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zepskies · 1 year ago

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You showcased something I find really interesting about Sam and Dean, and that's how differently they process their emotions, negative or otherwise. It creates a lot of the brothers' arguments throughout the show.

i.e. Sam's go-to is to deal with it, to talk it out and figure out how to make sense of it logically -- sometimes before Dean, or even Sam himself is ready for it.

While Dean's is to bury it lol. At least for a while, until he can process it in his own time. Both approaches have their pros and cons, but I always like it when that dynamic is highlighted! ❤️

When You're Ready

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Fem!Reader

Summary: A case hits you particularly hard and all you want to do is be alone

Word Count: 1.8k

Warnings: Cursing (3x), Mentions of violence/blood, Pestering Sam, Fluff, Dean being a good and supportive boyfriend

Authors Note: I did a “Dean version” of this called Hauled Up where reader comforts Dean after his experience with Michael | These aren’t related in any way, but they’re just similar in nature | If you liked this, don’t forget to like & reblog. I really appreciate it! Feedback is always welcome ♡

Three Days Ago…

Your hands were hot, sticky, and covered in blood as you held the large hunting knife in your hands. As you held the knife with a firm grip, you stared at the lifeless body of the creature under you. You felt tears start to well up in your eyes, and a few hot tears fell down your cheeks. This particular kill had hit harder for you than it should have; and you were currently debating if you had done the right thing in killing it. The creature was killing in order to provide for its sick child, a child that’s now dead because of the three of you.

“Sweetheart…” you heard Dean say, but his voice sounded so muffled like him or you were under water. “Sweetheart…” he said again, his hands on either side of your shoulders now. He looked down at the body, and then looked to see that the knife was still firmly in your grasp. “Wanna hand me the knife?” He asked, and you shook your head; unsure of why you had said no. “Okay, you don’t have to,” he reassured. “You wanna stand up for me at least?” You hesitated for a moment before nodding; and you carefully started to get up, with Dean holding onto your shoulders in order to help you up smoothly.

You looked down at the ground, almost refusing to look at him. "Hey," he said, tilting your face to almost gently force you to look up at him. "You did the right thing, she was going to kill you," he told you. "You protected yourself," he added. His words somehow seemed so meaningless to you, as it didn't feel like you had done the right thing.

Without a second thought, you instantly wrapped your arms around him; gently crying into his chest. His hands wrapped around you as one of his hands started rubbing your back, quietly shushing you as a way to try and calm you down. "It's alright Sweetheart. Let it out," he whispered into your hair before kissing the top of your head.

Present Day…

Dean was in the War Room with his feet propped up onto the table reading more on the creature that the three of you had killed a few days ago. He knew that you guys had done the right thing, but it was killing him knowing how hard you were particularly taking this case. He wanted so much to help you, but he knew the only way he could was to just let you come to him — not being forced to talk about it when you weren't ready; the same way he processed things.

“She still hasn’t come out of the room uh?” Sam asked, walking into the War Room. Dean looked up and shook his head. “It’s been three days.”

“And?” Dean asked, sounding slightly defensive. “If she doesn’t want to come out of our room, I’m not going to force her.”

“Has she talked to you at all about what happened? Why it affected her so much?” Sam asked. He was genuinely worried about you, as he’s never seen you this affected by a case before.

“No, she hasn’t said anything to me,” Dean stated. “She’ll tell me when she’s ready.”

“Have you asked —” Sam started to say, and Dean quickly cut him off.

“I’m never going to force her to talk about something she doesn’t want to,” he said, as calmly as he could muster, even though there was slight annoyance in his voice. “If this is how she chooses to process, who am I to tell her she can’t?”

“Well, you are her boyfriend and —” Sam began to say, but again, he was cut off by Dean.

“And? Just because I’m her boyfriend, doesn’t mean I have a say in how she chooses to process something,” he stated. His emotions starting to become heightened; more defensive. “She’ll talk about it when she’s ready.”

“As her friend I’m worried,” Sam said, his voice sounding the tiniest bit sad. “I’m gonna go talk to her.” He got up from the chair he was sitting in and turned on his heels, about to walk out of the room. But Dean’s voice made him stop in his tracks.

“Talk to her if you wanna get chewed out,” Dean said, turning his attention back to the book he was reading. He knew if Sam went to go and talk to you about this; ultimately forcing you to talk about it, it was not going to end well for him in the slightest.

