Dean x Reader252Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡpJbFuSu2SO
Summary: Reader goes on a hunt alone and hides more serious injuries from Sam and Dean. She heads to Bobby’s to recover only to have the boys show up shortly after.252Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡwUqaKJBq3M
Warnings: mild language252Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡZ0fyOW1R7E
252Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡV2wyKIpVgU
Rivulets of water and splattered rain were blurring the neon sign of the motel as you pulled back into the parking lot. You threw your truck into the park as the hood came to rest mere feet in front of your room door. You pulled the key from the ignition, cramming it into your jacket pocket, and leaned your head back on the headrest, listening to the soothing sound of the rain on the metal roof. You hated to admit it but you were exhausted. Getting thrown around by a witch could really take a lot out of you… You allowed your eyes to rest closed and attempted to calm yourself. Your heart was still pounding and your hands were still slightly shaking from the adrenaline that had coursed into your bloodstream. The fat raindrops sounded peaceful and you took deep breaths. The soothing effect was almost instantaneous.
Rousing yourself, you pushed open the truck door, wincing a little as you landed on your feet on the hard blacktop. You fished your room key out of your bag and made your way through the driving rain up to the door. You were feeling weary but satisfied; a little worse for wear from the hunt perhaps… but you’d live. The pain wasn’t something you were unfamiliar with although you had to admit that this was a little more than you had bargained for in terms of take-home from the hunt. The characteristic grinding noise of the deadbolt sounded and you pushed on the door.
As soon as the door was cracked open barely a millimeter your instincts kicked in. You were positive you had turned all the lights off when you left but there was warm light glowing inside. Your duffel bag was off your shoulder and your sawed-off shotgun was drawn in one instinctive motion as the door swung open in front of you to reveal two figures inside.
”Son of a bitch!” You shouted. “What the hell, guys? I could have blown your heads off!” you scolded Sam and Dean, who were both facing the door. Evidently, they had broken into your room and had been waiting for you.
”You still might. Mind lowering the firearm, Lone Ranger?” Dean said, one hand raised in a sign of surrender, the other clutching a beer. His feet were propped up on one of the vinyl and metal dining chairs.
You let the muzzle of the shotgun drop to your side. “What the hell are you doing here?” you asked as you tromped inside. You pushed your bag with one foot so it was out of the way for you to slam the door shut on the rain and cold behind you. “Where’s the Impala? I definitely would have noticed that parked outside…” you said drawing back the curtain and glancing out at the near-empty parking lot.
Dean sat up and pulled his feet off the chair, leaning forward on his knees with his elbows. “That’s why we parked around back,” he said gruffly while flashing you a sarcastic smile. His low voice wrapped around you and you stared at him, hoping to God that your expression was blank.
”And I think really we should be asking you the questions,” Sam said, giving you a knowing look. “Do you always get slashed up on your ‘vacations’ or is this one special for some particular reason?”
You let out an annoyed sigh, coming further into the room and sitting down heavily on the bed, pulling off your mud-caked boots. “So I went on a hunt alone. What’s the big deal? You guys do remember that I used to always hunt alone?”
”Used to. Not anymore,” Sam said, coming to sit near you on the end of the bed. His eyes immediately found the gash in your arm and his eyebrows knit together as he studied it.
You covered it with your hand, giving him a look. “It’s fine, Sam. I’m more annoyed about the slash in my jacket and favorite flannel. And… yeah. Exactly. I just wanted to do a hunt like I used to. See if I was still on my game.”
Dean scoffed and shook his head at you disapprovingly. “Seems like a pretty risky gamble,” he said. The gravel in his voice was even more pronounced.
”Well,” you said standing abruptly. “I seem to be perfectly fine and perfectly alive,” you sassed back. You pulled off your jacket forcefully and examined the slash through your shirt, paying no attention to the clotted bleeding gash, reasonably deep, in your upper arm. “Now if you two don’t mind I’m going to get the stink of that witch off me.” You made a beeline for the bathroom.
”We don’t mind,” Sam said. “But we’re gonna be here to help patch you up when you get out of the shower!” he called as you slammed the door.
As soon as the bathroom door closed behind you and you had turned the lock you fell back against the counter, your face contorted in a wince against the pain radiating through you. You took the weight off your right ankle and partially doubled over, your arms wrapped tightly around your ribs. You let out some forced breaths and managed to sit upon the counter, peeling your sock off your right foot and hiking up your pant leg to examine your ankle. It was already swelling and there were dark purple and blue bruising on one side. You gritted your teeth as you looked at it. Sprained. At the very least. You accidentally attempted to take a deep breath and paid for it with renewed stabs of pain shooting through your ribs again.
