I’m considering creating a website that is solely devoted to my SPN series rewrite “Wayward Hearts”. I think it might be fun to have it available almost as a book, to post art I’ve made, fan art I’ve gotten (which still blows my mind), share my writing process, and make it an all around experience for those who want to dive back into the Supernatural world.
Dean flashed you a cheesy grin. “You did good out there tonight. Proud of you.” His cheeks were flushed from the alcohol, but he still seemed mostly sober.
He was checking out the group of women up at the front of the bar, who wore more revealing clothing than you dared.
You envied their confidence. Sometimes you wished you had the grit to do that stuff.
Dean didn’t fake reluctance to leave you or Sam. He knew what he wanted, and he knew how to get it. When he finished his drink, he made his move, leaving the table, and you and Sam with it.
The younger Winchester smiled at you awkwardly. You could tell he wanted to leave as well—he and some girl at the bar had been making googly eyes at each other since he walked in—but was conflicted on leaving you.
“Sam,” you said impatiently. “That girl has been giving you the eyes since we walked in. And don’t think I don’t see you sending them back. If you don’t get up now, I’ll push you over there.”
You were glad that women weren’t assuming you and Sam—or Dean—were together; it made everything much less complicated. Both of the Winchesters were way out of your league. You were more likely the sister they never had.
He was a little surprised, and a little amused by your attitude. “Oh, really?”
“Don’t test me,” you joked.
He laughed, collecting his jacket and walking away.
Your deluding smile fell from your face once you were alone. Bars were usually their choice of festivity, but they mostly just made you uncomfortable.
You were now alone, as both of the boys hit on some chicks and snuck off to get laid. You were used to it. It wasn’t your ideal celebration, but if it made them happy, you’d bear it. You supposed they just assumed your interests matched theirs. Even if all you wanted to do was go home and sleep.
Anyway, the faster the Winchesters both left with broads, the faster you could leave. It was just that simple.
You sipped your whiskey that Dean had paid for. It was strong, and hard to swallow, but in small portions it was tolerable. You appreciated the gift, even if it wasn’t your preferred drink. Dean had a big heart, and you wouldn’t ruin your sweet moments with him because you were feeling picky.
You let your mind wander to a darker place.
You were still coming to terms with hunter life. And from what you’ve gathered, it was cruel, unfair, and thankless.
The Winchesters didn’t sugarcoat it, either. Everything that society looked down upon—the suspiciously cult-ish tattoos, borderline or over-the-line alcoholism (a line you were uncertain where Dean fell), and cheap clothing with leather jackets—was a signature of a hunter’s life. Not to mention the trigger-happy hands, suspicious glares, and their off-putting, dark looks.
It opened your eyes.
That “gothic” girl you saw in your neighborhood? That might have looked like a satanic tattoo, but it was actually an anti-possession tattoo that she got because she was terrified of the demons that wanted to kill her. And those knives in her pocket and backpack? That was for her safety, and probably yours, too.
Or that shady alcoholic up the street? Werewolves brutally murdered his friends, and he has to live with the survivor’s guilt. He drinks while obsessively researching how to hunt them down. Though he’ll likely die of a failing liver before ever taking on the pack.
The point was…
Looks weren’t always transparent.
And, well, you were everything hunters weren’t.
Your pain tolerance was pathetic, for one. Tattoos? Big nope. You hated all things needles, and despite tattoos looking cool, you liked to avoid pain, thanks.
Second, your wardrobe. As if that wasn’t blatantly obvious.
And, last, you were a hopeless lightweight. A few shots and you were tipsy. Dean thought it was hilarious.
Still, you drank your whiskey, feeling guilty that you hated it.
You were tired. It was dark out, and you could already feel the whiskey in your system. You just wanted to go home.
So the last thing you expected that night was for a guy to hit on you. You, feeling unlike yourself—and very drunk—warily flirted back.
He was charming. Thing was, with your buzzing vision, all you noticed were his eyes and handsome smile. You didn’t notice the more important things, like, say… the roofies dissolving in your drink.
Too bad you hadn’t—because you wouldn’t have let him breathe down your neck like he had been… or breathe at all, for that matter.
Your words slurred, and you leaned into him when he stood. “Hey, hey, h-hey, mister. Wheeere ya’ goin’ off to?”
You were smashed.
You didn’t feel too hot, either. You were practically dangling off his shoulders as he helped you from your chair, and your stomach churned. “I don’ feel so guud…” you slurred, keeling over to vomit on the pavement. Huh. You were outside?
You made out two shapes that looked dubiously like him. Albeit one may have very well been a trash can. “Yeeuur kindouf prr…retty.”
He snickered, though you weren’t sure what was so funny. “Just let it sink in,” he said. “It’s okay, babe.”
What was he talking about? You frowned, troubled. “Doe… don'ttt… calmeh that.”
There was only a muddy sense of direction. You fizzled in and out of consciousness, and your memory escaped you.
You were completely at this man’s mercy.
///
You woke up feeling like hell. The lights… the sounds…it was all too loud.
Your head felt like a crushed soda can. You turned—inch by inch—trying to get a view of the entire room, tied up—which, yeah, was a big red flag—and leaned awkwardly against the wall. When you finally saw behind you, you met the eyes of multiple other women in your same predicament.
The previous evening was a haze. Your mind was still catching up with the present, much less the past.
Something in the shadows of the room moved, and you watched as two figures loomed over an unconscious woman covered in dark, bloody bites around her neck and chest.
“Vamps,” you spat. But it came more like “vamffptss” through your gag with a few lisp-y expletives.
They spun around, smiling to themselves. A vampire crouched down to your level, taunting you, “Ah, so there is more to her than a pretty face! Who would have known? Are you a hunter, babe?”
A memory clicked as he said that. You might say it rang a bell—an alarm bell, anyway—but you couldn’t place it. His voice was bouncing around in your head and it was hard to focus.
“Sssgrew you.”
He stood, gave you a smirk, and drove his foot into your abdomen. Hard.
“Wow. I mean, you were a little feisty at the bar, but I never would have envisioned you’d have so much kick.” He winked at you, then turned back to his goonies. “Alright. Ship ‘em. Mark the pretty ones. They’ll be worth more.”
You puffed, still recovering from the harsh blow, as a skinny redhead yanked you up by the ropes. He was watching you like one looks in a microwave at their meal.
You thrashed. It was a weak move, hardly knocking him back on his heels, but it was also a minor triumph.
Then said vampire punched your throat, and all smugness disappeared.
The lead vamp turned to see the commotion and erupted, “Are you kidding me? Christ—get the gag off her, will you?!” When the others looked at him in alarm and skepticism, he barked, “She’s no use to us dead! Do you want her suffocating?”
Carrot Top worked the gag from your aching jaw, and you just laid there, winded, like a dead dog.
The Lead Vamp grabbed the shirt collar of your redhead attacker. “Hey, maybe don’t punch 'em in the throat next time. They’re gonna squirm a little—it’s what they do. So ignore it.”
“Yessir’.”
“Good. And, hey, guys—bag the ugly ones. I got a client for them.”
You coughed, propping yourself up by the elbow. You were concerned. Am I ugly?
The redhead vamp kicked you down by your arm, hissing, “Not you. We got a special guy for you. Likes the fighters.”
You were so tired and weak and helpless. Couldn’t do anything but lay there. You could only watch as the other vamps manhandled poor, terrified women.
“Leeches,” you said, earning you a foot to the face.
“Do yourself a favor and shut up.”
It was hard to not comply. As your head lolled, you spat blood at his feet. You would not go down easy.
He hauled you up, and his punch cracked like a whip.
You stared at his bloody knuckles, feeling your own arms twitch. The ropes were loose. You wondered briefly if you could even run—
Another strike had your vision swimming with stars.
“Hey. I got a question—huff—” You said, taking the punches like a champ and distracting him. “Has anyone ever told you—uff—that you look like—guh—Strawberry Shortcake?”
The ropes worked off your wrists and when he swung, you ducked—or fell, more like—away from his swing. Breathless, you pulled yourself to your feet to run.
The adrenaline was really the only thing keeping you going. Thing was, adrenaline didn’t give you accuracy, it just gave you strength. And little that strength was.
And, woah, was the ground spinning. You gagged as you watched the hallway sway. You were not in any shape to run, but you sure as hell tried to. You stumbled down the hallway, your knees giving out multiple times before you couldn’t pick yourself up again.
The vamp’s yell echoed down the hallway. “You’re not a hunter anymore, little lamb! You’re the hunted!” It probably wouldn’t take much for him to follow the sound of your hummingbird heart.
That was enough encouragement to get anyone on their toes. Even someone who was shaking like a leaf.
Whatever roofie they’d given you, it was enhanced. Everything was so hot and bright and loud. You wished the world could just be quiet. Your heart was beating so loud you could feel it in your teeth.
You clambered to the exit, reaching for the doors to push them open.
Just then, a hand pitched you backward, pulling down on your shoulder. You yelled out, petrified.
“It’s me, it’s just me,” Dean whispered quickly, easing you through the door, around the corner, and to where Baby was parked.
Your heart was still jack hammering in your chest as he pulled you in for a hug. You were high as a kite on adrenaline.
“Been looking all over for you.” The pitch in his voice was more stressed than usual. You were like a little sister to him.
You leaned into his embrace. It was warm and solid and safe. And it was exactly what you needed to ground yourself.
“He drugged me,” you blurted. “He drugged me. I couldn’t—he just—”
He paled. “Did he touch you?” When you paused, his expression darkened. “I’ll rip his lungs out. I’ll kill every single one of them. I'll—”
“He didn’t touch me,” you interrupted. “Not like that.” You rested your forehead against his chest.
“Thank god.”
“But I think they would’ve.” You practically melted as he smoothed your hair down. “They’re human trafficking. Selling women as blood bags.”
Dean turned to Sam, who was leaned up against the Impala, and nodded at him. Sam took that as his cue to go ahead without Dean. “I got Sammy on it right now. You sure you’re alright?”
His arms around you were the only thing keeping you standing. “Just tired. And my head really hurts.” Gunshots went off behind you, and you flinched. Your ears were still sensitive.
“Sounds like nothing a little sleep can’t fix.” Dean patted your back and opened the back of the Impala.
You crawled in and fell asleep before Dean could even pull out of the parking lot.
You tried following your heart, once, as a senior in college with straight A’s, a bright future, a career so close you could almost touch it. You were so close to satisfaction. So close to that diploma.
And all at once, that dream ceased to be. And all you could think was my heart must be very very lost.
