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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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zepskies · 1 year ago

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Smoke Eater - Part 14

Pairing: Firefighter!Dean Winchester x F. Reader

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

AN: Welcome back! Get ready for some more detective work, a pinch of Jo drama, another fire, and the reader finally meets John Winchester...

🔥 Series Masterlist

Word Count: 7,500 Tags/Warnings: Angst, fire hazards, threats, and hurt/comfort.

Part 14: “Message in a Bottle”

A week before Christmas, John Winchester left his house for work before the sun had even risen in the sky. It was still dim when he stepped out onto his porch, which is why he didn’t see it at first.

He heard the clink when his boot kicked at something metallic.

He glanced down and found a small badge lying on the ground. He bent to pick it up, and on further inspection, it was a fire department’s badge. A replica, probably, because it had Dean’s number on it: 20579.

The badge was also splattered with blood.

Later at his office, John handed it over to his partner for his inspection.

“It’s actually paint,” John said. “Forensics looked it over. No prints, of course.”

“That’s a shame,” Cas said. His tone was mild, but his face was as grave as John’s as he considered the crimson-stained badge. They stood together in the bullpen of the 84th Precinct.

“And I got this little present a few days ago,” John admitted quietly. He grabbed a folder off his desk and showed Cas its contents: a picture of Sam leaving the courthouse while talking on his cell, climbing into his car. Someone was watching his sons.

“I already have a police detail on him,” John said, heaving a sigh. “I requested approval for Dean’s this morning.”

Cas’s frown was deepening, along with his furrowed brows. “We may need to ask for backup on this.”

John shook his head. “Rufus won’t give it to us.”

Their esteemed Lieutenant thought John was on a vendetta with a ghost, stirring up a conflict of his own making. He only approved a temporary police detail for Sam, with the condition that John stopped what he was doing, let the Fire Department handle the serial arsonist, and let this blow over.

But Rufus should’ve known better than that by now. This was personal, and John wouldn’t tolerate these yellow-bellied threats to his family.

“Azazel’s applying pressure, hitting your weak spots,” Cas said, perhaps pointing out the obvious.

“So let’s hit him back, goddamn it,” John growled. He threw down the folder back onto his desk.

“How?” Cas asked. “We still don’t know who Azazel is.”

The other man thought hard, rubbing a hand over his mouth, and feeling the overgrown stubble. He didn’t remember the last time he’d shaved.

“How’s your progress on questioning Savage & Co.?” he asked.

“Stalled. Nick Savage has lawyered up,” said Cas.

His face slackened from frustration to realization. He didn’t seem happy about his next idea, but it looked like he had one.

“Though now that I think of it, we may be able to apply some pressure of our own,” he said.

John raised a brow and crossed his arms. “How’s that?”

“Dean’s girlfriend works there, if you remember,” Cas said. “Something happened this past weekend at her company Christmas party.”

John nodded, despite his frown. He was set to meet you in a week, but it looked like they might need to question you before then. What a pleasant first meeting that was going to be.

But if you had anything on Savage, on the company, or even better, if you were willing to wear a wire, that could be the break they needed to get some headway on this case. They could squeeze Savage for any information he might have on Azazel—like his real identity.

“Tell me,” John said.

You returned to work on Monday with steel in your veins (and a taser in your purse).

You had about an hour of peace in your office, catching up on your emails and calls. Then there was a knock on your door before it pushed open without your consent.

Damn it, should’ve locked it. Your lips pursed when Nick Savage came in.

“You’re not supposed to be here,” you said firmly. Already you were opening a drawer in your desk, reaching into your purse.

“It’s my goddamn office,” Nick replied lazily. But he crossed his arms and stopped just behind the spare chair that sat in front of your desk. It gave you a good few feet of distance.

You stared back at the man with hidden satisfaction through your disdain. It seemed Dean’s threats got to him.

“Just thought I’d let you know that Josh’s been promoted to Senior Sales Manager,” Nick said. He checked his watch absently.

Your teeth clicked in irritation, but you let it pass. He was just trying to get a rise out of you, and you no longer gave a fuck about this company anyway. What you told Dean before was the truth: you were now here just to collect a paycheck, until you could find a new job.

“Good. He’s been working hard, kissing your ass,” you said with a fake smile. “Now if you don’t mind, I have a lot of work to do.”

Nick made the mistake of taking a half-step forward. Your hand subtly clenched on the weapon in your purse, but you tried your best to seem relaxed. In control of yourself. This was your office that you’d occupied for three years.

This was your space, and this man didn’t control you.

“Take one step forward, and I will quit today,” you threatened. And then you bluffed.

“I’ll call Mr. Greenway,” you said. “In fact, he offered me a job last month. Then I’ll make a few more calls, and I’ll take all of my accounts with me. I’ll kill your fucking sales team and leave Josh to continue sucking your lackluster tequila dick.”

