i thought i was a retired fanfic writer, but here i am having a midlife crisis and picking it back up
13 years ago, I had the tumblr writing scene all figured out, but tbh the game changed while I was away, so I'm figuring out all of the graphics and whatnot. so forgive an old lady for coming back to tumblr lol.
i started out writing fanfic for supernatural and since i've returned it's been mostly the mandalorian and tlou. i will probably return to supernatural soon though, i have a lot of ideas!
I love getting any and all feedback, so please don't hesitate! masterlist for fics under the cut.
a story that takes place from the night of the cordyceps outbreak onward.
summary: when tommy got in that fight at the bar, it was over your best friend. once he's carried away in cuffs, you realize that he'd given you his cell phone and you still have it. when his brother, joel, calls and you can hear the terror in his voice, you realize something has gone very, very wrong. joel and tommy vow to get you and your best friend back to your families.
warnings: violence, blood, & gore associated with tlou. heavy mentions of grief. less than 10 year age difference between joel and the reader. from Ch 6 onward, there will be mentions of trauma-induced miscarriage. please read at your discretion.
ongoing series.
ao3 link.
Chapter 1 - everywhere.
Chapter 2 - know you're enough.
Chapter 3 - i know places.
Chapter 4 - ever closer became us.
Chapter 5 - hold on to this lullaby.
Chapter 6 - a ghost of you.
Chapter 7 - all our times have come.
summary: you hear a baby's cries in the marketplace and you spring into action, saving a tiny grogu from thugs and earning the respect of a beskar-clad warrior. but the imperialists have destroyed your home and are looking for you, so when the mandalorian offers to connect you with some friends that can offer a new life, you agree.
a03 link.
chapter 1 - never thought i'd meet you here.
chapter 2 - my eyes are full of stars.
chapter 3 - makeshift gauge.
chapter 4 - let you live.
chapter 5 - field of dandelions.
chapter 6 - burnin' it down.
chapter 7 - hell & back.
summary: Dean Winchester is a quarterback at State University. He failed his English class last semester and needs to pass in order to stay eligible and provide a good example for his teammates. What he doesn't plan on is falling for his tutor.
chapter 1 - the shakespeare tutor.
chapter 2 - playaction in the backfield.
To read any of my retired content, visit @inhellandheaven -- I wrote as dean :')
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Word Count: 8400
Note: I wrote this originally for the blog @inhellandheaven nearly 12 years ago (here is the original) and it was probably one of the most popular series I ever wrote lol. I re-read it a few weeks ago and my only thought was dear god, i can do so much better, so here we are. is it weird that i'm re-writing one of my own fics? probably. but we're doin' it anyway.
Masterlist. AO3.
as always, i crave feedback from readers! Please send me a message, reblog, or reply with your thoughts/reactions/questions!
Being a tutor and a TA was a great first step for someone in college.Â
But good grief was it an exhausting one.Â
Youâd had five tutoring sessions on Saturday, way more than your average, but several of the usual tutors had decided to travel with the football team and asked you to cover for them. Even though it was short notice, youâd accepted eagerly, hoping to really do well on your next paycheck.Â
By the third one, however, you were missing Deanâs quick wit and attitude. The students in front of you werenât stupid, exactly, but it was a miracle a couple of them could even read, much less produce high level work. Theyâd worked without wasting your time and theyâd signed the timesheet, so you tried not to think too poorly of them even in your own head.
The worst part was, theyâd all been back-to-backs, so you hadnât even gotten to watch the livestream of Deanâs scrimmage and you werenât sure why that disappointed you.Â
There was a hesitation to text him Saturday morning, like Bela and Jo were urging you to. Apparently âgood luckâ texts to athletes were a common courtesy, but you didnât want to blur the line between tutor and friend, so youâd resisted. But your finger had hovered over the Send button for far too long in between your study sessions.Â
Bela and Jo had decided to go with some other cheerleaders and you might have lingered on a few pictures theyâd sent you of Dean in action.
Although if interrogated, youâd deny it to your dying breath.
Once the tutoring sessions were over, youâd checked your phone to an update from Jo saying that the team had won by a landslide and most of the starters had been taken out early in the 3rd quarter. You were glad, Dean had been stressing about the game and this was a good start to the season.
But tutoring wasnât your only job this semester. So you munched on a granola bar youâd packed in your backpack and cracked your neck as you approached the mounting work of being a TA. Dr. Crowley might have been a Grade-A Asshole with every other TA, but he was more than fair to you. You taught a couple of his upper-level classes, but they were small, so there was never a crazy grading work lode.Â
His freshman level classes however⌠every freshman at State had to have those classes, so they were always massive. The stack of quizzes heâd handed you the day before was extremely thick and none of the questions were multiple choice.
Awesome.Â
It took almost all of the evening Saturday and into the afternoon on Sunday to grade the stack with a level of feedback you knew Crowley would approve of. You made a mental note to discuss it with him on Monday because expecting you to finish that amount of quizzes in two days was unethical and near impossible. You would not be doing that again.
By the time you crept out of your bedroom on Sunday evening, you were ready to fall out. By the time your laundry had finished at 1 am Monday morning, youâd fallen asleep at the kitchen table.
Dr. Crowleyâs first class was at 9 am, so when Jo woke you at the kitchen table on her way out the door to her 8 am class, you still had plenty of time to make yourself semi-presentable (meaning, the most comfortable clothes you owned and a wee bit of dry shampoo so your hair looked like it had been washed in the last 3 days) and stop by the Starbucks on campus before you handed them off. Then youâd have time to hit the library and get your life together before your first class at 10.Â
Excellent plan.Â
State University had a large campus, so there were plenty of coffee shops spread throughout, but this one was closest to your apartment and that made it the best. 8:15 am was still plenty early for college students on a Monday, so you werenât surprised to see that there were less than five patrons within.
âLooks like you need it directly into your veins, sweetheart.â A familiar voice called.Â
You looked over your shoulder to see Dean Winchester with a ball cap pulled down low over his eyes. âGee, thanks, you look like shit too. Party too hard after the easy win?â
He grimaced, rubbing the stubble on his chin. âYou see the game?â
You shook your head and faced forward again. âNope. Had to work all weekend.â
âThat sucks,â he said.Â
âJo and Bela went though, they sent me updates.â
âOh yeah?â He raised his eyebrows. âWeâll have to get you to a game here soon.â
The silence fell easily as you waited in line. You were glad, you had a headache and you were sore from sleeping at the table the night before. Honestly, if you tried, you could probably take a 5 minute nap standing up while you waited for âÂ
âWhatâs your poison?âÂ
When you looked at him, eyes a little dazed, he had pointed up to the menu. âYou oneâa those âsecret menuâ girls?â
âNope. Just a plain ole white chocolate mocha.â
âPretty basic,â he commented. âLeast itâs not Pumpkin Spice.â He struck his tongue out.
âGive me a couple weeks,â you quipped, hoping your voice didnât sound as dead as you felt. âFirst time I see a leaf fall off a tree, itâll be all PSLs for months.â
He frowned then. Apparently your bravado had not covered your exhaustion. âSomethinâ wrong?â
You shrugged. âTold you I worked all weekend. Itâs caught up to me. I fell asleep at the kitchen table last night after midnight. And Mondays are always my busiest day.â
âOoh, thatâs not good. Definitely need the extra espresso shot then.â
By then, youâd made it to the front. Your order was pretty basic and it ranked your nerves that Dean had said so. You added a cake pop just for some pizazz.Â
Once youâd gotten the total, you pulled out your student flex card to pay, but Deanâs hand whipped out to cover yours. âSheâs with me.â
âYou sure?â
He smirked and nodded. For all that heâd teased you, Dean was pretty basic too, ordering a sâmores frappe and a cake pop before paying with a debit card instead of the student flex card. He came to stand next to you while you waited together.Â
âGuess todayâs not a good day to ask for a study session,â he ventured, hands in his sweats.Â
âNot today, Sweetness.â
He grinned at that. âWhat?â
He shrugged. âNothinâ. Prospect of caffeineâs makinâ you feel a little better, huh?â
You rolled your eyes. âBut no, I doubt Iâll have time to eat between now and 9 pm, much less an hour to study.â
âOh yeah? That busy?â
You raised an eyebrow. âDonât you have practice or something?â
He nodded and reached with one hand for the ball cap, turning it around backwards. âJust came from the weight room, actually. Got study hall this afternoon at 4, then film at 5.â
âSounds like fun.â
âNo,â he chuckled. âNormally, we analyze the film and itâs not so bad. You get to see where you messed up, what you could do better, stuff like that. But after a game like Saturday, thereâs not much for the starters to analyze.â
âSo itâll focus on the 2nd and 3rd string guys, huh?â
He nodded. âGreat for them, boring for me.â
Your names were called at the same time and you both stepped forward. The coffees were next to each other, the cake pops in one bag.
Reaching for them at the same time, you jumped whenever your fingers touched. You let out a chuckle and flicked your eyes up to Dean, who wore the same smirking expression he had when youâd called him Sweetness. You reached again and grabbed your coffee while Dean took his and the cake pop bag.
âThanks for the coffee,â you said as he held the door open for you.Â
âNo problem, least I could do since youâve been helpinâ me.â
You took a sip and let the iced caffeine goodness sink into your veins. âOh, god this stuff is good. But you know I get paid for that, right? You donât owe me anything.â
He took a sip of his, other hand deep in the pocket of his sweatpants. âYeah, I know. Youâve just been nicer than you had to be, so I wanted to do somethinâ nice.â
You just nodded and walked along, feeling better with every sip.
âDean?â
âYeah?â
âI know a way you can pay me back.â
He looked out of the corner of his eye down to you. âOh, yeah? What is it, sweetheart?â
You eyed his frappe. âLet me try your drink â I havenât had that one.â
He scoffed and grinned at you. âHow do I know you donât got cooties or somethinâ?â
âEw,â you scrunched your nose. âWhat are we, seven?â
He reached over and let you take a drink from the straw.Â
âVery nice,â you complimented. âDefinitely tastes like sâmores.â
âTastes like fall,â he clarified. âGlad weâre even now.â He leaned over, nudging your shoulder.
âTill the next session, anyway.â
The English building was one of the larger on campus and you were surprised when Dean opened the door and followed you inside.Â
âDonât work too hard today,â he said, frowning a little with ⌠concern?
You smiled. âGot my caffeine now, Iâll be fine till tonight, at least.â
He nodded. âWell, let me know what tomorrow looks like for you. Have a good day.â
âYou too, and thanks for the coffee.â
You parted ways then, waving as you headed toward Dr. Crowleyâs office and Dean went in the direction of the lecture halls. Dr. Crowleyâs office was one of the more ⌠eccentric of the staff. He had amassed a rather large collection of antiquities, as he called them. To you, it looked like something off a Hoarders and American Pickers crossover.
The worst part was, Crowley would answer questions about none of them. Youâd tried. Not where heâd got them, when, how much they were, or even what they were. Youâd taken pictures of some of the more interesting ones, hoping to reverse Google Search them, but theyâd mysteriously come up with no results.
More than once, youâd wondered if Crowley had broken into the Vatican archives or something. He had to know people in order to get this much useless and anonymous stuff.
Since the door was open, you let yourself in and walked around the space, observing if anything had been added since youâd been there on Friday.Â
Of course, Dr. Crowley wasnât there when you called, and he hated when you just left things on his desk for him to find later. You took another sip of your coffee and groaned at the prospect of finding him before his next class.
As his TA, one of your jobs was to lead his classes and generally take some of the work load off him. He preferred to teach the freshman lectures himself, citing that it was âfunâ to mess with the younger crowd, as well as the 400 level classes so he could dive a little deeper into the works with them.
The only class that youâd ever asked him to give to you was the 205 - the Shakespeare class, and it was the only one heâd steadfastly refused, telling you it was his favorite. Oh well, you were glad you werenât teaching it - Dean needed help and he was honorable about making sure you got paid.Â
Which was the whole point.
You checked your watch and looked up at the schedule on Dr. Crowleyâs office door. He was about to start the 205 Shakespeare class âŚ
It would be a good opportunity to see Dean. The thought popped unbidden into your mind and you felt yourself start to flush.Â
To see Dean, in action, in class, so I can see if heâs actually participating, you amended to yourself, setting your shoulders straight and marching in the direction of the classroom. This was for purely professional reasons - you needed to give Dr. Crowley the quizzes and you wanted to see how the student you were tutoring actually did in class.
That was it.
So why were you so nervous as you reached for the door? Why did it feel like you were walking into a test you hadnât studied for?Â
Youâd already seen him this morning. Heâd paid for your coffee and walked you to the building. You hadnât been this nervous when youâd heard his voice behind you in the coffee shop.
Maybe there was no time to panic, that same voice said in your head.Â
You figuratively rolled your eyes at that little voice and filed in the lecture hall in behind another student.Â
Crowley was at the bottom of the lecture hall, which was built staggered into a pit so that every student could see easily. He was leaned against the desk, arms crossed over his chest, when he noticed you.
And frowned.
Which, compared to the hiss and scowl he gave most people, meant he was decently happy to see you.
âAh, my lovely assistant,â he greeted, the British accent flowing smoothly. âWhat brings you to the depths of a 200 level class?â
You set your backpack down on the closest desk and fished out the quizzes. âFinished these for you over the weekend and you werenât in your office.â
âSo you hand-delievered them?â
You shrugged. âHad some time.â
âThank you, love,â he said, flipping through the stack of papers.Â
âAlso wanted to make sure you didnât ruin my weekend like that again,â you put a hand on your hip and stared pointedly at the stack.
âHm?â
âHanding me that on a Friday afternoon and asking for it this morning was a crap move, and you know it.â You kept your voice light enough to sound like teasing, but Crowley knew you well enough to know you were serious.
He nodded, just a brief tilt of the head. âNoted.â
âThank you.â
The lecture hall was filling up, so he looked down at his watch. âAlmost time. Would you want to stay for the lecture and discussion?âÂ
He hadnât been looking at you, but you knew what the question meant. Crowley didnât often ask questions where he didnât already know the answer.
And he knew you loved Shakespeare.Â
You nodded, trying to hide your excited smile. âIs that okay? I havenât had a chance to sit in on any of your classes yet this semester.â
He gestured to the open desks on the front row. âGet comfortable.â
Dr. Crowley always started promptly at 9:00. The door opened at 9:01 to emit a student and he scowled at them, pausing his words until the poor kid found his seat.Â
Dean had learned long ago that if he left on time for class, someone would inevitably stop him to talk about football or parties and heâd be late. So he made a habit of leaving the apartment earlier than needed and if campus wasnât busy, heâd stop for a coffee.Â
He was glad he had this morning. Even though you looked like hell and he knew youâd had a rough weekend, Dean had been glad to see you. He was already planning what his message would say later whenever he checked in.
The seat heâd grabbed on the first day of class was on the edge of the lecture hall, about 3/4 of the way up. All he wanted was to be out of the way and unrecognized. Since most of this class was people who were destined to be English majors, he hadnât had much problem with people swarming him and the only rude question heâd gotten was why he was even taking this class.
Because I fuckinâ had to was what he always wanted to say. Instead heâd just shrugged and smiled. âNeeded it.â
Heâd needed one more English credit for his teaching major and by the time heâd signed up, this was the only one open.
Then heâd failed it.
So he took it again, thinking it would be easier the second time.
It wasnât, but he had you in his corner now, so he was more optimistic.
âAlright,â Crowley said, nodding as the latecomer found his seat. âLast week, we extensively discussed Act 1 of Macbeth and you were supposed to have read Act 2 prior to todayâs class for discussion.â
He turned to the side opposite Dean and gestured to someone sitting in the front row. âWe do have a special guest with us today, by complete happenstance. Would you care to review Act 2 for us?â
Dean heard a laugh - a laugh he knew.
You stood from the desk and came to stand beside Crowley, coffee in hand. Apparently the caffeine had done more for you than anything, because you looked like yourself again. Dean made a mental note of that.
âWell, in case you didnât read Act 2 or in case you did and forgot, letâs review it,â you began.
Dean was entranced. He listened as you covered Act 2 the same way you had started to last week, before youâd discussed his paper. Your eyes lit up the exact same way as whenever you talked to him about it, and damn if you didnât look beautiful.Â
âSo Scene 1 ends with Macbeth already starting to struggle and deteriorate,â you explained. âIn Scene 2, we get a view of Lady Macbeth. Remember, sheâs been the one driving this train so far, really pushing her husband into the prophecies because she is ambitious â and to Shakespeareâs crowd, ambition was a sin.â
âScene 2 sees the hallucination of the dagger and Duncanâs death off-screen. Now,â you looked out at the crowd. âWhat do you guys think was the most important part of Act 2?â
A kid near the front raised his hand and said, âDuncanâs death, obviously.â
âHow so?â
It was fascinating to watch you teach. You knew the content, Dean knew that, but it was the way you could lead the students to the question without giving it away, making them think theyâd done it on their own. He wanted to be embarrassed at knowing that youâd done that for him, more than once, but he just wasnât. It wasnât a testament to how bad he was at English, it was a testament to how good of a teacher you were.Â
You finished with that student, leading him to a thought that maybe Duncanâs death wasnât the most important point, and Dean thought he knew where you wanted the conversation to go, so he raised his hand.
Your eyes met his, the excitement never lagging. âYes, Dean?â
All eyes in the lecture hall turned to him and he felt his palms growing sweaty again.
Funny, they never do that at football, he thought.
âI think the most important thing in this act is Lady Macbethâs monologue,â he claimed, rubbing a hand on the back of his neck.
Just a slight tick in your smile, a barely there motion, and Dean knew he was on the right track.
âGo on,â you pressed, your voice neutral.Â
âWell, doesnât she say something about how she wouldâve done it herself, but Duncan looked like her dad?â
âYes, and why is that important?â
He smirked. âShe just spent 20 minutes berating her husband because he forgot something simple, but then in the next breath, she admits that he had to do it because she couldnât do it herself. Thatâs the whole ambition point, right? Women couldnât do anything without a man attached to them, because of society and stuff, so itâs a metaphor for how women would ⌠I donât know, trap men into doing these ambitious things that they couldnât otherwise do.â
âYes,â you praised. âHer treatment of him, insulting him, cleaning up after him, and being dependent on him, is a direct metaphor for society in that time period.â
You gave a slight turn to go on to the next person, but you stopped, looking back at Dean, âGood work, Winchester.â
He scooted down in his seat, avoiding the jealous glares of the students who hadnât made that connection, and he couldnât stop the wave of pride in his chest.Â
When his phone buzzed in his pocket, he fished it out. Crowley was one of the few professors who didnât have an opinion on cell phones in class. To him, it was your tuition money, and if you wanted to waste it by not paying attention⌠wasnât his problem.
Dean couldnât help the smile that spread across his face. You were funny. Funny in a way that wasnât performative, too.
Heâd met plenty of girls at high school and college parties that tried to appeal to his sense of humor, but it all just fell flat. Like Dean could tell within seconds that they were just attempting to get closer to him, like it was all a scam.
Not you though.Â
He craved your humor.Â
He could feel Crowleyâs eyes on him, so he put his phone in his pocket and tried to focus as you led the rest of the class. It was hard.
You left a couple minutes before the class ended and Dean couldnât help how bummed he felt. Heâd wanted to chat with you, maybe walk you to your next class. Heâd liked walking together this morning. But the idea of text you to see where you went just made him look like a creep.Â
So he meandered through the rest of the day, going to his classes, taking notes, attempting to look like this morning hadnât set a pace for the rest of his day.Â
4 pm rolled around and Dean sat in the same lecture hall heâd been in this morning. His eyes kept flickering to where youâd sat, as if hoping youâd magically materialize in the middle of football study hall.
His laptop was open to the paper youâd helped him start, but it had the exact same amount of words that it did whenever heâd left the session Friday. His headphones were blasting his normal study playlist, but Dean felt he couldnât focus. Shakespeare just reminded him of you.Â
When Benny elbowed him, Dean nearly jumped out of his skin. He took out a headphone and raised an eyebrow at his friend.Â
âHowâs it goinâ with the Shakespeare class?â
Dean shrugged and hoped it was more nonchalant than he felt. âFeel like Iâm getting better, but havenât got any papers or quizzes back yet, so I donât know.â
Castiel sat on Deanâs other side. âSo the tutorâs helping?â
âYeah, sheâs awesome,â Dean answered. âReally knows her stuff. Good at teachinâ it too.â
âYou seeinâ her this week?â Bennyâs Louisiana accent drawled out.
Dean shrugged. âProbâly once. She said she was working nearly all day today, so I think weâre gonna try for tomorrow.â
Coach Singer stood from the desk at the bottom of the hall and raised a hand for everyoneâs attention. âAlright, folks. Weâre doinâ film a little differently this week. Starters, you donât have to join. Completely optional. If you are second-string for any position then you need to make sure you attend. Weâll be breaking down the third and fourth quarters only.â
Dean, Benny, and Castiel all looked at each other and grinned while the sophomores and freshman groaned. Like Dean had told you that morning, it was boring to break down film of other people playing the game. Heâd endured his share of it when heâd been the second-string quarterback and it had been hell.
His friends started discussing what they would do with their evening off, and Benny started calculating the possibility of a small party. The cheerleaders always had Mondays off, so they would likely be down. Benny and Cas were buried in their phones, texting people from other athletics teams to see whoâd want to come.Â
Deanâs thoughts wandered to you. He scrunched his face as he took out his own phone. When had he ever invited a girl to a party? When had he ever even thought the words invite, girl, and party in the same sentence - unless the word donât was included?Â
Girls didnât come to parties with Dean. They simply showed up to the same parties he was at and he didnât have to do much beyond make sure the DD was sober. He didnât take advantage of anyone by any means - girls threw themselves at him and he didnât always bite.
But tonight he didnât want to go home with someone he didnât know or care about. In fact, after-party sex was a distant thought, something that hadnât really entered his mind.
Dean wanted conversation. He thought about earlier during class - he wanted your conversation, your humor, your approval.Â
You didnât seem like much of a party girl, but you had looked so tired this morning that Dean doubted youâd be down for anything except a meal and a nap.Â
The party seemed much less fun when he thought of himself there playing beer pong and you falling asleep on your kitchen table again.
And something youâd said this morning drifted back to him. I doubt Iâll have time to eat, much less âŚ
He pulled out his phone too. He told himself it was a friend checking in on another friend, like friends do. He was a friend, he told himself.Â
He frowned down at his phone. He didnât like that.Â
He knew what it was: Dean took care of people.
Like Sammy, for one. As the oldest brother, it was his job to take care of Sam - hell, it was why he was taking his grades so damn seriously this semester, why he made sure he wasnât running around with cleat chasers or getting involved with any kind of ESPN-worthy scandal. He needed to be a good example for his brother. He couldnât even count how many fights heâd been in during middle and high school because someone had said the wrong thing about his little brother. When Mom had been in the hospital and Dad was there with her, it was Dean who had made sure Sammy was fed, bathed, clothed, and at school on time. It was Dean who had reassured him that it was a routine thing and Mom would be home in no-time.
The guys on the team, for second. He had been made captain last year and he took that role seriously too. His guys wouldnât follow anyone who didnât practice what they preached, so Dean made sure he attended class, got decent grades (except for one class last semester), didnât party the night before a game, took practice seriously, and took care of each other. He was a guy who checked on every player, regardless of whether or not they started, whether they were offense or defense or what the hell ever.
He took care of his people.
And now, he guessed, you were one of those people.
He had to make sure you ate, he reasoned. He was just making sure you were taking care of yourself. He didnât like the bruises under your eyes this morning, but he remembered how much more energetic youâd seemed after the coffee.
Yeah. He was going to take care of you by making sure you took care of yourself tonight.
It was what friends did.
If you had to read one more bullshit answer about how Gatsby was âthe ultimate player,â you were going to scream. They were all hand-written, in-class assignments, so you knew none of this shit was AI, but you werenât sure if that made it better or worse.
