#Dean and Sam

[ghostcreaturetypething]

As someone who only uses a nickname for my little sister and also has one from her that only she gets to call me I lost my mind at this

Decapitations aren't really my idea of a good time, I guess.

SUPERNATURAL 2x03: BLOODLUST

[sams-princess-hair]

I just KNOW that little Sam was so desperate to be helpful and to be praised for his efforts. It started with getting Dean a soda every once in a while, beaming with pride when Dean would say

"Thanks, Sammy." Before cracking the soda.

It gradually got bigger, Sam hated feeling useless, so he would surprise Dean by doing his laundry or washing the dishes while he was gone on a hunt with dad. He would happily show Dean what he did, heart soaring with the rough ruffle of his hair and clap on his back. Dean would tell him he did a good job before grabbing a beer and making dinner for them both.

[ghostcreaturetypething]

Literally them though why can Sam never keep his goddamned voice down

just girly things

[alyssas-personal-diary]

boyblogger sam

in my mind, sam was a teen in peak times and one of those boy bloggers people get nostalgic about today

he takes pictures of motels, crosses and bibles, of dean, of cigarettes and cigars, he photoshops those stupid little pictures with sparkles and stupid little captions and gets thousands of notes on a post with just the caption ‘big brother dick’ and i think this is true

[princess-and-charming]

I will DIE on this HILL‼️‼️‼️

[trashgyrl]

no scene ever topped the sheer amount of tragedy of sam's death in season two. a part of dean died that day along sam, and none of them ever truly recovered from it.

[kamisobsessed]

this series is probably my favorite dean series on tumblr by far

✨Taking her in - Pt. 18✨

Summary: After Dean Winchester saves your life, he brings you into the safety of the bunker. As you grow older and stronger, Dean refuses to let you join the hunts, his overprotective behavior intensifying. But beneath his fierce protectiveness lies something darker—conflicted feelings he can’t face. As your 18th birthday approaches, Dean struggles to keep control, torn between his duty to protect you and emotions he’s buried for too long.

Pairing: Dean x Reader

Warnings: 18+ only! (saftey first, no Smut tho), kinda kinky i guess, hormones, HUGE Age Gap, Immoral, Language

Word Count: 5119

A/N: English isn’t my first language, please be lenient. ���

As the intensity of the moment began to ebb, you instinctively started to shift, ready to pull away and give him space to recover. But before you could move, Dean’s good hand slid to your waist, his fingers pressing gently to stop you.

“Not yet”, he murmured, his voice low and rough from exertion. His green eyes were soft, a lazy smirk tugging at his lips as he looked up at you. “Just… let me enjoy the view for a few more minutes”.

Dean’s lazy smirk deepened as he caught the way your cheeks flushed an even deeper shade of pink, your gaze flicking shyly to the side. The vulnerability in your reaction, paired with the soft rise and fall of your chest as you caught your breath, was enough to send a wave of heat coursing through him.

Inside you, he twitched, the sensation making your breath hitch. His good hand tightened slightly on your waist, his thumb brushing soothing circles against your skin. “Sweetheart”, he murmured, his voice low and teasing, though tinged with exhaustion, “if you keep looking that adorable, we might have a problem”.

Dean’s smirk softened as he watched you hide your face behind your hands, your cheeks burning with embarrassment. You mumbled something incoherent, but he didn’t need to hear the words to know what you were thinking. The way you tried to shrink away, the shy way you moved—it was all so inherently you, and it drove him absolutely wild.

For Dean, your innocence, your vulnerability, was unlike anything he’d ever experienced. It wasn’t just the physical side of things, though that certainly stirred something primal in him. It was the emotional weight of it, the knowledge that you trusted him completely, that he was the only man who had ever been allowed to see you like this, to touch you, to be with you. Knowing he was the only one who had ever been inside you, the only one who had ever felt how tight and perfect you were—it was intoxicating.

His fingers brushed over your hip, his grip firm but gentle as he tried to keep himself grounded. It wasn’t easy. Every instinct, every deep, primal part of him wanted to pull you underneath him, to claim you completely, to make sure you knew exactly how much he wanted you, needed you.

But he held back, because you deserved more than that. You deserved care and patience, and Dean wanted to give that to you, no matter how hard it was to resist the fire burning inside him.

Dean’s grip on your hip tightened ever so slightly as he whispered, his voice barely above a breath but filled with so much raw emotion it made your chest ache. “God, I love you”.

The words were like a spark, igniting something deep within you. Before you could respond, his good hand gently cupped the back of your neck, pulling you down toward him. Your hands fell from your face as his lips met yours, soft but insistent. The kiss was slow, unhurried, yet brimming with unspoken passion, as if he was trying to show you just how much you meant to him in every brush of his lips against yours.

You felt his body shift slightly beneath you, his warmth seeping into your skin as his grip steadied you. The connection between you was so intense it made your head spin, and then you became acutely aware of him—the way he was growing harder inside you, pressing deeper as he adjusted ever so slightly. The sensation made your breath catch, your body tensing for a moment before you melted against him.

Dean pulled back just enough to rest his forehead against yours, his breathing ragged.

His forehead remained pressed against yours, his warm breath mingling with your own as he shifted slightly beneath you. You noticed his wince, and before you could ask, he reached out toward the bedside table with his good hand, fumbling for the bottle of painkillers. His movements were clumsy and strained, and you instinctively moved to help him, grabbing the bottle and pressing it into his hand.

“Thanks”, he murmured, his voice rough but full of affection. He popped the cap open with one hand, shaking two pills into his palm and tossing them into his mouth. He swallowed them dry, his throat working hard to force them down, before setting the bottle aside and leaning back against the pillow.

Dean’s hand returned to your hip, his fingers tightening slightly as he shifted beneath you again, pressing you flush against him. His body trembled faintly, his jaw tightening as a mix of pleasure and pain flashed across his features. His green eyes found yours, dark with a raw, unrelenting need that made your breath hitch.

“Painkillers’ll kick in soon”, he muttered, his voice low and strained. “But I’m sure as hell not waiting”. He guided your hips down with a firm but gentle pressure, encouraging you to take him fully once more. The intensity in his gaze left no doubt—he wanted this, no matter how much his chest ached.

Your breath hitched at the sensation of him pressing fully inside you, his hand firm on your hip as he silently conveyed exactly what he wanted. The look in his eyes was enough to set your heart racing—a mixture of raw need and unshakable affection that made it impossible to resist. Despite the lingering self-consciousness gnawing at you, the thought of letting him down spurred you into motion.

You bit your lip, your cheeks flushing as you started to move your hips slowly, tentatively. The feeling was overwhelming, the stretch and fullness making you tremble as you tried to find a rhythm. Dean’s groan, low and rumbling, sent a shiver through your body, his hand tightening on your hip as if encouraging you to keep going.

“That’s it”, he rasped, his voice thick with both strain and pleasure. “Just like that, sweetheart. You’re doing so good”.

A few days later, Dean’s injuries were starting to look better, though the healing process was slow. Sam had to redo a few stitches on his chest the day after your night together, muttering something about “damn stubborn idiots” under his breath as he worked. But now, the bleeding had finally stopped, and while Dean’s chest still looked angry and raw, the wounds were starting to close. His broken arm was firmly secured in a sling, and the swelling in his fingers had gone down slightly, though his strength hadn’t fully returned.

Dean, however, wasn’t exactly bouncing back. He was still weak, his body trembling if he stood for too long. Worse, he’d barely eaten over the past few days, a concerning departure from his usual “shovel anything in sight” appetite. The mix of pain meds and antibiotics had clearly taken a toll on him, dulling his hunger and leaving him uncharacteristically tired.

Now, he was sitting in the bunker’s library, slouched slightly in his chair with his broken arm cradled against his side. His good hand flipped idly through the pages of an old lore book, but it was clear he wasn’t fully focused. His brow was furrowed, his lips pressed into a thin line as he stared at the text, though his eyes flicked occasionally where Sam sat at the opposite side of the table.

Sam glanced up from his book, breaking the silence in the library as he leaned back in his chair. “Where’s she at?”, he asked casually, his tone curious but not particularly pressing. “Haven’t seen her around”.

Dean froze for a moment, his eyes lingering on the page in front of him without actually reading it. His jaw tightened slightly before he finally muttered, “She’s out. Running errands or something”.

Sam raised an eyebrow at Dean’s vague response, the corner of his mouth quirking into a smirk. “Errands?”, he echoed, clearly unconvinced. “What kind of errands?”.

Dean sighed, his good hand scrubbing over his face as he tried to come up with a better answer. But the memory of your flustered face from earlier that morning flashed through his mind, making him bite the inside of his cheek to stop the grin threatening to form.

“She went to grab some snacks or whatever”, Dean said, his voice gruff as he avoided Sam’s gaze. “Nothing major”.

Sam wasn’t buying it. He tilted his head, his smirk growing as he studied Dean. “You’re acting weird”, he said, clearly enjoying how flustered Dean was getting. “Did you two have a fight or something?”.

Dean scoffed, shaking his head. “No, we didn’t have a fight”, he said, though the defensive edge in his voice made Sam’s smirk widen. “She’s fine. I’m fine. Drop it”.

What Dean didn’t mention—and wouldn’t, unless absolutely necessary—was the conversation from that morning. He’d tried to convince you to take a bath with him, the idea of relaxing together sounding perfect in his mind. But you’d been unusually hesitant, deflecting his suggestion and making excuses until he finally asked outright what was going on.

Your face had turned beet red as you muttered the truth, so quietly he almost didn’t catch it. “I’m on my period, Dean”.

At first, he’d just blinked at you, his brain catching up to your words before a teasing grin spread across his face. “That’s it?”, he’d asked, clearly amused. “Sweetheart, that’s nothing. We can still—”.

“No, Dean”, you’d interrupted firmly, your cheeks still burning. “Just… no”.

The memory of your embarrassment made him smile faintly now, even as Sam continued to press him for answers. “What’s so funny?”, Sam asked, narrowing his eyes at Dean’s reaction.

“Nothing”, Dean muttered, flipping a page in his book. “Just thinking”.

Sam rolled his eyes but didn’t push further, letting the subject drop—for now.

A little while later, the sound of the bunker door opening echoed down the hall, followed by the familiar shuffle of your footsteps. Dean’s head snapped up immediately, his green eyes locking onto the library door as you stepped in, carrying a bag of snacks.

“There you are”, Dean said, a grin spreading across his face as he leaned back in his chair. “Took you long enough. Please tell me you got pie”.

You rolled your eyes at Dean’s immediate comment, though a flicker of guilt crossed your face as you set the bag of snacks down on the library table. “Dean”, you said softly, your tone tinged with both concern and frustration, “you can’t just live off pie”.

