Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader7Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ5RaO9MfRYv
7Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡJArbOvycnR
Warnings: Implied smut, domestic violence? Angry Dean, Hurt! Dean, Jealous! Dean, Language, hurt feelings, angst, some fluff. Multiple viewpoints.
Word Count: 6136
Request: hi there! I have seen loads of fics and one-shots where Dean is sleeping around/having a one-night stand and the reader gets jealous and upset, but I was wondering if I could request one with the other way around? or maybe one where they sleep around equally? as smutty, fluffy, or angst as you want!!7Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡFAQQo03ILI
Dean’s POV:
The concert floor of the bunker was cold under Dean’s feet as he swung his legs off of the bed, and placed his feet gingerly on the floor. He was being very mindful of the injury to his knees that he got during the last hunt. It protested with every movement, and being in his forties now, it seemed he didn’t heal up as quickly as he used to.
Standing with a deep growl, Dean stretched the muscles that protested against his movements, his eyes wandering over the empty liquor bottle that was sitting on his nightstand. He let out a long sigh, and picked up the bottle, throwing it in the trash can by the door as he hobbled his way out of his room, and towards the kitchen in search of coffee.
Dean’s feet dragging along the empty hallways of the Bunker seemed to echo more than they usually did in the morning. Sammy had either still been asleep, as it was really, really early; or he was already on his run. Y/N must have still been out with her conquest from the night before, because he’d been up most of the night, and she still hadn’t made it home by the time he finally drank enough to pass out, and ignore the throbbing pain in his knee.
As he made his way closer to her room, he couldn’t stop himself from pushing the door open just a little, and peeking inside to see if she’d actually came home, or if she was still out with whatever bar room wonder she let take her home last night that wasn’t him.
He breathed a sigh of relief when he saw her body covered up in the pile of covers that she always kept on her bed. Her back was to the door, and the easy rise and fall of the covers told him she was still fast asleep, so he shut the door quietly behind him, and continued his way towards the kitchen.
Normally he would have been right there with her at the bar last night. It had been a successful hunt, other than his busted knee, and that was due to his own clumsiness, and nothing really to do with a monster. He knew the stairs were rotten, and that he should have been taking them slower than he was, but Sammy was outrunning him, and that looked bad. He didn’t want to look weak in front of Y/N, so he rushed up the stairs, and as he got to the middle of the old rotten staircase, it had given way under his weight, sending his leg through the wood, and pulling his knee pretty good.
His adrenaline was high at the time, chasing the Werewolf through the old abandoned house, so he hadn’t really paid the injury much attention. He just jerked it out of the hole he’d fallen through, and continued his chase. Ultimately, Sam had successfully killed the Werewolf before he got there.
Three hours into the drive back to the Bunker though, he felt it, and by the time he’d gotten home and put Baby in the park, he could hardly put any weight on it.
Y/N fussed over him as he hobbled his way to his room, but Dean wanted nothing more than to get his jeans off, and put on a pair of loose sweats. Again, he refused to show how hurt he actually was in an attempt not to look weak, even though she could clearly see him limping.
She’d offered to stay back at the Bunker last night, and binge watch Dr. Sexy with him instead of going out to the local watering hole, but Dean had told her to go ahead and go. He didn’t want to hold her back from having a good time by making her stay here with him.
After about an hour of bickering, she had agreed to let him stay behind, and she went out on her own.
He wanted to just get drunk, and pass out, but his mind wouldn’t let him do that right away, and getting drunk enough to blackout wasn’t as easy as it used to be for him. So instead, he lay there alone in his darkroom, picturing things he wished he wasn’t.
Some other men's hands on the body he wanted more than anything to hold against his. Some random sinking into her in a way that he wished only he was allowed to do. His mouth on hers as their bodies moved together.
Would she moan for him? Would he be able to give her what she needed? Would he hold her when it was all over, the way Dean wanted so badly to do, but was never able to shove down his own stubbornness, and tell her how he felt? Instead, he justified his actions by saying, “she’s safer not knowing how I feel,” or “they can’t hurt because of me, if no one knows,” but deep down he felt like his heart was being ripped out every time he saw her on someone else’s arm.
Dean poured his coffee, and sat down at the table in the kitchen with a huff, running his fingers through his hair, and pulling the short strands hard enough to feel the sting in an attempt to pull the images that were threatening to invade his mind out before they could hurt him further. The only thing he knew to do at this point in order to save his sanity was to push her away. Maybe if he did that, then it wouldn’t hurt so bad.
