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The Guest House - Chapter 9

Pairing: Dean x Reader

Series Summary: Dean Winchester is going through a nasty divorce. He doesn't have much left to his name, but what he does have is his house. Leave it to his soon-to-be ex wife to find a way to even ruin that for him. Enter Y/N, who is looking to get away from life for a bit, and stumbles right into the middle of it all.

The Guest House Master List

Word Count: 3,474

A/N: I can't tell you how much I appreciate everyone's kind words and support these last few weeks. It was a very tough time but I've finally given myself time to rest and recover and starting to feel better again. I'm so happy to be back at this story and hope you all enjoy 🩵🩷

“I WHAT?” You stammer as Dean leans back, out of your space, still grinning.

After you had told him about your dream car, he had texted Rick, asking him if he would bring the ‘73 Mustang along for you to drive while he worked on Rick’s show cars. He initially was going to leave you at home with his mom, but thought you would enjoy this a lot more.

Plus, Rick loved showing off and racing his collection–the ones he didn’t plan to put up for auction–so he was more than happy to oblige.

“Hey, Dean!”

Speak of the gray-haired devel.

Dean turns to see Rick jogging from the garages, his arm outstretched above him as Dean waves back.

A few seconds later, Rick steps into the circle you and Dean had created, his hands on his hips as he catches his breath.

“Y/N,” Dean points towards the newcomer. “This is Rick. Rick, Y/N.” Rick reaches out his hand and you take it, giving it a firm shake as Dean raises an eyebrow.

“Nice to meet you,” you greet Rick with a smile as you drop his hand.

“You as well.” Rick returns. “Heard you had an interest in Mustangs.”

Dean’s eyes dart to you, his smile growing as the color rushes to your cheeks before you sneak a glance at him.

“Really just one Mustang.” You admit, your attention back to Rick. “My dad tried to get me a ‘74 for my first car but my mom shot that down pretty quick.”

“Ah,” Rick snaps. “That’s too bad. Beautiful machine.” And you nod in agreement.

“Well,” Rick’s hand lands heavy on Dean’s shoulder. “Dean here has some work to get to for me, but while he works, you and I will play.” Your lips pop open at Rick’s words and you suck in a breath as you quickly turn to Dean, panic in your Y/E/C eyes as your gaze darts across his face. Dean can’t stop the smirk that appears as you look up to him to save you.

“He’s harmless, I promise.” Dean assures you with a wink, his hand coming to rest on your upper arm. The color returns to your cheeks, and Dean’s smirk relaxes, just one corner of his lip raised as his heartbeat slows.

Fuck. He drops his hand away from you and straightens out as he clears his throat. Touching you while you were looking up at him like that, through your thick lashes, was a bad idea. And he takes a step away.

“Well, I’ll leave you kids to it.” Dean turns, walking backwards to keep his eyes on you and Rick. And you. “Have fun.”

This time, he fully turns, away from you as he hears Rick starting his spiel about Mustangs and how they were first introduced to the public at the World’s Fair in 1964 and since then, it’s been one of the most desired cars of our time.

Dean smirks. He’s heard this history lesson more times than he would have cared to, but Rick’s a good guy, who pays well. Really well. Just for today's work, he was going to take home $6K, which was definitely over market value for Dean’s work, but Rick liked and trusted Dean, and for a man where $6K was nothing, he was more than happy to pay extra to keep Dean around.

Dean steps into the garage, welcomed by Rick’s Datsun 240Z, Pontiac Firebird, and of course, Rick’s pride and joy, his 1969 Corvette Stingray. The first two were going up for auction tomorrow, while the Stingray was just here for a general checkup.

Despite the beautiful cars in front of him, his eyes are drawn a few stalls down, where she’s waiting for him.

That sense of excitement and pride bubbles up in his chest whenever he lays his eyes on her. But she would have to wait for now.

Tearing his eyes away, Dean claps his hands together and gives them a rub.

“Let’s get to work.”

Your heart is pounding in the best way possible as Rick crosses the finish line for the seventh time. This is the most alive you’ve felt in a long time.

He had expertly raced you through the course, taking every curve so smoothly, you barely slipped across the benched, leather seat. When the speedometer first hit 120MPH, your eyes widened and you suddenly realized you were sitting in a steel deathtrap, going at a speed that would surely kill you if you were to crash, with a man you had met only two minutes prior.

