Chapter Text
Dean had gone on a lot of hunts alone now that Sam was off at Stanford and safe to say he’s seen a lot of shit in the three years since. One was two girl in North Dakota, her and her roommate were being haunted by a poltergeist and one of the girls was acting like a little kid. Terrified like one too reasonably. At first he thought it wasn’t a poltergeist but a child spirit possessing the girl but he had never seen something exactly like this.
He wished Sammy was here to do some research so he didn’t have to do as much. And Sam always loved that part of hunting while Dean more loved the adrenaline filled fighting parts. And of course taking down evil and all that stuff too. He opens his laptop anyhow doing a quick search. Any lore he found agreed with his thought process but then he came across something called littles or age regressors. He decides to read more on that, why they regress and what it does, for them and realizes that might be what the girl is. After deciding that he is back to no leads on what is actually haunting them then so he goes back to actual research and the case.
He quickly does the hunt, getting rid of the poltergeist, and leaves going to the next state his father wanted him in. The hunt had been easy enough, salt and burn the bones, but Dean couldn't stop thinking about that girl and what he'd read about age regression. It seemed like a coping mechanism, a way to deal with trauma, and hell knows everyone in the hunting life had plenty of that.
She looked so peaceful. Dean wanted to be that calm, but that’d be weird if he did it, right? Yeah no what is he talking about of course it would be, he can’t do that, Dad would kill him , if Sam ever found out he would think Dean’s fucked in the head. He shakes his head as if to physically rid the thought from his mind. He continued driving through the night, Zeppelin blasting through the Impala's speakers, focusing on the next case instead of the nagging feeling in his chest.
But weeks passed, and Dean kept finding himself thinking about it. Late nights in motel rooms, the weight of the world pressing down on his shoulders, wondering what it would be like to just... let go for a while. To not be the responsible one, the protector, the soldier. The thoughts scared him more than any monster ever had.
He had one night in between a case he finished early and the next his father was going to inevitably send him on and he decided he might have to try it. Just so he can prove to himself it wouldn’t help and he totally didn’t need it. Totally.
Dean sat on the edge of a scratchy motel bed, staring at his laptop screen like it held all the answers he didn't want to find. His hands were shaking slightly as he pulled up those articles again, the ones about age regression, about letting yourself be small and safe. He felt ridiculous, a grown man, a hunter, considering something like this but god, he was so tired of carrying everything alone.
So he researched a lot that night different websites. He found something called age play which was NOT at all what he wanted. He just wanted to be small not sexualized.
He found forums and communities where people talked about regression as purely a coping mechanism, a way to decompress from stress and trauma. Reading through their experiences, Dean felt something shift in his chest, maybe he wasn't as fucked up as he thought for wanting this.
He wanted it. He wanted it so bad. He wishes he had someone looking after him, a caregiver, or whatever it was called. But no one loved him like that and even if they did he could never tell them because it would be too weird and then they would leave him. Same as everyone before and same as everyone he’ll meet.
But anyhow he might as well try it tonight. It can’t hurt and it’s not like anyone’s watching him in this crappy motel.
Dean pulled up a few more tabs, looking at what littles actually did when they regressed. Coloring books, stuffed animals, cartoons. Things that seemed so far removed from his life of blood and salt and shotguns. He didn't have any of that stuff, but maybe he could just... try to get into that headspace, see what happened.
He felt stupid just sitting there, trying to "feel small" or whatever. But then he remembered that girl in North Dakota, how peaceful she'd looked, and he closed his eyes and took a deep breath.
It didn’t work. He turned on the TV to a children's cartoon spacing out a bit like he usually did when he put the TV on.
Then something shifted. The bright colors, the simple storylines, the absence of anything demanding his attention it started to feel... nice. His shoulders relaxed incrementally, the constant tension he carried easing just a fraction. Dean felt himself sinking into the worn motel mattress, his mind quieting in a way it hadn't in years.
He didn’t really notice it though to sucked in the the show but he shifts onto his stomach staring into the screen. He giggles at some of the jokes and pays as much attention as he can.
For the first time in what felt like forever, Dean Winchester wasn't thinking about the next hunt, his father's expectations, or the weight of keeping Sam safe from far away. He was just... watching cartoons, letting himself feel light and carefree in a way he couldn't remember being since he was actually four years old. Maybe this regression thing wasn't so crazy after all.
The cartoon ended and Dean blinked, realizing he'd been completely absorbed for the last half hour. He felt lighter somehow, like a pressure valve had been released just slightly. It was strange and unfamiliar, but not bad. Actually, it was kind of nice. He let’s the next show play which is scooby doo and he’s never watched it before so he lets it play.
He watches intently, completely drawn into the mystery-solving dog and his friends. The simple problems they face, ghosts that aren't real and just bad guys in masks, feel almost comforting compared to the actual monsters he deals with. Dean finds himself smiling, really smiling, as Scooby and Shaggy run away from yet another "monster," and he realizes he feels more relaxed than he has in months.
He also realizes he lovesss scooby doo. He should watch this all the time! He thinks to himself laughing a little.
By the third episode, Dean's eyelids are getting heavy, and he finds himself yawning between scenes. He doesn't fight it like he normally would, just lets himself sink deeper into the pillows, half-watching as the Mystery Machine drives off into another adventure. Before he knows it, he's drifted off to sleep with the TV still playing, feeling safe.
When Dean woke up the next morning, sunlight streaming through the dingy motel curtains, he felt different. Refreshed in a way he couldn't quite explain, like he'd actually rested for the first time in years. He sat up slowly, rubbing his eyes, and noticed the TV was still on, playing some morning cartoon he didn't recognize.
He turns it off quickly his mind slowly sinking into a spiral. He was gross why would he do that. He’s a Winchester for gods sake if his dad knew about this he wouldn’t even be here anymore. Dean grabbed his phone, checking for any messages from his dad about the next hunt. He needed to focus on something real, something that made sense, something he could kill.
