deans-baby-momma

[deans-baby-momma]

We didn't want Bela to be there anyway. That is totally not her scene and she'd ruined the day with her whining.

Spotless: Arpeggio

Chapter Twenty

Featuring: Dean Winchester/Reader, Dean/Bela

Other characters: Sam/Madison, Bobby/Annie, Pam/Lee, OFC Gibson, Ash, Benny, Cesar/Jesse, Kevin, Cas, and Charlie

Word Count: 4031

Warnings, etc: Mutual pining, recreational drug use, surprise birthday guests, Dean being a giant kid, actually it's everyone, more history and an uh-oh, unbeta'd

A/N: You know how you outline bullet points that you need covered in a chapter and then you write all day long and forget one of the biggest ones until literally the last sentence? Yeah, me neither.

Anyway, I can't believe we are TWENTY whole chapters into this beast. Thank you all, so SO much for hanging around. xoxo Stu

Series Masterlist

Dean’s morning began with a blow horn blast compliments of Sam, who then received a bitch slap from his very frightened and at odds older brother. 

“Rise and shine, jerk. It’s the last year of your thirties!”

Dean groaned and buried his head beneath the pillows, poorly hiding from anymore horns. “Hephha waaff to wff agy hpp birfay”

“WHAT?! I can’t hear you?!”

Dean flipped Sam off and rolled over. “Helluva way to wish a guy Happy Birthday.”

Sam laughed. “Don’t worry, that’s not all.”

He pulled out a bag of the greasiest breakfast burritos from a shop around the corner from Charlies that they had discovered after being up all night gaming, drunk and caffeinated out of their minds. 

“Oh my god, you do love me!” Dean snatched the bag out of Sam’s hand and grabbed a burrito and cradled it to his chest. He looked up at Sam and said fervently, “I take back every mean thing I’ve ever said to you.”

“No you don’t. You’re just hungry. You want me to leave you two alone or should I take it back downstairs where the coffee lives?”

Dean stared down at the warm lump in his hand and honestly considered eating it right away, but Sam was right and scrambled eggs and peppers were not something he wanted to clean off his sheets whenever he found them again after the coming festivities.

“Yeah, thanks, let me grab some clothes and I’ll meet you down there.”

“You got it,” Sam took the burrito back as Dean dropped it into his outstretched hand. 

“No fucking with it now, I know how it’s supposed to be wrapped,” Dean warned with a firm pointer finger.

Sam rolled his eyes and his hair along with them and stalked out of Dean’s room towards the backstairs that led into the kitchen.

They ate breakfast in relative silence, coffee and contemplation and all that. Just two brothers celebrating a year that both of them were worried wouldn’t come. Aging might be a bitch, but it is definitely better than the alternative. And for the Winchester brothers, a blessing they weren’t ever quite sure they deserved.

Charlie and you slinked in just after noon, after Dean and Sam had half-heartedly worked off their breakfasts and showered for the day. You had the most obnoxious balloon cowboy hat for him while Charlie presented him with a ‘birthday prince’ sash that he was under orders to keep on all day.

Dean eyed you both with a simmering shame-twinged annoyance. This wasn’t supposed to be a big deal. He already got looks when he went out as it was, plus only a douche of a grown man demands strangers acknowledge his birthday that way.

“Guys, come on. I’m not— this is a little ridiculous,” Dean didn’t want to be ungrateful.

You sighed. “Okay, fine, spoilsport. Just let us take a few pictures and you can ditch the hat.”

“Oh! The hat was the best part!” Sam lamented.

“Can it, Sammy,” Dean snipped.

Charlie chuckled. “Okay, but you can totally wear the sash where we’re going, because nobody else will even be there to see you in it, just your friends.”

Dean pursed his lips and looked the redhead in the eye, she wasn’t going to let him win. “Great—- just great.”

Lee and Benny were gonna have a field day with this one.

“Atta boy! Say CHEESE!” Charlie chirped, taking way too many shots and angles with him and his birthday attire.

They hung out and shared a joint, picking at a cheese tray that Sam had pulled out. Sure they had places to be, but that was the beauty of being the guest of honor, everything revolved around Dean-time. And as absolutely narcissistic as that sounded, Dean could get used to that kind of schedule.

The party bus arrived just before two. It was actually the band’s touring bus, which meant it was roomy and stocked to the brim with alcohol and edibles. Bud itself was never left on the bus to dry out. Inside were Benny, Cesar and Jesse, all moderately sober as they were also acting as light security detail for the day. Pam and Lee brought Gibson along, which told Dean wherever they were headed was going to be fun, however wholesome. Madison and Annie were there with Bobby upfront driving ‘The Proud Mary’ as the bus was so lovingly called. And around the table in the small kitchenette were Kevin, Ash and Cas.

Holy shit, Dean had to blink.

He turned around on the stairs and looked at you, who were the only one daring enough to pull this off. “Are you kidding me right now?!”

“What?” You smirked and batted your eyelashes with fake innocence.

Dean looked at you and felt something in his chest crack.  But before he could get overrun by the emotions, gratitude, fear, even anger, Sam cleared his throat.

“In or out, Dean, air’s on.”

Dean nodded and blinked away the awe. “Thank you,” he grunted beneath his breath and turned to the cheers and jeers of his people.

“There he is!”

“Birthday boy!”

“Hey Winchester, I like your do-hickey,” Benny teased.

“It’s a sash, dumbass,” Cesar quipped, flicking the brim of Benny’s cap.

“HAPPY BIRTH-DAY,” Pam started offkey and then everybody joined in. Dean nodded along, faux-conducting and fighting the blush on his cheeks with every out of tune note.

He bowed as the song ended and then griped, “Yeah, okay, enough of that. Let’s get this shit started, shall we?! Uh, Gibson you good to DD on the way home, buddy?”

Everyone laughed.

“UNCLE DEAN! I can’t drive yet.”

“You sure?”

“I’m only six!”

“I don’t know,” Dean said thoughtfully, bending to look the stringbean over. “I think you could pass for seven or eight maybe.”

“Nuh-uh!”

Dean ruffled his hair and pulled him into a hug. “Fine! I’ll let Bobby keep his spot for today, but when you get your license, come talk to me about a job young man,” Dean promised.

Dean eased onto the bus, with you and Sam on his heels until you broke off to find a seat. He nodded and accepted hugs and high fives before he made his way to the table in the back, well that section’s back. The bunks and the bathroom were down a short hallway past the eating area and bar.

“Hey guys, thanks for coming,” Dean said broadly, but his eyes couldn’t stop looking for Cas’.

“Of course, man! Gotta celebrate another trip around the sun,” Ash exclaimed, his hair bouncing with his enthusiasm.

Kevin sniggered as he looked up at Dean and back across to Cas. “You know he’s real and everything.”

“He even speaks,” Cas deadpanned, turning his glare at Kevin.

“Hey, Cas.”

“Happy birthday, Dean.”

Dean felt the lurch of the bus entering traffic and panic resurfaced. “Good to see you. But, uh, we’ll catch up at some point? I gotta,” Dean sputtered and thumbed toward the general direction of the side-by-side seats along one wall.

“Of course,” Cas nodded, but gave Dean a tentative smile. Dean felt lightheaded but he felt better when he had a solid seat underneath his ass. Talk about a mindfuck. 

He closed his eyes and took a deep breath and silently thanked the universe that he agreed to these super secret, group, birthday shenanigans.

The adventure park was suspiciously abandoned, even for a weekend day. But Dean took it as part of the present, no paps, no families with kids too young for school clogging up the Skee Ball lanes or having accidents on the go karts. He was kind of amazed y’all were able to pull this off, but it was far enough away from the busier parts of town that maybe you had scored a good deal. Or maybe Dean didn’t want to think about how much you and Sam and probably Bobby had shelled out for the day.

Even after years of his own success, Dean felt guilty whenever people spent money on him.

“Okay, line up for your wristbands. Everyone gets one, if you run out of tokens, tough luck. Laser Tag and Go Karts are available if we ask, just make sure there’s a big enough group to make up for the staff being pulled to those locations. Pizza will be set out as a buffet at five. I’ll get pitchers of water and soda out in the meantime,” you used a teacher's voice over the rowdy crowd as they beelined out of the bus and up to the gates.

Dean was almost giddy; he was so excited.

You bestowed a lanyard over his head, instead of a wristband. Which meant unlimited tokens for games and a turn in the vortex machine where paper tickets floated around and he was supposed to catch them for prizes. He was banking on letting Gibson take that responsibility, but hadn’t said anything because he knew Pam hated to spoil him, especially on someone else’s birthday. Oh well, being a surrogate Uncle held some leeway afterall.

“First one to the gokarts is a rotten egg!” Ash called out, making everyone turn on their heels and book it through the doors.

Dean laughed at the reversion to grade school taunts, but definitely tripped Sam on his way passed.

Somehow, Bobby and Annie got the first kart, but then again Dean didn’t remember seeing them as you made your little announcement, so they must have had a head start. The line was a mass of people bickering for a turn, which color kart they wanted, or which number if you were Charlie and Kevin. Dean had his shotgun attached at his hip, bouncing on the soles of his feet. But everytime he glanced up and saw Cas talking to Sam or nodding at something Pam said, he had to do a double take.

In all, they filled nearly all the available twelve karts. Dean and Gibson were in number 11, Lee, Benny, Pam, Cas, Ash, Kevin, Cesar, Jesse and Charlie all drove solo. While Sam and Madison, Bobby and Annie paired off. No one could get you in one of those things if they tried, and they all knew better than to try. Which Dean was grateful for, he hated rehashing your shit for other people’s understanding.

They did four lap races for almost an hour, with Dean sneaking past Bobby for the final victory. But everyone (except for Ash and Charlie) had lost count of their stats by the time they got inside to chug some soda and hit the arcade area before dinner.

Dean was sweating, faux satin clinging to his back through his shirts as he polished off a cup of flat cola. But he couldn’t keep the grin off his face long, seeing all of his favorite people milling around, trying to one up each other or just beat one another to a coveted game. It was the stuff of childhood birthdays he had only ever dreamed about, but you had made possible.

Lee held Gibson on his shoulders as they took Sam on at the free throw alleys. Charlie and Madison were playing some kind of shooting game while Kevin and Cesar watched them, obviously impressed by their stances with the fake rifles. It made him think of Jo and Big Buck Hunter for the briefest moment, but he tucked that away and chose to relish in the moment instead. Cas and Jesse were at the air hockey table and Bobby and Ash huddled by the wall of Skeeball machines, not partaking themselves, just watching you as you sank ball after ball into the 300 or better rings.

Dean couldn’t pick what he wanted to do next, so he just watched for a few minutes, soaking in the joy around him.

Eventually, his stomach chose for him. The pizzas were delivered in a tidy row down a side table of every cheap topping option available. There was even a mushroom option, which was probably the only thing close to a vegetable in the place, but it meant Sam couldn’t bitch. Everyone chowed down, standing and sitting in hodgepodge groupings, laughing and debating on what to do next.

Pam was comparing Cas’ and Kevin’s tattoos as Dean approached, paper plate firmly in hand, chewing as he silently butt into the conversation.

“Looks good, I mean, he’d hate them, but you know that would only be for show,” Pam said about the late Rufus.

“Yeah,” Cas agreed, pulling his arm back.

“Crotchety old bastard,” Dean added between bites.

“May he rest in peace,” Pam added, respect and mirth flitted in her eyes.

“So, Cas, how’s the kid and the band and fucking everything?” Pam changed the subject.

“Uh, we’re—- making progress,” Cas said simply, clearly unsure what to do with Dean’s presence. He worried at his lip ring like he always did when he was uncomfortable, but Dean was too damn curious and stubborn to take the hint.

“They’re finding their sound, it’s kind of cool to see it happen. You should go with me sometime to their rehearsals. It’s very organic,” Kevin explained. “It’s like they can sense what the other is thinking and just go for it.”

Dean couldn’t even pretend that that didn’t sting.

He cleared his throat. “So, where do you guys practice?”

“Oh— my place,” Cas said.

The fact that Kevin had been hanging with Cas and getting tattoos was one thing. The fact that he was in on this new band and its budding chemistry all while getting to spend time in Cas’ space was nothing short of getting his knees kicked out.

Not to mention, Cas had barely a townhouse with only one extra bedroom. He always preferred to live simply, as he put it.

“How does that work?”

Pam crossed her arms and raised her eyebrows, seeing where this was going better than Dean. “Are you a garage band, Cas?”

He just shrugged.

Dean chuckled under his breath. “That’s what you meant by organic,” he said to Kevin.

“Not exactly— that’s part of it, but I don’t know if it’s like some gene thing or a psychic connection. They’re just really good together.”

Pamela inhaled as Dean squinted at Cas, who had gone stock still with Kevin’s words.

“Gene thing?”

“Dean—,” Pamela warned.

“Oh, crap,” Kevin said, realizing too late that Dean was apparently more in the dark than he’d known.

Castiel remained silent, eyes boring into Dean, waiting for the explosion. It made Dean sick to realize that Cas was afraid of him, of his temper, still.

Dean set down his slice of pizza and squared his shoulders, trying to keep it civil. To not be that guy anymore. “Cas, come on man. What’s that about? He some long lost cousin or something?”

“Jack’s my kid, actually.”

Dean sputtered. “Yeah right, nice one.”

Everyone glared at him.

“You’re serious? How? When? I would have fucking noticed if you had actually boned down some chick—- I mean how old is he?”

Cas rolled his eyes and Dean had the sinking sensation that absolutely none of this was his business. But Cas had been his best friend for most of their lives— it was important information to have, even if it was twenty years too late.

Kevin and Pam silently agreed to disappear, but Dean couldn’t pinpoint the moment it happened. They were there and then they were gone.

“Dean,” Cas chastised.

“No— I deserve to know. I mean, what the hell? A kid?”

Cas raised his eyebrow, the one with the damn ring in it and Dean wanted, not for the first time, to yank it out.

“Kind of like I— like we deserved to know you were in an underground fighting ring? Like you had some sort of deathwish pact with a pimp and a known murderer?”

Dean felt an icy chill run down his spine, his hands instantly turned to fists and he had to breathe to keep the rage at bay. But his chest was so tight and the shame had become worms in his stomach. He wasn’t going to puke at his own birthday party, not from something as pathetic as his own mistakes. Alcohol would have been an easier taste in his mouth.

The party continued around them, but Dean didn’t reply. He couldn’t.

Cas seemed to register that and looked down at his boots before meeting Dean’s eye once more. “Dean, I’m sorry— that— that was uncalled for.” 

Dean swallowed down the bile and exhaled.

He unclenched his fists, shaking them slightly to feel something other than overwhelming emotion, the kind he’d need a few sessions with Missouri to even name.

“Don’t worry about it,” Dean grunted, head down as he got himself together.

“Dean— we should talk, but I can’t really explain myself in front of everyone.”

Dean hummed.

“It’s just— I think there’s a lot we never got off our chests and it only made the last couple of years harder— on both of us.”

“It seems like everyone else already knows your business, Cas. Just kind of sucks to be the last to know.”

Cas nodded, eyes still tight, still on guard.

“But I guess the way I was— kind of makes sense. I didn’t deserve to know.”

Cas’ face softened. “Dean— that’s not. Let’s not, right now. Later. Okay?”

Dean nodded. “Yeah. Okay.”

Dean inched around the corner, weapon drawn and head on a swivel. He couldn’t see much, but endless nooks for the enemy to hide. The arena was dark, out of necessity, but it only added to the adrenaline pumping through him. Dean nodded to his teammate and they spun around the next edge, fingers on their triggers as they stood back to back. 

He really wished they had communication between the other members of Green Team, but that was just rich people thinking for a family entertainment center. It wasn’t like they were storming the beaches of Normandy here.

Something moved in his periphery but before Dean could turn you shot behind him, getting Kevin square in the chest. You both watched as Kevin fell dramatically to the floor, one down, five more to go.

“Nice shot,” Dean said out of the corner of his mouth.

“I feel like that was too easy,” you replied, searching the area while you whispered.

“Might have been a scout,” Dean agreed.

“Yeah, but—” 

He felt you shift behind him and he rounded to cover you, but Benny was already there, a near wall of guns behind him. 

“It was a fire fight!” Ash screamed out of his spot above them, taking Charlie out with the distraction.

You kept your body turned, lessening their target and fired without even blinking, but Sam had height on you and you ended up taking each other out. Dean, unable to make a shot connect, cursed, turned tail, and ran, ducking down a ladder and trying to loop back on Benny and Pam.

Three down to his team’s one, that he knew of, still good odds.

But then he saw Jesse sitting with his back against a wall, clearly down. Dean needed to find Cas and Cesar yesterday. Or they wouldn’t be able to call it in their favor. He crouched down and checked his back, without you to watch his six he felt extra exposed, though he kept to the edges, using the shadows to his advantage.

He heard whispering and he immediately hit the deck, rolling until he was flush with wall length-wise. But the voices stopped about ten feet away, either on the level above him or around the corner out of sight. Dean waited, gun drawn and senses on overdrive.

The telltale electronic chime of a chest plate activating sounded off and the voices turned from whispers to shouts of shock. Someone had gotten Pam. 

Which meant that Lee and Benny were the only ones left from Sam’s team.

And Lee was alone looking to the rafters from the sounds of it.

Dean army-crawled around the corner and got Lee from underneath, his cackle of victory the only way Lee even knew he was there.

“You sonofabitch!” Lee griped, helping Dean up before disappearing to the land of misfit toys, aka following Pam to the nearest exit.

Cesar appeared, seemingly out of nowhere and nodded Dean back to the rest of the team. Cas and Ash were still alive and kicking, strategizing on how to find or draw out Benny. But before Dean could turn and let Cesar back into the huddle, his chest piece crackled to life: Benny had shot him in the back.

Dean waved him off, trying to catch up with Benny’s trail, as Ash and Cas flanked him widely. They tried to cast a broad net, but instead they left too much space and Benny wound around them and took Ash out without Dean or Cas even seeing him.

Dean looked at Cas and Cas nodded, doubling back and letting Dean take point. 

It felt like hours, but really it only took maybe five more minutes of creeping around the obstacles in the center of the arena for Dean to catch sight of Benny. His sturdy frame ducked behind a pillar as Dean slowly followed. But he was too slow, because Benny had spun around and had his gun on Dean’s back plate before Dean could move.

“Bang bang,” Benny taunted, but he didn’t pull the trigger. He wanted Dean to surrender, but that wouldn’t do anything unless… Benny didn’t know Cas was still out there.

Dean held up his arms, but he didn’t drop his weapon.

“Alright, cher, nice and easy,” Benny coaxed Dean to turn face him.

“You got me,man,” Dean huffed, playing it up.

“Well, even the Birthday Prince loses sometimes.”

Then Benny’s chest flashed to life.

“What the—”

“And sometimes they still win,” Cas’ deadpan interrupted Benny’s surprise.

“Nice one, Cas!” Dean held up his hand for a high five, but Cas just cocked his head as the overheads snapped on, blinding them all in sudden light.

It wasn’t the first time that Dean thought Cas had some super-human senses. And he was happy to think that it probably wasn’t the last time either. Not anymore.

*

Everything considered, Gibson won the day. Every single adult, even Kevin, forked over the prize tickets they had wracked up on their wristbands for Gibson to exchange for a four foot long stuffed dog from some show or another. Dean fist bumped him and helped him carry the thing back onto the bus. But before Dean could haul himself up the first step, Sam pulled him back to the curb.

“Here— don’t say I never got you anything.” Sam handed him a massive rainbowed Slinky.

“Holy shit! I didn’t even see that! This is awesome,” Dean geeked out. “Thanks, man.”

Sam just shook his head and grinned.

Everyone got back on the bus and started in on the adult beverages as you sorted the tab and made sure everything was alright with the staff. Dean sat on his hands, forcing himself not to run back in and add on his own tip. He really did trust you, but some habits were hard to break. 

“Ready?” Dean heard Bobby ask you before cranking the door shut.

The bus rumbled off the curb and into the neverending traffic of the city at night. But they had everything they could possibly need on board. And when you sat down in the spot beside him, Dean couldn’t think of a single thing that could make his birthday any better.

He looked over at you and smiled, soft, just a hint of it on his lips, trying to keep himself from saying something stupid. You rolled your eyes and smiled back. And yeah, today might have been one for the books. But there were still chapters left unwritten between you two and he wasn’t sure if he wanted to wait anymore to find out what they’d said.

Then his phone rang. “Dean? Happy birthday! How did you want to go celebrate?”

It was Bela.

