#dean winchester x oc

[zepskies]

Outlander - Part 2

Pairing: Dean Winchester x OFC 

Summary: Dean Winchester has been stripped of his military rank, but he’s living happier with his new wife, trying to adjust to a new life in her tribe. What will it take for her people to accept him, especially when the battle for her heart might not be completely won? 

AN: Here we go! Diving deeper into Dean's (mis)adventures, plus a big Protective Dean moment...

Disclaimer: I first got inspired to write The Honorable Choice for @jacklesversebingo after a recent rewatch of Spirit: The Stallion of the Cimarron (with a tinge of Yellowstone in the mix). I’ve done a fair bit of research for this now ongoing series, both on the Native American Lakota tribe, and on American history during this time in the late 1800s; AKA: the Old West, during the American Indian Wars.

Jacklesverse Bingo24 Prompt: Western AU

Song Inspo: The Spirit Soundtrack

Word Count: 6.4K

Tags/Warnings: 18+ only. Mentions of attempted sexual assault (not graphic). Protective Dean, survival situations, derogatory name-calling, hunting (in the traditional sense), angst, blood and violence, hurt/comfort, and romantic fluff and spice.

🐎 Series Masterlist || Bingo Masterlist

Part 2: What is Home

No matter how Dean tries, somehow he never makes his mark with the arrow. His boot even slips on the tree branch he was perched on, and he falls straight into the mud from this morning’s rain shower.

The other six men wait for him on the ground, and they laugh at him. 

Otaktay is the ringleader today, as he is whenever Šóta isn’t here.

“Get up, wašíču. Watch close,” Otaktay says, in his limited English. He and Takoda smoke their long pipes leisurely and blow smoke rings up in the air.

Wašíču.

Fat taker. Greedy White. By now, Dean knows what that means, and it’s worse than Outlander. It makes his jaw clench and his temper spike.

Otaktay gives Takoda his pipe to hold, then reaches behind his back for his bow and an arrow from his quiver. Dean has noticed that the other men’s bows look a bit bigger than his, but Otaktay called it a “training bow.”

He notches his arrow, pulls it back and lets it fly. It hits up into the tree and spears an apple, pinning it to the trunk.

It’s an impressive move, but Dean just picks himself up and cleans most of the mud from his hands. He knows Mila will have something to say about making a mess of the clothes she made for him.

“All right, fine. I am what I am,” Dean says. He meets Otaktay’s gaze head-on. “But I’ve still been hunting all my life.”

Dean used to keep his knife on his belt, but now he wears the pants and tunics the other men wear, and they either strap their weapons in a leather holster around their thigh or to their ankles. Dean unsheathes the knife he keeps strapped to his thigh. 

And he throws it hard. It cuts straight through a branch and brings an entire bunch of apples to the ground by Takoda’s feet; he even has to jump to avoid them landing on his head. The others murmur to each other, begrudgingly impressed. 

Except for Otaktay. His face remains stoic. 

A whistle breaks the tension in the forest clearing. It’s Šóta, who joins them, coming through on his horse. 

“How is the hunt going?” he asks in English, raising a brow over at the wild boar that lies in the grass. Otaktay and the others killed it this morning, so he’s the one who speaks first. 

“The Outsider will bring a whole bunch of apples to feed his wife. How satisfying,” Otaktay says, with a dry edge of mocking. Dean’s jaw clenches, but he tries not to rise to the bait. 

“Maybe he satisfies her in other ways, brother,” Šóta says. “Maybe that’s why he has a wife, and you don’t.” 

His tone is teasing, but is there a reproaching edge there too? Dean’s lips tug upwards, slightly; he sees that Otaktay simmers at the dig, but he doesn’t dare say anything against Šóta.

“Hey!” Takoda calls out. He points at the boar they mean to take back to the village. A mountain lion slips closer down from a tree. He sinks his teeth into the boar’s thigh and begins to drag it away, farther into the forest.

The sight of the wild cat spooks the men’s horses grazing nearby. Even Baby scatters along with them, braying in distress. But the men hustle into action. Even with mud still clinging to his clothes and his skin, Dean grabs up his bow and arrow and runs to grab his fallen knife. He whistles to Baby and calms her down enough to climb up onto her back. 

The others have already done the same with their horses and are chasing the mountain lion into the woods. It zips up a tree, and Šóta, Otaktay, and the others aim their arrows high. They wait and listen. 

Otaktay releases his arrow first. The cat’s angry shriek fills the clearing from above.

“You got him,” Šóta says.

“Winged him. He’s not dead,” Otaktay says. His brows furrow as he listens closer. 

The cat jumps from the tree and takes Dean to the ground. Baby brays and stamps around, and Dean has to both avoid her hooves and try to keep the mountain lion from sinking his claws or his teeth into his neck. 

Šóta’s eyes widen, but he springs into action by whistling to the men and raising his bow. Before he can shoot, he has to stop short at what he sees. 

A moment later, Dean rolls over and heaves the lion’s dead body off of him. His knife comes out of the animal’s chest, slick and crimson with blood. It runs down his muddy shirt as he pants and heaves for breath.

Šóta gets down from his horse, running his disbelieving eyes over the scene.

Dean looks up and finds a hand offered to him. His gaze travels up further and meets Šóta’s. His eyes are an even darker brown than Mila’s. Dean takes his hand and accepts the help to his feet.

The other men hesitate, stunned into silence, but they get down from their horses and help Dean and Šóta heft the dead animal onto the latter’s horse. They will take it, along with the boar they retrieve from up in the tree, back to camp.

Mila returns to camp not long before the men. She meant to start prepping for supper, but she becomes sidetracked while playing Chase with the children. As one of the few young women still without children of her own, she tries her best to give the mothers a break in the afternoon, so they can finish washing, mending, cooking, or even just having a rest for themselves. 

Watching their joy, and even helping them up when they fall and cry, makes her wonder when she will finally be blessed with a child. She hopes they will have Dean’s eyes, so pretty and green.

When the men return, she raises her head breathlessly and smiles. It soon dims, however, as she catches sight of Dean. She gets to her feet and ushers the children back to their mothers before she goes to meet him. 

He gives her a sheepish look when he gets off his horse. Her mouth drops open at seeing him covered in mud and sweat and blood. 

“It’s not as bad as it looks,” he says, trying to placate her with raised hands. She ignores that and touches his chest, her palms splaying down his stomach as she tries to find a wound. She finds more tears and scratches through his soiled clothes, but no real wounds. Still, she’s not satisfied yet.

“What happened?” she asks. 

“Just a little trial by fire, sweetheart,” Dean says. He grasps her arms to placate her. “Everything’s okay.”

Otaktay pointedly looks away from the scene and moves on along with the other men. Šóta notices, but he goes to his cousin.

“We encountered a thief,” he says, gesturing to the body of the mountain lion they brought back for tonight’s meal. “Dean Winchester not only caught the thief, but made an example of him.”

Mila raises her brows and looks to Dean, as if to say, Is this true? He offers a smile and a shrug. She smiles back.

Šóta rides on, but he glances back and sees how Mila dotes on her husband, touching a gentle hand to his cheek.

In return, Dean holds her by the waist and talks to her with a warmth in his eyes that he only has for her. Or at least, that’s what Šóta finally sees.  

Mila and Dean head back to their tipi, where she grabs a fresh change of clothing for him. 

“I could’ve gotten it,” he says. 

“You’ll track mud inside,” she points out wryly. She holds the bundle of clothes for him on their way to the river. “All you do is give me mending to do. You can’t keep clean, can’t keep from hurting yourself, can you?”

Dean knows her well enough now to realize her griping isn’t all that serious. She was just worried.

“I guess not,” he says, trying to hide his amusement.

She gives him a stern look, but with that cheeky look of his, she can’t stay upset for long. Her face softens into an exasperated smile, and she gestures towards the river. “Go. Wash yourself up. I will have supper ready soon.”

Dean grabs her hand and makes her drop the change of clothes in the grass. 

“Only if you come with me,” he says. He grabs her and aims to toss her over his shoulder, but she squeals in protest. 

“Dean Winchester! I’ll have nothing to wear if you drop me in the water!” 

Dean pauses, his lips tugging at a smirk. “You make a decent point, but I’m just wondering, do I really care if you’ve gotta walk back naked?” 

“Dean!” she giggles, hitting his shoulder. 

He chuckles and sets her down, but he still doesn’t let her leave. By now, she doesn’t want to. He starts helping her undress, followed by him peeling off his disgusting clothes. He hooks an arm around her waist and hauls her with him into the water. She laughs and tries to escape him by splashing water in his face, but he just spits it out. He chuckles and wipes the excess droplets.

He slips his arms around her waist, holds her tight and floats with her for a bit. He takes in a deep breath and finds peace here with her here in the sun-warmed water. She’s become his peace.

Mila takes his face in her hands and kisses him slowly. When she pulls away and their eyes meet again, she smiles.

“I am proud of you,” she says. “Not just for today, but for every day that you stand strong.”

Dean’s lips quirk with a reluctant smile. He doesn’t take praise very well, but her words make the weight on his shoulders feel a little bit lighter. Holding her flush against his chest, every soft, familiar curve is pressed against him. He leans in and captures her lips again.

That evening, the tribe gathers for a feast prepared by the Chief’s wives, Mila, and her mother Weaya to celebrate the warriors’ highly successful hunt.

Šóta watches his cousin with her Outlander husband. Dean follows her lead in divvying out portions of the meal, but still at times with a supportive hand on the small of her back. He even takes the large, hot bowl out of her hand to help serve her and her family—including Chatan, who accepts the offered bowl without a word.

Dean Winchester doesn’t sit until Mila does. They talk together with her mother and the others, though Dean mostly keeps to himself while the women chat. He occasionally responds to a direct question or comment, but overall, he seems content to listen. He’s starting to follow more bits of conversation in their language.

At the end of the meal, he stands with Mila and helps her collect bowls that will be washed. The man is confident, but not prideful. He’s hardworking, self-reliant, and has the makings of a warrior. 

However, Šóta is not the only one who watches his cousin and the Outlander.  

Šóta pulls Dean aside after breakfast the next morning. He takes Dean back to the forest, beyond where the horses are kept in their pen, and puts his own hunting bow in Dean’s hands.  

“Feel the weight of it,” Šóta says. “Does it seem like yours?”

Dean considers it, testing out the strength of the bowstring. “No. It feels heavier.”

“Because it is. We gave you a training bow for children,” Šóta says. He takes the bow from Dean and brings him the one he had tied to a satchel on his horse. “I will give you this one. It belonged to my half-brother, Takoda, before he made his own. I made it for him, and now I give it to you.”

Dean takes the bow. Šóta’s right, it’s taller and heavier than the first one they gave him. Of course they tried to trick him by giving him a kid’s bow. He tries not to be too annoyed about it, because it looks like Šóta’s warming up to him, at least enough to actually train him.

“Thanks,” Dean nods. He runs a hand over the bow and admires the craftsmanship of the wood, smooth and chestnut colored. He already has a quiver full of arrows he’s made himself, but first, Šóta corrects his stance and his posture.

“Your body knows the movements of hold, aim, and shoot, but you think too much,” he says. “How you shoot an arrow is not so different from a gun.”

Dean raises a brow. He begs to fucking differ.

Reading the skeptical look on his face, Šóta smiles.

“My father once told me, ‘A weapon is a weapon is a weapon,’” Šóta continues. “The way you use it might be different, but your mind is the same. Think like the river. Calm and free, yes?”

He throws Dean a thumbs up—something Dean taught him a week ago. Šóta just hasn’t gotten it quite right yet. 

“A river ain’t always calm,” Dean points out. He should know. He almost died on the river in his journey here.

Šóta thinks for a second, tilting his head. “That is fair. Here, let me think of something better—”

“It’s okay, I think I get it. I just gotta relax a bit, is that it?”

“Yes, but stay focused.”

“I can focus. I just need you to back up a little.”

Šóta raises his hands in surrender. He takes a couple of steps back and gestures at a tree to use for target practice. Dean centers himself.

“Remember to breathe,” Šóta says.

Dean shoots him a glance. Again, Šóta holds up his hands, then crosses his arms, pressing his lips together. Dean shifts his gaze back to the target, and he lets out a deep breath. Then he lets the arrow fly. 

It hits just shy of the tree’s center. 

Šóta smiles, giving him another “thumbs up.” 

“Good. Now, again,” he says.

The morning slowly dips behind the clouds into a golden afternoon. Šóta helps Dean catch and roast a couple of fish by the river, which cuts through the forest. Its waters are choppy and shimmering with the light.

This forest used to run almost all the way to the Black Hills, before the U.S. government began its work on the railroad. The tribe has had to move their village more than once out of self-preservation, like they did when Dean came to them. 

He felt bad for it at the time, but he’s also grateful they made that precaution. The last thing he needs is to run into his old unit, let alone for the army to find out he’s still alive. And the last thing he wants is to endanger these people, especially his wife and her family.

He finishes off his second fish and glances over at Šóta.

“Look, I appreciate your help, but…I’ve gotta wonder why,” Dean says. “You don’t like that I’m here either.”

Šóta pauses in his chewing. He swallows before he answers, looking over at Dean in the eyes.

“It doesn’t matter if I like you,” he says. “You are the man who brought Kimmímila home alive. So, I help you.”

Dean nods. He can respect that. He looks down at the half-eaten meal, then at his hands, calloused and worn. They hold the weight of his past, his choices, and also the man he’s trying to be.

“I won’t hurt her,” he says.

The simple truth is that he’d give his life for hers. No hesitation.

“I know that, Dean Winchester. That is the other reason you are still alive,” Šóta says, with a slight smile. “You are brave. I will give you that.”

Dean smiles. “I guess there’s no winning over the others, is there?” 

At that, Šóta pauses. “You are doing better than you think. The others see you aren’t afraid. They see you work hard, and you try to respect our ways. You just don’t know them. They don’t know you.”

“I get it,” Dean says, nodding. “Like, uh, Otaktay. Right?”

“Ah,” Šóta rubs his clean-shaven chin. “You will have a harder time with him.”

Dean quirks a rueful smile. “What’s his deal?”

“His deal?” Šóta questions.

“His problem,” Dean elaborates, “with me.” 

Šóta sighs sharply. “Our men are warriors bred. Otaktay. His name means, ‘kills many.’”

Dean raises his brows. He slowly inclines his head.

“Riiiight. Of course.” 

“Names have power, Dean Winchester. Otaktay takes his name like a challenge he will win, but he does it to protect our tribe above all else,” Šóta says.

If that weren’t enough, the man levels Dean with a more serious look.

“But there is something else you should know.”

Dean doesn’t think he’s going to like whatever’s coming next. He nods, wordlessly urging Šóta to continue.

“Otaktay has always watched my cousin, admired her spirit and her beauty,” he says. “Mila has known this, and maybe she would have accepted him, had she known…but he planned to ask Chatan, my uncle, for Mila’s hand.”

Dean’s chest tightens, as does his frown. “What happened?”

“She disappeared,” Šóta replies. “When Mato was taken, she couldn’t accept it. She left the village to find him against my uncle’s command. Then she found you.” 

Dean isn’t exactly surprised by that. His wife is many things, defiant chief among them. Also, it makes a lot of things make even more sense. It explains her father’s tough outer shell, and clearly, it means he’ll have to keep a sharper eye on Otaktay.

She had been successfully avoiding him, until now.

Mila had just left the horses after helping Takoda feed and brush them, and she was planning to wash up before helping her mother and some of the other women cook for the entire tribe again this evening. Today is the last moon of the summer months, and so they’ve been preparing the wild game that the men had hunted for the past two days. Tonight, they will have an even greater feast.

She feels a shadow at her feet as she ventures through the village. They’re getting bigger as a tribe, harder to move when they need to, and it’s more mouths to feed, but it’s also a good thing. Despite all the challenges the past few decades have brought, their people are enduring. 

However, Mila pushes these thoughts to the back of her mind when she feels a prickling down the back of her neck. It’s followed shortly by the strong hand that closes on her wrist, and the man that calls her name. 

She gasps and whips around. He’s there, gently shushing her. She glares at him and tries to pull her hand out of his grip. 

“Ota,” she snaps. “What are you doing?”

“I just want to talk to you,” Otaktay says. His brown eyes are earnest, but he doesn’t let go of her hand. “You have been avoiding me.”

“I can’t be any more honest than I have been,” Mila says, and finally she manages to free herself from his grasp with a sharper tug. “Enough of this.”

She begins to walk away from him. The distance between the horses’ corral and the village is short, just over the gentle slope of a grassy hill and down below…but her cousin isn’t here. Her husband isn’t here. Otaktay believes this is his only chance—his chance to make her see reason. He stops her again, this time with his words.

“Do you think it will be that easy?” he says. “The Outlander will bring death upon us all.”

Mila stops short. She turns on her heel to meet him with a glare. 

“His people think he’s dead,” she says.

Otaktay approaches her with slow, measured steps. “And what if they find him here? Every day their iron caravans invade our lands. Every day their patrols come to take from us, to destroy us. How many of his own do you think he will kill for you?”

He raises a pointed finger. “And your children. Your children with that man will be cursed. Forever in the shadow of two worlds, forced into one, and hated by the other.”

His words pin Mila to the ground by her toes. Her body stills, because she’s shaken deep within. She doesn’t want to believe him, but she also won’t admit that these are the thoughts she’s tried to push from her mind. What she wants most of all is a family of her own. She wants it with her husband. 

But is it fair?

To them.

To him.

To her people.

She doesn’t know, and for that, her lips tremble. Her eyes burn with tears and she raises a trembling hand to her mouth. 

Otaktay draws closer and attempts to hold her hands, but her brows crunch in anger. You!

She pushes him in the dead center of his chest, so hard that it unbalances him. He’s surprised by her ire, and that satisfies her. She shoves him again, more forcefully this time, but he manages to hold his ground. 

“Kimmímila—”

She doesn’t give him the chance to try and placate her. With a cry of effort and frustration, she slaps at his face with all of her strength. It whips the man’s face to the side and even makes him stumble. He raises a hand to his cheek in disbelief. Already his tan skin is reddening, both from the mark of her anger, and from his own.

When she goes to shove him again, he grabs her by the arms to try and subdue her. Her tears are beginning to blind her, but she doesn’t care. The way he holds her tightly makes a flash of dread coil in her stomach.

In her distant mind, she knows Otaktay wouldn’t willingly hurt her. But his grip reminds her of Roman, the officer at Fort Laramie, who took advantage of the way she was tied to a post in their camp. She remembers his rough hands, the wood pressing into her spine. She remembers his hot breath and his chapped lips trying to claim her, his knee pressing between her legs.

Her own breaths come out in shallow gasps as that well of dread grows in her chest, rising into her throat to choke her. Mila punches wildly at Otaktay’s chest and rakes him with her nails. He finally grits his teeth and grabs her tightly by the hair. 

“Enough!” he shouts in her face. 

She matches him, her voice echoing in the clearing. “Let me go!” 

“Not until you calm down!”

He takes her face in his hands. Looking down into her tear-filled eyes, wild and devastated, he begins to feel remorse; but there too is desire and jealousy, deep and twisted together in the oily dark of his soul. Otaktay believes he’s only been selfish once in his life. Kimmímila is that one.

“Let go!” she shakily demands. She struggles against his hold and tries to run away from him, even though she used to run with him, ride with him through the forest on horseback and across the grassy plains instead of doing their chores. He tries to remind her of it now when he bows his head to kiss her. 

He finds himself ripped away—shoved hard enough to land stumbling into the sun-hot grass. 

“Dean!” Mila gasps. She reaches for her husband, even though the clenched set of his jaw and the tightness in his broad shoulders make her wary. She’s not afraid of him though. She just has a terrible feeling that she knows what’s coming next. 

Dean turns his attention to her first, a firm, but gentle grasp of her shoulder.

“You okay?” he asks gruffly. 

She nods, brushing away tears from her cheek. She holds onto his hand. “Yes.”

“Okay, stay back,” he says, releasing her.

She tries to stop him from advancing on Otaktay, but Šóta holds her shoulders with a grim look on his face. He guides her back and at his side. He and Dean have come on horseback. They jumped down to help her. She doesn’t know that they heard her and Otaktay shouting from several yards away, their voices carried on the wind.

Dean hadn’t been able to understand the words, but Šóta’s sense of urgency and the shrill, angry panic in Mila’s voice spurred him on, urging Baby to a full gallop down the hill. Seeing her tears was one thing, but while he saw Otaktay, in his mind, Dean also saw the night that Roman tried to force himself on her.

The rage that compels Dean now is different from the anger he had then. Back at the camp, he was just doing what he felt was right. Today, this is a protective call for blood. 

Otaktay had barely gotten back to his feet, but the upward swing of Dean’s fist cracks across his chin and sends him back down to the ground. He seethes, with blood in his teeth, but he angrily swipes Dean’s legs from underneath him. It becomes a grapple for leverage as the men tussle in the grass, trading swift punches. Otaktay kicks Dean hard in the stomach to gain some distance, rocking back onto his feet. Dean stumbles slightly, but he does the same.

“Stop!” Mila shouts in protest. Šóta holds her back. Despite her wildness before, she doesn’t want either of them dead. She fears more for her husband, but not because she doesn’t believe in him. She’s afraid of what will happen if Otaktay is killed. 

He plays dirty, spitting in Dean’s face. Dean matches by throwing an elbow into the other man’s throat, grabs his arm, then pivots and heaves him over his shoulder onto the ground. For a moment, Otaktay lies there winded on his back. Dean pins him there with his heavier weight bearing down on him. 

Otaktay sneaks a hand from the sheath strapped to his thigh and twists a knife into his hand. Šóta and Mila both see it, him with a tight frown and her with widening eyes.

She calls out in alarm, but Dean reacts fast. He strikes at Otaktay’s wrist and grabs his arm. A swift elbow and Otaktay’s knee in Dean’s gut forces him to the side, heaving a grunt. Otaktay gains the better position as he presses a knee right over Dean’s chest. He grunts at the impact; it threatens to break a rib. The knife becomes poised over Dean’s face in the struggle, nearing his neck. 

“Otaktay!” Mila calls out sharply, a warning and a plea all at once. 

He hears her. For just a second, he allows himself to glance up at her and see what lies in her eyes. He knows her fear is not for him. 

Still, anger overcomes his heart. He calls out a battle cry and puts his entire strength into bringing the knife down. Dean allows it with gritted teeth, but he positions his hands in just the right way to guide the man’s arm just to the right of his neck, slicing shallowly into his skin. The knife sinks into the earth.

Dean throws a punch that lands across the Lakota’s cheek, then another, and it allows him to kick the man in his ribs, sending him backwards with a heavy grunt. Dean grabs the knife out of the ground, and when he rolls onto his feet, he slashes at the other man’s chest. It isn’t deep enough to be fatal, but it’s enough to make him bleed red rivulets. 

Otaktay works harder than ever, trading blows and kicks that Dean can’t always dodge. But eventually, Dean hooks a boot behind the other man’s ankle and unbalances him enough to drive him to the ground. He shifts the position of the knife and brings it flush to Otaktay’s throat. 

His eyes widen; he never expected to be bested by the Outlander. The sharp edge of the blade bites into his skin, cutting a thin line of blood dripping down to his collarbone.

They’re both heaving for breath, sweaty, bloody, and bruised. It’s then that Dean realizes that they’ve attracted a small crowd. At the center of it is Chief Tahatan. He’s watching closely, his face unreadable, along with one of his wives. A few men stand beside him, namely Mila’s father, Chatan, Takoda, and some of the women too. Šóta whispers to them, explaining why the men are fighting.

Even Dean knows that by the customs of their tribe, he’s well within his rights to end this the way his hand in itching to—by sinking the blade into Otaktay’s jugular. Maybe it will finally earn him respect. Maybe it won’t. 

He glances up and finds Mila’s eyes. She stands frozen with her heart in her throat. All she sees is him. And she’s the only one Dean means to answer to. 