Nick stared back at you with thinly veiled shock. You’d always been “no nonsense,” but you’d never spoken to him like that before. He smirked.

This was why he liked you. And hated you.

“All right,” Nick said. He didn’t come any closer, but he did rest his hands on the back of the chair. “How about I buy out your friend Greenway. His whole damn company. And then I’ll blacklist you with every other company that calls for a reference. Even the ones that don’t call.”

Your eyes widened incredulously. He had the gall to wink at you, boiling your blood.

“I’ll fucking sue you,” you said, hating the slight tremor in your voice.

Nick rolled his eyes. “This again? Please.”

You couldn’t help it. Your temper snapped, and you pushed away from your desk to stand up. You gripped the edge of it to steady yourself. You quirked a humorless smile.

“As it happens, I know a damn good lawyer,” you countered. “He puts murderers in jail every day. I doubt he’d struggle too much with a corporate asshole. And I’ll remind you, Dean’s father is a police officer. I’m sure he’d like nothing better than to lock you up after I report you for what you did. And I will.”

Nick scoffed at that, his eyes narrowing.

“If you take it there, I’ll have every resource at my disposal to make your life a living hell. I’ll drag this out for years. Until you’ve got nothing but your boyfriend’s charity to keep you from living in a fucking box.”

You were seething, trying to stay in control. He knew it too, and he smirked at you. He pushed away from the chair and started to leave.

But then, he tossed you a smug look over his shoulder.

“Just remember,” he said. “You could’ve just spread those legs for me.”

It took everything you had within you not to hurl a stainless steel stapler at the back of his retreating head.

“A double please, Ellen. Dry, lots of olives,” you requested.

After a ridiculously long day at work, you were now trying to let go of your frustrations at the Roadhouse, while you still had the money to drink. You rubbed through the ache in your temples.

“Long day, hun?” Ellen asked you. Her eyes were sympathetic as she made you the martini you ordered. You gave her an attempt at a smile.

“Long life,” you muttered.

“Hmm. Asshole boss?” she surmised.

You met her gaze with a note of suspicion. “Did Dean tell you…”

You knew he’d told his brother about what happened at the Christmas party. And you had a feeling he’d told Cas as well, to try and see what you could do from a law enforcement standpoint. The first step was filing a report. Now you knew, however, that you couldn’t. Not if you wanted your life to remain in one piece.

“Nothing, hun,” Ellen shook her head. “You’ve just got that look. I reckon every woman in the world has worn that face. Usually because of a man.”

You sighed and chuckled at the same time. It loosened some of the tightness in your shoulders.

“Yeah, well. This one’s a rat bastard in human clothing,” you replied.

“Ooh, sounds like my old biology professor,” Jo chimed in. She was drying out some newly clean glasses behind the counter along with Ellen. “He had a reputation for scoping out freshman girls.”

You made a gagging sound as you reached for the delectable martini glass Ellen slid your way.

“Men are disgusting,” you said. Jo snorted.

“99.8% of them, yeah,” she said. But her gaze drew towards the door when Dean Winchester came in. And she added, “A few of ‘em are all right.”

Was it just you, or was there a softer look in her blue eyes when she noticed Dean?

You were soon distracted though, giving your boyfriend a smile to try and cover up how exhausted you were, in every sense of the word. He greeted you with a warm hand along your lower back. He dropped a kiss to your forehead.

“Waiting long?” he asked.

“No, just a few minutes,” you shook your head. You laid a hand on his thigh when he took a seat next to you at the bar. “How was your shift?”

This week he was on three 12-hour shifts instead of his usual 24-hour shifts, which meant you got more of him in the evening.

“Fine. Just a couple of accidents to clear off the road, nothing major,” he replied. He ordered a beer from Ellen and gave Jo a smile. He was surprised to see mother and daughter working civilly together under one roof, after the scene he saw last week.

“How’s the studying going?” he asked Jo, once Ellen was out of earshot to serve further down the line. He turned to you and filled you in. “Jo’s gearin�� up to hit the Police Academy.”

“Oh wow, that’s great!” you remarked.

Jo glanced over at her mom, but then she smiled, looking back at you and Dean. She focused on him.

“The test is in a few weeks,” she said. “I think I’m ready, but I don’t know…”

“You’ll be fine,” Dean said, with easy conviction. “You’re stubborn enough to know it’s what you want. So I got no doubts about you.”

Jo’s smile was warm, with a hint of shy and gratefulness. You smiled at Jo encouragingly, but inside, you had a familiar unease churning inside your gut.

Dean then turned to you with expectant brows. His fingers brushed a strand of hair away from your cheek, curling it behind your ear.

“And how was your day?” he asked. His tone was quieter, laced with double meaning.

Out of the corner of your eye, you noticed Jo moving on to another waiting customer with a small sigh.

You met Dean’s gaze and you nodded. “It was fine.”