He had completely forgotten to invite Bela.

And apparently, somehow, so had you.

Fuck.

Tagging:

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@cosicas-cuquis

@fics-pics-andotherthings-i-like

@suckitands33

@ladysparkles78

@deans-baby-momma

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@rockhoochie

[deans-baby-momma]

Well fuck!! That's not what I thought I was reading! Ugh

Great writing, though. So Bravo to you, but goddammit, did you have to break my heart?!

Stay With Me

A Supernatural Story

~Dean is into his second bottle of whiskey, desperate to drive his problems away. But he knows deep down, the booze isn't what he truly needs...~

Dean Winchester x F!Reader

1,390 Words

Warnings: Bittersweet Angst

Impala-Dreamer’s Masterlist  ~  Patreon  ~ Published Works

In one fluid motion, he cracked the seal on the new bottle of whiskey and plopped back down into his chair. The old seat groaned and the wheels rolled back a bit, sliding with the force of his weight over the polished floor.

Dean poured himself another healthy shot and stared down into the glass, enjoying how the light from the glowing table beneath set the crystal aflame. His lips turned in a half smile and he sighed.

“If you hold it up to the light at the right angle, you can see a rainbow.”

Y/N’s voice hit his ear and he lifted the glass to his lips, smiling even wider as she came into view.

Dressed in his old green flannel and seemingly nothing else, she leaned against the archway, arms and bare ankles crossed. He looked up and licked a drop of drink from his lips, savoring the taste and the way she looked. Her hair was a beautiful mess, the day’s makeup smudged around her eyes like she had meant it to look that way. Her mouth still held a faint stain from her faded lipstick and she pouted as he stared, driving his mind towards unholy thoughts.

“Rough day?” she asked, pushing off the tiles to walk slowly towards him.

“You should know,” he sighed around the rim of the tumbler. “You were with me.”

Y/N nodded and pulled out the chair across from him. “True.”

He eyed her over the glass, loving the way she sat down so delicately only to slump against the back of the chair. She leaned back and kicked her feet up onto the map, toes casting a shadow over Brazil.

“But really, it wasn’t that bad,” she teased. “Not bad enough for a second bottle of bourbon, anyway.”

“It’s whiskey,” he corrected.

She shrugged. “Same thing.”

Dean shook his head and set the glass down, fingers lingering on the sharp edges of the design. “Not true. Bourbon is always whiskey, but whiskey ain’t always bourbon. This is just straight up, get ya drunk, forget your life for a few hours whiskey.”

She knocked her feet off the table and turned to face him head on. “And why would you want to forget your life, Mr. Winchester? What’s so horrible lately that you’d want it to go away?”

He laughed sadly, bowing his head, avoiding her eyes. “Oh, you know me. Just being overdramatic.”

Y/N leaned forward and set her clasped hands in front of her. The ring he’d given her glinted in the warm golden light from below and Dean’s gaze was locked on the antique silver and brilliant red stone.

He remembered when they saw it in that little shop outside Paramus. The old hippie behind the counter told them that carnelian was special, used for protection and to ward off evil spirits. Y/N had laughed so brilliantly when she heard that, rolling her eyes at the thought of a cheap little ring keeping the demons away. Her smile had been so beautiful that Dean doubled back later that day and purchased the ring for her.

She never took it off.

“Dean Winchester, you are never overdramatic,” she asserted. “Medium dramatic, sure. A little crazy sometimes? We all are. But never overdramatic. Under dramatic if anything.”

She winked and Dean’s shoulders relaxed, his heart melting for her like it did every time she was close by. He was quiet for a long moment, just studying her face. Memorizing the way the lights and shadows played on her cheeks, the unique line of her nose, the fan of lashes curved over her pretty eyes. She was engraved in his mind, her face always hiding just behind his closed eyes.

“Under dramatic, huh?” He took a sip and let the whiskey burn his tongue a bit before swallowing. His mouth was mostly numb by now, but the little bit at the roof of his mouth still felt and that feeling needed to be punished.

“You know I’m right,” she grinned and sat back. “I always am.”

Dean chuckled and drained the glass. “Sure are.”

It was an old joke between them. She was always right no matter the situation, no matter the topic being discussed. The unwritten rule was that even when wrong, Y/N was always right. She also seemed to win every single competition and argument. A smile could get her out of trouble, a pout would break him enough to roll over and let her win. Every single time.

“You’re damned right, Winchester. I’m always right.” She dipped her chin and stared at him, gorgeous eyes peeling back the mask he so often hid behind. “So, spill. What’s wrong?”

Dean licked his lips and tried to look away. “I’m fine.”

She clicked her tongue. “Bull. What’s going on?”

Again, he tried to tear his eyes away, but he was locked in her gaze, trapped by her voice. “Nothing.”

With a huff, she stood up and kicked the chair away with her right foot. It coasted across the floor until it hit the wall and spun around on itself.

Slowly, she walked around the table and perched on the edge next to him. He closed his eyes for a second, breathing in the sweet smell of her. Faint coconut and something sugary filled his senses and Dean leaned back with a squeak of antique coils.

Y/N reached for his glass and Dean watched as she lifted it to her lips, held her breath, took a long sip. She shivered as it burned down her throat and coughed gently.

“This is terrible,” she laughed, setting the tumblr back down.

He nodded. “It’s not great.”

“So, what’s got you trying to kill your liver with the worst fucking whiskey I’ve ever tasted?”

She wiggled a bit to get more comfortable, spreading her knees just enough to touch his leg with her toes. He melted into the touch and fought back a fresh wave of tears.

He knew she wouldn’t let it go until he confessed, knew she’d keep on teasing and prodding until he gave her what she wanted. But he couldn’t say it aloud, couldn’t let the words leave his head and fly out into the world.

If he did, she would leave.

He needed her there, just for a little while longer.

Needed to smell her coconut lotion, feel her toes on his thigh, see her sweet smile. He needed to hear her say his name in that sweet, secret tone she only used with him.

A single tear slipped through his defenses, sliding carelessly down his cheek.

Y/N gasped under her breath and reached for it, wiping the wet away with the soft pad of her thumb. “Oh, baby… it’s ok.”

Before she could pull away, Dean grabbed her wrist. He wrapped his fingers tight around her arm and held her there, letting her heat fill his mind, soothe the pain.

“It’s not OK, Y/N/N,” he whispered. He closed his eyes and took a breath, one last drink of her air, her being. “I- I don’t want you to go.”

She leaned forward, dropped a kiss to the top of his head. “I have to, Dean. You know that.”

Drunken tears flowed freely; his throat closed tight. “Please,” he begged, close to choking on his grief. “Stay with me. Just a little bit longer…”

Y/N sighed and slid down off of the table, her hand still locked in his. “I’m sorry, baby. I have to go.” She chewed her lip and smiled softly. “But I’ll always be with you. I promise.”

Green eyes rose to her face. She was haloed in something brighter than the Bunker’s lights, something sacred, some glow cast down from Heaven.

“Please… Stay with me.”

Her image began to fade but her smile never did.

Dean closed his eyes, kissed her hand, whispered her name into the empty room.

She was gone again, drawn back into his memory, a ghost only in his whiskey addled mind.

He knew she wasn’t really there when she appeared- he’d set the pyre ablaze himself. But still, whenever he met the bottom of a bottle, he’d dream her up and feel her spirit around him. Nights like these he wondered if maybe, if somehow… she had stayed with him.

2024 Forever Tags (Always Open! Send an Ask!) @alwaystiredandconfused @babysimpala @beardburnsupersoldiers @chenshemesh1 @cosicas-cuquis @deans-baby-momma @deanwinchesterswitch @feelmyroarrrr @foxyjwls007 @hobby27 @impalaspixie @jackles010378 @kazsrm67 @k-slla @leigh70 @lyarr24 @nancymcl @peachy-vans @pizzagirlxnsfwx @rachiem4-blog @sexyvixen7 @suckitands33 @the-wounded-healer05   

[deans-baby-momma]

Bela's mom reminds me of my own mother. I'm almost 50 and she still tries to control me.

Were you really losing readers over this chapter?!

Spotless: Pizzicato

Chapter Nineteen

Featuring: Dean Winchester/Reader, Dean/Bela, Dean/Cas (unrequited)

Other characters: Miriam Talbot (OFC Bela's mother)

Word Count: 2567

Warnings, etc: Mutual pining, putting out other people's fires, and old baggage, unbeta'd

A/N: Castiel and Trouble's friendship is something I didn't realize she had been missing until he was in front of her. There are a couple of big truth bombs in this chapter and I hope I handled them respectfully. This is an AU and it is not indicative of this author's feelings on canon or any other fandom shipping practices.

Series Masterlist

Posting on Dean’s instagram account was par for the course as the band’s publicist. You bothered to know what a hashtag was, for one. For another it also allowed you to check traffic on posts and actively moderate things to help the comment section look best for Dean’s image. Afterall, Dean trusted you, you weren’t going to leak anything or make him look like an idiot.

You were a goddamn professional and this wasn’t the hardest thing you’d done in the last year, but Jesus fuck were you pissed.

Dean hated tattoos. Really, he hated needles. He was black out drunk when he and Sam got their matching flaming pentagrams. He actually had a panic attack the next morning after realizing he let someone “sew ink” into his skin. By sheer force of will and through the bond of shared grief, you got him to go with you for Jo’s memorial tattoo on the tenth anniversary of her death. It was in your all-time top five ultimate Dean-Y/N memories.

And now it meant jack shit.

You edited and cropped the photos, sent two back to Bela to post on her account and then posted the lion’s share onto Dean’s, making him look like the diligent boyfriend while Bela was busy in the chair. You thanked Billie for taking care of “his girl” and made sure the shop was the location and tagged. You wanted to punch something, it looked so good. Then you sat back and let the interwebs do its job.

Okay, in actuality, you emailed about twenty different people, had a conference call with the tour management marketing team, scheduled radio station drop ins and followed up with Meg on the expected release of Dean’s photoshoot and interview. These days it may just end up online, but you hoped she was able to score him real physical print space.

It was just as you were winding down for the night, when your phone rang. It was past any reasonable business hours and you were already done with your skin care routine, but then you saw the caller id.

“Miriam! Hi!” You tried to sound pleasantly surprised.

“Don’t Miriam me, young lady. What is going on out there? Is it drugs? I thought we missed this stage when she quit acting for college. You’d tell me if this hoodlum was pressuring her into risky behavior wouldn’t you?”

Which was a lot to unpack right off the bat like that, luckily you had experience dealing with Bela’s mother.

“It’s just a tattoo. She’s not on drugs, I promise.”

“And what about this Dean? I knew they were seeing each other, but this seemed a bit more intimate— not exactly in the public eye.”

Oh, she was good.

“He’s not on drugs either. And—- he actually isn’t thrilled with tattoos. This might be all Bela, if I’m being honest.”

“Have you seen the things they’re saying? The things they’re calling her, Y/N?”

You rolled your eyes and heaved yourself out of bed, you needed your laptop if you were going to continue this conversation rationally. 

“Let me look into it— what site were you on?”

“Oh, I’m not sure. Olivette, one of the boardmember’s wives, told me she read about it online during dinner.”

You inhaled deeply and started your usual rotation of sites, you’d have to add some new tags to follow Bela’s buzz more closely going forward. 

“And you’re sure this wasn’t just bad blood from Olivia? I’m not finding much besides general surprise.”

“It’s Olivette. And yes, I’m certain. She wouldn’t make me worry without a reason.”

And then you realized what you were missing, it wasn’t just People or TMZ you had to worry about. You went to Hello!’s twitter and you found what had Miriam Talbot’s friend in a huff. 

You started scanning the comments, gathering the most common complaints and judging their amount of influence via cursory glances. You did not know a lot of the news personalities or celebrity bloggers in the UK. You were going to have to meet with Bela and figure out a better approach going forward.

“Okay, Miriam, it’s almost eleven here. I know you probably called me as soon as you woke up, but consider me on the case. Alright? Bela’s fine and this is just a minor hiccup.”

“If you’re sure, Y/N, dear.”

You sighed. “Of course. I would warn you if there was anything to worry about. But please just let this run its course. You know how the tabloids are.”

“Unfortunately I do, that’s why I called. Please keep me updated if anything else comes up?”

“Will do. You have a good ni-day!”

“Goodnight dear— and thank you.”

You smiled at your lap. “Anytime.”

You let her hang up. Then you promptly pulled up your contacts list and warned Bela that her mother was sniffing about online and to call her at a decent hour. And finally, you spent the next four hours (or so) online until you had swam to the bottom of the cesspool and decided it wasn’t worth your time. At least not right then, not so exhausted.

Three days passed since the snobby UK gossip rags’ judgment rained down and, as expected, it had already just about fizzled out. You sat in a cafe with a quad shot flat white, waiting for your lunch date to arrive. Not truly a date, though it wasn’t a meeting either.

It was a diplomatic mission.

Then you spotted him and your stomach swooped, feeling the loss of his presence in your life all over again.

“Hey, Cas.” You stood and held your arms open for a hug, which he accepted with a timid smile.

“It’s good to see you, Trouble,” his gravelly voice murmured in your ear. He still smelled the same.

You pulled back and looked him in the eye, searching for anything but the sincere blue reality in front of you. He held no grudges, not with you, without even discussing it you knew he was still your friend. 

You then punched him squarely in the shoulder. “That’s for ghosting us all for the last nine months, assbutt!”

He grunted, and rolled his eyes. “I can accept that.”

“Good. Because I missed you. We all miss you.”

He tilted his head and raised his eyebrows in challenge.

“So— heard you have a kid, huh. That’s —- weird.”

Castiel exhaled and shook his head. “Who told you?”

“What? Nobody. I have eyes. And spend enough time online to draw some conclusions.”

“Kelly told you.”

“She didn’t have to. She’s amazing by the way— are you a thing now, now that you know he exists?”

Castiel looked affronted. “Me and Kelly? Oh, no. That was a teenage mistake. We were young. And we’ve both matured into vastly different people. But I respect her and I think— I hope I’ve earned her trust.”

“Tell me about him—- he’s what? Twenty-twenty one?”

“He’s twenty three and very talented. Kind, impossibly optimistic even.”

“Yikes, tough combo out here.”

“Tell me about it.”

You shared a look and he smiled at you like he knew what you were thinking about. Like you were reliving the same joke.

You blinked away the sting in your eyes.

“Go get your dark roast and get back over here, we’ve got things to discuss.”

His eyes softened, but Cas didn’t argue with you.

You sipped your drink and tried not to let all of the questions that had been building for months run away from you. He was back both too quickly and too slowly. You cleared your throat, the awkwardness you had been fighting back rushed to the surface.

“So— I presume there is more to you calling to get lunch. Not just asking about Jack and goading me about my latest tattoo?” Cas wasn’t one for small talk.

You nodded and swallowed around another perfect mouthful of milk and espresso.

Castiel’s face went through a journey when you didn’t quickly reply. “He doesn’t want to see me—- he made that quite clear.”

“And what about since everything?”

“What do you mean?”

“I know Dean’s called you. He might not have been big enough to actually apologize in a voicemail, but I know he wants to fix things— he misses you as his friend, too.”

“Then he should be able to suck up his pride and make the effort,” Cas snipped, the first sign of the lingering anger from his and Dean’s fight.

“I haven’t exactly seen much of your effort. Do you not want to fix things?--- And I’m not talking about coming back to the band— that ship has sailed. I’m talking about twenty years of friendships you just walked out on.”

Cas stared at his coffee, his eyebrow ring arched with his bitchy expression. He hated being corrected, you knew that. But this had gone on long enough.

“I’ve spoken with everyone but Dean,” Cas explained. “It’s not perfect, but it’s progress.”

“You never spoke to me,” you spat.

Cas’ eyes softened again. “I always knew where your loyalties lie, you took your time, too.”

“Wait— even SAM?!”

“Sam and I haven’t lost contact this whole time.”

You sucked in air. “Oh, he is so dead.”

“Y/N. It wasn’t like we were plotting or anything. He was worried about me, I was worried about Dean.”

“Yeah, but if Dean knew—”

“Ask Sam, but I don’t think he could hide anything from Dean if he wanted to.”

You knew he was right. Ever since Sam got sober, transparency had been something Sam put into his closest relationships anyway. Beside Dean being ruthless and stubborn, well, you supposed Cas was right. 

“Why do I feel like this band just doesn’t want me to be able to do my job?”

“Your position as group therapist is fairly tenuous. Especially with Pamela involved.”

“I meant my real job. If I had known you were on decent terms with, well, everyone but Dean, it would have made things a lot easier, young man.” You couldn’t help but smile now. Sure you were hurt, but the eggshells you had been stepping over for so long really only took up a single corner of the floor.

It was freeing.

“I never meant to cause you any distress.”

“That doesn’t make it go away, Cas.”

He bowed his head, but popped back up to meet your gaze. “I know. I apologize. I didn’t want you to think that I was done— with any of you.”

You pinched your eyes closed quickly and then reached over the table to squeeze his forearm. “Okay. So— you’ll come to Dean’s birthday party, then?”

Cas patted your hand with his left and sat back, breaking the contact and sat with the invitation for a heavy moment.

“What makes you think he’d want me there?”

You glared at him, all tattooed and handsome and absolutely clueless about how much his absence has affected Dean. Sure, Dean got to keep the band, but it wasn’t the same without Cas. Cas has had to start over entirely, become a dad and rebuild his career all without any of the support Dean has had around him through his own troubles.

“Look— I know you’re Mister Independent and I don’t want to set back any of the progress you’ve made without him needing you around. But he still looks for you whenever we all go out. And hanging out with Kevin, made it abundantly clear to him that you were available— you just weren’t interested.”

“Why do you always make it sound like we were an item?”

You rolled your eyes. “Look, we all know Dean has attachment issues. I’m not saying anything was kinky between you guys— that’s not my business. But, as friends, you guys deserve to at least get some answers— closure or forgiveness can come later, if you get there.”

“I’ll think about it.”

“Really? You’re not just saying that to get me off your case?”

“Yes, really.”

You smirked and Cas’ smiled with his eyes, fidgeting his lip ring with his tongue.

Cas cleared his throat and took a sip of his coffee before changing gears. “So, your friend Bela and, uh, Dean?”

You groaned and hid your eyes in your hand. When you looked up he was laughing at you.

“What?!”

“Stop— we both know what it’s all about.”

“Kevin seems to think Dean’s whipped.” Mischief continued to dance in Cas’ eyes.

“Well, it’s about time.”

“I told him, the only one who has had Dean whipped in over a decade is you.”

You choked on your spit, sputtering at Cas’ bluntness.

“They don’t know it’s for show do they?”

You inhaled deeply. “Sam knows. Dean and Bela have their own private agreement about it all. But, uh, yeah, you pretty much guessed right.”

Cas watched you thoughtfully, futzing with his lip ring with his top teeth now. 

“How are you holding up?”

“Me? I’m fine, why?”

Cas nudged your ankle under the table with his combat boot.

“As someone who was definitely in love with him for most of my life— I know the symptoms.”

You sighed and shivered at being seen and having your long held suspicions confirmed. You rubbed your upper arm, trying to fight the goosebumps. “I’m fine. Nothing has changed. He’s just been working on himself and that is— distracting.”

Cas hummed, head cocking to the side as if looking at you with a different angle would give him more insight.

“I mean it. He’s in therapy and everything. Sam and him are working out. He’s been insanely focused on the latest album—”

“He’s doing penance.”

“Maybe. But he wants to be better. It’s not just guilt. I don’t know how to explain it. But, you’ll see what I mean.”

Cas eyebrow popped up again.

“You will,” you insisted.

“You always were able to read me weren’t you?”

You chuckled at the back of your mouth, short and knowing. “Guess it comes with being stuck with each other for so long.”

“Shared trauma response,” Cas teased.

“Or that.”

You finished the last of your drink and looked around the cafe.

“So, where we going to eat? I think we’ve had enough heavy— sushi?”

“You buying?”

“Phantom Traveler is covering this as a business lunch.”

Cas stood and pushed in his chair. “Okay, well then, bring on the seafood.”

You stood and let Cas walk you outside, his hand on the small of your back until he could offer you his elbow on the sidewalk. You smiled up at him and pulled him tight to your side.

“I’m glad you’re back, Cas.”

“Well, we’ll see if everyone agrees with you, won’t we?”

The afternoon passed quickly, catching up and sharing memories that were now tinted with the grief of the last lost year. Things made more sense the longer you thought about how the band had been acting, especially way back at the Animal Shelter where Cas’ niece had been more than willing to put in her two cents. You texted Sam while you waited for your meals, warning him where you were and what you knew.

