The Kids Are All Right | Supernatural Series Rewrite | Dean Winchester x Fem!Reader
Pairing: Dean Winchester x Fem!Reader
Warnings: recovering from an assault (heed this warning pls my loves), canon gore, canon violence, angst
Word Count: 4773
A/N: Heyyyy.... accidentally posted two at the same time haha. No episode this Saturday as a result; I'm sorry, y'all!! But a little extra treat today!!
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You and Sam spoke almost twice daily after your heart-to-heart leaving Lincoln. You were incredibly grateful to still have his friendship; even if your phone calls had to be carefully maneuvered around times when Dean was in the room.
You were unsure how to feel about the fact that Sam was still trying to find ways to break Dean’s deal knowing he’d die if that happened but would also support your friend in whatever his decision was. You refused to have any involvement in picking between the lives of the two brothers, though, even if you were falling deeper and deeper in love with him with each passing day.
Just the thought of seeing him again was enough to have butterflies swirling in your stomach. You were terrified of what he’d say to you, yes, but you missed him so dearly. As chaotic as he could be at times, he truly was your rock. And with each day that passed, the sore pang in your heart at the thought of him seemed to intensify.
Not to mention, your struggle with your assault was draining you. Your heart hurt every time you walked past a mirror, and every once in a while, you’d see yourself in that guard uniform.
“Where are you guys?” you asked Sam through the phone as you walked around your motel room pulling clothes on.
“Cicero, Indiana,” Sam replied.
Your heart and stomach dropped. “What?”
“No way you’re here, too,” Sam began to laugh.
“This isn’t fucking funny, Sam! I purposefully picked a case that seemed like it wouldn’t pan out to stay away from him!” you replied frantically. “I mean, ‘guy falls on his own power saw’ doesn’t exactly scream unsolved mysteries!”
Sam was still laughing, but cleared his throat before talking again. “Yeah, but Dean’s cruisin’ for a hookup, too. That’s his main motivation, I think.”
You scoffed and ignored the burning feeling in your chest. “Of course, he is. Who is it this time?”
“Lisa Braeden. His… five day road trip from about eight years ago,” Sam explained.
“Oh,” you breathed out. “Gumby girl.”
“So you know of her,” Sam said.
“Oh, yeah! After one of the first times we had sex, he told me I gave Gumby Girl a run for her money. ‘Best sex of my life before you’ is a direct quote,” you told him.
“Okay, ew,” Sam grimaced. “I don’t need to hear about your sex life—”
“It was topically relevant, Sam!”
“—and this is apparently one of his ‘dying wishes’.”
“Way to let me down easy, jackass,” you sassed at the brunet’s clear inability to read the room in this situation.
“Sorry,” he said sheepishly.
“It’s fine. I’ll leave. Let Dean have his fun,” you continued.
“No, don’t!” Sam begged. “At least stay till tomorrow so we can meet for coffee. I’m sure Dean ‘ll still be out with Gumby.”
“We should probably call that poor woman by her actual name,” you giggled. “But sure. I’ll stay till then.”
“Great!” You could practically hear Sam grinning on the other end of the phone. “I’ll call you when I get up tomorrow.”
“Okay,” you smiled. “Bye, Sammy.”
***
Someone pounding on your door at around one in the morning woke you up with a start. Swiftly, you put the barrel of your gun to the door and listened because there was no peephole for you to look through. You opened the door a crack when you heard nothing for a moment to reveal Dean staring at the ground before looking up at you.
Shocked, you slammed the door in his face and threw your gun at your bed. Unfortunately, you’d forgotten to lock the door behind you, and Dean waltzed into your bedroom.
“(Y/N), you can’t leave,” the man told you.
“What the fuck are you doing here, Dean? How did you even find me?!” you cried. “What, you think after three weeks of not talking I’m just gonna let you— Especially after you just fucked Gumby Girl—!” You began pacing around the room.
“I didn’t fuck Gumby Girl, (Y/N),” he said softly, still standing close to the door.
You scoffed and crossed your arms, suddenly very aware of the underwear and oversized band t-shirt you wore to bed that night. “Yeah, right.”
“I’m serious,” he replied, still staring at the ground. His hands stayed in his leather jacket pockets. “Couldn’t bring myself to even try.”
