You sit on the bed of the Motel, waiting for them to come home.
You’ve been friends with the Winchesters for just over a year, where they saved your ass from a Vampire. Already being a part of the hunting world, you requested they bring you with them- which they refused. So you followed them. Eventually they accepted you and allowed you to join them on their adventures. Unfortunately, they refused to let you come on the “super dangerous” hunts in fear that you would be unable to take care of yourself. Quite honestly- it pissed you off to no end.
But you still waited. These boys were almost like family by now. You’ve been with them on their ups and downs. You’ve practically been to hell and back with them, no giving up now.
You groan into the pillow that covers your face. They’re late. GOD that’s annoying.
Suddenly the door bursts open.
You jump up, pointing a pistol at the intruders, but drop the gun the moment you see Sam lolling out of Dean’s grasp, unconscious. Quickly you help Sam to his bed, and begin to fix him up.
“Dude, what the hell happened?”
“Sammy got attacked, what the hell does it look like?”
“I’m not a dumbass Dean, I have EYES.”
Dean rolls his eyes as you elevate Sam’s head and retrieve a cool damp towel to put over his forehead. There is blood all down the inside of his shirt, so with Dean’s help, you strip it off of him. The Gash you find is deep and long.
“Dean, I’ll ask again. What the hell even happened?!”
“The demon was PSYCHOTIC that’s what!! The damn thing had Sam on the ceiling before I managed to stab it!”
“Shit…” you mutter before grabbing at the first aid kit and threading the needle. “Go get me your whisky.”
“… You heard me.”
“wha- But why?”
There is a moment of tense silence as you turn to him with a brow raised, Sammy’s bitch face perfectly replicated on you.
"Are you dull?”
Dean gripes to himself as he gets you his whisky, whining as you pour it over Sam’s wound, making the unconscious man groan and shift uncomfortably. You mutter a quick apology before continuing your work, sewing his wound shut. About half way through your work, Dean retreats to the other bed, but you think nothing of it. By the time you’re finished, it is early morning.
Dean is sleeping, and you’re about ready to pass out as well.
You stand and walk over to the couch, turning off all the lights, but you hear a sniff. What the hell? Why in the world? You turn towards Dean, who is desperately grasping the sheets beneath him, writhing, and covered in a sheen of sweat.
You’re immediately at his side. It’s no secret that you and Dean are about as close as close gets. You’re always joking and picking on each other, making bets on who can get the most numbers in one night. You love Dean. You always have, but only recently have you realized it isn’t just ‘love’. It’s love. You’re head over heels for the man in front of you, and quite honestly, this may be one of the most painful things you’ve ever watched.
“Dean…” you whisper.
Dean sniffs again, jumping, and gritting his teeth. You sniff yourself, close to tears, and walk over to the window, cursing yourself.
‘Stupid stupid stupid, stop having romantic thoughts about Dean. Can’t you see him? He’s in pain. Why aren’t you doing anything?’
Suddenly you’re awoken from your daze by a small scream, and the creaks of a bed. Dean bolts upright, panting, and tears are rolling down his face.
“Dean!” you cry and run to the bedside.
He immediately grabs you, pulling you onto the bed with him, and holding you close. Tears are still falling past his cheeks and he buries his face in your shoulder. He’s still shaking with sobs, but after realizing he’s awake, quickly tries to calm himself down. His face returns to its stoic expression and he lifts his face from your shoulder.
“How bad was it?” you whisper.
“Bad.” He says. “Worse this time.”
This isn’t really uncommon. It doesn’t happen all the time, but it really isn’t too much of a surprise when it does. Dean’s nightmares are worse than any horror movie one may see. He’s told them to you in explicit detail, almost every time, nearly bringing you to tears.
“Do you want to talk about it?”
He says nothing, but bows his head slightly, tightening his arms around you. It’s a few seconds before he speaks again.
“It was you and Sammy… They… they had speared you both onto a pole, and were roasting you over a god damn fire.
ROASTING. And your skin… and everything it was all just melting off,” His voice broke, and you could hear the fear. “But you both… were awake. And you were begging for it to stop, and you were yelling at me, because I couldn’t do anything to stop it.” His voice got weaker and weaker until it barely existed.
He’s trying so hard not to cry right now, and it’s tearing you apart.
“Dean…” Dean looks up at you. “Dear, you can’t hold this in… don’t just shove this into the back of your mind.”
“What are you talking about, (y/n)?” he asks, voice gruff and choked.
“Dean… just…just let it out. Cry.”
“No. I don’t want to hear it. I’m right here. If you keep this all locked in, it’ll eat you away. It’ll tear you apart from the
inside out, and Dean I can’t watch that. It’s hard enough to watch you in this much pain… It’s so damn hard to see you come home hurt and broken, physically and mentally, and I just… Dean…”
Your voice is almost hysterical, but you’re looking at him desperately, hands on either side of his face. Dean is staring at you now, green eyes boring into yours. He’s wearing the softest expression you’ve seen him wear. “We’ll just pretend like nothing happened… Sam will never have to know his big brother shed a tear… but Dean… please. I can’t watch you hurt all alone like this… Let me help…” Tears are running down your face. You’re trying so hard to keep your voice steady but you really just can’t.
Dean’s forehead is pressed against yours, and his eyes are boring into yours. Your heart is beating incredibly fast. Your hands slip to the back of Dean’s neck as he softly whispers your name. “(Y/n)…”
Without another word his mouth is on yours, conveying all the emotions you’ve both felt for him in the past year. It’s soft and gentle, but at the same time flaming and passionate. His mouth moves delicately over yours in the sweetest of patterns, and his breath perfectly matches yours. It’s the only thing on your mind, and it sends you into complete overdrive. The moment you pull away, his face is back buried in your neck, and he’s shaking. You feel the tears, and his sobs.
“Dean, I love you so so much…” you whisper to him, running your hand through his hair as you stroke his back. “You’ll never be alone while I’m here.” Your voice is barely existent, but he still hears you. He pulls back and presses his lips to yours again.
“I’ve always loved you,” he chokes between sobs. He doesn’t say anything else. Soon the two of you are lying down, Dean on top of you, resting his head on your chest.
It took a while to understand why Dean always slept on his stomach. One day it finally struck you- he’s scared to wake up and find the people he loves on the ceiling.
You don’t mind the fact that he’s on top of you. You feel like it’s really the only way to cuddle properly, considering he refuses to sleep on his back. But honestly you love the feel of his weight. It makes you feel secure- safe.
You’re still running a hand through his brown hair the other tracing soothing patterns on his back. His arms are wrapped around you tightly, and his sobbing has subsided slightly.
The sun’s rays are soon peeking through the curtains of the Motel. Dean leans up and kisses you gently before returning to his position, and falling into slumber, you following suit, a smile on your face.