Lying underneath the covers alternating between sleeping and crying was essentially all you had been doing the last three days. The only times your routine was disrupted was when Dean came to bed at night and held you, or rubbed your back as you cried gently into his chest; or when he had forced you to leave the room to take a shower, a shower that consisted of you just sitting on the floor and him doing the washing for you.

You were thankful for Dean, thankful that he didn’t force you to leave the room nor did he force you to talk about what had happened; why you had reacted so strongly. You felt as though he was the only one that really understood, understood the fact that this was the way you processed things, as he was similar in this way.

But you knew that it wouldn’t be long until Sam would come and talk to you, or at least attempt to, as you had no desire to talk about it; at least not now any way. You knew that he deeply cared for you as a friend, deeply cared for you like a sister; but you hated how he would force either you or Dean to talk about your feelings when neither of you had wanted to. He was doing it out of pure concern of course; but neither you or Dean liked being pestered, when neither one of you did the same to him.

There was a light knock at the door, and you knew that it could only be one person: Sam, as Dean didn’t need to knock — it was his room too after all. “Y/N?” Sam asked, his voice slightly low. “Can we talk?”

“Is Dean hurt?” You asked, your voice was a little muffled, but you tried your best to speak loudly as you had no desire to get out from under the sheets.

“No but —” Sam began, but much like Dean did earlier. You cut him off as well.

“Is Dean dying?” You asked.

A puzzled look appeared on Sam’s face. “No but —”

“You can leave then,” you said. “There’s nothing to talk about.”

“But the hunt the other —” before he could finish his sentence, you unearthed yourself from the sheets and grabbed one of the pillows from the bed and threw it in Sam’s direction, promptly hitting him just below the neck. “I’ll uh…I’ll leave,” he said, quickly shutting the door and leaving.

Sam walked back into the War Room, and Dean didn’t even bother looking up. “How’d the pep talk go?” He asked, turning the page.

“She threw a pillow at me,” Sam replied, sitting across from Dean.

“Ha!” Dean said, laughing. “That’s my girl,” he smirked. “Told you it wouldn’t end well for you brother.”

“I’m sorry if I’m the only one that’s concerned,” Sam stated.

Dean looked up now, closing the book he was reading; and shot Sam a stern, pissed off look. “You don’t think I’m fucking concerned about her?”

“Well you’re not acting like you are,” Sam replied.

“And how would you like me to act umm?” Dean asked. “Enlighten me.”

“I don’t know. Actually trying to get her to talk about what happened!” Sam exclaimed.

“I don’t know how many times I have to tell you that this is how she just fucking processes things,” Dean said, his voice getting more angry and annoyed by the second.

“Well the way the both of you process your emotions is fucking jacked,” Sam knew that he had crossed a line with his comment, as Dean’s face looked like he was about one more sentence away from punching him in the face.

“I’m sorry we don’t process our emotions like you do,” Dean said; getting up from his chair and walking out of the War Room, leaving Sam who was currently holding his face in his hands.

If there was something that Dean hated and loved about you, was the fact that the both of you were so similar. He loved it because you two were always on similar wavelengths; almost as if you could read each others minds and emotions. The two of you just clicked; clicked to the point that sometimes it scared him how perfect the two of you were for each other. But at the same time, he hated it; hated it because he could see how stubborn he could be through you. But the thing that he hated the most, was that because he couldn’t help himself with certain things, he couldn’t help you with certain things — and now was one of those times.

He would never force you to talk about why this case had affected you as much as it did, as he knew that you would talk about it when you were ready. But what Sam had said to him really hit him hard because he was worried about you; but he didn’t want to show it because he knew that if you saw him worried, it would force you to talk about it when you weren’t ready just to appease him — and that was the last thing that he had wanted. He always wanted you to do things at your own pace; much like how you had let him do things at his own pace.

When he had entered the bedroom, the light was still off and he could see your outline underneath the covers, barely moving. “Hey beautiful,” he said softly.

“Hey stud,” you mumbled from underneath the sheets.

“Mind if I come and lie down with you?” He asked, already making his way toward the bed.

“I’d like that,” you said. You lifted up the sheets on his side of the bed so he could easily slide in. “Can I be big spoon?” You asked.

Dean smiled. “Of course.”

Stripping out of his jeans and flannel, he slid into bed and got underneath the covers with you; completely encasing yourselves. You wrapped your arms around him, and snuggled your face into his back, giving it a small kiss. “Thanks for not forcing me,” you said, after a few minutes of silence between the two of you.

“I’ll never force you to do anything Sweetheart,” he replied back, taking your hand and kissing your knuckles. “I love you, and I’ll always support you no matter what.”

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