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zepskies · 1 year ago

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Smoke Eater - Part 9

Pairing: Firefighter!Dean Winchester x F. Reader

Summary: Dean Winchester is the cocky, but well-respected Lieutenant at Firehouse 25. He leads by example, but he’s also known to break a few hearts. He’s starting to crave something he’s never had, though. Something stable. Something real.

That’s when he meets you, on a truly terrible day, trapped in a rickety old elevator.

🔥Series Masterlist

AN: As promised, comin' at ya a day early! ❤️‍🔥 I hope you enjoy...

Word Count: 5,100 Tags/Warnings: 18+ only! Smut, fluff, and angst.

Part 9: “Do Not Disturb”

“No one’s gotta know,” he replied. His voice was deeper, laced with grit. “Just try to stay quiet.”

Biting your lip, you slowly began to rock your hips. You had to let out a shaky breath as your clothed core found delicious friction against his muscled thigh, through his pants.

Dean broke through your nerves by claiming your lips. He sucked your bottom lip between both of his, grazing with his teeth. Your fingers sunk into his hair and gripped tight.

He groaned a little, and he slipped past the seam of your lips to slide his tongue against yours, curling and mimicking motions you’ve felt his tongue make inside you.

You moaned a bit too loud at that.

“Shhhh,” he said, low and quiet.

The back of his curled fingers grazed your neck, then down to squeeze and tease one of your breasts through the soft wool of your dress, over the satin bra underneath.

You had to utter a more restrained sound of pleasure at his touch; it was gentle, but firm and purposeful in every way. You couldn’t help but roll your hips harder, finding more friction against your clit and seeking more of the heat now throbbing inside you.

But just as you were about to encourage him to take the dress off, there was a knock on the cubicle door.

You froze, gripping his shoulders tight as your eyes went wide.

Dean broke his lips from yours fast. You were already starting to blush down to your neck. He glanced at you with a cocky smile before he subtly cleared his throat.

“Yeah?” he answered.

Everyone knew his policy: if his door was open, then it was fair game for anyone to pop in on him. But if his office door was closed, he was either busy with paperwork, or taking a nap. AKA: Do Not Disturb.

“Hey, Lieutenant. Just letting you know that lunch is almost ready,” Jack said through the door.

Dean nodded at that in relief. Nothing serious.

“Okay, sounds good. Thanks,” he said. He started to brush his fingers up and down your spine, eliciting a small shudder from you.

You still gave him an incredulous look. How could he keep touching you when one of his teammates was on the other side of the door?

“Oh, and I went to the store yesterday and got the right coffee this time. Gevalia, right?” Jack asked.

“Yep, good job. I’ll be out in a few minutes,” Dean replied. He chanced slipping a hand up the inside of your thigh. His thumb leisurely stroked your clit through your underwear, enhancing the flood of wetness he could already feel through the fabric.

It took everything within you to keep your lips pressed together with no sounds escaping, though a slightly ragged breath released through your nose. Your nails bit warningly into his shoulders. His lips twitched at a smirk.

“Sure thing,” Jack said. “And we’re running drills later, right?”

Dean held himself against an impatient sigh.

“You got it, Candidate. Be ready, I’m kicking your ass today.”

Jack chuckled gamely. “I look forward to it, sir.”

Dean didn’t really like being called “sir.” It made him feel like his dad or something. He wouldn’t say anything about it now though. He preferred to hear Jack’s steps retreating.

When he sensed the coast was clear, he turned his attention back to you. You met him with a reluctant smile. But he stilled your hips when you moved to get off him.

“Where’re you goin’?” he teased.

You let out a quiet laugh. “I think we’ve pressed our luck enough for today.”

Dean leaned in to kiss your cheek. His lips then veered off toward your ear.

“But see, I’m pretty damn sure that pussy’s still on fire,” he said.

The depths in his voice made you shiver. Your spine undoubtedly prickled with arousal again.

He smiled. “You understand, I can’t let you go just yet.”

Was it getting hard to breathe, or was that just you? You swallowed and let your fingers thread through his hair.

“What…um…where then?” you whispered. “Anyone could walk in here…”

He smirked against your neck and teased you with a nipping kiss there, making you inhale sharply. He doubted anyone was dumb enough to walk into his office without knocking, but these walls weren’t by any means soundproof. And he could see that you had your reservations.

“Okay, come on,” he said.

He released your neck and finally let go of your hips. He helped you stand on shaky legs, and you smoothed your pretty dress back down. You gave him a helpless look that said, Dear God, what now?

