#also my water heater - which we changed last year!!! - started dripping while it rained

[otterandterrier]

is this year fucking kidding me?

now my other cat is anemic apparently!

[protectteamfreewill]

The love we think we deserve

Pairing: Dean x reader

Word count: 2.5k

Warnings: tw: abusive relationship, light swearing, angst

A/N: if this is something you’re dealing with, please reach out to someone. You deserve so much better. Stay safe ❤️

*I do not own any Supernatural characters and/or gifs I may use*

You’re standing in front of the solid door of the bunker. You notice the door is just as dripping wet as you must be. Because it’s pouring and you walked all the way here. You had to walk because you didn’t have a car, or money for a car, because your boyfriend of two years just broke up with you. You’d ran out of the house without even thinking about things as money or clothes or even toothbrushes. So the combination of all of these would probably be a good excuse for your appearance right now. Because you’re an outright mess. Your clothes are obviously sticking to your body at the most unflattering places, your hair is clinging to your cheeks and there’s mascara all over your cheeks too. Apparently waterproof mascara isn’t waterproof enough to surmount rain and tears.

This was the only safe place you could think of going. One where you wouldn’t be judged. Where, no matter what you did, you could always come back. You were secretly hoping the concrete walls of the bunker could hold back the memories that were taunting you and make you feel safe again. Or rather that the people who were in the bunker would do that trick for you.

Once you’ve knocked you faintly hear the sound of heavy boots moving, the sound becoming clearer and louder until it stops and the door opens a crack. Open just wide enough to see who’s waiting in front of it, but not open enough for any unwanted visitors to come barging in. As soon as he recognizes your face though he opens up further, fully opening up the door and revealing himself to you as well.

“Dean,” you breathe out in relief as his broad form is revealed, smiling slightly as you notice he still hasn’t ditched the flannels.

“Y/N?” he asks, obviously surprised to see you. Or just startled because of how you’re looking right now. You can’t tell what’s going on in his head, but you see the wheels turning as he tries to figure out why you’re here right now, why you’re here looking like this. See after you left to live with your, now ex-, boyfriend, you kept visiting the brothers every now and then, not wanting to lose contact with both them and the hunter-world. But you usually called or texted in advance to make sure they weren’t on a hunt or trying to save the world from ending or anything. You’d never turned up at their doorstep unannounced.

You’d never turned up at their doorstep completely drenched either, seeing as you always either took the car or used an umbrella.

“What are you doing here?” he follows up, still puzzled but with worry washing over his features.

You shrug apologetically but don’t get a chance to answer. “Why don’t you come in first, we’ll get you some dry clothes sweetheart,” he speaks up again, stepping aside and holding the door for you so you can enter, and shutting it behind you once you’ve done so.

You follow him down the staircase and down to his room, shortly glancing over at the library where you spent so many hours reading to check if Sam’s there. In his room Dean walks straight on through his closet while you look around, noting nothing much has changed since you left. He rummages through his things for a while before he grabs you a pair of sweatpants, socks and one of his flannels. “Don’t worry, they’re clean,” he grins as he hands them to you, referencing to the fact that you usually used to do their laundry.

Rolling your eyes at him you take the bundle, but unable to suppress a small smile. “I’ll be right back then,” you announce before making your way to the closest bathroom to get changed and hopefully clear your appearance up a bit as well.

“I’ll be here when you’re done,” you hear Dean calling after you just before you shut his bedroom door behind you.

After having entered the bathroom and turned on the light, you suck in a deep breath before stepping in front of the mirror. As if that will fix anything right away.

It doesn’t.

It doesn’t remove the dried mascara that’s run down your cheeks in several shaky lines and dried, it doesn’t fix your frizzy, half wet hair or remove the locks of, once wet, hair that have stuck to your cheeks in the process of drying. And it sure as hell doesn’t make your eyes any less red or puffy.

You decide it’s a miracle Dean didn’t have a heart attack on the spot when he opened up and saw you.

