"There's a cop car outside." Sam's serious voice cut through the rush of music that filled the Impala. Dean stopped his rhythmic tapping on the wheel at once, the firm hits a distraction from his racing thoughts. He should be focusing on the case; that's what she had told him to do.
"You think it's for us?" he asked tentatively, gauging his brother's reaction over the phone speaker.
"I don't know."
"I don't see how. I mean, we ditched the plates, the credit cards."
A relieved exhale left Sam's lips, followed by the sound of rustling fabric. "They're gone. False alarm."
Dean's heart thundered, an even beat but one much rougher than normal. "See? Nothing to worry about." His thinly veiled worry betrayed him, the tight press of his lips and furrow of his brows showing his concern. They were having too many close calls, and having the FBI after them certainly didn't help.
"Yeah, being fugitives? Fuckin' dance party." Dean chuckled at that, resuming his tapping. His mind wandered once more back to the phone call only a few days beforehand. 'Don't come after me. It's not safe.'
"So you got anything?" Sam interrupted his thoughts once again. Dean jolted, taking several seconds to process his brother's words.
"Are you kidding me? How could I? You got me sifting through like 50 square miles of real estate here," Dean grumbled, running low on fumes. It had been a long night, and even longer since he'd had a break. When was the last time he ate?
"Well, that's where all the victims disappeared."
"Yeah, and I got diddly-squat. What about you?"
"Just one thing. I'm pretty sure we're hunting a Djinn."
Dean exhaled sharply, his grip on the wheel tightening. "A frickin' genie? You don't think those things can actually grant wishes, do you?"
"I don't know. I guess they're powerful enough. But not exactly like Barbara Eden in harem pants. I mean, Djinn have been feeding off people for centuries. They're all over the Koran." Sam paused, the sound of flipping pages echoing through the seeker. "They usually lair up in ruins. The bigger the better - the more places to hide."
Dean's eyes lit up like a tree on Christmas, realization hitting him. "I think I saw a place a few miles back. 'M sure it's nothing, but it's worth checking out." The wheel twisted under his palms as he yanked the car into a sharp u-turn, the tires squealing in protest.
"Wait, wait, Dean come pick me up first-" The panic in Sam's voice ended as soon as Dean ended the call. His brother's voice was replaced instead with the dull tone of the old radio, clicking metallicly every few seconds.
Maybe it was his anxiety that sent him headfirst into a potentially dangerous situation. His rampant thoughts drove him straight into his work, his only escape from his worries. He worried about her, if she was safe, where she was. She had sounded... exhausted over the phone. Exhausted and scared.
A chill ran up his spine. He had rarely ever seen her like that; she was often so collected, or at least she appeared to be. A constant worrier, yes, but one that acted on her worries rather than complaining about them. He just hoped she was acting carefully now.
It took everything in him to not trace the payphone she had called from and track her down. But that wasn't what she wanted. She wanted him to stay away. To him, it seemed as if that's all she wanted lately. It hurt every time she flinched away from his touch or ignored his witty banter.
A decrepit building alone on the side of the road rose into view. It appeared to be an old warehouse, not far from the nearby city, and nestled into the surrounding scenery away from prying eyes. In his eagerness, Dean nearly forgot to pull the key from the ignition.
He grumbled as he dug through his weapons bag. They were low on lamb's blood, part of what was needed to kill a Djinn. They had enough for one of his smaller silver daggers, but he needed to make this count.
The whole building seemed to rock with each step he took. Water dripped endlessly, plunking into puddles littering the concrete floors or occasionally on his jacket and skin. He moved easily into each room, his steps making hardly any noise in the echoing, metal-coated rooms.
At the sound of soft footsteps, Dean froze. As far as he had been able to tell, he was alone in here. There was no sign of a Djinn or any of its victims, but maybe... maybe he had missed something. He twisted the hilt of the blade in his palm, holding the length of the dull edge against his forearm.
Dean hardly had a chance to step into the next corridor before he was thrown against a wire-fenced wall. A chilly hand grabbed his wrist and pinned it to the wall, twisting it, sharp nails digging into his flesh. Dean shouted, scrabbling at the pale hand, decorated with intricate blue and swirling tattoos.
The muscles in his arm contracted and then promptly released, his hand falling open and the knife clattering to the ground. In a flash he reached for the Djinn's wrist, its open palm rising and swirling with blue. A soft glow filled the room as he struggled to push the thing away, warmth brushing in tendrils against the skin of Dean's forehead.
