Stay (Dean Winchester x OFC)
Pairing: Dean Winchester x Original Female Character
Rating: PG-13 for swearing and mentions of sex.
Summary: Dean and Avery have a two-night stand, and after that weekend, they go their separate ways. They never expected to see each other again, but the universe has other plans.
A/N: Guys, where do I even begin? It’s been ages. I miss you. I see your messages, your likes, your reblogs. Thank you. Here’s this. I wrote a lot of it on my phone, so bear with me if there are typos.
It just goes like this, doesn't it?
One night where the both of them could let go of expectations, of being who the universe was making them be. One night.
But just like they knew they didn't have a choice but to be who the universe wanted them to be, they should have known the universe would pull the absolute worst April Fool's Day prank of all time.
They gape at each other, minds racing as images of tangled sheets, open mouths, and moonlit smiles come flooding back.
The task at hand doesn't let them linger too long.
She's firing with military precision, and he's right there with her, sweat dripping down his jaw as he reloads round after round, wondering if the universe put them both here to die together.
But then Sam shows up, like he always does. He saves them both, and the three of them save the day.
It takes longer for Dean to work up the courage to look her in her eyes. He feels-- he feels ashamed somehow, that he let her go that rainy Sunday morning.
There was never an argument or anything. They both just knew it was time. She had said she had to catch a flight and get back to work, and he lied and told her he had to do the same thing.
They had two nights of connection, of passion, but also of affection. He told her things he never told anyone. They spent a Saturday night fully clothed, eating take out straight from the containers in a hotel's king-sized bed. He felt comfortable with her like he hadn't felt with anyone in years.
And yeah, it sucked when she left. He sort of hoped there'd be a knock on the door saying she missed her flight, but he wasn't sad. They both knew what they were signing up for when they met at the bar that Friday night, eyes only for each other.
Still, he thinks he's remembered her kiss every day since.
He still thinks no one has ever touched him like she did.
So, yeah, he's a little angry and flustered when he sees her here, because she said she worked in marketing or some bullshit, and while he didn't expect her to be totally truthful with a stranger, this is a little too coincidental to be believed.
She bats his hands away when he offers to help her bandage a big scrape on her leg, and he tries not to make a face at the rejection. He's very aware of Sam watching him closely, but he has no idea what to say.
There's no point in lying about knowing her. He told Sam that he had spent a weekend with a woman the day he came home from his impromptu trip, but that it was nothing special, nothing but some no strings attached fun.
Turns out Dean might be the one who had a few strings.
.
Her face feels like it's on fire. Her game plan so far is just to refuse to speak to him, but that feels a bit stupid given the situation they just found themselves in.
Jesus Christ, but he couldn't have said he was Dean Winchester when they met? To be fair - she didn't give a lot of details about herself either. They didn't even really talk about work except when she said there was no way she could stretch her trip into one more day. She had to work.
(She lied about work just like he did, but that's neither here nor there)
She just never thought she'd still be thinking about him months later, much less seeing him in person. In the middle of a hunt.
She did have a real job. She wasn't lying about that. Her work for the FBI is very, very, VERY top secret. Fringe Division has been practically dead for years, but ever since the almost-apocalypse (she supposes she has Dean to thank for that, too), their work is more important than ever.
She was just supposed to be doing field work. Recon. She was never supposed to get involved, but here she is, trying to put a bandage on herself in the middle of the woods.
She can’t stop herself from watching his hands, remembering when they traced every inch of her skin and made her gasp and writhe and the way in the next breath they’d find a ticklish spot and make her laugh.
It’s just all so unbelievable.
Sam is the one to break the ice, which feels inevitable. “So. Anyone want to explain this?” He gestures between her and Dean.
Dean’s jaw clenches. For a moment she feels frustrated because why is he angry? They parted mutually. They both told lies and half truths and let themselves escape in high thread count sheets and each other.
She thrusts out her hand. The one not currently covered in blood. “Avery Harper.”
“Avery.” Sam repeats.
“Technically it’s Special Agent Avery Harper, but I won’t tell if you won’t.”
Dean chokes out a laugh, but it’s a little bitter. Avery’s smile doesn’t meet her eyes.
“I think we have a lot of catching up to do,” she suggests. “Food?”
She turns and heads toward her car before anyone says anything else. She hears a whispered argument, an exasperated sigh, and then finally the sound of footsteps on the crushed gravel. A hand grabs her elbow a moment later, then releases her like she’s on fire.
“We look like shit.” Dean’s voice is gruff. “Pizza at our place instead.”
The drive to their place is pleasant, at least. She struggles to keep up with Dean’s car, but she suspects he’s doing it on purpose so she lets him. He’s never truly out of her sight. She uses the time to try to work her way out of this, but decides there’s no point.