He gets into the Impala and turns it on blaring music to drown out any coherent thoughts before speeding over to the next town he needed to be in. He tried so hard not to think but what else was he supposed to do when stuck in a car alone for hours on end?
The shame he felt earlier creeps in more setting in his bones and forcing a million thoughts in his head. He doesn’t know why he ever thought it’d be fine in the first place. What would Sammy think of him right now?
Once he gets into town he gets himself a motel room and waits for either his dad to text him details or for something else to happen so he can help. By the time his dad texts him it’s a few hours later and Dean hasn’t moved from where he was silently laying in the bed.
John texts him that another hunter is in the area and asked if Dean would be willing to work with them or would rather move on the the next town. To be honest Dean didn’t wanna do either but he knew he had to pick one and he really doesn’t want to drive anymore tonight. Knowing his dad would make him he texted back that’ll he’ll just try to see if the other hunter is up to working together.
No matter the answer Dean was going to tell John he was because why not? The monster would be gone anyhow and he wouldn’t have to go somewhere new when he just got here.
The next morning though Dean got up and went to go see this other hunter since Dad had given Dean the number and he texted so they decided to meet for breakfast. The hunter’s name was y/n and they were going to work with him on the case which wouldn’t be long since he had a few ideas of what it could be.
Once arriving at the diner Dean immediately saw the dude and knew he was fucked. He did not want to work a case with an attractive man. He already shoved his gayness so far down that no one knows but working in close proximity with him for the next few days might cause some issues especially when Dean is dealing with enough issues as is.
They sit down and Dean asks about the case.
“Let’s eat first, you look like you could take a minute anyhow.” The guy laughs smiling at him. And there’s goes Dean stomach, just flipping out.
“I’m fine.” Dean lies just like he does whenever anyone makes a comment like that.
“Listen I know I’m a stranger so I’m not gonna ask nothin but just eat breakfast then we can work.” He smiles gently like Dean might snap again. And he might, why does he care? Dean let’s out a huff and when their food comes Y/n takes their time clearly not in any rush.
“You know the longer you take the more people are gonna be in danger.” Dean complains.
“They’re in danger whether or not I eat my breakfast first off and second off the monster only attacks in the evening or night so I’m fine with my early morning meal.” He smirks back seeing how Dean is irritated by this.
“Now you wanna work with me or are you gonna be cranky all day?” He jokes and Dean just huffs again making the other man smile before finishing his meal silently and taking out some papers from his bag.
POV Switch-Y/n
I see Dean getting more frustrated by the second and so I finish my breakfast and take out some papers I have on the case. Maybe he’s just having a bad day because I can’t think of anything I’ve done wrong to him so far. We only just met. He does kinda look cute when’s he’s frustrated though. And those green eyes are like nothing I’ve seen
But unfortunately that’s not what I am here for and whatever’s hurting this town is so I try to focus on that for now.
"So, what are we dealing with here?" Dean asks, his tone clipped as he leans forward to look at the papers spread across the table one I had finished my meal. I slide one of the witness statements toward him, watching as his eyes scan the page with practiced efficiency.
"Looks like a vengeful spirit to me. Three victims so far, all connected to an old factory fire from the '90s," I explain, tapping the relevant details with my finger. "I'm thinking we salt and burn, but we need to find the remains first and who it even is considering there was about 30 deaths.
He nods and we go through the death records trying to find info on who could be causing this.
After hours of research and cross-referencing records, we narrow it down to three potential spirits. Dean suggests we check out the factory site while I go interview the families of the victims to see if there's any connection we're missing and to find out where they’re buried, if they are.
Once done we find the ghost and dig it up salting and burning the body.
Dean wipes the dirt off his hands, breathing heavily as the flames consume the remains. "Well, that's done," he says gruffly, avoiding eye contact as he heads back toward the Impala. I follow, and there's something about the way Dean moves, it’s tense, guarded, that makes me wonder what's really going on beneath that tough exterior.
“You’re nice to work with. Quick and thoughtful, do you have that attitude with everyone though or just a bad day?” I tease.
Dean's jaw tightens, his hands shoved deep into his jacket pockets as he glances back at me. "Just tired," he mutters, but there's something in his eyes - a vulnerability he's trying to hide - that tells me it's more than that. I decide not to push it, at least not yet.
“We should do more hunts together.” I suggest. I don’t know why but I wanted to know him more.
“That’s not a good idea.” He says.
“And why’s that?” I question slightly offended.
“Cause I work alone.” He sighs.
“If that was the reason then you would’ve just said that.” I argue making him sigh again.
“C’mon one more.” I smile and he looks at me seemingly arguing with himself internally but I can tell I’ve already won.
"Fine. One more," Dean relents, though his expression remains guarded. "But after that, we go our separate ways." I grin, knowing that once he sees how well we work together, he won't want to split up so easily.
“Ok so wanna get on the news and see if anything seems like our thing?” I ask.
“My dad usually just texts me cases he hears about and can’t get to.”
“Ok cool so we’re god until then?” I ask and he nods. We get in the impala (him being the one who drove us both here) and ack to the motel since we both were staying there.
Once we get to the motel Dean parks and we both get out. "So... same time tomorrow if something comes up?" I ask, trying to keep the conversation going. Dean just nods curtly before heading toward his room, leaving me standing there wondering what's going on in that head of his. I also wonder if he’s always like this.
The next morning I wake up to Dean knocking on my door and we head out to South Dakota for a hunt. We drive down since according to his expression on my suggestion my idea of flying, which is how I get from state to state, was the worst idea he’s ever heard.
“Wait but you had a car so how do you get that with flying?” He asks halfway through our drive.
“I rent a car.” I say.
“With what money?”
“Credit card I scammed. I saw your card you do the same. You just have to get one with a bigger limit.” I shrug.
