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loverslantern · 4 months ago

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The Hunter and the Witch~ Dean Winchester x f! reader

Halloween Edition~ Can be read as a stand-alone

Description: Halloween special baby!!!! Reader tries to convince Dean to go to a halloween party with her even though they're on their way to Stanford to get Sam.

Warnings: This takes place before they get to Sam's college so we are going back a little but that's okay. Purely two idiots who clearly like each other but won't do anything, they already act like a couple, banter, flirting??? This is super self indulgent, can you tell what my favorite holiday is?

This can be read as a stand-alone/one-shot or as a part of the series (up to you.)

Tag list: @jesllianaquilesrolonsworld @okayiamkassandra @fablesrose @ada--44 @bonkydarnes @star-yawnznn @crazyunsexycool @onlyangel-444 @seninjakitey @mystic-mara @mxltifxndom @stilesxreid @chaotic-luvrs @tiggytaylor @deanwasscaredbyacat @imaginexred @daisychaingirl

Word Count: 3,389

Halloween Drive

(Master list)

The golden morning sun streams through the passenger window of the Impala, casting soft beams of light over the dashboard. Outside, orange and yellow leaves dance to the ground, their descent slow and graceful, as if savoring the last moments of fall.

We won’t see trees like these for a while….I think. Despite all my hunting trips, I’ve never been to LA, or California in general, but I doubt their autumns could compare to the likes of Maine or Massachusetts where it feels like you stepped into another world. But for now, even though we’re still a couple of states away from where we need to be, fall still lingers, holding on in its final, beautiful breaths.

The window is down, and the crisp air sweeps across my skin, weaving through my hair like a cool whisper. The leaves crunch as the wheels of the car roll over them, an earthly scent filling the car. “You seem particularly perky today,” Dean remarks. I glance over, and he’s already watching me, his green eyes glinting with curiosity.

A wave of excitement surges through me, making me want to leap out of the car and sprint into a pile of leaves. “That’s because today is the best day ever, like, the best day out of all the days,” I reply, grinning so wide it feels like my face might burst.

“Yeah?” he asks, his smile tugging at the corners of his lips, soft and teasing. His eyes drop, lingering briefly before they lock back onto mine. The sunlight hits those eyes just right, making the green glow a shade lighter, “And what day would that be?” Whether he’s humoring me or not is unclear. But, with a smile like that and the way his eyes shimmer, it does not matter. “It’s Halloween!” I beam, my excitement rivaling the brightness of the sun. He chuckles, his voice gravelly, the smile still lingering on his lips as his eyes shift back to the road, “Is that right?”

“Yes, it’s Halloween, the best day ever! Therefore, we are obligated to do something, because frankly, that's just the rules,” I ramble, my excitement bubbling over. I feel antsy like I need to skip around to burn off the energy.

“Alright, sweetheart, slow your roll,” he says, chuckling, “You’re practically bouncin’ in your seat.”

My eyebrows furrow in protest. I am certainly not bouncing, it’s just my veins buzzing with anticipation. But I can’t stay offended or grumpy on a day like this, so I quickly return to smiling. “I’m just really excited,” I reason.

“I know you are,” he replies, his eyes twinkling, “I think you love Halloween more than any kid does.” And he’s certainly right.

“Can you blame me?” I counter, “It’s Halloween, as in Halloween!”

“Right,” he chuckles, a low, warm sound. “Are you always this excited on Halloween?”

“What do yo–” Then it hits me. “Oh my god, have we really never spent a Halloween together?” I could’ve sworn we had.

“Nah, always around it. You were excited then, but this…” He glances at me, a playful smile spreading across his face, “This is a whole new level.” I must have confused it with those times we spent together indulging in candy and baked goods while watching slasher films. Those were good times, perfect times even, when the darkness fell and a bitter chill washed over the town and he’d show up at my doorstep as if the wind had brought him to me. They were stolen moments, times he wasn’t busy with a hunt or when he could break away from his Dad to spend the night with me. I don’t remember when the tradition started, but I know he always tried to make it, so it didn't matter if it wasn't on the holiday itself. My excitement around the holiday never wavered, either. Whether it was months or days before, or even days after, it always lingered, eagerly awaiting the next year. “Well, now you get to experience just how insufferable I am firsthand,” I remark with a grin.