It was insanity. But here you were, loving every moment of it.

“Whatcha say? Wanna take a ride in the driver’s seat?” Rick turns in his seat once the car slows to a stop.

You take a deep breath, calming your racing heart.

“God I wish.” You’re practically breathless. “But I never learned how to drive stick.” Rick snaps for the second time today.

“Well that’s a damn shame.” The older man shakes his head, his unstyled hair following the movement. “I would offer to teach you, but this isn’t quite the type of car you learn on.” He smiles while he pats the dashboard affectionately.

You swat your hand through the air.

“Oh don’t even worry about it.” You were glad he didn’t offer to teach you. You would have been terrified of learning on such a beautiful car. You would probably find a way to crash it or ruin it. And you didn’t have the funds to fix a classic car at the moment.

“But thank you for taking me. That was one of the coolest things I’ve ever done.” And it was true. The last time you had done anything this crazy was when you were in college, and did the Sky Coaster with Sydney while on spring break in Myrtle Beach. The two of you squeezed each other’s hands as you laid in the harness as you swung almost 200 feet in the air over the boardwalk. Since then, it’s been calculated and controlled decisions as you focused on growing your career above all else.

Without another word, Rick steps out of the car, and you follow.

“So what brings you up to Bolton?” Rick rests against the hood of the car, looking across at you. “Besides Dean?” He smirks. Something tells you he’s fishing, but unfortunately for him, the pond is empty.

“Well, I’m only here because of Dean, but I live in the city and recently quit my job so I decided to take a little vacation before I jumped back into the rat race. I’m renting out Dean’s guest house.” Rick wrinkles his nose and looks away.

“Dean’s renting? Can’t imagine he’s liking that too much.” Rick snaps his cobalt gaze back to you, holding up a hand. “No offense.”

“None taken,” you smirk. “He wasn’t the most gracious host when we first met,” you chuckle at the memory of Dean storming you with a gun as you had lounged in the hot tub. “But we’re getting there.” Rick just shakes his head, looking like he has a comment on the tip of his tongue, but bites it back.

“Well, I’m glad Dean brought you along today.” Rick taps the hood of the car before stepping around towards the front, and you follow. “Always nice to meet a new face.”

“Well, I appreciate it.” You smile up toward Rick as you walk in tandem towards the garages Dean had disappeared to before Rick whisked you away in your dream car.

“I hope you’ll be joining us at the auction tomorrow?” Rick glances down towards you, and you nod.

“I’ll probably be the most useless person there, but I will be there.” You chuckle, and Rick joins in with you.

“Don’t sell yourself short.” Rick steps in front of you as you approach the door. “Besides, I’d love to introduce you to my wife, Addie. She’ll be so happy to have someone else who knows nothing about cars.” He pulls the door open for you. “She says Dean and I are incorrigible at these things.” He shoots you a wink and you smile and give him your thanks as you step inside.

The garage is set up similar to a classic mechanics’ shop, several work stalls running down the lengthy hall, each with a car quietly parked within them, but everything in the rectangular space screams modernity. Before each stall is a glass garage door, framed in shining black chrome. Lifts glisten in their near-pristine condition, whether because they’re new or because they’re so well kept. The floors are a polished cement, the wall color made to match.

It was definitely designed by someone with a lot of money.

You glance over your shoulder at Rick.

“You don’t happen to own this racetrack, do you?” You pose the question, the lightbulb having gone off in your head as you take in the gleaming workspace and the proud man smiling behind you.

“Bought it about a decade ago.” Rick rests his hands on his jean-clad hips. “Was a lifelong dream of mine. I grew up a few towns over and my dad used to take me here all the time growing up. He was a car guy too.” Rick motions to a couch along the side wall and you take a seat.

“It had shut down back in 2009 when the original owners couldn’t keep up with the payments anymore after the economy crashed.” Rick settles next to you at a comfortable distance. “I was living in the city at the time and had no idea it was on the market. I was in the area for work and decided to take a detour to visit for old time’s sake and was shocked to find it was shut down. I was getting ready to retire, and Addie had been trying to help me find a retirement project so I wouldn’t drive her crazy,” he chuckles. “This wasn’t what she had in mind, but it gets me out of the house, which is what she wanted, so I tell her she can’t complain.” You laugh softly with him, wondering briefly what Addie looked like. Though if she would be at the auction tomorrow, you would get your answer soon enough.