His brows rose a touch higher. “Very convincing. You took the taser with you, right?”

You sighed and had to smile a little. His concern warmed you, made you feel protected, even though you’d had to do that part yourself today. You soothed a hand over his chest, between the open panels of his plaid shirt.

“Yes, I did. I’m okay, baby. We’re at a standstill,” you said. And you reminded him, “I can handle myself, you know.”

Dean nodded, sighing through his nose. His hand rubbed up and down your back, whether to comfort you or himself, you didn’t know. Your fingers curled into his shirt, and you smiled up at him, just before you tugged him down for a kiss.

It was slow and sweet, until you became a bit more than sweet, grazing his bottom lip with your teeth. His hand came up to cup the back of your head as he accepted the warmth of your kiss.

You knew that you couldn’t tell Dean what happened this morning in your office. He’d likely go for the Halligan in his trunk and beat Nick Savage within an inch of his life.

While the idea appealed to you for several reasons, you didn’t want to be the reason Dean lost his badge, or ended up in jail.

So over a couple of drinks, you distracted him by having a healthy debate over what you two were going to have for dinner later: sushi or pizza.

You ultimately won with sushi. (Or maybe he let you win. Either way, you were getting salmon rolls tonight.)

Still, you had that uneasy feeling when you and Dean left the bar. You wondered how the hell it had taken you this long to notice the starry look of longing in Jo’s eyes.

You fell into step with Dean as you two headed for the sushi restaurant down the street. It was already dark out, but even on a Tuesday night, the streets and sidewalks of downtown were busy.

“Can I ask you something…potentially uncomfy?” you said.

Dean’s head turned to you, with a raised brow.

“Uncomfy?”

You let out a breath, and you could see it on the December chill in the air. Your hands were tucked into your pockets, and so were Dean’s in his.

“Did you and Jo ever have a thing?” you asked.

Dean blinked, but then his lips pressed together. “What makes you say that?”

You sent him a suspicious look. You’d known him long enough to know when he was hedging.

“Just please, answer the question,” you said.

He blew out a breath. After a moment, he nodded.

“Yeah, for a few weeks,” he admitted.

You sighed. That sure explained a hell of a lot. And really, with his track record, you couldn’t be surprised.

“You dated her, or you hooked up with her?” you clarified. Dean shot you a look.

“Dated,” he said, rubbing a hand over his mouth.

Your brows furrowed. “When?”

He’d told you that he’d been in one relationship before, briefly…

“About a few months before I met you,” he said at last. But he saw the incredulous, almost upset look on your face. “Obviously it didn’t work out.”

“You couldn’t have told me that earlier?” you asked. Your hands slipped out of your pockets to gesture at him. “How did it end?”

The man sighed, looking up at the sky.

“Come on, Dean,” you prodded.

“All right,” he placated with a hand. “It didn’t end great, put it that way.”

You couldn’t help a frustrated huff. You crossed your arms and kept walking beside him down the street, albeit in silence.

Dean glanced at you in slight exasperation. He was with you now. Why did it matter to you so much?

“She still has feelings for you,” you said, though you still weren’t looking at him.

“How do you figure?” he asked. But if he was honest, even he knew the truth.

“Because I could see her eyeing you like a honey glazed ham,” you snipped. At that, he let out an incredulous chuckle.

“Are you jealous?” he teased.

You stopped walking and looked up at him, frowning. “Do you want me to be?”

Dean stopped as well. He sobered, realizing you weren’t in the mood for jokes. You’d been through a lot recently, and he knew then that you didn’t need this kind of stress on top of everything else. He drew closer and gently grasped your arms.

“Don’t worry about it,” he said. Though he thought to himself, I’ll talk to Jo if I have to.

Your lips pursed in frustration, but he soothed his hands up and down your arms. His touch plied you, along with his smile.

“Hey,” Dean said, dipping his chin so he could catch your eyes. “You should know how I feel about you by now.”

You sighed and nodded in agreement.

“Mhmm,” you replied.

He wasn’t satisfied.

“Okay, listen,” he said, squeezing your arms and earning your eyes on him. It took him a moment, letting out a breath, but he was honest.

“I love you," he reminded. "And if that damn elevator hadn’t broke down on you, I’d still be missing something in my life.”

…Damn it, you thought, even as a blushing smile grew across your face. Dean Winchester was too smooth for his own good.

But you also saw the sincerity in his eyes. You couldn’t help but be warmed by his words, down to your toes.

“There she is. All right,” he said with a grin. He nodded in satisfaction and gathered you into his arms. “My soft girl again.”

Your smile deepened, but you still pinched his side, making him flinch and laugh. You held him back and looked up at his handsome face. He still looked amused and his eyes were warm. You leaned up on your toes for a kiss that lingered on wind-chilled lips.

“I love you,” you whispered back, against his lips.

His smile against yours was your answer.

