Chapter Text
Later that night, the house had gone quiet, except for the wind pushing against the shutters. He wandered the halls like a ghost, thoughts louder than his footsteps. Sam had already passed out, half-buried in witchy books he wasn’t supposed to read unsupervised. And him? He found you out back again. Same railing. Same cigarette, same sky. You didn’t look up, but he knew you knew he was there.
“You’re here” You said softly.
“Yeah”
“After that weird ass stunt of yours earlier… Didn’t think you would be”
“Me neither” He huffed, half panicking “Which one are you talking about? I can think of at least three”
He stepped up beside you. The stars stretched endless above, wide as the ache in his chest. You took a drag, and handed him the cigarette. He normally didn't smoke, but his lungs had already felt heavy, so he accepted the offer. Your fingers brushed his. That stupid electric feeling again. He took a puff, exhaled.
“The marry me thing, that's one. The not trying anything funny later in the kitchen? Well… That's a new level of weirdeness… I might think you're developing a character, Dean…”
He tried thinking of a snappy remark, anything funny or dismissive to say. Believe him, he did. But nothing came out. He just continued staring into the darkness, scanning the patches of sands in the pale moonlight. He finally took a breath.
“We decided to stay…” He started off topic.
“I know”
“It’s not just the hunt I'm running after... Not anymore”
“No?”
You turned to him then, searching his eyes. You were so close… Close enough that he could see the flecks of gold in your eyes, and feel the slight tremble in your breath. You were filling the blanks in his words with that pained expression of yours. Confirming and making sure you got it right. Beautiful and suspicious. Like no one ever stood their ground around you, like you've been hurt too many times before, and now you needed to truly know who's in front of you. It's like you had this alter ego… A cold, steady, warrior by day… And soft, caring, open like the sea at night. He wanted to know you whole. He wanted for it to be easy. You deserved something to be sure of, he was just so new to this damn emotional shit… He couldn't give it to you just yet. You looked at one another for a long time, the desert holding its breath. He finally spoke.
“It’s also kinda hard to say goodbye to this crazy-good food you're making”
“That’s the line you’re going with?” You snorted, tensing right back up.
“No… No, wait, scratch that" He was rambling now, flustered and trying real hard to go back to the sincerity you opened in him, so vast it hurt.
"I’m just sayin’... You didn’t clock me in the jaw the second I got here to talk… And ever since we met, we had this weird thing going on where…” He trailed off, feeling lost.
You dropped your eyes to the floor in understanding, smiling slightly and huffing air like it didn't belong in your lungs.
“Where we don't know shit about anything but pretend like we do?” You offered, and that smile looked so sad he wanted to kiss it and make it disappear.
He had to push the thought deep into the pits of his stomach, because you already caught his eyes moving ever so slightly to your lips and back. You were sharp like them talking crows. Following his every movement with hitched breaths and quickened heartbeat. Man, he wanted to joke. He wanted to crack something about commitment or how he was allergic to feelings. But the words dried up in his throat like the desert all around.
“I don’t wanna screw this up” He finally said “Not with you”
And it came out quiet. Real. You narrowed your eyes, he could already see through the guarding walls that surrounded your beautiful heart. Up… Down… Up again.
“Then stop using cheap lines. You’re not gonna flirt your way into my bed, Dean”
“Yeah… I figured. But maybe I could fight my way into your trust” He held your gaze.
That one landed. You didn’t smile, but something in you shifted. The edge to your spine softened in the dim light. You let the silence settle like a warm blanket. The kind you only get when the war was over and you survived.
“I’ve been alone for a long time” He added.
“Even with Sam, even with all the crap we’ve been through… This job, it don’t leave much room for roots. Or peace. Or… Anything that feels like home”
You looked up at the stars, then back at him.
“This place? This coven? It is my home. My roots. My peace. And I don’t let just anyone stay here. I want you to know that”
He looked at the front porch, the creaky screen door, the dim lights flickering behind dusty windows. He saw your brother asleep on a bench, your sister curled up with a spellbook half-open in her lap. It was far from perfect, his whole life ached with loss and the whispers of the dead, he did not even consider the possibility of a fresh start, but then… He looked at you. Wild, brilliant, covered in scars and sand and stubbornness. And for the first time in a long while, he wanted to stay. Not because he had to. Because he wanted to. It
“I’m not just passing through” He said “Not this time”
You nodded once, solemn.