He raises the knife—and he brings it down into the earth beside Otaktay’s head.

The warrior inhales sharply, his brows furrowing in shock and confusion. He stares up at Dean, who looks down at him with the remnants of jaw-clenching anger. In that moment, they come to an understanding. 

Dean pulls back and straightens up, with just a small shake in his bowed legs. His gait steadies as he makes his way back to his wife. 

Šóta lets go of Mila so she can go to meet Dean. She runs her hands over his chest and arms, trying to find injuries she may not have seen before. Her fingers trace around places that are already becoming bruises, but Dean just holds her, taking pains to soften himself. His arms around her are secure, but not too strong. She’s just grateful that he isn’t hurt too badly.

“You okay?” he makes sure. 

Mila nods, despite the tears shining in her eyes. “Yes.”

Her parents watch them closely, even though the couple doesn’t realize it.

Behind them, Takoda shakes his head at his friend, but he dutifully helps Otaktay to his feet. Šóta crosses his arms and levels him with a cold look. 

“Take him to Eyota,” he says. 

“Yes,” Tahatan agrees, his voice deep and grave. “Tell her what her son has done here.”

The rest of Otaktay’s anger drains when he looks up at his chief. He says nothing, and can’t hold the older man’s gaze for long. He reluctantly leans on his friend to help him up and over the grassy hill, down to the village. The others gathered there wait to see what Tahatan will do next. He approaches Mila and Dean. 

“A good man protects his family above his own life. A warrior protects his tribe, even at the cost of blood,” Tahatan says. He looks directly at Dean. “But an honorable man knows when to show mercy.”

Dean’s heart begins to beat fast again. He hadn’t known that his choice was the right one, until now. He’s able to keep his head high without being arrogant. He just isn’t sure what he’s supposed to say. 

“Dean Winchester, you will be called Ikíphi,” Tahatan declares.

Dean blinks in surprise, and also confusion when he notices the way Mila begins to weep silent tears. He tightens his arm around her waist in a wordless question, but she just smiles at him.

“Uh, what does that mean?” he whispers the question to her.

She opens her mouth to respond, but her father is the one who answers. Chatan rests a hand on his daughter’s shoulder.

“Worthy,” he says. 

He meets Dean’s gaze and holds it, giving him a nod of acknowledgement. Dean gives the gesture back to him in kind, and to Tahatan as well. Then Chatan takes his leave, walking back to camp with Weaya, Šóta, and the Chief. The others whisper Ikíphi, offering their nods of respect to Dean before they follow suit, until it’s only Mila and Dean left in the clearing.

She pulls out of his hold just to take his hand. She looks ahead rather than at him.

“Come,” she says. 

Something’s wrong. Dean knows it in his gut.

He and Mila bathe together in the river again, but even though she helps him by washing his back, she’s quiet and distracted. He asks her if she was hurt. She tells him she wasn’t. That’s the only time she looks him in the eyes. 

Later, they return home thoroughly exhausted. Dean starts up a small fire for the coals to help dry them off the rest of the way. 

“There is a feast tonight,” Mila reminds him while she sits on the bedding, brushing through her long, damp hair. Dean sits near the fireplace and uses his knife to shave. He glances her way and lets out a deep breath. 

“I don’t know if I’m up for a party,” he admits. 

She surprises him by agreeing. “I’m tired too. I think Tahatan will understand if we stay in.”

Dean quirks a brow. She loves it when the tribe comes together for mealtimes. For days, she’s been telling him about moon feasts—the music, the games, the antics her cousins get up to, performing stories for the children and whoever else indulges them. 

So Dean gets up and goes over to her. He swipes her hair aside and lays a kiss on her shoulder. She keeps brushing her hair, so he keeps up his path of kisses along her neck, nibbling her ear. She laughs a little and flinches at the ticklish feeling, making him smile. He wraps his arms around her from behind, and she sighs, succumbing to the feeling of him warm at her back. She settles against his chest. 

“You sure you’re okay?” he asks. 

Her smile fades, though he can’t see it. “I should ask you that.”

“I’m fine, baby,” he says, shaking his head. 

“Well, maybe you should not be fine,” she says in a smaller voice. 

Dean pauses, his brows furrowing. “What do you mean by that?”

Mila gently pushes his arms away from her. She stands up and creates distance between them. She crosses her arms to hold herself, not even daring to look back at him. 

“I mean that…maybe you should go home, back to your people,” she says. She manages to keep her voice steady, even though she’s breaking her own heart.  

Dean gets up to his feet, alarm and unease coiling in his stomach. He grasps her elbow and comes around to see her face, and when he does, he sees the truth. Tears shine in her eyes, slipping down with every blink. His furrowed brows ease somewhat, but he still needs answers. He holds her by her arms and stares into her soulful brown eyes.

“Mila, what’s going on? Your family, the Chief, even your dad—they’re all starting to accept me now. Isn’t that what you wanted?” he asks. “What happened today, it’s a one-off, okay? For damn sure, Otaktay’s not touching you again—”

“It’s not that,” Mila says with a sniffle. She holds herself tighter, trying not to let Dean’s concern, his touch, or the intensity of his green eyes affect her so much. 

“Today we have peace, but how long will that last?” she says. “And…and our children. Will they be accepted too? Or will they never find their place, caught between two worlds, but never belonging to either one.”

Mila succumbs to quiet, shuddering sobs. Her trembling hands try to cover her face from him.

Dean’s face gentles. He feels like he’s been kicked in the chest (again). He gathers her to his chest and holds her closely. In the entire month he’s been living here, he hasn’t thought too much about kids. Not in any real way…

Well, okay. Maybe he has, whenever he sees Mila caring for the children of the village for their mothers. Or when they run past him, laughing, playing imaginary games. He would smile, remembering how he and Sam used to drive their mom crazy tearing around the farm when they were little. 

In fact, the thought warms him now. Dean cradles the back of Mila’s head and runs his fingers through her hair. He imagines her holding a little boy who has her dark hair and eyes, and maybe Dean’s chin. He thinks she’d be a good mom.

I wish Mom could meet her, he thinks.

“Sweetheart, look at me,” he says. He pulls away so he can see Mila’s eyes again, honey-brown and shiny with tears. “I can’t go home. I’m already here.”

Mila can’t help but soften, her lower lip trembling. He caresses her cheek; a gentle thumb brushes away stray tears. 

“So it might get harder,” he says. “Maybe we are doomed to fail. Or just maybe, our kids are the ones who are gonna make the peace stick.” 

Mila’s fingers curl into his shirt. She holds onto him, and he can see that her reservations are finally breaking down. He squeezes her waist and earns her gaze on him. 

“All I know is, you’re my wife ‘til the day I die,” he says, more firmly. “I’m not going anywhere without you. You understand me?” 

Another watery path finds its way down Mila’s cheek, but she wipes it away. Her sweeter smile peaks through, along with the amused gleam in her eyes. 

“I understand,” she replies. Her voice is mostly steady; the small quake is no longer uncertainty, just heartfelt emotion. “You take your vows seriously.”

“That’s right,” Dean nods, his lips hinting at a smile. “And you promised me something too last night, remember?”

Her brows furrow as she considers the question. But then, it dawns on her. 

You will never be alone.

Her small smile returns, and she nods.

“Yes. I’m sorry…I should not let fear blind me to the truth.” She takes his hand from where it lies on her waist, and she guides it to rest over her heart. “You live here now, in my spirit.”

Dean has never heard the words I love you said quite like that before. It warms places inside him that he didn’t know were all that cold and dark. For her, he could try to put into words what that means to him, but words aren’t his strong suit. He’s never been that good at letter writing or giving speeches. That, he always left to Sam, or Benny. 

Above all, Dean is a man of action. 

He takes her face gently in his calloused hands, and he kisses her. He gives her everything in that all-consuming kiss, and he hopes she understands what he’s trying to say. 

I’m home.

AN: This might feel like the end, but we have two more parts left! As you can see, Dean's doing his best lol. Do you think he made the right choice with Otaktay? There might be more drama ahead, plus, a special guest finally joins the cast...

Next Time:

Her smile drops with a sharp inhale of breath. 

She hears hoof falls on the earth. A horse treads nearby. 

Slowly, she lowers the wet clothing back into the basin. She sees two reflections growing on the water: a horse and a man. The man gets down from his horse first. 

“Hey there, miss—”

Mila swiftly turns and unsheathes the knife she keeps strapped to her ankle. 

Pronunciation Guide:

Wašíču ("wash-ee-jew") Šóta ("sho-tah") Chatan ("chat-tan") Tahatan ("ta-hat-tann") Otaktay ("ogh-tac-tay") Weaya ("we-ayy-ya") Takoda ("ta-koda") Mato ("matt-toe") Misae ("mee-sah-eh")

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[samuelsdean]

Flicker

pairing: dean winchester x reader

summary: "can i hold your hand?" you blurted out, surprised by your own boldness. a flicker of surprise crossed dean's face, quickly replaced by a ghost of a smile that sent a jolt through you. "yeah," he said, his voice softer than you were used to hearing. "yeah, you can."

genre: fluff

word count: 1.3k

author's notes: hi! here's another dean fic because i'm having a winchester brainrot after choosing to rewatch the show for the nth time. it's fluff again because i'm a sucker for soft!dean and i like it when idiots who are mutually pining for each other finally hold hands after 9989 years.

THE WIND HOWLED LIKE A WOLF ON A FULL MOON ON A PERPETUALLY OVERCAST NIGHT. It scoured the dust from the abandoned house's roof, a skeletal silhouette against the bruise-colored sky. The once-white picket fence weathered to a sickly gray, stood like crooked teeth in a decaying grin. The trees behind it, looming and stark, clawed at the sky, their branches whispering secrets the wind refused to carry.

You shivered, the cold a mere whisper compared to the unsettling feeling that prickled your skin. This place, nestled in a forgotten fold of a desolate highway at the edge of a forest, vibrated with a wrongness that made the hairs on your arms stand on end.

"This place feels… dicey," Dean muttered, his voice barely audible over the wind. He scanned the deserted midway, his eyes narrowed in a way that spoke volumes of past encounters with the unsettling.

"Think the rumors were true?" you asked, swallowing hard against the lump of unease in your throat.

The "rumors" were the reason you were standing in this creepy house at dusk. A string of disappearances, whispers of screams echoing in the dead of night, all traced back to this desolate stretch of road. Apparently, there was an urban legend of sorts in the area where a couple would get a flat tire out of nowhere, and with the area being nothing but just a highway and trees, the couple would choose to trek to a nearby house, only for them end up missing right after.

"Why? Are you scared?" A wry smile tugged at the corner of Dean's lips as he teased you. Before you could shoulder-check him for bugging you, he added, "Maybe, maybe not. But sticking together's the best bet we got, wouldn't you say?"

His gaze met yours, and for a fleeting moment, you saw a flicker of something akin to concern beneath the gruff exterior. It was a rare glimpse into the man who carried the weight of the world on his shoulders. Dean Winchester grew up suppressing whatever emotion he had besides his usual cocky demeanor and smirks because he had to raise Sam, his younger brother while hunting whatever it is that crawled out of the depths of hell. And Dean did a damn great job at that, Sam was now off to Stanford.

At that moment, the fear dissipated, replaced by a fierce determination.

"Yeah," you said, your voice firmer than you felt. "Let's get out of here."

He extended his hand, his calloused fingers surprisingly warm against your own. You hesitated for a beat, the implication of the gesture hanging heavy in the air. It was more than just a practical suggestion; it was a silent promise of support, a brief moment of connection you craved with this gruff hunter.

"Can I hold your hand?" you blurted out, surprised by your own boldness.

A flicker of surprise crossed Dean's face, quickly replaced by a ghost of a smile that sent a jolt through you. "Yeah," he said, his voice softer than you were used to hearing. "Yeah, you can."

You laced your fingers through his, the gesture a silent affirmation that went beyond the immediate danger. But for you, it was also a chance for something more, a stolen moment of skinship you yearned for.

As you walked, the wind seemed to whisper secrets around you, the creaking of the dilapidated house a morbid soundtrack. Each creak sent shivers down your spine, but Dean's grip remained steady, a reassuring anchor. You couldn't help but steal glances at him, his profile etched sharply against the dying light. The way his worn jacket barely contained the heat radiating from his body made your cheeks flush.

His hand, usually so quick to let go, lingered in yours. You weren't sure if he noticed the way your thumb brushed against his calloused skin, a silent plea for a little more contact. Maybe it was the adrenaline pumping through your veins, or the way the danger heightened your senses, but Dean felt like a furnace beside you.

Suddenly, a flash of movement in the corner of your eye. A hulking shadow, all wrong angles, and unnatural speed darted behind a boarded-up ticket booth. A guttural growl, unlike anything you'd ever heard, ripped through the air. Your heart hammered against your ribs like a trapped bird.

"Did you see that?" you whispered, your voice barely audible over the wind.

Dean squeezed your hand, a silent acknowledgment, his hold tightening almost imperceptibly. This time, you were certain it wasn't just the danger.

"Stay close," he said, his voice low and gravelly.

He unsheathed his knife, its silver glinting in the fading light. You drew your own weapon, a wave of nausea washing over you. You hated this part, the constant feeling of being on the edge of a knife.

Stepping cautiously forward, you and Dean crept toward the source of the movement. The closer you got, the more the air crackled with an unnatural energy, the scent of decay thick and cloying. As you rounded a corner, the full horror of the creature revealed itself.

Towering over you was a monstrous figure, its once-human form twisted and warped. Its skin, a patchy mix of worminess and sickly shade, hung greasy. Claws, like sharpened daggers, protruded from its elongated fingers. But the most terrifying aspect was its face. A grotesque mockery of a human, its eyes burned with a bloodshot sclera devoid of any humanity.

The Rougarou, a creature born of insatiable hunger and despair, let out a bone-chilling roar, the sound echoing through the abandoned carnival. It lunged a blur of teeth and wormy skin.

The fight was a desperate ballet of survival. Dean, drawing on years of experience, moved with practiced efficiency, dodging the Rougarou's attacks while searching for an opening. You fought with a mix of fear and determination, adrenaline fueling your movements.

The Rougarou swiped at you with a clawed hand, leaving a searing mark across your arm. Pain flared, but you gritted your teeth, refusing to let it slow you down.

Dean created an opening, shouting, "Fire!" You lunged for your pocket, the familiar weight of the lighter a comfort in your hand. Snapping it open, you flicked the wheel, a flame erupting in the dying light. Hurling it with all your might, you aimed for the Rougarou's chest.

It shrieked, a sound that seemed to tear at the fabric of reality itself. The flame erupted on its body, a blossom of searing orange against the decaying flesh. The Rougarou thrashed, its inhuman roar turning into a desperate, pained yowl. It stumbled back, clawing at the burning fur, an unholy stench filling the air.

Fear, raw and primal, flickered in its eyes. But fear was a fleeting emotion for the creature. It roared again, charging at you with a desperate, burning lunge. This time, you were ready. You rolled to the side, the creature's claws missing you by a hair's breadth. Taking advantage of its momentum, Dean drove his silver knife into the Rougarou's back.

The creature howled in pain, clawing wildly. With a final, earth-shaking tremor, it collapsed, dissolving into a cloud of black smoke that dissipated with a sickly sweet stench.

You and Dean stood there, chests heaving, sweat clinging to your skin. The silence that followed was deafening.

"That was..." you started, your voice raspy.

"A Rougarou," Dean finished, his voice grim. "Nasty sons of bitches."

He reached out, checking the wound on your arm. His touch was surprisingly gentle. "You okay?"

You nodded, a weak smile playing on your lips. "Yeah, I'll be fine. Thanks to you."

Dean met your gaze, a flicker of something warm passing between you in the fading light. He didn't say anything, but the way his hand lingered on your arm spoke volumes.

Together, you walked out of the abandoned place, the wind whispering through the trees, no longer sounding ominous but strangely peaceful. The horrors you'd faced had brought you closer, forging a bond forged in danger and shared survival. You knew this wouldn't be your last hunt, but for now, you had each other. And in that knowledge, you found a flicker of hope, a warmth that chased away the lingering chills of the night.

[bklynsboys]

Operation: Hide Our Relationship (?)

pairing: dean winchester x reader

summary: “you know,” dean murmured, his voice barely audible over the engine. "you always look so cute trying to deny we're not together." you jumped, startled, your hand instinctively reaching for the door handle. “what?”

genre: fluff

word count: 0.5k

author's notes: wrote a silly little drabble about how i see dean hard launching his relationship! the man is the biggest blabbermouth & he'd definitely be the first to announce that he's dating the love of his life to the most important person in his life (aside from you, of course), his brother. so, sit tight! i hope you'll smile from the the tooth-rotting fluff <3

THE IMPALA HUMMED WITH THE AFTEREFFECTS OF THE HUNT, THE AIR THICK WITH THE METALLIC TANG OF BLOOD AND THE FAINT, ACRID SCENT OF BURNT BONES. Dean slumped in the driver's seat, his eyes closed, his breathing deep and rhythmic, a stark contrast to the chaos you had just escaped. You sat beside him, your hands trembling despite the adrenaline fade. A thin film of sweat clung to your skin, and your heart pounded like a trapped animal. In the backseat, Sam tried to ignore the charged atmosphere, his eyes darting between the rearview mirror and the darkening road.

He’d suspected for a while. The knowing glances, the easy touches, the way their eyes lit up when they spoke – it was like an open secret, obvious to everyone but them. He'd tried to voice his suspicions, but they’d always laughed it off, their denials as practiced as their hunting rituals.

“You know,” Dean murmured, his voice barely audible over the engine. "You always look so cute trying to deny we're not together."

You jumped, startled, your hand instinctively reaching for the door handle. “What?”

“You heard me, sweetheart.” A lazy grin spread across Dean’s face. His green eyes, usually sharp and focused, held a softer glow. "You look adorable when you're all red-faced and in denial that we're together in front of Sammy."

A blush warmed your cheeks, and you could feel the heat rising in your neck. “Shut up, Dean!” You tried to sound indifferent, but your voice cracked, betraying the giddiness within.

There's nothing more than you want aside from screaming at the top of your lungs that finally, you and Dean were together.

"And you," cheeks still pink from your boyfriend's teasing, you turned your head towards his younger brother in the backseat. "Sam Winchester, stop smirking. I know you're finding this really funny."

Sam merely raised his hands in surrender, shaking his head at your accusation. "I didn't say anything."

Dean chuckled, his eyes twinkling with amusement. “See? So cute trying to prove my point.”

Sam couldn’t resist a snort. “Really, Dean? Now’s the time?”

Dean feigned offense, a playful smirk tugging at his lips. “A guy can appreciate his own relationship, can’t he?”

You groaned, burying your face in your hands. “You two are impossible.”

Sam grinned, his eyes dancing with mischief. “Just admit it, you’re totally into each other.”

They exchanged a look, a silent agreement to ignore him. But the truth was written in their eyes, in the way they moved in sync, the unspoken understanding that hummed between them like buzz.

“Can we please just go?” you mumbled, your voice muffled by your hands. "I wanna shower. I stink of graveyard dirt and sweat."

Dean nodded, his expression softening. He reached for your hand, his touch grounding. “Yeah, let’s do that.”

Sam sighed dramatically. “I’ll pretend I didn’t see anything.”

As the Impala ate up the road, the tension eased. With Dean's hand in yours, a promise of safety and companionship, you drifted off to sleep, the rhythmic hum of the vehicle and the gentle sway lulling you into a state of quiet.

[myladyship]

Imagine baby Winchester crying their crib and calling out for Dada. When that doesn't work, they whimper, "Cas!"

In a second, the angel appears. Baby Winchester sniffles and raises their hands, the universal sign for "Uppie!".

Just as he was about too, the baby monitor cracks up. "Don't... you... dare, Castiel..."

Cas blinks. Baby Winchester still demands cuddles.

"We're sleep training!"

Cas blinks again. "What's that?"

"Just!" Heavy sigh. "Let them sleep by themselves. "

Cas looks at Baby Winchester, who's still crying. He doesn't understand. When babies are upset, you comfort them. Why shouldn't he comfort the baby he was trusted to protect?

He picks the baby, ignoring the curses coming out of the baby monitor as Baby Winchester giggles.

[aylacavebear]

Soulmates? Yeah, right, pft. Master List

When you turn sixteen, and your soulmate's name doesn’t appear anywhere on your body that you can find, you figure you had to be the only person on the planet who didn’t have one. Most of the town shuns you, so you stick close to family. Your Aunt Ellen raised you after your parents died in a car crash when you were two, but what happens when the Winchesters return to town and buried secrets begin to come to light?

Pairing: Mechanic Dean Winchester x OC Reader/You

Each chapter will have its warnings posted. This is typical stuff when it involves the Winchesters, no matter what AU they are in, lol.

A/N: This is my non-Supernatural fic I'm attempting. Please let me know what you think, as I always love hearing from my readers. Not sure when this one will be up and available to read yet. Just getting the chapter list started for it.

A/N: Stuck with writers block on chapter 33 - update here.

Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8 Chapter 9 Chapter 10 Chapter 11 Chapter 12 Chapter 13 Chapter 14 Chapter 15 Chapter 16 Chapter 17 Chapter 18 Chapter 19 Chapter 20 Chapter 21 Chapter 22 Chapter 23 Chapter 24 Chapter 25 Chapter 26 Chapter 27 Chapter 28 Chapter 29 Chapter 30 Chapter 31 Chapter 32 Chapter 33 SMUT! Chapter 34 Chapter 35

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[castiwls]

one day - d.w

Paring; dean x reader

Requested; anon

Synopsis;Dean winchester and you had always been close. Destined to fall in love almost, yet nothing good can last forever.(kinda based on the book/series 'one day')

Warnings; mentions of death

Notes;complete truth ive never seen or read the book so I reseaeched it as well as I could. This genuinely made me tear up writing but I hope you enjoy :)

Masterlist

[2005]

“Here.” Dean nudged your shoulder with him before passing you a beer. You smiled mumbling a small thanks before looking back to the horizon in front of you. The sun had just started to set casting the field in an almost golden glow as you both sat quietly.

His leg pressed against yours as he sat down, your backs against the side of his car. A long breath left his lips as he leaned his head against the car for a moment his eyes moved from the sky to watch you as you slowly sipped on the drink, a small smile playing on your lips.

‘When did you say you were leaving again?” You turned your head tensing slightly when you realised how close he was now. A small blush grew on your cheeks as your breath seemed to catch for a moment before you managed to compose yourself. 

If Dean was affected by the sudden proximity he didn’t show it. He hummed quietly pursing his lips in thought for a moment. “Monday. Dad said to meet him in Jericho.” You nodded a small pit of disappointment growing in your stomach. Monday was only three days away.

“Monday.” You repeated taking another sip of your drink. Dean’s arm curled around your shoulder shifting you slightly closer. “I wish you’d come round more.” You sighed reaching down to intertwine your fingers with his. “I miss you.” 

Dean’s eyes trailed down to where you’d intertwined your hands and he gently squeezed your hand. “You could come with me.” His eyes lit up slightly at the idea. 

You sighed. “Dean we both know that's not possible.” He seemed to deflate slightly before blowing out a breath. “I know, I know.” He shook his head, a small chuckle leaving his lips. “Plus, I think Bobby would actually kill me.” 

A laugh of your own espaced your lips. “That’s very likely.” 

Dean couldn’t help the smile which spread across his face again as he watched you laugh beside him. The sound alone left his heart fluttering, he’d always prided himself on his ability to make you smile no matter the situation.

He’d quickly learnt that one of his favourite things was seeing you happy and he’d do anything to make sure that happened. After a moment you fell quiet, your head resting on his shoulder as he squeezed you closer. 

He leaned down pressing his lips to your head for a long moment before settling back against the car. 

Truthfully a large part of him was dreading your impending goodbye. Hunting was taking up more and more of his time and in turn, he found himself with less and less free time and in turn less time to see you. 