“I’d say adorable, but that works too,” he replies, grinning back, and I can’t help how my stomach erupts with butterflies.

“What do you normally do on Halloween?” I ask, ignoring how my cheeks feel warm despite the cool air hitting me. I’ve somehow never thought to ask him, always too caught up in our fun together around the holiday. He shrugs, “Nothin’ really, just eating candy without your company.”

I scoff, “You seriously never went to a party or anything? That seems like you’re scene.”

“Sometimes. Depends,” he answers vaguely.

Stupidly I ask, “Not even to find a good hookup? Because no night is better than Halloween. In the wise words of Cady Heron, ‘Halloween is the one night a year a girl can dress like a total slut and no other girls can say anything about it.’”

“Yeahhh,” he grins stupidly, and it’s obvious his mind is wandering. He could be thinking of those hypothetical hookups, or girls in slutty costumes. I suppose I can’t blame him.

I hit his shoulder playfully, “Reel those thoughts in, cowboy.” The old pet name slips off my tongue before I can stop it. He seems to blink out of his daydream, returning to reality. “Speaking of slutty, what were you gonna be this year?” he asks, lifting a hand from the steering wheel to rest on the back of my seat, his fingers brushing my shoulder.

“Oh, so you’re assuming I was gonna dress like a—” I tease, but he cuts me off with a knowing look and a quirked eyebrow, “Okay, fine. Guilty.”

I lean down, digging through my bag at my feet until I find my little digital camera. “Lucky for you, I took pictures when I first tried on the costume.” I power it on, scrolling through past images until I find the photos I took in the mirror. I might as well consider a job in photography with how good they came out.

“Bam! Little Red Riding Hood,” I announce, flipping the camera around for him to see. His eyes leave the empty road to focus on the little screen, and I know I look good. My makeup was dark, and my hair full. The costume itself has a detailed deep red corset with delicate white ruffles on top, pulled tight enough that my breasts nearly spill out entirely. The fluffed-up skirt, adorned with the same red and black details, barely reached mid-thigh. All topped together by the short cape that spilled down my shoulders, reaching the same length as the dress.

His gaze drifts down the photo and then back up, incredibly slowly—or at least it feels that way as I hold the camera up. He flicks his eyes to the road, shifting uncomfortably in his seat. Maybe his butt is falling asleep, how long have we been driving? His Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows, and then he wets his lips before speaking, “That’s a good costume.” He seems to notice the drop in his voice with the way he clears his throat.

“Right? I think it’s super cute,” I say, fiddling with the camera, “I was gonna do a duo costume with my friend, but she had to cancel because of work, which is so lame. But, I guess it works out considering what I’m up to.” I glance at him again, but he seems far more focused on the road now than he was just minutes ago. His knuckles whiten against the steering wheel. “You alright there?” I ask, studying the tension in his jaw.

He shakes himself out of his thoughts, his voice gravelly as he responds, “Yeah, yeah.” A short silence hangs between us before he suddenly jumps to a new topic, “You hungry?” he asks. “Because I could go for some grub right about now.”

I laugh, choosing not to question his sudden shift in demeanor, “Sure.”

The small dinner is quiet, but it brims with the spirit of Halloween. Bats dangle in the windows, swaying gently with the breeze each time the door opens. Decorative pumpkins sit on the island bar, and scarecrows and witches rest on piles of hay by the entrance, welcoming the guests. The place has a cozy, homey feel, though it lacks the bustle of life.

The smell of coffee is strong as it wafts around the room, utensils, and dishes clinking as nearby people eat. It’s a peaceful kind of morning.

There’s an older man hunched over the bar, cradling a steaming cup of coffee. He absently pokes at his plate of eggs and toast, his movements slow, unhurried. A waitress with graying hair moves from table to table, her steps steady as she pours refills with a soft smile.