When your phone buzzed, you were only too eager to use the distraction.
You grinned, changing the name of the group chat to âResist the đâ instead. You chuckled to yourself and looked around the library, hoping you hadnât disturbed anyone else.Â
You groaned and looked at the stack before you. Your class was tomorrow.Â
No matter how much youâd like a break, you needed to finish these. You needed to hand them back out to your own students so that they had good feedback before you started the next assignment. You put your head against your hand - this was miserable.Â
You wanted to go. You hadnât been to a party yet this semester, being weighed down by tutoring sessions and TA duties, not to mention anything else Dr. Mills wanted you to excel at. And you had your own full course load this semester.Â
But you missed being care-free. Youâd known this semester was going to be hard, but it was only a week and a half in and you were so tired of being responsible. You didnât even feel like you were in college - not the way the movies described it. This was supposed to be the last hoo-rah, your last chance to be a dumb kid before the weight of real life came crashing down.
And you were missing it to grade papers in the library. When did you stop being a college student and start being a real adult?
Alright, you took a deep breath and thought of a compromise. Because someone did need to make sure Jo didnât fall back into bed with Benny. Their relationship was tumultuous at best and she just kept falling for the cycle over and over. If you were sober and hung out with them, then 1. You wouldnât be too hungover to grade papers, and 2. You would be clear thinking enough to make sure she didnât do anything stupid.
Decision made, you picked up your phone again.Â
You groaned and looked at the clock. It was only 6. Your back ached, your head ached, and you were ready to just go home to your apartment and take a nice shower.Â
But you knew that your friends were counting on you to come get them.
And judging by the snaps youâd already been sent of Jo sitting on Bennyâs lap⌠they needed a sober voice in their ear.Â
You were about to pick everything up and just go home when your phone buzzed again.Â
Your heart sank a little in your chest. That made sense. Bela was⌠Bela. She was beautiful and smart, why wouldnât anyone talk to her at a party? Especially someone like Dean.
You shook your head. Dean was not a thought you wanted to entertain. He was simply someone you were tutoring.
Even if you had thought about him during the rest of your sessions and classes today. And even if he was a breath of fresh air to you.
And even if he was fucking handsome.Â
Not that you were saying he was.Â
You stared down at the messages. Heâd asked about you?Â
Where your stomach had felt empty and hollow a few minutes ago, you felt the butterflies again. The same butterflies you had promptly banished earlier in the week.Â
Rationally, it made sense that Dean would ask where you were. After all, your three roommates were there, and one of said roommates was fucking (or hopefully not fucking) one of Deanâs roommates. It would make sense that he would ask where the missing person was.Â
You coughed, trying to keep from giving yourself hope. Dean was Dean. You were you. Your two lives only intersected because he was failing English and you were good at it. This wasnât anything other than what it was.
You narrowed your eyes at the phone. Why would Bela lie? Wouldnât it make more sense to just tell Dean that you were coming?
Bela was such a genius. But your heart began to pound heavily at the idea of Dean being mopey that you werenât coming. Like he actually wanted to see you over any of the other girls at the party that would likely be throwing themselves at him.
You checked the time - it was only 6. You could easily go back to the apartment and freshen up, maybe even throw on a cute outfit and still have plenty of time to get there by midnight with the girls.
You nodded, packing up the quizzes and clipping together papers before putting them away neatly in your bag. You turned, satisfied with the events of the day (even if you were going to be grading for almost all of tomorrow morning), and started mentally going through all four of your closets to find the perfect going out top.Â
A hard chest met you in the aisle and you nearly lost your balance. You looked up and heard âEasy there, sweetheartâ in a familiar drawl, right next to your ear.
Holding on to the arms of the obstacle, you looked into the pure green eyes of Dean Winchester.Â
He grinned, taking a step back out of your embrace.Â
âSweetness,â you breathed. âWhat are you doing here?â
âI could ask you the same question,â he shot back, grin still plastered on his face.Â
âI thought you were at the party?â
He looked away then, flush creeping up out of his collar. One hand grazed the back of his head and you noticed a Starbucks cup in the other.Â
âWhatâs this?â You smiled.
He extended the cup to you. âLittle pick me up.â
âWhat?âÂ
You took the coffee from him, your lips still parted in surprise.Â
He shrugged. âYou said you had a rough night and that the coffee helped earlier. Thought you might need another if you were gonna be working all night.â
âWow,â you could feel your cheeks heating again. âTwo in one day?â
He shrugged and reached up to adjust his snapback. âHope you donât mind,â Dean said, smirking, âbut I did take a sip. Never had one before.â
âDid you like it?â
He nodded, raising his eyebrows. âDonât tell anyone. Real men drink it black.â
âEw,â you teased, taking a sip of it yourself. âWait a second, didnât you just have a frappe this morning?â
âNot answerinâ that.â He smirked.
âHmm,â you took a drink and smiled.Â
He noted the backpack and clean table behind you. âLooks like you werenât really planning on staying here the rest of the night.â
âGirls convinced me. Not often we get a first-string-only party invite.â
The flush was creeping up to his ears and Dean thrust his hands into his jeans pockets.Â
You looked at the rest of him. Gone was the sweatsuit combo and sneakers. Dean wore some jeans with a couple holes in the knees, a black State t-shirt, a pair of boots, and a State snapback turned backwards.
Your mouth went dry. He was so fucking handsome. You took another drink.Â
âDoesnât look like you came for a study session, either.â
He exhaled in a light chuckle. âCaught me. But the girls did say you were their ride home. Wanna head back to the party with me?â
When you examined him, he held up a hand. âHavenât had anything to drink yet, swear.â
You bit your lip and looked down at his outfit, then to yours. You had managed to do some wonderful things with dry shampoo this morning, and a little mascara had helped, but it wasnât the fabulous party outfit youâd had planned when you packed up.Â
âYou look fine,â he offered, reading your gaze.
âOh?â
He nodded and reached up to put a piece of your hair behind your ear. âYeah. Besides, this is supposed to be kinda chill, anyway.â
âAlright, then.âÂ
You fell into step beside Dean, a little shocked when he reached for your backpack and slung it over his own shoulder. âThis is a little heavy,â he groaned, grinning.
âHard life of a TA,â you rolled your eyes. âMy muscles are probably bigger than yours.â
He looked down at you out of the corner of his eye again. âProbably. Remind me not to mess with you, sweetheart.â
You grinned at him, glad heâd come to the library for the coffee. âWhat were you going to do if I was staying at the library?â You heard yourself ask.
He shrugged. âDunno. Probably hang out with you until you kicked me out.â
âOh?â
He shrugged a shoulder. âYeah, I was surprised when Bela said you were their ride home. I figured youâd want to crash early after the weekend and day you had.â
You stared at him for a few moments, bringing the coffee to your lips for a lack of something to do with your hands. Heâd remembered. Heâd remembered what youâd told him about your day.Â
It was sweet.Â
And not at all the playboy attitude youâd heard rumors about.Â
âI have a late start tomorrow,â you heard yourself saying. âBesides, someoneâs gotta keep Jo the hell away from Benny.â
He clicked the keys and the headlights of a black Chevy pickup shined in the dim parking lot.Â
âThat so?â He raised an eyebrow. He was walking a pace ahead of you, looking almost over his shoulder at you.Â
You shrugged. âIsnât he your best friend?â
âYeah, him ân Cas.â
âAnd you donât mind him and Jo hooking up again?â
He rubbed the back of his neck. âI try not to get involved in my friendsâ relationships.â
âDean,â you reached out and grabbed his elbow. He stopped suddenly, turning almost too fast so that he faced you. You looked up and he looked down at you and â
There was no room. You were almost chest to chest.
You exhaled, wondering why there wasnât enough air suddenly, even though you were outside in an almost-empty parking lot.Â
âWhat is it, sweetheart?â He murmured, lips just barely moving.Â
You swallowed and looked away from his lips.Â
âYou donât seriously think the two of them are good together, do you?â
His eyes never left yours. You could see the building heat and inferno behind them. Was he burning just the way you were? You werenât even touching.
âNo, I donât,â he answered honestly. âBut Bennyâs never asked me, so I keep my mouth shut.â
His eyes flicked down to your lips and your tongue reached out to wet them. His eyes darkened as he saw the movement.Â
âH-has Jo asked you?â
You nodded. âWeâre the ones who have to pick her up and take care of her whenever he breaks her heart.â
A car door slammed somewhere in the parking lot and you both startled. Your first instinct had been to back away from Dean, like you didnât want anyone to see you together, but Deanâs hands had shot out for your arms, pulling you close to him.Â
You exhaled, the tightness in your chest and the pool of heat under your ribs rising.Â
âWe should - uh, we should probably head out,â his voice was husky and rough.
âIs this you?â You asked, pointing to the Chevy.
âSure is,â he answered, opening the passenger door for you. He held your hand as you stepped up on the running board, only handing you the backpack once you were sitting.
âItâs a nice truck,â you commented when he climbed in the driverâs side.
âYeah, itâs alright.â
âAlright?â You repeated. You gestured to the cab. âDean, this is nice.â
He grinned, putting keys in the ignition and firing it to life. âItâs a decent truck, Iâll give you that, but itâs not my favorite.â
âOkay, Iâll bite. What is your favorite?â
The radio started, playing some classic rock station. Dean turned down the radio before fishing his phone out of his pocket. He unlocked it and you saw him swiping through pictures for a second.Â
âThere she is,â he beamed, showing you the picture. âThatâs my girl.â
It was a black four door - maybe something from the late 60âs. It was sharp. Well maintained, you could tell.Â
And there was Dean, leaned back against the driverâs door with a huge smile at whoever was taking the picture.
âSheâs beautiful, Dean.â
ââ67 Chevy Impala,â he told you. âBuiltâer from the ground up.â
That raised your eyebrows. âReally? Dean thatâs - thatâs ⌠wow. I didnât know you worked on cars like that.â
He shrugged like it wasnât a big deal, but the grin he hid told you it was. He put the phone in the holder on the dash and clicked it off. âDad gave it to me, but it was in poor shape. He runs his own body shop, so he taught me what to do, but I did it all myself.â
He put the truck in reverse and began to back out of the space, ignoring the back-up camera and putting his hand on the shoulder of your seat so he could turn and see behind him.
You pressed your legs together. Until tonight, youâd had no idea how fucking hot that was.
Once he put it in drive and started for Michaelâs house, you found your voice again. âGuess Iâll call you if I ever need anything done to my car.â
He glanced over at you and raised an eyebrow. âSomethinâ wrong with your car, sweetheart?â
âOh, no,â you assured him. âJust saying, if I ever do need something.â
His left hand was on the steering wheel, easily maneuvering through the side streets. His right was extended over the console and you looked down, noticing it was next to yours. Dean looked down too, away from the road, and you saw his fingers twitch toward yours.Â
âAbsolutely. What do you drive?â
âJust a Camry,â you told him. âSomething good on gas.â
He grinned. âEasy car to work on. But if I ever need a roadtrip, then I guess Iâll be cominâ to you.â
He adjusted in his seat and casually brushed his fingers with yours. Casual enough that you figured heâd call it an accident if you didnât reciprocate.
You flushed, moving so your pinky finger brushed against his. Just enough of a confirmation.Â
âI - Iâd like to see it someday,â you blurted, anything to break the tension. âThe - uh - the Impala.â
Deanâs hand snapped back and formed a fist. He sat it down on the console, but he was tense, as if it took effort to be slow and careful. He chuckled. âI usually bring it up from home, just a couple times a year though.â
âWhy only a couple?â
âHave you seen the way people drive here? Iâd come back to a missing mirror or some shit. Absolutely not.â
You laughed then, reaching tentative fingers to his forearm. âYouâre pretty protective, Sweetness.â
He looked at you out of the corner of his eye again and you saw the green in his eyes all lit up. He looked down at his arm and back up to you, eyes softer, smile brighter.Â
âHey now, donât knock my baby. I gotta take care of my girl.â
Michael and Gabe lived at the end of a cul-de-sac in a two-story house with a good size yard and basement. It was usually the party house because all of their neighbors also attended State University, so there was never anyone to really call the cops if they got too loud.Â
Youâd only been a couple of times, mostly at the end of the last football season. Michael and Gabeâs parties were the stuff of legends, and both that youâd been to had been overcrowded and way too hot. Not really your vibe.Â
There were only a few cars in the driveway and spread throughout the cul-de-sac, so you guess it really was a chill party like Dean had said.Â
He parked the truck and turned back the ignition, releasing the keys.
âWhen I left earlier, everyone was out back by the fire pit.â
âOh?â
âYep,â he answered. âItâs finally cooled off enough for a bonfire⌠that okay with you?â
You crossed your legs, jiggling your toes to try to keep from being completely anxious.Â
âBecause, if not,â Dean started speaking quickly, he ran a hand over the back of his neck, âI can take you home and Iâll bring the girls home, itâs no big deal ââ
âDean,â you interrupted, squeezing his forearm. âA bonfire sounds fantastic.â
His shoulders drooped with relief, he put his warm hand on top of yours. âYeah?â
You nodded and bit your lip. âI didnât bring a chair or anything, though.â
He smirked. âNo worries about that. Câmon.â
The lights of the cab were almost too bright as you opened the doors wide. Dean was at your side before you could climb down onto the sidewalk, a hand at your elbow. He clicked the lock of the truck and pocketed the keys efficiently, leading you toward the carport.Â
He said nothing as his hand grasped yours, but you felt the explosion of electricity echoing through you at the simple touch. You looked up and saw the corners of his eyes crinkle in a smile, but the flush creeping up his neck betrayed his bravado.
The carport housed a truck that was every bit of brand spankinâ new, but Dean went around it, passing the side door to the kitchen. You saw the glow of the bonfire in the backyard and stiffened.
Dean, ever observant, paused, hand still in yours. âYou ready?â
You bit your lip. âWonât people⌠talk if we show up together?â
He shrugged, the gesture meant to be nonchalant, but you saw the tick in his jaw. âTheyâre gonna talk regardless.â
You smirked, elbowing him in the side. âJust hate to ruin your rep, Winchester. Iâd hate for all those pretty girls to know youâre off the market.â
A corner of his mouth quirked up into that smirk you were beginning to love. âCâmon, sweetheart.â Then he winked.
The heat between your legs was instant. Youâd seen old men leering and winking before, but when Dean Winchester winked at youâŚ
Well, that was different altogether.Â
You cleared your throat, recovering quickly. You were almost sure that Dean had noticed what the wink had done to you, but he didnât say anything. Maybe he didnât want to embarrass you further.Â
Either way, he pulled on your hand and took a step toward the bonfire.Â
âActually,â Dean murmured, pulling you back into the shadows of the carport.Â
âWhat?â
Dean leaned down to your ear. You felt his smile against the shell of your ear and shivers erupted down your spine. âWanna giveâem somethinâ to really talk about?â
You looked up through your lashes. âLike what?â
His hand let go of yours and you hated the way your chest caved at the loss of warmth, but it was quickly replaced when he wound his arm around your shoulders, bending it and drawing you in close. Your hand found his on your shoulder and threaded your fingers through his again.
Oh yeah, this was much better.Â
âStick with me, Shakespeare. Weâll wowâem all tonight.â
âEasy there, Sweetness,â you teased, falling into step with him.
Coming into sight of the bonfire, you were greeted with screams and yells from your already-too-drunk friends. The bonfire was large, but not dangerously large, with several coolers spread out around the circle with folding chairs and hay bales in between.Â
It was nearly the entire varsity roster, but there were a few of the second-stringers trickling in, and you knew there would be more before the night was truly over.Â
You clocked Jo sitting on a hay bale next to Benny and frowned. She was very drunk with a red solo cup in hand, but Benny was just as (if not more) drunk thank she was, so you let it go for the moment. As long as they didnât slip away together, it would be easy to pry her from him when it was time to go home.
Bela would be harder.Â
There was an a-frame that had been pulled up close to the fire with a wooden bench swing, and as one of the hosts, Michael had claimed a seat. He had a cushion behind his back as he sat up against the arm of it, legs sprawled down the length of the bench.
And Bela had claimed his lap. She was curled up between his legs, leaned against his back, sipping on her own beer bottle. Her face was calm and casual, but her eyes danced and gleamed. She was exactly where she wanted to be, and if the opportunity presented itself, you knew there was no way in hell youâd get her to come home with you and the girls tonight.
Charlie sat over to the side with one of the other cheerleaders, Dorothy or something stupid. They looked cozy, but nothing inappropriate.
Deanâs arm stayed around you as he greeted the group. There were high-fives and hands shaken, beers offered (and refused, since Dean insisted on driving you girls home), and everyone was nice to you as well. Most of them already knew your name, since you were roommates with Bela and Jo, but they only knew you in passing or by name. You took a Smirnoff from one of the cheerleaders and handed it to Dean to open.
There was an empty fold out chair, and Dean wasted no time in claiming it. âMore comfortable than the damn hay bales,â he explained, plopping himself down into it.Â
You raised your eyebrows at him. The nearest seat was a few feet away, and you couldnât help the desire that curled through you at wanting to still be close to him.
He winked again and that desire increased tenfold. Surely heâd be able to tell.
His hands grasped at yours, taking the Smirnoff and putting it in the cloth cupholder before pulling you sharply into his lap. You wobbled, off-balance, before crashing into his space, coming down almost too hard on his thigh.
âThere you go,â he whispered into your ear. âGet comfortable.â
He spread his legs wider, giving you room to put your legs between them. His arm came behind your back, resting along the arm rest but still supporting you. His fingertips grazed under your sweatshirt, just dusting the little bit of exposed skin.Â
Just light enough to send goosebumps racing across your back.
âCold, sweetheart?â
You reached for your drink and smirked. âMaybe I should move closer to the fire.â You planted your feet, feinting like you were going to get up.
âNot a chance.â His voice was husky as both hands encircled your waist, crushing you back down to him and drawing you in to his chest. âIâll keep you warm, I promise,â he murmured in your ear.
You felt his body tense as he leaned up, just enough to ghost his lips over your cheek. Your chest felt light and fuzzy and you hoped the dim light of the bonfire covered the darkening blush across your cheeks.
âPlenty to talk about, huh?â You pressed the cold bottle to your lips.
He chuckled. âI ainât done yet, sweetheart. Just you wait.â
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I'm gonna share these again, since I deleted every social media apart from instagram... I had a very bad time but now I'm feeling better!
Anyway I saw the Mandalorian & Grogu movie 2 times and ugh I LOVED IT.
pairing: joel miller x reader
summary: things change at the cabin and you're all about to go out in to the world to see how different it's become in a year.
warnings: violence consistent with TLOU. MISCARRIAGE. there is a miscarriage and confirmation of miscarriage in this chapter. please do not read if triggered by this.
wc: 6400
catch up on this series by visiting my masterlist here or ao3 here.
Morning sickness had been your regular companion for weeks. It was nothing to wake from a dead sleep and sprint outside to hurl your guts up. Joel had even put a bucket near the bed on the days that you couldnât make it all the way outside.Â
So the feeling of needing to vomit as you regained consciousness wasnât unfamiliar, but not being able to use your hands to hold your hair back was.
Your wrists moved against the ropes that bound you to a very uncomfortable chair, but it was no use. They were too tight and too rough; you felt the beginnings of welts and rash marks where you were bound to the arm rests.
They had even tied you to the chair just under your chest, so there was barely any wiggle room to actually lean over and empty your stomach. But the hormones didnât judge, so you leaned over as far as possible and puked, only catching a few wayward pieces of hair in it.Â
A feat, honestly.Â
âYouâre awake,â came a very relieved drawl across the room from you.Â
Your head throbbed where theyâd hit you and your eyes had trouble focusing - the makings of a nasty concussion. Your head felt like it weighed a thousand pounds as you looked around for the source of the voice.
Tommy was tied to a similar chair, just a few feet away. He looked rough, hair falling around his face but not concealing the mass of bruises there. One eye swollen, blood leaking from three different cuts, and he spoke like it hurt to move his mouth.Â
âT-Tommy?â You rasped, throat sore.Â
âThank God,â he whispered, lifting his eyes to you. âYou hurt?â
ââM betting I look betterân you,â you joked.
âDonât think thatâs hard to do right now, sis.â
âIâm alright, head hurts, but thatâs it. What about you? Whereâs Joel?â
Tommy rolled his eyes. âSomewhere else. Motherfucker just canât keep his goddamn mouth shut. I dunno where they tookâem.â
âHow long was I out?â
âOnly a coupleâa hours,â he answered, and you sighed with relief.Â
âTommy,â you cried, throat burning with the remnants of your morning sickness that you hadnât washed away. âWhat the hell do they want with us?â
âNot us. You.â
Your eyes widened. You hadnât failed to notice that there hadnât been been any women with them when theyâd taken you at the tunnel.Â
It hadnât been a full year since the Outbreak. Over the daily updates from the CB, youâd heard of groups like this, King had called them raiders. They took what they wanted, whether it was supplies, ammo, shelter, or people. King had said there were several groups who had come into the Pittsburgh QZ seeking safety after being attacked by such groups.Â
âBut Iâm ââ
âDonât think they care much if youâre in the family way, sugar.â
The baby within you sat heavy at the bottom of your stomach. While it was still too early to feel any movement, you closed your eyes, imagining the small being there and vowing to protect it, even if it cost you your life.Â
You would not let these assholes take you and your baby.
But thinking about that would only lead to panic, and you didnât have that luxury. You forced down all of those thoughts and focused on the task at hand.
âWhere are we?â
He shrugged as much as the bonds would allow. âOneâa the buildings. They shoved me in here with you and took Joel down the hall somewheres. I havenât heard anythinâ either. Doorâs pretty thick.â
âWhy didnât they knock you out too?â
One shoulder shrugged. ââCause after they put you out, Joel wouldnât shut the fuck up. I played possum and tried to make it look like Iâd cooperate.â
âSmart.â
âI got good ideas on occasion.â He smirked and then grimaced, the movement hurting.
You closed your eyes again, the pounding in the back of your head wrapping around to your temples, your eyes, your teeth. When had you ever had a fucking headache that hurt in your teeth?!
Thankfully, it was dim within the room.Â
It had been one of the office buildings, judging by the amount of windows that were boarded up. You saw the remnants of some of the cubicles and rolling chairs, computers and anything worthwhile long since gone. It was dim enough that it didnât make your headache worse, but the sun was up and peeking through some of the boards, just enough to see.
âWe have to get out of here,â you professed, fully aware you were stating the obvious.Â
You looked down to see the office chair you were tied to. Yours had arm rests and you were tied tightly to them, your legs bound to the metal legs on either side. Tommyâs chair looked like it had once been a rolling office chair, but the wheels were gone. Instead of an arm rest, his hands were tied directly behind his back and you could see the strain of it on his shoulders. His feet were tied together at the single leg underneath the chair.
âGimme a sec,â Tommyâs face scrunched up, tongue pressing against his bottom lip as he concentrated. You watched his shoulders move, maneuvering his hands in his bonds. âAl-most got it,â he concentrated.
âAre you - wiggling out?â You smiled, in spite of it all.
âShut up,â he snickered. âLemme work.âÂ
âWhere the hell did you learn that?âÂ
He opened the non-swollen eye, giving you a deadpan glare. âQuit askinâ me stupid questions.â
You rolled your eyes. You thought back to the first night youâd met Joel and Tommy, after fatefully keeping Tommyâs cellphone at the bar. Didnât Joel tell you that Tommy had been deployed or something? That he had special skills heâd need during this fucking outbreak?
You hadnât actually thought theyâd be needed, though.Â
It took a few more minutes, but Tommy grinned, extending one arm above his shoulder and wiggling his fingers at you in a wave. You chuckled as the ropes fell away under his guided hands. He was kneeling next to you in seconds, untying yours with gentle hands.
Once free, you fell away from the chair, stumbling with the weight of the situation and your headache.