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Your POV: Two weeks later
You dry your hair roughly before throwing the towel into the hamper by the door, and pull it into a messy bun as you make your way towards the kitchen in search of coffee. It was early, and Dean wouldn’t be up for probably another hour. You were sure Sam was out on his morning run, and he had mentioned something last night about going on a supply run before the next case.
You’d all been working non-stop for weeks. Local cases. Things that normally would be overlooked, but Dean was insistent on staying busy. You didn’t know why, but Dean had been acting really strange since he’d hurt his knee on that hunt in Wichita Falls.
It had started when he’d refused to speak to you all day the next day. Then it progressively got worse, and now he walked around acting like you didn’t exist, going as far as to hand Sam his rabbit food last night, but not even handing you your burger, just getting his food out of the bag, then throwing it on the table for you to find for yourself.
He wasn’t even communicating with you during hunts, which made things that much more difficult and dangerous. When you finally got back to the Bunker this morning, you were well planned to go blow off some steam, and get away from this new Dean that you were learning you didn’t like so much.
At first, it had really hurt that Dean had started to treat you so badly. You had always liked Dean more than just a “big brother” or friend, the way you saw Sam. The two of you were close at one time.
You didn’t know what had caused the switch. You’d gone over and over it in your head, but you couldn’t figure out what you had done to him in order to turn him against you. There wasn’t a chance in hell you’d get him to actually tell you what you had done wrong. So you thought at first it would pass, not get worse.
Making your way over to your dresser you pull out a simple black tank top, and a short denim skirt. It wasn’t like you were planning to ‘keep them on all night’, you just wanted them to catch the attention you needed in order to get what you desired tonight, and they had never failed you yet.
Before you could even turn around to grab your hairbrush off the desk in your room, you hear a curse, and a fumbling noise behind you before your door closes. Furrowing your brow in confusion, you walk over to the door, and open it, seeing Dean’s back retreating to his room, before his door slams with enough force to knock the dust down from the ceiling.
Looking down at your feet you see a busted whiskey glass, and a good amount of amber liquid still on the floor. Your eyes evert back to the door that Dean had just disappeared behind, and then down to the mess.
You must have left the door open when you had come into the room, but why would Dean be so upset if he saw you about to get ready to go out? Hell, he does it as much as you. The whole motel knew his name was Dean Fucking Winchester thanks to the whore he’d brought back last night, and her impressive vocal range.
Grabbing the discarded towel you’d just used to dry your hair, you clean up the mess caused by the spilled liquor, your mind still wondering just what you had done so fucking wrong.
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Four hours later you tried to close the heavy door to the Bunker as quietly as you could as you snuck back inside. Sure, it was past midnight, but you also knew that Dean could be somewhat of a night owl, and you really didn’t want to have a run-in with him coming home from yet another one nightstand. Especially after whatever the fuck happened outside your bedroom door before you left tonight.
You had wanted to confront him, ask him if something was wrong, but the way he’d been treating you kept you at bay and you just decided to go on about your business, and leave Dean to whatever brooding he was doing.
The Bunker was dark, all but the kitchen light that seemed to stay on all the time, and a weak light that illuminated from the map table in the war room as you descended the stairs. You spilled your shoes off at the top of the iron staircase in order to make your footsteps lighter as you went.
You didn’t see the man sitting at the table in the dark library until he spoke just as you made your way to the mouth of the hallway, and when you heard his voice you nearly had a mini heart attack.
“You’re home early,” Dean said, flipping the lamp on, revealing himself in the back corner of the library.
“Fuck Dean! You scared the shit out of me,” you hissed, turning on your heels to face him fully.
Dean rose from his seat and staggered a little, grabbing the table for support as he swayed slightly on his feet. You had only seen Dean that drunk once. It was the night he’d been cured from being a Demon. After Sam had gone to bed, the two you stayed up all night long drinking because you were too afraid to leave him alone. It was close to five in the morning before he’d finally passed out.
“Sorry,” he mumbled as he made his way closer to you, using the tables as support.
“Dean, you need to go sleep that off,” you tell him, taking a tentative step closer to him. You didn’t know what was bothering Dean exactly, but whatever it was it must be big for him to let himself go this way.
“Fuck you. You don’t get to tell me what to do. I didn’t tell you not to go fuck that loser bartender again tonight did I? Fuck no, but you whored yourself up, and marched that perky little ass of your right into his car to do God knows what. I never knew you were so fucking easy Y/N.”