It all began on a cloudy Friday evening, you were just about to end your shift with the dogs. It was a tangled mess of leashes when you made it back to the animal shelter. Sweat and dog hair covered you, and after a good shower of puppy kisses, you finally untangled yourself from the mass of dogs and return them to their rightful cages.
You refused to meet their sad eyes. You made that mistake, once, and had spent half an hour reassuring each heartbroken dog that they were, indeed, a good boy.
“I’ll see you guys in the morning!” you promised with a wave and a jangle of your dog whistle, and after a reply of barks, you left the building at dusk.
The road was silent, the street lamps weren’t on yet, and the clouds had become heavier in the sky. You had read in the forecast it was going to rain, but hadn’t expected this.
The tightness in your chest only continued to build as you made it to the campus. The sun was just barely visible behind the storm clouds that had rolled in. The wind had become cool, and the wind had picked up, sending chills up and down your spine.
Perhaps it was just a combination of paranoia and reasonable worry for a woman walking alone at night to her college dorm, except your blood chilled the moment you unlocked your room and entered.
The hair on your arms and the back of your neck were on end. Your eyes adjusted to the dim light, and you realized that the window was open, and the harsh breeze was whipping past you.
You laughed it off, feeling silly. Though that night you slept with your cover tight against your chest, back against the wall, and your little silver paring knife under your pillow.
The next day, you experienced the same fear. Except, this time, it was sunny out.
What was triggering these feelings of dread? It was like you couldn’t focus anymore. Everything just felt… itchy. That was the only way you could describe it.
With each day that passed, the source of your terror was slowly revealing itself. Little, weird things that wouldn’t be so noticeable to an outsider, but as someone who valued cleanliness and order, it might as well have been an elephant in the room.
Things were never as you left them. On Sunday morning you couldn’t find your hairbrush. Monday evening, your bed was mysteriously unkempt, even though you’d recalled making it that morning. Tuesday, the caps of your perfume bottles were all off and littered on the floor of your bathroom. Someone had been in your dorm.
You didn’t have a roommate.
You called the police at midnight on Wednesday, and they showed up to your dorm to find you locked in the bathroom. They chalked it up to a wild imagination. You were three floors up, after all. Nobody was breaking in. You were just a stupid, homesick college student.
Right?
Pah, it wasn’t like you were a senior, or anything. Or that you’d ever even cried wolf in the last three years of living alone. But yeah, sure, call it paranoia.
Three weeks later, there was a knock on your front door.
It startled you enough to send you on your ass. You stared at the door from the floor, and it loomed over you like a bad dream.
Your stalker had been your shadow for almost a month at that point. A gaze that burned into the back of your skull, even when there was no one around. You wanted them to keep their distance.
You stood like a whisper, careful not to make any noise as you tiptoed to the peephole of your door. This was it. There would finally be a face to your terror. Someone you could blame.
A weird combination of disappointment and relief washed over you when you saw two FBI agents instead. Your fear of it being your stalker morphed into a fear of the justice system. Had they come to laugh at you just as the police had?
When they knocked a second time, you opened the door.
They showed you their badges and introduced themselves. “Mind if we come in?” Agent Young asked. He had longer, brown hair and kind eyes. You couldn’t hold a gaze with him worth your life.
Strangers in your home, even authorities, made your hackles raise. What the helllllll was all you could think as you welcomed them into your tiny dorm as your legs shook.
A million questions raced around your head at once.
“Could we ask you about the death of your professor? Mr.Cleveland?”
Your heart plummeted and all hope died within you. Oh. This was about that whole freak-show. “What about it?” you said. Your feet shifted.
“Well, it’s said that you were there at the time of his death. Is that true?” Agent Scott asked. He was more intimidating—more rough around the edges—but you supposed he was just professional.
“Um. Uh, yeah. It…” the agents were watching you with intrigue, and you looked to the carpet. “It was horrible.” And it was. It was bloody and scary, and all your fault because you had just stood there—watched as the professor died right in front of you.
Upon seeing your haunted look, Agent Scott spoke a little gentler. “Did you see what happened?”
“I—yeah… I saw it all. He—he had been helping me with something. An essay. I was flunking and he suggested a one on one.” That had only been a week ago. Your grades had suffered as you juggled your classes. When Mr.Cleveland died… you abandoned college altogether and let the dog whistle collect dust.
“I don’t know… he just…” started dying at your feet. You hadn’t even tried to pick up a phone. You just stood there, and you watched. Your breath picked up. “…he just—”
Agent Young’s voice was sympathetic. “He started coughing up blood?”
“Yeah. I didn’t—I didn’t know what to do. I kept thinking about…” the stalker, you thought. I couldn’t stop thinking about the stalker. “I froze and, a-and I just watched—”
“Easy, easy. It’s okay. We just need to know the details,” Agent Scott said.
You paused, then. Something didn’t add up. “Wait… why is the FBI interested in a guy that died of a lung disease?” When the agents exchanged glances, you squinted at them, your anxiety briefly replaced with confusion.
“We don’t think it was, erm, lung disease,” Agent Scott said. “We think he might have been…” He searched for the word a little too long for your liking. “…uh, poisoned.”
“Poisoned?” you yelped. “Who could have… oh god, that makes me a suspect, doesn’t it?”
“Unfortunately.”
Your stomach sank, and that anxiety returned. “You guys have to know I wouldn't—I would never—”
“If we thought it was you, you would be in custody,” Agent Scott informed you curtly.
Agent Young frowned at his partner as if to say not helping and then turned back to you. “We just want to know what you saw that day. Anything weird? Strange noises? Smells?” He narrowed his eyes. “Is there anyone you know who would want to kill Mr.Cleveland?”
This was your chance to tell them about your stalker. If there was anyone who could help you, it was the FBI.
Yet you clammed up. "No, not really,“ you blurted. "Nobody I can think of, honest. Not to be rude, but I have finals tomorrow. Could you… leave?”
Who were you kidding, your grades had dropped so low lately that even finals wouldn’t save you. But they didn’t know that.
…probably.
They offered you a trained smile that didn’t reach the eyes. “Of course. We’ll get out of your hair. If you think of anything else, here’s our card.” And with that they left the room.
The tightness in your chest did not ease.
///
That night, you had dreams of monsters and of evil people that could poison someone and smile. You dreamed of your stalker, and them laughing as you choked on your own blood.
You woke up in a cold sweat, eyes snapping open to the glow of an agape window. It was shut when you fell asleep, but it was open now, blowing in a breeze that chilled your blood.
Your dog whistle was gone.
It was a fear like no other. Your gut was screaming at you to launch for the phone. You did, automatically dialling the number on the business card that laid discarded on the other end of the room. You had memorized it after hours of staring at the numbers, debating whether or not to call them, then ultimately deciding not to with anxiety gnawing away at you.
They answered it on the second ring.
“Hello?” said a gruff voice. Agent Scott.
“I remembered something,” you blurted. “You-you said to call… if I thought of something…” You trailed off when you saw the clock. “Oh god, it’s three in the morning. Maybe this can… this can… this can wait…” It couldn’t wait.
“No, wait. What is it? Might be important if it’s got you up at three in the morning. Unless it’s just finals?”
You shook your head and then realized he couldn’t hear that. “Not finals. Someone’s been stalking me for the past week. I thought… maybe, I was paranoid. I was… constantly told that I was paranoid. But someone was in here while I was asleep. And might… might still be close.”
“Okay, you got a knife?”
“A knife?” You squeaked.
“Yeah. A knife. To defend yourself.”
“Oh. Right. Right, okay. Uh. Well, uh, I have a paring knife?”
“You have… a paring knife,” he repeated.
“Um, yeah? Is that okay? The dorms have rules against big knives. For safety reasons. It’s a silver p—”
“Silver? Okay, you know what? That’s fine. That’s good. Use that. Is it sharp?”
“Sharp enough, I hope.” You ran over to your cabinet, pulling out the knife and holding it to your chest. Your ragged breaths were loud in your ears. “Now what?”
“Well,” he said, and you could hear an engine starting in the background. “We should be there in a few minutes. Stay on the phone, you hear me?”
“I—should I have called 911? This has never happened to me—”
“You’re doing fine. Now, what made you so sure that someone had been in your room?”
“Well, the open window. I live up a few floors. There is no way they could have opened it unless—”
“Unless someone had been in your room. Alright. Just sit tight, okay? Don’t hang up.”
“O-okay.” The agents will be here soon. They will help me. You had the knife and phone held so close to your chest and tight in your fist that your knuckles were white.
I will not die.
Without warning, you choked. It was wet, coppery, and lukewarm on your tongue. You clawed at your neck for air. You fell to your knees. The phone clattered on the wooden floor’; it buzzed with muffled shouting, but you couldn’t pick it up, nor could you answer.
Just then, a massive shadow crawled in from your window, and it grunted like an animal. You barely had enough strength to look at him as trails of red spit hung from your face.
The man had claws. The man had claws. The man—the thing, had—for the love of God, inch long claws.
Down the hallway, there was a muffling of running feet. They would be too late. You realized then: you were probably going to die. You were no fair match.
You could feel the monster’s breath on your neck when the beast abruptly fell down like a sack of potatoes, howling and twisting.
Blindly, you stabbed it in the chest with all your strength, twisting the blade and then collapsing once again into a fit of retching.
The agents burst into the room.
But instead of moving to help you, they tore the room apart in search of something. You couldn’t help but sob in despair. Why weren’t they helping you?
But when Agent Scott whipped out a little bag from your drawer and lit it on fire, the choking miraculously ceased.
You melted into the floor to catch your breath again. For a minute everyone just breathed. You really appreciated the minor break.
Agent Young helped you up, closely inspecting your heavy, slightly bloody, zoned-out face, and decided you were okay.
You licked your lips, still not processing any part of the last hour. “What,” you said, “just happened.”
The agents exchanged looks.
You looked at them. Really looked at them. “You’re not FBI, are you?”
Agent Scott shrugged at his partner. “You gonna give her the talk, Sammy, or should I?”
///
“Were-witches,” you deadpanned. Monsters, hunters, hex bags, and were-witches.
“Yep,” Agent Scott—or Dean Winchester, you were now learning—said. “He probably got a whiff of you covered in dog hair or something. You’re lucky we got here in time. The pervert was, I kid you not, jellifying human hearts with dark magic. Like, alive. And then he’d make you regurgitate—” He caught the hard look from Agent Young—Sam—and shut up. “But, yeah. Were-witches.”
You frowned. “I can accept witches and werewolves, but… were-witches? For real?”
“Trust me, we didn’t know they existed either,” Sam informed you.
