered over your response, all versions of he isn’t at all my man, we aren’t even dating, and he’s fucking missing and could be dying somewhere lost to your frustration. Tears of fear and anger clouded your vision as you ran your hands through your hair. 

“Hey,” Lori soothed, misreading the reason for your emotions but validating them nonetheless. “Hey, sit. Sit, I’ll tell you what I know.” 

Ushering you onto a stool as she came around the counter, she hopped up beside you, patting your hands for reassurance.  

“Now, all I know is he came in about an hour ago,” she began, repeating what you all just discovered. “He took some time going over the menu, more so than usual, but it didn’t look like he was waitin’ on anybody. He finally ordered what you usually do and somethin’ for himself, Cindy chatted him up while he was waitin’, then he got the order and left.” 

“Cindy?” Sam asked, and you tried to ignore the sick feeling in your stomach to learn that you were worrying while he was just here flirting with someone - with Cindy no less; she was practically sex on legs. 

“Yeah,” Lori said with a shrug, squeezing your hand. “One of our servers. Oh, she eyes him up every time he’s here, not that I blame her. Figure she thought it was an opportunity given that he was here alone this time.” 

“Did it…. work?” you asked meekly, wondering if he was just off having a one night stand and nothing was wrong after all.

You were almost startled by Lori’s bark of laughter, and you watched her eyes sparkle in amusement as she answered you. “You rest assured, sugar. That man is completely hung up on you. I’ve never seen someone look right through that girl before, not a flicker of interest in him let me tell you. First guy in here I’ve ever seen turn her down, hand to god.” 

You wanted to ask where in the world she was drawing these conclusions about you and Dean from, and why, but Sam’s voice stopped you from speaking up. 

“Did that make her angry?” he asked. “Him denying her?” 

Lori looked at him curiously, as if wondering why such a question was necessary, but she answered anyway. “She was upset, sure, but I don’t think she was angry, no. She moves on pretty quick. By the time he was leaving she was already talkin’ to someone else.” 

“And you’re sure he left alone? He didn’t talk to anyone else?” you asked desperately, giving her a meaningful look. If her thinking you were accusing him of infidelity would get you answers, then so be it. 

“I’m positive, sugar,” she assured, smiling sadly. “He was only here maybe half an hour, and he rushed out when he got your call.” 

“My call?” you wondered, face scrunching with confusion. “What do you mean?” 

“Oh, well, I assumed it was you,” she replied simply, sliding off the stool. “The way his face lit up and all. Had that smile he always gives you.” 

“Did you hear anything he said?” Sam asked quickly, catching her before she walked away to confirm it really was your call she heard. 

Lori shrugged, taking the pen out from behind her ear. “Not really. Just heard that he got the food and was on his way back, then he was out the door.” 

“Okay,” Sam said with a nod. “Thank you for your time.” 

“Sure,” she said with a half shrug. “See you around, sugar,” she told you, giving you a meaningful look before finally walking away. 

You weren’t entirely sure if you thanked her or not, because your head was spinning with all the information she just gave you, but either way she’d be getting a big tip the next time you came. 

“Well, that was interesting,” Sam declared lightly, staring down at you with an amused smirk. 

“Was it?” you asked hotly, hopping down from the stool. “Too bad we didn’t get anything that can help us.”

“Well, we got a solid timeframe,” he pointed out, gesturing for you two to leave. “That’s something.” 

“I guess,” you sighed, trying to ignore the churning in your stomach as you stepped back outside.

“Let’s walk through it,” Sam suggested. “Like any other case.” 

You let out a breath, nodding in agreement. “Well, he would’ve come out talking to me,” you declared, standing outside the door. “And he’d be heading back over to Baby, since he said he was on his way home.” 

You and Sam both made your way in that direction, taking the path he most likely would’ve taken, finding nothing amiss along the way. 

“Did you hear anything on the other end at all?” Sam asked, stopping beside you. 

You closed your eyes for a moment, going over the call in your mind. “No,” you determined, shaking your head. “Nothing unusual, just him getting into the car.” 

“You’re sure he got into the car?” Sam asked, brows raised. 

“No,” you admitted in defeat. “Though the food’s inside, so he was at least here to drop it off.” 

“True,” Sam agreed with a nod. “Plus it was unlocked, which suggests he was likely surprised by something.” 

“Yeah, but what?” you wondered. “Nothing here points to a struggle, and Dean’s not exactly someone that’s easy to sneak up on.” 

“No, he’s not,” Sam sighed, glancing around once more as he went over everything in his head. 

A sound caught your attention, and your gaze snapped to the alley across the street, an idea dawning on you as you stared into the shadows. 

“What if he was lured away?” you asked, regaining Sam’s attention. 

He turned to you, following your gaze and quickly catching on to your thoughts. “Let’s check it out.” 

You each drew a weapon, his gun and your knife, as you made your way across the street. 

Desperation clawed at you while you and Sam searched every inch of the alley, a familiar feeling of dread settling in your bones when you both came up empty handed. 

“What the fuck are we supposed to do now?” you seethed, kicking away an unsuspecting trash bag in frustration. 

Sam’s answer was lost on you as all your focus was pulled to the dumpster, the street lights glittering off an object hidden underneath, previously obscured by the trash bag you just sent flying. 

Quickly dropping to all fours to retrieve it, you felt a sob claw its way up your throat as you realized you now held Dean’s pistol. 

Each day that went by, Dean found more and more things that were out of place. 

Things he would’ve bet his life on turned out to be completely wrong. 

Events he bore witness to never happened. 

The people he had saved were gone. People that he lost were alive. Sam remembered all kinds of stuff about their lives that he didn’t. 

Then there was you. 

The food you liked was different. Your taste in music has changed. The clothes you wore weren’t your usual style. The little details that made you you were gone - you were the same, yet somehow a completely different person. 

Dean tells himself this is what made it so easy to love you so openly. It was why he stopped squirming under your lingering gaze. It was why he took you out for a night on the town so he could show you off every chance he got. It was why he took you and Ellen to every event he caught wind of in order to boast his beautiful family. It was why he stopped running away from your wandering hands. It was why he started letting his own hands wander. It was why he found himself meaning it more and more each time he uttered the phrase I love you. 

Dean wanted to accept it more than anything.

He wanted to believe that this was really his life. That he was the loving husband and father you made of him. That he finally freed himself from the shackles of hunting. That he found his happily ever after. 

He needed to believe it, because he had gotten everything he never knew he wanted, and he didn’t want to give it up.

Yet he has to, because he knows something’s wrong; that something bigger is at play - hell if he knew what, though. 

“What about Alec?” you suddenly asked from where you lounged beside him on the couch, pulling him from his thoughts. 

“Alec?” he repeated. “Absolutely not.”

You sighed half heartedly, and he watched with a faint smile as you crossed the name off the list you held; a smile that widened as the title Baby Winchester, Round 2! ♡ caught his eye. 

“Daisy?” he suggested. 

“As in Duke?” you asked with a laugh. “Not a chance.” 

Dean’s laughter echoed yours, and he pulled you in close as he fired off another name. 

The two of you made suggestions back and forth, taking turns laughing at some of the choices made by the other in between actually agreeing on some. You had built a pretty solid list before you stood with a groan, his gaze lazily trailing over you as you stretched.

“Where’re you going?” he wondered. 

“Errands,” you huffed. “Gotta pick up some last minute things for our announcement before everyone gets here.” 

“I’ll come, too,” he quickly offered, eyes lighting up. 

“Did you forget we have a child napping in her room?” you asked with a chuckle. 

“No,” Dean lamented. 

You grinned as you leaned over him, quickly kissing away his pout before it fully formed. 

“I’ll be quick,” you promised, giggling as he chased your lips for one more kiss. 

“Or,” he started, his palm cupping the back of your head to hold you in place. “We can wait until she wakes up and then we can all go together.” 

“Dean-” 

“C’mon,” he whined, taking hold of your hips. “I know some ways we can kill time.” 

“I don’t have any time to kill,” you told him, placing a hand on his chest as you freed yourself from his grasp. “There’s a lot left to do for tonight.” 

With a dramatic sigh, Dean followed as you left the living room. “Then let me help! Look, why don’t you give me the list of what we need and I’ll pick it all up?” 

“You’re sure?” you asked. 

“Of course,” Dean laughed. “I gotta check on some parts for the car, anyway. Was gonna wait on it, but may as well grab ‘em and help out my girl all at once.” 

“A true gentleman,” you teased, though the look on your face made it clear you meant it. “It’s not too much, so it shouldn’t take long, but I’ll try to not wake Ellen while you’re gone. Lord knows she can’t go that long without her daddy.”

He grinned in response, grabbing the list from you. “Don’t worry, I always race home to my two best girls.” 

“Maybe three now,” you grinned, placing your hands on your belly. 

“Maybe three,” he echoed, his insides turning to goo as he placed a hand over yours. “And I’ll be back before the three of you can even miss me,” he added, planting a lingering kiss on your forehead before backing away. 

“Oh - baby, wait!” you called out, catching him just as he made it to the front door. 

“Yeah?” he asked, turning to face you from down the hall. 

“I forgot to add it to the list, but I noticed we ran out of gin - could you get some?” 

“Gin?” he repeated, the word sitting heavy on his tongue. 

“Yeah,” you confirmed. “I wanna make sure we have some for my dad later.” 

“Gin?” he asked again, a sinking feeling settling in his gut. 

“I know,” you laughed, seemingly oblivious to the turmoil he was suddenly facing. “I don’t know how he can drink the stuff, either.” 

“Right,” he said, laughing awkwardly as he opened the door. 

His mind was spinning the moment he left the house, trying to work out what was weighing on him. His chest was growing tight, and the feeling was the same as what he’s been experiencing since he first woke up here. He did his best to shake the feeling for the rest of the drive, deciding to blast the radio as he sped towards the garage. 

“The hell are you doing here?” met Dean’s ears the second he left the car. 

“Good to see you too, Bobby,” Dean replied, turning to face him with a grin. 

Bobby rolled his eyes and turned on his heel, gesturing for Dean to follow him. “You know, people usually spend time with their families while on vacation, not show up to their place of work.”

“I’m running errands!” Dean defended, strolling over to look under the hood of a broken down Nova. “Still don’t have her purring yet? Man, you really are lost without me.”

“Shove it, boy,” Bobby grumbled. 

With a boyish grin, Dean walked away from the car and plopped himself down on a nearby stool. “We got those parts in for Baby yet?” 

Huffing in annoyance, Bobby set down what he was tinkering with and turned to Dean, wiping his hands on a rag. “What did I tell you when you put in the order?” 

“You’d call if they came in while I was gone,” Dean said, awkwardly shifting in his seat.

“And did I call?” Bobby pressed. 

“No,” Dean said meekly, clearing his throat. 

“Well there ya go,” Bobby announced, turning back to his work. “Answered your own question.” 

Dean sighed, getting up from his stool with hands raised in surrender. “Alright, I get it. You’re busy, works piling up without me-”

“If your name wasn’t up on that sign, too, you’d be kicked to the curb,” Bobby cut in, shaking his head. 

“You and your empty threats,” Dean teased, making his way out. 

With a fond smile on his face, Bobby chuckled quietly. “See you tonight, kid.” 

“See ya, Bobby,” Dean replied, sliding behind the wheel with a smile of his own. 

You weren’t lying, there really wasn’t a lot to pick up. Dean was wrapping up the shopping not long after he left the garage, bouncing quickly from store to store. He felt at ease again, focusing all his attention on the list you gave him, and the fact that in a few hours you’d be revealing to all your loved ones that baby number two was on the way. 

Feeling giddy and eager to get back home, Dean breezed through his last stop. Grabbing a bottle of scotch for Bobby, some whiskey for himself, and wine for everyone else, he then searched the shelves for a bottle of gin. 

It felt heavy in his hands once he found it, the bottle staring back at him seeming entirely unfamiliar as he moved through the check out.

His chest was tight again as he drove back home, the feeling once more the same as when we woke up to this life.

When he first woke up. 

Dean’s heart skipped a beat as he had that thought, the realization bouncing around his mind. 

A memory of a blue light flashed behind his eyes so vividly he had to swerve off the road, skidding to a stop as pain followed suit. Gripping the steering wheel so tight his knuckles turned white, he gasped for air as he tried to calm himself down. 

“Djinn,” he breathed out through a wave of panic. 

You were handed a miracle. 

It was all you could think as you stared at Ethan, the young man sitting before you and Sam.

The same young man who was listed as a witness to the latest abduction, but was quickly written off by authorities once they heard his story. The story which you and Sam were hearing now. 

“You’re saying Mr. Kleinman was tased?” you clarified, starting to wonder if this was related to Dean after all. 

“I mean, either that, or it was some kinda hoodoo crap,” Ethan told you with a shrug. 

“Well, what makes you say that?” Sam asked gently.

Ethan sighed, seeming to consider whether or not to explain, before answering. “One second, I’m seeing the guy putting groceries in his car, right? Then, next thing I know, some creepy looking dude comes up behind him. He reaches out for the guy, and there’s this weird, like, blue light, then the guy is just… out cold. I don’t know what else could’ve done it.” 

“And you didn’t see where they went?” you questioned. 

Ethan shook his head. “No, it was like they just… vanished.”

“Vanished?” Sam repeated. 

“Yeah,” he said with a nervous laugh. “I swear it was like they just turned to smoke or something. They were there, and then they were just gone.”

“Did you actually see any smoke before they were gone? Or smell anything weird?” you asked. 

“No, I- it wasn’t so much smoke as just… like, mist, I guess?” 

“Mist?” you echoed. 

“Yeah. I don’t know how else to describe it. They just… vanished into the air.” 

You and Sam shared a quick look before you jotted some more notes down. 

“You guys don’t believe me either, do you?” Ethan asked. 

“We believe that the brain copes with seeing terrible things in any way it can,” you told him sympathetically. “Though believe it or not, you’re being very helpful.” 

“Really?” he asked hopefully. 

“Really,” you confirmed. “Though I do need to ask - earlier, you described the suspect as being creepy looking. What exactly made you say that?” 

“He was bald, and wearing some kind of dress or cloak or something,” Ethan explained. “And he had these crazy tattoos.” 

“He had tattoos?” Sam asked, perking up. 

“Yeah, and they must have cost a fortune. They were all over his face and head, his hands too. Who knows where else.” 

“What did they look like?” asked Sam. 

“They were just, like, crazy black swirls and lines. Kinda tribal, I guess.” 

“Huh,” Sam said quietly, getting lost in thought. 

“Do you think that can help you identify him?” Ethan wondered. 

“I think there’s an excellent chance of it,” Sam said honestly, standing from the couch. 

“Thank you for your time, Ethan,” you said sincerely, standing beside Sam. “This was incredibly helpful.” 

“Good, I- I’m glad I could help,” he said awkwardly, standing as well. “I hope that guy is okay.” 

“We’ll do everything we can for him,” you promised, hoping to ease his mind. 

Ethan nodded, leading you both through the living room. 

Once at the front door, Sam handed the young man his card. “In case you happen to think of anything else.” 

“Yes sir,” Ethan said, taking the card before opening the door for us. 

Sam made a beeline for the car as soon as he stepped out of the house, immediately sliding into the driver's seat.

“What the hell is going on?” you asked, scrambling to get in for fear he’d drive off without you. 

“I know what took Dean,” he told you, making your head snap in his direction, seatbelt poised in hand.

“You what?” you asked. 

“It’s a Djinn,” he told you simply. 

“A Djinn? How the hell did you figure that out?” 

“We’ve dealt with them before,” Sam grits out, hand coming down on the steering wheel. “I should’ve realized sooner.” 

“You’re allowed to not know everything, Sam,” you comforted. “We worked with the information we had, which wasn’t a lot.” 

“But I should’ve known!” he hissed. “He shouldn’t be going through this again,” he added, more so to himself. 

A beat passed as you processed what he said, clicking your belt into place as the car picked up more speed. “What does that mean?” 

He was quiet for so long you didn’t think he’d answer, and your gaze shifted from him to the window as his voice rang out. “Dean’s been captured by a Djinn once before.”

“What?” was the only thing you could force out. 

“It was a long time ago,” he started to explain. “Way before you came around. Classic hunt gone wrong.” 

“Dean never told me that,” you admitted. 

Sam chuckled bitterly. “He’s not exactly one to brag about his shortcomings.” 

“Right,” you frowned, staring at your hands clasped on your lap. 

The only time Dean was anywhere close to being an open book was when he was with you. You knew there was still a lot you didn’t know, but he had shared with you some pretty horrific parts of his past, and it made you wonder what about that experience was so distressing that he didn’t want to share it with you; and if it was so hard for him that first time, was this time going to be even worse?

Steeling your resolve, you shifted your attention back to Sam. “How do we catch this thing?”

“Warehouses,” he began, which had you pulling out your phone to search for any abandoned sites nearby. “It was the main thing they had in common - setting up home in empty warehouses.” 

“What do you mean the main thing they had in common?” you asked, fingers stalling over your keypad. “Are Djinn not all the same?”

“Just- let’s start with the warehouses, okay?” Sam replied, dodging the question. 

“Fine,” you huffed. “Closest one is just off Milner Road, but it’s pretty central. There’s one a few miles outside of town, off Fowler and Carson that seems pretty secluded, so I’d put my money on that one.” 

“Alright, so we start with that one, then.” 

Dean swore his tires were going to burn out before he even made it to the warehouse, yet he refused to ease up on the gas. 

Once he was able to bring himself back from the brink of terror, it didn’t take him long to put the rest of the pieces together. Given his last dealings with Djinn, he knew the abandoned warehouse outside of town would be his best bet; reality always bleeds through on the feeding grounds, and Dean needed to see for himself whether or not he was going crazy. 

His feet were heavy as he walked through the door, his pulse echoing in his ears as he trudged past the dusty storage racks. He hadn’t yet decided on whether he would prefer to find the place empty or not when a voice rang out from the shadows. 

“You shouldn’t have come here, Dean,” he heard you warn. 

His heart stopped cold, and he knew without a doubt what he would find if carried on through the warehouse. 

“Why did you have to come?” you asked, stepping into view. 

Dean tried. He tried with all his might to find his voice, but the sight of you took his breath away every time he opened his mouth. 

It wasn’t real, he knew that, especially considering he saw you less than an hour ago, but there you stood, hands resting protectively over a full-term baby bump as you met his gaze. 