“Good. Because if you were, I’d have to kick your ass”
“I’d let you” He smirked.
“I know”
You sat there for a bit, the small distance between you buzzing with warmth and expectation. You didn’t even touch. You were just… There, bathed in moonlight and everything unsaid. Two people with blood on their hands, finally taking a breath through lungs that feel a little bit lighter. Just a little. Recalibrating, processing the flow of information. Maybe it wasn’t love. Not yet. But damn if it didn’t feel like the beginning of something he was aching for.
—
The next morning started creeping around the corner, stealing the hours of sleep he didn't really get to have. Desert sunlight poured through the windows, throwing long streaks of golden warmth across the wooden floor. Somewhere, a kettle whistled. Someone, probably your brother, was already outside talking to the herbs like they were old gods. And him? He was pacing. Pacing like a damn animal stuck in a trap he built himself. The words still echoed in his skull from last night. The conversation you had, the revelations, the truth so undoing it hurt to believe it came out of his very own mouth. It was as if a part of him refused to believe he was a human being, capable of romance. He never faced this kind of ache… Like his mind was a weapon that replayed snippets of interactions with the goal of humiliating him to his core.
“Marry me”
It’d been a joke. A reflex. The kind of thing he'd said a thousand times with a wink and a smirk to someone he'd forget by morning. But this time? This time it came out... Real. No… That's insane… You met like two days ago… And yet, it was real enough that you froze. Real enough that he saw your pulse jump, that little inhale like you just got punched in the gut by your own feelings. And now? After the open heart to heart revealing that there might actually be something here… He was a man caught in his own snare. So he stomped. He walked around your house like a Frankenstein monster in a leather jacket, looking for things to fix, move, touch, anything but sit still and feel the very, very real mess brewing in his chest. Sam clocked it immediately. Bastard didn’t even try to hide his smirk.
“You okay there, Dean?” He said, sipping tea like he was in some Jane Austen novel.
“Fine” He grunted, hauling a box of iron nails and protective sigils like it personally offended him.
“You organizing the salt rounds by color?”
“It’s strategic placement”
“Strategically placing them in a rainbow”
“Don’t you have some runes to read, Sammy?” Dean glared at him.
“You know... I have seen guys under love spells before. They had the same dumb look on their face”
That got your sister’s attention. She rounded the corner with a deadpan expression that could salt the earth.
“Wait… Did she enchant him? I knew she was getting better, but this is impressive”
Sam chuckled, nodding his head.
“Look at him. All wide-eyed and emotionally disoriented. Classic signs”
“Oh my god” She muttered “Do we have to purify him? Is that what this is?”
“I’m not under a spell!” He snapped, probably a little too loud.
All three of you stared. He just now noticed your gaze. He muttered under his breath some curses.
“Just... Leave me alone. I’m recalibrating.”
That cracked a laugh out of you, small and sharp, like a hiccup slipped past your mask. He glanced over and caught it just before you covered your mouth. That sound. That laugh. Yeah. He'd walk through hell barefoot just to hear it again. If they think he's under a love spell? So be it. Maybe he was.
—
He tried everything. Helped your brother with warding stones. Patched a fence that didn’t need patching. Even cleaned the gun barrel stash in the shed, which was weird, ‘cause none of those guns were even his. Impressive collection nonetheless. He made a mental note to ask you about the suspicious amount of mended and upgraded m16's in there. Maybe it was because of your fathers military experience, or maybe… Was it yours? He had to physically shake his head to get the thought of you in uniform out of his head. The things you get to know about a person when pacing dumbly in their house…
So yeah, he tried keeping himself busy and his head clear of last night… But the truth was, he couldn’t stop watching you. You were quiet. Focused. Moving around the house like you were trying not to notice him noticing you. But every now and then?
You slipped. A glance too long when he lifted up his sweaty shirt in the heaving heat. A lip twitch when he muttered a curse under his breath after smashing his thumb for the third time. A slow, unreadable look over your shoulder when you thought he wasn’t watching.
He was.
Oh, he was.
---
Sunlight leaked away, dragging long limbs of orange and purple over the horizon. He finally gave up trying to pretend he wasn’t losing his damn mind, grabbed a beer, and found you sitting outside again, same spot, like the railing was your confessional. You didn’t look up.
“You gonna be a creep and stand there all night, Winchester?” You asked.