A flash of blue and the chill of a palm against his face is all Dean saw before his eyes rolled up into his head, the world going dark.
---
Six days.
For nearly a week Booth had been stuck in this hell hole. They had hardly fed him, occasionally giving him bread or dried meat. More than once he had been offered human hearts to satiate his hunger. His stomach growled each time it was offered but he always turned it away.
Gina had been his primary caretaker, although there were sometimes others that were forced to offer him some relief. He had learned quickly how turned skinwalkers were treated there - it wasn't well, treated more as low-born workers than people. He'd seen turned skinwalkers covered in scars left by silver, bruises littering their skin, and some of the most violent turning wounds Booth had ever seen.
It seemed like the hazel-eyed alpha was building an army, collecting packs, or making new skinwalkers of his own.
Booth huffed and leaned his head back against the tree he was chained to, shutting his eyes tightly as he searched for the newfound connection to his family. For what felt like the umpteenth time, he felt nothing. He was in the dark, and as each day passed he grew more and more nervous as to what that might mean.
The camp was relatively empty now, moving constantly and searching for what he assumed to be his pack. The alpha was rarely around, but when he was he was angry, rabid. Frustrated. Booth heard him in his tent late at night, arguing with a silent presence.
When he wasn't around, one of his betas was. The husky was a wiry woman, broad-shouldered and muscular. Her hair matched that of her coat, coarse and gray. It looked like a mane, thick and plaited, twisted into dreadlocks in some parts, braids in others. She was always followed by at least two younger women at all times, although Booth had seen her with as many as five. Daughters, maybe.
The wolf-dog - Booth thought his name was Jeremiah - was quieter, far more analytical than his companions. He was slow-moving and calculating. While his alpha was a sinister presence, his guise of intelligence slipped with his frustration. The wolf-dog's stare was always level, always keen and cunning. He was tall and slender, with dark eyes and skin that fit well with his furred form. His hair was graying at his temples.
Booth opened his eyes at the sound of raised voices. He glanced around, eyes scanning up and down the camp of crudely made buildings that could dismantle at a moment's notice. His eyes settled on a shadowed pair, standing closely together beside the fire pit. Booth scowled, recognizing the first man as Jeremiah, but the other...
The other was a tall man that Booth had never seen before. His lips were twisted in a wry grin, eyes blown wide to reveal an unusual color, not dissimilar from his alpha's warm gold. He sported a heavy coat and layers beneath, but he didn't seem to mind the sweltering heat of the day. His presence drove a shiver down Booth's spine. The man's yellow eyes flicked to Booth as Jeremiah continued to lecture.
The foreign man pushed past Jeremiah and sauntered towards Booth, the skinwalker sputtering out the last of his sentence as the man went, hurrying to catch up. The closer the man drew the farther back Booth leaned, crushing his back into the tree. The man smelled strange, a mix of copper, like blood, and... Booth's eyes widened.
Sulfur.
"I was expecting a bit... more than a scruffy mutt when you called me here," the demon spoke with a wide smirk, crouching in front of Booth. "How does one bastard prove Brax's worth?" he questioned, the tip of his tongue brushing against his lip as he watched Booth with curiosity.
"There's more-" Jeremiah started, his voice cracking with nerves. He cleared his throat and straightened his back, collecting himself. "There's a whole pack - more to add to ours, or at least make an example of. Their alpha, she's made a name for herself. Braxton's out hunting her now."
"A name for herself? Who-"
"The Black Dog, sir."
The demon's brows raised, lips splitting into an excited grin. He looked delighted, his skin stretching in almost a grotesque and clearly inhuman way. Every muscle in Booth's body tensed at the sight. "The- Dear old Brax is going to fight her? The hunter?" he laughed and stood to his full height, just below eye level with Jeremiah. "That is a fight I'd pay to see - our good boy squaring off with that bitch." He cackled and shook his head.
The demon leaned forward to meet Booth's eyes, holding his steady blue gaze. "I envy you - you get to see what a real challenge looks like. The blood, gore. The excitement," he teased with a wiggle of his brows. Booth grimaced. "He's going to eat her alive."
The demon turned from Booth and motioned for Jeremiah to follow him. He traipsed across the camp, a skip in his step, his joyful words carrying back to Booth. "C'mon now, I want to see what progress you sorry lot have made."