He smiled and took your hand.

“There’s one last stop on the tour,” he said.

You couldn’t help but smile, shaking your head as he led you outside the firehouse and through a side door—into what felt like a large coat closet.

Essentially, that’s what it was. It held all the firefighters’ gear, from helmets, gloves, and overalls to matching navy jackets, lined with neon strips on the sleeves and mid-sections, as well as emblazoned with their last names on the back.

“I see why this was last on the tour,” you remarked dryly. Dean’s hand dropped to your hip as he flipped on the light and shut the door behind him. You felt the heat of his body against your back and tried to resist leaning into him.

“You’re getting the VIP treatment,” he said. You could hear the smile in his voice.

But instead of turning you in his arms and pressing you against the wall, like you half-expected, Dean showed you where his gear was hanging up, further into the closet. You first tugged out the sleeve of his jacket. You ran your hand over the capital letters stitched on the back: WINCHESTER. It looked clean, but well worn.

You pulled out a large, but kind of scary looking mask next. It was black and yellow and had a large filter in the front. You knew this was what allowed him to breathe while walking through smoke-filled buildings, but you couldn’t imagine having to wear it for very long.

“This just looks uncomfortable,” you said.

Dean’s lips quirked. “Eh, you get used to it.”

You were curious though. You tried slipping the mask on and struggled, even when Dean tried to help you. Eventually he got the SCBA mask fitted correctly over your face. You were sure you looked ridiculous, and even though you weren’t claustrophobic, this certainly made you feel uncomfortable and closed in.

“It’s like living in a fishbowl,” you complained, already struggling to get it off. “How the hell do you see anything, let alone storm burning buildings in this thing?”

Again, Dean helped you with a chuckle. He was careful not to catch your hair as he slid it off your face and over your head.

“With a lotta training,” he said. “I practiced here at the house, at home, wherever I could. First just 10, 15 minutes at a time. Then half an hour, an hour or more. However long I could take it. I’d watch TV, cook, listen to music. Anything to make it feel more natural, like a pair of pool goggles.”

Your brows raised. “Color me impressed. I think I’d pass out.”

You adjusted where he put the mask, making sure it fit properly on the shelf next to his black helmet. Your hand passed over his jacket once more before you turned to him and let your hand run down his chest.

“Thanks for showing me around,” you said with a smile. “This place has got to be like a second home to you.”

Dean smiled back as he tugged you closer by your hips. “I’m here more than I’m at home.”

Your expression faded a bit as you considered that, and his hanging jacket.

“Have you ever gotten hurt?” you asked. You didn’t think you’d ever asked that yet.

His eyes dimmed, just a little, but his good humor remained. He was about to deflect. You just knew it.

“A couple scrapes here and there. Nothing major,” he said.

You didn’t know how much of that you could believe. You had a feeling he was like your grandfather, and not just when it came to his taste in music. Dean was a certified “downplayer.”

“Right,” you said. You also wracked your brain, trying to remember if you’d seen any noticeable scars, or even burns on his body.

Dean shook his head and dipped down to kiss you. It took you a bit by surprise, but you inhaled sharply as your eyes closed at the feeling of him.

“You’re thinkin' too much,” he said against your lips. And he claimed you again, deeper and deeper, until you were gripping his arms for dear life and he was walking you back to press you against the nearest wall. His hand clenched in your hair, then dragged down the column of your neck, raising goosebumps wherever he touched.

His lips soon replaced his hand. They burned a trail of wet, teeth-grazing kisses down your neck, along the scoop neckline of your dress, dipping his tongue between your breasts. You held him to you with panting breaths. But you also let your free hand wander.

You untucked his shirt from his pants and began roaming the planes of his back underneath the fabric, then the firm wall of his chest and sternum, all the way down to his belt.

He grabbed your wrists and pinned them up against the wall by your head. His molten green eyes stared down into yours, as his knee pressed between your legs. You shuddered and arched into him. Your fingers curled around his hands unconsciously.

“Dean…”

“Gotta thank my girl for giving me such a nice surprise at work,” he said. You felt his lips grinning against yours, even as he grinded his hips into you with blinding friction. You tried to restrain your gasp at the feel of his hard length pressing against your core. Even though you wanted nothing more than more of this, you still had to voice your concerns.

“Dean,” you whispered with more urgency. “I don’t want to get you in trouble.”

He chuckled. “Don’t worry about that.”