His words cut deep. Dean had never spoken to you like that, and the fact that the first thing he’d said to you in days was an insult was a huge kick in the gut. Taking a step back from him, you turn to head towards your room. You hadn’t gotten very far before Dean caught up with you, grabbing your arm and spinning you around, pressing your back against the wall harshly.
“I wasn’t fucking done with you,” Dean snarled, and you slapped him hard across the face. Tears burned in your eyes at his hurtful behavior not only tonight, but over the last two weeks.
“What’s your fucking problem Dean? What have I done to you that’s offended you so much? For weeks now you’ve been a douche to me, and I have no idea what I’ve done to you!” you yell at him, all thoughts of not waking up Sam gone right out of the window.
“What’s my fucking problem? Maybe it’s you. Spreading your legs for every Tom, Dick, and Harry that pays you a little attention,” Dean said, coming closer to you and shoving you backward, his words getting louder and louder with each step he took.
Sam burst out of his bedroom door as soon as he heard the two of you, jumping in between you and Dean to stop his brother, who was so mad that he was honestly frightening.
“What the fuck is the problem!” Sam bellowed at the two of you.
“She’s the fucking problem,” Dean said, pointing an unsteady finger at you accusingly. “She thinks it’s okay to jump in bed with every fucking ass hole in Lebanon after every fucking hunt like she’s getting fucking paid for it!”
“Fuck you, Winchester! You do the same fucking shit! You have no room to judge me for what I do with my free time because I sure as fuck haven’t judged you!” you scream at him, tears slipping down your face and a heaviness pooling deep in your chest.
“Excuse me? I’ve been with one woman in months compared to your six fucking men in a month!” Dean said, trying to sidestep his brother, but Sam’s long arms shot out and stopped him before he could move towards you. “Do you not care that one night one of these assholes can knock you up? Kill you, before you can get away from them? Hunting monsters, and fighting off perverts are two different fucking things Y/N!”
“Don’t act like you’re all concerned about me Dean! Nice fucking double standards. You think because I’m a woman that I can’t handle myself, and that I’m a whore for doing the same exact shit you do!”
“GET THE FUCK OUT!” he roared, making even Sam jump as he tried to hold his brother back. Dean’s face was red, his glossy eyes wide and dilated with anger. You had never seen Dean so angry, and you even took a hurried step back, stumbling into the library as Dean shoved Sam to the side and marched towards you. “GET THE FUCK OUT OF THE BUNKER! IF YOU CARE SO FUCKING LITTLE ABOUT YOURSELF, THEN YOU CAN GET THE FUCK AWAY FROM ME, BECAUSE I CAN’T WATCH YOU FALL IN BED WITH ONE MORE ASS HOLE!!!”
“DEAN!” Sam yelled, crossing the floor and grabbing his arm as you sank into the chair behind you hiccuping a sob as Dean towered over you.
Sam reached out and grabbed Dean, throwing him against the wall with a hard shove. “Get your ass to your room, and sleep it off! Now! Y/N, you stay right the fuck there!” Sam said as he shoved the very livid eldest Winchester towards his room, making sure he was in there before coming back to find you still sitting in the same seat, too shocked and heartbroken to move.
You wrapped your arms tighter around yourself as if it could hold you together, when all you wanted to do was fall apart. You never thought Dean would talk to you that way. Sure, he’d been pushing you away and being an ass for the last couple of weeks, but you never dreamed that he hated you. You never knew that he thought you no better than a whore. Now you had lost the only home you’d ever known since your Uncle Bobby had passed away.
You were shaking slightly when Sam pulled up a chair across from you, and sat down with a flop.
“Are you okay?” Sam asked, reaching out and placing a large hand over your knee. You flinch at the contact. Only God knows what the hell Dean would do if he came in here and saw that.
“Not really Sam, I’ll get my shit packed,” you said, attempting to stand up, but Sam’s hand coming down heavy on your shoulder stopped you.
“No, you’re not. He’s just drunk, and jealous, Y/N. When he sobers up in the morning he’s going to feel horrible about the way he treated you tonight…”
“How the fuck can you know that Sam, he seemed pretty sure. Hell, a drunk man’s words are a sober man’s thoughts, right? He seemed pretty sure in his decision, and I doubt he will regret a word of it. Besides, that did not sound ‘jealous’ to me one bit. He sounded disgusted, and angry,” you cut in. stopping Sam from defending Dean again.
“Y/N, I know my brother better than he knows himself most of the time. He’s not angry. He’s hurting, and he’s jealous. He’s been crazy about you from the moment you moved in here, and you won’t even give him the time of day.”