Booth held his breath as the pair walked off, nervous eyes following their every step. What plan did they have? What progress? He breathed an audible sigh of relief the moment the pair disappeared behind a row of tents.
It wasn't long after that Gina crouched in front of him with a bottle of water in hand and an apologetic look on her soft features. She was always apologizing - Booth wondered who had made her feel she had to watch her words. She deserved better than that. She was the only kind one here - a lifeboat in a sea of hatred.
"I can't stay here," he pled for what felt like the thousandth time. She pulled her lower lip between her teeth, his eyes following the movement. She shook her head as if clearing his words from her mind. "I can take you with me - I can keep you safe. You and the kids."
"Not in the condition you're in," she argued, the same argument as every time he brought it up. "They'll kill us. I can't risk their safety." Her eyes flicked to her tent, not far from Booth's tree. Inside was Aniyah, hiding from the ruckus of the camp. He wasn't sure where Isaiah was. He had only seen the boy once in passing, trotting along with a group of other young boys - he couldn't have been more than five, and was rarely seen with his mother.
Booth learned quickly how segregated things were in this pack. Their alpha treated first and second-generation skinwalkers with high respect; they were stronger, and faster than turned skinwalkers. But, any that refused to join his pack was swiftly dealt with. He had no desire to let a powerful monster run rampant unless they ran rampant beneath his status.
Isaiah was first-generation. Booth could practically smell it on him, see it in the way he walked or the way his eyes glimmered when he played with the other boys. He had yet to have his first shift, but Booth knew he would be more powerful than his family.
He wondered who Isaiah's father was.
"If you can get me out of here, I can keep us safe. Tuck all four of us away somewhere until everything blows over-" he was cut off by a shake of her head.
Gina set the water aside and lifted her hands to cup either side of his face. The callouses on her palms were unexpected, but not unwelcome - clearly, she wasn't as soft as he thought. "The moment we set foot outside of this camp, we would be killed," she argued, voice firm and unwavering. He watched her brow creased with tension. "You're a good man, Booth. I hope that after this is over... we can find a way to be friends."
Booth swallowed dryly, his own brows furrowing. "When what's over?"
She drew her lip between her teeth again and her palms slipped from his cheeks, her nails teasing his beard. She lifted the water bottle and uncapped it, offering it to him slowly. "He's preparing for war. That man Jeremiah was with..." she huffed out a frustrated breath. "Braxton has offered his services to that vile... thing. Wants to prove his worth to some cheap God. It's all in his head I think, but it's frightening."
Gina inhaled shakily and withdrew the now mostly empty bottle, and sat back on her heels, palms on her thighs. "If you had seen some of the things he's done. Hunting humans when that demon orders it. He doesn't kill them, I don't think - but they disappear. And then a few weeks later another goes missing. It's dirty work but... he wants to prove himself as... I don't know."
"A god?" Booth offered with narrowed eyes. This alpha seemed like the type. He wanted - needed to be the greatest. Booth wondered if it was his own ambition or that of his god. Gina shrugged and he took it as all the answers he needed. There was only so much she knew, and even less that he'd be able to pry from her.
She was afraid. Most of them were.
---
When Dean opened his eyes again he found himself in a familiar room, his memories of it hazy and foreign compared to the real thing. The wallpaper matched his memory, although more detailed and colorful than what he always pictured. The staircase he stood in front of was always charred in his memories, the banister splintering and burnt.
"What the..." he mumbled out and glanced down. His clothes were not the same, instead replaced with a simple fleece and flannel combination. He had a case of beer in either hand, a stark contrast to the knife that had been there moments before. A glimmer of light caught his attention and he lifted his hand to inspect the thick metal ring on one finger. His ring finger.
"You're here early," called a sweet voice from the kitchen. Dean's head perked up immediately, his eyes widening at the soft tone that he hadn't heard in years. Blond locks peaked around the corner, separating the kitchen from the living room and entryway.
"Mom?" he murmured softly, bewildered and struggling to hide the welling of tears in his eyes. No way this was real - Mary was dead.
"Here, let me take those," she chirped, slipping her hands into the handholds of the beer cases. He let them go easily, his fingers uncurling slowly as he watched her in shock. "Sam and Jessica are upstairs unpacking," she offered with a nod of her head that way. Dean flinched as she turned her back on him and made her way back to the kitchen.