You threw your arms out in frustration. “What, am I supposed to forgive you for not fucking one out of the many Sam’s been telling me about you being with since I left?!”
Dean seemed stunned.
“Yeah! So, I’m sorry, but you’re not just gonna waltz in here and act like everything’s fine and dandy,” you chortled coldly.
“Are you gonna give me a chance to explain myself?” he questioned angrily.
“Why should I?” you scoffed.
“Because you love me! I thought that was the whole point!” he argued.
You stared him down, eyebrows drawn together. “Well, you obviously don’t love or respect me enough not to go fuck random girls literal days after I leave.”
“I do!” he shot back. “Would you just fucking listen? I was drinking alone when Sam thought I was with those other chicks.”
You said nothing, still glaring at him.
“I didn’t fuck any of them, (Y/N), ‘cause I couldn’t stop thinking about you!”
Tension hung thick in the air between the two of you, and you looked up at him with dewey eyes. When you couldn’t stand to hold his gaze anymore, you turned away. “Why didn’t you call? Why didn’t you… say it back? Say anything back?” Your voice broke while you talked.
“I should’ve,” Dean replied quietly. “I- I’m sorry I didn’t.”
A tear slipped down your cheek. “I’m sorry, too. I shouldn’t have left you guys with those demons.”
You felt Dean’s fingers gently graze your arm, and he waited for you to flinch away for a moment. When you didn’t, he reached out and gingerly turned you to face him and held you to his chest.
You melted into him almost immediately and let all of the emotion you’d been holding back for the past three weeks out. He rested his head on top of yours and just held you there for a minute.
“I can’t watch you die, Dean,” you told him, still hugging him tightly. “I can’t do it.”
“I’m not asking you to,” he said. “Can you just… stick around till my time is up?” He gently pushed you away from him slightly to turn your eyes up to meet his gaze. “Please? It’s my dying wish.”
You giggled through your tears but nodded. You immediately dove back into his chest. “I don’t want you to leave,” you whispered.
“I don’t wanna leave you,” he said, voice beginning to shake. “But I couldn’t let ‘im die, (Y/N). I couldn’t do it.”
“I know,” you nodded.
The two of you stood there holding each other once more until Dean spoke up again. “And, uh… ditto, by the way.”
“What?” you snorted, pulling away from him.
“What you said… at Bobby’s,” he explained, avoiding your eyes.
“You love me?” you asked, smiling lopsidedly.
Dean just nodded.
“And you told me just by saying ‘ditto’?” You burst out into laughter at Dean’s attempt at vulnerability.
Dean went red in the face and turned away.
“No, no!” you said, immediately quieting down. “It’s just— that was so cute. You’re adorable when you can’t emote properly.”
“Shut up,” he grumbled, tilting your chin up to kiss you passionately and effectively silence your laughter. You closed your eyes and wrapped your arms around his neck immediately; almost like a reflex.
When you pulled away, you leaned your forehead against Dean’s.
“You know I’m not letting you leave again,” he said.
“Wouldn’t dream of it,” you smiled.
***
You sat on the bed facing a shirtless Dean who was reclining against the headboard on a pillow while he told you his story from yesterday. He lazily drew circles on your outermost hip with his thumb as he talked.
“So, I went to her house, right? ‘Cause… y’know. Gumby Girl,” he began sheepishly. “And, uh, turns out, she’s got a son.”
“Jesus, really?” you replied. “I forget most people have kids at our age.”
“See, this is where it gets interesting,” Dean continued. “So I go out to the backyard, and I see this kid, and (Y/N), I’m telling you, he looked just like me. Acted just like me, too. It felt like fuckin’ Freaky Friday.”
“Dean, don’t tell me—”
“Yeah, that’s what I thought, too,” he cut you off. “But no. Lisa said he’s not mine.”
“How do you know she’s not lying?” you asked. You finally processed the story Dean was telling you, and realization washed over you in tidal waves. “You could have a child. You might be his father. What the fuck.”
“Yeah, I know, I know,” he said. “It’s freakin’ me out, man. But that’s not all.”
“Dean, if this involves a paternity test that names you as a match, I’m gonna start freakin’ out,” you said.
“No, no, it doesn’t. At least, not yet,” he chuckled.
You glared at him.
He laughed. “Anyway, I think there really is a case here. One of those kids at the party was weird.”