Dean shrugged, leaning back in his chair as though his argument was irrefutable. “Why not? It’s got everything I need. Fruit, sugar, carbs—basically a full meal”.

Sam snorted from across the table, closing his book with a thud. “Pretty sure that’s not how nutrition works, Dean”.

You shot Sam a grateful look before turning your attention back to Dean. But something about the way he looked—pale, tired, stubbornly defiant—made your chest tighten. Normally, you’d let it go with a sigh or an eye roll, but your hormones were wreaking havoc on you this time around, and you could feel tears welling up in your eyes before you could stop them.

“Dean, you’re not eating enough”, you blurted, your voice shaking slightly as you stepped closer to him. “You’re already weak, and you’re barely standing half the time. Do you even realize how worried I’ve been? How scared—”.

The tears spilled over before you could finish, and you quickly turned away, swiping at your cheeks with the back of your hand. You weren’t usually this emotional, but the hormonal chaos of your period had turned you into a walking mess of feelings. On top of that, the stress of watching Dean push himself too hard while refusing to take care of himself was enough to send you spiraling.

Both Sam and Dean froze as your voice cracked, their eyes widening in surprise at the sudden shift in your tone. Sam exchanged a glance with Dean, his eyebrows raised as if silently asking, What the hell just happened?

Dean, however, looked like he was caught completely off guard. His good hand rested awkwardly on the armrest of his chair, and he blinked at you as if unsure how to react. “Uh”, he started, clearly fumbling for words, “you’re crying over pie?”.

The moment the words left his mouth, you turned sharply, your tear-streaked face blazing with a mixture of anger and disbelief. “Are you kidding me, Dean?”, you snapped, your voice rising. “I’m not crying over pie, you absolute moron!”.

Dean’s mouth opened, but no sound came out. His usual quick wit failed him entirely as you glared at him, your emotions surging like a tidal wave. “I’m crying because you’re being a stubborn, reckless idiot who doesn’t care about himself or the people who care about him!”, you shouted, your voice trembling as fresh tears streamed down your face. “You’re barely eating, you’re not resting, and you think this is all a joke!”.

Sam leaned back slightly in his chair, his hands raised in a silent gesture of surrender as if to avoid getting caught in the crossfire. “I think I’ll, uh… let you two handle this”, he muttered, standing up.

"No!”, you shouted, spinning on your heel to glare at Sam, who froze mid-step, clearly caught off guard. “You don’t get to just walk away from this, Sam!”. Your voice wavered with a mix of anger and frustration, but there was no mistaking the intensity in your tone. “You’re his brother! How can you just sit there and let him act like this? You should be holding him down, making sure he takes care of himself—not letting him get away with being so damn reckless!”.

Sam blinked, his mouth opening slightly as if to respond, but you didn’t give him the chance. “He listens to you, Sam. Or at least, he should. You’ve been through enough with him to know what happens when he keeps pushing himself like this. Why aren’t you doing anything?”.

Dean, still seated behind you, let out a low groan, his head falling back against the chair. “Oh, come on”, he muttered. “Now you’re mad at him? It’s not his fault I’m a pain in the ass”.

You turned back to Dean, your hands flying to your hips as you narrowed your eyes at him. “This is absolutely about you being a pain in the ass, but Sam isn’t off the hook either. You’re his brother, and he should know better!”.

Sam raised his hands defensively, his voice cautious as he tried to defuse the situation. “Okay, hold on”, he said, his tone calm but firm. “I do know better, and trust me, I’ve tried. You know how stubborn he is—it’s like talking to a wall sometimes. But it’s not like I don’t care. I’m worried about him too”.

Dean’s voice cut through your tirade with a sharpness that made you freeze. “Calm down!”, he barked, his tone more authoritative than you’d heard in a long time. His green eyes locked onto yours, frustration flashing behind them as he leaned slightly forward in his chair. “Since when does your period turn you into such a damn little brat?”.

The words hung in the air like a bomb that had just gone off.

Your mouth fell open, completely stunned, and Sam immediately winced, his hand flying up to rub the back of his neck as he took an instinctive step back. “Oh no”, Sam muttered under his breath, clearly wanting no part of what was about to happen.

Dean’s gaze flicked between you and Sam, as if realizing the weight of what he’d just said. “What?”, he muttered, almost defensively, though his voice was already losing steam. “I’m just saying, you’re usually not this…”.

“What?”, you hissed, cutting him off. Your voice was low, dangerously calm, and your eyebrow arched as you took a slow step toward him. “Did you just call me a brat because I’m on my period?”.

Sam’s eyes widened as he began inching toward the door, clearly sensing the storm brewing. “I’ll, uh… I’ll leave you two to this”, he muttered, slipping out as quickly and quietly as possible.

Dean, to his credit—or maybe stupidity—didn’t back down, though you could see a flicker of regret in his expression. “That’s not what I meant”, he said quickly, his voice softening as he raised his good hand in a placating gesture. “I just… you’re all over the place, sweetheart. One second you’re yelling at me, then you’re crying, and now—”.

“Dean”, you interrupted, your voice still calm but with an edge sharp enough to cut steel. “You better stop talking before you dig yourself an even bigger hole”.

Dean’s mouth opened as if to argue, but then he closed it again, his gaze dropping to the table. For a moment, the room was silent, the tension so thick it was almost suffocating. Finally, he let out a long, exasperated sigh, running his good hand through his hair.

“Alright, I’m sorry”, he muttered, his tone genuine despite the awkward delivery. He looked up at you, his green eyes softer now, tinged with a hint of guilt. “I didn’t mean it like that. You’re not a brat. You’re just… worried. And you’ve got every right to be”.

You crossed your arms, narrowing your eyes at him. “Damn right, I do”, you said firmly, though your voice had lost some of its earlier fire.

Dean shifted in his seat, his broken arm cradled awkwardly against his side. “Look, I’m not great at this whole ‘talking about feelings’ thing”, he admitted, his voice gruff. “But I know you’re just trying to take care of me. And I appreciate it, okay? Even if I’m a stubborn pain in the ass”.

You softened slightly at his words, the tension in your shoulders easing just a bit. “You are a pain in the ass”, you muttered, though your tone was lighter now.

Dean smirked faintly, his good hand reaching out to gently tug you closer. “Yeah, but you love me anyway”, he said, his voice low and teasing, though there was a flicker of vulnerability in his eyes. “Right?”.

You sighed, shaking your head as you allowed yourself to be pulled closer. “Unfortunately for me”, you replied, a small smile tugging at your lips despite yourself.

Dean’s smirk widened, and his thumb brushed over your hand. “See? We’re good. Now come here and sit down before you yell at me again”.

You rolled your eyes but let him guide you to the chair beside him, the tension between you slowly dissolving. For all his stubbornness and occasional idiotic comments, Dean knew how to make things right—eventually.

You sighed, settling into the chair beside Dean and letting your shoulders slump slightly. The intensity of the moment was fading, leaving you feeling embarrassed by your earlier outburst. You glanced at him, chewing your bottom lip before muttering, “I’m sorry”.

You hesitated for a moment, staring at the table as you toyed with a stray thread on your shirt. “I didn’t mean to get so dramatic”, you admitted quietly. “I… It’s just… the birth control, I think. It’s messing with my hormones or something”.

Dean’s expression softened, the lines of frustration and exhaustion smoothing into something far gentler. He reached out with his good hand, resting it lightly on your arm. “Hey”, he said, his voice calm and reassuring. “You don’t need to apologize for that. It’s not like you’re doing it on purpose”.

You looked up at him, a flicker of relief crossing your face at his understanding tone. “I just hate feeling like this”, you said, your voice trembling slightly. “Like I’m all over the place. I’m not usually like this, you know? And then there’s you, not eating, not taking care of yourself, and it just… it’s too much”.

Dean’s hand tightened slightly on your arm, his thumb brushing small, soothing circles over your skin. “Sweetheart”, he said softly, “it’s okay. I get it. And you’ve got every right to feel the way you do. Hell, if I were in your shoes, I’d probably be yelling at me too”.

That brought a small, reluctant smile to your lips, and Dean smirked in response, the corner of his mouth quirking upward in that familiar way that always made your heart skip a beat.

“Look”, he continued, his tone more serious now. “I know I’ve been a stubborn jackass, but I’ll try, okay? I’ll eat something. Even if it’s not pie. And I’ll take it easy”. His eyes searched yours, a flicker of guilt lingering in their depths. “I don’t like seeing you upset”.

You felt a lump rise in your throat at his words, and you nodded, swallowing hard. “Thank you”, you whispered, your voice barely audible.

Dean leaned back slightly, his smirk returning as he gave your arm a gentle squeeze. “But just so you know”, he added, his tone teasing now, “pie’s still the best part of any meal”.

You rolled your eyes, but your smile widened as you swatted at his arm lightly. “You’re impossible”.

Dean chuckled, the sound warm and genuine, and for the first time in days, you felt a sense of calm settle over you.

The rest of the day passed in relative peace, though it was clear both Winchester brothers were treading carefully around you. Dean, stubborn as he was, had actually eaten something—granted, it was more pie, but progress was progress. Meanwhile, Sam buried himself in research for a new case, his brow furrowed in concentration as he flipped through old lore books.

You, on the other hand, were completely absorbed in your own little world. Lounged in one of the bunker’s oversized chairs, you balanced a tub of cookie dough ice cream in your lap, periodically dipping chips into it. Your headphones were snug over your ears, blocking out everything but the show playing on your tablet. You were content, happily distracted by Netflix and your unusual snack combination.

Dean, sitting at the table with Sam, glanced over at you with a smirk tugging at his lips. He leaned closer to his brother, his voice low but still carrying a teasing edge. “Man”, he murmured, nodding toward you. “If she’s this moody from just the pill, I better never get her pregnant”.

Sam, who had been immersed in a book, snorted in surprise before letting out a laugh. He shook his head, his amusement clear as he shot Dean a knowing look. “Not for at least the next five years, Dean”, he said, his tone playful but firm. “She’s way too young for that”.

Dean turned to glare at his brother, though there wasn’t much heat behind it. “What’s that supposed to mean?”, he muttered, his voice defensive.

Sam shrugged, leaning back in his chair as he raised an eyebrow at Dean. “You wouldn’t just throw that out there unless you’ve been thinking about it”, he pointed out, his smirk widening. “I know you, Dean. That joke didn’t come from nowhere”.

Dean’s face reddened slightly, and he looked away, clearly annoyed at being called out. “Whatever”, he grumbled, focusing back on his book, though you could see the way his jaw tightened.

Meanwhile, oblivious to the quiet exchange, you scooped up another bite of ice cream with a chip, completely engrossed in your show. If you’d heard what they were talking about, you might’ve dropped your ice cream altogether.