Two hours and two salmon rolls later, Dean drove you home. You had taken an Uber to the Roadhouse, which reminded him that he needed to make another trip to Singer Salvage.

He’d been scoping out potential cars to fix up for you. He’d even recruited Bobby’s help to find something good, something with strong bones. Dean could do the rest.

Even after he watched you get inside your house safely, he let out a subtle breath before he peeled away. He wished you were coming home with him tonight. More often, he was feeling your absence when you weren’t in his bed. But it also reassured him, that he knew you were safe with him and Sam at their apartment.

He later found his brother eating leftover chicken parmesan at the kitchen counter.

“Why’re you eating standing up?” Dean asked, tossing his keys onto the counter. He reached into the fridge for a beer. “You look like Big Bird if he wore a suit.”

Sam sent him a dry look. “I don’t know. Force of habit.”

He barely had time in his day for an uninterrupted coffee, let alone a meal. When Dean wasn’t here, Sam fell back onto his work habits. He took his plate and actually went to the table.

“You eat already?” he asked. Dean nodded and said he’d eaten with you.

“Oh yeah? How’s she doing?” Sam asked.

Dean sighed and sank down heavily onto the chair opposite his brother. He rubbed at his forehead.

“She’s okay, considering,” he replied. But he knew you hadn’t told him the whole story about how your day went at work. Whether you were trying to spare him, or protect him, or yourself, it still drove him up the wall. Knowing Nick Savage was still your boss, and he was there, an ever-present threat just a few floors above you in that building…

It made Dean’s skin crawl. It had his teeth grinding and coiled his spine tight with repressed rage. And worry.

He met his brother’s eyes. Sam had been watching him, hiding his wariness.

“What can we do about him?” Dean asked. He knew he didn’t have to explain who he was talking about.

Sam started to shake his head, but Dean wouldn’t have it.

“I mean it, Sam. Because I almost…” His hand and forearm clenched and unclenched on the table. He could almost feel the way his arm had pressed into Nick’s throat, slowly but surely crushing his trachea. Just a couple of minutes more, and Dean could’ve done it. In that moment, he saw it so clearly.

It was the first time he’d ever wanted to take a man’s life.

“I know,” Sam said. His brows furrowed in sympathy. “But you did the right thing.”

Dean’s lips pursed as his hand once again fisted on the table.

“If I hadn’t been there,” he said. “If I had been just a few minutes off…”

These were the what ifs that kept plaguing his mind, ever since the party. Sometimes, it added to the catalogue of waking nightmares that wouldn’t let him sleep.

“And now she’s gotta go back there, every day, where that animal is just waiting for an opportunity,” Dean gritted out. Then his fist dropped more heavily onto the table, rattling Sam’s silverware.

Sam held the table steady and looked at his brother, calm but firm.

“You can’t touch Savage,” he said. “Don’t even go near him. Whatever you do, he’ll use it against you, and potentially against her. Unfortunately, she’s got the best plan right now.”

Dean looked up at him with angry eyes.

“Wait him out,” Sam said, “until he makes a mistake he can’t easily cover up. In the meantime, she’ll find a new job and get the hell out of there.”

Dean forced a sharp breath through his nose. He leaned back in his chair and tapped his fist more calmly on the table.

“I don’t have to like it,” he said.

Sam nodded in agreement. “No, you don’t.”

The fire was wild. It was eating up the four-story apartment building in a full blaze. The Truck 79 team was geared up outside of it, with Chief Singer already calling out instructions along with Dean.

Benny and the Rescue Squad were already on the roof, rappelling down to get the ones trapped on the top floors out through the windows. Dean was on the ground. He had Gordon, Jack, and a few others behind him. Meg and Chuck were on standby, waiting for the firefighters to pull out any residents still trapped inside.

Dean had to wonder if he was walking into another arson, like the Richardson fire. Against his will, he thought of that day. He thought about everything his father had told him about that arson, about Azazel and his mom’s death. He thought about you, working for a man who was potentially tied to Azazel.

“Winchester,” Gordon tapped him on the arm. “You good?”

Dean glanced over at him, then nodded.

“Yeah. Let’s rock and roll.”

When Dean was at work, he couldn’t let the outside world into his mind. All he could let himself focus on was the scene ahead after he put his mask on.

Inside the first floor of the building was like entering a living furnace. It was hot as shit, and layers of smoke choked the room. The mask was the only reason Dean could see, let alone breathe.

He turned to Jack. “All right, take it room by room. Stay close. We don’t got a lot of time.”

Jack nodded his agreement, and Dean split his team. A few of the others took the first floor on his orders. Dean, Gordon, and Jack would take the old stairs to clear the second floor.

Fuck. This whole place is just wood and plaster, Dean thought, shaking his head. These old buildings were all the same. Easy to build, easy to knock down. And usually they weren’t up to code, often thanks to cheap property owners.