“Only if you keep being this scary”
You paused, then glanced at him, the corner of your eyes wrinkling in delight. You liked being intimidating, didn't you? He grinned at the thought, and couldn't help the lick to his lips. Your eyes couldn't help their movement either.
“You pacing ‘cause you’re in love or ‘cause you’re constipated?”
His grin spread wider, white teeth showing, and your eyes were darting all over his face. He wouldn't lie, he liked the attention.
“Could be both. Love’s weird like that”
You side-eyed him as you scoffed.
“You’re being different”
“Yeah?”
“You flirt less”
He leaned against the railing beside you.
“That a complaint?”
“No” You said after a beat “Just... Strange”
You were quiet again. The air between you was warm, charged, full of desert dust and possibility. He finally exhaled, regaining his ability to even think.
“I meant it, y’know”
“Meant what?” You frowned.
“Last night. When I said…” His voice stuck in his throat like a dumb bird “The, uh, ‘marry me’ thing”
You turned, eyes narrowed.
“That was a joke, Dean”
“Yeah” He said, half panicking “But my heart didn’t seem to know the difference”
And there it was. He couldn't believe what he was even saying. He'd blame it on some love demon or even a trickster, but he didn't want to give them bitches the credit. No, this was his heart, his words, his truth. He had this flashback to the jinn, the fuzzy dream-like life he saw in his mind's eye. The absolute lie that it was, and how much he ached for it to be real. A normal life, family, Sammy being happy, his mom… Now, he had this, and he didn't know what he even did to deserve it, but it was the real deal. He wasn't planning on backing down. You blinked.
He looked at you then, really looked. Past the knives and fire. Past the red scarf and the steel spine. He saw the part of you that wanted to believe him but didn’t dare. Like you had those internal flashbacks and memories and protection spells around your heart. Just like his. He finally spoke.
“I’m not trying to charm my way into your bed and vanish by morning… I’m not good at this. Hell, I usually run from it. But you? You’re…”
He paused, hating how soft his voice got.
“You’re worth figuring this out. Worth sticking around for”
You looked at him like you were waiting for the punchline. And when it didn’t come, something shifted. The shell cracked. Just a little. Them walls that he wanted to tear with a hammer and pure will power, or hug away until they crumble under the heat… Down again. Your voice came quiet.
“And what if I break you?”
He smirked.
“Then I’ll say thank you”
You looked away, breath catching in your throat.
“No one ever stuck around long enough, y'know?" You spoke, almost silent.
“Yeah… Right back at ya” He shook his head, scratching the back of his neck nervously and praying, for the first time in his life.
—
The night stretched wide, velvet-dark and humming with quiet life. Crickets chirped like a soft percussion track, and somewhere a screen door creaked in the breeze. Stars punched holes through the sky like god was letting some light bleed through. The light he had been so desperately aching for. And you stayed out there. Both of you just... Stayed. The railing was still warm from the day's heat, a beer bottle sweating in his hands, and every nerve in his body tuned to you like a goddamn satellite dish. You didn’t speak for a while. He didn’t push. He let the quiet settle. It said more than words ever could.
But inside his head? Oh, hell. Full Broadway production. Every moment from the past few days rolled across his mind like film stuck in rewind. That first glance at you, scarf tight around your head, eyes wild, blades like teeth. The Hollowing. The sacrifice. You trembling with power and purpose as you banish the damn thing. The morning after, sharp words over soft coffee. Your sister picking Sam apart like a crow, and him smiling like he’d finally met someone who didn’t buy his boy-scout bullshit. And then… The way your laugh punched through the fog in his brain. Every time. Like firelight in the dark.
“Do you always overthink like this?” You said suddenly, barely above a whisper.
He blinked, startled.
“Was I mumbling?”
“You were doing that thing where your eyes glaze over but your soul’s screaming”
He chuckled.
“Yeah. Sam calls it my ‘existential crisis face’”
“Cute” You snorted.
“Well” He shrugged “You did kinda blow my heart up and leave the shrapnel in ”
You looked down, like you were trying to pick the right words out of the dirt at your feet.
“Dean... You don’t get it. This…” You gestured vaguely between you and him.
“It’s not just some casual burn. I’ve buried people who got too close. People who walked through my walls like they were smoke. You know the feeling… Better than anyone ever could. So if you’re gonna keep standing there... I need more than words. I need...”
You trailed off, voice shaking. He nodded slowly.
“You need proof” He said.
You met his eyes. And hell if it didn’t feel like the whole world stopped.