You scoffed at Sam, rolling your eyes as you wiped the tears from your face harshly. Your heartfelt like it just wanted to stop beating, and you really didn’t feel like being led on by Sam, and given false hope that Dean had feelings for you at all that weren’t discussed just so you would stay.
“Sam, your brother does not like me. Period. How could he be jealous, or hurt, just because I do the same thing I’ve seen him do for years.”
Sam ran his hands through his hair and let out a long sigh.
“You really don’t see it, do you? Think about it Y/N, other than that one blonde a week ago, when was the last time you saw him take a girl home? That was the first one since you moved in almost four months ago.”
You search your brain, trying to remember. You hadn’t been paying that much attention. You thought because of all he’d been through he was just going through a dry spell, and when you heard him and that girl, you assumed he was getting back to his usual self.
Sure, you hated to see Dean with other women, but you weren’t dumb enough to ever think that you would even be on his radar.
“The only reason he brought that girl back to the hotel was that he got upset when he saw you with that bouncer who was about 10 years younger than him. It hurt his ego. He’d been buying you drinks all night, he’d even paid for a separate hotel room separate because he thought, just maybe you’d see how much he was into you, and go home with him.”
You look at Sam, your head full of doubt. Dean’s words were still ringing loudly in your head, and you wanted nothing more than to get away from here so that you could cry it out.
“Just let him sober up. If things are still tense in the morning, then you can take off to Jody’s for a few days. I know she wouldn’t mind, but if you are gone when he sobers up, and remembers what the fuck he did to you it’s gonna crush him.”
You let out a deep breath as you looked around the still dark Bunker with a heavy feeling in your chest. Your body started to feel exhausted as the adrenaline from your fight with Dean started to wane. You knew it was late, and if you left right now you’d never even make it to a hotel room. You were just that tired. You weren’t in the right mindset to drive, so you nodded your head in agreement. Walking to your room with your feet dragging, you fell face down your bed, and let the tears flow freely as your heart shattered into a thousand pieces. Dean’s voice is still louder than Sam’s in your head.
You had been in love with him since you were 16 years old. You even patterned your life after his. He was your hero. The man all girls dreamed about, and he hated you, and it was all your fault.
You were so upset that you didn’t hear Dean sobbing into his pillow in his room as you passed to head to yours, or see Sam go and sit outside of his brother’s door with his back to it, listening to his older brother, his rock, his best friend fall apart, all because he was too stubborn, and too hurt to tell the woman he was so deeply in love with just how he felt.
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Dean’s POV:
Dean rolled around in his bed with a groan, taking a deep breath through his nose in an effort to stave off the wave of nausea that seemed to hit him as soon as he woke up this morning. He could still taste the liquor, and the scent of it seemed to be seeping out of his every pore, making his weak stomach churn in protest.
He struggled to remember the last time he’d gotten that drunk, and honestly, it was all a bit foggy. It made his head hurt, so he stopped thinking, and pulled himself sluggishly to his feet. Stopping for only a moment to lean against his door.
Physically he felt like shit, but emotionally he was a wreck, worse than he’d been even with his mom had died, worse than he’d been when he lost John. His actions last night played over and over in front of his face like a broken record, and he didn’t want to face the fact that he’d run you out, and hurt you. The look on your face was stuck in his mind. Tears streaming down your face, complete with the utter terror of what he might do to you.
He didn’t realize what he was doing until Sam locked him in his room. It was like he was acting on autopilot and he couldn’t stop. All the bottled up emotions came rolling to the surface, and he never thought he’d snap like that. He’d never forgive himself.
Stumbling to the small sink in his room, he looked at himself in the mirror for the first time in days. His eyes were puffy and red with dark circles. His complexion was paler than he’d ever seen it, even when he had the mark. His cheeks even looked a little sunk in. Had he lost weight? He couldn’t remember the last time he’d eaten. He’d been too busy drinking.
Dean splashed his face with water, rubbing harshly as if he could wipe away what he’d done, even though he knew he never could. When he could stand up without holding onto something, he made his way slowly towards the kitchen, hoping if he could eat something and keep it down then the sick feeling would go away and he could figure out what he needed to do to fix what he’d broken. If he couldn’t fix it, well then it was time to check out, because he couldn’t live knowing he’d hurt you.
He was thinking a big game there, cause he knew he’d never be able to leave Sammy behind, but the hurt was that deep, and he’d be lying if he said he knew how to deal with this in a healthy way, and there was always the possibility that he drank himself to death. He was pretty sure he was on his way to doing just that.