Sam chuckled to himself, clearly pleased with how much he’d riled Dean up. “Just saying”, he added lightly, flipping a page in his book. “You’ve got time. No rush”.

Dean rolled his eyes, leaning back in his chair as he crossed his arms over his chest. “Yeah, well”, he muttered, his voice low and a little gruff, “it’s not like I’m ever gonna have kids anyway. This life? It’s not exactly family-friendly”.

Sam glanced up from his book, his expression softening as he studied his brother. “You don’t know that”, he said, his voice thoughtful. “Maybe someday things’ll change. You could have a family, Dean. A real shot at being happy”.

Dean snorted, shaking his head. “C’mon, Sam. Let’s be real. I’ve got a messed-up past, demons on speed dial, and about a hundred other reasons why that’s never gonna happen. Not exactly a picket-fence kind of guy. And you´re neither”.

Sam leaned back in his chair, resting his elbows on the armrests as he gave Dean a measured look. “You say that now”, he said carefully, “but I’ve been thinking… I don’t want to do this forever either. Maybe in a few years, I’ll settle down. Find a way to live a quieter life. Hell, I’ve always wanted kids”.

Dean’s eyebrows shot up, his lips twitching into a smirk. “Little Sam Juniors running around? Hope they come with a manual, Sammy, ’cause I don’t see you handling diaper duty”.

Sam chuckled, shaking his head. “I’m serious, Dean. I want a life outside of this—something more. Don’t you?”.

Dean’s smirk faltered slightly, his eyes flicking toward you lounging in the chair with your headphones on. For a brief moment, something unspoken passed over his face—a flicker of what-ifs and maybes—but he quickly masked it with a shrug. “I don’t know, man”, he said, his voice quieter. “Maybe for you. You’d be good at it”.

Sam tilted his head, his eyes narrowing slightly as he watched his brother. “You say that like it’s not possible for you too”.

Dean huffed a humorless laugh, reaching for the cup of coffee on the table. “Let’s just focus on the case, alright?”, he said, effectively changing the subject.

Sam didn’t push, though his thoughtful expression lingered. It was clear he wasn’t done with the conversation, but for now, he let it slide, returning to his research. Dean’s eyes drifted back to you, his features softening despite the gruff exterior he was trying to maintain.

Dean’s mind kept drifting, no matter how much he tried to focus on the book in front of him. He knew he was being ridiculous—you were too young to be having conversations about kids, and the two of you were still in the early stages of your relationship. It wasn’t the time, and he wasn’t the guy to even entertain that kind of future… or so he thought.

But the thought of you, your small, delicate frame carrying something so undeniably his, wouldn’t leave him. It stirred something deep in him—something primal and possessive, something that made his chest tighten and his body react in ways he hadn’t expected. The idea of you glowing, rounded with his child, hit him harder than he wanted to admit, and he cursed himself as he felt the heat pooling low in his abdomen.

Dean shifted in his chair, trying to will the reaction away, but it was no use. His jeans felt tighter, and the book in front of him suddenly seemed like the least interesting thing in the world. He clenched his jaw, leaning back slightly as if the change in position would somehow help. It didn’t.

He glanced at you, still curled up in the chair with your tablet and snacks, completely oblivious to the chaos you’d inadvertently caused in his head. Your face was relaxed, your small movements as you shifted and dipped chips into ice cream so natural and unguarded. It wasn’t like you were trying to do anything to him—you were just being you. And that made it even harder to ignore.

Get it together, Dean, he scolded himself silently, dragging a hand down his face. But the idea of you pregnant—his baby growing inside you, proof of the love you shared—sent another wave of heat through him. It wasn’t just physical; it was deeper, more profound. The thought scared the hell out of him, but it also stirred something he couldn’t deny.

He shifted again, letting out a frustrated sigh that caught Sam’s attention. “You alright?”m Sam asked, raising an eyebrow as he looked up from his research.

Dean nodded quickly, his voice a little strained. “Yeah, just stiff from sitting too long”, he lied, leaning forward and propping his elbow on the table as if that would somehow disguise his discomfort.

Sam gave him a skeptical look but didn’t press, returning to his book with a shrug. Dean glanced back at you once more, letting out a slow, steady breath. He had to get a grip. There was no way he could explain what was going on in his head right now without embarrassing himself—and probably scaring the hell out of you.

Still, as he shifted his focus back to the book, the thought lingered, stubbornly refusing to leave.

Eventually, you stood up from your chair, stretching your legs after sitting for so long. With your tub of ice cream in one hand and your tablet tucked under your arm, you made your way awkwardly toward the kitchen. The cramps were starting to kick in again, and you figured a hot water bottle would help. Dean watched you leave, his eyes trailing after you like a magnet.

The tension in his body hadn’t eased since the thoughts of you and the idea of a family had crept into his head. He told himself to stay put, to let it go, but his legs had other plans. Quietly, he got up, cradling his broken arm against his chest as he followed you down the hall.

———————————

A/N: Please let me know what you think.🥰 

-

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@lilbloggs @emily-winchester @star-yawnznn @noell666 @averagedenjienjoyer0290 @impala67rollingthroughtown @stellamagicmoon

[perlukafarinn]

my favorite genre of dean being queer is him thinking sam knows but sam having absolutely no clue. dean keeps making these casual comments that sam thinks are homophobic jokes and they never, ever talk about it outright

until dean and cas finally get together. and dean announces it to sam like "you've probably been expecting this for a while" and sam's like "no?? since when are you even into men????" and dean's like "since always? why are you acting so surprised, you already knew this" and sam just bluescreens, thinking of every time he accidentally micro-agressed his brother

dean gets to win every argument for about two weeks after that because sam is Paying Reparations

[reallyunluckyrunaway]

It finally happened!

[rkelspn]

superofessional!

[klaydiaries]

To be continued??? TO BE CONTINUED!!!

What do you mean ackles???

[sams-princess-hair]

Dean would try so hard to get Sam to let him cut his hair, cut it short like his. He would love to see Sam get the same haircut as his big brother, but he couldn't deny how well Sam's hair suits him, makes him look pretty even. He notices the changes in his hair, how long it is, how it's styled, things he'd never noticed about a girl before. Then again, he never stuck around long enough to notice when a girl got her hair cut.

Sometimes, when Sam was asleep, he'd run his fingers through it, just a little to see how it feels with the different products in it. It's soft, smooth when it's not caked in dirt. Sam somehow falls asleep so sweetly, either crammed up against the door, chin against his chest, or slack-jawed and drooling against the soft leather. Always thinking about how Sam is a good kid.

[sheydi0]

happy family :3

[lila-lou]

✨Littlest Winchester✨

Summary: You were always all about Christmas, but this year your excitement was through the roof—mixed with a hint of nervousness. You had big news to share with Dean, and the thought of it made your heart race with both joy and a touch of fear.

-Christmas Special-

Pairing: Dean x Reader

Warnings: bit of Angst, FLUFF

Word Count: 8706

A/N: English isn’t my first language, please be lenient. ❤️

Dean groaned as you shoved him, shifting slightly before blinking awake. His arm instinctively reached back for you, but you were already halfway out of bed, practically buzzing with excitement.

“What the hell, Y/N”, he mumbled, his voice thick with sleep. “It’s too early for this”.

You turned around, your grin widening as you saw his messy hair and the way he tried to bury his face back into the pillow. “It’s Christmas, Dean! Come on, get up!”.

He cracked one eye open, clearly unimpressed, but there was a hint of amusement in his gaze. “You’re like a kid”, he muttered, but despite his grumbling, you knew he wasn’t really annoyed.

You laughed, pulling at his arm to try and drag him out of bed. “Exactly! And we’ve got a whole day ahead. Presents, food… everything”.

Dean groaned again, louder this time, and reached out his arm, trying to pull you back toward the bed. “C’mon, baby”, he muttered, his voice low and husky. “Just… five more minutes. It’s freezing out there, and this bed is perfect right now”.

You shook your head, laughing softly as he wrapped his arm around your waist, tugging you back onto the mattress. “Dean! We have the whole day! I don’t want to waste it”, you said, even as you felt his warmth surround you, making it harder to resist the temptation to stay.

He grinned lazily, clearly enjoying his victory as you reluctantly settled back beside him. “The day’s not going anywhere”, he murmured, his voice a little softer now. “Besides, Christmas can wait. Let’s just stay here… just a little longer”. His hand traced lazy circles on your back, and you could feel his breath against your neck as he nestled closer.

For a moment, you almost gave in. The way Dean held you, his warmth, the quietness of the room—it was all too comfortable. But then your excitement bubbled up again, and you gently nudged him. “Dean, come on”, you urged, trying to wiggle free from his grip.

Dean let out an exaggerated groan, burying his face deeper into the pillow as you tried to escape his grasp. “You’re killing me, Y/N”, he muttered, his arm tightening around you one last time before finally loosening his grip. “Fine, but I’m only doing this for the pie”.

You laughed, finally free as you sprang out of bed, your energy contagious. Dean rolled onto his back, stretching his arms over his head, watching you with a lazy smirk as you practically skipped around the room.

“You’re lucky you’re cute when you’re excited”, he teased, his voice still thick with sleep. He swung his legs over the side of the bed, running a hand through his messy hair as he sat up. “But if I don’t smell coffee in the next five minutes, you’re on your own”.

You shot him a playful glare before heading toward the door, the excitement bubbling up again.

Dean pulled on his sweatpants and a shirt, giving one last stretch before heading out of the room. He followed you quietly through the bunker, the coolness of the metal halls contrasting with the warmth of your festive decorations. You had spent weeks transforming the usually stark and utilitarian space into something that actually felt like Christmas—string lights hung from the walls, garlands draped over the railings, and a big tree sat proudly in the corner of the main room, covered in ornaments.

As Dean walked, he couldn’t help but smirk at how much effort you’d put into it. The bunker, usually so cold and impersonal, felt almost… homey. He’d never been one for Christmas decorations, but he had to admit, seeing the place like this wasn’t so bad.

When he finally reached the kitchen, you were already bustling around, pouring a mug of coffee and humming to yourself. The smell of freshly brewed coffee filled the air, mixing with the faint scent of cinnamon from a candle you had insisted on lighting every morning.

Dean leaned against the doorframe, watching you for a moment. “You know, you’ve really outdone yourself with this whole Christmas thing”, he said, his tone half teasing, half genuine. “Didn’t think the bunker could look this… festive”.

You turned around, grinning as you handed him a mug. “Well, someone had to bring the holiday spirit. If it were up to you, we’d have nothing but a six-pack and maybe a couple of leftover slices of pizza to celebrate”.