The selfish part of him wanted to take you with him. Keep you by his side at all times but he knew you didn’t want that. You’d spent endless hours as kids and teenagers talking about your future plans and hunting was simply something you weren’t interested in.

Sure, you had the training and you knew more than enough to take on the job but it had never called to you in the way it seemed to Dean. 

The sun continued to set casting the world into greyscale as you both continued to sit there, mindlessly talking about anything and everything. 

A small yawn escaped your lips as you placed the bottle down beside you. Dean’s hand squeezed your shoulder. “Ready to head back?” He stretched his free arm over his head before moving to stand.

He held out a hand to you, which you quickly grasped. You stumbled slightly as you stood placing a hand on his chest to steady yourself. Dean grinned. “One drink and you're already falling over.”

You shook your head swatting at his arm. “Shut up.”

He laughed wrapping an arm around your shoulder. “Someone can’t handle her drink.” He teased. “Dean!” You scolded. “I can handle my drink just fine thank you very much.” You pulled back from his side after a moment moving to stand in front of him. 

You studied his face for a moment, memorising every inch. “When will you be back?” He sighed pushing his hands into his pockets. “Soon. I promise.” 

He took a small step forward. “I’ll phone, every night alright.” He pulled a hand from his pocket reaching up to gently brush your jaw. “Be careful. Please.” You hated him hunting. You’d find yourself spending most of your days in an anxious haze waiting with bated breath to hear his voice. To know that he was alive.

He brushed his thumb over your cheek. “I always am.” He leaned down pressing his lips to your head. “You're not getting rid of me that easily.”

—

“You sure you can’t stay just one more day?”

Dean laughed quietly shaking his head. “Afraid not.” He wrapped an arm around your waist, sighing gently. “Duty calls.”

Your arms wrapped around his neck, one of your hands running through the hair at the nape of his neck. His thumb rubbed small circles on your hip as he watched you, his heart picking up slightly as your fingers skimmed the back of his neck.

“I’ll call you later okay.” He pulled you closer resting his chin on your head. You closed your eyes relaxing into his hold. “Okay.” 

You stayed like that for a while before eventually pulling back. Mumbling a soft ‘bye’ he dropped his hands from your waist.

You watched from your spot as the Impala disappeared around the corner. You stood for a moment longer before turning and walking back into the house, mentally praying to whatever was up there that he’d come back safe.

[2010]

The click of the motel door pulled your attention from the article you’d been reading. Dean smiled holding up a take-out bag before walking over and placing it down on the table. He moved behind you placing a hand on the table. “Find anything?”

“Nope.” You sighed turning to face him. He let out a sigh of his own before reaching over to shut the laptop. “Hey.” You protested reaching over to reopen it, though Dean was faster. He pushed the laptop across the table. “You’ve been at it all day, it's late.” 

You pursed your lips before nodding. “Okay. I’m done.” His grin brightened pressing his lips to yours for a moment. The action still left you breathless even after months. You’d both danced around each other for so long that you weren’t entirely sure when you crossed the line from best friends to something more.

For the longest time you’d tried to push your feelings down. Tried to ignore the way your heart seemed to pick up whenever he was in the room as you were afraid of getting hurt. Your anxiety over him leaving was bad enough when he was simply your friend you couldn’t imagine the mess you would have been should you have been something more.

But over the last year, since his death and later resurrection, you’d found yourself joining him and Sam more and more. At first, you’d simply claimed you were catching up for lost time but over time you’d found yourself enjoying it. 

You’d never seen the appeal of the fast-paced life until now.

It also finally allowed your relationship with Dean to develop and move away from the cycle you’d both been stuck in. 

You hummed quietly as he pulled back. “C’mon, it’s gonna get cold.”

—

The smell of coffee drifted throughout the house as you slowly made your way downstairs. Music played softly from the kitchen as you passed through the small lounge, a tired smile growing on your lips as you leaned against the archway.

As if sensing your presence Dean turned, a grin on his face. “Mornin’ sweetheart.” You mumbled your own greeting before he turned back to the stove. Crossing the room you wrapped your arms around his waist sighing softly.

“You're up early.” Your check rested against his chest as your eyes glanced to the clock in the kitchen. 09:04 am. Dean hummed. “Couldn’t sleep.” 

You frowned slightly pulling back. “I noticed.” You moved to stand beside him. “You know you can talk to me right.” You placed a hand on his arm. “You don’t have to handle this alone.”

Dean stayed quiet, his grip on the pan tightening slightly. “I know.” He murmured.

The apocalypse hadn’t been easy on any of you. Dean especially. Losing Sam shook you all hard, harder than you’d imagined. It had gotten easier but he still had his moments. You both did.

You watched him for a moment longer mentally sighing. You hated when he’d close up like this. 

Leaning up on your toes you pressed a kiss to his cheek before pulling back. “I’ll get the plates.”

Dean nodded, a small smile pulling at his lips as you brushed a hand over his arm. He watched you from the corner of his eye, the feeling of grief which had consumed him since the night before seeming to melt away just slightly as he watched you.

The world had always seemed that much brighter whenever you were around, he supposed that was why he’d spent years begging you to come with him. Even now when his whole world crumbled around him the one constant he had left was you and you’d stayed.

He’d never imagined being able to live a normal life, it simply wasn't something that he’d seen as possible. Yet now he had that, he couldn’t imagine doing it with anyone else.

Leaning down he flicked the heat off turning to watch as you moved around the small kitchen. You turned, smiling as you caught his eye. “Done?”

“Mhm.” He nodded, opening his arms as you approached him. You settled against his chest, your arms wrapping around his neck as he went to your waist. You stayed like that for a moment before you pulled back slightly looking up at him.

His eyes seemed to sparkle almost in the morning light as he stared fondly down at you. “You know I love you right.” He pressed his lips against yours for a moment. “I know.” You whispered leaning your forehead against his.

This was his heaven.

[2015]

He couldn’t remember the last time he’d been in a hospital, but wandering the halls now he remembered why he disliked them. The white walls seemed too bright on his tired eyes as he made what must have been his fifth trip down to the coffee machine that day alone.

He’d long since stopped caring about how long it had been since he’d first stepped foot inside the building. Sam had mumbled something about him needing to go and get some sleep - something about how he was only going to make himself ill but he couldn’t find it in him to care.

The hunt had gone bad. Really bad. 

None of you had noticed the fifth vamp. None of you had noticed the way it had managed to get behind you until it was too late. Dean kept replaying the moment over and over in his head, every time he closed his eyes all he could see was the moment you hit the floor. The way your body had gone limp in his arms.

The memory left bile rising in his throat as he pushed a random button on the machine. 

He really needed a drink.

The doctors had told them you were stable. You’d been in surgery for hours and even that had been touch and go. 

There had been blood - so much blood.

Shaking slightly he grabbed the cup before setting off back to the lifeless room which had become his home over the last few days. 

The monitors beeping had ingrained themselves in his brain and it seemed no matter where he was all he could hear was the sounds of the machines currently keeping you alive.

Shouldering the door open he paused for a moment. If he really thought about it he could just trick himself into thinking you were asleep and that you weren’t clinging to life by a thread.

Sitting down in the chair beside your bed he let out a shaky breath, bringing the cup to his lips he took a long sip. The liquid burned as he swallowed.

Placing the cup down he reached over to grasp your hand in his. The skin was cooler than normal as he rubbed his thumb over your knuckles. “You gotta wake up Sweetheart.” 

His eyes slowly moved from your hand to your face as he leaned closer. 

For the first time in a while, he felt truly lost. Normally you’d be the one to comfort him in these situations. When his dad died you’d been there and the countless times he’d lost Sam it was always you who’d be standing not far away, waiting to pick up the pieces and mend what was broken.

Yet now you weren’t there. 

Drawing in a breath he felt a tear fall from his eyes. He quickly wiped it away before brushing a hand over your head. “I can’t do this alone.”

His voice was quiet as he spoke. This wasn't supposed to happen. You were supposed to get old, and maybe have a few kids (hopefully with him). Hell, you were supposed to get married - something you’d always talked to him about.

But now all that seemed like a distant fantasy. Something which a few days ago had been so in reach was now nothing more than a distant fantasy. Something which the realistic part of him knew would never happen.

He fell quiet after a moment, his eyes glued to your face as he pulled every ounce of strength he had not to break down then and there. 

His free hand slipped down into his pocket. His fingers grasped the small box before pulling it out. Dean stared at it for a moment, fresh tears gathering in his eyes as he flicked the box open.

The ring glistened under the white light. He started at it for a moment longer before snapping the box shut. 

Standing from the chair he ran a hand through his hair as he slowly paced the room. The beeping continued quietly in the background until suddenly the room fell quiet.

It must have been less than a second yet he still paused, a frown growing on his lips before the beeping returned - this time louder and more instant.

Within a minute the room was swarmed. Doctors and nurses all talking over each other as he stood there, frozen. He barely registered someone taking his arm and pulling him from the room in his daze.

No. No. No.

His body refused to move from where the nurse had left him quickly telling him to stay there. The world almost seemed to slow down as he watched on from his spot. 

“Dean.” Sam’s voice broke him from the daze. He sounded breathless as he planted a hand on his brother's shoulder, a pained look on his face. “Sit.” He pushed his brother into a chair before falling into the one beside him. 

He placed his head in his hands.

After what seemed like an eternity a doctor - one Dean recognised - emerged. His face is natural as he came to stand before them both. Sam practically shot out of his seat as the doctor sent Dean a glance.

He whispered something before pulling Sam a few feet away. Ignoring them both he stood slowly walking towards the doorway. The room was mostly empty now except for a nurse who paused upon hearing his footsteps.

She sent him a sympathetic look before gently brushing past him. Just as he went to step into the room a hand on his shoulder stopped him. “Dean.” Sam’s voice shook slightly as he turned to face his brother. 

The doctor stood beside him, a solemn look now on his face. “She’s okay” Dean looked between the two. His fist clenched at the silence. “She’s okay.” He was more instant this time.

The doctor sighed, swallowing thickly. “I’m afraid not. She lost too much blood. We did what-”

“She’s fine.” Dean cut him off stepping closer. His eyes hardened as a burst of anger seemed to bubble over. Sam quickly stepped between the two as Dean’s voice began to rise in volume. 

“She’s fine. You said she would be fine.”

His hands shook slightly as he felt his brother push him back until he hit a wall. The words continued to fall from his lips, each more frantic than the one before. “I’m so sorry.” The man said before turning and walking away.

Dean watched before turning back to his brother. Sam swallowed, his eyes glassy as he stepped back. His eyes darted over to the room door before looking back to Dean. 

“You need to say goodbye.”

At that moment the dam inside him snapped. The anger faded to pure despair as he ran a hand through his hair. “I can’t. I can’t. She’s not…” He shook his head. The world left the bile climbing back up his throat.

“Dean.” Sam sighed watching as his brother moved back to the room doorway. “I’ll give you a minute.”

Dean barely glanced back before stepping into the room and shutting the door behind him.

You looked peaceful.

Steeling himself he moved back over to his seat. Taking your hand in his he sat for a moment. “I’m so sorry.” He whispered. He slipped out of the chair, the floor hard beneath his knees as he shuffled closer.

Reaching into his pocket he pulled out the box again carefully opening it before pulling the ring out. 

He didn’t bother to stop the tears which threatened to fall as he gently took your hand in his, slipping the ring onto your finger before placing your hand back down on the bed. 

Leaning up he placed his lips to your cheek. 

“I love you.” His lips brushed your cheek gently. “I’ll never stop loving you.” 

Leaning his head on the bed he finally broke down.

Intertwining your fingers, he felt the cool press of the ring against his skin as his whole world finally crumbled down.

[artyandink]

JENSEN-A-THON

WELCOME!

Rules:

You have to have trigger warnings on your drabbles/oneshots

No inc3st, p3dophilia, age gaps are allowed as long as one isn’t a minor, if anything is majorly outta pocket then nope sorry

Any of Jensen’s characters

You may use a section from an existing fic IF it works as a drabble

No OC inserts. (Y/N) or no mentioned names are allowed

You’re allowed same sex couples

Smut is allowed

Jensen’s Characters (That aren’t so hard to find info on):

Dean Winchester

Soldier Boy

Beau Arlen

Alec McDowell

CJ Braxton

Jason Teague

Tom Hanniger

Russell Shaw

Boaz Priestly

When is it happening?

2nd June - 31st July

List of writers participating (comment/reblog to show you’re participating):

@artyandink @k-slla @jackles010378 @angelbabyyy99 @lailawinchesterr @kayleighwinchester @anundyingfidelity @nescaveckwriter

This will be then compiled into a fic rec list, so everyone can read it. If a writer posts a drabble/oneshots, do reblog with feedback or a review to keep the flow going! The writer who posts the most drabbles/oneshots in those ten days will get a personalised oneshot written by me.

Have fun!

IMPORTANT NOTE: I will need you to tell me in the comments or by reblog, or by DMs if you’re participating!

IMPORTANT 2: Make sure to tag me in your drabbles/oneshots so I can tally!

IMPORTANT 3: You can anyways participate, I just want to have a list so I can compile the fic rec list!

[asmutwriter]

First Christmas (Dean x F!Reader)

DESCRIPTION: It's your first time celebrating Christmas since dating Dean. Lets just say he takes it very seriously.

A/N - Merry Christmas everyone! Hope you all have a good Christmas/solstice/Wednesday and enjoy some Dean fluff to help you celebrate

WORD COUNT: 972

One Shots / 'You Saved Me'

WARNINGS: established relationship, fluff with a light tone of more fluff

DISCLAIMERS

This is fiction. Please always talk to your partner before doing anything and make sure they are ok with what you are doing beforehand

This story is based after the events of my series 'You Saved Me' (a Supernatural fan fiction) which I'd recommend reading before or after reading this

You roll over. Hand going to where Deans chest should be. Emphasis on the 'should'. You wink an eye open. The bed next to you completely empty. You give a small grumble. Unsure of what the time was but knowing it was way to early to be getting out of bed. Rubbing your eyes as you sit up. Squinting to see if he was in the room at all. It was dark outside. The only light coming into your room was that of the nights sky.

Not able to distinguish a figure you decide he's not in there. Reaching and grabbing for your phone to check the time. 4:07am. You were right. Way too early to be getting out of bed. You give another loud huff. Throwing the covers from your body before swinging your legs out from the warmth of your duvet.

The usual light in the hall was still on. You always had the one outside the girls room on. In case they needed the loo during the night then they could find their way to the correct place with minimal bumping into things. You could see the vague glow illuminating the upstairs corridor and falling into the hall down here. You look to the end of the hallway. Noting the light on in the living area.

Making your way sleepily down. Entering the room you see Dean sat at the dining room table. His gaze glancing up as he watches some cartoon on TV he has on in the living room. Muted with the subtitles on as to not disturb you or your daughters upstairs.

"Dean?" you whisper his name. He quickly turns to face you at hearing your voice. Turning back as he moves the wrapping he was using to hide the objects on the table. Paying the items no mind as you tiredly look at him. "What are you doing up at 4 in the morning?" He stands. Giving you a small cheeky smile as he glances downwards before looking back up at you.

"Well..." he coughs slightly. Looking back up. Trying and failing to act cool at the question. "I realised its Christmas in two days and I hadn't wrapped up the gifts I have for you or the girls... I decided to do it tonight as I know we'll likely be up late tomorrow and I won't have time but I wanted to do it before the morning so I could hide them properly". You smile at the cuteness of his notion. Going over to him you rest a hand onto his upper arm. Looking up into his green eyes as he looks down towards you.

"That is incredibly sweet". You take in a small breath. "If you want to wrap presents up then you can do it in the day. Say you need to borrow the bedroom or something and take everything into there. It saves you getting up at this time in the morning to do wrapping for us".

"But you or Anna or Lydia might suspect what I'm doing and try and look". You give a small chuckle. Nodding as you keep his steady gaze.

"I get what you mean about the girls". You scratch your head. Looking downwards slightly. Stroking down the hair your just dishevelled. Not that it overly mattered due to your already existing bed head. Looking back up at him. Giving a soft smile. "Have you wrapped everything up for me?" He gives you a blank look. Obviously saying no without the word coming from his mouth. You nod. "Ok". you go over to the kitchen. Continuing to speak as you walk to a drawer. "How about-" Grabbing out a plastic bag. Shutting the drawer shut again. Softly as to try and remain quiet so you don't wake the girls. He tries and shields your eyes from the gifts behind him with his body. Exaggerating his arms outwards. You walk back over to him. Holding the bag towards him.

"Put everything for me into here". He looks at the bag then back at you. Gently taking it from your grasp. You turn your back. Covering your hands over your eyes. Hearing shuffling as he moves everything in. A minute passes. Feeling him lightly tap your shoulder. Taking that as your cue to turn ack around and uncover your eyes. Which you do. A very noticeable bag shoved under the table but you pay it no attention. You never did have the desire to find out your presents were before you got them. "Can I look now?" he nods. Moving out your way. Seeing a few gifts already wrapped. Names scribbled into them. Smiling as you see ones for your children. You pick up the newspaper from the table. Raising your brow at him. He gives a sheepish smile. A small exhale of a laugh leaving his lips as he looks almost embarrassed.

"I couldn't find any proper paper". You give a laugh. Putting the paper back down as you go into the hallway and to the stairs. Going into the cupboard beneath it. Turning the small overhead light on as you try and locate the items you want. Smiling at your success. Grabbing out the festive paper and fancy labels. Going back over to the table and plopping them down. "You are a life saver". You laugh. Picking up a stuffed Olaf toy. Moving him to face Dean. Raising an eyebrow slightly.

"Let me guess. Anna?" He nods.

"She told me that she loves that movie and that Olaf is her favourite character so I'm not going to judge" he takes the toy from you. Whispering to the stuffed creature. "You're beautiful". Kissing the top of his little stuffed head. You smile.

"You're ridiculous" you playfully point out. Picking up other items and starting to wrap them.

TAGS: @sojuxxi

[floralscented]

ㅤ ㅤㅤ 𝐍𝐈𝐂𝐇𝐎𝐋𝐀𝐒 ❛ nicky ❜ 𝐒𝐀𝐈𝐍𝐓.

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ────────────────────────────

ㅤ ㅤㅤㅤ ㅤㅤㅤ ㅤㅤ𝒅𝒆𝒗𝒊𝒍 𝑜𝑛 𝑦𝑜𝑢𝑟 𝑏𝑎𝑐��, ㅤ ㅤㅤㅤ ㅤㅤㅤ ㅤㅤㅤ ㅤㅤㅤ ㅤㅤㅤ ㅤㅤ𝐢 𝐜𝐚𝐧 𝐧𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐝𝐢𝐞 !

─────────────────────────

ㅤ ㅤㅤㅤ ㅤㅤㅤ ㅤㅤfeaturing reader !

[ REDACTED ]

ㅤ ㅤㅤㅤ ㅤㅤㅤ ㅤㅤfeaturing dean !

[ REDACTED ]

ㅤ ㅤㅤㅤ ㅤㅤㅤ ㅤㅤfeaturing dean & reader !

[ REDACTED ]

ㅤ ㅤㅤㅤ ㅤㅤㅤ ㅤㅤmeet nick !

[ REDACTED ]

────────────────────────────────────────────

nicky saint is an original character made by me, built and curated for the supernatural fandom. logically speaking, he was made to explore the dynamic of dean bringing his best friend on the search for his father, instead of pulling sam from college. emotionally speaking, he was created so i could write a form of tom x jensen x you smut. LOL. more info coming soon! i am just on a time crunch right now!

call it an additional christmas gift since his name apparently is literally saint nicholas. LMOAOFIDKDSJ

[zepskies]

The Honorable Choice - Part 1

Pairing: Dean Winchester x OFC 

Summary: June 1872. Captain Dean Winchester of the U.S. Cavalry is tasked with one job: break a wild mustang. He just didn’t expect the woman who infiltrates his camp, intent on freeing her tribe’s horse.

AN: I got inspired after a recent rewatch of Spirit: The Stallion of the Cimarron (literally a perfect movie), as well as having Yellowstone in the back of my brain. I thought this idea might be a good fit for this @jacklesversebingo prompt.

Disclaimer: I’ve done extensive research for this one, both on the American Indian Lakota tribe, and on American history during this time in the late 1800s (AKA: the Old West, during the American Indian Wars and the Sioux Wars). Of course, one of my main goals is to avoid inaccuracies, both historical and cultural.

Jacklesverse Bingo24 Prompt: Western AU

Song Inspo: The Spirit Soundtrack

Word Count: 4.6K

Tags/Warnings: 18+ only to be safe. Racism/racial slurs, attempted sexual assault (not successful), protective Dean, angst, some violence and some action.

🐎 Series Masterlist || Bingo Masterlist

🎙️ Listen to the podfic version here!

Part 1: Pride & Prejudice

June 1872

Dean hears some of his men shouting, along with the telltale cracking of bone that would make a less seasoned soldier wince. He spares a look to Benny, his Lieutenant, and sets down his glass of whiskey.

Dean’s path takes him brusquely out of his office and toward the stables. He grabs his gun and his hat on the way there, setting the latter on his head.

Is it too much to ask for one night where he can drink in peace?

Dean comes to find a young woman being detained by two of his men, Kline and Novak. Roman sports a bloody nose and his eye is already beginning to swell. The woman fights against their hold.

Even under the pale moonlight, Dean notes the way she’s dressed: a deer skin dress cinched at the waist, over thin pants and shoes. He surveys her tan skin, her black hair that blends into the night, twisted into a long braid, and the anger in her dark eyes.

“What have we got here?” Dean says. He stows his gun in its holster as he approaches her, resting his hands at his belt.

“I caught her breaking into the stables, Captain,” Roman says. He prods with a hiss at his busted nose while trying to stem the bleeding. That’s going to be a bad break.

She remains tight lipped, stubborn. 

“Probably doesn’t even understand English. Savage bitch,” he says. Dean shoots him an impassive look to cover up his annoyance.

“Put a cork in it, Roman,” he orders. Then, he focuses back on her. “You’re a Lakota, aren’t you?”

Aside from their main mission here in the Dakota Territory, the Colonel has been fixed on fighting back against the Lakota Indians, especially after they sabotaged the supply line last month.

The proud tilt of the woman’s chin is her only answer to Dean’s question. Her gaze drags down his form with disdain, like he’s the savage. His mouth twitches mirthlessly. 

“The Lakota rear up their own horses pretty damn well. Why would you want to steal one of ours?” he asks.

She glances away from him, first at her feet, then over at the camp’s latest “guest.” Dean, Benny, and a few of his men wrangled up a horse a few days ago. He’s a beautiful Kiger mustang with a nasty mean streak. He barely got through a trim this afternoon, and almost took a chunk out of Rufus when he tried to brand the horse.

The Colonel ordered them to tie the horse up to a post just outside the corral—no food or water for three days. He’d turned to Dean with a firm set to his face and issued a single order.

“Break him.”

Now, Dean catches the furtive look the Lakota woman gives the horse, who flicks his tail. The animal stares right at her, as if into her eyes.

“Oh, don’t tell me you here for him,” Dean says with a chuckle. “That thing’s a little too much for you, sweetheart.”

That earns her attention, steely and unimpressed.

“He is too much for you,” she says. Her voice is smooth, and would even be pleasant, if not for the circumstances. “He is one of ours. You will never break him.”

Dean's eyes widen a fraction. He glances back at the mustang.

So that's why she's here, he thinks. She's trying to mount a rescue. Dean feels a twinge deep inside, but he can't allow himself to care about that. They've collected a strong horse that will be a good support for their objectives here, once he's broken.

“Ah, well see,” Dean says, tipping his Stetson up to meet her gaze. “That’s kind of our specialty.”

“Sir, should we take her to the stockade?” Novak asks. He seems reluctant to do so to a woman, even an Indian, but he’s always been good at following orders.

Dean opens his mouth to reply, but another voice cuts him off. Colonel Asmodeus Sanderson steps out and takes a look at their captive.