“Yeah” You said, breath catching “I need proof you won’t leave when the wind changes”
Lightning forked in the sky, way off in the distance. A dry storm, rumbling at the edge of the horizon, like the heavens themselves were sewing this moment with a golden thread. He took a long breath. Set the bottle down. Faced you square.
“Okay” He said “Here’s my proof”
Then he started talking. Real talk. The kind he barely ever let out, even with Sam. He told you about losing Mom. About Dad training them like soldiers in the shadow of her ghost. About Sam leaving, and him not blaming him, but still hurting. About the weight of saving everyone but himself. About the guilt over wanting a different life, and how he thought it wasn't even a possibility until now. About the walls he built. The jokes. The one-night-stands. The charm. The bravado. The fact he didn't even know how the fuck to do serious, so for all you care, he was a virgin in that sense. As awkward as this might be.
“You know how many times I’ve said ‘I’m fine’ while bleeding out?” He laughed bitterly “It’s like my catchphrase”
You didn’t interrupt. Didn’t flinch. Didn’t pity. You just listened.
“I’ve always been afraid that if I stop saving people, I’ll disappear” He admitted, and you nodded.
“That there’s nothin’ left under all the missions and monsters. But then... You come along. This house. Your family. Sam, all cozy with your brother like he’s known him for years...” He shook my head, smiling softly.
“And suddenly I remember I’m more than just a hunter. I’m a man. A man who wants... This”
He looked at you, raw and bare. Your eyes were glowing in the dim light, and your breath hitched. You moved your gaze to the wastelands.
"When I was young… My mom used to chant this guardian angel blessing…” You said, and he swore, his heart stopped dead in the tracks.
“It's for protection and guidance from god as well… You cast it by naming every angel and calling them to surround you from each direction, and finally, god at the crown… Watching from up above” You shook your head bitterly.
“For so long after she was taken from me, I was so angry, it consumed me. I've been starving to punish this world and myself, for what happened… I wanted to find them angels myself and show them how it's done…” You chuckled, and he couldn't believe how similar you were.
“But I started believing in them once I saw what a little prayer can do. What being a good role model for my family can lead to… And now you're here… Like some crazy force of protection, guiding you straight into this house… Fixing up my porch like you belong…” Your smile was distant, your eyes glazed with thought.
“I want to be let in” He whispered “I want to belong”
You stood still. Dead still. Then stepped toward him, one careful step, then another, until your hand found the hem of his shirt, fingers tracing it, then gripping it like an anchor. His eyes were magnetised to each movement you made.
“I’m scared too” You said “But I don’t want to run anymore”
You looked up. Eyes like firelight in the storm. He searched your eyes for approval, finding it in the way they moved to his lips and back to his eyes. Down. Up again. Like your stone walls. Like his heart pounding in his ears.
Finally, as your breath hitched from the closeness, he kissed you. Not hard. Not hungry. But true. Like two people standing on the edge of the world, finally daring to leap. As his lips brushed yours, soft and warm and full of secrets, you opened a little gap for him. It was everything. It was terrifying. And it was right.
---
The kiss lingered in the air long after you parted. You leaned into his chest, eyes closed, fingers still fisted in his shirt. He rested his chin against your crown scarf, his hand on your back, grounding both of you. And you stayed there like that for a while. Quiet. Safe. Real.
Inside, he could hear soft laughter. Sam’s low chuckle, your brother’s snarky rebuttal. A weird warmth wrapped around his ribs… Family. Not the kind you’re born with, but the kind you choose. And he was choosing this. He was choosing you. Even if he didn’t know how the hell to hold it all. Even if it scared him more than any demon ever had.
—
You slipped inside like ghosts. The storm was still miles off, but you’d think it was breathing down your necks, the way the air crackled and your pulses spiked with every glance. You crept past the old floorboards like teenagers dodging curfew, both of you soaked through, not from rain, but from the weight of the moment still clinging to your skin. That kiss hadn’t just changed the game. It reset the board.
You brushed past him in the narrow hallway, close enough for your hair to catch on his jacket. You didn’t say anything. Didn’t have to. The glance you threw over your shoulder was enough to knock the wind outta him. He froze. Mid-step. Half of him wanted to follow, push the door open, get lost in your sheets and that damn red scarf still tied around your head like a warning sign. His heart was pounding louder than the thunders outside.