Dean chuckled, taking the coffee gratefully. “Hey, nothing wrong with that. But I gotta admit, the tree’s kinda growing on me”.

That’s when Sam stumbled into the kitchen, still half asleep, his hair sticking up in all directions. He looked like he’d just rolled out of bed—because he had. He squinted at the lights. You could see him suppressing a yawn as he leaned against the counter, blinking at the sight of the two of you.

“Morning”, he muttered, rubbing his eyes and reaching for the coffee pot. “Knew I’d be dead if I slept in today”, he added with a smirk in your direction, his voice gravelly with sleep.

You grinned, lifting your mug in mock salute. “Damn right, Winchester. It’s Christmas, not time to laze around”.

Dean chuckled, shaking his head as he watched Sam pour himself some coffee.

Sam took a slow sip of his coffee, his eyes narrowing slightly as a mischievous grin crept onto his face. He leaned back against the counter, casually crossing his arms. “Speaking of lazing around, Dean, I didn’t think you’d even be up by now, considering you’ve got a whole new reason to stay in bed these days”, he teased, casting a glance your way.

Dean shot him a look, raising an eyebrow. “Oh, really, Sammy? That’s what we’re doing now?”.

Sam smirked, clearly enjoying the chance to poke fun at his brother. “What? I’m just saying, Y/N’s got you wrapped around her finger. I never thought I’d see the day Dean Winchester gets out of bed early on Christmas morning without complaining. Miracles do happen”.

Dean rolled his eyes, but you could see the faintest hint of a grin tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Yeah, yeah. Keep talking, Sasquatch”.

Sam chuckled, clearly not done with the teasing. “I’m just saying, she’s got you doing things I never thought possible. I mean, you’re practically domesticated, Dean. Next thing we know, you’ll be cooking us a Christmas dinner and wearing an apron”.

Dean scoffed, leaning back against the counter with a smirk. “Yeah, right. Like I’d ever let you two anywhere near my cooking. And for the record, Y/N hasn’t ‘domesticated’ anything. I’m still the same badass I’ve always been”.

You raised an eyebrow at him playfully, crossing your arms. “Oh really? Because I distinctly remember someone helping me hang Christmas lights last week without complaining once”.

Dean pointed at you, his grin widening. “Hey, I did that under protest, and I still managed to look cool doing it”.

Sam burst out laughing. “Yeah, because nothing says ‘cool’ like untangling lights and getting glitter all over yourself”.

You grinned, stepping closer to Dean and leaning in to kiss him softly on the lips. “You’re still a badass”, you mumbled against his mouth, your hand resting on his chest.

Dean smirked, his eyes darkening playfully as he pulled you closer, his hand slipping to give your butt a squeeze. “Damn right I am”, he grumbled quietly, his lips brushing against your ear. “And tonight, I’m gonna show you just how much of a badass I really am”.

You blushed slightly, biting your lip, but before you could respond, Sam cleared his throat loudly, rolling his eyes as he grabbed a spatula from the counter. “Alright, lovebirds. Save it for later”. He gave Dean a pointed look and shook his head, but there was a grin tugging at the corners of his mouth.

Dean just laughed, completely unbothered. “What? You’d understand if you weren’t such a giant prude”.

Sam chuckled and turned his attention back to the stove, where the eggs you’d been cooking were starting to sizzle. “Speaking of helping, you two might want to focus on breakfast before I have to scrape these off the pan”. He stirred the eggs, giving Dean a mock glare. “You’re not getting out of this one, man. You can help with breakfast if you’re not too busy being a badass”.

Dean grinned, giving you one more quick kiss, his lips lingering just long enough to make your heart flutter. "Alright, alright", he muttered with a chuckle.

You rolled your eyes playfully but couldn't help the smile that tugged at your lips as you returned to the stove, taking over where Sam left off with the eggs. As you stirred them, you could feel Dean’s gaze still on you, that familiar warmth blooming in your chest. Sam was right—Dean might act tough and gruff most of the time, but with you, it was different. There was a softness he showed only around you, a vulnerability he never let anyone else see. And honestly, it felt good knowing you had him wrapped around your finger in a way no one else ever had.

Dean walked up behind you, resting his hand casually on the small of your back as he grabbed the coffee pot to refill his mug. "These eggs better be good, or you’re gonna have to explain to Sam why I’m stealing all the bacon later".

Sam snorted from the other side of the kitchen, glancing over with a smirk. "You’re such a drama queen, Dean. It’s breakfast, not a five-star restaurant".

"Hey, breakfast is important", Dean shot back, leaning against the counter with a mock-serious look. "And so is bacon. Especially on Christmas morning".

You laughed, shaking your head as you finished scrambling the eggs, the smell of food filling the bunker and blending with the warmth of the decorations around you. “Relax, Winchester. You’ll get your bacon”.

Dean raised his mug in a mock toast. “Now you’re talking my language”.

As Sam set the table, you couldn’t help but take a moment to appreciate the scene—two brothers you cared about, a peaceful morning for once, and a Christmas that actually felt like something worth celebrating. Despite everything life threw at you, moments like this made it all worthwhile.

Just as you set the plates of scrambled eggs and bacon on the table, a sudden whoosh of air filled the room, and before you could react, Jack appeared right in the middle of the kitchen, his usual bright smile lighting up his face.

“Good morning!”, Jack exclaimed, his excitement palpable. “Merry Christmas!”.

Dean nearly spilled his coffee, glancing up with a start. “Damn it, Jack! We’ve talked about the whole ‘teleporting without warning’ thing”.

Before Jack could respond, there was another rustle, and Cas stepped into the kitchen, as calm and collected as ever. “Dean”, he said in his familiar, gravelly tone, “we’re here for breakfast, not to startle you”.

You couldn’t help but chuckle as you watched Dean roll his eyes, clearly trying to keep his usual grumpy demeanor in place, though you could tell he was glad to see them. “Yeah, well, maybe next time use the front door like normal people”, Dean muttered, but his grin betrayed him as he waved them over.

Jack, seemingly oblivious to the grumbling, beamed at the sight of the Christmas decorations you had put up. “Wow, Y/N! The bunker looks amazing! It feels so… festive!”.

You smiled, wiping your hands on a dish towel. “Thanks, Jack. Took a bit of work, but it’s worth it”.

Cas, standing beside Jack, nodded his approval. “It’s a significant improvement. Very… homey”.

Dean snorted, muttering under his breath, “Great, now even Cas is getting sappy”. But there was no hiding the fondness in his voice.

Sam grinned at Jack and Cas, pulling out chairs for them. “Perfect timing, guys. Y/N just finished making breakfast. You’re just in time”.

Jack’s eyes lit up as he sat down eagerly, glancing at the spread of eggs, bacon, and toast. “I love breakfast!”.

Dean raised an eyebrow as he sat down across from him. “Jack, you love every meal”.

Jack shrugged with a sheepish smile. “That’s true. But breakfast is especially good”.

Cas sat beside Jack, his eyes scanning the table thoughtfully. “I don’t require food, but I appreciate the sentiment. I’ll join you”.

Dean caught your eye as you both sat down, his hand brushing against yours under the table. He didn’t say anything, but the warmth in his gaze said it all: this, right here, was what mattered.

As the breakfast continued, the table filled with the sound of clinking forks and Jack excitedly recounting some recent stories, Cas began to grow unusually quiet. You noticed him eyeing you from across the table, his piercing blue gaze lingering on you with that familiar intensity that usually meant he had picked up on something. His brows furrowed slightly, and you bit your lip, silently hoping he’d just tune into Jack’s enthusiastic chatter.

But then, Cas tilted his head ever so slightly, his eyes narrowing as they dropped to your stomach. “Y/N”, he started, his voice cutting through the lighthearted atmosphere, “something feels… off”.

Your heart skipped a beat. You could feel Dean glance at you out of the corner of his eye, his fork pausing midway to his mouth. Cas’ eyes were still fixed on you, a mix of confusion and concern etched across his face, and you knew he was sensing something that you weren’t quite ready to discuss. Not yet.

Cas opened his mouth again, but before he could say anything more, you stood up abruptly, your chair scraping against the floor. “Cas, could you help me with something in the library?”, you asked quickly, trying to keep your voice steady, but the urgency in your tone was hard to miss.

Dean’s gaze shifted fully to you now, his brows furrowing slightly. “Baby, you barely ate”, he said softly, nodding towards your plate that still had most of the eggs untouched.

You forced a small smile, your heart racing. “I’ll be right back. I just need to check something with Cas. Won’t take long”.

Jack, still caught up in his own world, barely seemed to notice the tension as he continued his story to Sam. But Dean wasn’t fooled, his eyes searching yours for an explanation. You gave his hand a reassuring squeeze before nodding toward Cas, silently pleading with him to follow you without asking any more questions.

Cas stood slowly, his expression still unreadable but compliant, and followed you out of the kitchen. As soon as you were out of earshot, you let out a shaky breath, trying to gather your thoughts. The last thing you needed was Cas revealing something in front of everyone before you even had a chance to wrap your head around it yourself.

Cas watched you with that deep, unblinking intensity, his hands still tucked into the familiar folds of his trench coat. The silence between you felt heavy, the air thick with the tension of unspoken words. You could see the wheels turning in his mind, that angelic perception of his already picking up on things you hadn’t fully come to terms with yet.

And then it happened.

In the quiet stillness of the library, his gaze sharpened slightly. His head tilted once more, and his eyes flicked to your stomach. It was as though something invisible had clicked into place. The faintest sound of another heartbeat reached his celestial senses, soft yet distinct, tucked away beneath your own.

His eyes widened in realization, and he straightened up, his voice barely more than a whisper. “There’s… another heartbeat”.

You swallowed hard, your throat tightening as the reality of it hit you again. You hadn’t wanted to think about it, hadn’t even allowed yourself to fully embrace it yet. But now, with Cas staring at you like he’d just uncovered a truth written in the stars, it was impossible to avoid.

Cas stepped closer, his expression softening with a mixture of awe and understanding. “Y/N… you’re pregnant”.

There it was—out in the open. The secret you had been carrying alone, unsure of how to even approach it. The words hung in the air between you, thick and heavy, as if they had the power to change everything.

You nodded slowly, your eyes dropping to the floor as your fingers fidgeted with the hem of your shirt. “I—I found out a while ago. I haven’t told Dean yet”.

Cas watched you closely, his blue eyes filled with understanding as you hesitated. The weight of your secret had been building up inside you, and now that it was out in the open—at least with Cas—it felt like you were one step closer to facing it. But there was still the looming task of telling Dean, and that, above all, made your heart race.

You took a deep breath, your voice barely above a whisper as you admitted, “I’m planning on telling him tonight”.