‘Have fun.’

His only response. Asshole.

But everything kept from you, kept from Dean, wouldn’t last forever. It couldn’t. Now you at least could control the narrative a bit more by being in on it all. Or most of it at least.

Tagging:

@deans-spinster-witch

@mrswhozeewhatsis

@cosicas-cuquis

@fics-pics-andotherthings-i-like

@suckitands33

@ladysparkles78

@deans-baby-momma

@stoneyggirl2

@sassy-pelican

@leigh70

@globetrotter28

@winharry

@lastactiontricia

@rockhoochie

[deans-baby-momma]

OMFG!!!! Crazy is an understatement for her.

Misery

Supernatural RPF Fanfiction

Rating: Explicit

WARNINGS: This story will contain but it’ll not be limited to explicit 18+ content including Yandere, Stalker, Possessive Behavior, Romance, Angst, Fluff and Smut, Rape/Non-con Elements, Hurt/Comfort, Porn with Feelings, Obsessive Behavior, Smut, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Oral Sex, Dirty Talk, Praise Kink, Kidnapping, Stockholm Syndrome, Dom/Sub

Category: F/M

Pairings: Jensen Ackles/You, Jensen Ackles/Reader

Summary: You know what time he wakes up and what time he goes to bed, even though he tends to stay awake far later than what it’s healthy for him, but that’ll change soon. You know what’s his favorite dessert and how he takes his coffee. You know he is a stomach sleeper and a light snorer. You know that he loves the rain but is a little scared of thunder. You know everything there is to know about Jensen, you’re his number one fan. But most importantly, you know exactly what is the room number of the hotel he’s staying in for the night, and now he will get to know you.

Chapter Updates: Masterlist

Author's notes: This chapter was very hard to write because it was so plot heavy, but don't worry, there's definitely not much plot in the next ones.

Chapter Two

I Will Follow Him

“Ever since he touched my hand I knew that near him I always must be. And nothing can keep him from me. He is my destiny.” — Peggy March

It didn’t start out like this.

It didn’t have to be like this.

But it was the only way. The only way for them to be together.

When she first saw him, it was through a TV screen. Her heart skipped a beat and everything else turned blurry like it didn’t matter anymore. He was gorgeous. His face, and his hair, and his skin, and his smile… He was perfect.

But it wasn’t just the physical aspect. She watched every show, every interview, and every public appearance. He was funny and charismatic. Charming beyond belief.

She gushed about him to her family and friends and went on and on about the day that the two of them would meet and how he would fall in love with her at first sight. But no one paid her any mind, just laughed it off. Called it a schoolgirl crush, which was fitting, since at the time she actually was in school.

And she believed that.

She wholeheartedly believed that it would go away like people said it would. So she had a crush on some celebrity, what’s wrong with that?

But it just grew, and it kept growing.

Every penny, every cent she ever made went down the drain. Merch, collectibles, books, autographed souvenirs… Anything she could get her hands on. And conventions, of course, conventions.

They were the epitome of a fangirl’s dream. Because there he was, right there, no longer a collection of pixels put together to form a virtual image, but the real him, in the flesh.

She’d make sure to get all dolled up for him, but every time he would look right through her, as if she was just any other person in the crowd. She’d go to the Q&As, wait in line for ages to ask her question, which was always directed to him, and he’d always ask her name, every time. She lost count of how many times she introduced herself to him, only for him to forget her in a few months’ time.

Was that what she was to him? Forgettable? Expendable?

Why did he treat her like this? Why did he ignore her time and time again? Couldn’t he see what she saw? Didn’t he know what she knew? That they belonged, that they were meant to be.

But it was fine, she wouldn't hold it against him. He was tired, overworked, underpaid, and underappreciated. She forgave him, every time, because love shows grace even when it’s faced with indifference.

It would happen, any time now. Their eyes would meet and his heart would skip a beat and everything else would turn blurry for him.

There was no hurry. She could be patient.

She would go on to graduate and start her life and even go out with a few unimportant guys, while he dated his own unimportant girls. And that was okay, because love is persevering even when it’s faced with drawbacks. These were all just delays in their path to each other, and that was perfectly natural.

She could live with that. She could be tolerant.

But what she couldn't deal with was the disrespect. He went out, met some bitch, and got married. He proposed, became engaged, and then tied the knot with a woman that wasn’t her. The audacity!

Was he blind? Was he crazy?

Because that was just too damn much. That crossed the line.

She was waiting for him. She was being fucking accommodating to his fucking stipulations. So what the fuck was that about?

It’s been eight years, eight long insufferable years and nothing has changed. He stayed with someone else. She had thought that, maybe, it would blow over. He would realize what a huge mistake he had made and have the decency to get a divorce. But no, every time she saw him there would be a ring on his finger still.

Something was not right. He clearly needed her help. She couldn't wait for him to make the first move anymore, or it might never come. Y/N knew what had to be done. It was time for her to take control of the situation.

It wouldn't be easy for him to understand, but she had to get him alone with her, if not only for a few weeks. Long enough for him to get to know her just as much as she knew him, for him to realize that they were soulmates. And for that, she was gonna have to implement some unusual methods that could only work if she did what he taught her to do best: be patient.

So she orchestrated, and elaborated, and planned. She planned for months, she dedicated herself to this venture, because it meant the world to her, and soon it would mean the same to him as well. She moved to Canada. She moved to a fucking different country for it. Left behind all she had, started out fresh. That’s how seriously she took this. That’s how far she was willing to go.

It was tough, acclimating to somewhere new, but she took it in stride.

She applied and got a job at a hotel in Montreal. The hotel in Montreal. She remembers so vividly when Hector, the front desk manager, and her soon-to-be supervisor, asked her on her first day, with his heavy french accent so foreign to her ear at the time, why would someone like her choose to be working in a place like this. She was fresh out of college, smart, spoke many languages. Why work in a two-and-a-half-star hotel where the paychecks weren’t even that good?

She couldn't tell him the real reason, of course. So she simply smiled and fed him the same bullshit story she had served to her family and friends; that she wanted to travel, discover herself, have new experiences, broaden her horizons… Crap like that. And he bought it, just like the folks back home had.

Y/N wasn’t aware that she was such a good liar, or that maybe most people are just stupid and unassuming. Either way, she would use it in her favor.

Throughout the time she spent working there, which was almost an entire year, she built connections with her co-workers and the various guests that came and went. She was polite, reserved, and competent. Pleasant with all. Soon her responsibilities grew, but so did the perks of her position. She had networked her way into becoming a very trusted and integral part of the establishment's staff. And in that way, what took place upon the day of Jensen’s arrival and its subsequent events were all part of a masterfully tailored web that Y/N had weaved.

That is, with a couple of bumps in the road, provided that she was definitely not expecting the man to kick a hole through a door, but let’s not get ahead of ourselves.

On the afternoon his check-in was scheduled, she accessed the booking system and tweaked some of the information so that his name wouldn't show up when searched. She magnetized the keycard lock of his door so that no key could open it. She marked all other available rooms as booked. All in hopes of forcing him to move to the presidential suite, situated on the most secluded floor of the hotel.

But that was asking for too much collaboration from the universe, right? That was too much wishful thinking right there. Because she should’ve predicted that he would decide to act like a real-life superhero and kick the dammed thing in. It was stupid of her to assume that everything would naturally pan out the way it was supposed to. She swears sometimes it feels like the cosmos is conspiring against her for some reason.

Now she’s gonna have to recalculate and that’s alright. Her mom did always tell her that sometimes there’s nothing better than for life to throw a curveball at a person, it helps to keep them on their toes. And Y/N was nothing if not resourceful. She could readjust. She could improvise.

“Hey, Hector, that guy just left his bags in the middle of the lobby. Should I bring it up to his room?” The bellhop, Antonin, whose name she would never recall if not for the name tag attached to his vest, had come to the front desk with the question right after Jensen had left with his co-stars for dinner.

“It took forever to find that man’s booking, he stood in front of me the whole time saying how much he wanted to get into his room. I manage to find his name in the system, give him his key and he leaves all of his things right here and goes out somewhere! This is why, for the life of me, I can’t understand Americans.” Hector shook his head, gesturing dramatically, his thin, long fingers flailing in his emphatic state, which happened to be his norm.

Y/N was standing by his side behind the computer screen of the front desk, pretending to type something up on the keyboard while listing closely to their exchange.

“You better hurry up and take his luggage to his floor before he comes back and complains about it!” He said to Antonin, who began moving to do it at once, only to be interrupted by an elderly couple that asked him for help with their own bags.

“I can do it.” Y/N said to Hector once he noticed that the bellhop had suddenly become wrapped up in another task right before their eyes, an idea forming in her mind.

“How many times do I have to tell you, young lady, that today is your day off?” Her manager reached in and booped the tip of her nose as one does to a dog or a child, his beautifully painted nails scraping lightly against her skin. “You’re not getting any money from the extra work you’re putting in.” His tone was stern and playful at the same time.

“And how many times do I have to tell you, my liege, that my whole life is this place?” She smiled at him, thinking for a second about how her relationship with Hector had grown from strangers, to colleagues that barely tolerated each other, and finally to close friends. Well, he saw her as a friend, at least. “I have nowhere else to go today, might as well be useful.” She shrugged, as if it was no big deal if he said yes or no to her, even though it was, in fact, a big deal.

The lean and stylish man pondered before giving his response, his mustache following the movement of his lips as he puckered them while in thought.

“Alright, take the bags.” He waved her off, and she promptly came out from behind the desk and went to pick the items off the floor, finding them to be less heavy than what she expected.

“What’s the American guy’s room number again?” She asked nonchalantly, going to the service elevator and pressing the call button.

“666, le nombre de la Bête.” Hector informed her, in a mocking way.

“Scary.” She laughed at him referring to it as the number of the beast, holding in the urge to roll her eyes. As if she would ever allow anything bad to happen to Jensen while in her vicinity, that’d be preposterous.

The elevator arrived and she walked in, but instead of pushing only the specified floor number, she pushed various different buttons as well, making it so the machine would stop at many other floors before getting to the right one, giving her enough time to do what she did next.

She opened his suitcase and his hand luggage, going through his clothes and unfolding and crumpling whatever her hands reached, turning it all into a big mess. Once she was pleased with her handiwork, she closed everything up again, making sure to leave the zippers exactly in the position that she found them in.

Now she had the pretext to hopefully get into his room, and that was at least one less thing to do.

When the elevator finally got to the right floor, she left his things in front of his door, passing a few guests on her way and offering them modest smiles and unpretentious nods, which they returned in kind. That was the usual impression she left on the people that interacted with her, that she was meek and demure, harmless in every possible way. And that’s how she liked it.

She then chose to go down the stairs, walking straight through a short hallway that led to the hotel’s kitchen. She pushed one of the double swinging doors to enter the space. She was met with shiny pots and pans, modern industrial stoves, and wide, open windows that allowed the last rays of light from the sunset to come in. She expected the area to be empty around this time, most of the cooks being on one of the many cigarette breaks that they took throughout the day, except for one.

“Hi, Claire.” She greeted the blonde, pale-faced woman that was busy chopping some greens on the kitchen island prior to Y/N’s entrance.

“Oh, hi, Y/N. What’s up?” The chef rested her sharp knife on the cutting board, her face contorted into a welcoming expression.

“Do you know where we’re keeping the gift baskets?” Y/N tried to appear neutral enough as she inquired, seemingly succeeding by the response she obtained.

“Right over there.” Claire pointed to the shelve on the adjacent wall, numerous baskets lined up on top of it. “Why?”

“It’s for Mrs. Vonesch.” Her fingers tapped on the doorframe, having to quickly contrive a reason for her need for the object.

“That bitch is here again?” Claire’s face soured at the mention of the name.

Mrs. Vonesch was an older and bitter Swiss woman that visited the hotel frequently. She was known for being horribly mean and hateful towards the staff. In her opinion, the bed was always lumpy, the steak was always overcooked, the floor was always dusty, and so on and so forth. But for some reason, she kept coming back.

“Yep.” Y/N sauntered towards the shelve, taking one of her desired artifacts and holding it carefully. “She always books the same room, right? But I think I screwed up or something, ‘cause she came to check-in a week ago and there was already some other guest in there, and she threw a fit.” None of that was true, only the part about Mrs. Vonesch having arrived a week prior, but what was Claire gonna do? Fact check?

“I can’t stand that lady, I swear to God.” The blonde shook her head, going back to her fastidious chopping.

“Oh, me neither.” Y/N began to move ever so slightly towards the exit, already machinating her next moves like an action movie sequence. “By the way, why would someone from Switzerland want to come here for vacation? Like, I would think that anyone that lives somewhere that cold would prefer to go to a warm place in the winter.”

“She probably combusts when in contact with the sun, like the blood-sucking vampire that she is.” Claire joked with a vivaciousness that made it almost sound like she truly believed her own words, and Y/N reacted by laughing openly.

“Anyway, it’s the last day of her stay so I’ma bring this basket to her, and be all nice and sweet, and apologize. Hopefully, she won’t give us a bad review like she did last year.” Her free hand was pushing the door open to leave, doing her best to make it look like she wasn't in a hurry.

“Good luck, girl.” Claire waved her off.

“Thanks.” She says and only then walks away from the kitchen.

She proceeds to take the long way around the premise of the building, avoiding being seen as well as she could. She was on a mission, her goal to remain undetected. Finally arriving at her destination, the staff sleeping quarters, Y/N felt that she was methodically approaching her eventual objective.

Upon reaching her room, she retrieved the keychain she always kept with her from her pocket and used one of its keys to open the door.

Her room was simple, with plain white walls contrasting the dark-colored floor. There was not much in terms of decoration, since there was none. She only had one tiny window that barely provided any ventilation, but then again, when one has already worked the whole day from the top of the morning all the way to the end of the night, one ends up not giving a shit about fresh air.

Her small single bed was one of the only pieces of furniture in the space, apart from the dresser that also doubled as her closet. She closed and locked the door behind her and went to said dresser, rested the gift basket on top of it, and used another key from the same keychain to open the lock she had put into the bottom drawer. Inside, there was a plethora of Jensen Ackles paraphernalia, a super fan professional kit. Among the miscellaneous articles, she found the packet of sealed beef jerky that had been previously laced with potent sedatives and took it out of the drawer.

Carefully untying the bow that was secured around the plastic wrapping of the basket, she places the jerky between the other goods, and it fits in an inconspicuous manner as though it always belonged there. She ties it all back together, making sure to leave it just as it was before, without any signs of interference. Knowing how much he loves the salty snack and how rarely he gets to eat it, she’s sure he’ll take the bait.

After all of those preparations, she went to bed that night with the absolute understanding that things would go her way for the day to come. That Jensen would get back to the hotel and discover that his key didn’t work, be offered the presidential suite, and accept it. Once he got back from the convention, she would go to him, introduce herself for the last time, present to him a welcome gift as a first-time guest, and offer to rearrange his clearly messy bags.

With a bit of luck, it would all come true, but nothing ever did come easy to her, did it?

He made a massive hole in the door and was able to get inside his room, forcing her to find a way to work around that. Which she did, but couldn't he just act like a normal person and spare her the extra hassle? Damn.

But the end result was all the same. He did accept the gift basket, and he did let her in. Now, she has him at her fingertips, literally, as she sits by his side on the bed, where he lies unconscious.

Y/N can’t believe how breathtaking he really is. There’s no retouching, no filter, no concealer, but he’s still mesmerizingly good-looking.

His eyes are closed, and his facial expression is relaxed in his state of deep sleep. She runs the pads of her fingers against his smooth skin till the point where it reaches his growing beard and the texture becomes rough to the touch. She can see so distinctively now how the hair on his head is darker than that of his eyelashes, which are a much lighter shade of blonde. She contours the outline of his lips that, even when he’s passed out, remain pouting.

It is not fair. How can she help herself from wanting him so much when he’s that handsome? How can anyone blame her for needing him all to herself?

Snapping out of the trance that is admiring him, she gets back to the task at hand. She goes to his phone on top of the nightstand and unplugs it from the charger, taking his hand in hers and using the fingerprint of his index finger to unlock the device. Opening the messaging app, she types up a text to his wife, having to fight the urge to cringe when the woman’s name flashes across the screen.

‘Hey, honey. Just wanted to let you know that Jared and Misha came over and invited me to go out to see a bit of the city. I thought it might be good to have a fun night out and clear my mind. Probably gonna wake up late tomorrow, though. Love you.’

Having to write the last words stings, but Y/N does it anyway, sending the text and then locking it again, knowing that this step will be crucial in order to buy her more time. The longer people spend not wondering about Jensen’s whereabouts the better.

She shoves the phone in her pocket and grabs the almost fully empty packet of beef jerky and puts it back in the gift basket, taking it with her as she exits the room. In the corridor, she finds a garbage can and sticks the basket in it, leaving it there to be thrown away by the cleaning crew.

She walks down the stairs once more and arrives at the lobby right on time, without a minute to spare. Mrs. Vonesch was just done checking out and was rudely instructing Antonin on how to properly carry her many bags and suitcases to her cab.

“I can help you with that, ma’am.” Y/N rushes over to Mrs. Vonesch and takes the one bag that Antonin couldn't carry from her hands, finding it to be surprisingly heavy.

The grey-haired old lady scans Y/N up and down and lets out a relieved huff.

“Finally someone that steps in. I swear that this place’s customer service gets worse every year.” Her thick Swiss accent made her tone even more cutting as she began to walk ahead to enter the car that was going to take her to the airport.

Y/N moved at a shorter pace, allowing Antonin to get in front of her. The poor bellhop did his very best not to step over his own feet as he tried to balance the countless amount of luggage that he carried in his arms, the taxi driver jumping out of his seat to help him fit it all in the trunk.

Utilizing the commotion in her favor, Y/N unzipped Mrs. Vonesch’s bag and found it full of travel-sized shampoos and conditioners, as well as anything that is usually stocked in the guest’s mini fridge. Not having the time or the will to do anything about that, she pulled Jensen’s phone out of her pocket and stuffed it inside the bag, zipping it back closed in a single fluid motion. That way, if anyone tries to track his location through the device, it will point to somewhere all the way in Switzerland.

“Thanks, Y/N.” Antonin says to her after she gives him the hand luggage, the last item to be put in the cab’s trunk, which was stuffed so full that a lot of elbow grease had to be used just to close it.

“You’re welcome.” She responds with a kind nod and watches as the taxi driver gets back in his car and turns on the engine. Y/N leans down to see into the backseat, where Mrs. Vonesch is seated with her head to the opposite window. “Farewell, madame. We look forward to your next stay.” That was actually true, since she was not going to be there to deal with it anymore, but no one else but her knew that, yet.

The old lady rudely waves Y/N off in a flippant gesture and doesn’t say another word, doesn’t even turn to give her a single glance, and soon the cab drives off, leaving both her and Antonin with a dumbfounded expression.

“Did she even give you a tip?” She asks the bellhop.

“What do you think?” He scoffs and then shrugs, walking away.

The young woman takes a second to wrap her head around just how shitty her job has been in that place, but only a second, because she’s leaving very soon. Matter fact, right now.

She goes to her bedroom again, but this time she doesn’t intend on ever coming back. She pulls her suitcase from under her tiny bed and puts it on top of her thin mattress, opening the case as wide as possible and beginning to take all of her belongings from the drawers in her dresser and packing it up. Once it is done, she zips it shut and rests its wheels on the floor so that she can make the bed. She runs her hands through the sheets and flattens them, getting rid of any creases on the fabric.

Taking a final look around she makes sure that there are no traces of her presence left behind in the space, and then begins to move towards the small rectangular mirror that hangs on one of the walls. She inhales deeply and her eyes start to water more and more as she stares at her own reflection, dense tears taking form and finally dripping from her eyes and running down her cheeks.

After a couple of minutes, her face is red and puffy, and that’s when she takes her suitcase and drags it out of the room, hurried steps taking her to the lobby.

“Hector, Hector!” She frantically calls out to him, voice breaking in between her crying.

Her supervisor turns to look at her, shocked at her state, as well as her other colleagues and all the guests on the floor.

“I’m gonna have to call you back, sir.” Hector says and hangs up the phone call he was taking at reception. “What happened, what’s wrong?” He comes out from behind the front desk to examine Y/N more closely.

“My mom, it’s- it’s my mom!” Her co-workers begin to gather around her, never once having seen her so emotional. “I just got a call from my dad and she’s sick!”

“Sick how?” Claire’s voice sounds by the left side of her, concern clear in her features.