You stared up at him incredulously. How could you not?

But he distracted you by sliding his hands sensuously down your arms. Down your sides and hips, just to drag the knitted hem of your dress up from your thighs. Then he slid down, all the way to his knees.

Your eyes widened as his smirk grew deeper. He looked up at you slyly from the ground, and it reminded you of giving him a very similar look when you’d gone down to your knees for him for the first time.

His fingers brushed your skin as he slipped your panties down to your ankles, over your knee-high boots. You fought a shudder at the feeling.

“You’ve got a thing for sexy shoes, huh?” he remarked.

A smile crossed your lips. Shaking your head, you helped him by kicking off your underwear.

“I think you’re the one with the fixation,” you teased back. “I just like what I like.”

Dean chuckled. “Couldn’t agree more.”

He hooked a hand behind your knee and brought one leg over his shoulder. His hand traveled up your leg, and his head turned to press a line of wet kisses up the inside of your thigh.

You sighed, letting your fingers run through his hair as your eyes closed. But your eyes popped open on a gasp as you felt him suck hard near your center, biting and then soothing the spot with his tongue.

You shot him a furrowed look, despite the incredulous smile tugging at your lips.

He just grinned. “Had to be sure you were paying attention.”

You huffed a laugh and gave a sharp tug on his hair. It made him grunt and try to swallow a groan, deep in his throat.

“How’s that?” you quipped back.

“Touché, baby,” he said. But the problem with that was, you felt his lips against your skin, just before his tongue licked a hot stripe across the seam of your pussy. You inhaled sharply and reached for something else to hold onto, otherwise you might rip his hair out.

Your hands found purchase on the adjoining wall and the supporting rail holding all the coats. And a practiced tongue swiped between your folds, carrying wetness to your clit. His face delved in deeper to swirl with his tongue over that bundle of nerves, while two fingers slipped inside your wet heat and into your core.

You shuddered and bucked against him, but Dean held your hip firmly. His body weighed against you, pressing you into the wall to keep you in place. Then his hand and tongue became unrelenting. His fingers stretched you open, exploring your inner walls and finding what made you writhe and choke on your moans.

“Oh my God, Dean…”

He was tempted to smile and tease you some more, but he knew he had to be quick about this; they’d spent a long time in here already.

Still, he was nothing if not thorough.

He sucked and bit down gently on your clit, right before his fingers found and curled into that spongey part deep inside you that damn near made you weep when you came.

And your eyes really did burn as they fluttered closed. Your whole body trembled with the force of your release as you gasped and panted for breath. His name fell from your lips, almost reverently. Soon enough, you were able to wrench your hand from the metal rail to sink back into his hair.

His tongue continued to lap and swipe, more languidly as he felt your tremors subsiding. When he eventually pulled away, he was heaving for breath himself. He barely had a chance to wipe at his mouth and nose before your leg slid forcibly off his shoulder.

He looked up in time to find you sinking down to his level, using his shoulders as leverage. You took his face into your hands and kissed him as thoroughly as he’d worked you over, making you a warm, shaking puddle in his wake. Dean held you to him and kissed you back between panting breaths.

Your hands pressed and made room between you, only to fiddle with his belt and palm at the almost painful hardness of his cock through his pants. He groaned into your mouth.

Fuck it, he thought. He had half a mind to take you right here in the turnout room.

But of course, that was when a knock sounded at the door. It was quiet, but there was no mistaking that warning. Which meant that someone was probably looking for Dean (and was also doing him the solid of tipping him off).

Dean broke from you, and you looked up at him with wide, questioning eyes.

Is that what I think it means?

Yep. Time to go.

With a nod, he helped you up to your feet and found your underwear. You slipped them back on, despite the grimace you made. You were now a bit uncomfortably wet, but you supposed you could deal with that until you got home.

You slipped down your dress and attempted to fix your hair, as well as Dean’s. You bit your lip and tried not to laugh at how you’d wrecked his light brown strands in all directions.

Dean smirked, but he had no time to tease you now either. He held a finger to his lips and closed his eyes for a moment, willing his hard-on to subside. It took him a few moments (deep breaths and unsavory thoughts), but eventually he was able to calm down enough to turn around and crack the door open.

Once he saw that the coast was clear, he slipped out of the closet first. He beckoned you next with his hand. It fell to the small of your back when you stepped out.

He spotted Benny coming out from around the Squad truck. He was wiping grease off his hands, like he’d just been working on the truck. He shot you and Dean a nod.