Cas nodded, his expression gentle and supportive. “That’s a good idea, Y/N. It’s important that he hears it from you, and in your own time”.

You bit your lip, feeling the nerves bubble up again. “I know. I’ve been trying to figure out the right moment, the right words… but I don’t think there’s ever going to be a perfect time, is there?”.

Cas shook his head slightly. “No, but Dean will understand. He’ll want to be there for you, for both of you”.

You sighed softly, running a hand through your hair. “It’s just… it’s a lot. And with everything we’ve been through—demons, angels, hunting—it’s hard to imagine something like this fitting into our lives”.

Cas took a step closer, his presence calming. “You’re stronger than you think, Y/N. You’ve been through so much together, and this will be another challenge, but one filled with love. Dean will rise to the occasion”.

You smiled weakly, grateful for Cas’ steady reassurance. “Thanks, Cas. I really needed to hear that”.

Cas nodded, a rare, soft smile tugging at his lips, a sight so uncommon that it momentarily eased the tension in your chest. It was reassuring, the way he could offer comfort without saying too much, just being present and understanding in his quiet, angelic way.

"You’re welcome, Y/N", he said softly, that smile lingering. "It’s going to be alright. You’re not alone in this".

You felt a surge of emotion at his words. Cas always had this way of making even the most overwhelming situations seem manageable, like everything was just part of a bigger plan. You were about to face one of the biggest moments of your life, but somehow, in this moment, with Cas standing there, it didn’t feel as impossible as it had before.

“I’m not sure how I’m going to bring it up", you admitted, a hint of nervousness creeping back into your voice. “Dean’s not exactly the best at handling surprises”.

Cas’ small smile grew slightly, an amused glint in his eyes. “True, but he has a way of adapting, especially when it comes to you”.

You chuckled softly, rubbing your hands together nervously. “Yeah, I guess you’re right”.

Cas’ expression grew more serious again as he added, “Dean cares for you deeply. That won’t change, no matter what you tell him tonight”.

You nodded, letting out a breath you didn’t realize you were holding. “Okay. Tonight”.

You gave him a small, grateful smile and then glanced back toward the kitchen. "We should get back before Dean gets suspicious”.

Cas simply followed your gaze, and with a subtle shift of his posture, you both started making your way back to the kitchen. As you stepped inside, the sound of Jack’s laughter filled the room, and the warmth of the holiday decorations felt a little more comforting now.

Dean immediately looked up from his seat, his green eyes locking onto yours. His brow furrowed slightly, but he smiled, his lips curling into that familiar smirk that always managed to make your heart skip a beat. “Everything good?”, he asked, his voice casual but laced with curiosity.

You smiled back at him, nodding as you returned to your seat next to him. “Yeah, everything’s good”, you said softly, your hand finding his under the table again, needing that connection for just a bit longer.

Dean glanced between you and Cas but didn’t press further. Instead, he squeezed your hand, his thumb brushing over your knuckles in a gesture of quiet comfort.

The rest of the breakfast carried on with Jack and Sam exchanging stories, Cas chiming in now and then with his calm, straightforward insights. And while the atmosphere was light, you couldn’t help but feel the weight of the conversation that was coming later.

As the day went on, the soft hum of holiday cheer filled the bunker. Jack sat cross-legged on the floor beside you, eagerly helping to wrap the last few presents, his excitement almost palpable as he concentrated on folding the wrapping paper with precision. “Do you think they’ll like them?”, he asked, glancing up at you with wide, hopeful eyes.

You smiled warmly, watching him try his best to mimic the way you wrapped the gifts. “They’ll love them, Jack”, you assured him. “It’s the thought that counts, and you’ve put a lot of thought into these”.

Jack beamed, his joy infectious. “I hope so. I want this Christmas to be perfect”.

As you carefully taped the final gift, your eyes drifted over to Cas, who sat in the corner of the room, staring down at the bright red and green Christmas sweater you’d made him wear earlier in the day. It had a knitted image of a reindeer on it, complete with a blinking red nose, and while the sweater fit him perfectly, Cas looked incredibly out of place.

He tugged slightly at the fabric near his neck, his expression unreadable as he muttered, “This garment feels… unusual”.

You couldn’t help but laugh softly. “It’s supposed to feel a little weird. It’s a Christmas sweater, Cas. They’re meant to be festive, not comfortable”.

Cas raised an eyebrow, clearly unconvinced. “I fail to understand how wearing this contributes to the holiday spirit”.

Jack looked up from his wrapping and grinned. “It’s part of the tradition, Castiel. You wear silly clothes, eat too much food, and spend time with the people you care about. That’s the spirit of Christmas”.

Cas glanced at Jack, his confusion softening into contemplation. “I see”, he murmured, his eyes moving down to the blinking reindeer on his chest once more. “It is… rather distracting”.

You chuckled, moving to sit beside him for a moment. “You’re doing great, Cas. You’re embracing the whole Christmas thing, and that’s what counts”.

He nodded slowly, though his fingers continued to tug at the sweater, as if he were still trying to understand its purpose. “I suppose if it makes everyone happy, I can tolerate it for a little while longer”.

Jack beamed at Cas, clearly pleased that he was trying to join in. “It looks good on you, Cas. Really festive!”.

Cas gave a small nod of acknowledgment but looked a little like he’d rather be anywhere else than wearing that sweater. Still, it was a rare moment of levity in their otherwise intense lives, and you were glad to see him at least making an effort.

The day passed peacefully, the bunker filled with laughter and quiet conversation. Sam and Dean had gone out to get the final groceries for dinner, leaving you with some much-needed quiet time to prepare mentally for the conversation you were planning to have later.

Just as you began peeling potatoes for dinner, the sound of Jody’s familiar voice echoed through the bunker, followed by the laughter and chatter of her girls, Claire and Alex.

Cas, Jack, and Sam were quick to step outside to help unload the car. From the doorway, you could see Jack’s enthusiasm, practically bouncing on his heels as they brought in armfuls of presents from the back of Jody’s truck.

You smiled to yourself, grateful for the warmth that filled the bunker today. It wasn’t just the twinkling lights or the soft hum of Christmas music playing in the background; it was the people—this makeshift family that had come together, in all their strange, supernatural, and human ways.

Suddenly, you felt a presence behind you, strong and familiar. Before you could react, Dean’s hands slid around your waist, splaying across your belly as he pressed his body close to yours. His lips found the side of your neck, leaving soft kisses that sent shivers down your spine, making your breath hitch.

“Hey”, he whispered against your skin, his voice low and teasing. “You’ve been running around all day. Figured I’d steal a minute”.

You exhaled, momentarily forgetting about the potatoes as you leaned into his touch, feeling the warmth of his hands spread through you. His fingers brushed against your belly gently, and for a second, a rush of nerves tightened your chest. He didn’t know yet, and his hands were right there, resting over the secret you hadn’t yet shared.

Dean must have felt the shift in your body because he paused, his lips still on your neck but now still. “You okay, sweetheart?”.

You forced a smile, even though your heart raced beneath your chest. “Yeah, just… thinking about everything we have to get done”.

He chuckled, clearly not suspecting anything. “You’ve got this”, he said confidently, his hands giving your stomach a soft squeeze before he moved his lips to your ear. “And later tonight, we’ll make some time for just us. Sound good?”.

Your breath caught again, not from his words but from the weight of what you knew you had to tell him. You turned your head slightly, catching his gaze, trying to steady your nerves. “Yeah”, you whispered. “Later”.

Dean grinned, giving you one more lingering kiss on the neck before pulling back. "You need any help here?", he asked, nodding toward the potatoes you’d been peeling, but before you could answer, Jody stepped into the kitchen with her usual air of confident warmth, followed closely by Alex, both clearly ready to jump in and take over.

Jody smiled as she caught sight of Dean standing so close to you. “I think you’ve got enough on your plate, Dean”, she teased lightly, her eyes sparkling. “Why don’t you let the ladies handle dinner, and you can make yourself useful elsewhere?”.

Dean chuckled, holding up his hands in surrender. “Alright, alright. You know where to find me if you need the real help”.

Jody rolled her eyes playfully before turning toward you. “Looks like we’ve got things covered in here, Y/N. What do you say we get this show on the road?”.

You gave her a grateful smile as Alex moved to your side, eager to pitch in. "Sounds good to me".

Before Dean could make another comment, Jody pointed toward the door, a mischievous grin on her face. "Dean, why don’t you, Sam, Cas, and Claire set up the tables in the library for dinner? I want it to look nice. You boys can handle a little decorating, can’t you?".

Dean snorted. “Decorating? Uh, sure, we’ll handle it”.

Claire, who had just come in, overheard Jody’s instructions and immediately protested. "Decorating? Seriously, Jody?", she groaned, throwing her hands up dramatically. "You know I’m not exactly the Martha Stewart type".

Jody shot her a mock-serious look. "It’s Christmas, Claire. And you’re part of this family, which means you help".

Claire grumbled under her breath, but the small smile playing at her lips told you she wasn’t really upset.

Dean, hearing her complaints, threw an arm around Claire’s shoulders as they both walked out of the kitchen. “Come on, kid. We’ll make Cas do the heavy lifting. You and I can just supervise”.

Claire smirked, shaking her head but following along anyway, while you could hear Sam and Cas joining in, their voices fading as they headed toward the library.

With the boys and Claire out of the kitchen, the room settled into a comfortable hum as you, Jody, and Alex set to work on dinner. The smell of freshly peeled potatoes filled the air as you and Alex continued prepping, while Jody took command of the oven, expertly sliding in a tray of seasoned vegetables.

“So”, Jody said, glancing at you with a raised eyebrow as she wiped her hands on a towel. “How are you holding up? Got a lot on your mind, I bet”.

You hesitated for a moment, your hand pausing mid-peel, before you nodded. “Yeah… you could say that”.

Jody gave you one of her knowing looks, that calm, motherly intuition she always carried. “Anything you want to talk about?”.

You smiled softly, appreciating the offer, but shook your head. “Not right now. But… thanks, Jody”.

She nodded, not pressing, but you could tell she understood. "Whenever you're ready".

Alex, sensing the shift in conversation, changed the subject, her voice bright as she asked about dessert ideas. The easy banter and lighthearted chatter that followed made you feel a little more grounded, and soon, the rhythm of preparing the Christmas feast fell into place, calming your nerves.

As you worked alongside Jody and Alex, you could hear occasional bursts of laughter coming from the library, a sure sign that the boys—and Claire—were enjoying their task despite the initial complaints. You couldn’t help but smile, imagining the chaos they were creating while attempting to set up the dinner tables.

Tonight was still hanging over you, but for now, you allowed yourself to enjoy the moment. The warmth, the laughter, the love that filled the bunker—it was all the reassurance you needed. Whatever came next, you’d face it surrounded by the people who had become your family.