It had been difficult to hide the radiating pain in your ribs and ankle but you were fairly sure you had managed it. You had been strategic about your movements as soon as you saw them there; not bending to pick-up your duffel and instead of pushing it with your uninjured ankle (gritting your teeth against having to take all your weight on the sprain) and pulling your boots off while you were seated securely on the bed. You pulled off the bloodstained flannel and tossed it to the ground, standing now in one barefoot, jeans, and a tank top. You slid onto your feet again, being careful to avoid putting weight on your ankle. You examined your reflection in the mirror.
Your hair was a little disheveled but that was bound to happen when you’d been catapulted into a wall by a power-crazed bitch with voodoo abilities… The worst cut was the gash on your upper arm. You prodded at it a little with your fingers, testing how tender it was. It seemed ok. It looked worse than it was at this point. It had clotted but you were sure your shower was going to undo all that and open it up again. Sam had said they’d be waiting to patch you up, and you didn’t doubt it for a second.
The other nicks and cuts were minor. Grazes on your hands and a couple of nicks on your face, but they were hardly anything to be concerned about. You wanted to breathe a sigh of relief but you knew that your ankle and ribs were going to be an issue. You could bite your tongue against the pain for a little while, put on an ‘I’m totally fine and I totally handled it’ show to prevent Sam and Dean from making a big deal out of it, of fussing over you. But cracked ribs and a sprained ankle required weeks to heal. And these were weeks where you would be putting yourself and Sam & Dean in jeopardy should you be involved with a hunt. So, no hunting until you healed up.
You chewed the inside of your cheek and turned on the shower tap. You were going to need to come up with a damn good excuse to take some time off…
_ _ _ _ _ _
Sam and Dean looked at each other as they heard the shower turn on. Sam shrugged. “She seems alright,” he said, rubbing a hand over the back of his neck. “Really just that gash on her arm.”
Dean nodded. “Yeah. But I still don’t like it. Why the hell wouldn’t she just tell us what she was up to?”
Sam pressed his lips together, suppressing a smile. “Yeah. Hmm… Why would anyone just not communicate?”
Dean’s face darkened and he gave Sam a warning look. He took a long drink from his beer before standing and getting out the first aid kit he had brought in from the Impala. He began to poke through the contents, needing something to keep his hands occupied. While they had waited for you to return, Dean had been restless. Sam had to talk him out of driving aimlessly in the Impala and looking for you more than once, reasoning that they had no clue where to even begin looking in town and that they hadn’t been waiting that long. If you hadn’t returned by the morning perhaps then they would take action.
Eventually, you emerged from the bathroom, wet hair hanging lankly around your face. You had pulled on the same tank top and dirty jeans, having forgotten that all your other clothes were in your bag in the main room. As you had expected, the gash on your arm had begun bleeding freely again as you had washed away the dirt and dried blood. You were holding tissues over it as you went and sat on the bed. You pulled back the tissue to peek at the cut on your arm again.
Dean was staring at you, his eyes traveling from your arm up to your face. “Y/N, your cheek is bleeding again.” His low voice somehow seemed to ease the shooting pain in your ankle, which you had just walked on as if it weren’t injured.
”What?” you raised a hand up and swept your fingers across your cheekbone. Your fingers came away stained and wet. “Dammit…” your other hand was still pressed over the gash in your arm and you were about to get up and grab some more tissues when Dean stopped you.
”Take it easy, hot rod.” Dean came over with some bandages and ointment. He set everything down on the bed next to you and pulled a chair over so he could sit near you to patch you up. A smile tugged at one corner of Sam’s mouth and you forcibly pretended not to notice.
Dean took a cotton pad and dabbed gently at the cut on your face. “You really don’t need to—“ you started.
”Would you just relax?” Dean said gruffly, ignoring your words and continuing his ministrations. He took a cotton swab and applied some ointment to your cheek once he had gotten it to stop bleeding again. He swept another cotton pad over the area underneath, cleaning up the blood that had smeared there.
You swallowed hard. You were looking up and away from Dean, whose face was close and concentrated. His hands were steady and gentle, brushing lightly against your cheek and jawline. You tapped a finger anxiously on your knee, feeling remarkably nervous with him this close to you and lightly touching your skin.