The moment he felt as though he could finally move again, Dean rushed into the kitchen. He watched his mother from afar, humming a familiar tune and swaying as she prepared a rather large meal. He stared slack-jawed, shocked into silence.
"Is-" he began, his voice cutting out. Mary paused and turned to face him, a smile gracing her lips. "Is this real?"
She tilted her head, puzzled. "Is what real Dean?"
"This- All of this. I- You?"
"Am I real? Dean what-" Mary paused and placed her hands on her hips, a slight scowl on her thin lips. "You've already been drinking, haven't you?"
"No- No, I haven't been..." Dean cleared his throat and dropped his gaze for just a moment before meeting Mary's eyes once more, disbelief welling up inside him. "Let me ask you a question. When I was a kid, what did you always tell me when you put me to bed?"
"Dean I don't understand-"
"Just answer the question."
Mary cocked her head to the side and pursed her lips; she wasn't sure why Dean was asking her this, especially now of all times. "I told you angels were watching over you."
Dean inhaled shakily and took a step closer. It was her, she was alive - he reached out his arms slightly, about to draw her into a hug when the front door slammed, followed by a cacophony of swears.
"Winchester!" a familiar voice shouted, the pair jumping in fright at the sudden intrusion. "I thought I told you to get the casserole! You're lucky I have a built-in shelf..." she grumbled out the last bit, shuffling through the front door.
Dean froze, his eyes widening and jaw falling slack once more. He spun on his heels and dashed around the corner, nearly barreling into the very person he had been wanting to see for days now. He gripped her shoulders tightly, her bright eyes meeting his and a cocky smirk lacing her lips.
"Y/N you're - you're OK. Where have you- You're-" His gaze dropped from her eyes to the loose green dress that blanketed her figure, her thin fingers curled around the handholds of a casserole that she had supported against her body. Her hair was shorter, cleaner, and styled in a way he had never seen it. His eyes lingered on the dress - he'd never seen her in one of those. But why was it so loose-?
"You're... pregnant..?" he wheezed out, his throat closing as his eyes remained glued on the significant baby bump, partially supporting the casserole dish. Y/N scoffed and rolled her eyes, brushing past him in a way that was far more affectionate than he was used to.
"I wonder who's fault that is," she teased, a cocky smirk blossoming on her lips. The casserole slipped from her fingers, hitting the dining table with a soft plop. She huffed out a sigh and turned to Mary, arms extended wide. "Happy birthday, Mary!" she cheered, drawing Dean's mother in for a hug.
A ring on Y/N's finger glimmered in the kitchen light, one thinner but matching Dean's. He glanced down at his own hand, processing her earlier words. 'Wonder who's fault that is'...
"I'm so sorry dad couldn't be here, but you know how work gets," Y/N continued, gripping Mary's hands tightly in her own. "But, he should be flying down in the next week or so. Wants to be here for when these bastards finally decide to make an appearance," she joked, placing her ringed hand over her swollen belly.
Mary laughed and put her own hand atop Y/N's. "Tell him not to worry about it, dear," she reassured, placing an affectionate hand on her cheek. "I'm sure you three will have your hands full soon."
"Our hands are full enough already," Y/N exclaimed, sauntering towards Dean on wobbly knees. One hand wrapped around his arm while the other intertwined her fingers with his. He stared down at her in shock. "You would not believe how long it took to put together just one of the cribs, Mary. We haven't even started on the second."
"Second?" Dean wheezed out, his voice catching. He felt overwhelmed - was this a dream? It had to be, there was no way this was real. His throat squeezed and he swallowed dryly. Part of him wished this was real.
"Don't tell me you already forgot about the twins, Dean," an unfamiliar voice teased from the stairs. He whipped to face Sam and a stunning blonde who he had only seen once before.
"Jessica?" he called, blinking rapidly at her. "I- No, of course not," he chuckled nervously, casting a glance towards Y/N who waved to the pair. "How could I forget about the- the twins?"
"Have you guys got names picked yet?" Sam questioned, leaning against the doorway as Jessica made her way to Y/N, pulling her into a tight hug - or as tight as it could get with a baby bump in the way.
"We have some ideas, but we figured we'd wait on a final decision."
Dean was floored by the look of utter excitement in her eyes. He had rarely seen her look that way, only able to name a few times that she had looked so... happy. It made his heart skip a beat. She was looking at him like that. He made her happy.