“Yeah, Dean, kids are weird. Any other earth-shattering news I should be aware of?” you snorted.
Dean deadpanned at you. “You know what I mean. She wasn’t standin’ all the way upright—”
“Maybe she just has scoliosis—” you cut in.
Dean kept talking over you. “—And she kept glaring at everybody—”
“—I glare at everybody—” you continued.
“—And it’s the kid whose dad fell on the power saw.”
You considered for a moment. “Okay, maybe there is something happening. But it could also just be how her grief is manifesting.”
“Yeah, but (Y/N), all kinds of freaky accidents have been happening all over the neighborhood,” Dean explained further. “People fallin’ off ladders, drowning in hot tubs—”
“Okay, maybe you’re right,” you sighed.
“What’s your hold-up with all this?” he asked.
“Whaddya think, Dean,” you deadpanned.
“What, Lisa?” He seemed genuinely shocked.
“I just think we should leave this town in our rearview mirror. Y’know, between Gumby Girl and her kid that’s potentially yours— oh, god,” you muttered when you fully realized Dean might have a son.
“(Y/N), he’s probably not mine. I mean, she said he wasn’t,” Dean reminded you.
“Somehow, that’s not making me feel better,” you grumbled.
Dean pulled you down toward him and gently kissed your lips.
“Dean—” you tried, but he cut you off with another kiss. “Dean—” and he kissed you again, “—you can’t just—” another kiss, “distract me with this stuff—” another kiss, “—when we’re in the middle of a serious discussion.”
Dean kissed you once more and pulled you to straddle his hips. “It’s working, isn’t it?”
“Unfortunately,” you smiled against his lips.
When Dean tried to grind up into you, though, you suddenly jerked back from him.
He looked up at you in concern. “Are you okay?”
You shook your head, tears swimming in your eyes. “I— I’m sorry, I don’t know what’s—”
“It’s okay,” Dean assured you. “We don’t have to do anything. It’s alright.”
You laid down on Dean’s chest, closing your eyes and trying to steady your breathing. Dean kissed the top of your head and wrapped his arms around you to comfort you. Oh, how grateful you were to know him.
***
Later that day, you and Dean walked back to the Impala after investigating a few of the houses where accidents had happened recently. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary; no cold spots, no EMF, nothing resembling a creature’s lair. It was all very “Stepford” in Dean’s opinion.
When you’d almost reached the car, Dean abruptly grabbed your arm. You gasped slightly and turned to face the direction he was.
“That’s him,” Dean whispered. “That’s the kid.”
You looked ahead at a little boy with spiky brown hair wearing a canvas jacket sitting sadly on a park bench.
Dean slid his hand down your arm to your hand and pulled you along with him. “Hey, Ben,” he told the kid.
The boy looked up at Dean. “Hey. You were at my party.” Ben seemed to notice you for the first time. “ ‘Sup?” the little guy nodded at you, attempting to smirk through his apparent sadness.
‘Jesus, this really might be Dean’s kid,’ you thought.
“I'm Dean, this is (Y/N),” he said, sitting down next to Ben on the bench. You stood next to Dean cautiously. “Everything okay? Something wrong?” Dean asked Ben, who didn’t respond.
You noticed the empty gaming console case Ben was holding and looked out to the field to see a group of four boys playing with something that looked just about the size to fit the case.
“Is that your game they're playing with?” the older Winchester asked Ben.
The little boy wouldn’t look at you or Dean. “Ryan Humphrey borrowed it, and now, he won't give it back.”
Dean was immediately ready to beat up eight-year-olds. “Well, you want me to go—”
“No!” Ben exclaimed, grabbing Dean’s arm. “Don't go over there! Only bitches send a grown-up.”
Dean grinned. “You’re not wrong.”
This whole interaction was completely flooring you; rendering you unable to add anything to the conversation.
“And I am not a bitch,” Ben finished.
Dean pointed to a boy wearing long cargo shorts holding the gaming console. “Is that Humphrey? The one that needs to lay off the burgers?”
The little boy smiled and nodded.
Dean hummed.
“Dean, what are you—”
He ignored you and turned to Ben to talk to him in a hushed voice. You couldn’t quite hear what Dean was telling him to do, and you were puzzled when Ben got up from the bench and started walking over to the group of boys.
