#past dean/lisa

[kirathehyrulian]

A pleathora of cursed but practical carfucking knowledge waiting to be uncovered. 📦

For more edits: AO3 spncarfuckers series [click here] or myedits tag [click here]

[zepskies]

Hi Zep!! I love your writing so much!

How do you think Dean/Beau/ Ben would react to a surprise pregnancy and if the reader was unsure of keeping it?

Hi there! Aw thank you, anon. 💜

I know you asked me this a while back, but to be honest this is a touchy subject, so I wasn't sure if I wanted to answer it. All I can do is give my honest thoughts based on what I know of these three characters, with all their flaws and personality traits and humanity that goes along with that.

Headcanon: How Dean Winchester, Beau Arlen, and Soldier Boy (Ben) would react to a surprise pregnancy.

(And if you weren't sure about keeping it.)

Tags/Warnings: Established relationship, angst, hurt/comfort, fluff.

Dean Winchester

Once Dean gets past the initial shock, and the inevitable "how did this happen??!", he remembers just how he could've gotten you pregnant. Part of him wants to smile at the memory.

Good times.

He slowly realizes that he's...he's happy.

He never thought that he'd have any piece of "normal" after the way things ended with Lisa. Hell, he never thought he'd find what he had with you, let alone have a kid.

He hasn't told you this, because he's locked it deep within himself and hasn't allowed himself to open that door, but the part of Dean that considered what he would leave behind on this earth if he died--the part of him that wanted a family, is still there, beating in his heart. Maybe now he's finally getting his chance.

But he focuses on you.

He gauges your reaction, and his urge to smile falls away when he realizes you're more nervous and freaked out than excited.

Dean sits down with you, taking your hands to calm you down. He suppresses his own feelings on this for a moment, and he asks you the important question.

"What do you wanna do?"

You look up into his eyes, and you really don't know. The hunting lifestyle you both lead, how can you bring a child into this? Would that be right? Are you even ready to be a mom? Are you even capable?

"I don't know if I can..." you confess. "Dean, I don't know if I'm ready."

It breaks Dean's heart, though he tries not to show it.

For once, he thinks hard about what he's going to say next.

Eventually, he takes a deep breath and squeezes your hands.

"I get it," he says. "Whatever you want to do here, I'll back you up. But for the record, I'm right here with you. I might be screwed to hell in ways that I can't even...but I got no doubts about you, sweetheart. And I know we could do this together..."

If that's what you want. The rest is implied through his eyes. You read it there, clear as day.

You try blinking your tears away. When that fails, you sink into Dean's warm embrace and let him hold you. You press a lingering kiss against his prickly cheek in a wordless thank you. And I love you.

For now, you know that he's with you, and he's not going to let you go.

Beau Arlen

Like Dean, Beau would go through similar rounds of Oh, dear sweet Lord, and holy shit.

He thought you and him had been careful, damn it! But, apparently he's more potent than he thought he was.

For a few moments, it's just pure unadulterated silence between you two...until he looks over at you and tries to figure out what you're thinking.

He's got a half-grown daughter, sixteen going on seventeen. He's approaching his mid-40s. He hadn't even been thinking about the possibility of another kid...at least not yet.

Though he can admit, the thought of having kids with you makes him smile.

"So, uh..." he trails, earning your teary-eyed expression. He softens. "Aw, darlin'. Come 'ere."

He wraps you up in his arms and holds you close. You bury your face into his neck and sniffle, holding onto him tightly.

You love Beau. You truly, truly do, but you don't know if you're ready for this. You had plans, things you wanted to do, things you feel you have to do.

"I don't know, Beau. I don't know what to do," you admit. You don't want to hurt him, even though you know that you are. You can see it in his eyes when you pull back to look at him, though he tries to hide it.

"I'm not going anywhere. You know that, right?" he says. His voice is low and steady. He rubs your back to try and calm you down.

It starts to work. You nod and heave a shaky sigh.

Then you steel yourself, and you work past the fear making your chest tight to ask him an important question.

"What if I tell you that I'm not ready?" you ask.

For once in his life, Beau is quiet. He takes a long beat. So long that your heart begins to break.

But he does answer.

"Then I'd tell you...that I love you," he says. "That I'm with you. That I'll be with you, come whatever. But I gotta tell you...I got no problem being an old-ass dad. If I've got double-knee replacements in my future, then that's just what I gotta do. I'll break my hand building the crib and the porch swing. Hell, I'll build a whole damn tree house."

You can't help but break into giggles through your tears, in the way only Beau manages to accomplish. You stroke his cheek and rest easier against him.

Your heart eases quite a lot just being in Beau's supportive embrace.

Soldier Boy (Ben)

Ben isn't all that shocked when you tell him that you're pregnant.

His surprise quickly fades into a pleased grin, and he pulls you into his lap to kiss you. Fucking finally...

But he stops short, realizing that you're not as happy as he expected you to be. Actually, you look anxious, and even scared.

"What's the matter?" he asks, his voice deep and direct.

You hesitate to meet his gaze, but you gain the courage to do so, resting a hand on his chest.

"Ben, I wanted to be honest with you, and so I am. I'm just...I'm not sure about this."

His brows furrow. "What's not to be sure about?"

Your gaze drops from his, making him frown. Upset begin to rise in his chest, disguised as anger. When you rise to get off his lap, he grasps your hand to stop you from walking away from him.

"Hey..." But then it hits him. The realization dawns, and deep inside, it hurts him. "You better not be saying what I think you're fucking saying."

Tears begin to well up in your eyes. Your heart clenches tight in pain just watching him work it out in his mind. You try to tug your hand out of his.

"Ben, please. Don't make this harder for me--"

He stands, but doesn't let go of you.

"What, you think I won't take care of you? You think I wouldn't take care of my own kid?" he says angrily.

"That's not it!" you say, shaking your head. "I just need some time to think, for Christ's sake!"

"What's there to think about? If you give a shit about us, about what we have? What, all of that isn't fucking good enough for you?" Ben says incredulously, gesturing at the home you two live in, and the life he thought you were happy with. "What the fuck is the problem?"

You look up at him in frustration with tears in your eyes, slipping down your cheeks. You shake your head at him.

This," you say. "This is the problem."

This time, when you tug sharply against his hold, Ben actually lets you go. You walk away from him and slam the door to your bedroom.

Ben just stands there for a while. The silence is only broken when he can hear you in the bedroom, trying to muffle your weeping.

Something unsavory churns in Ben's chest, squeezing tight around his heart. It's the sting of regret, both unfamiliar and irritating.

Blowing out a sigh, Ben cards his fingers through his hair. He can either stand here like an idiot, or he can do something worthwhile.

He goes to you. You haven't locked the door (not that that would matter), so he opens it. He sees you burrowed under the covers, laying on your side away from him. You turn away from him again when he approaches.

Almost hesitantly, he sits down beside you, smoothing a hand over your hair.

"Sweetheart, you're gonna have everything you need. You don't need to worry about anything," he says.

"I told you, it's not about that," you say sharply. "It's not about money, or being comfortable."

Ben endeavors to be calm. He counts to five in his mind, then he squeezes your shoulder, taking pains to be gentle.

"Then what's it about?"

After a beat, you finally turn around to face him.

"I just don't know if I'm ready for this," you admit. "We haven't been together that long, and I..."

Ben shakes his head. He strokes your cheek with his thumb.

"Don't worry about that," he says. He hesitates to say anything more.

The truth is, he cares about you more than he's been willing to express. The thought of you leaving him, or even not going through with this pregnancy--both cut him down to the bone.

Is it that you don't trust him? Do you not trust yourself? He doesn't understand all of what's in your head, but if the reason you're not sure about having his kid really is because of him, then...

His curled fingers brush along your jaw and prop under your chin, until your eyes meet his.

"Look, whatever reservations you have about me, just know this," he says. "I'm not going anywhere."

You sigh softly. You know how long Ben has wanted to be a father. You know he wants a family. You don't want to take that away from him, but you also need to protect yourself.

You consider his words carefully, as well as his face, and you see that he actually means it. You believe him.

It doesn't take away other concerns you have, but it's a start.

You sit up in bed, letting the sheets slip away from you. You reach up a hand to cup his bearded cheek.

He lets you guide him down to kiss you, his arm wrapping around you strong, but noticeably gentle. Tears sting behind your closed eyelids.

Maybe he is ready to be a father, and a better man.

AN: 😮‍💨 This one was angsty, huh? I think Ben's part was the one that held me up the most. It still assumes he's had some character growth from having a "real," actually caring relationship, but I tried not to sugarcoat what I think his reaction would be.

Let me know what you think! 💜

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[witchy-worm]

I had the pleasure of claiming @destielpiebitch's incredible fic Paging Doctor Novak in this years DCBB! I've always loved a medical story of any variety, and I have a soft spot for nurse!Dean, so I was immediately drawn to this fic when I saw the claims gallery. It was such a delight to work with this author, and I feel truly honoured that I got to make the art for this incredible fic!

Go check it out here: LINK TO FIC

This fic also inspired me to make chapter headers for the first time! I made the stethoscope and clipboard in illustrator and added the watercolour-y background colours in photoshop.

Banner and fic info behind the cut!

Title: Paging Doctor Novak

Author: Salamitsunami1

Artist: WitchyWorm

Rating: Explicit

Pairings: Dean/Cas, past Dean/Lisa, past Dean/Rhonda

Length: 51,314

Warnings: Graphic and accurate depictions of medicine, medical emergencies, and medical procedures. Past unfaithful Dean. Minor character death

Tags: Rom-com, Top Castiel/Bottom Dean Winchester, Happy Ending, Hospital AU, Sexual Tension, Doctor Sexy M.D., Getting Together

Posting Date: October 31, 2024

Summary: Dean Winchester is many things — a nurse, an in-charge on the medical-surgical floor, and a big fan of the ladies. What he’s not is a commitment kind of guy, and he’s definitely not a night duty kind of guy. Things change when a hook-up-gone-wrong gets him lumped on night duty for an entire month, and to make matters worse, he’s been lumped on night duty with a brand new intern. As with all interns, Doctor Castiel Novak is cocky at best and dangerous at worst, but for some reason, and maybe it’s just the way his ass looks in those teal scrubs, Dean’s got a soft spot for the guy. Or a really hard one. Either way, it’s not long before Dean’s new roster is the least of his concerns; he wants that dorky doctor guy, and fuck, he wants him for real.

[sam-of-course-is-an-abomination]

i will now prove to you that the relationship between dean and castiel exists and it's real canon:

1. sammy and dean are soulmates.

2. when dean was dying, sammy could feel him.

3. dean sold his soul for sammy.

4. dean was ready to die along with sammy who was croatoan infected.

5. siren was a copy of sammy.

6. dean left lisa and ben for sammy.

7. dean died to face death and get sammy's soul back. the soul that castiel seems to have left in the cage.

8. dean inhaled poisonous smoke to die with sammy.

9. dean forgot absolutely everything and even his name, but he still remembered sammy.

10. for dean, paradise isn't perfect unless sammy's there.

11. sammy was the only one who could talk dean out of his suicide plan.

12. sammy, possessed by lucifer, took control of his body for dean.

13. sammy was willing to trade his own life and go to hell for dean.

14. dean and sammy would do anything for each other.

15. dean told castiel to leave the bunker, even though he became human, for sammy.

16. castiel betrayed dean and sammy.

17. castiel broke down the wall in sammy's head.

18. the show isn't about romantic relationships.

19. dean and sammy will always choose each other over the world.

20. "because don't you dare think that there is anything past or present that i would put in front of you"

sorry for my bad english.

[marvelfanfn2187a113]

A Father’s Love?

Sam Winchester & daughter!reader, Dean Winchester & niece!reader

Requested by Anonymous

Synopsis: You (9-10) are left alone with your dad, who currently is missing his soul, and it doesn’t go well

Update: part 2 is here

“Uncle De, please don’t go.” Your voice was low as you tried to keep your dad—who was in the bathroom—from hearing. “I-I don’t wanna be alone with him.”

Dean felt awful for leaving you like this, but he had no choice. You hadn’t been comfortable with Sam since the moment you’d found out he was back—the same time Dean did. You’d been living with Dean, Lisa, and Ben, and when Sam revealed that he’d been back all along, you instantly didn’t trust him. Dean had been angry, sure, but somehow he just hadn’t seen what you had—that your dad wasn’t really himself.

Of course, eventually the three of you—including Sam, who hadn’t been sure what was wrong with him—discovered the truth: he was soulless. As soon as Dean find out, he felt horrible for not understanding your hesitance before. Now that he knew, he tried to avoid leaving you alone with Sam whenever possible, especially since he didn’t really trust Sam without a soul.

But sometimes it was unavoidable.

“Kiddo, you know I don’t have a choice,” Dean said.

“I don’t like it here with him,” you insisted, refusing to let go of Dean’s sleeve. “He-he’s like daddy’s evil twin or something.”

Dean swallowed. “Sweetheart, he’s not evil, ok? He’s just a little weird right now.”

“Daddy’s weird,” you argued. “This guy is bad.”

Dean ran a hand over his face.

“Baby, please. You know I have to go. He’s gonna be good, I promise, and soon enough he’s gonna be back to regular-old dad, I swear.”

Dean left without another word, and the silence that hung in the motel room was deafening.

“Dean left?” Sam asked as he exited the bathroom. You ignored his question—he didn’t actually care, after all—and you went to sit on your bed. You could feel Sam’s eyes on you as you went. The motel stayed the worst kind of silence as you pretended to read while Sam just stared at you.

“What do you want?” You demanded finally, dropping the book. Your voice was nowhere near as firm as you wanted it to be.

“You hate me.” It wasn’t a question.

“You hated me first.” Unlike Sam, you couldn’t look at him while you accused him. Even without looking at the shell that used to be your dad, you could feel tears pricking at the back of your eyes as you waited for him to speak.

“I don’t hate you,” he huffed. “I mean, I don’t particularly care about you, but I don’t hate you.”

Somehow, apathy was even worse.

“Just leave me alone,” you mumbled. You shouldn’t have been surprised when Sam shrugged and obeyed. You felt your eyes drifting to him as he pulled a beer from the fridge and took it to his bed. His eyes caught yours and he frowned.

“What? You said leave you alone.”

“Dad wouldn’t have listened,” you mumbled, but Sam heard you anyway.

“Well, I’m not your dad,” Sam shrugged. “I’m not Sam, not anymore.”

“Ok.” You turned to face away from him. “Now I mean it. Leave me be.”

But Sam was suddenly intrigued, and he ignored your request.

“You and Dean wanted me to stop pretending to be him. This is just me not pretending.”

“Doesn’t mean I have to like you,” you said, your eyes downcast.

“Exactly, and I don’t like you either. I mean, you’re kind of a brat.”

“I told you to leave me alone,” you said, finally looking up.

“You beg Dean to keep you with him all the time like I’m gonna hurt you or something, it’s pathetic.” Sam seemed to be getting a real kick out of finally saying all that he’d been thinking over the past few weeks.

“I said leave me alone!” You yelled at him, but he didn’t listen.

“I mean, I remember caring about you when I was that other guy, I just…I just can’t remember why.”

“Go away! Leave me be!” You were on your feet now, shoving and pushing at Sam, but the giant man didn’t even flinch.

“I mean your just a little pest!”

“Stop it! Just go away!”

Crying, overwhelmed, and so unbelievably hurt, you started to slap at the guy who used to be your dad, smacking his neck, his face, whatever you could reach. Suddenly, Sam wasn’t having so much fun anymore.

“Hey!” Though your slaps had little effect on him, one harsh blow from Sam had you flat on your back, dazed and breathing hard. You could still feel the impact of his palm against your cheek, and you couldn’t scramble away from him fast enough.

“If you’re gonna give it out, you should be prepared to take it,” Sam muttered gruffly.

You were on your feet in an instant, and you were out the door before you’d even made the decision to leave.

“Hey!” You could hear your dad—no, not your dad—following after you, and you barely made it five steps out of the room before his arms were around you and dragging you back in.

“Stop it!” You were crying now, and you couldn’t remember when you’d started. “Let me go!”

“If I lose you, Dean’s never gonna help me,” Sam grunted, shoving you back into the room and closing the door behind him. “So how about we all just calm down here.” It wasn’t a request; it was a command. “You don’t hit me, I won’t hit you.”

That would’ve sounded reasonable enough, if not for one thing—your desperate smacks to his skin had done nothing to him, they hadn’t even hurt, but you could already feel the side of your face swelling where he’d hit you. But you didn’t argue with Sam. You didn’t even speak. You just sat on your bed and turned your back on him, pulling your legs up to your chest and burying your face in your knees so you could cry in peace.

Sam left you alone for several minutes, but his sudden hand on your shoulder had you flinching back violently and scrambling away from him.