Dean smiled down at the fidgety movement. “Still running on adrenaline?” he asked as he pulled his chair more alongside you so he could look at your arm.
You cleared your throat. “Yeah. I guess.” Sam was still watching the interaction from where he sat, sipping on his beer and smiling a smug little smirk. You gulped again.
Suddenly you flinched with surprise when you felt Dean’s fingers on yours.
He gave you a surprised look. “Jesus. You are keyed up,” he remarked. He was peeling your hand away from where you were still pressing the tissues to the gash on your arm. He applied alcohol to a cotton ball and swept it over the area. You didn’t even flinch at the stinging sensation, not when your ankle and ribs were still aching and requiring all your focus to avoid wincing.
Dean looked at the gash, his fingers grazing your skin gently. “No stitches,” he said. He applied some ointment and grabbed a section of gauze. He taped it over the wound; gently making sure it was secure. As his fingers trailed away he noticed the goosebumps rising on your skin, on your collarbone. He caught your eyes and cleared his throat. “You’re good,” he said, getting up abruptly and moving his chair back. He tore his eyes away with great effort only to be met by Sam’s discerning gaze. Dean’s brow furrowed more deeply. “Sammy, get Y/N a beer,” he said, hoping to deflect the attention off of him.
”Sure,” Sam said, reaching into the mini-fridge and grabbing one out. He tossed it to you and you caught it deftly.
”You may have tracked me down and broken into my room but at least you brought beer,” you said as you popped the top.
_ _ _ _ _ _
You had headed back to the bunker with the boys the next day, leaving in a caravan. It had been extremely difficult to move like you weren’t in pain because the night had left your ankle even more swollen and your ribs inflamed. They shot pain through you with every breath. Luckily Sam had loaded up your bags for you without asking. Hoisting them into your truck yourself might have given you away. You were doubtful you could have done so without a visible grimace at the very least.
It became very clear to you very quickly though that you were going to need to sneak off somewhere to heal. By the time you had arrived at the bunker after the long drive, you had been driving with your left foot. Too much pain shot up through your leg when you attempted to man the pedals with your injured ankle. And the pain in your torso was reaching new levels. You had barely unloaded at the bunker when Sam and Dean were already talking about the next job and you certainly weren’t in hunting shape. A plan began to formulate in your mind.
You joined the boys at the big table in the main room and spent some time paging through the resources they were combing for leads, voicing the potential cases and locations as you come across them. As the evening drew on you bid both of them goodnight and retired to your room, where you carefully packed up enough clothes to last you a couple of weeks and set out your duffel full of gear, which traveled everywhere you did.
The next morning you rose early and, after some hastily drank coffee, placed the note you had scribbled out on the kitchen counter.
”Sudden surprise engagement party for my kid cousin. Headed home for a while! Be in touch soon. Don’t have too much fun without me! – Y/N”
You hated to sneak off but you knew they were bound to be suspicious after how you had just disappeared for the hunt a few days earlier… and trying to make your case in person would be much tougher. You had arranged the story with your cousin in case the boys came snooping, which you assumed they would. In no time you were hobbling out to your truck and pulling away from the bunker in a cloud of dust.
_ _ _ _ _ _
The place looked the same and you smiled fondly as you wound your way between the rows of scrap metal and old junker cars. You shook your head, staring up at the dilapidated state of the outside of the old house. You couldn’t help but take in a hiss of air through your teeth as you landed on your bad ankle a little harder than you meant to climb out of your truck. The hop down also jarred your ribs and you winced again and clutched an arm around them, which did nothing to stop the waves of pain.
You shouldered your bag of clothes and hunting duffel with an audible groan of pain and began limping your way up to the house. Getting up the stairs on your bad ankle was a chore. Before you could even knock the wooden door creaked open to reveal Bobby standing there, giving you a significant look. “Gimme those, you idjit,” he said, stepping out to meet you and pull the bags from your shoulders. “Get in,” he sighed. You gave him a sheepish grin as you passed him.
”Thanks, Bobby…I would have called but—“
”But you were worried the boys would overhear?” he said knowingly. “I heard about your little solo adventure. They said you came out of it with just a couple of scratches.”
”I may have…made it seem that way.” Bobby gave you another disapproving look. “What? Don’t look at me like that! You know how protective they get! They’d fuss over it and keep me out of commission way longer than necessary,” you argued as you collapsed onto the old, familiar couch. “And I could forget about ever going off on my own again anywhere, hunt or not!”