Dean laughed to himself. “Hey Sammy, should we call him a son of a witch or a son of a bi—” His smile faltered with both Sam and your glaring. “Get it? Witch jokes? Dog jokes? Sheesh, okay, you guys are seriously no fun.”
Sam sighed. “We should probably take the, um, dead werewitch, out of here.”
You followed his eyes to the heap of fur on your floor. Seeing your stalker dead was a major weight off your shoulders. It was such a relief that you felt high.
Sam was still talking. “—and you have finals?”
You sobered. “Right. Those.” Like you would do anything except bomb them.
Sam must have known the look. “You haven’t studied, have you? At all.”
Shaking your head, you slumped into the mattress. “Nope. This stalker thing screwed me up big time. There’s just no way.” You sighed. Sam’s dark look made you squint at him. “What?”
“I just, uh, know the feeling,” Sam said.
“Yeah?”
“Yeah,” he said thoughtfully. “I got a free ride to law school before the hunting life took me away. I was already a hunter, I didn’t have a choice. But you still do. You can still have that life you want.” He tapped the card, still on the desk from his last visit. “Stay out of trouble and call us whenever. Especially if it’s three in the morning.”
Right then, you noticed the dog whistle was back, as if it had never left. Realization hit you like a brick to the head. “You did that! You blew the whistle.”
“Yeah, well, I knew it was a werewolf. So I took a gamble and… borrowed it. Guess I didn’t think you’d miss it—it was pretty dusty.”
“You stole my whistle!”
“Hey, no, I borrowed it—”
“You gave me a heart attack! I thought the werewitch had stolen it! That’s what set me off and made me call you—not the window!”
Dean cracked a smile. “Hey, it saved you, though, yeah? If I hadn’t taken it, who’s to say I could have saved your damsel ass?”
“Jerk.”
“Bitch,” Dean said automatically.
You blinked in surprise at the speed of his reply.
His eyes widened. “Sorry. That's… uh, Sam usually says that and I respond with…”
You laughed. Really laughed. You doubled over, struggling to breathe for the second time today, but this time it was welcome. The Winchesters inevitably joined in as you howled. You wiped away your tears of laughter, occasionally breaking into a smaller fit.
“You good?” Dean asked, grinning,
You sighed, the hysteria wearing off. “God, it wasn’t even that funny! You just caught me by surprise. Thanks, though. For saving me, and all.”
Dean smiled, patting you on the back. “No problem, kid.”
You settled into a comfortable silence. You were still trying to calm down as they watched you with looks of fondness.
“Are you going to be able to sleep?” Sam asked.
You knew what he meant: were you going to be able to sleep alone? And honestly, you had a feeling you would sleep like a baby tonight. However, you had no purpose staying here anymore. “Would I be stepping too far if I asked to come with you? Just for the night.”
“Dean snuck behind as the vamp lead Danie out to a side ally. It didn’t take long for him to bare his teeth at her, to which Danie started to giggle. "What the hell is so funny?” The vamp said with slight anger at the fact that she laughed. “Nothing. It’s just that Dean Winchester is behind you,” She told him.“
Summary: When your past comes back to haunt you, who will prevail? Hunting had been your life since you were 4 years old. The monsters that started you on that path were resurfacing, and you knew what you had to do. But nothing is ever truly secret, and nothing is ever that cut and dry with the Winchester’s in tow.
A/N: This is a new one that is coming from a few requests. I’m not going to post the actual requests because…well because it would spoil the story line and I’m pretty into this one.
A/N 2: This is some fluff for you. Just wait. We aren’t quite done yet.
Words: 2381
Warnings: Trauma, medical terminology, stress, hospital waiting room
I opened my eyes slowly as I raised my hands to my face, gently rubbing my eyelids and pulling the sandy bits of sleep out of the corners of my eyes. My entire body was sore, and pain radiated its way from my back straight through my abdomen as I quickly wrapped my arm around my waist, wincing as I attempted to sit up straight.
The dim, unflattering glow of the fluorescent lights above my bed lit up just a small portion of the hospital room, but it was enough for my eyes to land on and focus on the slumped over form in the chair that was pressed up to the side of my bed. Sam’s long hair was draped over his face as he slept. Small, discernable breaths coming in and out of his mouth which hung open. I laughed as a loud snore echoed throughout the room. My laughter only served to increase my pain and I yelped in surprise as a sharp twinge of agony shot through me.
Sam woke almost instantly, falling out of the chair as his feet hit the floor and his hands rested on the side of my bed. “Y/N,” he questioned. “What’s wrong?” His hand flew to my forehead, and his eyes searched mine for any indication of what was going on.
I took a deep breath, gasping at first, but calming myself within a few breaths. I shook my head. “I’m fine, it’s fine.” Slowly, I propped myself up and leaned against my pillow, sitting up as best as I could.
He looked at me suspiciously. “I’m gonna go get the doctor,” he said, pointing his thumb behind him towards the door. I nodded silently as he stood up and jogged out the doorway.
I couldn’t hear the name he was calling as he went down the hall, farther and farther from my room. But I was struggling to care. My memories were flooding my head. The image of my mother making dinner, eating dinner with my parents, lounging on the beach with them, the comfort their voices brought me. Turning my head, I looked out the window down into the parking lot. It was cold and gray out and the windowpane was coated in raindrops that were continuously falling. I watched them fall, feeling my chest tighten and seem to drop into my body as I choked back tears.
It wasn’t long before footsteps were coming through the door and heading for me. “Ms. Y/L/N, it’s good to have you with us.” The doctor’s cheery voice was high pitched and more excited than I could muster to pretend to be. Sam lingered in the hallway, his phone held up to his ear as he paced back and forth, his eyes fixed on me.
“How are you feeling?” The doctor looked at me, chart in hand.
My eyes drifted over to her face, struggling to fixate on her. I shrugged noncommittally. “Are you in any pain?” She walked over to the machine that stood next to me, monitoring my vitals and pushing fluids through my veins. Her hand reached out to the control box, pushing a few buttons as she did so, before looking back down at me.
“Some,” I muttered, my voice gravelly. “It’s fine.”
She frowned slightly. “The goal is to have no pain for you. You’ve got a lot of healing to do. I’ll have your dosage updated.” I watched as she made a note in my chart before setting it down on the side table. She drew her stethoscope off her neck and placed the buds in her ears. Leaning towards me, she placed a gentle hand on my back, encouraging me to lean forward, as she pressed the stethoscope just below my shoulder blade. I took an instinctive deep breath, choking as my throat constricted, feeling as though I was drowning.
“It’s okay,” she said, lighting patting my shoulder as she moved the diaphragm of her stethoscope to my chest. “You don’t have to take deep breaths. Just breathe normally,” she said. “You were intubated for quite a while. It’s going to take a bit for your windpipe to heal.”
Sam had taken a few steps into the room when my coughing had begun, and he was staring at me still; his cell phone pressed to his ear, but the microphone piece tilted closer to his chin. I nodded at him quickly, closing my eyes reassuringly. He nodded back and stepped back into the hallway, continuing his conversation.
The doctor finished her exam, poking and prodding, palpating and moving every part of my body that she could, and left the room, promising more pain medication and physical therapy. Once she had gone, Sam peered into the room again, making eye contact with me as he ended his call.
“Hey,” he said, just above a whisper with a hint of sympathy in his voice.
“I’m fine, Sam,” I insisted as I turned my head back to the window and the falling raindrops.
“Cut the shit, Y/N.” Sam’s voice was tough and firm now. My head snapped quickly back at him, glaring at him.
He held his hands up as if in surrender. “Hey, I’m just saying what I was told to say.” I cocked my head quizzically at him.
Sam rolled his eyes at me as if to tell me I should know what he was referring to. “Dean,” I asked. Sam nodded curtly. “Where is he?”
The last that I could remember, he had been lying next to me, his hand gently stroking my arm as I fell into a fitful sleep.
Sam dropped his head and sauntered over to the chair next to me once again, turning it around and taking a backwards seat in it. His arms leaned across the high back of the chair, creating a makeshift pillow with his forearms which he instantly leaned his chin against. His eyes were locked on mine, but he said nothing.
“Sam,” I insisted, my eyes narrowing as I urged him to speak. “Sam don’t make me yell. Everything hurts, and it’ll suck. But I’ll do it.”
He forcibly closed his eyes, irritation evident in his sigh as he pried his eyelids open and glowered at me. “He’s on his way.” I nodded, drawing my legs slowly up towards my torso, attempting to fold myself up into a ball.
“Y/N,” he began. “This was reckless.” I rolled my eyes in response. “I mean it. You ran out there without backup, barely armed, on foot, no getaway plan. It was reckless. You could’ve been killed.” He was getting louder now but kept his voice as even keel as possible. “You almost died, Y/N.” His eyes were glassy as he spoke, the words penetrating through my brittle exterior.
I took as deep of a breath as I could, holding the impulse to cough back as I dropped my head and wrapped my arms around one knee. “I know,” I said, the words full of hope and envy.
“You don’t exactly sound happy that you survived.” His words were a statement; accusatory in all the words he left unsaid. I slowly lifted my head, making eye contact with Sam once again as tears began to flow down my cheeks unbidden.
Before I could speak again, a nurse was coming through the doorway, a vial of clear liquid in hand which she quickly connected to my IV.
“This will help with the pain,” she assured me, as she slowly depressed the plunger.
Minutes passed by after the nurse left. Minutes that passed in silence as Sam continued scowling at me and I left him unanswered and unaddressed. My eyelids began to feel heavy, and the room seemed to be slowly spinning. I shut my eyes, leaning back again and spreading my legs out in front of me once more as I drifted off to sleep.
I woke up, feeling slightly groggy but the pain had dissipated. Sam was no longer sitting in the chair next to me and I could see that the sun had gone down outside. Slowly, I kicked my legs off the bed and felt my feet hit the floor. My hands pressed down on the bed on either side of my hips, pushing me up until I was standing on my own. The ache in my back was dull, but still present, and I could feel the weakness in my knees as soon as I put weight on them. But still, I reached out my hand, grasping the silver, metal pole holding the IV bag and took a few steps, each one shakier than the last. My breaths were labored but I was determined to move around. I reached my free hand around my back, ensuring that my gown had been sufficiently tied and that I wasn’t about to moon half the hospital. I held it secured between my fingers just in case.
My foot had just passed the end of the bed, and I turned toward the door when a familiar voice began chastising me.
“What the hell are you doing?” Dean’s worried voice rang out deeply as he walked through the door, his steps quickening as he reached for me. With his right arm wrapped around my waist, he gently turned me back towards the bed, muttering the entire way. “You trying to give me a heart attack? Stubborn as a mule. Gonna get yourself killed.”
