#you’re not doing tumblr right unless you hear the most batshit story you ever heard in the notes

[five-crows-in-a-trenchcoat]

Best thing about having a post isn’t how many notes it has it’s about how wild the tags are. 10k means nothing if you don’t have the insane stories and wild takes of strangers on the internet

[boxywrites-blog]

Lemon Cakes and Pie

Summary: Reader owns a bakery in a small town where a group of demons decide to throw a party. An injured Dean Winchester is in need of a hideout and a helping hand.

Pairing: Dean x Reader

Word Count: 2 401 (it got away from me…)

Warnings: Canon typical injuries and swearing, I think

Prompt: “If I didn’t know any better, I’d think you were trying to kill me.” (marked in bold)

Beta’d by the one and only @just-a-touch-of-sass-and-fandoms 

A/N: IT’S SO FLUFFY! This story is for the lovely @impala-dreamer‘s OP4A Challenge! This is also the first fan fiction I’ve posted on Tumblr… *gulp* I didn’t even like this storyline when I started writing it, but I think it turned out fine in the end. Feedback is greatly appreciated!

In the small town of Plainville, Kansas, everything was as the name suggests; plain. Although the town initially got its name from the actual plains it was situated upon, one could argue the applicable meaning of the word had shifted over the years.

You owned a small but fairly successful bakery in the middle of town. You were very proud of it, as you had saved money for most of your life to start your own bakery. Last year you had even won a state award for your famous lemon cakes. You had the diploma framed and hung on the wall behind your counter, reminding you that dreams really can come true.

Every morning started out roughly the same; you waking up at 4 am in your cozy suburban home for one, just a few blocks from the bakery. You always got up straight away and got ready in a jiffy, out of the door by 4:25 am, getting on your bike and arriving at the bakery five minutes later. Breakfast had to wait until you were done with your morning chores, but coffee was a necessity to function so that was always where you started.

The day progressed as any other Thursday would, with the exception that rain was pouring down like there was no tomorrow. You had fortunately been inside all day but the clock neared closing hours and the rain didn’t seem to subside. You would have to brave the storm if you ever wanted to get home and eat that last carton of chocolate ice cream you had in your freezer. Not to mention catching up on your Netflix watchlist. Thursdays were sacred to you; the one day of the week when you indulged yourself in whatever your latest television obsession was.

After hearing the doorbell chime and seeing the last two customers leave the bakery, you walked over to the front door and turned the Open sign to Closed. Through the window you saw people jogging to their cars, trying to avoid getting soaked in the rain. Poor Mrs. Rosenberg was walking her white terrier Muffin, named by yours truly, in the park across the street. Neither Mrs. Rosenberg nor Muffin looked particularly content with the situation.

Especially not when a thick, black smoke surrounded Mrs. Rosenberg and- Wait... What? No. What? That most definitely had never happened on a Thursday before. In fact, that had never happened at all.

The rain kept hammering down as Muffin jumped up and down, barking at the intruder. The smoke around Mrs. Rosenberg grew more intense as the old lady was seemingly frozen in place. Muffin, bless him, started pulling at her skirt and trying to get her to move away from the threat, of course with little success.

All of a sudden the black smoke charged at Mrs. Rosenberg and dived straight down her throat. After a little struggle she went completely still and proceeded to glance down at Muffin. The terrier let go of her skirt and bolted in the other direction, as fast as his little legs could manage.

Just when you were about to reach down and lock the door a man came bursting through it, causing you to stumble backwards. He quickly closed the door and locked both the first and second deadbolt. He even pulled down the blinds! You didn’t know what to think, so you did the next best thing and put your mind on autopilot.

“I-I have closed the shop for today,” you stammered as you backed farther away from the stranger, trying to reach the false safety behind your counter. He didn’t really seem to take any notice of you.

That’s when you noticed the bleeding. This, for some reason, stopped your retreat. That and the fact that when he finally turned your way you were struck, like a flash of lightning from the sky, by the most gorgeous face you’d ever seen.

Well, not to say that his body wasn’t just as impressing, at least from what you could tell by his tight fitted jeans and that snug black t-shirt he wore under a blue flannel shirt. You were shamelessly staring at his muscular arms and shoulders when he snapped you out of your not-so clean thoughts.