Two hours later, the whole group was gathered around the large table in the library, now decorated with Christmas lights and a mix of festive table settings. Laughter and conversation filled the room, creating a warm, comforting atmosphere that made the bunker feel more like a real home. The scent of roasted vegetables, savory meat, and freshly baked bread wafted through the air as everyone dug into the Christmas dinner you had all worked so hard to prepare.

You sat between Dean and Sam, your plate in front of you looking more full than it should, considering the slight wave of nausea that had settled over you. Despite your best efforts, eating wasn’t coming as easily as you’d hoped. It was frustrating, really—you felt like you were starving, but every bite seemed to turn heavy the moment it hit your stomach. Still, you kept a huge smile plastered across your face, determined to enjoy the moment.

As Jody regaled the group with stories from her last Christmas with Claire and Alex, everyone at the table was engaged, laughing and reacting to her animated storytelling. Claire rolled her eyes playfully at some of the more embarrassing details, but there was no denying the affection in her gaze as she listened to Jody.

“And then”, Jody continued, gesturing wildly with her fork, “Claire decided it would be a great idea to chop down her own Christmas tree—without telling me. She borrowed my axe and came back with this tiny, crooked thing. Looked like Charlie Brown’s tree on a bad day”.

Everyone erupted in laughter, Claire groaning dramatically as she covered her face with her hands. “It wasn’t that bad!”, she protested, but the grin on her face betrayed her.

Alex chimed in, laughing, “Oh, it was that bad. You’re lucky it didn’t fall over on us while we were decorating it”.

Dean chuckled beside you, shaking his head. “Sounds like Claire and I would’ve gotten along just fine as kids”.

“Of course you would”, Sam said, rolling his eyes. “Mischief attracts mischief”.

You laughed along with them, though you could feel your stomach turning slightly as you pushed some mashed potatoes around your plate. Dean, ever observant, glanced at you between bites, his eyes narrowing slightly in concern.

“Hey”, he said quietly, leaning in so only you could hear. “You okay? You’ve barely touched your food”.

Your heart skipped a beat, and you offered him a reassuring smile, though you could tell he wasn’t completely convinced. “Yeah, I’m fine. Just… not as hungry as I thought I’d be”.

Dean studied you for a moment, his hand resting gently on your knee under the table. He didn’t press further, though, which you appreciated. Instead, he gave your leg a soft squeeze before turning back to the conversation, his worry still lingering just beneath the surface.

As the evening went on, you focused on the stories and laughter around you, feeling the love and joy that filled the room. Jack, seated between Cas and Sam, was practically glowing with excitement, his eyes wide as he listened intently to each person who spoke, soaking in the warmth of the holiday spirit like it was something magical.

Occasionally, you managed a few bites of food, but the queasiness never quite went away. Still, the happiness of the evening made it easier to push the discomfort aside. Jody’s stories continued, one after another, each more hilarious than the last, and soon the entire table was in fits of laughter.

“I swear”, Jody said, wiping a tear from her eye as she finished another tale, “Christmas with these girls is never boring. If it’s not Claire taking an axe to a tree, it’s Alex burning cookies in the oven”.

Alex gasped in mock offense. “That was one time, Jody!”.

Sam grinned, leaning back in his chair. “Sounds like a Winchester Christmas, alright”.

Dean chuckled, but his attention shifted to you again, his hand still resting gently on your leg. He shot you a quick glance, as if making sure you were really okay, but before he could say anything, Jody changed the subject, pulling him back into the conversation.

For now, you kept your smile in place, the weight of your secret heavy in your heart.

The mood in the library was warm and festive as everyone gathered around the Christmas tree, glowing with twinkling lights. The bunker’s cold, utilitarian vibe had completely transformed into something that resembled a cozy family living room. Armchairs and smaller couches were draped around the tree, but despite the available space, Dean pulled you into his lap, grinning as he wrapped an arm around your waist, claiming you as his own little piece of Christmas comfort.

“Gotta save space, right?”, Dean teased, giving you a playful squeeze. You settled into him, your nerves still fluttering as you kept the small, tightly wrapped frame in your hands. You felt the solid weight of the secret within, the truth you were about to share, but you kept it to yourself for now, waiting for the right moment.

On the floor in front of the tree, Jack sat cross-legged, his eyes bright with excitement as he carefully picked up gifts, handing them out with the eagerness of a kid on Christmas morning. Sam sat nearby, his legs stretched out in front of him as he watched the scene with a fond smile. Claire and Alex were already ripping into their presents, while Jody smiled from the armchair, enjoying the chaos that had taken over the normally quiet bunker.

Dean, of course, had his focus on you, even as he tore into the gifts Jack handed him. His laughter filled the room as he opened a box from Sam containing a brand-new set of tools. “Knew I could count on you for the practical stuff”, Dean joked, giving Sam a wink.

You smiled softly, watching Dean enjoy the moment, but your heart raced as the small frame in your hands grew heavier. You could feel the ultrasound picture inside, the words Littlest Winchester written across the frame. You had thought about this moment a hundred times, imagined how it would go, but now that you were here, sitting on Dean’s lap, surrounded by the people you loved, you felt a knot of anxiety tighten in your chest.

Jack continued handing out gifts, his excitement infectious as he passed a wrapped present to Cas, who opened it slowly, carefully peeling away the paper. Dean’s hands, however, rested lightly on your hips, and you could feel his attention shifting back to you between each gift. He was smiling, but there was something in his eyes, like he knew something was on your mind.

Dean leaned in closer, his breath warm against your ear. “You alright, sweetheart? You’ve been a little quiet”.

You nodded quickly, trying to keep the nervousness out of your voice. “Yeah, I’m fine. Just… waiting for the right moment”.

Dean’s eyebrows rose slightly, but he didn’t press you further. Instead, he turned his attention back to the last few gifts Jack was handing out. But you could feel his curiosity piqued—he knew something was up, but he was giving you space.

Finally, all the presents were opened, and the room was filled with the sounds of laughter, wrapping paper scattered across the floor. Dean leaned back, his arm still securely around your waist as he admired the various gifts he had received. “This was a damn good Christmas”, he said, his voice content. “You outdid yourself this year”.

You smiled, your heart pounding in your chest as you held the small frame tighter in your hands. This was it. The right moment had arrived, and there was no turning back now.

Swallowing the lump in your throat, you slowly shifted in Dean’s lap, turning to face him slightly. “Dean”, you started softly, your voice barely above a whisper, “I have one more gift for you”.

His eyes lit up with curiosity as he tilted his head. “Another one? You’re spoiling me, sweetheart”.

You took a deep breath, feeling the weight of the moment settle over you. With trembling hands, you passed him the small, neatly wrapped frame. Dean looked down at it, his brow furrowing slightly as he took it from you, clearly sensing the significance behind it.

His fingers brushed against the wrapping paper as he tore it open, his usual playful smirk giving way to something more serious as he carefully peeled back the layers. When the frame finally emerged, his eyes immediately dropped to the image inside.

Dean froze.

His hand tightened around the frame, his breath catching in his throat as his eyes locked onto the ultrasound picture. The words Littlest Winchester written across the top of the frame seemed to echo in the air between you. For a moment, everything else in the room faded away—Jack’s chatter, Claire’s teasing, even the warm glow of the Christmas tree seemed to disappear as Dean stared at the image in front of him.

His voice, when it finally came, was rough, barely a whisper. “Is this…?”.

Dean’s world seemed to stop as he stared at the ultrasound picture, his breath hitching in his throat. His eyes wide with disbelief and something else—something deeper, rawer. Right now, in this moment, it was as if the rest of the room had faded away. It was just you and him.

You could feel the weight of his gaze on you, but you couldn’t meet his eyes. Your heart pounded in your chest, a mix of nerves and anticipation swirling inside of you. You bit your lip, your fingers trembling as you twisted them together anxiously in your lap. How would he react? This wasn’t planned. Hell, you’d been on the pill, doing everything right, and yet somehow this happened.

You had known that Dean always wanted kids, deep down. You had seen it in the way he looked at families whenever you passed them on the road, in the rare quiet moments when he let his guard down and talked about what could have been. But with his lifestyle—your lifestyle—it always seemed like an impossible dream. The topic had always been brushed off, a “what if” too dangerous to entertain.

Now, it wasn’t a “what if” anymore. It was real. It was happening. And you were terrified of how he might respond.

Tears welled in your eyes, your vision blurring as you nodded slowly, unable to find the strength to look at him. You stared down at your hands, twisting your fingers together as the silence stretched on, the tension in the air thick enough to choke on.

“I—I didn’t know… I was on the pill. I don’t know how this happened, but… it did”, you whispered, your voice trembling as the tears spilled over.

You wiped at your eyes, trying to steady your breathing. “I’m scared. I don’t know what this means for us, for everything. I just… I know it’s not what we planned, and I don’t know how you feel about it…”.

Your voice trailed off, overwhelmed by the enormity of what was happening. You didn’t dare look up at him, afraid of what you might see in his eyes—afraid that the dream you hadn’t let yourself believe in might come crashing down.

But then, after what felt like an eternity, you felt Dean’s hand move from the frame. His fingers found yours, gently prying your hands apart and wrapping them in his. His touch was warm, grounding you, and with that simple gesture, your heart clenched.

“Sweetheart”, Dean’s voice was low, thick with emotion as he finally spoke, and you could hear the slight tremble in it. He reached up, his hand cupping your cheek, gently wiping away a tear with his thumb. “Look at me”.

You hesitated, but the softness in his voice, the warmth in his touch, made you brave enough to lift your gaze to meet his. When you finally did, the sight of his eyes—wide, filled with awe and love, and glistening with unshed tears—took your breath away.

“You’re pregnant”, he whispered, like he was trying to wrap his mind around the reality of it. “We’re having a baby”.

The corners of his mouth twitched as if he wanted to smile but was still too overwhelmed to fully let it through. His eyes searched yours, trying to gauge everything you were feeling, trying to make sense of this new reality.

You nodded again, your voice barely above a whisper. “Yeah, Dean. We’re having a baby”.

For a moment, neither of you spoke. His hand still rested on your cheek, his thumb brushing gently against your skin, grounding you both in this new, terrifying, and beautiful reality.

And then, suddenly, Dean let out a shaky breath, his lips curving into the kind of smile you had rarely seen from him—one of pure, unfiltered joy. A small laugh escaped him, as if the weight of the world had just been lifted from his shoulders.

“We’re having a baby”, he repeated, this time with more conviction, his voice filled with wonder. “Holy crap”.