For the moment you just leave it be though. You simply strip out of your clothes and put on the items Dean gave you, his scent now surrounding you. Just for a moment you allow yourself to close your eyes and enjoy the smell of it. Strangely enough having it calm you down a little more.

Stepping in front of the mirror once again, you throw some water in your face to enable yourself to rub the make-up of your face and attempt to cool your eyes to make them a little less puffy. After wiping the hair out of your face and briefly brushing through it also, you figure it’s not going to get any better than this and hobble back to Dean’s room, feeling your feet beginning to ache from the walk. You leave your wet clothes there, hanging over the heater, to dry.

“Hey,” you say softly when entering the room, closing the door behind you. “Thanks for lending me your clothes.”

You find Dean sitting on his bed, laptop on his lap. Probably scouring the news to check if there’s been any weird incidents that seem like their kind of thing. He looks up when you enter though, flashing you a smile. “No problem sweetheart,” he responds while shutting his laptop and putting it on the wooden nightstand besides his bed. “You look better,” he remarks. He looks as if there’s more he wants to add, but he bites back the words.

It’s not like you really believe it, but you’re too tired to start that argument so you smile back. “Thanks.”

Then it stays silent for a moment. You know Dean’s waiting for you to speak up. Waiting for you to tell him what got you turning up at his doorstep like that. You don’t, though. Somehow Dean’s socks are a lot more interesting to study right now. At the same time you’re well aware of how Dean’s eyes are fixated on you. Burning with the need to find out whether you’re okay or not, and if you’re not what happened.

But when you don’t speak up, and don’t make any effort to either, he does. His words careful and well thought out as they always are. “Sweetheart,” he begins. “You know I’d never push you to talk about something you don’t wanna talk about, but are you okay?”

“Uhm,” you mumble, looking up and facing him. A reassuring look on his face, as if he wants to tell you that whatever is going on he’d be there and make sure you would be okay. And that look is really all it takes for you to explode. “We broke up,” your blurt out.

“What?” he asks, shock on his face. You know he had expected a lot, but not this. You’d told him it was going great the last time you saw him. Even though it wasn’t you still didn’t think he would actually break up with you though. Dean gets up and takes a few steps towards you. “What happened?”

You take a couple of shaky breaths before answering. “I-I don’t know,” you stutter, mentally cursing the tears that are welling up in your eyes. I mean, you were well aware of the fact that maybe it wasn’t going to last a lifetime. There were all sorts of things that could happen. You just didn’t think it would end so soon. You didn’t think he would just drop you as he threatened to. “He just said he didn’t want me anymore,” you shrug.

“He didn’t- he didn’t want you anymore?” he exclaims, spitting the words out with a disgusted look on his face. “He didn’t want you anymore?” he repeats, emphasizing. “Y/N, that’s not how you- why do you always let men do this to you?”

“Why do I always let men do what?” you ask taken aback and a little confused. Call it selfish, but you’d expected Dean to comfort you. To tell you the loser didn’t deserve you anyways and that you’d come out of this stronger than you were before. Or at least something along those lines. This was about the last thing you thought he’d say.

“Let them treat you.. Like you’re nothing. I mean you always give them everything you got, and they never do the same for you,” he elaborates. And you don’t know whether to be mad or upset or offended because of it.

At that moment though, somehow, there’s only one thing you can think of saying. “We accept the love we think we deserve,” you murmur, referencing The perks of being a Wallflower only mildly sarcastically.

Dean scoffs, “don’t do that.”

“Don’t do what?” you counter.

“Pretend as if there’s a reason those guys do what they do. As if it’s justified. Your life is not some fucking story in which dating nothing but shitty boys will somehow give you a happy ending at the end of the line,” he snaps. You want to interrupt, tell him to stop, but he gives you no chance to. “I mean you always give them so much-“

Now you’d known Dean for a long time and you are well aware of how he uses a lot of gestures to emphasize or illustrate what he’s saying, and how sometimes, when emotions are running high, those gestures tend to get bigger or harsher. But as he lifts his hands this time you can’t help but flinch and take a step back, fear suddenly washing over you. You feel your heart beginning to pound in your ears, oxygen suddenly seeming to have run out.