“Was I not enough for you?” you asked sadly, moving to close the gap between you two. “Were we not enough for you?”

“I don’t belong here,” he managed to choke out, fingers tightening on the hilt of his knife. 

“This is exactly where you belong,” you snapped. “This is everything that you ever wanted, everything that you deserve! Why would you want to ruin this?” 

Shaking his head, he took a small step back. “No. This isn’t real.”

“So what?” you asked, taking another step forward. “This is what you want, Dean.”

“I want to go home,” he found himself admitting. “I was happy there.”

“You’re happier here, and you know that.”

“That’s not true,” he argued, unsure who he was trying to convince. 

“No?” you wondered, tilting your head. “What waits for you there, Dean? Another lonely night in the bunker, eating cold burgers on the road as you risk your life for a thankless job?”

“I love what I do,” he defended. “I have no regrets about it.”

“Maybe,” you conceded. “Yet you still want out. You want the nine to five, you want the girl, you want the family. Well guess what, Dean? You got it. You got it all. You just need to stay.”

“None of this is real,” he said quietly. “It won’t last forever.” 

You approached him with a sad smile, resting delicate hands on his cheeks to wipe away tears he wasn't aware had fallen. “It can feel like forever. We can watch our children grow up, raise them in a life without hunting. We can grow old together. You can live out your whole life here, Dean. With me." 

“I can't," he denied. 

"Why?" you prodded. "I love you. I love you the way you deserve to be loved. You can't just walk away from this - from us." 

"There is no us," he whispered, feeling like he was choking on the words. 

"There is no us out there," you told him. "You're alone out there, Dean. We’re not yours. I'm not yours."  

"You may not be my wife," his voice broke. "But at least you'll be real." 

Before he could change his mind, he turned the knife on himself. 

The warehouse you chose proved to be the right one, and you couldn't help the sob that tore through you when you came across Dean, strung up like a marionette as he was being bled dry; barely even alive. 

Before you were able to make it to him, the Djinn got the drop on you, sending you crashing down. Pain radiated through your spine, your head pounding as you pushed yourself up off the concrete. 

"Always have to sneak up on your prey, huh?" you sneered, aiming a swing of your knife at him. 

Your attack was easily blocked, the blade sent skidding across the floor with a deafening clatter in the cavernous room. 

Fingers pierced your wrists as you wrestled for control of the situation, your foot landing straight into his knee once you started losing the upperhand. The momentary lapse on his grip let you break free, a fierce kick to his stomach giving you the opportunity to run to your knife. 

You underestimated how fast this thing was, and you landed back on the concrete after being tackled, blood pooling in your mouth when your chin ricocheted off the floor. Managing to flip yourself onto your back, you tried to kick him off of you to no avail. 

It wasn’t as if you were a stranger to losing ground during fights, though you were usually still always able to hold your own. When you realized that you couldn’t gain back the advantage against this thing, a wave of fear rippled through you. 

You flailed and kicked wildly when a hand clasped against your throat to hold you in place, a cry for help coming out as no more than a squeak when the air was stolen from your lungs. Terror widened your eyes as his other hand reached for your head, blue electricity dancing between his fingers. 

Eyes squeezed tightly shut, you stilled as you waited for the blow. 

When nothing happened, you peeled one eye open, afraid of what you would see. A cry of relief left you when Sam kicked the Djinn off of you, his limp body hitting the floor with a thud before dissipating in a stream of mist.

“You okay?” he asked, wiping the blood from his knife on his jeans. 

All you could do was nod, a hoarse cough coming out when you tried to speak. 

“Dean,” you croaked, rolling yourself onto all fours to try and pick yourself up. 

Sam hurried to your side, ready to help you up, but you quickly shook off his grasp. 

“No- get Dean,” you urged. “I’m fine.” 

Knowing better than to argue with you, he quickly let go and ran towards his brother, making quick work of unhooking the blood bags. 

Scrambling over as quickly as you could, you began to assess him, trembling hands meeting pale skin to check for signs of life.

As if the very touch of you awakened his soul, his eyes blinked blearily open to stare at you in fear and confusion. 

“Dean?” you asked shakily. “Hey, it’s okay. I’m with you. We figured it out, we're gonna get you out of here.”

He laughed. Quiet and barely noticeable aside from the small quirk of the corner of his mouth. 

“That’s my girl,” he muttered proudly, before his eyes fluttered shut again. 

You and Sam had finished getting him down and, after checking on the others and calling in an anonymous tip to local police, made it back home in record time.

You settled Dean in the infirmary so he could recover properly, hardly ever leaving his side for the next few days, waiting and watching closely for any signs of improvement or regression. 

Which meant you were there when he finally woke in a cold sweat, confused and a little afraid, asking for a girl you had never met. 

“Where’s Ellen?” 

It was the first thing he asked, chest rising and falling rapidly as his eyes scanned the room in a frenzy. 

“I-... I don’t know-” was the only thing you could stammer out. 

You had armed yourself with answers to the onslaught of questions he was bound to have once he awoke, even had a few questions ready yourself, though this was something you couldn’t have prepared for. 

Though it didn’t matter, since he didn’t seem to hear you. 

“Is she with your folks?” he further questioned, crazed eyes turning to you. 

“My-” your voice caught in your throat as tears sprung to your eyes. “My parents?”

He seemed to look right through you, eyes still glazed over in pain and confusion. 

“Dean, just lay back down,” you urged softly, approaching tentatively. 

He mistook your tone, flinching away from you. “Is she okay? What about the baby? Where are they, what happened?”

“Everything is okay, Dean,” you told him. “I need you to take some deep breaths for me.”

“I need you to answer me!” he declared, voice so fierce you jumped a little. 

“Okay,” you placated, slowly sitting on the end of the bed. “I will, just breathe for me first.”

His gaze followed your movements like a caged animal, but he did what you said. 

Once his breathing returned to a normal place, you started with a simple question. 

“What’s the last thing you remember?”

He had to think about it for a while, which worried you to no end, though he finally recalled something. 

“I went out,” he muttered. “We needed supplies.”

Your heart turned heavy in your chest, thinking he didn’t know anything that happened since he left the bunker; you weren’t sure yet if that was a good or bad thing. 

Though when he carried on, you realized you were wrong. 

“We had to get the last minute things, because everyone was coming over for- for dinner…”

He trailed off, eyes laser focused on you. First on your stomach, then the rest of you, gaze cutting across every feature you had and piece of clothing you wore with doctoral precision before turning to take in the room. 

“What happened?” he whispered shakily.

So you told him. Slowly and carefully, you told him everything you knew ever since he left the bunker, your heart ripping in half as tears danced in his eyes while he listened. 

The silence when you finished explaining pressed in on you, thick and heavy. His mood became impossible to read, and he refused to meet your gaze any more. 

“Dean?” you prodded. 

“No.”

It was all he said, quiet and unsure; you didn’t even know whether he was talking to you or himself. 

“Dean?” you tried again. 

“No!”

Before you could even think, he was scrambling out of the sheets and ignoring all your attempts to get him to lay back down. 

“No, no, no,” he muttered, bypassing you and heading out into the hall. 

“Dean!” you called out, trailing behind as you tried to reason with him. 

He ignored everything you said as he marched through the bunker, and you didn’t know if it was intentional, or if it was because he was lost in his own thoughts. 

“Talk to me, please,” you pleaded. “Tell me what’s going on.”

When you were met with nothing but silence once again, you called out for Sam in the hopes he would be able to control the situation better than you could. 

He came quickly, managing to bypass Dean with just enough time to block the stairs, cutting off his escape as you covered ground behind him. 

“Move,” Dean demanded. 

You couldn’t see him, but you could tell by his voice that he had murder in his eyes. 

“Not until you tell us where the hell you think you’re going,” Sam cooly replied. 

“I don’t need to tell you anything,” Dean said. “Now move.”

“No,” Sam denied, standing straighter on the steps and glaring down at his brother. 

“Sam I swear,” Dean warned. “Move out of the fucking way before I start swingin’.”

“Go ahead, Dean,” Sam accepted, arms opened wide in challenge before resting at his sides once more. 

Dean stood as rigid as a statue for a few moments, and you could practically feel the anger vibrating through him. In a last ditch effort to get away, he turned and spun on his heels so fast he smashed right into you, sending you crashing to the floor with a thud. 

You managed to catch yourself on your palms, hitting the concrete with so much force your hands stung and you were sure your tailbone would be sore for days. 

Dean looked down at you, shock lining his features before morphing into worry, then regret, then back to anger as he looked away, all but stepping over you as he marched his way towards the garage. 

You sat there in shock for a minute, dazed at how easily he had just dismissed you - he’d never done that before. Even when you two were in the middle of unresolved petty arguments, he had always made sure you were taken care of one way or another. Whether it was quietly leaving a mug of coffee on the counter for you, making sure the temperature in Baby was just right after a hunt, or letting your favourite program run on the tv in the Dean Cave while he and Sam shoot a game of pool - the gestures to prove he still cared were always there no matter what. 

Tears prickled behind your eyes, though you did your best to brush it all off. You knew he was going through something you couldn’t even begin to imagine, and that he wasn’t himself right now, though it didn’t do much to lessen the pain of it all.

Sam stepped down from the stairs, helping you up. “You okay?” he asked. 

“I’m fine,” you muttered, dusting yourself off. “Let’s just go get him.”

By the time the two of you made it to the garage, Dean was long gone, leaving you to guide Sam from the passenger seat as you tracked the GPS on the car Dean took. 

You quickly pulled up to an area that was familiar to you, unable to think of a single reason as to why Dean would be here; it was nothing but a regular country lane on the border of town, a pretty farm house littered here and there. 

When Sam rolled to a stop just behind where Dean was parked, you saw he was leaning against the car and staring out at the house you once declared your favourite, an unreadable expression on his face. 

“Dean?” Sam called. He approached slowly, like he was afraid to startle him away. 

You followed loosely behind, letting Sam take the lead this time - you weren’t in a hurry to relive how he looked at you when he left. 

“Talk to us, man,” Sam urged, stepping closer when there was no answer. “What’s going on?” 

“I had to see,” Dean mumbled, just loud enough for you to hear. 

“Okay,” Sam said. “See what?” 

Dean shook his head, eyes still fixed on the house across the street while he remained silent. 

“Listen, you’ve been through a lot, okay?” Sam soothed. “Let’s get you back home, and we can talk about it if you want to.” 

“Home,” Dean whispered, not bothering to wipe the stray tears that let loose. 

“Home,” Sam echoed with a nod. 

“That’s gone,” Dean muttered. 

“What do you mean gone?” you found yourself asking, voice just loud enough to carry over to him. 

His gaze finally tore away from the house to land on you, a fire burning in his eyes that made you take an instinctive half-step back. 

“Everything,” he choked out, looking back to the house. “It’s all gone.” 

“Everything is still here, Dean,” Sam told him. “We’re still here - your home is still here.”

“Is it?” Dean asked quietly. 

“Yes!” you lamented, finally making your way over to him. “So please, just let me take you back there.”  

His jaw clenched, head shaking as if trying to clear away his own thoughts. You placed a hand on his arm, hoping to steady him, but he ripped himself away from you as if your skin burned. 

When he looked at you, you had a fleeting thought that this Dean must be the version of him that all those monsters he’d slain had seen right before the end. Breathing ragged, eyes wild, a sneer as if he couldn’t stand to look at what was right in front of him; you had no idea who this Dean was. 

“Fine, I'll go” he huffed, turning to Sam. “But I’m not going anywhere with her.” 

The words hit you like a gut punch, and your breath caught in your throat as you watched him climb into the car. You had no idea whether he meant for you to hear him or not, but given the less than fleeting glance he gave you before closing the door, you had a feeling he didn’t care either way. 

“Alright, come on,” Sam cooed, quickly taking hold of your arm to lead you away. “Let’s get you back home, too.”

You nodded, feet numbly following along as he brought you back over to the passenger side while Dean peeled off down the road. 

“We’ll figure it out, okay?” he promised quietly, before gently closing the door behind you and rounding to his side. 

The drive back passed in a blur, and the weeks that followed were just as hazy. 

Dean was withering away, you were hollowing out, and Sam was drowning trying to keep each of you afloat. 

“What do you think I did?” you asked Sam, like clockwork, staring at the ceiling as you stayed buried in your blankets. 

His answer never changed. “You didn’t do anything.”

You groaned, shifting to look at him in his place beside you. “I mean the other me. I - she - must have done something. ”

“I know what you mean,” he said. “And I still don’t think you did anything. Either version of you.”

“Well something had to have happened!” you exclaimed, trying to keep your voice steady. “He can barely even look at me.” 

“He’s just… still processing everything,” he told you, but you knew him well enough to catch the undertone of uncertainty. 

“He hates me,” you broke, unable to stop the tears from flowing. “He hates me, and it’s not even my fault.”

Sam sighed, falling into the well practiced routine of pulling you in towards him, comforting arms holding you as you cried. “No he doesn’t.”

You heard him every time he said it, but the words were always lost on you. How else would you explain the way he treated you? The way you suddenly became a stranger? The way he looked at you like he couldn’t even bear your existence? 

It started with little things, things that could be chalked up to him getting his bearings again after being thrust back into reality. Things you tried to brush off. 

First it was the way he forewent his morning greeting when meeting you in the kitchen, keeping his distance and ignoring the mug you already had ready for him, held out like an olive branch. 

Okay, you told yourself, he’s probably just tried.

Then it was the way he always chose the seat at least two away from you in the library, never letting his limbs tangle with yours the way they used to; overly cautious not to let his skin brush yours the way it always did like second nature. 

Fine, you said. Space is okay when he needs it. 

You quickly noticed that he started using only your name to address you, a sound foreign to your ears when it was laced with his voice. No more sweetheart or sunshine, no more darlin’ or princess, no more shortcake or firefly. No more exasperated smartass, no more playful brat or menace, no more quietly proud trouble. Only ever your name, clipped and professional, as if you were always only ever someone he had to work with. 

Well, nicknames aren’t always necessary, you rationalized.

Then you noticed the breath he always took whenever you entered the same room, as if bracing himself for your presence, before refusing to look in your direction unless strictly necessary. The way his body was always angling itself away from you, shoulders tense. How he always retreated a half beat before he needed to as soon as he realized he didn’t have to be there.  

I guess he just has a lot on his mind, you excused. He’s always been busy. 

The ice started to solidify next. His irritation seeped through into everything he said to you. His replies were always clipped and precise, nothing more than procedural. His eyes never left the work before him while discussing a case with you. His corrections were always too sharp and condescending whenever you got something wrong. 

He hasn’t been sleeping well, you told yourself. He’s just stressed and overtired. He always takes too much on. 

His interest in anything revolving you seemed to die completely. Any attempt you made at an inside joke fell flat, met with nothing but a blank stare. Every question you asked was answered with a distracted mumble, never any hooks to hang a conversation from. He never replied to any of the texts you sent of stupid things you knew would make him laugh. All the warmth and fondness that used to surround the two of you was replaced with cold indifference. 

Maybe I’m overthinking it all, you found yourself thinking. 

Then, you thought you were going crazy. Books you left open in the archives were closed and stacked away. Files you left scattered on the library table were gathered neatly. Mugs you put away were rotated, organized differently. Blankets you left crumpled up somewhere were folded neatly over chairs or armrests. You thought it was all in your head until you caught Dean refolding the dishtowel you had just put back, and you realized he was going behind you this whole time, erasing all the tiny traces of you from around the bunker. 

You didn’t have any excuses this time. 

Even the arguments were different - more often, sharper, harsh. With him never having the desire to say how he truly felt, or the care to fight for what used to matter, he always got in the last word after either blaming you for something or treating you like you were the problem.

Like when you drank the last of the coffee during a long night of research, and he came in before you started another pot. 

“Did you finish this?” he asked, slamming the carafe down harder than he meant to. 

“Yes,” you said, flinching ever so slightly at the noise. “I was going to make a new batch.” 

He whirled around, glaring at you. “You didn’t even ask if I wanted the last cup.” 

“I…” you faltered, trying to figure out if he was teasing you or not. “I never had to before, you always gave-” 

“So you just assumed you could have it?” 

“I- I’m sorry,” you stuttered. “I just didn’t think to ask.” 

“Well,” he huffed, turning his back on you to busy himself with making a fresh brew. “Maybe you’ll remember to ask next time.” 

Or when you queued up your music on the ride back after wrapping a case, and he almost tore off the knob turning it off. 

“Not everyone wants to listen to music,” he snapped. “My head is killing me.” 

“You never once minded if I played something,” you countered. 

“What does that matter?” he asked, knuckles turning white on the wheel. 

“It matters,” you said, taking a calming breath. “Because you never used to mind.” 

“Yeah, you just fucking said that,” he bit back. 

“Because it’s true,” you told him. “Why do you mind all of a sudden?” 

“Because I do,” he said. “So drop it - and leave that shit off.” 

Even the time when you double checked he had his blade with him on a hunt was unwelcome.

“‘Scuse me?” he asked, taken aback. 

“I asked if you had your blade,” you repeated, meeker than the first time. 

“You mean the blade that’s our only way of killing this thing? That blade?” 

His tone made it obvious he wasn’t truly looking for a response, but you gave him one anyway. 

“I just- I didn’t see you grab it,” you explained. “I wanted to make sure.” 

He scoffed, unsheathing his blade from where it rested in his belt and brandishing it with a dramatic flourish. “Yeah. I got it.” 

“Okay, sorry,” you said a little too quickly. 

“I know how to do my job,” he grumbled, tucking his blade away again. 

“I never said you didn’t.” 

“You wouldn’t have asked otherwise,” he snapped. 

“I always ask!” you exclaimed. “You would always ask.” 

“Yeah, well,” he muttered, picking up his pace ever so slightly. “Let’s not pretend we both still care.” 

What got to you the most was when it became clear he no longer trusted you on hunts, shoving you out of the way to take a shot he felt you were taking too long to make. 

“What the hell was that, Dean?” you snapped, tossing your rifle into the trunk harder than you wanted to. 

“You froze,” he shrugged. “Had to take the shot.” 

“I did not freeze,” you seethed. “It was a calculated distraction.” 

“Was it?” he asked half-heartedly, shutting the trunk.

“I saved that kid!” you shouted. 

“Sure,” he agreed, sarcasm oozing off him. “While nearly getting yourself killed.” 