“They’re gonna eat that poor kid alive, dude, what were you thinking?” you chastised him, shoving his shoulder lightly.
“Just watch,” Dean urged.
Ben turned back around to the two of you, and Dean offered him a thumbs-up and a grin.
A moment later, Ben turned away from the bullies before whipping back around and kicking the boy holding his game straight between his legs twice.
“Dean, what the fuck,” you sighed, pinching the bridge of your nose.
Ben walked back to you and Dean, triumphantly smiling and holding his game. “Thanks! Dude, that was awesome!”
Suddenly, a gorgeous woman stormed up to you, Dean, and Ben. “Benjamin Isaac Braeden! What has gotten into you?!”
“Gumby Girl,” you realized.
Dean smacked your thigh lightly to get you to be quiet.
“He stole my game!” Ben tried to explain.
“So you kick him? Since when is—” she looked down at Dean and scoffed. “Did you tell my son to beat up that kid?”
“What?” Dean was still smiling. “Somebody had to teach him how to kick the bully in the nads.”
“Who asked you to teach him anything?” Lisa argued.
“You’re right, he’s sorry,” you said, trying to pull Dean away.
“What are you even still doing here? We had one weekend together a million years ago. You don't know me. And you have no business with my son,” Lisa raged, grabbing Ben’s hand to walk off with him. “Just leave us alone.”
“He will!” you asserted, to both Lisa and Dean.
Ben broke out of his mother’s grip and ran back to Dean, wrapping his arms around his legs in a tight hug.
“Thanks,” Ben smiled up at Dean.
Your heart melted and broke at the sight.
As Ben returned to his mother, you saw three children a few yards beyond them standing in a straight line and turning their heads in tandem. Dean seemed to have noticed, too, and the two of you decided to get out of there as quickly as possible.
When you got into the Impala, you couldn’t say a word.
Dean looked over at you. “What?”
“What do you mean, ‘what’?” you replied.
“You look like you’re suckin’ on a lemon. C’mon, talk to me,” he urged.
“He really does seem like your kid,” was all you could manage to say.
Dean sighed. “Yeah, I know.”
“And, uh, if that does end up being the case—”
“Whoa, what?” Dean cut you off. “Since when am I following up with that?”
You sighed. “I don’t know, Dean, if you are his father, the kid deserves to have you in his life.”
“Sweetheart, the best thing I can do for that kid is get the hell away from him,” Dean replied. “He doesn’t need to be anywhere near me or this life.”
“Why?” you said. “ ‘Cause you think you’d be bad at it? You were great with him today.— y'know, aside from encouraging assault.”
“Yeah, (Y/N), for two seconds,” he said. “Why are you pushing this anyway?”
You paused. “I don’t know, I thought it might just be good for you. Give you an opportunity to live out your last year in peace. Happy.”
Dean’s posture softened, and he said nothing for a moment. “Thanks, but no. I’d take you and huntin’ evil sons of bitches over Middle America any day.” He reached out to you and pulled you to him, placing a kiss to the side of your head.
***
When you arrived at the boys’ motel room, Sam was at his laptop researching.
“Somethin’s wrong with the kids in this town,” you told him as you took your jacket off.
Sam replied without looking away from his computer, “Yeah. Tell me about it. So, what do you know about changelings?”
“Evil monster babies?” Dean questioned.
“No, not babies,” you chimed in.
“They're kids,” Dean realized. “Creepy, ‘stare at you like you're lunch’ kids?”
Sam nodded. “There's one at every victim's house.”
“Oh, that’s just perfect,” you mumbled.
“What?” Sam questioned.
“We got a pile of missing kids being kept in a hole somewhere and a fuckton of changelings we gotta torch. Dean, where’s your kerosene?”
“Already on it,” he said, leaving the room.
“So, I’m guessing you talked things out,” Sam said once the door closed behind Dean.
“Oh, shut up,” you grumbled playfully.
“So… you’re not leaving?” Sam questioned.
“No. Not yet, anyway,” you said, tone becoming more serious. “I’ll be there to tell him ‘bye,’ but I won’t watch him get dragged to hell. I can’t do that, Sam.”
The younger Winchester paused. “I get it. Hopefully, we won’t have to.”
Dean came back into the room not a moment later holding his torch and grinning.
“You and your gadgets,” you laughed warmly.