He got apartment 201 open with his Halligan. The shoebox studio was smokey as all hell, but it was clear of any tenants. Gordon moved on ahead quickly, but Dean’s brows furrowed as he listened to the unsteady creaking of the floorboards. He moved more carefully forward.

Until he felt the warmth under his boots, saw the orange glow underneath a thin patch of flooring.

“Walker, wait!” Dean called, at the same time he held Jack back.

He reached out, just as the wood floor splintered and broke underneath Gordon. His eyes flashed wide just before he fell.

Dean dove for him. His Halligan clattered away, but he managed to grab onto the man’s sleeve before he disappeared. Gordon grabbed onto Dean’s arm and nearly pulled him down too. Luckily, he managed to grab onto the splintered edge with his other glove-covered hand. He gritted his teeth at the strain of the other man hanging off his shoulder, but he didn’t dare let go.

Jack grabbed Dean’s belt to keep him from sliding further down. It let him grab onto Gordon with both hands. The men panted for breath; Dean had a better vantage point to see that the middle of the ground floor below was engulfed in flames. The glow of it flared in the corner of Gordon’s eyes. He could feel the heat making both of them sweat.

The wood flooring under Dean creaked ominously, but before anyone could move, it broke further. He almost lost his grip on Gordon as his torso hung over the edge. He managed to get a new stronghold under the other man’s arm, and Jack did his best to keep Dean from falling by pinning his legs down. Jack was strong, but he was still a smaller man than Dean.

“Jack, call for backup!” Dean gritted out. Jack nodded behind him and radioed in for help.

Gordon stared up at Dean with wide, but resigned eyes. “The floor’s gonna cave before you can pull me up.”

Dean stared down at him, even as lines of sweat poured down his forehead from within his mask. They both knew that if that happened, Dean would be pulled along for the ride down, maybe even Jack too. Dean gave a sharp shake of his head.

“Just hold on. Backup’s comin’,” he said. All his strength was going into keeping a firm grip on the man’s arm and jacket. He called to Jack over his shoulder. “Can you get next to me and grab him?”

To his credit, Jack tried. But the jagged edges of the floor around Dean were unsteady, creaking and groaning under Jack’s added weight, a bit too much.

“Stop, stop!” Dean shouted, halting Jack’s movements.

Gordon licked his dry lips and blinked sweat out of his eyes. “This might be the part where you let go, Winchester.”

Dean took exactly a beat to process his shock. Then he glared down at the man.

“Shut the hell up, Walker. You don’t let go, you hear me?” he barked. “Jack, grab the back of my jacket and my belt.”

Jack followed the order, and a combination of him pulling Dean up and Dean straining every muscle he had to heft up Gordon slowly, painfully, brought them back up and over the ledge.

Jack had an easier time then of helping Dean pull Gordon the rest of the way out of the hole.

And the rest of their Truck crew came to help them onto their feet, before the fire consumed the rest of the second floor.

Once Dean was out of the building, he took off his mask and breathed in cooler air on his face. He made a beeline for the fire truck. In the back was a cooler, and grabbed a bottle of water to dump over his overheated head and face while he caught his breath. Gordon and Jack were following suit, and the men stared and one another. All of their faces said the same thing.

We made it. We’re alive. That was almost fucked.

Gordon’s gaze met Dean’s, sobering further. For a moment, he looked like he was searching for words.

“How’s your shoulder?” he asked eventually.

Dean nodded, rotating his right arm. He was going to feel that bitch tomorrow.

“Fine,” he said. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” Gordon nodded. Another hesitation, followed by an honest gaze. “Thanks, Lieutenant.”

Dean’s face broke into a smile, wry but also genuine. “Yeah, thank me by layin’ off the burgers.”

He swatted the other man’s stomach and went for three more waters. He handed two of them to Jack and Gordon. One was smiling, while the other just smirked and shook his head.

“You callin’ me hefty?” Gordon remarked. “I’m averaging 6% body fat, man.”

Dean scoffed. “Yeah, right. What’re you, the Rock? That’s why you almost sunk.”

He dropped his fist into the air and made an exploding sound. Jack was wide-eyed, but Gordon just chuckled. They started making their way to the front of the truck to start packing up their gear. The Truck and Rescue teams had done what they could, and all the residents that made it out of the building were being seen to by the paramedics.

“I’d rather be weighed down by muscle than all them Little Debbie’s you’ve been putting away at the station,” Gordon shot back. “Cheap cake is not your friend.”

Dean rolled his eyes. “All right, that’s just uncalled for.”

“Dean,” Chief Singer called, beckoning him over with a hand. His free hand wore a glove as he held something steaming.

Dean nodded at his men and joined Bobby outside his department-issued SUV. Dean’s gaze focused on the bottle-shaped object in Bobby’s hand. There was a small digital box attached to the front, with wires wrapped around. The entire device was now blackened, but the smell of chemicals was unmistakable.