“So you just fly, everywhere.”
“Why is this so shocking to you?” I laugh.
“Because who the fuck would willing do that?”
“Oh my god, are you scared of flying De?” I tease.
“Don’t call me that.” He pouts. “And no I just prefer not to.”
“Your scared!” I say laughing. “You can kill a vamp or werewolf but flying is where you draw the line?”
“Shut up!” He says and I’m laughing still and I calm down.
“Ok, ok, I’m sorry I was just surprised.”
“It’s a big tin can in the sky. That shouldn’t fly!” He argues and I nod.
“Mhm totally understandable.” I tease some more and he lets out another sigh before raising the music making it too loud to converse easily and I smirk.
The rest of the drive is filled with classic rock and the occasional comment from me that makes Dean roll his eyes. By the time we reach South Dakota, I've learned that Dean Winchester is stubborn, sarcastic, and has a soft spot for his car that borders on obsessive. But there's something else there too, something fragile he's trying hard to hide.
I’m going to find it out though. I mean he seems straight but a crush is a crush and he’s cute. Never thought I would find a grown man cute, maybe a puppy or a baby, but nope here I am.
We share a motel room making it easier then going back and forth between the two and in Deans word “It’s cheaper this way” even though it’s not our money.
We work the hunt which turned out to be a shapeshifter pretending to be different people in town and causing chaos. It takes us two days but we finally track it down and Dean handles the silver bullet without hesitation. Afterwards he says he has to stop somewhere “off the record”.
“Ooh not gonna tell your dad about this one?” I joke and he almost smiles. “Aha! You smirked I’m counting that!” I laugh and he shakes his head. “Can I come at least?” I question.
“Yeah yeah c'mon.” He says and we go to the car. We drive for a while and go to the edges of the town where he pulls up to a run down auto parts junkyard.
“Um why are we here?” I question.
“Family friend. Well, sorta. My dad don’t talk to him no more but me and my little brother Sammy used to come here all the time. I still visit when I can.” He explains.
“Sammy?” I question not having heard the name before and he smiles.
“Yeah he’s off at Stanford right now, gettin’ an education or something.” He explains obviously caring a lot about his brother.
"That's really cool, good for him." I say genuinely impressed. Dean nods.
“Yeah got a full ride and everything. The nerd.”
We get out of the car heading towards the back where a house was. An older man with a baseball cap emerges, and his face lights up when he sees Dean.
“Dean. How you doing boy.” He greets giving him a pat on the back as we head inside.
“I’m alright Bobby thanks. Just got done with a shapeshifter hunt with this one.” He says pointing to me and the man looks over.
“Don’t think I’ve met ya. Bobby Singer.” He introduces himself.
“Y/n L/n.” I say and shake the hand he held out to me.
“Must be a good hunter for Dean to work with you.” He jokes.
“Not as good as him.” I joke back.
"Flattery will get you everywhere," Bobby chuckles, gesturing for us to sit down at his cluttered kitchen table. "You boys want some beer?"
"Sure, thanks Bobby," Dean says, already looking more relaxed than I've seen him since we met even in sleep. It's clear this place, and this man, mean something to him.
“I’ll take one, thanks.” I nod.
Bobby hands us each a cold bottle, and I take a sip, watching as Dean settles into the chair like he's finally somewhere he belongs. The tension in his shoulders eases just a fraction, and I realize this might be the first time I've seen him actually comfortable since we started working together.
"So what brings you two idjits to South Dakota besides the hunt?" Bobby asks, leaning back in his chair and studying us both with sharp, knowing eyes.
"Just wanted to stop by, see how you're doing," Dean replies, taking a long swig of his beer. "It's been a while."
"Too long," Bobby agrees, his expression softening slightly before he turns his attention to me. "So how'd you manage to rope Dean into working with a partner? That boy's more stubborn than a mule when it comes to going solo."
“A lot of talking. Wouldn’t shut up till he agreed.” I smirk at him and he rolls his eyes.
“It’s true unfortunately.” He nods. “But I don’t mind it.”
“Aw thanks.” I smile.
“Shut up I hardly like you yet. Your just growing on me.” He shrugs shifting in his car.
“He moves around when he lies.” Bobby tells me and we laugh much to Deans dismay.
“I do not!” He argues.
“One time I found an old picture frame broke upstairs when he and Sam were staying over, maybe around 10 years old and Sam was 6, I ask Sam who knew nothing about it, then go to Dean and boy moved around so much he ended up on the opposite side of the couch when I was done talking to him.” The older man laughs at the memory.
“Bobby c’mon man.” Dean groans clearly not in the mood for me to know his childhood stories.
"Oh I'm definitely gonna need to hear more of these stories," I say, grinning at Dean's embarrassed expression. He shoots me a warning look, but there's no real heat behind it, and I can see the corners of his mouth threatening to turn up into a smile.
Bobby chuckles and takes another sip of his beer. "I've got plenty more where that came from. These Winchester boys kept me on my toes for years."
"Well, since Dean's being so shy about sharing, why don't you tell me about yourself, Y/n?" Bobby asks, shifting the attention away from Dean, who looks relieved. "How'd you get into hunting?"
"Family reasons, same as most hunters," I reply, keeping it vague. "Lost my siblings to a monster when I was young, been on the road ever since. Parents taught me all I know.”
“Sorry to hear it.” He frowns and I shrug playing with the bottle in my hands.
“Eh it was years ago.”
"Well you two are welcome here anytime," Bobby says, his tone warm and genuine. "And Dean, you know where the spare room is if you need it."
"Thanks Bobby, appreciate it," Dean replies, finishing off his beer. We chat for a bit longer, Bobby sharing a few more embarrassing stories about young Dean and Sam that make Dean groan and me laugh, before we finally say our goodbyes and head back to the impala.