"Why don't you tell us all about it after supper?" Mary offered, gesturing to the already set table. She had her most delicate silverware out - it struck Dean that this was more than just an ordinary family get-together. He frowned at the number of plates around the table. There were only five.
"Where's dad going to sit?" he wondered aloud. The room fell silent, shocked eyes on him. He glanced between his family members, wondering just what he had said to warrant such appalled looks.
"You're kidding right?" Sam spat, wrapping an arm around Jess' waist as he guided her to the table. "Can't you avoid being an ass for one night?" Dean flinched and furrowed his brows as the pair sat. Y/N squeezed her hand tightly around his and cleared her throat before dragging him to his seat.
The dinner was quiet at first, idle small talk passing from their lips, answered with a soft reply or a hum. Dean settled in slowly, cracking the occasional joke or joining in with the conversations. This reality seemed... peaceful. Sam and Jessica were both in college, graduating soon and quite happy with their lives in California. Mom was alive and well, quite happy and living out her retirement. And Dean was... he was married, of all things.
Dean had quickly learned that his father had passed a few years prior, dying in his sleep from a stroke. He had accidentally voiced his pleasure over the information and quickly backtracked as everyone glanced at him with wide eyes. He was happy that his father had lived a normal life and died a normal death. It was what John had always deserved.
Without realizing it he found himself linking his fingers with Y/N's beneath the table, gently running his thumb over the back of her hand. It was such a natural thing to do that he hadn't realized it at first. When he did, he nearly withdrew his hand, but something stopped him. Perhaps it was the idea that here, he could. If this were reality, he wasn't sure how she would respond.
He inhaled shakily and gave her hand an affectionate squeeze. She turned to him with a sweet smile, one full of love. He wasn't used to someone looking at him like that like he was everything to them. His cheeks were dusted with pink.
"I gotta say, I love your mom's cooking," Y/N leaned in to whisper in his ear, Dean's cheeks only growing hotter at the breathy sound. "But God am I craving a cheeseburger right now." Dean laughed, pressing his forehead to the top of hers.
"I can get behind that," he teased. She grinned and pressed a quick kiss to the corner of his mouth, earning a sudden exhale from Dean. For the first time in a long time, he had butterflies - he wasn't sure if it was from elation or anxiety.
"So," Sam began, the table falling silent. His lips twitched up into a soft smile as he met Jess' gaze. "Jess and I actually have a surprise for Mom's birthday..." he trailed off and lifted their clasped hands, showing off a ring on her finger.
The whole table cheered, a wide grin plastered to Dean's face. Congratulations filled the room as the group stood to hug the happy couple. This was exactly the reality Sam deserved. A life away from hunting, where Jessica was still alive and they were happy together. This was what he had wanted for his brother since he had dragged him back into the life.
It was another couple of hours after that they finally decided to call it a night. The beers were mostly gone now, Y/N being the only one who had chosen not to indulge in one, for obvious reasons. Dean had relaxed into this reality, an arm slung around her shoulder as she huddled into his side on the couch.
She was colder than usual. Her body heat was normally higher than any human's, something he had noticed the few times they had shared a bed. He had first noticed it so many months ago on the Benders case, the warmth of her body a consolation when Sam had been kidnapped. She relaxed him, a comforting presence by his side.
It was strange to have her against him like this - not just because it was unusual for the pair, but because she was so cold. It was clear that in this reality she was human. They lived a normal life together, without a pack or hunting. It was strange, to say the least.
She swatted his chest softly and sat up, brushing her skirt down over her knees before standing. "We should really be turning in soon," she spoke, giggling at the pout that adorned Dean's lips. "Wouldn't want to hold you all up too much longer - we've got a long day of baby room furnishing tomorrow anyway." Dean groaned at that.
"C'mon, it's only-" he checked the clock over the fireplace, "- nine o'clock. Let's have another drink."
"She's right, Dean," Sam answered, pulling himself slowly from his chair. "It's getting late, Jess and I are about ready to turn in. We had a long day."
"Come on man, let's celebrate! We've both got beautiful women on our arms, you're engaged - we've got plenty to celebrate."
Sam paused to stare down at Dean, jaw tight with obvious annoyance. He dipped his head and uncurled his fists. "Guys, will you excuse us for a sec? I'd like to talk to my brother." The girls hesitated for a moment before leaving the room, hushed murmurs between them. Dean cast one last glance over his shoulder at Y/N before rising from the sofa.