“Would you calm down?” Sam huffed as he let go. He was holding out a frozen bag of peas. “Put this on it.”

You took it hesitantly and slowly pressed the cold bag to your face.

“Look…” Sam’s hand was back on your shoulder, only now his giant fingers were right at the junction between your neck and your shoulder, and they were squeezing way too hard. “Dean would kill me if he figured out what happened, ok? And he certainly wouldn’t be helping me anymore. So maybe…maybe you just tell him you fell in the shower or something, ok?” He said it like a question, but the grip on your shoulder and the ice in his eyes told the truth; he expected you to lie to Uncle Dean, and you didn’t know what he’d do if you didn’t.

“Ok,” you whispered, and his hand was gone in an instant.

“Ok,” he said firmly.

Then he turned his back on you and left you alone to cry.

…

The swelling was down by the time Dean returned, but you’d looked in the mirror long enough to see a black and purple bruise forming along almost one whole side of your face.

You resisted the urge to run to your uncle the moment he stepped in the door—if you acted scared, he would figure it out, and Sam would be mad. Instead, you stayed where you were with your head down, your hair covering most of the bruise.

“Hey,” Dean greeted. “You guys ok?”

“We’re fine,” Sam said simply. You’d been hoping that he would lie for you, so you didn’t have to, but he seemed content to leave things quiet.

“You sure?” Dean was watching you now, noticing your uncharacteristic silence.

“I’m ok,” your voice was hoarse from crying, and Dean wasn’t fooled.

“What’s wrong?” Dean was in front of you in an instant, brushing your hair behind your ears. His hand recoiled when he saw the bruise. “What happened?”

“I—“ you looked up to face Dean, and your voice caught in your throat when you saw Sam staring daggers at you from behind your uncle’s shoulder. “I f-fell.”

“Fell?” Dean frowned.

You nodded. “In-in the shower.”

“Sam.” Dean’s voice was dangerously quiet. “Out. Now.”

“Me?” When had Sam become such a good actor? He looked as innocent as ever. “What did I do?”

Despite his acting, Dean wasn’t buying it for a minute.

“Get out! I need to talk to her alone.”

The moment Sam was out the door, Dean was tilting your chin up with a feather-light hand at your chin.

“He hit you, didn’t he.” Dean wasn’t asking.

“I fell,” you lied, the tears in your eyes giving you away.

“Don’t lie for him,” Dean pleaded. “Don’t do that.”

“Don’t kick him out,” you pleaded. “We-we have to help him get his soul back. This isn’t him, Uncle Dean.”

“I know it’s not,” Dean sighed. “But I need you to be safe.”

“I’ll be safe when my dad is back.”

…

“You stay away from her.” Dean didn’t give Sam a chance to speak when he let him back into the room.

“Fine.” Sam was done lying—it hadn’t done any good.

“And if you ever touch her again, you’re gone, understand?”

Sam didn’t look happy, but he couldn’t argue.

“I understand.”

…

You slept in Dean’s bed that night—you hadn’t shared a bed with your father since he came back soulless—and Sam went out to do whatever it was that he did while you guys slept. Apparently being soulless meant you didn’t sleep.

“Are you ok?” Dean asked. “And don’t lie to me.”

“It doesn’t hurt so bad anymore,” you mumbled. “I just…I just miss him.”

Dean pulled you into his arms as you started to cry.

“I know, sweetheart. I miss him too. We’re gonna get him back, ok? I promise.”

“Ok Uncle Dean.”

Taglist:

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[sorryitsmyfirstdayonearth]

Payback (Dean Winchester x female reader)

When Sam goes into the Cage, Dean leaves you behind for a shot at a normal life. But you can’t wait to see him again.

Read it on AO3

My 2024 Kinktober series

18+. 2k words. Cheating. Rough sex. Sorry, Lisa.

You walk into the nearly empty bar, dressed exactly the way you need to be to get what you want, and when you see Dean sit in the booth at the back, a pleasant shiver runs through you. You catch his eye and slowly walk towards him.

He looks different, just enough to be noticeable. Maybe a little softer around the edges, but more than that, cleaned up. It’s not flannel and an old leather jacket anymore, but a nice shirt that is actually, honest to God, tucked into his pants. Good haircut, clean shave.

All the things he needs to make him look like he’s just a good, decent average Joe.

“Hey stranger,” you say with a smile when you reach the table. Dean grins up at you, and you wonder for a second if he’ll get up, hug you. The thought makes your skin prickle, so you sit down quickly opposite him. He has a beer in front of him and waves to the waitress for another.

“So what brings you to my neck of the woods?” he says, leaning back. You shrug like it’s whatever, before you answer.

“Looks like a Wendigo,” you say, just before the waitress puts your beer in front of you and you nod at her. Dean narrows his eyes.

“Wendigo?” he asks. “Down here?” You take a sip, lick your lips.

“I thought the same thing,” you reply, adjusting yourself in your seat, not missing the quick look Dean shoots at your breasts. “Maybe it likes the climate.” Dean huffs.

“So what do you need my help for?” he asks, watching you intently. You shake your head.

“No help,” you reply. “Not with the case, anyway. But I don’t have a good source for Anasazi symbols, and I thought you might still have some documentation lying around.” You take another sip, then tilt your head. “You and Sam hunted one a few years ago, right?”

You don’t miss the slight tensing of Dean’s jaw, the subtle twitch in his hand. Mentioning his brother is a dangerous line to cross.

“Yeah, I might have some stuff,” he says, then takes a long sip, stares at the table. You nod, still watching him.

“So how are you doing?” you finally say. Dean looks up at you, runs his hand over his mouth, looking almost like himself again for a second.

“Good,” he says, after just a second of thinking about it. A second that holds a world of meaning.

“You enjoying your little suburban dream life?” you say, grinning at him over the rim of your bottle to take the edge out of what you’re saying. Dean gives a one-sided grin, raises his eyebrows.

“Not too shabby,” he replies. “Sure has its advantages.”

“Right,” you say, tone suggestive. “Like waking up next to your hot, domesticated girlfriend every day?” You frown. “What was her name? Lena? Lizzy?”

“Lisa,” Dean says, voice firm, like he knows damn well that you know. You let your features soften, swallow.

“Sorry,” you say, voice quiet. “I don’t mean to be an ass about it.” Dean shakes his head a little.

“It’s fine,” he says. “I don’t expect you to be happy for me.”

“I am happy for you, Dean,” you say, leaning forward a little. “I really am, okay?” Dean looks down at the table, shame on his face.

“I wouldn’t blame you if you weren’t, considering how I left,” he mutters. You press your lips together, for a moment. Try to control your voice.

“Well, that’s all in the past,” you answer. Dean nods, still having a hard time looking at you, takes another sip.

"Yeah," he says, and nothing else.

“But do you ever miss it?” you ask after a little while. Dean looks at you, opens his mouth, then closes it again.

He knows just like you what a sick thing it would be to say yes. He misses his brother, sure, but what kind of freak would miss the dangerous, horrible, violent life of hunting when he has a warm bed and a pretty house to hide in, a family, a job, neighbors to have barbecues with. What kind of freak, indeed.

“Come on,” you say, egging him on. “Some of it was good.” Dean chuckles, but you can tell he feels a little uncomfortable.

“Like that time in New Mexico,” you continue. “The vamp nest?”

Dean slowly looks back at you. Sure, you’re talking about the case, the one where the two of you had to hack and slash your way through an entire family of vampires. But afterwards, still covered in guts and blood, you fucked so roughly that you’re not sure if you had more bruises from the hunt or the sex.

You see Dean swallow, telling you he’s thinking about the exact same thing. You press your tongue against the inside of your teeth, Dean’s eyes moving to your mouth.

He can pretend all he wants. He can wake up early and go to work and sit at a dinner table and hold hands in public until he’s blue in the face. But the fact is, he still picked the booth at the back of the bar, the one from which he can see all the exits. If you were a betting woman, you’d put money on the belief that he has a knife tugged into his boot or his waistband. That he’s keeping a record of those Anasazi symbols somewhere in his girlfriend’s house, just in case he needs them again.

This is Dean Winchester. He’ll never change. And just because he left you in the dust, abandoned you the moment he lost Sam and moved into all that soft, domestic lightness, it doesn’t mean that the man you know isn’t still in there somewhere. You can see him now, hungrily staring back at you, like a predator about to pounce.

“I have a room,” you say, not breaking eye contact. “Just down the street.”

“I can’t,” Dean says, voice raspy with how hard he has to force it out.

“Come on, Dean,” you say, already breathing hard. “For old time’s sake.”

Dean basically throws you against the door the moment you close it behind you. He kisses you so angrily and roughly that it would terrify a weaker woman. But not you.

You press your hand against his cock through the fabric of his pants so hard that he winces, grabs your wrist, twists it behind your back and slams his lips against you again. You tear at each other’s clothes like maniacs, and you bring your mouth to his neck.

“No marks,” he pants and you nearly laugh at him. What a fucking fool.

Both naked, you push Dean down on the bed, but he grabs your arms, pulls you down and your back hits the mattress so hard it knocks the air out of you. He’s on you the next second.

While you’re stroking his cock, Dean’s hand wanders over your ass, then to your asshole. He fingers it and you gasp, and he kisses you again. Dean doesn’t have any condoms on him, so maybe he really has changed, but you’re carrying.

He pushes into you in one rough stroke, making you whimper. He shushes you, immediately picks a quick rhythm. A life of hunting has made you crave the pain and damage, the hurt just a spice that makes the pleasure all the more delicious.

Dean fucks your pussy first and then flips you over, presses into your ass, as you whine and mewl. He goes slower, fingers gripping your waist so hard you think he’ll rip through you. He pants at your tightness, sounds downright desperate. You bet Lisa doesn’t let him go there.

Your orgasm hits you like a ton of bricks, and Dean keeps fucking you through it roughly, and because he knows what you like, remembers, he wraps his hand over your mouth, but he can barely contain the sounds you’re making. You suck one of his fingers into your mouth, wrapping your tongue around it.

Dean pulls out, turns you around again. He presses your legs high, presses back into your ass and then kisses you again. He turned you around so he can look at you. It stirs something deep in you, something you need to press down. What you used to have, that clear understanding of each other, a closeness that despite the fact you fucked like animals, you’ve never had with anyone else. And he left.

He left to go to some woman he spent one night with years ago. Left you like you were just some hook up and nothing more, but now he wants to look at your face while he sodomizes you. It makes you want to scream and thrash and cry. But you push it down.

Dean comes and you scratch your nails down his back, and he’s too in the moment to stop you. It’s not hard enough to leave a mark, not really, but you like to think he’ll feel you there for a while.

He drops on his back, breathing hard, eyes closed. For a moment, it’s quiet in the room, only your twin panting breaking the quiet. Then Dean rolls over to you, goes to kiss you, but you pull your head back.

He raised his hand to hold you, and when you get out of bed, he still has it raised, but he looks confused. You grab your panties, pull them on, then find your bra. You hear it when Dean’s hand drops onto the bed. He watches you for a moment, not saying anything.

“So, I’m gonna see if I can find those symbols,” he says, voice awkward. You frown and turn around just as you’re pulling your shirt over your head.

“What symbols?” you ask. Dean opens his mouth, and then he understands.

“There is no case,” he says, voice low and he swallows. You shrug.

“Wasn’t sure you’d see me otherwise,” you say, picking up your jeans and you step into them. You pull them over your ass, button them, locate your socks.

“Why?” Dean asks. You take your time to answer, step into your shoes, before looking back at Dean.

“Maybe I just missed you, lover,” you say, voice dripping with disdain and sarcasm. “Maybe I just wanted to see what your brand spanking new life is like.” You straighten, look at Dean, let your eyes run up and down his body that’s only covered by the cheap motel blanket.

“Looks like it’s really working for you,” you say with the fakest earnestness you can muster. You see Dean clench his jaw. He actually looks a little scary.

“You bitch,” he mutters and you actually laugh this time.

“I’m gonna go,” you say, as you’re putting on your jacket, reach for your duffel. “You can stay, maybe take a shower.” You can’t hide the smirk on your face.

“Probably best if you don’t smell like sweat and come and another woman’s perfume when you go home to little Lisa.” Dean’s nostrils flare. Time to get out.

You sling the duffel over your shoulder, and open the door, but not without throwing another look over your shoulder at Dean. He’s staring at the foot of the bed now, slow realization of what he’s done seeping into him.

“Bye, baby,” you say and his eyes flicker up to you just before you close the door behind you.

Dean might have left the life, might have left you, for whatever fucking PG alternative he has in that pretty little house of his. But he’s never gonna stop being him, not really. Deep down, he’ll always be down in the muck with you, no matter how clean he tries to get.

And all you wanted was to make sure he doesn’t forget that.

[wendichester]

˚ · .˚ ༘ void,

summary. seeing you after so many years is harder than dean had ever expected.

pairing. dean winchester x reader ; angst

wordcount. 792

The Impala rumbles softly, the low growl of the engine almost soothing against the tense silence inside. Dean grips the wheel tightly, his knuckles white against the leather, his jaw clenched. Sam sits in the passenger seat, flipping through the case file with a furrowed brow, oblivious to his brother’s quiet turmoil.

The brothers are heading into a small, sleepy town, the kind Dean swears is the perfect breeding ground for monsters. The sheriff called in a favor, and they agreed to take the hunt. It was supposed to be straightforward—check out the bodies, track the thing, kill it. Dean didn’t expect ghosts from his past to come creeping in.

But that’s exactly what happens when you stop by the local diner.

Dean’s the first to spot you, sitting by the window. At first, he thinks his mind’s playing tricks on him. But then you laugh, and it hits him like a freight train. You look older, sure, but you’re still you—your smile just as bright, your eyes just as full of life.

And you’re not alone.

There’s a man across from you, his hand resting on yours as you talk. A little girl, no older than six or seven, sits between you, giggling as she tugs on your sleeve to get your attention. You lean down to kiss her forehead, your hand brushing a strand of hair from her face.

Dean’s heart twists painfully in his chest.

“Dean?” Sam’s voice snaps him out of his daze. “You okay?”

Dean doesn’t answer right away. His eyes are glued to the scene in the diner, the way you look so… settled. So happy.

“Yeah,” he says finally, his voice rough. “Just thought I saw someone I knew.”

Sam follows his gaze and frowns, glancing back at Dean. “Do you want to—”

“No,” Dean cuts him off, shaking his head. “Let’s just… let’s just get to work.”

But it’s too late. You’ve spotted him, and your eyes widen in recognition. You excuse yourself from the table, walking toward the door, and before Dean can think of an escape plan, you’re standing in front of him.

“Dean Winchester,” you say, your voice warm and familiar. “Of all the places…”

He forces a smile, shoving his hands in his pockets. “Hey, sweetheart. Long time, no see.”

You laugh softly, the sound tugging at something deep inside him. “It’s been, what, ten years?”

“Something like that,” he replies, his voice steady despite the storm raging inside him.

Your eyes soften as you study him, like you’re trying to piece together the years that have passed. “You look good, Dean.”

“You too,” he says, and he means it. You look more than good—you look radiant. But he doesn’t say that.

You glance back at the table, where your husband is watching curiously. “I should get back. But… it’s good to see you. Really.”

Dean nods, his throat tight. “Yeah. You too.”

As you walk away, he feels like the air’s been knocked out of him. Sam doesn’t say anything, but Dean can feel his brother’s eyes on him.

“She looks happy,” Sam says quietly once you’re out of earshot.

Dean swallows hard, his jaw tightening. “Yeah. She does.”

He doesn’t add that it hurts like hell, that seeing you with a family—a life he’ll never have—feels like a knife twisting in his chest.

Later, after the case is done and you’re just a memory in the rearview mirror, Dean pulls over on the side of the road, claiming he needs a minute. Sam doesn’t argue; he just waits in the car while Dean steps out into the cool night air.

Dean leans against the Impala, staring up at the stars. His hands are trembling, and he clenches them into fists, trying to steady himself.

For years, he’s carried the weight of what could’ve been. With Lisa, with you, with anyone who might’ve made him feel like he wasn’t just a soldier in this endless war. But it never works out. It’s always the job, always the life, always the damn apocalypse getting in the way.

And now, seeing you happy—truly happy—makes him wonder if he ever had a chance at that kind of peace.

When Sam joins him, neither of them speaks for a while. The silence stretches between them, heavy but comfortable, until Sam finally says, “You okay?”

Dean doesn’t look at him. “I’m fine, Sammy.”

Sam doesn’t push, because they both know it’s a lie.

As they get back in the car and drive off into the night, Dean can’t help but glance at the passenger seat, where you used to sit so many years ago, laughing and teasing him about his music choices.