I smiled silently, enjoying the familiarity that was Dean’s castigation. “I’m fine, Dean,” I assured him in my froggy voice. “See?” I held my hands up. “All parts attached and everything.” He sat me down on my bed slowly, taking care to lift each leg and tuck them underneath the comforter.
“The nurse said I would be able to go home tomorrow,” I stretched the truth. In reality, physical therapy was due to start tomorrow and I would possibly be discharged in a week’s time.
“Yeah, you’re not full of it at all, are you?” His eyes had a glow to them as he gave me half a smile. His hand was wrapped around my calf as he gently moved it just enough so that he could sit on the bed next to me; his left leg bent and leaning on the mattress as he leaned forward, staring at me.
“How are you, really?” All signs of teasing were gone now, and his expression meant he was serious. I swallowed hard, unwilling to tell him the truth. I settled for truth adjacent.
“The pain isn’t too bad anymore. I could go with being a bit stronger on my feet though.”
“Yeah, you know that’s not what I’m asking about.” His eyes were pensive as if he were trying to draw the truth from me like a salve. I gave him a quizzical look, unsure of what he was referring to.
“Y/N,” he whispered my name, almost like a prayer. “You said you wanted to go back. Before. When you woke up. That you’d made your choice and you were supposed to stay.” He stared at me, expecting me to fill the silence that loomed over us both. But I couldn’t bring my eyes to meet his, let alone form words to explain everything.
He reached his hand out, gently stroking my chin as he pulled my attention to his face. “Dean,” I whispered, pleading for him not to continue down this line of questioning.
“Tell me what’s going on,” he asked. “Please.” He was begging now, his eyes glassing over and desperation evident in his tone.
“I can’t,” I muttered, my voice trembling. I couldn’t imagine anything worse than the guilt and heartache that would be plastered on his face if I had told him the truth. If I had admitted to him where I was, and where I had chosen to stay.
Dean leaned forward, bending over himself in order to press his forehead against mine as he sighed in exasperation. “How did I know you were going to say that?”
I smiled shyly, letting a small, forced breath out through my nose as I reached out for his shoulder, nudging him to lay down next to me. He did as I had wordlessly requested, uncrossing his leg and leaning himself ever so languidly down next to me. His hands were clasped together on his abdomen, and his feet were tapping stressfully as he crossed his ankles at the foot of the bed.
“Everything’s fine,” I told him, nuzzling my chin into his shoulder as he grunted his disagreement with my statement. I took a deep breath in, enveloping myself in the calming scent that was Dean Winchester. Closing my eyes, I began to drift off, staying as aware as possible.
“Y/N?” He asked sheepishly as he turned his head to face me.
“Mm hmm?”
“I need you to stay with me,” he admitted. I opened my eyes, looking directly up into his caramel-apple orbs. The ones that were so comforting in their warmth, and now so eager in their desperation.
“Okay,” I returned.
“How do I get you to stay with me?” I shrugged in response, unsure as to what the right answer would be.
“I need you to tell me. Cause I’m pissed off all the time, I’m rude and dirty, and I get so sick of all the crap in my life. But you?” His words were rushed and panicked. “You make all that disappear. Even when I’m an idiot.” He paused for a moment; his eyes still stuck to mine. “I need you to stay with me. No matter what. Doesn’t matter what it takes or what I have to do.”
I swallowed hard in response; my mind blank and my heart rate accelerating as evidenced by the rapid beeping from the monitor behind me.
“I’ll stay,” I whispered, my voice cracking as I did so.
He nodded swiftly. “Good,” he whispered in return. “Cause I’m about to make it really hard for you to leave.” His words threw me for a loop and before I could fully process them, he had perched his hand on my chin and was pulling me closer towards him as his gentle, warm lips pressed against mine, dancing together to a tune we both seemed to know by heart.
Since the inception of this blog back in April 2019, I’ve shared the work of so many absolutely wonderful writers that have brought joy to my day with their work. They’ve been there when I’ve needed to laugh, cry, stay awake, lull me to sleep, and just about every space in between.
From fandoms between Marvel&Supernatural, to the actors RPF’s and a few extra characters in between, there’s no shortage of fics to keep you and me entertained.
I know you’re probably thinking, ‘there goes Sam again with one of her thousands of lists’, and yes, you’re right, I can’t resist a good list and then making masterlists of lists, and honestly I drive myself a little crazy with it, butthis is probably the most special list I’ve shared on Tumblr.
From the bottom of my heart, thank you so much to all the writers on Tumblr & AO3 for sharing your work with us, and putting yourself out there - it’s scary, trust me I know! - and for continuing even when it’s been hard. You’re all superstars.
So without further ado, here’s my not-so-little list of the writers I’ve shared work from on this blog, I hope you enjoy their pieces of escapism as much as I do.
This list will be ongoing. (And if I miss anyone I’ve already shared work from, then please let me know and I’ll sort it, otherwise I’m sorry!)
Summary: When your past comes back to haunt you, who will prevail? Hunting had been your life since you were 4 years-old. The monsters that started you on that path had resurfaced, but after taking them out, you ended up in Heaven with an impossible choice; do you stay there or do you go back to the Winchester’s? Will the price they pay to keep you be too steep?
Words failed me as I froze, completely still as the water level rose, covering my bottom lip. My eyes locked on his. He leaned forward, crossing his arms on the rim of the tub and squatting down. We were eye to eye now and his emerald orbs bore themselves into me. I felt my heart as though it were sinking through my chest, taking my breath along with it. Tears sprang to my eyes, and I fought hard against them.
It didn’t take long for my eyelids to fail and my tears to start falling down my face. Dean reached forward, catching one with his thumb as he wiped it across my cheek, caressing my face in his palm as he did so.
My breathing was shaky at best as I lowered myself further. I watched as he kicked one leg over the side of the tub followed by the other as he stood in the water, fully clothed.
“Seems we have some talking to do.” His words came out low and muffled as he stepped towards me, his hands fidgeting at his sides.
I shook my head as I closed my eyes, allowing a few more tears to escape. “Can we just,” I hesitated. “Not?”
Dean let out a breath; a sigh filled with equal parts relief and exhaustion. He leaned forward slowly, pressing his forehead against mine as he wound his arms around my waist and pulled me towards him. My arms moved as if on autopilot, winding themselves around his neck as I inhaled the intoxicating aroma that was Dean Winchester. I let out a deep, overwhelming breath as his fingers reached up, running themselves through my hair.
“I’ve got you,” he whispered as he held me closer, pushing his nose gently against mine, imploring me to open my eyes.
Pulling my eyelids open, I met his gaze, staring into his eyes as what was left of my defenses crumbled. “You left,” I whined, more tears cascading down my cheeks. “You left me.”
He reached his right hand up, pushing my hair back behind my ear.
“I left cause I had to,” he explained. “Not because I wanted to.”
“Your text,” I began.
I felt him shake his head against my own. “I didn’t know what to say to you. How to make sure you wouldn’t follow me.”
“You made a deal,” I sniffled. “I would’ve done the same for you.”
“That’s the last thing I’d want you to do, Y/N.” His hands were on either side of my skull now, cradling my head in desperation.
“I thought…” My sentence trailed off as I tried to pull myself away from him. His arms tightened around me, resisting my attempt.
“Damnit, Y/N.” Dean’s voice grew louder as his eyes focused on me. He leaned forward, quickly capturing my lips with his own. The kiss was rough and demanding. Our lips moved against each other as if we were fighting one another. His tongue brushed against my bottom lip, simultaneously begging for and insisting upon entry. I opened my mouth to him as a gasp escaped my throat. His tongue was soft as he massaged my own. The last flick of the tip of his tongue against my top lip as he withdrew sent shivers through me.
Within seconds, my back was pressed against the cool tile of the tub, and I found myself wrapping my legs around him. He lowered his mouth to my neck, suckling at the all-too-sensitive skin as I moaned out his name. His eyes met mine again; dilated and ravenous. My legs tightened around him as he dropped his right hand down between us. I felt his rough fingertips roaming; caressing my thigh before slowly making their way to my clit, gently circling it as his mouth reclaimed mine once again.
I writhed against him, hungry for more contact and climbing towards my peek. Unwinding my arms from his neck, I tore at the chest of his shirt, tearing the fabric in two and running my fingers across his bare chest.
The pressure of his fingers increased, eliciting another moan as my pleasure mounted and my head fell backwards unbidden. He leaned forward again, claiming my ear with his teeth as he nipped at my lobe. My hands were in his hair now, tugging lightly as my climax continued to build and my breathing became more and more erratic.
“I’ve got you,” he whispered in my ear. I closed my eyes, turning my face to his and kissing him passionately, feeling myself teetering on the precipice of my release. He pushed his finger inside me, curling it towards himself as he continued his assault on my clitoris, sending me sailing off as my orgasm overwhelmed me.
I writhed against him, relishing in my high. I brought my head back so that I was eye to eye with him again, his lust blown eyes intent on me. “More,” I crooned, reaching my hand down to his belt as I unclasped it and made quick work of the zipper and button of his soaked denim. His eyes were fixed on me as he watched me hungrily push his clothing off of him, exposing his erection to the direct heat of the water. His legs lifted from the jeans slowly, one after the other, until he was standing naked as well. Nothing but the tattered shreds of his shirt clinging to his biceps and shoulders.
I unlocked my feet from behind his back, feeling his hands wind their way behind me, holding me up to him with one palm on each ass cheek. His lips came crashing against mine once again, devouring me as he leaned his hips forward, entering me. I gasped against his mouth, filled up by him in every way.
He waited a moment before moving, allowing me time to adjust as I relished in the feeling of being completely and utterly claimed by him. His hips rocked against me, plunging himself deeper inside of me than I thought was possible. He withdrew for but a moment before again pushing himself into me. The feeling of him was overwhelming; his name was the only word my lips seemed able to form. My legs trembled at his sides, still coiled around him.
“Look at me,” his words pleaded. I did as he asked, locking my focus back on him as best as I could. Our eyes locked, the rhythm of his hips became quick and hurried. I could feel the pressure building within me.
“Dean.” His name dripped from my mouth like a prayer. He leaned forward, our lips meeting again, consumed with passion and wanting. He groaned into my mouth as I felt his rhythm slow. He broke the kiss, a quick breath escaping his mouth as he stilled.
I leaned my forehead against his, grinding myself against him, hungry for the thrusts that had ceased.
“I’m not done with you just yet.” His words were guttural as he pulled me closer against him, burying himself deeper within me as he stood up fully and lifted me with him, stepping out of the tub.
“Careful,” I pleaded with him as his wet shoes landed on the floor.