“Chief’s looking for you,” Benny said.

Dean nodded. “Thanks for the heads up.”

Benny gave him a salute, with deep amusement in his eyes. You blushed and tried not to think about what that look probably meant. You just hoped he hadn’t heard anything.

Dean smiled and walked with you back inside the firehouse. You wished you could just make your escape to your car, but you’d forgotten your purse in the kitchen.

Most of the team seemed to be almost done with lunch. You said hi to Meg again, who gave you a suspicious smile. Your blush started to burn down to your ears.

Gordon was also sitting on the couch. You hadn’t seen him since that somewhat unsavory moment at the Roadhouse, when he’d “shot his shot” with you. He greeted you with an incline of his head.

“Gettin’ the grand tour, huh?” he asked. His smile was pleasant, but there was a gleam of dry knowingin his eyes.

You froze slightly, as your mouth parted and embarrassment threatened to swallow you. You subtly glanced around, trying to see if anyone else was listening, and knowing for that matter.

Dean noticed your discomfort. Again, he rested a hand on the small of your back and shot Gordon a firm look with raised brows. It said, Shut the fuck up, man.

“The Chief’s looking for you,” Gordon said, nodding up at Dean.

“Yeah,” Dean replied flatly.

“Winchester.” A commanding voice carried down the hall.

Your head raised toward it, as did Dean’s. He was more relaxed than you to see the firehouse Chief coming down the hall. You fell into step with Dean as his hand on your back gently urged you forward.

“Chief,” he nodded. He introduced you as his girlfriend, and though you noted the other man’s subtle brow raise, Bobby Singer’s gruff expression lightened (just slightly). He shook your hand, firm and steady. You smiled and greeted him with a respectful nod.

“Hello, sir. It’s a pleasure to finally meet you,” you said. You almost felt like you were meeting Dean’s father, the way the Chief seized you up a bit.

“Good to meet’cha,” he said. He gestured with a hand over to the now half-devoured cakes in the kitchen. “I was told you brought those in for us.”

Your face briefly ducked with a smile. “Uh, yes. That was me.”

“Well, thank you. I’m sure the whole house appreciates it,” Bobby said, pointedly raising his voice at everyone else in the common room. Meg, Chuck, and others voiced their appreciation and thanks.

“It’s my pleasure,” you said with a short laugh.

Dean smiled as he watched you. But a look from Bobby shifted his attention.

“We need to go over some things,” said the Chief.

“Yes, sir,” Dean said.

Bobby turned back to you. “Thanks for feedin’ the guys.”

“Thank you for letting me visit,” you said. Your sincerity showed in your eyes. “You have a great house here. Otherwise I think I’d still be stuck in that elevator.”

“Thank you, darlin’.” Bobby’s lips lifted in a rare smile. It fell when he glanced over at Dean.

“Meet me in my office.”

“You got it,” Dean replied. He took a moment, however, to touch your arm and press a kiss to your cheek. “I’ll call you tonight.”

That he said lowly in your ear. You bit your lip against a deeper smile, but you nodded, squeezing his hand one more time before you went to get your purse. Dean watched you leave (and he enjoyed the natural sway in your hips, as well as the tousled, slightly frizzy bounce of your hair).

With a long breath, he steeled himself to follow the well-worn path to the Chief’s office.

Bobby was sitting behind his desk, signing some paperwork. Dean’s phone quietly buzzed in his pocket. He discreetly fished it out halfway and found a text from you.

I’ll take care of you when you get off shift, Lieutenant. ❤️‍🔥

Dean smirked, but quickly schooled his expression (and pocketed his phone) when Bobby looked up at him.

“Seems like a nice girl you found there,” Bobby said.

Not that nice, Dean thought salaciously. He looked forward to whatever plans you had for him after his shift tomorrow. He wasn’t the only one with a talented tongue…

“Yeah. You try the cake yet?” Dean asked. He leaned a hand on the spare chair in front of the Chief’s desk. “Orange poppy seed. Who knew, huh?”

“Though next time, when we have a visitor, the tour should refrain from including the turnout room,” Bobby said, his tone both dry and censuring.

Dean’s brows knitted with “confusion.”

“What do you mean, sir?”

Bobby’s frown sharpened. “Do you think I was born yesterday, Dean?”

“Now how could I think that, Chief?” Dean said, deceptively earnest. There was enough gray in the older man’s beard to speak for itself.

Bobby’s face fell into the most long-suffering deadpan.