We go to the motel and on the way Dean gets texted about another hunt.
“You ever get a break?” I ask.
“Don’t need one.” He responds.
“Everyone needs a break sometimes. Especially hunters.”
“If I take a break and someone dies, then that’s on me.” He tells me.
“Not at all actually. That’s a horrible way of thinking. Living with a guilt like that. If your tired and overworked your more likely to make a mistake. Only that is on you.”
"Dean." I say and he looks over at me before back at the road. "I'm serious. You can't save everyone and burning yourself out won't help anyone."
He's quiet for a long moment, his jaw clenched tight. "Yeah, well, it's all I got. And dad wouldn’t like me needing a break" he finally mutters, and I decide not to push it further for now.
Once we get to the motel he lays down and turns the lights off. “We leave in the morning.” He grumbles.
I don’t even register the fact he’s still letting me work with him instead worried about him and what’s going on with him. I don’t understand why he thinks like that, he deserves a break. He probably needs one.
I decide to let it go for now, but I make a mental note to keep an eye on him. Something tells me Dean Winchester carries more weight on his shoulders than any one person should, and maybe, just maybe, I can help lighten that load.
~Time skip to when Sam is hunting again prolly around season 1~
It's been a few years since I started hunting with Dean regularly. But something changed recently. Sam came back.
Dean had told me about his brother joining him again, though he was vague on the details. I could tell something was different in his voice when he called—a mix of relief and worry that I couldn't quite pin down. .
Now I'm pulling up to a diner where Dean said to meet them, and I can see the Impala parked outside. I take a deep breath, wondering what Sam Winchester is really like and how the dynamic between us is going to change now that there are three of us. I know he’s important to Dean so I hope he likes me.
I walk into the diner and spot Dean immediately at a booth near the back. Sitting across from him is a tall guy with shaggy brown hair, who I immediately assume is Sam, and even from here I can see the family resemblance.
Dean notices me and waves me over, and I make my way through the scattered tables, suddenly feeling inexplicably nervous.
“Hi,” I smile and so does Sam.
"Y/n, this is my brother Sam," Dean introduces, gesturing between us. "Sam, this is Y/n, the hunter I told you about."
"It's great to finally meet you," Sam says, standing up to shake my hand with a warm smile. "Dean's mentioned you a few times."
"All good things I hope," I reply sending a smirk toward Dean and sliding into the booth next to him.
"Only good things," Dean confirms with a slight smirk. "Couldn't have Sam thinking I work with someone incompetent."
"So what's the case?" I ask, getting down to business as a waitress comes by to take my order.
Sam pulls out a laptop, which surprises me a little, Dean's always been more of a paper-and-pen kind of guy, and starts explaining. "There's been a series of deaths in a small town in Ohio. All the victims were found with their hearts missing, and the coroner's reports show no signs of surgical removal."
“Werewolf?” I suggest popping a fry into my mouth off Deans plate and he gives me a look so I smile at him.
"Could be," Sam nods, typing something into his laptop. "But the lunar cycle doesn't match up with the deaths. They're happening at random intervals."
"So maybe not a werewolf then," Dean says, stealing a fry back from my plate in retaliation. "What else rips out hearts?"
"A few things actually," Sam replies, scrolling through whatever research he's pulled up. "Could be a Rakshasa, a Wendigo if we're up north enough, or possibly even a demon with a specific M.O."
"Wendigos usually stick to forests and isolated areas," I point out, thinking back to the few I've encountered over the years. "What's the terrain like around these deaths?"
"Mix of suburban and rural," Sam answers, pulling up what looks like a map on his screen. "Most victims were found near wooded areas on the outskirts of town, but a couple were taken from their homes."
“Wendigo’s don’t go in homes and there would be a string of deaths every 23 years.” I say confused.
"That rules out Wendigo," Dean agrees, leaning back in the booth. "So we're looking at either a Rakshasa or something else entirely."
"We should check out the crime scenes, talk to some witnesses," Sam suggests, closing his laptop. "See if there's a pattern we're missing."
We hunt and Sam and I get to know each other a bit. He seems nice and I like him so far.
After we wrap up the case, which turned out to be a Rakshasa that Dean ganked with a brass knife, Sam suggests we head back to Bobby's place for a few days. Dean agrees surprisingly quickly, and I get the feeling he's more tired than he's letting on.
The drive to South Dakota is long but comfortable, filled with classic rock from Dean's carefully curated tape collection and the occasional bickering between the brothers that makes me smile. It's clear they have years of history between them, inside jokes and shared memories that I'm only just beginning to glimpse.
When we finally pull up to Bobby's salvage yard, the older hunter is already waiting on the porch, arms crossed but wearing what might pass for a smile on his gruff face.
"Took you idjits long enough," Bobby grumbles, but there's warmth in his voice. "Come on in, I've got some food ready and you all look like you could use a decent meal."
We pile into Bobby's house, and the familiar scent of whiskey and old books hits me immediately. Sam heads straight for Bobby's extensive library, already talking about research for their next hunt, while Dean collapses onto the worn couch with a satisfied groan.
“You know why don’t we stay for a bit. Take a break?” I say knowing he never does. “You and Sam can hang out and stuff.” I add hoping that convinces him further.
Dean looks at me skeptically, then over at Sam who's already buried in one of Bobby's books. "A break? Really?" He raises an eyebrow, but I can see he's considering it.
"Come on, Dean. When's the last time you had more than a day or two to just... breathe?" I press gently, settling into the armchair across from him. “I promise nothing bad will happen. Please?” I plead.
He sighs, running a hand through his hair. "Fine. A few days. But if something comes up-"
"If something comes up, we'll handle it," I interrupt with a reassuring smile. "But for now, let's just relax." I sya happy he agreed for once.