“I don’t know, but it’s very bad and she’s at the hospital and I think she might die.” Y/N hears gasps all around her and Hector’s hands hold her by the shoulders.

“No, that’s not going to happen.” He says in an attempt to calm her down and the people next to them murmur in agreement.

“I need to go to her. I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, I never meant to leave like this, but I need to be with her.” Her sentence comes out rushed and choked up.

“Y/N, this is your mother you’re talking about, of course you want to go see her. But it’s so dark out, you should leave tomorrow.” The man’s french accent becomes even more prevalent with the nervousness of the situation.

“No, I can’t wait, I’m gonna go to the airport and take the first flight home.” Y/N declares, determined even amidst sniffles.

“Are you sure?” His fingers wipe at her tears that continue to fall down.

“Yes.” She nods vehemently.

“Listen, if that’s what you wanna do, that’s completely fine. We’ll miss you and you’ll forever be welcome here.” He wraps her in his arms in a tight hug.

“Thank you, for everything.” She hugs him right back and whispers in his ear before taking a step back.

Her fellow workers move in and take turns giving her more hugs and words of encouragement, the whole process taking way too long for her comfort, but she plays it like it all means the world to her.

They walk her to her car, the minivan in the staff’s parking lot. Antonin takes her suitcase from her hand, ignoring her protests to do it by herself. He helps her put it in the car and she thanks him for his kindness.

She then gets in the driver’s seat and waves goodbye to the group that had formed by the side of her vehicle, some of them even shedding tears of their own. It would be quite moving if she did feel anything other than contempt for those people.

“I love you guys, bye!” Is the last thing she says to them, feet pressing on the gas pedal as she drives away.

In the review mirror, she can see them lingering there until her car turns on the street corner and she contains her laugh before realizing that she doesn’t have to, letting it out. She shakes with laughter, previous tears drying on her skin. She couldn't believe that it worked, that they bought it. Maybe after all this is over she can talk to Jensen to get into acting, ‘cause she is good.

The thought of Jensen alone in that room, out cold from the megadose of sedatives she had given him, flashes across her mind and her grip tightens on the steering wheel.

She makes a U-turn back to the hotel, parking in front of the loading dock where the produce, bedding, drinks, equipment, among other things tend to come in and out of. She opens the backpack atop the passenger seat and takes out a room maid's uniform along with a dust mask, letting out a long sigh at knowing that she’s almost there, she’s almost at the finish line. She removes her clothes and changes into the uniform, putting on the dust mask and fixing her hair up in a bun, all so she won’t be recognized.

She gets out of the car and looks around, not a single soul roaming the area. The dark cloak of the night aids her while she opens the back of her minivan, proceeding to pull down the wheelchair ramp. With it all set, she goes back inside the building through the dock’s entrance, taking a big laundry cart with her on the way up to room 666. She passes many familiar faces but none of them pay her no mind in her disguise.

Once she’s inside the room though, is when the real tough part takes place. She looks at him, spread out in bed, lightly snoring, and then looks at the laundry cart.

“Fuck my life.” She murmurs underneath the mask that covers her mouth and nose.

She’s gonna have to put him in the cart. Will she be able to move him? Will he even fit?

She moves close to him, calculating how she’s going to do this, exactly. Maybe she should have brought a paddle or something, you know, to use as a lever.

“I’m sorry, baby, but I think there’s only one way for me to do this.” She whispers to him, receiving nothing but silence in return.

Y/N starts to carefully pull him towards the end of the bed, one limb at a time. And not surprisingly, it’s a workout. He’s heavy and really not cooperating, letting out soft sounds of discontent every time she repositions him. After his whole body is at thevery edge of the mattress, she places the cart against it and exhales due to the exertion.

Did she really have to fall madly in love with such a big guy? The man is 6’1 with broad shoulders and toned muscles, but he’s still known as the ‘short one’, go figure.

“This might hurt a little bit.” Another whisper, and she gives him a final pull, causing him to fall inside the cart with a dull thud.

Half his legs hang outside the container and she has to fold him in half so that all of him will fit. He groans in his sleep and she mentally tells him to suck it up, they are almost home now.

She grabs a handful of heavy blankets from the cabinet near the bathroom and throws them on top of him, covering him entirely. Feeling relieved that the worst was over, she gets on with pushing the laundry cart out into the hallway, to the service elevator, and ultimately outside to the loading dock where her car is parked. Making use of the ramp she had attached to her minivan, she wheels him up onto the back of the vehicle. She gathers the ramp and shuts the rear doors, climbing into the driver’s seat once more, only this time, he’s with her.

Then, she drives, for hours, taking him far away. To a cabin in the snowy mountains of Canada, where she’s got it all planned out. Where he awakes, tied securely to a chair.

“Wh- what?” It’s the first word he’s able to form, eyes adjusting to the low light of a strange room. He moves to get up and finds himself stuck, but he tries not to panic. “What’s going on?” He’s so confused. He doesn’t remember how he got there.

He remembers the convention, going to his room, getting in the shower before bed, and then… A knock, but not much else.

This doesn’t feel right. His mouth is dry and his brain is hazy. He attempts to move one more time and he can’t, his heartbeat picks up and he starts to pant. This isn’t funny, whatever it is. He gulps, suddenly out of breath and hearing a ringing in his ears. There’s sweat forming on his forehead and he begins to thrash, only a thought in mind, that he needs to get out. He needs to run. He needs to break free. He needs to-

“Shhh, sweetie, calm down. You’re going to hurt yourself.” He hears a tranquil, feminine voice and it all comes rushing back, that’s when he panics. She’s further away in the dimly lit room, watching him as he keeps putting all his strength into snapping the cords that bind him. “I’m gonna have to give you some more medicine if you don’t stop.”

“What the fuck is wrong with you? Let me go!” He roars, never once in his life feeling such fear and rage all at once. It’s her, the receptionist from the hotel. Did she roofie him? But why? Did she want money?

“Baby, please, try to be reasonable.” The way she’s aiming to talk him down only serves to make him madder and Jensen yells, looking around for something that might help him, for an escape. When he doesn’t find it, he struggles even more violently against his restraints. “Use your words.”

“You’re fucking crazy!” These are the words he chooses to use, not knowing how much he would come to regret them. Because after he spits them out, there’s a long beat of silence and then she’s on him, right by his side. There’s something shiny in her hand and then he feels a sharp pinprick on his neck.

She takes a step back and the needle she’s holding enters his field of vision, but he can’t see much else afterwards, since the walls start to spin and everything gets darker and darker.

“Rude.” He can hear her comment, disappointment saturated in her tone, before he’s off to dreamland yet again.

[deans-baby-momma]

Lisa is a class A bitch!!!

The Secrets He Kept -CH 1

Summary: You've known the Winchester family since you were very small. You love Dean, you always have and you'll do anything to help your friend no matter the cost. You've helped Dean get his singing career off the ground but now that he and his wife, Lisa have moved back to Kansas and settled into a massive property you have started to notice some changes. Can you help him without ruining your relationship? 

Characters: Dean Winchester, Sam Winchester, Mary Winchester, Lisa Braden-Winchester, you/ Y/N, Jody Mills, Castiel Novak, Ketch, 

Warnings: Heavy angst, domestic violence (male receiving), friends to lovers, slow burn, some fluff, and lots of language (but it's me so you probably knew that already). This is a multi part fic so as usual if any other warnings need to be added they will be added to each chapter.

A/N: some of the things described in this fic come from what I saw with the experience a friend of our family had with his ex. Violence at the hand of a significant other is very hard to spot sometimes, but if you (no matter gender) are experiencing abuse please reach out. Many towns/ cities have a local group that can help you but if you don't know who to reach out locally or are concerned about privacy you can go to this website they have an option for backing out and deleting your browser history if you need the extra security. Please don't suffer alone. 

@deans-baby-momma thanks for your help with this one!

Word Count: 1,971 | Masterlist | TSHK Masterlist

The images for the cover and dividers are from IG and Supernatural Wiki and edited by me.

The pressure of nearly losing her job that morning was too much; at least that was the latest threat from her boss, Ketch.

“I mean it this time Y/L/N if Winchester doesn’t show up again your ass is on the chopping block,” he’d told her.

‘That’s what I get for telling him I had connections to someone that famous,’ she thought as she’d gotten ready to do the opening greetings for Wake-up Wichita. She’d only been on air for the past year and wasn’t the most popular with any of the staff, she only kept the position because she’d helped them get some interviews with a couple of celebs because of her connection to Dean.

“Great start to the morning,” she’d grumbled as she made her way out to the news desk to wait for her coworker to introduce her. 

“Thanks Simon,” Y/N smiled at the camera, “when we return from the commercial break, we’ll be speaking with one of Kansas’s biggest stars, Dean Winchester.”

Once she knew she wasn’t on air any longer she turned to the producer, “is he here yet?!”

“No, his agent promised he’d be here on time but no one’s heard from him.”

“Fuck!” she slammed her fist against the nearest wall before whipping her phone out and selecting his name.

“I’m almost there,” he growled into the phone.

“You better be Winchester – my ass is on the line for you – again,” she hit end and walked off set, which only caused the producer a small heart attack.

Dean walked in and she wanted to scream – he had bags under his eyes, his hair was tousled like he’d been running his fingers through it, and he wasn’t wearing the suit she’d helped him pick out the day before.

“Where’s the blue suit jacket?”

“It got torn, ok?!” he snapped and that’s when she began to study him more.

“C’mere,” she dragged him to makeup and they did what they could in 30 seconds and sent them on their way.

“Like I said we have the biggest star in our state right here in Wichita, Dean welcome to the KSN-TV studio,” she beamed up at him, hoping she no longer looked annoyed with him.

“Thanks for having me,” he bowed his head a little and grinned at the camera.

Y/N’s stomach flip flopped – as it always did when he was near, but she stuffed her thoughts down and completed the interview. The producer was even more thrilled that they got Dean to give a small acoustic rendition of one of his newer songs.

The longer the interview went, the more Y/N noticed about her friend though – and the more things began to bother her.  He had giant bags under his beautiful green eyes, he was of course very late for their interview, he had three scratches on his face and neck, to top it all off his reaction to the mention of his new suit coat getting torn had her mind reeling.

Once they were out by her car she asked, “What happened? We had everything laid out yesterday?”

“I know. Things happened and the jacket got ruined, I’m sorry for how things went.”

“What things Dean?!” she rubbed her temples, “did you get plastered and get in another bar fight?”

“No,” he answered but it still seemed defensive.

“Then what?”

“I showed up and did your fuckin’ show! Can you just be happy with that?!”

“Don’t talk to me like that,” she snipped back, “I thought you moved back home to calm down? You promised to stop this behavior.”

“I don’t need you harping on me on behavior too alright?!” he yelled. She flinched, she hated that she did that every time someone yelled at her, but somehow when Dean yelled it was worse.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered.

“No, you’re not. Whatever is going on in that pretty head of yours is not ok and you are just saying that to try and get me to not be angry with you. I gotta tell ya, Dean I’m a bit sick of this same shit different day crap we are doing. Every time you and Lisa get in a fight you yell at me, you get arrested – you yell at me, you get injured fighting at some bar – I have to pick you up and you still yell. AT. ME! If you keep this shit up, you’re gonna burn your last fuckin bridge and then where will you be?!”

“Probably dead,” he snapped and stormed off to his ride leaving Y/N standing there bewildered.

Y/N had gone to school with Sam but had built a friendship with Dean over the years and they’d managed to keep in contact. Somehow, they’d stayed friends through her time in college and job searching and Dean’s music career picking up. Y/N had gone on the road with him for a year once she got out of college – she’d played manager and assistant until they could find someone more qualified for the job and she’d bowed out and returned to Kansas.

Over the years, she’d spent more time with the boys’ mother Mary than they had – both of them having jobs and wives and other responsibilities that kept them busy. Y/N didn’t mind – having lost her mother in the house fire that had claimed John Winchester’s life she somehow became a part of their family.

That night she sat at her kitchen table looking at her now cold takeout and just wallowed in the memories.

She woke up because she was coughing – heat, the first thing she noticed was heat and that was odd considering it was winter. That’s when it hit her that the room was filling with smoke and there was a fire by the wall where her nightlight was.

Y/N screamed for help and her mother burst in and tried to stop the flames with a blanket – as she patted at the fire it seemed to fuel it and flames leapt from the wall and caught the blanket and nearby curtains on fire.

Y/N’s father rushed in, scooped her up and ran out the front door with her, all the while shouting, “Come on!” to her mom.

Y/N was thrust into the arms of the first person her father saw, “Mary, take her I’ve gotta go back in for, Y/M/N,” he shouted and ran back inside.

Dean had come out of the house and Mary had him bring out a blanket for Y/N to wrap up in while they watched the scene unfold.

The next thing they knew John had run inside the house as well. When the roof of her bedroom caved in, Y/N began to wail and call for her parents - Mary had decided to take her inside and warmed up some hot chocolate for her – something she’d continue to do for her every time she showed up to the Winchester home upset.

Y/N stood and dumped her cold dinner before grabbing the phone, “hi Y/N,” Mary answered, “are you coming over tonight?” she asked and then added, “the boys should be here soon, we’d love to have you.”

“I doubt Dean would agree with that.”

“Well, it’s not his house so not his choice. Come by; we’ll have dinner and I got a pie heating in the oven.”

She didn’t have to be told twice, Y/N was in a pair of jeans and a tee-shirt, and out the door in less than five minutes. She lived in a small craftsman home just a few miles from where she grew up, so it wasn’t long before she was at Mary’s house.

Sam answered the door with a huge grin on his face, “hi Y/N,” he greeted and pulled her in for a hug, his wife Eileen was next in line for a hug too. They chatted a moment in the entryway before migrating to the kitchen where Mary was prepping quite the feast.

“It smells wonderful in here,” Y/N remarked as she sniffed at the air.

“Oh, don’t start that it’s just jarred Alfredo sauce,” Mary said, waving off the compliment.

“Well, the company over here is better than at my house,” she remarked.

Mary offered her a sad smile; she knew that Y/N had a hard time with her mother’s death and her father blaming her. Mary had lost John the same week because of that fire but she never held it against Y/N, if anything it had brought them closer together.

When the roof caved in Mary just knew that John was gone – he’d always been one to rush in to help people. It wasn’t the first time he’d jumped into a dangerous situation but in her gut, she knew it was the last. The only bit of solace she had was that unlike Y/N and her father, Mary and her boys had gotten to say goodbye to John.

The firemen had carried him and Y/F/N out of the house – John was unconscious and had several small burns where part of the wall had landed on him; while he’d wrestled with Y/F/N trying to get him out of the room. John was in the hospital for two days before he died of his injuries – between the smoke inhalation and the infection in his burns he hadn’t stood a chance.

Y/N didn’t get to say goodbye to her mother and the fact that her father would go on to point that out, or would make comments about how she had legs and should have just run from the room rather than calling her own mother to her death had bothered Mary but she wasn’t ever sure of what to do. He’d never laid a hand on her physically that Mary knew so she couldn’t even say anything to authorities.

“Mary? Are you ok?” Y/N asked.

“Yeah, sorry just thinking,” she hugged the younger woman, “Dean and Lisa should be here soon.”

“Good,” she tried not to cringe at the thought of having to see Lisa.

Y/N had never gotten along with the woman – she and Dean had been at some yoga retreat and had some sort of fling and then reconnected a few years later after a show. Lisa had never been as good to Dean as Y/N thought she should but Dean claimed she made him happy so she kept those thoughts under wraps. She wanted only one thing for Dean and that was for him to be happy.

Lisa on the other hand did not ever hide the fact that Y/N was not her favorite person, so having dinner with her was always the worst. Y/N always kept her mouth shut for Dean and Mary’s sake, especially since dinner would be in Mary’s house tonight.

Two minutes into dinner Lisa made some comment about the food and Y/N snapped.

“Did you make this Mary?”

“I picked up the chicken and cooked the sides.”

“Oh,” Lisa grunted a disdainful look on her face. “You couldn’t even make an entire meal,” she looked pointedly at Mary.

Dean grunted and patted her leg hoping to quiet her, but Y/N was done.

“Why are you such a bitch?”

“Excuse me?!”

“Mary is nothing but kind to you, you’re wearing her wedding band and ring; yet you complain about her cooking, her home, her . . . whatever. That’s your husband’s mother! You should show her some kindness.”

By the time Y/N was finished speaking both of the younger women were standing and ready for a fight but Dean dragged Lisa out of the house with one last apology to his mom.

Sam glared at their friend for a moment before following his brother outside.

SPN Fam:

@all-alone-he-turns-to-stone  | @lyarr24

 @dean-winchester-is-a-warrior  | @nancymcl

 @deans-baby-momma  | @squirrelnotsam

@leigh70  | @impalaslytherin

@mishkatelwarriorgoddess | @deans-spinster-witch

@perpetualabsurdity | @bumbleb10

@mrswhozeewhatsis | @123passwort

@roseblue373 | @jackles010378

Mr. Green-eyes Tags:

@akshi8278 | @mrsjenniferwinchester | @k-slla |

[deans-baby-momma]

Welcome Back! And absolutely, yes yes YES!!!

I'm back!

I want to start off by apologizing for the fact that I've been quiet for so long. I have been working on my writing this entire time so I'd have some stuff to share with you guys. I just hope some of you all are still around and still want to read my stories.

Now that that's out of the way, would any of you all like to see some new chapters for Keeping Secrets? I have a couple almost ready to post!

[deans-baby-momma]

ALL MY GHOSTS; series masterlist

- pairing: Beau Arlen x Fem Reader

- summary: You’re a deputy working for the Lewis and Clark County Sheriff’s Department in Helena; a good one at that. Since Beau’s arrival, you befriended the Texan, who eventually became the town’s new permanent sheriff. With a growing friendship, blooming feelings, a ton of inside jokes, and way too much fun on the job, it seems like everything is going right for you. But, you’re running from your past, and it seems to be catching up fast.

- warnings: 18+ only, murder, abduction, domestic abuse, stalking, obsessive behaviour, violence, trauma, dark content, angst, age gap relationship, abortion, alcoholism, smut.

- an: well, this is the first fanfic i’m posting on this account - but not in general, or on tumblr. it is, however, my first beau arlen fanfic. this is set AFTER season three!!!

- word count so far: 13,781

CHAPTERS :

chapter one.

chapter two.

chapter three.

chapter four.

chapter five.

chapter six (coming soon!)

MAIN MASTERLIST.

[deans-baby-momma]

Oooooh!!!!! I can't wait to see the reactions to this one.......everyone is in for a helluva ride.

The Secrets He Kept - Masterlist

You've known the Winchester family since you were very small. You love Dean, you always have and you'll do anything to help your friend no matter the cost. You've helped Dean get his singing career off the ground but now that he and his wife, Lisa have moved back to Kansas and settled into a massive property you have started to notice some changes. Can you help him without ruining your relationship? 

Warnings: Heavy angst, domestic violence (male receiving), friends to lovers, slow burn, some fluff, and lots of language (but it's me so you probably knew that already). This is a multi part fic so as usual if any other warnings need to be added they will be added to each chapter. Please heed the warnings.

A/N: some of the things described in this fic come from what I witnessed through the experience a friend of our family survived with his ex. Violence at the hand of a significant other can be very hard to spot sometimes, but if you (no matter gender) are experiencing abuse please reach out. Many towns/ cities have a local group that can help you but if you don't know who to reach out locally or are concerned about privacy you can go to this website they have an option for backing out and deleting your browser history if you need the extra security. Please don't suffer alone. 

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5

Chapter 6 | Chapter 7 | Chapter 8 |

[deans-baby-momma]

Reblog for a larger sample size!

No "show results", if you're not a fanfic writer just be patient.

I saw a post about an anon saying it was embarrasing to have an ao3 account in your 30s (it's absolutely not), so I want to do a poll and see what the age range actually is.

#older than most #could be a cougar

[deans-baby-momma]

Unconventional A J2 x Reader RPF Series

After a rousing evening of Friday Night Karaoke at the Supernatural convention, you’re tired and about to go to bed. But then a distinctly familiar laugh echoes through the hallway outside your hotel room door, and sleep is the last thing on your mind.

A/N: This eight-part series will be posted in June and will fulfill my Polyarmory square for @spnkinkbingo.

Part I - Situational

Part II - Positional

Part III - Recreational

Part IV - Traditional

Part V - Sensational

Part VI - Conventional

Part VII - Difunctional

Part VIII - Emotional

If you want to be tagged for this series specifically, send me an ask or a DM! If you want in on any of my tags, you can ask for that, too!