It’s just a memory now, but it still lingers, bittersweet and aching.

want be part of the taglist.ᐣ ⋆.˚ ★— @iloveeveryoneyoureamazing ⋆ @deans-daydream ⋆ @ariasong11 ⋆ @ambiguous-avery ⋆ @krabog ⋆ @itsdearapril ⋆ @nymphet-quenn ⋆ @bluemerakis ⋆ @titsout4jackles ⋆ @lyarr24 ⋆ @hauntedrose555 ⋆ @chevroletdean ⋆ @dulcescorderitas ⋆ @blackmarketfruitrollups ⋆ @impala67rollingthroughtown ⋆ @rulesareshadesofgrey ⋆ @nervoussystemss ⋆ @daryls-luvrr ⋆ @defnot-svnshine ⋆ @sunnyteume ⋆ @drakelover78 ⋆ @angelblqde ⋆ @mostlymarvelgirl ⋆ @whisperingdaze ⋆ @bossyblondie ⋆ @lieutenantchaos

[artinventor]

So after watching 8x17 I was informed that originally Dean was supposed to say “I love you” in the crypt instead of “I need you” but tbh the change makes more sense to me and might even be even worse than if he said “love”. Dean shows his love in everything he does, shows it plenty with everything he was doing in purgatory, but for him to not only NEED you but to admit it,,,

“I need you” was was more powerful and more in character for both of them cuz:

1. I don’t think at this point cas understands human emotion fully or human love for that matter, he’s certainly learning it more as the seasons go on, but it’s not something he’s familiar with right now. So unless dean elaborated more, which he wouldn’t, would he really know what that meant. even though he wouldn’t admit it, dean is actually so caring towards everyone, cas could easily think he could mean any type of love that isn’t special to him. Honestly considering his absent father and the fact that he’s a soldier with no army, which used to be his only purpose, he wants to be needed. Just looking at hippie cas, he turned into that cuz he lost his powers and felt useless.

2. dean is not one that tells people that, he just shows it, and he was already showing it. He never told Lisa he loved her even when he was with her as a stand in husband/father to her son for a whole year, he barely even tells Sam that he loves him and that’s his brother. Also considering who he is and how stubborn he is it’s really rare and means a lot for HIM of all people to say he “needs” you. Dean’s abandonment issues kinda rejects the idea of needing someone, and growing up the way he did, he doesn’t trust easily. Love is a risk, but needing someone is just full on vulnerability. Also it’s just insane cuz it’s like why do you need him dean? surely you’re not doing all that just cuz his angel powers are useful

Though this IS the second time dean said he needs cas, he said it in purgatory earlier in the season as well. Both times he’s pleading with cas, the first time to try and get him to go with him and escape purgatory together and the second time he’s trying to get through to him past the mind control. The second time being in a much more romantic context. He does say that they’re family before saying it, but then he says “we need you” and changes it to “I need you” which is the main thing that really does it. THEN after he breaks through it, dean asks what broke the connection and they’re both clueless, if it was purely platonic wouldn’t cas, being as blunt and factual as he is, just say that it’s because of their friend/family bond?

[deancasbigbang]

Title: Paging Doctor Novak

Author: Salamitsunami1

Artist: WitchyWorm

Rating: Explicit

Pairings: Dean/Cas, past Dean/Lisa, past Dean/Rhonda

Length: 40000

Warnings: Graphic and accurate depictions of medicine, medical emergencies, and medical procedures. Past unfaithful Dean. Minor character death

Tags: Rom-com, Top Castiel/Bottom Dean Winchester, Happy Ending, Hospital AU, Sexual Tension, Doctor Sexy M.D., Getting Together

Posting Date: October 31, 2024

Summary: Dean Winchester is many things — a nurse, an in-charge on the medical-surgical floor, and a big fan of the ladies. What he’s not is a commitment kind of guy, and he’s definitely not a night duty kind of guy. Things change when a hook-up-gone-wrong gets him lumped on night duty for an entire month, and to make matters worse, he’s been lumped on night duty with a brand new intern. As with all interns, Doctor Castiel Novak is cocky at best and dangerous at worst, but for some reason, and maybe it’s just the way his ass looks in those teal scrubs, Dean’s got a soft spot for the guy. Or a really hard one. Either way, it’s not long before Dean’s new roster is the least of his concerns; he wants that dorky doctor guy, and fuck, he wants him for real.

Excerpt: Being in charge, Dean’s job is simple — keep on top of any patients coming up from the ER or down from the OR, page the doctor when there’s a problem, and call the doctor when there’s an emergency. That’s how he ended up in Frank Devereaux’s room with the phone to his ear, and because the on-call doctor is almost always an intern this late at night, he’s willing to bet that whoever picks up isn’t gonna know Frank’s ass from his esophagus. “Hello?” “Hello?” Dean questions. “Is this the on-call doc or a Wendy’s?”  “This is Doctor Novak.” “Right. Well, this is Dean from med-surg. I’m calling about Frank Devereaux in bed two. He had a lap-chole yesterday, got back to the ward about six hours ago. His pain’s currently a nine out of ten, he’s just vomited up a whole lot of bile, and I’ve got a real bad feeling.” “Okay,” the intern says, like a question. “Would you like a consult?” Dean sighs wearily. “That’s why I called.” “Of course,” the intern says. “I’m on my way.” The phone call hasn’t exactly filled Dean with confidence, and it only gets worse when the intern stumbles onto the ward — his hair is all over the place, his stethoscope is hanging unevenly around his neck, he’s wearing these teal scrubs that are about a whole size too small and therefore clinging to every inch of him, and he’s wearing them with a pair of fucking Converse high-tops, of all things. All interns are cocky, that’s a given, but the cockiest of all is the surgical intern. Each and every year, guaranteed.  “Hello,” he says. “I’m looking for Dean.” Dean glances down at his own name tag. Unfortunately, it’s still right where he pinned it to his scrub top, so it seems the new intern might not even be able to read. In the interest of being nice, he forces a smile. “You found him.” “Oh. Hello, Dean,” the intern says. “I believe we spoke on the phone.” Dean only nods, waiting for the intern to introduce himself, but he does no such thing. No, this guy just stands there, he runs his fingers through his bedraggled hair, and so now there’s a smear of ink on his forehead where it’s rubbed against whatever’s written on his hand. Pointedly, Dean says, “And what did you say your name was again?” “I’m Doctor Novak.” Dean looks Doctor Novak up, down, then back up again. Taking him apart. He’s got bags under his eyes and cracks in his lips. Doctor or not, this guy’s a fucking mess.  “Well, doc,” Dean says, probably against his better judgment. “Frank’s this way.”

DCBB 2024 Posting Schedule

[doctorbitchcrxft]

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!!

Mobile Supernatural Series Rewrite Masterlist

Supernatural Series Rewrite Masterlist

Supernatural Series Rewrite Playlist

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. 

Series Rewrite Taglist: @polireader @brightlilith @atcamillanorrman @jrizzelle @insomnia-bookworm @procrastination20 @mrs-liebgott @djs8891 @tiggytaylor @staple-your-mouth @jesstherebel @rach5ive @strawberrykiwisdogog @bruhidkjustwannaread @mxltifxnd0m @sunshine-on-marz @big-ol-boat @mgchaser @capncrankle @chervbs @simpingdeadcharacters @nesnejwritings @stillhere197 @tearsforhan @take-it-on-the-run @iloveyou2mia @maxinehufflepuffprincess @ohgeehowdigethere @seninjakitey @berarenado @s0urw00lf @princessleahorgana @quarterhorse19 @isla-finke-blog @silverdoragon @karacaroldanvers @gayandfairycore @examishbookwyrm @star-yawnznn @real-sharena-h @fandomloverrr @metalmonki @onlyangel-444 @yu-winchester @benniwiththefanni @daisychaingirl @immagods @missmieux @yoongi-holland @littledebbieinabigworld

[forevaafan]

He left you.

Pairing: Dean x F!Reader / Platonic Sam x F!Reader/ Dean x Lisa

Word count: 417

Summary: Supernatural rewrite, begins after the season 5x22. After years of longing Dean x Reader finally give in and find comfort in each other when Sam goes to the cage. But Dean keeps his promise to Sam and leaves hunting (and the reader) behind for the apple pie life. 

Warning: Angst, Hurt, Pregnancy, Miscarriage, Emotional Cheating

Enjoy!

He left you. That is all you knew. 

You woke up to the left side of the motel bed unmade, empty, and cold. It felt hollow without the weight of his arms wrapped around you, a morning comfort you grew accustomed to over the past month. There was a possibility he went for a coffee run or to take a call outside. But you knew that wasn't the case when the laptop was no longer on the table, and the books and scraps of paper that had been scattered around the room were no longer existent. He was gone. 

Your first thought was to call him. But you knew him well enough to know he wouldn’t answer if his intent was to leave. So the second choice was to call Bobby. 

You quickly dressed and grabbed the first burner phone you could find in your bag. 

“Bobby? It’s me y/n.” you said not trying to sound too panicked. Since your dad passed Bobby took you in as a daughter. If anyone 

“Hey kiddo. You doing ok?” 

“Um yea, I’m fine. I was wondering if you heard from Dean?” There was a long moment of silence that only added to the lump slowly growing in your throat. 

“Did he not tell you? He said he told you.”

You cleared your throat as best as you could. “Um nope.” You let the silence linger hoping Bobby would eventually clear the air and rid you off all the worst case scenarios running through your mind. 

“Damn it Dean!” You heard some shuffling. He was angry and he was stalling. 

“Bobby you can tell me I’ll -” 

“That boy is an Idjit! I knew he would do something stupid eventually. And I warned him if he hurt yo-” 

“Bobby!” You couldn't take it anymore. “Where’s Dean?” 

He let out an exasperated sigh, “He said he made some sort of promise to Sam. He’s taking a break from hunting for a while.” 

Out of all things you imagined he would say this was nowhere on your list. Top three scenarios running through our head had Dean running to make a deal with whoever or whatever to get Sam out, but just leaving all together? You didn't even know how to finish that thought. 

“You alright kid?” Bobby questioned breaking the silence. 

Not sure what to say, you answered the only way you knew how. “No, but I will be.”

_ _ _

Ok this was a super quick intro to a story that has been in my head for years. I have a couple chapters of this and a few more SPN stories on the way so let me know your thoughts. I love angst so be prepared for that ride. This is very much a story of Dean protecting the people he loves in all the wrong ways but the only way he knows how.

[sambi-bambi]

dean could never stay with lisa when sam came back—how could he?

every moment with lisa, dean thought of sam.

when she was asleep beside him, he reduced her down to nothing but a warm body and tried to pretend she was sam. she was too small, too thin.

when they were quietly in different rooms, he ignored the high pitch of her voice and tried to pretend she was sam, working on research.

when they fucked, he closed his eyes. lisa always thought that it was because he was feeling good, but no. he was imagining sam. fucking into sam, sam riding him, sam choking on his dick.

so when the real thing finally came back to him like an animal always coming home, how could he stay with her? how could he stay with her when his sole focus for the past year was with him again?

he never would have been able to pretend with her ever again

[maddie0101]

𐚁 chapter five: when ghosts come back

𐚁 summary: things were just looking better between you and dean, but what happens when a ghost comes back into town and wiggles her way back into his life?

𐚁 warnings: jealous!dean, jealous!reader, drinking, angry!dean, almost nothing but angst, literally zero fluff, bonfires, idiots in love.

𐚁 word count: 3.8k

series masterlist previous chapter next chapter

The late morning sun stretched high over the arena, casting long shadows as you guided Whiskey through the barrel pattern, your body moving fluidly with the animal's strides. The scent of dirt and sweat filled the air, mixing with the distant sounds of cattle and the occasional cheer from the riders practicing in the distance.

Dean leaned against the fence, arms resting on the top rail, watching with an amused grin as you rounded the final barrel at a fast pace. You pushed Whiskey hard toward the finish line, the horse's hooves kicking up dust as they thundered past the marker.

Dean let out a low whistle. “Damn, y/n. You keep that up, and they’re gonna start checking you for jet fuel.”

You pulled Whiskey to a stop and shot him a smirk, brushing a few stray strands of hair from your face. “Well, someone has to bring home a win this weekend. Can’t let you have all the glory.”

Dean chuckled, shaking his head as he swung up onto Bandit, adjusting his grip on the reins. “Sweetheart, I don’t ride for the glory.”

You arched a brow. “No?”

Dean smirked. “Nah. I ride for the free beer after.”

You roll your eyes, but the laugh that bubbled out was genuine. It felt good, this easy playful back-and-forth between you two. After yesterday’s ride, after what almost happened at the pond, you were worried things would be tense. But somehow, you both had slid back into your normal rhythm.

Dean nudged Bandit forward, bringing him into a slow lope around the arena, stretching the gelding’s legs before his first run. You leaned against the fence, arms crossed as you watched, appreciating the way Dean moved with his horse, as if they were one. Your eyes drew especially to his hips. Watching the way they'd move with each bump of Bandit running. The way they’d move…

You quickly shook out of the trance. Nope. You couldn't do this again.

Everything was normal. Everything was fine you thought to yourself.

Until it wasn’t. Just as Dean dismounted, a voice cut through the warm, dusty air. “Well, I’d recognize that cocky riding anywhere.”

Your stomach dropped. Dean’s head snapped up, and you whipped around toward the sound, your eyes narrowing as they landed on a figure standing just beyond the fence.

Lisa.

The ex who had walked away without looking back. The one who had left a wound in Dean’s heart so deep that you had spent months picking up the pieces.

She stood there like she hadn’t left him broken. Dark hair swept into a perfect ponytail, designer sunglasses perched on her nose, and a confident smirk curving her lips as she looked at Dean like he was still hers to claim. Your hands curled into fists at your sides, your fingernails pressing into your palms as Lisa took a slow step closer. The air between you felt suddenly stifling, thick with something unspoken, something sharp-edged and dangerous.

You froze mid-step, your fingers tightening around Whiskey's reins like they were the only thing keeping you grounded.

Dean stiffened across the arena, his usual cocky grin faltering, the humor draining from his face as Lisa closed the space between them. His grip on Bandit’s reins tightened, the muscles in his forearm flexing as though he were bracing for impact.

Lisa’s gaze flicked to you then, a too-sweet smile curving her lips. “Y/n,” she greeted smoothly, her voice syrupy with fake warmth. Her eyes drifted from your face, following the taut line of reins in your hands up to Whiskey's sleek frame. “It’s been a while.”

You swallowed against the hard lump in the back of your throat. “Yeah,” you said, voice steady despite the storm brewing inside you. “It has.”

Dean shifted, rubbing the back of his neck, looking like he’d rather be facing down the meanest bull in the pen than standing here in this situation.

You didn’t miss the way Lisa swayed her hips just a little extra as she crossed the distance between them. The way she carried herself, the way she draped herself in the memory of what once was. Lisa wasn’t just here to talk. She was here to remind; and you felt it like a slap.

Lisa reached out, placing a delicate hand on Dean’s arm, tilting her head up at him with that familiar, knowing smile. Dean hesitated, his gaze flicking toward you for half a second—like maybe he wanted to gauge your reaction, like maybe it mattered to him.

But you couldn’t do this. Not again. Not when you already knew how this story played out. You turned away sharply, unable to stand there and watch Lisa worm her way back into Dean’s life. Because for all of Dean’s charm, for all of his teasing and grins and the way he made you feel like you belonged right beside him—you knew the truth.

Dean had loved Lisa. And when she left, it had gutted him.

You'd been the one to pick up the pieces, the one who had sat next to him in the bed of his truck when he couldn’t sleep, the one who had dragged him out of bar fights before they got too ugly, the one who had stayed when Lisa had walked away.

And now, just like that, the fragile truce you and Dean had rebuilt since last night—since the pond, since everything that almost happened, disintegrated into thin air.

Jealousy burned deep in your chest, anger rising hot and fast in its wake.

Because despite everything, despite knowing you had no real claim on Dean, despite the way your heart had nearly leapt out of her chest when they had almost kissed, you already knew how this would end.

Lisa had broken Dean once. And now that she was here, wanting him, Dean would immediately take her back.

You clenched your jaw, swallowing down the bitterness that threatened to choke you. Without another word, you turned on your heel and strode toward the gate, your heart pounding like a war drum in your ears. You didn’t need to see any more.

You already knew how this played out and you weren't about to stick around to watch it happen all over again. Your boots hit the dirt hard as you stormed toward the trailer, your grip on Whiskey's reins so tight that your knuckles ached. The familiar scent of leather and dust surrounded you, but it did nothing to calm the storm raging inside.

You'd been so damn stupid.

You had thought, hoped, even that maybe, just maybe, things between you and Dean were shifting. That the stolen glances, the teasing that lingered just a little too long, the way he had held you in the pond like he never wanted to let go…You thought it had meant something.