~Dean POV~
I’ve still been regressing here and there when I’m alone and when I can shove down the shame enough to actually let go. And now Sam’s back and I know he’ll hate me for it. I don’t know why he even agreed to come with me. I mean, yeah, Jess died but he could’ve hunted on his own for the demon.
Also, I totally have a crush on y/n. I know he’s prolly straight though and I don’t know how Sam or Bobby would feel about that so I just have to shove it down so much. He’s always convincing me to take a break as well and it’s obvious he cares which makes me melt.
Right now we're at Bobby's and I'm trying to act normal, but I can feel that familiar pull starting. That need to just... let go and be small for a bit. It's been building up for days now, and I've been fighting it because there's no way I can do that here with Sam and Y/n around.
I excuse myself to the bathroom, splashing cold water on my face and gripping the sink hard, trying to push the feeling down like I always do. Y/n knocks on the door after a minute and opens it’s slowly seeing it wasn’t locked.
"Hey, you okay?" Y/n asks, concern evident in his voice as he steps into the small bathroom. "You've been in here a while."
I quickly straighten up, wiping my face with a towel and forcing a smile. "Yeah, I'm fine. Just needed a minute." The looks he gives me almost makes my knees give out and makes me feel small and I look away.
“Hey, De, you sure you’re ok?” He says softly putting his hand on my arm and I nod not trusting my voice for a moment.
“Fine. And I told you not to call me that.” I say trying for a smile.
Y/n's expression softens even more, and he doesn't remove his hand from my arm. "Dean, I know something's going on. You don't have to tell me, but... I'm here if you need to talk, okay?"
I swallow hard, the urge to just break down and tell him everything almost overwhelming. But I can't. I can't risk losing him, losing Sam's respect, losing everything because I'm broken in some weird way that makes me want to act like a damn kid sometimes.
"I'm fine," I repeat, more firmly this time, pulling away from his touch even though part of me wants to lean into it. "Just tired. You were right about needing a break."
He studies me for a moment longer, and I can see he doesn't quite believe me, but thankfully he doesn't push. "Alright. Well, Bobby's got dinner ready if you're hungry."
I nod and follow him out of the bathroom, trying to shove down the feelings threatening to bubble up. I can do this. I've been doing this for years now. I just need to keep it together a little longer.
~Few years later~
It's been years since Sam came back, and somehow the three of us have found a rhythm. We hunt, we survive, we watch each other's backs. But lately, something's been different between Y/n and me.
The touches linger longer than they used to. When we're cramped together in motel rooms, I find excuses to be close to him. His hand on my shoulder feels like an anchor. And the way he looks at me sometimes, like I'm something worth protecting, worth caring about, it makes my heart do things I can't explain.
Tonight we're at Bobby's again, and Sam's already passed out in the guest room after a particularly brutal hunt. Y/n and I are sitting on the porch, beers in hand, watching the stars come out over the salvage yard.
"You know," Y/n says softly, his voice cutting through the comfortable silence, "I've been wanting to tell you something for a while now."
My heart starts racing. "Yeah?"
He sets his beer down and turns to face me, his expression serious but soft. "Dean, I... I care about you. A lot. More than just as a hunting partner or friend."
I freeze, hardly daring to breathe. "Y/n-"
"Let me finish," he interrupts gently, reaching over to take my hand. His thumb traces circles on my palm, sending shivers up my arm. "I've watched you carry the weight of the world on your shoulders for years now. I've seen you push yourself past your limits, sacrifice everything for Sam, for strangers, for everyone but yourself."
I swallow hard, unable to look away from his eyes.
"And I want to be the person who takes care of you for once," he continues, his voice barely above a whisper. "The person you can let your guard down with. I know there's something you've been holding back, I’ve known for years, and whatever it is, Dean, it doesn't change how I feel about you."
"How do you feel about me?" I manage to ask, my voice rough.
Instead of answering with words, Y/n leans in slowly, giving me plenty of time to pull away. But I don't. When his lips meet mine, it's soft and careful, like he's afraid I might break. My eyes flutter closed and I kiss him back, finally letting myself feel everything I've been pushing down.
When we break apart, he rests his forehead against mine. "Like that," he breathes. "I'm falling in love with you, Dean Winchester."
"I-" my voice cracks, and suddenly there are tears threatening to spill over. "I don't deserve-"
"Yes, you do," Y/n says firmly, cupping my face in both hands and wiping away a tear that escapes with his thumb. "You deserve everything good in this world, and I want to give it to you."
I let out a shaky laugh. "Even when I'm a mess?"
"Especially then," he promises, pulling me into his arms. I bury my face in his shoulder, and for the first time in longer than I can remember, I let myself just feel safe.
"I love you too," I whisper against his neck. "I've been trying not to, but I do."
"Then stop trying. I’m not going no where.” He reassures and the conversation stops there.
~Y/n POV~
It's been a few months since Dean and I confessed our feelings, and things have shifted between us in the best way possible. We're taking it slow, figuring out what this means for us while still hunting with Sam. Dean still pushes himself too hard, still carries guilt like a second skin, but now he lets me in just a little bit more.
Tonight we're in some cheap motel in Ohio, waiting for Sam to get back with food. Dean's sitting on the edge of the bed, and I can see that familiar tension in his shoulders, the one I've learned to recognize over the years. He's fighting something internal again.
I sit down next to him, close enough that our knees touch. "Hey, what's going on in that head of yours?"
“Nothing I’m fine.” He smiles tiredly.
I leave it at that seeing the look on his face. Knowing when to push and when to pry.
Sam returns about twenty minutes later with burgers and fries, and the three of us eat while discussing tomorrow's hunt. Dean seems to relax a bit with food in his system and his brother's presence, but I can still see that underlying tension that never quite goes away.
After Sam crashes for the night in the other bed, Dean and I lie together in the dim light filtering through the motel curtains. He's curled against my side, his head on my chest, and I run my fingers through his hair in a soothing rhythm.