“Not the stockade,” he says, with that Southern drawl that betrays his Kentucky roots. “Not yet.”

He approaches her with a slow, calculated gait. His hands gather behind his back. Dean gives her credit for looking Sanderson in the eye. She seems rightly wary, but not afraid.

“We won’t hurt you. I give you my word,” the Colonel says, “if you’ll lead us to your people’s camp.”

He takes a hold of her chin, turning her face this way and that, like he’s examining a dirty animal, and all that he’ll have to do to make it clean. She spits in his face.

Dean bites the inside of his lip against a smile. She’s got as much fight in her as the mustang. However, he has to school his face back into stoicism when Sanderson rears back in anger.

The harsh smack rings out in the clearing, along with the woman’s cry. Dean doesn’t allow himself to outwardly react, but inside, his spine tightens as he fights his instincts.

Only Kline and Novak’s hold on her arms keeps her upright. She pants for breath, but again, she meets the Colonel with a face that doesn’t give away anything, despite the reddening mark on her cheek.

“The post,” he barks. “Three days. No food or water.”

Dean is kept busy by his duties. He makes sure the camp is running in order, accepting shipments of supplies and ammunition, among other things. Cas Novak is in charge of the stables, caring for the horses and putting them through their training. Jack Kline is young and strong and a good assistant, along with others in his unit.

Right now, Dean and Benny are going over the plans with Colonel Sanderson for continuing construction on the railroad, from here to the Black Hills. It’s a path that cuts straight through Sioux territory—the bands of Dakota and Lakota Indians that occupy the land.

“The natives are fightin’ us tooth and nail,” Sanderson says. “But maybe our guest will be able to help us…negotiate.”

Dean remains quiet, ignoring yet another uneasy twinge in his gut. He didn’t join the army to fight the Indians. He doesn’t always understand their way of doing things, but he understands why they fight—to protect their land, and to protect their own. It’s the same reason Dean fights, when he has to.

He joined the army because…well, it felt like the right thing to do at the time. His father had been a Cavalry Major, and he’d died an honorable death, now about a decade past.

Has it really been ten years? Christ.

Dean wipes his brow. Even with the windows open, the office is humid and smells like ass. He glances outside, where both the mustang and the woman are tied to their posts under a sweltering sun at high noon.

Not for the first time, Dean wonders what his dad would think of him now. 

After the meeting, Dean and Benny fall into step together to inspect the camp. The summer sun shines hot on their blue uniforms, and occasionally they raise their hats to mop the sweat from their brows.

Things are running as usual, but many of the men’s eyes occasionally turn to the posts. Dean’s attention wanders there too without him realizing, catching on the woman’s dark hair. It shines even blacker in the sunlight, like a raven’s wing. He knows the shade because his dad used to have a feather kept in his journal, like a bookmark.

“You okay, brother?” Benny asks. Dean realizes what he’s doing, and his attention returns to the task at hand. Get it together.

Always forward, never backward.

“Just fine,” Dean replies. Benny gives him a knowing look.

“A bit unsavory, ain’t it?” he says. “Keeping her chained up without even a lick of water.”

“The Indians are getting smarter, bolder. They’re ambushing our men, going after our supply lines, and now, stealing our horses,” Dean says. “This is strategy.”

Benny shrugs slightly, making a sound of agreement. Dean hesitates, his gloved fingers flexing against his sides.

“If she was a man, you guys wouldn’t give a shit about putting a bullet through her head,” Dean says.

Benny’s gaze shifts downward. He doesn’t reply, but he concedes the point all the same.

They continue their route, and Dean keeps the rest of the conversation on the work at hand.

Mila has gone far longer without drink, but the sun is particularly unforgiving today. She’s prayed and prayed for even one cloud to glide overhead and shield her for a while. It’s not much better for her companion. He paces in place, occasionally tugging his head against the rope that binds him to his post.

She makes a clicking sound at the horse, getting his attention. She calls him by his name, and his ears flicker in her direction. He offers her a short whinny in response.

“I see you, Mato. I am with you,” she says in her native tongue. She hopes the sound of her voice will soothe him. He looks tired and hungry, but his eyes flick hard and untrusting on any man who comes near him. His spirit isn’t broken.

“Hey! Shut the hell up over there,” Roman shouts at her from where he and Cas are taking a short lunch break. Cas gives him a certain look, crossed mostly with annoyance.

Mila resists the urge to roll her eyes. Instead, she closes them and tilts her face back to the sun. In a way, it feels cleansing. Maybe it can wash away the stench of the White Men’s hands on her body, manhandling her, checking her for weapons.

She spends the rest of the day watching the camp. One of their leaders, the Green Eyed One, called this a fort. It does look fortified, with tall walls made of thick wood constructed to form a cage—whether to keep others out, or to keep the men and horses in.

She identifies the Colonel as their chief, of a kind. Green Eyes is second in command, followed by the Bearded One with a strange voice. Even the scruffy Blue Eyed One has some authority, mostly over the Child Faced One. There are too many others to rank them all, but she knows the Loud Mouthed One is arrogant, even after she broke his nose. The way he carries himself, he clearly thinks he has more power than he actually has.

In her mind, Mila conjures up different plans of escape. All of them fall short in some way. The men didn’t find all of her weapons; a small knife is hidden deep in her boot. She could saw at her binds within an hour, but even with Mato to carry her out and away, the problem is escaping this camp without alerting the men. Without getting shot.

She has three days to think.

That night, the moon refuses to give her clarity. Her stomach is too empty, her throat too dry, her tongue thick in her mouth. Her attention shifts in and out of consciousness, until the sound of boots crunching in the dirt trills unease down her spine. More alert, she sits up straighter.

The Loud Mouthed One. The one they call Roman comes to taunt her, offering her water, then drinking for himself instead. He comes closer to examine her. He has a small bind over his broken nose.

“You know, you’re a pretty one,” he says, taking another cold sip as his gaze drags over her form. “For a wild thing.”

His face nears hers, clean shaven, though his thin smile reminds her of a rattlesnake. Dread and repulsion churn at odds in her stomach as she realizes what he's really here for. It doesn't matter if he truly wants her, or just wants to pay her back for his face. Either way, he means to take her here in the dirt.

She looks away, not wanting to let him see her fear, or the dread tightening her stomach, rising into her throat. He winds long fingers into her hair. At first the hold is gentle, deceptive. Then it's tight against her scalp. She hisses in pain when he tugs her head back and forces her to look at him. Her breathing quickens as she tries to pull away.

He draws in close to try and claim her in a kiss, but she head-butts him, hard.

He cries out and stumbles back, his flask falling to the ground.

He angrily grabs her and hauls her up to her feet. He pushes her hard against the post and unbuckles his belt, just to stuff it in her mouth. With his free hand, he begins to undo his pants.

She refuses to cry out, even though she spits out his belt and fights him, trying to kick out his knees.

Suddenly, the man’s body is ripped away from her. Mila loses her footing and falls to the dusty ground, sliding against the wooden beam she’s tied to. The wind is knocked out of her, but when she raises her head, she watches with wide eyes as the Green Eyed One beats the other man into the dirt. It doesn’t take much, just a few well-placed fists.

Roman lies there catching his breath, and he spits a wad of phlegm and blood. His left eye will match his nose, that’s for sure.

Green Eyes looks angry and disgusted. He huffs and puffs while staring down at his subordinate. He pushes back his short brown hair and points an ungloved hand at Roman.

“Get back to the goddamn barracks. You’re gonna be mucking out stalls until shit’s coming out of your ears,” he growls.

Roman doesn’t argue, though it’s obvious that he wants to. He just picks himself up, makes a show of straightening up his open uniform jacket while catching his breath. He walks past Green Eyes with a resentful, angry look. Green Eyes watches him until he disappears inside.

Then, he turns to her. His gaze softens somewhat, but it’s still unreadable. He crouches down in front of her, resting his arms on his thighs. Mila’s gaze briefly falls to his hands. They’re calloused, the hands of a laboring man. He carries himself like a warrior.

“Sorry about that,” he says.

It’s not what she expected. Mila eyes him warily when he moves closer. She presses her back against the post until it hurts her spine. He raises up his hands placatingly.

“I’m not gonna hurt you,” he says.

“That is what your Colonel said,” she says. Her voice cracks with dryness. “I didn’t believe him either.”

His lips flicker at a rueful smile. It wrinkles crow’s feet around his eyes, breaking his stony face.

“Fair enough.”

He reaches for his belt and retrieves a flask, similar to the one his subordinate carried. He extends it out to her.

“It’s water, unless you prefer whiskey. I know I do,” he says.

She raises a brow at him, but hearing the sloshing inside the flask, her thirst takes over her wariness, and even her pride. She tentatively leans forward. He brings it closer so she can press her lips to the opening. Despite his Colonel’s orders, he lets her drink as much water as she’s able. When she’s done, he pockets the flask and sighs, running a hand through his hair.

“What’s your name?” he asks.

That, she will not give him. Names are sacred to her people, and this man, while seeming to have a shred of honor, isn’t worthy.

“Don’t wanna even tell me your name?” he says. He nods slightly. “Okay, well, I’m Dean. Captain Winchester, to this band of delinquents.”

He gestures around the camp with a dismissive hand. Mila only watches him. She’s never seen a White act like this, breaking his leader’s rules, being…kind.

What a strange man.

But if he had any real convictions, he would untie her and let her go, along with Mato. She won’t hold her breath.

Dean’s brows raise up toward his hairline, and his full lips form a pout. Realizing he’s not going to get anything more from her, he lets out a tired huff and straightens up.

“Well, goodnight,” he says.

He finally leaves her alone, but she can’t help but follow the swaggering path of his bowed legs and heavy boots. They carry him away and back indoors.  

A strange man.

By the morning of the third day, Dean is ready to do what he does best. Or at least, one thing he does best.

He’s no stranger to horses. He grew up on a farm in Lawrence, Kansas, where he and his brother would help take care of the animals. Dean was older, so he helped his father till the land and train the horses. Sometimes he and Sam would sneak off and race their favorite ones, until their mom called them back for dinner.

In fact, part of what earned Dean his rank in the U.S. Cavalry was how well he could command a horse. His own is resting in the stables.

Today, he’s getting in the ring with the mustang.

…Well, not right away. He lets a few of his guys go first to tire him out. Even after three days of no food or water, the horse is living up to his bad attitude. He bucks each of them off after just a few seconds in the corral. Dean can tell it’s becoming a kind of game for the horse. His dun-colored coat shines in the sun, his brown socked legs kicking up dust and manure as he brays angrily at whoever tries to mount him.

Dean notices the Lakota woman watching with an amused smile on her face while she sits with her hands tied to her post. She’s enjoying the show, like she knew this would happen. It seems to give her energy every time another man is thrown off the horse and limps out of the ring.

Dean shakes his head. Pitiful.

He puts two gloved fingers to his mouth and whistles the entire clearing to attention. He saves Kline the chance to bruise his spine and pats him on the shoulder. Dean steps into the corral and positions himself into the stirrups, wrapping the reins around his hand. The horse is breathing hard, but he’s not done. He’s still got fight in him. Dean sees it in his brown eyes.

“All right, mustang. You’re big and bad. I get it,” Dean says lowly. “But I don’t scare easy. Gimme your best damn shot.”

Cas and Benny give him wary looks from where they stand outside the gate.

“Hold onto your hat, Cap,” Benny mutters.

Dean adjusts his hat and rests his gun on the post for safe keeping. He wants to feel as natural as possible, like it’s just him and this horse, out back in his family farm. He holds on tight to the reins. He’s fully prepared for how the mustang takes off at a galloping clip around the ring. He twists and bucks, but Dean claps his thighs tight and holds on for the ride.

The horse gets smarter.

He runs for the water trough just outside the ring. He slams Dean against the side of it once, twice—and manages to throw him off, with Dean landing right in the water trough.

He bursts out from the dirty water, sopping wet and spluttering in anger. He looks over at the horse trotting around, whinnying and tossing his head like he’s laughing. Dean can’t help it. His anger fades, and he smiles.

This guy’s got some brass balls, I’ll give him that.

The Lakota woman laughs. Dean hears it and his head swivels toward her. She bites her lip, but she knows she’s been caught. Despite his injured pride, Dean’s lips curve with a smirk. Just gonna laugh at me, huh?

“I see things are going well,” comes a familiar drawl.

Dean’s face falls as he looks up and finds Colonel Sanderson. Dean pulls himself out of the trough and tries to squeeze some water out of his uniform. He clears his throat.

“Well, uh, it’s going, sir. Just gonna take a little more time than I thought,” Dean says. He quickly reclaims his hat from the ring, giving the mustang a smart berth. After he climbs back out, he goes over to the post where he left his pistol.

“Hold him steady,” Sanderson barks out the order, but not at Dean. The other men wrangle the horse back into the pen, where Sanderson climbs up and mounts the horse himself.

To his credit, he stays on longer than even Dean thought he would. The mustang gallops and circles. He tries slamming Sanderson on the sides of the corral, tries bucking him and bucking him, but the man clings on, even when his hat falls into the dirt.

The horse is exhausted. He eventually stops in the middle of the ring, panting for breath, his legs shaking slightly. Dean straightens at attention.

So does the Lakota woman, he notices. She looks worried, her brows furrowing.

Sanderson swipes a hand over his graying hair and moustache to collect himself. He raises his head with an arrogant smile.

“You see, gentlemen. Any horse can be broken,” he says. He kicks the horse with his spur. “Move along, mustang.”

To everyone’s amazement, the horse obeys him. He moves forward at a slow clip. All the men applaud, even Dean, belatedly.

“There are those in Washington who believe the West will never be settled,” Sanderson continues. “The Northern Pacific Railroad will never breach Nebraska.”

His gaze draws over to the woman. Her eyes are filled with tears as she watches the Colonel makes his rounds.

“A hostile Lakota,” he says in derision, “will never submit to providence.”

She stares back at him with steel in her watery eyes.

Dean doesn’t realize his jaw is clenched tight until he feels the strain in his jaw. He forces himself to relax, with his hand on his dampened belt.

“And it’s that kind of small thinking that would say this horse would never be broken,” Sanderson says. “Discipline, time, and patience. That’s all you need to level a wild thing.”

Just then, the horse stops abruptly.

“Mustang?” Sanderson asks in warning.

Dean tenses. He knows what’s about to happen.

“Sir!” he calls out.

But it’s too late.

The stallion revs and charges, bucking even wilder than before. He swings his head and rears back high on his hind legs with a powerful bray. Sanderson yells in fear and strain, but he stays on the creature’s back.

The horse’s angry eyes take on a darker shade of conviction. When all four of his hooves hit the ground, he finally bucks hard enough to get the Colonel off his back, though he still clings to the reins near the animal’s head. He comes face to face with the horse’s crazed eyes. His own are wide and full of terror.

Hot breath heats Sanderson’s face. Then the horse swings his head and tosses the man out of the ring. In the process, the horse falls on his side and shatters a section of the wooden beams that fenced him in.

While he shakes his head and gets his hooves under him, Dean and Benny help the Colonel up to his feet. His uniform is a wreck, and now, with a bruised body and likely a couple of broken ribs, the man is fuming.

Kline and Roman wrangle the horse’s reins and keep him more or less in place. The Colonel shoves Dean and Benny off of him. He reaches for his gun at his belt and aims it at the mustang. Dean goes rigid in shock, but he knows he can’t interfere. If he does, it could warrant some major discipline.

The Colonel pulls the hammer back on the revolver, but before he can pull the trigger, the sound of cutting rope and a feminine yell breaks the silence in the clearing. The Lakota woman pulls the Colonel’s arms down, and the gun goes off into the ground. Her elbow comes up quick to strike the man between the eyes. He careens back into Benny, who catches him.

Meanwhile, the woman swings up onto the mustang. She grabs a stronghold by the neck and barks something in her native language. It spurs the horse onward, and he breaks through the crowd of men at a gallop.

Dean watches with widening eyes and furrowing brows. “Shit!”

He runs to the stables where he finds Baby waiting for him. Her black coat ripples as she stamps impatiently.

“Come on, sweetheart,” he beckons. He leads the mare out of the stable, and after grabbing a coil of rope from the supply bench, he mounts her smoothly. With a subtle kick of his heel, she picks up speed to follow the mustang and his rider.

They’re already approaching the gate where the men are quickly trying to close it. There’s still a window of opportunity for escape, but not only is Dean on their heels, Roman also stands on a pile of crates filled with iron parts that are due to be shipped out in the morning for continued construction on the railroad. Roman holds a rifle. He trains his weapon on the woman, taking deadly aim.

Dean’s jaw clenches and his brows furrow. He knows then, in the breadth of a few seconds, that he has to make a choice. If he does nothing, both she and the horse are as good as dead.

Sam used to call him reckless, stubborn as the horses he spent long hours taming.

Right about now, his brother is probably right.

Dean reaches for his gun, aims, and shoots within the span of those seconds. Roman goes down before he even knows what hits him. His chest plumes with blood after he slides down the crates and flops heavy to the ground. His eyes stare unseeing at the crisp blue sky.

The mustang tears through the narrow opening in the gate, and Dean isn’t far behind. The woman is an excellent rider, far better than he expected her to be. She clings to the horse’s neck and mane, and she doesn’t even use the stirrups. She clings on when the horse leaps over rocks, and when she notices Dean tailing her, she urges the horse at an even faster gallop.

Dean’s face furrows with determination. Baby is built for speed too.

He gives her a little kick with his heel. “Come on, Baby. Go!”

He’s able to keep up with the mustang just a few yards behind, even when they reach rougher terrain, going further up and into a canyon. He follows them through every curve and dip, guiding his horse just as much as she's guiding him.

Dean takes his rope in hand and turns it above his head, but his attempt to lasso the mustang's neck fails; the woman saws straight through the rope with her knife.

"Damn it!" Dean mutters.

He's forced to let go of his frayed rope when he and Baby nearly careen off the edge of a cliff. His heart settles high in his throat as he grits his teeth, but he pulls back on the reins hard and leans in the opposite direction. Baby's able to bank left, saving them from a long way down to certain death.

They continue up the narrow path the mustang has trod ahead. It carves around and through the mountain.

Dean mentally grasps for a plan, aside from just keeping up. Without even a bit of rope, he doesn’t know how he’s going to slow the woman down without hurting her or the horse. He doesn’t want to have to use his gun.

Eventually, the canyon breaks into a patch of desert, and then, grassy plains and tall forest trees. The mustang begins to tire and slow to a stop. His rider murmurs soothing things to him, stroking his neck. She turns back to look at Dean over her shoulder in dismay. She knows she’s caught.

“All right, sweetheart. That’s enough,” Dean says.

He sidles up next to her and intends to grab the mustang’s reins.

That’s when her swift kick comes, dead in his forehead.

AN: And here we go! 😅 Feels right that November is Native American Indian Heritage Month. 🫶🏽 For that reason especially I've done my best to do the Lakota people justice, even in this little series and complete work of fiction.

There's a lot packed in this first chapter, and yep, I did borrow a bit of scene from one of the best scenes in Spirit as an homage. From here on out, we're literally going off road...

Next Time:

Dean falls out of his saddle with a yell, landing hard in the grass. The impact knocks the air out of his chest and his hat off his head, not to mention the pain that rattles down his back.

“Son of a bitch,” he wheezes, while trying to get back up.

The woman jumps down from the mustang’s back and all but leaps on Dean. Straddling his waist and grabbing a fistful of his collar, she lets out a battle cry and raises a small knife at him. It’s probably no more than two inches long.

Dean may be on the ground with a smarting forehead, but he’s still got the upper hand. He grabs her knife-wielding arm and whips out his pistol from his belt. Her eyes widen, and she stills above him. The gun lies between them, aimed for her chest. They’re both breathing hard.

Dean has a problem.

Looking into her eyes, soulful and brown, the slope of her nose and her full lips, parted with shock… 

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Ambitious — Chapter 1: Hunter in the Rye

SUMMARY: It seems like the Winchesters have found themselves a rival. A mysterious huntress is one step ahead of them, whatever case they’re working on. While she’s a thorn in his side, who is Dean to say no to a little challenge?

SHIP: Dean Winchester x Original Female Character GENRE: Fluff, smut TO NOTE/WARNINGS: Rivals to lovers, miscommunication (or rather: Dean and OFC being stubborn asses), canon level violence, competitive hunting, a bit of German folklore, they're working on a case with victims and children being kidnapped, fluff, smut (MDNI!), fingering, protected p in v, Switch!Dean, not beta read WORD COUNT: 10.5k (sorry) A/N: Spice was not planned, originally, nor was such a hefty word count. But, as predicted, my love for writing about OCs took over and thus I present to you a lengthy entry for the @jacklesversebingo challenge. PROMPT: Work Adversaries CREDIT & LINKS: header by myself ─〃★ gun divider ─〃★ flower divider ─〃★ jacklesversebingo 2024 masterlist ─〃★ series masterlist ─〃★ ao3

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When it came to hunting, Dean was always ambitious.

With the exception of using every excuse to hit the local bars, flirt with the patrons, and later make it every motel guest’s problem in close proximity to his room.

Still, once he actually was locked in on a hunt, he wanted to get it done right.

“I get that this is a strange case,” the coroner muttered, both in obvious resignation from the second night-owl shift in a row and in sheer surprise. Her white coat looked worn and for a moment, the hunters were left to wonder if she even had the chance to change out of it in the last twenty-four hours. “But is a third examination really necessary?”

Sam and Dean exchanged a glance. They were certainly used to the whole ‘I already spoke with the officers’ type of deal when it came to interrogations and such. However, this…

“I’m sorry,” Dean rasped, forcing an awkward, tight smile. “Did you say third?”

Suspicion flashed across the woman’s eyes, the brows of which were now knitted together in deep thought.

“Could I see some ID again, please?”

Begrudgingly, Sam and Dean handed over their FBI badges, which the coroner inspected a little too closely for their liking. Bobby has spent a good amount of time on getting them perfectly right though. Hence the brothers giving a confident nod as she handed them back, seemingly satisfied.

“Your colleague came in last morning, mere hours after I handed in the report,” white-coat shrugged. A quick glance towards her name plate identified her as Nora Banks. “I showed her the body, and after lunch break some municipal officers came in.”

Not again.

Dean had to refrain from rolling his eyes, despite his clear annoyance with a certain colleague of his. Oh, she was a colleague alright. Not a fellow FBI agent, but definitely a fellow hunter. A damn thorn in his side was what she was to him.

“We’re just following protocol, Miss Banks,” Sam chimed in. “We don’t want to miss any details.”

“That FBI agent went through just about every detail, if you ask me,” Miss Banks sighed, the irritation in her furrowed brows obvious. “But, sure, be my guest.”

Despite her dismay of having to go through the procedure not only twice, but thrice, Nora guided the two men down the hallway. Morgues always gave Dean the creeps and his soured mood did not help his tension. He was still dwelling on the fact that that little beast had bested him yet again.

He’s lost count of how many times that girl must’ve interrupted his leads. Lately it was just working case after case, chasing monsters and inevitably running into traces of her. The stench of her methods were all over this case.

Nora Banks mentioned some of the strange questions the agent had asked her yesterday. Key-words like ‘sulfur’, ‘cold spots’, and ‘increase in local animal attacks’ confirmed Dean’s suspicions that it must’ve been a hunter.

And he only knew one person that tended to appear at the scene of the crime — literally — before they even had a chance.

Although, knowing was putting it very generously.

Despite her being very much of an annoying obstacle when it came to jobs, neither Sam nor Dean had actually ever met her in person before. All they knew was that she was an ambitious, thorough hunter, and working faster than lightning, apparently.

As the brothers left the station, Sam sighed, shoving his hands deep into his pockets. Just from that Dean could tell he wasn’t going to like what he’d say next.

“Looks like this case is already taken care of,” he shrugged, which earned him a glare from Dean.

“Don’t,” Dean interrupted him midsentence, talking over his brother’s meek attempt of smoothing over the older Winchester’s frustration. “Don’t even say it.”