“Well it seems to be working for you. If you’re this happy coming here everyday, you’ve clearly done something right.” Rick hums and dips his head.

“You’ve got that right. I used to manage wealth portfolios for almost 30 years. I liked it, liked how important and successful it made me, but I wouldn’t say it ever made me happy.” His smile fades off. “Not like this place.” His eyes leave yours and he looks around the space.

“And the only way I’m ever leaving here is in a body bag.” He turns back to you, a smirk reappearing. “I already told Addie to bury me here when I die.”

The absurdity of his comment catches you off guard, and you burst out with a laugh, but it doesn’t drown out his words, especially when the ring inside you like a damn war bell.

Even on the best days, you wouldn’t say your job made you happy. Like Rick, your success was what drove you; being promoted and recognized for your work was your greatest focus, and happiness wasn’t something you ever considered. Your work was interesting to you, and a challenge at times, and that had been enough.

But maybe it was something to consider with your next job: what would you actually be happy doing?

Before you can think on it further, a frosted glass door pushes open from the back wall, and out steps Dean, wiping his hands on a rag before shoving it into his newly adorned, black coveralls with a LRR emblem on his left chest, with his name scripted underneath.

“Well look who's back,” his smile widens as he catches sight of us on the couch. “Thought he would have had you out there taking a few spins on the track yourself.” Dean points out one of the garage doors towards the track.

“Turns out Y/N here can’t drive manual.” Rick gives you a few pats on your shoulder, almost like he was comforting you on the fact that you couldn’t drive an outdated system.

Dean’s lips tick upward.

“Well color me shocked,” he drawls, not a hint of surprise in his words as he smiles down at you, his green eyes glistening.

Stupid, handsome prick.

If Rick wasn’t sitting right next to you, you’d probably would have flipped him off.

“Hilarious,” you deadpan instead, opting for the more civil route.

“How are the cars looking?” Rick stands, moseying over to the car parked in the closest stall, a shimmering moss green classic beauty with a sloping front hood and concave headlights.

Dean’s eyes linger on you, something stirring within you as he watches, before he turns away, approaching the same car and stepping on the opposite side of where Rick stands, assessing with crossed arms and a leaning posture.

You hadn’t noticed until Dean looked away, but you had stopped breathing. Your heart palpating in your chest desperately reminding you to take a breath.

You huff heavily, letting the ache in your chest ease. The sound seems to catch Dean’s attention for just a split second before he continues on with his report, and you’re grateful his gaze didn’t hold you again.

The two men chat for a minute before Rick walks over to Dean and shakes his hand, giving him a firm pat before breaking away.

You stand as Rick approaches you, his arm outstretched towards you.

“Great meeting you, Y/N. Looking forward to seeing you again tomorrow.” Rick gives you a genuine smile with a firm handshake.

“You too,” you fully return. “And I’m looking forward to meeting Addie.” Rick’s smile grows wider at her name.

“She’ll be happy to have a friend tomorrow.”

It only takes another moment for him to disappear out the front door, leaving you and Dean alone in the garage.

You look over to Dean, who is watching you with a relaxed smile, waiting for you to make the next move.

You shove your hands into your back pockets and rock on your heels.

“Sooo,” you start, your teeth catching your lip on the last letter as you try to cut through the silence. “Are you done?”

Dean breathes out a laugh and looks down.

“Not yet,” he looks back at you, holding your attention. “I just need to check out the Pontiac,” he throws a thumb over his shoulder to a sienna machine with a giant eagle emblem spread across the entirety of the hood. “Which shouldn’t take long, and then give his Stingray a tune up. Shouldn’t be more than an hour.”

You step away from the couch, heading towards the Pontiac and grimace at the tawdry design sprawled across the otherwise pristine classic car.

“People actually like this?” You point to the logo that looks very similar to Journey’s crest. Dean laughs and steps up next to you.

“Believe it or not, a similar one went up to auction two years ago and sold for $220,000.” You whip your head towards him, your mouth hanging wide.