Bobby tossed down your luggage. “And I suppose that means you haven’t been taking care of whatever the hell is wrong with you the way you should have,” he said.
You flashed him a smile you hoped was disarming.
”Mhmm. I watched you from the window when I heard a truck pull up. Lemme see that ankle,” he sighed.
You slid off your boot and sock tentatively and pulled up your pant leg. Bobby looked down at the swelling and dark bruising, which now had colored all shades of yellow, black, blue, and purple. He gave you another remonstrative look. “You didn’t even wrap this or ice it? Idjit…” he looked it over more thoroughly and shook his head. “Good sprain. Not broken. I’ll get you some ice and we can wrap it up later. Now, what else is wrong with you? I’d guess head injury if I didn’t know you to be pigheaded in the best of times.”
”I think I may have…cracked…some ribs…” you muttered, increasingly quietly as you went on.
”Nothing we can do about that. But thank your lucky stars you didn’t break one right through and puncture a lung. Letting pressure out of your own chest cavity is something you don’t soon forget…” he admonished. He stomped out of the room and you let your head fall back against the couch, shutting your eyes and finally feeling like you could relax. You drifted off before you knew it, not even feeling it when Bobby wrapped an icepack around your ankle.
_ _ _ _ _ _
Phone. Phone ringing. Bobby answering. Your eyes shot open. You could hear him in the other room. Some kind of unexplainable vibe caused you to pull your phone from your pocket and stare down at it. You had 9 missed calls from Sam and Dean. “Shit,” you got up, momentarily forgetting about your ankle and coming down hard on it. “Ahh! Shit!” you said again, much louder this time. You hobbled as fast as you could toward the other room where you could hear Bobby talking on the phone.
You peered in at him through the door giving him a stern look. He looked over when your head appeared around the doorframe.
”Well, that’s strange. Nope. No, I haven’t heard from her,” he was saying.
You continued to glare at him, your lips pressed together in a thin line.
”Nope. Will do. You’ll be the first to know… Not much. No, I’ve been out working on the Bronco,” he said. You let out a held-in-breath, wincing a little as your ribs twinged. Bobby continued to chat for another minute before hanging up and giving you a look. “Dean,” he confirmed.
”Uh-huh,” you said, hobbling over to a kitchen chair and accepting an ice pack from Bobby.
He gave you an amused look as you settled it on your ankle. “They cracked your cousin. Dean said it took them all of 5 minutes.”
You looked up at him with wide-eyes. “Son of a bitch…”
Bobby laughed at your reaction. “I have a feeling we’ll be seeing them soon,” he trailed off as he walked out of the room.
”What? Bobby? Bobby!” You called after him but he ignored you. Your mind whirred. Bronco. “Dammit, Bobby! YOU SAID ‘BRONCO!’ ” You could hear his renewed laughter echoing back to you from the front of the house. You got up, leaving the ice pack where it fell on the kitchen floor. You found him seated at his leisure in his old recliner with a beer in his hand, looking nonplussed and unconcerned. “ ‘Bronco?’ Seriously? You think I forgot that’s one of our old signal words?”
Bobby tilted his head and shrugged. “Was sort of hoping you did.” He stared at you with an amused look on his face. “Sorry, I’m not sorry, Y/N. Who do you think I would rather have mad at me? You, gimpy and forgiving, or Dean, who holds onto a grudge like grim Death on a corpse? Add panicked, anxious, and pissed on top of that and I’ll go twelve rounds against you compared to one with him,” he sipped at his beer casually and clicked on the television, not giving you another look. The amused smile still lingered on his face.
You let out a frustrated growl, eliciting another chuckle from the vicinity of Bobby’s old chair, and eased back down on the couch, propping your ankle up and starting to wrap it in the ace bandage Bobby had left for you.
_ _ _ _ _ _
Bobby pulled back the curtains as the headlights cruised across the front of the house. The purring engine stopped. He smirked to himself and went to unlock the front door. Sam and Dean marched up to the porch. “Hey Bobby,” Sam said, giving him a smile and grabbing his outstretched hand. Dean gave him a nod and a half-smile, his face quickly returning to the slightly strained look it was originally wearing.
”Come on in.” Bobby turned and led the way back in the house, shutting the night out behind them.
”So how is she?” Sam asked, concern crinkling his warm hazel eyes.
Bobby chuckled. “She’s fine. She just needs some time to heal up. There’s nothing really seriously wrong with her. Unless you count chronic obstinacy… Sprained ankle and some cracked ribs,” he finished with a dismissive wave of his hand.