“So, changelings can perfectly mimic children,” Sam began. “According to lore, they climb in the window, snatch the kid. Y'know, there were marks on the windowsill at one of the kid's houses. Looked to me like blood.”
“The changeling grabs a kid, assumes its form, joins the happy fam just for kicks?” Dean questioned.
“I wish that were the case,” you said. “Changelings feed on the mom’s synovial fluid. Sam, did you notice any strange bruising on their backs? It’d be just below the base of their neck?”
“Yeah, how’d you know that?” Sam asked you.
“It’s the typical spot they feed from,” you replied. “On the end of their creepy, face-hugger-from-Alien tongues, they have these little spines that extend through the body to reach all those spaces between the joints. Pretty gnarly injuries.”
“Right,” Sam nodded. “Changelings can drain them for a few weeks before mom finally croaks.”
“And then, there's dad and the babysitter,” Dean added, referencing two of the victims.
“Yeah. Seems like anyone who gets between the changeling and its food source ends up dead,” Sam finished.
“And fire’s the only way to kill ‘em,” you said, nodding at Dean’s torch. “See why I was worried about all this?”
“Yeah,” Dean huffed. “Great.”
“According to lore, they stash the kids underground somewhere,” Sam continued, “I don't know why, but if it's true, the real kids might be out there.”
“We better start looking,” Dean asserted, seeming to have something on his mind.
“What?” you asked.
He hesitated before answering you with a question. “Any kid in the neighborhood is vulnerable?”
You nodded.
“We gotta make a stop. I wanna check on someone,” Dean told you, and you knew he meant Ben.
Dean held your gaze as Sam began to protest. “Well Dean, if the real kids are still alive, we don't have time. We—”
“We have to,” Dean stated firmly.
***
Throughout the drive to Lisa’s house, you tried your best to remain calm. You weren’t truly worried about the potential that Ben could’ve been kidnapped or by the fact that Dean was upset, it was the thought of Lisa and Ben potentially taking Dean away from you. You knew your fear was irrational and maybe even a bit toxic, but you still worried that maybe Dean was still attracted to Lisa. Or maybe Dean was Ben’s dad and would be obligated to see and spend time around the two of them. The thought nearly made you throw up while you watched Dean knock on Lisa’s door.
You saw Lisa yelling at him, and Dean ran back over to the Impala seeming incredibly worried. “They took Ben. He's changed,” Dean explained, hurriedly getting into the car.
“What?! Are you sure?” Sam questioned.
“Yeah, I'm sure. I checked his windowsill,” the older brother nodded.
“Blood?”
“I don't think it is blood, and I think I know where the kids are.”
***
Dean drove quickly toward a house under construction with a large mound of red dirt sitting on the lawn outside of it. The exterior of the home was almost finished, and the “For Sale” sign on the lawn was stained partially by the dirt.
“Red dirt,” Sam noted, bending down to inspect the sign. “That's what was on the window.”
“Ah, you take the front,” Dean told Sam. “(Y/N), take the left side; I got the other.”
You nodded and set off, gun and flashlight drawn. You crept around the corners of the house until you came to a set of doors angled down to a cellar. You jumped down into it and found small, empty cages lining the walls.
“What do you think you're doing?” a voice suddenly asked from behind you.
You looked up at the entrance of the cellar to see a redheaded woman glaring at you.
“You’re staying here until I can get the police here,” the woman said, pulling out her phone.
“Wait, wait,” you tried. “I’m sorry, I was just looking for a place to stay for the night.”
“Then why do you have a gun?” she hissed.
“Self-defense,” you replied coolly. “Please, I’m sorry, I’ll go.”
The redhead tsked and shook her head. “I don’t think you will.” She stood from the entrance to the cellar and closed both doors on you.
“Wait, no!” You rushed toward the doors, but it was too late. She had latched them shut by the time you got to them. Immediately, you started banging on the doors and trying to get them open. You turned around to one of the cages and picked it up, hurling it at the closed doors. You tried again and again, using the cage to hit the door, your shoulder to slam into it, and even tried using a piece of wire from the cage to take off the hinges, but nothing worked. Helplessly, you banged on the door and screamed for Sam and Dean.
Suddenly, you began to smell smoke.
‘Oh, fuck,’ you thought, breath quickening with urgency. You slammed your body into the doors as hard as you could manage.