“Don’t get cute with me, son. I’m not in the mood.”

He’s never in the mood, Dean thought. But his lips twitched with a small grin.

“Sorry, sir.”

“Damn right. And wipe that goddamn smirk off your face! I should write you up for this,” Bobby snapped.

“For what, Chief?”

“You know damn well, for what. You’re just lucky there ain’t no cameras by the turnout room, or I’d be suspendin’ you. Right here and now.”

Bobby peered at Dean closely, but the younger man gave nothing away. Dean now stood with his hands folded behind his back, like the damn professional he should’ve been.

After a moment, the Chief heaved a sigh of ever-mounting exasperation. Like a parent who knew you were guilty, but had no defining evidence.

“This is a firehouse, not the Motel 6,” he barked. “You understand me? You’re my Lieutenant, for God’s sake. You’re supposed to set a fucking example.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Good. Now get. For damn sure you’ve got work to do.”

Dean’s face was nothing if not respectful, but Bobby spotted the edge of Dean’s smile when he turned to leave.

This was what Bobby got for going soft on John Winchester’s boy. He shook his head and went back to his mountain of paperwork.

“Idjit,” he muttered, turning the page.

Dean headed back into the common room after he left Bobby’s office. His good mood soured when he saw Gordon pass through the hall. Dean followed him all the way to the locker rooms. He hadn’t shown you this part of the firehouse, only because the guys tended to change clothes right there, instead of heading to the bathroom.

“Hey,” he called out.

Gordon stopped short and looked over his shoulder.

“You got a minute?” Dean asked.

The other man wordlessly agreed, waiting for Dean to catch up with him. They went into the men’s bathroom for privacy. Dean shut the door, then made sure no one else was in the stalls before he met Gordon’s expectant gaze and crossed arms. He was casually leaning against the wall.

Dean’s hands went to his belt.

“We got a problem, Gordon?” he asked.

Gordon’s brows rose. “You got one with me, Lieutenant?”

Dean’s lips thinned. He crossed his arms as well, and met Gordon’s gaze directly.

“Keep making my girlfriend uncomfortable, and we will,” Dean said. His tone was firm in warning.

Gordon took that in with a mild nod and a humorless scoff.

“You know, if anyone but you pulled that shit today, they’d be suspended on the spot,” he pointed out. “But because you’re the Chief’s pseudo-son, you get a pass. And a promotion at that.”

Dean’s frown deepened. He should’ve known it would all come back to that.

Gordon had completed his training and passed his test to be promoted to lieutenant as well, the exact same month as Dean. Gordon was older, with a few more years of experience. But Dean had it on good authority (from Bobby himself), that his own scores had edged out the competition.

“That had nothing to do it,” Dean said.

Gordon shook his head with a rueful smile. “Keep tellin’ yourself that, Winchester.”

Dean sighed in frustration and let his hands fall to his sides.

“Look, if that’s really how you feel, then why not issue a formal complaint with the Chief?”

“And what difference would that make? You’re their boy scout,” Gordon said wryly. “Me? …Maybe I just don’t fit the mold.”

Dean could see that side of it too. Gordon was a damn good firefighter. Dean trusted the man with his life…but there was an edge to him, one that sometimes put people off from getting to know the guy. Dean had known him long enough to see through it, to the good man underneath.

But being a leader was more than just the job. If he’d been in Bobby’s shoes, and it had been down between Gordon and Benny…Dean knew who he would’ve promoted.

“Gordon, you know your worth here. Ain’t nobody thinks you’re not one of our best,” said Dean. “But I am your Lieutenant. If you can’t handle that, then we’ve still got a problem.”

“Look, Dean. I like you. I do,” Gordon said, shrugging his shoulders. “Most days, I do respect you. But you’re also a cocky son of a bitch.”

Gordon then left the bathroom, and left Dean contemplating as a result.

Even after his long 24-hour shift, Dean replayed moment after moment from yesterday. From seeing you, inviting you into his office, reminiscing on memories, both happy and painful to relive, and everything that came afterwards.

He’d had to put his conversation with Gordon aside to focus on the job, but now, what kept coming back to him was seeing you trace the framed picture of his mother. That was one of the few pictures John had been able to save from the fire.

So when Dean left the firehouse in the morning, instead of joining some of the guys for breakfast, he drove over to the 84th Precinct, where his dad was already hard at work at his desk. By the look of his scruffy beard and loosened tie, maybe he hadn’t gone home last night.