"Y/n?" he murmurs sleepily.
“Yes baby.” I smile and even in the dim lighting I can see the blush on his cheeks.
“I love you.” He says.
“I love you too De.”
“Stop calling me that.” He complains.
“Never.” I smile and cuddle up to him. We fall asleep like that and wake up to Sam blasting music and staring at us with a dopey grin on his face.
Dean groans and buries his face deeper into my chest, clearly not ready to face his brother's teasing. "Shut up, Sam."
“You two finally gonna admit to me you’re dating or am I just supposed to ignore this like everything else y’all do?” He laughs.
I sit up slightly, pulling Dean with me, and give Sam a pointed look. "Yeah, Sam. We're together. Surprise," I say with a hint of sarcasm, though I'm smiling.
Dean finally lifts his head, his face flushed with embarrassment but there's a small smile tugging at his lips. "Happy now, Sammy?"
Sam's grin only widens. "Ecstatic. It's about damn time, honestly. I've been watching you two dance around each other for years now."
"Finally," Dean mutters, though there's no real heat behind it. "Can we eat now or are you gonna keep grinning like an idiot?"
Sam tosses a paper bag at Dean, still chuckling. "Breakfast sandwiches. And yeah, I'm probably gonna keep grinning. This is the best thing that's happened in a while."
As we eat, there's a comfortable atmosphere in the room that wasn't there before. No more secrets between the three of us, at least not about this. Dean's hand finds mine under the covers, giving it a squeeze, and I squeeze back, silently promising him that everything's going to be okay.
~about two years before my past chapters take place~
“Sam's out with Cas tonight.” Dean says coming up behind me and hugging me.
“Oh yeah?” I say turning to face him seeing that look he gets sometimes. Trying to fight against something in his own mind.
"Dean," I say gently, cupping his face and making him look at me. "Whatever it is, you can tell me. You know that, right?"
He takes a shaky breath, his green eyes vulnerable in a way I don't see often. "There's something I've never told you about. Something I've been dealing with for years, since before we even met."
I take a breath sitting us down in our room. “What’s going on Dean?”
He takes a deep breath, his hands fidgeting in his lap. "Sometimes... sometimes I feel like I need to be smaller. Like a kid. And it helps me deal with everything - all the stress, the hunts, the constant weight of keeping everyone safe." He looks away, shame evident in his expression. "I know it sounds crazy."
I reach out and take his hand, squeezing gently. "It doesn't sound crazy, Dean. Keep going."
He swallows hard, still not meeting my eyes. "I found out about it years ago, before Sam went to Stanford. There was this hunt with these two girls, and one of them was an age regressor. I didn't know what it was at first, thought maybe she was possessed, but then I did some research and..." He trails off, his voice getting quieter. "I realized I'd been feeling the same way for a long time, I just didn't have a name for it."
"And you've been dealing with this alone all these years?" I ask softly, my heart aching for him.
He nods, finally looking up at me with tears threatening to spill. "I was scared. Scared of what it meant, scared of what people would think, scared that if anyone found out they'd see me as weak or broken or-" His voice cracks.
“Hey Dean it’s ok I reassure him.”
“No it’s not! It’s stupid I’m a grown man I shouldn’t be acting like a kid!” He says angry at himself. “I don’t know why I told you this. I’m sorry just forget it I-”
“Hey Dean baby, calm down okay? I’m not gonna leave, everything’s alright.” I say softly. “It’s not stupid or shameful if it helps you.” I say but I can see he doesn’t believe it. “Hey that girl that made you find out about age regression. Would you say all this to her?” I ask and he shakes his head. “Then why say it to yourself?”
Dean is quiet for a long moment, processing my words. He wipes at his eyes roughly with the back of his hand, then lets out a shaky breath. "I... I guess I shouldn't," he admits quietly, his voice still thick with emotion.
“Exactly. And you were hunting as a kid so you never really had a childhood. It makes sense.”
Dean looks at me with those vulnerable green eyes, and I can see him trying to process everything. "So you... you're really okay with this? You don't think I'm broken or weird or-"
"Dean, I think you're one of the strongest people I know," I interrupt gently. "And if regressing helps you cope with everything you've been through, then I want to support you in that."
He reaches out tentatively and takes my hand, intertwining our fingers. "I don't... I don't know how this works. Like, what do I even do?"
"We figure it out together," I say softly, rubbing my thumb across his knuckles. "There's no pressure, no timeline. Whenever you feel like you need to regress, I'll be here. And if you want me to help take care of you during those times, I'd be honored to do that."
“You- you would want to?” He asks looking at me like I just offered him something he never thought was possible.
"Of course I would," I say, pulling him closer. "Dean, taking care of you wouldn't be a burden. It would be a privilege. You've spent your whole life taking care of everyone else ,Sam, strangers, the whole damn world. I’ve told you that. Let me take care of you for once."
He lets out a sound that's half laugh, half sob, and buries his face in my neck. I hold him tight, running my fingers through his hair soothingly. "Thank you," he whispers against my skin. "Thank you for not running away."
"Never," I promise, pressing a kiss to the top of his head. "I'm not going anywhere, De. We're in this together, okay?" I say and he nods.
We spend the rest of the evening talking about what regression means for Dean, what he needs when he's little, and how I can help. He's hesitant at first, still fighting years of trained self-reliance, but slowly he opens up about the comfort items he's secretly kept, the cartoons he watches when he's alone, the way he sometimes just wants someone to tell him everything's going to be okay.
"I have some stuff," he admits quietly, his cheeks flushed. "In the trunk. Under the weapons. Just... some small things I've collected over the years."
"Can I see them sometime?" I ask gently, and his eyes widen slightly before he nods.
"Maybe tonight?" he suggests, and there's a hint of hope in his voice that makes my heart swell. "Sam won't be back for a while, and I... I think I'd like you to know that part of me."