He pulled you closer, his arms wrapping around you tightly, holding you as if he never wanted to let go. You could feel the way his heart was racing, how overwhelmed and overjoyed he was, and it made the tears spill from your eyes all over again.

“I love you”, Dean murmured into your hair, his voice thick with emotion. “God, I love you so much. I don’t care how it happened, I don’t care about the rest. This—this is the best damn Christmas gift I’ve ever gotten”.

You let out a sob of relief, burying your face into his chest as you held onto him, your fingers gripping his shirt as you let the emotions wash over you. All the fear, the anxiety, the uncertainty—it all melted away in his embrace.

Dean kissed the top of your head, holding you close as you both stayed like that for a long moment. Finally, you pulled back slightly, looking up at him, your face wet with tears, but your heart lighter than it had been in weeks.

“Are you… are you really okay with this?”, you asked softly, still needing to hear it, still needing that final reassurance.

Dean’s eyes softened as he leaned in, pressing his forehead against yours. “More than okay”, he whispered, his breath warm against your skin. “I’ve never been more okay with anything in my life”.

Dean pulled you in even tighter, his lips meeting yours in a soft, tender kiss that carried all the emotion he couldn’t quite put into words. His hand cradled the back of your head as if to ground both of you in the moment, making you feel safe, loved, and cherished. When he finally pulled back, his forehead rested against yours, his breath shaky but filled with happiness.

Without even glancing away from you, Dean blindly handed the framed ultrasound to Sam, who had been watching the two of you closely. “Hey, Sammy, check this out”, Dean muttered, his voice still thick with awe and emotion.

Sam took the frame gingerly, his brow furrowing in confusion at first as he glanced down. But when he saw what was in his hands, his expression shifted, his eyes widening in shock as he realized what he was looking at. “Holy crap”, Sam whispered, his voice echoing Dean’s earlier reaction.

The room, which had grown quiet as everyone observed the moment between you and Dean, suddenly erupted in soft gasps and murmurs as Sam held up the frame for everyone to see.

Jody’s eyes lit up with a wide smile, and her hand flew to her mouth in surprise. Claire and Alex exchanged looks, their usual tough exteriors softening into grins. Jack, sitting cross-legged on the floor, beamed, his face lighting up with pure joy. Even Cas, who had been quietly observing from the corner, allowed a rare smile to spread across his face, understanding the gravity of the moment.

Dean’s hand never left yours, his eyes locked on you as if he still couldn’t believe what was happening. “We’re really doing this”, he whispered softly, his voice full of love and a hint of disbelief.

You nodded, unable to stop the tears from flowing again, though this time they were tears of relief, happiness, and excitement for the future. “Yeah, we are”.

Sam, still holding the frame, finally found his voice again. “Dude, this is… this is incredible”. he said, his voice cracking slightly as he looked between you and Dean, his eyes misting over with pride. “I’m gonna be an uncle”.

Jody stood from her seat, stepping forward with a huge smile. “You two are going to be amazing parents”, she said warmly, her eyes shining with happiness. “This kid is already so loved”.

Claire let out a dramatic sigh from across the room, but there was no mistaking the affection in her tone. “Great, another Winchester to look after”, she teased with a smirk. “Just what we needed”.

Alex nudged Claire, rolling her eyes but laughing along. “Like you wouldn’t be first in line to babysit”.

Dean’s hand slowly wandered over your stomach, resting there as if he was already bonding with the little life growing inside you. He kept you close, his thumb lightly brushing your belly in a gentle, unconscious motion, and it sent a warmth through your entire body.

Then he looked over at Claire with that classic Dean Winchester smirk, teasingly raising an eyebrow. “Oh, you better believe you’re first in line for babysitting, Claire. You and Alex. It’s a Winchester tradition—gotta get you trained up for the dirty work early”.

Claire rolled her eyes dramatically, but her smile gave her away. “Yeah, right. I can already see it now—Dean and Y/N sneak out for a ‘quick hunt’ and I’m stuck with diaper duty”.

Dean chuckled, his eyes lighting up with amusement. “That’s the spirit! You’ll be a pro in no time, kid”.

Alex laughed from beside her, nudging Claire again. “Face it, Claire, you’re going to be Auntie Claire before you know it”.

Claire’s expression softened slightly, her tough exterior cracking just a little. “Yeah, well… I’ll do it, but only for the kid. Not for you, Dean”, she teased, crossing her arms.

Dean grinned, squeezing you closer as he shot Claire a wink. “Fair enough”.

Jack, who had been quietly observing with wide eyes, piped up from his spot on the floor. “I can help, too! I’ll keep the baby entertained, maybe teach them some… cool tricks”.

The entire room burst into laughter at that, and Dean’s hand squeezed your belly a little more, pulling you back into his chest with a look of mock concern. “Whoa, whoa, Jack. No angelic tricks around the baby just yet. We’re gonna need to stick with the basics first—like peek-a-boo, not teleporting”.

Jack nodded seriously, though the excitement in his eyes didn’t dim. “Right. No teleporting. Got it”.

Sam, still holding the framed ultrasound, smiled warmly as he watched the whole exchange, his gaze eventually landing back on you and Dean. “This kid’s going to be surrounded by more love—and more chaos—than it´ll know what to do with”.

Dean’s eyes softened as he met Sam’s gaze, the weight of the moment settling in once again. “Yeah”, he agreed, his voice quieter, more serious now. “That’s what family’s for, right?”.

You could feel Dean’s arm tighten around you protectively, and you leaned into him, feeling the overwhelming love and joy radiating from him. For so long, the idea of having a family seemed like an impossible dream for both of you, something that had been pushed aside in the face of all the danger and uncertainty. But now, sitting here surrounded by the people you loved, the dream was real.

Dean glanced down at you, his hand still resting protectively over your stomach, his expression softening into something deeper. “We’re really doing this”, he repeated, more to himself than anyone else, his eyes shining with quiet wonder.

You nodded, your hand resting on top of his as you smiled through your tears. “Yeah, Dean. We are”.

And in that moment, surrounded by your family and the warm glow of Christmas lights, everything felt right—like you were exactly where you were supposed to be. The future, as uncertain as it always seemed, felt full of hope and love. And as Dean held you close, his hand never leaving your belly, you knew that no matter what came next, you’d face it together.

———————————

A/N: Please let me know what you think.🥰

-

Taglist: @blackcherrywhiskey @baby19sthings @suckitands33 @spnfamily-j2 @lyarr24 @deans-baby-momma @reignsboy19 @kawaii-arfid-memes @mekkencspony @lovziy @artemys-ackles @fitxgrld @libby99hb @lovelyvirtualperson @a-lil-pr1ncess @nancymcl @the-last-ry @spndeanwinchesterlvr @hobby27 @themarebarroww @kr804573 @impala67rollingthroughtown @deans-queen @deadlymistletoe @selfdestructionandrhum @utyblyn @winchesterwild78 @jackles010378 @chirazsstuff @foxyjwls007 @smoothdogsgirl @woooonau @whimsyfinny @freyabear @laaadygisbooornex3 @quietgirll75 @perpetualabsurdity @pughsexual @berryblues46 @deanwinchestersgirl8734 @kr804573 @iloveeveryoneyoureamazing @iloveeveryoneyoureamazing @barnes70stark @roseblue373

[iamthejam]

the winchester brothers as texts

[marvelfanfn2187a113]

Too Much (Little Sister Version)

Dean Winchester & little sister!reader

Requested by @redbird-tf

Synopsis: you have nightmares of dying like Mary, and you start to get really clingy with Dean.

It started out in a subtle way. Your first nightmare had been vague, and though it had jarred you, it wasn’t enough to curb your day-to-day activities…much.

“I’m going for a supply run.” Dean’s words had you looking up from the homework you’d been working on. “We’re out of beer…and food.”

“I’ll come.” You were on your feet before the words even left your mouth.

“It’s just a quick run,” Dean argued. “Don’t you have homework?”

“It can wait,” you insisted, already on your way to the Impala. “Let’s go!”

Of course it would be Dean—it had always been Dean. Sure, he had his anger issues and his bad moments. He drank too much and he isolated himself when he was upset. But he always came back; when Sam was at Stanford, when dad disappeared, it was always you and Dean.

So when you started having nightmares about burning on the ceiling, Dean was who you turned to.

Scary things shouldn’t phase you anymore, not after all you’d seen. But this was different. Your whole life you’d heard “what happened to mom.” Never any specifics—it was always, “the demon killed mom,” or “what the demon did to Mary.” Nobody ever gave you any details; they always said you didn’t need to know.

So when you snuck into Dean’s room in the bunker and stole dad’s journal, you were in for a surprise.

The pages you’d read had been stuck together—it didn’t look like anyone had read them—and it took you a moment to peel them apart.

I went to visit a shrink today—I thought he might be a vampire. I went in undercover, booked myself an appointment. I figured out pretty quickly that he wasn’t a monster, but I didn’t leave. It sounds stupid, but I actually talked to him. Told him about Mary. Well, as much as I could tell, which is more than I’ve told anyone. Point is, he told me to write down what happened to her. Every detail I could remember. I don’t like thinking about her…but maybe he was right. Little Sammy asked about Mary just the other day, and I yelled at him. I still feel bad…it’s not his fault, he’s just a kid. Maybe this is the only way I’ll be able to talk about her, but maybe that’ll be enough to keep me from going off on the kids. So here goes…

And John had laid out every gory detail of that night, and you’d read the whole thing. You’d always thought it would be better knowing; that it would somehow bring you some extra closure to know how your mother’s final moments went. You were wrong.

And so came the nightmares. The first one was fuzzy and indistinct; a fire, the sound of screaming. But it was enough to have you going with Dean whenever he left the bunker.

The second one was more vivid. It was also when you realized that it wasn’t your mother you were dreaming about—it was you.

It was so real—you felt the demon’s powers slashing open your stomach, you felt your body lifting off the floor…

But the worst part was the heat. It stung your eyes and sizzled against your blood and seared your skin. You tried to scream, but the smoke choked you and stopped your voice. You struggled to inhale, coughing on the smoke and crying at the pain that lit up every nerve ending.

The bright light of the fire left first, then slowly afterwards the pain. But you were still choking and gasping for breath when you sat up in your bed.

“Dean,” you whimpered, the lone word echoing through your empty room. You weren’t quite used to the bunker yet—you were so used to the motels, where your brothers were right next to you at all times. Most of the time it was annoying, but right now…

You threw your covers off you, finally getting a hold of your runaway breathing as you padded barefoot towards your door. You couldn’t stay in this room—it was this room that you’d dreamt of, this ceiling that you’d burned on.

You flung your door open and started down the hall, but you only got halfway to Dean’s room before you stopped. You couldn’t go to him like this, a tear-streaked mess in the middle of the night; he would know something was wrong, and then you’d have to talk about it.