But now Lisa was back.

And just like that, everything was ruined.

You swallowed hard against the lump in your throat, your vision blurring as you blinked rapidly. Damn it.

You had promised yourself a long time ago that you wouldn’t cry over Dean Winchester. But it wasn’t that simple, was it? Because as much as you tried to shove down the ache curling around your ribs, a single, gut-wrenching thought twisted through your mind: Had you ever even had him in the first place?

You'd been there for him through everything, through heartbreak, through loss, through every damn time he had thrown himself into danger like he was invincible. But you'd never been the one he turned to when it came to love. That had been Lisa.

What if she still was? What if Lisa was the one who bore the mark of his soulmate?

You squeezed your eyes shut, the thought slicing through you like a knife. You hadn’t checked for your own tattoo yet, hadn’t been ready to face whatever truth was waiting for you. But Dean had gotten his.

And what if—

You sucked in a sharp breath, shoving the thought away before it could tear yourself apart completely.

Behind you, the sound of Lisa’s voice carried through the air, too damn sweet, too damn familiar. You clenched her jaw, refusing to turn around.

Dean was probably eating it up, letting Lisa pull him back in like she hadn’t shattered him once before. And if that was what he wanted, then fine. But you weren't going to stand there and watch it happen.

You reached Whiskey’s trailer, your fingers shaking slightly as you reached for the latch.

From across the arena, Dean watched you go, the easy smirk he’d been wearing long gone. His brows drew together, his grip tightening on Bandit’s reins. Lisa was still talking, her voice some distant hum in the background, but Dean wasn’t listening anymore.

His eyes were locked on you. The way your shoulders hunched slightly, the way you moved with quickly like you were trying to escape before anyone noticed the cracks in your armor. And then—He saw it. The quick movement of your hand swiping at your cheek.

A tear.

Dean’s chest tightened. He could count on one hand the number of times he’d seen you cry, and every single time, it had damn near wrecked him.

And now, watching you walk away, watching the way you kept your head down, as if you were trying to disappear, he had the sinking feeling that he was the reason for it.

Lisa’s hand on his arm felt suddenly wrong, like a weight dragging him under. But by the time he pulled away, by the time he took a single step toward you—you were already loading Whiskey into the trailer, your back to him, shutting him out.

The crackle of the bonfire filled the air, sparks dancing toward the inky black sky. The scent of burning wood mingled with the crisp night air, undercut by the tang of whiskey and beer. Laughter rang out across the open field, where rodeo hands, barrel racers, bull riders, buckle bunnies, and small-town folks gathered, swapping stories and letting loose beneath the wide Texas sky.

It was supposed to be a night to relax, but instead, it was a slow-burning hell for Dean.

He hadn’t wanted to come. Not with Lisa slinking back into town, acting like she still had a claim on him. But Lisa had latched onto him at practice earlier, her manicured fingers curling around his arm like she belonged there, like she had never left him in pieces. And even though he had no intention of going down that road again, he hadn’t stopped her, hadn’t shoved her away.

Now, here he was, trapped in a nightmare disguised as a good time.

The firelight flickered across the crowd, casting long shadows as people laughed and drank, tipping their cowboy hats back as they leaned into easy conversation. Dean stood near the edge of it all, a cold beer in his grip, Lisa pressed up against his side like it was old times.

Dean barely heard a word Lisa was saying as she continued to talk, her voice a low hum in the background. His attention was fixed on one person, and one person only.

You.

But you weren't even supposed to be here.

Dean knew how much you hated crowds, how much being around all these people made your anxiety skyrocket. You were too much of a quiet, grounded soul to enjoy the chaos of a bonfire. He’d always respected that about you—how you kept to yourself, how you never forced yourself into situations that made you uncomfortable. But here you were, sitting on a tailgate, leaning back slightly as if you were trying to blend into the night itself.

The firelight danced across your hair, turning the strands into molten gold. You looked ethereal, like a quiet goddess carved out of the evening. Your face was warm with the flickering glow, and there was a certain heaviness in your eyes, something that told Dean you were far from at ease, despite the forced smile you wore for the world around you.

He could tell you'd had a few drinks. Your cheeks were flushed with a subtle pink that hadn’t been there earlier. Dean had watched you take a few beers in rapid succession, more than he’d ever seen you drink before, and the way your eyes flitted nervously around the crowd told him everything. You were upset.

Dean could feel the weight of it deep in his chest. It wasn’t supposed to be like this. He didn’t want to hurt you, damn it.

You weren't looking at him. Not once did your eyes meet and that hurt more than anything.

Dean’s gaze followed you, watching the way you stiffened every time your gazes accidentally locked, your expression tight, almost angry. The tension was thick between you, like a wire pulled taut, and it wasn’t just the drinks making you act like this. He knew you were pissed. Hell, he didn’t blame you for being pissed. He had given you every reason to be.

But there was something else there. Something that made him stop and think—what if she’s feeling something too?

He had always known you were beautiful, but he’d never tried to cross that line.

He’d been scared. Scared to ruin your friendship, scared that his feelings wouldn’t be reciprocated. But now, seeing you react like this, the way your eyes darkened every time they caught each other, the way you seemed to be trying to hide the hurt behind your smile—he could see it now.

You cared, more than you'd like to admit. And that changed everything.

His gut twisted with guilt as he realized just how badly he had screwed things up. He should have never let Lisa back in. He should’ve shut that down the moment she laid her hands on him again. But somehow, she had wormed her way back into his life, and Dean had let it happen, not realizing that every second he spent around her was tearing him away from the one person who had always been there for him.

What was he doing?

He had always thought he would choose Lisa if she came back. Hell, he had convinced himself that he would. But now, staring at you, seeing you in the firelight, looking both beautiful and broken in the same breath, he realized just how wrong he had been. He’d been blind.

Dean’s gaze flickered back to Lisa, who was still talking, still smiling that fake, radiant smile. He couldn’t do this anymore. He had to make it right with y/n, had to find a way to make her see that he was hers, that he wasn’t going anywhere.

But that wasn’t going to happen tonight.

Because tonight, everything felt like it was slipping through his fingers, and no matter how much he wanted to go to you, to pull you aside and say the words that had been tangled up inside him for so long, he couldn’t.

Because you weren't looking at him anymore.

Dean’s heart slammed against his ribs, each beat growing louder, faster.

You were looking at him—some guy he didn’t recognize, standing a little too close, talking in a low voice that made you tilt your head slightly, your lips curving into a soft, genuine laugh. The kind of laugh that wasn’t for show. That laugh was for someone you felt comfortable with.

Dean’s fingers tightened around his beer bottle, the glass threatening to shatter beneath his grip. His jaw clenched, the muscles in his neck taut as he watched the scene before him. Every nerve in his body screamed to do something—anything. He wanted to move. Wanted to storm across the bonfire, grab your wrist, and pull you away from that bastard who had no clue who he was dealing with.

Lisa’s voice was still a hum in the background, but Dean barely registered the words coming from her mouth. He couldn’t hear them over the roar of blood in his ears, over the sharp burn of jealousy that gnawed at him, growing deeper with every passing second.

He could see how easily you leaned in a little closer to the guy, giving him that small smirk, the one you used when you wanted someone to chase you, to want you. Dean had seen that smirk a hundred times. It was the same one that made him ache when he realized you didn’t do that for him.

But now, it seemed, things were different.

You never played games. At least, not in the way people usually did. You were straight-forward and honest. You didn’t flirt with the intention to get someone to fall for you just to tear them down later. But damn, you were playing one hell of a game now.

The thought twisted something in Dean’s chest, something raw and untamed. He hated seeing you with him. Hated the way you were leaning into the guy, playing along, like you didn’t give a damn that Dean was watching.

Dean didn’t know when it happened, but suddenly, the firelight caught your face just right, and your gazes met across the distance, locking for a fraction of a second.

Time froze.

The firelight flickered, casting long shadows over your face, and for that brief moment, you were all he could see. He felt his heartbeat skip, a drum echoing in his chest as he stared at you—really stared at you for the first time tonight.

But then something in your eyes shifted. A challenge.

The words you didn’t say screamed louder than any sentence could. You weren't going to let him off the hook so easily. If he wanted to play it cool, if he wanted to pretend that Lisa was the one who mattered, then fine.

Two can play that game. You sent him a smirk, a sly, knowing smirk that almost broke him in half. And then, just like that, you turned away, your attention snapping back to the guy standing way too close.

Dean’s stomach twisted, a bitter taste rising in his throat, as you whispered something in the guy’s ear, something that made him smile in return. You reached down, grabbing his hand like it was nothing, like it was all so casual, and started to pull him away.

And that was it. Dean felt a knot tighten deep in his chest, the weight of his own foolishness settling over him like a heavy cloak. The jealousy ate him alive. Not just because you were with someone else—but because, for once, you weren't waiting around for him. You weren't giving him the chance to fix it. You weren't sitting in the shadows, hoping he would come to his senses. You weren't being the y/n he’d known for so many years—the one who had always had his back.

Instead, you were playing a game, and it wasn’t a game Dean had ever been prepared to play.

“Dean,” Lisa purred beside him, shifting closer. Her fingers trailed lightly over his forearm, a touch meant to reel him back in. “You’re awfully quiet.”

He forced himself to look at her, to meet the expectant gleam in her eyes. She was beautiful, always had been but whatever spell she used to have over him was gone.

“I’m just tired,” he lied, attempting to hide his anger.

Lisa pouted slightly, tilting her head like she was considering him. “Maybe we should head out, then,” she suggested, her voice low, intimate. “Just the two of us.” Dean exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair. He was so damn tired of this game. Dean’s gaze snapped back to you, drawn like a magnet, watching you leave with some guy.

Lisa followed his line of sight, her lips pressing into a thin line. “Seriously?” she scoffed. “Her?”

Dean dragged his gaze away from you, his jaw ticking. “Drop it, Lisa.”

Lisa let out a humorless laugh. “Unbelievable. You’re in love with her, aren’t you?”

Dean didn’t answer. Because he didn’t have to.

Lisa huffed, stepping back, crossing her arms. “Well, good luck with that,” she said, her tone sharp. “Because from where I’m standing? She’s already moving on.”

Dean swallowed hard, forcing himself not to look at you again, but the damage was already done. Because the truth was, Lisa was right about one thing. If he didn’t do something soon, he was gonna lose you for good, and he couldn't have that.

Lisa was still clinging to his arm, her nails digging into his skin like a desperate plea for attention, but Dean shrugged her off without a second thought. His heart was pounding against his ribs, blood rushing through his veins as he watched you slip into the night with that guy. The guy who didn’t give a damn about you. The guy who wasn’t Dean and that was a problem. A huge problem.

Dean immediately shoved Lisa off, the words leaving his mouth sharper than he intended. “I don’t want anything to do with you, Lisa. You need to leave.” Her shocked expression faded into a scowl, but Dean didn’t care. He wasn’t paying attention to her anymore. All that mattered now was you.

He pushed through the crowd, his hands shaking, his mind racing. He had to find you. He had to make things right before it was too late. He didn’t know what had happened between you two, didn’t know when it had shifted, but he was damn sure that he couldn’t lose you.

Dean scanned the area, but there was no sign of you anywhere. You weren't by the fire, you weren't at the edge of the field.

Panic clawed at him. Where the hell had you gone?

His feet moved faster, faster than his mind could keep up with. He reached into his pocket, fumbling with his phone in a hurry, his heart in his throat as he dialed your number.

Ring…No answer.

He cursed under his breath and dialed again, holding the phone to his ear, praying you would pick up.

Ring…Nothing.

He called again, and again, and again, but each time the phone went to voicemail.

“Come on, y/n… please pick up,” Dean muttered under his breath, panic rising in his chest. His mind was racing, every worst-case scenario flooding his thoughts. Dean’s hands tightened around his phone as he dialed your number once more. But it was no use. No matter how many times he tried, you wouldn’t answer.

He leaned against the fence, breathing hard, trying to steady himself. Every second felt like an eternity, and the silence in his chest was deafening. Dean knew he’d messed up, and now it was too late to fix things if you didn’t let him.

You weren't waiting anymore and as much as it hurt, as much as his pride screamed at him to leave it be, he knew deep down that it wasn’t over yet—not for him, anyway.

He wasn’t giving up without a fight.

chapter six sneak peak:

And the worst part?

You were terrified to find out if Dean had the same one.

You sat down hard on the edge of your bed, staring at your wrist as if you could will it away. If it was Dean’s match, if the universe had decided, after all this time, that your best friend, the boy you'd loved in secret for years, was the one--then everything would change.

Loving Dean had always been dangerous. It was the kind of love that felt too big for your chest, the kind that stole your breath and left you aching. It was a love you had buried beneath years of friendship, had packed down so deep you thought it would never rise to the surface.

But now? Now the universe had gone and branded it onto your skin. You clenched your fist, your nails biting into your palm. You couldn’t look at him. Not yet.

Because if you did, if you didn't see that same mark on his body, then you would know.

And knowing would ruin everything.

author’s note:

I told y’all we would definitely see more of jealous!dean. The next few chapters will not contain any fluff as well. (i’m sorry) but I promise it will all be worth it in the end :) hope you guys liked this one! next chapter will be just as angsty 🥲

— requests are open.ᐟᅟ please read request rules.ᐟᅟ

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[ninii-winchester]

Unveiled Sorrows (Part 7)

Pairing : Dean Winchester X Reader, Sam Winchester X Reader (Platonic), Dean Winchester X Lisa Braden (mentioned)

Word count : 2.9k

Warnings: angst, mentions of sex (soft smut), language, fluff, Taylor Swift reference (?)

A/n : This series follows canon plot line but some scenes might happen differently or be completely changed. Check the warnings for each part before continuing.

A/n 2: gif (1) from Pinterest. Credits to owner.

I DO NOT GIVE PERMISSION TO COPY MY WORK, TRANSLATE IT OR POST IT TO ANY OTHER PLATFORM. REBLOGS ARE APPRECIATED.

After the confrontation, Y/n went to her room and locked the door behind her. She let out soft sobs clearly distraught over what happened in the last hour. She sat on the ground with her back against the bed. She held onto Adeline as if she was going to disappear if she didn’t hold her tightly.

Dean paced in the hallway and he could her cries through the door. He has to make this right. He cannot live without her, not anymore. He's willing to do whatever it takes to make her trust him again. He knocked on the door twice waiting for her to open the door. Y/n looked away from the door pretending she didn't hear the knocks and hoped whoever it was might take a hint and leave.

"Sweetheart, open the door." She heard Dean's voice. "Baby please." He said softly. She didn't move at all. “Please." Dean begged.

Y/n sighed. There was no point in stalling. She can't trap herself in this room forever and the sooner she gets over with it, the better. She got up and unlocked the door but didn't open it. She sat on the bed with Adeline happily bouncing in her lap, unaware of all the chaos happening around her.

Dean heard the lock turn but the door didn't open, so he did it himself. He walked inside the room and sat beside her on the bed. Neither of them spoke. Adeline peeked at Dean's face with curious eyes. He smiled at the baby and she giggled in response. Dean could swear he has never fallen in love this fast. He has his whole world sitting beside him yet it seems so unreachable.

"Her name is Adeline Mary Winchester." Y/n spoke quietly. "She's four months old."

"She's perfect." He whispered.

Sitting beside him was too much. It was overwhelming her. Y/n put Adeline in her crib so she could play with her toys. Dean's eyes followed her as she stood and walked across the room. He walked the distance between them and stood behind her. He was too close, she could feel his chest pressing against her back.

"What do you want, Dean?" Her voice was low and strained.

"I want you. I want to be with our daughter." Dean whispered.

"I can't." She replied. He turned her so she was facing him. "Dean you shouldn't-" he didn't let her complete.

"Why should I not?" He asked.

"You shouldn't feel obligated to...you should have a family with the woman you love." She said moving away from him.

"You are the woman I love, that baby," he pointed to the crib, "we made that, she's the proof of our love."

"It wasn't love, Dean. It was just sex. Between hunting it was just a need." Y/n raised her voice a bit. She gasped as Dean grabbed her waist and pushed her against the nearest wall.

"You and I both know it wasn't just sex. What about the nights we shared other than on hunts, or the mornings after. Do you really think it was just sex when I could barely breathe without you." She averted her eyes from his.'

She knew it wasn't just sex. Maybe during hunts it was rough, to chase a release and let loose but she could vividly remember when he would go slow, his actions filled with passion, how he would hold her close when she would fall apart, tell her she means the world him. How he would wake her up with soft kisses and gentle touches. It was not just sex. 