I smile and squeeze his hand. "I'd love that, Dean. Whenever you're ready."
He takes a deep breath, then stands up, pulling me with him. "Okay. Let's go before I chicken out." We head out to the Impala, and I watch as Dean opens the trunk with slightly shaky hands, moving aside weapons and supplies until he reaches a small duffel bag tucked in the corner.
Inside is a bear stuffed animal, a faded blue blanket that's clearly been through a lot, and a small collection of Hot Wheels cars. There's also a pacifier still in its package, like he bought it but never had the courage to use it, and a coloring book with only a few pages filled in.
"It's not much," Dean says quietly, his voice barely above a whisper as he stares at the contents of the bag. "But these things... they help sometimes."
I reach out and gently touch the stuffed bear, feeling the softness of its worn fur. "Dean, this is perfect. Thank you for showing me," I say, looking down at him with nothing but love and acceptance in my eyes.
He pulls out the bear and holds it close to his chest, almost protectively. "This is... uh... I call him Teddy. Real creative, I know," he says with a self-deprecating laugh, but I can see how much the stuffed animal means to him.
"I think it's a perfect name," I say softly, reaching out to run my hand down his arm in a comforting gesture. "Do you want to take these inside? We could maybe watch a movie or something, if you're feeling little right now."
“Really?!” He says trying hide his excitement, clearly already slipping a bit.
“Of course we can.” I say taking his hand and heading inside.
“Can we maybe watch scooby?” He asks.
“Scooby-doo? You like that?” I smile and he nods excitedly.
“Yeah a lot. He talks y/n and they solve mysteries with their cool van and fight the bad peoples.”
My heart melts at how cute he sounds already slipping into his little space. "That sounds perfect, De. Let's get you comfy on the couch with Teddy and your blanket, okay?"
Dean nods enthusiastically, clutching the bear tighter as we head back inside. Once we're settled on the couch with him tucked under his blue blanket, I pull up Scooby-Doo on the TV and watch as his eyes light up with childlike wonder.
He's completely regressed now, his posture relaxed in a way I rarely see, and he keeps pointing at the screen whenever something exciting happens. "Look! Look! The monster!" he says with wide eyes, and I can't help but smile at how adorable he is like this.
I run my fingers through his hair gently, and he leans into the touch with a contented sigh. This is a side of Dean Winchester that no one else gets to see, and I'm honored that he trusts me enough to share it with me.
Over the next few months Dean regresses a few times when it’s just us. Every time I hang out with him making sure he’s happy and having fun. One day Dean and I were in the Dean cave and he had his coloring books out with me.
“Very pretty picture little one.” I compliment.
“Thank you dada.” He say and freezes up a bit his breathing getting a little unsteady.
“Hey de baby it’s ok if you wanna call me that.” I reassure him rubbing my hand on his back softly knowing the physical touch would help.
Dean relaxes immediately at my reassurance, his breathing evening out as he leans into my touch. "You sure? 'S not weird?" he asks softly, his voice small and uncertain.
"Not weird at all, baby. Whatever makes you feel safe and happy," I promise, pressing a gentle kiss to the top of his head. "Now, how about we finish coloring that awesome picture you're working on?"
“Ok tanks dada.” He smiles.
“Good, now why don't we finish the picture.” I suggest.
He nods excitedly and pick up the crayons again, leaning against me as he colors. I helps me stay in the lines and suggests colors, making him giggle when I pretend to accidentally color outside the lines.
“Dada you hafta color in the lines,” He giggle.
"Oopsie!" I chuckles, deliberately making another squiggly line. "Maybe you should teach me how to color properly, little one?"
"Like this!" He shows me carefully, concentrating hard on staying in the lines with his tongue sticking out slightly.
I watch him with a fond smile, ruffling his hair gently. "You're such a good teacher, baby. Much better at coloring than dada!" I praise making him beam with pride and snuggle closer to me as we continue working on our picture together.
After a while, Dean yawns, rubbing his eyes with one hand while still clutching a green crayon in the other. "Dada, 'm gettin' sleepy," he mumbles, leaning more heavily against me.
"That's okay, baby. How about we put the crayons away and you can take a nap with Teddy?" I suggest softly, already starting to gather up the coloring supplies. He nods sleepily and I lead him to the room letting him get under the covers.
“Dada gotta nap too.” He says reaching his arms out for me. I smile at his cuteness and lay down beside him.
The next week I’m out shopping and see a sippy cup and debate getting it for Dean. I pick it up just incase because in the past few months he’s knocked over his fair share of whatever he was drinking.
When I get back to the bunker, Dean is in his adult headspace, organizing some weapons in the armory. I decide to wait for a better time to show him the sippy cup, tucking it away in my room for now.
A few days later, Dean regresses while we're watching cartoons together. He's curled up against me with Teddy, drinking juice from a regular glass, when his hand slips and the juice spills all over his shirt and the couch.
"Oh no!" Dean whimpers, his eyes immediately filling with tears. "'M sorry dada, didn't mean to! 'M sorry!"
“Hey hey de, you’re okay. Everything’s fine it’s just some juice baby.” I say giving him a hug and he clings to me slightly.
"But I made a mess," he sniffles, looking down at his wet shirt with a trembling bottom lip. "Got it everywhere..."
"It's okay, accidents happen sweetie. How about we get you into a clean shirt and I'll clean this up, yeah?" I say softly, wiping away his tears with my thumb. "Actually, I got you something that might help. Wait here for just a second."
I quickly go to my room and grab the sippy cup I bought, bringing it back to show Dean. His eyes widen when he sees it, a mix of curiosity and excitement replacing the tears.
“You want it or no?” I ask knowing he hasn’t used one before and worried it might be too similar to the paci he still has yet to open.
Dean looks at the sippy cup with wide eyes, reaching out tentatively to touch it. "For... for me?" he asks softly, his voice small and hopeful.