“Dean,” Sam groaned back. “What’s the point?”

As if to question Sam’s seriousness, Dean scoffed at Sam. “The point is,” he huffed, “that this is our case, I didn’t drive eight hours for nothing.”

The older Winchester was as stubborn as ever, but this time around, his persistence was of childish nature. It wasn’t even about the case, it was just about this dumb competition Dean had set his mind to. A competition that was, noteworthily, one-sided — given that whoever this mysterious huntress was probably didn’t even know about the Winchesters.

“Since when are you so eager to work, anyway?,” Sam questioned, but the only reply he was met with was a harsh slam of the Impala’s door. Dean slid into the driver’s seat, clearly not taking no for an answer. He really was dead-set on solving this case first.

It was personal at this point. To him, at least.

Back at the motel, he even double-checked the newspaper articles and went through a list of witnesses to interrogate. Sam genuinely couldn’t recall the last time his brother had been so adamant about solving a case.

While Sam was trying to get ahold of Bobby over the phone, Dean was in the middle of looking up what could’ve caused the strange scarring on the victim’s body. The arms were covered in vein-like marks, like tree-branches raking over every inch of skin. The coroner had attributed the cause of death to be electrocution.

But something about it just felt off — How could a guy just drop dead in the middle of a rye field as if struck by lightning without any signs of storms nearby? That paired with children disappearing and strange sightings of what locals described as a cryptid wasn’t adding up either.

There was a reason the coroner had to answer inquires about animal attacks and such. Apparently, people have seen what they described as a black dog.

Originally, Sam and Dean thought about hellhounds gone loose, but there was no explanation for why they were visible to the general public, and not just doomed souls. A werewolf did not align with the moon cycle, for one, and while they were wolves, they appeared mostly in human-form. Thus, they scratched that off the list of possibilities as well.

“A Feldgeist, is what you’re dealing with,” Bobby said over the phone. “Or, what Phoebe is dealing with, anyway. Why are you two on this case, again?”

Dean’s ears perked up at the unfamiliar name.

“Phoebe?,” he echoed, staring the phone down as if Bobby could see him.

“A Feldgeist?,” Sam echoed simultaneously.

Clearly the brothers had different priorities when it came to solving this case. Sam was beginning to worry that Dean was hunting his new rival more so than being out for the monster itself.

“According to German folklore, they’re essentially somewhere between demonic and spirits. Some humanoid, some shaped like animals,” Bobby went on to explain. “It’s sort of a fairy tale to keep kids from messing around on farms. Except this one’s real — a Roggenwolf. Stalks in fields, feeds on children, causes lightning and rain to mess with the harvest.”

That would explain the strange dog-sightings, the missing children, as well as the electrocution.

“You’re well-informed on the details, Bobby,” Sam remarked.

“Phoebe asked me to do some fact-checking, she called me about this case just yesterday,” Bobby replied.

Again, Dean fidgeted, before finally snatching the phone from Sam’s hands. “Who is this Phoebe?”

“Does it say ‘Winchester’s personal assistant exclusively’ on my forehead? The world of hunters doesn’t revolve only around you idiots,” Bobby snarled, his humbling tone alone giving the Winchesters a good idea of the way he’d scrunch up his nose and tip back that cap of his. “Phoebe Bennett’s a capable hunter, likes to dive in solo. I’d say you boys can move onto the next one and let her handle it.”

“We read up on the case first!,” Dean protested, earning himself a slight smack to his shoulder from Sam and his brother taking away the phone once more.

“Clearly ya didn’t,” was the last matter-of-factly stated thing Dean heard on the other line.

“Thanks, Bobby,” Sam muttered hastily. “We’ll get back to you.”

With that the call ended and Dean fell back into his chair, huffing and puffing like a child throwing a temper tantrum.

He sure was acting as if Phoebe had stolen his candy or something. If Sam wasn’t mistaken, he was even pouting. Over a damn case they haven’t even looked into for longer than a couple of days.

“You wanna catch that rye wolf so badly?”

“It’s a matter of principle, Sammy,” Dean grumbled. “This Phoebe Bennett can’t just keep stealing all our leads! Is this what it feels like to have your job replaced by a machine?”

Unable to not roll his eyes at his brother’s theatrics, Sam sighed: “She’s not a machine, she’s a hunter. And from the looks of it, a decent one, too. Let’s just drop it.”

A notification went off on the laptop as Sam finished his sentence. By hacking into the police station’s systems, they were always up to date with new information. Dean skimmed over the pop-up, before he gave Sam a deadpan expression.

“From the looks of it,” he retorted in mocking fashion and turned the laptop around for it to face his brother. “Our decent hunter hasn’t finished the job just yet.”

A child had just been reported missing by a very alarmed mother. According to the testimony, the girl and her older sister had been playing near the fields, when suddenly the younger sibling was dragged away by a shadow-like creature.

That was more than enough reason to pay the family a little visit.

If what Bobby dug up was correct, then their Larry Talbot / demonic were-spirit / ghostwolf from hell — Dean hadn’t decided on a name yet — kept its victims alive somewhere to feed on them. If they wanted a chance at finding them, they had to act fast.

A fifteen minute drive downtown later, Dean parked right next to a glossy red Harley-Davidson. Amongst the family cars and amidst the idyllic picture of your stereotypical picket-fence suburbian area, the vintagey motorcycle stuck out like a sore thumb. More so than the Impala, even.

Adjusting their ties, Sam and Dean walked up the porch and rang the bell.

Mere moments later, a girl opened for them. Since she looked to be around eleven or twelve years old, they immediately figured this must be the eye-witness. That, and the subtle shell-shock look of emptiness in her eyes.

Dean gave a friendly greeting of “Hi there,” and routinely pulled out his badge. “Are your parents home? We have a couple of questions.”

The pre-teen blinked back and forth between the IDs, mumbling out a meek “Mom’s already talking to an FBI agent.”

Bingo, Phoebe*.*

Dean knew that Cruiser outside could not possibly belong to your average soccer-mom.

“Looks like our co-worker got a headstart then,” he hummed, attempting to peek past the doorway into the living room. “Mind if we come in?”

Reluctantly, the kid turned around, calling “Mom!”

A woman, eyes even puffier and more red-rimmed than that of her daughter, approached them. She didn’t seem to question the fact that more FBI wanted to bombard her with questions.

“Agents,” she nodded, voice tired and worn down, after a quick glance at their badges and waved them inside. “I’ll get more cups ready. Lily, be a sweetheart and show them to the living room?”

The girl, Lily, did as she was told, walking into the living room. Sam and Dean followed closely behind, their eyes immediately landing on the person occupying the middle of the couch.

Her red hair was tucked into a loose braid, strands of which stuck out somewhat wildly, but not messily. There was a keen, sharp look to her bright eyes. Her posture was alert, but not hostile, as she eyed the men before her with curiosity.

“Agents,” she nodded. Her voice, Dean noticed right away, was calm and smooth. Everything about the way she carried herself was.

He found it highly irritating.

For someone with the audacity to waltz about and steal cases from other hunters, this woman was too… fuck finding a right word for it, she was just too irritating.

Arrogance didn’t quite capture it. But just by her confident demeanor, Dean judged her as too prideful. To be fair, his opinion of her was rather tainted and biased. He didn’t know anything about her, aside from the vibes of a first impression.

To him, Phoebe Bennett was on her high horse, taking a sip from her cup of coffee like she had every right to be here while they had none. As if it was Sam and Dean were the ones butting in, disturbing her business.

Where Dean downright refused to even greet her back with anything else but a glare, Sam had the manners to acknowledge her with a nod and a brief “Agent” in return.

“Lily, why don’t you check if your mother needs some help?,” he suggested then, clearing his throat as he glanced down at the girl. No further convincing needed to be done. She scurried out of the room, eagerly and silent.

“Never heard of an FBI agent on a Cruiser,” Dean grumbled, to which she chuckled— What was so damn funny about that anyway?

“As if your 67 Chevy is any less flashy,” Phoebe teased back, smug smirk on her lips. She set her cup down on the table and leaned back, all nonchalance and ease, as she watched Dean’s eyes narrow. “What? You’re not exactly sneaky in that thing, following me around in four different states. Are you tailing me or something?”

Tailing her? And to think Bobby scolded him for acting as though he was the center of the world.

Sam cleared his throat and subtly nudged his shoulder against Dean’s. The tension in the room was not only palpable, it was completely uncalled for. Dean needed to snap out of it.

“Guess we’ve been following the same leads,” Sam explained. “Look, we’re after the same thing, maybe we should team up.”

“No.” Dean’s and Phoebe’s voices melted together, his voice accompanied by a loud and offended scoff, hers by a flat and unimpressed tone. While Dean stared at Sam in disbelief as if to ask if he’d gone crazy, Phoebe casually picked at a piece of lint on her sleeve as if bored.

“No offense, but I prefer to work alone,” she hummed for an explanation. “If you want to get a job done right, do it yourself, right? Plus, if I were to work with other hunters, I wouldn’t do it with someone I don’t even know.”

Fair. Blunt, but fair.

“Little Red Riding Hood hunting the Big Bad Wolf?,” Dean huffed mockingly, a crooked grin forming on his lips. “Sounds like a trashy horror movie, if you’re asking me.”

“Good thing I’m not,” Phoebe immediately retorted. Witty smartmouth, noted.

“Apologies for the mess, I didn’t expect so many guests,” came a hushed voice behind them. As the woman emerged from the kitchen, a tray of more coffee cups in her hands, she looked even more stressed than when she greeted the hunters at the door.

It reminded them all what they were trying to do here; save that little girl.

“Oh, please,” she urged. “Sit, gentlemen.”

Phoebe’s eyebrow quirked up in challenging fashion as she stared Dean down. He wanted to refuse anyway, were it not for his brother swiftly taking a seat next to Phoebe. Damn him and his will to be all civil and social.

Begrudgingly, Dean sat down as well, the trio now grouped on the couch with Phoebe in the middle.

“Mrs. Miller,” Phoebe spoke, well-mannered and sweetly. “I’m sorry I have to ask this. Could you go over the details again, for my colleagues? They’ve just been introduced to this case, you know?”

She accentuated her words with some condescending pats on Dean’s knee. The glimmer in her eyes was half mocking, half warning. Clearly she didn’t appreciate other hunters squeezing into her business last minute.

Dean fought the urge to smack her hand away. The unexpected touch nearly made him jolt in his seat and he narrowed his eyes at her, before swallowing his pride and giving Mrs. Miller an apologetic smile.

“Well,” Mrs. Miller sighed in defeat and allowed herself to sink into the armchair across the table. “Lily and Rose were out playing. I told them to stay away from the fields, but…”

Just thinking about it had the woman tear up. Her gaze dropped to her lap and she sniffled briefly.

“There was a gust of wind,” Lily chimed in, her head poking out from the frame of the kitchen door. “It went straight into the field and Rose ran after it. I know we weren’t supposed to go in deep, but she said she saw a puppy and followed it. Something grabbed her.”

Mrs. Miller waved her daughter over. The kid’s approach was hesitant, but once within arm’s reach, she found herself in her mother’s embrace.

“Did you see what grabbed your sister?” Phoebe asked.

Lily hesitated, then shook her head.

“Lily,” Dean tried. “It’s okay, you can tell us. We just want to find what took her.”

“It wasn’t a puppy,” Lily stuttered out, fidgeting with her hands while her mother smoothed over her daughter’s hair reassuringly. “It was like a wolf. A giant, black wolf.”

“And that wolf, it dragged your sister deeper into the fields?,” Sam inquired.

The girl nodded.

“The police said they will be scouting the area,” Mrs. Miller mumbled, tearing up again. “But what if they won’t find her?”

“Then they’ll have federal backup, Ma’am,” Phoebe nodded confidently and got up. “I’ll make sure Rose comes back home safely.”

Big words for someone who didn’t even know where the child was dragged to yet. Dean’s eyebrows quirked up as he shot a glance at Sam. “Can you believe her?,” his expression said.

Mother and daughter guided the trio back to the entrance. Phoebe wasted no time stepping down the porch.

“Whoa, hey,” Dean huffed and scurried over until he was blocking her way. “Where do you think you’re going?”

“Catching the Big Bad Wolf, as you phrased it,” she responded with a shrug and brushed past him.

“Do you even know how to get rid of it?” Dean asked again, following her every step to her bike. “You’ll just go in there and then what?”

Phoebe raised an eyebrow at him and simply mounted her bike as if Dean wasn’t even there. She grabbed her helmet and put it on, along with her gloves.

It certainly was not her job to explain these guys how to kill that thing. However, as much as she wanted to, she couldn’t just run Dean over with her bike and leave either.

“Superstitious Germans in the middle ages went so far as to burn entire fields to get rid of the wolves,” she sighed. “By then, their harvest was mostly ruined anway. Fire usually does the trick, according to the lore.”

“So we’ll just molotov the furball?”

She snorted. “We won’t be doing anything,” she laughed and started her motorcycle’s engine. “If you wanna commit arson so badly, you guys will just have to be faster than me.”

With that, she readjusted her bike’s position and took off, leaving Dean to dart back just in time. He clicked his tongue and bolted towards the Impala.

If she wanted a tournament, she could have one.

“C’mon, Sammy!,” he urged as he slid into the driver’s seat. “We ain’t got all day, hop in.”

Sam blinked at his brother in disbelief. He could already feel another migraine coming in just seeing his brother’s misplaced enthusiasm. This guy was going to stress him out to death one day.

“Move your freakishly long limbs,” Dean groaned.

Sam barely got to close the door behind him when Dean already drove off at alarming speed.

“Hey, speed limit,” Sam argued, but Dean wasn’t even listening. The only thing he was set on was getting to these damn rye fields first. “What even is your plan, set the whole field on fire? We don’t even know if she’s telling the truth.”

Surely, he’d figure it out once he got there. Preferably before Phoebe would.

However, lo and behold, upon arrival, a shiny red bike was already waiting for them.

Dean practically flew out of his seat, throwing the door closed behind him and dashing towards the trunk, from where he retrieved a flamethrower. Sam jumped to his side just in time to shove it back.

“Dude,” he sighed in exasperation, trying to be a voice of reason here.

“Yeah, dude,” Phoebe’s voice chimed in from behind them. “Are you trying to deepfry the missing children with that thing?”

It took Dean everything to not point the damn thing at her. Although, the annoyance in his eyes resembled thrown daggers, or thrown flames in this case. Same difference.

“You guys are persistent, I gotta hand you that,” the redhead sighed while busying herself with grabbing various items and weapons, storing them in her jacket and pockets. “If you wanna be a tick on my ass so bad, suit yourselves. Just don’t get in the way.”

“What about the search operation?,” Sam brought up. “Won’t police be here in a bit?”

“Nothing a phone call couldn’t already settle,” Phoebe shrugged and secured a gun in the back of her belt. “Look sharp, boys, the wolf won’t hunt itself.”

Before Dean could even complain about her ordering them around, she climbed over the fence with ease and disappeared into the fields. The rye almost seemed to swallow her frame. Not wanting to lose track of his rival, Dean hopped over the fence too.

Swallowing his pride, he decided for once to focus on the mission. “So, how do we find this thing?”

“Wind gust should be the wolf moving through the plants, so just follow that.”

“Listen to Red, all confident,” Dean snorted condescendingly. “Have you killed these wolves before?”

Without hesitation, Phoebe gave a firm “Nope.”

“How’re you so sure this’ll work then?”

She rolled her eyes, stopping her steps abruptly. He almost bumped straight into her. “Dean, right?,” she groaned. “You’re even more annoying than Bobby gave you credit for. Please quit yapping and focus on the job, ‘kay?”

Her words left the older Winchester with a gaping jaw and his eyebrows shot up in surprise. Annoying, huh? She was one to talk— Besides, should his ego be more deflated by Phoebe’s dismissal or the fact that she and Bobby were apparently gossipping about him?

Against his better judgement, the curious question left his lips through a grumble.

“If I’m the annoying one, what did Bobby say about Sam?” He was mumbling more to himself than anything, but Sam still nudged his elbow into Dean’s side.

Undisturbed, Phoebe continued her path through the tall blades of yellow and shrugged: “When I asked him what Tweedle-Dee and Tweedle-Dum were up to following me like lost puppies, he said,” she started, before clearing her throat and lowering her voice to match Bobby’s gruff tone, “Annoying idiot’s called Dean, tall idiot’s called Sam.”

As a snort escaped his brother’s mouth, Dean glared at him as if to scold Sam for indulging Phoebe’s teasing. How could Sam not get a kick out of watching his brother get a taste of his own medicine though? Clearly Dean wasn’t used to being humbled, much less by smart-mouthed hunters.

A deep, guttural noise prompted all three hunters to a halt. The sound was unmistakably that of growling, low but broken. Broken up by rustling, that is. Cold breezes going through various directions rattled through the meadow and bent the rye into awkward angles.

“Did you see that?,” Dean whispered, instinctively reaching for his trusty gun.

“Sure did,” Phoebe hummed, her eyes zeroed in on where a large shadow had just flashed before them. Her finger has already found home curled around the trigger of her gun. “Bobby didn’t say anything about silver killing them, but I’m sure it’ll hurt anyway.”

“How sure exactly?,” Sam brought up, only to be ignored.

The huntress didn’t waste another moment, not even for an answer, hurrying after the creature.

“Hey!” Dean’s efforts of holding her back were just as for naught. “Damnit, she better be real sure.”

“What, are you getting worried about her already?,” Sam grinned.

Rolling his eyes, he retorted a gruff “shut up” as his only concern was the wolf getting a headstart at kicking her ass before he could.

She was an agile thing, he had to give her that. Were it not for the flame-like color of her hair, he would’ve lost her in the tall, pointy grass. As his luck would have it, however, she abruptly stopped yet again, causing him to almost bump straight into her for the umpteenth time. Seriously, was she doing it on purpose to mess with him?

Her hushing came before he could even think about complaining: A hissed “shh!” accompanied by her palm pressed flat to his chest. A touch that left him rather stunned. In fact, everything about her, all she did and said so far, seemed to have such an effect on him.

Those keen eyes of hers narrowed at a little opening right in front of her. She carefully pushed more rye aside with the barrel of her gun, slowly, to peek through.

“Gotcha,” she mumbled quietly and pointed at tracks on the ground, which took a sharp turn eastwards, likely out of the field. She straightened her back and blinked over her shoulder, giving Dean a once over — which he did not know how to react to, even — and glanced further back. “Where’d you leave Tweedle-Dum?”

Dean flinched, turned to check on his brother, but Sam was nowhere to be seen.

“Sa—?”

“Shush, God!” Phoebe groaned, glaring at Dean. “Are you trying to get us killed? This is a sneak-mission.”

Dean clicked his tongue, increasingly annoyed with her know-it-all attitude.

“Sorry, smartass,” he tched, voice dripping with sarcasm.

While he didn’t like the idea of leaving behind Sam, wherever the lanky guy has wandered off to, their best call was to follow the tracks while they were still fresh. If they were lucky, they’d lead right to the monster’s hideout.

What he definitely hated, however, was the fact that he had to chase this wolf with just Phoebe. Sam better had a damn good excuse to abandon him without further notice.

“You comin’ or what?”

Phoebe’s whispering had him snap out of his thoughts. Whilst he gave an affirmative nod, he could not refrain from grimacing in her direction the second she faced forward again. Still, finding the missing kid came first, even if he had to bite the bullet and team up with Phoebe for the time being.

They treaded through the meadow with haste but deliberate steps, until reaching the very edge of the field. The tracks, clearly paw prints with claws and all, lead them to a burrow. From the outside, it looked shallow, just a plain mound covered in leafs.

“Hold this,” Phoebe commanded flatly, shrugging off her coat and shoving it in Dean’s direction. He scrambled instinctively to not let it drop to the ground, then stared at her with wide eyes and disbelief.

“Quit treatin’ me like your damn assistant,” he snapped, wanting to shove her jacket back, but the girl was already crouching down, climbing into the hole in the ground. She had to squirm through the narrow opening, but managed to slide through eventually. Once inside, she dusted the dirt from her white shirt, albeit it remained stained now.

“Quit acting the part and I might,” she smirked up at him, all cocky. Upon watching her extending her arm towards him, his expression only sank further.

“If you want your stupid jacket back, why’d you give it to me?,” he huffed, refusing to return it just because she decided she wanted to order him around.

“I was gonna give you a hand, but suit yourself,” she shrugged, “just get your pretty ass down here, sweetheart. Ain’t got all day.”

Pretty ass? Sweetheart?

Dean’s mouth opened, but his mind blanked entirely, leaving him to gape like a dumbfounded fish. In a pathetic attempt to cover up his flustered state, he scoffed once more. “I don’t need your help,” he grumbled as he knelt, gripping the lower edge of the opening to give himself a push.

Phoebe’s eyebrows shot up, her eyes glimmering with amusement. “You sure you wanna go in head first and not-?”

Her suggestion fell on deaf ears, though by the time Dean’s hands slipped — and so did he —, he wished he would’ve listened. He was definitely taller than Phoebe, which did not work in his favor in this case. He struggled to make his way through the entrance thanks to his broader frame. Upon losing his grip, he toppled over, falling downwards and landing on his quote-unquote pretty ass.

He didn’t need to look at Phoebe to know she was grinning at his unglamorous performance and she didn’t need to tease Dean to make him feel like an idiot for not sliding in feet first.

Once more, she extended her hand towards him and this time, he begrudgingly accepted the offer and let her pull him up to his feet.

“You okay?,” she asked through thinly veiled bemusement.

“Peachy,” Dean uttered bitterly and wiped the dirt from his clothes.

Ironically enough, Phoebe’s jacket remained entirely unharmed and without any blemishes. Life could be so unfair. He handed it back to her, if only to glare at her while doing so as if to signal her it was the coat’s fault, because he had his hands full or some lame excuse.

Whether or not Phoebe caught his drift, she decided against bickering over it further and instead took it back. Without another word she turned around and walked ahead, Dean following close behind. Even she had to duck her head in this cramped tunnel, but Dean wondered if crawling might’ve been more comfortable.

Since they weren’t far yet, Dean tried to text his brother, but the signal was weak. He wasn’t even sure the message came through. Where the hell did Sam run off to anyway?

“Can I ask you something personal?,” Dean murmured.

Phoebe raised an eyebrow as she glanced at him. “I have a feeling you’ll ask me either way.”

Could she blame him for being curious?

“Since when’re you in the hunting game?,” he shrugged. “We’ve never seen you around anywhere and suddenly you’re everywhere.”

Phoebe remained silent for a moment, focusing on the path ahead instead of Dean’s questionnaire. It shouldn’t surprise him — they hadn’t exactly started on the right footing and she didn’t owe him any explanation, much less a biography. Banter or not though, he thought he should’ve at least heard her name before if she was that of an active hunter.

“I’m not a rookie, if that’s what you’re worried about,” she mumbled at last and if the tight tone did not give away that she’d rather not share details, then Dean knew from experience that most hunters had a tragic past that pushed them into this line of work.

The air down there grew staler with each step and darkness engulfed them. Dean did bring a lighter, at least, but even with that they had to be careful. The burrow turned out to be a large tunnel system. Perfect for any creature to pop in and out at various points. A flashlight might just attract unwanted attention

“Awfully quiet,” Dean remarked. “You think the wolf’s in here?”

“Sure hope so,” Phoebe sighed, gripping her gun just a little tighter. “I wanna get the kids out and burn this place to ashes.”

“Pyromaniac, are we?”

She didn’t respond to that. Even if she’d wanted to, their conversation was interrupted by another noise. Both hunters froze, ears perked.

Sobbing. Someone was sobbing.

“Hello?,” Phoebe called out, quickening her steps to rush towards the source of the sound.

So much for the element of surprise. Although the wolf did not seem to be within close range. For now, at least. Guided by the sniffles and crying, Phoebe and Dean turned the last corner and found themselves at the heart of the monster’s den.