“Yeah, well, what do you care?” you muttered, words hitting him like a blow he’d never let you see landed. “You used to trust me on these things.” 

“Yeah, well, that was before I realized you were a liability,” he said simply. He stilled ever so slightly after he said it, and you thought maybe he’d take it back, or apologize. Yet he just carried on, opening the driver side door like nothing was wrong. 

“I’m a what?” you asked shakily. 

He sighed, as if the conversation was bothering him. “Hesitation gets people killed. You should’ve been smarter than that.” 

“So… what?” you implored. “You just don’t have faith in my ability to do the job anymore?” 

He paused for a moment. Deliberate. Calculated. Cold. 

“No,” he told you. “I don’t.” 

What you didn’t know, couldn’t see, was that Dean still reached for you every morning, a brief window where his mind was still half asleep and believed he was still married. The shock he felt every time he was met with nothing but a cold and empty bed was brash and cruel; it had him feeling the loss over and over again. 

He couldn’t greet you in the kitchen anymore, because he didn’t trust himself not to take your face in his hands and kiss you good morning like he grew used to. He couldn’t take the coffee from your hands because he was scared that if his fingers brushed yours he wouldn’t be able to stop himself from intertwining them, because his hands felt empty without yours in them. 

He wasn’t able to sit beside you anymore, because the smell of your shampoo made him homesick. The heat of your skin was painful, because all it made him think about was the warmth you emanated each time he held you. If he got too close, too comfortable, he was worried he’d fall into new habits and sweep you into his lap. 

Your name was the only solace he had. Grounding him, reassuring him that you were still here. That you were still you. He couldn’t use the nicknames which used to replace your name in his vocabulary because they were too intimate. Too familiar. He didn’t deserve to use them anymore. He didn’t deserve to be that close to you anymore. 

He had to brace himself every time you walked into a room because all he wanted was to reach out for you. To find out how your day was going and wrap you in his arms as you rambled on. He couldn’t stand to look at you because all he felt was guilt when he remembered the way you looked underneath him. The way you looked carrying his child. Deep down he knows none of it was real, but the shame he felt over it all definitely was. Every part of him was always screaming out for you, and he never trusted himself not to do something stupid, leaving you in his wake the second his presence wasn’t needed.

His conversations with you had to be cut short because the way you laughed now conjured the memory of the daughter he never truly had. The inside jokes you made tore him up inside, making him realize things could never be the same as they used to. He always came off sounding harsh when he corrected your mistakes because he didn’t know how to be himself with you anymore - he didn’t have it in him to poke fun at you, and he had to force the words out each time otherwise his voice would fail him. He had to type and retype replies to your texts before giving up entirely, and all the things he saw that reminded him of you, that made him say oh she’d love this went unsent, because suddenly he thought she would… wouldn’t she?

You left traces of yourself everywhere, and he hated that more than anything. The messes you made, the products you used, the things you did, all of it brought him back to living in that house. When the only traces of your existence came in the moment: cooking dinner, playing with Ellen, putting your laundry away, doing the dishes. Nothing was ever out of place. He never needed to go in behind you and tidy something up or put things away. So when you left your books in the archive, staked haphazardly and waiting for you to go back and shelf them, he did it for you. When you left your files spread across the library after you no longer needed them, he ghosted his fingers across the words he knew you’d read and gently tucked the pages away. When he opened the cupboard to grab a glass and noticed the mugs you hastily put away, he rearranged them in a way he knew you would’ve if you had the time; by size and by colour, handles facing just slightly outward so you could grab them easily but not knock anything down. Blankets were tucked away neatly because, if he was fast enough to do it, they would still be warm from your touch, your fragrance wafting off them just enough that if he closed his eyes he could trick himself into thinking it was you he was holding. He wasn’t trying to erase the traces of you. He was cherishing your existence. He was reminding himself that you were real. That you were here. 

He was letting himself feel the love he had for you in a nonimposing way, because he knew now that he always loved you. 

He knew that what he felt in his perfect little dream world didn’t just come from nothing. It was always there, lying in wait until it was safe to come out. 

Which made it all worse. Because he let himself love a shadow of you before he let himself love the real you. It made him feel like he somehow took advantage of you, like he knew all these little secrets about yourself that even you didn’t know. 

How could he possibly explain that he was mourning a family he never had? That he missed a life that wasn’t real? 

How was he supposed to tell you he loved you, and make you believe he really loved you, and not the idea of you the Djinn gave him? 

He couldn’t. 

So he didn’t. 

Instead he tried to push the feelings away; he tried to push you away. 

He argued over you drinking the last cup of coffee without asking because he hated how you knew he’d let you have it like always. 

He argued over your music because he hated how routine it was for you to take over his radio. He hated how for that split second it felt like nothing changed. 

He argued over you making sure he was armed because he hated how much you still cared, even after everything, because he didn’t deserve your concern. 

He argued over the choice you made during a hunt because he saw how badly it could've ended for you, and he hated how scared he felt. He hated that he knew you’d never turn your back on him no matter what he did. No matter what he said. He hated that he needed to try anyway. 

So when Sam came storming in one day, holding your battered and bloody body like you were already dead… he didn’t know what to do. 

“What the hell happened?” he asked, shaky legs carrying him over. 

“Ambush,” Sam replied, bringing you towards the infirmary. “We didn’t think the nest was that big. She took the hit for me.” 

Dean could tell Sam already felt guilty, but he couldn’t stop the words from tumbling out.

“You went into a nest?” he snapped. “You let her take the damn hit for you?!” 

“It’s not like I planned on it, Dean!” grit Sam. “Just help me, okay?”

Dean took you in his arms before he even knew what he was doing, laying you on the bed with a tenderness he knew was being shown too late. He worked with Sam to patch your wounds, cleaning you up while muttering about how you’d be okay. 

Now it was his turn, never leaving your side for the next few days, waiting and watching closely for any signs of improvement or regression. 

Which meant he was there when you finally woke up, cold and afraid, asking what happened. 

He told you what Sam told him. You got outnumbered. You managed to make sure Sam was clear and took on the heat yourself. Sam cleaned out the nest in record time after that, bringing you back home. 

His jaw ticked, fists clenching in his lap, and you could feel the unspoken words hanging in the air. 

“Go ahead,” you croaked, prompting him to quickly bring you a glass of water. “Say what you’re not saying.” 

“What the hell were you thinking?” he asked miserably. 

He sighed quietly, retaking his seat and watching as you sipped the drink, a small grimace on your face to show even such a small movement was painful. 

All you did was shrug, resting the glass on your lap as you refused to meet his gaze. “It was a job.” 

“Yeah, a job I didn’t even know about,” he pointed out. “Why the hell didn’t you at least have any kind of back up?” 

You laughed, raw and unamused. “Like who, Dean? You? You made it clear you wouldn’t watch my back any more.”

“That’s not true,” he said automatically. 

“Yes,” you said firmly. “It is. What the hell do you care if my case goes sideways? I’d just be another body for you to burn. You’d move on.” 

The words hit him like a kick to the face. Not just the words themselves, but how you said them; like you really believed it. 

He knew this is what he was working for the whole time, but now that he had it, he never wanted you to think that ever again. 

“Don’t say that,” he choked out. “Don’t you dare think that.” 

You scoffed, eyes still locked on the glass in your hands. “Please, Dean. You made it clear you stopped caring.” 

“I always cared.” 

“Well you sure as hell stopped acting like it,” you sneered. 

“I didn’t know how to!” he snapped. “I didn’t know how to go back to normal with you when I could barely even look at you.” 

“And why not?” you cried, fed up with still being in the dark. 

“Because every time I look at you all I see is what I lost!” he exclaimed, standing from his chair with so much force it clattered backwards. “Everything I… everything I can still lose,” he added softly, gesturing to where you lay. 

“I don’t understand what you’re talking about!” you yelled, angry tears rolling down your face. “What did you lose? Just tell me!” 

“Everything!” he yelled back. “I lost everything and nothing at the same time.” 

You let out a watery laugh of frustration. “If you don’t want to tell me the details, then at least tell me what it was that made you hate me so much. I at least deserve that much.” 

His gaze snapped to yours, a ragged breath leaving him when he saw how much pain you were in. He didn’t just mean the cuts and the bruises and the swelling. He meant the slumped shoulders, the red eyes, the tear stained cheeks and the quivering lip. He broke you, and he loathed himself for it. 

“Don’t,” he breathed out, feeling himself break right alongside you. “Don’t you say that.” 

“Just stop!” you sobbed. “Don’t turn around and tell me it’s not true when you’ve done nothing to prove otherwise since you recovered! I don’t know what the hell could have happened in a fake world that was so twisted it carried itself over in your heart to the real world but it was not my fault! And I am tired, so tired, of trying to fix whatever it was that broke while you’re standing there with the hammer behind your back.” 

Your name left his lips like a broken promise, begging you to look at him. 

So you did. Just long enough to say what you needed to say, but not long enough to watch the sorrow cross over his face. 

“Just leave,” you mumbled. “It’s apparently what you’re best at.” 

He never considered himself a coward before, but as he trudged towards the door he realized that when it came to you, that’s exactly what he was lately.

And you deserved better than that. 

So for once, he stayed.

“Look,” he muttered, stopping at the door, gaze fixed down the hallway. “I know I’ve done and said things that I shouldn’t have-”

“You meant them,” you cut in. 

He whirled around. “No. Who are you to say what I did and didn’t mean?” 

You fought the urge to roll your eyes; or worse, chuck the glass in your hands at his head. “Then why?” 

“Because I was scared,” he admitted. 

“Of what?” you asked, holding back a laugh. 

“Of realizing that I loved you,” he said. 

He had said it so simply, yet after all he’d done the words hit you like a slap. 

You flinched, choking down a gasp. 

“Don’t you dare,” you seethed. “You don’t get to say that to me. Not after everything." 

“I fell in love with you, and I didn’t even know it,” he carried on. “Then I fell in love with you in a life we never really had.” 

“What does that even mean?” you asked, fighting to keep yourself together. 

“You wanted to know what you did?” he asked, arms folding over his chest. “What that version of you did?” 

You nodded, no longer trusting your ability to speak. 

He laughed. Low. Quiet. Bitter. Heartbroken. 

“You married me, you menace.” 

The weight of his words pressed down on you, crushing the air from your lungs. The silence filled the room like a third occupant. 

“What?” 

He shrugged, like he didn’t just detonate a bomb. “We lived in that house - you know the one. No more hunting, just a run of the mill job at my own garage. Even owned it with Bobby. You stayed home, keeping everything perfect. Taking care of the house and our one and a half kids-” 

“Kids?” you breathed out, getting hooked on that detail. 

He smiled. Sad. Reminiscent. “A baby girl. She looked so much like you.” 

“Ellen?” you guessed, remembering how he asked for her when he first woke up. 

He nodded, laugh watery as he wiped away tears before they fell. “Yeah. The day I got out, it was when we were gonna tell everyone we were expecting again.”

“Why-” you choked on a sob, trying to process what he was saying. “Why didn’t you just tell me this before?” 

More tears fell as he avoided your gaze, but he didn’t bother wiping them away this time. “I didn’t know how. The guilt was killing me.” 

“Guilt?” you asked incredulously. 

“I had an entire life with you that you didn’t even know about; a whole family,” he lamented. “I realized that I was in love with you because I fell in love with the entire idea of you. I loved you, and I lost you, and I was mourning you even when you’ve been here right in front of me.” 

He paused, pacing slowly to work off the emotions rolling through him. “How can I not feel guilty for that? How can you ever look at me the same way knowing what I did? It feels like it was some sick form of betrayal. I told myself that if I pushed you away it would make it all stop hurting. So that’s what I did.” 

“Did it?” you asked quietly. 

“No,” he said easily. Too quickly. “God, no.” 

“Then what did it do?” you prodded. 

“It killed me,” he admitted shakily. “And it almost killed you.” 

His gaze trailed pointedly over your injuries, making it clear he meant it in more than one way. 

“I know I should have told you,” he said. “But when am I ever doing what I’m supposed to?” 

He tried for a laugh, but it didn’t come out quite right. Too high. Too fraught. 

“I can’t go back and change what I did. But know that I am sorry. I never wanted to hurt you like that." 

You nodded dumbly, head too hazy to think of a response. You just sat there, watching as he stopped pacing to look at you. To really see you. 

“You-” he started, before cutting himself off nervously. “Don’t you ever, ever think that you’d be just another body for me to burn. I’d never move on from that. Hell, I’d throw myself on the goddamn pyre with you because you are the love of my fucking life.” 

The shock that ran through you was visceral, a sob tearing its way out of you. You had too many thoughts swimming in your head, too many things to process. 

“Please,” you begged, unsure what you were asking for. “How could you do this to me?” 

You weren’t entirely sure what you meant, but he seemed to know what you needed anyway. He always did. He always would. 

“I’ll go get Sam,” he said calmly. “And I’ll give you your space. If you ever want to talk… I will be here.” 

You lost all track of time after that. Dean was gone, replaced by Sam in what seemed like an instant but also an eternity. He held you while you cried. He listened while you explained what happened. He didn’t offer any advice or solutions; he just listened, and he didn’t leave until he was sure you were asleep. 

But it was a fitful sleep.

A sleep that didn’t soothe your heart, the ache so fierce it followed you into your dreams and forced you to wake up. An ache that stayed until you sought out the only thing you knew would help. 

You found him by instinct. Feet carrying you on their own, like you were following a thread he left for you to guide the way. 

He sensed you before he saw you, jumping to his feet as he turned to watch the door. His body tense, like he was waiting for an ambush, only relaxing when he saw you standing dwarfed in the doorway. 

“You hurt me,” you said, matter-of-fact. 

“I know.” 

“I am still so angry with you.” 

“I know.” 

“I don’t forgive you. Not fully. Not yet,” you told him. 

He nodded in acceptance. “Okay.” 

“But it’s only fair for you to know that I-” you stopped yourself, composing your thoughts. 

“Don’t say anything you don’t want to,” he comforted, but you ignored him. 

“I’ve always loved you, Dean,” you whispered. “I don’t know if I’ve always known, or if it took until hearing you say those things for me to realize, but it’s true.” 

He nodded once more, like reluctant acceptance. His face was stoic, body posed carefully, but the way his chest rose and fell gave his emotions away. 

“And that life you had, that we had,” you carried on, hands shaking. “You didn’t lose it. Not really. Because it’s still here, in your future. In our future.” 

His eyes flicked to your hands, his own flexing and relaxing on a loop as fought the urge to steady them. 

The silence dragged on, and you started to mistake his distracted gaze as rejection.

“If you… still want that,” you added quietly, hugging yourself as a way to ease the nerves. 

His attention snapped back to you in an instant. “I do,” he assured softly. 

Every fibre of his being screamed out for you, but he forced himself to stay put. Not wanting to make the first move before you could fully process how you felt about everything, he ground his jaw to steady himself. 

“Good,” you said, voice shaking as your eyes glistened. “Good, because I really missed you,” you admitted, voice blending with a sob as the emotions rolled over you again. 

This time he let himself move, body taking action before his mind could catch up. He folded you in his arms before you even fully finished your sentence.

He held you like he was afraid to break you even further, but his fingers gripped the blanket hanging off your shoulders like a lifeline, knuckles turning white as his eyes screwed shut in a futile attempt to keep in the tears. 

“Believe me, sunshine,” he whispered into your hair, planting the ghost of a kiss to your head. “You have no idea how much I’ve missed you, too.” 

BONUS SCENE

“Do you think it was prophetic?” you asked Dean, tossing a glance over your shoulder.

“Do I think what was prophetic?” he asked, coming up behind you.

“That her name was Ellen,” you explained like it was obvious. “I mean, is that what we need to name her now?”

He laughed, wrapping his arms around your waist and pulling you against his chest, chin resting on the crown of your head. “Well, first of all, we don’t even know if it’s a girl or not yet.”

You hummed, deep in thought, laughing softly as his hands shifted ever so slightly to rest on your belly. “I’d like it to be a surprise,” you admitted, resting your hands on his.

“Yeah?” he asked, placing a kiss behind your ear. “We could make that happen.”

“You don’t want to know beforehand?” you wondered.

He thought about it for a moment before you felt him shrug. “I want whatever you want, sweetheart. It doesn’t matter to me. Whether we find out early, or we find out in a delivery room, I’m gonna love that kid all the same.”

“Well aren’t you a smooth talker?” you laughed.

“Of course,” he laughed with you. “How else would I have convinced you to marry me?”

You giggled as he littered your skin with kisses, spinning in place to catch his lips with yours.

“I don’t remember much convincing being needed,” you told him with a sly grin.

“And I thank the stars every day that you haven’t come to your senses yet,” he joked.

“Never,” you chuckled. “You’re the only thing in this world that’s ever made sense to me,” you added on a more serious note.

“Who’s the smoother talker now, huh?” he teased, taking your hand to spin you back around.

You landed with your back against his chest with a laugh, and he wrapped you in his arms once more.

Standing there in the kitchen of your new home, you both stared at the sonogram taped to the fridge until the light flitting through the window bathed everything in sunset hues.

•• Series/AUs/Mini Masterlists ••

Mafia!Ben AU Sweetheart (drabble) -> you’re his sweetheart, his prize, his wife—you wouldn’t have it any other way.

Cop!Ben AU (imagine) -> you get pulled over for the first time on your way home after a bad day

Sex Therapist!Ben X Patient!Reader AU**

Welcome home, Mrs. America part(s) one -> two** -> three** -> finale

Football Coach!Ben Masterlist 🏈 (FINISHED)

Frat President!Ben Masterlist 🍻 (FINISHED)

Bedside Manners Soldier Boy x Nurse!Reader Masterlist 💉(FINISHED)

Married!Ben x Younger!Reader AU

1. losing affection ** -> what happens when you move in with Ben and his wife, your moms long time friend. (aka they’re stuck in a loveless marriage and you’re hot and available)

2. gaining attraction ** -> Laurie’s gone and Ben finds out that you’ve never “properly” been eaten out before and that’s just not acceptable

3. birthday girl ** -> “You only turn whatever the hell age this is once. Let me spoil you a little.” That’s what he’d said. And god, did he follow through.

•• Multi-part Drabbles/Oneshots/Blurbs ••

Baby daddy!Soldier Boy thoughts -> the best (worst) baby daddy!