Tommyâs arms caught you and pulled you to stand with him, cradling your face and murmuring to you until the world stopped spinning. His rough, callused fingers felt so similar to Joelâs - if you closed your eyes, he almost felt and sounded like him. You found yourself leaning into his touch.Â
He rubbed his fingers on your face and you began to register his words again. âYouâre okay, I got you,â he drawled your name as well, and your eyelids flickered open.
âYou werenât jokinâ âbout that concussion, were ya sis?â
You started to shake your head and grimaced. âNo.â
Once you had your feet under you, his hands moved to your wrists, gently massaging the raw skin. âWeâll get you somethinâ for it after we get the fuck out of here,â he promised.
He let you go, almost tenderly and worried, but he kept an arm at your elbow in case you threatened to go down again.Â
On instinct, you reached down to cradle your stomach. It wasnât even noticeable to anyone except you, but you felt comfort in your hands there. Tommyâs eyes softened as he clocked the motion and he quickly looked away, as if embarrassed youâd caught him looking.Â
You cleared your throat. Now that you were free, you were anxious to find Joel.Â
âWhatâs the plan?â
He shrugged. âGot no plan.â He brushed the stray hair out of his face and you saw the extent of the injuries there.
âOh, Tommy.â You reached up with hands just as gentle as his, tracing the cuts and lightly touching the bruises. âI thought you said you cooperated.â
He grimaced. âWell, when they tied you up, they started gettinâ a little handsy.â
Your shoulders sagged. âAnd you just couldnât let it go, could you?â
âNo maâam,â he answered, and through his non-swollen eye, you saw the same glint of mischief in them from the night youâd met, just before heâd started the bar fight that got him arrested. âNever could handle a man puttinâ hands on a pretty woman.â
You rolled your eyes, releasing his face from your grasp. Your knife sheath was still on your belt, but the knife was long gone. Your holster was empty too.Â
âWe doing this with our bare hands or what?â
âI got one knife in my sock and thatssit. Took just âbout everything, the fucks,â he spat.Â
âWell, thatâs one more weapon than Iâve got.â
âWelp, weâve had worse ideas, I guess.â He looked around, hands on his belt. There werenât any weapons laying about - not that youâd expected there to be - but he managed to break apart a wooden chair, handing one of the legs to you.
âDidnât you say you played softball once upon a time?â
âHah. Itâs been a while since senior year, but I bet I still got it.â You took it from him and rolled it in your hands.
âNot as close as knife work,â he mused, âmaybe we can keep you from gettinâ hit again.â
âLetâs go,â you urged. âIf heâs been mouthing as much as I think he has, weâll be lucky to find him alive.â
Tommy sobered, he knew you were right. âNo tellinâ what shape heâll be in.â
Anxiety clawed at your chest and the makeshift bat began to shake in your hands. The peaceful months youâd spent at the cabin had made the pain following Outbreak day seem like a bad nightmare, but this brought everything to the forefront again. Your parents, your siblings, Amy, Sarah⌠Joel hadnât talked much about Sarah in the days following her death, but he woke sometimes from nightmares saying her name and sobbing.Â
Just like you sometimes woke screaming the names of your own ghosts.
Could you take another loss?
Would you survive the loss of Joel?
Your chest began to ache, cutting yourself on the sharp shards of grief. No, you knew you wouldnât. If something happened to him, you might as well crawl in the grave with him.
Tommy, ever as observant, cradled your face again, calling you back from the wave of panic.Â
âEasy now,â he soothed. âI gotcha. Weâre gonna get him, alright?â
âBut - b-but if - if heâs -â you couldnât help it then, the sobs broke through, and Tommyâs arms surrounded you, cradling you to his chest. âWha-what will we d-d-do?â
He tightened his grip on you, his mouth finding your ear. âDonât talk like that,â he ordered. âNever say that.â
He pulled back, his blue eyes piercing yours. âI ainât gonna let nothinâ happen to you,â he pressed his forehead to yours, âyou or my nephew. Regardless of what we find, I will take care of you. Got that?â
You nodded, the sweat of your brow mixing with his.Â
âI promise,â he whispered, and he leaned back, lips ghosting along your temple as he assured you.Â
âIt could be a girl,â you whispered, once youâd found your breath.
He chuckled, and you felt the vibration of his chest. âGod help us all if it is.â
ââMon now,â he urged, leaning back from you and handing you the makeshift bat youâd dropped. âLetâs go get him before we panic.â
âRight. Panic after.â
He listened at the heavy metal door for a few moments before pressing in on the bar and creaking it open. He paused, listening again. Hearing nothing, he opened it fully and held it there for you to follow.Â
Tommy took care to make sure the heavy metal door shut softly behind you, cutting out most of the light. The hall had no windows, not even any boarded up, only faint glimpses of the sun peeking through the cracks in the doors.
You took a moment to let your eyes adjust to the darkness and nodded at Tommy once you felt like you could see. You made sure to step wherever he did, poised and ready for any fights. Theyâd both taught you the basics of hand-to-hand, even making sure you could stab the proper area on an assailant, but you felt more confident with Tommy by your side and a bat in your hands.
Your softball days had ended nearly five years before, but with your bow gone, this was probably the next best thing. You adjusted your hands on the thin end of the chair leg, noting the nails and staples sticking out in the other end.
Once into the hallway, you could hear sounds that you hadnât heard in the first room: the sounds of Joelâs screams and curses.Â
Your eyes met and you knew yours were as wide and frantic as Tommyâs. You read the decision there and nodded, taking off in the same direction at the same time, Tommyâs strides slowing to match yours step for step.
The headache throbbed with each step, but you felt it fade as adrenaline coursed through you. Find him, find him, find him, your heartbeat echoed instead, propelling you further down the hall.Â
Joelâs grunts and yells were coming from a door at the far end. It was battered and wooden but looked newer than the rest of the building. You paused just outside the door, breathing heavy enough that you were sure whoever was hurting Joel would have heard you.Â
âGo canny,â Tommy advised you, one hand on the flimsy wooden door, knife raised. âKill anyone you can get hands on; try to get a weapon if theyâve gotâem. But donât let them get close enough to grab you.â
You nodded, closing your eyes as adrenaline steadied your shaking hands and foggy brain.
âHey,â Tommy barked, a little more brusque as his hand found your cheek. His blue eyes were laser-focused, but they softened a little as he whispered your name. âYou can do this, okay? If I didnât think you could, Iâdâa left you back there. I need you - alright?âÂ
You nodded.
âYou with me?â He raised up a hand.
âIâm with you,â you answered, taking his palm and clasping it. You felt like some gladiator preparing to go into the arena with the way Tommy grasped your hand.
âJoel needs us.â He reminded you.Â
âI can do this,â you whispered.Â
âAttagirl,â Tommy praised, turning back toward the door. âOn 3ââ
He counted down and burst through the flimsy wood of the door, taking wide strides to the right as he plunged his knife into the closest manâs neck.Â
You followed on the left. A step behind Tommy, the element of surprise was gone and your target was turned toward you, but you swung at the manâs face anyway. His hands were up, almost as if he were trying to deflect the knife he assumed you had, but your chair leg connected with his jaw and he crumpled to the ground with a groan.
He had been holding a gun and had dropped it wide whenever you hit him. You picked it up quickly, holding your bat in your off hand. A semi-automatic weapon, much more powerful than the hunting rifles youâd been shooting with Joel, and something that would require two hands to fire.Â
You looked back up at the fray, eyes widened as you tried to pick a target. Terrified youâd pick the wrong one.Â
If you hit the trigger on this gun, it would fire until you pulled off. No one-shot-and-reload.Â
Fuck.Â
You sprayed bullets off to the right, not pressing the trigger until Tommy was past your aim. Three bodies went down and you had to pull the gun up toward the ceiling before you could actually release the trigger.
âDamn gunâs shootinâ her âstead of the other way âround,â someone laughed. You whirled on them, aiming the gun directly at the direction of the voices.
âItâll put a goddamn bullet in your head all the same,â Tommy quipped, bloodied knife raised in front of him.
Two men stood in front of Joel, both covered with blood spatter. Hands with bloodied knuckles that began a story and cuts on Joelâs face that ended it. One held a gun to Joelâs temple. Your blood boiled, all traces of concussion gone and replaced only by fury.
Tommy faced them just off to your left. His knife was raised in his off hand, and somehow heâd found a pistol and raised it in front of him.Â
Joelâs eyes were wide, blood running freely down his face, but bound to the chair and unable to wipe at it. His t-shirt had been cut at the neck and you saw a few marks there along his collarbone. One wrist stuck out at an unnatural angle and you thought you were going to be sick. Again.Â
The hazel eyes found yours and softened at your presence, but you watched the way he catalogued your body, searching for injuries.
âIâm fine,â you assured him, keeping the gun raised.
He exhaled and shoulders sagged with relief.Â
âHe wonât be,â one of the bastards barked, pressing the barrel of the gun even harder into Joelâs temple.
âGet away from him,â you snarled, taking a step forward toward Tommy.
Joelâs eyes flicked to Tommyâs and you saw one of those silent conversations pass between them again. Would you ever get on that level with the three of them?
At whatever Joel had asked or said, Tommy eased back a step so he was level with you, still pointing the pistol at one of the men while you kept the gun trained on the one next to Joel.Â
He sheathed the knife at his belt and reached out for you with the empty hand.
âGoâon âhead and gimme that, sis,â he spoke calmly, like he was asking you to hand over a beer instead of a deadly weapon. It was heavy and it sagged a little in Tommyâs grip as he took it one-handed, but the finger on the trigger didnât give the other men any leeway. They stood stock still as Tommy lowered the pistol and handed it to you hilt first.
âLittle bit more your size there,â his eyes were trained with deadly focus, no matter how joking his tone.
The two men looked between you and each other, assessing the situation with the same clarity.Â
âWhy donât yâall put that down,â Tommy gestured to the gun at Joelâs temple. âWeâll collect him ân yâall can walk outta here with your heads still attached.â
âYouse ainât gonna be leavinâ here,â the man who didnât have the gun drawled. âNot with her.â
He grinned at you. âDone told your man here that him and his brother could leave whenever they wanted, but youâre stayinâ.â
âLike hell I am,â you spat, drawing the hammer back on the pistol. It was heavy enough that you were sure it was loaded with a full round.Â
âWeâll see,â he cackled, the gun moving with each laugh. âMaybe once we kill both yer men, you wonât have a choice. Wouldnât that be somethinâ.â
âWhat kinda deal is this, anyway?â The other asked, crossing bloodied arms across his heaving chest. âDo yâall both have her? Is that it? Do you take her at the same time or just one after another?â
Joel snarled, fighting against the bonds holding him to the chair. Tommy growled, âShut the fuck up.â
âIt wonât matter,â you told them simply, fighting to keep your voice even. âTheyâll both kill for me.â
The man with the gun simply cocked it back. Your heart faltered in your chest.Â
âGo âhead and shoot us,â he said, calmly. He gestured to Joel, âHis brains will be scattered before you press the trigger. And Iâll only be happy to do it too.â
âChrist,â Tommy shook his head. âYou gotta know that I can kill you before you pull the trigger, man.â
âMaybe,â he allowed. âHeâll be blown away regardless. And thereâs more of us than there are of you.â
The door you and Tommy had burst through broke open again, and you whirled to see another man sprinting through.Â
Without a gun trained on him, the man who wasnât holding Joel pounced, taking you down to the concrete, the pistol in your hand flying. He flipped you over to your back and you could hear shots through the office space, but you couldnât tell who was firing or who at.
Only this dumb fuck and his fists mattered.
He hit you twice across the face, rings that you hadnât noticed cutting into your skin. The pain was blinding and all you could do was reach up and try to block his hands. He hit you once more before sitting back up on his knees.
It seemed like the room stopped, but it might have just been the man on your chest. You heaved, stomach threatening to empty again as your head rolled back and you regained your breath.
The man leaning across you smiled then. âAre you, honey?â
âHuh?â
He slapped you and the world spun again. You felt the trickle of blood somewhere on your face. Or were those tears?
âPregnant. You carryinâ?â
You opened bleary eyes and nodded.Â
âHow far?â
âEight to ten weeks,â you mumbled, closing your eyes again. âNot sure.â
He nodded then and got off his knees. Once his weight was gone, you curled in on yourself to the fetal position, trying to will yourself to stay conscious. You opened your eyes to see the man standing up at his full height, looking between Joel and Tommy.
âWhoâs the daddy?â He asked them. âOr did yâall find her like this from some other poor bastard?â
âI am,â Joel ground out. His eyes were dark, promising death and violence. âLeave her the fuck alone.â
Tommy kept his gun trained on the man next to Joel. The others waited near the door.
âWell, gotta tell you, I ainât too keen on raisinâ another manâs child.â
âWha-âÂ
Joel started cussing and screaming, you could hear the fire of bullets from Tommyâs gun, but your eyes were locked on the man standing in front of you.Â
He grinned.
He drew his boot back and kicked.
Tommyâs vision went red with fury.Â
He kept his finger on the trigger, keeping the gun chest high and hitting the men who had burst through the door and the one who was still kicking you all on the same stream.
He heard a shot wiz by him, too high to be a threat to you on the ground. Tommy whirled, locking eyes with the man who was holding a gun to Joelâs temple. His face was a mixture of pleasure and fear, and Tommy caught his intentions a half second too late, the shot knocking the man just off balance enough so his shot got off skimmed Joelâs temple instead of burrowing deep in his skull.Â
Joel hollered, eyes shutting as he slumped forward in his chair, but Tommy saw the rise of his chest and knew his brother would be okay.Â
He kept firing, pulling the gun in a circle to make sure every motherfucker was dead before allowing himself to stop.
Once the echo of the shots faded, he heard your cries.
He ran to you, dropping so hard to his knees that he was sure heâd busted them open. He flung the gun around to his back on the sling. You were crying, tears falling with the effort of regaining your breath. Tommy pressed his sleeve to your face, wiping away some of the blood from where youâd been hit.
You tensed and Tommy felt your limbs preparing to snap against him. âHush now, sis, itâs me. Itâs Tommy. Theyâre all dead, Iâve got you,â he repeated it over and over in the same calming tone until it clicked.
The clarity of safety recognized, you reached for him, arms around his neck as he cradled you to him, reassuring you and rubbing the material of your t-shirt. Once your breathing was under control, he leaned back.Â
âSugar, we gotta go, okay?â
When you grimaced at the nickname, Tommy knew you were gonna be alright too.
âJoelâs unconscious,â he informed you.He still had his knife in his belt, so he took it out and cut away the ropes.Â
He took the sling from around his shoulder and handed it to you. âHold that.âÂ
You did, and Tommy kneeled down, taking Joel across his shoulders in a firemanâs carry. He held Joelâs legs and one arm with his off hand, taking the weapon in the right.Â
âTake âat one there, sugar,â he told you, pointing to one of the hunting rifles on the ground.Â
Your eye caught something behind Joelâs chair and you pointed. âIs that ââ
Tommy turned slowly so he wouldnât lose Joel. On the rickety table behind Joelâs chair lay your bow and quiver, slung haphazardly.Â
âMy bow!â You exclaimed.Â
You slung the rifle on your shoulder and immediately put the quiver on over it.Â
One of their backpacks lay on the table as well, but with him carrying Joel and you carrying the weapons, there wasnât a good way to carry it. Heâd rather have the weapons anyway, he could find water and food soon enough.
Tommy was almost sure the rest of the weapons had already been distributed. It was a wonder the bow remained, but then again, he didnât figure most people would pick a bow when they could be shooting a longer-range rifle or something semi-automatic.Â
âReady?â
You nodded, grimacing. You pulled up the hem of your shirt and wiped the blood away. âCould use some Tylenol, but Iâll be alright.â
âNot bleedinâ or nothinâ?â
You bit your lip and hesitantly looked down at your jeans. They were a lighter-wash pair, any blood shouldâve been easy enough to see, but Tommy didnât. He exhaled.
âMaybe itâs early enough ââ he trailed off.
The hand not holding your bow grasped your stomach and he saw your fingers clinch.Â
âIf we get a car, we can be in Pittsburgh in a coupleâa hours,â he promised. âDocs there can make sure babyâs healthy, alright?â
You steeled your shoulders and took a deep breath. Tommy could see in your gaze that your head was swimming; youâd probably be useless aiming with the bow, but Joelâs dead weight would be too heavy for you to carry.
It was quiet beyond the office building, but Tommy made sure you kept your bow nocked and ready, scanning for targets. Joel moaned in his hold, blood flowing freely, but Tommy knew that was a situation that could wait till they found a car.Â
You checked all of them down the street, heading up toward the tunnel youâd first tried to cross. The only way out of Charleston.
The lookouts from earlier were gone, and Tommy had no doubt they were holed up in the building youâd just escaped from, probably either celebrating the impeding female captive or investigating all the shots theyâd heard.Â
The tunnel was still blocked, and he groaned at the sight of the truck still sitting there. But while the tunnel had been blocked for any passing vehicles, there was enough space between some of them to get through.
After scouting it out, you waved Tommy in.
It was dark, but Tommy could see a faint light peeking through at the end of it.Â
âCheck them cars, but stay ready,â he whispered. God, if they found a runner now, with him unable to shoot a gun and you reeling from a concussionâŚ
You were deadly with a bow, he had no doubt of that, but between the concussion and the hits youâd taken only minutes ago⌠Tommy was worried.
It was too dim to see if you were bleeding through your jeans, and he was afraid to look, anyway. Joel had been right, he didnât know a goddamn thing about babies or miscarriages⌠would you start bleeding right away? How would you even know if you had? Would it even be enough blood to seep through your jeans?
His only experience with blood had been exactly one girlfriend. Sheâd bled through her pants and heâd had to take her to the store to get tampons. He hadnât even seen the blood on her pants, sheâd said thereâd been alot, but it hadnât been running down her thighs. Was that too much?
Fuck. He needed to quit.Â
âBingo,â you whispered, opening the door of a forgotten mini-van and drawing him from his thoughts. You fired it up easily and grinned when you saw it had 3/4 of a tank of gas.
âLay down the seats in back,â he ordered, and you did, laying the chair behind the driver as far back as it would go.
With the firemanâs hold, it was hard for Tommy to ease Joel into the seat, but you helped, grunting and adjusting him until he was only slightly crooked.Â
âIâll drive,â he said, pulling the vanâs door shut and taking off the gun.Â
âWhat happened?â
âI shot the guy a half-second too late, but he flinched and just grazed him instead of killinâem.â
âLucky,â you murmured.
He watched in the mirror as you went to work.Â
It was hard to drive, as worried as he was, and he noticed his fingers shaking now that the adrenaline had worn off. Once free of the tunnel, heâd made good time getting out of Charleston, and leaving West Virginia the hell behind. He longed for the CB and wished he had fished it out of the truck, but it couldnât be helped.Â
Timber and Jake were expecting them in the Pittsburgh QZ anyway - theyâd made sure to tell them they were on their way before they left.
There was nothing you could sew Joelâs head up with and the van had no first aid kit, so you made do with rips from your shirt and pressure on his head. You wobbled a few times from your own concussion, but you kept at it, only laying down yourself in the other seat when Joelâs bleeding had stopped.
Tommy exhaled when you announced it.
âNice job, sis. Only âbout another two hours and we should be there.â
âHey, Tommy,â you called, leaning your own seat back.Â
âYeah?â
âDonât ever call me sugar again, got it?â
âYou got it, sis.â
The Pittsburgh QZ was easy to find â there were all kinds of signs and arrows pointing travelers on their way.Â
Tommy ached in the driverâs seat. He felt like he had aged twenty years in the last twenty-four hours as he scratched at the beard growth on his face.Â
The last sign had said the QZ was only a couple miles ahead, so he reached back and tugged on your knee, saying your name.Â
You groaned, more from pain than sleep, and Tommy glanced a look back at you.Â
Curled up in the captainâs chair, youâd brought your legs up in the seat so you lay in a fetal position. When you moved your feet, Tommy saw the blood seeping through your jeans.
âOh no,â he whispered.
âTommy,â you groaned. âWhere ââ
âEasy now, sis,â his voice was calm. âWeâre âbout two miles out. But - I, uh, I need you to stay calm, okay?â
You sat up at that, spreading your legs and looking between them for what Tommy had already seen.Â
âNo,â your voice was pained, you looked up to Tommy with eyes full of tears.
âTheyâll fix it,â he promised, looking between you and the road and reaching his free hand back to grasp yours. âItâs probably normal. Itâs okay â itâs ââ
The QZ loomed ahead and Tommy rubbed his face as he put the van in park. FEDRA agents with their heavy-duty weapons came out of the guard houses and rubble, advancing on their van with caution.
He pulled open the door and showed his hands. âEasy now, fellas,â he called out. âI got me a pregnant woman, might be miscarryinâ, and a man who needs a cut sewn up. We need a doctor.â
âWhat kinda cut?â The FEDRA officer that Tommy assumed was in charge asked.
âKind you get from a bullet graze,â Tommy answered. âWe ainât infected.â
The officers nodded to each other. One pulled a device from his belt and Tommy recognized the same test system theyâd seen at the roadblock after Outbreak.Â
Tommy put out his hand and cringed as the needle descended, testing his blood. Youâd come out of the van too, extending your arm. Two green flashes on the screen, then it was Joelâs turn. After the green flash, all of the FEDRA officers visibly relaxed.Â
One reached for your arm, another man reaching for Tommyâs, but Tommy wrenched out of his grasp, arms coming around you instead. âShe goes with me,â he snarled.
The officers just nodded to each other, while two more came up to get Joel out of the van.
Tommy put his arm around your shoulders, half supporting you toward the large wall of the QZ. One of the officers was speaking, detailing how things worked here, but Tommy wasnât listening. He didnât give a shit and heâd figure it all out soon enough.
The officer asked for your names, and Tommy gave them. You stiffened when he gave your last name as Miller, but said nothing.Â
âWhich one of youse her husband?â The officer asked, writing down the names.
âHe is,â Tommy pointed back to Joel. âIâm her brother.â
A door opened and you were lead into the wall of the QZ. It immediately opened into a makeshift clinic with sterile hospital beds, completely juxtaposed with the dilapidated exterior of the QZ.Â
You stood to the side, Tommyâs arms caging you in, as Joel was brought in and laid hastily on one of the beds. A woman with blue gloves was there in an instant, unwinding the cloth youâd tied on and barking orders to everyone around.
The same officer youâd walked through with reached out hesitantly to your arm, keeping a wary eye on Tommy as if asking permission. Tommy nodded, granting it, but looking down at you as the woman touched you.
âMrs. Miller,â she whispered. âWe have a separate room for you. Mr. Miller is in good hands here.â
You nodded but Tommy felt your fingers tightening on his arm.
âIf he survived the four hour trip here,â she whispered, matronly and maternal, âthen heâs likely out of the woods. But we need to see whatâs going on with you and your baby.â
Your eyes flashed up to Tommyâs. âI go with her,â he stated, eyes on you.
âAbsolutely, Mr. Miller. This way,â she extended her hands down another hall.
The room reminded Tommy of Sarahâs pediatricianâs office. There had been more than a few times that theyâd caught the flu together and Joel had been too feverish to take Sarah himself, so Tommy had offered. There were no cute cartoon drawings on the wall here, but he was struck with that same feeling of being out of place.
He hadnât been Sarahâs dad, hadnât known how to answer half the questions theyâd asked him (the only one he really knew was her address and her birthday for Christâs sake). He wasnât your husband, he wasnât the father of your baby. Joel should be doing this, Joel should be here.
Tommy was scared shitless, but he made himself walk steady as he kept his arms around you.
You needed someone. And all you had right now was him.
The officer said a doctor would be in shortly, to take off your bottoms and cover up with the sheet. She offered to let Tommy leave the room, but your eyes had been wide and full of fear, so heâd said he would just turn around.Â
Once you were ready, he saw you sitting stiffly with your feet in the stirrups and the sheet wrapped around your bottoms. The jeans and panties discarded on the floor were filled with blood.Â
You scooted over and patted the empty space beside you, and Tommy folded himself in, trying to be as small as possible.