“Hey! Do you have any salt in here?” the stranger said, now starting to rearrange the nearby tables and chairs by the windows, stacking them on top of another, subsequently covering the view from your big windows.

“Um, yes? But I don’t think your problem is low sodium levels right now, I’m pretty sure you need a doctor for that cut,” you said, pointing at his left hand that was pressed against his abdomen. “Stitches,” you clarified.

“Salt!” he barked at you. “Now!”

“All right, all right!” You raised your hands in surrender and fetched the nearest salt shaker, placing it in Dean’s outstretched hand. His face quickly went from showing impatience to complete confusion.

“What is this?” He tilted his head in confusion. “No! This won’t do. I need like a big bag of it!” His serious expression made you turn on your heel and heading straight for the storage room in the back. This man was either batshit crazy, which would explain him being too good looking to be true, or simply suffering from severe blood loss. Either way, there was apparently no use in arguing with him.

When you handed him the largest bag of salt you could find he quickly ripped open a corner and started pouring the salt in a thick line along the windows and the door.

The only thing you could think of asking him was “Who are you?”

“Dean Winchester. I’m a demon hunter,” he stated, as if that was the most obvious thing in the world.

“And I’m Y/F/N Y/L/N, cake baker,” you mimicked. Dean just stared at you. Apparently this guy had no humor. “Seriously though, do I need to call you a doctor, or perhaps some sort of a psychiatrist?”

“I’m not crazy, okay? There are real demons out there. A whole lot of them.” He let out a sigh and ran his free hand through his hair, seemingly trying to calm down. “Look, I know this is a lot to take in right now, but those monsters that you had nightmares about as a kid, they really do exist. And some of them are outside right now.” His eyes told you to trust in him and just accept the explanation for what it was. You took a deep breath to gather your thoughts.

“And that black smoke thingy that attacked Mrs. Rosenberg was a demon?” Dean nodded. “Is she a demon now?”

“She’s possessed by one, yes.”

“And the salt?” you asked, pointing at the now finished salt line, covering both the windows and the door.

“It protects us. Demons cannot cross it.” Dean said as he shrugged his shoulders.

“Of course. That makes perfect sense,” you said, mockingly.

“Hell, you don’t have to believe me, I just needed a place to hide and ride out the storm until my brother gets here.” He glanced back outside through the blinds, muttered something to himself, obviously not liking what he saw. “Do you have a steady hand, Y/N?” Dean said, out of the blue. You were so taken aback that you didn’t really think before answering.

“I’d like to think so, yeah. I decorate all the cakes by myself.” you said, gesturing towards the counter, displaying a few cakes in various sizes and themes.

“And do you know how to sew?” You knew where this was going now.

“The ‘patching-up-a-pair-of-jeans’ type, yeah. The ‘saving-a-man-from-bleeding-to-death’ type, nope. Uh-uh, no way.”

“Yeah, well you’re all I got, sweetheart, so you will have to do. My brother is most likely still an hour drive away from here, and I won’t have that long unless you start patching me up right now.”

“Okay,” you whispered and quickly went to the back room, gathering up anything and everything that you might need. Of course, most of it was just guesses from your part. Although, you’d like to think that all those hours watching Grey’s Anatomy were more than just a waste of time.

“What happened to you anyways?” you asked when you got back and started organizing everything on the floor, opening gauze packs and thread a needle. Dean had already lied down behind the counter and propped up his head on his rolled up jacket.

“I think someone stabbed me with a window, it’s all a bit fuzzy.” Dean removed his hand and looked down on the wound. “Well, fuck. There’s still a piece of glass in there. You will have to pull it out and then patch me up immediately, or else we’re gonna have a bloodbath in here. You ready?” You shook your head; you would never be ready for something like this.

“On the count of three; one tw-” You pulled the shard of glass out as fast as you could, quickly pressing a bunch of gauze on the now weeping wound.

“Ow! What the hell?!” Dean grumbled.

“I’ve heard that it hurts less when you’re not prepared for it,” you said, matter-of-factly, as you started to clean up the wound with antiseptic.

“Yeah, well, that’s bullshit.”

