AN: I know the sign for turtle is different in different countries. I’m using this one for Auslan, not ASL (which is also very cute), because it works.
Dean turned off the TV and stretched his arms above his head, groaning. He blinked a few times to clear his vision, which had gone blurry from staring at the screen for so long, and glanced at the clock. It was almost one in the morning.
He climbed the stairs with heavy footfalls, dragging himself up the stairs with the little energy he had left. He hadn’t had a decent night’s sleep in almost thirteen years. The house was quiet and still, causing every one of Dean’s movements to bounce and echo off the walls. Crickets chirped their soft melody off in the distance while the cicadas harmonized. The sounds were drowned out only by the occasional whir of a car driving by. Dean had gotten used to such suburban noises by now. He hardly noticed them anymore.
The rustle of blankets and long, low creak of box springs caused Dean to pause in the hallway. He used two fingers to push his son’s door open ever so slightly, leaning back to poke his head into the room.
The little boy—though Dean supposed he should stop thinking of Mason as “little” now that he was hitting puberty and shooting up like a weed—laid on his side, facing the window away from the door. This was a dead giveaway. Mason never slept on his side, and he never slept with his back to the door.
“Mason,” Dean whispered. “You awake?”
Mason gave a loud snore. He wasn’t fooling anybody.
Dean clicked the light on his nightstand on, shaking his head a little when Mason pretended to squint against the light as if he’d been sleeping for hours.
“Dad,” he fake-groaned. “What’re you doing? I don’t have school today.”
“Nice try,” Dean said dryly. “You’re a horrible actor. Why aren’t you asleep?”
Mason sat up and shrugged. “Not tired.”
“Is it those scary movies you’re watching before bed?” Dean asked, and when Mason’s eyes widened, he continued, “Yeah, I know how to work Netflix now. Did you know that the ‘recently watched’ queue updates itself every time you watch something on my account?”
“I—” Mason stuttered, but he didn’t have an answer for this.
Dean sighed, not wanting to argue right now. He supposed it was in Mason’s blood to seek out the scary and supernatural. “What’s up?”
Mason shrugged again, not meeting his father’s eyes. He pulled his knees against his chest and traced circles on the mattress.
“Come on, you can tell me. Is it school? Drama with your friends? Teacher troubles?”
“No,” Mason said. “It’s none of that.”
“Then what is it?”
Mason looked up. “Dad, will you tell me about Mom? And I don’t mean the non-answers you give me about having her eyes, I mean everything.”
Something in Mason’s eyes told Dean that he was already expecting a no. He asked his father every year to tell him the story of how they met, and every year Dean said something to the effect of, “It’s late and it’s a long story. I’ll tell you when you’re older.” Than he’d kiss the top of Mason’s head and say, “You have her eyes, you know.”
And he did. Dean dad never seen eyes so blue before meeting Y/N. Even Cas’s eyes seemed dull next to hers. Dean was convinced that if you looked hard enough, you could see tiny flecks of gold amidst the ocean blue. There were whole galaxies to explore, entire worlds to get lost in. Dean could’ve stared at those eyes forever and he would’ve been perfectly content.
Dean looked Mason up and down, chewed on his lip, and frowned. “I suppose thirteen is old enough to know the truth.”
Dean nodded slowly. “I wasn’t lying, though. It is a long story.”
“I can stay awake.”
Dean pulled his legs up onto the bed and sat cross-legged across from his son. “Should I start with the good ol’ fashioned, 'once upon a time’?”
Y/N
“Y/N, can you cover for me?” My co-worker, Hadley, gestured to table three. Four little old ladies sat there, knitting and chatting in loud voices.
I sighed, cleaning up the rest of the milkshake my other lazy co-worker, Josh, had spilled. “Sure.”
Hadley beamed at me, already lighting up a cigarette even though she wasn’t outside yet. “You’re the best.”
“That’s me,” I muttered to myself. “Human doormat.”
I raced around the diner by myself, taking orders, bringing drinks, repeating the specials half a dozen times to a forgetful old man who could barely hear me. By the time it hit one o’clock, my bun was falling out and strands of hair hung around my face. Smudges of chocolate and mustard decorated my cheeks. The tips of my fingers were covered in pen marks.