Dean’s frown deepened.
“She’s not too happy with me for tipping you off either,” Bobby added, leaning on the arm of the couch.
”Yeah, thanks for that,” Dean nodded at him. “Bronco.” He leaned and looked down the hallway into the kitchen. “So where is she?”
”Asleep. Wouldn’t come back inside off the screened-in porch. She was too pissed off at me. She fell asleep out there,” Bobby inclined his head in the direction of the door onto the back porch.
Sam and Dean exchanged a look. “You go ahead,” Sam said. Dean narrowed his eyes at his brother.
”Why don’t you go?” he asked, his voice low and gruff. His throat felt tight.
One corner of Sam’s mouth turned up in a smirk. “I’ll be here. She can come to find me if she wants,” he said, flopping down on the couch. Dean sighed and chewed his bottom lip, sparing a glance at Bobby and Sam as he made his way onto the porch.
The rusty spring in the door creaked as he pushed through the old door. Flecks of peeling paint stuck to his fingers and he brushed them off on his jacket as he took a step further in, preventing the door from snapping shut with a loud slam and closing it purposefully and quietly. There you were. His heartbeat a little faster.
Your right leg was propped up on the old wicker couch, a cushion shoved under it. Your back was against the far arm and your arms were crossed over your chest. Your head was reclined to the side, lolled gently against the backrest. Dean chewed his bottom lip again, wondering how best to wake you without startling you. He allowed himself to look at you for a minute. His green eyes, looking darker in the dim light of the evening, wandered over your soft eyelashes and down to your lips. They were full and pink, illuminated only by the light from the half-moon streaming through the old screens. He studied your hands, fingers delicately tucked in under your arms, an attempt to keep them warm in your sleep. Dean swallowed hard and rubbed a hand across the back of his neck. He hesitated and then took a step forward, sitting down on the edge of the couch near you and lightly touching you on the shoulder.
You stirred a little, not opening your eyes, and settled further in against the backrest. “Go away, Bobby. I’m mad at you,” you murmured sleepily, ignoring the shiver that racked your body.
A familiar gruff laugh answered. “He knows.” You knew that low, gravelly voice instantly.
Your eyes snapped open and you moved to sit up straighter against the arm of the wicker couch, only resulting in a small whimper as a stab of pain shot through your torso and twisted your stomach.
”Hey! Whoa. Easy killer,” Dean said. His brow was knit in concern. “You’re in trouble,” he said.
”I’m in trouble?” you asked, looking up at him. “You’re in trouble! What’s with the stalking, hmm?” You tried to give him a stern look but the way the corner of his mouth flicked up for a millisecond basically put an end to that. And he was sitting so close… there was barely any space between him and you.
”What’s with the lying and running away hmm?” Dean retorted. You couldn’t help but feel somewhat abashed. Dean laughed again at the look on your face, the sound washed over you and you met his eyes. “I think I get why,” he said. He leaned a little closer to you and lowered his voice. “but don’t try it again. We’ll always find you,” he added in a whisper. He didn’t drawback and you were frozen for a moment, holding your breath unintentionally. His eyes were flitting back and forth between yours and your lips parted slightly, without anything to say. His eyes took in your mouth and he subconsciously bit his bottom lip… and then suddenly cleared his throat and stood up.
”So, uhh…” he rubbed a hand across the back of his neck and you felt a sinking feeling in your stomach. “Should we get you inside and get you warm?”
”Yeah, alright,” you conceded softly. You began to get up, finding it difficult to do so with both an injured torso and ankle. You moved too quickly, twisting your ribcage and let out a small cry of pain, clutching an arm around your ribs and letting out a long wavering breath that you were half-laughing through. Dean’s strong hands flew to you in an instant, taking hold of your shoulders to steady you. His face was full of sincere concern, his eyes narrowed with worry.
”Take it easy,” he said, not letting go of you. The gruff edge in his voice was again like an instant painkiller. “Can I help you up?” he asked. You nodded at him, your eyes wide from the feeling of his hands on you, strong but tender. You had chills and it wasn’t from the cool night air. Dean took your hands and helped you up, pulling you so you were standing close in front of him. The moment passed when he should have dropped your fingers from his. His eyes were again flickering between yours. Your heartbeat faster. His hands slid up to grasp your upper arms and you saw him swallow, his eyes still piercing into yours.