“Molotov cocktail?” Dean quipped, but his face was as grave as Bobby’s. The Chief nodded.

“Lafitte pulled this out of the fourth floor,” he said. “Looks like the same kind of incendiary device Arson found at the Richardson fire.”

That night, you made dinner for Dean at your house. He was forced to explain what happened at the apartment building, and why he had his arm pinned to his side like a chicken wing. You made him sit down and relax, all while you tried to hide your worry and relief that he was mostly all right.

Later in the living room, you sat on your knees beside him on the couch and lifted the bag of ice from his shoulder. You peered at it in concern, gently rubbing your hand over the joint and surrounding muscle. Dean sighed through his nose as your gentle touch was both soothing and painful.

“Are you sure you should do another shift tomorrow?” you asked, replacing the ice. He shot you a glance.

“I’m fine,” he said.

“Right,” you said dryly. “That’s why you can barely move this arm.”

Dean rolled his eyes and made his point by raising his right arm, slowly, but easily back down.

“I’ll be up and running by tomorrow. Just need a good night’s sleep.”

“Dean, are you sure? You seem to be in a lot of pain,” you asked.

He tried to hold in his annoyance. “I think I’d know if I’m fine.”

“You forget, I know all too well what downplaying looks like,” you countered, giving him a chiding look. Dean didn’t appreciate it. He didn’t need you to mother him.

“This is my job, all right,” he said.

You gave him a steady look. Your hand moved up his shoulder to rest along the back of his neck. Your fingers slipped into his hair.

“I know that. But I’m allowed to worry,” you said. Your brows furrowed. “Please don’t get upset at me for that.”

Dean let out a breath. He relaxed against the couch and met your gaze. He knew he had no right to ask you not to worry about him.

“Yeah, okay,” he said.

To you, he still seemed a bit annoyed. You nodded and continued to gently sift your fingers through his hair. You had to wonder if his resentment was coming from a different place.

“Are you still mad at me for going back to work?” you tested.

Dean breathed out deeper this time, but he didn’t answer.

Bingo, you thought with a frown.

“Dean—”

“All I want is for you to be safe,” he said. His voice was harder as his face tightened up. His hand gestured in frustration. “This whole thing…that fucking douchebag…it’s killing me. Fucking killing me. And you know that.”

Your eyes softened, and you unconsciously bit your lip.

“Ditto,” you tried to joke. It landed flat, because your boyfriend was deadly serious.

He looked away from you with pursed lips and a frustrated shake of his head. You sidled closer to him and tried to soothe, with a hand on his chest.

“Look, I’m trying to find a new job, but it takes time,” you said.

“You could quit. You could quit right now,” Dean replied hotly.

You sighed; you couldn’t believe you had to remind him about this. “I can’t, Dean. I have bills to pay, just like you do. You think I like this situation any more than you? I’m the one who’s had to deal with this for months!”

“I know that!” Dean snapped back. “Or should I say, now I do.”

He pulled away from your touch and pushed off the couch, onto his feet. You looked up with your mouth agape as he left the room. You got up and followed after him.

“You’re leaving?” you asked in shock. You watched him grab his keys and his wallet from the kitchen counter.

“I’ve got a long shift tomorrow and I gotta sleep,” Dean said, rather gruffly.

You followed him all the way to the door, where you grabbed onto his wrist. He stopped in the doorway, glancing back at you over his shoulder.

“Dean, please,” you implored. “Don’t go like this.”

After a beat, he seemed to soften. Just enough to lean over and press a brief kiss to the side of your head.

“I gotta go.”

He left you in the doorway with tears swimming in your eyes, and he pretended not to notice them.

When Dean woke up the next morning, his shoulder still ached, and he still felt guilty. He rubbed the offending join and tried to slowly roll the stiffness out of his arm. Fuck.

He rubbed the sleep out of his eyes next. They blearily took in the digital numbers on his alarm clock: 5:00 a.m.

He slid out of bed and got ready for work. He definitely wanted to check in with Arson about the device that likely started that fire, and he knew his dad would need to be brought in on it. It would give Dean a reason to press John for an update on his investigation.

By 6:00, he was finishing his coffee, about ready to head over to the station. He could hear the pipes running, meaning Sam was in the shower.

Dean was startled only slightly by his phone vibrating in his pocket. His brows furrowed, but he fished it out and found your name crossing the screen, along with a smiling picture of you. He sighed.

Part of him hesitated. If you were calling just to try and convince him to call out of work, he was going to get worked up again. And he’d rather not have anything disturb his first cup of coffee of the day.

Still, he answered. “Hey.”

“Dean, did you come into the house last night?” you asked.

He didn’t like the wary, almost scared tone of your voice.

“No.” His brows furrowed. “Why?”

“Look at the text I just sent you.”