The flooring was steeper, ceiling tall enough for Dean to finally stand comfortably. The same couldn’t be said for the kids within. Dean counted four of them, which matched with the recent missing person reports.

They were all cowering in a corner, little bodies curled up and shaking. Two of them, at least. The others lay there looking limp, like broken dolls.

“Rose,” Phoebe spoke and one of the girls lifted her head, tear stained eyes shell-shocked and face pale. “It’s okay, we’ll help you guys.”

It was the first time Dean witnessed a waver in the huntress’s voice. The woman swiftly approached the kids, checking up on each of them. A deep exhale followed.

“They’re alive,” she exclaimed in relief. “We gotta get them out of here. Rose, can you stand?”

The young girl stared back and forth between Phoebe and Dean and nodded weakly. She didn’t say a word, but she didn’t have to. So long as they’d get these children out of here, it would all be good.

Dean quickly took ahold of the two unconscious kids, carrying one on each arm.

Phoebe busied herself with stabilizing and encouraging the remaining two. They were terrified, clearly, and one of them had a nasty gash on his leg that looked like a painful infection. Tearing the sleeve from her jacket, the very same she didn’t want to get dirty earlier, Phoebe wrapped up the injury and picked the boy up onto her back.

“Look alive, guys, we’re as good as out of here,” she animated the group, nudging Dean forward.

“What about the wolf?,” Rose hushed, small hand in a death grip on the fabric of Phoebe’s pants.

“Don’t worry about it,” Dean chimed in before Phoebe even had a chance to think about a response.

She might’ve known how to act quickly when necessary, but it seemed like Dean had the upper hand when it came to dealing with kids. She’s noticed as much earlier, when they were interrogating the Millers. Considering his tough guy act mixed with the grumpy attitude, Phoebe had to admit she did not expect it from him initially.

They made their way through the narrow space, retracing their steps carefully. While the beast was nowhere to be seen just yet, the very fact didn’t sit right with Phoebe. Worst case scenario would be for the predator to await them patiently at the exit, but she prayed her hunch would be wrong.

And for better or worse, it was.

Just as they reached the final slope, sunlight shining through the hole Dean had fallen into earlier, they heard it loud and clear. Deep growling, rustling through to their very bones.

“Shit,” Phoebe uttered and hastily pushed Rose towards Dean. “Get them out of here, now.”

Green eyes went wide.

“What?,” Dean scoffed, shaking his head. “This is no time to be playing hero.”

“Quick!,” she groaned, both annoyed and urgently, her voice leaving no room for arguments.

While Dean cursed under his breath, he lifted Rose up and helped her climb outside. Once Phoebe had handed him the injured boy, he repeated the process. In exchange, she briefly held onto the unconscious kids, though her wary eyes kept gazing around to find the source of the growls.

Reluctantly, Dean pulled himself up and climbed outside, reaching down to pick up the remaining two kids.

Once all four were secured, he extended a hand down to Phoebe, but she shook her head.

“Get them out of here,” she repeated her earlier instructions, purposefully ignoring Dean’s growing frustration.

“Are you crazy?”

“Maybe,” she shrugged, but flashed him a grin and — much to his surprise — held up his lighter in victorius fashion. She must’ve snatched it from his pocket earlier. “See you later.”

No matter how often Dean would call out her name, amongst other profanities (at least he tried to keep it PG13, considering he was surrounded by a bunch of kids), Phoebe turned on her heel and disappeared back into the darkness.

“Time for dinner, you bag of fleas!,” was the last thing he heard from her as she ran deeper inside.

She left him no choice. Dean seriously considered crawling back in and going after her, but how could he possibly leave behind an injured boy, a shell-shocked girl and two knocked out pre-teens? Whether or not you preferred to hunt solo, this was just reckless and he swore to himself he’d smack some sense into her, if the wolf wouldn’t take care of that for him already.

“Think you can walk?,” Dean sighed, sizing up the boy’s injury. Testing the movement, he gave a reluctant nod, but it was clear he wouldn’t be running a marathon anytime soon.

As long as they would get out of here in one piece, it would have to be enough.

Dean fulfilled his part of the task, taking the kids back and out of the field.

“Sam?”

His brother stood there, and so did a couple of police officers.

Excusing himself, Sam approached Dean while the officers tended to the kids.

“Dude, where the hell have you been?,” Dean groaned, clearly agitated. Almost skittishly, he kept glancing back over his shoulder, waiting for any sign from the redhead.

“I saw the cops approaching and had to buy us some time, looks like they didn’t listen to Phoebe’s request to wait it out,” Sam replied, before he too noticed her absence. “Speaking of the devil, where’d you leave her?”

“We found this burrow, she went back inside by herself,” Dean grumbled less than enthusiastically.

“You let her best you?,” Sam grinned.

“Shut it, ‘s not funny.”

Dean paced around once, twice, exchanged a couple of words with the officers, then grew too impatient.

“Screw it, I’m going back in,” he decided at last.

Sam couldn’t prevent him from hopping over the fence if he tried, but someone else was able to stop him in his tracks. A tuft of red hair appeared in Dean’s field of vision, leaving the older Winchester to yet again bump into her.

“Damnit, woman,” he groaned. “You ever think ahead? Ever?”

Phoebe blinked at Dean, unimpressed. She wiped a loose curl of red from her forehead, gazed towards Sam, then the police and the kids. When her eyes met Rose’s, her own softened, before she redirected her attention to Dean, whom she rewarded with nothing but a mischievious glint.

“You’re the one who keeps stumbling,” she reminded him and he wanted so badly to wipe that smug smirk of her lips.

Sensing from miles away that the bickering might just escalate, Sam chimed in: “What happened to the Roggenwolf?”

“Roasted,” Phoebe confirmed with a nod. “Sorry about your lighter, I had to toss it.”

Who cared about the damn lighter right now? Dean was still busy processing the fact that she’d run off by herself and returned within a couple of minutes as if nothing happened.

“You just set the burrow on fire?”

“Relax, not much down there to crumble,” she reassured. “It should go out by itself.”

An officer chimed in, thereby interrupting their conversation before Dean could further snap at the cocky pyromaniac. “Special Agents, I have a couple of questions.”

It didn’t take long for them to come up with a coherent story, and they didn’t seem to care too much. What mattered, at the end of the day, was that these children were healthy and safe and could soon return to their families. They’d have to get checked up on by doctors, but it seemed like they were unharmed for the most part.

Phoebe insisted on taking care of the rest, promising Sam and Dean that she’d handle the questionnaires and all. She stated she wanted to check on Rose and her family anyway, planning to drive after them to the hospital.

“It’s been a fun challenge, Winchesters,” Phoebe hummed, that damned playful smirk on her pink lips that had Dean’s brow twitch. “I’d say this point goes to me, though.”

“What are you—?”

Dean didn’t even get to finish his sentence, as Phoebe already put on her helmet, mounted her bike, gave a final wave, and drove off.

“It’s our point, give us some credit!,” Dean called after her, despite knowing there was no way he could still hear her.

“Seriously, dude,” Sam sighed and rolled his eyes. “Just drop it already.”

Though Dean did not drop anything. The whole ride back he kept rambling on and on about how he carried the kids outside and that he did just as much hard work as she did. At some point Sam let his brother’s complaints go in through one ear and out through the other.

Given that the night was still young, they decided to grab a final bite for dinner before they’d leave town. The local pub seemed like the safest option for a beer and some food.

Though, when Dean was still on his rampage about Phoebe, even as they were seated in a booth and nursing a beer bottle each, Sam finally interrupted him.

“Dean, the monster’s gone, the day is saved,” he groaned. “A win is a win.”

“Except you guys didn’t win this time, I did.”

Oh, that voice alone was enough to rile Dean up in all the wrong ways. Blinking up simultaneously, the brothers’ eyes met that of Phoebe’s. Her expression was as bright as ever, grin reaching from one ear to another.

“Scooch over, princess,” she hummed nonchalantly and squeezed into the two-seater, making herself comfortable right next to Dean.

“Who’s tailing us now, sweetheart? I thought— hold up, did you just call me princess?”

“I’m sorry, weren’t we just literally chasing a fairy tale like monster? Remind me, who fell on their ass like a damsel in distress and who defeated the monster again?”

“You fell on your ass?,” Sam snickered, though the death-glare Dean sent his way had his grin drop immediately. He quickly took a sip from his beer to shut himself up.

“What do you want?,” Dean groaned in Phoebe’s direction.

She was already a thorn in his side, a damn tick on his ass. Her casual attitude about their proximity was just the cherry on top, though. Of course she didn’t give a crap about personal space in the slightest. Too close for comfort, her shoulder brushed against his as she fumbled around in the pocket of her jacket.

“Clearing a debt,” Phoebe spoke calmly, pulling a small, silver item. “It’s not exactly the same, but it’s the thought that counts, right?”

Dean’s eyebrow quirked up in surprise as his eyes fell on a lighter. Phoebe slid it across the table towards him. The second he picked it up he realized it was a fancy one, the comfortable weight heavy in his palm, material solid. It had a pentagram engraved on one side, too.

“What’s this?,” he asked, confused.

“Uh, last time I checked, you call it a lighter,” Phoebe chuckled teasingly. “You click this part and there’ll be a little flame. Convenient, huh?”

“I know it’s a damn lighter,” Dean grunted. “Why are you giving this to me?”

“Well, I kinda lost your old one,” she shrugged. “And I don’t like being in other people’s debt.”

Dean blinked at her, dumbfounded. Then at the lighter, which he turned in his palm once, twice and a third time. It fit in his hand oddly perfect. He usually didn’t pay attention to these kinds of things. A lighter was a lighter, just a random tool, good for salt and burns. He must’ve sacrificed dozens of them in his life as a hunter — none of them this nice, though.

“It was just a lighter,” Dean stated, matter of factly.

“If you don’t want a replacement, I can—”

But before Phoebe was able to take it back, Dean held the thing closer to his chest and shoved it in his pocket.

“I’ll take it,” he grumbled. “Consider it your compensation for being a pain in our asses lately.”

She snorted softly, exhaled through her nose and leaned back in her seat.

“You guys did kind of help me,” she muttered and scratched the back of her head. “I’m usually not the best team-player, so…”

Sam glanced back and forth between the two briefly, before mumbling something about grabbing another drink from up front. Even though the seat opposite to Dean’s was free now, Phoebe remained right next to him.

Her eyes followed Sam, if only for an excuse to not look at Dean. She purposefully avoided his gaze, glancing at anything but him. The table, the napkins on the table, the logo on the napkins on the table—

“You didn’t just follow after us for a lighter, did you?”

Dean’s voice had her head snap up. Wide eyes stared at him like a deer caught in the headlights. Until she cleared her throat and looked off to the side again, anyway. He didn’t think he’d see her act coyly and shy, ever, honestly. It was as unexpected as it was endearing, strangely.

“Sam was right,” she mumbled awkwardly. “We should’ve just teamed up from the get-go. Just— Didn’t exactly have the best kind of experiences with other hunters.”

Though her explanation was rather vague, Dean knew what she was talking about. He, too, wasn’t always fully on board when it came to hunting with others. Sam, of course, was an exception, but does family really count in this matter?

Casually, he leaned back, one hand still holding onto the beer while his other arm was draped around the back of their seats.

“We did some pretty good work back there, huh?,” he hummed at last and never in a million years would Phoebe have guessed that he’d be the one to bite the bullet and admit that their cooperation had been… fun.

She couldn’t help but smirk, the fire in her eyes familiar to him by now.

“Well, I did most of it, but sure,” she winked to which he barked out a chuckle.

“I carried a whole daycare out of that burrow!”

“After you fell on your butt.”

“You’ll never let me hear the end of this, will ya?”

“Never.”

Conversation flowed and even though it was mostly conversation filled with playful banter, Dean’s beer bottle was soon exchanged by a second one and she was nursing a drink of her own. There must’ve been some truth to the whole alcohol loosening one’s tongue saying.

Liquid kept flowing, as did the laughter, and their chatter.

“Scoreboard says I’m in the lead with a solid 1-0, Winchester,” Phoebe huffed with a cocky smirk. “Doesn’t matter how you look at it, I won this case, fair and square.”

“What about that vampire nest in Colorado?,” Dean shrugged and tilted his head. “I know you were there, but if I remember correctly, I wiped it out.”

“And you did a horrible job at cleaning up,” Phoebe pointed out, rolling her eyes at the memory of running into a nest, guns blazing, only to find a bunch of decapitated vampires there already. “But, if you want to count the other cases as well, I’m still ahead of you, 3-1.”

Dean regarded her words for a moment, wondering just how many cases they had been on at the same time, maybe even without the other one knowing. Again, the past couple months have consisted of running back and forth on leads that turned out to be already solved.

He shifted in his seat, fingers brushing over his pocket. The lighter still sat inside it, heavy against his chest.

“You’re not the only one who likes to settle scores,” Dean spoke, voice lowered and eyes dropping to her lips.

“That so?,” Phoebe smirked. “Sounds like you wanna return a favor.”

“If you’re up for it,” he replied, his own lips curling into a smirk. “We’ll be even before tomorrow morning.”

Words that had Phoebe bite her lower lip and squeeze her thighs together. “You’re as unbelievable as they say,” she snickered. If he didn’t know it any better, he’d say he was getting under her skin.

But Phoebe Bennett, as far as he could tell, was not easy to fluster. And just like with everything about her, he liked the challenge. The faint hue of red dusting her nose was a start, one that made him wonder just how flushed she could get.

Dean leaned closer, one arm still resting behind her. Under the table, their knees were brushing together just barely. The electricity between them had her skin feel all fizzy.

His scent was earthy and it seemed to surround her completely. Soft leather and sweetened whiskey. A smell of something warm. Of something dangerous.

“Is that a no?”

Her eyes locked with his green ones, the color of which was almost consumed by dark pupils.

Although her voice was barely above a whisper, it pierced right through the dull background noises of music and patron’s chattering: “I never say no to a challenge.”

She didn’t need to tell him twice.

“Me neither,” Dean smiled back and they both got up, grabbed their jackets and left some cash at their booth. A fast stride lead them out into the cold of the night, though their bodies were already running warm.

Dean’s hand found hers on instinct, if only to pull her closer and whisper into her ear: “Where’re you staying, sweetheart?”

It was up to her to squeeze his hand and drag him along, across the road and around a corner. It only took them a couple of minutes to get to her motel.

The bigger struggle awaited them in front of her door.

Phoebe fumbled with the keys, a task that proved to be much, much more difficult with Dean’s hands at her waist and the scruff of his beard on her neck. His breath was warm against the shell of her ear, but his fingertips were burning up her skin the second he slipped them under her shirt.

Once inside, finally, all bets were off.

Dean kicked the door close behind them and in the very same motion pulled Phoebe closer. In his embrace, she turned around, taking a confident step to push his back against said door and her mouth against his.

His taste was even more intoxicating than his scent.

Dean returned the kiss with equal fervor, those hungry lips of his exploring her soft mouth, her warm tongue.

Only two things managed to break them apart: The lack of oxygen making them so dizzy they had to catch a breath, and eager pairs of hands impatiently tugging at fabric. They took off layer after layer, jackets and shoes pooling at their feet and forming a path towards the bed.

Dean had half a mind to retrieve a foil package from his wallet before discarding his jeans.

By the time he was in just his boxers and the only thing hugging her curves was thin lace, the back of Phoebe’s knees hit the mattress and she fell back onto the sheets.

Her chest was heaving, her skin already flushed. How could he not give her that boyish, cheeky grin, all cocky and victorious? Though whatever smart remark was on the back of his mind, it died on his tongue as she pulled him down on top of her and silenced her with another deep kiss.

Phoebe’s arms fit around his neck perfectly and her nails raked down his back deliciously, the ministration earning her a small grunt from him which she drank up like honey. His whimper was thick on her tongue and sweet and they both knew then this was going to be as much of a competition as the hunt had been.

Not wanting to fall behind, Dean allowed his hands to roam every inch of her body. Her back arched neatly beneath him, silky skin pressing into his touch and permitting him to unclasp her black bra.

His kisses wandered down her jaw and across her neck, settling on the spot right beneath her ear, because that was the one that made her shiver the most. However, she wasn’t going to surrender that easily. One of her hands raked back up, delicate fingers combing through his hair and giving it a firm tug.

While it didn’t stop him from latching onto her collarbone and travelling further south, nibbling and licking down the valley of her breasts, her taste did make him feel dizzy. She swallowed hard, her head falling back into the pillows so that her messy hair framed her reddened face in a way only a halo of fiery sunrays could.

Their dance was a back and forth on who could drive the other insane better — the match being rather even.

Dean hissed through his teeth as he felt Phoebe roll her hips intentionally. Her breath hitched all the same as she felt his hardness press against the plush of her thigh.

“Careful, sweetheart,” Dean rasped, voice husky and thick with need. “It’s not a marathon.”

“Feels to me like you’re the one who’s impatient,” she retorted with a chuckle, while looping one leg around his hip and pulling him closer. Her thigh draped around his body as if to invite him in, though he wasn’t sure if she was trying to lure him into a trap at this point.

Clearly, he wasn’t the only bold one here. Two could play the game of riling up, and fuck, was she good at it.

Dean’s grip on her hips tightened, firm enough to make her flesh feel all tender and almost bruised up. His fingers were sinking into her skin as if to anchor himself, or to stop her grinding motions.

“You’re in for it now,” he huffed, crooked grin on his lips belying his attempts at teasing her.

He hooked his fingers through the waistband of her panties, tugging them down in one swift motion. She obliged by lifting her hips, though his sudden action had her gasping and chuckling all the same.

“See, that’s what I meant,” she hummed nonchalantly, bringing her own hands down to his boxers.

Dean instinctively held his breath and his eyes did not leave hers. His hands splayed over her thighs, fingers drawing closer and closer to her folds. Subtle twitches of his muscles confirmed her accusations only further.

“So impatient,” Phoebe whispered sultrily, only so much as toying with the fabric of his underwear. Her fingers ghosted across the bulge inside and her grin widened as he tried bucking his hips into the tantalizing touch. “I thought you wanted to take your time?”

Dean fought the urge to roll his eyes. That girl’s tongue was way too sharp.

“You’re all bark and no bite,” he huffed, his thumb finding her clit and making her inhale sharply. “You’re just as eager.”

There was no denying that, not with her dripping over his fingers. She bit her lower lip, opening her thighs even more while Dean gathered her slick on his digits and slowly circled them around her entrance.

“Dean—”

Before she could complain further, though he did like that whiny tone of hers, one of his fingers slid into her with embarrassing ease. She cried out softly, which only urged him to add a second finger. A breathless curse left her plump lips as he pumped them in and out of her steadily.

He flashed his teeth in yet another cheeky grin. “You were saying?”

“Get fucked,” she scoffed, expression twisted into one of pleasure and annoyance all the same.

“What do you think I’m doing here?,” he laughed heartily and Phoebe felt the shudder run down her spine thanks to it. She blinked at him through thick lashes, the relentless pace of his fingers making her toes curl.

He had barely touched her yet and already managed to make her stumble across her own words? Not fair.

Unyielding, Phoebe worked her own charms. She pulled his boxers down enough for his erection to spring free and wasted no second to wrap her fingers around him. Stroking firmly up and down, her keen eyes caught every subtle twitch of his brows.

Dean wasn’t going to give up the upper hand that easily, though. His thumb drew tight circles on her swollen nub, applying the perfect pressure to her button.

“Fuck, Dean,” Phoebe moaned. While she was already close, the warm velvet of her walls squeezing his fingers like a vice, she was still too prideful to beg for anything. Even if that meant she had to groan and whine as he pulled his fingers out of her.

The shift of the mattress beneath her prompted her to blink up at the man again and at least the sight of him rolling on the condom soothed her frustration. A little bit, at least.

Deciding to help him to speed up the process, she sat up slightly, readjusting her own position so he could settle right between her thighs, his strong hands holding onto her waist while hers gripped his shoulders.

“Are you gonna show me some bite now?,” she grinned. No matter how out of breath she was, she’d always have it in her to talk back to him, it seemed. Her and that daring attitude of hers were out for trouble.

Not that he wasn’t up for the challenge.

Dean buried his face in the crook of her neck, his teeth sinking right into the hollow of her throat and drawing a broken yelp from it. Using the fact that her jaw fell open to his advantage, he shoved his fingers into her mouth right after. She fought the urge to literally bite back, instead just blushing as she realized she could taste herself on his skin still.

Phoebe played along, sucking on his middle and fourth finger until her lips brushed against the cool metal of his silver ring. Her tongue swirled around its edge, that look in her eyes a daring one.

Her sob was muffled, sounding so broken but beautiful as Dean sheathed his length into her without warning. Her body nearly jolted, were it not for his deathgrip on her. His forehead dropped to her shoulder with a grunt. He was giving them both a moment to adjust, before rocking his hips.

“Not so witty now, are you, sweetheart? Just needed someone to stuff that smart, pretty little mouth of yours, hm?”

She whimpered, that next thrust of his sending her eyes rolling to the back of her skull. On God, she would’ve come up with a snarky remark, but alas, his thick digits pressing down on her tongue prevented her from any commentary.

But, actions speak louder than words.

Squeezing his sides with her thighs, she switched positions with him, rolling over and straddling his lap. Her lips curled into a smile around his fingers as she looked down on him.

That look of surprise in those green eyes, wide and glimmering, always made her feel so very powerful. Putting Dean Winchester in his place gave her a kick like nothing else could.

Phoebe took his wrist and pulled his hand away from her mouth, releasing his fingers with a wet pop.

“You’ve got a lot to learn, Winchester,” she hummed lowly and gave a deliberate roll of her hips.

Dean’s breath hitched and he bit his lower lip and screw all if it wasn’t the prettiest sight she had ever seen. He was looking breathtaking like this. Strands of light hair sticking out messily from where her fingers had tugged at it. Pink lips puffy and kiss-bitten. Freckled face dusted in red warmth, especially around his nose.

“Takes more than that to tame me, cowboy,” Phoebe smiled daringly, pressing both palms to his chest, one to trace over his tattoo, the other to feel the quickened heartbeat beneath his warm skin. The pitter-patter was strong and relentless, making her feel just as alive.

She felt him throb inside of her and egged him on with another grind of her hips against his. In this position he was so damn deep that her thighs were quivering at his sides.

“Oh yeah? Like what?” Dean’s voice was thick with desire and hoarse, his breathing irregular as he hissed through his teeth. Not that he gave her a chance to answer. Not when he could make her gasp so prettily by just jerking his hips upwards.

“Fucking hell.”

They moaned in unison, their curses blending together perfectly.

Rough palms slid up her thighs and waist, only for her to be lifted up and slammed back down on his cock. It earned him the addicting sensation of her clenching around him, pussy fluttering as if she didn’t want to let go of him, ever.

He could get used to this for sure.

Their hands were everywhere, exploring every inch of skin. Every squeeze was meant for memorizing freckles and scars, every bounce and squirm intended to drive the other mad with lust.

When Phoebe was nearly shaking, Dean used the last of his strength to sit up and pull her close. She held onto him for dear life as he drove into her again and again and again, their skin slick with sweat and hot to the touch.

Their foreheads bumped together, noses touching, puffs of warm exhales mingling together as their dance became more and more erratic. One final thrust turned both their visions white. Liquid heat rushed through their veins with Phoebe falling apart in his lap and Dean slumping against her all the same.

Moans and cries echoed off the motel walls until the only noise left was heavy panting.

They fell onto the bed like one big mess of entangled limbs.

Once they had somewhat found their breath again, both rolled onto their backs, staring at the ceiling. What a day filled with tension could do to someone, huh?

Dean was the first to speak up, breaking the somewhat awkward silence.

Although, all he could come up with was a breathy “Wow.”

Phoebe laughed shortly and ran a hand through her tangled hair. “Yeah, that’s one way to put it.”

The green-eyed hunter chuckled too, before turning to his side and leaning up onto one elbow. She met his gaze, raising an eyebrow as she saw the toothy grin on his face. What a stark contrast to the continuous scowl and annoyed attitude she had been met with throughout the day.