ALLEIRADAYNE’S SPN KINK BINGO MASTER LIST

ALLEIRADAYNE’S SPN MASTER LIST

Keep reading

[deans-baby-momma]

What the fuck is all this booping going on?!?!?! Lol

[deans-baby-momma]

I wish I mattered.

#not SPN #personal #i am a person

[deans-baby-momma]

Fucking onion ninjas!!!!

I can't even write a summary for this. I miss Dean and then this song came on and I literally rushed over to my laptop and wrote this.

*whispers* "I'm sorry."

Characters: Sam x Eileen Winchester, Reader, Dean Winchester mentioned

Warnings: Post 15x20. The angstiest of angst. This one hurts a lot.

A/N: Again I'm sorry but I had to get it out of my head.

Word Count: 714

Divider and cover image created by me in Canva.

I plodded past Eileen in the kitchen, moving to the bay window in the living-room; outside a gentle rain began to fall, the tip tapping sound brings a memory back.

We were standing next to the Impala; Dean was trying to convince me to leave – the further from him I was the safer I’d be, he reasoned. I theorized that the distance would only put both of us in more danger as we worried over the other from far away.

After all these years I still know that I made the right choice – even if I now feel like dying every single day.

I watch as Sam steps into the kitchen, he signs something to Eileen and I turn back to the window so I am not tempted to eves drop. They have taken good care of us since we lost him, so I do my best to keep things in line. I keep my nose out of their business unless they ask and they mostly do the same for me.

I can take the rain on the roof of this empty house

That don't bother me

I can take a few tears now and then and just let them out

I'm not afraid to cry every once in a while

Even though going on with you gone still upsets me

There are days every now and again I pretend I'm OK

But that's not what gets me

Dean told me it was just a guy’s weekend and then he’d walked out the door to go to that damn pie fest with Sammy – didn’t even give me the time to tell him my big news before he left. I still can’t help but think if he’d have waited just 30 seconds maybe he’d have made different choices.

It took a year before we got ourselves together enough to leave the bunker. Honestly, I’d have let Sam and Eileen leave without me but I literally couldn’t deal with the pain of seeing Dean in every corner of that building.

What hurts the most

Was being so close

And having so much to say

And watching you walk away

And never knowing

What could have been

And not seeing that loving you

Is what I was trying to do

Even though he’s gone I see his eyes every single day – I wouldn’t give it up for anything but it doesn’t make it hurt any less.

It's hard to deal with the pain of losing you everywhere I go

But I'm doing it

It's hard to force that smile when I see our old friends and I'm alone

Still harder

Getting up, getting dressed, living with this regret

But I know if I could do it over

I would trade give away all the words that I saved in my heart

That I left unspoken

“How’s your day going today?” Sam asks pulling me out of my head.

What hurts the most

Is being so close

And having so much to say (much to say)

And watching you walk away

And never knowing

What could have been

And not seeing that loving you

Is what I was trying to do, oh

I swallow the lump in my throat, “not gonna be a great day today,” I admit quietly.

“That’s ok,” he pats my arm and sets a cup of coffee on the table near me.

I have to turn away from him or I’ll cry.

“Mama!” I hear my sweet boy’s voice as he thunders down the hallway.

What hurts the most

Was being so close

And having so much to say (to say)

And watching you walk away

And never knowing

What could have been

And not seeing that loving you

Is what I was trying to do

I lift him into my lap, “its rainy today, should we bake a pie and do some coloring?”

Not seeing that loving you

That's what I was trying to do

“Yes Mama!” he shouts, “I wuv pie!”

I kiss my precious son and look down into those stunning green eyes of his, “I know you love pie baby boy,” I squeeze him a little tighter before settling him down to begin our day. It’s going to be a rough day but I have to keep going for him.

SPN Fam:

@all-alone-he-turns-to-stone  | @lyarr24

 @dean-winchester-is-a-warrior  | @nancymcl

 @deans-baby-momma  | @squirrelnotsam

@leigh70  | @impalaslytherin

@mishkatelwarriorgoddess | @deans-spinster-witch

@perpetualabsurdity | @bumbleb10

@mrswhozeewhatsis | @123passwort

@roseblue373

Mr. Green-eyes Tags:

@akshi8278 | @mrsjenniferwinchester | @k-slla

[deans-baby-momma]

Awww! Adorable Dean. 😍😍

[deans-baby-momma]

Grrrrrrrrrrr!!!! They just need to admit their feelings and get together already.

Spotless: Schleppen

Chapter Sixteen

Featuring: Dean Winchester/Reader, Dean/Bela

Other characters: Sam/Madison, Lee/Pam/Benny, Jesse/Cesar, Charlie/OFC, unnamed female character

Word Count: 2644

Warnings, etc: Mutual pining, everyone is hungover, Dean steps in it, Sam is so done with their shit, unbeta'd

Series Masterlist

Dean didn’t sleep. Or if he did, it was in the last gasps of darkness and so short, he couldn’t feel its relief. Alcohol affects the REM cycle, so whoever taught him to have a drink before bed to help with his insomnia (John) was wrong. It was just one of the many things he’d learned in therapy. Dean found he had many things yet to unlearn.

No one who had stayed over was in any better shape when he got downstairs.

Bela and Trouble had bunkered down on the couch in the den, Charlie had claimed one of the bedrooms with a woodland elf, the other spare went to Pam and Lee, but Dean was pretty sure he had heard Benny through the walls, so maybe him too. The other girl Charlie brought along was on the floor curled around Jesse fruitlessly, because Cesar, who was sitting with his back to the end of the couch, still asleep, held his partner’s head in his lap. He wondered if Sam was already up and running until Madison came down the stairs in search of caffeine with a shirtless and rumpled Sam on her heels.

“Morning,” Dean said smugly to them both.

Madison met his gaze and tried not to blush, which Dean found oddly refreshing, while Sam just flipped him off and dove in for a cup of coffee before it was even done brewing.

They moved in hushed whispers, but the Winchesters’ words were doomed to carry with their baritone. After Madison admonished them for not having more to eat in their fridge, Dean stepped up and ordered a combo of both greasy and sweet options to be delivered with an impressive tip to the driver for their discretion.

Bela helped herself to Dean’s shower and some of his clothes. And if anyone had found it odd that they hadn’t slept together, no one was ballsy enough to mention it. Or maybe they were all just too hungover to care. 

He still hadn’t seen Pam and company emerge and he wondered if he was going to have to risk walking in on some alternative hangover cures. 

Luckily for everyone, the pounding on the front door for the food was enough to rouse the stragglers and beckon them back to civilization.

“Happy 2018 everybody!” Pam croaked with a shiteating grin on her face as she took in everyone’s subdued state.

She was met with lackluster replies, grumbles and a very sarcastic cheer from Charlie. She tutted at them and sauntered her way towards the jelly donuts.

As rough as he felt, Dean lived for mornings (or early afternoons) like this. His kitchen was filled with people he loved, sharing food and just existing together, safe and warm. It’s what being in a band was all about. He started another pot of coffee when Bela slinked over and hugged him from behind, resting her face between his shoulder blades.

“I’ll just have a nap right here, thanks,” she mumbled against his shirt.

“Oh yeah?” Dean peered down at her. “You know, you can take my bed if you’re still tired, not gonna rush anybody out today.”

“‘S too far,” Bela complained. “And I already showered, no sense delaying the inevitable.”

Dean turned in her arms, letting her rest against his chest instead. He rubbed her back and looked up when he felt someone watching him. You sat folded in on yourself on one of the tall chairs, looking as if you were going to puke all over the counter.

“You okay over there?” Dean asked, more alarm slipping into his voice than the jest he intended. He cleared his throat, but didn’t let go of Bela as she turned to look at who he was talking to.

Gaping at him like a deer caught in the headlights, you nodded. 

Dean reminded himself to breathe, feeling everything you were saying by the look in your eyes. He fucked up. But in that moment there was nothing he could say that would fix it. Bela was supposed to be his girl, it would be too obvious to step away from her now.

As much as he suddenly wanted distance, he held on tighter, like she was a shield against his feelings for you. And against the look of betrayal in your eyes.

“When do you want to leave— Y/N?” Bela broke through Dean’s silent spiraling and started making plans to get home.

“Lemme drive you guys— could use some fresh air,” Dean cut in before they could order a ride.

“Are you sure? I’m a little out of the way,” you asked, worried over being a burden or being trapped in a car with him, Dean couldn’t be sure.

“Positive, just say when, and I’ll get Baby all set to go,” Dean insisted.

Bela kissed Dean on the cheek and thanked him for a wonderful time, promising to text him her schedule later. She reached over the backseat to grab your hand, smiling mischievously, “another one for the books. See you at brunch?”

“If I can eat by then,” you muttered, smirking as she slid out of the car.

“Bye!” Bela called as she disappeared through the door from the garage into the kitchen.

Dean cleared his throat and leered at you in the rearview mirror.

“You gonna come up here or am I gonna have to call you Miss Daisy?”

You rolled your eyes at him, but you didn’t open your door.

“I can wait all day. If you think you can out- stubborn me–,”

“FINE!” you snapped, throwing open the door and almost slamming it into Bela’s car’s rear end. “Asshole.”

Dean tried not to laugh outright, but you were kind of adorable when you were pissed. Once you were situated in the passenger seat, purse and coat lumped on your lap and seat belt secured, Dean continued to wait.

“What?! We can go now.”

“Easy! I’m just adjusting my mirrors, don’t want to back into anything,” Dean added with an air of responsibility.

“You so were not,” you grumbled, huffing before leering at the sideview as Dean crawled out of Bela’s driveway.

It was going to be a long drive.

Once they were out of the canyon, Dean decided he was going to have to put some of those lessons from Missouri to use. “So— you wanna talk about it?”

You glared at him like he asked if you wanted to eat your jacket.

“Come on, I know you’re pissed. Let me have it,” Dean egged you on, okay, maybe he could have said that better.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you muttered, eyes on your hands.

“Really? You gonna pretend you’re not having a bitchfit right now?”

“Dean Henry Winchester, do not make me call Charlie and tell her you called me a bitch.” And just like that you were all in. “I cannot believe you right now.”

“I didn’t mean—”

“No, look, you can’t just go around kissing people and then shoving your relationship in their faces. It’s called mixed signals, asshole!”

“Oh, so you can call me an asshole, but I can’t call you names?!”

You crossed your arms over your chest. “It’s not the same and you know it.”

Dean sighed, he was letting himself get defensive instead of focusing on what you were really saying. It suddenly felt like a horrible idea to have this conversation when neither of you could escape.

“I don’t know what relationship you’re talking about— the fake dating thing you roped me into?! Cuz that’s not real, that’s playing nice— for you!” Dean hadn’t realized how much he resented you for this whole set up, but now that the words were out of his mouth, things made a lot more sense.

“Bullshit,” you spat.

“You want me to ignore her, huh? Pretend she’s not there, in front of everybody this could hurt if it gets out that it’s all a lie?!”

You turned on him then, taking a deep breath as Dean made sure he wasn’t too distracted to drive. “Is it a lie?”

Dean looked back at the road and licked his lips. How much did you know? How much was it safe to tell you? How much of Bela’s life was private, even from you?

“What are you talking about?! Of course it’s a lie, an act, a ruse! You were the mastermind here, remember?!”

“You know what, Dean? I think the lady doth protest too much,” you said. “I think you know it was wrong to do what you did, but now you’re trying to pin this on me. When I only did it to cover your ass!”

“That is so not fair. I own my shit. What are you really pissed at here? Me in general? Me kissing you? Me hugging Bela? Me making your job harder? WHAT?!”

You groaned. “YES! Okay? YES!”

You stopped your tirade and looked at him and Dean felt you deflate as he glanced back onto the road ahead.

You started over, trying for calm, “you are inherently annoying, I think we both know that.”

Dean huffed. “Yeah, thanks.”

“No, listen. I knew this thing wasn’t going to be easy— for any of us. But it’s the best way to turn everything around. But— if you can’t do it anymore, if there’s something you need to tell me, I’ll understand. We’ll figure it out, okay? Just— just don’t lie to me, okay? I can’t fix things if I don’t have the whole story.”

Dean felt about two inches tall. He wiped his hand down his face and growled, pissed at himself and whatever you were fishing for. Because it was still all his fault. Somehow, he had gotten you home, he pulled into the driveway and killed the engine.

“I can do it, okay? This is on me. I’ll make it right. I’ll be on my best behavior, get us out on tour without a hitch. Make the label all the money and start to earn back everybody’s respect. I owe them all that much,” Dean promised to your suspicious face.

“Dean—”

“What?”

“Is there anything I should know? Seriously. I won’t be pissed. I just— feel like, like I’m out of the loop on this.”

“You were there all night. I think you got a good idea how things are going. Uh, what more can I say, you know? I’m sorry, though, for making you worry. Okay?” Dean ducked his head, making sure you were seeing him, eyes trying to make you see what he couldn’t say, but what he most definitely felt.

Maybe he hadn’t learned anything from Missouri at all. But he was still trying.

“If you’re sure— we’ll keep it going. We've still got over a month before we’re on the road, but it’s gonna go fast now. I just need you to be on your A game,” you said firmly, cementing it into the fabric of your shared reality.

Just keep carrying on.

Dean could do that. He had to.

“Sounds like a plan. And Trouble, do me a favor?” Dean leaned over, slipping into his charming self. “You gotta loosen up, okay? Get a hobby, get laid, just find somewhere to put all this shit you carry so it’s not weighing you down. Okay?”

You sighed and rolled your eyes, tossing the door open and crawling out. “Like it’s that easy. Happy New Year, Dean, drive safe.”

“Later.”

Dean waited until you made it into the house before starting the engine back up. He didn’t go home right away, instead he took a drive along the coast, letting his mind try and untangle the knot you’d just made by having that conversation. 

Six am came way too early the following morning and with it, Sam pounding on Dean’s door to get his ass downstairs and into the gym. Right, his New Year’s resolution and his fucking brother holding him to it. 

“Gotta piss, calm down Billy Blanks,” Dean groaned, rolling out of bed.

He did his business, changed into something he could move around in, and finally found some tennis shoes at the back of his closet.

By the time he made it into the part of their basement they had turned into a gym, Sam was already sweating with a jump rope warm up. 

“What?! I’m here aren’t I? It’s not that late,” Dean grumbled at Sam’s judgey face.

They worked out with little discussion, spotting each other when they moved onto weights. They hadn’t worked out the details of this new shared routine, but slowly Dean felt it falling into place. The strain of his muscles and the swelling of his lungs all reminded him to be present and mindful. To let his body take over building when his mind wanted to use it to punish.

After they had stretched and were winding down, Dean decided to tape up his hands and spend some time on their speed bag. But, of course, that drew Sam’s attention.

Anything that hinted at Cain or Alastair always did.

“What?”

Sam looked him over. “You good?”

Dean didn’t want to have a different version of the trainwreck conversation the day before. But Sam knew everything, more or less anyway. Dean didn’t look up from his task, mesmerized by how soft his knuckles had gotten recently.

“I kissed Trouble.”

“You’ve got to be shitting me,” Sam laughed, actually, genuinely laughed at him. “How’d that go?”

Dean considered the act itself. “Well—- she didn’t hit me.”

Sam sat down on the end of the bench, settling in for the dirt. “Were you expecting her to?

Dean looked over and saw Sam was no longer teasing. “Could you blame her? Some guy like me? A fuck up with a history of diddling her friends?”

“Dean.”

“I know, I know. Believe in myself. I am worthy of love. I know, okay. Just… she didn’t say anything. Just stood there after pulling away, staring at me in total shock.”

“Did she kiss you back?”

Dean thought about it, remembering the way your mouth let him in. “At first, yeah.”

Sam chewed that over. “Does Bela know how you feel about her?”

“Sam, I’m not even sure how I feel about her.”

Sam rolled his eyes. “Yeah you are. You just have been too stupid and self deprecating to do anything about it. Does she?”

Dean shook his head.

“Are you guys fucking?”

“Not like, committedly.”

“Okay, well, you should probably stop that. And tell Trouble how deep you’re in it. Like, I hate being alone with you two, it’s so obvious.”

Dean flipped Sam off.

“What? No, I’m serious. You guys just need to get over your shit and tell each other how you feel. And warn me, because I do not want to come home for like a week after all those years of tension is finally worked out, god.”

Dean kind of gets lost in that image for a minute. “Nah, we’d go to her place. I wouldn’t do that to you.”

Sam couldn’t even tease him after how pathetic he sounded. “But first you need to tell her.”

Dean sighed. “I can’t. I promised her I’d behave and stick to the plan. I can’t risk pissing off Dick and Crowley anymore, I don’t want to jeopardize the band.”

“I’m pretty sure I told you this was a bad idea and I just want to reiterate that point,” Sam snarked.

“Yeah, well, them’s the breaks,” Dean huffed as he hauled himself up and squared off with the hanging bag.

He found a rhythm and kept on his toes.

“Dean, seriously, just tell her how you feel. Life’s too short, you know?” Sam said to Dean’s back.

Dean sighed, upping his pace. Because, yeah, life was really too short.

But there was still nothing he could do about it now.

Author's Note: LISTEN! I did not even outline the first 2/3rds of this chapter. IT just HAPPENED, so yeah, they're still both idiots.

Tagging:

@deans-spinster-witch

@mrswhozeewhatsis

@cosicas-cuquis

@fics-pics-andotherthings-i-like

@suckitands33

@ladysparkles78

@deans-baby-momma

@stoneyggirl2

@sassy-pelican

@leigh70

@globetrotter28

@winharry

@lastactiontricia

@rockhoochie

[deans-baby-momma]

Oh boy! I feel like shit's about to hit the fan.....

Spotless: Rubato

Chapter Fifteen

Featuring: Dean Winchester/Reader, Dean/Bela

Other characters: Lee/Pam, Sam/Madison, Benny, Charlie, Elizabeth

Word Count: 3340

Warnings, etc: Mutual pining, mentions of Bela's childhood sexual abuse, lots of drunken shenanigans, Benny's not flirting, just being his own charming self, jealousy, Dean is slipping, unbeta'd

Series Masterlist

The week between Christmas and New Years is always a week of stasis, celebratory and lazy, just holding its breath for changes to come. In a word, it’s possibility. You still did some work, but not many requests were coming in and social media was bombarded with gratitude and self reflection. Not many people noticed the band’s lack of posts and you were grateful for not having to make excuses for some family time, for anyone.

Your flight home had been arduous, delays and a layover that just left you a zombie for a solid 36 hours afterwards. You woke up on the morning of New Year’s Eve with a sense of dread. You checked your phone just to be safe and all seemed well, or quiet at least. Annoyed with your brain, you decided to punish your body instead, or practice self-care, depending on who you asked. Your stationary bike had gotten a little dusty while you were out of town, but after a couple miles everything else fell out of focus. The rolling hills made you feel invincible.

It had started as physical therapy after your car accident back in college, but biking had turned into one of your go to hobbies. And as boring and non-creative it sounded, it did you a lot of good when your thoughts got too loud. It was like running away from your problems, but it still benefited you both physically and mentally.

Win win.

By three, you were just waiting to get ready. The outfit you picked out with Bela hung on the back of your closet door still wrapped in the Sister Jo’s bag. You slumped in your robe and scrolled through the news as you waited to switch the wash around. 

Different broadcasts covered the various local NYE specials and reminded everyone to drive sober, take the bus or get a ride. You thought Dean said he had gotten rides covered the last you talked, but you weren’t sure who was getting you or when, really. If you needed to meet somewhere to go as a group, you needed to order your ride now or everyone would be waiting on you.

Biting your lip, you called him instead of texting, because your worry was immediate not eventual. He picked up on the third ring, slightly out of breath.

“Hey, Trouble, what’s up?” “What’s the plan for tonight? Are we leaving from your place or are you picking me up? I don’t know where Elizabeth’s Nightowl Cafe actually is, Dean.”

Naturally, he laughed. “Hey, look, it’s not a great time. I’m in wardrobe right now. But I’ll make sure you get home safe. Maybe just head over to Bela’s and we’ll pick you both up on the way?”

“The photoshoot is today?! I could have sworn you already had it.”

“Yeah, well, Christmas took longer than I thought and they wedged me in.”

“Dean—”

“Look, I figured it out. And you didn’t have to hold my hand or anything. Now, look, I gotta drop trough, so if you need to continue this conversation with my dick out, by all means. They’re putting me in white pants, so bye-bye Batman boxers.”

You almost swallowed your tongue.