The bell above the door jingles, and the quiet becomes interrupted by two sandy-haired boys rushing in, their little legs carrying them past us in excitement. The younger boy, no older than five, sports a tiny cowboy costume, his fake holster hitting against his side as he beelines towards the booth behind Dean. His slightly older brother follows, struggling to keep his own cowboy hat in place as they tumble into the seat, giggling all the way. A woman, their mother it seems, trails behind them. Her messy blonde ponytail bounces as she laughs, catching the eye of the waitress. “They insisted on wearing their costumes,” she explains, her eyes crinkling with warmth. The waitress smiles in return, placing a hand on her shoulder with a sparkle in her eye that reads of familiarity and community.

Life could be so beautiful. People could be so cute.

I shift my gaze back to the man in front of me, but Dean’s already looking at me, his green eyes peeking over the top of the menu. There’s something there—-something I can’t quite place. “Looks like you’ve got competition, cowboy,” I say, folding my arms on the table, nodding towards the boys behind him. He glances over his shoulder at the kids in the booth, his lips twitching into a slow grin. He looks back at me and confidently declares, “I can take them.”

I laugh, shaking my head, “You are horrible.”

“What? You don’t think I’d win?” His expression is serious, but the slight curl of his lips gives him away.

“Mm,” I hum, though my laughter breaks it, “I don’t know, a 2 v 1 seems a little difficult.”

He taps his fingers on the table, feigning deep thought, “Right, right,” he mutters, biting his lip, “And they’ve got those water pistols.”

“Yeah, some real competition,” I say, trying to hold back my continuous laughter. He just makes it so easy to laugh.

“I can still take them.” he shrugs.

“I can't believe we are talking about beating up children,” I shake my head, our stupidity staring back at us.

“You started it.” he points out, raising an eyebrow.

“Okay,” I scuff as if I’m insulted, “Well….not really! I meant in cowboy-ness.”

“Cowboy-ness?” he repeats, eyebrows raised.

“Uh, yes,” I say, doubling down.

“Alright,” he leans closer, elbows on the table, “I’m not ‘cowboy’ enough for you, is that it?” he asks.

“You’re plenty,” I answer, leaning closer, “cowboy.”

He chuckles, tongue in cheek, “You wanna play that game, sweetheart?”

“And what game would that be?” I ask.

“Hello!” A cheery voice greets. We both pull away, startling back as if we got caught doing something we shouldn’t have been doing, “My name is Sharon and I’ll be your server today.” My eyes flicker up to her, an older woman with blond hair, “Can I get you started with any drinks?” she asks. I look to Dean to see if he wants to go first but he nods at me instead, “Can I have a hot chocolate with whipped cream and cinnamon?”

“Good choice,” she smiles, scribbling it down on her notepad, “And you, sir?”

“Black coffee,” he answers.

“Great! I’ll be right back with those,” she pockets her notepad and spins away.

“Okay, a serious topic now,” I start, driving the conversation away from whatever was happening before Sharon came, “You. Me. Halloween Party. Yay, or Nay.”

He scuffs, “You? A party?” disbelief rolling off his tongue.

“Yeah,” I say like it’s obvious.

“But you hate parties,” he points out, “You get overwhelmed by all the people.”

“Okay, yes. But it’d be a Halloween party, which is different…a little,” I reason, tucking a piece of hair behind my ear. He gives me a knowing look, “I’ve been to them before!” I add.

“And how long did you last?”

I purse my lips, knowing he’s right. It sucked how well he knew me sometimes. “Okay, well, if I can usually make it an hour or sometimes more if I really push myself.” I may love Halloween but parties are not my scene. The idea of it always sounds cool, but going to one never lives up to my expectations. Though, my expectations are probably quite high. And, of course, he’s right. I do get overwhelmed by all the people and noise. There’s only so much Halloween music and decorations that can make up for that. And, in the case of non-holiday related parties, there’s only so much slutty music that can make up for it. Plus, enjoying that kind of music at home is far more fun. “You can’t say that staying at a Halloween party for a little while, then going to a motel and finding some terrible horror movie to watch while consuming a sickening amount of candy doesn’t sound incredible,” I point out.