"Yeah, baby. Just for you," I say gently, handing it to him. "That way you don't have to worry about spilling anymore, okay?"
“More juice?” He asks softly and I nod.
“Of course you can have more juice baby.” I smile and I clean the mess, help him get a new shirt, and then get him some juice in the sippy cup.
Dean takes the sippy cup with both hands, examining it carefully before taking a tentative sip. His face lights up with a bright smile. "It works dada! And it's not spillin'!" he says excitedly, hugging the cup to his chest. “Tanks.” He giggles.
“Of course. Anything for my baby boy.” I say kissing his head and he laughs some more.
Over the next few months, I start to notice the signs of when Dean is slipping into his little space even before he fully regresses. The way his shoulders relax, how his voice gets a bit softer, the way he seeks out physical comfort more readily. It makes it easier for me to help him feel safe and secure during those vulnerable moments.
~Few months later~
One evening, Dean and I are in the Dean Cave watching a Disney movie. He's been little for a few hours now, cuddled up with Teddy and his blanket, sipping juice from his sippy cup. I notice he's been particularly fussy today, squirming a bit and sucking on his thumb between sips of juice.
"You okay, baby?" I ask gently, running my fingers through his hair.
"Mhm," he hums around his thumb, but he seems restless, like something's bothering him but he doesn't know how to express it.
I think back to the pacifier I know he has tucked away in his bag, the one that's still in its package. Maybe now is the time. "De, sweetheart, can I ask you something?"
He pulls his thumb out and looks up at me with big eyes. "Yeah dada?"
"Would you maybe want to try your paci? The one in your bag?" I suggest softly, watching his reaction carefully.
Dean's eyes widen and his cheeks flush pink. He looks down at Teddy, fidgeting with the bear's ear. "'M scared," he whispers. "What if... what if 's too much? What if I like it too much?"
"Hey, there's no such thing as liking it too much, baby. It's okay to want comfort," I reassure him, cupping his cheek gently. "We can just try it for a little bit, and if you don't like it, we'll put it away. No pressure, okay?"
Dean thinks for a moment, then nods slowly. "O-okay. Can dada get it?"
"Of course, little one. I'll be right back." I go to his bag now kept in our room closet and retrieve his bag, bringing it back to him. I carefully open it and pull out the still-packaged pacifier, sitting back down next to Dean.
His eyes are fixed on the package, a mix of nervousness and curiosity on his face. I open it for him, pulling out the simple blue pacifier and offering it to him. "Whenever you're ready, baby."
Dean reaches out with a shaky hand and takes it, turning it over in his fingers. He looks up at me one more time, seeking reassurance, and I give him an encouraging smile and nod.
Slowly, hesitantly, he brings the pacifier to his lips and slips it into his mouth. His eyes flutter closed for a moment, and I can see his whole body relax instantly.
He leans against my chest, sucking contentedly on his pacifier as we settle back to watch the movie. His breathing evens out, his body completely relaxed in my arms in a way I've never seen before even still. One hand clutches Teddy while the other grips my shirt, and he looks absolutely peaceful.
"Love you dada," he mumbles sleepily around his paci after a while.
"I love you too, my sweet boy. So, so much," I whisper back, continuing to run my fingers through his hair as he drifts off to sleep, finally allowing himself this simple comfort he's denied himself for so long.
~around a month later~
“Dean?” I go around the bunker trying to find him.
I check the library, the kitchen, even the dungeon, but he's nowhere to be found. Finally, I head to our bedroom and find him curled up on the bed, clutching Teddy tight with tears streaming down his face.
"Baby, what's wrong?" I ask softly, immediately going to his side and sitting on the edge of the bed.
Dean looks up at me with red-rimmed eyes, his bottom lip trembling. "Had a nightmare," he whispers, his voice thick with tears. "You... you left me, dada. Said you didn't wanna take care of me no more."
“Oh baby. I would never do that I promise.” I assure him taking the little into my lap. “I love you too much for that.”
Dean burrows his face into my neck, sniffling softly. "'M sorry for bein' scared," he mumbles against my skin, his hands gripping my shirt tightly.
"You never have to apologize for your feelings, sweetheart," I murmur, rocking him gently. "Nightmares are scary, but I'm right here and I'm not going anywhere. I promise."
After a few minutes, Dean's breathing starts to even out, though he still clings to me. "Dada... can we watch cartoons? And... and maybe have some cookies?" he asks quietly, peeking up at me with hopeful eyes.
"Of course we can, baby. Let's get you your paci and sippy cup too, okay?" I suggest, pressing a kiss to his forehead.
Dean nods, wiping his eyes with the back of his hand as I carry him to the Dean Cave, Teddy tucked securely under his arm. I settle him on the couch with his blanket while I grab his pacifier and fill his sippy cup with apple juice from the mini fridge.
on my way back I grab the scooby stuffie I got him a few weeks ago for when he regresses next and hide it behind my back as I make my way back to him.
“I have something that might make you cheer up a bit deanie baby you wanna see?” I ask.
Dean's eyes light up with curiosity, momentarily distracted from his earlier upset. He nods eagerly, sitting up a bit straighter while still clutching Teddy. "Yeah! What is it dada?"
“I got you a new stuffie.” I say pulling out the scooby from behind me.
“Oh my goodness dada it scooby!” He says happily taking the dog from my hands.
"You like him?" I ask with a smile, settling down next to him and handing him his sippy cup and pacifier.
Dean nods enthusiastically, hugging both Teddy and Scooby to his chest. "He's perfect dada! Now Teddy has a friend too!" he says around his paci, his earlier tears completely forgotten as he examines his new stuffed dog with wonder.
"I'm glad you like him, sweetheart. Now, how about those cookies and cartoons?" I say, pulling up Scooby-Doo on the TV, which makes Dean giggle with delight at the coincidence.