The bell on the door jangled, barely heard over the hustle and bustle of the lunch rush, and two men in their twenties slid into a nearby booth.
“Hadley?” I called into the kitchen, but she didn’t answer. Her smoke break had lasted an hour and a half at this point, and I wasn’t planning on her coming back until a few minutes before her shift was over. How she hadn’t been fired by now was beyond me.
I made an annoyed huffing noise and grabbed my pad of paper.
“Welcome to Lucy’s Diner,” I said to the men in as chipper of a voice as I could manage. I relied on my tip money. It was the only way I could afford the rent. “Can I get y’all something to drink?”
The older of the two, a tall man with messy sandy-colored hair and bright green eyes, looked me up and down, smirking a little, though not unkindly. “Busy day?”
I rolled my eyes. “You have no idea.”
“I’ll just have a coffee,” the other man said. His knees touched the bottom of the table, he was so tall. His hair was thick and long, the color of chocolate. He had a kind face, the sort of face you automatically trusted.
“Okay,” I said, scribbling a note on my pad. “And for you?”
The scruffier man with the green eyes rubbed at the stubble on his chin. “I’ll have the double bacon cheeseburgers, side of fries, vanilla milkshake, and apple pie.”
I raised my eyebrows at him. “Dessert already?”
“Yeah,” he said, waving a hand as if it was no big deal. “You can bring it all out at once, too. If it makes it easier.”
“What would make it easier is if I had co-workers who weren’t idiots.”
The man with the long hair chuckled. “I get where you’re coming from.”
“You have co-workers that goof off, too?” I asked.
He gestured to the scruffy man. “Yeah, Dean here can, uh, get distracted pretty easily.”
“But I do step up when I need to,” Dean argued. “You’d think it’d be the other way around, me being the older brother. But Sam’s always been the responsible one.”
“So what do you two do?” I asked conversationally.”
Sam said, “FBI” just as Dean said, “Pest control.”
“Sorry,” I said, sensing some tension between the brothers. Sam glared at Dean, who cleared his throat and stared at a couple sticky spots on the table. “Didn’t mean to pry. I’ll be back with your food.”
Dean muttered a, “Yeah, thanks.” I thought I heard the two of them arguing in hushed tones as soon as I’d walked away.
I delivered their food as soon as it was ready, saying nothing except for, “Enjoy.” They said nothing back. I tried to keep up with all the tables on my own, wondering if maybe I could persuade my boss for a slight raise next time I see her.
I was wiping down the counters at the bar when someone slid into the stool across from me. I blinked up at Dean.
He grinned, green eyes wrinkling at the corners. He radiated pure sunshine. “Hey.”
“Hi,” I said cautiously. “Did I get your order wrong?”
“No, no,” he said quickly. “The pie was delicious, by the way. Homemade?”
“Pre-made freezer packaging,” I said dryly. “I guess you don’t have very high standards when it comes to pie.”
He looked sincerely offended. “Pie isn’t a food, it’s a lifestyle. Believe me, I have high standards.”
“So what is it?” I set the soapy rag aside and leaned across the counter, propping my chin up on my hands. “Come to interrogate me? Or ask about our roach problem?”
Dean cleared his throat again and folded his hands together on top of the counter. He smiled, but this time it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “About that—”
“It’s really okay,” I insisted. “It’s none of my business.”
“No, it’s fine. Here’s the thing, we’re not FBI or pest control. We’re kind of private investigators. We just didn’t want to blow our cover back there, with people listening in.”
I raised my eyebrows. “Oh. Makes sense, I guess. Is this investigation anything I should know about? You don’t have to give me specifics; I’d just like to know if I'm—safe. If I should worry.”
“Well, I’d recommend locking your doors at night, but other than that, you should be good.” He met my eyes, and his face softened. “Sammy and I’ll take care of it.”
“Can I help in any way? I might be able to give you information about whatever it is you’re doing.”
“Maybe.”
He turned to look over his shoulder, green eyes dancing as he scanned the room for anyone who might be listening in. When he turned back to me, our faces were inches apart.
“What do you know about Herman Glass?”