âNo matter what,â he told you, lips at your temple, âIâve got you, sis.â
The doctor was younger than Tommy wouldâve liked taking care of you, but she sat right to work, getting the wand ready and explaining the steps in a soothing tone.Â
âDad, would you like to stay for this part?â
âUh- Uncle,â he clarified, âDadâs got a head wound.â
âRight,â the doctor said, blushing. She sat between your legs, âYouâll feel some pressure and ââ
The ultrasound equipment screen lit up with black and white.Â
Tommy had no fucking idea what he was looking at as he leaned over to see the screen better, but the doctor explained the different parts of your anatomy. You flinched as the wand moved, but Tommy held fast to your hand, whispering to you as the doctor looked for the baby.
âThereâs the gestational sac,â she murmured, zooming in on her screen.
He wished it had been like before, where there was a TV hooked up so the parents could see it instead of the tiny one on the ultrasound equipment.Â
Not that he knew what he was looking for, but still.
And then the doctorâs face fell.Â
It was just a tiny faltering, so tiny that Tommy almost missed it, but he saw it. And once he saw it, he knew what it meant.Â
âMrs. Miller,â the doctor began, somber and professional. âI am so sorry, but ââ
You clung to Tommy, but no tears came. Not as the doctor explained that there was no heartbeat, that the trauma youâd been through had been too much, and that the bleeding is sometimes delayed with these types of things. She explained that she would need to perform a D&C immediately to cut away all fetal tissue and that you would be put under for the procedure.
âWe will need to do it as soon as possible,â she explained. âIn fact, Iâll give you a few minutes to process the news and then we will need to get you prepped.â
At your silence, Tommy thanked the doctor and held you tight.Â
Word Count: 8400
Note: I wrote this originally for the blog @inhellandheaven nearly 12 years ago (here is the original) and it was probably one of the most popular series I ever wrote lol. I re-read it a few weeks ago and my only thought was dear god, i can do so much better, so here we are. is it weird that i'm re-writing one of my own fics? probably. but we're doin' it anyway.
Masterlist. AO3.
as always, i crave feedback from readers! Please send me a message, reblog, or reply with your thoughts/reactions/questions!
Being a tutor and a TA was a great first step for someone in college.Â
But good grief was it an exhausting one.Â
Youâd had five tutoring sessions on Saturday, way more than your average, but several of the usual tutors had decided to travel with the football team and asked you to cover for them. Even though it was short notice, youâd accepted eagerly, hoping to really do well on your next paycheck.Â
By the third one, however, you were missing Deanâs quick wit and attitude. The students in front of you werenât stupid, exactly, but it was a miracle a couple of them could even read, much less produce high level work. Theyâd worked without wasting your time and theyâd signed the timesheet, so you tried not to think too poorly of them even in your own head.
The worst part was, theyâd all been back-to-backs, so you hadnât even gotten to watch the livestream of Deanâs scrimmage and you werenât sure why that disappointed you.Â
There was a hesitation to text him Saturday morning, like Bela and Jo were urging you to. Apparently âgood luckâ texts to athletes were a common courtesy, but you didnât want to blur the line between tutor and friend, so youâd resisted. But your finger had hovered over the Send button for far too long in between your study sessions.Â
Bela and Jo had decided to go with some other cheerleaders and you might have lingered on a few pictures theyâd sent you of Dean in action.
Although if interrogated, youâd deny it to your dying breath.
Once the tutoring sessions were over, youâd checked your phone to an update from Jo saying that the team had won by a landslide and most of the starters had been taken out early in the 3rd quarter. You were glad, Dean had been stressing about the game and this was a good start to the season.
But tutoring wasnât your only job this semester. So you munched on a granola bar youâd packed in your backpack and cracked your neck as you approached the mounting work of being a TA. Dr. Crowley might have been a Grade-A Asshole with every other TA, but he was more than fair to you. You taught a couple of his upper-level classes, but they were small, so there was never a crazy grading work lode.Â
His freshman level classes however⌠every freshman at State had to have those classes, so they were always massive. The stack of quizzes heâd handed you the day before was extremely thick and none of the questions were multiple choice.
Awesome.Â
It took almost all of the evening Saturday and into the afternoon on Sunday to grade the stack with a level of feedback you knew Crowley would approve of. You made a mental note to discuss it with him on Monday because expecting you to finish that amount of quizzes in two days was unethical and near impossible. You would not be doing that again.
By the time you crept out of your bedroom on Sunday evening, you were ready to fall out. By the time your laundry had finished at 1 am Monday morning, youâd fallen asleep at the kitchen table.
Dr. Crowleyâs first class was at 9 am, so when Jo woke you at the kitchen table on her way out the door to her 8 am class, you still had plenty of time to make yourself semi-presentable (meaning, the most comfortable clothes you owned and a wee bit of dry shampoo so your hair looked like it had been washed in the last 3 days) and stop by the Starbucks on campus before you handed them off. Then youâd have time to hit the library and get your life together before your first class at 10.Â
Excellent plan.Â
State University had a large campus, so there were plenty of coffee shops spread throughout, but this one was closest to your apartment and that made it the best. 8:15 am was still plenty early for college students on a Monday, so you werenât surprised to see that there were less than five patrons within.
âLooks like you need it directly into your veins, sweetheart.â A familiar voice called.Â
You looked over your shoulder to see Dean Winchester with a ball cap pulled down low over his eyes. âGee, thanks, you look like shit too. Party too hard after the easy win?â
He grimaced, rubbing the stubble on his chin. âYou see the game?â
You shook your head and faced forward again. âNope. Had to work all weekend.â
âThat sucks,â he said.Â
âJo and Bela went though, they sent me updates.â
âOh yeah?â He raised his eyebrows. âWeâll have to get you to a game here soon.â
The silence fell easily as you waited in line. You were glad, you had a headache and you were sore from sleeping at the table the night before. Honestly, if you tried, you could probably take a 5 minute nap standing up while you waited for âÂ
âWhatâs your poison?âÂ
When you looked at him, eyes a little dazed, he had pointed up to the menu. âYou oneâa those âsecret menuâ girls?â
âNope. Just a plain ole white chocolate mocha.â
âPretty basic,â he commented. âLeast itâs not Pumpkin Spice.â He struck his tongue out.
âGive me a couple weeks,â you quipped, hoping your voice didnât sound as dead as you felt. âFirst time I see a leaf fall off a tree, itâll be all PSLs for months.â
He frowned then. Apparently your bravado had not covered your exhaustion. âSomethinâ wrong?â
You shrugged. âTold you I worked all weekend. Itâs caught up to me. I fell asleep at the kitchen table last night after midnight. And Mondays are always my busiest day.â
âOoh, thatâs not good. Definitely need the extra espresso shot then.â
By then, youâd made it to the front. Your order was pretty basic and it ranked your nerves that Dean had said so. You added a cake pop just for some pizazz.Â
Once youâd gotten the total, you pulled out your student flex card to pay, but Deanâs hand whipped out to cover yours. âSheâs with me.â
âYou sure?â
He smirked and nodded. For all that heâd teased you, Dean was pretty basic too, ordering a sâmores frappe and a cake pop before paying with a debit card instead of the student flex card. He came to stand next to you while you waited together.Â
âGuess todayâs not a good day to ask for a study session,â he ventured, hands in his sweats.Â
âNot today, Sweetness.â
He grinned at that. âWhat?â
He shrugged. âNothinâ. Prospect of caffeineâs makinâ you feel a little better, huh?â
You rolled your eyes. âBut no, I doubt Iâll have time to eat between now and 9 pm, much less an hour to study.â
âOh yeah? That busy?â
You raised an eyebrow. âDonât you have practice or something?â
He nodded and reached with one hand for the ball cap, turning it around backwards. âJust came from the weight room, actually. Got study hall this afternoon at 4, then film at 5.â
âSounds like fun.â
âNo,â he chuckled. âNormally, we analyze the film and itâs not so bad. You get to see where you messed up, what you could do better, stuff like that. But after a game like Saturday, thereâs not much for the starters to analyze.â
âSo itâll focus on the 2nd and 3rd string guys, huh?â
He nodded. âGreat for them, boring for me.â
Your names were called at the same time and you both stepped forward. The coffees were next to each other, the cake pops in one bag.
Reaching for them at the same time, you jumped whenever your fingers touched. You let out a chuckle and flicked your eyes up to Dean, who wore the same smirking expression he had when youâd called him Sweetness. You reached again and grabbed your coffee while Dean took his and the cake pop bag.
âThanks for the coffee,â you said as he held the door open for you.Â
âNo problem, least I could do since youâve been helpinâ me.â
You took a sip and let the iced caffeine goodness sink into your veins. âOh, god this stuff is good. But you know I get paid for that, right? You donât owe me anything.â
He took a sip of his, other hand deep in the pocket of his sweatpants. âYeah, I know. Youâve just been nicer than you had to be, so I wanted to do somethinâ nice.â
You just nodded and walked along, feeling better with every sip.
âDean?â
âYeah?â
âI know a way you can pay me back.â
He looked out of the corner of his eye down to you. âOh, yeah? What is it, sweetheart?â
You eyed his frappe. âLet me try your drink â I havenât had that one.â
He scoffed and grinned at you. âHow do I know you donât got cooties or somethinâ?â
âEw,â you scrunched your nose. âWhat are we, seven?â
He reached over and let you take a drink from the straw.Â
âVery nice,â you complimented. âDefinitely tastes like sâmores.â
âTastes like fall,â he clarified. âGlad weâre even now.â He leaned over, nudging your shoulder.
âTill the next session, anyway.â
The English building was one of the larger on campus and you were surprised when Dean opened the door and followed you inside.Â
âDonât work too hard today,â he said, frowning a little with ⌠concern?
You smiled. âGot my caffeine now, Iâll be fine till tonight, at least.â
He nodded. âWell, let me know what tomorrow looks like for you. Have a good day.â
âYou too, and thanks for the coffee.â
You parted ways then, waving as you headed toward Dr. Crowleyâs office and Dean went in the direction of the lecture halls. Dr. Crowleyâs office was one of the more ⌠eccentric of the staff. He had amassed a rather large collection of antiquities, as he called them. To you, it looked like something off a Hoarders and American Pickers crossover.
The worst part was, Crowley would answer questions about none of them. Youâd tried. Not where heâd got them, when, how much they were, or even what they were. Youâd taken pictures of some of the more interesting ones, hoping to reverse Google Search them, but theyâd mysteriously come up with no results.
More than once, youâd wondered if Crowley had broken into the Vatican archives or something. He had to know people in order to get this much useless and anonymous stuff.
Since the door was open, you let yourself in and walked around the space, observing if anything had been added since youâd been there on Friday.Â
Of course, Dr. Crowley wasnât there when you called, and he hated when you just left things on his desk for him to find later. You took another sip of your coffee and groaned at the prospect of finding him before his next class.
As his TA, one of your jobs was to lead his classes and generally take some of the work load off him. He preferred to teach the freshman lectures himself, citing that it was âfunâ to mess with the younger crowd, as well as the 400 level classes so he could dive a little deeper into the works with them.
The only class that youâd ever asked him to give to you was the 205 - the Shakespeare class, and it was the only one heâd steadfastly refused, telling you it was his favorite. Oh well, you were glad you werenât teaching it - Dean needed help and he was honorable about making sure you got paid.Â
Which was the whole point.
You checked your watch and looked up at the schedule on Dr. Crowleyâs office door. He was about to start the 205 Shakespeare class âŚ
It would be a good opportunity to see Dean. The thought popped unbidden into your mind and you felt yourself start to flush.Â
To see Dean, in action, in class, so I can see if heâs actually participating, you amended to yourself, setting your shoulders straight and marching in the direction of the classroom. This was for purely professional reasons - you needed to give Dr. Crowley the quizzes and you wanted to see how the student you were tutoring actually did in class.
That was it.
So why were you so nervous as you reached for the door? Why did it feel like you were walking into a test you hadnât studied for?Â
Youâd already seen him this morning. Heâd paid for your coffee and walked you to the building. You hadnât been this nervous when youâd heard his voice behind you in the coffee shop.
Maybe there was no time to panic, that same voice said in your head.Â
You figuratively rolled your eyes at that little voice and filed in the lecture hall in behind another student.Â
Crowley was at the bottom of the lecture hall, which was built staggered into a pit so that every student could see easily. He was leaned against the desk, arms crossed over his chest, when he noticed you.
And frowned.
Which, compared to the hiss and scowl he gave most people, meant he was decently happy to see you.
âAh, my lovely assistant,â he greeted, the British accent flowing smoothly. âWhat brings you to the depths of a 200 level class?â
You set your backpack down on the closest desk and fished out the quizzes. âFinished these for you over the weekend and you werenât in your office.â
âSo you hand-delievered them?â
You shrugged. âHad some time.â
âThank you, love,â he said, flipping through the stack of papers.Â
âAlso wanted to make sure you didnât ruin my weekend like that again,â you put a hand on your hip and stared pointedly at the stack.
âHm?â
âHanding me that on a Friday afternoon and asking for it this morning was a crap move, and you know it.â You kept your voice light enough to sound like teasing, but Crowley knew you well enough to know you were serious.
He nodded, just a brief tilt of the head. âNoted.â
âThank you.â
The lecture hall was filling up, so he looked down at his watch. âAlmost time. Would you want to stay for the lecture and discussion?âÂ
He hadnât been looking at you, but you knew what the question meant. Crowley didnât often ask questions where he didnât already know the answer.
And he knew you loved Shakespeare.Â
You nodded, trying to hide your excited smile. âIs that okay? I havenât had a chance to sit in on any of your classes yet this semester.â
He gestured to the open desks on the front row. âGet comfortable.â
Dr. Crowley always started promptly at 9:00. The door opened at 9:01 to emit a student and he scowled at them, pausing his words until the poor kid found his seat.Â
Dean had learned long ago that if he left on time for class, someone would inevitably stop him to talk about football or parties and heâd be late. So he made a habit of leaving the apartment earlier than needed and if campus wasnât busy, heâd stop for a coffee.Â
He was glad he had this morning. Even though you looked like hell and he knew youâd had a rough weekend, Dean had been glad to see you. He was already planning what his message would say later whenever he checked in.
The seat heâd grabbed on the first day of class was on the edge of the lecture hall, about 3/4 of the way up. All he wanted was to be out of the way and unrecognized. Since most of this class was people who were destined to be English majors, he hadnât had much problem with people swarming him and the only rude question heâd gotten was why he was even taking this class.
Because I fuckinâ had to was what he always wanted to say. Instead heâd just shrugged and smiled. âNeeded it.â
Heâd needed one more English credit for his teaching major and by the time heâd signed up, this was the only one open.
Then heâd failed it.
So he took it again, thinking it would be easier the second time.
It wasnât, but he had you in his corner now, so he was more optimistic.
âAlright,â Crowley said, nodding as the latecomer found his seat. âLast week, we extensively discussed Act 1 of Macbeth and you were supposed to have read Act 2 prior to todayâs class for discussion.â
He turned to the side opposite Dean and gestured to someone sitting in the front row. âWe do have a special guest with us today, by complete happenstance. Would you care to review Act 2 for us?â
Dean heard a laugh - a laugh he knew.
You stood from the desk and came to stand beside Crowley, coffee in hand. Apparently the caffeine had done more for you than anything, because you looked like yourself again. Dean made a mental note of that.
âWell, in case you didnât read Act 2 or in case you did and forgot, letâs review it,â you began.
Dean was entranced. He listened as you covered Act 2 the same way you had started to last week, before youâd discussed his paper. Your eyes lit up the exact same way as whenever you talked to him about it, and damn if you didnât look beautiful.Â
âSo Scene 1 ends with Macbeth already starting to struggle and deteriorate,â you explained. âIn Scene 2, we get a view of Lady Macbeth. Remember, sheâs been the one driving this train so far, really pushing her husband into the prophecies because she is ambitious â and to Shakespeareâs crowd, ambition was a sin.â
âScene 2 sees the hallucination of the dagger and Duncanâs death off-screen. Now,â you looked out at the crowd. âWhat do you guys think was the most important part of Act 2?â
A kid near the front raised his hand and said, âDuncanâs death, obviously.â
âHow so?â
It was fascinating to watch you teach. You knew the content, Dean knew that, but it was the way you could lead the students to the question without giving it away, making them think theyâd done it on their own. He wanted to be embarrassed at knowing that youâd done that for him, more than once, but he just wasnât. It wasnât a testament to how bad he was at English, it was a testament to how good of a teacher you were.Â
You finished with that student, leading him to a thought that maybe Duncanâs death wasnât the most important point, and Dean thought he knew where you wanted the conversation to go, so he raised his hand.
Your eyes met his, the excitement never lagging. âYes, Dean?â
All eyes in the lecture hall turned to him and he felt his palms growing sweaty again.
Funny, they never do that at football, he thought.
âI think the most important thing in this act is Lady Macbethâs monologue,â he claimed, rubbing a hand on the back of his neck.
Just a slight tick in your smile, a barely there motion, and Dean knew he was on the right track.
âGo on,â you pressed, your voice neutral.Â
âWell, doesnât she say something about how she wouldâve done it herself, but Duncan looked like her dad?â
âYes, and why is that important?â
He smirked. âShe just spent 20 minutes berating her husband because he forgot something simple, but then in the next breath, she admits that he had to do it because she couldnât do it herself. Thatâs the whole ambition point, right? Women couldnât do anything without a man attached to them, because of society and stuff, so itâs a metaphor for how women would ⌠I donât know, trap men into doing these ambitious things that they couldnât otherwise do.â
âYes,â you praised. âHer treatment of him, insulting him, cleaning up after him, and being dependent on him, is a direct metaphor for society in that time period.â
You gave a slight turn to go on to the next person, but you stopped, looking back at Dean, âGood work, Winchester.â
He scooted down in his seat, avoiding the jealous glares of the students who hadnât made that connection, and he couldnât stop the wave of pride in his chest.Â
When his phone buzzed in his pocket, he fished it out. Crowley was one of the few professors who didnât have an opinion on cell phones in class. To him, it was your tuition money, and if you wanted to waste it by not paying attention⌠wasnât his problem.
Dean couldnât help the smile that spread across his face. You were funny. Funny in a way that wasnât performative, too.
Heâd met plenty of girls at high school and college parties that tried to appeal to his sense of humor, but it all just fell flat. Like Dean could tell within seconds that they were just attempting to get closer to him, like it was all a scam.
Not you though.Â
He craved your humor.Â
He could feel Crowleyâs eyes on him, so he put his phone in his pocket and tried to focus as you led the rest of the class. It was hard.
You left a couple minutes before the class ended and Dean couldnât help how bummed he felt. Heâd wanted to chat with you, maybe walk you to your next class. Heâd liked walking together this morning. But the idea of text you to see where you went just made him look like a creep.Â
So he meandered through the rest of the day, going to his classes, taking notes, attempting to look like this morning hadnât set a pace for the rest of his day.Â
4 pm rolled around and Dean sat in the same lecture hall heâd been in this morning. His eyes kept flickering to where youâd sat, as if hoping youâd magically materialize in the middle of football study hall.
His laptop was open to the paper youâd helped him start, but it had the exact same amount of words that it did whenever heâd left the session Friday. His headphones were blasting his normal study playlist, but Dean felt he couldnât focus. Shakespeare just reminded him of you.Â
When Benny elbowed him, Dean nearly jumped out of his skin. He took out a headphone and raised an eyebrow at his friend.Â
âHowâs it goinâ with the Shakespeare class?â
Dean shrugged and hoped it was more nonchalant than he felt. âFeel like Iâm getting better, but havenât got any papers or quizzes back yet, so I donât know.â
Castiel sat on Deanâs other side. âSo the tutorâs helping?â
âYeah, sheâs awesome,â Dean answered. âReally knows her stuff. Good at teachinâ it too.â
âYou seeinâ her this week?â Bennyâs Louisiana accent drawled out.
Dean shrugged. âProbâly once. She said she was working nearly all day today, so I think weâre gonna try for tomorrow.â
Coach Singer stood from the desk at the bottom of the hall and raised a hand for everyoneâs attention. âAlright, folks. Weâre doinâ film a little differently this week. Starters, you donât have to join. Completely optional. If you are second-string for any position then you need to make sure you attend. Weâll be breaking down the third and fourth quarters only.â
Dean, Benny, and Castiel all looked at each other and grinned while the sophomores and freshman groaned. Like Dean had told you that morning, it was boring to break down film of other people playing the game. Heâd endured his share of it when heâd been the second-string quarterback and it had been hell.
His friends started discussing what they would do with their evening off, and Benny started calculating the possibility of a small party. The cheerleaders always had Mondays off, so they would likely be down. Benny and Cas were buried in their phones, texting people from other athletics teams to see whoâd want to come.Â
Deanâs thoughts wandered to you. He scrunched his face as he took out his own phone. When had he ever invited a girl to a party? When had he ever even thought the words invite, girl, and party in the same sentence - unless the word donât was included?Â
Girls didnât come to parties with Dean. They simply showed up to the same parties he was at and he didnât have to do much beyond make sure the DD was sober. He didnât take advantage of anyone by any means - girls threw themselves at him and he didnât always bite.
But tonight he didnât want to go home with someone he didnât know or care about. In fact, after-party sex was a distant thought, something that hadnât really entered his mind.
Dean wanted conversation. He thought about earlier during class - he wanted your conversation, your humor, your approval.Â
You didnât seem like much of a party girl, but you had looked so tired this morning that Dean doubted youâd be down for anything except a meal and a nap.Â
The party seemed much less fun when he thought of himself there playing beer pong and you falling asleep on your kitchen table again.
And something youâd said this morning drifted back to him. I doubt Iâll have time to eat, much less âŚ
He pulled out his phone too. He told himself it was a friend checking in on another friend, like friends do. He was a friend, he told himself.Â
He frowned down at his phone. He didnât like that.Â
He knew what it was: Dean took care of people.
Like Sammy, for one. As the oldest brother, it was his job to take care of Sam - hell, it was why he was taking his grades so damn seriously this semester, why he made sure he wasnât running around with cleat chasers or getting involved with any kind of ESPN-worthy scandal. He needed to be a good example for his brother. He couldnât even count how many fights heâd been in during middle and high school because someone had said the wrong thing about his little brother. When Mom had been in the hospital and Dad was there with her, it was Dean who had made sure Sammy was fed, bathed, clothed, and at school on time. It was Dean who had reassured him that it was a routine thing and Mom would be home in no-time.
The guys on the team, for second. He had been made captain last year and he took that role seriously too. His guys wouldnât follow anyone who didnât practice what they preached, so Dean made sure he attended class, got decent grades (except for one class last semester), didnât party the night before a game, took practice seriously, and took care of each other. He was a guy who checked on every player, regardless of whether or not they started, whether they were offense or defense or what the hell ever.
He took care of his people.
And now, he guessed, you were one of those people.
He had to make sure you ate, he reasoned. He was just making sure you were taking care of yourself. He didnât like the bruises under your eyes this morning, but he remembered how much more energetic youâd seemed after the coffee.
Yeah. He was going to take care of you by making sure you took care of yourself tonight.
It was what friends did.
If you had to read one more bullshit answer about how Gatsby was âthe ultimate player,â you were going to scream. They were all hand-written, in-class assignments, so you knew none of this shit was AI, but you werenât sure if that made it better or worse.
When your phone buzzed, you were only too eager to use the distraction.
You grinned, changing the name of the group chat to âResist the đâ instead. You chuckled to yourself and looked around the library, hoping you hadnât disturbed anyone else.Â
You groaned and looked at the stack before you. Your class was tomorrow.Â
No matter how much youâd like a break, you needed to finish these. You needed to hand them back out to your own students so that they had good feedback before you started the next assignment. You put your head against your hand - this was miserable.Â
You wanted to go. You hadnât been to a party yet this semester, being weighed down by tutoring sessions and TA duties, not to mention anything else Dr. Mills wanted you to excel at. And you had your own full course load this semester.Â
But you missed being care-free. Youâd known this semester was going to be hard, but it was only a week and a half in and you were so tired of being responsible. You didnât even feel like you were in college - not the way the movies described it. This was supposed to be the last hoo-rah, your last chance to be a dumb kid before the weight of real life came crashing down.
