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sams-sass · 1 month ago

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Remembrance of Things Past

Hi!!

I actually wrote a Dean fic...like what? I hope you enjoy! Special shout out to all my bunker babes for the confidence boost!!

Warnings: Langauge, smut, a wee bit of heartbreak?

Summary: You and Dean find each other again.

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The motel door slammed shut behind Dean’s back, loud and heavy. He turned to face you; his eyes were emotionless, and his jaw tightened.

“So you’re not coming?” He asked you.

“Please, Dean…I can’t,” You said softly.

He ran his hand down his face and nodded, looking at the wall before connecting his eyes to yours again.

“Well, that’s just great, Y/N.” His voice was like venom.

“Try to understand…I just…I can’t watch…” Your voice betrayed you, breaking as the lump in your throat grew.

You stepped toward him, taking his leather jacket into your fists as you pressed your body against his. You leaned your forehead against his cheek, inhaling his intoxicating scent. He pushed your hands off him, shaking his head and stepping away.

“You don’t get to do that. You don’t get to fuck with my head.” He spat.

“It’s too much.” You whispered, crossing your arms over your chest and squeezing yourself.

“And how the fuck do you think I feel? It’s too much for you? I’m the one who made the deal. I’m the one who's gonna-” Dean stopped, leaning on the small desk in the corner and hanging his head.

You stepped toward him again, raising your hands to lay on his back. Dean instinctively moved away from you, jolting his body to the side to avoid your touch. You held your hands up for a moment before lowering them again, and this time, Dean let you touch him. Swallowing thickly, you ran your hands over his jacket, trying to calm the situation as best you could.

“I’m sorry.” You said finally, speaking loud enough to know he would hear you.

“I would stay for you.” He mumbled.

At that moment of rare fragility, you knew you had broken down at least one of his walls. The truth was, you didn’t care about him opening up to you. You didn’t need to hear him say how he would stick it out until the end or move heaven and earth to be by your side when the time came. You knew this. You knew he would extend a devotion to you that you weren't giving him, and you hated yourself for it. Your hands slipped under his jacket and the fabric of his shirt. His back was warm as you ran your touch over his freckled skin. A ragged and heavy breath left his lungs. He glanced up at you, making eye contact in the mirror. His body turned to face you, your hands now resting against his bare stomach. Placing his forehead against yours, he closed his eyes.

“Please stay.” He whispered.

“I love you…so much. But I can’t watch you die.” You answered, feeling him pull away again.

Dean took both of your hands into one of his, yanking them from under his shirt but keeping you close to him. He looked deep into your eyes, his sage ones glassy and red.

“Thanks a lot, kid.” He said, his voice coming from low within his chest.

He walked away from you, pulled the door open, and stopped in the doorframe. You watched as his shoulders moved with heavy breaths before he turned back around. He crossed the motel room in three giant steps and grabbed your face between his hands. His lips attached themselves to yours before you could even breathe. His kiss was full of passion and fear. You could feel the vulnerability in every swipe of his tongue. He dug his hands into your hair, scratching your scalp with his fingertips. You wrapped yourself around him and clung onto the last thing you would carry of him. Committing every breath, taste, and moan to memory as you let yourself fall into him just one last time.

Suddenly, he stopped. Leaning his head against yours once again. You both held each other in the silent space momentarily before his broken, husky voice whispered.

“Don’t forget me.”

You nodded your head, feeling your chin begin to quiver. He was gone just as fast as he had come back to you. The door slammed on its hinges, and you were utterly alone.

Two Years Later

The warehouse was void of life as you expertly moved around the halls. You rounded the corner, pulling the gun closer to your chest and breathing. A soft shuffle made your hair stand on edge. Leaning against the wall, you ventured a peak into the next room. A tall man stood with a gun of his own, his brown jacket grazing against his jeans as he crept around toward the back of the room. You held in the gasp that filled your lungs, closing your eyes and mentally cursing yourself. You could run for it. Fly as fast as your feet could take you towards the exit. You could wait him out. Or you could…and before you knew what you were doing, you walked into the room.