“What’re you looking so proud for?,” Phoebe snorted playfully, but not even that was enough to wipe the confidence from his expression.

“Would you say we’re even now?,” Dean shrugged, almost chirped.

Phoebe burst into laughter and shook her head in disbelief. “What, like an orgasm scores a point?”

He shrugged, again, still grinning.

“Well, then I’d say we’re at a solid 4-2 now,” she hummed mischieviously.

The way his smirk faded almost made her feel bad. Her own grin softened, if only for a split second. She reached over, ruffling his already disheveled hair gently, then smoothing it over.

“There’s always a next game, champ.”

Dean Winchester Taglist: @winchester-whiskey @whormotional @spacecowgirl126 @zepskies @calibootsgirl

@hot-and-confused @spookyfunhottub @berryblues46 @midnight--raine @emmy21842

@whichwitchwanda @foxyjwls007 @lyarr24

Put a green heart 💚 in the comments to be added to the Dean x Reader taglist. Let me know, if you want to be tagged for this Series specifically. (Please note: Blogs that don't have an 18+ indicator visible on their page will only be tagged in fluff and angst posts!)

[samuelsdean]

Stitch Me Up

pairing: dean winchester x reader

summary: for dean, every scrape, every gash, was a twisted plea for your touch.

genre: angst

word count: 0.5k

author's notes: i wrote this at 3 am on my notes app while simultaneously rewatching spn because i'm insane and i'm a huge advocate of touch-starved!dean.

THE METALLIC TANG OF BLOOD WAS DEAN'S CONSTANT UNPLEASANT FOREWARNING THAT DEAN HAD RETURNED—HE WAS HOME. Sprawled on the floor, another injury marring his flesh, and he sees you right there in front of him. He could see the anger in your eyes, could feel the fury that bubbles in your gut is ceaseless, a familiar dance with the ever-present terror.

For Dean, every scrape, every gash, was a twisted plea for your touch.

Dean loves it when you touch him, when you lay your hands gently on his skin, careful not to cause him more pain than what he is dealing with at the moment. He loves it when you clean his wounds while going off on another tangent as to how he should be more cautious—threatening him that next time, you would not be there to treat him; yet, every time, not one did you miss his homecoming, when he comes home bloodied, the first thing you do is come running and restoring him to full health. He craved your tirades, the harsh scoffs, and thinly veiled threats that were your flimsy shield against worry. Each rant was a desperate battle cry, a plea for him to be careful.

Yet, Dean could not help himself. He reveled in your ministrations, the gentle contrast to the fire of your anger.

Dean loves it when you tend to him because it is proof that you care.

And he craves it—craves you—your presence, your touch—everything. He thinks it is sickening how much he has grown to crave you. Because he thinks he does not deserve you, and he knows that the universe always tries to play a sick joke on him.

It was a warped version of his affection born from a life spent in the shadows. Love, for him, was a dangerous dance, a promise of heartbreak waiting to happen. People he cared about had a knack for disappearing, leaving him with the cold comfort of solitude. Hunting was a drifter's existence. A life with no room for roots or dreams. Letting someone in, and building a family, was a recipe for disaster.

It is a lonely life being a hunter. One could never have the chance to put down roots because there is always a monster to hunt, a demon to exorcise, and a case to solve. Loving someone and having a family is just a foolproof way of getting yourself hurt. Yet, here he was, craving the very thing he swore to avoid. It was a sickness, a yearning that gnawed at his soul.

Because the truth, the terrifying truth, was that Dean could not bear the thought of being truly alone.

The sting of disinfectant was a cruel reminder of his twisted reality. As you patched him up, his eyes, usually alight with mischief, held a touch of vulnerability. At that moment, Dean gave you a glimpse of his plea for something more than just mending—a desperate hope that maybe, just maybe, he could find a place in a world that felt increasingly fragile, right beside you.

But the question remained, a silent echo in the tense air: could you give him what he craved without sacrificing your own heart in the process?

[spnbabe67]

Kinktober 2024 Masterlist

Welcome to my Kinktober 2024 Masterlist.

Day One: Road Head (Dean Winchester)

Day Two: Rough Sex (Jake Seresin)

Day Three: Make Up Sex (Dean Winchester)(JVB)

Day Four: Friends to Lovers (Tyler Owens)

Day Five: Marking (Jake Seresin)

Day Six: Knife Play (Demon Dean)

Day Seven: Pool Sex (Tyler Owens)

Day Eight: Strip Tease (Billy Butcher)

Day Nine: (Semi) Public Sex (Jake Seresin)

Day Ten: Nude Photography (Dean Winchester)

Day Eleven: Caught Masturbating (Jake Seresin)

Day Twelve: Quickie (Dean Winchester)

Day Thirteen: Morning Sex (Tyler Owens)

Day Fourteen: Shower Sex (Billy Butcher)

Day Fifteen: Phone Sex (Dean Winchester)

Day Sixteen: Cunnilingus (Jake Seresin)

Day Seventeen: High/Drunk Sex (Tyler Owens)

Day Eighteen: Fluffy Sex (Dean Winchester)

Day Nineteen: Car Sex (Tyler Owens)

Day Twenty: Uniform Kink (Solider Boy)(AFGB)

Day Twenty-One: Body Worship (Dean Winchester); Multiple Orgasms (AFGB)

Day Twenty-Two: Possessive Sex (Jake Seresin)

Day Twenty-Three: Tattoo Kink (Dean Winchester)(AFGB)

Day Twenty-Four: Cowboy Hat Rule (Tyler Owens)

Day Twenty-Five: Power Exchange (Dean Winchester)(AFGB)

Day Twenty-Six: Dacryphilia (Soldier Boy)

Day Twenty-Seven: Face Sitting (Billy Butcher)

Day Twenty-Eight: Mile High Club (Soldier Boy)

Day Twenty-Nine: Cockwarming (Dean Winchester)

Day Thirty: Against The Wall (Billy Butcher)

(This ended up being 231 pages long, 12pt. font, double-spaced)

Day Thirty-One: Mask Kink (Dean Winchester)

[yet-another-deanw-girl]

The Prophecy

Created with Microsoft Designer

She knew for 15 years that this day would come. She knew her destiny had already been written. That her death had been foretold.

She knew she would have to stop him. She knew she would have to kill him. And she thought she was prepared for all of it. But the day she met him she realized how wrong she was…

Set in Season 10

Pairing: MoC!Dean x Female!OC

Note: The events of this story are following season 10 of Supernatural and are taking place between October 2014 and July 2015. I tried to make sure that all the references to weapons, tech, etc. are accurate with the time period.

AN: This is my first time writing a fanfic but the story has been in my head for too long and it just needed to get out. I hope you like it.

AN: English is not my first language, I apologize for any mistakes.

Chapter 1: The girl and the werewolves Chapter 2: Protocol EG-64 initiated Chapter 3: The stand-off Chapter 4: The Order Chapter 5: So many questions, so little answers Chapter 6: A Girl Stuck in a Bunker Chapter 7: The Fates Chapter 8: Standing on Edge Chapter 9: Fairytales Chapter 10: Good Morning, Princess Chapter 11: The Mark, The Blade and The Scribe of God Chapter 12: I'm Not a Fucking Princess Chapter 13: Split Chapter 14: The Ghost and The Network Chapter 15: Just Turn It Off And On Again Chapter 16: Sweat It Out Chapter 17: Spilling truths between the lies Chapter 18: 33 Chapter 19: You again! Chapter 20 Chapter 21 Chapter 22 Chapter 23 Chapter 24 Chapter 25 Chapter 26 Chapter 27 Chapter 28 Chapter 29 Chapter 30 Chapter 31 Chapter 32 Chapter 33 Chapter 34 Chapter 35 Chapter 36 Chapter 37 Chapter 38

_________

[aylacavebear]

Soulmates? Yeah, right, pft. - Ch. 1

When you turn sixteen, and your soulmate's name doesn’t appear anywhere on your body that you can find, you figure you had to be the only person on the planet who didn’t have one. Most of the town shuns you, so you stick close to family. Your Aunt Ellen raised you after your parents died in a car crash when you were two, but what happens when the Winchesters return to town and buried secrets begin to come to light?

Pairing: Mechanic Dean Winchester x OC Reader/You

Word Count: 5393

Warnings: Angst, Past Trauma.

A/N: This is my non-Supernatural fic I'm attempting. Please let me know what you think, as I always love hearing from my readers. Not sure when this one will be up and available to read yet. Just getting the chapter list started for it.

----------------------------------------- Chapter 1

You grew up hearing about soulmates, but since you were raised by your Aunt Ellen, it was something you weren’t sure was even true. She’d shown you the mark that had shown up on her hip, your uncle’s name, when she’d turned sixteen. Soulmates clearly were a thing, but you were skeptical, even as a child.

“Hey, you gonna take care of the customers or just stand there daydreamin?” Ellen asked you.

“Sorry,” you quickly apologized, tending to the men at the bar.

How did I end up working here, of all places?

Your mind constantly drifted these days, and it started a month ago. Your twenty-fifth birthday was only three months away. Jo continually teased you when she found you off in your head during work hours. Then there was your Aunt Ellen, who was getting more worried about you as the days passed.

The music from the jukebox sounded far away, almost muffled as you absentmindedly took care of the tasks of cleaning tables, the bar, restocking bottles, and filling drinks. Guys would flirt with you, but you’d only give them that fake smile and move on.

It was the birthday you’d been waiting for, even if you hadn’t wanted to admit it to anyone. You were turning sixteen, and you’d finally see the name of your soulmate. Thanks to your aunt, you had gotten your hopes up.

But the day came and went, and nothing appeared. You had checked everywhere, even behind your ears. There was nothing. It took months to pull out of that depression, especially when those close to you asked about it. You also felt like some sort of freak. In all the research you’d done, you couldn’t find anything about not getting the mark when you turned sixteen.

“Geeze, Y/N. You’re really out of it today. What’s wrong, sweetie?” Ellen asked you, pulling you from your memories.

“Sorry. My mind seems to have a mind of its own today,” you sighed, glancing around the bar for a moment.

“You still bummed about the soulmate thing?” she asked you sincerely, in the way she did when she was gently trying to get you to talk.

You just shrugged your shoulders before taking off your apron, “I have to go help Bobby at the garage again.” 

“Is it that time already?” Ellen asked, glancing at the clock, then sighed. “Alright. Tell the old grump I said hi, and don’t let him work you too hard.” That made you chuckle, “He never does, and I’ll let him know.”

Again, your mind drifted as you drove down the semi-busy streets to Bobby’s garage. He and your Aunt had been friends for a long time, so he was practically family, as was his wife, Jodi. Growing up, you’d spent half your time in the garage, helping Bobby fix cars.

Sioux Falls wasn’t a big town, but wasn’t tiny either. You knew most of the people who lived there, and they knew you. It was more like more of them knew of you, the girl with no soulmate. You sighed as you drove your 71’ Pontiac Firebird Formula 400, a gift from Bobby you had to fix up, down the lonely road leading to his garage. 

“Got something for ya, kid, but you gotta fix her up,” Bobby told you when you showed up for your shift that hot summer afternoon.

“I told you. You don’t have to get me a present this year,” you groaned.

A year ago, you began hating your birthdays, and you didn’t want to celebrate this one. You begrudgingly followed him to his garage, then to the side of it, where you noticed the tarp over something.

Bobby walked over and pulled the tarp off, revealing the shell of a 71’ Pontiac Firebird Formula 400. You had fallen in love with muscle cars as a kid, watching The Dukes of Hazzard. Your jaw hit the floor as you ran over to her like a kid on Christmas.

He was smiling from ear to ear as he watched you look over everything, “She’s all yours, but you gotta do the work. You can’t let any other mechanic touch her. I’ll answer any questions, but I ain’t helpin' either.”

“Are you serious, Uncle Bobby?” you asked excitedly, popping the hood of the beat-up frame.

A small smile crossed your expression with that memory as you pulled into the driveway of Bobby’s garage and parked in the back. It seemed like so long ago, but it was one of your fondest memories that had made your birthday not so bad.

“I’m here,” you hollered, heading over to the car you’d been working on for almost a week at this point. 

“How was the bar?” he asked, joining you in the garage.

“I was a space cadet, and Aunt Ellen is worried about me,” you replied, sliding back under the car to finish it up.

“You’re not a space cadet. I just think you can’t focus around all those people anymore. Come work at the garage, full-time,” he told you, leaning against the counter and crossing his arms.

“I’ll think about it,” you answered, tightening down a few more bolts.

“Besides, Jodi misses you being around more often,” Bobby added in an attempt to persuade your decision.

“I miss her too. Oh! Ellen said hi. I don’t know why she doesn’t text you more often,” you replied, sliding out from under the car, looking for yet another tool for yet another size bolt.

When you were in the garage, you always seemed to be able to focus. You knew Bobby had a point, and you’d been considering it for almost a month, but you weren’t about to tell him that. You wanted to let him think it was his idea.

Yeah, your mind drifted, but it was nothing like at the bar. Here, they were little snippets of memories: kids teasing you in high school, adults looking at you like you had two heads, and then there had been attempts to find a job but getting turned down everywhere due to not having the name of your soulmate on your body somewhere. 

By the time your shift ended, you had the car completely finished. Looking down at the car, you stood there, covered with blotches of grease but beaming with pride. 

“I’ll let the owner know she’s ready,” Bobby smiled, now standing next to you. “Think about it, though, okay?”

“I will,” you replied, giving him a hug before you headed home for the night since you’d already cleaned up the tools you��d used.

You lived in a cute little house not far from Bobby’s garage. It was the only thing that you had from your parents, along with a handful of pictures. You’d lost both of them to a car crash when you were only two, having no real memories of them. 

Since you were two when you had lost them, you never asked Jodi what had happened or if anyone else was involved. You honestly didn’t want to know. 

Dropping the things from your pockets on the table, you locked your door and headed to the bathroom. Your thoughts drifted again as you did your typical night routine.

“I’m sorry you’re having such a hard time finding work, sweetie. You can’t work here till you’re at least eighteen. I can’t break that law for you,” Ellen sighed.

You crossed your arms and went back outside to your car. You knew why no one in town would hire you, and it was a stupid reason. However, being a teenager still, you were all hormones and now needed to go blow off some steam.

You peeled out of the parking lot and down the road to your parent's place, which would be yours in less than a year. The drive was short due to the speed you’d chosen to go, and a cloud of dust rolled over your car when you parked out back of the house.

Between the punching bag, the target practice, and throwing your knives till your arm was sore, you had finally calmed down some. You made a call to Ellen and told her you were going to sleep at your ‘almost’ house. She didn’t like it but didn’t argue either.

You cried yourself to sleep that night, curled up in the soft bed that would eventually be your permanent room as the sun set slowly. The thought of being alone for the rest of your life hurt more than you’d ever tell anyone.

Dinner that night consisted of leftovers, and you were thankful you’d prepared them ahead of time when the week began—baked chicken, potatoes, and gravy. You were far too out of it to even worry about a vegetable. 

I’ll tell Ellen tomorrow.

Finally deciding to quit working at the bar as you cleaned up dinner and headed to bed, almost feeling as though a weight had been lifted off your shoulders. Slipping under the covers and getting comfortable, you also felt more relaxed than usual. 

—----

Two hours into your shift, and Ellen had already had to pull you out of your head a dozen times. It was Saturday, so even the morning hours were busy today. You were just thankful that you never had to cook, knowing you would have ended up burning most of the food.

“Can you at least pay attention to the ones at the bar? Jo can handle the floor today,” Ellen told you, again sounding worried.

“I’ll try,” you sighed, glancing at the men sitting there.

There was no point in apologizing again. As you began taking care of the drinks, the bell over the door dinged, signifying yet another customer. Typically, you wouldn’t have even looked up, but something pulled at you.

It was three men, none of whom you recognized, and two of them looked to be around your age, with the third being older. All three of them sat at the bar, so you went over to get them drinks.

“What’s your poison?” you asked, putting on that fake work smile and not really looking at them.

“Three beers,” the older of the three said, “And please tell Ellen to come over.”

You were slightly confused but agreed. You set their beers down in front of them, then went to find Ellen in the back. “Hey, there’s a guy out here that asked for you.”

“Did you get his name?” she asked as she dried her hands.

“No. He didn’t say. He’s with two other guys who are younger, though, if that helps?” you replied as you followed her out of the back room.

You stopped halfway down the bar, but you were still behind it, as she was now on the other side, making her way to the three of them. The older man stood, both he and Ellen smiling as they embraced in a hug, which confused you. You managed to keep up with the drinks for those at the bar but couldn’t hear what the four of them were talking about.

“Y/N, come down here and get these boys a refill,” Ellen hollered, motioning for you to go over to them.

Rolling your eyes, you did as she asked, putting on that fake smile again, “Here ya go.”

“Thanks, Sweetheart,” one of the two younger ones said to you with what looked to be a flirtatious smirk.

“Don’t be flirting with my niece, Dean. She’s still what you’d consider innocent,” Ellen scolded the one who had just spoken to you, but to you, it sounded more like a teasing sort of joking around, which made you slightly curious. “Thanks. Like I need some stranger to know that sort of thing,” you grumbled.

“Sweetie, these are the Winchesters. They’re practically family. You met them when you were little,” Ellen replied, smiling happily.

For a moment, you were somewhat dumbfounded as to what to even say. You couldn’t seem to remember meeting the three of them. Ellen introduced you to John Winchester, the father of Dean and Sam, who were four years apart in age.

“I hate to do it, Aunt Ellen, but, I need to talk to you about something before I leave in ten,” you finally told her.

“What’s up?” she asked, looking quite puzzled.

“I need to take some time off for a while,” you mumbled, feeling bad.

“Take all the time you need, sweetie. I know things have been rough for you lately,” she said softly, then she gave you a hug. “And tell that old fart to stop by sometime.”

“Thanks for understanding, and I will,” you replied, relieved as you hugged her back. Then you looked over at the Winchesters, “It was nice to have at least met the three of you since I don’t remember meeting you before now. Not sure when I’ll see you again, though.”

“How come?” John asked, seeming fairly curious.

“I’m going to be working my other job full-time for a while. It’s the love of my life, honestly,” you replied with a smile, giving John your full attention.

“What’s that, kid?” he asked, which made you wonder if perhaps he knew Bobby since Bobby called you that all the time.

“I fix cars. Hate to do it, but I have to run,” you replied quickly, heading for the door and out to your Baby. However, your heart about stopped when you saw the black 67’ Chevy Impala parked next to your Firebird.

“Damn…” you breathed out in quiet shock and awe.

Shit! I’m gonna be late.

With that thought, you shook your head, pulled your gaze from the car, and drove to Bobby’s garage for your shift. It indeed was a beautiful car, and you knew that no one in town drove one of those. Through deductive reasoning, you figured it had to belong to the Winchesters. You just weren’t sure which one. Whichever one it was, though, they loved that car, and you knew it with how well it had been taken care of.

The leaves on the trees were changing colors already, and the light breeze was finally cooler than the summer heat that you hated. However, you didn’t notice much today; you were too excited to give Bobby the news.

You knew the smile you couldn’t hide would give it away, but you stepped into his little office anyway. You didn’t even have time to say anything before he did.

Bobby was smiling from ear to ear when he looked up at you, “Nice to know Ellen didn’t give you a hard time about being here full time. You can whip those boys on the morning shift into shape for me.”

“Like they’d listen to me,” you chuckled but rolled your eyes.

“They better, since you’re gonna be their boss from here on out,” he told you seriously.

“Wait? What?” you asked, in complete surprise.

“Kid, you know your shit, and you’re good at your job. You’re better at your job than the four boys I got workin here already. I’d rather just have you than all of them 'cause I know you’d get the job done like it should be, and you never cut corners,” he explained, being completely serious.

“I- I don’t know what to say,” you stammered, still shocked.

“Just say thanks and be here at six tomorrow morning. Take the afternoon off and rest up,” he smiled.

You went over and wrapped him up in a hug. He knew the only reason you worked in the garage late was to avoid the boys he had working there in the morning. You had tried doing the dating thing after your sixteenth birthday, but realized quickly that no boy wanted anything to do with you.

That night, you were still smiling, even if you were apprehensive about being someone’s boss, let alone four grown men. People in the town were mostly courteous toward you but treated you like a plague of some sort since your soulmate's name never appeared on your body. 

—-------

As you got ready that morning, you attempted to calm your nerves, but it didn’t work. You gave yourself mental pep talks all morning and even on the drive, but that wasn’t helping either. Your heart was still racing as you parked out back like you usually did.

Bobby was the only one at the garage for the moment, and he even told you to breathe more than once. He explained that you’d still be working on cars, but now you’d also be keeping an eye on the boys he had working there and telling them when to take their breaks. It seemed simple enough.

Benny, Cas, Garth, and Jack were decent guys and were all friends. They’d spend time at the bar in the evenings when you were at the garage. It was how you had avoided a lot of people in the town since they really wanted nothing to do with you. The part you were worried about was interacting with them, as their boss. Bobby was standing next to you as the four of them arrived and mingled into the garage.

“Boys, meet your new boss,” Bobby said sternly, and all four of them looked up at you.

You were sure your heartbeat could be heard throughout the room as you froze under their gaze. The only one who didn’t look at you like you were a waste of space or something to avoid was Garth, and you made a mental note of that.

Something in you snapped with how they looked at you, and you laid into them before Bobby could comment on their expressions. “Look, I know that at least three of you would rather not work with me. I’m not a bitch, but I will be if I have to be. You don’t like this, there’s the door,” you told them sternly, putting your hands on your hips.

“Seriously?” Benny asked, annoyed. His Cajun accent was thick, and if it weren’t for his attitude, you probably could have listened to the man talk all day.

“Yes, Benny. She’s got the right to fire you if need be. I suggest you don’t give her a reason,” Bobby replied, crossing his arms, almost daring the man to challenge his decision.

Garth stepped forward, though, with that kind smile he always had, “I, for one, am looking forward to working with you, Y/N. You seem like a nice person, fair.”

Your expression instantly softened, and you smiled at him. “Thanks, Garth.”

“Alright, get to work,” Bobby told all of you before he headed into his office to keep an eye on things.

You turned from the four of them and headed toward the newest of the cars that had been brought in the day before. Your nerves were shot, but you were proud of yourself for standing up to the three of them. Pausing for a brief moment as you looked down at the car, you decided on something.

I’m gonna just be me. If they don’t like it, they can quit.

You turned on the radio to the classic rock station, then got to work on the car. Benny raised an eyebrow and just watched you silently before he got to work with the other three. It was odd for you with the other four working there, too. It was something you weren’t used to, but you found yourself keeping an eye on them, even while you worked.

An hour into the shift, Cas had stopped working and sat on one of the barstools, sipping some water. You watched him out of the corner of your eye for a few minutes while still focusing on your current task. Five minutes later, he was back to work. You took mental note of it and focused on your task again.

Each of them did that, taking turns to sit for a few minutes, have water, and then return to work. It puzzled you, but you weren’t ready to ask them why they did it, at least not yet. 

Just before nine, you heard it before you saw it. The beautiful purr of that Impala you had seen the night before. A smirk crossed your lips while you were unbolting the upper portion of the water pump for the current car in front of you. 

The Impala stopped, and then she was silent. You could clearly hear three sets of footsteps heading into the garage. The four boys erupted with greetings to the Winchesters, more Dean than the other two. Even Bobby joined in. 

So, they do know each other. Too bad the boys know them too. So much for maybe making a friend now.

You sighed and slid under the car, going for the bottom bolts now that the top ones were loose, completely ignoring the ruckus of greetings going on only about twenty feet away from you.

“Kid, you gonna come say hi?” you heard Bobby ask, and you realized he was standing next to you.

“I really wanted to get this finished, since the part finally came in, and this poor car has been sitting here for a week waiting,” you replied without moving out from under the car.