And you were missing it to grade papers in the library. When did you stop being a college student and start being a real adult?
Alright, you took a deep breath and thought of a compromise. Because someone did need to make sure Jo didnât fall back into bed with Benny. Their relationship was tumultuous at best and she just kept falling for the cycle over and over. If you were sober and hung out with them, then 1. You wouldnât be too hungover to grade papers, and 2. You would be clear thinking enough to make sure she didnât do anything stupid.
Decision made, you picked up your phone again.Â
You groaned and looked at the clock. It was only 6. Your back ached, your head ached, and you were ready to just go home to your apartment and take a nice shower.Â
But you knew that your friends were counting on you to come get them.
And judging by the snaps youâd already been sent of Jo sitting on Bennyâs lap⌠they needed a sober voice in their ear.Â
You were about to pick everything up and just go home when your phone buzzed again.Â
Your heart sank a little in your chest. That made sense. Bela was⌠Bela. She was beautiful and smart, why wouldnât anyone talk to her at a party? Especially someone like Dean.
You shook your head. Dean was not a thought you wanted to entertain. He was simply someone you were tutoring.
Even if you had thought about him during the rest of your sessions and classes today. And even if he was a breath of fresh air to you.
And even if he was fucking handsome.Â
Not that you were saying he was.Â
You stared down at the messages. Heâd asked about you?Â
Where your stomach had felt empty and hollow a few minutes ago, you felt the butterflies again. The same butterflies you had promptly banished earlier in the week.Â
Rationally, it made sense that Dean would ask where you were. After all, your three roommates were there, and one of said roommates was fucking (or hopefully not fucking) one of Deanâs roommates. It would make sense that he would ask where the missing person was.Â
You coughed, trying to keep from giving yourself hope. Dean was Dean. You were you. Your two lives only intersected because he was failing English and you were good at it. This wasnât anything other than what it was.
You narrowed your eyes at the phone. Why would Bela lie? Wouldnât it make more sense to just tell Dean that you were coming?
Bela was such a genius. But your heart began to pound heavily at the idea of Dean being mopey that you werenât coming. Like he actually wanted to see you over any of the other girls at the party that would likely be throwing themselves at him.
You checked the time - it was only 6. You could easily go back to the apartment and freshen up, maybe even throw on a cute outfit and still have plenty of time to get there by midnight with the girls.
You nodded, packing up the quizzes and clipping together papers before putting them away neatly in your bag. You turned, satisfied with the events of the day (even if you were going to be grading for almost all of tomorrow morning), and started mentally going through all four of your closets to find the perfect going out top.Â
A hard chest met you in the aisle and you nearly lost your balance. You looked up and heard âEasy there, sweetheartâ in a familiar drawl, right next to your ear.
Holding on to the arms of the obstacle, you looked into the pure green eyes of Dean Winchester.Â
He grinned, taking a step back out of your embrace.Â
âSweetness,â you breathed. âWhat are you doing here?â
âI could ask you the same question,â he shot back, grin still plastered on his face.Â
âI thought you were at the party?â
He looked away then, flush creeping up out of his collar. One hand grazed the back of his head and you noticed a Starbucks cup in the other.Â
âWhatâs this?â You smiled.
He extended the cup to you. âLittle pick me up.â
âWhat?âÂ
You took the coffee from him, your lips still parted in surprise.Â
He shrugged. âYou said you had a rough night and that the coffee helped earlier. Thought you might need another if you were gonna be working all night.â
âWow,â you could feel your cheeks heating again. âTwo in one day?â
He shrugged and reached up to adjust his snapback. âHope you donât mind,â Dean said, smirking, âbut I did take a sip. Never had one before.â
âDid you like it?â
He nodded, raising his eyebrows. âDonât tell anyone. Real men drink it black.â
âEw,â you teased, taking a sip of it yourself. âWait a second, didnât you just have a frappe this morning?â
âNot answerinâ that.â He smirked.
âHmm,â you took a drink and smiled.Â
He noted the backpack and clean table behind you. âLooks like you werenât really planning on staying here the rest of the night.â
âGirls convinced me. Not often we get a first-string-only party invite.â
The flush was creeping up to his ears and Dean thrust his hands into his jeans pockets.Â
You looked at the rest of him. Gone was the sweatsuit combo and sneakers. Dean wore some jeans with a couple holes in the knees, a black State t-shirt, a pair of boots, and a State snapback turned backwards.
Your mouth went dry. He was so fucking handsome. You took another drink.Â
âDoesnât look like you came for a study session, either.â
He exhaled in a light chuckle. âCaught me. But the girls did say you were their ride home. Wanna head back to the party with me?â
When you examined him, he held up a hand. âHavenât had anything to drink yet, swear.â
You bit your lip and looked down at his outfit, then to yours. You had managed to do some wonderful things with dry shampoo this morning, and a little mascara had helped, but it wasnât the fabulous party outfit youâd had planned when you packed up.Â
âYou look fine,â he offered, reading your gaze.
âOh?â
He nodded and reached up to put a piece of your hair behind your ear. âYeah. Besides, this is supposed to be kinda chill, anyway.â
âAlright, then.âÂ
You fell into step beside Dean, a little shocked when he reached for your backpack and slung it over his own shoulder. âThis is a little heavy,â he groaned, grinning.
âHard life of a TA,â you rolled your eyes. âMy muscles are probably bigger than yours.â
He looked down at you out of the corner of his eye again. âProbably. Remind me not to mess with you, sweetheart.â
You grinned at him, glad heâd come to the library for the coffee. âWhat were you going to do if I was staying at the library?â You heard yourself ask.
He shrugged. âDunno. Probably hang out with you until you kicked me out.â
âOh?â
He shrugged a shoulder. âYeah, I was surprised when Bela said you were their ride home. I figured youâd want to crash early after the weekend and day you had.â
You stared at him for a few moments, bringing the coffee to your lips for a lack of something to do with your hands. Heâd remembered. Heâd remembered what youâd told him about your day.Â
It was sweet.Â
And not at all the playboy attitude youâd heard rumors about.Â
âI have a late start tomorrow,â you heard yourself saying. âBesides, someoneâs gotta keep Jo the hell away from Benny.â
He clicked the keys and the headlights of a black Chevy pickup shined in the dim parking lot.Â
âThat so?â He raised an eyebrow. He was walking a pace ahead of you, looking almost over his shoulder at you.Â
You shrugged. âIsnât he your best friend?â
âYeah, him ân Cas.â
âAnd you donât mind him and Jo hooking up again?â
He rubbed the back of his neck. âI try not to get involved in my friendsâ relationships.â
âDean,â you reached out and grabbed his elbow. He stopped suddenly, turning almost too fast so that he faced you. You looked up and he looked down at you and â
There was no room. You were almost chest to chest.
You exhaled, wondering why there wasnât enough air suddenly, even though you were outside in an almost-empty parking lot.Â
âWhat is it, sweetheart?â He murmured, lips just barely moving.Â
You swallowed and looked away from his lips.Â
âYou donât seriously think the two of them are good together, do you?â
His eyes never left yours. You could see the building heat and inferno behind them. Was he burning just the way you were? You werenât even touching.
âNo, I donât,â he answered honestly. âBut Bennyâs never asked me, so I keep my mouth shut.â
His eyes flicked down to your lips and your tongue reached out to wet them. His eyes darkened as he saw the movement.Â
âH-has Jo asked you?â
You nodded. âWeâre the ones who have to pick her up and take care of her whenever he breaks her heart.â
A car door slammed somewhere in the parking lot and you both startled. Your first instinct had been to back away from Dean, like you didnât want anyone to see you together, but Deanâs hands had shot out for your arms, pulling you close to him.Â
You exhaled, the tightness in your chest and the pool of heat under your ribs rising.Â
âWe should - uh, we should probably head out,â his voice was husky and rough.
âIs this you?â You asked, pointing to the Chevy.
âSure is,â he answered, opening the passenger door for you. He held your hand as you stepped up on the running board, only handing you the backpack once you were sitting.
âItâs a nice truck,â you commented when he climbed in the driverâs side.
âYeah, itâs alright.â
âAlright?â You repeated. You gestured to the cab. âDean, this is nice.â
He grinned, putting keys in the ignition and firing it to life. âItâs a decent truck, Iâll give you that, but itâs not my favorite.â
âOkay, Iâll bite. What is your favorite?â
The radio started, playing some classic rock station. Dean turned down the radio before fishing his phone out of his pocket. He unlocked it and you saw him swiping through pictures for a second.Â
âThere she is,â he beamed, showing you the picture. âThatâs my girl.â
It was a black four door - maybe something from the late 60âs. It was sharp. Well maintained, you could tell.Â
And there was Dean, leaned back against the driverâs door with a huge smile at whoever was taking the picture.
âSheâs beautiful, Dean.â
ââ67 Chevy Impala,â he told you. âBuiltâer from the ground up.â
That raised your eyebrows. âReally? Dean thatâs - thatâs ⌠wow. I didnât know you worked on cars like that.â
He shrugged like it wasnât a big deal, but the grin he hid told you it was. He put the phone in the holder on the dash and clicked it off. âDad gave it to me, but it was in poor shape. He runs his own body shop, so he taught me what to do, but I did it all myself.â
He put the truck in reverse and began to back out of the space, ignoring the back-up camera and putting his hand on the shoulder of your seat so he could turn and see behind him.
You pressed your legs together. Until tonight, youâd had no idea how fucking hot that was.
Once he put it in drive and started for Michaelâs house, you found your voice again. âGuess Iâll call you if I ever need anything done to my car.â
He glanced over at you and raised an eyebrow. âSomethinâ wrong with your car, sweetheart?â
âOh, no,â you assured him. âJust saying, if I ever do need something.â
His left hand was on the steering wheel, easily maneuvering through the side streets. His right was extended over the console and you looked down, noticing it was next to yours. Dean looked down too, away from the road, and you saw his fingers twitch toward yours.Â
âAbsolutely. What do you drive?â
âJust a Camry,â you told him. âSomething good on gas.â
He grinned. âEasy car to work on. But if I ever need a roadtrip, then I guess Iâll be cominâ to you.â
He adjusted in his seat and casually brushed his fingers with yours. Casual enough that you figured heâd call it an accident if you didnât reciprocate.
You flushed, moving so your pinky finger brushed against his. Just enough of a confirmation.Â
âI - Iâd like to see it someday,â you blurted, anything to break the tension. âThe - uh - the Impala.â
Deanâs hand snapped back and formed a fist. He sat it down on the console, but he was tense, as if it took effort to be slow and careful. He chuckled. âI usually bring it up from home, just a couple times a year though.â
âWhy only a couple?â
âHave you seen the way people drive here? Iâd come back to a missing mirror or some shit. Absolutely not.â
You laughed then, reaching tentative fingers to his forearm. âYouâre pretty protective, Sweetness.â
He looked at you out of the corner of his eye again and you saw the green in his eyes all lit up. He looked down at his arm and back up to you, eyes softer, smile brighter.Â
âHey now, donât knock my baby. I gotta take care of my girl.â
Michael and Gabe lived at the end of a cul-de-sac in a two-story house with a good size yard and basement. It was usually the party house because all of their neighbors also attended State University, so there was never anyone to really call the cops if they got too loud.Â
Youâd only been a couple of times, mostly at the end of the last football season. Michael and Gabeâs parties were the stuff of legends, and both that youâd been to had been overcrowded and way too hot. Not really your vibe.Â
There were only a few cars in the driveway and spread throughout the cul-de-sac, so you guess it really was a chill party like Dean had said.Â
He parked the truck and turned back the ignition, releasing the keys.
âWhen I left earlier, everyone was out back by the fire pit.â
âOh?â
âYep,â he answered. âItâs finally cooled off enough for a bonfire⌠that okay with you?â
You crossed your legs, jiggling your toes to try to keep from being completely anxious.Â
âBecause, if not,â Dean started speaking quickly, he ran a hand over the back of his neck, âI can take you home and Iâll bring the girls home, itâs no big deal ââ
âDean,â you interrupted, squeezing his forearm. âA bonfire sounds fantastic.â
His shoulders drooped with relief, he put his warm hand on top of yours. âYeah?â
You nodded and bit your lip. âI didnât bring a chair or anything, though.â
He smirked. âNo worries about that. Câmon.â
The lights of the cab were almost too bright as you opened the doors wide. Dean was at your side before you could climb down onto the sidewalk, a hand at your elbow. He clicked the lock of the truck and pocketed the keys efficiently, leading you toward the carport.Â
He said nothing as his hand grasped yours, but you felt the explosion of electricity echoing through you at the simple touch. You looked up and saw the corners of his eyes crinkle in a smile, but the flush creeping up his neck betrayed his bravado.
The carport housed a truck that was every bit of brand spankinâ new, but Dean went around it, passing the side door to the kitchen. You saw the glow of the bonfire in the backyard and stiffened.
Dean, ever observant, paused, hand still in yours. âYou ready?â
You bit your lip. âWonât people⌠talk if we show up together?â
He shrugged, the gesture meant to be nonchalant, but you saw the tick in his jaw. âTheyâre gonna talk regardless.â
You smirked, elbowing him in the side. âJust hate to ruin your rep, Winchester. Iâd hate for all those pretty girls to know youâre off the market.â
A corner of his mouth quirked up into that smirk you were beginning to love. âCâmon, sweetheart.â Then he winked.
The heat between your legs was instant. Youâd seen old men leering and winking before, but when Dean Winchester winked at youâŚ
Well, that was different altogether.Â
You cleared your throat, recovering quickly. You were almost sure that Dean had noticed what the wink had done to you, but he didnât say anything. Maybe he didnât want to embarrass you further.Â
Either way, he pulled on your hand and took a step toward the bonfire.Â
âActually,â Dean murmured, pulling you back into the shadows of the carport.Â
âWhat?â
Dean leaned down to your ear. You felt his smile against the shell of your ear and shivers erupted down your spine. âWanna giveâem somethinâ to really talk about?â
You looked up through your lashes. âLike what?â
His hand let go of yours and you hated the way your chest caved at the loss of warmth, but it was quickly replaced when he wound his arm around your shoulders, bending it and drawing you in close. Your hand found his on your shoulder and threaded your fingers through his again.
Oh yeah, this was much better.Â
âStick with me, Shakespeare. Weâll wowâem all tonight.â
âEasy there, Sweetness,â you teased, falling into step with him.
Coming into sight of the bonfire, you were greeted with screams and yells from your already-too-drunk friends. The bonfire was large, but not dangerously large, with several coolers spread out around the circle with folding chairs and hay bales in between.Â
It was nearly the entire varsity roster, but there were a few of the second-stringers trickling in, and you knew there would be more before the night was truly over.Â
You clocked Jo sitting on a hay bale next to Benny and frowned. She was very drunk with a red solo cup in hand, but Benny was just as (if not more) drunk thank she was, so you let it go for the moment. As long as they didnât slip away together, it would be easy to pry her from him when it was time to go home.
Bela would be harder.Â
There was an a-frame that had been pulled up close to the fire with a wooden bench swing, and as one of the hosts, Michael had claimed a seat. He had a cushion behind his back as he sat up against the arm of it, legs sprawled down the length of the bench.
And Bela had claimed his lap. She was curled up between his legs, leaned against his back, sipping on her own beer bottle. Her face was calm and casual, but her eyes danced and gleamed. She was exactly where she wanted to be, and if the opportunity presented itself, you knew there was no way in hell youâd get her to come home with you and the girls tonight.
Charlie sat over to the side with one of the other cheerleaders, Dorothy or something stupid. They looked cozy, but nothing inappropriate.
Deanâs arm stayed around you as he greeted the group. There were high-fives and hands shaken, beers offered (and refused, since Dean insisted on driving you girls home), and everyone was nice to you as well. Most of them already knew your name, since you were roommates with Bela and Jo, but they only knew you in passing or by name. You took a Smirnoff from one of the cheerleaders and handed it to Dean to open.
There was an empty fold out chair, and Dean wasted no time in claiming it. âMore comfortable than the damn hay bales,â he explained, plopping himself down into it.Â
You raised your eyebrows at him. The nearest seat was a few feet away, and you couldnât help the desire that curled through you at wanting to still be close to him.
He winked again and that desire increased tenfold. Surely heâd be able to tell.
His hands grasped at yours, taking the Smirnoff and putting it in the cloth cupholder before pulling you sharply into his lap. You wobbled, off-balance, before crashing into his space, coming down almost too hard on his thigh.
âThere you go,â he whispered into your ear. âGet comfortable.â
He spread his legs wider, giving you room to put your legs between them. His arm came behind your back, resting along the arm rest but still supporting you. His fingertips grazed under your sweatshirt, just dusting the little bit of exposed skin.Â
Just light enough to send goosebumps racing across your back.
âCold, sweetheart?â
You reached for your drink and smirked. âMaybe I should move closer to the fire.â You planted your feet, feinting like you were going to get up.
âNot a chance.â His voice was husky as both hands encircled your waist, crushing you back down to him and drawing you in to his chest. âIâll keep you warm, I promise,â he murmured in your ear.
You felt his body tense as he leaned up, just enough to ghost his lips over your cheek. Your chest felt light and fuzzy and you hoped the dim light of the bonfire covered the darkening blush across your cheeks.
âPlenty to talk about, huh?â You pressed the cold bottle to your lips.
He chuckled. âI ainât done yet, sweetheart. Just you wait.â
pairing: mandalorian x reader
summary: awh hell yeah, guys. din is after his girl and he's gonna burn it all down and remind them all who tf he is. also... yes i know what happened with the darksaber, but we're gonna pretend that it responded to all of his commands and didn't fight so hard against him ok thx
previous: masterlist here. ao3 here.
contains: this chapter contains a lot of violence, both against din & reader, as well as the cronies. i don't describe anything overly graphic (and none of it is sexual violence whatsoever) but just be aware that there's some bruising and blood.
wc: 7900
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He fucking hated Coruscant. This entire fucking too-many-things-in-one-place city. Every single time heâd ever been here ended in disaster.
But the tracker in the CommLink was still active and pointing to Coruscant, so there was no choice about it.Â
He pulled up the navigation system and locked it on to the CommLink signal, set in the Understory of Coruscant.Â
âEven better,â he muttered to himself.Â
Most people saw Coruscant as the highest layer, the Emergent. Oh it was beautiful, alright, filled with the types of places that high-ranking government officials and the wealthiest of the wealthy could afford. And on Coruscant, these people were the only ones who actually saw the sky.
Most of Coruscantâs actual activity was housed in the Canopy, a sub-level. It functioned like most highly developed cities that Din had ever seen, but there was a huge industrial section for exports and imports. Alot of the people who lived here were just trying to make a living and as much as he hated this godsforsaken place, he respected that.
He flew the Starfighter down past the Canopy, into the vertical tunnel that separated it from the Understorey. There were only a few such tunnels and they were the only ways to actually get into the Understorey, but this one was the closest to where the CommLink said you were.Â
It went against his every instinct to fly slowly, to join the traffic as it cut through the smog-infested and dank air here. R5 beeped, pulling up landing pads on his Navigation System, and Din grunted in response, finding a close one and engaging the landing protocol. There was no registration system, no way to sign in or rent a space for his visit, but there was no option of leaving the Starfighter in the Canopy. Even with his jet pack, heâd never make it up through the tunnel quickly enough to escape.Â
Once landed, he opened the hatch on the Starfighter and hopped out, surprised to see R5âs hatch open as well.Â
âYouâre not going,â he told the droid.Â
It beeped and whirled, but Din was too frustrated to care. âI said no,â he barked. He gestured widely with his arms, âdo you see where we are? Someone has to stay with the ship.â
More beeping. More whirling. More lights.
R5 could fly the damn thing without him, he knew. And he would, if Din needed it. There was enough fuel that R5 could probably fly in the damn atmosphere the entire time Din was searching, and the droid knew it.Â
He put his hands on his belt. âYou done?â
R5 beeped with more attitude than was necessary. Din rolled his eyes behind his helmet.Â
âStay alert,â he instructed the droid, pulling out all of the weapons and ammo heâd packed from the Crest. âI might need your help once Iâm in there, and Iâll definitely need the ship hot and running once I have her.â
Most everything was concealed on his person, which was good. If someone saw only the blaster, theyâd underestimate him.Â
Well, he hoped anyway.Â
He left R5 and made sure his vambrace was linked to the droidâs communications. With a beep in his ear, Din nodded at the droid and started walking.Â
Just about everything here was illegal - Din saw at least ten suspicious activities just in his walk down from the landing pad, but there were no police to report it to. Any kind of legal presence was rare here. No, the only justice the people of the Understorey would get was if they were in with one of the crime syndicates and they handled it.
He wondered if Karga had contacted the Pykes at all. Did they know what Tanau had done? Did they care? Would they sign off on Din killing the bastard?
Not that it mattered much, Din was going to kill Tanau regardless. If he spent the rest of his life looking over his shoulder for Pykes, well⌠so be it.Â
The Understorey was set up more like a city within a mountain, Din thought. All of the buildings were cut directly into stone, but he knew that it was manufactured; there was an entire layer of forest beneath the Understorey, but it was dangerous, unpopulated, and unknown. If Tanau had been trying to seek somewhere to hide and lay low, why not there? The crime bosses had nothing to do with the forest floor, everyone knew that.Â
The warehouse was one of the larger ones he could see throughout the dimly lit space. It looked dilapidated and abandoned, but Din knew there was a plethora of illegal activity that all took place within, probably several all sharing the same floors or rooms.Â
The only good part about this section of Coruscant was what made it so dangerous: people didnât look around much and they didnât ask questions. If someone thought he was conspicuous with his beskar armor, they either kept their heads down or their mouths shut. All in his favor.
The warehouse was just as dimly lit as the rest of the godforsaken place, but Din found a door barely hanging on its hinges and pushed it open to admit himself. He tapped the side of his helmet, engaging the night vision and turning off the modulator speaker. If he did speak, he only wanted R5 to hear him.
He reached down to the vambrace and his finger hovered over the button for your CommLink. He had told you he wouldnât be able to call you first, but you hadnât made any attempt to contact him either. It had only been a few hours, he knew, but that didnât mean he liked it.Â
Trying your method, he clicked the button on and off three times. Then he waited.
As he waited, he made his way through the open floor of the warehouse. It was just as shitty as it looked from the outside, but he was sure the actual illegal stuff was well hidden and locked up.Â
âNer kaâra?â Your voice whispered in his helmet.Â
Din exhaled, blinking furiously to keep the hot tears from pricking at his eyes. âCyarâikaâ he breathed. âAre you okay?â
âYes,â you whispered. âIâm in - thereâs some sort of cell.â
His boots made no noise as he made his way through. The night vision within his visor easily mapping out the floor, and R5 had layered a map over it, pointing him to your CommLink. He followed both.
âI need you to rest,â he told you, voice soft. âRemember what I promised you?â
âYes,â you breathed. âBut Di-â you caught yourself on his name, âwhat if -â
âLet me worry about the rest,â he assured you. âJust be ready.â
âOkay.â Your voice was slurred, breathy. Dinâs heart began to beat faster. Youâd said you had a concussion, ribs broken.
He pat the pouch containing a bacta shot in his belt. Youâd be fine. He just needed to reach you first.Â
There was a door to his right with a brand-new touchpad. Brand-new. In this hell-hole.
It had a retinal scanner and a number pad, but Din didnât give a shit. He briefly wondered if firing on the touchpad would set off an alarm, and decided it was probably the type that would lock the door down even more rather than popping open.Â
He still had the Darksaber though. The corners of his mouth turned down to his jaw, not bad.