And of course Dean notices, stopping dead in his tracks. Instantly putting the pieces together and figuring out why his movements got you reacting the way you did as he slowly lowers his hand. “Oh my god,” he breathes out. “Did he..?”

He tries moving closer towards you but he doesn’t get far before you stop him. “Please don’t,” you beg, wrapping your arms around yourself. Trying so desperately to protect yourself. To lighten any of the pain that might or might not be inflicted. You know Dean could and would never hurt you like that, yet your breath seems stuck in your throat. Your eyes are feverishly searching the room, looking for the fastest way out. The fastest way to escape. You never really were able to though. He always got to you.

“Y/N,” Dean says softly, returning your attention back to him. “You’re okay. You’re fine. I’m not going to hurt you, okay? I’m not,” he reassures.

You nod, unable to vocalize. Your entire body is shaking and the amount of adrenaline that is flowing through your veins right now is making your head spin.

“I need you to breathe for me, okay?’ he continues, voice ever so steady. “Just breathe with me. In and out.. easy,” he demonstrates, sucking in a breath through his nose and softly blowing it out through his mouth. It takes a while and a couple of tries, but eventually you seem to be able to copy and breathe a little better again. “Can I come closer?” he asks while quickly adding it would also be okay if you don’t want him to come any closer. He’d stand here with you all night if that’s what you needed.

But you nod again. “Y-Yeah,” you stammer, still a bit shaky.

“Is it.. Can I hug you?”

After giving him permission to do so he carefully gets closer to you. At first you pull back again, reflexes kicking in, but you remind yourself it’s Dean this time over and over. Things are different. And then you hesitantly let yourself relax a little, not backing up any further. He puts his arms around you, slowly and loosely at first and tighter once he’s convinced you feel safe enough not to resist and push him away.

Instead you start sobbing, wrapping your arms around Dean‘s waist as your tears dissolve in his flannel. The way you looked when you entered the bunker was bad, but this was worse. You hated for him to see you like this. And yet you couldn’t stop. It all came rushing over you. The pain, the fear, the sadness. And somewhere in the back of your mind anger and relief are rising too.

Dean just lets you ride it out, whispering sweet nothings in your hair while he rubs circles on your back. Once he feels your crying has calmed down to the occasional hiccup he doesn’t pull away. “Sweetheart, whatever he did to you, it won’t ever take away from you,” he says instead, immediately addressing the fears that’d been taunting your for months. “You’re still the same incredible, strong, beautiful you I’ve always known.”

“I’m not so sure about that,” you whisper against his chest, voice raw from crying.

“But I am,” he states with not the slightest bit of doubt in his voice. “And if you’ll let me, I’ll help you see that too. We’re gonna get through this.”

“What if I’m not?”

“You are,” he reassures. “It’s gonna take time, but you are.”

You want to believe him. Want to be as sure of yourself as he seems to be. But it’s all still too fresh. As if it any given moment you could do something wrong and mess everything up. And of course you’d have to pay for that.

“Sweetheart, you still with me?” Dean asks, interrupting and effectively breaking your train of thought. You mumble in response, to which Dean pulls way, looking down at you. “How about this, if you want to go take a shower,” he starts, moving on when you shake your head. “Then get comfy because we’re just gonna relax for now, okay? I’m going to make us some tea and get you some of that chocolate you like so much and then we’re going to watch some movies. We don’t even have to sit on the bed together if you don’t want to, I’ll take the ground if you need me to. And no horror, just something light. Okay?” He asks, pausing shortly to check if it’s okay with you.

“Okay,” you nod.

“Then that’s what we’re going to do for now. Tomorrow we’ll face the world. We’ll get you back to feeling like your badass self. For now we’re going to just let ourselves be,”

You feel yourself nodding along to his words, still not fully believing them but knowing Dean would get you there. Knowing that you are going to get through this, and that you will be okay.