“You’re kidding.” You gape, looking back to the very eighties looking car in front of you. Sure, it was in good shape, and obviously people had an interest in this type of stuff, but to spend that much money on a car, a car that was really only fourty or so years old, hardly seemed worth it to you.

Dean steps away from you, grabbing a tool box from the last station and setting it up next to this car.

“This one won’t go for that, it’s not as rare, but if it sells tomorrow, which it should, Rick will probably get around $100,000 for it.”

“Jesus.”

Dean just smiles as he sets up his station, pressing a button by the garage door, sending the car slowly into the air, just a couple of feet, before coming to a stop.

Dean walks back over to the first station, kicking over a some sort of roller, that you assume he uses to get underneath the cars.

As he walks past you, you can’t help but admire the broad shoulders under the fitted coveralls, the way the fabric stretches rather deliciouslily over arms that you were suddenly very interested in.

“Any chance you know much about tools?” His deep voice rumbles through you as he turns to look at you with curious eyes.

“I know the basics.” You admit, stepping out of his gaze. You may be a renter, but you had your own mini toolbox for some decoration projects or when you needed something simple done and didn’t want to bother your landlord. You were all for independence when the moment called for it.

“That’ll work.” Dean grins as he squats down onto the roller, his thighs pressing tight against his work pants. Your heart flutters again.

He pulls a headlamp from his pocket and positions it on top of his forehead before he lays himself flat, one hand grasping onto the front bumper.

His words finally catch up with you.

“Wait,” he starts to push himself under, but quickly catches himself at your words. “What do you mean?”

He smirks. The smirk that makes your heart beat in a different way. In a way that makes you want to punch him.

“You’re going to be my assistant.” You laugh dryly.

“I’m sorry, have you forgotten that I know nothing about cars?” Your hands flair with your words. “I am not touching any of those.” You point to the car in front of you. “I’ll probably break them.”

“I’m aware of that.” He annoyingly agrees with you, and you glare down at him. “I just need you to hand me some tools while I’m down here. It will make everything move much faster.”

“Oh.”

“Yes, ‘oh.’ Like I would ever let you work on one of these.” He mumbles, though still loud enough for you to hear before he disappears under the car, a light suddenly illuminating from the undercarriage.

You walk towards the toolbox, making sure to accidentally kick his exposed work boot on your way. He grumbles something at the contact, but the words are lost with the rest of his body under the car.

You open up the toolbox, a multi-level contraption, and see some familiar instruments, and others that were completely new to you.

“Think you can handle getting me a 9/16 wrench?” He yells out to you. Your eyes scan the box, finding the wrenches and reading each handle until you see the size he asked for. You pick it up, but an idea hits you.

You walk over to the car and lean down, reaching under to give him the tool.

You smile as you hear him cuss and then the light goes out before he slides himself out from the car, pushing himself upright. This time sans headlight.

“Everything okay?” You ask with fake concern.

“Fine,” he responds politely and makes his way to the toolbox with the wire cutters you had handed him. His hand grazes over the container, landing at the wrenches, his brow furrowing when he notices the empty space where the wrench he requested should be.

“Looking for this?” You hold up the wrench and give it a little wiggle. He turns towards you, his face falling as he notices the tool.

“And you gave me the wire cutters, why?” He huffs, dropping the wrong tool unceremoniously into the box as he walks over to you.

You hold his gaze, even as it makes your throat dry as he towers over you.

“You didn’t say please.” You see the light flash in his eyes, his lips twitching up as he leans in, so close you involuntarily stand up straighter, his warm breath fanning over you as he refuses to break his stare. He holds your gaze for a moment. Then two. Before he leans to your right, his lips so close, you can practically feel them against your ear.

“Please,” he whispers, sending goosebumps chasing down your skin as your arm drops heavily to your side.

He pulls back, still smiling as those damned viridescent eyes seem to own you.

His hand then brushes against yours, and before you can react, he plucks the wrench from your grasp and leans away, that satisfied, smug smirk brightening his face.

“Thanks,” he fucking winks at you before finally stepping away and dropping back down onto the roller and disappearing underneath the car.

It’s only then you can breathe again, and with your first breath you mumble, “bastard.”

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