He took it from its holster and hit the space that made the blade appear. As always, he was in awe of such a weapon. The weight of it wasnât lost on him - this was a weapon of his forebears, of his people. It had been made specifically to battle the Jedi and it had a long history of being won from rulers rather than passed down or given.
It cut through the door like a hot knife through butter. He cut a hole large enough to slip through and thanked the Darksaber for helping him, but he couldnât have said why.Â
Following the map in his visor, Din retrieved his blaster and kept it at the ready. He wasnât sure if Tanau had an entire legion with him or whether he was working on his own, or even if heâd done all this with the blessing of the Pykes, but he didnât care.Â
Fury pumped through his veins, granting him the clarity of mind he needed. His anger wasnât a distraction for him, it was a focusing tool, and he had been taught the difference a long time ago. Even violence was something that Din tried to avoid if at all possible, but while it might be against his personal code, he relished in it now.Â
There was a beast inside him, dark and coiling through his chest, and the beast craved the blood of those who had wronged him and those he loved. The beast whispered to him and hardened that jagged hole in his chest.Â
Protect, protect, protect.
He would. Then he would remind them all who he was.Â
Deep into the underbelly of the warehouse, Din began to hear others.Â
Not all were screaming, but some were. The ones who werenât screaming sat within the cells, staring. Most were bloody, all were bruised and starved.Â
The beast within him growled and paced and muttered, but Din let it focus him, each step bringing him closer to the CommLinkâs signal.Â
He almost didnât see you within the cell. It was barely five feet across, and the cot at the end had a giant hole in one end, a small figure huddled over on the other.Â
His heart ached, stealing his breath while the beast snarled and writhed. He pressed the side of the helmet again so that the modulator could be heard from outside his helmet.
âNer cyarâika?â He breathed.
There was movement from the small figure. âNer dral kaâra?â You whispered.
Din heard it twice, once through the CommLink in his helmet, but the other through the regular audio.Â
âTurn around,â he told you.
Your head whipped around, body joining so fast that you almost fell off the cot. You yelped, hands bracing yourself as the pain from your broken ribs caught up to the movement.Â
Youâd said you had broken ribs and a possible concussion, and while Din didnât think you were exaggerating either of those, youâd neglected to tell him that youâd been beat to hell.Â
Grimy and dirty, your face was covered in a selection of bruises just beginning to turn purple and black. One eye was swollen shut, the other black. Your nose had a cut across the bridge, and he could see the dried tracks of blood from the cut and from both nostrils. Your neck had the imprints of someoneâs hand bruised into the soft skin. Clothes were ripped, the wrist of one hand beginning to purple, and Din could see red welts on each wrist and the exposed skin of your ankles where you were barefoot.Â
âYou came.â Your non-swollen eye began to fill with tears, streaming down your dirt covered face.
âI promised I would.â
He looked back and forth down the hall, warring with the beast within him. One instinct begged him to give you the bacta shot and run like hell, promising to rain down hellfire later, but the other instinct said that he couldnât leave until they were no longer a threat to you or others.
âCan - can you walk?â He asked, every fibre of his being focused on not exploding.
You nodded, using your non-bruised wrist to prop yourself up on the cot. âIf we go slow, I can.â
He reached for the Darksaber again - it would be quieter than the blaster. Regardless of what he decided to do, he would need an element of surprise for either escape or annihilation.Â
The bars of the cell cut away easily and Din exhaled as his gloved hand clutched you to his chest. The tears came to you in a wave of emotion then, and all he could do was holster the Darksaber and wipe them away with his hand.Â
âWe need to go,â he told you as you sniffed into his hands.Â
âI know,â you wiped your own face and took a step back. âBut how?â
He reached into the pouch at his belt and pulled out the bacta shot. âI canât give you the full dose right now, itâll knock you out. But a little will take the edge off the pain, okay?â
You took it yourself, priming the needle at your elbow of your hurt arm and pushing the plunger until Din told you that was enough. It took effect immediately, and Din noticed you were standing up straighter and your breath didnât sound near as labored.
He put it back, promising you youâd get the full dose once he got you off this damn planet.Â
âDo you know the way out?âÂ
âYes.â
He took your good hand into his and pressed his blaster into it. âRemember what I taught you?âÂ
You nodded, eyes wide with fright. âI - they took mine, I donât know where -â
âIâll get you another one,â he promised. âR5 is waiting for us just under the tunnel. If we - if we get separated, you run. R5 can get you back to Nevarro. The kid is there.â
âAbsolutely not,â you snarled, with what Din thought was all the fight left in you. âWe go together or not at all.â
He bit his lip, glad you couldnât see him behind his visor. He just nodded.
Another blaster sat at his belt, but he chose the Darksaber once again, finding it a little lighter each time he took it. He wasnât sure what that meant.Â
âDin?â
âWhat?â
The swelling in your eye had gone down a little, enough for the eye to just begin to open.Â
âWhy did you come for me?â
He frowned and looked around the cell. âBecause youâre in trouble?â He asked, almost frustrated since it should be completely obvious.Â
âNo,â you whispered, placing a hand on his chest plate. âDid you - do you⌠Din, I care for you.â
You looked up into his eyes and Din saw past the bruises and the grime. He saw the depth there. The emotions. The longing. He wished you could see it within his own.Â
âLeaving you was a mistake,â he admitted instead. Why were you doing this now? He was having enough trouble thinking of escape plans and injuries without the added struggle of putting his feelings into words.Â
âJust because youâre worried about my safety?â You challenged.Â
Oh, how he wanted to admit it all. How excruciating each separated minute had been, how he wondered where you were and what you were doing, how stupid heâd felt for hurting you as heâd done. He wanted to tell you that the beast he felt within himself for the entire time youâd been taken was something heâd only felt when there was a threat to his son.Â
Instead, Din pressed the cool metal of his helmet to your forehead. It was the closest he could get to kissing you and showing you how he felt. His free hand pressed to the small of your back.Â
âYou left me.â You whispered. And Din thought it sounded more broken than any bone in your body.Â
âI did. I thought it was best.â
âWhy? I know you didnât tell me the truth - before. Tell me now. In case we â in case we die.â
âThatâs not happening,â he hissed.
Your fingers tightened on his arms. âTell me now.â
He sighed. âI was afraid that I was keeping you from a better life,â he told you. âFrom someone who didnât have a Creed and a son. Someone whoâs only priority is you.â
âI donât care about that,â you murmured. âI admired you more because of those things.â
He pressed his forehead to yours again.Â
 âI-I love you, Din.â
He exhaled and his eyes flew open, even though he knew you couldnât see it. Had you⌠did you just⌠Â
You kept going, anxiety and fear propelling your words. âI know this isnât the time - or - or the place but if we - if something happens, I wanted you to, um, know how I felt. Even if you donât - if you donât feel the same.â
He felt the jagged edges of his chest piercing him the same way they had since heâd left you in Nevarro. How could you think that he didnât care about you?Â
Din put a gloved finger gently to your lips. Once you quieted, he pointed to his ears, and he listened. The audio in his helmet was very sensitive and he hadnât heard any pursuit â but that didnât mean there wasnât any.Â
âI never told you what cyarâika means.â
âYeah, I know,â you scoffed.
âCyarâika ⌠it means darling or sweetheart,â he whispered through the modulator, aching for you to hear it in his voice.Â
Your eyes widened. Were you remembering all the times heâd called you that?
âIn Mandoâa, thereâs no translation for I love you, instead we say ke'kar'tayli⌠you know me. All of me. Even the parts that are hidden from the world. ke'kar'tayli⌠darasuum⌠you see me, you know me⌠forever.â
You smiled then, the scab at your lip breaking open, and Din wished you could see his own smile.Â
âBut, uh,â he looked around the cell, âcan we discuss the rest later?â
You smirked then, the gesture odd on your swollen and discolored face. âWhich way?â
He nodded the way he had come and reached for your hand. The bruising was already fading from your wrist, due to the proximity of the bacta shot, so he took it within his gloved hand.Â
It was only as the two of you stepped out of the cell that Din heard the heavy boots running from both ends of the hall.Â
He swore, pushing you back against the flat wall next to your cell. His body covered yours as he tensed, extending the Darksaber and silently asking it for its strength.Â
âThereâs no need for this,â one of the grunts shouted.Â
âI see great need in your death,â Dinâs voice was that calm and quiet timbre that meant death.Â
There werenât as many as heâd first thought on either side â as many as 7.Â
Your hand was small as it gripped the space next to his pauldron. You squeezed and he could feel the fear through your touch.Â
The Darksaber needed two hands to wield, but he only needed one to just hold it upright. He reached the other back around his body, grazing against your side and tucking you in closer to the cape at his back. Reassuring you. He had this.Â
And when they rushed him, Din felt more peace and control than he had since heâd decided to leave you on Nevarro.Â
His brain was a myriad of steps and poses, split decisions of weapons to use and to what purpose. Pulling victims back with the pulley, swiping legs out from under them with the Darksaber, cutting down their blasters before holstering the Darksaber and firing his own.Â
He had meant for you to stay there against the wall, but of course you had no intentions of letting him fight alone. He barely registered the sounds of a blaster coming from behind him, only the pride within his chest at seeing that every blast hit your mark.Â
Heâd shown you enough to protect yourself until you could call for him; now you were protecting his back as he fought through the corridor.Â
His chest heaved as he shot the last one, only vaguely recognizing the emblem of the old Empire on a necklace at his throat.Â
âThereâs more,â your breath came in pants as well. âIâve seen way more people than this.â
âDo they work for Tanau?â
âI donât think so. The way he talked, heâs trying to buy his way in, but I donât think the imperials trust him.â
Imperials on Coruscantâs Understorey was new, however.Â
Din mused on it all as he led you to the door heâd carved apart.Â
And at the top of the stairs, he froze, pulling you back behind him once more.Â
âThereâs no use, Mandalorian.âÂ
You yelped behind him and Din whirled, hearing the blaster as it fell to the concrete.Â
An arm was wrapped around your neck, your hands grasping at it as you tried to pull it away. Din lunged for you, hearing the decided click of a blasterâs safety turned off. You stilled as the cool metal of the barrel touched your temple.Â
Wide eyes and a trembling mouth filled his gaze.Â
He could fight them all and walk away bloody, but not with a blaster to your head.Â
And the snickering behind him told him that they knew it.Â
âWe understand each other now?â The first man at the doorway asked. âOr do we need to paint the stairs with her brains first?â
Dinâs answering growl sent a tremor down your spine, but he could do nothing but tremble with fury as two men took his arms. They marched right back down the hallway he had just fought to come up, staring holes in the man who still held a gun to your temple.Â
His mind was a cacophony of escape plans and bargaining tactics. He wasnât sure what the angle was here, but he categorized every piece of information he thought might be helpful.Â
The Empire emblem was everywhere as they sank further into the depths of the warehouse, and Din could feel the weight of the concrete and rock pressing in from all sides. He had never done well underground - he belonged to the skies.Â
They passed rows and rows of holding cells and most were in states that made yours look like a palace. Some contained people, most contained bones and scraps of cloth.Â
Their group was a lively one as it passed through, the guards laughing and smiling to themselves as they told jokes about the pussy-whipped Mandalorian and how easy heâd been to cow.Â
Din had stopped fighting after the first one theyâd made, not because he was used to the dishonor, but because the first time he struggled, the man holding you called for a halt. He turned you sideways so that Din could see him slap your face hard enough that the gash on your nose opened and began bleeding once more. Then he turned to Din and said he would pistol whip you the next time he tried anything.Â
Din didnât have trouble believing him and it took a strength he didnât know he possessed to remain still while they spoke so poorly of you right in front of him.Â
The beast inside him was silent for the moment; there was nothing he could do without the action resulting in more pain for you, so the beast was content to bide its time.Â
When they emerged into the sand pits, Din knew what was going to happen. He only prayed it was just him they set the beasts on - not you.Â
It was a circular stone pit with walls too high for Din to climb or help you climb up. There were large wooden doors, like the one theyâd walked out of, equidistant around the pit. And above were rows and rows of wooden benches all the way around.Â
In front of them was a box with plush seats and Tanau draped himself across one, eating something.Â
He looked pleased at Dinâs appearance and sat up straight in the seat, smiling widely.Â
âMy, my,â he cooed. âSeems we have some company.â
Din bit back his retort and turned his head to look at you. The blaster was still pressed against your temple, but he was proud to see you match Tanau stare for stare.Â
âNot such a bad ass now, are you, bitch?â Tanauâs voice was sharp as a knife. âBring her.â
The man with the blaster pushed you forward so hard that you fell in the sand, causing each of the idiots to erupt with laughter. He pulled you to your feet with a rough hand fisting in your hair, making you cry out.Â
He was going to take out this entire fucking cesspool.Â
You were brought to Tanauâs box and made to kneel in front of his chair, between his legs, but with your back to him so you could face Din.Â
The only sign of fear was the slight tremble of your mouth, but your eyes held firm to Dinâs visor and you steadied.Â
Was he giving you the strength you desperately needed now? The thought soothed a little of the burning rage within him â because seeing you was making him strong.Â
âIâm happy you joined us, Mandalorian,â Tanau began.Â
ââIâm not,â Din interrupted.Â
Tanauâs face twisted into a scowl. His hand shot forward into your hair as he pulled you backward so hard that Din feared he would break your spine.Â
âWatch it,â Tanau snarled in your ear. âSheâs just so close and Iâd hate to add to the bruises.â
He released you and you staggered forward a little. Din could see the glaze come over your eyes as you wobbled, but you blinked away the fog and stood stock still.Â
âAre you so afraid of him that you have to threaten me every time he back talks?â You huffed, rolling your shoulder. âIâd like to see you in a fairââ
This time Tanau whipped you around by the shoulders, a meaty fist connecting with your jaw. Din pushed away from his two captors, knocking them down as they were caught off guard.Â
But after two steps, one of the guards reared back and hit Din hard in the unprotected part of his stomach and he collapsed into the sand. The message to both of you was clear â play nice.Â
When you made it back to your knees, Din could see the red spot beginning to blossom on your jaw. The bleeding from your nose wound had stopped, thankfully, but he wasnât sure how much more you could take before falling unconscious.Â
The beast whispered to him that he could fight his way out of here if you were, but it would be much easier with you watching his back with a blaster.Â
âYou made your point,â Din proclaimed with as little snark as he could manage. âStop hurting her.â
âOh, weâre just getting started,â he laughed then. He said your name then, and Din could hear the implied darkness there. âCan you remind me of the Mandalorian creed?âÂ
Your eyes were wide, that pride and bravado gone, terror in its place.Â
Tanau was growing sick of the show. He reached a hand to your shoulder and squeezed until you cried out in pain.Â
Din snarled behind his helmet, almost breaking free of the hold his guards had on him. They kicked the backs of his knees to force him to the sand. While both men held his arms, a third advanced on his front and hit him at the edge of the beskar, right where he was vulnerable.Â
It knocked the breath from him, but not the fury.Â
He tried to suck down air and breathe when he heard your voice, panic seeping in. âThereâs - thereâs lots of ââ
âYou know what I mean,â Tanau barked.
Din lifted his head, helmet heavy, and found your wide eyes again. He was going to make sure you never looked that way again.Â
And regardless of how battered your body was or how many bruises he had, he knew you needed him to be strong. That his strength would lend to your own. So he began to recite words that were engrained in him from childhood.Â
"Strength is life, for the strong have the right to rule,â he took a breath and watched your mouth move with his as the two of you recited together, âHonor is life, for with no honor one may as well be dead; Death is life, one should die as they have lived."
âHonor,â Tanau laughed, the sound sending a shiver up your spine. âIsnât she a quick learner?â He asked Din. âWeâve been studying the Mandalorian âwayâ in our travels.â
That was how youâd learned it then. He saw it confirmed in your face. Heâd been teaching you bits and pieces of Mandoâa, but this bastard had taught you the basic foundation of Mandalorian life.Â
âTo what purpose?â Dinâs voice was deep and low, dangerous through the modulator. âWhy do you use her to seek revenge against me? For a bounty that you escaped within a day?â
Tanau shook his head. âItâs not about you, Din Djarin. Itâs not even about the Mandalorians.â
âThen what is it?â Din snarled. âSpeak plainly.â Din knew his patience was about to run out.Â
Tanau sniffed. âYour âwayâ and creed talks of Honor. What of my honor?â
âI donât control who requests the bounty,â he told Tanau. âSomeone did and offered credits for bringing you. I simply retrieved you.âÂ
âYes, but that bounty lost me the Pykes. They didnât care how fast I escaped; only that I was caught.â
âSo you need the old Empireâs protection,â Din guessed.Â
âNo, I desire to help restore the Empire to its glory.â
Din scoffed. âBut they wonât have you, will they? In their eyes, you double crossed the Pyke Syndicate.â
Tanau bristled, and Din knew heâd gotten to the truth of it. âAnd my life gains you their trust?â
He smiled then.Â
Din struggled in the sand again, inching forward on his knees. âTake me then,â he offered. âLet the girl go. Send her off-planet in my ship. Iâll go without a fight.â
Tanau frowned, pondering the proposition. Then he smiled again. âI think not. Bringing you in will gain favor with the Imperials, but herâŚâ he purred, placing his hand on your shoulder. âWell, sheâs wanted by them too. Maybe Iâll ask for her in a fair trade.â
When Din pushed to his feet, he heard your voice call out in fear. Fear for him. For what they would do to him.
He wrestled free of the arms and had his blaster free of its holster before arms could come down on his shoulders. He fired into both men at his sides and the guard before him when Tanau cocking the Amblan Rifle made him pause.Â
It was pressed to your bruised neck. You whimpered as he set off the taser, your body trembling and jerking with pain.
Din lifted the blaster and Tanau pressed it harder against your skin, making you scream in pain. Din froze.
You gasped, curling in to yourself at Tanauâs feet, the sobs breaking his heart and fueling his need for violence.
âSilence, or he dies at your feet.â Tanau told you. âAnd you,â he growled at Din, âsheâs got a long way to go before she could die.â
He set his shoulders and sank back down to the sand. He felt a blade at his neck, pressing just hard enough to break the skin. The bodies were removed as Tanau kept talking.Â
You slowly sat up, using the legs of Tanauâs plush chair for help. Finding him, your shoulders eased a fraction.Â
Stay strong, he wished he could tell you mind-to-mind.Â
âThereâs one more part of the Mandalorian Creed I want to explore,â Tanau commented casually, sinking back into the chair. âSpecifically, the helmet.â
Your eyes widened.Â
He said your name. âIsnât there a lot of dishonor involved in seeing the uncovered face of a Mandalorian warrior? Even more so for his particular group, yes?â
Your eyes never left Dinâs. You shook your head, shoulders trembling.Â
He sat there, visor locked on you, the tension in his shoulders giving way to his rage. He felt it then, the heat of it soaking through his clothes and armor. There was nothing, only the fury and the red vision of the beast clouding his judgement.Â
He had never been so angry that he felt out of control, but he felt it now. It was winding and curling through his chest, shaking its way into his limbs, exerting control.Â
âTake the helmet off,â Tanau commanded.Â
âIf it comes off, then you will all die,â Din promised. He heard his voice through the modulator, but the beast was satisfied to see one of the men in his peripheral jerk back a half step.Â
âTake it off and we will take it with us,â Tanau told the guards. As an afterthought, he leaned down to your ear and whispered, âand you will watch.â
âNo,â you gasped, reaching out for Din. You both knew what it would mean if you, another living thing, saw his face.
He would be honor-bound to kill anyone to look upon his face.Â
Anyone. Regardless of how he felt about them.
And if he refused to kill youâŚÂ
When I kiss someone, Iâll do it in the dark.Â
He had, hadnât he? Heâd taken that loophole more than once to keep you both safe from his Creed.Â
And now he was being forced to make you see him, knowing heâd never have the strength to kill you.Â
He would have to leave the Mandalorian way of life. He would be dishonored and never welcomed back. No amount of bathing in the Living Waters would be able to remove the stain of this.Â
It was the ultimate punishment. It was cruel.Â
Especially given what you had told him in that cell, what he had admitted back to you.Â
Tears began to flood down your cheeks; he didnât need the Jedi-wizard mind reading to know you were thinking the same thoughts.
In that moment, Din didnât care about the Creed, or the Mandalorian Way. The beast within wasnât whispering anymore, it was roaring that only thing that mattered was keeping you safe, caring for you, reassuring you, protecting you the way heâd promised he would.
Heâd deal with the rest after.Â
You sobbed freely, even with Tanauâs grip digging into your shoulder. His smile was smug.Â
Din wasnât going to die. He knew that. He also knew you werenât going to die, even if you didnât.Â
âHush now, kaâra,â he whispered, knowing the modulator was loud enough that you heard it. âIt will be okay, cyarâika. I promise.â
Tanauâs head tilted. âWhat do those words mean? What language?âÂ
The tears still ran, but you regained your breath and he saw your hands ball into fists, your chin raised defiantly. I trust you, you mouthed.Â
The two men holding Din laughed, but he kept his eyes on you. The third man put hands on the helmet and Din could feel him begin to tug it up off his neck. He looked no where but you. He only had eyes for you.Â
The helmet hissed as it disengaged and you saw the sliver of skin at his neck as it was exposed.
Your head jerked, looking down at your knees. Even when Tanau noticed and used both hands to tilt your head upright, you squeezed your eyes closed. Determined not to see that which he could not give freely.Â
Din loved you for that.
He loved you for your refusal, for fighting back. As much as he knew you might have wanted to gaze upon his face, you respected his Creed.Â
Stars, he loved you.Â
Then the helmet was off and the rush of cool air over his bare face filled him with rage once more.Â
There was no more mask, no more hiding, no going back. He could feel his mouth set in the firm line and he narrowed his eyes. He marked the face of each person in the room.
He would kill them all.
He had planned on it anyway for the mistreatment of what was his, but now⌠now they would all go down. Every single person connected to Tanau.
It would be a bloodbath, a massacre.
The beast cherished his acceptance of the violence that would ensue.Â
Your eyes were still screwed shut, even with Tanauâs gleeful taunting. Din knew it was pointless - Tanau liked the cruelty too much and would force you or hurt you. He loved you for your bravery, but he couldnât let it go on, knowing it would only cause you the physical pain theyâd inflict.
For now there was only the sound of your sobs, fueling the burning inferno of his fury.
âYou will see the Mandalorianâs face,â Tanau hissed.
âNo,â you screamed, trying to jerk your head away from his grip. His head squeezed your throat, forcing your gaze.Â
âKe'kar'tayli,â Dinâs voice was calm as it cut through the struggle. It sounded weird to his own ears without the effect of the modulator.Â
Know me.Â
It was a command, permission given. He wanted you to see him, to know him in that way. Your brows drew together at the sound of his voice.
âKe'kar'tayli,â he told you again.Â
âButââ your voice was so small.Â
âHush now,â he whispered your name. âKe'kar'tayli darasuum.â
Know me forever. Hold me in your heart forever. Love me forever.
See me forever.
He had only told you what it meant in the cell, only minutes before. His chest vibrated with the prayer and the hope that you remembered what it meant.Â
Your lips trembled, but your body stilled against Tanauâs hands.Â
âI love you,â your lips moved, but the words were just a breath, just barely loud enough to register against Dinâs ears without the helmet.Â
And then you opened your eyes.
Din had learned from an early age how to keep fear from controlling him. It was a hard practice as a child, but it had become easier and easier as he had grown into manhood. Fear took a backseat, acknowledged and discarded just as easily.Â
He had not known true fear again until heâd met the foundling Grogu and it had shocked him the first time he had felt that true fear for you.
But the fear he felt as you stared into his unshielded eyes for the first time was a fear like Din had never known.
A fear of being rejected, he realized. What if you didnât like what you saw there? What if your imaginings of his face were better than the reality?
It was childish, he knew, especially given the situation you found yourselves in, but the fear niggled at his chest all the same.
And still, your eyes focused, taking in his features with the wide eyes of curiosity rather than fear.Â
Tanauâs grip on your throat and hair eased. You wobbled, steadying yourself with a hand on the floor, and still you looked.