“Sam?” You said, disbelief in your voice.

He whipped his head around, aiming his gun perfectly at you. A look of shock, confusion, and anger crossed his face.

“Y/N?” He asked, lowering his gun quickly.

You smiled at him, feeling years worth of memories swarm you in an instant. Your eyes began to fill with water when you heard the cocking of a gun. A cold shiver ran down your spine, your palms suddenly getting clammy. You let out all the air in your lungs. Every fiber of your being told you not to turn around. Don’t look. You held Sam’s eyes with your wide stare for a beat too long. Don’t you dare look. For the love of god, just run away. If you look at him, it’s all over. You turned slowly.

Dean’s chiseled face sat emotionless, his gun mere inches from your head. You felt your mouth go dry, desperately trying to swallow saliva to keep yourself from coughing. Sage eyes locking with yours for the first time in so long. You almost cried out in joy. Your mouth opened and closed again. Eyes blinking and heart racing, you wrapped your hand around the gun as well, stepping towards him as he lowered it to his side. You were so close to him, his face impassive as he looked down at you. Your chest was just a breath away from his. His body was stiff and unmoving. Slowly, you tilted your head back to look at him better. He glared down at you with hard eyes.

“Dean.” You said, trying to keep your voice as steady as possible.

“Y/N.” His voice was low and rough.

You let go of the gun and stepped back, nervously scratching behind your ear. The awkward feeling settled over the three of you thickly.

“So…you’re also after the ghoul,” Sam said, shoving his hands into his pockets.

“Yeah, been trailing it for a few days now,” You said, keeping your eyes on Sam.

You missed him—sweet and soft, Sammy. You missed how he would gently knock on your door in the morning. You missed his warm scent when he placed his arm around your shoulders and pulled you close after one too many beers. You missed how he always remembered to put precisely 2 and 1/2 teaspoons of sugar into your coffee. While researching, you would look up and swear you saw him sitting on the end of your bed with his nose in a book. You had almost forgotten how tall he was or how his dimpled smile could make you forget about the world momentarily. You missed your friend.

“Well, we’ll take it from here. Thanks for the interruption.” His voice spoke. Your eyes slowly shifted to Dean. His angular face was stoic and harsh, the sporadic lighting of the warehouse casting shadows on the deep contours of his cheeks and nose.

To say that you had missed Dean in the same way that you had missed Sam would practically be an insult. It was more than just missing him. It was a deep and guttural longing that had you curled under the covers, unmoving and unfeeling for days after he left. There was no way to decide what you missed most. Was it his warm breath against your back on slow mornings after a hunt? Lips and hands drawing an absent pattern across your sore muscles and tired skin. Was it his long fingers intertwining through yours as the Impala tore down a dirt road, the sunlight bouncing off its black paint? Or perhaps it was how his expressive jade eyes would always find yours first. On every case. Every hunt. Every monster. Those earthy pools of warm waters full of lilypads and speckled flowers holding your gaze, reading your mind, and drowning your sorrows. Or it could be when he smiled with his eyes—saying your name and touching your face with the tips of his fingers? Maybe it was the nights where you gave yourself to him and he you? Minds fold to the intensity of the body's pleasure. Arms and legs wrapped around each other so tight, as if the other person would explode into a thousand pieces at any moment. With hungry lips and a thirsty tongue. Allowing all to be explored. All to be sacrificed and exposed. Although you couldn't pinpoint it, you knew it was when he told you he loved you. When he dropped the act and let himself feel the world. In those moments, he could choose to feel the bad. The ache. The hurt. But he would choose to feel you. To tell you he loved you. The soft words in your ear, his breath playing with your hair gently. His hands circling your wrists, feeling your quickening pulse against his skin.

“I-” You started, not knowing where you were going with your sentence.