A step in the wrong direction** -> bi!stepdad!ben / maybe visiting your estranged father and his new husband isn’t the worst thing ever

Still got it** -> Ben gets a reminder of why so many people go for younger women

Best behavior** -> you have sex for the first time ever with Ben and it’s nothing like you imagined it would be

Big man. Bigger ego.** -> sub!sugarbaby!soldier boy / Ben’s been bleeding money for years, thank god he finds you to help fund his lifestyle

‘Tis the season** -> Ben watches you decorating the tree with no panties on

Bullshit Traditions** -> Ben wears your panties as a pocket square at your wedding

Hungover (blurb) -> the best way to cure a hangover is to stay high

Ben not understanding modern technology (blurb) -> ben is very concerned that you’re going deaf, but he still loves you

Imagine meeting Ben at a bar…

Baby Talking** — pt. 2 -> “have you ever thought about having a kid?”

Happy Birthday America -> set in 1960s / your ben’s girl of the month, he sneaks you away from the party to watch the fireworks

catching him trying on your lingerie (blurb)

fuckboys, am i right? (blurb) -> ben saves you from a creepy guy in a bar and you teach him what "fuckboy" means

just take it** -> sugar daddy!ben x brat!reader / ben shows you what happens when you don't do what he says

do it for me?** -> soldier boy x handler!reader / there's one person ben listens to and this world and it's you—especially when you bat your teary eyes at him

let me do the work** -> ben x pillow princess!reader / you ask to ride him and that lasts all of 5 seconds

If I could turn back time** — pt 2** — pt 3** -> You’ve been with Ben since 1946, he doesn’t plan on letting that change anytime soon. No matter the circumstance

His reaction to you getting your nipples pierced (headcanons) ** -> both if you surprised him + if you told him

Becoming a father (blurb) -> The day his first child is born

1. “Spud” -> 2. dad!Ben headcanons

1. Ben explains why he calls your unborn baby “spud”

2. headcanons of Ben being a father

Bottom!Ben Drabbles

1. "You can be mean all you want" ** -> you’d been talking with him about letting you use the strap and tonight is the night — aka Ben has a panic bc he likes getting fucked

2. "Just gettin' started" ** -> a few months later / Ben is more than happy to let you fuck him and he’s even happier to show his appreciation

My Girl, My Woman — pt. 2 -> Somehow, 40 years later, you both end up right back where you started

Act like a grown man -> You’ve had just about enough of Ben’s attitude

Be a real shame** — pt. 2 ** -> You’re cheating on Hughie with Ben

Older!Ben x Younger Wife! Reader (getting married in Vegas headcanons) **

“Real Romantic” ** -> You’d been expecting a lot of things, a private shopping experience at a high end boutique wasn’t one of them.

Homewrecker!Ben x Cheater!Reader

1. “But I get you.” ** -> You know it’s wrong to cheat on your fiancé, but it’s not like telling Ben no is easy.

2. "It's a real pretty dress" -> you’re supposed to be meeting your groom at the altar but you’re knocking on Ben’s door

Domestic bliss (two-shot)

1. You could stay, y’know -> after months of... whatever you and ben were doing, sleeping over should have been normal at this point

2. Caffeine First -> the morning after the night before

Espresso Martini (blurb) -> influencer!reader / it's your first time out together, people take notice

Soft Spot (blurb) -> You weren’t slick, he noticed every time you tried to cover up or shrink yourself down. But, god, were you sweet.

I got you, baby -> a sleepy, late-night heart to heart

Literally My Hero -> You're So Lucky You’re Hot

1. you're a drunk, ditsy mess. But you're his drunk, ditsy mess

2. you may be a little dumb, but sometimes it comes in handy

Pretty & Proud -> there's nothing ben loves more than showing off his pretty girl

Someone To Hold -> payback era supe!reader | at the end of the day, when there's no camera's around, he's who you have to hold onto

Talk Finance To Me -> “I don’t get it. You were frozen. Everybody thought you were dead. How the hell are you still rich? Like, rich rich?”

Dean does love you. Dean loves you so much that he doesn’t know what to do with it, there is nothing he wouldn’t do for you, no line he wouldn’t cross, no horror he wouldn’t face. The problem is that Dean doesn’t know how to show that.

His examples of receiving and giving love stopped being normal after his mother’s death when he was only four years old. It should’ve been his father’s job to teach him after that, to give him even more love than before— to hug him, to teach him how to shave, to play football with him, but he didn’t do that. Dean became a parent to Sam, a soldier trained by his father, he wasn’t a son first after his mothers death. He didn’t get taken care of the way a child should, he didn’t get tucked into bed with a story, he didn’t get a hand pressed to his head when he was sick, he didn’t get comforted by his dad when he was scared, his dad was never there. The dad he knew and still, to this day, held onto the memories of was gone, replaced by a man overtaken by grief and obsessed with the hunt.

John wasn’t around, always leaving Sam and Dean in motels while he went off, so it became Deans sole job to look after Sam. He never got to be a normal, loved kid, he had to be a mother, a father and a brother.

“Look out for Sammy, Dean.”

“Keep Sammy safe.”

One of Deans fondest memories with his father was when he was 6 and he was taught to shoot a gun for the first time, he hit every glass bottle, he thought he did great, that his father would be proud, despite that not being a normal childhood milestone. There was no hug, or high five, just a nod.

That was the kind of love Dean knew. Yelling to show worry, quick sparking anger, love that wasn’t shown as love.

That of course left him with many deep rooted, almost impossible to change, problems.

Control is a huge thing for Dean— not for ego, but having complete control so he feels secure and knows nothing is going to go wrong. This is something that rubs off onto you often, if Dean has to steamroll over you and your ideas to keep you safe, he’ll do it without the slightest hesitance.

Lock you in the car so you can’t even chance getting hurt on a hunt?

He’s done that.

Leave the motel room while you’re asleep and get the ganking over with then?

He’s done that too.

To Dean it isn’t unfair, and it isn’t undermining, it’s him making sure that you absolutely cannot get hurt. He’d tell you that he didn’t think you could handle it, that it was too dangerous for you, that you’d slow him down but that was the furthest from the truth. He was terrified of losing you and he’d go any lengths to keep you with him.

He picks fights all the time, over anything and everything, sometimes even nothing. He doesn’t know why, sarcasm and defensiveness are just the first emotions to come to him. He’s like a dog trained to fight with sharpened teeth, it’s all he has and all he knows how to do. To him, it’s all he’s good for and it’s all he’s ever going to do. He picks fights with you and he’ll pull away, because sometimes when you show that you love him or you treat him gently he doesn’t know how to take it, and he doesn’t know how to let himself be vulnerable— so he’ll get frustrated, and he’ll get almost..scared. Scared that the love isn’t real, that it’s going to be taken away from him again. He doesn’t know how to lean into the comfort, to accept the love and the care that you do have for him, so he tries to make you doubt it to see if its really going to stay.

He’ll also pull away because he doesn’t think he deserves you, but at the same time there’s nothing more that he wants than you, it’s like he’s at a constant war with himself. One side not deserving and wanting to leave so you aren’t stuck with him and everything that comes with him, the other loving you so much-and knowing you love him- and never wanting to leave your side. The former often wins, and he’ll start a fight, but Dean will always come crawling back to you and you will always be there when he does.

He’s aware just as much as you are that he doesn’t know how to handle issues without getting angry or mean. He doesn’t mean to, and he never means the things that come out of his mouth, but if he’s hurt, or cornered, or anything of the sort, his knee jerk reaction is to make the other person feel the same way. He was raised by a man like that and so he lives like one. The things he says while lashing out hurt him just as much as they hurt you, because the last thing Dean ever wants to do is hurt you, but sometimes it feels like that’s all he’s capable of.

He drinks, and he drinks a lot. Sam makes passing jokes sometimes, soaked with an underlying worry. He doesn’t drink for fun, he doesn’t drink because he likes the taste, he drinks because sometimes it’s the only thing that helps him function. It helps him go on with his life carrying all of the weight that he does, he does it to calm himself, he needs it to help him sleep, he needs it so that he doesn’t completely break down. He drinks almost every day, it’s not a “problem” to him, it’s a way to get through everything he goes through.

One of his biggest, absolute biggest, problems is how self sacrificial he can be. He was raised to be a hunter, a fighter, a weapon in a fight against all things bad— if he’s not that, he doesn’t know what he is. It’s all he knows, and he feels it’s all the worth he has. So he’ll go the extra mile every time, he will absolutely risk his life for anyone in danger and not fear the consequences. He knows that when he does die, it’ll be at the end of a knife or a pair of sharp teeth, he sees it as a good death for him. Noble. If he dies protecting someone else, someone more deserving, maybe he’d finally feel worth something more.

That, is the one problem you don’t know how to deal with.

His anger you can work around, you can brush off every mean word and see it for what it is— fear and hurt. You can snap back at him and end up tangled in a bed together.

The constant pulling away and the picking fights never last long, he always comes back to you.

The drinking is habit by now, but sometimes if you ask him to put it down, to come and lie with you, to let you numb what he’s feeling instead of the bottle, he will.

The way he throws his life around like it’s nothing, though? Yeah. That’s the one thing you can’t stand about him. You hate how little value he sees in his own life, because while he does have his plethora of issues and problems, there is so much good to him that far outweighs the bad.

Dean remembers everything about you in a way no one else would. If you tell him something, no matter how small or insignificant, he’s going to remember it. He knows that you have to check locks twice, you overuse the word maybe when you’re tired, you always save a certain flavour of candy for last because it’s your favourite, you always choose the seat closest to the door without even knowing it, you always knock on a door in the same exact rhythm. It’s nothing necessary important or vital, but he remembers all of it.

He may not think it about himself, but he has such a big heart and he can be so kind and he cares so deeply.

He sneaks animals food despite saying he’s not an animal guy.

He softens his voice as much as possible when speaking to kids and he makes himself appear smaller around them.

He’ll always check the expiration date before handing you food, you specifically, he’d eat almost anything but he knows you wouldn’t.

If your hands are full he’s taking things from you before you can even tell him you don’t need him to, and then he’s also opening every door and holding each one for you.

Dean will always look after you before himself, and as much as sometimes you feel awful about it, he does it with so much care that you think it helps him feel better too. After a bad day, or more usually a bad hunt, the first thing Dean does now that he has you isn’t reach for a drink, that comes after when he’s alone, it’s make sure you’re okay first. He’ll tell you to sit on the bed while he goes into the bathroom, he’ll fill the sink with warm water and he’ll have the shower on while he does so to warm the entire room before guiding you in and onto the counter. With hands so gentle that sometimes it doesn’t even feel like him he’ll wipe away any dirt, or blood, or whatever the hell is on you with a damp rag with a quiet intensity that hurts. He’ll ask if you want to shower, if you say yes he’ll ask if you want him there, and if you say yes to that he’s going to do everything for you while you stand under the warm water together. He’ll wash your hair, and grin sheepishly when he accidentally gets shampoo in your eye. He’ll glide his hands all over you covered in soap, featherlight over any bruises or marks— and he won’t mention them but he’ll definitely remember them. If he thinks it’ll make you feel better he’ll let you do the same for him too, he complains the whole time but beneath that he can’t get enough of it. He’d get out first and face the cold air hitting him and grab you the one towel that was on the heater, he’d just pat down with a cold towel and get redressed in what he’s sleeping in. For the rest of the night, he’s doing whatever you need. If you just need to be close to him he’s holding you as close as he can, if you want food he’ll drive to wherever you want and get it for you. If you wanna have sex and forget about the entire day, he’s definitely down for that too.

You wish he saw what you saw, because he wasn’t just his flaws, he was so much more.

The silence between you is currently the calm before the storm, you won’t speak to him. You haven’t spoken to him in almost two days. You leave a room when he enters, you look past him like he’s not there. You speak to Sam, laugh at his jokes, you speak to castiel, but Dean? You won’t even breathe in his direction. Why? You have a reason, you have a huge reason.

The hunt that you all went on before the space between you and Dean had started had gone wrong. It was a long story, long and complicated and you didn’t even fully understand what had happened to cause it to fuck up so badly, but long story short Dean did something stupid and reckless to try and keep you safe and ended up almost dying. It was a close call, a horribly close call and you’d felt sick ever since.

If Dean was so dead set on killing himself for you, then you weren’t going to be around him. Maybe that would raise his life expectancy. Losing him like this hurt, but it was better than losing him entirely.

Your silence wasn’t malicious but it was driving Dean crazy.

He was just trying to protect you, to keep you safe.

He hated the silence. He was used to loud arguments and harsh words, storming off and slamming doors. Silence was new and somehow it was so much worse. You were right there but he missed you, he missed being in the same orbit as you because for the past two days he’d felt like a stranger. He missed you leaning on him, he missed talking to you, he missed being able to come up behind you and put his chin on your shoulder. Two days was too long, he’d been sulking since it started, snapping at everyone, staring at you and hoping your eyes would meet his, he kept leaving out an extra plate of food and hoping you’d take it. He’d hovered outside of your bedroom door more than he’d like to admit before walking away. He didn’t know what else he could do and he’d finally reached his breaking point.

He’d seen you and Sam sat in the library of the bunker going over some books and you just looked normal. You weren’t looking at Sam the way you’d been looking at him— which was hardly at all, you were sat talking as you read and shared ideas about.. whatever the hell it was, he didn’t know. He didn’t know anything because you’d completely iced him out. Sam wouldn’t even tell him anything, he’d just give him these awkward “don’t put me in the middle of it” looks. He really had been trying to be patient, but he just couldn’t anymore.

Your shoulders tensed a little when you heard his gruff voice call out your name from the doorway, you shot Sam a look for not telling you that he was there before pushing up from your seat and walking out.

“Damnit-“

He called your name again but you didn’t turn around, he’d given you enough space, he wanted to fix whatever this was and he wanted to fix it now. He wasn’t doing this dancing around each other bullshit anymore. He left the room after you, catching up to you just as you turned the hallway to your bedroom. He grasped your wrist, not tight enough to hurt but just steady enough that you couldn’t pull away yet.

“Baby, come on, what’s goin’ on with you? You been acting like i don’t exist.” His voice was low and he was trying to keep it steady but you could hear the worry and the hurt underneath, and it sucked to hear that but you were still so upset with him. Of course you didn’t want to hurt Dean, but you didn’t know what else to do. You were so scared that one day one of his excessive hero moves were going to get him hurt— or worse, dead.

You couldn’t handle that, the idea of losing him.

“Nothing’s going on.” You muttered, not wanting to have this argument with him.

“Bullshit.” He butted in, his brows furrowing, taking in the way you wouldn’t even look at him.

“I mean it, i’m fine—“

“Goddamnit- quit lyin’ to me, would ya?”

His voice was a little sharper than before, his patience really wearing thin, he didn’t mean to snap but he was worried and confused, and hurt.

“You won’t talk t’me. Won’t look at me. Hell- you won’t even be in the same room as me.” He muttered, nodding towards the library you’d left as soon as he’d entered to prove his point.

It sounded crueler when he said it outloud.

“I’m goin’ crazy here.”

You felt extremely conflicted— on one hand, you really just wanted things to go back to how they were. You wanted your boyfriend and your relationship back. On the other hand you were still upset with him, and still scared that he’d lose his life over his need to play the hero.

“I’m tired, Dean.”

You pulled your wrist from his grasp and walked into your bedroom, closing the door and leaning your back against it, head dropped back and eyes closed as a sigh left you. It was exhausting being angry at him.

You half expected him to follow you, he didn’t.

He stood rooted in place, dumbfounded and staring at the door you’d walked through and closed him off with yet again. He didn’t know what the hell was happening between you and him right now, maybe he’d finally pushed you away, you’d finally realised that he was just too much to love, that he wasn’t worth it. It’s what he felt about himself all the time, and he’d thought you should too— but feeling like it now, really feeling like that could be what’s happening, it dawns on him how stupid he’d been.

How stupid the petty, unneeded fights he starts are.

How stupid his pulling away and pushing away you had been.

How close he was to ruining the best thing he’d ever had, and that scared him.

You loved him on his worst days, you loved him on the days he didn’t think you should, you loved him through everything. Through how much hell messed him up and the aftermath of it, you loved him through the end of the world— you had always been by his side.

He was close to losing that. To losing you.

Too close. You were pulling away, and he knew you were pulling away because he knew exactly what that looked like. He left to the kitchen after that and drank whatever the hell he could find.

Hours passed and you couldn’t sleep, no matter how much you tossed and you turned, no matter what side you lay on or which side your pillow was flipped over to, sleep wouldn’t come. All you could think about was Dean, he was the single, only thing on your mind.

The look on his face as you’d pulled away from him had been keeping you awake, because it’s all you could see. His face had fallen instantly into something so vulnerable in a way he never let himself be. You’d caused that, and you know that, but you were just trying to do the best thing. To look out for him for once instead of him looking out for you. If pulling away was what you had to do to stop him from getting himself killed for you then you’d take that pain on headfirst, just like he’d take it on for you.

You’re exhausted the next morning when Sam wakes you up, telling you a case had popped up and it was a good few hours out so you all had to leave pretty much straight away. You sit in the back of the impala on the way there, and the time you didn’t spend asleep was spent throwing glances Deans way. At how focused he was on the road, the way the sun shining through the window highlighted every good thing about his face— but you saw the cracks too, his hands holding onto the wheel too tightly, the strain in his jaw, the tired look in his eyes.

“You good?”

Deans voice snapped you out of your little daydream, the car was parked in a gas station and it was just you and Dean in the car. You hadn’t even noticed Sam get out.

“Huh? Yeah, fine.” You muttered, but it made your stomach twist being so cold towards him even if you thought it was the best.

“Are you? Good— I mean.”

He grunted in response, tapping his fingers on the wheel. “Would be if you’d tell me what the hell is goin’ on with us.”

Sam came back then and cut off the conversation, and you saw Deans jaw tick slightly. You had a feeling it was far from over.

The rest of the drive had been tense, but Sam had been right about there being something here for the three of you. Everything was pointing towards a vamp, easy and simple, something you’ve all dealt with dozens of times. The world seemed to be against you though, because somehow you got split up and ended up with a mouthful of sharp teeth grazing your neck, your back pinned to the ground, and no idea where Sam or Dean were.

No idea until the pressure holding you down stopped and you heard the sharp swing of a blade, and the head above you was suddenly detached. Which was gross, but the sight that replaced it was far from it.

Standing above you was Dean, with a very dark look on his face as he glared down at you and the blood on your neck.