Dean knocked on the desk, earning his father’s surprised glance.

“Burning the midnight and the daylight oil I see,” Dean remarked.

John’s mouth tugged at a smile. “Hey, son. To what do I owe the visit?”

“Haven’t seen you in a while,” Dean remarked. They used to do dinner at his and Sam’s apartment every couple of weeks, or at least grab a beer at the Roadhouse more often. For the past few months though, John had been even more buried in his work than usual. Dean could guess why.

“Any progress on the case?” he asked.

John huffed. “Which one?”

He gestured at a stack of folders on his desk. All of them signified an ongoing case. But both Winchesters knew what Dean was getting at.

He raised his brows and dipped his chin, trying to catch his father’s gaze. “Dad.”

With a sigh, John looked over at his son fully.

“Nothing I can tell you right now, Dean,” he said. It was a dismissal.

The younger man’s face fell into a frown, his brows knitting together. He dragged a spare rolling chair over and sat, making it clear that he wasn’t going anywhere just yet.

“So you drop a bomb on me about Mom’s killer, and then it’s radio silence for weeks?” Dean said. “That’s not fair, and you know it.”

John finally stopped typing on his computer. His eyes were red-rimmed and tired. Just then, Dean could see the lines of age in his dad’s face more than he had before. It worried him.

“I want to help,” Dean said earnestly.

At that, John firmed up, with a shake of his head.

“This guy’s an arsonist,” Dean tried.

“We’re working with Arson,” John said. “The rest is my jurisdiction, and you’re on a need-to-know basis.”

Dean blew out an aggravated breath and sorted a hand through his hair.

“Dad—”

“Don’t you get it?” John snapped. But when a few heads turned in the office, he forced himself to lower his tone. He met Dean’s eyes. “This man is…well, he ain’t a man, Dean. He’s a monster. I’ve told you enough for you to keep your eyes open, but you’re not stickin’ your nose in this. You understand me?”

Dean’s brows furrowed further, but he finally read the underlying worry in his father’s eyes. Just not for himself.

“For all intents and purposes, Azazel was a mafia leader in the middle of Kansas,” John continued. “He’s got over four decades in the business, and even with Narcotics’ help, finding him and pinning him down’s been a goddamn needle in a haystack, let alone connecting him to these murders. Even with the brand marks on the victims, we don’t even have evidence that someone ain’t just copying his signature, so to speak.”

Dean rested an elbow on the desk and brushed a hand over his mouth as he processed what his father was telling him.

“And those brandings. That’s the only thing tying the victims together?” Dean asked. He watched John closely, how the man’s frown deepened a bit. His eyes never shifted, just met Dean’s head-on.

“We’re still looking into it,” said John.

After a beat, Dean took that with a nod. He was still unsettled, but he got up and clapped his father on the shoulder.

“Call once in a while, huh? Maybe drop in for something to eat,” he said. “My girl’s a good cook.”

John rubbed a hand over his face, but he perked up with a bit of interest.

“Girl? You’re actually seeing someone…in the regular sense?”

Dean rose a brow. “All right, you don’t gotta sound that surprised.”

A smile tugged at John’s lips as he sat back in his office chair.

“Right, right. Cas mentioned something about that,” he said. “…How long you been dating?”

“A couple months now,” Dean said. Honestly, no one was more surprised than him at that fact.

John hesitated, but he nodded.

“Good,” he said. “Good for you, son. Hope I get to meet her soon.”

“You will, if you ever leave this damn desk,” Dean replied, nodding back with a smile. “See ya.”

But his smile dipped as soon as he turned to leave the precinct.

His gut was telling him one thing: his father was still holding something back. Something important.

AN: And there we have it! A little firehouse shenanigans, a bit of Bobby, a fair bit of tension, and a pinch of angst. What did you think?

Next time, we're going to start getting into the meat of the mystery. Along with a bit of drama...

Next Time:

“Dean,” you managed, though your throat became clogged with emotion. Your tears blurred your vision and finally slid down your cheeks.

You tried to push at your seatbelt; it felt like it was cutting your circulation across your chest. But that proved to be a mistake, as the tight fabric just pressed into the bruising you already felt forming against your skin. You couldn’t contain a small whimper.

“What’s wrong?” he asked. His tone was more alert now, changed with the distress he likely heard in your voice.

You took in a shuddering breath as more tears rolled down your face.

“I need help.”

Keep Reading: PART 10

Dean Winchester Masterlist

Main Masterlist

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