“You what?” Dean cut you off. “You wanna work this together? Like old times?” He asked, his voice full of anger and hurt.

“Dean…” Sam tried to calm his brother down.

“No, Sammy. I want to hear what she has to say after all this time.” Dean's voice shifted to one of controlled arrogance. But you knew him. You knew how much pain he was trying to mask.

“Look, I know you hate me. To be honest, I hate me too sometimes…I had no idea you were going to be here. Honest.” You said, holding up your hands and stepping back when Dean approached you.

“Right. So, like I said, we’ll take it from here.” Dean said, pointing his finger between him and Sam.

Suddenly, you felt angry. You didn't know where it was coming from, but you saw red, and your “calm, cool, and collected” attitude began slipping away.

“What? No! I was here first. I was the one who found this place by myself, might I add. The only reason I even got distracted was because of Sam’s huge, clunking feet.” You argued.

Sam tilted his head, letting his face fall into one you had seen so many times before. The bitch face.

“You know, you could always be a brat when you wanted to,” Dean said, stepping towards you.

“I recall you liking that, Winchester.” You countered, stepping towards him, too.

“Funny.” He said, his voice dropping deep within his chest. “I don’t recall much.”

“Neither do I.” You practically whispered.

“I thought I told you not to forget.” He said with authority.

“And I thought you would have learned a long time ago. I don’t always follow your orders.” You retorted.

In that moment, you saw something pass through his eyes. A memory long forgotten and put away resurfaced. His cheeks flushed slightly. His eyes lowered to your breasts, holding his gaze there for a beat before following the curves of your neck to your mouth. Your lips parted, allowing a small breath to escape. Dean sucked his bottom lip into his mouth, dragging his teeth across the plump flesh before it popped back out. Pink and wet.

“Come on, Sam. I could use the sleep anyway.” And with that, they were gone again.

Because of your little production with Dean, the ghoul was long gone by the time you found its hideout. You repacked your car and slammed the trunk, throwing out every curse word you knew into the windshield as you drove away. You rolled your window down and let the night air cool your heated flesh. The moonlight couldn't hide the memories that saturated your mind. It was as if double doors opened, and everything you had put behind you came raging into focus. Hearing his thick voice say your name made your time with the Winchesters play out in front of your eyes. You and Sam reading over books at a diner table, plates and cups littering the space. You and Dean counting down before jumping into the swarm of vamps together. Sam’s hair blowing in the passenger seat. Dean’s groggy voice in the morning. Dean holding Sam’s shoulders as he has yet another vision. Dean smiling at you, a smear of blood covering his freckles. Dean clanking his beer against yours. Sam laughing over the jukebox of some dive bar. Dean pulling you close and burying his face into your hair after a particularly long hunt. Sam pushing you behind him as the wendigo approached. Dean slipping his fingers under your shirt, tickling your skin. Dean sneaking into the shower with you when you were trying to keep your relationship a secret. Dean whispering “I love you” for the first time in an empty field under the stars. Dean running his fingers through your hair while a movie played on the T.V. Dean giving your hand a squeeze before charging at a ghost. Dean holding your face in his hands, blood spattered across your skin. Dean pulling you into him in his sleep. Dean stitching up your wounds in the motel room. Dean kissing you in the back of the impala. Dean. Dean. Dean.

Fuck! You slammed your car into park and charged into your motel room. Your fingers ran through your hair frantically as your heart rate picked up. Your feet paced quickly across the room, heavy breaths pulling in and out of your lungs. Just as you were about to collapse, a knock on the door stopped you. You knew it was him. You closed your eyes and swallowed down your anxieties.

You opened the door to his angry face.

“How did you find me?”

“I remembered you liked the nicer things.” Dean pointed to the motel sign.

You nodded, pursing your lips together.

“Tell me what happened,” Dean instructed.

“You know what happened.” You said around a sigh.