“Get up.”

He didn’t even give you chance to push yourself up before his hands were hauling you up, keeping you right infront of him with his hands on your arms.

“The hell were you thinking? Huh? I told you to stick close.” He muttered through gritted teeth, his eyes never leaving your neck.

He had told you that, he told you that every time, and that’s the problem. You didn’t want to stick close when that meant a swing meant for you would slice through him.

“I can look after myself.”

“Yea? Cus from where i was standin’ i sorta doubt that.” He scoffed, his words coming out sharp and disbelieving. “What’s going on with you? You’d rather get your throat ripped out than be around me?”

No, god no that wasn’t it, the distance you’d made between you and him was killing you.

The look on your face faltered for just a second, and you almost crumpled right there and collapsed into him like the safe space he’d always been for you— but you held out.

“Dean, just— Can we not do this here?”

He couldn’t wrap his head around why you were being so difficult, it’s like you were trying to drive him nuts, and it was working!

“Not do this here? Really? Where then, sweetheart?” The familiar nickname was like a punch to the gut, sending you another crack closer to crumpling. “Cus you ain’t talking to me no matter where we are.”

“Guys! We’ve gotta go!”

Once again, you thanked every god out there for Sam’s timing and quickly pulled away from Dean and escaped to Sam.

Back at the bunker the tension was at an all knew high point, you could literally feel Deans eyes on you like a physical weight— even Sam had picked up on it and he’d went straight to his own room wanting to get as far away from the ticking time bomb between you as possible.

“You’ve been avoiding me for days now.”

“Avoiding- i’m not avoiding you.” Was your reply, but it fell weak even to your own ears.

He raised an eyebrow at you, stood in-front of you with his arms crossed over his chest. It still took everything in you not to stare.

“Right.” He said dryly, his eyes boring into yours. “Don’t bullshit me, have i done somethin? Is that it?”

“…No, you haven’t done anything—“

He cut you off, like he couldn’t keep the words in now that you were finally alone and talking.

“Cus that’s the only thing i can think of. You’re actin’ like i don’t exist, like we don’t exist. I don’t know what t’think, i’ve seen you, you talk to Cas and you talk to Sam but you can’t even look at me.”

“It sounds worse when you’re saying it like that.” You muttered, every word from him serving as another crack in your armour.

“Like what? Like what it is? The hell am i supposed to think, baby? It’s startin’ to look like you just ain’t into me anymore— and if that’s.. yknow, if that’s what this is then just tell me because I’m going insane tryna figure this out.”

He sounded genuinely almost nervous and that finally got your eyes snapping up to his, a mix of defensiveness and almost something insulted crossing your face that he of course caught.

“Not into you? Is that— seriously?? That’s what you think this is about??”

“Tell me then! Just talk to me! I ain’t a goddamn mind reader!”

He’d wanted the dam to break, and it had finally broken. He’d wanted the shouting, and the argument, and that’s what he was getting.

“You almost died, Dean! You almost died throwing yourself infront of something meant for me, again!” You jabbed a finger into his chest, your expression finally crumbling into one of fear and frustration. It was your turn to not let him get a word in, you’d been bottling this up for too long.

“You do it everytime!— It’s like you don’t even care! Like you want to die and i can’t stand it!”

“I’m tryin’ to keep you safe!” He snapped back, his own defensiveness rising in his throat.

“I won’t be the reason you die young— if you’re gonna keep putting yourself in danger for me then i’m not gonna give you the chance to do it, Dean! Don’t you get that!? I don’t want you to die for me!”

Your voice cracked on the last word, your eyes burning with the emotions you’d kept locked away for the past 4 days.

“Goddamn it— I’m trying to keep you safe! Ain’t you seeing that?! Everything i do— i do it to keep you safe!”

“I don’t want that! I don’t want you killing yourself because of me! It’s reckless, and it’s- it’s stupid, and it’s unfair!”

“Unfair?” He scoffed sharply, running a hand harshly across his face. “You wanna know what’s unfair?” He took a small step closer, his voice lowering into something serious rather than angry. “Everyone i love, everyone i care about, dying. Never seems to matter what i do, people die!”

“So you’d rather you die?? You’d rather i lose you instead because you don’t think before you decide to play hero!?”

He was quiet for a second, really quiet. You were sort of expecting him to just walk away as you stood there with your chest rising and falling heavily and your hands clenched at your sides.

“I’d rather it be me than you.” He finally said, his voice was quiet, but firm. There was no room for argument or changing his opinion.

“Don’t matter what it is, could be a goddamn paper cut, could be gettin’ my heart ripped out, i’d rather it be me. I can handle bein’ hurt, i can deal with pain ‘nd all that but i can’t- .. i can’t handle you gettin’ hurt.”

He took another slow step closer to you, careful this time, giving you every chance to take a step back or pull away as his hands came up to cup your jaw, his eyes glued to yours.

His eyes were glassy, you hadn’t noticed it before with being so caught up in the whirlwind in your head— but with him so close you saw it now, you saw the faint redness around his eyes too, like he’d been rubbing away tears for the past 96 hours.

His thumb ran across your cheek, relishing in finally being close to you again. “Don’t do it t’scare you, or to piss you off, or because i don’t think you can handle things. Hell, i know you can. It’s me that can’t, im the one that can’t handle it.”

“I hate it.” You admitted, your voice finally breaking into something closer to a whisper.

“What should i do then?” He muttered, his eyes searching your face. “Just stand around and watch somethin’ happen to you?”

You didn’t have an answer to that, because his stunts had saved your ass multiple times, and you didn’t just expect him to watch anything happen. You knew him better than that. You just wished he’d be less.. suicidal.

“Yknow.. i really thought you jus’ had a thing for Sammy or somethin.” He muttered with a weak grin, trying to lighten the mood even a little bit. The look on your face was killing him, especially knowing he’d caused it— unintentionally, but he’d still caused it.

“Not funny.” You muttered, but you felt your chest un-tighten slightly.

“Hey, trust me, i know it ain’t funny. Was going crazy over it.”

He’d been one more cold shoulder away from locking Sam out of the bunker to see if that changed things.

Seriously.

“I mean it, Dean.” You said finally, “I don’t want you to keep throwing yourself infront of me every time something comes at me. If i get hurt that’s on me, i don’t want you getting hurt to be on me too.”

His face did something complicated for a second, he was fighting just outright saying he couldn’t do that. It wasn’t just something he could turn off, and it wasn’t something he was willing to turn off.

“I’ll be careful, yeah? I ain’t gonna clock out on you early. ..But i’m not gonna stop lookin’ out for you, i can’t do that, won’t lie and pretend i will either.”

You sighed slightly at him and frowned, he was stubborn to a fault and you knew that but sometimes you did wish that had an off switch.

He chuckled sheepishly at the displeased look on your face at his answer, “I’ll be more careful, alright? I promise baby.”

That was the best you were gonna get from him, and you really didn’t want to fight with him any longer. He didn’t want to either. He was tired of the silence just as much as you were tired of enforcing it.

“You really thought I had a thing for Sam?”

You really shouldn’t have found it funny— but you found it funny. Pretty funny, actually.

The first smile he’d seen on your face directed at him in days and you were making fun of him— great. He tried to keep his serious, annoyed look on his face but he couldn’t help the slight twitch of his lips. He’d really missed seeing that smile.

“Shut up. You don’t get t’laugh at me after ignoring me for 4 days straight.”

Whatever reply you were about to spew out was cut off because Dean couldn’t wait any longer and he slid his hands to your waist and pulled you closer, finally getting his lips against yours after 4 torturous days.

It sucked to admit it but the second he pulled you in all of the frustration you’d had melted away against his mouth in an instant, leaning into him further and curling your hands into the front of his shirt.

It deepened quickly, it always did but this time was different. It was almost desperate on both ends, 4 days—for the two of you— was a long time to be completely hands off of eachother. How you ended up on Deans bed, underneath him and completely naked was a blur of bumping into things and tugging at eachother.

The first push in was slow and drawn out, relishing in the feeling for as long as you both possibly could. Your head dropped back into the pillow underneath you, and his hovering right above, his eyes glued to your face.

“So pretty, baby.” He groaned, his forehead dropping to yours as he finally pushed all the way in. He stayed there for a minute, his hands running all over you like he couldn’t get enough, grasping and squeezing wherever he could reach.

“Fuck- move Dean, please-“

“Not yet.” He tutted quietly, a small smile on his face as he admired your own, seeing the confusion and disappointment flicker across it.

“Four whole days sweetheart, don’t y’think i deserve a sorry for that?”

You gaped at him for a second— was he serious?

Seriously???

You groaned quietly and tried to bring him closer yourself but he stayed rooted exactly where he was, looking down at you with a smug little grin on his ridiculously pretty face. His hand snaked down between the two of you, his thumb finding your clit in light, cruel circles.

“I’m not movin’ until i hear a sorry, i could stay right here all night. Happily, too.”

“Please- god i’m sorry, Dean! Okay? Can you just- stop being an ass!”

He just shook his head and lowered his head to your neck, dragging open mouthed, wet kisses down everywhere he could possibly get to, his thumb still working lower down causing that familiar coil in your stomach to slowly tighten.

“Sorry for…. what, exactly? Cmon, don’t half-ass it.”

Your mouth fell open but no words came out, you were so close to the edge and—

And he pulled his hand away.

Your eyes snapped back up to his, looking utterly betrayed by the loss of his touch. It’d been 4 days without anything at all, you were wound up so tight and instead of relieving it he was making it way, way worse.

“Told ya, i wanna hear that apology first.”

He gave a very, very shallow roll, just to remind you of what he was offering, and he looked far too proud of himself. It was torture for him too, sure, he wanted nothing more than to really love on you, but he thought why not make you wait. You made him wait, for four whole days, just to speak to you.

This was just payback.

“Seriously??” Your voice cracked slightly, giving him a pleading look but still he didn’t budge. Nothing more than that barely noticeable roll of his hips.

“I’m sorry.” You groaned, your hands going up to cup his jaw. “I’m sorry i avoided you instead of talking to you, i’m sorry i acted like you weren’t there, i’m sorry i—“

Your words fell into a broken moan as he finally pulled out and sunk right back in, your hands falling to his shoulders and digging in so hard it’d no doubt leave little crescent marks mixed in with his freckles. He wasn’t teasing this time, he repeated it again, and again, and again, finally picking up a rhythm that was undeniably tender.

“Fuck— fuck i missed you, i missed you so goddamn much-“

He was rambling, low moans and quiet groans leaving him as he made it really damn clear how much he meant those words. How vocal he was has always been one of your favourite parts of sleeping with him.

“Don’t do that t’me again- don’t shut me out, shit- please don’t shut me out again baby. Couldn’t stand it.”

He didn’t care how pathetic he sounded, he needed to get through to you how much it had killed him for you to ignore him. He wasn’t the king of communication by any means, he knew that, but he’d rather try for you than get nothing at all.

“I won’t-“ You promised, your legs hooking over his hips to pull him even closer which pulled a shuddering sound from the both of you at the new angle. “I missed- fuck, Dean— i missed you too.”

You could’ve cried from relief when his hand slid back down inbetween your bodies and found your clit again, finally giving you the pressure and attention you actually needed rather than the feather-light skims he’d given you before.

“Y’feel so goddamn good baby— give it t’me, please, i’m so close sweetheart i need it. Need to feel it.”

You’d always sworn he had some weird control over your body that you couldn’t turn off, because all he had to say was those few words and your body tightened up, that coil in your stomach finally snapping and you were clenching around him, his lips falling to yours again as he followed straight after.

He didn’t pull out straight away, instead he slumped ontop of you, his head resting right in the middle of your chest which cause a huff of a laugh to leave you as he let his whole body weight practically crush you.

You didn’t push him off, though. Your fingers threaded through his hair instead as you both slowly came back from the edge, chests heaving, breathing heavy and faces flushed.

“If you ever ignore me again,” he mumbled, pressing a kiss to your chest, “I’ll seriously go crazy. Hated it. Hate not bein’ close to you anyway.”

“Yeah, i know.”

Your son.

Your baby boy was old enough to crawl around confidently now, even taking a few wobbly steps when he felt brave enough. And lately, he’d become absolutely determined to follow either you or Dean everywhere you went.

So naturally, the second Dean headed to the garage, the baby had immediately decided he was coming too. Now he was sitting on a blanket near Baby in tiny denim overalls, trying to grab every single tool within reach.

And Dean is leaning on Baby with the hood up, one hand holding a wrench while the other keeps reaching out every few seconds to stop tiny grabby hands from stealing his tools.

“Nuh-uh” Dean says immediately, gently rescuing a screwdriver from your son’s determined grip before the boy could use it as a teething toy “Absolutely not, buddy. Mom would kill me if you dropped that on your toes”

Your son just blinks up at him with huge green eyes, a perfect copy of Dean’s, completely unbothered. Then immediately reaches for another tool.

Dean laughs under his breath.

“You are stubborn as hell” He mutters fondly “Definitely got that from your mom. But don’t tell her I said that”

The baby lets out a little noise like he agrees. Dean shakes his head with a grin before crouching next to him.

“You can help me for real when you’re bigger, alright?” He says, holding up the tool “When you can actually hold the tools without trying to eat them”

You pause in the garage doorway for a moment just watching them.

It was a ridiculously sweet and domestic sight.

You smile before finally walking closer.

“Well” You say teasingly “Looks like now I got two mechanics at home”

Dean glances up instantly, his face softening into an easy smile “Hey, beautiful” He says warmly.

The baby turns too the moment he hears your voice, you laughed softly and walked closer just as he tried standing up too fast to reach you.

Dean caught him before he could faceplant on the floor.

“Whoa there, speed racer” Dean chuckled.

You crouched beside them, pressing a kiss to your son’s cheek before kissing Dean quickly too.

“How’s the garage crew doing?” You asked.

Dean snorted “Well, one of us is trying to work”

You looked at the baby knowingly “And the other?”

Dean glanced at the baby too “Trying to steal the tools” He said with amusement.

The baby giggled immediately like he understood perfectly.

Dean pointed accusingly at him “See? No remorse”

You laughed, reaching over to wipe a small grease stain off his face. Dean leaned into it automatically.

Meanwhile, your son had already spotted another tool near Dean’s toolbox, tiny hands reached out immediately.

Dean caught him again with quick reflexes, laughing “You really wanna lose a finger today, huh?”

The baby responded by grabbing Dean’s flannel instead, and he softened instantly.

“There we go” He murmured, shifting the baby easily into his lap “Much safer”

Your son settled happily against Dean’s chest, one tiny hand still grabbing his shirt while the other pointed at the Impala.

Dean adjusts him easily onto his hip while glancing back at the car.

“That…” He says to the baby, pointing at the car like he’s explaining something very important “Is Baby. She’s the most important girl in the world... well, second most important. Right after your mom” He said “You be nice to her and she’ll take you anywhere you need to go”

You raised an eyebrow, a playful smirk on your lips "Oh? After me, huh? I’m touched. I thought I might be third, behind the car and a good slice of pie"

Dean let out a laugh, stepping closer and wrapping a heavy arm around your waist, pulling both you and the baby into his space.

"Hey, now" He murmured playfully "Pie is a high on that list too, but you? You're the one who bakes a damn good one. And the car doesn't give nearly as good of a kiss"

"I hope not" You snort.

"Tell you what" Dean said, reaching for a rag to wipe his hands "Since the 'assistant' here is clearly on stealing duty instead of helping, why don't we call it a day? I'm thinking burgers, and maybe I'll let the little man have a fry when you aren't looking"

"Burgers do sound better than letting him snack on the tools" You said amused.

“Yeah, anything’s better than him turning my toolbox into a buffet” He chuckled, pressing a kiss on your head before guiding you both out of the garage.

dean masterlist

“Dean, we aren’t showering together.” You rolled your eyes.

“Please.” He huffed like he was a toddler throwing a temper tantrum.

“Not a chance.” You brushed him off and headed to the bathroom, but he stepped in front of the doorway.

“Pretty please? With sprinkles and a side of pie?” He asked, clasping his hands together.

“That’s not how the saying goes.”

“What’s better than pie? Oh, I know, me joining you while you shower.” He replied sarcastically.

“It’s a shame it’s not happening. Guess you’ll have to settle for pie.” You smirked.

“There’s literally a water drought in South Dakota. It would be wrong to not preserve the water.” He crossed his arms, shrugging as if he wasn’t saying a blatant lie.

“Oh really? And where did you hear about this supposed drought?” You crossed your arms, mirroring his stance.

“I got an alert for it on my phone, see?” He held up his phone, but every time you tried to focus on it he suddenly moved it to keep you from seeing it.

“Dean, hand me the phone.”

“What phone?” He threw his phone across the room, and posed in front of the door, his elbow resting on the wall.

“You are unbelievable.” You laughed at him.

“I’m even more unbelievable in the shower.” He winked at you, and you shoved past him and into the hallway.

Or at least tried to before Dean grabbed your wrist and dragged you back into the bedroom.

“Dean!” You squealed.

You looked down to see your boyfriend dropping to his knees and gripping your thighs and pawing like a needy dog.

“Please would you let me shower with you? I won’t even do anything. I swear.” His green eyes looked up at you with such hope that you had no choice but to relent.

“Okay. Fine. But don’t try anything funny. I mean it.” You walked to the bathroom and Dean happily trailed behind you like a kid in a candy store.

“Thank you angel, you’re the sweetest girlfriend I could ever ask for.”

“Uh huh, shut up and get in.”

–

“So so good, angel, thankyouthankyouthankyou” Dean groaned into you as he sloppily kissed your mouth.

“You are such a dick for this, y’know that?” You huffed as you dug your nails into his back. He shuddered at the feeling.

“I’ll make it up to you all night baby, I swear. Fuckfuckfuck–oh shit–” He buried his head into your shoulder and bit down.

“Hate you so so much.” You rolled your eyes as he gripped your thighs, sure to leave bruises tomorrow.

“So mean to me.” He grinned at you, and you took one look at him and knew he was gone.

“You love it.” You said, a smug grin on your face.

“I do. Love it s’much angel. I do, I do, I do.” He whimpered, head going limp into your neck.

“So pathetic for me, huh Deanie?” You taunted.

He just whined in response and you pulled at his hair, winding him up even further. You two were so captivated by each other that you didn’t care who heard how loud you both got. You drove each other crazy, spurring the other one further until you both eventually snapped.