"I know I was a coward. I thought I was protecting you, I guess I was just protecting myself from the inevitable heartbreak. I'm nothing without you, baby. Just a shell of a man. The past year, I've been holding onto the last thread of sanity. Living with Lisa and Ben, it was just familiarity. I would've gone mad had I been alone. I missed you like crazy, sweetheart. I love you so damn much." He said pressing his face in her neck, breathing her in.

"Dean." She sniffed. She pulled his head away from her neck. "As much as I want to, I can't keep you away from Adeline. You're her father. She deserves to have her father in her life. I can let you be a part of her life." He nodded and she continued. "You can't half ass it, either you're in or you stay gone. I don't want her to live off crumbs of her father.."

"Lisa and Ben, they..-" Dean started. "They're in danger." He can't just up and leave them alone to fend for themselves. The Djinn knows where they live and they can't even protect themselves.

"You have to make a decision, Dean."  Dean stepped back giving her, her space. Her heart broke. He's never going to choose her, is he? He always has something to choose over her. His conscience, his brother, the god damn world. It's anything but her. The look on her face was enough for Dean to know what she was thinking.

"Is there anything I can do to make it better?"

"Choose something, I've got nothing to believe unless you're choosing me."

"Why can't I..-" Dean rubbed his hands over his face. "Why can't I protect them and be with you.?"

"People riding in two boats usually end up drowning. And I won't let my daughter be collateral damage."

Dean looked at his daughter and something familiar in her crib caught his eye. It was his flannel that she was laying on.

"Is that..." he cleared his throat. "Is that my shirt?"

"Yeah, I wrapped her in it sometimes, just so she could somewhat feel the warmth of her father. Pathetic I know." Y/n chucked humourlessly.

"Can I hold her, please?." Dean asked though he wasn't sure if she'll let him. But he was willing to beg on his knees just so he could hold his daughter once.

"Go ahead." Her words caught him off guard. He didn't think she would, but then he wondered how tired she must've gotten of all the arguments, the tears and didn't have the energy to fight anymore.

Dean carefully picked up the baby girl supporting her head with his hand while he cradled her against his chest.

"Hey baby." He looked Adeline and he was mesmerised, in complete, utter awe. "You're so beautiful." He said gently rocking her. He would hold her as long as he could. Cherish the moment and brand it in his memory.

Y/n watched as Dean held Adeline. Why can't it always be like this. Why did he have to prioritise everything above their happiness. She's going to have to watch Adeline grow up without a father because he's too busy saving and protecting people. And this is why we can't have good things.

"I love you so much, my darling. You're my light. You're my angel. I wish I could've had more time you." Dean spoke to his baby who did not understand a single word. No thought behind those beautiful green eyes as she continued patting her father's tear stricken face.

Dean held his daughter for hours but for him it felt like a few minutes. Adeline started getting fussy since she was hungry and wanted her mother. Before Y/n could go over to him, he walked over to her. She scooped Adeline in her arms and brought her to her chest so she could breastfeed her. Dean looked away giving her privacy.

"I know I'm in no place to ask for favours but can I ask you for something?" Dean said still looking away from her.

"What is it?"

"Can we... pretend that everything is normal, just for today. Just you, me and our daughter?"

"I'd like that." She rasped. She knew she wants him. Just because she can't have him forever doesn't mean she can't pretend for one night. Dean was surprised but he didn't show it. A small smile graced his lips. A few moments pass in silence and Adeline was full.

"Do you want to... uh burp her?" Y/n asked uncomfortably. She wasn't sure why she did but that's what normal families do right? How would she even know. She's never known a 'normal' family.

"I'd love to but I don't know how." Dean rubbed his neck nervously. She grinned at his bashfulness.

"Here I'll teach you." She said standing up and making him stand too. She gave Adeline to him and put a towel on his shoulder. "Now you hold her up straight and pat her gently on the back." She showed him how to do it and he hesitantly tried. Addy let out a little burp and y/n cooed at her daughter. "See." She smiled at Dean who looked proud of himself.

"That wasn't so bad. I couldn't have messed that up." Dean grinned.

"Yeah yeah." She sat back on the bed.

Dean laid Adeline on the bed in the middle and laid on his stomach to watch his little angel. He pressed kisses to her cheeks and forehead. He kissed her little feet and feigned biting that made the baby giggle. Y/n had a huge smile on her face as she watched him play with her. Dean blew raspberries on her stomach. Adeline flailed her tiny arms and legs as he did that.

"You continue doing that and she'll throw up on your face." Y/n chuckled warning him.

"She would not." Dean gasped. "You wouldn't do that to daddy would you, my angel?" Dean asked Addy.

"She might." Y/n smiled and sighed sitting back against the headboard. No matter how much they pretend it would all come to an end soon. "Also, sorry to cut you fun short but it's time for her to sleep."

"Already?" Dean whined like a child.

"Its nine pm, Dean. You've been playing with her for hours." She reminded him softly. Dean truly lost track of time while being with his daughter. "You can put her to bed."

She watched as Dean rocked her back and forth, lulling her to sleep. Her heart constricted in her chest. Why did they have to sacrifice everything. It wasn't their fault they were hunters. This life was thursted upon them, they had no say in it. Why couldn't they live a normal life where everyone was safe and happy. Dean started humming a song and she recognised it as 'Hey Jude by The Beatles', he’d told her, it was the song his mom sang to him. Y/n watched Adeline's eyes droop as she laid her head on her father's shoulder. Mintues later she was fast asleep. Dean laid her in her crib and leaned over to whisper.

"Good night baby. The angels are watching over you." That made y/n suck in a deep breath at that. His mother used to tell him that every night.

In another world, Dean Winchester would've been an amazing father to Adeline Winchester.

Y/n got settled into bed and got under the covers. Dean noticed and couldn't help but ask.

"You're sleeping? You haven't even eaten."

"I'm exhausted. I just need sleep." Dean knew his luck was in overtime, he shouldn't be asking for more. He couldn't stop his tongue before he blurt out.

"Can I stay?" His question shocked them both. But what's done is done. He said what he said. He waited in anticipation for her answer. He knew he pushed his luck. To make it less awkward for both of them it was better if he left. He turned to leave but her voice stopped him.

"Stay, Dean." Those two were enough for him to kick off his shoes and get into bed with her. They had a decent distance between them. Y/n stared at ceiling while he stared at her. "She's a good woman. She'll keep you happy." She whispered in the silence.

"I don't want to talk about that." He replied grabbing her waist and pulling her into him. His other arm going under her head so her head was laying on his shoulder. She didn't protest. She let him pull her closer. God knows she wanted to be in his arms just as much.

"Why did it have to be us?" She wondered out loud.

"I don't know baby. But I know it all sucks." Dean replied hiding his face in her neck.

"You got old." She chuckled lightly.

"Huh?" Dean asked looking at her.

"You got your ass handed to you at poker by some witch and you turned old." She laughed, a real laugh.

"I'm going to kill Sam." Dean groaned but smiling nonetheless.

"You've got a bit of stubble." She cupped his face and caressed his cheek with her thumb.

"Yeah well I was on the verge of being killed by a Djinn so I'm sorry if I didn't have time to shave." He sassed.

"It's alright. I like it." Dean continued to gaze at her lovingly, his hands caressing her bare skin. "Dean." He hummed in response. "I love you."

"I love you. So much." He whispered, he thought if he spoke too loudly the spell would break and he won't be where he was.

"Love me goodbye." Y/n said her voice barely audible.

"Don't say that." Dean begged.

"Please." He doesn't know whether it was the way she looked at him or the way she said it but something in him snapped and he pressed his lips to hers. It wasn't like any kiss they've shared. They've had their fair share of passionate kisses but this was slow and sensual. Dean hovered above her leaning on his arms placed on either side of her head. She grabbed the back of his head pulling him even closer if that was possible.

"Dean." She gasped as the broke apart.

"It's okay baby, I've got you." He said placing open mouthed kisses on her neck. "I'm here." He assured her between kisses.

It was only a matter of seconds, their clothes were strewn across the room. Her heavy pants and breaths filled the room as Dean kissed all over her body. Starting from her collarbone, her chest, moving down to her stomach.

"Dean."

"What do you want, sweetheart?" Dean asked grabbing her hips.

"You, Dean. I want you."

"You have me sweetheart, I'm right here." He kissed and nipped at her jaw. "As long as you want me. I'm here." His deep voice sending jolts throughout her body.

"I need to feel you." She whimpered.

"Is that what you want, baby?" He slid his hand down over her body. She nodded eagerly. He didn't waste a second to give her what she wanted. She gasped at the sudden intrusion. One of his hands intertwined with hers and his other arm was propped on his elbow as he moved the hair from her face. "There's that pretty face. There's my angel." He cooed snapping his hips against hers.

"Oh Dean." She dragged her nails down his back.

"I know baby, i know." Dean captured her lips in a searing kiss. "Close?" He asked against her lips never wavering or pulling away. She nodded, lost in his loving. "Go ahead, give it to me." And the coil snapped. She let go with a loud moan of his name, Him following behind. He shivered resting his on her forehead. "You okay?"

"Yeah." She whispered and whimpered at the lost of contact as he rolled off her. He cleaned himself and helped clean up her. He put on his boxers before he got into bed with her. They both knew everything ends here now, for now they could only hold onto each other. She rested her head on his bare chest and drifted off to sleep. Dean didn't sleep, he didn't want this night to end. He stayed awake and cherished this moment for as long as he could.

A loud cry distracted him from his thoughts. Y/n groaned pushing the covers from her body.

"I've got her, you go back to sleep." He gently pushed her back to lay down.

"Dean-"

"Sleep sweetheart, I've got her." He kissed her forehead before getting out of bed. He walked over to the crib and picked up Addy. "Alright alright, daddy's here. Shh now." He said bouncing her lightly. Her cries died down slowly as he sang a lullaby to her. He looked at his baby sleeping on his chest and the woman sleeping in the bed. He could get used to it. After Addy fell asleep again, Dean went back to join Y/n in bed as wrapped his body over hers like a second skin. "I love you."

The next morning Y/n woke up at six am. Her eyes fluttered open, she looked around and realised, her bed was the same as her heart. Empty.

Tags:

@spnfamily-j2 @galway-girlatwork @deangirl96 @queensilber

@s0urw00lf @monkey-d-hoshizora98 @deans-baby-momma @fullbelieverheart

@riah1606 @xx-spooky-little-vampire-xx @hobby27

[roger-that-cap]

the wings (of an angel)

Summary: After Jack comes and blesses the Winchesters with Castiel's presence after his heartbreaking departure, Dean is still emotionally constipated, and he can hardly get a word out around Cas. So, he decides to show Castiel Brokeback Mountain. This unravels everything.

Warnings: Dean’s emotional constipation, emotions, that’s about it y’all I’m not torturing these two anymore than necessary

Destiel is very close to my heart! I hope I can give them a better ending than the one that they got. The title comes from "The Wings", my favorite song from the soundtrack of my equally beloved Brokeback Mountain.

this is a destiel fic!!!

word count: 8.8k!

Castiel came back on a Thursday. 

It was a random Thursday, and before Castiel, there was nothing special about it. It was a quiet Thursday with no interruptions for Dean Winchester, who was rotting in bed. There was nothing that required his or Sam’s urgent attention, and while that was nice, it also meant that he was allowed to dwell in the privacy of his room.

There were a lot of things for Dean Winchester to be upset about. He was forty something years old with nothing to show for it besides gnarly scars and fucked up memories. He was living in a bunker that shouldn't have existed, living a life that didn’t really exist at all in the eyes of the government, rarely ever talking to normal people. But he had his brother and everyone else in their circle (mostly dead), who were never normal people either, so he figured they understood him enough.  

A normal person had normal regrets, like choosing the wrong college, or moving to the wrong city, or taking the wrong job offer. They had the type of regrets that a person could live with. Things that they could fix. But Dean had regrets that involved people dying bloody. He had regrets that had to do with people being dragged off to Hell or trapped in Purgatory, or dying for him in with tears in their eyes. He had regrets that revolved around Sammy, about dragging him back into the hunt ages ago, even though he knew that nothing could have changed what was written for them back then. It all still felt like little daggers in his heart. 

Dean Winchester had a lot of regrets. But one of his biggest, and definitely the one that he supposed was his most secret regret was not saying a word when Castiel left him. 

It had been sudden. Or at least, that was what Dean told himself. That the confession was unexpected, that he couldn’t put his thoughts on track, that he was scared out of his mind and that he knew death was inevitable, so he couldn’t figure something out. But he knew it. He had been seeing it in Castiel’s eyes for quite some time, and there was a point where every day, he counted it as a blessing that the tensions lurking around every damn corner weren’t addressed. 

But Dean knew. 

Dean turned his television off and got out of his bed at 3:48 in the afternoon. He knew Sam would probably be in the kitchen, making a smoothie and reading a book, or something equally nerdy that made Dean laugh at him sometimes for absolutely no reason. That was just what Sam did. Dean walked down the hallway without a word, giving Sam a nod when he saw him at the kitchen table. 

“Oh, look who-” Dean looked up at Sam. Whatever Sam was going to say, he immediately shut it down, and looked back toward his book. 

Sam always knew when Dean wasn’t in the mood, and usually, it meant that Dean was thinking about the past. And strangely enough, Sam could usually tell which part of the past he was thinking about. Sam would be able to guess if it was Lisa and Ben and the normal life he lived that he was mourning. He would know if Dean was reminiscing over Cassie, or mourning Jo and Ellen and Bobby. Sam could typically sense when Dean was thinking fondly of their few nice childhood moments, and he knew when Dean was romanticizing the moments they had on the road, the few and far between moments that were full of laughter. 

But he always fucking knew when Dean was thinking of Castiel.

Castiel wasn’t someone that ever fully left Dean’s mind. He was always floating around in it like the entity he was, always present even if he was in the back of his mind. It was the way he spoke, the way he entered his and Sam’s life in a flurry of lights and power, the way he exited many times leaving them both broken in different ways. It was the way that he would command a room, it was his certainty, the way he always showed up for him, the way his eyes were so blue, the way he always did what he believed was right (even if it wasn't), and it was his caring personality even when it was clearly not what he was made for. And most of all, it was his death. 

Castiel’s death was something that he hated to think of, but he allowed himself to be tortured nonetheless. He would never forget the look in the angel’s eyes, or the sinking feeling in his own gut when he realized what road his words were traveling down. He would never forget that Cas was crying, that his voice was shaking like he was scared yet free all the same, like there was a physical weight on his shoulders that was shaken off just by speaking. Could Dean have felt that weight fall off, too? Could they have shared that look of fear and relief together if he had just admitted it years ago? 

He would never fucking know. And that was why he was stomping around the kitchen. 

“Hey,” Sam said cautiously. 

“Hey,” Dean said in return, and he hated that with that one word, Sam was already watching him with that stupid, concerned frown on his face. Dean plopped down at the table with his bowl of cereal, and he stared off into space, thinking about everything and nothing. 

Dean ignored the looks Sam gave him as he ate his cereal. He pretended to be focused on something on his phone as the minutes passed, waiting for Sam to mention something that would no doubt set him off. He heard his brother clear his throat and his shoulders tensed, and when he looked up at Sam, Sam was already giving him his apologetic, puppy dog eyes, the ones that told Dean that he was about to pry.

The sound of wings flapping in threw both hunters into action, and whatever Sam was about to say was wiped clean off the table. Dean whipped around and saw a familiar face and a hand raise in a singular greeting. Jack was there, smiling, yet looking peeved at the same time. “Hi. There’s something I’ve been wanting to make right.” 

Both Winchesters were in shock. They hadn't seen Jack since he became God, growing up and making them all proud. Dean admired him for trying to right the wrongs of someone who was much older than him, inheriting issues that had nothing to do with him. It was something that he wasn't unfamiliar with. But as Dean saw him for the first time in a long time, Dean’s cereal was falling out of his mouth, and he got a sinking feeling in his gut that something was about to break the peaceful quality of their day. 

Sam was the first to speak. “Jack, hi,” he said, giving him a genuine smile. “It’s been a while.” 

“I’ve been very busy,” Jack said rather matter-of-factly, and Dean cracked a chuckle. “I’ve been trying to set something right.” 

“What is it, kid?” Dean asked, rubbing his forehead, and then all of a sudden, Jack was grinning. 

“It’s kind of a gift? Here. This.” 

Dean thought he died, right then and there. His eyes went wide as the new addition materialized in front of his eyes, and as he felt the surge of an energy that he knew in this life and in every version of the afterlife. 

Castiel. 

Dean couldn’t breathe. He found that he wasn’t even trying to as he looked at Castiel in the same old vessel, the same old long, brown trench coat, with the same eyes and the same posture like there wasn’t a second that he had been gone. As if he had never been shrouded in darkness and taken away. Castiel was looking around the bunker slowly like he had missed it, and then his head turned, and Dean was hit with stunning blue eyes that had watched over him in his dreams and cried in his nightmares.