“Kid, don’t make me pull you outta there,” he told you a bit more sternly, and you knew he’d do it.

“Fine,” you grumbled, sliding out from under the car.

“So much for not running into you again, Sweetheart,” Dean smirked, which made you roll your eyes.

“Dean’s gonna be starting tomorrow morning. Dean, she’ll be your boss, so don’t try anything funny. She’s also practically my niece,” Bobby told him, far sterner than you’d heard him talk to anyone before, which only piqued your curiosity as to what their past entailed.

“I’ll behave, Bobby, I promise,” Dean told him, somewhat seriously. 

You noticed a small twinkle in not only Dean’s eye, but also in Bobby’s. It was like there was something they both knew but weren’t saying, at least not in front of you.

“You better, boy. I got no problems telling your dad and making him fire you,” Bobby replied, glancing at John.

That was when it hit you. You’d seen the initials JW on several different pieces of paperwork and even a couple of packages that had been delivered to the garage. John was Bobby’s partner in the business, and Dean was supposed to inherit it when John passed or retired. You were a bit surprised, though, that you had the power to fire the boss's son or at least write him up if you had to.

John’s laughter filled the garage at Bobby’s statement, “If I have to get involved, you’ll be in far more trouble than just losing your job.” There was a joke in there, but you could also hear the hint of seriousness in his tone.

What do the three of them know but aren’t saying around me? This is so frustrating.

“I said I’d behave,” Dean grumbled, crossing his arms and leaning against the car closest to him while the boys gave him a hard time. But it was there, even if only a hint of it, a smirk, and you noticed.

That was when John and Bobby both turned toward you, and for some reason, it made you nervous. “We’re having a little get-together tonight at Harvelle’s, and you’re invited. Sam graduated and is getting a full ride for law school, and that calls for a celebration,” John told you with a far softer smile than you thought the man was capable of.

“Uh, sure, I guess,” you replied, completely unsure of the idea of being around people who really wanted nothing to do with you.

“Good. Then we’ll see you there around say, seven?” John replied.

“Okay,” you answered, not sure what else to say.

Due to your attention being on John and Bobby, you missed the silent conversations going on between Dean, Sam, and the four grease monkeys on the far side of the garage. Dean was mostly watching you while Benny and Cas were telling him things, about you. Sam was also watching you, but his was more out of curiosity than anything else.

John and Bobby hung out in the office with the door closed for at least another hour. Dean and Sam were distracting the other four while they worked. You, well, you were changing out the water pump, ignoring all of them. It was what hurt the least. 

While you were tightening down the bolts under the car, you noticed a pair of feet standing next to you.

“You really don’t remember us, do you?” he asked.

“Sorry. I really don’t,” you answered, focusing on the bolt that was being a pain to get to.

“Wow. Kinda surprised since we went to the same schools and grew up in the same town,” he chuckled quietly, and you realized it was Sam and not Dean. Sam had a softer voice, and he didn’t call you sweetheart.

“I’m really sorry. I was kind of a loner,” you told him and finally got the bolt tightened down.

Sliding out from under the car and looking up at him, you felt like an ant with how tall he was. You shook off the feeling, got to your feet, and bent over into the engine so you could finish bolting the water pump in place.

“I remember. I heard about what happened, or uh, I mean- what didn’t happen when you turned sixteen,” he told you with that softness you were thankful for.

You shrugged your shoulders briefly, “Doesn’t matter. At least Bobby let me work here. All I ask is that you aren’t being nice to me out of pity. I’d rather be ignored.”

“I don’t pity you. I actually wanted to tell you something I found out while I was at college. It’s rare, like it only happens to one in a billion people. A traumatic event before the age of five can leave a child too scared to get their soulmate’s name when they turn sixteen,” he explained.

You froze where you were. It was more than anything you’d been able to find, and for a moment, you wanted to hope. You quickly brushed it away, though, remembering how badly you’d felt the last time you got your hopes up.

“You gonna keep going or just leave me hanging like that?” you asked, a little sharper than you intended.

Sam took a deep breath, and you missed him glancing at his brother momentarily, “Well, what I read said that the other person still gets their soulmate’s name. The one that went through the trauma has to fully heal from it before they get their soulmate’s name.”

You rolled your eyes, “Kinda hard to heal from something I don’t remember.”

“I just wanted you to know that me and my brother don’t see you like others do, and we’d like to be your friend, if you want,” he replied, then walked away to leave you to your thoughts.

Great. I don’t even know what to do to heal that sort of thing. I don’t even remember my parents. And now, the boss’s kids want to be friends with me. No, that can’t go horribly wrong, can it? Plus, I have to go sit through a celebration with people I don’t remember and others who want nothing to do with me, even if Ellen, Bobby, and Jodi will be there.

You focused on the car but finished it quickly before the Winchesters were even ready to leave. After wiping off your hands, you closed the hood and put the tools away before driving the car out to the finished area so it could wait for its owner to pick it up. When you headed back inside, your eyes were only on the office door, which was still closed. You didn’t see Dean watching you again.

“Hey, Bobby. Cars finished. I didn’t see anything else out back. What do you want me to work on?” you asked, setting the keys on his desk so he could get the paperwork together.

“How about you give Dean the tour? Show him where everythings at?” John suggested with a smirk before Bobby could say a word. “I figured Benny would do that, since they seem like friends,” you replied, not wanting to interrupt the six of them.

“I’m sure he could, but he won’t. You’re their boss. Comes with the territory,” John told you.

“Yes, Sir,” you replied in a slight mumble, heading back out of the office, closing the door, and then leaning on it.

As you crossed your arms, you watched the six of them. They looked like they were enjoying whatever conversation was happening between them, with Dean laughing at something he must have found funny. With a deep sigh, you walked over to them, slipping your hands into your pockets.

There was instant silence the moment you got close to them, but you didn’t let the hurt show, “John said I should give you a tour and show you where everything is,” you explained to Dean, not really looking at him.

Dean glanced at the office door then back down at you, “If that’s what my dad said, then lead the way, Sweetheart.”

Why does he have to keep calling me that? It’s not like he knows me. Maybe he calls all girls that, and it’s just his thing or something like that. 

“Yeah, not like you been in here a day of your life,” Benny teased him, which made you look up at Benny, confused. “Huh?” was the only word you could manage.

“Oh yeah, Dean’s been working in here since he was knee-high to a grasshopper,” Cas chuckled, teasing Dean.

Your gaze went from each of them and then to Dean, tilting your head in a fair amount of confusion. Dean rubbed the back of his neck nervously and looked away from you.

“What’s wrong, Dean? Worried she’ll figure it out?” Benny stated.

“Figure what out?” you asked as Dean glared at Benny.

“Nothing,” Dean snapped, still glaring at Benny.

So, Dean’s got some secret he doesn’t want me to know about. 

“Do you still want that tour I’m supposed to give you?” you asked with a sigh, looking more at the floor than anywhere else.

“Dean, you were here less than a month ago. Did you really forget where everything is already?” Cas teasingly asked him.

You’d had enough, so headed out of the garage, tossing your hands up and hollering, “Never mind,” just before making it outside. Once you made it to your car, you texted Bobby and told him you were heading home since there weren’t any more cars to work on at the moment.

The six of them watched as you drove past the garage entrance and then down the driveway. You missed Dean punching Cas in the jaw. You missed John and Bobby going off on Benny and Cas. You also missed Dean going off on Benny. You were too pissed and hurt to even look back.

Bobby didn’t text you back, but you knew if he had an issue or needed you at the garage, he would have said so. The moment you got home, you went straight for the punching bag, needing to get the anger out of your system so you could shower.

How am I gonna get out of tonight? Can I even get out of tonight? Probably not. I’ll have to show up, at least. I can always leave early, though, right? 

You groaned at the thought of having to be around people, knowing full well that getting out of it, even early, was going to be difficult. At least you weren’t required to dress up any, so you went for a pair of black jeans, a dark blue shirt, and your favorite deep green flannel pulled over it. At the garage, you typically had your hair pulled back, but for tonight, you left it down.

Parking near the back of Harvelle’s Bar & Grill, you were just staring at the building, dreading going inside and having to “people,” as you called it. The sun had already set, and the darkness was allowing the glimmer of stars to be seen in the night sky, but you didn’t notice them, just the bar in front of you.

----------------------------------------- Chapter 2

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[ameliesopp]

Hunting grounds - Dean Winchester x fem!oc

Warnings: english isn’t my first language. fluff//semi-smut but not really.

—

"This fucking place...I don't think we'll get a table here", Dean said as they entered the fully packed bar.

"Maybe we'll have to share a booth", Sam answered.

Dean scanned the room and then his face lit up. He grinned and pointed at one with a lone woman, maybe a little younger than him, pretty face, wavy dark hair, sipping a beer.

"How about that one?"

Sam sighed defeated.

"Dean..."

His brother was already gone, got himself a beer from the bar and then casually walked up to the booth.

"Hey. Mind if we sit?", Dean asked with his most charming smile and the woman looked up.

"Not at all, please."

"Thanks."

Dean sat across from her.

"I'll get us something to eat", Sam said and vanished towards the bar.

"What brings you guys here?", she asked curiously.

"Oh, uh...hunting trip", Dean said.

"Wendigos or deer?"

Dean almost choked on his beer.

"Come on. I can smell a fellow hunter from a mile away", she said snickering and he snickered, too.

"Well, then. I'm Dean Winchester, the big guy at the bar is my little brother Sam."

"Nice to meet you, Dean. May Cartwright."

"May. Cute name", he said and she made a face.

"Eh. My sister's called June, if we had a third sister she probably would have been July, so. Not exactly creative.”

He grinned and she chuckled.

"So. Wendigo?"

"Actually we were just passing through but, if you know something.."

"There's been three attacks this month. Bears, they say. Idiots."

"Huh."

"Where were you headed?"

"Downstate. But it's nothing that can't wait a day or two."

"What can wait a day or two", Sam said as he sat next to his brother, placing a burger and fries in front of him.

"There's a wendigo here, apparently", Dean informed him.

"Sam, this is May. May, Sam."

"Hey", she said smiling and he smiled back.

"Fellow hunter?"

"Yup, there's been three attacks, but they think it's bears", May informed him.

"Because they're all idiots", Dean added.

"Right", May nodded grinned, before emptying her beer.

"Want some help?", he offered and May nodded.

"Please. If you're not too busy. Wendigos aren't exactly my favorite, especially not alone."

"Sure. You got it", Dean said.

Sam shot him a look.

"We...were on our way to-"

"Dude. There's a lady in dire need of our help, here. It can wait a day", Dean insisted and May snickered.

"Well, I appreciate it, guys."

Sam turned his head.

"Do you know that guy over there? Second table on the left."

"Nope. Why?"

"He's been staring at you."

"Since I got here. Which is part of the reason I'm still here, I had hoped he'd leave", she sighed, stroking a dark brown strand of hair out of her face.

"Where are you staying?"

"Motel. Other side of town."

"Got a car?"

"At the motel."

"All right, no problem. I'll drop Sam at our Motel and then you at yours. Make sure you get there safely", Dean said chewing. Sam shot him a look that said "I know exactly what you are doing".

And May did, too. But she didn't mind. Dean was really cute. Beautiful green eyes. Pretty smile. And she wouldn't have minded blowing off some steam.

"That would be amazing", she said with a smile and Dean winked at her.

She stole a fry off his plate and winked back, making him grin even more, fry caught between his lips.

Oh yeah, she had him right where she wanted him.

Same let out a little sigh. He was used to his brother's constant flirting. And the flirting back.

Dean finished his burger.

"All right, sweetheart, let's get this show on the road."

They got up and he threw some money on the table before following her outside.

"Whoa. Nice car!", May said impressed.

"Thanks. It's a sixty-"

"-seven Impala. I know", she said and got into the backseat.

Sam and Dean exchanged a look.

"I think I'm in love with her", Dean said and Sam grinned as they got into the car.

Ten minutes later they had dropped off Sam at the motel and were headed towards hers, chatting about their lives.

"So. How did you get into hunting?", Dean asked when they stopped at a red light.

"Born and raised", she said chuckling.

"My dad was a hunter."

"Yeah, mine, too", Dean said and she had to smile.

"He still alive?", he asked and she nodded.

"Retired. After a vamp almost got him. Now I'm taking over. My sister never wanted this life but...I don't think there was any point in running away for me. I would have ended up here one way or the other."

"Yeah, me, too. It's a calling."

"Yeah, exactly."

"Is he a good dad?", Dean asked and she had to smile.

"He was a great dad growing up. Sure, he was on the road a lot, but... Taught us everything. When we said there was a monster in the closet he did something about it. He'd check under the bed, ridle in his hand, like it wasn't a game. I think he needed it as much as we did. Showed us how to protect our rooms, so we would feel safe. Taught me how to shoot, sent me to martial arts and self defense classes - but he also bought me my first lipstick and my first princess dress. He always said balance is the most importsnt thing in life."

She snickered at the memory and Dean had to smile.

"Well, sounds like you had a good childhood."

"Yeah. I really did."

"That's great. Happy for you."

"You didn't?"

"No, I mean...it sure as hell wasn't perfect. Mom got killed when I was a kid. Sam was still a baby. My dad never was the same after that. Taught us most things we know, but...I don't know. Don't get me wrong, he was not a bad father. Certainly could have done better, though. He did what he thought was right. Even when it broke us."

He swallowed and May tilted her head knowingly.

"Let me guess. Veteran?"

"Got it in one. Marines."

"My grandpa, too. They all come back a little messed up. Even if it's just from training."

They were silent for a second.

"Sounds like he meant a lot to you, though", she eventually noted.

"Yeah. He...kind of sacrificed himself for me, so...I know we meant a lot to him, too."

"Of course you did, you're his children. What father wouldn't die for his children?"

"Yeah, fair point, I guess."

He pulled into the parking lot of the motel and she pointed at one of the rooms.

"Over there."

Dean pulled into one of the parking spots in front of her room.

"Hey, uhm...thanks", May said. "For taking me home. And also...for not trying to hit on me now that I'm in your car and can't get away", she said with a little wink and he grinned as he turned off the ignition.

"Yeah, I'm not gonna lie, it is hard."

"Oh, I bet it is", she said, looking him directly in the eyes.

That was definitely a dirty joke. A tease, almost a challenge. He saw it in her brown eyes, her dilated pupils. What are you gonna do now, Dean Winchester?

He leaned slightly forward, licking his lips.

"It really is."

"Do you maybe wanna...come in for... a nightcap?", May asked innocently and Dean grinned.

"Hell yeah."

She smirked as she got the room key out of the pocket of her worn out leather jacket to open the door.

"Make yourself comfortable, I guess", she grinned and he sat on the kingsize bed.

"Nice. Nicer than ours."

"Yeah well, I actually let people pay me if I get rid of the ghost in their house", she snickered.

"Huh. That's not a bad idea."

She giggled and dropped her jacket onto a chair. She was wearing a tight tanktop and tight jeans and it was messing with his head a little. Especially as she leaned down to grab two beer cans from the mini bar.

Then she sat next to him, both leaning against the wall behind the bed, and she placed her legs over his lap.

Dean just chuckled as he placed a hand on her thigh.

He had big, strong, warm hands. And she kind of wanted them all over her body.

But instead they just sat there, talking, drinking beer and eating chips as they watched TV.

"What's your favorite way to kill a Wendigo?", he asked.

"Flamethrower", she said chewing.

"Are you the coolest chick I've ever met?"

"Probably, yeah", she giggled and he laughed a little.

"Well, we killed one with those emergency flare things."

"Resourceful", she noted and he grinned again.

"Yeeah, we made it work. Hiking out in biker boots and jeans."

"Well, who wears shorts in the woods?! You're gonna get ticks."

"I so fucking wanna kiss you right now, wow."

May had to laugh and then sat up to climb onto his lap. "Then do it, coward. Thought you Winchester's weren't scared of anything."

"Oh, nobody calls me a coward, sweetheart", he said, grabbed her face and pressed his lips onto hers.

One of his hands rested on her waist, the other gripped her hair, her hands running through his hair and down his neck.

He pulled her top up and over her head, then took off his shirt.

She had a bunch of tattoos, but he didn't have time to take a closer look at them, because she wasted no time taking off her bra, too.

Dean attached his lips to her collarbone as he pushed her onto her back, her legs wrapped around his hips.

His lips left a trail of kisses down her chest and stomach, along one of her tattoos, then he opened the button on her jeans and she helped him shuffle it off.

He bit his lip at her Calvin Klein underwear and she grabbed the back of his neck to pull him up for another kiss, at the same time getting busy with opening his belt.

It landed on the floor, his jeans followed soon.

May flipped him onto his back to kiss him, her necklace dangling down against his chest, his hands running up her back into her hair, and then he pulled her head back to kiss down her throat.

A soft moan escaped her lips, which in turn made him growl softly as he pushed her onto her back again, hurrying to finally undress her completely.

May bit her lip as his mouth wandered down her upper body and when he reached his destination a deep sigh followed by a hum of pleasure came from her lips, her legs over his shoulders, her hands running through his hair and her eyes flew shut as her brain shut off.

Dean woke up with his arm over her hip, her back against his chest, he pulled her a little closer and kissed her on the cheek as she slowly opened her eyes.

"Hey", she said softly and turned onto her back.

"Hey."

"You okay?"

"I'm doing fantastic, sweetheart. You good?"

"Yeah. Last night was fucking amazing."

"Oh yeah? Glad to hear that", he grinned and bowed over her again.

"Mmh. You did so well", she told him, making him bite his lip before he kissed her again, when his phone rang and interrupted their moment.

"Oh shit. It's Sam."

He answered the call.

"Hey. Yeah, I'm still with May...yeah, we'll be over soon."

He hung up and rubbed his face.

"Shit. Okay. We need to hurry."

"We definitely both need a shower. So...might be quicker if we do it together", she said and he nodded as he rubbed his face.

"Yeeah, sounds like a plan. Where even are my clothes?"

"Somewhere on the floor."

She got up and he watched her naked figure disappear in the bathroom, where he soon followed her.

"I thought you wanted this to be quicker", he said when she pulled him into the shower and kissed him.

May made a face.

"I obviously lied, Dean."

Dean grinned.

"I like you, you know that?"

"Mh. You should."

And then she kissed him again.

Forty-five minutes later they stopped in front of the motel, Sam was already waiting for them, looking more than a little annoyed.

"Seriously, Dean?"

"What? She started it!", he defended himself.

"I did start it", she nodded and Sam rolled his eyes.

"Are you guys gonna be able to do this without it being awkward?"

"Why would it be awkward? We're adults, we can handle this", she said as she opened the door to the backseat and threw her backpack into the car.

Dean nodded very seriously, hands in his pockets, and his little brother raised a brow.

"You just had to do this, hm."

"Have you seen her? Uh, yeah, I had to do this", Dean said with a smirk and got into the car, too. "Don't be jealous."

"I'm not jealous!"

Sam followed him and Dean started the car with a grin.

"Nice. AC/DC", May noted when the music started.

"Oh, you like rock?", Dean asked.

"Sure. My dad raised me on Mötley Crüe, AC/DC and Stones."

"Good taste. You like Zeppelin?"

"Sure."

Dean exchanged a look with Sam that said "see I had to" and skipped to the next song.

After about half an hour of driving through the sleepy town and the outskirts of it they arrived at the edge of the nearby forest.

"This couldn't have waited until afterwards?", Sam hissed when he saw Dean check out May's ass.

"Nope. Absolutely not. It was...god, Sammy, I can't even begin to describe it."

Sam rolled his eyes.

"You need to get laid, little brother", Dean told him with a grin and May leaned against the car, also grinning.

"I know someone."

"See? She knows someone", Dean said, nodding at Sam.

"Shut up. Both of you."

"Or what?", May asked laughing.

"I'll feed you to the Wendigo", Sam said, playfully shoving her shoulder and she laughed.

"Not if I feed you to him first!"

"Oh, that I'd like to see!", he replied grinning and they continued their banter as they walked into the woods.

Dean had to grin as he shouldered his backpack to follow them.

Sammy liked her. Good.

Because if he was being honest with himself he didn't want this to be a one time thing. He was crushing hard on her already, maybe he could talk Sam into keeping her close for a little while.

Especially because he definitely wanted to get his hands on her again.

She had felt like she was made for him, he had never felt that with a girl before. Not even with Lisa.

May was different, special. He wanted more, couldn't get enough of her.

It had started to snow the night before, and so the path they were following was covered in blinding white.

The frost-laden forest was eerily silent as May adjusted the strap of her crossbow. The biting wind swirled through the trees, carrying with it the faint metallic tang of danger. Dean, who had caught up to them, now walked just ahead of her, his shotgun at the ready, and his signature leather jacket did little to block the cold.

"Next time we're taking a case in Miami," Dean muttered, shooting May a look over his shoulder.

She smirked, tucking a loose strand of chestnut hair into her beanie. "Oh, come on. Where's your sense of adventure?"

"Back in the Impala with the heater on full blast," he shot back, though the glint in his eyes betrayed his enjoyment of their banter.

"Need me to warm you up, Winchester?", May offered grinning.

"Careful, I might just take you up on that."

"Stop flirting", Sam said, "and focus on the task at hand, please."

May placed a hand on his chest, stopping him.

"Tracks," she whispered, pointing to the ground. Deep impressions marred the snow, leading deeper into the forest.

Dean crouched beside her, studying the marks. "Fresh. It's close."

His tone was all serious now, fully focused, but May caught the way his hand hovered near hers as he rose, just for a second, but obvious none the less.

As they moved forward, the forest seemed to close in around them, the shadows growing longer. May's heart pounded in anticipation, her fingers tightening around her crossbow.

A sudden rustle to their left made all three of them spin. Dean raised his shotgun, but it was only a rabbit darting away.

"Jumpy much?" May teased, though her own nerves were fraying, heart racing.

"Don't act like your heart isn't pounding, I can hear it from here", Dean just said grunpily and she giggled softly.

Sam gently nudged her shoulder and now she heard it, too. A low, guttural growl. It shifted to the left, then behind them, like a predator circling its prey, and they all spun around, following the noises.

"Incoming", Dean warned, and they all readied their weapons as the Wendigo burst through the woods with a sudden jump.

May flinched, immediately firing a dart at it. It hit its target, penertating the Wendigo's chest.

The monster let out a screech as it but it didn't stop. It launched towards her.

Dean immediately pushed her out of the way, both rolling over the cold, hard forest earth.

Dean turned onto his back, shooting at the monster still coming at them, and then Sam fired at flare at the Wendigo.

It burst into flames, screeching and howling as it collapsed into a pile of ashes.

Dean and May were both panting as they looked up.

"Nice shot. Both of yoh", Dean said.

"Thanks."

Sam held his hand out for him, helping him up, then Dean helped May up.

She made a face, rubbing her shoulder.

"Thanks for tackling me out of the way, but that hurt."

"Sorry, sweetheart, but that thing eating you would've hurt a lot more."

He gently fixed her beanie.

"You okay?"

"Yeah. I'll be fine."

She shouldered her crossbow and Dean placed a hand on her back as he lead her back towards Baby.

"I want to keep her around", Dean told Sam softly.

"What? Why?"

"Because I like her, okay? You had your chance with...Amelia and whatever their names were, this might be my chance at something real. I don't wanna miss out on that. Don't ruin it for me."

"I'm not ruining anything. I like her and she seems capable. If you think dragging her along is a good idea, fine. Be my guest. But be sure she's ready for that. You know we don't do casual, Dean."

"I know."

He got into the car, where May was already getting comfortable in the backseat.

"Hey, so, uh...Sam is cool with you sticking around for a while. Hunt with us and stuff", Dean said and May raised a brow.

"So you asked him before you asked me if I even wanted that?"

Dean furrowed his brows, rubbing the back of his neck.

"Uuh..."

May snickered as she shook her head.

"That's kinda cute, not gonna lie. Yeah. I'd be happy to stick around for a while."

"Great. Welcome aboard, then."