“I’ve got you,” he said, plunging himself into me again as he walked, eliciting a moan from my throat.
Within seconds, my back was leaning against the bed and Dean was laying on top of me, the tip of his nose playing with mine. I pulled my head up, pressing my lips against his again. I wrapped my fingers in his hair again, pulling him closer to me.
“Fuck,” he murmured against my lips. I placed my hands on his shoulders, flipping him over until he laid back on the bed and I secured myself on top of him. Rearing back, I sat straight up, basking in the feel of Dean inside of me.
I ground myself against him, watching his eyes roll back as I rocked my hips against him. His hands roamed up my sides, his fingers tweaking at my nipples as he leaned forward and brought his lips to each in turn. His tongue flicked at each sensitive nub, as I arched my back into him. He sat up, tucking his face into the nape of my neck as he encircled me in his arms, thrusting up into me as I rocked back and forth on top of him.
“Slow down, baby,” he begged as I felt him swelling even further inside me.
“No,” I moaned, as I felt myself reaching my peak once more. “Please,” I breathed. “Don’t stop.” He continued moving, thrusting as I swayed above him, relishing in my orgasm as I felt him edging on his own.
“Y/N,” he moaned as I continued moving above him. I wrapped my arms around him, pulling him closer to me as he reached his peak, whimpering my name as he did. I stilled above him, releasing my hold on his neck as I leaned back to meet his eyes again. His smile quickly spread across his face as his breathing quickened and he planted a quick kiss against my lips.
I rolled to the side, laying on the bed next to him where he quickly wrapped his arms around me, pulling me to his chest. I felt the fingers of his right hand as he trailed them up and down my upper arm. I gained more control of my breathing; rational thought breaking through my lust filled haze.
“Dean,” I said, full of melancholy. “We still need to talk through all of this.”
“Uh huh,” he exhaled, a note of hesitance in his tone.
He rolled onto his side, propping his head up on his hand as he pulled my waist closer towards him with the other. “But this?” He leaned forward, kissing me and effectively taking my breath away as he did. “This is so much better than talking.”
I put my hand on his chest, pushing him slightly back as I took a deep breath and looked into his eyes. “Dean,” I whispered.
“Let’s just, not.” He begged me. “Not yet. Can we just sleep? Just for now?” His eyes held an unfamiliar desperation in them. I leaned forward, kissing him chastely and pressing my forehead against his as I nodded. Within minutes, we both fell asleep, entangled in the damp sheets of the bed.
The sun peeked through the windows, waking me unexpectantly. I started sitting up and found myself restricted; Dean’s arm was wrapped across my abdomen as he laid on the bed, his stomach flat against the comforter with his mouth hanging open, a quiet snore escaping his mouth.
I smiled as I laid back down, my eyes locked on his face. His lips twitched as he began to stir. I watched his eyes open as he squinted at me.
“Hey,” he murmured, pulling his arm tighter around me as he leaned in and kissed me.
“Hey,” I whispered back. We sat in silence for a minute, neither of us willing to begin the conversation that demanded to be had.
“We should probably talk, huh?” I asked. He sighed, turning his head into his pillow before looking back at me.
“I’d be happy to provide some distraction instead.”
I narrowed my eyes at him, watching him wilt under my stare.
“Y/N,” he began, taking a deep breath. “I had to go. I didn’t have a choice. Jessica had -”
I interrupted him. “I’m not talking about why you left. I get that. You made a deal, you had to uphold your end.”
“There was no welching on this.”
“I know,” I nodded. “I know. But what I don’t get,” I attempted to restrain my irritation. “What I don’t get is why you made the deal in the first place? Why you’d put me in that position? Why you’d leave the way you did? Leave me alone.”
I held back the tears that threatened to crest my eyelids.
“What else could I do, Y/N?” His arms left my side as he turned and laid on his back, his hands in his hair. “I was going to lose you. How was I supposed to do that?”
“Dean,” I crooned, scooting myself closer to him until I was laying on top of him. “You were never going to lose me.”
He looked at me quizzically.
I chuckled slightly, smiling down at him. “Yeah,” I began. “I was in heaven. I was with my parents, and It was everything I’d ever wanted.” He sighed in response. “But I also had a choice. Stay or go. I wasn’t dead, Dean. I had already decided.” His blank stare let me know that he wasn’t following. “Dean, I wasn’t staying in heaven. I was coming back to you before Jessica even showed up.”
There was a pregnant silence and I held myself together, keeping my laughter at bay. He looked at me with a smile. “Wait, so…the deal…”
“Was completely unnecessary.”
He wrapped his arms around me again, turning me over so that I laid down on my back, him hovering over me. “So, this was all my fault then, huh?”
I nodded in response. “No patience.” I told him, rubbing my nose against his.
“I don’t want to be patient,” he said before lowering his lips to my ear. “I’ve got a lot of time to make up for.” His lips surrounded mine, as we fell into each other, entwined in each-other’s arms. “Your mine.” He said the words as if they were a question, his eyes pleading me for an affirmative answer.
Overview:Who you are, how you see the world, you never imagined that someone else, someone you’ve never even met, could be affecting each and every moment of your life. But one day, he’s suddenly there. One day, you’re introduced to a world that you’ve only caught glimpses of, that you’ve known your whole life without ever truly understanding. And after that one day, your life is never the same.
A/N: This series is based off a movie I found recently that I absolutely loved the concept behind: In Your Eyes. I’m not following the main plot line, just using the general idea. This series won’t have a set posting schedule, but I’ll do my best to write for it as often as I can find the time. I’m pretty excited for what’s to come :) I hope you guys join me for the adventure.
Whoa! I just binged the entire series, and damn! This is stunning. Beautifully written and so full of emotion. The way their connection grows and blossoms into so much more. How they help each other through the worst of times and then that ending… my heart.
Definitely going on my re-read list!
You’ve found and read one of my favorite series I’ve ever composed, and I’m so happy that you enjoyed it ❤️ Thank you for the reblog, lovely!
Summary: Y/N left everything she’s ever known, and Dean just wants to be left alone. With both of them trying to heal from heartache, they might just end up finding what they need in the last place they’d ever look.
Word Count: 7,975
Warnings: I don’t think there are any this time around. Let me know if you think I should add one.
A/N: Ahh, here is chapter 8! Thank you all for being so patient with me as life just doesn’t want to seem to slow down. But I come with good news. Chapter 9 is almost done as well and will be out SOON! If you’d like a tag, or I missed you on the tag list please let me know. I love you all.
The next morning, you met Sarah over at her apartment bright and early so that you could get a head start of dress shopping. There weren’t any worth-while places close by, so that meant you would be out of town all day. Sarah drove with her mom, sister, and Mary while you carpooled with Meg and Charlie, more than happy to avoid the crusty looks from Victoria as much as possible. Sarah knew exactly what kind of dress she wanted, and finally found it six stores later. It was an elegant satin ballgown that took everyone’s breath away the second she stepped out to show it off. She genuinely looked like royalty. After a quick stop for dinner, the group made the two-hour trek home. All you could think about was your soft bed waiting for you back at your cabin and you couldn’t wait to slide under the covers and fall victim to sleep, even if you were positive you’d have nightmares about sinking slowly into the tulle depths of a sea of wedding dresses.
A familiar truck was parked in your driveway when you got home, but you weren’t entirely surprised to see that Dean was avoiding spending any kind of alone time with his father. Your door and windows were secured tight with the new locks Dean had installed, so you couldn’t help but wonder where he might be. The faint smacking of an axe hitting wood told you he was out back, so you dropped your things off just inside the door and wandered around the side of your house to see that Dean had created a makeshift wood chopping station and had built up quite the stockpile of lumber already.
How was it possible that someone could make something as seemingly mundane as chopping wood seem so mesmerizing? Although the evening air was chilly, Dean had tossed his plaid over shirt off to the side and was still working up a sweat in his thin grey t-shirt that hugged his arms in unfair ways. You pulled yourself together before drool started to escape from your mouth and wandered over to him, careful not to startle him whilst he was wielding an axe.
“Looks like someone’s been busy.” You pulled your jacket tighter across your body and folded your arms as a gust blew through the trees.
A smile pulled on the corner of Dean’s mouth as he looked up to see you and dropped the axe from his hands, then added the freshly cut pieces to the impressive pile he had stacked. “Yeah, well there’s supposed to be one more big snowstorm coming through before things start to warm up. I figured I’d make sure you had enough wood to make it through.”
“I think that’s probably enough to last me a whole year.” You looked over the pile that was half your height. “But I’m sure you’re here only out of the kindness of your heart and not because you’re dodging your dad, right?”
“Remind me to never offer my guest room to any family members again.”
“Ah, come on. Hasn’t it been nice having your mom around for a while?”
“It was good until she started telling me that I was washing my underwear wrong.”
You chuckled until another strong wind rushed past you. Dean wrapped a sweaty arm around you and led you back towards the house. “How do you expect to survive up here with how cold you get?”
“I have a personal lumberjack who keeps me in good supply of firewood, so that helps.”
“You’re welcome.” He teased, then opened the door and followed you in. “How was today?”
“I never want to see another wedding dress again in my life, and we still have to find bridesmaids dresses, but I’m trying to convince Sarah to look online so that we don’t have to spend another day with her crazy family. At the first store, her mom pulled every dress but two for Sarah to try on. Do you know how long it takes to get in and out of that many poofy dresses?”
“I can’t say I have much experience with that, so I’m going to go with no.” Dean responded while he washed up in the kitchen sink.
“Way way way too long. Oh, and crazy-pants Victoria insisted on trying on some dresses as well. I’m pretty sure she’s planning your wedding.”
Dean sharply turned his head. “My wedding? To her? Fat chance.”
You giggled and put away your coat and purse. “Well, I’m going to go change into pajamas, but you can hang out as long as you want. I just went grocery shopping the other day, so the fridge is stocked and anything in the pantry is up for grabs too.”
Dean opened the cupboard and formed his hand into a victorious fist as he pulled out a bag of cookies.
“Save me some of those!” You warned before closing the door over to change out of jeans.
“Hey,” Dean yelled loud enough that you could hear him, “so plans might be changing for tomorrow. My mom invited Sam and Sarah over to my place for lunch so they can see them one more time before they leave.”
You pulled on a pair of oversized pajamas and an old t-shirt, then pushed the door open. “You’re canceling lazy Sunday? That’s the best day of the week!”
“Just postponing it. My parents need to be out of here by four in the afternoon, so we can watch a movie tomorrow night after they’re gone if you still want to.”
“Hmm,” you pretended like you were internally debating, “only if I get to pick the movie. I don’t know if I’ll be able to sit through another old western without falling asleep.”