He put you on speaker so he could check his messages. Sure enough, he found a picture from you. It was of a glass bottle-shaped object on your nightstand. There was a black box attached, but its digital screen was blank. Dean’s breath caught in his lungs as his eyes widened. His heart dropped into his stomach.

“Dean, what is this thing?” you asked. Your voice was shakier, more worried. “It looks like a bomb. And it smells awful, like chemicals.”

“Don’t touch it,” he said quickly. “Get out of the house…better yet, wait for me at your neighbor’s place. I’m coming over right now.”

And I’m calling Dad.

Dean tried his best to calm you while the police and the Arson Department swept your entire house for devices, fingerprints, and any other evidence on who broke in.

You had a hand over your mouth by the front door as you watched them turn over cushions, move tables and shelves, ruck through cabinets. Your entire life turned inside out.

Dean’s hand rubbed up and down your back. You eventually had to look away and sigh. You pressed closer to his side, and he wrapped his good arm around your shoulders.

“It’s gonna be okay,” he said quietly, and kissed the top of your head. Inside, he was furious. Mostly at himself.

If anything had happened to you last night, after he left…he would’ve never forgiven himself.

So it was a welcome distraction when John and Cas’s police car finally pulled into the driveway. Dean led you outside, away from the chaos happening in your house.

“Hey, Dad,” he said, with a nod at Cas. Both men nodded back.

“Son,” John greeted, His brown eyes turned to you next. He offered you a hand. “Good to finally meet you, despite the circumstances.”

You blinked up at him and curled a stray strand of hair behind your ear, a bit nervously.

“Oh, it’s…it’s great to meet you, Mr. Winchester,” you said, sticking out your hand and shaking his.

A smile flickered across Dean’s lips. He realized then that this was the first time you were meeting his father. You were adorably nervous.

A reserved smile tugged at his father’s lips as well.

“John’s just fine.”

You smiled back, with a bit of a blush tinging your cheeks.

“Now, can you tell me what happened here?” John asked you, not unkindly.

Dean’s good humor faded away as he explained about the device left on your nightstand. He filled them in about the fire he’d responded to yesterday as well.

“What the hell is happening, Dad?” he demanded to know.

John let out a breath and nodded, swiping a hand through his dark hair.

“It’s another one of Azazel’s signatures,” he said, lowering his voice so only the four of them could hear. “It’s a message.”

“To who?” Dean asked.

“To me,” John said. “Warning me to back off the case…there’ve been other threats. I’ve finally got a police detail on Sam, and I just got approval for you. I’ll add her to the list.”

John glanced at you. Your eyes widened in confusion as you tried to hold in your fear.

“Who the hell is Azazel?” You turned to Dean. “Is this…does this have something to do with your mom’s killer?”

John’s brows shot up at his son. “You told her?”

“You’re over here talking about him too,” Dean retorted. He gathered you closer and met his father with steely eyes, to mask how his gut was churning with worry.

“You need to get this guy,” Dean said, almost through gritted teeth. “Get him now.”

John agreed with a nod.

Once again, you covered a trembling hand over your mouth. Dean squeezed your side a bit to earn your attention.

“I want you to come stay with me,” he said. His tone was boding no argument, not that you would. You nodded and fairly melted against him. Your head rested against his chest.

“Dean, this is insane,” you whispered.

He nodded and pressed a kiss to your forehead. “I know. I’m sorry…I’m so fucking sorry about this.”

You looked up at him, your brows furrowing. “It’s not your fault.”

Dean met your gaze, but he couldn’t quite believe you. He was the one who kept pushing his dad for answers, to let him in on this. This was his family’s bullshit, not yours. You didn’t deserve to get dragged into it too.

The spell between you two was broken by Cas, awkwardly clearing his throat.

“We do need to ask you some questions,” he said. “About Nick Savage.”

You frowned. You peeled yourself away from Dean enough to face the detectives.

“What does he have to do with this?” you asked.

“His company is linked to a money laundering scheme, which ultimately leads back to Azazel,” Cas explained. “But we’re having trouble getting through his wall of lawyers.”

You scoffed. “Not surprising.”

However, it did worry you that Nick was possibly doing business with a criminal. Not that that should surprise you either.

“What do you want to know?” you asked.

“Well, first of all, would you be willing to file a police report,” Cas said, more gently, “regarding your assault at his home.”

Your eyes widened. Your mouth fell open slightly before you looked over at Dean. His face tightened, along with his hand on the curve of your waist.

“Why do you need me to do that?” you asked Cas.

“It’ll give us the leverage we need to dig deeper into his business,” John said. “Knock loose any shady dealings. We could get him to cough up what he knows about Azazel.”

You wanted to help, but at the same time, you were reluctant to mire yourself deeper in this. Dean saw your reservations, and he could guess why.

“Won’t that just paint a bigger target on her back?” he asked.

“We’re gonna protect her,” John promised. His eyes went from Dean, back to you. “But we need your help. This could be the break we need to get to Azazel. To find out who this bastard is.”