Each breath you were taking you sent out with a wish you hardly dared to hope for… Your feet felt rooted to the old wood of the porch, but you hardly cared to move them away from Dean.
Dean felt his own heart beating faster the longer he stared at you. He was trying to find something to say, searching for the right words; something charming or something witty. But for once in his life, he was coming up empty. It was something about the way you were looking back at him. Your eyes looked hopeful, burning with a gaze that was both intense and soft at the same time. As if that made any sense… He suddenly smiled at you. As if you ever really made any sense; running away for a solo hunt and running away to heal, stubbornly hiding the worst of your injuries. His hands slid up over your shoulders and one came to clasp the side of your face. You allowed your eyes to flutter shut for a moment, relishing the feeling of his rough hand against your skin. You met his eyes again just in time to see him make the decision. He brushed one of his thumbs over the cut on your cheek and lightly placed a kiss there. Somehow he had decided he was not good enough, second-guessed himself, despite the expectant look on your face. As he drew back your hands flew up to wrap around his neck.
”Running away, Dean Winchester?” You whispered. Your face was only inches from his. Your voice still sounded somewhat unsure.
He brought his lips slightly closer to yours, his eyes still locked onto your face. “Bronco,” he whispered. You drew back a little, your brow knit in confusion.
”Bronco?”
He nodded and a smile touched his lips, his eyes catching the moonlight and reflecting it back to you. “It was our warning code word. We use it when something is off,” he said.
You began to draw back even further from him. “I know but–I don’t understand,” you said shaking your head, a blush rising to your cheeks with a sudden worry that you had misinterpreted—your heart pounding now out of anxiety and embarrassment.
Dean’s arms drew around you, settling on your waist, keeping you close to him. “I’ve been carrying around that feeling since we met. Too stupid to acknowledge or realize what didn’t feel right.”
You frowned. “Dean, I don’t understand,” you said attempting to draw away from him again.
He let out a gruff laugh at the expression on your face and again brought a hand up to gently clasp your cheek, his fingers tangling in your hair. “I’m-I’m trying to get there.” He took a moment and a breath before locking his eyes with you again and then allowing them to travel over you. “What didn’t feel right was not going after you. It was…pretending like I didn’t feel what I did. And just sitting right there but not touching you, or,” his eyes traveled down over you once more, “holding you, or kissing you. It was keeping you just out of reach. And I did it for a lot of reasons,” he breathed. “Because I know I don’t deserve you and I wanted to protect you.” Here he let out a gruff laugh again. “But as we just learned you’re already a danger to yourself…”
You gave him a sheepish smile and looked down, the knot in your stomach fading instead into excited flutters.
”But that feeling, that something was off—I don’t know,” his voice deepened, rolling out with the comforting gravelly quality that made you feel weak at the knees and only came from Dean. “When Bobby dropped that word on the phone today it was like,” he hesitated, and laughed a little nervously at himself, “it was like getting struck by lightning.”
Your smile widened. “Don’t deserve me?” you let your fingers slid up into his hair and bit your bottom lip. “You stubborn ass…” you said with a smile.
He gave you that signature Dean half-smile. “Look who’s talking…”
You both moved towards each other at the same instant, your lips crashing together and the world fading until there was nothing else but the feel of the fingertips and lips of the other. You grabbed onto the front of his jacket, pulling him into you and he gently pulled you into him with a strong hand on your lower back. There was no trace of shooting pain in your ribs or your ankle, no grasping fingers of cold through your thin sweater, no passing of time… there was only the two of you, entwined together, all beating hearts and newness and pressed together lips, smiling into one another.
After some time you drew slightly back from one another. Warm smiles, like a shared secret, graced both of your faces and you couldn’t help but let out a lilting laugh. Dean smiled wider at you as you slid a hand into one of his back pockets.
It suddenly stalled out on his face as he looked over your shoulder and he raised his eyebrows and gave you a strange look. “Bronco,” he said again.
”What?” you whipped around and barely caught sight of the curtain of one of the windows behind you falling back into place. You laughed again, and rubbed a hand over half your face in embarrassment, feeling your cheeks color. “Spies, hmm?”
Dean nodded. “I think you mean PERVERTS!” he yelled at the door. You could hear muted talking between Bobby and Sam inside. Dean looked down at you again. “You know what? I don’t even care. I can beat on them later,” he said, as he traced his thumb over your bottom lip. You gave him a wide smile and got lost in each other again.
ns 15.158.61.55da2