“You fall asleep during every movie we watch.”
“Noteverymovie.”
Dean raised a doubtful eyebrow as you stood and made you way over to the kitchen table to grab your phone which was ringing. Sarah’s name popped up on your screen and you slid the green answer button to the left.
“Hey, Sarah. What’s up?”
Dean gathered his things, figuring that you’d probably be a while considering Sarah’s passion for talking. He waved casually and mouthed, “Goodnight,”. With a smile to match his, you waved back as he walked out the door.
With it being late, Dean didn’t want to wake his parents and entered his house quietly while carefully shuffling his boots along the floor towards the kitchen. Chopping wood at your place for hours resulted in quite the appetite, so he opened the fridge and pulled out a container of leftover meatloaf that his mom had made a few days before. He grabbed a fork from the utensil drawer and sat down at the counter to tuck into his second dinner, but the all-too-familiar footsteps of his father coming down the hall had Dean jumping from the stool to make a break for it, desperately wanting to avoid any kind of interaction.
John rounded the corner and stopped for a moment when he saw his son scrambling to pack up his food to take with him.
“Sorry if I woke you up, I was just heading to my room.” Dean half-greeted with his eyes looking anywhere but at his dad.
“Dean, wait.” John knew that Dean’s usual cold shoulder was well deserved, but he didn’t want this whole trip to pass by without having any kind of meaningful conversation with his oldest. While Dean refused to take a seat, he set the glass Tupperware down on the counter signaling that he was listening.
John took a deep breath, doing his best to muster the courage to do something he wasn’t very good at: swallowing his pride. “I know you and I have had a… rocky relationship at best. At the risk of sounding cliché, these past few years have been very humbling for me.” John cleared his throat and leaned against the bar counter. “I never thought that I’d get cancer, never mind get close to death, but unfortunately I think that I had to go through something like that to get some lessons drilled into this thick skull of mine.” He paused as if to organize his thoughts. “I’ve been hard on you. Too hard. I always figured that if you followed exactly in my footsteps, that you’d be successful without a chance of failure, but what I realized far too late is that you aren’t me. You’re a much better person than me.” John humbly chuckled as he clasped his hands together and looked at Dean, whose eyes met his fathers for what seemed to be the first time in years. “When I prioritized work over the family, you were the one who stepped up to be there for your mother and Sam. You were the one who taught Sam how to ride a bike and throw a ball and shave when that should have been me. I hate that it’s taken me so long to initiate this conversation, but I owe you as big of an apology as I do a thank you. You made a damn fine father to your brother without having much of an example to look up to yourself.”
Dean exhaled slowly through his nose and folded his arms, waiting for his dad to continue.
“Son, I am sorry that I’ve always been more of a manager to you than a father, and I’m sorry that you had to grow up faster than any kid should. I can’t give you the childhood that you deserved, but I can tell you how proud I am of the man that you’ve grown up to be. You seem happier than I’ve seen you in a long time, and I know that’s because of the life you’ve built for yourself. That’s something not many people have the character strength to do.”
Deal still remained silent, so John continued. “While you were gone today, I took a little trip down to the sawmill to say hello to a few folks. I know how much you hate running the family business, but for what it’s worth, the company is doing better under your direction than it ever has before. Your mother wanted to tell you and Sam together tomorrow that we’re moving back here in three months when the renters are out of our house, so if you want to step down from the head position, I’ll be happy to take over. But if you want to stay where you are, you should. You’re one hell of a leader.”
Dean traced the woodgrain on the floor panels with his eyes while he processed what his father said. “I’ll think about it.”
“That’s all I can ask for.” John offered a feeble smile, hoping that Dean would accept this beginning effort of trying to repair their relationship.
Dean walked a few steps out of the room, and to John’s surprise, came back with two glasses and a bottle of whiskey. Dean set them down on the counter and poured each of them a drink while the white flag of a peace treaty hung in the air in place of the usual overwhelming tension. The two men sat in silence for a few minutes while they finished off their nightcap, then parted ways with a simple nod.
Dean had grown accustomed to the tradition of slow Sundays with you, so his mother bustling around the house trying to cook and clean to get ready for Sam and Sarah coming over felt hectic and unnecessary considering the house wasn’t dirty to start with. But, still, Dean humored her and followed her laundry list of chores. Sam and Sarah showed up just before noon and Sam was immediately sent to help Dean finish cleaning while Sarah volunteered to help in the kitchen.
The brothers finished all their assigned tasks just in time to help their mom set the table. Mary began to put out placemats and casually asked Dean, “do we need to set an extra place?”
“No, why?” Dean raised a questioning eyebrow at his mom.
“Oh, I was just wondering if Y/N would be joining us. You two seem like close friends.”
Dean knew from the tone in her voice that his mom was speculating. “I didn’t realize that we started inviting friends to family parties.”
“I just heard Sam mention that you two usually spend Sundays together, that’s all. I hope we didn’t ruin your plans.”
“She might come over later, after your guys are gone.”
“Well, that’s a shame. I was hoping to say goodbye to her before we left.” Mary watched out of the corner of her eye as Dean ignored her statement and continued to set the table. She added a simple, “I like her.”
Dean slowly tilted a don’t-go-where-I-think-you’re-goinglook her way. With a knowing grin proudly on her face, she dropped the subject. In just the few days she and John had spent back home, she knew exactly why her son was starting to act like his old self again.
After a late lunch of sliders and potato salad, Mary brought out a plate of brownies that Sarah had brought for dessert. Sam scooped ice cream into bowls and handed them out while Mary placed a brownie in each one.
“Before we go, your father and I just wanted to tell you all that we’ve finally decided to move back home.” The excitement in Mary’s voice was evident. She felt like she was missing too much of her son’s lives. “Now that John has been in remission for a while, we feel like it’s time to come back.”
“Oh!” Sarah gave quick excited claps. “Yay! When are you coming back?”
“The people renting out the house only have three months left on their lease, so once they’re gone, we’ll move back in.” John explained.
“It’ll be so nice to have you both around again!” Sam said through a mouthful of dessert.
Everyone helped clean up, then John and Mary finished packing their things. Sam and Sarah were going to follow them to the rental car place, then give them a ride to the airport.
Once all the goodbyes had been said, Dean changed into sweats and a t-shirt, then plopped down on the couch, happy to have the place to himself again. He turned on the TV and scrolled through hordes of movies while he waited on you to come over.
You pulled up to Dean’s place and climbed the porch steps, then pushed the heavy back door open. A warm smile pulled on your lips when you saw Dean sprawled out on the couch with his head sharply angled back and soft snores escaping through his agape mouth. You couldn’t help but giggle to yourself while you grabbed a blanket and slung it across his lap, then took a seat on the opposite end of the couch, careful not to make too much movement and wake him up. You turned the volume down on the TV and searched for a movie that struck your fancy.
It was at least an hour before Dean startled awake and blinked a few times before rubbing the sleep from his eyes and began to grasp his surroundings. He looked up at the movie playing, then over to you.
“Morning, sleepy head. Bad dream?” You greeted. With the way he jumped while waking up, you couldn’t help but wonder what was going on in his mind.
“Ugh,” Dean grumbled, “I guess.” He checked his watch. “How long have you been here?”
“Just about an hour.”
“Why didn’t you wake me up?”
“Who am I to interrupt your beauty sleep?”
“Beauty sleep my ass. My neck is killing me.” Dean stood and stretched the kink in his neck before heading into the kitchen. He grabbed two water bottles from the fridge and handed you one as he sat down next to you. Fully aware that it would take him a while to shake the grogginess from his eyes and be alert enough to have a conversation, you turned the movie back on and nestled into the couch.
Once the movie had finished, Dean began, “So, I just found out earlier today that Sam and I are heading out of town this week. The company is buying out a smaller mill with a few locations and we’ll be gone to finalize the sale. Do you mind – “
“No.” You interrupted Dean before he could finish his sentence.
“You don’t even know what I was going to ask you.”
“You were going to ask me to bring in your packages again, and I just about killed myself last time. So, no.”
Dean chuckled and leaned back. “I was just going to ask you to grab my mail and water the plants that my mom decorated the place with. Apparently, my house is, as she so lovingly put it, ‘dull and boring’.”
You cleared your throat, slightly embarrassed at your assumption. “Oh. Yeah, okay I think I can do that. Any specific instructions for the plants?”
“Put water on them?” Dean shrugged cluelessly. “Your guess is as good as mine.”
A light, airy laugh escaped from your chest. “Hey, what ended up being in that big package anyway? I think I deserve as explanation for risking my life to move it.”
“You didn’t buy into the dead bodies thing, huh?” Dean stood and offered you a hand to help you up. “I’ll show you.”
He led you out the back door and pushed the garage door open. In the empty space next to his truck, there was a large piece of metal among other bits and bobs of what you assumed to be car parts.
“Ta da.” Dean held his hands out and you did your best to give an appropriate reaction. Was he being sarcastic? Or maybe he was being serious and was very proud of his hunk of junk.
“Wow!” You smiled and nodded. “That’s a very pretty chunk of metal, Dean.”
With a laugh and an eye roll, Dean explained, “No, this is an engine block. I’ve been slowly ordering parts to make a brand-new engine that I can put in my dream car one day.”
“Dream car, huh? What might that be?” Not that you knew anything about cars, but you felt the need to humor him.
Dean’s response was quick and to the point. “A ’67 Chevy Impala, black with a tan interior.”
“I’m not going to pretend that I know what that looks like off the top of my head, but I’m sure that if anyone can build a car from scratch, it’s you.” You had never been much of a car person. You bought your truck because you could afford it, and because it had a working AC; a must have for any Arizona dweller.
“Let me see you phone.” He held out his hand, so you unlocked the screen and gave it to him. He swiped through a few screens with an annoyed look on his face. “There’s so much crap on your screen. Where’s the damn internet?”
You showed him the large icon at the bottom of the screen that was clearly labeled “internet”. With a low grumble, he pulled up pictures of a sleek classic car and showed them to you.
“Oh wow…” Never one to be very impressed by something like a car, you found yourself ogling the beauty vehicle on the screen. “That’s gorgeous.”
“Damn straight.” A proud grin pulled up the side of Dean’s mouth. “One day she’ll be mine.” He tapped the disassembled engine with his foot, then subconsciously looked at you for a split second, not quite sure which ‘she’ he was referring to. “I’m starting small by building the engine and then I’ll find a good body when I’m ready for it.” His stomach gave a loud rumble that echoed off the hard concrete surfaces of the garage. Dean placed his hand on his stomach in an attempt to tame the beast inside. “You hungry? I’ve got leftovers in the fridge. I’ll stop boring you with car talk.”