As soon as his feet hit the kitchen floor, and he looked up he saw you and Sam sitting at the kitchen table with a cup of coffee in your hands. For just a moment no one spoke, and no one moved. You wouldn’t even look him in the eye this morning, instead of becoming very interested in your coffee cup.
Dean mumbled something that was meant to sound like ‘sorry’, but came out as just an incoherent noise as he turned on his heels to head back to his room, and give you space. The relief he felt that you were still here somehow diminished as soon as he saw the hurt look on your face.
“Dean, wait up a second,” Sam said, standing up from the table, and making his way towards Dean who even though he’d stopped in the hallway, he’d been unable to turn around and face you again.
“Come on Dean, we all need to have a talk about…”
“We don’t need to talk about shit Sam! I was a fucking asshole, and now Y/N can’t even look me in the eye! What is there left to talk about? This is my fucking fault!”
Sam had no argument there, and he knew it, so Dean shrugged away from his brother’s hand that was resting on his shoulder, and made his way to his room to start drinking again, because that’s all he seemed to be able to do right anymore.
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Your POV:
It was all you could do to stand rooted to the floor as you watched Dean stumble back down the hallway towards his room. You’d cried so much last night and this morning that you had nothing else left in you to cry. You didn’t think your heart could break more than it already was, but here you were, trying to catch your breath as Dean disappeared into his room, slamming the door behind him.
Sam turned to you, and let out a long sigh, shrugging and shaking his head before finally making eye contact with you.
“I can’t do this. The two of you are gonna have to work this out for yourselves. I know what he did last night was hurtful, and borderline abusive, but if you can’t see he’s hurting then you’re blind. I can’t make you talk to him, but I can tell you that if you let this fester then it’s just gonna get worse and worse. Dean thrives on self-loathing. You know it’s not just something he can forget. He’s gonna torture himself until there is nothing left.”
Sam brushed past you and into the kitchen without even giving you a chance to make your argument. Which at this point there was really no argument to make. You saw it yourself first hand just now. Dean looked terrible, and not just hungover. He’d cried so much that his eyes were almost swollen shut, and you had only seen Dean cry a handful of times.
You stood there for a long time staring in the direction of Dean’s room before your feet finally started to move. With every step you took towards his door, your hands were starting to shake, and your stomach twisted nervously.
There were several ways this could go. He could either slam the door in your face, ask you to leave, ignore you, or attack you. After last night you weren’t so sure about the last one, but he was sober this time. Hopefully, that was just a drunken mistake meant to scare you, and that’s all.
When you reached his door, you took a shaky breath already regretting the decision to talk to Dean, and you hadn’t even knocked on the door yet.
You hadn’t realized how much you cared about Dean until what happened between you last night. It was always just something you shoved down, and refused to acknowledge. Now it was all you could see. You had been in love with him from the moment he’d popped out of the backseat of what at the time was John Winchester’s Impala when you 16 years old.
You reached up to knock on the door, but before your hand could even make contact with it you heard the distinct sound of glass shattering. Panic twisted in your gut, overriding the nerves, and you shoved the door open to Dean’s room, your hunter instincts screaming something was horribly wrong, and you had to get to Dean.
When you saw him he was standing at the sink, surrounded by glass, watching the blood drip from his still clenched fist. His jaw was set in a hard line, and his eyes were distant as if he didn’t even really feel it.
“Dean,” you breathed out, and he turned to you slowly, looking at you, then down at the mess on the floor as well as his hand.
“Y/N, I… I’m sorry. I…” Dean bent down in an attempt to pick up the shattered glass, but you made your way over to him and stopped him, gently grabbing his hand and looking at the heavily bleeding wound. He didn’t stop you, just stood there with his eyes searching your face.
“Come on, let’s get you cleaned up. I’ll text Sam, and he can clean up the glass while I stitch up your hand and get this glass out of your knuckles.”
He didn’t fight you as you led him to the infirmary, and sat him down in one of the chairs. He never even flinched as you took tweezers to his knuckles to pull out the glass, or when you sterilized the wound before stitching up the large cut on the back of his hand. His eyes stayed on your face as you worked, and you could feel him watching you, but you had to concentrate on his hand in order to not hurt him further as you wrapped it carefully.
When you went to stand up to put away the medical supplies, Dean caught your hand with his good one, stopping you in your tracks as he stood to his feet in front of you.