“Yeah, I’m good. You— you have fun with that.”

“See you tonight.”

“Right, bye.”

You slammed your eyes shut, but the damn visuals still flooded your mind. Gorgeous fucking bastard. You exhaled and called Bela, which was far less of a rollercoaster of a conversation and you agreed to be at her place after five to get ready together.

“You still haven’t said anything about your trip home,” you reminded Bela as she handed you another flute of champagne. 

You were both dressed and ready, nibbling on an assortment of cheese and crackers on her oversized kitchen island. From what Dean said about Benny’s cousin’s cooking, dinner was on the agenda, but you had started pregaming and didn’t want to get sloppy too early.

“I’m trying to black it out, honestly. It was such pretentious bullshit. And don’t get me started on my mother’s latest project involving the southern gardens at the summer home,” Bela rolled her eyes and shoved another slice of cheese into her mouth.

“Topiaries?”

“Close, a walking maze. Because apparently Queen Victoria is alive and well,” Bela dusted her hands and raised them in surrender. “At least she didn’t try to force me to bring Dean, that would have ended poorly.”

“Dean is actually really good with moms— but I’m pretty sure he’d get arrested if he had to sit down and have a meal with your dad like he isn’t evil incarnate.”

Bela hummed, sipping her drinking.

You took another bit of cheese and made a sandwich, sensing she was holding something back. “You actually told him about it?”

Bela swallowed and chewed on her words. “Let’s just say Dean and I bonded over our less than stellar fathers, but yeah, I agree with you. In fact he said as much, something about knowing how to hide a body and having a big trunk to drag it away.”

You laughed darkly. “That would be Dean. Prepared, but with violence at the ready.”

“Anyway, setting up another fundraiser for Prevent Together for the new year. Please keep both of your calendars free because I need all my people there, alright?”

“Of course,” you promised, reaching across the butcher block countertop and squeezing her hand. Bela never ceased to amaze you with her strength. You switched gears to grant her some space, “is this the first time you’re meeting the rest of the band?”

“Well, I’ve met Sam. But I’m guessing he’s in on the plan. They’re a bit attached-at-the-hip types?”

You smirked. “Basically a package deal, but I think he’s more protective lately. His girlfriend Madison is fun and I hope they work out, he’s a good guy.”

“So who else do I need to charm?”

“Pamela.”

“Pamela?”

“The drummer, possibly psychic and honestly a little frightening at times. But she’s got a big heart to go with her bluntness. If you can’t convince her, we’re all in for it, because she’s gonna dig. So we’ll make sure you and Dean are on all night. I am definitely snagging some midnight shots, so pucker up, darling.” You teased, but honestly, kissing Dean couldn’t be anything but a treat, even just for a camera.

Maybe you were biased.

“Naturally. Alright, and how does Dean know the owner of the cafe?”

“She’s Benny’s cousin. A good friend and head of tour security, sometimes a personal bodyguard.”

Bela nodded, “I think he’s mentioned him as being on standby if one of our nights out got to be too much.”

You were grateful Bela had paid attention, if she was actually dating Dean, she would know all of this already. The less you had to explain on the spot, the less chance of a slip up.

“Big Cajun guy, total teddy bear. He’ll love you,” you added.

“Nice.”

A mechanical crank sounded somewhere behind you. “Is that—?”

“The garage, they must be here,” Bela gathered the tray and unceremoniously set it inside the fridge.

“How did they get into the garage? I didn’t see you get a text.”

“Dean has the code. Finish your drink,” Bela rushed you.

You slammed the rest of your champagne and added your glass in the sink with Bela’s. Something felt weird that Dean knew Bela’s security override code, but then again you didn’t drive, must be why you didn’t have it.

“Hey— whoa!” Dean’s voice snapped you out of your sleuthing spiral. “Lookin’ good, ladies.”

You turned and took him in, burgundy suit without a tie, a dark undershirt with the collar popped. Fucker. 

“Thank you, likewise.” Bela leaned in and pecked his cheek.

Dean turned to you. “All set?”

You looked around for your phone and grabbed it and the charger off of the ledge towards the sidedoor. “Yeap. You?” you asked Bela.

“Do I need a touch up?” she asked, tilting her head side to side for your honest inspection. 

“Nope, lipstick did its job. You’re glorious,” you affirmed.

“Right, well, shall we?” Bela gestured toward the door which Dean pushed open for you and Bela to go first. Past Bela’s MG the big door was still open, showing a pair of black SUVs waiting on the curb. As you stepped out onto the short drive, Lee screamed out a backwindow from the first vehicle, “ladies, ladies, ladies, are we ready to have a good time?!”

You laughed, dancing a little up the incline and pumping your fist to an imaginary beat. 

“Trouble’s ready! What about you? You gonna give this one a run for his money?” Lee teased and then took a swig off of his own bottle of champagne.

“You can count on it,” Bela said darkly, eyes only on Dean. Everyone cheered as Dean put his hand on the small of her back and kissed her temple.

From the second SUV Sam emerged smirking and opened the door, waving you all inside. It was time to get the show on the road.

*

You had met Elizabeth a handful of times and everytime you were floored by her natural hospitality. The cafe was closed for the event, where barely thirty of you were gathered in the vintage-diner- themed all night cafe. She had tables set up with appetizers and a bartender working the soda fountain so you could get dessert with your booze if you wanted.

You wondered if Dean had requested the pie, because there were three cut and displayed on a stand with plastic domes to keep them from drying out.

Oldies played from the antique jukebox and everyone mingled as others arrived. You snapped pictures of the guests and the hand painted mural on the wall showcasing blues artists and faces from classic Hollywood. Everything was gorgeous and it was a little overwhelming seeing everyone dressed to the nines, but you remembered how smashing you looked in your outfit and tucked your shoulders back and held your head high. 

Eventually, Benny found you and pulled you in for one of his signature bear hugs. 

“It’s been too long, doll. Stickin’ to your namesake or have you been behavin’ ?”

 You chuckled, pulling back to look up at his handsome face. “Oh you know, I do what I can. You?”

Benny’s bright eyes searched for something and eased you back onto your heels. “Uh, yeah, good. Itchin’ to get back on the road. Working the movie lots is a real pain, glad it’s only temporary.”

The song changed and Benny hummed along, you caught a glimpse of Sam and Madison talking with Bela while Dean and Lee waited in line for drinks.

“I can’t wait for the tour either, I think we all could stand to get back to basics.”

“Boys causing a ruckus for ya?” Benny asked knowingly.

“Nah, just a feeling. They’ve been working too hard more than anything. So a little balance will probably do the trick.”

“Well, that’s what we’re here for. Time to play hard. Wanna dance?” You looked around and sure enough, Lee and Pamela had started swinging to Johnny B. Goode, while some of the other roadies were shuffling along with their partners in a less flamboyant way.

You flexed your knee and decided you were tipsy enough to risk it and your pride for such an earnest proposal. “Lead the way.”

Benny was surprisingly light on his feet for such a sturdy guy and he helped you get in a good groove, just for the song to switch into Patsy Cline. Benny slowed it down into a stroll to fit the song and you giggled as he told you about what his ex Andrea had done now, after getting out of prison for trying to stab him, of all things.

“You are so better off without her,” you told him, patting his chest as the song came to a close.

Dinner was phenomenal: medallion sized steaks that were still juicy inside with spiral cut fried potatoes, green bean almondine and Waldorf salad. There were four tables set for eight set up in the space that would usually hold a dozen two or four seaters. Elizabeth finally took a seat as you were half way through a plate, but you made sure to let her know how amazing everything was.

“Oh, it’s nothing, now make sure you save room for pie. Got Strawberry Rhubarb, Dutch Apple and Blackberry waitin’,” she insisted like a favorite grandmother and not somebody you could have gone to school with.

Dean groaned deeper as she mentioned each variety, making everyone around your table share a knowing look. 

“Easy there, Dean might need to claim a pie as his own, you know how he gets. And I am not one for sloppy seconds,” Benny teased.

The table erupted and Dean didn’t even look like he cared. “If she ends up sending me home with a whole pie, it’s my business what happens to it.”

Tears were burning in your eyes from laughter and the lecherous look Dean shot Benny. He was ridiculous.

You turned to Bela, “good thing Sam isn’t at our table or he’d need to excuse himself.”

“It is getting a bit indecent isn’t it?” Bela said out of the side of her mouth.

“Are you raggin’ on me now, too?!” Dean asked aghast.

“Of course not! Just don’t want your girlfriend to get jealous of a pastry,” you quipped.

A low rumble of an accepted burn answered from around the table.

“Hey now, my girl knows what tickles my taste buds, if you know what I’m saying,” Dean shot back, earning him a fist bump from Lee.

Bela rolled her eyes and shrugged, which only made the laughter louder. The humor dissipated until every noise was roaring like the ocean in your ears. This wasn’t even the worst thing you’d heard out of Dean’s mouth, after years of groupies and life on tour, you thought you’d heard and seen it all. But Bela not denying Dean’s prowess in pussy eating suddenly made you feel impossibly lost.

You literally set up the joke and now you wished for anything to take it back.

“Gentleman, please!” Elizabeth broke into the cacophony. “Or no dessert.”

Which promptly set them all off once again, but they got their act together enough to be gracious when the pie did arrive. You had blackberry and it was thick and rich enough to keep you from opening your big mouth again. Also the vodka cranberry you had switched to was a perfect chaser for the sweetness of the filling.

Two more drinks and three hours later, you were in better spirits and a sequined top hat. The noise makers were harder to come by, Madison and Benny fighting over the last one like toddlers over the last Hot Wheel. Sam had to break it up, which meant Madison won anyway, naturally. But at least Benny could still whistle. The countdown was getting close and everyone was crammed together on the makeshift dance floor under the dimmed lights, talking and swaying in circles. Dancing would have been too much with all the anticipation in the air.

You had your camera at the ready, taking small videos of the crowd and snapping selfies with anyone within reach. The lone television behind the counter hopped between coverage of celebrations in Vegas, Seattle and LA. You did a quick scan of your immediate vicinity for Bela and Dean. Finally, you found them next to Pam and Lee, who were sharing a bottle of bourbon between them, while Bela and Dean were whispering and readying their noisemakers and confetti respectively.

“Oooo, two couples one shot! I want you guys to make it count okay, this is for posterity’s sake!” you ordered, framing the shot just as the countdown began.

10…9…8…

Dean pulled Bela close by the waist. Lee tipped back another swig before almost losing his hat to the movement.

7…6…5…

Bela gazed up at Dean’s face and said something you couldn’t hear over the numbers shouting out of every corner of the party.

4…3…2…

Dean leaned in and started kissing Bela before she could get to one, tipping her back until she almost knocked into Lee, who was hauling Pam up by her haunches before starting to tongue fuck right there in front of your camera. You snapped countless shots, screaming and jumping in place as you worked your magic. Hot people doing hot things who were also clearly into it, was marketing gold. 

Eat that Crowley.

Sam swooped you up in a hug and wished you happy new year, then came Charlie, who had arrived after dinner with some girls from her LARPing group. After a few elbows to the side, Dean broke from Bela’s mouth and welcomed you and Charlie into a group hug. The speakers blasted Auld Lang Syne and everyone joined in, arms linked and swaying to the stilted beat. 

Elizabeth ensured the party was still going, so she had her people put out fresh appetizers and turned the jukebox back on. There was a run for the bathroom and then for refills and before you knew it it was after one. You had a fresh drink in your hand and a circle had formed around you of women grooving to Mustang Sally.

“Ride Sally, RIDE!” you all bellowed. 

Bela had taken off her shoes and was holding them over her head as she swayed her hips. You whipped your head and shoulders back and forth feeling loose and timeless. Charlie was snapping and getting soulful as she sang along, knowing every line of the verses even.

Sam Cooke followed Wilson Pickett on the jukebox, slowing it down and sending your little circle off towards their partners. You didn’t care, you just kept swaying and taking turns singing “yeah— yeah!” and sipping your cocktail.

The crowd was thinning and you knew either brother would be corralling the group for the after party at their place shortly. Thank the label for drivers and security all on the craziest night of the year. 

“Hey, you good?” Dean’s voice came out of nowhere and you turned towards his warmth, eyes closed and humming. 

“Yeah, is it time–?”

“Let’s get off the dancefloor, I can barely hear you,” Dean took your elbow and brought you over to the edge of the counter where the bartender was wiping glasses dry.

“How are you? Need to puke and rally before we get in the car?” Dean asked firmly, testing your sobriety by your answer and the focus of your eyes.

“I’m fine, why? Is Bela puking?” you looked around for your bestie amongst the remaining partygoers.

“No, look, I just, here,” Dean brushed his knuckles against your cheek to get you to look back at him. Once he had your full attention, he leaned in and licked his lips, watching you as you waited for him to finish his thought. And then he was kissing you, hand on the back of your head and impossible lips massaging yours into complete submission.

You shuttered around a breath and opened your mouth for his tongue. That delicious sensation was enough to reset your brain and you pulled back, gasping.

You couldn’t form words and Dean’s face went from sleepy to wary to disappointed all in the blink of an eye. 

“Look— you deserve a midnight kiss, too, you know. I just—- thought you should have one,” Dean said in the space between maybe and almost.

You cleared your throat. “Oh, well, I guess it’s okay then. Thanks?”

You couldn’t look him in the eye, you were too shellshocked, too exposed.

“I’ll start getting everybody towards the exit. See you at the cars,” Dean said lowly, fingertips brushing your hip as he moved through your space.

You finished your drink and got a road beer from the blissfully unaware bartender. It was time to slow down, especially if you were going to be in Dean’s space the rest of the night. 

Damn it.

Tagging:

@deans-spinster-witch

@mrswhozeewhatsis

@cosicas-cuquis

@fics-pics-andotherthings-i-like

@suckitands33

@ladysparkles78

@deans-baby-momma

@stoneyggirl2

@sassy-pelican

@leigh70

@globetrotter28

@winharry

@lastactiontricia

@rockhoochie

[deans-baby-momma]

Anonymously Yours

Will a wrong number lead to love? 

BOLD = wrong number's messages

Italics= Y/N's messages

A/N: Thanks to @kazsrm67 for being my beta for this story and also @chriszgirl92 who bullied me into letting her read it before it was posted, who actually found mistakes that had been overlooked. LOL

‘Hey girl! I had fun last night with you. Maybe we can do it again sometime.’

‘Wrong number.’

‘Girl, quit playing! It's me. Did you get so drunk you developed amnesia?’

‘DUDE! It's 6 am. I've been asleep all night. As I said before, wrong number!’

‘Oh come on darlin’. I know you didn't give me a fake number.’

Y/N's phone lights up her face as she reads the last message. This guy just wasn't giving up. 

‘Listen Romeo. Whoever you met last night either gave you a random number or you put it in your phone wrong. Sorry but I'm not her.”

‘I can't believe this. This never happens to me. Well, I'm sorry for waking you up. Have a good day.’

Y/N slams her phone down on the mattress and closes her eyes, willing for sleep to overtake her. But it never comes. She can't stop thinking about the poor schmuck at the other end of the conversation. 

She sighs as she re-opens her eyes and grabs her phone

‘I'm sorry for being such a bitch. It's early. I didn't sleep well and shouldn't have taken it out on you. I hope you find the girl who fooled you…..but seriously if she just gave you a random number, she probably wasn't all that into you.’

‘Yea. That's pretty obvious. But thanks for laying it out like that. And sorry for waking you up. Again.’

Y/N read the message and then threw the comforter off her body, sitting up and placing her feet on the cold concrete floor of her room. 

That's the thing about living in an underground monster-proof shelter….it's always cold! Especially in the deeper quarters, like the bedrooms and restrooms. 

But being in the business of keeping the world safe from what goes bump in the night, Y/N and the Winchester Brothers must adapt and overcome the inconvenience of living off the grid.

So, an old defunct Men of Letters safe house is Home Sweet Home for the martyrs.

After using the facilities and brushing her teeth, Y/N heads toward the kitchen area, her stomach growling for sustenance.

She and Sam had spent days researching and analyzing tomes, trying to gather lore on how to kill a Khiksaz, the newest threat to the population. So much so, that it has been close to 24 hours since she had eaten anything. 

She was starving!

The delightful aroma of coffee engaged  her senses as she neared the kitchen. Inhaling the caffeinated fragrance, she entered the room to get her fill. 

Dean, the oldest brother, stood at the stove flipping bacon. The sizzle of the meat met her ears and she hummed in bliss. 

Y/N loved Dean's cooking skills. He could turn the most mundane ingredients into a delectable, magnificent meal.

“Good morning sweetheart,” he says as turns to look at her. “Sleep well?”

Y/N sips the hot beverage, letting the liquid brew wake her more and warm her from the inside.

“I guess,” she answers as she takes a seat at the table. “No nightmares, so that's a plus I guess.”

Dean approaches the table with a plate of bacon and pancakes that were warming in the oven and sets it in front of her.

“Progress though, right?” 

That's the thing about Dean and Y/N; they share a connection of both suffering from nightmares. Dean’s of Hell and Y/N’s of witnessing her family get murdered by a rugaru while on the annual family camping trip.

The only thing that saved Y/N from the monster who stole her family was the fact that she had stepped out of the tent and wandered into the woods to find a spot to relieve her full bladder. She had watched from her hiding place behind a big oak as the giant beast tore her mother, her father and little brother to shreds. The guttural screams still haunted her all these years later!

“Yea, I guess so,” she admitted. “But I also feel like if I don’t dream about them, it means I’m forgetting them.”

“I know sweetheart,” Dean says from his side of the table as he pours a generous amount of molasses on his hotcakes. “But I’ve told you before. Just because you don’t dream about them doesn’t mean they’re not still in your thoughts; doesn’t mean you don’t love them or miss them anymore.”

“Yeah,” Y/N answers forlornly. “I know you’re right.”

She takes a bite of her own breakfast and moans obscenely at the burst of flavor. 

“So how was your night?” she asks, knowing Dean had left to search for a hook-up to take his mind off the monotony of research. “Did you find some willing girl to get your rocks off?”

That’s another thing about Dean and Y/N’s relationship-friendship; they were crass and blunt with one another. They were like two peas in a pod. And it all started when Dean came to Y/N for advice on what exactly women want in a hook-up.

FLASHBACK

“Y/N,” Dean says as he sits at the table where she had been scouring an old journal she’d found in the library. “You’re a female, right?”

The question catches Y/N off guard and she laughs. “Yes, Dean. Unless I’ve been cursed in the last 5 minutes, I am a female. I have a vagina and boobs.”

“Smart ass,” Dean says with a smile. “Can I ask you something though? Something that only another female might understand.”

“Sure, Dean. What is it?”

“What do women look for in a hook-up?” 

“I’m going to be blatantly honest with you here,” she says and continues once Dean nods. “Plain and simple. To get off. Someone who knows what to do with what the good lord gave him.  We don’t really care about size but if you don’t know how to use what you got, we have to do It ourselves. And while that gets the job done, it's not as fun. As the saying goes, ‘It's not topside of the boat; it's the motion of the ocean’.

“So, Mr. Winchester,” Y/N smirks as she places her elbows on the table and rests her chin on her palms. “Do you know how to use what you got?”

She smiles as she notices the blush creeping up his neck. Who knew Dean Winchester could get flustered so easily? 

Y/N would be lying if she said she'd never noticed how handsome Dean Winchester is. She has eyes with perfect vision, she can see the sex appeal. But she swore to herself that she would never be the fly caught in his web. 

Dean Winchester was a player and a philanderer. He didn't do romantic relationships. Something else they had in common.

Y/N found out very early in her adult life that her choice of profession didn't lead to having a partner who understood the need, the commitment to keeping others safe from attacks of the paranormal.

So, much like the oldest Winchester, she sought out one-night stands, a love-em-and-leave-em situation was what worked best. 

“Awww is Dean-o embarrassed? Well, tell me this then.  Canoe, yacht or cruise ship?”

Dean flips her off and pushes up out of his chair and rushes off down the hallway, Y/N's laughter following him.

END FLASHBACK

After breakfast was finished, with Sam popping in after his early morning run to mix up a smoothie Y/N and the Winchesters gathered in the library to research more about the Khiksaz.

About an hour and one less brother later, Y/N's phone vibrated in her pocket. She pulls it out and notices it's the same number from earlier with another text.

‘You single? There's not some big burly man out for my head for waking you up this morning is there?

‘No worries Romeo. Single as a Pringle over here.’

‘That's good. You seem nice.’

Y/N couldn't help but laugh at that. This morning she had been bitchy and quite frankly rude to this stranger and he just called her nice.