“Ya know…I thought I did.” His arrogant voice was back. “But the more I think about it, the more it doesn't make sense,” Dean said, coming close to you.

“I think you and I have had enough for one night.” You said, trying to close the door.

Dean’s open palm stopped the door from moving further, “I’ll say when I have had enough.”

“Dean-” You began to protest again.

He pushed into the door, crowding your space and entering your room.

“Come on in.” You mumbled sarcastically.

“I don’t know what you think you are going to solve by bothering me.” You tried to play annoyed.

“How about the fact that it came out of fucking nowhere?” Dean said, holding his arms out to his sides. “I mean really. One day you are telling me you love me and that you can’t imagine your life without me, and the next-” Dean stopped himself.

“I’m breaking your heart.” You filled in the rest. He nodded, holding your gaze as he did.

“It’s like I said, I couldn’t watch you die.” You responded as emotionless as you could.

“Bullshit. I gave you an out in Lincoln. I told you to go. I told you to get as far away from me as possible. To live your life and leave me to suffer the consequences of my actions. And you stayed. You said you would never leave me. And not two weeks later…your fucking gone.” He dropped the arrogance, his voice now full of confusion and anguish.

He was right. That is precisely how it played out.

“Tell me what happened.” He asked again.

“I did.”

“You didn’t,”

“Dean”

“Y/N.”

There he goes again. Saying your name with that wicked tongue.

“Please-” Your voice breaking.

“So there is more?” Dean asked, stunned.

“I can’t.” You whispered.

“You can.” There was no anger now. His shoulders dropped, and his face was left full of despair.

Dean crossed over to you, took your wrists within his hands, and pinned you against the wall. He looked deeply into your eyes, searching for an answer.

“Baby, tell me what happened.” He said one last time.

“It was the angels.” You finally relented.

“What?” His brow furrowed, and his eyes moved quickly between yours.

“Well, one angel. Zachariah. He spoke to me.” You felt the tears fill your eyes. “He told me they would save you if I left. They said you would be spared from hell, but I had to leave. I had to get away from you.” You let the truth lay in front of him for the first time.

“The angels? Why?” He was wide-eyed and horrified.

“I don’t know. They said that if I left, you would be saved. I was so desperate, Dean. I was so scared you were going to die. I didn’t know what to do. So I left. I left like a coward, and I knew the only way you wouldn't come after me was if I broke you.” You breathed. Although it killed you to tell him, there was a sense of relief finally telling the truth after all this time.

Dean stared at you, his face difficult to read. You let your eyes fall on his lips, plump and slightly agape. You felt his hands tighten around your wrists, and it shot you back to the last time he held you like this. You could hear the soft rain on the window and smell the coffee going cold on the nightstand. The skin of your neck tickled, remembering his hot breath groaning in your ear. Your fingers could practically feel the cheap comforter, his hands holding them down just like they were now. You bit down on your lip as you remembered the way he pushed into you, slow enough to tease but fast enough to make your legs shake.

“Why didn't you come back after?” He finally asked, breaking you out of your memory.

“Because they lied to me. You still went to hell. How could I ever face you? How could I ever expect you to look me in the eyes again after I abandoned you? I can barely look at myself. I left you, Dean. I loved you so much. You were the air that I breathed. And I just fucking left. I could never ask you to understand.” You explained, your voice sounded wet from the tears.

“Y/N…” He spoke, his body pressing into yours harder.

You inhaled sharply, arching your back and allowing your head to loll back on your shoulders. Dean licked his lips, leaving a wet sheen on them.

“I don't understand.” He said softly.

“Understand what?”

“Why would they want you to leave? Why would it matter if you were with me or not?” He asked with a furrowed brow.

“Because we knew you would never say ‘yes’ to Michael if you were clamored on to some chick.” A voice suddenly spoke.

You and Dean broke apart, both clenching when startled. A man with balding grey hair stood in a black suit, a smile that made your mouth curl sat on his face.