"OK, what's gotten into you? This whole warm and fuzzy thing, it's not normal for you," Sam began as soon as the women were out of earshot, his jaw tense and eyes narrowed.
Dean frowned, puzzled. "I'm just happy for you, Sammy. I mean, it's not every day you get engaged."
"That's another thing - since when do you call me Sammy? Dean, come on. We don't talk outside of holidays."
"We don't? Well, we should. I mean, you're my brother."
"Your brother? You know, that's what you said when you snaked my ATM card, or when you bailed on my graduation, or when you hooked up with Rachel Nave. My prom date. On prom night." Sam was seething now, arms folded over his chest as he glowered at Dean.
So this reality wasn't totally perfect after all.
"Look, that's alright man, I-I just..." Sam trailed off, holding his hands up as if to say 'no worries.' "You know I'm not asking you to change. I-I just, uh... I don't know, I guess we just don't really have anything in common. You know?"
Dean stared at him in shock, jaw slack and green eyes wide. Nothing in common? They had plenty. They had... they had hunting... Dean frowned and tipped his face towards the ground, wracking his memory for anything else the brothers shared. Sam sighed and placed a comforting hand on his shoulder.
"I'm sorry, man. Just... I don't think there's any fixing things now. We're just... too different." He mumbled out apologetically. Dean remained silent. Sam's hand slipped from his shoulder and he walked slowly from the room. Murmured voices filled Dean's ears, though he didn't quite pick up on what they said.
What did they have in common?
A hand slipped into his own, threading their fingers. A cool ring pressed against the skin of his palm while Y/N's other reached into his pocket, wordlessly withdrawing his keys. "Let's head home," she offered quietly. "I'll drive."
Dean didn't pay much attention to the drive home, too buried in his thoughts. He vaguely remembered noting the white picket fence at the edge of the front lawn. He nearly chuckled at that - it really was an apple pie life.
Y/N had mentioned something about changing when they made it through the front door, her coat tossed lazily on the back of the couch. The entryway opened right into the living room, one wall decorated with a fireplace and built-in shelves, separating the space from the dining room. It was far more spacious than her little ranch-style loft home.
Dean wandered his way into the living room, eyes scanning the shelves. Rows of pictures and trinkets had his mind spinning, hints as to what his fictional life was like. Photos of them together at a beach - he had never been to a beach before. There were several photos dedicated to his parents, a photo of them together with Sam and Dean, a photo of a fishing trip... he had never really been fishing before either, aside from the occasional time with Bobby.
His eyes met a trio of framed photos, each of Y/N and a man that Dean recognized from a few old photos littered around her home - her real home. The kind eyes and reddish beard were unmistakable. Her uncle, Dennis.
The first photo was of the pair together, Y/N much younger, and displaying a certificate proudly in front of her. Dean narrowed his eyes, trying to gauge what the paper was, hard to read in the grainy photograph. It looked like... adoption paperwork? No wonder they looked nothing alike. Dean had always wondered if Y/N's mother or her uncle was adopted - they didn't look related at all from the pictures he had seen of them.
The second photo was of a graduation. To his surprise, Dean was in this one, his arm around her waist while Dennis had a hand on her shoulder and a proud smile on his lips. She clutched her diploma tightly in one hand, a graduation cap and gown loose on her form.
The third and final photo of the pair together was the most shocking to Dean. He had known of course that in this reality they were - he swallowed dryly - married. But to actually see her in a dress, a bouquet of lilies and pink roses in hand was... it shook him. There was something about the photo that left him with a yearning in the pit of his stomach. Maybe it was because this was a piece of the apple pie life he craved, or maybe... maybe it was because of her.
"Why're you looking at those old things?" Y/N called out. Dean whipped to face her, his eyes taking in a baggy Led Zeppelin t-shirt and shorts. His cheeks flushed.
"They're not old," he protested, lifting a wedding photo from its place on the shelf. "We've only been married..."
"Two years," she replied, wrapping her arms around his waist and peering over his shoulder. "Three in August."
"Three in August. Right."
"Are you sure you're feeling alright? You've been acting strange since we got to your mom's place," she questioned, peering up at him with inquisitive eyes. "Everything went alright at the shop today, right?"
"The shop?"