Across the cellar from you, the flames began to catch the ceiling, creating a gaping hole in the floor for debris and fiery planks of wood to fall through. You slammed into the doors once more, screaming for Dean.
The smoke in the room began to fill your lungs and forced a cough out of you. You screamed Dean’s name again hoarsely, turning around briefly to see the fire had spread incredibly close to you. If you didn’t get out soon, the whole building would collapse on your head.
“Dean, please!” you screamed.
Suddenly, you heard the door to the cellar unlatching.
“(Y/N)?!”
“Dean!” you cried.
He threw the doors open and pulled you out of the smoldering building. He quickly checked you over for injuries, cupping the sides of your face. “You okay?”
“I’m fine. Let’s go!” You grabbed Dean’s hand and pulled him around to the front of the house, running as fast as your legs would carry you as flames taunted you dangerously close to your face. You ran across the street to where Sam was standing with a crowd of terrified children and Ben.
“Sam!” you exclaimed. “Everybody okay?”
“Yeah, yeah, I think so,” Sam replied.
Ben seemed shaken up, but he was trying to comfort the other kids around him. You smiled down at him. Dean was exactly the same way. No matter what was going on in his own head, he always checked on the needs of others first. It was one of the things you loved most about him; he was always showing you what compassion truly looked like.
***
When the fire department had come and the children— all except for one— had been returned home, you and the boys drove Ben back to Lisa’s house.
“Ben?!” the woman called, running out of the house. “Baby, are you okay?”
Ben ran to his mom and hugged her. “I'm okay, Mom.”
“Oh, my god,” Lisa sobbed. “What the hell just happened?”
“I'll explain everything if you want me to,” Dean started, “but, trust me, you probably don't. The important thing is that Ben's safe.”
“Thank you,” Lisa surged forward and hugged Dean. “Thank you.”
Dean seemed hesitant for which you were thankful, but still returned her hug.
Ben turned to head into his house, and Lisa moved to follow. She turned back to Dean apprehensively. “Do you— wanna come inside?” she asked.
“Uh, no thanks,” Dean replied. “We, uh, gotta hit the road.”
Lisa nodded, deflating slightly.
“But… you’re a hundred-percent sure Ben’s not mine, right?” Dean asked.
She nodded and smiled. “You're off the hook. I did a blood test when he was a baby.”
“Oh,” Dean replied. “Good.”
“I... I swear you look disappointed,” Lisa noted.
“Yeah, I don't know. It's weird, you know your life... I mean, this house and a kid…” he trailed off. “It's not my life. Never will be. Some stuff happened to me recently, and, uh... Anyway, a guy in my situation— you start to think, y’know. I'm gonna be gone one day, and what am I leaving behind besides a car?”
“I don't know. Ben may not be your kid, but,” Lisa began, “he wouldn't be alive if it wasn't for you. That's a lot if you ask me.”
Dean nodded and turned back to you and his brother who stood by the car watching silently. “You know, just for the record…” He turned back to Lisa. “You got a great kid. I would've been proud to be his dad.”
Lisa smiled at him, as did you, before Dean headed back to the driver’s seat. For once, Sam let you sit in the passenger’s seat, and you popped a Faith No More cassette into the Impala’s built-in player.
***
A few hours into the drive, Sam had fallen asleep. You and Dean were left holding each other’s hand in silent support; a reassurance the other was there and okay.
“Did you mean what you said earlier? To Lisa?” you murmured.
“About what?”
“Leaving nothing behind except a car?” you continued.
“Aw, c’mon—” Dean sighed.
“No, Dean. That’s crap,” you quietly said. “You have a legacy. Everything you’ve ever done has been out of love and compassion. That is who you are. That’s what you’re leaving behind.”
Dean’s eyes flicked toward you, his expression unreadable. He was quite literally the only person to ever confuse your intuitive, watchful eye with his thoughtful, complicated expressions.
The older Winchester turned his eyes back to the road and brought your entwined hands to his lips, kissing the backs of your knuckles.
You reveled in the feeling, knowing the feeling of his lips on your skin in this moment, the pattern of Sam’s breathing steadily in the backseat, and the way his hand felt in yours would be a memory you’d need to hold onto when he was gone. Maybe that way, you’d be able to find peace; knowing that not even death could completely tear Dean away from you.
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