“Zachariah,” Dean practically growled.

“Good to see you, Dean.”

“Wish I could say the same.”

“Well, now you know the big secret.” He said, shrugging his shoulders and turning down the corners of his mouth.

“I always knew you were a son of a bitch, but now you’ve gone too far.” Dean stepped toward him, you could feel the hate in his voice.

“You lied to me! He died anyway!” You screamed, coming to stand next to Dean.

“No. No. I never lied. I said we would save him from hell, which we did. You simply heard what you wanted.” He said nonchalantly, as if he was describing what he ate for breakfast.

“That’s called manipulation, dick.” You shot back.

“Oh! Fiesty.” He held up his hand, pretending it was a claw.

“I am going to say this one time.” Dean started, his arms pushed you slightly behind him as he moved toward Zachariah. “If you ever step foot near her again, I am going to rain down a world of hurt on you that you cant even imagine. You do not come near her again, do you understand me? Whatever you want to do to me is fine, but you leave her alone. All this bullshit, Michael, Lucifer, angels, demons, that’s your shit to clean. Not hers! And since Michael still wants to wear me like a fucking sock puppet, I suggest you listen to me and back the fuck off!” Dean thundered.

You stared with eide eyes as he got closer and closer to the angel. Your breathing quickened and you nervously swallowed. You sat in a silent panic for his safety.

“I may not have much in this world. Nothing but left overs from my father and his neverending crusade. But I have her. And I will die before I let you or any other winged bastard breathe near her again.” Dean’s voice was unnerving and low.

“Jeez, give it a rest. When did we put on lifetime?” Zachariah asked without trying to hide his disdain.

“Make your jokes, but don’t forget that I specialized in torture.” Dean practically whispered.

Your heart skipped a beat, what?

“Well, I do not pretend to know about coitus as I find it repulsive, but I have heard make up is the best!” Zachariah said with a gross mocking tone.

“Don’t you fucking-”

Zachariah was gone before Dean could finish his sentence.

“Shit!” Dean yelled.

His back was still to you. The air in the room was so thick it felt difficult to breathe. Your skin warmed under the tension. Just as you were about to speak, he turned. His face was hard and determined. You both stared at each other for a moment, trying to read the other person's mind. Dean acted first. He practically flew across the room back to you. His hands dug into your hair harshly, pulling your head back as a shocked moan left your mouth. Your mouth opened to his before he even kissed you. All teeth and tongue. Both relinquishing control and fighting for it at the same time.

You and Dean had shared many kisses in your relationship: passionate, quick, raw, emotional, fast, and slow. This was different. It felt like an ache. It felt familiar and foreign at the same time. He kissed you like the ocean raged when a storm descended upon the land. His lips were out of rhythm and timing, but they still hit exactly where they needed to be. And like the warmed waters fueling the storm, you found yourself trying to grind your pelvis desperately into his, seeking any friction.

Keeping one hand on the back of your head, he hooked his other around your thigh, yanking you up. You wrapped your legs around his waist, grabbing onto a fistful of his hair for yourself. He groaned into your mouth, twisting his tongue around yours.

“I missed you so much.” You mumbled against his lips.

“You’re the only thing I want.” He answered, pushing your back against the wall.

His head dipped down. You squeezed your thighs around his waist as his teeth nipped at your neck and breasts. Using his hips and the wall to hold you in place, he undid the buttons of your shirt, opening it before taking your breasts in his hands. His thumbs stroked just above your bra while his mouth continued to suck and nip at your neck. He grabbed onto your hips again, his fingers digging into the globes of your ass. He threw you down on the bed, quickly crawling on top of you and reattaching his lips to yours. You undid the button on his jeans, hearing the sharp hiss as you palmed him through his boxers. He grabbed your hand and pulled it out of his pants, grabbing your other hand and pinning both above your head. His mouth found yours again, his teeth sinking into your bottom lip, pulling on it harshly.

“Don’t move.” He commanded.