“Here,” Jack said, grinning from ear to ear. “This is right. I know it is.” And then, in a way that made Dean’s heart drop to his stomach, the angel kid looked at him specifically with some all-knowing, omnipotent look, and said, “you’re welcome.” And then he was gone like he had never been there, but his gift was still right in the middle of the bunker kitchen.

“Cas?” Sam whispered, and Dean could only watch in shock as his brother moved forward to hug the angel. 

Dean couldn’t believe his eyes. The hunter in him allowed his brain to work despite his own shock and emotions, and he realized that Cas didn’t seem surprised to be back at all. He wasn’t adjusting, he didn’t look shocked, and he certainly didn’t look like he had just woken up from sleeping in the Empty. 

How long ago had Jack pulled him from the Empty?

Dean exhaled quietly, but his breath was shaky as he watched Sam and Castiel pull away from each other. He couldn’t hear what they were saying because blood was rushing through his ears and his thoughts were screaming at him. He swore he could hear his own heart beating. And then, seemingly in slow motion, both his brother and the angel turned to him. 

This was something he had never really allowed himself to imagine, yet something he had let his thoughts wander to a thousand times. What reuniting would look like, and what it would feel like. Who would have the guts to speak first? What would be said? Would it all be the same as it was before? The thoughts were racing around in his head as he and Castiel stared at each other right in front of Sam, who was silently watching the entire exchange. It was reminiscent of all the years before, and Dean thought he was about to throw up.

Dean took a quick look at the clock, as if the numbers on the clock would jump out at him in code to tell him it was a dream. His heart jumped when he saw that the analog had stopped completely, not even the second ticker still trucking on. His eyes turned to the clock above the stove, a simple one with easy numbers for a quick glance, and he saw that it was blinking, as if there was a power outage. It was 4:01. 

“Hello, Dean.”

God. That was what Dean had hoped for and dreaded all at once. It was what he had been begging in the privacy of his room to hear ever since he left. That gravelly, inquisitive voice. The two words that started something in him years and years ago. Those two words flipped his life upside down all those years back, and there they were again with the same damn inflection and all, churning his gut and changing his life yet again. 

Dean swallowed, and he looked away from the blinking numbers to face his dream and his dread all the same. He looked Castiel in the eyes, and he found that he couldn’t read the angel’s eyes. “Hi, Cas.” 

For a moment, not a single one of them moved. It was like the air in the room had been kidnapped and taken for ransom, but nobody was even reading the note left behind. The elephant in the room was there and stomping around, loud and in charge, acting more like a bull ready to knock them all over instead of hiding in the corner. 

“You look well,” Castiel said after that long, agonizing pause, and Dean swallowed. He felt like it was dirt that he was swallowing. The same dirt that threatened to suffocate him years ago when he crawled out of a shallow grave with a cross planted over it. 

“Yeah, you too, Cas,” he said, ignoring the fact that he wanted nothing more than to run over and grab him, embrace him just as hard as he did all those years ago after he found him in Purgatory. Like Castiel was his lifeline. But Dean also knew that if he touched Castiel that he had a good chance of falling apart, of begging him to answer if he had truly meant what he said before he was snatched away from him. 

So he turned back to his cereal instead. 

“Dean,” Sam scolded, “that’s it?” 

“What do you mean?” Dean asked gruffly, and he was thankful that his back was turned, because his eyes were burning with tears. 

“He just came back,” Sam said, “he just came back from the dead. I know that’s… kind of a common thing for us, but come on, man. This is huge. This is a win. A win we weren’t even aware of was still on the board.” 

Dean closed his eyes for a moment. He took a deep breath from his nose, and he forced himself to smile, but he knew that it was the fake one that looked more like a bite than a grin. “Welcome back, man. It’s good to have you.” Sam looked like he wanted to say something else, but Dean put his bowl in the sink and walked over to Castiel, sighing once and clapping a hand down on his shoulder. “Glad you’re here.” 

And then he walked to his room, his head throbbing and his heart aching with every step. 

Dean was in his room until Saturday morning. He had food and drinks in his room, and a bathroom attached to it, so he had no need to venture out. And he wasn't sure if he hated the idea of leaving his room, or wanted to so much that it made it a bad idea. 

He wanted to see Castiel. He thought about walking by at night just to check and make sure that he didn’t hallucinate his arrival. He wanted to see the blue of his eyes, hear his awkward tone, watch him look at cracks in the walls or dips in the table like they were lost works of art. He thought about waiting outside of the room that he most definitely moved back into, just to hear him shuffling around in there. But he gritted his teeth and sat in his room at his desk instead, not willing to indulge himself even in the smallest regard. 

But finally, on the Saturday after that fateful Thursday, Dean rubbed his forehead and plopped down on the floor with a piece of paper. He felt like a teenage girl, sitting on the floor and writing up a fucking pros and cons list, but it had to be done. He couldn’t avoid Cas forever. Life wouldn’t let him, and neither would his heart. 

His handwriting was the worst it had ever been as he wrote quickly. He wrote about the things that he had seen with Cas, about the things he had done with Cas. For the first time in a while, he let the emotions take him over while he had the protective four walls of his room. And, just like he suspected, he reached the conclusion that avoiding Castiel wasn’t helping him at all. 

They had been through too much together for Dean to act like Castiel wasn’t back.

So, at seven in the morning, Dean took a shower, cleared his head as best as he could, and left his room. He was cautious as he walked down the hallway, like he was expecting a fucking wendigo to pop up in the middle of the bunker. It was stupid, and it was pissing Dean off with how on edge he was because he was scared to face his best friend. 

He was on his way to the kitchen for coffee and some food. It was early enough for Sam to be running, and he didn't think Cas left his room that early, either. He was sure that he would be fine, but that safety net left immediately the second he saw Castiel's bedroom door open.

Dean stood still. He knew that wouldn't help him, but he did it anyway. As if Cas could sense his energy, he turned around, and there they were at a silent stalemate in the hallway.

“Hello,” Castiel said, and Dean wondered why he didn’t say his name. "You’re up early.” 

“Yeah,” Dean said, rubbing his face. “Um…” he paused, taking a long look at Cas, who was as patient as ever. The words were on the tip of his tongue, tugging at the back of his mind until he finally just said them. “Do you want to watch a movie?” 

Castiel didn’t look shocked, but he didn’t look like that was what he had been expecting, either, and Dean wondered what it was he was expecting. “A movie?” 

“I just uh, thought we were long overdue for a movie,” Dean said gruffly, scratching a hand over the back of his neck. "We used to watch 'em all the time."

Dean remembered, and he knew that Cas did, too. Dean would almost always be the one to choose, and it would be either some big franchise movie that was absolutely disgraceful to not have seen, or some western movie.

“Movies,” Castiel mused, “I missed those.” 

Dean missed them, too. They weren't the same to him anymore, and deep down, he knew why. “Cool,” Dean said, clearing his throat. “Meet me in the movie room, then. Later tonight. Eight."

Dean watched Castiel look back at him in silence, pure silence, and for a moment, Dean wondered how on earth he had survived without that wordless, uncomfortable stare. “Okay, Dean.” 

It gave him chills. He ignored it with everything that he had. “Great,” Dean said nonchalantly, nodding his head at the angel, and then turning on his heel and leaving Castiel alone yet again, leaving without food and without coffee. 

Dean Winchester sat in the movie room thinking about what the hell he was going to choose for about twenty minutes before he finally started to browse. Nothing was really catching his eye as he scrolled, knowing that most of the movies were either going to bore him (which would mean that he would start looking at Castiel), or make no sense to Castiel (which meant that Cas would ask questions, and Dean would have to look at him anyway). 

One of those random memories he often had implanted into his head started spinning around rolling around like a hamster wheel. He sighed as Purgatory ran through his mind, thinking about the fear he had turning into anger and unleashing a monster inside of him much worse than anything else down there. He thought about how the sun seemed to shine down in Purgatory for just a moment when he and Benny finally found Cas. And from there, his mind jumped chapters and went to the time when he and Castiel were cowboys, dressed in full gear together driving around in the Impala. He cracked a smile at the memory, and then the memory of something else settled deep in his gut. 

Brokeback Mountain. 

He remembered the first time he saw it. He would never forget it, actually. He had a few extra dollars, and thinking it was a typical western film, he went all by himself. Thirty minutes in, he had realized that the movie was about two gay cowboys. At first, his whole body rejected the idea, and he was so uncomfortable, something deep inside of him was threatening to peek out with every minute that the movie played on. He stormed out that night, leaving with an angry expression on his face a little less than halfway through, cursing the fact that he wasted his money. 

He remembered feeling a nagging pull to finish the movie weeks later. It was already out of theaters, but that didn’t stop him. He found the DVD at a rundown store that was happy to let him borrow it one day, popped it in, and played it all the way through. And he would never tell a soul, but he cried. He fucking cried. 

And he never let himself revisit the feeling again. 

Dean was looking at the remote in his hands, contemplating. Would it be a good idea to show it to Castiel? What message was he trying to send? He didn’t know, and he was almost sure that he would never know how his own mind worked. With a shaky hand, Dean typed in the letters, and almost like it was a stroke of Jack’s work, the movie had three different showtimes. Three. And one of them was playing at the exact time they had said they would watch the movie.

There was no backing out. 

“It’s just a cowboy movie,” Dean muttered to himself. “He knows I like cowboys, it’s no big deal. We’ve watched cowboy movies before.” 

But even as he tried his best to rationalize his choice, he wrestled with it. Was it bold? Would it be obvious? Would he lie and tell Cas he hadn’t seen it if he asked? Would they look away in shame during the sex scenes? And the worst possibility crept into his already tortured mind, would they watch the movie, look at each other, know, and never speak about it? 

An hour later, right on time to cut through Dean’s thoughts that were starting to toe the line with being debilitating, Castiel walked into the movie room. He looked at the snacks on the tray that Dean had, and when he smiled at it, he missed it, Dean’s heart skipped a beat. 

“What are we watching?” Castiel asked, sitting not too far from him on the couch, and Dean told himself that Cas couldn’t hear his heart that seemed to be skipping every other beat. Castiel was too far. But he was entirely too close.

“Just some cowboy movie that I saw was playing,” he said nonchalantly, “you know how I like them.” He took the quietest deep breath of his life, and he pressed on the movie. 

“Ah, yes. You love old westerns.” 

Dean didn’t know how to tell him that it wasn’t too old, and that it certainly wasn’t the western type of film he was thinking of. So he kept his mouth shut and his eyes on the screen as he pressed play, and his hand anxiously reached for the popcorn as a distraction. 

Dean was thankful that he had seen the movie before, because for the first ten minutes, he was focused on anything but what was on the screen. He was thinking about what was going to go down between them after the movie ended like his life depended on it. 

They hardly spoke as the movie played on. Castiel was watching intently, and Dean wishes that he hadn’t been sneaking side glances and looking at him so often, because he knew the second Castiel understood what it was that they were watching. There was no disgust on his face or in his body language, but why would there be? Castiel wasn’t afraid of intimacy or sexuality, of course he wasn’t. He was free of that. Dean would never forget the moment that he watched the angel free himself of it. That was Dean’s cross to bear.

But still, Dean waited for the other shoe to drop. Waited for a question, waited for Castiel to start either laughing or assuming. He knew in the back of his mind that Cas wouldn’t laugh, but his worries wouldn’t quiet down as they watched Jack and Ennis have sex for the first time. Instead of laughing or looking upset, Cas just watched without a word. No smile, no frown, nothing. 

That terrified Dean. 

The tension was tangible in the air through the silence, and Dean swore he could almost see it. He had heard Castiel exhale after Jack Twist’s monologue, and his heart skipped a beat as his thoughts went wild. 

How much of that did Castiel relate to? Did he relate to it at all? Sure, they never had sex, but what they did was worse, if Dean was forced to think about it. Saving each other, mourning each other’s deaths, the glances, the blatant stares, the bickering, the concern that they had for each other, the bond that they originally shared that came from the first time Castiel touched him. From the very start, there had been something there that neither of them had been brave enough to point out. And for what? 

All those stares, for what? All those indirect moments, all those hidden feelings, for what? All that time wasted, all the time Dean was preparing to throw away again despite them already losing so much. But above all those thoughts, there was one that was ringing like an alarm in his head. 

The end of the movie was coming, and Cas had yet to say a single word to him. 

Dean’s head turned to Castiel for just a moment, even though he didn’t want to look. He didn’t want to make it obvious. But Castiel was looking straight at the screen, watching it like he was the third person in the scene, looking at the two cowboys like he knew them personally, watching like he had been their quiet, omniscient third wheel for years. Dean looked away. 

The end of the movie came, and Dean’s chest tightened as he saw Ennis open the closet, and he closed his eyes for the briefest of moments when he saw the god forsaken shirt and picture. It reminded him all too well of when Castiel died after releasing the Leviathans, and when he would take his trench coat from car to car, holding onto the hope that he would eventually come back. Keeping a piece of him, despite the betrayal. He clenched his jaw as the memory and the pain of all the times he lost Castiel hit him in the chest. It never got easier. He remembered how Jack Twist basically begged Ennis to open his eyes and his heart to what was so obvious between them, and Ennis never could. Dean saw their life on the screen. And as the screen went black, he let himself sigh. 

The silence was killing him. The only sound in the room was the sad guitar playing, and the lump in Dean’s throat got bigger as the sadness of the movie and guilt of his own actions caught up to him. "That was…” Castiel said, and Dean’s heart stopped. “Terribly sad.” 

“Yeah,” Dean said, his voice hoarse. “It’s sad.” 

“And you’ve… seen this before?”

Dean cleared his throat and took a long drag from his beer bottle. “Yeah.” 

More silence. More of Castiel’s beautiful eyes staring back at him like he was a book full of ancient texts. Hard to read, but not impossible. And Castiel knew every fucking language on planet earth. “Why did you show me this, Dean?” Castiel asked, and Dean’s heart jumped. 

“It was movie night.” 

Cas was patient. He tilted his head to the side, like he was genuinely curious. There was no innocent look in his eye, though, which was an expression that Dean had come to know from when they first started to feel the strings of fate intertwine between them. Castiel wasn’t confused. He was analyzing. “Why did you pick this movie?” 

For a moment, Dean thought about aborting the mission. He thought about clamming up and getting all pissy again, insisting that Cas was poking around for doors that led to nothing. But he looked at the screen and saw the credits rolling, and he heard that damn music, and then he saw Castiel. 

He was looking at Dean like he had the answer to every prayer. 

“Because I wanted you to see it,” he ground out, his voice all defensive, but neither of them were shocked. That was how Dean always sounded before someone struck emotional gold with him. He always gave one last snap of his sharp teeth before letting the vault open. One last sickening growl before keeling over and dying, leaving the safe unlocked. This was no different. 

“Why?” It was the gentlest Dean had ever heard the angel speak. 

“Because I…” Dean trailed off as the words got stuck in his throat, thick and weighing heavy. “Because I wanted you to know.” 

“Know what, Dean?” 

“Ennis.” For a moment, that was all he could say as he gathered his thoughts, tried to tell himself that it was only Cas, it was only his angel looking at him, staring at him like he knew his soul. Like he needed to know his soul. “He loved Jack Twist.” 

Castiel blinked. “It seems like he did, yes.” 

Dean shook his head. “It seems like he did” wasn’t enough. That wasn’t concrete. Dean was fucking sick to his stomach, and he needed Castiel to know that there was no question about how Ennis Del Mar felt about Jack Twist. 

“I wanted you to know that he did, even though Ennis never really—he never really said any of that sappy shit back. But Ennis knew. He knew Jack loved him. And he showed him he loved him back sometimes, in his own fucked up way. They argued, and he screwed up a few times, but he did.”

It was silent for a few moments, and Dean wondered if he truly had said too much. He wondered if he had cut himself open and showed his soul too quickly, and then he remembered that this was the angel that had dragged him from Hell. This was the angel that had touched his soul, mended it. This was the angel who had seen him and all his flaws and crimes and sins, and still… 

What was there to be hesitant of? 

“That’s very interesting, Dean.” Castiel sat back on the couch, just looking. Waiting. Expecting. Like he knew. 

And that was when Dean panicked. 

“Alright, well,” Dean said, giving him a tight smile. His panic almost never showed on the outside. “I’m tired. I know you don’t sleep and all, but-” 

���Goodnight, Dean.”

He expected more of a fight than that. He was certain that Castiel would have said something, brought something up, but he seemed to know Dean just as well as he knew himself. Castiel was always good at reading him. He always knew when Dean’s cup was running dry.

Dean hovered for a moment, and for a split second, he wondered if he was making the wrong choice in not saying anything. But then he just gave him that tried and true Winchester smile again. “Night.” 