–

The next morning Sam stared at the both of you with a look of pure disgust.

“Wow Sammy, who spit in your coffee?” Dean asked as he sat down next to you.

“Yeah what ruined your morning?” You asked, completely forgetting what you did last night.

“Oh uh, I don’t know, maybe the fact that I couldn’t sleep at all last night.” His eye twitched and it finally set in for you two.

“Ohhh, that. Sorry Sam.” You grimaced.

“Yeah, because that fixes everything.” He rolled his eyes.

“We really did try to be quiet.” Dean lied, his lips twitching.

“Right. So that’s why I heard you whining like a damn dog for the next few hours.” He bit back.

Dean’s jaw dropped and you let out a loud cackle, which just led to making Sam even more pissed. Poor poor Sammy.

“so quiet tonight,” you murmur, dragging your nails lightly down his chest. you lift up until just the tip catches at your entrance, then sink back down torturously slow. his hips jerk once. a tiny, strangled breath escapes him but he catches it fast.

you smile, soft and mean. then, you lean forward so your breasts brush his chest, lips near his ear. “you know i love hearing you. why do you make me work for it, dee?”

dean swallows hard. his cock twitches inside you but he doesn’t answer.

you grind down, clit rubbing against him with every circle of your hips. his breathing gets ragged. you feel every inch of him, hot and perfect, stretching you open. still, he stays mostly quiet. just those tiny hitched breaths he can’t quite hide.

“tell you what,” you whisper, nipping at his earlobe. “make one little sound for me… just a moan… and after i’m done riding you, you can bury that pretty face between my legs. let eat me out until i come on your tongue. you’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

his eyes flutter. lips part. a soft, broken whimper slips out before he can stop it.

“good boy,” you praise, voice sweet as you pick up the pace. long, rolling thrusts that take him deep every time.

the wet slap of skin fills the room. dean’s head tips back, exposing the line of his throat, and another low sound escapes him. half moan, half whine.

you sit up straighter, hands braced on his chest, and really ride him. bouncing on his cock, thighs burning, breasts moving with every drop. his hands finally fly to your hips, gripping hard but not controlling. just holding on.

“louder,” you demand, slowing again just to torture him. “let me hear how bad you need it, dean.”

he whines then, high and needy, hips bucking up to chase you. “please—fuck, swwetheart, i need—i’ll be so good, just let me taste you after—”

you reward him by riding him harder, faster, grinding down on every thrust so your clit catches just right. dean’s moans turn constant. rough. desperate. filling the cheap motel room like music. his thighs tremble under you. he’s so close you can feel it, cock swelling inside you.

you reach over to the nightstand and grab the slim pink vibrator. dean’s eyes widen, pupils blown black.

“you’ve been so good,” you tell him, voice breathy as you keep riding him slow and deep. “now you get to watch.”

you click the toy on and press it to your clit while still moving on his cock. the vibration hits instantly, sharp and perfect. your head falls back, a moan spilling from your own lips. dean’s eyes locks on the sight.

“fuck—look at you,” he pants, voice cracking. “so fucking hot. please, baby, let me see you come like that.”

you circle the toy faster, riding him in shallow rolls that keep him buried deep. the dual sensation of his thick cock stretching you with the buzzing against your clit makes it build fast. your thighs shake. dean’s hands tighten on your hips, thumbs pressing bruises you’ll feel tomorrow.

“gonna come,” you gasp. “watch me, dee. don’t look away.”

he doesn’t. his eyes stay glued to where the toy meets your clit, to the way your pussy grips his cock on every stroke. the sight pushes you over. you come hard, clenching around him, crying out as pleasure crashes through you in waves.

dean groans loud, hips stuttering like he’s fighting not to follow.

you ride it out, then click the toy off and toss it aside. your body’s still pulsing when you lift off him, legs shaky. dean makes a desperate sound at the loss.

“please,” he begs, voice hoarse. “let me—i need to taste you. please.”

you crawl up his body and settle over his face, thighs bracketing his head. “you earned it, baby. make me come again.”

dean doesn’t hesitate. his hands grab your ass, pulling you down onto his mouth. his tongue dives in immediately, licking through your soaked folds, groaning at the taste of your release mixed with his. he eats you like a man starved, sucking your clit, fucking his tongue inside you, moaning loud and shameless against your pussy.

you grip the headboard, rolling your hips against his face. “that’s it. just like that.”

he whimpers into you, the vibration making your eyes roll back. one hand leaves your ass to stroke his own cock, desperate and leaking. you watch him fist himself while he devours you, the sight so filthy it sends fresh heat curling in your belly.

“gonna come again just from your mouth,” you pant.

dean doubles down, sucking hard on your clit. you shatter for the second time, thighs clamping around his head as you grind through it, soaking his face. he keeps licking you through every pulse, moaning like he’s the one coming.

when you finally slide off, legs trembling, dean looks utterly ruined. lips swollen, chin shiny, eyes hazy with need. his cock is still hard, flushed dark, leaking steadily.

you lean down and kiss him slow, tasting yourself on his tongue. “you were so good for me,” you whisper against his mouth.

dean shudders, pulling you close. his voice is wrecked when he answers. “again?” he asks, already half-hard again against your thigh. “please?”

you smile, fingers threading through his hair, and let the ache settle warm between you both.

“Have sex with me-“

“Yeah, I- I heard you the first time, that’s not-“ Dean shakes his head, running a hand over his face. “It’s eight in the fuckin’ morning-“

“It’s eight fifteen.”

That earns you a flat look, and you smile innocently.

“That’s fifteen extra minutes, it matters-“

“Not for this. And- I ain’t even showered yet-“

Your nose wrinkles. “Why haven’t you showered?”

“I shower after coffee,” Dean mutters, turning his mug in his hands. “If I don’t, Sammy’s stinkin’ up the kitchen from his run.”

“Oh- Okay.” You clasp your hands behind your back, peering at his tight jaw, his mussed, soft-looking hair. “Is that… A yes?”

Dean’s eyes widen on yours. You’re worried he’s going to choke on the air this time. “Yes?”

“Are you going to have sex with me,” you clarify, and his mouth falls open.

“I- I’m- You’re-“ His throat bobs, and he starts to look around the room with a worried squint. “Are you fuckin’ with me?”

You frown. “Why would I be fucking with you?”

“’Cause, sweetheart, you can’t just-“ He lets out a sharp breath. “Is it Sam? Did he put you up to this? ‘Cause I told him- That kinda prank, it’s off the table-“

“What kind of prank?” You’re a little lost, and there’s shame starting to burn up your neck.

A prank. He thinks it’s a prank.

It’s not. You’re so serious it’s almost embarrassing. You wouldn’t have asked him if you weren’t. You’d almost talked yourself out of it, after spending too much time convincing yourself into it. Nights of tossing and turning in bed, an insatiable and aching heat between your legs and the sheets bunched around you in a mockery of a body. Weeks of watching the boys slip out of bars with women that seemed to fall into them like magnets while you spun around, alone on a barstool without any prospects.

Months, of watching Dean with a flush he never saw. An adoration written all over your face he didn’t seem capable of noticing. You’d tried to stomp it out. Your stupid, useless little crush. Dean was older. Seasoned and desirable in the way that made you wonder if he was even real sometimes. Out of your reach, tantalizing, and impossible to just forget about. 

You’d neglect your feelings in the hope they’d die, but he’d water them until they were in full bloom and overtaking your heart and mouth and head. He’d buy the snacks you like and let you chose the movie. He’d open doors and let his hand linger on your lower back, he’d smile at you in the dim light of the Impala and make you feel like the only person in the world, he’d call you when he was away on a separate hunt every single night, just to update you. He’d play wrestle you for the remote, and somehow never manage to wonder why he always won when he’d see you take down men closer to Sam’s size with barely a grunt of effort.

“Nice try, sweetheart,” he’d whisper in your ear, when he had you pinned on the floor beneath him, and you’d have to swallow down your moan.

He’d get up, turn on the TV, and leave you on the couch while he went to the bathroom. You’d sit with your knees to your chest and your breathing uneven, unable to focus on anything but the ghost of his body over yours. The heat of him, the way his arms had caged you in, his knee pressed far too close to your neglected core.

If Dean knew how you dreamed about him—how those moments followed you into bed, every single night—you’re so sure he’d never look at you again. He doesn’t see you like that, you’re sure. You’re the kid they took in, the annoying girl who’s got too much mouth on her and not enough experience, in every possible way.

You’ve never done sex. You sort of just missed the window, where it’s supposed to happen, and then it became too big a deal, then you met Dean and you were lost. What was the point of being with anyone else, when you had his shoulder bumping yours in the hallway. When you were so hopelessly in love with him, you think your heart might beat out of your chest like a cartoon every time you see him.

So you made a choice, a few weeks ago. A choice it took a lot of courage to work yourself up to following through on

You just need to have sex. With someone. Anyone. Preferably Dean. It just needs to be done and over with—one time, where he doesn’t know he’s taking your virginity, where he’s peacefully oblivious of your worship of his very existence—and then you can try to move on. Once you’ve had sex, it won’t be this big monster you shy away from anymore. It’ll just be another thing.

So you’re asking Dean. Outside of your alternate motivations, it’s a sound strategic call. You know about his prowess. He’s bragged to you about all his five-star reviews. And maybe that always made you gag over a toilet bowl after, but if it did, that’s none of his fucking business.

Maybe you’re not up to par with his usual partners, but you can do your makeup, or he can turn off the lights, or whatever else makes it easier for him. Anything that makes him touch you. You won’t even cry about it in front of him.

But he thinks it’s a prank. Why would he think it’s a prank.

“You know,” he says, watching you wearily. “Sammy gives you a tenner, you come and ask me for sex, everyone gets a good laugh at Dean. Good joke. Classy.”

You wrap your arms around your stomach, shrinking slightly into yourself. “It’s not a joke,” you mumble. “I- I was serious.”

“You were serious?”

He says it like it’s insane. You shrug, fixing your gaze on the floor. A joke. He thinks fucking you would be a joke.

“Sweetheart-“

“You don’t have to,” you take a step back, trying to sound casual. Like your heart isn’t being torn to ribbons.

You really hadn’t expected him to leap at the opportunity, but this is so close to cruel it hurts. Tears are threatening your eyes, and a lump is forming in your throat. Pathetic, a voice spits in your head. Why the fuck would he ever want to fuck you.

“Wait, just- Hold on-“

You look up, faster than you want to admit. Dean staring at you with pale face and slack jaw, throat working like he’s swallowing his own words every second. You wait, because you’re a fucking useless idiot. Bouncing nervously on your feet—they’re smarter than the rest of you, they want to run—and trying not to melt under his gaze.

“You’re actually askin’ me to fuck you?” He rasps, and you nod.

It’s the tiniest motion of your head. Dean shifts in his seat, staring at you with wide, dark eyes.

“Why?”

“Why?” You frown, saying the first, easiest, least embarrassing reason that pops into your head. “Because- You- You’re good at it?”

“I’m good at it,” Dean repeats. “You wanna fuck me ‘cause you think I’d be good at it?”

You wish he’d stop saying fuck like that. With a harsh ending and low drawl. “I don’t think,” you offer. “You’re the one who said you would be.”

Dean’s lips twitch, but he doesn’t look amused. “I could be lying, sweetheart.”

“I don’t think you are.”

He stares at you. His eyes flick up to the ceiling—maybe he still thinks he’s on a prank show—and he lets out a sharp, slow breath from his nose.

Then he shakes his head, and you feel the echo of your heart as it howls in pain.

“No,” he mutters. “I ain’t- Doin’ that. Not just ‘cause you- No.”

You blink at him, the world blurring a little. You stumble back, and Dean says your name, moving to his feet. You shake your head, moving back another step. Your eyes are stinging with tears, but that’s not his problem. He’s allowed to reject you. You’re also allowed to cry about it.

“Sweetheart-“

“It’s fine.” Your voice is too high. Too wobbly. “It’s- That’s okay.”

“No, just- Fuck-“ He rubs his jaw. “Listen to me, alright-“

“You don’t have to explain,” you shrug weakly. “It’s okay.”

Dean gives you a disbelieving look, but you move further back before he can try to make you feel better about the rejection. It’s not going to help.

“I’ll just-“ You look over your shoulder. To the door, just one more step back.

Dean says your name again. When you look back, he’s reaching to you, trying to beckon you back into the kitchen. You smile, tight and watery.

“Thank you for your consideration.” You say, because you’re a fucking idiot. Dean certainly looks at you like you’re one.

You flee the kitchen. He calls your name again, but this time you don’t look back.

Rejection is fine. You’re fine. You’re so fine, you lock yourself in your room for the rest of the day and eat so much ice cream your stomach hurts. Because it’s fun. It’s fun to cry over something you never even had.

At least you anticipated this. You have a very solid plan B.

If Dean won’t sleep with you, you’re going to find someone who will. You’re going to get it over with. This week.

You’re learning something about yourself.

You are not good at flirting.

The first thing you try is the bars. Sam and Dean slide into a booth, and you go to get the drinks. A guy makes eyes at you, and you smile sweetly in return. When you bring the drinks back, you set the beers down in front of the boys and turn back on your heels to give the bar-guy a shot.

Dean says your name, and you freeze. You always do that for him. It’s a habit you don’t think you’re able to break.

“Where’re you going?” He frowns at you, one arm slung around the back of the seat. Around where you’d usually sit.

“Bar,” you say lamely, and the lines on his face deepen.

“Why, you forget something?”

“No.”

“Then what-“

Dean cuts himself off, his gaze flicking over your shoulder. To the bar. To the man, waiting for you with a smirk, because you promised you’d be back.

Dean grunts your name, low and rough, and if he asked you to stay, you don’t think you’d be able to tell him no.

Things have been strange, since the kitchen. Neither of you have brought it up, and Dean hasn’t stopped treating you the way he always has, but there’s something charged beneath it. A live wire that frays and crackles, every time your fingers brush or your eyes meet. You’ve caught him staring at you with an open mouth a few times. Last week he tried to talk to you, alone in the Impala while Sam got snacks from a gas station. You announced that you had to shit, and scrambled out of the car.

You don’t want to talk about it, and Dean has no right to make you. He’s not the one who got his heart broken. He’s not the one who sort of wants to cry, whenever your eyes meet.

He certainly has no right to glare at you, when he puts together what you’re doing. He said he wasn’t going to sleep with you, and you’re a grown woman. You can, if you so please, have casual sex with a stranger. It is your right.

“You can’t be for real, sweetheart-“

“Dean.” Sam stares at his own beer, looking like he wants to vanish into the floor, and Dean scowls.

“C’mon, Sammy- Tell her she’s being crazy-“

“Crazy?” You snap, and Dean leans back in surprise. “You fuck around all the time, how is it crazy that I’d do the same thing?”

“It’s not- You just- You don’t-“ He swallows. “You don’t do this-“

“I do now.”

“Sweetheart, just- Sit down-“

You flip him off, and march back to the bar before he can ask with a little more conviction. You just need to break out of his orbit. To force yourself to realize that there are plenty of other men, and not having Dean isn’t the end of the universe.

Unfortunately, you sort of just keep proving the opposite.

“What’s a pretty little thing doin’ in a place like this?” The first guy at the bar asks, and you fumble.

You have no idea. You giggle nervously and spin in your chair, speaking words you can’t really hear. He seems into it—no matter how pathetic you must be coming off—until his fingers brush your arm, and you flinch back because his skin is cold. It sends a shiver up your spine that’s not the hot rush of Dean’s touch, but the sliver of a snake.

You go home alone that night, and you don’t look Dean in the eyes. He tries to talk to you, before you retreat to your room. You ignore him, because that’s the only way this is going to work. 

But you try again and again and again, and you never get anywhere. They always touch you, and it all falls apart. You look at them too long, and you can’t manage to squeeze them into a Dean shaped hole in your heart, and there’s no way forward. You try dating apps. That goes worse. Every dick pic you get sent just makes you wonder if sex is even something you want. They’re all worm-shaped and ugly. At least dildos come in nice colors. Maybe you should just buy a dildo.

No. You’ll just pretend it’s Dean all the time, and that’s the opposite of what you’re supposed to be doing here.

So you keep trying. And you keep failing. And Dean’s been looking at you weird—brow pinched and jaw set, every single night—and you’re getting desperate and fuck it.

“Sam.”

Sam hums, not looking up from his book. You clear your throat, leaning further over the table.

“Sam.”

“I’m listening, what’s-“

“Have sex with me.”

Sam, to his credit, doesn’t choke. He just goes very, very still, and looks up at you with an expression close to horror. He says your name slowly, and you shake your head, holding up a single hand.

“Just- Listen-“

“No?” Sam gapes at you. “I’m not- I’m not going to listen to that- Jesus Christ-“

“Come on, we could turn off the lights, and- I wouldn’t make it weird-“

“It’s already weird-“

“You’d be doing me a favor-“

“I’d be making a death wish!” Sam’s voice drops to a hiss. “Dean would fucking kill me.”

 You roll your eyes. “Then don’t tell him, dumbass.”

“No, I- I’m not doing that.” Sam shakes his head, like he’s trying to jolt the image free. “To you. Or him.”

“To him?” You narrow your eyes. “I- What the fuck would this do to Dean?”

Sam gives you a puppy-eyed, hopeless look. “I… Can’t say.”

“Sam Winchester-“

“Why are you asking me?” Sam whines. “I’m not- You’re not even into me-“

“Exactly, there would be no strings attached-“

“That’s not healthy-“

“Fuck off, like you don’t have casual sex-“

“I mean, I do, but I’m not-“ Sam cuts himself off, sighing dramatically. “Just- Why would you even want to have sex with me?”

You flush, but shrug. It’s just Sam. It’s easier to tell him than Dean. “I want to get it over with.”

“Get it over with?” Sam echoes. “It- You mean sex?”

You nod, and Sam blinks.

“Are you a virgin?”

“Maybe.”

“You- You’re-“

“Don’t be an asshole-“

“No, I’m not- I mean- It’s fine. It doesn’t matter. It actually-“ Sam frowns at the air. “It makes sense, I guess.”

That makes you scowl. “It makes sense?”

Sam shrugs, giving you an apologetic smile, and you can’t even think of an argument. You sigh, your shoulders slumping, and Sam clears his throat.

“You know I’m not going to sleep with you, right?”

“Yeah.” You sigh, and he nods slowly.