He left your hands above your head as his body lowered down yours. Teasing you by keeping his lips just hovering over your skin. His pointer finger dipped below the waist of your jeans, running it across your belly slowly. Your body was almost squirming as the anticipation built within your core. Your fingers twisted together when he opened the button on your jeans and yanked them down your legs. His mouth moved over your thighs, his hot breath fanning your skin. His teeth playfully pulled on your panties. His tongue teased you through the fabric. You lifted your head to look at him. God, you had missed this. That soft brown hair is just asking to be pulled. Those green eyes rolled back in his head as he decided he couldn't wait anymore, yanking your panties off you and taking you into his mouth. His freckled nose scrunched when he knew he had found a particularly good spot. And, of course, that mouth. Those lips and tongue, tasting every part of you. Dean ravaged you. Hooking your legs over his shoulders and lapping at your entrance, sucking and licking your clit. His breath was heavy, and his eyes closed. You were sure no one could paint a more beautiful image than Dean Winchester between your legs.

Your first orgasm came quickly, taking both of you by surprise. Dean held you down with one forearm across your hips as he continued. Your hands were wrung together. You wanted to touch him so badly. Your body rapidly built up another orgasm. Dean kept you on the edge for this one, extending the pleasure but building the tension. By the time he let you tumble, you were covered in sweat and practically begging him. You couldn’t stand it anymore, and your hands flew to his head, yanking on his hair as your orgasm released throughout your body. He held you through it, moaning around your cries of pleasure.

He came back to you, face to face. “I’ll let you have that one.” He said with a crooked smile.

The tone shifted then, and a new reality settled over the two of you. Dean’s eyes softened to your favorite shade of them, the green grass of the first cold morning in fall. Fresh dew lay in a wet blanket over young blades, their mossy color diffused by clouds against the low-hanging sun.

“You know I never stopped loving you, right?” You asked, running your fingers over his arm.

“I do now.” He answered, pushing your hair away from your forehead to kiss your hairline.

“I love you, Y/N. I’ve always loved you. When you were gone, no matter how hard I tried to deny it or how much I shoved it down, it was always there. You were always my girl.” His voice was thick with need and emotion.

From that moment on, the night felt different. It was more than a reunion. It was more than hashing out old times. It was a vow. You both knew that marriage was not exactly in the cards for hunters, but this night was as close as the two of you would ever come. Words that should have been exchanged in a ceremony were written on each other's naked flesh with wet tongues and eager lips. Names that should have been signed on a document were inked onto each of your hearts through the whispered pleasure filling the air. And oaths that should have been pledged for all to hear were found in the dilating pupils of your locked eyes.

Slow and passionate kisses turned heavy and deep as you recommitted yourselves to each other and your relationship. Dean's hands touched every part of you, dipping into all your crevices, tracing every scar and freckle. You tasted him, feeling the thick drag of him through your mouth, holding onto his deep groans of ecstasy. He pushed into you, spreading your legs with his before looking you in the eye as he filled you completely. His perfect rhythm brought you to your peak, grasping at his back and shoulders. You found yourself on top, rolling your hips over his, watching his teeth bite into his tongue to keep himself from crying out. His eyes open, showing his blown-out pupils, all traces of morning dew gone. Dean’s hands pressed into your hips so hard, moving you with him as he neared his own peak. Face to face, his fingers dragging down your back, you both fell together.

Tangled in limbs and sheets, you let your beating heart slow to an average pace. Dean dreamily traced a pattern over your arm, occasionally kissing your forehead as dawn began to break. You didn’t say it and he didn’t ask, but you were never leaving his side again. Finally feeling safe in the arms of the man you loved, you let your eyes drift closed for a moment. You heard his breathing become slow and even, knowing he was also falling asleep. You smiled, healing yourself in the light of a new day before closing your eyes and sailing into a restful sleep.

Tagging: @thinkinghardhardlythinking @watermelonlipstick

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