“Hate to bust your bubble, sweetheart, but we won’t be stoppin’ at all.”

“Huh?”

“Sorry. But we can make it to Sam today if we don’t stop more than necessary.”

I study his face in disbelief, scanning his features, “Stop lookin’ at me like that,” he says.

“I’m sorry, I’m just making sure you're you because when have you ever been the type to not dilly dally?” I remark, quirking an eyebrow.

“Dilly Dally? Really?” he muses.

“Doesn’t matter what you wanna call it,” I shake my head, “You like to have fun far more than focusing on whatever the task at hand is.”

“Alright, maybe that's true–”

“It’s insanely true” I butt in.

“But, the quicker we get to Sammy the quicker we find my Dad,” he finishes.

Of course now, of all days, he’s the logical one. “I don’t like how good of a point that is.”

To say I’m disappointed would be the understatement of the year. But, it feels wrong to be even a little bit upset when, given the circumstances, we shouldn’t stop to have fun. I might not like John Winchester but he is their Dad and I did agree to help find him. So, I really shouldn’t be upset, or disappointed. It makes total sense to skip out on celebrating Halloween given the situation. I should be fine with this.

Totally fine with it…..

I am so not fine with this.

But, that’s selfish, isn’t it? It feels so wrong to want something at a time like this, let alone something indulgent. So what if Halloween is my favorite holiday and I spend 364 days waiting for it to happen again? This wasn’t the time to be selfish. I cannot be selfish. I’ll keep pretending it’s whatever because it has to be whatever. The open road is ahead of us and we’re one too many hours away from Stanford to complain about some holiday. And it is just some holiday…right?

This sucked.

Would it be appropriate to throw a fit? Because it feels like ‘throw a fit’ time.

No. It’s okay. You don’t have to celebrate a holiday to appreciate it in all its glory. Yeah.

It’s not disappointing and it’s not sad. Not at all. Not one bit. Everything’s okay. The world will keep spinning. “You’re pouting,” Dean suddenly says, breaking the silence that had settled between us since we got back in the car.

“I’m not pouting,” I correct, eyeing him from my peripheral vision.

“Then what's with that bottom lip?” He replies, eyes slipping away from the road to look at me. I correct my face, keeping any potential pouts away. “Why are you looking at my lips?” I throw back without thinking. He scuffs, rolling his eyes, “You’re ridiculous.’

“Hey,” I whine, eyebrows scrunching together.

“There’s that pout again,” he points out.

“Leave me and my pout alone,” I argue, hitting his arm. Except he doesn’t react to it at all, not even a flinch. Maybe I should stop pulling my punches. “So you admit you were pouting,” he smirks.

Now he’s doing this on purpose. I give him an unamused look that I hope he can see from his peripheral, “You're going to make me lose my mind…hope you know that.”

“Not the worst thing a guy can hear,” he shrugs with a smug smile.

“Now you’re the one being ridiculous,” I mock, but his stupid implication makes my stomach flutter in the most pathetic way possible.

“‘You wanna tell me why you’re upset?” he asks, putting us back on the intended conversation.

“I'm not upset,” I answer.

“If this is about the Halloween thing, I’m sorry.”

“No, I know. And it makes total sense, I’m not upset,” I assure. He looks at me then, eyes studying my face for the truth. I don’t know what he finds but it must be enough for him to accept what I said since he returns his eyes to the road.

An orange hue settles on the horizon, the sun on her descent. As she dips down, so do the hours left of the day and my spirits. While everyone else got to celebrate the holiday, I couldn’t. It’s been hard to stay in a good mood.

At least the drive has been nice. That’s a positive thing I can focus on. It’s been nice to feel the cold air on my skin, to intake the crisp smell of leaves and nature. But, it also makes me long for what I can’t have.