His feet felt like they were chained to the couch as he walked away.

Dean Winchester avoided Castiel again. He wasn’t sure what there was to say. He wasn’t sure what Cas wanted him to say. So, he decided to say nothing. Even better, he decided to not even cross paths with him, at least until Dean remembered how to hold his tongue and rein in the burning sensation in his chest every time he saw Cas. 

Sam was noticing. He kept giving Dean looks, kept giving him his own version of the cold shoulder. It didn’t bother Dean at first, but when Sam really started to lay it on him, he didn’t want to see Sam, either. 

He loved his brother. He really did. But Sam had this thing where he did everything in a healthy manner. He ate healthy foods. He went running in the mornings. He drank hot tea to cleanse. He grieved as healthily as he could. He even worked through emotions as best as possible. 

Sam would have already said something. In fact, Sam would have never been in the situation Dean was in. Not even close. He would have never had that in between, will-we-won’t-we period of time. He would have told whoever it was on the other side of the door that he liked them, loved them, and that he wanted to move forward. Sam was bold. Sammy was smart. He would have never done this to begin with. 

But now that Dean was in it, Sam was adamant on trying to help him. And by help, he practically bullied him with glares, trying to make him look progress in the face. He wanted to push him forward into spilling his guts. 

And that just wasn’t Dean. 

Dean had no idea what Castiel was doing. Dean knew what he was doing, and that was sitting in his room and thinking about Castiel’s reaction to the stupid fucking movie. He could still hear the small exhale that Cas let out, like someone had punched him just enough to shock him. 

Dean thought about that for an entire hour. 

On the third day of him dodging around Castiel’s flighty schedule, Dean ran into Sam.

“What are you doing?” Sam asked as Dean went for the fridge. Beer first, like always. 

“Grabbing a beer. What, you want one?” 

“What are you doing with Castiel?” 

Dean didn’t let it bother him. He knew better than that, and he knew better than to try and change the subject. All he could do was stall. “I haven’t seen him today.” 

“Yeah, I know,” Sam said, crossing his arms. “You haven’t seen him in a while.” 

Dean scoffed. “A while? Don’t be dramatic.” 

“It’s been like, three days.” 

Dean gave his brother a mischievous face, and he knew Sam wasn’t playing when he frowned instead of rolled his eyes. “Are you spying on me, Sammy?” 

“You need to fix this, Dean.” 

Dean opened his bottle, and he went to the pantry. “Fix what?” 

“Your situation with Cas,” Sam said exasperatedly, and Dean gave a halfhearted grunt. 

“What about it? We’re good.” 

“You’re good?” Sam repeated with his brows raised, ready to challenge whatever came out of Dean's mouth.

“Yeah,” Dean said slowly, “I didn’t know that we had to play Scrabble every day at the kitchen table to let you know we’re friends. I’m glad he’s back.” 

“Dean, you love him.” 

And the world came to a screeching halt. 

It was the first time that Sam had outright told Dean that he knew exactly how he felt toward Castiel. He processed the words, and he didn’t even have the time to be shocked at his smartass brother, because Sam kept going. 

“You love him, and this is honestly ridiculous. Everyone on Chuck’s– fuck, Jack’s green earth knows it, too. Everyone who’s ever met the two of you. Everyone.” 

Everyone? “Sam-” 

“It’s mutual,” Sam droned on, as if this wasn’t the dilemma of Dean’s existence he was speaking about, “it’s very mutual. So what in the hell is the problem?”

Dean was speechless for a moment. All he could do was stare at Sam, stare at his little brother who he raised himself, as he was getting lectured by him. “It’s not what you think it is.” 

“Really? Because I’m pretty sure I heard you two watching Brokeback Mountain, of all movies,” Sam retorted, and just as Dean set his jaw, getting ready to defend the movie, Sam started talking again. “And it’s a great movie. But… you can’t tell me you didn’t choose that for a reason.” 

“It was on cable.” 

“You searched for it on cable, Dean. You searched for it, and you know it,” Sam said, and Dean breathed sharply through his nose. “I know you, Dean. And so does he.” 

“I’m not trying- just stop, Sam.” Dean was starting to clam up again. “I don’t know-” 

“I know what you were trying to say.” 

“There was no subliminal fucking message,” Dean scoffed, and Sam nailed him with one of his bitch-looks, that one that could set Dean off within seconds if he was having shitty day already. 

“I know exactly what you’re trying to say to him, Dean,” Sam gently firmly, but his eyes were gentle. His eyes were the same as when he would talk to a victim during a hunt. “And I think you should just say it outright. It’s been a long time coming, Dean.” 

“What are you- what are you saying?” 

“Tell him. Tell him how you’ve been feeling for years. Just say it.” 

Dean’s stomach was churning. He couldn’t look Sam in the face. He couldn’t look it in the face. “Don’t give me that, Sam.” 

“Can you imagine how he feels?” Sam asked, and Dean’s face dropped. “He told you everything. He confessed to you, Dean. He told you. Now he’s back, and he remembers. And I didn’t have to be there to know that you said nothing back.” 

“You don’t know shit, Sam.” 

“I do,” the younger Winchester fired back instantly. “I know you. And I know you said nothing back. I’m not blaming you, I’m sure that you were shocked. Even though I know you knew.” 

Dean opened his mouth to deny it, to say that he was completely blindsided, but his lips didn’t work, and neither did his tongue. It was a lie, and everyone knew it. He closed his mouth and he watched Sam nod at him, like he knew that Dean had chosen to actually be transparent. 

“But now he’s here, now is your chance, and you haven’t said anything. Everyone knows you want to. Why don’t you?” 

Why didn’t he? Dean didn't know. He never forced himself to think about it, either. “Sam, it’s none of your goddamn business.” 

“It is when I know you mourned him every day he was gone,” Sam said sternly. “It is when I know you mourned more than him being gone. There was regret that you were feeling, too. Regret about your silence. Regrets about wasting time, about never saying anything about the things that were so clearly there. Now you don’t have to. Jack just gave you two another chance, Dean.” 

Dean turned around, hot on his own heels, about to start grumbling to himself and cursing out his brother when he heard Sam talk again. 

“Just think. Ennis?” Dean stopped in his tracks as if that were his given name, as if it were a gunshot to his back. “Ennis never got a second chance after he left. This has gotta be around your fourth.” Dean stood still with his back to Sam still as the lump in his throat grew. “Why would you sit in silence and ignore what you have when you have another chance and such a clear path to happiness?” 

Dean clenched his jaw and started to walk away, and the sound of his boots clicking on the bunker floor made the end of the conversation final. 

It didn’t take long for Dean to get hungry after he stormed out on Sam. He was starving, but he didn't want to leave his room. He was certain that there was someone that he didn’t want to talk to waiting for him, and he didn’t want to talk at all. Sam or Cas, he just didn’t. His room was his best fucking friend.

The hunger was making him crabby. He was already in a bad mood, he had been ever since he left the movie room. But it had only blossomed into something nastier, something warped with misplaced anger and anxiety. 

Dean was bouncing off of the walls with all of his unchecked emotions, and oppressive thoughts,  and he knew what he had to do. 

He needed to go to the bar. 

He wasn’t sure if the plan was to just get drunk or to pick some chick up, even though he was rusty. He hadn’t done it in a while, and he ignored the reasoning for that because it circled right back to the thing he was running from, yet again. 

Dean stopped in his tracks when he saw the very reason he was going out to get drunk sitting at the table, reading a book. Judging by the way it looked, it was some kind of lore book. Dean wanted to walk right by him, maybe just give him an awkward wave and pretend that it wasn’t awkward, but Castiel looked up at him. 

“I’m going out,” Dean said, eager to speak first. If he spoke first, he could control where the conversation traveled to, and hopefully that meant he had a shot at being the one to end it, too. 

“Okay,” Castiel said, and something about his tone made Dean’s insides twist up. “Have fun, Dean.” 

Dean. There it was.

 Dean. 

Dean’s name meant nothing to him. Not a lot meant anything to Dean anymore, but in the same sick and torturous time loop, not a lot didn’t weigh on his mind. But his name. His name, when it comes from that god forsaken angels' mouth. That one syllable could convey so much, it said so much more than a hundred of Dean’s sharp words ever could. It had him whipping around, still carrying his flannel. 

“Why do you say my name like that, man?” 

Castiel looked up from his book. He looked mildly startled. “What?” 

“You always say my name like that,” Dean said, taking a step closer. It both killed him and awoke his soul. “Why do you do that?” 

“That’s your name,” Castiel said slowly, and then he narrowed his eyes. “Are you okay, Dean?” 

“Are you- are you trying to make me feel bad, or something?” Dean asked, face screwing up as he took another step forward, setting the keys to the Impala down on the table. “What’s your end goal, here?” 

“I have no ulterior motive,” Castiel said cautiously, “I’m just here, Dean.” 

He was there. Just there. Just existing. Just in Dean’s mind when he was awake, and when he was dreaming. He was just in his nightmares and in his long list of regret in dark blue ink, underlined and circled a thousand times. He was a permanent member of the what-if club in Dean’s mind, and he had the nerve to say that he was “just there”. 

“What do you want?” 

Cas looked positively concerned. He slowly stood up, and Dean’s entire body tensed, and when he realized that what he wanted was a hug, he nearly ran. “Dean, are you feeling alright?” 

“Why didn’t you come back here the second you came back, huh?” That wasn’t the question Dean wanted to ask, but he found that it was something he had been wanting to ask, anyway. Castiel blinked. “The second Jack brought you back, why didn’t you come?” 

Castiel exhaled. “I didn’t think you’d notice.” 

“Of course I did,” Dean retorted bitterly. “How long were you alive?” 

“About a month,” he answered truthfully, and Dean’s heart skipped. “I was helping him. Jack is still very young-” 

Dean shook his head. That was a good try, a good reason, but he knew Cas better than that. Cas would have checked in before flying off with Jack again. “Why didn’t you come home?” 

Castiel’s eyes got hard, hard in that way that told Dean that he didn’t appreciate being backed into a corner. Hard in the way that reminded Dean that he was speaking to a celestial being. 

“I didn’t know if you wanted me back, Dean.” The words broke something that had already been broken and mended a hundred times inside of Dean. 

“What?” 

Castiel nailed him with a look. “I didn’t know if you wanted me back, and I’m very positive that you can assume why I was unsure.” 

Dean’s stomach lurched again. Why was he feeling so sick? Why was this guilt so much worse than guilt from situations that were much more dire? Why did this feel like a knife to the gut? “Why would I tell you that you couldn’t come home?” 

“You know why,” Castiel insisted again, and Dean swallowed. “You know what happened.”

Dean shrugged his shoulders. “I mean, yeah. We both do.”

Castiel just looked at him for a moment, reading him with his eyes, and then, Dean swears he saw him roll them. “Go on, Dean,” Castiel said dismissively, “go to the bar.” 

Dean scowled. “What?” 

“I know you don’t want to talk about it. I know you want to forget about it. That’s fine,” Cas said, but there was the smallest break in his voice, the tiniest hint of exhaustion and sadness, and Dean knew that he was lying. “Go ahead. We don’t have to bring it up.” 

Dean wanted to take the bait. He did. The thought of them trying to go back to the way it was with no consequences, no setbacks, and nothing but lingering stares and touches and unspoken affection seemed like heaven to him. But he knew that the limbo he would throw the both of them back into was hell, and it was a hell that they had been in for far too long for no reason at all. Castiel didn’t escape one shitty afterlife just to live another on earth. 

“We don’t have to,” Cas repeated quietly, almost like a plea, a plea for them to pretend to be “normal” even if it broke them both, and something inside of Dean snapped. 

“Yeah, we do.” 

“We don’t.” If Dean didn’t know better, he would say that Cas almost looked afraid. 

“No, you said it. You laid it all on the line, and I said nothing. And then you were gone,” Dean said, and it overtook him all at once. He put his head in his hands and took a deep, staggering breath. “Just like Jack fuckin’ Twist.”

Cas’s eyes went wide, like he couldn’t believe that Dean was going there. “Dean.” 

“You said it, and I knew one day you would, but I never thought- I never thought I wouldn’t be able to answer you. I- I could have, but I couldn’t.” 

The look in Castiel’s eyes was like a cut that always bled and a healing salve all the same. Gentle, bloody hands that sewed him up after wielding the knife themselves. “Dean.” 

“I knew you did.” 

“You knew?” Castiel asked slowly. “What did you know?” 

The lump in Dean's throat was bigger than ever. “How it was. How you saw us.” 

Castiel looked at him for a long time, and in the silence, Dean wished that he could read minds. Just for one night. Just for one person.

“You loved me.”

It was Castiel’s turn to look away. “It’s… just go, Dean.” Dean shook his head, and he pressed on the gas.

“I knew you did. I knew you did, I could feel it. And I-I did, too. I didn’t realize it until… until Purgatory. When I realized that even after you fucking unleashed Leviathans on the world and played me and Sam and Bobby like a goddamn fiddle… I wouldn’t leave without you. I didn’t know why, I couldn’t… but I know what that feeling was now. I know what that feeling when I had- I had the Mark of Cain was. I know why I didn’t kill you. I know you were my Collette.” 

Castiel said nothing. He had tears in his blue eyes, too similar to Dean’s ongoing nightmare. But he said nothing. Dean wondered if this was how he felt all those months back. 

“I cared about you. More than I ever should have. More than I thought I ever could have. I felt the bond, too. I never wanted to admit it, not even to myself, but I always felt that I knew you. And I- Cas,” Dean said, and he hated the way his voice cracked. “I hate myself for letting you leave that way. I hate myself.” 

“Why do you hate yourself, Dean?” 

“I just told you why, goddamn it!” He snapped, but Castiel didn’t look shocked at all. Castiel was never shocked by his tendency to bite the hand that fed him. Dean was a violent dog, one that didn’t want to clamp down his teeth, but he had been trained to, and Castiel had skin made of steel. “I just told you.” 

“You don’t have to hate yourself for that, Dean.” Dean closed his eyes anyway, unable to look at him. “I knew that I wouldn’t hear anything back. I know you.” 

“That’s not an excuse.” 

“But I knew what would happen. And I said it anyway.” 

“But I wanted to say- I wanted to.” 

“I know.” 

“You couldn’t possibly know,” Dean hissed,  turning his head to the side like that could shield him from his own words, and he wanted to crawl in a hole when he felt a hot tear run down his face. He wiped it off angrily, all signs of it gone instantly.  

“What don’t I know, Dean?” There it was again. His name. Like it was a prayer. Like it was something to be cared for, something gentle. Like he wasn’t just a shell of himself, trying to glue himself back together with a child’s glue stick. 

“You don’t know how I feel.” 

Castiel made a face, the one that always told Dean that he thought he knew exactly what the problem was. “You never had to say it, Dean,” Castiel said quietly. “I know.” 

“You can’t-” Dean turned away from his angel, shaking his head. “You can’t know. How?” Castiel started to walk closer, and Dean straightened up as the angel was close, too close for him to think. 

“Because it’s all right here,” Castiel said, pointing a finger right into his chest, where his heart was. Dean swore that it grew wings and flew right out of his chest and into Castiel’s hands at that very moment. “Dean, you wear your heart on your sleeve. It’s so obvious when you care. That’s one of the things that I fell in love with.” 

Dean’s automatic reaction was to curl into himself, to start shaking his head, to tell Castiel to not go there, to not travel to the depths that they both clearly knew were there. But he forced himself to stand still, to watch and listen even as his eyes continued to burn. 

He wasn’t going to fuck it up again. 

“I knew. I just needed to get it off of my chest, and I am so sorry that it’s something that has weighed on you this much since my departure.” 

Sorry. He was sorry. Castiel was sorry? “What are you sorry for?” 

“For leaving you in distress,” he said gently. “I suppose I never really thought about the aftermath. I just knew I had finally found peace in it. I guess my last act was just as selfish as it was joyful on my end.” 

Dean could go on for days with reasons that Castiel was anything but selfish. Stupid, but he was never selfish. “If anyone’s the asshole, it’s me, Cas,” Dean said. “It’s me.” 

“This is something you’ll hold on to, isn’t it? One of your many, debilitating regrets?” Dean couldn’t say. He didn’t want to. “You don’t have to. You carry so much, Dean. So much.” 

Dean shrugged. “I fucked up. I have to live with it.” 

“I forgive you.” 

“You forgive me?” Dean repeated. 

“For whatever situation you concocted in your head, I forgive you, Dean.” 

Dean Winchester didn’t know what to say. Nothing he said would be enough. So, he just looked at Cas as if his eyes weren’t burning, and he nodded his head one time. Cas saw it though, he always did, and he closed the distance between the two of them in the middle of the bunker, hands slapping down on each other’s backs, like they hadn’t seen each other in years. 