She rolled her eyes and slipped her hand into his, dragging him towards the couch. She pushed him playfully, his knees knocking against the couch and forcing him down. She flopped beside him, folding one leg beneath her, and leaned one arm on the back of the couch. "Yes, Dean, the shop. Where you work. Now tell me what's on your mind."
Dean averted his gaze, staring at his hands clasped tightly in his lap. His thoughts were racing, and her presence beside him wasn't helping. He had been worried out of his mind, but begrudgingly followed her orders when she had called. Stay put, she would come find him. And yet days had gone by of complete radio silence. No answer when he called her packmates, or when he called her house. Was the real Y/N even still alive?
"Sam and I... we don't get along," he finally settled on, jaw tight as he mulled over his words. He couldn't talk to her about everything that was on his mind, but he could tell her this. "I thought we had more in common. But, I guess not..." Dean trailed off, puzzled.
Y/N sighed and pursed her lips, watching Dean's lips tilt into a frown and his brows furrow. Without warning, she swung one leg over him and straddled his lap with a soft plop. He let out a surprised exhale, staring at her with wide eyes.
"This was so much easier seven months ago..." she grumbled and placed a hand on her baby bump, resting mostly against his lower thighs. "Look, I think you and Sam just don't know each other that well. It's been a long time since you guys have had an entirely positive interaction." Dean hummed quietly in response, his hands tentatively finding her hips. "For the record, he doesn't know what he's missing."
She pressed her forehead to his in a comforting display. "I could fix things with him," Dean continued, rambling as his thoughts poured out. His hands rose from her hips to her lower back, pulling her in closer. It felt... right, despite how wrong it should've been. "I can make it up to him - to everyone."
"There's nothing for you to make up for, Dean," she murmured, pulling away and placing a hand on his cheek. "Some people just... don't click."
Dean huffed and wrapped one hand around her wrist, pressing a soft kiss to her palm. For once, he didn't think much about the affectionate display. "This isn't going to make a lick of sense to you, but... I feel like I've been given a second chance. With mom. With you. Like maybe this time I can get it right."
"You're right, that doesn't make any sense-"
He didn't think much about it before he pressed his lips to hers. It was feather-light, a ghost of a touch. Gauging her response. She smiled softly against his lips and kissed back. He was sure he felt his heart skip a beat when her nails dragged lightly through his hair. His hands tightened on her waist.
When she finally pulled away, he felt like he was drowning. That kiss had been his first breath of fresh air, and now his lungs were collapsing again, falling beneath the surface. He didn't waste any time, chasing her lips again. He was kissing his best friend, and for some reason, he didn't care. Or maybe he cared too much.
When they broke for air he buried his face in the crook of her neck and drew her as close to him as she could get. He stayed silent for several long moments, listening to her breathing, her fingers carding through his short hair. He wrapped his arms tightly around her waist when he finally had the courage to speak.
"I... I think I love you," he murmured into her neck, his cheeks and ears flushing with nervousness.
"I would hope so," she teased. "You did marry me."
He hummed at that, taking her ringed hand in his. "Yeah. Yeah, I guess I did." He spun the ring on her finger and lifted his head to meet her eyes. "Best decision I ever made," he said with a wide grin. She rolled her eyes and pressed another quick kiss to his lips before standing on wobbly knees. He frowned slightly in disappointment.
"As much as I'd like to continue this, I have the early shift," she spoke with a pout, an apologetic look on her face. "I should probably head to bed. Are you coming?"
Dean pondered it for a moment before shaking his head. "I'll be there in a minute."
Y/N nodded and leaned forward to press another lingering kiss to his lips. He had half a mind to keep her there but chose to keep his hands in place. She was right, it was late. He could wait until the morning.
Despite the extra weight that the twins provided, she padded near noiselessly across the room. What Dean assumed was their bedroom door creaked, blanketing her in shadow as she stepped inside. She paused in the doorway and turned back towards him with a soft smile. "Good night, Dean. I love you."
The words jarred him so much that he didn't even think to respond before she shut the door with a soft click, leaving him alone in a foreign house with his thoughts. He missed her presence by his side almost immediately. He missed the heat of her body, the teasing lilt in her voice, and the way her eyes flecked with gold when wild emotions rose in her. He missed her and didn't know where to begin with not missing her, if that was even possible.
"I love you too," he muttered quietly into the dark.
6493 words.
Pain. Agony even.
Edited 05/18/22.