I wrinkled my nose in confusion. “Not much. He lived just down the street from me, but he was kind of a hermit. Didn’t he commit suicide a few days ago?”
It was hard to concentrate on what he was saying when he was looking at me. All I could think was how a person shouldn’t be able to have eyes that green. It wasn’t fair.
“That’s what the police think,” he said, tilting his head a little and pressing his lips together into a thin line, like he was preventing himself from saying anything more. “But the police are often wrong about this stuff.”
“Oh, and you know better?” I taunted him, screwing up my face so I was wearing an expression of doubt.
Dean blinked at me and smirked. “As a matter of fact, I do. Why, you don’t believe me?”
I shrugged and grabbed the soapy rag so I’d have something to do with my hands. I suddenly felt very self-conscious about the mustard and chocolate spots on my face. “Just a little suspicious, I guess. I’ve never met a PI before, and you sure don’t look like the ones on TV, so …”
“Oh, so just 'cause we don’t like TV stars you think we’re not the real deal?” He sounded offended, but it was a teasing tone of voice. He crossed his arms, raised a single eyebrow, eyes twinkling with amusement.
I dropped the rag onto the counter from a few inches up so it landed with a splat. I mimicked his defensive stance. “I don’t know. Can you prove that you’re the real deal?”
“Would you like me to get my business cards from the car?”
“Business cards prove nothing,” I pointed out. “A fifteen-year-old could become a private investigator if that’s all it took.”
“Fine.” Dean threw his hands up in the air as if he surrendered. “How about I show you a little action later tonight, hmm? Sam and I are going by the police station sometime this evening to ask a few questions. Do you want to come along?”
I pretended to study him carefully, mulling his offer over, though inside I was yelling, yes, yes, yes!
“All right,” I finally said. “My shift ends at six. You can pick me up at my house at seven.”
Dean nodded. “Okay. Seven it is.”
I scribbled my address on a napkin and slid it across the counter for him. “You’d better show up. Or else I’ll be forced to believe you were never real to begin with.”
“Me? Stand you up?” Dean made a pfftnoise. “I’d have to be stupid to do that.”
I tried to let my hair hide my face, which was burning hot, and pretended to continue to clean an already spotless counter. I felt his smile on me for a long time before he hopped off his stool and returned to the booth with Sam. When I chanced a glance up, I saw that they were whisper-fighting again, this time with wild gestures and glances my way. Either Sam didn’t approve of Dean blowing their cover by inviting me along, or there was something else going on that I didn’t know about.
Dean
“Sam, it’s fine,” Dean tried to reassure his brother, to no avail.
“It’s a girl,” Sam hissed, shooting him the dirtiest of looks. “You want to take her on a date, take her to dinner! Don’t bring her along on a case. God, Dean, she’s not even a hunter.”
“How do you know that?” Dean argued, lifting his chin a little with newfound confidence. “Huh? Did you ask her? For all you know, she could have salt and holy water in the trunk of her car.”
Sam’s face was totally and completely disbelieving, frowning sideways at him. “Dean, I saw her go to her car. All that’s in there are books and her cell phone. You think she has weapons in the trunk of her tiny, lime green, VW bug? Does she looklike a hunter to you?”
Dean glanced over at the girl—Y/N, according to her nametag—and sighed. Sam was right, she didn’t look like anything more than a frazzled waitress with more customers than she could handle by herself. But she didn’t just look like a normal girl, either. Here Dean was trying to be undercover, and this total stranger had cast some sort of spell on him. What was he thinking bringing a girl along on a case? Sam was right, he should’ve just taken her to dinner.
“Let me try and fix this,” he muttered, and walked back over to the bar, hands stuffed in his pockets.
She raised her eyebrows at him when he approached. “Back so soon?”
“I can’t take you with us,” Dean sighed. He avoided meeting her eyes again. That was how he’d fallen under her spell in the first place.
“How come?”
Dean mumbled something about secret PI stuff and Sam not approving. But Y/N would have none of it.
“Unh uh,” she said, putting her hands on her hips. Her face was defiant. She was not budging a single inch until he gave in. “You said you’d prove to me that you guys are the real deal. Now’s your chance. Are you chickening out 'cause you have something to hide?”