You couldn’t talk about it.

A bang from the kitchen stole your attention and your breath, your mind wandering towards images of a yellow-eyed intruder. You tip-toed to the kitchen, peaking around the corner and breathing easily when you saw Dean rummaging in the fridge for a beer.

You slipped into the kitchen, heading straight for Dean.

“You’re up early,” he greeted, stiffening in surprise when you wrapped your arms around him. “Hey, something wrong?”

“No,” you mumbled, your voice muffled by his shirt. “Good morning,” you added lamely as you pulled away, as if the greeting would explain away the hug.

“Yeah, mornin.” Dean shrugged, choosing to ignore your strange behavior. “Couldn’t sleep? It’s only 5.”

It was later than you’d thought.

“Not really,” you said. “Can we make breakfast?” You weren’t hungry, but you’d take any excuse to keep Dean close.

“Only if you get the bacon,” Dean said with a grin.

“I think we’re out,” you answered.

“Unacceptable,” Dean decided. “You start on the pancakes, I’ll make a run.”

“Wait! Um…” you wracked your brain for an excuse. “Um, the pancakes can wait, I’ll go with you.”

Dean squinted ever so slightly as he stared you down—that was twice in a week that you wanted to go with him to the store without a good reason.

“You sure you’re ok?” He asked.

“Yeah, just…I want some fresh air.”

“Alright.” You both knew he didn’t believe you, but neither of you brought it up again.

You felt pathetic as you trailed behind Dean, but the idea of sitting around the empty bunker alone until he got back or Sam woke up…

You just couldn’t do it. You couldn’t feel safe anymore, not even in your own home, without Dean around.

You sat just a little closer to Dean than you normally would once you got into the Impala, sitting towards the middle of the seat even though the right side was empty. You felt Dean watching you from the corner of his eye, but to your relief he didn’t say anything.

…

“Ok, so how many pounds do we want?” You held a brand of bacon in each hand, eyeing them both. When Dean didn’t respond to your question, you turned around to find the cart there, but no Dean. “Dean?” You glanced up and down the aisle, but he wasn’t in sight. You threw both bacon packages into the cart and ran down the aisle, going down the row and looking frantically down every aisle you passed. Nothing, nothing, nothing, nothing.

You rubbed a hand against your chest when your next breath wouldn’t go through your tightened wind pipe. You tried to take deep breaths, but each one was less satisfying than the last. Once you reached the last aisle with still no Dean, you turned around and started back the way you came, hoping that he was down an aisle on the other side of the store.

“Dean? Dean!” You were calling his name, but you could barely even hear your winded and squeaky voice in the vast emptiness of the store, so you knew there was no way Dean could.

You passed the aisle with your cart and kept going, looking down the first, then the second…

“Dean!” You rushed forward, flinging yourself into Dean’s surprised embrace.

“Hey, what happened?” Dean was stiff and alert, whipping his head around to see what had spooked you.

“I couldn’t find you,” you whimpered, tightening your arms around Dean’s midsection. “I-I didn’t know where you went. Don’t do that to me!”

“Ok, ok hey I’m sorry,” Dean soothed, pulling away and kneeling down, brushing your hair out of your face so he could see you. “C’mon, what’s going on with you? What’s got you so spooked?”

You didn’t answer—you just launched yourself forwards and wrapped your arms around Dean’s neck, burrowing your head against his shoulder.

“Don’t leave me,” you pleaded.

“Ok, ok.” Dean held you closely, rubbing your back. “Ok I’m right here kiddo. Let’s get out of here, ok? Let’s go home.”

…

You held Dean’s hand in vice grip on the way out to the car, but he didn’t comment on it. He waited until you were safely bundled into the Impala to speak again.

“Kid, you need to tell me what’s going on here.”

“I’m fine,” you mumbled. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

Dean glanced at you, but he didn’t speak again.

…

You were feeling lucky for most of the day—Sam and Dean spent the morning going through books in the library, so you were able to do your homework right next to Dean without warranting worry or attention.

“Check this out.” Sam’s words to Dean had you looking up curiously while Sam turned his computer around. “Looks like a case in town.”

Your heart dropped to your toes—you were too young to hunt, so a hunt in town meant that you sat in the bunker while the boys were out.

They spent the next twenty minutes talking about the case before they got ready to head out. Dean was throwing guns in a bag in his room when you went to find him.

“We’ll be back tonight,” Dean promised. “But if we find the thing that’s killing these people, it might not be until late, so don’t wait up ok?”

“Can’t I come?” Your tug on Dean’s sleeve stopped his movements.

“You know you can’t,” he said. “What’s going on with you? And don’t say nothing, because I know something’s wrong.”

“I just don’t want you to go,” you said. “Please De? Please don’t leave me here alone.”

“You’re not gonna tell me what’s going on?” Dean asked.

You shook your head.

“Then I have no choice.” Dean sighed. “People are dying, and you can’t come. I have to go.” Dean zipped up his bag and slung it over his shoulder. “We’ll be back before tomorrow.”

“Dean—“ you reached out for your big brother, but in one stride he was out of your reach, then to the door, then he was gone.

…

You were trying to read the same page over and over, but the words were swimming around the page, blurred by the tears in your eyes and the shaking in your hands that had the pages fluttering. You looked up for the millionth time, a deep pit in your stomach convincing you each time that the yellow eyes demon would be standing in your doorway, waiting to kill you.

You dropped the book on your desk with a thud, finally giving up on homework—you wouldn’t get anything done until Dean was home, you just couldn’t focus.

You picked up your headphones and slipped them over your head, but you found that not being able to hear your surroundings made your anxiety even worse, and the soothing notes of your favorite song did nothing to help for once. You tried turning on the tv, but you found that you couldn’t look away from the door for more than a few seconds before you started to get scared again.

Finally you couldn’t take it anymore—you closed your room door, your bathroom, and even your closet; open doors just had your imagination running away with images of yellow eyes coming to kill you.

You burrowed yourself under the covers and tried to force yourself to sleep. Hour after hour you convinced yourself that you’d just never be able to sleep, but you didn’t have anything else to do but keep trying, so you didn’t move.

You were still laying there when the door opened.

“Hey sweetheart,” Dean greeted. You smiled at him, and he smiled back for a second before the smile faded. “Me and Sammy have another case—we’re gonna be gone a while, ok?”

“No, wait!” You tried to get up to stop Dean, but you couldn’t move. “Dean, don’t go! Dean don’t leave!”

He was already out the door, and in his place stood Azazel, pale yellow eyes glowing in the darkness.

“Dean!” You screamed, but it was too late; your pajamas were already soaked in blood coming from a painful gash across your stomach. You whimpered, finally able to move as you wrapped your arms around the wound as if you could protect yourself. You couldn’t.

You were sobbing as your body lifted off the ground, your stomach lurching as you went from wall to ceiling. There was no warning spark, or small flame—you were just suddenly and completely engulfed in flames, your hair burning and your skin scorched. You were still screaming when Dean came running back into the room.

“Dean,” you whimpered. “Dean no!”

Yellow eyes had a knife in his hand, and he turned it on your big brother in an instant. As the fire burned around you, you watched as Dean got stabbed again and again and again…

You woke up screaming. The fire was gone, and so was the pain, but you couldn’t even tell. Your eyes couldn’t take in a single detail of the room—they were blurry and unfocused from sleep. Your brain couldn’t decipher what parts of your dream were real and what weren’t. You sobbed out short and shaky breaths, and your cries were just starting to fade into whimpers when you heard it; the loud thunk of the bunker door closing.

Your fears and your crying returned full force, and you were gasping for breath as you felt around for any kind of weapon.

He’s coming he’s coming he’s coming he’s coming…

It was like all you could see was Azazel as you heard footsteps echoing down the hallway. You wanted to do what Dean always did—push his fear down, throw away his emotions, and just fight—but you couldn’t. You couldn’t catch your breath, you couldn’t stop sobbing, and you couldn’t find your gun.

When your door handle started to turn, you thought you were going to pass out. Your already-unsatisfying breath caught in your throat, and with the lack of breath came black spots at the edges of your vision.

You forced a single deep breath in and out—you couldn’t be unconscious when the demon came to kill you, you couldn’t be that helpless. You had to fight, even though you would lose.

The door swung open, and you were still gasping for breath and grappling for any kind of weapon when—

When Dean walked in.

“Dean!” You were off the bed and in your brother’s arms before he had a chance to speak.

“Hey, hey what’s going on?” Dean’s arms tightened around you when he heard you sobbing and felt you shaking. “Baby what happened?”

“Don’t leave me,” you begged between sobs. “Don’t leave me De, don’t leave me.”

“Ok, ok I’m not going anywhere,” Dean promised. “N/N I’m right here.”

“What’s going on?” Sam walked into the room, staring at his siblings with concern.

“I…I think we’re ok here,” Dean decided, carrying you to your bed. “You should go bandage that cut, I’ve got her.” When Sam hesitated, Dean assured him, “I’ve got her Sam.”

Sam finally left, and Dean climbed up on your bed, settling you into his lap when you wouldn’t let your vice grip around his neck go.

“I need you to talk to me,” Dean pleaded. “I need to know what’s going on, what this is.”

“There was fire,” you whimpered, your tears soaking Dean’s shirt. “There was fire, and it burned everywhere, and I was bleeding and I was on the ceiling, and-and yellow eyes stabbed you, and—“

“Whoa, whoa, slow down.” Dean started to rock you back and forth subconsciously. “Hey, how do you know about all that stuff.”

“I’m sorry.” You were sobbing again. “I know I wasn’t supposed to, but I read his journal and he wrote down everything and I thought it would help but…but now I can’t stop dreaming about it. I’m so—I’m so scared, De. All the time.”

“Shh, shh you’re ok,” Dean soothed, his hand cradling the back of your head. “I’ve got you sweetheart, I’m right here. Listen,” Dean tried to pull away so he could look at you, but you just tightened your grip. “Ok. I used to have nightmares about mom, too. All the time. I still get them sometimes.”

“You do?” You sniffled. “What do you do about them?”

“Well now it’s easier, because we killed yellow eyes. He’s gone, N/N. Nobody’s ever gonna die like mom did again, especially not you. You know that, right?”

“The dreams feel so real,” you answered.

“I know, I know they do. But they’re not. And I’m gonna help you through this, but kiddo, I can’t be around all the time, you know that. I’ve got a job to do.”

“O—ok,” you sniffled. “I can do better.”

“But I’m still gonna be here when you need me. I promise.”

“Dean?”

“Yeah?”

“I need you right now.”

Dean’s arms squeezed impossibly tighter around you.

“Then I’m here for you.”

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