Dean’s whole body was tingling. Whether it was because he was hallucinating or because he was finally accepting something, he wasn’t sure. All he knew was that he swore he could feel the welt of Castiel’s handprint, the hand that had gripped him and raised him up. It was on his arm and branded into his ribs and on his ankle and on his heart. It was on his face, a strong yet gentle hand cupping his cheek. It was all consuming, and for the first time, Dean let it take him. 

His hunter’s mind never turned off, though, and when he heard footsteps coming their way, he opened his eyes. He saw Sam come around the corner, and he knew the second Sam realized what it was he was witnessing. He watched his little brother’s eyes light up so bright with genuine excitement, and then he saw him wave like a little kid, give a thumbs up, and walk right back where he came from. 

He wasn’t sure how long they just stood there, or who pulled away first. It didn’t matter. Not when they felt so connected. Neither of them spoke for a few moments, and Dean relished in it. It was known. It was unknown. It just was. 

But still, Dean was a human. Dean was curious. “So, what do we do now?” 

“What do you mean by that?” 

“We- is this something new?” Something they would have to label? Labeling was never Dean’s strongest suit, anyway. “What is this?” He asked, quickly gesturing between the two of them. 

“That’s the beauty of that free will thing you showed me many years ago, Dean,” Castiel said, and when he smiled, Dean felt the same sun that came through dark trees in Purgatory come back for him. This time, they were both above ground, alive, and it was real. “It can be whatever we want.”  

“Yeah, you’re right,” Dean said, and he forced himself to look up from his shoes back to his angel again. And in  that moment, the soft smile on Castiel’s face was enough to erase the memory of his teary eyes. “You’re right.” 

“Maybe we should go to Canada.” 

Dean frowned a bit. “Huh?” 

“That’s where most of the movie was filmed,” he said, and slowly, the confused look on Dean's face changed, and his lips turned upwards into the smallest of smiles. “Some parts were filmed in New Mexico, but the mountain scenes were in Alberta. We can wear the hats, I’m sure you still have some, somewhere.” 

The fondness that swirled inside of Dean’s chest was breaking free to escape. For the first time, he let it show on his face, and he smiled a beautiful, gentle smile at his angel. “We can go, Cas,” Dean said, “we can go anywhere.” 

I hope you liked this story! At some points, characters might have been OOC, but I really enjoyed writing this. It’s so strange to be back posting on after almost two years, and back with a different fandom. One I’ve been in since I was… fourteen, I think? Strange that I’ve never written for Destiel before, but God knows I had a reason to. 

This fic is so deeply personal to me because of an interesting relationship/friendship I had! It was extremely similar to the nature of Dean and Cas, and in turn, very similar to Jack and Ennis. More or less, the fall of that relationship is what caused me to write this. I started this in the middle of my heartbreak and as I end it, I’m feeling overall much better. I hope I was able to give Dean and Cas a better ending than I got. This is silently dedicated to my own personal Ennis, my cowboy who will never ever read this. P.S, if you can help it, never fall in love with someone who can't accept who they are. You deserve beautiful, unconditional love, and someone who will recognize the value of the love you share.

I really hope whoever is reading this enjoyed my first dip back into writing! I love Destiel so much, so I hope I did them justice! Also, these cute cowboy dividers were made by @saradika-graphics ! Y'all let me know if you think I should write more Destiel!

[marvelfanfn2187a113]

Running with You

Kevin Tran x Winchester sister!reader, Sam and Dean Winchester & little sister!reader

Requested by Anonymous

Synopsis: just a little series of snippets of your relationship with Kevin (and Sam and Dean…it was mostly supposed to be about Kevin, but those stupid brothers wormed their way into more scenes than I thought they would)

Meeting a prophet for the first time didn’t go exactly as you’d thought it would. First of all, he was your age. Second, he was a total nerd. And third…

He was kind of cute.

The two of you hit it off almost immediately. But of course he had a girlfriend, so you had to back off—but Kevin still made a great friend.

He was incredibly panicked to find out he was a prophet, and your idiot big brothers weren’t very good at calming or comforting, so you took over that role. Ever since then, Kevin and you became fast friends.

You were there for him when his life fell apart. He was there for you when you were scared for Sam—just out of hell and very traumatized. You comforted him when Crowley killed his girlfriend, and…

And you were both there for each other when Dean went to purgatory, and Sam was too traumatized to keep going.

Sam walked away from the leviathan fight with no will to fight…really, no will to live. But when Crowley took Kevin, you couldn’t just let him go.

You were the one who helped Kevin escape, and you were the one who was there with him on the run for a whole year…

…

“C’mon Kevin, let me in! That was the secret knock!”

“But you didn’t do the secret password!” Kevin’s muffled voice came from the other side of the door. You groaned.

“Kevin, I did the password.”

“That was the old one.”

“You changed it again,” you groaned. “Kev, I can’t keep up with the password if you change it every week. Just let me in.”

“Fine,” Kevin grumbled, and you heard lock after lock begin to unlock. “But I’m spraying you with holy water the second the door comes open.”

“When have you ever not?” You teased him. True to his word, your face got blasted from Kevin’s water gun the minute the door creaked open. You wiped the water off your face good-naturedly and stepped inside with your groceries. You liked to tease Kevin about all of his safety precautions, but only because it was better than the alternative; if you couldn’t laugh about how scared the two of you were all the time, you’d just…well, you’d just be scared all the time.

The two of you had spent the past year on the run from Crowley and his black-eyes minions, and there was no such thing as too careful. You’d thought about calling Sam once or twice, just to check in, but you didn’t know how. He’d gotten rid of his usual numbers, and so had you; the two of you were completely cut off. That was by far the hardest part of being on the run. You hoped that Sam was happy—that he’d really gotten away from the life like he’d planned—he deserved it, he really did.

You couldn’t blame him for checking out after Dean…after he died. You couldn’t; because you knew exactly how it felt. After Sam had gone to hell, you hadn’t wanted to hunt either. You’d thrown away all your old phones, and you’d gone to Lisa’s with Dean, and you had just checked out. You knew what Dean was doing late at night with those books and with the computer—he was trying to find a way to save Sam. Once or twice you had even found it in you to join him in his research—but the dead ends just hurt too much, and you couldn’t do it anymore.

So you couldn’t blame Sam for checking out the same way. But that didn’t mean it didn’t still hurt, especially since you hadn’t seen him in almost a year.

You forced yourself to shake off your melancholy as you focused on Kevin.

“How’s Patricia?” You asked. “She do anything crazy while I was gone?”

“Just shook the fridge a couple of times.” Kevin shrugged. “She seems to be in a good mood today.”

“Patricia” was an inside joke between you and Kevin. Ever since you’d found this safehouse, the weirdest things seemed to happen inside—the fridge shook in the middle of the night, food went missing, and even good things like the holy water guns being refilled without either of you touching them. You couldn’t remember who had named Patricia, but it didn’t matter; she was here to stay, and you’d done every test for a ghost or a poltergeist with nothing to show for it.

A harsh knock at the now-locked door behind you broke the lightheartedness in the air. You whipped around, and Kevin instinctually raised the holy water gun.

“Y/N?” You could’ve sworn your heart stopped at the sound of your big brother’s voice.

“Sam?” You reached for the handle, but Kevin grabbed your arm.

“It might not be him,” he argued. “Or he could be possessed.”

“Y/N it’s me!” Sam’s voice came again. “I know you’re here, and I know Kevin’s there too. We tracked you down, we need to talk to you.”

Neither you nor Kevin moved, but your mind was now going a mile a minute. Why would Sam track you down after so long? What did he need? And why did he keep saying “we”? The last question seemed the easiest to ask.

“Who’s we?” You demanded. There was a long silence on the other side of the door.

“Honey, please just let me in. I promise I can explain everything, but—“

“How do I know you’re you?” You challenged. Again, you were met with a king silence.

“Sweetheart—“ your heart stopped at the voice of your oldest brother. “Let us in. It…it’s us.”

You threw Kevin’s hand off your arm even as he argued with you—

“Y/N, no, it’s not them, you don’t know that—“

You completely ignored him, pushing him out of your way and clicking lock after lock until finally, you flung the door open to see the two people you missed most in the world.

The three of you stood there in silence, sizing each other up—Sam and Dean seeing how much you’d changed, and you gaping up at your brothers in disbelief. The silence was broken when Kevin took a half step forward and sprayed both of your brothers with his holy water gun.

“Seriously?” Sam grumbled, but Dean didn’t complain. He still hadn’t taken his eyes off you, and you couldn’t seem to tear your gaze away from him, either.

“Dean?” You whispered, the sound of his name shattering the silence.

“Hey sweetheart,” he greeted, a ghost of a smile playing on his lips.

You couldn’t hug him fast enough.

…

“So…” Dean glanced between you and Kevin, his features twitching into a suspicious glare. “What have you two been up to?”

You’d gotten the year recap from Sam and Dean, so now it was your turn to give your account.

“Oh, you know, running from Crowley,” you scoffed. You knew that wasn’t all that Dean meant—he was eyeing Kevin strangely, and you knew why.

“And you two are…” you resisted the urge to roll your eyes as Dean searched for a word. “What, just besties now?”

“Actually…” Kevin glanced to you for permission, and you nodded subtly. “We’re kinda going out.”

“Well—“ you shot Kevin a wry smile. “Not out. But we’re dating.”

Kevin responded to your smile with one of his own. It wasn’t really possible to leave your safe haven for non-emergencies, but the two of you spent so much time together that dates weren’t all that necessary. You weren’t sure when exactly your relationship with Kevin moved on from “just friends”, but it probably had something to do with the first time you kissed him…

It was at the first safehouse you’d bunkered down in after escaping from the demons. You were both soaked to the skin—you’d gone on a supply run, and it had started raining; you’d had to stuff the groceries under your jackets to keep them dry. The two of you hadn’t been in the safehouse ten minutes before a hoard of demons made their presence known by kicking down the door.

“Kevin!” You yelled a warning to the prophet just as a demon made to grab him—Kevin twisted away just in time, reaching for the holy water gun. He struggled to get a grip on it, his hands still soaked. Before he could, a second demon grabbed onto Kevin’s arm while the third and final demon knocked you back, keeping you away from Kevin.

Your back smashed against the kitchen counter, and you found yourself grasping for anything in reach to use as a weapon. Your hand closed around something cool—glass, maybe. Without even giving it a glance, you threw it at the demon keeping you from defending Kevin.

You got lucky—the glass container shattered against the demon’s face, and he began to scream as the cuts sizzled and burned; it was a salt shaker.

The second and first demon—both of whom now had a hold on Kevin—were momentarily distracted; it was all the prophet needed to twist away long enough to latch his fingers onto the water gun, and he brought it around and sprayed both demons in the face.

“Kevin, let’s go!” You’d gotten around the demons while they howled in pain, and now you hesitated in the doorway, waiting for Kevin to escape with you.

“No!” The demon howled. You saw the knife too late to stop it. “If we can’t have him, no one can!”

The demon buried the knife into Kevin’s stomach.

“No!” You screamed. Kevin gasped in pain—or shock—his mouth hanging open and his eyes darting down to the knife. The first demon glared at you, while the other two shared twin grins; then all three vanished.

“Kevin…” you whimpered as you took hesitant steps forward. Your hands were shaking as you reached for your friend—you knew enough to know not to take the knife out—and you grabbed hold of his jacket and eased it to the side to get a better look at…

The knife, stuck in a pound of ground beef from the market that Kevin had forgotten to take out of his jacket.

Kevin’s face brightened, his features lightening in relief. You just stared for a long minute, unable to still your runaway heart.

“Y/N?” Kevin breathed. “It’s…it’s ok. I’m—“

He never got to finish his sentence. You yanked the stabbed beef out of his inner pocket, throwing it across the room before snatching hold of his collar and yanking him towards you.

Kevin was stiff from shock for the first few seconds of the kiss, but as soon as he realized what was happening, he relaxed.

“Never scare me like that again,” you breathed when you finally pulled away.

Kevin’s grin was a mile wide.

“Yes ma’am.”

You snapped out of your memory when you heard your brothers start to speak.

“Congrats, guys,” Sam muttered awkwardly, while at the same time Dean grumbled—“oh boy.”

You couldn’t resist the eye roll this time—you should’ve known your brothers would make this weird.

“So—“ you broke the awkward silence. “I assume you came here for a reason. What’s going on?”

…

“Hey Kevin, let’s talk.”

Things had been calm for less than five before Dean brought up what you knew was coming.

“Uhh…” Kevin’s panicked eyes met yours. “Yeah, just, uh…just give me a second.” Kevin pulled you out of earshot of Dean.

“What?” You hissed. “You knew this was coming.”

“Yeah but you said you’d be there!” Kevin argued.

“No I didn’t,” you countered. “I said I’d step in if Dean went too far, I never said I’d babysit you any time Dean was around. This conversation is inevitable Kevin, I can’t stop Dean.”

“Fine.” Kevin huffed. “Can we at least have a code word.”

“For what?” You bit back a laugh.

“For if things get crazy!” Kevin struggled to keep his voice at a whisper.

“This isn’t a secret mission, Kevin.” You couldn’t hold back a little snicker at this. “If you need me, just say my name. It doesn’t have to be in code.”

“Your name.” Kevin took a deep breath. “Your name. Ok, I can do that.”

“Good.” You grinned, and you hoped it didn’t look too mocking. “Now go get him.”

…

“See?” You greeted Kevin as he returned from his talk with Dean—Dean looked much more happy than Kevin. “That wasn’t so bad, was it?”

“Uh…uh huh,” Kevin muttered. You cringed.

“He was a jerk, wasn’t he?” You asked.

“Uh huh.”

“Oh boy. C’mon, let’s go get some ice cream.”

…

“Hey Sam,” you greeted as you and Kevin watched Sam stride purposefully into the war room of the bunker. Sam however, didn’t say a word.

In three long strides, he reached Kevin. You watched in bewilderment as Sam stretched out his hand, realizing too late the truth—it wasn’t Sam.

His eyes flashed blue just as Dean burst into the room behind him.

“No!” Dean cried, and you turned just in time to see Sam—Gadreel—press his open palm against Kevin’s forehead. Kevin’s eyes flashed bright white.

You were screaming, you knew you were screaming. You could hear the inhuman screech piercing the air, but somehow it didn’t feel like you—you felt absent from your body, you felt like a floating, frozen nothing, forced to watch as your boyfriend slumped to the floor, his eyes just charred remains, as someone who was supposed to be your big brother turned his back and walked away.

“Kevin?” Dean choked. The air was a vacuum of nothing—no one moved, no one breathed, as you and Dean waited for a response that you both knew wasn’t coming.

You were reaching for him now, desperate to help him, to bring him back…but Dean pulled you away, turning you until your face pressed into his shoulder so you couldn’t get a closer look at your boyfriend.

As if he could make you unsee what had already scarred itself into your mind.

…

“Kevin?”

You held your breath as the apparition in front of you blinked out, then stabilized. It was him—after all this time, it was him.

“Yes!” Kevin breathed—could ghosts breathe?—a sigh of relief when he realized you all could see him. “I’ve been haunting this place for weeks and all you guys do is mope. It’s about time.”

“Kevin?” You said again, like you still didn’t believe it.

Kevin let his eyes wander for a long moment towards you, his hand twitching as if he wanted to reach for you.

“I don’t know how long I have,” he said, reluctantly turning his gaze back to your brothers. “So listen up.”

…

“My mom’s going to take me home until you guys can get the veil closed.” Kevin avoided looking at you as he spoke.

“Ok,” Dean said, and Sam nodded.

You huffed, uncomfortable with the silence.

“Can I have a minute?” You asked your brothers. They shuffled away without a word.

“It’s what I want,” Kevin said before you could speak. “I don’t want to just…being here as a ghost, it’s too much. It’s not what I want.”

“You don’t have to convince me,” you said quickly. “I…I wish you could stay here, but I understand your choice. I know it’s not the same as really being here.”

Silence reigned for several seconds.

“This sucks,” Kevin huffed finally. You couldn’t help but crack a sardonic smile.

“Yeah, it really sucks.”

“I wish we could’ve had more time.”

“Yeah.” You smirked. “We were quite the power couple.”

“Well now you’re just being cheesy,” Kevin chuckled, and you grinned.

“Hey, we got to at least try out that relationship thing—I guess that’s gonna have to be good enough.” You sighed. “Try not to drive your mom too crazy, ok?”

“Ok,” Kevin scoffed. “But only if you promise to fix your stupid brothers’ argument.”

“I’ll do my best,” you promised. Kevin turned to go. “Hey Kev?”

“Yeah?”

“Say hi to Patricia for me, ok?”

Taglist:

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