John could see your indecision. “All you need to do is fill out the report. Maybe get up in court to testify.”

You tightened up at that. “Testify?”

“If it gets that far,” John nodded.

“I don’t think so,” you shook your head. “That man can make my life hell without a serial killer’s help.”

You looked to Dean for support.

In the beginning, he had all but begged you to do what his father and Cas were asking. But now, this was just too much. He pressed you more securely to his side.

“Dean?” his father prodded.

“You heard her,” Dean said. “It’s her choice.”

You sighed and held onto the back of his shirt gratefully. The detectives shared a look, with John’s brows furrowing. He regarded you with a gruff, slightly strained look.

“Listen, don’t you want Savage in a cold hard cell?” he asked. “You could put him there.”

“Dad, she said no. Lay off,” Dean’s tone sharpened. Unfortunately, he knew how stubborn the man could be.

“Dean, I’m trying to nail this guy, but I’m missing pieces,” John said. “Right now, I can’t do it without her.”

“Well, figure it out,” Dean snapped.

John frowned in near disbelief. "Excuse me?"

“Look, I know where your priorities are, but mine is making sure she’s safe," said Dean. "If you can’t handle that, then we’ve got a problem!”

The strength of his retort took everyone by surprise, but no one more so than John. He hid it well behind a deepening frown.

He glanced between you and his son. You were looking up at Dean with unshed tears in your red-rimmed eyes, grateful, and holding on tight to his shirt. He still held you to him. His entire frame was tight and angry.

And John knew that he would react the same way, if he were Dean. He also knew then that he was pushing too hard.

So he sighed, and pulled out a card from his wallet. He handed it to you.

“I’m sure you’ve got Cas’s number already, but here’s mine,” said John. “Call me if you change your mind.”

“I’m sorry for invading,” you told Sam that night. He was helping you and Dean bring in your suitcases. You were pretty much moving into their apartment, indefinitely.

“You’re not,” Sam said, shaking his head. “We’re happy to have you here.”

You gave him a tired, thankful smile. “I appreciate that, thanks.”

“We’ll get to have an in-house chef,” Dean chimed in, earning more amused look from you.

“Need I remind you that I’m not an actual chef?” you said. You set down your smaller suitcase, full of shoes and toiletries, to grasp the front of his shirt. You leaned up on your toes and met him with a kiss. It was sweet, but it was also tender. His arms came around your lower back and pulled you flush against him.

He parted from you gently, afterwards pressing his forehead against yours. He let out a brief sigh through his nose.

“I’m sorry, about how I left last night,” he said.

You shook your head, despite the tears that wanted to burn in your eyes. You wanted to tell him, It’s fine. I’m fine.

But you couldn’t lie to him.

“You came back when I needed you,” you said instead. “Thanks for letting me stay here.”

You felt his fingers tangle in your hair, his hand resting along the back of your neck. It was familiar, and soothing.

“This isn’t exactly how I wanted you to move in,” he admitted. You chuckled wryly.

“Really,” he said. “…I was thinking of asking you. But not ‘til, you know, down the line.”

You softened at that. You raised up on your toes and pressed a kiss to the corner of his mouth. Then you circled your arms around his neck and hugged him close. He held you back just as tightly.

“Thank you for always being there for me,” you said. He couldn’t see your smile, but somehow, he knew it was there. But he could also hear you sniffle, and feel your body tremble with tears.

“You’re safe here,” Dean said softer into your ear. “Nothing’s getting to you, all right?”

You nodded, pressing your face into his neck. He continued to say and do whatever he felt he had to in order to reassure you that night, and make you feel safe.

All the while, he was trying to reassure himself.

AN: *burrr* That tension, huh? What did you think of her finally finding out about Jo's lingering feelings, plus a bit of Dean's resentment, him and Gordon coming to an understanding, and the reader meeting John for the first time! 😮‍💨😮‍💨

Good news though. Next time, we'll take a huge break from all this drama and have a nice fluffy Christmas special. (Plus a healthy dose of spice. ❤️‍🔥)

Next Time:

You hadn’t undressed yet from your jeans and sweater, but you crawled across the bed to come up behind him and drop a gentle hand on his shoulder.

“How’s your slugging arm?” you asked.

Dean quirked a smile at you over his shoulder. “Just fine.”

“Dean,” you said. Your tone was gentle, but warning. No downplaying.

You pressed your lips against the side of his head and soothed your hand along his shoulder and down his arm. Still, he was resistant.

“I’m fine, sweetheart,” he said.

You hummed. “Okay. I guess you don’t need a massage then.”

He paused. His head tilted just so, once again turning to you over his shoulder. You spied the edge of his piqued interest, his grin.

“Well, if you’re offering…”

Keep Reading: PART 15

Dean Winchester Masterlist

Main Masterlist

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