Sam looked up from the book he was reading, an eyebrow raised in question.

“Sorry. Just read something funny on my phone.”

As soon as Sam was once again studying what he was reading, Y/N began texting her new friend.

‘Is that your way of asking to be friends?’

‘What if it is? What would your answer be?’

Y/N left him on Read as she contemplated his question.  Would it be so horrible to befriend this guy? She knows nothing about him and he knows nothing about her. It could remain anonymous and be something to get her through the boring task of research. 

‘It stays anonymous. You don't ask my name and I don't ask yours. We'll keep it casual unless one of us has a bad day. Then we'll help the other out. No pictures, no voice messages, no videos. Capichè?’

‘You sure do drive a hard bargain RG. But okay.’

‘RG?’

‘Yea. Regina George….you know the bitchy bitch from Mean Girls.’

‘Are you seriously calling me a bitch this early in the friendship?!’

‘NO!!! God no! You said it yourself this morning. You apologized for being a bitch. Sorry. I'll come up with another name for you.’ 

‘Oh. Haha. You got me. Okay, Regina or RG is fine.’

‘Good because I already gave you that moniker in my phone.’

The rest of the afternoon consisted of researching this new species of monster and texting Romeo, as he was now labeled in her phone.

Dean was once again absent from the library after he had brought in some sandwiches he had whipped up. 

As evening approaches, Sam and Y/N were still poring over the lore and taking notes. Dean walks Into the library with a whistle on his lips and his keys twirling around his finger.

“See ya later nerd,” he calls out as he heads up the stairs.

“Wrap it before you tap it,” Y/N yells.

“Fuck you!”

“No thanks.”

And then he was gone.  Off to find some floozy in a bar to make him forget the awful world they live in.

Y/N retired to her room around midnight, her eyes tired and her back aching from leaning over all day.

As she changes into her pajamas She hears her phone ding with a message.

‘You awake?’

‘No. I'm sleeping peacefully.  Ha! I just climbed into bed. What's going on?’

‘Eh. Nothing much. Just lonely.’

‘Lonely? You mean Romeo didn't go out and try to find another conquest?’

‘Not really in the mood. Just wanted to have a conversation that didn't lead to anything.’

‘Okay. So tell me about your day.’

Y/N laid in bed, reading texts about Romeo's job in pest control and how he hated that customers would call him in about their problems but when he eradicated the vermin there was no appreciation, no gratitude.

She tells him about her work as customer service and how she suffers the same fate. 

‘The adage “The Customer is Always right” is bullshit. Complete and utter bullshit!’

‘I feel you there sister.’

The two of them keep texting back and forth throughout the night until Y/N hears Dean’s early morning return from wherever he’d been. She made a note to sanitize Baby’s backseat before their next trip.

She listens to his footfalls approaching and then continues past her room to reach his,  further down the hallway.

‘God this night sucks! I just want to fall into bed and sleep. Text tomorrow, bestie?’

‘Tomorrow Romeo.’

That night, Y/N’s sleep is plagued with nightmares. They consist of the anonymous person on the other side of the phone. As the night continues the images behind her eyelids morph into more pleasant ones. Her dream guy is tall, muscular with beautiful features and a complete sweetheart; a complete and adorable heartthrob.

She wakes the next morning with a smile on her lips and an urgent need to masterbate. She sends out a silent  thank you  to the girl who gave out the wrong number; before making her way to the bathroom.

A week later, Sam and Y/N finally had enough knowledge and data on the Khiksaz for the three of them to venture out to the small community of Sikeston, MO and take this monster on. 

With help from the immense amount of lorebooks and tomes in the library of the Bunker, they figured out that a Khiksaz was a phantasm from a tribes of Arabian descent that had been captured and stored for millennia in a handspun clay jar after the spirit ripped through the older members of the tribe and began to beseech the still infantile and juvenile members to allow it to lead them.

One of the oldest chiefs, a religious man, conjured up a binding spell that captured and trapped the Khiksaz creature into the urn for all eternity. Unfortunately, someone in Missouri had come across the container and, not knowing what it contained, unleashed the beast which   was causing chaos and devastation in the small town. 

Sam and Y/N had worked mercifully at creating a copy of the enchantment and found a similar vessel to once again apprehend the offending spirit.

It was a 9 hour drive that took Dean only 7 to accomplish. Once they were checked in and unpacked, the three of them set out to make sure they had what they needed to accomplish the job.

Well, Sam and Y/N did. Dean sulked and flipped through the television channels until he found an old John Wayne western to watch.

Y/N felt her phone buzz in her pocket, but she was too busy perusing the spell once again to check. 

After a few minutes, Dean huffed and turned the tv off and announced he was going out to find some fun in this one-horse town.

Y/N had had enough of his attitude for the last few days. He had been agitated and snippy at them both. 

“God damn Dean! We are here to get this Khiksaz not for you to get your dick wet in some strange pussy!”

“Don’t you fucking worry about where my dick is going!” Dean yells back. “I don’t need a cunt to get off. My hand works just fine. I just need a drink or twelve.”

“Asshole!” Y/N says, stepping up to the older Winchester and getting in his face.

“You’re insufferable! I’ll see you two when I see you.”

He steps toward the door, throws a middle finger sign over his shoulder and sings, “Don’t wait up.”

Y/N growls. She literally and audibly growls.

“What the hell is his problem?!” she asks, rhetorically.

“He’s Dean,” Sam tries to reason. “You know how he is.”

“Yea, he’s a giant asshole.”

Once the two of them get the spell and weapons, along with the container to hold the Khiksaz in, they decide to go find something to eat. 

While waiting on Sam to use the restroom, Y/N pulls her phone from her pocket to see a text from Romeo.

‘How you doin’?”

‘Friends fan huh? So maybe I should call you Joey. By the way, that is the lamest pickup line ever.’

‘I thought it was pretty good. In the 90s. It worked a few times.’

‘Yes I tried it.’

‘An no, I’m not hitting on you’ 

‘I don't know whether to be pleased or offended.’

‘Why?’

‘Why what?’

‘Never mind. So what are you doing?’

‘Getting ready to head out and get a bite to eat.’

‘Alone?’

‘Nope.  My brother is coming with.’

‘Oh. You have a brother? So do I.’

‘Cool. What are you doing? I thought we were keeping this anonymous?’

‘You're right. No deep seated questions about one another. Sorry.’

‘Feeling like a jerk. A co-worker of mine and I got into it and I said some things I didn’t mean and now I regret it.’

‘So go apologize.’

‘Yea. I probably need to. ‘

‘Go apologize Romeo. Or I’ll send my brother to kick your ass.’

‘You make your brother do all your dirty work?’

‘I don’t make him do anything. But anyway, he’s out of the bathroom now so I’ll catch you on the flip side.’

‘And go apologize.’

As they walked across the highway to the diner, Sam brought up the texting.

“You have a boyfriend or something?”

“No,” Y/N answers sheepishly. “Just a friend….who might be a guy.”

She waits until after the waitress takes their order before delving into the whole story of how some random guy began texting her because he was given the wrong number by a girl.

“Ouch! That’s harsh.,” Sam says. “But what do you know about this guy? Is there a reason the girl gave him a fake number?”

Y/N shrugs as she takes a sip of water. “I dunno. Like, he seems nice. And we get along. But just through text. I don’t even know his real name. I called him Romeo in jest and it kind of just stuck.”

“You don’t even know his name?! Does he know yours?”

“No,” Y/N laughs at the ridiculousness of it. “He refers to me as Regina or RG.”

Sam looks at her confused so she explains. 

“Regina George from Mean Girls. I was kind of a bitch to him, like Regina is to everyone in the movie. I didn’t take offense to it. I thought it was quite hilarious.”

“Let me see your phone,” Sam says, holding his hand out for it.

Y/N watches Sam scroll through her contacts until he gets to ‘Romeo”. He opens the information tab and studies it. His lips pull into a quarter smile as he closes the phone and hands it back.

“What?”

“What, nothing? What was the smile for?”

“What smile? I’m just happy you made a friend outside Dean and I. I mean, you gotta be careful because of our line of work. But I like that you have someone else to talk to.”

“Oh.”

The waitress brings their food and the subject is dropped. Their attention and concentration goes back to the job at hand and they discuss how to lure the Khiksaz out and distract it while the incantation is said.

In the early morning hours, Y/N is awakened by Dean stumbling into the room, blitzed out of his mind. He staggers to the mini-fridge and pulls out a bottle of water, opening it and downing it. 

Between the smell of booze and the aroma of some of the most fragrant perfume, Y/N can’t help but gag. Dean notices the involuntary movement and shakes his head.

He cautiously walks to the bed and sits down beside Y/N. 

“Are you here to gloat?” she whispers. “I really don’t want to hear about your sexcapades with some poor hometown girl.”

“Y/N, we’re friends right?” Dean says instead and it shocks her.

“Yes, Dean. We’re friends.”

“I’m sorry about earlier. I didn’t mean to call you an uptight cunt.”

“Um, Dean? You didn’t.”

“Yes, I did. On the drive over to the bar. I called you an uptight cunt and a self-righteous prude and I’m sorry.”

“All is forgiven,” Y/N says, burrowing her nose into the pillow. “But please go shower and wash that stink off you before I puke!”

Dean chuckles. “Yes ma’am.”

Unfortunately the next day does not go to plan at all. Both Winchesters and Y/N are thrown around while fighting and trying to capture the Khiksaz. Sam ends up with a concussion but Y/N breaks a couple of ribs. 

With horrible dictation, Dean gets the spell read and the monster is once again bottled up and will make the trek back to Kansas to be stored away in the dungeon of the Bunker.

Y/N feels every curve and bump in the road of the 647 mile trip. Broken ribs are uncomfortable and painful when you're lying still but Dean insists on driving like a bat out of Hell. 

He is on a tangent about how the information they had to the Khiksaz wasn’t complete and they didn’t know it had powers and how it’s his fault for leaving the research up to the two of them.

Sam tries in vain to reason with his hard-headed brother. 

“We don’t always know everything about the monsters we go up against. This is just another instance!”

“Yea. Well-”

“Well, nothing! This hunt was no different than when we went up against that Wendigo or the rugaru that killed Travis! What?! Is it because Y/N got hurt? Is that why you're so pissed off?”

“We all got banged up; it's not just her,” Dean defended. “You have a concussion for Christ's sake!”

“And your brooding and griping isn't helping.  Let's just call it a win and move on. Please!” Y/N pleaded from the backseat. “And Dean? Slow the fuck down! You're killing me back here.”

Knowing that his erratic speeding and Baby's lack of sufficient suspension is probably agonizing with busted ribs, he took his foot off the gas.

“Sorry sweetheart,” he apologizes.  “I just want to get back to Bunker to rest and recuperate. I'll go slower.”

The rest of the ride was quiet and uneventful, other than when Sam tried to fall asleep and Dean blasted Metallica to keep his brother awake.

Once parked in the garage, Dean hurried to help Y/N sit up and get out of the car and hovered around her as she made her way to her room.

“You need anything, just holler okay?”

“Thanks Dean.”

As soon as he was out of the room and the door was closed, Y/N pulled her phone out.

‘I've had a shitty day at work. Tell me a joke.

There was no response for the longest time; so long Y/N began wondering if Romeo had actually blocked her.

‘Did you hear about the Italian chef that died?’

‘No. What happened?’

‘He pasta-way!’

‘OMG! They was corny as fuck!’

‘Forrest Gump’s email is 1forrest1.’

‘That one is no better. Lol. But they made me smile.  Thank you Romeo.’

‘You're welcome Regina. Wanna tell me about your day?’

‘Nah, that's okay. It was just another one dealing with ungrateful, unappreciative customers.’

‘How was yours?’

‘Honestly, about like yours. Customer called with a rodent nuisance and I took care of it. Customer never acknowledged it.’

‘People suck!’

‘Yes, they do.’

The phone was silent for a few minutes before it buzzed again with an incoming text.

‘I ordered a chicken  and an egg online. I'll let you know which comes first.’

‘Ya know, I'm starting to understand why that girl gave you the wrong number. You. Are. A. Dork!’

‘You asked for it missy! I am quite offended. I'm the farthest thing from a dork. I'm suave and charming for your information!’

‘And a dork. But you made me smile with your silly dad jokes. So thank you.’

‘Glad I could make you feel better. Our conversations make me happy.’

‘Same goes for me. But I'm getting pretty tired so I'm gonna try to get some shut eye. Good night Romeo. :*’

Y/N's eyes widened as she realized what she had done. She'd sent him a kiss face! A stranger! Someone she didn't really know. 

What if he took that the wrong way? They had agreed to be anonymous friends. FRIENDS, nothing more. So why did she send him that?

What did it mean?! Was she developing feelings for this mysterious man? 

She thought back to just a few nights ago, the erotically passionate dream she'd had with what she imagined this stranger to look like.

She reminisced of her dream Romeo kissing her breathless, worshiping her body as if it were a temple; of how they had fervidly made love into the early morning hours. He had brought her pleasure numerous times!

Oh fuck! She was falling for him.

‘Sweet dreams darlin’ :*’

Y/N laid awake for hours, contemplating on how to handle the knowledge that she was falling for the stranger. 

How was it possible to develop feelings for someone you've never met, someone you'd never laid eyes on. Hell, she didn't even know the sound of his voice.

Around dawn, she decided she would no longer exchange messages with him and as soon as her body was healed, she was going to go find some willing guy to fuck Romeo's memory away.

Of course, she was awakened by her phone alerting her that a text was waiting.

‘Good morning beautiful’

‘You're probably still asleep’

‘I just can't get you out of my head’

‘Maybe we should break the anonymous rule and meet?’

Y/N read each of the lines over and over, each time making her heart drop. She didn’t know what to do.

She began to think that maybe she should’ve just ignored and erased his first message; when she realized it was a complete stranger who had accidentally texted the wrong number. She shouldn't have engaged with him. Now she was in this predicament. Of course, this is how her life is, fucked up and confusing as hell!

Y/N silences her phone and rolls out of bed carefully. The motion takes her breath away as her broken ribs shift with the motion. She makes her way to the door and down the hallway toward the bathroom, only to be almost bowled over when Sam, dripping wet and shirtless, comes barreling out of the bathroom.

“Oof.”

“Oh god Y/N. I’m so sorry,” he apologizes, profusely. “I didn’t expect you to be out of bed. Dean said he was going to bring you breakfast.”

“That’s sweet of him,” Y/N responded with a smile. “But that doesn’t negate my bladder issues.”

Sam laughed and stepped to the side. “Yea, I guess not. So, ummm…I guess I’ll come check on you later?”

“Okay,” she says as she closes the door to the communal bathroom and shuffles to the row of toilets. As she went to sit, she realized that the mundane task was hindered; she couldn’t bend without excruciating pain radiating from her thorax. 

Even though her bladder was yelling at her to be emptied, Y/N stood and studied the ancient throne. With a small shrug, she grabbed the roll of tissue and tore off a few squares of paper before pulling her leg out of one side of her sleep pants and straddling the seat.

After cleaning up-because peeing like a man isn’t as easy for a woman as you’d think- Y/N heads back to her room, where as Sam said, Dean was waiting with a tray of eggs, bacon and coffee.

“Oooh, nectar of the Gods,” Y/N says as she reaches for the hot beverage. “Thanks Dean!”

“You’re welcome. How’re you feeling?”

“I’ve been better. I can tell you that,” she answers. “I’m going to try to wrap them later.”

“I can help you do that,” Dean says as he watches her sit on the bed before sitting the tray of food on the table. “You probably can’t get it tight enough.”

“M'kay.”

A few hours later

“Dean, I swear to Chuck if you try to cop a feel, I’ll kick your ass!”

“Oh be quiet, Y/N/N. It’s not like I haven’t seen them before,” Dean teases. 

And he was right. On a couple occasions the eldest Winchester had been witness to Y/N’s top half of her body exposed; whether it’d be walking into the bathroom as she was exiting the shower or when she got wasted at that bar the three hunters visited and she flashed the whole crowd as she finished singing “Natural Woman” by Aretha Franklin; well butchered it would be a better word as she couldn’t hit a single good note in her inebriated state. 

But she was being ogled by a fellow patron and was feeling frisky so after placing the mic back on the stand, she flipped her shirt up and flashed the whole bar. Her bra covered the main parts but it had been a ragged one and didn’t hide much. 

So, yea Dean and Sam and half the community of Bumfuck, NM had seen her tits.

“I know,” she giggles and then groans as he wraps the gauze around her torso tightly. “Motherfuck! That hurts.”

“Cry baby,” Dean jokes. 

“Let me kick you in your balls and see how you feel,” Y/N threatens. 

“Hey now. If I can’t grope you, you aint groping me!” 

“You’re such a dork!” Y/N says and they both laugh.

“Okay, you’re all bandaged up now,” Dean says as he hands her her shirt. “Go on and get redressed.”

As soon as Dean leaves, Y/N feels her phone buzzing in her pocket.

‘Regina? Are you there?’

‘Did I scare you off?’

‘Could you please answer me?’

‘Please?’

Y/N pockets the device and heads back to her room. How is she going to answer him? Is she? 

She sits on her bed and stares at the phone as it begins vibrating again.

‘I’m sorry. Whatever I’ve done, I’m sorry.’

Deciding to throw caution to the wind, she answers.

‘I’m here. I’m fine. No you didn’t scare me off. You actually didn’t do anything. I did. We agreed to be friends and I went and let my feelings take control and didn’t even realize it until I sent you the emoji after my message.’

‘I know you aren’t interested in me. I know I’m just the consolation prize for the busty brunette or blonde, maybe even a redhead, that you were really hoping to talk to and text. I won’t hold it against you if you want to stop texting. No need to meet in person to tell me.’

Y/N reads over her message a couple times before hitting send and laying her phone down. It immediately starts ringing.

Romeo calling…..

Fuck!

‘I’m not answering you.’

The phone stops ringing and then a message comes through.

‘You have it all wrong, darlin’. You are not a consolation prize…not even close! I wanted to tell you, to say the words to you. But you won’t answer so I’ll just type them. I’ve fallen for you too.’

‘Don’t just say that to appease me. I’m a big girl. I can take rejection’

‘Baby, rejection is the last thing on my mind. Will you please answer the phone?’

Y/N reads Romeo’s last message a few times before she opens the chat box and responds.

‘No. But I will agree to meet you. Work is going to be pretty busy for the next few weeks and I won’t have much free time. So, how about two months from now we meet at a mutually agreed upon place and see where this goes?’

‘Deal.’

Y/N knew that in a couple months her ribs would be healed enough to not raise any questions or alert Romeo to the fact that she fights monsters for a living and not existing in a dead-end customer service job as she had alleged to.

The next few days, Sam and Dean went on a couple little salt-and-burns, leaving Y/N at the Bunker to continue healing.

Y/N and her mysterious Casanova texted continuously, getting to know one another better and just regaling one another with childhood memories and stories. 

It was nice; it was befitting for two strangers to become acquainted. Y/N still refused to actually speak to the man she had feelings for. The secrecy was thrilling to her and she preferred the voice he had in her now-nightly dreams.

To pop that bubble by finding out he had a high pitched, nasally voice would be most crushing.

Of course, she hadn't told Romeo her real past. He knew her parents had passed, but she claimed a car accident took them from her.

She felt terrible for lying to him but how do you tell someone that your parents were killed by a beast that isn't supposed to exist?

What Y/N doesn't know though is Romeo had lied to her about his past also.

When Sam and Dean returned from their latest hunt, neither one of them acknowledged Y/N or said a word.

Both Winchester stomped to their respective rooms and she heard one door slam right after the other did.

“What's gotten into them?” she wondered aloud before going back to reading the book she had found. It was an erotic novel.

Greg  cups her cheeks in his hands and he leans into her, closing the distance until their lips meet. His were soft and plump against her thin, chapped ones, but the lack of moisture on her lips was the last thing on her mind. He licked the dry vessels until she obliged opening them, inviting him in to taste her.

Greg’s, Romeo’s  moans filled her ears as he explored her mouth, his tongue wrestling with hers.

Layla Regina threw her arms over his shoulder and planted her hands against the back of his head, pulling her lover closer and deeper into herself. 

They stumble and almost fall but right themselves before hitting the bed, her on her back and his weight pushing her into the mattress. As his hands begin wandering her body, Regina silently begs for his hand on her most intimate area. As his palm slides down the skin of her abdomen, she wonders if her prayers were heard.