The hours dwindle on. Halloween dwindles on.

It’s just one year I’d be missing, it’s not the end of the world.

Maybe I should take a nap. That's sure to make it better, or at least make me feel I’m not missing out on anything.

It’s not a difficult task to accomplish as I fold my arms across my chest, curling into myself. My eyes flutter close with the soft drive—the soothing motion of it, the crisp air, the chill that bites at my skin…..

…..

….

My eyes open, blinking impossibly slowly as they adjust to being awake again. Sleep clings to my brain, wanting to pull me back under the waves of rest. I stretch my aching limbs with soft sighs, something soft slipping down my shoulders….

Wait.

I blink rapidly, forcing my brain to work and catch up. The soft thing skims down my arms, I peer down at it through squinted eyes. A blanket. It’s a blanket. A soft white blanket with pumpkins on it…

What?

“Dean?” I call, my voice dripping with the remains of sleep.

“I’m right here, sweetheart,” he answers smoothly. He’s still driving, hands steady on the wheel. I sit up, rubbing the sleep from my eyes. Near darkness cloaks the car now, the only guiding light being the headlights. “Wha—where did this blanket come from?” I ask, but my brain is not finding a logical solution.

Dean clears his throat, “I, uh, bought it…for you.”

“You did?” I ask, a soft, dopey smile on my lips. I take the blanket in my hands, the soft material all warm and wonderful. When did he buy this? Why did he buy this? I have so many questions, but they are all outweighed by the warm, fuzzy feeling in my heart.

“You were cold,” he explains, “You were shivering.”

“So you stopped out of your way to get me a blanket?” The smile on my lips and the flutter in my gut is uncontrollable.

He keeps a stoic face like he won’t show the vulnerability of his care. “Look in the backseat,” he directs, mumbling.

I give him a questioning look but do so anyway, twisting in my seat. A grocery bag sits there, its contents spilling out enough to identify it as a bag of candy and a DVD of some sort. My heart stutters, my mind working to compute this information while remembering to breathe. Right, I have to breathe. “No…” I say, turning to him slowly, “You didn’t.”

He shrugs, a slight smile pulling on the corners of his lips, “It’s Halloween.”

“Dean Winchester, if you weren’t driving right now I’d tackle you in a hug,” I admit. That familiar pump of excitement flowing through my veins again.

“I know it’s not the same—-” “Are you kidding me?!” I cut him off, “This is incredible, it’s amazing—-You’re amazing!”

“Watch what you do to my ego, sweetheart,” he teases with that easy charming smile.

“I might regret giving you an ego boost later but right now….” I shake my head, “This is perfect.”

Is it possible to be in love with someone twice?

His smile softens, and after a moment’s pause, he makes up his mind. He signals, guiding the Impala off the long stretch of road and onto the gravel shoulder, the car coming to a gentle stop. “If I make you wait any longer you might explode,” he remarks, his voice warm.

I don’t waste another second—grabbing my laptop from my bag and my new blanket, I’m out of the car in a heartbeat, excitement bubbling up inside me as I hurry around to his side. I shift eagerly from foot to foot as he takes his time sliding out of the driver’s seat, teasingly slow. But, the moment he’s up, I practically leap at him, wrapping my arms around his neck and pulling him down to my level. His hands instinctively find my waist just as my lips meet his cheek. I press a soft kiss there, feeling the warmth beneath my lips, the yearning in my chest only growing. Pulling back just enough to catch his gaze, I beam up at him before peppering his cheek with quick kisses.

I pull away for good this time, laughing. I move too quickly to catch his expression, but as I slip into the backseat and beckon him over, he pauses for a moment before joining me. Once inside, he guides me into place, settling us comfortably with his back against the door and me sitting between his legs. The blanket he bought me is draped over us, and my laptop balances on my lap.

He already has several pieces of candy stuffed into his mouth, the wrappers discarded carelessly around him, when I slide the DVD of Jeepers Creepers into my laptop.

Maybe today didn’t start perfectly, but right now, here together, nothing else matters.

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