“Good to know.” You carefully removed the gauze and took your prepared needle in hand. After taking a deep breath, or two, you got to work. Dean hissed when you did the first stitch, but seemed to collect himself.

“I need a drink,” he grunted.

“You and me both. How am I doing?” You were only halfway through stitching the wound, and blood was still gushing out and trickling down his side. Dean followed your gaze to the now soaked-through gauze he held below where you were stitching.

“Well”, he grunted as he threw the old gauze to the side and grabbed a new one, “if I didn’t know any better, I’d think you were trying to kill me.” He must have seen the horror in your eyes because he started to chuckle, only to have the chuckle turn into a coughing fit.

“Give me some credit here! I’m not even close to being a medical practitioner… I bake lemon cakes, for crying out loud!” you pleaded, desperation filling your voice.

“If I make it through this, remind me to try one of your famous lemon cakes,” Dean said, glancing up at your diploma.  “Although, I’d rather have pie...”

“If by some miracle you do survive this, despite my poor excuse for a patch job, I’ll bake you any pie you want. Just don’t die on my floor…”

“I’ll do my best.”

Half an hour later you were cleaning up the mess you’d made on the floor and Dean was absentmindedly holding his hand over the now-bandaged wound while looking through the blinds after possible danger. There were apparently still a bunch of demon-possessed citizens roaming the streets in search for… well, anything they could get their hands on. You turned your head in Dean’s direction when you heard the low rumble of a car coming to a stop just outside your shop.

“Looks like my little brother is finally here to save the day.” You got up and went over to Dean, looking out and seeing a sleek, black, classic car parked in front of the bakery. The driver, you could see the family resemblance, rolled down his window and pulled out a megaphone. When he started chanting something in Latin, you turned your head to Dean with a puzzled look on your face.

“Exorcism,” Dean said, apologetically. Right. Why not throw in a little 70s horror movie vibe? This situation was clearly not scary enough. The people gathered outside started to It looked like they were screaming. When Dean’s brother finally finished his chanting the black smoke came flowing out of them and they tumbled to the ground.

“Are they dead?” you asked, not sure if you were ready for the answer.

“No, just unconscious,” Dean clarified. They watched his brother get out of the car and head towards them. Dean unbolted the door and let him in. The brothers patted each other on the back, before turning to you. Even though Dean had explained that this was his little brother, there was nothing ‘little’ about him. The man was a giant! The brother took a step forward, extending his hand.

“Hi, I’m Sam,” You shook his outstretched giant’s hand, feeling smaller than ever. “I hear you saved my brother’s life” Sam said, smiling gratefully at you.

“Yeah well, I’m pretty sure he saved mine from those demons, so I’d say we’re even,” you said and smiled back.

“Nonsense.” He turned to Dean. “May I see it?” It was evident that the brothers cared deeply for one another. They had probably been through worse than this, considering how lightly they took this whole situation. You couldn’t even begin to understand what it must be like to be a hunter. Thank God for your bakery!

“Good work, Y/N,” Sam said once he’d finished examining his brothers wound. “Looks like he’ll be as good as new in no time.” Sam sent an encouraging smile your way, and you couldn’t help but feel proud over your handiwork. Binge-watching Grey’s Anatomy had finally paid off.

The brothers offered to drive you home, even though the danger was gone, just to make sure you got inside safely. They pulled up the Impala right outside your house and followed you to your door. You hugged Sam goodbye first, promising him you were seriously going to consider learning Latin.

“Thanks for stitching me up,” Dean said, as Sam made his way back to the car. “If you ever pass Lebanon, give us a call,” You exchanged numbers and hugged, making promises of keeping in touch.

“Remember, you still owe me that pie!” Dean called back with a big grin on his face, winking at you as he got in his car. You smiled and waved at him.

You stayed on your porch until they had left your driveway and rounded the corner. You turned around to head back inside, knowing full well that when you woke up tomorrow you would see the world in a completely different way. At least there were people out there, like the Winchesters, protecting you from things that go bump in the night.

Shamelessly tagging some lovely people (pls don’t kill me ;)):

@hannahindie @trexrambling @katymacsupernatural @ravengirl94 @emilywritesaboutdean @percywinchester27 @charliebradbury1104 @luci-in-trenchcoats @kathaswings @atc74