The only thing she needs to do is make them understand she’s not trying to take over their turf and that she has no interest in arresting them, and hope that they hear her out.
She follows along a long dirt driveway. The building looks rundown from the outside, but she trusts them. Trusts Dean.
Inside, she’s not ashamed of the way her mouth falls open as she takes in the gleaming tiles and smooth wood. The place is incredible.
“The inner sanctum?”
“Something like that.” Dean mutters, brushing past her. They both pause at the contact.
“I’m going to…. order pizza”. Sam says, quickly making himself scarce.
She and Dean stand there in the fading sunlight streaming in through a nearby window, and the light catches on his eyes. He’s hurt. She can see that, and she does feel guilty. Even though they were both doing the same thing, she’s realizing now that he probably would have loved to know he was completely understood.
That night, even though she didn’t know who he was, she felt a connection that was deeper than attraction. Now she knows why.
“I didn’t know who you were.” She says, hands tightening at her sides.
“How is that possible?”
“Not every agent is out to get you.”
He smirks. “Most of my interactions with the feds say the opposite.”
She exhales.
He rubs a hand over his face. The sound of his stubble scratching against weathered palms takes her back to a warm bed, a feeling of being so cocooned with someone else she couldn’t tell where he ended and she began.
“Is Avery even your real name?” He asks, voice rough.
“Yes.”
A beat. “Marketing?”
She can’t help but laugh. “I didn’t know what to say!”
“You could have bragged about having a badass job.”
She’s surprised, but tries not to show it. “So could you.”
He shrugs. “Wanted to… shed it.”
“Me too.” She admits softly.
This time when he meets her eyes, his are vulnerable, a dark green that leaves goosebumps on her arms. “I—“ he stops himself. She wishes he wouldn’t. He changes tactics. “Let me take a look at that arm.”
“It’s alright-“
“Ave. Let me.”
A shortened version of her name hits her right in the gut. It’s familiar, intimate in a way she hadn’t been expecting. “Okay.” She relents.
.
He can’t take his eyes off her.
He was angry for a minute, he felt off guard, off kilter, but now that she’s in front of him he can’t bring himself to hold a grudge. He’s just happy to see her.
The FBI.
What a fucking day.
She doesn’t tell him much about why she was hunting, how she knew about the fight he and Sam were in on, how she showed up right when they did and where any of her intel came from.
They’ve always known that someone somewhere in the feds had an inside track, and it always bothered him. But because it’s her, he can’t find it in himself to be angry.
He thinks of the way she didn’t hesitate, just set up shoulder to shoulder with him and aimed her weapon like she’d be damned if anyone or anything tried to get close to the Winchesters.
He’s pretty amazed by her, he’s got to admit. She’s everything he’s ever wanted wrapped up in the most beautiful package, and that’s what makes him pause. Because he’s never allowed to have good things for long.
In his bathroom he inspects her wounds, uses the excuse to crowd her a little bit, inhales the familiar scent of citrus and vanilla that follows her like a cloud.
If she notices she doesn’t say anything and he’s grateful.
Her hand fits just so in his.
“Thank you.” She says eventually.
“You don’t have to thank me.”
“Dean—“
He looks up, sees her eyes uncertain, a little wild.
She kisses him before he can take his next breath. It sends heat sizzling up his spine, electricity crackling in the space between them.
It’s exactly how he remembers it, and somehow more. More because they’re truly themselves now, no secrets between them.
His hands are in her hair. Hers are tight on his hips, digging in, a desperation in her touch that he's relieved to feel, proof that he isn't the only one feeling this way.
When the need for air is too much, they wrench apart, gasping. Her mouth goes to his neck, and his lips find her forehead, and he can't do this again. He can't pretend.
"Wait. Avery, wait."
Her eyes are unfocused when she looks at him. "Sorry--"
He shakes his head. "Don't be. I-- god, I wanted that. I just... it's too much. I can't."
"I've thought about this for months." She admits, and his eyes slide shut.
"Don't tell me that."
"It's the truth." When he opens his eyes again, her smile is sad, but there's a bit of hope there too, and it makes his heart pick up speed. "I didn't want to go, that morning. I wanted to give you my number, I wanted to see you again."
"I did too. I wanted you to come back."
"It feels cursed, Dean." She says quietly. "This-- this is all too much of a coincidence."
He nods. "I know. But-- is that so bad?" He leans close, lips at her temple. Can't stop touching her. "Can't we just give ourselves something to be happy about?"
"We do have a lot to fill each other in about." She agrees, words sounding more like a moan in the quiet room.
"Stay." His voice is hoarse. "Stay with me. We'll figure it all out after."
He's tired of denying himself things he wants, things that make him happy. And if all the decisions he's made over the last few months, every thought and every choice have lead him right back here to her, then who is he to question it?
She stays.
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