After becoming so enthralled with the book that she was even substituting her and Romeo’s nicknames into the plotline she missed the sound of Dean’s boots thudding down the corridor.

“What has you all dreamy-eyed and drooling?”

Y/N jumps in her seat and slams the novel shut, internally lamenting the fact that she didn't mark her place for later indulgence. 

She looks up to see Dean standing at the mouth of the hallway, a couple of beer bottles in his hand.

“Are you reading porn?” he asks with a laugh and a smirk.

“It's a romance novel, dumbass!”

“Eh, same thing,” Dean shrugs as he steps toward her and offers her one of the beers. “Romance guy woos the damsel right into his bed.”

“So, you know oh so much about this subject, I take it you've read a lot of romance novels?” Y/N snarks.

“You know as well as I do, life doesn't happen that way,” Dean says instead of answering her. “It's a lot more messier and a lot less loving.”

“Are you telling me you don't woo all those unwitting hookups you have? Not even just a little bit?”

“Oh no. I woo the hell out of them. Tell them exactly what they want to hear-” he takes a drink then continues. “Then I get what I'm after and leave before daylight. Easy in, easy out.”

“You are a real piece of work Dean,” Y/N says with a laugh. “Those poor women probably think they've finally found the man of their dreams and the poof! you're gone.”

“Oh like the schmucks you hook don't know you're a one and done?” Dean says, rolling his eyes. “I've heard them before, telling you all their hopes and dreams. I've heard them during, thinking you are ‘the best they ever had’- their words, by the way- and then you're usually in the back of Baby before Sam's even gone for his run.”

“Oh my god,” Y/N laughs, trying to hide the embarrassment of the fact Dean has heard some of her excursions. But that's what you get when you stay in cheap motel rooms with thin walls. “That was one time! And he was a clingy fucker. Always had to be touching me; my face, my hands, my hips. Hell he even tried to suck my toes. Eww!” she shivers at the memory. “I couldn’t get away fast enough.”

They both laugh and then it goes quiet as they drink. 

“So, um…” Dean begins. “Girls, ahem women, don't like that? The touching?”

“No. I mean yea we love an attentive man but sometimes it just takes away from the whole experience. Touch me all you want, run your hands all over me. Play with my tits, my clit…hell a little ass play ain't out of the cards but once he's inside me, I expect to get fucked! Not just filled and rubbed. Use that dick and make me feel it. Ya know? It's inside me for a reason.”

Dean shifts and adjusts his body in his chair and clears his throat. “Okay. Okay. I get that but let's change the subject.”

“Oh is Deanie-poo getting turned on?” Y/N jests. “You got a big ole boner under this table?”

“Shut up Y/N,” Dean mutters before  getting up and bolting back toward his room, his half-empty beer bottle still on the table.

Y/N shakes her head and laughs before opening her book to try to find the place she left off at.

Why is it that time crawls when you are looking forward to something? 

Y/N's ribs are slowly healing, thanks to the Winchesters generous and considerable care. They both made sure she was taking it easy and mending.

Sam always made her stretch and exercise what she could so her muscles wouldn't lock up and get sore while Dean kept her fed and hydrated and in good spirits with his complete goofy foolishness.

Y/N also noticed that as time went on and closer to her “date” with Romeo, Dean began to get happy and cheerful and just completely giddy. 

Not like him at all. She'd also noticed he went out a lot more than usual. Once the day was done, Dean would disappear with only the sounds of his beloved Impala leaving the compound behind.

Does he have a girlfriend? Has he met someone and is unofficially officially dating? Who is she? When will she and Sam get to meet her? Will they?

Y/N didn't put much more thought into Dean's disappearance because truth be told, she had her own secret. She was in deep with Romeo.

They had texted regularly after their proclamation and had even done a little sexting.

Nothing too graphic, just a few descriptive words here and there and talking about using and touching. But it was enough to make Y/N wet and yearn for the day she finally sets eyes on her Romeo.

‘What are you wearing, gorgeous?’

Y/N smiled as she read the words on the screen. 

‘Wouldn't you like to know.’ she teased.

‘I wouldn't have asked if I didn't.’

‘I'm sitting on my bed in a lace bustier with the matching thong. I'm so lonely Romeo.’

‘Is that an invitation? Because I can be there in no time at all.’

‘Haha. I’m only joking with you. I’m sitting here in an old pair of ratty sweats and a tee-shirt that had way too many stains to be presentable. My hair is up in a bun on top of my head but most of it has already fallen out and is just blowing in my face. I do not want you to see me like that at all.’

‘So when we meet in a few days, I still won’t get to see the real you? You’re going to be all dolled up and not the picture of perfection that you just described.’

‘Romeo, believe me….NO ONE wants to see this.’

‘I do. I am going to be honest with you. I am tired of going out and hooking up with people who don’t show their true selves. Who lie about who they are, what they do….give out random wrong numbers. I’m ready to be with a real person.’

‘Wow. That is honest. And truthfully, I feel the same.’

‘Maybe getting the wrong number was an omen. Someone up there believes we are both ready for something substantial. Shit, duty calls. I’ll text you soon :*’

As soon as Y/N read Romeo’s last message, Sam was knocking on her door.

“Come in,” she calls and the tall, long-haired man peeps around the open door.

“Just got off the phone with Jody. She needs help. I called Dean and he’s coming to pick me up and head to Sioux Falls. Wanted to let you know.”

“Okay. What’s Jody got?”

“Sounds like a cursed object wreaking havoc. A couple of bodies have come up….” Sam begins to explain and Y/N pushes herself off the bed and begins throwing items in a bag. “Wait, what’re you doing?”

“I’m coming with, I’m tired of sitting here by myself. Don’t worry,” she says as Sam gives her a pointed look. “I will stay away from the line of fire so to speak. I can hang with Claire and Alex or something.”

“Okay,” Sam answers, skeptically. “I don’t know if the girls are even home. You know, Claire has been hunting and Alex….well, she has her own friends now. You might be stuck at Jody’s by yourself so how’d that be different than staying here?”

“Sammy,” she says, patronizingly. “Jody’s has windows and sunshine and warmth and just please let me go?”

“Yea I guess I can see your point,” Sam answers and Y/N pumps her fist in the air before finishing packing. “By the way, Samuel, were you calling me old? When you said the girls might not even be there? Insinuating that they wouldn’t want to be saddled with the old, hurt woman?”

“Shut up, Y/N” Sam says with a smile. “You know that’s not what I meant!”

Dean didn’t seem surprised at all when Y/N threw her bag into the back seat of the Impala and climbed in. He just nodded and as soon as everyone was loaded, took off toward South Dakota.

“Y/N!” Sheriff Mills exclaims as we all exit Baby. “I didn't expect you to come. But am I glad you did.”

She hugs me and whispers in my ear, “I sure could use another female to talk to.”

“I'm here,” I whisper back and then pull away from her embrace. “I'm gonna crash on your couch while these two help you with your case.”

“Good. Good.” 

She turns to the Winchester and greets them with their own hugs. After the warm welcome, the three of them head toward the station to discuss the case.

Y/N pulls the erotic novel she's reading and heads to the park across the street and sits at a table.

Opening to the page she marked, she immerses herself back into the story. As she continued reading about the marriage of Greg and Layla, the fictional characters in the story, she began fantasizing about another wedding; one that featured herself and Romeo. 

She is brought back to the present when her phone buzzes in her pocket and she pulls it out to see a message from the man she can't seem to quit thinking about. She smiles as she reads the words, remembering how she felt as they vowed their lives to one another.

‘Another day, another rodent to take down.  Please tell me your day is better’

‘Not really. This seminar is taking forever.’

Before Romeo can respond, she hears Dean call her name and she turns to see him slide his phone into the front pocket of his jeans as he heads to the Impala.

“We're heading to Jody's,” he announces. “You coming?”

Y/N hurries to mark the place she thinks she left off at and shuts the book before jogging across the empty road to get to the Impala.

“Did you figure out what’s going on this time?”

“We think it’s Lamia,” Sam answers. “Bobby went up against one, years ago but he put it through a wood chipper so this is not the same one but it’s the same M.O. They look female and seduce men and then choke them and eat their hearts.”

“Ew. Well, where’re we going to find a woodchipper?”

“We’re not,” Dean says. “I’m going to pretend to be the victim and then stab it with a blessed  silver knife and burn it.”

“That’s risky,” Y/N states, worry about her friend filling her with dread.

“Well…” Dean says with a shrug and the conversation ends.

They pull into Jody’s driveway to see the Sheriff having a very animated conversation with her surrogate daughter, Claire.

They watch through the windshield as Jody hugs Claire and then the young blonde heads toward an old jalopy of a car and takes off.

“That girl is going to be the death of me,” Jody exclaims and her three guests join her. “Come on in guys. I’m making lasagna.”

That night, after helping Jody with the dishes, Y/n and the Sheriff join the Winchesters on the back deck of Jody’s modest ranch-style home.

The conversation flows but no one brings up the case at hand. 

Y/N notices Dean is distracted and keeps looking down at his lap and wonders if he is beginning to regret his role as the Lamia’s victim.

‘Just to let you know. Something’s come up and I gotta leave town for a few days so you might not hear from me for a while. Just know I will be back for our date. I’m looking forward to it.’

Y/N reads the message and smiles. She’s been looking forward to it also. 

‘Be safe and I’ll talk to you soon :*’

After the guys go up to bed, Jody and Y/N finish their glass of wine and stargaze.

“So what’s new with you?”

Y/N turns her head, looks at the older woman and smiles.

“I have a date.”

“Oooo, tell me more. Who is he? Does he know about….?” Jody begins badgering her with questions.

“I don’t know his name. I call him Romeo; it’s a joke between us. He, uh…..a few weeks ago, someone apparently gave him a fake number and he texted it but it wasn’t exactly fake. It was mine. We’ve been texting back and forth since and agreed to meet.”

“Oh,” Jody says, looking apprehensive.

“What is it?”

“How do you know this ain’t some demon or monster just trying to get to you and the boys Y/N? 

“I’ve thought about that, Jod. I’m wearing my silver rings and I’ll have a flask of holy water to spike his drink if need be,” Y/N explains. “Don’t worry about it. I’ve got it covered.”

“Sounds like,” Jody chuckles and then lightly punches Y/N in the shoulder. “You gotta tell me all about it, though. Even the juicy parts, especially the juicy parts. Damn, I ain’t got laid in forever. I need to find a man.”

They both laugh and then settle back down and stargaze some more before heading inside and going to bed. 

Dean Winchester almost becomes the Lamia’s fifth victim. If it hadn’t been for his fast thinking brother, Dean would’ve succumbed to the creature’s power and  be dead. 

Although he was alive, it was only barely. The Lamia had sucked so much blood from his body that he was unconscious for days.

Sam and Y/N had maneuvered him into the backseat of the Impala and raced back to the Bunker, hoping to find something to revive the oldest Winchester.

While they waited and researched, Y/N realized that she hadn’t heard from Romeo in almost a week. Their date was coming up and he had gone radio silent.

Sure he had told her that he had to leave town and wouldn’t be able to text her but couldn't he at least take a second to check in?

As soon as she could, Y/N sent him a message.

‘Haven't heard from you in a few days. Are you okay?’

And then, for the rest of the day, she kept an eye on her phone for a response.

The device stayed silent.

When Dean finally came around two days later, it was much to the relief of both Y/N and Sam. 

They sat at his bedside and regaled him with the story of how the Lamia was not who they thought it was but that Sam caught on pretty quickly and used the current from an old stove hookup to burn the creature before she could take Dean’s life.

Dean, as stubborn as he was, refused to stay in bed. He was adamant that he needed to get up and that he wasn’t wasting away in his room while there were other monsters still roaming the world. 

Sam and Y/N eventually gave up and left him to his own devices, going to their respective rooms to rest themselves. It was tiring trying to save a life then having that same someone argue that they hadn’t needed it.

Y/N was awakened by her phone buzzing with an incoming text. She opens the message thread and sees that Romeo has responded.

‘Sorry darlin’. I’ve been extremely busy. But I’m back in town and chomping at the bit for our date. Wanna move it up a few day?’

Y/N felt her face flush. She had been excited and eager and wishing that time would move faster as well.

‘A few days would mean tomorrow. You want to meet tomorrow?’

‘Yes. Tomorrow.’

Y/N woke up the next morning, nervous but excited. She was going to meet the man she had been messaging and getting to know through texts for the last three months. 

She joined the guys in the kitchen for breakfast and then headed back to her room to determine what she was going to wear.

What do you wear when meeting someone new? She knew him, she thought, but she had yet to see him face to face or even hear his voice.

What if he was not at all what she’d been picturing all this time? What if they meet and one (or both) of them weren’t completely different from what the other thought?

She chose her nicest pair of jeans; nicest meaning they weren't covered in monster blood and guts and other bodily fluids of the creatures she has murdered. 

Next, she chose a nice flowy camisole that wasn’t so low cut it showed much cleavage but low enough to show off her chest. Over that she wore a fitted leather jacket with the fancy schmancy silver buttons.

She slid the silver and turquoise necklace on with the matching silver ring, that way if Romeo went in for a hug instead of a handshake, she could still test if he is a werewolf or skinwalker and she had a vial of holy water in her purse to confirm he wasn’t a demon.

As she was finishing her makeup she heard Dean walking past her room, a whistle on his lips.

“Why is he in such a good mood?” she wondered out loud then went to look at her reflection once more.

By the time she got to the garage, the Impala was gone. Y/N was glad because she did not want to explain to Dean why she was borrowing one of the many cars there.

She chose an older model black Ford Mustang because it was one of the few inconspicuous cars they owned.  Heads wouldn't turn at the sight of it rolling down the street, unlike the Bel-Aires and the Fairlanes would.

She didn't want to bring attention to herself for a set of wheels that should be in a museum somewhere.

As she drove toward town she hummed a tune that had been stuck in her head for days. She'd finally realized it was ‘Hooked on A Feeling’. 

Y/N had no idea where she'd heard the song or even who sang it but it seemed appropriate for the situation. She was hooked on a feeling that she'd found her soulmate through a mistaken wrong number.

Once she got parked and walked toward the door of the restaurant she was to meet her Romeo, something caught her eye.

Down past the building was a sleek black car that she'd know anywhere. A 1967 Chevy Impala that if you looked closely had been rebuilt at least twice but was in pristine condition.

She turned her head to look through the window of the restaurant and her heart dropped. Dean was inside!

What was he doing here? Did Sam tell him about her rendezvous with Romeo and he was here to stop it? But then she realized that she hadn't told Sam about the meet-up.

Turning on her heel, she walked with purpose back to her car and slipped inside.

‘Something has come up and I can't make it. Sorry.’

Y/N raced back to the Bunker, parked the car and ran to her room.  She flopped on the bed and let the tears flow.

How dare he be there? Finally, when life was going her way, she was going to meet the man of her dreams, Dean fucking Winchester had to go and ruin it!

Her phone buzzed a couple of times in her pocket but she didn't check it until she was all cried out.

‘Hope everything is okay. Is there anything I can do?’

‘Are you ghosting me?! Really?’ 

She didn’t answer. Y/N wasn’t sure how to answer. She was no better than the woman who gave Romeo the wrong number to begin with. 

What was she supposed to do? Tell him that her “brothers” were actually just two men she lived with in an underground shelter that was warded to keep out supernatural beings that were out for their head? That her job consisted of continually being on some demonic radar?

Yea, he’d think she was nuts!

So instead, Y/N turned her phone off and laid in bed, wallowing in her own self-pity. She would never find a man to understand her lifestyle and she wasn’t going to give it up.

Fighting monsters and demons was her life! She was dedicated to making sure no one ever had to witness or live with the fact that their loved ones were murdered by things that shouldn’t even exist!

A few moments later, she heard the bunker door slam shut and could make out the boys’ voices but couldn't understand what they were saying. It got heated quickly though as she heard Dean yell, “You don’t fucking understand!”

Y/N got off her bed, wiped the tears from her face and left the bedroom, heading toward Sam and Dean.

“I just don’t understand it, man,” Dean says as she reaches the doorway to the library. Y/N stays just out of their sight; she can see them but the boys have yet to notice her presence.

“We get along so well. She’s funny but smart. She puts me in my place.”

“Maybe you should just man up and tell her your real name,” Sam suggests.

“No, no way. That opens up this whole world-” Dean says as he waves a hand around, motioning to the room and all the books on the supernatural they have. “She’s not like us. She wouldn’t understand. I just don’t know what happened?”

“I’m telling you Dean,” Sam says sternly but compassionately. “You may just be surprised.”

“No. I’m not telling Regina about this life.”

Y/N gasps and puts her hand over her mouth as it all comes clear. Romeo is Dean. Dean is Romeo. Holy shit! Wait, what? Like, what the actual fuck?! Dean is who she’s been chatting with via text for months now?

She thinks back to the first message and tries to remember if it came in as Dean since she has his contact information saved. But no, it was a number that came up, not a contact. She quietly runs back to her room and grabs her phone.

As soon as it turns on, she goes into her contacts and scrolls down to Romeo’s. She opens it and sees it is indeed a different number than she has saved for Dean….and his other phone….and his other, other phone.

So what is going on? 

She walks back toward the library and this time she makes herself known. 

“Oh hey Y/N.” Sam says with a smirk on his face.

“Hey Sweetheart,” Dean says, his tone melancholy before taking a drink of his beer.

“So, which came first? The chicken or the egg?”

Dean swallows the drink in his mouth and then slowly turns his head toward her. “What did you say?”

“Which came first? The chicken or the egg?”

“Um, how do you know that?”

Y/N walks closer to Dean and holds out her hand. “Hello Romeo. I’m Regina.”

Dean froze. The only thing that moved was his eyes, from her outstretched hand to Y/N’s face.

Time stood still as Y/N waited for Dean to catch up to what she had said. Suddenly his eyes widened and his lips opened and closed like a fish trying to breathe.

“What?!” he finally found his voice and spoke.

“I’m Regina and I’m assuming you’re Romeo from what I’ve heard.”

“You are the amazingly hot chick I’ve been texting all this time?”

Y/N nods her head and Sam laughs from his spot across the table from his brother. “It’s about time! I was getting tired of watching you guys pine for one another, and not realizing it.”

“Shut up Sam,” Y/N and Dean both state.

Dean pushes his chair back and stands up, pulling a dinosaur of a phone from his pocket. It’s a frigging flip phone for Chuck’s sake!

“What the hell is that?” Y/N asks as she laughs and watches Dean flip the phone open and punch in numbers on the number pad. “How old is that phone?”

“It was Dad’s,” Sam explains as they both watch Dean work on getting into the phone and open up the text thread.  “I didn’t even know it was still usable but apparently my brother uses it to hook up.”

Y/N turns her attention back to Dean and watches as he looks at the screen, apparently re-reading all the messages.

“Well, fuck!” Dean says with a chuckle. He then turns to her and smiles. “Romeo at your service. And he is a dumbass. I didn’t recognize your number, but I do now.”

Sam stands and closes his laptop. “I’m going to go to my room and give you two some privacy.”

Neither Dean nor Y/N pays attention as the taller Winchester leaves the room, their eyes glued to one another’s, studying one another. No words were spoken for a few minutes.

“You’re Regina?”

“And you’re Romeo,” Y/N states with a nod. “I just have one question though. How the hell do you know who Regina George is? That's a chick flick if there ever was one!”

Dean shrugs and blushes. “Rachel McAdams is hot. What can I say?”

They both laugh but then Dean surges forward and wraps her up in his arms.

“But not as hot as my Regina. She can't hold a candle to you, baby.”

Y/N feels her heart squeeze around such a heartfelt compliment and smiles. “How idiotic are we?”

“Well sweetheart, this idiot has fallen for you.”

Y/N’s phone slips out of her hand and her arms wrap around Dean’s neck. “It’s a good thing I’ve fallen for you too then.”

They stand there, wrapped up in each other just taking it all in.

“Can I kiss you now?” Dean asked and Y/N nodded.

He slowly leans in, their eyes glued to one another's until at the very last second he glances down to her lips.

As soon as their lips touched, it was like everything became clear. The world had been dark and gray and now it was bursting with vivid color.

Dean licked against the seam of her lips, begging for entry and Y/N immediately granted him access.

When the need for air became necessary, they pulled apart but not before Dean placed his forehead on hers and smiled.

“Who knew love was right under my nose?”

“Well, here it is,” Y/N says as she tightens her hold on the older Winchester. “Who knew we belonged together? Now take me to bed!”

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#dean winchester #y/n #sam winchester #Anonymously Yours #angst #fluff #smut-ish #Supernatural