“Does Dean-“

“No.” You point a stern finger at him, and Sam raises his hands in surrender.

“I think you should-“

“Sam. I’ll cut your balls off.”

“I- Okay.”

You give him one last glare, and go to leave. But before you can go, the question scratches up your throat. You turn around, hands tucked behind your back, and speak softly. “Would you?”

Sam blinks. “What?”

“If you didn’t- Know me,” you mumble. “If we weren’t like- Friends. And you just met me, and I asked you- Would you?”

Sam snorts, and you scowl.

“I’m serious-“

“Yeah, I know you are.” Sam’s lips twitch. “It’s just- Yeah. I would. Of course I would.”

You stand a little taller. “Really?”

“Yeah, I mean- You know you’re attractive, right? If you just didn’t, like, annoy me. I’d be in.”

“I do not annoy you-“

“You’re annoying me right now.”

You laugh despite yourself. Sam smiles, his voice dropping to something gentler.

“Anyone would be lucky to have you,” he says your name slowly. “I just- Don’t want to be lucky.”

You huff in amusement—if Sam isn’t lying, aversion to luck is a family trait—but dip your head. “Thanks. I think.”

“You’re welcome. And-“ Sam pauses, looking you up and down with a strange expression. “I’m sure the whole- Thing will work out for you. There are… People. I think you’re going to figure it out.”

“You need to sleep with her.”

Dean needed to stop drinking coffee when people walked into the kitchen. This was the second shirt he’d ruined in as many months, and it was because everyone kept saying crazy fucking shit.

“Sammy, what the fuck-“

Sam said your name, and Dean’s hands fisted on the table.

Again. Son of a bitch, he was about to go through this again. The first time had been bad enough. You’d looked at him with glossy, hopeful eyes, practically begged for him to fuck you, and Dean had wondered if he’d died in his sleep last night and been dragged back to hell. Forced to experience some new kind of torture Crowley was developing, where everything he’d ever wanted was just a stretch away from his fingertips, and he wasn’t allowed to take it.

He had to be the noble one here. The wise, old asshole who didn’t take advantage of you. Taking you up on that offer would be one of the worst things he’d ever done. It would be selfish, and cruel, and a worse fate than anything else. To get what he wanted, for one night, then never fucking have it again. To get hooked—because he would, he fucking knew he’d never be able to kiss and touch you once then go back to just living—and turn into an addict willing to do anything to get another hit.

Dean would’ve turned into a bigger creep than he already was. Instead of stares and long, shameful showers with his cock in his hand and your name on his lips, he’d stuff your panties in his pocket and press them to his nose while he fucked himself raw. He’d get possessive, he’d snarl at anyone else who got to close, he’d fall to his knees and beg you to stay if you ever decided you had enough of him.

And he knew that last thing was going to happen eventually. You had a whole life ahead of you, and he was stuck here. In this dim bunker with blood on his hands and under his feet and staining his past and future all at once. He swam in a river of it. In front of him, behind him, washing over him all the time, there was just fucking blood. You deserved better than that. Better than Dean. You deserved the fucking world.

So he’d told you no, and you’d looked at him like a wet fucking kitten he’d kicked into the rain, but it had been for your own good. You’d get over it. Dean was the one who had to watch you flirt with douchebags at the bar. Who couldn’t get in another bed anymore, because he kept getting kicked out for moaning your name.

He was the one who was rooted here forever. You’d find something softer. Something good.  He’d accepted that, with a lot of beer pushing it down. You’d find something better, and that was what he wanted.

Sammy knew all that. Dean had gotten drunk once and confessed his stupid, undying feelings, then sworn Sam to secrecy in the morning. He’d kept his word, only shooting Dean sad looks whenever you went off to flirt and smirking whenever Dean called you on a hunt.

But now he was asking Dean to sleep with you. Like he’d lost his damn mind.

“No,” he grunted, and Sam rolled his eyes.

“Look, Dean, I get that you’re being cool and righteous and whatever-“

“I’m not fuckin’ her, Sammy- I shouldn’t.” He shot Sam a glare. “You know why I shouldn’t.“

“Yeah, well, I think your why is pretty stupid.” Sam said flatly. “You’ve never even asked her if she’d be- You know. Open to it-“

“I know she’d be open to it,” Dean scowled at his coffee. “But that’s- I ain’t doing it, Sammy. Never.” Not like that.

Sam was silent for a moment. When Dean looked up, he was staring at him with wide eyes. “She asked you first, didn’t she.”

Dean frowned. “What’d you mean, asked me first-“

“To take her virginity.”

He hadn’t taken a sip of coffee again. This time, he managed to choke on nothing at all. “To- What?”

Sam leaned back slightly. “Did she not ask you to sleep with her?”

“No, she did, I just didn’t fuckin’- She’s a virgin?”

“I guess,” Sam shrugged. “You know that’s not a big deal, right?”

Dean grunted. His head was spinning. Of course it wasn’t a big deal, he didn’t care. He’d wanted you before, he wanted you now, that wasn’t the fucking issue.

But you’d asked him.

You’d asked him to fuck you. You’d wanted him to- Do it. Take it. Pop it, whatever. You’d chosen Dean, to be the guy, and he’d told you no, and then you’d started flirting around with other people, and you could’ve ended up with someone dangerous, someone who took advantage of you, who thought your inexperience was hot for all the wrong reasons and hurt you and-

Dean paused. He looked at Sam. Sam blinked, and Dean’s eyes narrowed.

“How the fuck do you know that.”

Sam swallowed, taking a small step back. “Uh…”

“Sam-“

“She might’ve… Asked me.”

“She what-“

“I said no!” Sam said quickly. “I told her I wouldn’t. But- You know.” Sam cleared his throat. “If you’d said yes to her the first time…”

Sam gave him a pointed look. He was asking to get punched in the fucking face.

“No.”

“Dean, just-“

“No. I’m not takin’ advantage of her, Sammy, I’m not-“

 “It’s not taking advantage of her if she wants it!”

“She doesn’t want it-“

Sam snorted. “Oh, fuck off.”

Dean blinked, leaning back in his chair. Sam turned a little red, wincing at himself, but didn’t back down.

“Wow, Sammy. Big claws, huh.”

Sam sighed, running a hand over his face. “Dean… Just- Think about her, okay?”

Dean almost laughed. “All I fuckin’ do is think about her-“

“Then think a little harder.” Sam said flatly. “Before both of you get actually hurt.”

Dean didn’t have an answer to that. Sam didn’t seem to be asking for one. He turned and walked out of the room, leaving Dean alone. With only his coffee mug and thoughts for company. A dangerous thing to do. Dean could talk himself into and out of almost anything, if the logic police weren’t there to stop him.

He was going to do something really fucking stupid and selfish, and it was all Sam’s fault.

“Come in!” You call to the knock on your door, glancing up from your laptop as the door creaks open.

Dean shuffles into your room with his head bowed. Your face heats, and you slam the laptop closed. He doesn’t need to see you scrolling through hookup websites and think any lower of you. You’re already losing sleep over the worry you’ve fractured something between you beyond repair.

“Hi,” you whisper, and he swallows.

“Uh- Hey.”

“Hi.” What the fuck is wrong with you.

Dean’s lips twitch. “Hey.”

You start to pull the sheets between your fingers, trying not to ogle him too obviously. He’s wearing sweats and a t-shirt, and it’s sexier than all the profile pics you’ve spent hours staring at. His hair is a mess, and there are bags under his eyes, and you don’t think you’ve ever wanted to climb over him more.

“You, uh-“ He glances at your computer. “You busy?”

“No- No.” Never for him. You shove your computer onto your bedstand, moving to sit on your knees. “What’s up?”

Dean’s throat bobs. He runs a hand through his hair, huffing something close to a laugh, and shakes his head. “Jesus.”

“What-“

“Nothin’.” He clears his throat, giving you a strange look. “Did you ask Sam to sleep with you?”

Your mouth falls open. You almost trip sitting down. “I- I didn’t-“

“You didn’t?”

“No, I mean- I- He wasn’t supposed to tell you,” you whine, avoiding Dean’s stare. “I didn’t- Fuck-“

“Hey- It’s- Woah-“

Dean crosses the room in a few strides, grabbing your wrists with firm, warm hands. You’d started to pick at your nails with the anxiety. You hadn’t even realized it.

“Don’t hurt yourself, sweetheart,” he mutters, his thumb dragging a circle on your wrist.

You nod, your voice only a breath. “Okay.”

He’s so close. You can count all his crow’s feet, map his stubble, trace his lips with just your eyes. He’s still frowning at your wrist, so you allow yourself to stare.

Then he looks up. And you freeze in panic, but don’t manage to look away.

Dean’s tongue flicks over his lips. Your breath catches. Neither of you move, and you let yourself have it. For a single second, you imagine that Dean is here, in your room, on your bed, and that means something. You get lost in the warmth of his proximity, the calloused but soft feeling of his touch.

“Sammy told me something else,” Dean mutters, scanning over your slack, flushed features.

“Yeah?” You whisper, and he nods tightly.

“Yeah. Said you’re, uh-“ He clears his throat. “Said you’ve never- You know.” He cringes. “Been fucked.”

Your mouth falls open. You think you’d like to die now. “Dean-“

“Is that why you asked me?” His grip tightens on your wrist. Not allowing you to pull away. “’Cause you just wanted someone to take it?”

You drop your gaze to his crotch. There’s a soft bulge there. You’d drool over it, if you didn’t think you were going to explode any second now. 

Dean says your name, and you shake your head.

“Don’t,” you mumble. “Don’t just- Feel bad for me- You said no, that’s- It’s fine-“

“What if it’s not.”

Your eyes shoot up. You’d think he was joking, if he didn’t look so fucking serious. His jaw is set. His eyes are blown out and fixed on yours. Your mouth hangs stupidly open, and Dean smiles softly.

“Huh?” You manage to choke out, and he almost chuckles.

“What if I wanted to. Help you.”

“But-“ You blink. “You don’t.”

Dean shakes his head. “Wrong, sweetheart. I do-“

“You said you didn’t-“

“I lied.”

You stare at him. He doesn’t back down.

“Would it mean something?” He muttered, reaching up to trace the curve of your cheek. “If I did it?”

You nod weakly, leaning into his touch. It sends violent, hot shivers through your whole body. Almost like a fever. You don’t want the cure. “Would it matter to you?” You ask, and Dean’s eyes flash. His fingers curl on your cheek. He leans an inch forward, then another inch. Your lips brush, the lightest possible touch, and you let out a soft, uncertain whine.

Dean pushes forward, his lips fully crashing into yours, his kiss demanding but certain. He presses over you, pulling you a little further up on your knees. You grab the collar of his shirt for balance, squeezing your eyes shut and trying to kiss him back with as much fervor as he’s offering you.

“De- Dean-“ You gasp against his lips. “Dean-“

He groans, his arm sliding around your back so he can pull you tight to his chest. You melt into his arms, and his kisses turn messy. Open mouthed and rough, his tongue dragging over your teeth as his fingers dig into your hips. You run out of air fast, but don’t try and pull away. You don’t want this to ever end, and you’re afraid that if you dare to break the moment, it will never be repaired.

High gasps start to escape your throat, though, and Dean pulls away. He cups your face between his hands, frowning slightly, and presses his brow against yours. You struggle for air, almost pressing forward to try and kiss him again, but he holds you in place.

“Breathe, sweetheart,” he mutters, rough and thick. It’s the same voice he uses on you during hunts. When he’s giving an order you didn’t ask for.

Usually, you protest or ignore him. Right now you’re putty in his hands. He could tell you to follow him to hell, and you would. You’d do anything, just for him to never let go.

You inhale unevenly, and Dean rubs your upper back. His hand slipped under your shirt, and his palm is broad and warm. It—annoyingly—helps a lot.

“There you go,” he murmurs, watching you under hooded eyes. “That’s a good girl.”

You whine again. “Dean-“

“Sorry. Couldn’t help it.”

He doesn’t fucking look sorry. His lips are twitching, and there’s a smug glint in his eyes that’s almost dangerously intoxicating.

“Better?” He asks, and you nod, slumping closer to his chest. He doesn’t push you away.

This might be real.

“Are you sure, ‘bout this?” Dean rasps, and you almost giggle.

“Yes.”

“I’m old, sweetheart-“

“I like it.”

Dean blinks, and you stutter, so sure you should shut up but not really sure how.

“I- I mean- I like you, so- I don’t care if you’re old- I like you old- I like you-“

Dean smirks, holding your face so firmly against his  you can’t shy away.

“You- Can you- I mean- If it’s just- Just sex- You can forget I said- I think you being old is hot-“

He finally takes mercy, and shuts you up with a long, rough kiss. You hum, pushing further up on your knees, and climb slowly into Dean’s lap. He sucks on your lower lip, angling your head back as your core settles against his bulge, then pulls back with a low sigh.

“Not just sex,” he mutters, dragging his thumb over your swollen lower lip. “Not with you, baby.”

You nod, smiling wider than you probably should. “Cool.”

Dean grins back. “Yeah?”

“Mhm.”

“Cool ‘cause you like me,” he teases, shoving your hips down, right over his crotch. “Of ‘cause I’m old.”

You face burns. All you can do is stare and him and whimper, “You’re spritely.”

Dean huffs, in disbelieving amusement. “Spritely? You think I’m-“

“Youthful,” you babble quickly. “You’ve got a lot of…” You flush as he stares at you, sort of wishing he’d just kiss you and shut you up. “Youth.”

Dean’s mouth curves up. “Youth, huh.”

You nod, and he chuckles, pressing the lightest kiss over your lips.

“Hurts when I bend over now, honey, don’t think that’s very youthful of me.”

“So don’t bend over,” you mumble, and Dean snorts.

“Demanding, aren’t we?”

You shrug, trying not to turn into a puddle and miserably failing. Dean kisses your cheek, then under your eye, tracing his mouth down so he breath tickles your ear.

“Mouthy and demanding,” he rubs your hips, dragging your hips back and forth across his crotch. “Don’t worry. I’m gonna fix that.”

You whimper, and Dean’s grin grows.

“You like that, huh.”

“Dean-“

“Ah,” he kisses the corner of your mouth, moving away before you can chase his lips. “You wanted my help. This is how I’m gonna help, baby. Takin’ real good care of you,” he thrusts his hips up, and you whine as the hard outline of his cock hits your clothed pussy. “Just like this.”

 You nod, pressing your face into the crook of Dean’s neck. You don’t think you’ve ever been this turned on. It’s different, with Dean’s hands wandering your sides and his voice right in your ear. Your heart pounds and everywhere gets slick with sweat and arousal, just his dirty talk reducing you to a heap of confused nerves. Dean’s lips drag over your jaw, and you curl further around him, your nails digging into his shoulders as he nips at your throat.

“Just gotta do what I tell you, alright?” He mutters, squeezing a handful of your ass. “Can you do that, baby? Do it for me?"

You nod quickly, and Dean chuckles against your skin.

“Eager,” he drawls, pushing his fingers slowly under the hem of your shorts. “Eager and soft.”

He squeezes your ass again, his fingers brushing against the edge of your pussy. You grind backwards, trying to push him to where you need him so very desperately. He lets you, teasing his fingers over the lips of your pussy, and you whine in his ear.

“Sit still,” he grunts, and you have to bite your lower lip, but you force your hips to come to a stop.

It earns you a sharp slap of your ass, and a kiss on the side of your head. Worth it.

“That’s right,” he mutters, letting those thick fingers dance back over your cunt.  “Good work, baby girl. You fuckin’ love the attention, don’t you. Eager to please me, eager to make me proud.”

You swallow, hugging him so tight you’re a little worried you’ll choke him. Dean doesn’t even flinch. He dips two fingers into the wetness of your heat and groans right in your ear, spreading the arousal everywhere between your thighs.

“If you’re gonna hide that pretty face,” he grunts in your ear. “At least fuckin’ kiss me.”

Nervously, you wander your lips over the strong curve of his shoulders, the arch of his neck. Dean moans in your ear, his cock jumping in his jeans. His fingers keep wandering near and around your pussy, and you get a little bolder. Kissing up his jaw, over his cheek, the top of his lip. You’re panting, trying to focus on your job as Dean keeps pulling and teasing you with his touch.

“Shit,” he moans your name, tracing around your flutter entrance. “That’s it, baby, just like that-“

 Dean grabs your jaw with his free hand, like he can’t fucking help himself, and slams his lips against yours. You squeak in surprise, but kiss him back, grinding down onto his hand. His fingers dip inside of you for a moment, and you moan. Dean grunts and shoves those fingers inside of you.

Your mouth falls open, your eyes widening at the thick, pleasurable stretch. He feels so good, so fucking right, you’re worried his cock might kill you.

“Look at you,” Dean coos, smirking at your slack face. “Just my fuckin’ fingers, baby. Keep breathin’, or this is all we’re doing tonight.”

You take a deep breath, sharp and sudden, and Dean smirks in approval.

“Good girl,” he pushes his fingers a little deeper, scissoring them and bumping against a spot that makes your whole body jerk.

“Dean-“

“Shh,” he kisses you, crooking his fingers to rub against that hidden button, and you mewl against his lips. “You feel that, baby?”

“Mmm- Mhm.” You press your cheek against his, eyes fluttering as Dean keeps pushing and tickling deep inside you. “Feels good.”

“I know it does, sweet girl,” he wraps his hand back around your neck, guiding your brow to press back against his. “It’s that special little spot, gonna make everything feel good.”

His words are sweet and mocking all at once, and it sends a new gush of arousal between your legs. You watch him with wide, clouded eyes, and Dean’s smile softens for a single second. He kisses you, more gentle than before, and pulls his fingers slowly out of your cunt.

“Lie down,” he whispers before you can protest, and you swallow, but obey.

Dean hums in approval, rubbing a massive hand on your thigh.

“Everything off,” he says, and you go still.

“Everything?”

“Mhm,” he raises his brows at your flushed expression. “That gonna be a problem?”

You shake your head, wrapping your arms around your stomach. You don’t want to disappoint him, but he’s going to see you. Really, fully see you. God, you really don’t want him to see you and change his mind, and-

“Hey,”  Dean takes your hand, squeezing it gently. “You want my help?”

“Yes, please,” you breathe, and that’s all it takes. 