Your eyes softened. Your lips parted.Â
The look you gave him was one of - of love, of admiration. He knew, because he was sure that was the same way he looked at you.
And above all of that, Din saw the most important thing of all within your eyes.
Trust.
You trusted him.Â
And he didnât take that lightly.Â
âTake his weapons,â Tanau commanded. âLeave only the spear.â
âArmor too?â The man next to Din asked.
Tanau thought for a moment. âMight as well leave it. Heâll be torn to pieces either way.â
âI thought you wanted to give me to the Imperials?â Din yelled. âCanât do that if Iâm in pieces, Tanau.â
âTheyâll be here shortly,â he informed Din. âTheyâre going to see that I have you. Theyâre going to watch your death as a matter of entertainment. Donât you worry - I have it all planned out.â
âWhat about the girl?â Another man asked.Â
Din knew what his answer would be as soon as the smile curved his lips. His heart was in his stomach when Tanau said, âSend her into the pit. Watching the Mandalorian try to protect her and himself will be ⌠fun.â
âI thought you wanted her, boss?â
He shrugged. âIf thereâs anything left, Iâll take her then.â
Tanau put a boot to your back, pushing you just off-balance enough that you careened down the stone steps. Din ran, breaking from those tearing off the pieces of his armor, and caught you just before you could hit the first landing. He sat you upright and went down the stairs before you, glaring at the dumbfounded expressions of the men waiting.
He did as asked, he stood patiently as they removed each of his hidden weapons. When asked, he held out an arm or a leg or rotated, but all the while, his arms were around you, hands pressing into the soft skin of your battered back and shoulders.
You said nothing as they took away each weapon, placing it on a table and mentioning something about a lock-up. Din would find it all later.Â
When they handed him the wooden spear, he took it roughly. They laughed when they offered you one as well, but you took it from their hands just as roughly as Din had, chin raised and glaring. They thought that was even funnier, but Din paid them no mind and pulled you to him toward the middle of the pit.Â
He kept an arm wrapped around your shoulders, tucking you in to his side as he walked. He said nothing, but his head was on a swivel, scanning the entirety of the arena.Â
It only took one hand to drive the spearhead deep enough into the sand so it wouldnât topple, so he never had to take his arm off you as he took your spear too.Â
Youâd begun to tremble then, whether from shock or fear or injury, Din couldnât say, but it reminded him. âTuck yourself under my cloak as much as you can,â he instructed. When you had, he pulled out the rest of the bacta shot heâd had in his belt pouch. He stuck it in your shoulder and dropped the plunger, pocketing the syringe before anyone in the box was none the wiser.
âIt wonât put you to sleep⌠I donât think.â
âYeah, it would be nice to stay awake while we fight for our lives,â you mumbled, looking down.Â
âKaâra,â he whispered, putting his fingers under your chin.Â
Your head tilted with the gentle pressure from his hand, but your eyes were reluctant to follow.Â
âLook at me, ner dral kaâra,â he murmured. âItâs alright. Look at me.â
You did, but he could tell by the tense set of your shoulders that you were uncomfortable. âWhat is it?â
âWhat are we going to do, Din?â Your hands rested on his biceps and you squeezed.Â
âWhatever they send against us, we kill. Itâs that simple.â
You scoffed, looking at the two spears in the sand. âIâve seen your face now. Does it really matter if we ââ
âWe will kill whatever they send against us,â he reiterated, crouching down so he was eye level with you. âThen I will kill every single one of them and we will go home.â
âBut Din, I saw your face too, doesnât that meanââ
Now he scoffed. âDo you think Iâm going to kill you, cyarâika?â
âBut the - the Creed saysâŚâ
âI know what it says,â he told you. âAnd I donât care.â
Your eyes widened, fingers tightening.Â
âLeaving you behind was a mistake. I plan on never doing it again â if youâll have me.â He leaned in, pressing his cheek to yours and inhaling the sweet scent, even mixed with the faint tint of blood.
âDin, I -â
He leaned back, his hand against the fading bruise along your jaw. He exhaled, noticing the swelling along your eyes and nose was going down significantly. âWhat? You said you loved me.â
âI do.â
âAnd I told you that I feel the same.â
âYou did.â
âAnd you donât believe I would leave the path of the Mandalorian before I harmed you?â
You cringed, biting your lip. âNo, but ââ
He kissed you then. He watched your eyes widen as he crashed to your lips, only closing his when you did. His mouth moved against yours, arms folding around your body as if they were made to stay there.Â
And if he had anything to say about it, they always would be.Â
Pulling back with a trembling breath, he heard Tanau speaking with someone jovially and guessed it was the Imperial representative.Â
He looked over and saw them taking their seats. Dinâs arms tightened around you and he was afraid.Â
Your hands found the stubble that coated his cheeks, he leaned into your palms, closing his eyes as he felt the reverence of the touch. Your thumbs traced the high arches of his cheekbones and you nuzzled your nose against his.Â
âMeshâla,â you whispered to him.Â
âWhat?â
âMeshâla,â you repeated. âYour face⌠youâre beautiful, Din.â
âAnd you,â he murmured, pressing his lips to yours once again, cherishing the easiness of the act when he didnât have a helmet between you, âyou have been so brave today. Ner kotep verdâikaâ
âWhat does that one mean?â He felt your lips moving against his when you spoke.
âMy brave little soldier,â he told you.Â
He heard them moving around the arena, so he stood tall, keeping you tucked against his side as his free hand reached for the spear, handing yours to you and grabbing his own.Â
âWhatever they have for us,â he instructed you, âI want you to run.â
You opened your mouth to protest, but he set his in a firm line, remembering now that you could see him. âDonât argue with me,â he begged. âThat bacta shot helped, but youâre in no condition to fight whatever the hell it is they have for us. Stay on the opposite side of the arena, but donât back up to the wall in front of Tanauâs box.â
âThen take this,â you held out the spear. âIf Iâm not fighting then ââ
He shook his head, pressing a kiss to your forehead. âNo. Just in case.â
Your hands tightened around it. âThey wonât take me again.â
He smiled then. Ner kotep verdâika, indeed.Â
âI have another phrase for you, verdâika,â he said, making himself look away from you and surveying the arena instead.
âWhat is it?âÂ
âIbi'tuur jatne tuur ash'ad kyr'amur.â
You repeated the phrase, the words beginning to flow more fluently from your lips; Din liked that. He loved the way his tongue fell from your lips, how easily you mastered the phrases.
âIbi'tuur jatne tuur ash'ad kyr'amur,â he agreed. âIt means today is a good day for someone else to die.âÂ
The large wooden door began to open, pulled by Tanauâs people on either side.Â
Din turned to face whatever the danger was, and you stayed a step behind him, always shielded by him. âRemember what I told you,â he instructed.Â
When the Rancor emerged from the shadows of its pen, it began to roar. Even within the light of the arena, the hide of it looked dark as night.
âDank ferrik,â he swore.
âWhat is it?â Your voice trembled.Â
âItâs not just a Rancor,â he told you. âItâs a Shadow Rancor.â
âDoes that make it more dangerous?â
He nodded, eyes still on the beast as it emerged. âItâll destroy anything it can reach.â
It seemed everyone in the arena held their breath, waiting to see who would move first.Â
Din reached out with a hand, gently pushing you back. âRun,â he whispered.
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ââBeing together isnât about a honeymoon. Itâs about the real you and me. I want to wake up with you beside me in the mornings, I want to spend my evenings looking at you across the dinner table. I want to share every mundane detail of my day with you and hear every detail of yours. I want to laugh with you and fall asleep with you in my arms. Because you arenât just someone I loved back then. You were my best friend, my best self, and I canât imagine giving that up again⌠You might not understand but I gave you the best of me, and after you left nothing was ever the same.. I know youâre afraid, and Iâm afraid too. But if we let this go, if we pretend none of this ever happened, then Iâm not sure weâll ever get another chance. Weâre still young. We still have time to make this rightâŚWe still have the rest of our lives.ââ
the shakespeare tutor. chapter 2 - playaction in the backfield
Word Count: 8400
Note: I wrote this originally for the blog @inhellandheaven nearly 12 years ago (here is the original) and it was probably one of the most popular series I ever wrote lol. I re-read it a few weeks ago and my only thought was dear god, i can do so much better, so here we are. is it weird that i'm re-writing one of my own fics? probably. but we're doin' it anyway.
Masterlist. AO3.
as always, i crave feedback from readers! Please send me a message, reblog, or reply with your thoughts/reactions/questions!
Being a tutor and a TA was a great first step for someone in college.Â
But good grief was it an exhausting one.Â
Youâd had five tutoring sessions on Saturday, way more than your average, but several of the usual tutors had decided to travel with the football team and asked you to cover for them. Even though it was short notice, youâd accepted eagerly, hoping to really do well on your next paycheck.Â
By the third one, however, you were missing Deanâs quick wit and attitude. The students in front of you werenât stupid, exactly, but it was a miracle a couple of them could even read, much less produce high level work. Theyâd worked without wasting your time and theyâd signed the timesheet, so you tried not to think too poorly of them even in your own head.
The worst part was, theyâd all been back-to-backs, so you hadnât even gotten to watch the livestream of Deanâs scrimmage and you werenât sure why that disappointed you.Â
There was a hesitation to text him Saturday morning, like Bela and Jo were urging you to. Apparently âgood luckâ texts to athletes were a common courtesy, but you didnât want to blur the line between tutor and friend, so youâd resisted. But your finger had hovered over the Send button for far too long in between your study sessions.Â
Bela and Jo had decided to go with some other cheerleaders and you might have lingered on a few pictures theyâd sent you of Dean in action.
Although if interrogated, youâd deny it to your dying breath.
Once the tutoring sessions were over, youâd checked your phone to an update from Jo saying that the team had won by a landslide and most of the starters had been taken out early in the 3rd quarter. You were glad, Dean had been stressing about the game and this was a good start to the season.
But tutoring wasnât your only job this semester. So you munched on a granola bar youâd packed in your backpack and cracked your neck as you approached the mounting work of being a TA. Dr. Crowley might have been a Grade-A Asshole with every other TA, but he was more than fair to you. You taught a couple of his upper-level classes, but they were small, so there was never a crazy grading work lode.Â
His freshman level classes however⌠every freshman at State had to have those classes, so they were always massive. The stack of quizzes heâd handed you the day before was extremely thick and none of the questions were multiple choice.
Awesome.Â
It took almost all of the evening Saturday and into the afternoon on Sunday to grade the stack with a level of feedback you knew Crowley would approve of. You made a mental note to discuss it with him on Monday because expecting you to finish that amount of quizzes in two days was unethical and near impossible. You would not be doing that again.
By the time you crept out of your bedroom on Sunday evening, you were ready to fall out. By the time your laundry had finished at 1 am Monday morning, youâd fallen asleep at the kitchen table.
Dr. Crowleyâs first class was at 9 am, so when Jo woke you at the kitchen table on her way out the door to her 8 am class, you still had plenty of time to make yourself semi-presentable (meaning, the most comfortable clothes you owned and a wee bit of dry shampoo so your hair looked like it had been washed in the last 3 days) and stop by the Starbucks on campus before you handed them off. Then youâd have time to hit the library and get your life together before your first class at 10.Â
Excellent plan.Â
State University had a large campus, so there were plenty of coffee shops spread throughout, but this one was closest to your apartment and that made it the best. 8:15 am was still plenty early for college students on a Monday, so you werenât surprised to see that there were less than five patrons within.
âLooks like you need it directly into your veins, sweetheart.â A familiar voice called.Â
You looked over your shoulder to see Dean Winchester with a ball cap pulled down low over his eyes. âGee, thanks, you look like shit too. Party too hard after the easy win?â
He grimaced, rubbing the stubble on his chin. âYou see the game?â
You shook your head and faced forward again. âNope. Had to work all weekend.â
âThat sucks,â he said.Â
âJo and Bela went though, they sent me updates.â
âOh yeah?â He raised his eyebrows. âWeâll have to get you to a game here soon.â
The silence fell easily as you waited in line. You were glad, you had a headache and you were sore from sleeping at the table the night before. Honestly, if you tried, you could probably take a 5 minute nap standing up while you waited for âÂ
âWhatâs your poison?âÂ
When you looked at him, eyes a little dazed, he had pointed up to the menu. âYou oneâa those âsecret menuâ girls?â
âNope. Just a plain ole white chocolate mocha.â
âPretty basic,â he commented. âLeast itâs not Pumpkin Spice.â He struck his tongue out.
âGive me a couple weeks,â you quipped, hoping your voice didnât sound as dead as you felt. âFirst time I see a leaf fall off a tree, itâll be all PSLs for months.â
He frowned then. Apparently your bravado had not covered your exhaustion. âSomethinâ wrong?â
You shrugged. âTold you I worked all weekend. Itâs caught up to me. I fell asleep at the kitchen table last night after midnight. And Mondays are always my busiest day.â
âOoh, thatâs not good. Definitely need the extra espresso shot then.â
By then, youâd made it to the front. Your order was pretty basic and it ranked your nerves that Dean had said so. You added a cake pop just for some pizazz.Â
Once youâd gotten the total, you pulled out your student flex card to pay, but Deanâs hand whipped out to cover yours. âSheâs with me.â
âYou sure?â
He smirked and nodded. For all that heâd teased you, Dean was pretty basic too, ordering a sâmores frappe and a cake pop before paying with a debit card instead of the student flex card. He came to stand next to you while you waited together.Â
âGuess todayâs not a good day to ask for a study session,â he ventured, hands in his sweats.Â
âNot today, Sweetness.â
He grinned at that. âWhat?â
He shrugged. âNothinâ. Prospect of caffeineâs makinâ you feel a little better, huh?â
You rolled your eyes. âBut no, I doubt Iâll have time to eat between now and 9 pm, much less an hour to study.â
âOh yeah? That busy?â
You raised an eyebrow. âDonât you have practice or something?â
He nodded and reached with one hand for the ball cap, turning it around backwards. âJust came from the weight room, actually. Got study hall this afternoon at 4, then film at 5.â
âSounds like fun.â
âNo,â he chuckled. âNormally, we analyze the film and itâs not so bad. You get to see where you messed up, what you could do better, stuff like that. But after a game like Saturday, thereâs not much for the starters to analyze.â
âSo itâll focus on the 2nd and 3rd string guys, huh?â
He nodded. âGreat for them, boring for me.â
Your names were called at the same time and you both stepped forward. The coffees were next to each other, the cake pops in one bag.
Reaching for them at the same time, you jumped whenever your fingers touched. You let out a chuckle and flicked your eyes up to Dean, who wore the same smirking expression he had when youâd called him Sweetness. You reached again and grabbed your coffee while Dean took his and the cake pop bag.
âThanks for the coffee,â you said as he held the door open for you.Â
âNo problem, least I could do since youâve been helpinâ me.â
You took a sip and let the iced caffeine goodness sink into your veins. âOh, god this stuff is good. But you know I get paid for that, right? You donât owe me anything.â
He took a sip of his, other hand deep in the pocket of his sweatpants. âYeah, I know. Youâve just been nicer than you had to be, so I wanted to do somethinâ nice.â
You just nodded and walked along, feeling better with every sip.
âDean?â
âYeah?â
âI know a way you can pay me back.â
He looked out of the corner of his eye down to you. âOh, yeah? What is it, sweetheart?â
You eyed his frappe. âLet me try your drink â I havenât had that one.â
He scoffed and grinned at you. âHow do I know you donât got cooties or somethinâ?â
âEw,â you scrunched your nose. âWhat are we, seven?â
He reached over and let you take a drink from the straw.Â
âVery nice,â you complimented. âDefinitely tastes like sâmores.â
âTastes like fall,â he clarified. âGlad weâre even now.â He leaned over, nudging your shoulder.
âTill the next session, anyway.â
The English building was one of the larger on campus and you were surprised when Dean opened the door and followed you inside.Â
âDonât work too hard today,â he said, frowning a little with ⌠concern?
You smiled. âGot my caffeine now, Iâll be fine till tonight, at least.â
He nodded. âWell, let me know what tomorrow looks like for you. Have a good day.â
âYou too, and thanks for the coffee.â
You parted ways then, waving as you headed toward Dr. Crowleyâs office and Dean went in the direction of the lecture halls. Dr. Crowleyâs office was one of the more ⌠eccentric of the staff. He had amassed a rather large collection of antiquities, as he called them. To you, it looked like something off a Hoarders and American Pickers crossover.
The worst part was, Crowley would answer questions about none of them. Youâd tried. Not where heâd got them, when, how much they were, or even what they were. Youâd taken pictures of some of the more interesting ones, hoping to reverse Google Search them, but theyâd mysteriously come up with no results.
More than once, youâd wondered if Crowley had broken into the Vatican archives or something. He had to know people in order to get this much useless and anonymous stuff.
Since the door was open, you let yourself in and walked around the space, observing if anything had been added since youâd been there on Friday.Â
Of course, Dr. Crowley wasnât there when you called, and he hated when you just left things on his desk for him to find later. You took another sip of your coffee and groaned at the prospect of finding him before his next class.
As his TA, one of your jobs was to lead his classes and generally take some of the work load off him. He preferred to teach the freshman lectures himself, citing that it was âfunâ to mess with the younger crowd, as well as the 400 level classes so he could dive a little deeper into the works with them.
The only class that youâd ever asked him to give to you was the 205 - the Shakespeare class, and it was the only one heâd steadfastly refused, telling you it was his favorite. Oh well, you were glad you werenât teaching it - Dean needed help and he was honorable about making sure you got paid.Â
Which was the whole point.
You checked your watch and looked up at the schedule on Dr. Crowleyâs office door. He was about to start the 205 Shakespeare class âŚ
It would be a good opportunity to see Dean. The thought popped unbidden into your mind and you felt yourself start to flush.Â
To see Dean, in action, in class, so I can see if heâs actually participating, you amended to yourself, setting your shoulders straight and marching in the direction of the classroom. This was for purely professional reasons - you needed to give Dr. Crowley the quizzes and you wanted to see how the student you were tutoring actually did in class.
That was it.
So why were you so nervous as you reached for the door? Why did it feel like you were walking into a test you hadnât studied for?Â
Youâd already seen him this morning. Heâd paid for your coffee and walked you to the building. You hadnât been this nervous when youâd heard his voice behind you in the coffee shop.
Maybe there was no time to panic, that same voice said in your head.Â
You figuratively rolled your eyes at that little voice and filed in the lecture hall in behind another student.Â
Crowley was at the bottom of the lecture hall, which was built staggered into a pit so that every student could see easily. He was leaned against the desk, arms crossed over his chest, when he noticed you.
And frowned.
Which, compared to the hiss and scowl he gave most people, meant he was decently happy to see you.
âAh, my lovely assistant,â he greeted, the British accent flowing smoothly. âWhat brings you to the depths of a 200 level class?â
You set your backpack down on the closest desk and fished out the quizzes. âFinished these for you over the weekend and you werenât in your office.â
âSo you hand-delievered them?â
You shrugged. âHad some time.â
âThank you, love,â he said, flipping through the stack of papers.Â
âAlso wanted to make sure you didnât ruin my weekend like that again,â you put a hand on your hip and stared pointedly at the stack.
âHm?â
âHanding me that on a Friday afternoon and asking for it this morning was a crap move, and you know it.â You kept your voice light enough to sound like teasing, but Crowley knew you well enough to know you were serious.
He nodded, just a brief tilt of the head. âNoted.â
âThank you.â
The lecture hall was filling up, so he looked down at his watch. âAlmost time. Would you want to stay for the lecture and discussion?âÂ
He hadnât been looking at you, but you knew what the question meant. Crowley didnât often ask questions where he didnât already know the answer.
And he knew you loved Shakespeare.Â
You nodded, trying to hide your excited smile. âIs that okay? I havenât had a chance to sit in on any of your classes yet this semester.â
He gestured to the open desks on the front row. âGet comfortable.â
Dr. Crowley always started promptly at 9:00. The door opened at 9:01 to emit a student and he scowled at them, pausing his words until the poor kid found his seat.Â
Dean had learned long ago that if he left on time for class, someone would inevitably stop him to talk about football or parties and heâd be late. So he made a habit of leaving the apartment earlier than needed and if campus wasnât busy, heâd stop for a coffee.Â
He was glad he had this morning. Even though you looked like hell and he knew youâd had a rough weekend, Dean had been glad to see you. He was already planning what his message would say later whenever he checked in.
The seat heâd grabbed on the first day of class was on the edge of the lecture hall, about 3/4 of the way up. All he wanted was to be out of the way and unrecognized. Since most of this class was people who were destined to be English majors, he hadnât had much problem with people swarming him and the only rude question heâd gotten was why he was even taking this class.
Because I fuckinâ had to was what he always wanted to say. Instead heâd just shrugged and smiled. âNeeded it.â
Heâd needed one more English credit for his teaching major and by the time heâd signed up, this was the only one open.
Then heâd failed it.
So he took it again, thinking it would be easier the second time.
It wasnât, but he had you in his corner now, so he was more optimistic.
âAlright,â Crowley said, nodding as the latecomer found his seat. âLast week, we extensively discussed Act 1 of Macbeth and you were supposed to have read Act 2 prior to todayâs class for discussion.â
He turned to the side opposite Dean and gestured to someone sitting in the front row. âWe do have a special guest with us today, by complete happenstance. Would you care to review Act 2 for us?â
Dean heard a laugh - a laugh he knew.
You stood from the desk and came to stand beside Crowley, coffee in hand. Apparently the caffeine had done more for you than anything, because you looked like yourself again. Dean made a mental note of that.
âWell, in case you didnât read Act 2 or in case you did and forgot, letâs review it,â you began.
Dean was entranced. He listened as you covered Act 2 the same way you had started to last week, before youâd discussed his paper. Your eyes lit up the exact same way as whenever you talked to him about it, and damn if you didnât look beautiful.Â
âSo Scene 1 ends with Macbeth already starting to struggle and deteriorate,â you explained. âIn Scene 2, we get a view of Lady Macbeth. Remember, sheâs been the one driving this train so far, really pushing her husband into the prophecies because she is ambitious â and to Shakespeareâs crowd, ambition was a sin.â
âScene 2 sees the hallucination of the dagger and Duncanâs death off-screen. Now,â you looked out at the crowd. âWhat do you guys think was the most important part of Act 2?â
A kid near the front raised his hand and said, âDuncanâs death, obviously.â
âHow so?â
It was fascinating to watch you teach. You knew the content, Dean knew that, but it was the way you could lead the students to the question without giving it away, making them think theyâd done it on their own. He wanted to be embarrassed at knowing that youâd done that for him, more than once, but he just wasnât. It wasnât a testament to how bad he was at English, it was a testament to how good of a teacher you were.Â
You finished with that student, leading him to a thought that maybe Duncanâs death wasnât the most important point, and Dean thought he knew where you wanted the conversation to go, so he raised his hand.
Your eyes met his, the excitement never lagging. âYes, Dean?â
All eyes in the lecture hall turned to him and he felt his palms growing sweaty again.
Funny, they never do that at football, he thought.
âI think the most important thing in this act is Lady Macbethâs monologue,â he claimed, rubbing a hand on the back of his neck.
Just a slight tick in your smile, a barely there motion, and Dean knew he was on the right track.
âGo on,â you pressed, your voice neutral.Â
âWell, doesnât she say something about how she wouldâve done it herself, but Duncan looked like her dad?â
âYes, and why is that important?â
He smirked. âShe just spent 20 minutes berating her husband because he forgot something simple, but then in the next breath, she admits that he had to do it because she couldnât do it herself. Thatâs the whole ambition point, right? Women couldnât do anything without a man attached to them, because of society and stuff, so itâs a metaphor for how women would ⌠I donât know, trap men into doing these ambitious things that they couldnât otherwise do.â
âYes,â you praised. âHer treatment of him, insulting him, cleaning up after him, and being dependent on him, is a direct metaphor for society in that time period.â
You gave a slight turn to go on to the next person, but you stopped, looking back at Dean, âGood work, Winchester.â
He scooted down in his seat, avoiding the jealous glares of the students who hadnât made that connection, and he couldnât stop the wave of pride in his chest.Â
When his phone buzzed in his pocket, he fished it out. Crowley was one of the few professors who didnât have an opinion on cell phones in class. To him, it was your tuition money, and if you wanted to waste it by not paying attention⌠wasnât his problem.