“You’re not boring me. I just don’t know anything about cars, but you could always teach me. I could be one of your mechanics once you open up your own shop someday.” You playfully suggested and sauntered towards the house.
“Easy there, tiger. Why don’t we start small and teach you how to drive in the snow first?” Dean was fully aware that he was pushing your buttons and a muddled smirk painted across his cheeks.
“Hey! I am way better than I was before!”
“Whatever helps you sleep a night, sweetheart.”
Still grinning, he held the back door open for you and gave a playful wink that could have melted a few inches of snow off of the deck.
You helped Dean warm up some leftover food from earlier and the two of you sat at the kitchen counter eating it.
“So, you’ll be gone a week, huh?” You asked in between bites.
“Unfortunately. Sam and I are heading out to California tomorrow. I hate California. There’s too many people and they all think they’re famous or some crap.”
Dean’s general dislike of people was one of your favorite things about him, and you couldn’t help but chuckle to yourself as he generalized an entire state’s population based off of an assumption.
After finishing the movie from earlier, you decided to head home since Dean had to be up at an unholy hour the next morning to catch his flight. Dean stopped you as you slid your shoes on by the back door.
“Before I forget,” he pulled a key from his pocket and handed it to you. “Thank you for looking after the place while I’m gone.”
“I guess I kinda owe it to you since you’re pretty much my personal handy man.” You shrugged and slid the key onto your own keyring. “But you already know that I’m going to make myself right at home here while you’re gone, right?”
“I would expect nothing less.” Dean wrapped his arms around you and held you tight. Hugs between you two were becoming more and more routine at this point, and you’d be lying to yourself if you said you didn’t feel completely safe from the world when you were pressed tight against his chest.
The small space between you and Dean held for just a moment when the hug you shared had come to an end. Dean’s eyes flicked down to your lips ever so slightly, then jumped back up to yours. Was he trying to give you a hint that he wanted to kiss you or were you just imagining things? There was no way that the most attractive man to ever walk the earth wanted to kiss you, right? You panicked and stepped back.
“Have a safe trip, Dean. I’ll miss you.”
Dean gave a warm smile and parted with a simple, “I’m gonna miss you too, Sweetheart.”
He closed the door after you had slipped out and let out a disappointed sigh. Not necessarily disappointed that he didn’t kiss you, but disappointed that he didn’t know how to do this anymore. He was so rusty at flirting and anything romantic, surely a direct result of years of purposely distancing himself from pretty much everyone. He resolved that he had a week to clear his head and find a way to muster up enough courage to make a move, even if your smile made him weak in the knees and your bright eyes sent his mind a-racing.
Bobby and Ellen were out for the week on a trip for their anniversary, so that meant that you were sure to stay more than busy at work. Ellen swore up and down that she was taking the whole week off because Bobby had been slammed at his shop and they hadn’t had much time to themselves, but you had a sneaking suspicion that it was because there were three meetings with Ketch on the slate. He and Ellen butted heads like two mountain goats fighting a rage fueled battle. The worn carpet at city hall had enough unidentifiable blotches, so you figured it would be for the best that you handled the meetings and avoided adding any blood stains to the collection.
You went in an hour early to get a head start on your workload. Sarah plopped down at her desk with a huff once she arrived.
“Ihate when Sam is gone on business. The apartment seems so lonely and dark.” Her eyes lit up and she straightened from a slouched position. “Hey, what are you up to tonight?”
“I think you can take a wild guess on that one.” Unless you were hanging out with Sarah or Dean or the gang, you were always at home.
“You’re such a homebody. But you’re my favorite homebody. Do you want to help me with a little DIY project at my place?”
“Sure. I probably won’t be much help but I’m happy to try!” Considering the fact that Dean had done most of the maintenance around your house and yard, it was safe to say that you weren’t in the running to be the next host of any HGTV show.
“I wanna repaint the place. Those blue walls are so dreary. We can go grab some paint and dinner after work and turn on cheesy movies that you know Sam and Dean would never let us watch.” She waggled her eyebrows at you in hopes that she was persuasive enough.
“You’ve got yourself a deal.” You were more than happy for the invite. The thought of spending a week all alone up the mountain without anyone close by wasn’t what one might call especially exciting. Even if you didn’t spend every day with Dean, it was comforting to know that there was someone you trusted just a hop, skip and a jump away.
During your meeting with him, Ketch had reached the point where he started repeating himself over and over, so you didn’t feel guilty about discretely checking your phone when you felt the buzz of a text coming through.
Dean: Made it to Cali. I can smell the veganism in the air. It’s disgusting.
You had to bite your bottom lip to keep from bursting out laughing. Another text came through before you could type up a response.
Dean: I watered the plants before I left this morning, so you can probably skip that today. Thanks again.
Your eyes jumped up from the screen and you gave a few acknowledging nods to ensure you were still fully invested in the meeting that had already run twenty minutes over before replying.
You: I’m sure you’ll be a full-blown vegan by the time you get home. I’ll do you a favor and throw away all the bacon in your freezer.
You expected a snarky response in return, but all you received in return were three words that made your heart beam.
Dean: I miss you.
It was funny that such a short simple sentence could make even the ramblings of Mr. Ketch seem bearable and the rest of the day fly by without a hitch that you couldn’t handle with ease.
Once work was wrapped up, Sarah made a quick stop at the hardware store, and you went to the local deli for some subs then met her back at her place. Moving the heavy sectional and entertainment center into the kitchen was quite the feat and you successfully transferred them with only a few dings and small gashes in the wall. Sarah laid out drop cloths on the carpet while you readied the paint, brushes, and rollers then turned on a movie for some background noise and got to work.
Charlie and Meg came over after a while and you were able to get the living room done with the extra help. Next up was the bedroom, but all any of you were willing to do after a long workday was move furniture.
“Looks like I’m sleeping in the hall tonight.” Sarah half-joked with her hands on her hips, observing the makeshift sleeping area/obstacle course that was her hallway.
“You wanna crash at my place?” You offered, fully aware that you’d both be cramped in your tiny cabin.
“Ooh! We should make it a sleepover!” Charlie chimed in gleefully.
“On a work night?” Meg doubtfully interjected.
“Maybe not tonight, but we actually should do one this weekend.” Sarah’s input brightened up Charlie’s face once more. “The only problem is location. None of us really have a place big enough.” Sarah had a one-bedroom apartment, Charlie and Meg both had roommates, and you had the smallest place of all.
“I might have an idea.” You reached in your pocket and pulled the key to Dean’s place out. “I have an all-access pass to Casa Winchester this week while Dean’s gone. It might take some, or a lot, of begging, but I think I can twist his arm into letting us use his place.”
“Yes!” Sarah clapped her hands excitedly. “I love Dean’s house. It’s all bachelor-pady with bland décor, but oh my gosh it’s beautiful.”
“I’ve never been, but I’m so down.” Charlie agreed, then turned to Meg. “You in?”
Meg hesitated and folded her arms. “Do you honestly think Dean I-hate-everyone Winchester is going to let us crash his cabin for the weekend when he’s never invited us over before?”
“Oh, come on. You guys know how hard he had it for a few years. He barely even invited Sam over. Plus, Benny and Cas have only seen it because they pitched in when Dean was building it.”
“I’m sure I can persuade him to let us hang out there. He did tell me that I could make myself at home, so it shouldn’t take too much convincing.”
“I’m sure it won’t.” Meg’s words, while not hostile or rude, were definitely loaded.
“What do you mean?” You questioned.
“Oh, nothing. Just that since meeting you, Mr. Green-eyes has been a little bit more…” She narrowed her eyes as she looked for the right word.
“Fun? Nice? bearable?” Charlie suggested.
“All of the above.” Meg agreed.
“Guys, we became friends purely by coincident and honestly, I think he just pities me because I have no idea how to deal with snow or fix up my cabin that is always falling apart.” You did your best to stop any kind of speculation but were sure your efforts would be in vain.
“Sure.” Sarah nodded unconvincingly while trying to conceal a smug grin, “It’s totally normal for friends to fake date to avoid my crazy sister’s over-the-top flirting, right?”
You rolled your eyes at Sarah and ignored Charlie and Meg chuckling. “Yes, it is totally normal. It’s also totally normal to uninvite a friend from crashing at my place so that she has to spend the night in the hallway of her apartment.”
“Nooo! I take it back.” Sarah pulled gently on the sleeve of your jacket. “All this is just a round-a-bout way of saying that we’re happy Dean is happy again, and you have a big part to play in that.”
Meg leaned over to Charlie and said under her breath, “How much do you want to bet there’s going to be another Winchester wedding not too far off.”
“I’ve got a hundred bucks on two years.” Charlie discretely placed her bet.
“Two hundred on under two years.” Meg raised her.
A subtle handshake sealed the deal as everyone wrapped up for the evening and Sarah packed a bag to take over to your place. The couch was far too small for anyone to sleep on, so she just stayed with you in your bed, but you didn’t mind. Sarah was pretty much your sister at this point.
The plan for the next day was the same as the last. After work, you’d go to Sarah’s place and help with painting, but this time you had to go water Dean’s plants before heading over. You let yourself in and sifted through the cabinets to find a pitcher, then filled it up with water and wandered over to the line of red clay pots that were placed along the ledge of the wall of windows. Water was pooled above the dirt on the first plant you approached, almost as if it hadn’t been absorbed from Dean watering it before he left. You rubbed the leaf with your fingers and let out an airy laugh upon finding it to be plastic.
You moved from each plant to the next and found each to have the same pool of water sitting stagnant on top. As you walked the pitcher back into the kitchen, you pulled out your phone and dialed Dean’s number. You two had casually texted throughout the day when you had down time at work, but you’d by lying if you said you weren’t excited to hear his voice. He picked up after just two rings.
“Hey there, Sweetheart.”
“Hey!” You realized how over-excited your tone was and tried to dial it down a notch. “Is this a good time?”
“Sure is. Sam and I just got back to the Hotel. We’re going to go find some dinner after he finishes curling his hair.”
You could hear a muffled “Hey!” in the background as Sam protested his brother’s claim and you laughed at their brotherly banter.
“So, I’m here at your place and I’m just curious, how long have you been watering these plants?”
“Just since my parents were here last week. My mom brought them in. Why? Don’t tell me they’re dead already.”
“No, no I don’t think you’re going to have to worry about them dying.”
“Why?”
“Dean, you do realize these are fake plants, right?”
Silence on the other end of the phone was deafening and you could just picture the fed-up look that was surely plastered on Dean’s face right now.