His movements were slow. Like if he moved too fast he’d scare you. For some reason, even though a normal person would have been terrified after his behavior last night, you weren’t even remotely afraid of him.
You’d faced evil. You’d face monsters. He was none of that.
“Y/N, I know it probably doesn’t mean anything after the way I treated you last night, but I’m sorry. I let my emotions get in the way. I was drunk. I don’t know why I pushed you, but I should have never laid a hand on you. I just… It hurt so much knowing you were out with another guy like always, and that I would never be good enough for you, and… I’m sorry. I’ll mind my own business from now on.”
Dean turned to leave, but you grabbed his uninjured hand, stopping him in his tracks.
“Dean, stop running from me. You don’t get to say something like that, and then walk away, and go hide, or drink yourself to death! Who the fuck said you weren’t good enough for me? Cause that’s bullshit! Dean, if any one of us isn’t good enough it’s me! You’re a fucking hero! I’m just another hunter riding off the Winchesters. I probably should have left a long time ago. I’m sorry. I didn’t know you were even remotely interested in me. If I’d have known I would have never gone out with any of those other losers.”
Dean froze on the spot, his green eyes piercing your own as they could see into your soul. You knew Dean, you’d known Dean for years, and you knew if anyone was going to move first it had to be you. There was a time before he’d gone to Hell, become a fucking knight of hell, spent time in purgatory, and had person after person ripped away from him that he would have made the first move, but Dean was different. That cocky Winchester that strutted into Bobby’s house all those years ago for the first time, flirting with everyone that claimed to be a woman, died a long time ago, and you knew this was your only opportunity. If you fucked this up, there would be no other chance with him.
In a bold move that you were pretty sure if you had to do it twice you’d never have made it, you close the distance between the two of you, your lips meeting his as you stand on your tiptoes to reach him. At first, he stood there in a state of shock. It didn’t take him long to slip his good arm around you, pulling you closer to him, and deepening the kiss.
When the two of you finally broke away, you grabbed Dean by the hand and led him to your room. You text Sam when you got there, and asked him if he could clean up the glass in Dean’s room, letting him know you have him taken care of before slipping you both inside, and locking the door.
Dean guided the two of you over to the bed, and you both moved under the covers in the darkroom. The only light is the dim light that’s shining on your bedside table from the old lamp.
Sliding closer to him, you let Dean slip his arms around you before his lips find yours again in a kiss that almost feels scared. You brush your hands through his tousled hair as you wait for him to relax.
“I don’t know how to do this,” Deans said, his eyes searching you for any hint of hesitation.
This was a line the two of you had never crossed, and uncharted territory in the line of work the two of you did was a scary thing when it comes to people you care about. So much could happen. There were so many liabilities, but you couldn’t live without him, and he obviously had gotten to the point where he couldn’t live without you. So here you were.
“I’m scared to Dean, but I’m willing to try,” you tell him, placing your hand on the side of his face, and he leans into your touch, closing his eyes for a moment as he gathers his emotions. Trying to make sense of it all.
No, you weren’t supposed to have this, no, you weren’t supposed to have a happily ever after. This life was a bitch, and you were both far from perfect. Some of the shit you’d seen had affected you greatly, more than you ever wanted to admit to yourself. You couldn’t even imagine the scars that Dean carried that no one could see. He’d gone through, and lost so much more than you even know about. People tend to forget even the people that save the world hurt too.
The pain you’d caused to each other wouldn’t fade away overnight. It would take years of building trust again, and it would take time just being together, if you had that, you’d take whatever you had. In this life, tomorrow was definitely never promised.
Tonight though, a little bit of the loneliness disappeared as clothes started to hit the floor. As his mouth explored your own, before tentatively wondering it’s way over your body. As your hands explored his body, running over every visible mark on his skin, leaving little goosebumps in their wake. As he slid himself inside of you, two marred and twisted souls became one. . That piece of the puzzled you’d been missing all your life finally fitting together.
The moving, pressing, touching, the rise and fall as your bodies drove each other slowly towards what can only be described as pure ecstasy, something you’d ever experienced with anyone you’d ever been with, because there was love there, where before there was nothing but avoid. Two scared and wounded hearts beat as one for the first time. It was going to be a slow, and careful thing. Fragile. As you fell asleep wrapped in each other’s arms, you were confident if you died right then at that moment, it was as close to heaven as you’d ever get. You’d get there together, however long you had, because now there was nothing left in the way. He was yours, and you were his, and that’s the way it was always going to be.
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