But the other half, the part that remembered how sacred this place was to you, and him, stood its ground. He couldn’t wreck this. Not by being greedy. Not by falling too fast and too reckless. He already had this chance, this once in a lifetime opportunity to get things right… So he stayed planted, and you stopped at your door, turning to him with that fierce-soft look like you already knew he was trying real hard to be decent.
“You gonna say goodnight, Winchester?” you asked.
He smirked, soft lips over a sad smile.
“Night, witch”
You leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed, one brow cocked high. He wont lie, he missed that expression of yours.
“That it?”
“That’s all you’re gettin’” He said, taking a half-step back “For now”
“Coward”
“Damn right” He chuckled “Scared outta my mind”
Then he turned. Somewhere deep in his mind an old version of himself resurfaced with an angry echo. That old version of Dean that couldn't believe how he was passing the opportunity to spend the night in your wild bed, wild scent, addictive warmth. He called him names and cursed him in four languages. Despite that, he walked away. Heart hammering in his chest like he'd just cheated death.
—
He was laying in bed, staring at the ceiling fan like it held the answers to all the universe’s weird, messy questions. His heart hadn’t shut up for hours. He could still feel your hands, your lips, the ghost of your body leaning against his. And suddenly, every dumb line he ever used on a girl in a bar felt like a sin. Because this wasn’t that. You weren’t that. You were… Home, maybe. A dangerous kind. The kind that burns. Sam’s bed creaked across the room. He rolled over and groaned, voice groggy.
“What’s up your ass?”
“Go to sleep” Dean muttered.
“You pacing in your sleep now?”
“I’m not pacing”
“Then your soul is. I can hear it from here”
“It’s nothing” He let out a breath.
“By ‘nothing’ you mean a certain witch?”
He flung a pillow at him. Missed. Sam snorted and rolled over again.
“Just don’t screw it up” He mumbled “I like it here, and she's… Different ”
Dean sighed, dragging his hands down his face.
“Yeah, I know”
That’s the scary part.
---
The sun barely peeked through the curtains when it started.
CLANG. BANG.
“YOU STUPID PIECE OF FROG-BRAINED MOSS-EATER!!!”
“AT LEAST I’M NOT A MANIAC WHO PISSES THE STARS OFF!”
Dean sat bolt upright. Sam already had his face buried in his pillow.
“Oh god, they’re at it again” Sam muttered.
Dean blinked at the door, hair sticking up like he'd lost a fight with a thundercloud.
“Is vashira... Actually calling her brother a moss-eater?” He rasped, dazed and confused.
Sam groaned in response.
“She’s evolving”
They stumbled to the kitchen half-dressed, Dean still smelling like dreams and unresolved tension. Your sister stood at one end of the table, wooden spoon in hand like it was a wand of destruction. Your brother had flour on his nose, toast in one hand, and murder in his eyes.
“You sabotaged my spellwork” Your sister hissed.
“You nearly exploded the damn stove” He fired back “I was making EGGS!”
You stepped in from the hallway in an oversized shirt, rubbing your temple like a woman with a thousand lives’ worth of regrets.
“Do I even wanna know?” You said flatly.
Dean raised his dirty coffee cup in salute. You exchanged tired, dreamy looks. He checked you out in that shirt, only hinting at your beautiful frame, and you punched a hole through his bare chest with your gaze. It lingered a second too long. He felt himself straightening up in response, and you snorted at that.
“Family bonding, clearly”
You sighed, trudging to the counter like a soldier to war.
“Someone please kill me” You huffed.
“They might actually try” Sam Answered, then ducking a flying ladle with a curse.
After a few more shouting and an endless round of bitching from all sides involved, the kitchen settled into some form of chaos-truce. Toast was buttered. Eggs, slightly charred, got passed around. Your brother slumped next to Sam, who actually looked like he enjoyed the madness. Your sister, dramatically sulking with a mug of tea, still managed to glare at him with enough power to strip paint off the walls. And you... You sat beside him. Close. Not touching. But the kind of not-touching that burned. Your knees brushed. You didn’t move away. Sam kept watching you with that smug ‘I-know-something’ face. Dean resisted the urge to kick him under the table.
“Last night” You said softly, only for him to hear in the midst of the chaos “Didn’t create an unbearable chaos that punched a hole through space and time”
“Nope” He laughed.
“But it changed something”
“Yeah” He nodded
“Still scared?”
He looked you dead in the eyes.
“Shitless”
You smiled.
“I like that”