“No,” Dean said, probably a little too quickly. “It’s just—”
“Just what, exactly?”
Dean’s mouth open and closed silently for a few seconds as he struggled to find the right words to say. He finally blurted out, “Do you want to have dinner with me?” Then pressed his lips together before anything more could slip out.
The corners of her mouth twitched, ever so slightly. “Did you just invite me on a second date before even having gone on the first one?”
“What—no!” Dean sputtered nervously. He felt his face heating up, and judging from her triumphant smile, it showed. “No! The investigation is not a date.”
“You sure made it sound like one.”
Dean attempted a casual, slightly annoyed roll of his eyes, but it didn’t feel very convincing, even to him. “How did I make it sound like one?”
“Becausereal PIs don’t invite total strangers out on their investigations.”
“I am a real PI!” Dean insisted.
“Okay.” Y/N turned her back on him and grabbed a pitcher of icy water, condensation dripping off the bottom. “If you say so. We’re still on for seven, right?”
Dean thought Sam was going to hit him when he shuffled back to the booth, eyes on the floor.
“I didn’t mean in addition to!” He half-shouted. He rubbed his temples like he had a headache. “You know what, fine. We’ll let her see us questioning the police, we’ll be using code anyway, and then we’ll leave. She’ll drive home, then we can do the real stuff.”
“Uh, about the driving …” Dean trailed off and smiled nervously at Sam, who glared venomously.
A/N: This belongs to Day 2 of my 300 Followers Celebration and my 5 Years Celebration! Thanks so much for reading
Gif obtained from Google. All credits to its owner.
Thanks for reading <3
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You didn’t even take the time to park your car properly, running out of it the second you arrived at the Singer property to reach the front door as fast as you could.
Two hours ago you had received a call from Bobby, Sam was back from hell and Dean was with him again, so you packed your things and you left the crappy motel room you were staying in since your last hunt.
They probably were waiting for you or maybe they just heard all the noise you made because a second before you reached the door, it flew open and Dean was there with open arms ready to welcome you home.
It had been difficult after he left you and went to Lisa but you couldn’t blame him, she represented everything he ever wanted, a nice white picket fence home, a steady life and more importantly, no monsters and as his best friend it was your duty to support him through thick and thin, if he was happy you were too.
“You’re here” he whispered, a hand wrapped around your waist and the other one at the back of your head pressing you closer to him, a small kiss left in your temple.
“I’m here” you answered taking in his presence and how much you had missed him. “You’re back, Sam’s back, how did it happened?”
“It’s a long story, come say hi” he said reluctantly letting you go but still holding onto your hand as he guided you to the living room.
“Sam!” you exclaimed as he went to greet you, a small hug letting you know he really was there, your hand still in Dean’s making it a little difficult but after all the time apart neither one of you was ready to let go again.
A/N: Day 2 of my 300 Followers Celebration and my 5 Years Celebration! Thanks so much for reading
Gif obtained from Google. All credits to its owner.
Thanks for reading <3
________________________
The sun was slowly going down, the sky painted in orangy and rosy tones, the view of the lake breathtaking and there was nothing you were enjoying more than the company of the man sitting next to you on the hood of a classic 67’ Impala, Dean.
You had met a long time ago when you both were young, couple teenagers brought together by your parents hunting the same thing, many years had passed since that day but the feelings you had for him only got stronger with time.
Life with him and Sam had been crazy, facing many dangers together, but it was all worthy, the people you all had saved only made the end of the day much sweeter.
As you rested your head on his shoulder his left arm went to your waist to bring you closer to him, no words needed.
You weren’t sure how long you stayed like that, the stars now on the sky the only evidence of the pass of time.
“Dean…?” you whispered, you didn’t want to break the silence but there was something on your mind you needed to get out.
“What is it, sweetheart?”
“I need to tell you something” you said sitting straight to be able to look him in the eye, a frown appearing in his face.
“Is everything okay?”
“Yes… I just… I have a confession to make” you took a moment to breath, there was no going back as you took his silence as a sign to keep talking. “I know you probably won’t feel the same, I know we’ve been friends for a while and things are fine the way they already are but the truth is that I like you as more than a friend, I… I love you…”