Dean couldnât help the smile that spread across his face. You were funny. Funny in a way that wasnât performative, too.
Heâd met plenty of girls at high school and college parties that tried to appeal to his sense of humor, but it all just fell flat. Like Dean could tell within seconds that they were just attempting to get closer to him, like it was all a scam.
Not you though.Â
He craved your humor.Â
He could feel Crowleyâs eyes on him, so he put his phone in his pocket and tried to focus as you led the rest of the class. It was hard.
You left a couple minutes before the class ended and Dean couldnât help how bummed he felt. Heâd wanted to chat with you, maybe walk you to your next class. Heâd liked walking together this morning. But the idea of text you to see where you went just made him look like a creep.Â
So he meandered through the rest of the day, going to his classes, taking notes, attempting to look like this morning hadnât set a pace for the rest of his day.Â
4 pm rolled around and Dean sat in the same lecture hall heâd been in this morning. His eyes kept flickering to where youâd sat, as if hoping youâd magically materialize in the middle of football study hall.
His laptop was open to the paper youâd helped him start, but it had the exact same amount of words that it did whenever heâd left the session Friday. His headphones were blasting his normal study playlist, but Dean felt he couldnât focus. Shakespeare just reminded him of you.Â
When Benny elbowed him, Dean nearly jumped out of his skin. He took out a headphone and raised an eyebrow at his friend.Â
âHowâs it goinâ with the Shakespeare class?â
Dean shrugged and hoped it was more nonchalant than he felt. âFeel like Iâm getting better, but havenât got any papers or quizzes back yet, so I donât know.â
Castiel sat on Deanâs other side. âSo the tutorâs helping?â
âYeah, sheâs awesome,â Dean answered. âReally knows her stuff. Good at teachinâ it too.â
âYou seeinâ her this week?â Bennyâs Louisiana accent drawled out.
Dean shrugged. âProbâly once. She said she was working nearly all day today, so I think weâre gonna try for tomorrow.â
Coach Singer stood from the desk at the bottom of the hall and raised a hand for everyoneâs attention. âAlright, folks. Weâre doinâ film a little differently this week. Starters, you donât have to join. Completely optional. If you are second-string for any position then you need to make sure you attend. Weâll be breaking down the third and fourth quarters only.â
Dean, Benny, and Castiel all looked at each other and grinned while the sophomores and freshman groaned. Like Dean had told you that morning, it was boring to break down film of other people playing the game. Heâd endured his share of it when heâd been the second-string quarterback and it had been hell.
His friends started discussing what they would do with their evening off, and Benny started calculating the possibility of a small party. The cheerleaders always had Mondays off, so they would likely be down. Benny and Cas were buried in their phones, texting people from other athletics teams to see whoâd want to come.Â
Deanâs thoughts wandered to you. He scrunched his face as he took out his own phone. When had he ever invited a girl to a party? When had he ever even thought the words invite, girl, and party in the same sentence - unless the word donât was included?Â
Girls didnât come to parties with Dean. They simply showed up to the same parties he was at and he didnât have to do much beyond make sure the DD was sober. He didnât take advantage of anyone by any means - girls threw themselves at him and he didnât always bite.
But tonight he didnât want to go home with someone he didnât know or care about. In fact, after-party sex was a distant thought, something that hadnât really entered his mind.
Dean wanted conversation. He thought about earlier during class - he wanted your conversation, your humor, your approval.Â
You didnât seem like much of a party girl, but you had looked so tired this morning that Dean doubted youâd be down for anything except a meal and a nap.Â
The party seemed much less fun when he thought of himself there playing beer pong and you falling asleep on your kitchen table again.
And something youâd said this morning drifted back to him. I doubt Iâll have time to eat, much less âŚ
He pulled out his phone too. He told himself it was a friend checking in on another friend, like friends do. He was a friend, he told himself.Â
He frowned down at his phone. He didnât like that.Â
He knew what it was: Dean took care of people.
Like Sammy, for one. As the oldest brother, it was his job to take care of Sam - hell, it was why he was taking his grades so damn seriously this semester, why he made sure he wasnât running around with cleat chasers or getting involved with any kind of ESPN-worthy scandal. He needed to be a good example for his brother. He couldnât even count how many fights heâd been in during middle and high school because someone had said the wrong thing about his little brother. When Mom had been in the hospital and Dad was there with her, it was Dean who had made sure Sammy was fed, bathed, clothed, and at school on time. It was Dean who had reassured him that it was a routine thing and Mom would be home in no-time.
The guys on the team, for second. He had been made captain last year and he took that role seriously too. His guys wouldnât follow anyone who didnât practice what they preached, so Dean made sure he attended class, got decent grades (except for one class last semester), didnât party the night before a game, took practice seriously, and took care of each other. He was a guy who checked on every player, regardless of whether or not they started, whether they were offense or defense or what the hell ever.
He took care of his people.
And now, he guessed, you were one of those people.
He had to make sure you ate, he reasoned. He was just making sure you were taking care of yourself. He didnât like the bruises under your eyes this morning, but he remembered how much more energetic youâd seemed after the coffee.
Yeah. He was going to take care of you by making sure you took care of yourself tonight.
It was what friends did.
If you had to read one more bullshit answer about how Gatsby was âthe ultimate player,â you were going to scream. They were all hand-written, in-class assignments, so you knew none of this shit was AI, but you werenât sure if that made it better or worse.
When your phone buzzed, you were only too eager to use the distraction.
You grinned, changing the name of the group chat to âResist the đâ instead. You chuckled to yourself and looked around the library, hoping you hadnât disturbed anyone else.Â
You groaned and looked at the stack before you. Your class was tomorrow.Â
No matter how much youâd like a break, you needed to finish these. You needed to hand them back out to your own students so that they had good feedback before you started the next assignment. You put your head against your hand - this was miserable.Â
You wanted to go. You hadnât been to a party yet this semester, being weighed down by tutoring sessions and TA duties, not to mention anything else Dr. Mills wanted you to excel at. And you had your own full course load this semester.Â
But you missed being care-free. Youâd known this semester was going to be hard, but it was only a week and a half in and you were so tired of being responsible. You didnât even feel like you were in college - not the way the movies described it. This was supposed to be the last hoo-rah, your last chance to be a dumb kid before the weight of real life came crashing down.
And you were missing it to grade papers in the library. When did you stop being a college student and start being a real adult?
Alright, you took a deep breath and thought of a compromise. Because someone did need to make sure Jo didnât fall back into bed with Benny. Their relationship was tumultuous at best and she just kept falling for the cycle over and over. If you were sober and hung out with them, then 1. You wouldnât be too hungover to grade papers, and 2. You would be clear thinking enough to make sure she didnât do anything stupid.
Decision made, you picked up your phone again.Â
You groaned and looked at the clock. It was only 6. Your back ached, your head ached, and you were ready to just go home to your apartment and take a nice shower.Â
But you knew that your friends were counting on you to come get them.
And judging by the snaps youâd already been sent of Jo sitting on Bennyâs lap⌠they needed a sober voice in their ear.Â
You were about to pick everything up and just go home when your phone buzzed again.Â
Your heart sank a little in your chest. That made sense. Bela was⌠Bela. She was beautiful and smart, why wouldnât anyone talk to her at a party? Especially someone like Dean.
You shook your head. Dean was not a thought you wanted to entertain. He was simply someone you were tutoring.
Even if you had thought about him during the rest of your sessions and classes today. And even if he was a breath of fresh air to you.
And even if he was fucking handsome.Â
Not that you were saying he was.Â
You stared down at the messages. Heâd asked about you?Â
Where your stomach had felt empty and hollow a few minutes ago, you felt the butterflies again. The same butterflies you had promptly banished earlier in the week.Â
Rationally, it made sense that Dean would ask where you were. After all, your three roommates were there, and one of said roommates was fucking (or hopefully not fucking) one of Deanâs roommates. It would make sense that he would ask where the missing person was.Â
You coughed, trying to keep from giving yourself hope. Dean was Dean. You were you. Your two lives only intersected because he was failing English and you were good at it. This wasnât anything other than what it was.
You narrowed your eyes at the phone. Why would Bela lie? Wouldnât it make more sense to just tell Dean that you were coming?
Bela was such a genius. But your heart began to pound heavily at the idea of Dean being mopey that you werenât coming. Like he actually wanted to see you over any of the other girls at the party that would likely be throwing themselves at him.
You checked the time - it was only 6. You could easily go back to the apartment and freshen up, maybe even throw on a cute outfit and still have plenty of time to get there by midnight with the girls.
You nodded, packing up the quizzes and clipping together papers before putting them away neatly in your bag. You turned, satisfied with the events of the day (even if you were going to be grading for almost all of tomorrow morning), and started mentally going through all four of your closets to find the perfect going out top.Â
A hard chest met you in the aisle and you nearly lost your balance. You looked up and heard âEasy there, sweetheartâ in a familiar drawl, right next to your ear.
Holding on to the arms of the obstacle, you looked into the pure green eyes of Dean Winchester.Â
He grinned, taking a step back out of your embrace.Â
âSweetness,â you breathed. âWhat are you doing here?â
âI could ask you the same question,â he shot back, grin still plastered on his face.Â
âI thought you were at the party?â
He looked away then, flush creeping up out of his collar. One hand grazed the back of his head and you noticed a Starbucks cup in the other.Â
âWhatâs this?â You smiled.
He extended the cup to you. âLittle pick me up.â
âWhat?âÂ
You took the coffee from him, your lips still parted in surprise.Â
He shrugged. âYou said you had a rough night and that the coffee helped earlier. Thought you might need another if you were gonna be working all night.â
âWow,â you could feel your cheeks heating again. âTwo in one day?â
He shrugged and reached up to adjust his snapback. âHope you donât mind,â Dean said, smirking, âbut I did take a sip. Never had one before.â
âDid you like it?â
He nodded, raising his eyebrows. âDonât tell anyone. Real men drink it black.â
âEw,â you teased, taking a sip of it yourself. âWait a second, didnât you just have a frappe this morning?â
âNot answerinâ that.â He smirked.
âHmm,â you took a drink and smiled.Â
He noted the backpack and clean table behind you. âLooks like you werenât really planning on staying here the rest of the night.â
âGirls convinced me. Not often we get a first-string-only party invite.â
The flush was creeping up to his ears and Dean thrust his hands into his jeans pockets.Â
You looked at the rest of him. Gone was the sweatsuit combo and sneakers. Dean wore some jeans with a couple holes in the knees, a black State t-shirt, a pair of boots, and a State snapback turned backwards.
Your mouth went dry. He was so fucking handsome. You took another drink.Â
âDoesnât look like you came for a study session, either.â
He exhaled in a light chuckle. âCaught me. But the girls did say you were their ride home. Wanna head back to the party with me?â
When you examined him, he held up a hand. âHavenât had anything to drink yet, swear.â
You bit your lip and looked down at his outfit, then to yours. You had managed to do some wonderful things with dry shampoo this morning, and a little mascara had helped, but it wasnât the fabulous party outfit youâd had planned when you packed up.Â
âYou look fine,â he offered, reading your gaze.
âOh?â
He nodded and reached up to put a piece of your hair behind your ear. âYeah. Besides, this is supposed to be kinda chill, anyway.â
âAlright, then.âÂ
You fell into step beside Dean, a little shocked when he reached for your backpack and slung it over his own shoulder. âThis is a little heavy,â he groaned, grinning.
âHard life of a TA,â you rolled your eyes. âMy muscles are probably bigger than yours.â
He looked down at you out of the corner of his eye again. âProbably. Remind me not to mess with you, sweetheart.â
You grinned at him, glad heâd come to the library for the coffee. âWhat were you going to do if I was staying at the library?â You heard yourself ask.
He shrugged. âDunno. Probably hang out with you until you kicked me out.â
âOh?â
He shrugged a shoulder. âYeah, I was surprised when Bela said you were their ride home. I figured youâd want to crash early after the weekend and day you had.â
You stared at him for a few moments, bringing the coffee to your lips for a lack of something to do with your hands. Heâd remembered. Heâd remembered what youâd told him about your day.Â
It was sweet.Â
And not at all the playboy attitude youâd heard rumors about.Â
âI have a late start tomorrow,â you heard yourself saying. âBesides, someoneâs gotta keep Jo the hell away from Benny.â
He clicked the keys and the headlights of a black Chevy pickup shined in the dim parking lot.Â
âThat so?â He raised an eyebrow. He was walking a pace ahead of you, looking almost over his shoulder at you.Â
You shrugged. âIsnât he your best friend?â
âYeah, him ân Cas.â
âAnd you donât mind him and Jo hooking up again?â
He rubbed the back of his neck. âI try not to get involved in my friendsâ relationships.â
âDean,â you reached out and grabbed his elbow. He stopped suddenly, turning almost too fast so that he faced you. You looked up and he looked down at you and â
There was no room. You were almost chest to chest.
You exhaled, wondering why there wasnât enough air suddenly, even though you were outside in an almost-empty parking lot.Â
âWhat is it, sweetheart?â He murmured, lips just barely moving.Â
You swallowed and looked away from his lips.Â
âYou donât seriously think the two of them are good together, do you?â
His eyes never left yours. You could see the building heat and inferno behind them. Was he burning just the way you were? You werenât even touching.
âNo, I donât,â he answered honestly. âBut Bennyâs never asked me, so I keep my mouth shut.â
His eyes flicked down to your lips and your tongue reached out to wet them. His eyes darkened as he saw the movement.Â
âH-has Jo asked you?â
You nodded. âWeâre the ones who have to pick her up and take care of her whenever he breaks her heart.â
A car door slammed somewhere in the parking lot and you both startled. Your first instinct had been to back away from Dean, like you didnât want anyone to see you together, but Deanâs hands had shot out for your arms, pulling you close to him.Â
You exhaled, the tightness in your chest and the pool of heat under your ribs rising.Â
âWe should - uh, we should probably head out,â his voice was husky and rough.
âIs this you?â You asked, pointing to the Chevy.
âSure is,â he answered, opening the passenger door for you. He held your hand as you stepped up on the running board, only handing you the backpack once you were sitting.
âItâs a nice truck,â you commented when he climbed in the driverâs side.
âYeah, itâs alright.â
âAlright?â You repeated. You gestured to the cab. âDean, this is nice.â
He grinned, putting keys in the ignition and firing it to life. âItâs a decent truck, Iâll give you that, but itâs not my favorite.â
âOkay, Iâll bite. What is your favorite?â
The radio started, playing some classic rock station. Dean turned down the radio before fishing his phone out of his pocket. He unlocked it and you saw him swiping through pictures for a second.Â
âThere she is,â he beamed, showing you the picture. âThatâs my girl.â
It was a black four door - maybe something from the late 60âs. It was sharp. Well maintained, you could tell.Â
And there was Dean, leaned back against the driverâs door with a huge smile at whoever was taking the picture.
âSheâs beautiful, Dean.â
ââ67 Chevy Impala,â he told you. âBuiltâer from the ground up.â
That raised your eyebrows. âReally? Dean thatâs - thatâs ⌠wow. I didnât know you worked on cars like that.â
He shrugged like it wasnât a big deal, but the grin he hid told you it was. He put the phone in the holder on the dash and clicked it off. âDad gave it to me, but it was in poor shape. He runs his own body shop, so he taught me what to do, but I did it all myself.â
He put the truck in reverse and began to back out of the space, ignoring the back-up camera and putting his hand on the shoulder of your seat so he could turn and see behind him.
You pressed your legs together. Until tonight, youâd had no idea how fucking hot that was.
Once he put it in drive and started for Michaelâs house, you found your voice again. âGuess Iâll call you if I ever need anything done to my car.â
He glanced over at you and raised an eyebrow. âSomethinâ wrong with your car, sweetheart?â
âOh, no,â you assured him. âJust saying, if I ever do need something.â
His left hand was on the steering wheel, easily maneuvering through the side streets. His right was extended over the console and you looked down, noticing it was next to yours. Dean looked down too, away from the road, and you saw his fingers twitch toward yours.Â
âAbsolutely. What do you drive?â
âJust a Camry,â you told him. âSomething good on gas.â
He grinned. âEasy car to work on. But if I ever need a roadtrip, then I guess Iâll be cominâ to you.â
He adjusted in his seat and casually brushed his fingers with yours. Casual enough that you figured heâd call it an accident if you didnât reciprocate.
You flushed, moving so your pinky finger brushed against his. Just enough of a confirmation.Â
âI - Iâd like to see it someday,â you blurted, anything to break the tension. âThe - uh - the Impala.â
Deanâs hand snapped back and formed a fist. He sat it down on the console, but he was tense, as if it took effort to be slow and careful. He chuckled. âI usually bring it up from home, just a couple times a year though.â
âWhy only a couple?â
âHave you seen the way people drive here? Iâd come back to a missing mirror or some shit. Absolutely not.â
You laughed then, reaching tentative fingers to his forearm. âYouâre pretty protective, Sweetness.â
He looked at you out of the corner of his eye again and you saw the green in his eyes all lit up. He looked down at his arm and back up to you, eyes softer, smile brighter.Â
âHey now, donât knock my baby. I gotta take care of my girl.â
Michael and Gabe lived at the end of a cul-de-sac in a two-story house with a good size yard and basement. It was usually the party house because all of their neighbors also attended State University, so there was never anyone to really call the cops if they got too loud.Â
Youâd only been a couple of times, mostly at the end of the last football season. Michael and Gabeâs parties were the stuff of legends, and both that youâd been to had been overcrowded and way too hot. Not really your vibe.Â
There were only a few cars in the driveway and spread throughout the cul-de-sac, so you guess it really was a chill party like Dean had said.Â
He parked the truck and turned back the ignition, releasing the keys.
âWhen I left earlier, everyone was out back by the fire pit.â
âOh?â
âYep,â he answered. âItâs finally cooled off enough for a bonfire⌠that okay with you?â
You crossed your legs, jiggling your toes to try to keep from being completely anxious.Â
âBecause, if not,â Dean started speaking quickly, he ran a hand over the back of his neck, âI can take you home and Iâll bring the girls home, itâs no big deal ââ
âDean,â you interrupted, squeezing his forearm. âA bonfire sounds fantastic.â
His shoulders drooped with relief, he put his warm hand on top of yours. âYeah?â
You nodded and bit your lip. âI didnât bring a chair or anything, though.â
He smirked. âNo worries about that. Câmon.â
The lights of the cab were almost too bright as you opened the doors wide. Dean was at your side before you could climb down onto the sidewalk, a hand at your elbow. He clicked the lock of the truck and pocketed the keys efficiently, leading you toward the carport.Â
He said nothing as his hand grasped yours, but you felt the explosion of electricity echoing through you at the simple touch. You looked up and saw the corners of his eyes crinkle in a smile, but the flush creeping up his neck betrayed his bravado.
The carport housed a truck that was every bit of brand spankinâ new, but Dean went around it, passing the side door to the kitchen. You saw the glow of the bonfire in the backyard and stiffened.
Dean, ever observant, paused, hand still in yours. âYou ready?â
You bit your lip. âWonât people⌠talk if we show up together?â
He shrugged, the gesture meant to be nonchalant, but you saw the tick in his jaw. âTheyâre gonna talk regardless.â
You smirked, elbowing him in the side. âJust hate to ruin your rep, Winchester. Iâd hate for all those pretty girls to know youâre off the market.â
A corner of his mouth quirked up into that smirk you were beginning to love. âCâmon, sweetheart.â Then he winked.
The heat between your legs was instant. Youâd seen old men leering and winking before, but when Dean Winchester winked at youâŚ
Well, that was different altogether.Â
You cleared your throat, recovering quickly. You were almost sure that Dean had noticed what the wink had done to you, but he didnât say anything. Maybe he didnât want to embarrass you further.Â
Either way, he pulled on your hand and took a step toward the bonfire.Â
âActually,â Dean murmured, pulling you back into the shadows of the carport.Â
âWhat?â
Dean leaned down to your ear. You felt his smile against the shell of your ear and shivers erupted down your spine. âWanna giveâem somethinâ to really talk about?â
You looked up through your lashes. âLike what?â
His hand let go of yours and you hated the way your chest caved at the loss of warmth, but it was quickly replaced when he wound his arm around your shoulders, bending it and drawing you in close. Your hand found his on your shoulder and threaded your fingers through his again.
Oh yeah, this was much better.Â
âStick with me, Shakespeare. Weâll wowâem all tonight.â
âEasy there, Sweetness,â you teased, falling into step with him.
Coming into sight of the bonfire, you were greeted with screams and yells from your already-too-drunk friends. The bonfire was large, but not dangerously large, with several coolers spread out around the circle with folding chairs and hay bales in between.Â
It was nearly the entire varsity roster, but there were a few of the second-stringers trickling in, and you knew there would be more before the night was truly over.Â
You clocked Jo sitting on a hay bale next to Benny and frowned. She was very drunk with a red solo cup in hand, but Benny was just as (if not more) drunk thank she was, so you let it go for the moment. As long as they didnât slip away together, it would be easy to pry her from him when it was time to go home.
Bela would be harder.Â
There was an a-frame that had been pulled up close to the fire with a wooden bench swing, and as one of the hosts, Michael had claimed a seat. He had a cushion behind his back as he sat up against the arm of it, legs sprawled down the length of the bench.
And Bela had claimed his lap. She was curled up between his legs, leaned against his back, sipping on her own beer bottle. Her face was calm and casual, but her eyes danced and gleamed. She was exactly where she wanted to be, and if the opportunity presented itself, you knew there was no way in hell youâd get her to come home with you and the girls tonight.
Charlie sat over to the side with one of the other cheerleaders, Dorothy or something stupid. They looked cozy, but nothing inappropriate.
Deanâs arm stayed around you as he greeted the group. There were high-fives and hands shaken, beers offered (and refused, since Dean insisted on driving you girls home), and everyone was nice to you as well. Most of them already knew your name, since you were roommates with Bela and Jo, but they only knew you in passing or by name. You took a Smirnoff from one of the cheerleaders and handed it to Dean to open.
There was an empty fold out chair, and Dean wasted no time in claiming it. âMore comfortable than the damn hay bales,â he explained, plopping himself down into it.Â
You raised your eyebrows at him. The nearest seat was a few feet away, and you couldnât help the desire that curled through you at wanting to still be close to him.
He winked again and that desire increased tenfold. Surely heâd be able to tell.
His hands grasped at yours, taking the Smirnoff and putting it in the cloth cupholder before pulling you sharply into his lap. You wobbled, off-balance, before crashing into his space, coming down almost too hard on his thigh.
âThere you go,â he whispered into your ear. âGet comfortable.â
He spread his legs wider, giving you room to put your legs between them. His arm came behind your back, resting along the arm rest but still supporting you. His fingertips grazed under your sweatshirt, just dusting the little bit of exposed skin.Â
Just light enough to send goosebumps racing across your back.
âCold, sweetheart?â
You reached for your drink and smirked. âMaybe I should move closer to the fire.â You planted your feet, feinting like you were going to get up.
âNot a chance.â His voice was husky as both hands encircled your waist, crushing you back down to him and drawing you in to his chest. âIâll keep you warm, I promise,â he murmured in your ear.
You felt his body tense as he leaned up, just enough to ghost his lips over your cheek. Your chest felt light and fuzzy and you hoped the dim light of the bonfire covered the darkening blush across your cheeks.
âPlenty to talk about, huh?â You pressed the cold bottle to your lips.
He chuckled. âI ainât done yet, sweetheart. Just you wait.â
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