“There’s a lot of water sitting on top of the dirt. Did you not think that was odd?” You teased.
“I don’t know anything about plants. I figured it was just a slow absorbing dirt…”
Your laugh echoed with Sam’s on the other end, so you figured it was time to change the subject and spare Dean of any further embarrassment.
“While I have you on the phone, I actually have a favor to ask.”
“It’s your truck, huh? I’ve been wondering when that thing is going to poop out on you for good.”
“Hey, my truck is reliable, albeit a little old. But no, actually I was wondering if maybe you might be okay with me using your place this weekend.”
“Yeah, you already know you can hang out there as much as you want.”
“Would you be okay if maybe Sarah came over too?”
After miniscule hesitation, Dean agreed. “Sure. It’s not like she hasn’t been there before.”
“And what about Charlie and Meg?” You weren’t sure how far you’d be able to push your luck.
The hesitation this time was longer, but still shorter than you’d originally expected. “As long as Meg keeps her nosy self out of my stuff, then yeah, that’s fine.”
“Yay! Thank you!”
“What do you guys have planned that you need to use my place for?”
“A sleepover. None of us have a house big enough for all four. We’re just going to watch some movies, eat some junk food, make a few sacrifices for our black magic cult. Nothing too crazy.”
Dean had developed a specific laugh when it came to dealing with your sarcasm, and you loved it. Even hearing it over the phone made your stomach flutter just a little. “Just no virgin blood on the couch, okay?”
“That’s fair enough.”
Sam’s voice bellowed in the distance, telling Dean to hurry up.
“Sam’s finally done picking out earrings, so we’re going to go grab a bite to eat, but I’m glad you called.”
“Me too. Goodnight, Dean.”
“Night, Sweetheart.”
Dean flipped his phone shut and slid it into his pocket while he grabbed his jacket, unaware that the remnants of a goofy grin were still on his face. What he did notice were the side glances from his brother as they walked down the hall towards the elevator.
“What?” Dean’s tone was sharp.
“Nothing.” Sam shrugged. “Just, I never thought you’d let anyone use your house for a party, let alone a sleepover.”
“It’s not like I’m letting a bunch of homeless crazies crash there for the weekend. We’ve known the girls for years.” Dean entered the elevator and pressed the lobby button three times, as if that would make the elevator go faster.
“Not Y/N. You’ve only known her for a few months.”
“And?”
Sam teetertottered with the thought of confronting Dean about having feelings for you. He settled on the conclusion that all he had to risk was having dinner with a grumpy brother, which was not abnormal to start with.
“You like her.”
Dean felt blood rush to his face as he studied the blurred reflections of himself and his brother in the stainless steel of the elevator door. A few seconds of anticipation dragged.
“And?”
“And nothing. I really like Y/N. I think you two would be good together.”
Sam did his best to control the pleased grin that controlled his face at the moment. He wasn’t going to pry for any more information, considering that it had been years since Dean had felt anything towards anyone, never mind having romantic feelings for someone. The brothers enjoyed a fairly quiet dinner, and although Dean didn’t want to talk much more about his feelings, he was actually glad that he had confided in Sam.
By the time Friday rolled around, you were more than ready for the week to be over. It had been difficult without Ellen there to help at work, but that was behind you and a weekend of relaxing and doing nothing sounded perfect. You ran home and changed, then headed up to Dean’s place to turn light on and get the heat going before people got there. You ordered pizzas and pulled out some paper plates you brought from your place. Sarah showed up soon after you did with treats and drinks, followed by Charlie with games and Meg with movies.
Benny and Cas showed up later in the night as well, having been tipped off by Meg who “just can’t say no to Cas’s angel face”. It was fun having the boys there, although it was definitely different without Sam and Dean, especially considering this was Dean’s house. Benny’s contribution to the party was a case of beer, which seems to vanish quickly. Games were played, treats were eaten and by the time midnight rolled around, the locomotion was halting to a grind. You’d been having a thrilling conversation with an all-too-tipsy Cas, who was rambling about the benefits of intermittent fasting, a practice that he’d never actually tried, but apparently knew all about. After a while, you realized that the noise level had significantly dropped.
Meg, Benny, and Charlie were passed out on the couch not even an hour later, so you snapped a quick picture of the adorable trio piled uncomfortably on top of each other. Pulling some blankets from the wooden chest Dean had unsurprisingly handcrafted, you draped them across the puddle of friends and then joined Sarah and Cas in the kitchen. Sarah hadn’t had much to drink, so she was helping Cas pour himself a bowl of cereal without spilling milk all over the nice countertops. After he was done eating, you and Sarah ushered him over to the couch and got him comfortable with a pillow and blanket and he drifted off to sleep quickly.
“Are you tired?” You asked.
“Not really, you?” Sarah responded.
You shook your head and motioned towards the back door. Behind his house, Dean had a large deck with comfortable, oversized chairs facing out into the woods. You wrapped a thick wool blanket around you to block out the chilly breeze and Sarah did the same.
“This was fun. We should do this again soon.” You thought aloud and looked at the starts that seemed so close on this clear night.
“With Sam and Dean next time.” Sarah added.
“Yeah, it’s kinda weird without them here.”
You could tell simply from Sarah’s energy that she was dying to say something. You figured you’d have a few more moments to enjoy this peaceful night before she said what was on her mind.
“Okay,” she spat out, “I’m just going to ask once and then I promise I’ll drop it forever.”
You looked over at her, waiting for her question, pretty sure you already knew what, or who, it would be about.
“Is there something going on between you and Dean?”
Yep. There it was.
You took a deep breath and sighed. “I don’t know. Don’t get me wrong, I like him. He’s handsome and funny and kind and overall amazing. I just have a hard time believing that someone like that could have feelings for someone like me. And aside from that, I still have some trust issues after the whole Billy thing…”
Sarah did her best to scoot her chair closer you yours and give you a hug.
“How are things on that front? Any news on that asshat?”
You smiled slightly. “No, not that I’ve heard. Conor keeps me updated, but it sounds like Billy’s still at a fork in the road. He could either wake up or get worse.”
“I’m sure that’s so hard, Y/N. I’m so sorry. I wish I could just erase him from your life!” Sarah huffed, but then calmed herself. “But enough about that walking sack of dog crap. As far as Dean goes, I can tell he likes you. A lot. But can you blame him? You’re smart as a whip, gorgeous and hilarious. You’re literally the whole package. In just a few months, you’ve done what all of us,” she signaled towards the house full of sleeping friends, “have been trying to do for years. You bring out all the best parts of Dean. Not to mention, I’ve seen the way you two have fun around each other. You’re like children in the best possible way. Plus, you’ve got a best friend that loves you to death and would actually commit murder for you, even if it means that I’m killing my future brother-in-law if he ever puts a foot out of line.”
Sarah offered a guilty smile that made you giggle. “The scary thing is I know you’re not exaggerating! But really, thank you, Sarah. That means a lot to me. I’m just not sure that I’m ready to take the first step towards a relationship, you know?”
“Understandable. All I’m saying is that you shouldn’t cross Dean off your list just yet.” She stood and offered you a helping hand up. “Come on, let’s go to bed. We’re going to need energy if we’re going to be dealing with those four and their hangovers in the morning.”
You and Sarah opted to share the guest room. Technically there were two guest rooms, but Meg had gotten uncomfortable on the couch and found her way down to the other. There was always Dean’s room, but you felt a little strange sleeping in there without asking permission first.
The next morning went smoother than originally anticipated. Benny, who you were sure would be hating his life, was up before anyone else and making breakfast for the crew. You wandered into the kitchen and grabbed a glass of water.
“Morning, Benny.”
Benny flipped three pancakes and then turned to face you, leaning against the counter. “Mornin’ cher. How we feeling today?”
“I’m pretty sure I should be asking you that. I’m surprised to see you up and at ‘em this early. Or on your feet at all.”
“It’s just in the Lafitte gene pool to bounce back quick.” He leaned towards you and spoke a notch quieter than before. “But between you and me, I know I’m getting old since it’s taking me longer and longer to recover.”
You took over the bacon station and started in on scrambled eggs while listening to Benny tell you all about Andrea. He seemed more than smitten with her so you suggested that he should invite her to come and hang out with everyone. Charlie eventually joined in and helped finish up the food. People trickled in one by one as the smell of bacon eventually woke them up.
Clean up didn’t take long with everyone pitching in, and after a few more hours of lounging around and talking, people started to head home.
You plopped down on the couch and pulled out your phone, swiping through the pictures you had taken from the night before. You picked the best ones and sent them to Dean. Not even three minutes later, he was calling you. You slid the green answer button over to the right and pressed the phone to your ear.
“Hey!”
“Looks like you guys had some fun last night.” Dean greeted. “I kinda figured Benny and Cas would find their way over at some point.”
“Benny made everyone breakfast this morning, so I’d say he earned his keep.”
“The man knows his way around a greasy hangover cure. Is Sarah there with you still?”
“No, she left a few minutes ago. What’s up?”
“Sam’s been trying to call her but hasn’t had much luck. He needs a ride back from the airport tonight.”
“You guys are coming back early?” You did your best to not be overly excited about the thought of Dean being back a few days early, but his response let you down.
“Sam is. The guy is too good at his job and got things wrapped up early on his end. But I’m actually staying another two weeks out here to get the transition underway.”
“Two weeks?” The disappointed tone couldn’t be hidden.
“It’s either stay now or miss Sam’s wedding in a few weeks, so I don’t have much of a choice.”
You let out a small sigh, but didn’t have time to add onto the conversation before Dean jumped back in. “But, hey listen, I know there’s a big storm supposed to roll through this week, so you should stay at my place. Park your truck in my garage so you don’t have to scrape it off and use the fireplace there. I didn’t get the chance to make sure yours was working properly before I left.”
“Dean, you’re literally 3 states away, you should not be worried about me.”
“You get cold in a room that’s seventy degrees. How are you supposed to survive a snowstorm in your cabin with those garbage windows?”
Your initial reaction was to deny his accusation, but you knew it was true.
“Plus,” he added, “if you froze to death, then I wouldn’t have anyone to bring in my mail for me while I’m on business trips.”
“Wow… I’m glad that’s all I’m good for.” You shook your head. “You know what, I shouldn’t have told you about the fake plants. I should have just let you water them to see how long it would take for you to notice.”
“We’re playing dirty now? I expected more from you, Sweetheart.” Dean’s airy laugh on the other end of the phone elicited a playful giggle from you.
“Shoot.” You could hear Dean’s voice slightly distance as he pulled the phone away from his ear to look at the screen. “I’ve got a call coming through that I’ve gotta take. I’ll call you later, okay?”