Dean rips off his shirt first—makin’ it even, he says—then makes quick work of his jeans. You don’t get more than a second to marvel him—flushed, tanned chest and thick everything, and heavy cock that does not look like a worm—before he’s touching you. He shimmies your shorts down, then peels your shirt over your head, leaving you in only your underwear. For a moment he just admires you, palming his cock with a tiny grin, and you roll onto your stomach.

Dean laughs, tapping your ass with a single finger. “Gettin’ shy, baby?”

“Shut up-“

“Ah.” He drags that finger down your clothed pussy. “Who tells who what to do?”

Your face burns, and you press your face further into the pillows. Dean chuckles, and you feel the bed shift as he crawls over your body. You can feel the heat coming off of him, feel the drag of his cock somewhere near your ass as he whispers in your ear.

“You were doin’ so well,” he drawls, unhooking your bra with a single hand. “Don’t get shy on me now.”

It doesn’t help. You keep grinding, trying to get some friction with the sheets. Dean’s hand comes down on your pussy with one, sharp smack, and you squeal, pushing back against his hand.

“Needy fuckin’ baby,” he mocks. “Can’t even help it, can you. Still tryin’ to be good for me.”

He hooks two fingers around your panties, pulling them tight so they push against your clit. You push back against his hand, and he smirks against your ear.

“You want a little more?”

You nod, and he snaps the fabric down, sending a tiny shock through your body.

“Say please-“

“Please,” you gasp, moving your arms up to hide your face. “Please, Dean- More- Oooh-“

Dean’s thumb finds your clit, rubbing in slow, tight circles. Your words fall off, and he fists a hand in your hair, tugging your head back to allow him to kiss you again.

He’s not cruel, with how he touches you. He’s generous, but controlled. Every stroke of your clit is deliberate, making your head spin and your mouth fall further open. That seems to be exactly how he wants you, though, because he pushes his tongue further down your throat and flicks his thumb back and forth, working you up into a writhing frenzy.

When his fingers finally push back inside of you, Dean almost seems unwilling to pull back and stop kissing you. You’re bent back and pliant under him, whimpering happily as he feeds his fore and middle finger into your hole.

“Greedy little pussy,” he rasps against your lips. “Know you’re gonna strangle my cock, baby, son of a bitch-"

He groans, like he’s the one being fingered into oblivion. He’s set a harsh pace with his wrist, snapping his fingers in and out of your cunt without relent. His thumb moved away from your clit, replaced by the heel of his palm, rubbing in tight, unrelenting circles on your swollen clit.

Every single time, he hits that spot inside of you, and your head is starting to get light. All the electricity and heat in your body is pushing down into your core, building like a bomb and threatening to explode. You almost sob, with how overwhelming the sensation is. Dean notices, kissing you a little softer.

“Poor girl,” he mutters. “Already like this and I’m not even properly fuckin’ you.”

“Your- Your hands,” you push out the word between sharp breaths. “They’re big.”

Dean grunts, his cock jumping near your ass. “Yeah, sweetheart? You like how fuckin’ big my hands are?”

“Mh- Mhm.”

You try to kiss him again. He pulls back, moving his hand impossibly faster against your cunt.

“Words,” he grunts. “You’re not stupid enough to not speak, not yet.”

“Like it,” you breathe out. “Love- Love it, Dean, oh- Oh my god-“

You moan again, and Dean grunts. His hips are starting to jerk near your ass, making him rut against you as his fingers work.

“Your close,” he mutters, pressing his fingers fully inside and crooking them against that gooey spot. “Cum for me, pretty girl. Now.”

His voice must have some kind of supernatural power over you, because that pressure in your lower tummy bursts, and your orgasm rips through you link a hurricane. Your thighs clench, trapping Dean’s hand between your legs, and he groans, rubbing his fingers harsher and harsher against your g-spot. You’re shaking and rolling beneath him, and he has to grab the back of your neck and pin it down to keep you still.

Dean works you through your orgasm, whispering low praise in your ear as you float back down to earth. Your pussy feels empty, when his fingers finally pull away. Your eyes are slightly crossed, and your smile is dazed and a little stupid.

You don’t even squeak, when Dean grabs your thigh and flips you over. You keen, back arching and body twitching, but you’re mostly just staring stupidly and happily up at him. Dean swallows, his chest rising and falling fast, and leans down to press a soft kiss to your lips. You hum, eyes fluttering shut, and cup the back of his neck to hold him against you.

He drags his fingers lazily through the mess between your thighs, sending pleasurable little shivers up your spine. He drags your panties fully off your body, holding them up to his nose and taking a deep, long whiff before tossing them off to the side. He gathers your arousal on his fingers and slowly pulls away, rising over you with parted lips and gleaming, almost wholly black eyes.

Dean sucks your juices off his fingers, lapping them up with his tongue and a lazy, knowing smirk. Your breath catches. You almost push up to try and grab him, but you’re still foggy and boneless from the orgasm, and he shoves you back down with a broad hand splayed over your tummy.

“Dean-“

You cut yourself off under his stern gaze, swallowing nervously.

“Please?” You try again, and he chuckles.

“You’re cute.”

“I- I am not-“

“Yeah, you are. Cute when you cum for me,” he dips his fingers back into you, smirking lazily. “Cute when I touch you. Cute when you beg.”

“Deeeean-“

“Deeean,” he mocks, squeezing your upper thigh. “Listen to you. Fuckin’ adorable.”

You flush, a new wave of arousal hitting you like a rising tide, and you don’t even understand how you could possibly be ready that fast. Dean watches you pussy tremble and flutter, letting out a slow, rough breath.

“Son of a bitch,” he shakes his head, his hand moving to rub against his cock. “You got no idea what you do to me, baby, no fuckin’ idea.”

You swallow, watching him move against himself, almost enchanted. He really is prettier than is fair, in every possible way. His cock is thick and long, flushed at the head and leaking pre-cum against his thumb. Your tongue flicks over your lips, as you try to mentally measure the girth and length of him. You’ve taken toys before, when you got really curious. He’s bigger.

“You wanna touch, sweetheart?” He prompts, and you nod, your tongue flicking over your lips.

Dean pushes his hips forward, slowly taking your hand and guiding it against his shaft. He’s warm. Warm and hard. You dance your fingers down the length of him and he grunts, a vein ticking in his neck.

“Easy…” He rasps, and you nod nervously.

You find his balls, give them a light squeeze, and Dean catches your wrist.

“That’s enough.” He mutters, twining your fingers together. “Jesus, woman, gonna blow it before I even get inside of you.”

Your eyes widen. You’d almost forgotten about that part.

“That’s not going to fit inside of me.”

Dean chuckles. “Yeah, it will.”

“No, I mean like- It can’t-“

“It can.”

“Dean, I’m serious-“

He shuts you up with a quick rough kiss, and you go embarrassingly limp. His cock rubs between the folds of your pussy, bumping and pressing against your clit, and your breath hitches. Oh, God.

“Just do what I tell ya,” he mutters. “We’re gonna make it fit.”

You do. It is very easy to do what Dean tells you, when he follows through on all his promises. When he gives you such low and certain orders, and you find yourself molding perfectly around his cock.

Because it does fit. Somehow, Dean spreads your legs and kisses your pussy once—as if he can’t help himself—before crawling over you and slowly pushing the head of his cock inside of you. It’s tight at first. He grunts, pressing his brow to you shoulder, and rubs tight circle around your clit with his thumb.

“Open up for me, baby,” he rasps. “C’mon.”

You go limp with every inch he feeds you. The stretch is glorious, pulling you apart with every drag over your fluttering walls, every low grunt of your name from Dean’s lips. His determination to tease you seems to dissolve, by the time he’s fully seated inside of you, his balls pressed against your ass. He pants in your ear, hot and heavy, and cradles your body in his arms like it’s fragile.

“Slow,” he mutters, and it sounds like he’s talking to himself more than you. “Gonna go slow.”

You keen, at the first, lazy thrust of his hips. A lewd, wet sound fills the air, and the head of Dean’s cock pushes right up against that already abused spot inside of you, making stars dance behind your eyes. Every roll of Dean’s hips makes your whole body spark. He kisses all over your face, his own voice thick and wrecked as you clench around him.  

“Takin’ me so well, baby,” he rasps. “Feels good, doesn’t it. Feels so fuckin’ good, bein’ filled up with cock like you deserve-“

His words fall into a moan, his hips snapping forward, and the air gets knocked from your lungs. A sound you’ve never heard escapes you, and Dean chuckles, kissing your open mouth as he repeats the motion.

“Yeah, you like that.” He pulls almost fully out, then slams back forward. “Say it, baby girl, say you like it-“

“I like it,” you gasp out, sounding drunk to your own ears. “Love it, Dean- Fuck- Fuuuck-“

Dean captures your mouth in another kiss, and sets a brutal, drilling pace. You’re split open with every thrust, your every nerve on fire as he fucks you like a machine. He never gets too fast, just hard. Over and over and over again, until you’re gasping for air and clawing at his shoulders. That pressure turns molten and demanding, threatening to burst. Dean’s fingers dig into your hips. He moans in your ear, his own words staring to slur.

“Tight,” he moans. “So fuckin’ tight- I- I can’t- Shit-“

Dean’s hands fumble, dragging over your thighs and as he gropes for your pussy. Two fumbling fingers find it, rubbing tight circles, and you cry out, clenching down on his cock.

“Let go, sweetheart, need you to let for ‘f me- Fuck-“

Your orgasm hits you even harder than before, and your vision goes white. Your pussy flutters and clenches, something hot gushing out as your body trembles with overwhelming pleasure. It’s a strange sensation, but not bad. Not even close. You think you scream with pleasure, but Dean slams his mouth over yours and muffles the sound.

His hips stutter and jerk. You whine his name and he grunts, slamming forward and burying himself at the hilt as his cum spurts deep inside you, mixing with your own release.

You’re almost gone to the world. Dean lies over you, kissing you as you float back down, murmuring praise you can barely hear.

“Gonna clean you up,” he grunts, and you whine when his weight disappears.

“Deeean.” You grab at the air and catch his bicep. “Stay.”

You pout at him, eyes watery and hopeful. He just chuckles, kissing your knuckles before drawing back up, and promising to return.

He better. You really don’t want to let go of him now.

Dean brings a wet, warm towel, and cleans between your thighs. You didn’t realize how sore you were until he touches you with such light hands, but it’s a good kind of sore. When you moan, it’s not even really in pain.

He brings you water. A snack and a fresh shirt, that he bundles you in like a penguin. You somehow end up curled against his chest, half asleep and smiling against his bare, warm chest.

“I like you,” Dean says suddenly, and you beam. You don’t think you’ve ever felt so bubbly in your life.

“I like you too-“

“No,” his jaw works, the words low and tight. “I like like you- Like- Fuck-“

He runs a hand over his face, shaking his head. It’s almost adorable.

“You- You’re just- That really wasn’t nothin’ for me, sweetheart, not even close-“

You take his trick. You push up on his chest, press your lips together, and kiss him until he shuts the fuck up. He kisses you back immediately, cupping your face between shaking hands. You smile against his lips, pulling back just enough to whisper, “I like you too.”

Dean’s eyes snap open, his voice hoarse. “Really?”

“Yeah,” you flush. “A- A lot.”

Dean grins. He smiles wider than you knew he could, and slams a shorter rougher kiss against your lips before pulling back again. Like he can’t stand not to look at you for too long.

“Can I take you out?” He says, and you nod.

“Can we have more sex,” you whisper, and he laughs, pressing another kiss against your lips.

“Any time you want, baby.” He says. “You’re mine now.”

✦End note: drooling for him ✦

✦If you like this story, please reblog, share, or leave a comment! <3✦

✦Buy me a coffee!☕️ (and get early access!)✦

and you're supposed to be cleaning and reloading the weapons. the blades have been dirtied with something's blood, handles grimy and pistols empty. it all needs to be organized, too.

but dean looks like a very comfortable seat, beneath the dim lighting of the motel room. and you miss him very much, even though you haven't left his side this past week.

his brows are furrowed with focus, green eyes sparkling with the reflection of his laptop as he reads about sigils and the proper defense against tulpas.

he wouldn't mind, you think. if you just stole some of his attention.

“dean,” you hum, shifting on the edge of the bed. you discard the machete in your hand. you can just clean it tomorrow. “find anything?”

he huffs softly through his nose, and his pretty pink lips draw down into a subtle pout.

“nothin’ that we don't already know.”

“maybe you should take a break.”

“can't, sweetheart. you know that.”

you do know that. because you both really do need to keep chipping away at this case. you've got unsettled families of innocent victims counting on you, and you would really like to gut the bitch that's causing terror in this town.

but you would also really like your dean back.

when hunts aren't so pressing, and your time is more flexible, he's much more carefree. he'll press stolen kisses to the curve of your jaw when heads are turned, and sneak a hand up your shirt.

and when you're both back and settled into your room for the night, he likes to crawl over you like a cat and press his face into the softness of your neck, kneeling between your thighs. research be damned.

damn this research.

you blink, and dean is still sitting silently at the table, scrolling endlessly through a plethora of articles. he won't stop, no matter what you say.

and so you push yourself off of the mattress with a quiet sigh, and cross the room over to him. you waste no time in swinging your leg over the chair, and settling right into his lap.

he doesn't grunt, or grumble about how you're blocking the screen. instead, his silence seems to grow heavier. he's tired.

your arms snake around his neck, and you slump your forehead onto his temple.

dean is a weak, weak man when it comes to you. always has been, always will be. and so it's not surprising when you feel his strong arms wrap around your waist.

he needs this, just as badly as you do.

his body deflates as he gives the plush of your middle a squeeze, and his head drops to press against the slope of your shoulder. he breathes out a deep, rumbly sigh.

his hand splays warm underneath the fabric of your shirt, rubbing up and down your back soothingly as you melt into him. you can feel your lashes flutter sleepily.

his eyes are already closed. a gentle kiss is placed to your collar.

“missed you, baby,” his voice vibrates subtly against your skin, and he begins to nose there. “you smell good.”

“missed you, too,” your thumb rests on the nape of his neck, brushing over the soft hair. “very much. it's vanilla, my love.”

“vanilla?”

"what you're smelling. s'my perfume.”

your voice is soft. quiet and slow, as sleep begins to lull you under. it seems to be beckoning dean, too, because his arms are becoming a heavy weight around you.

"don't let me fall asleep,” he mumbles. “can't sleep yet, sweetheart.”

you shift on his lap, and the warmth of your chest presses against his. you really would like to burrow into him and stay there forever, if you could. he's warm and safe and he loves you more than you thought possible.

and he's been working hard, whilst simultaneously making sure you are resting and eating enough.

so when a quiet, small snore sounds from him, you don’t wake him up.

you let him rest, slouched against you. maybe you'll fall asleep, too, in a few minutes time.

he's here, tender and familiar and yours.

you don't have to miss him any longer.

You'd like to follow him down the hall, loop your arms around his middle and meld against his chest. Whisper goodbye, tell him to be safe, make him promise that he'll come back like you always do. But the hurt has puffed up through the night, it stings.

Unhelpful. Can't even flip through some books.

All you do is prance around all day.

Get out of your head.

Is he just like everybody else? It makes you nearly cry to think about. Pretty Dean, who softens himself around you and lets you stick flowers through his hair, holds your hand with such tender care, smiles when you speak about the things that everyone else thinks you're weird for, couldn't be like them.

Could he?

He's gone three days and calls every night. You don't answer the first, but you know how worried he gets for you, despite how difficult it is to feel truly appreciated right now. And so you answer the two others with soft, quiet hums that barely reach him through the static.

He doesn't bring up what he said, which only works to form a bleary, wet stick over your eyes. You're called sweet thing and angel on the third phone call, and you're sure it's because he could tell you were upset. He cares, but he hurt you, and you never thought he would.

That's foolish, you realize.

You don't hear the Impala rumble up the road on the night he returns. Only the soothing bubble of water, and the small drips your fingers make as you strain the water through your fingers. A little cold, sitting on the pebbled creek bed. Peaceful and serene and alone, you've barely spoken at all today.

You've not even been prancing. Walking, idly, aimlessly. You saw a speckled dragonfly earlier and find yourself wanting to tell Dean.

It's strange, how that works. Often enough, he's already around the bend when you think up his face, his voice, his freckles. Your name is murmured soft from behind, but you don't turn. His boots crunch on the smooth rocks and he lowers himself to sit beside you.

"Sweetheart," he breathes. "Hey."

He looks tired, when you turn your head to see him. A smudge over his cheekbone, blooming blue shadows pressed into the dip of his under eye. Illuminated by silver moonlight and watching you carefully. His throat works. You blink at him.

"Hi," you offer. "Hurt?"

The relief he feels hearing your voice again is quick, it makes his stomach quiver. He shakes his head.

"You do okay while I was gone?"

You nod. It's all he's given, and he'd like more though he knows he doesn't deserve it. He sighs, a long, bleeding sound that billows white air out into the darkness. Bright stars ripple atop the creek, and you watch for several quiet moments while he gathers his thoughts. Always jumbled, he's not sure how to make things right again.

He decides to say only what he's been thinking. Fancy has never been his strong suit.

"I didn't mean it," he tells you. "I don't mean it. What I said."

You're quiet. His knee bumps yours. He goes on.

"You're… I love, uh… I love how you are. I don't want you to be any different."

"I'm unhelpful," you whisper. His chest pangs.

"No," he hurries to say. "You're not. You've helped me so much, in- in so many ways. I'm better because of you, you help me."

"I'm no good with all the hunting stuff."

"That's not true. Even if it was, you don't need to be. I don't care if you're good with it or not, okay? Will you look at me?"

You do. His eyes, shining with the universe, search your gaze frantically. It's so obvious, the easiest thing to understand now. He's sorry, he didn't mean it, he's feeling guilty and wants to make everything better. He isn't like the others, he could never be.

He loves the way you are. You feel a a dull throbbing all over.

"I'm sorry, sweetheart. I'm sorry. I didn't mean any of it."

Your fingers poke at the denim of your jeans, as you take in his apologies. His hand finds yours and stills it. Careful and sweet.

"I know you are," you say. "I'm… I was being sensitive."

"You weren't," he protests, staring at you intently. "I was an asshole."

He was. Big time, you think, but nothing hurts anymore. Your lips quirk just subtly at his language and he relaxes, shoulders lowering along with his widened eyes. He breathes, chest rising and falling steady now.

"I love yo- how you are. Don't ever change. Got it?"

You squeeze his hand. Warm now, despite the chill.

"Got it."