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Y/N sighed happily, curling up under the thick, fluffy blankets on her bed. The day had been a total wash, with her car breaking down just as the storm had rolled in and having to even be near her pompous, asshole co-worker.
Coming home to cuddle with her covers and watch some Netflix with the thunderstorm and TV screen providing the only illumination in the room was just what she needed.
Halfway through her third episode of A Series of Unfortunate Events, she finally turned off everything and fell back onto her nest of pillows to drift off to sleep.
Which would’ve happened, had she not, a few minutes into her rest, heard glass breaking downstairs. She was immediately awake, sitting up in bed and holding the covers to her chest, as though that would protect her.
She reached over for her phone, only to find it dead. Right, she had left her phone charger downstairs and been too lazy to grab it once she had realized her mistake.
Son of a bitch.
She was torn between two possibly equally stupid ideas. She could hide upstairs under her covers like a child hiding from the boogeyman, or she could try to go downstairs and get outside to a neighbor’s.
She whined pathetically, shaking with fear as she finally made her decision. She silently swung her bare feet onto the floor, cringing with every creak under her steps as she slipped out of her bedroom and into the hallway. She tip-toed to the stairs, finally seeing a faint light and hearing some quiet clinking of dishes coming from the kitchen.
She frowned, crouched on the stairs, trying to make herself as small as possible. Was it an animal? Could animals open fridges? Shit, her electric bill was high enough, close the damn door!
Y/N heard heavy footfalls leave the kitchen, heading towards the dining room. Which, thankfully, was behind the staircase. Now she had a clean shot to the front door through the kitchen, and she was going to take it.
She creeped down the last steps, cringing at every step, no matter how silent they were. She slowly and methodically slinked her way towards the exit. When her base feet met the linoleum, she looked around for the intruder, trying to still be stealthy. She couldn’t see anything, and she prayed the same was for whatever was in her dining room.
Curiosity gripped her. She needed to know what was in her house. She rationalized it, saying to herself that she needed a vague bottom to tell the police. She’d hate to bother them if it did turn it to be innocuous. Somehow.
Only wanting to do one stupid thing that night, she reached above her, carefully freeing the largest frying pan she had. She gripped the handle with both hands and moved towards the dining room.
In the pitch black, she could only see a vague shape at her table. She thought it might be a bear, but then it pulled out a cell phone, dialing with one hand awkwardly.
With a soft front, he put it up to his ear. “Sammy?”
Without thinking, she took her pan and smacked him as hard as she could across the back of his skull.
He fell to the side, knocking over the chair that he had been occupying.
A voice was heard from the phone, calling out a name: Dean.
She picked it up, ending the call. His buddy wasn’t helping to rob her, that was for sure.
She looked down at her victim, flicking on the light as she did so.
Oh no.
He was gorgeous.
His plush lips were slack, revealing straight, white, perfect teeth. His sandy brown hair, cropped close to his head, looked soft to the touch. A straight nose rested on perfect checkles, sprinkled with freckles, and she found herself wondering what color his eyes were.
His broad frame was crumbling on the floor, and that’s when she noticed the blood amidst her ogling.
His right hand was covered in it, and a gash was oozing from his left side. He was hurt.
She cursed that that pulled immediately at her heartstrings. She leaned forward, tugging up on his shirt to take a quick look at the wound, see if they also need paramedics.
His hand shot out and latched around her wrist. She yelped in surprise and immediately began trying to free herself.
“Please,” he groaned, making her eyes shoot up to meet his own.
Oh son of a—was he a fucking Greek god or something?! Why did every single bit of him have to beautiful?!
“No hospital.”
She frowned. “You’re hurt. And, I mean, probably have a concussion now.
“No hospital. ’m fine.”
“Fine? You broke into my house bleeding and I hit you with a frying pan? At the very least, you’re having a bad day.”
He smirked and, had she not already been kneeling, her knees would’ve gone weak. “A frying pan? What are we, in a cartoon?”
“Shut up!” She flushed. “It was all I could think of!”
“No shame, you clocked me real good,” he groaned, moving to a sitting position. “I promise I’m not here to hurt you. I just needed some ice and then I’ll go.”
Y/N squirmed. “But…”
“You want the guy who broke into your house to stay?” He chuckled.
“No, of course not!” She flushed. “You’re just…if I’d known you were hurt, I wouldnt’ve hit you.”
“No, you should’ve,” he waved her off. “Strange man in your house when you live alone.”
“How do you know I live alone?”
He looked at her like she was crazy. “If you have a boyfriend or a husband or whatever, and they left you to fight me alone, I’m kicking their ass.”
Shu chuckled in spite of herself. “Well, good to know my robber will protect my honor.”
“My name is Dean, sweetheart.”
“Great, now I know what to tell the cops.”
He laughed at that, though it obviously hurt him.
With a heavy sigh, she finally relented. “Will you let me get something for that?”
“You have whiskey?” he asked, eyes twinkling.
“I meant medical supplies.”
“Whiskey is a medical supply.”
Another laugh escaped her, and she pulled lightly at his hand. “Fine, I’ll go look for that too. Just let me go.”
“Oh, yeah, sorry,” his thick fingers straightened, and she was free.
She pushed herself off the ground and was back a few moments later with a handful of medical supplies and a bottle of vodka. “This is all I had.”
“That’ll do,” he shrugged, which he immediately regretted. He leaned back onto his elbows as she lifted his shirt to reveal the gash. “Alright, pour the vodka.”
“What? I have iodine, dude, chill,” she said as she dabbed the chemical onto some cotton balls.
“Ooh, fancy,” he teased.
She rolled her eyes and began dabbing at his wound. He took in a sharp breath through clenched teeth, but otherwise said nothing.
Upon close inspection, the gash along his side wasn’t just one cut, but four long lacerations. To her untrained eye, it didn’t look like any weapon she’d ever seen. “Were you attacked by an animal?”
“Sorta.”
That confused her. “What’s that mean?”
“It’s a long story.”
“You broke into my house and now I’m cleaning your wounds. I think I earned a story.”
He chuckled, watching her as she worked. “I think I owe you more than a story.”
Her eyes briefly met his, and her face flushed from his heated gaze. “Are you flirting with me? Really?”
“Well, I was referring to your frying pan,” he teased. “But, hey, a badass woman who can defend herself and is beautiful? Worth a shot.”
She toyed with her bottom lip as she focused back on his wound. “You should focus on getting better and out of my house.”
He shrugged. “Well, the offer stands.”
She pulled away, placing the cotton balls on the ground next to them before taking the biggest bandages she could and trying to cover as much of the wounds as she could.
“Do I need stitches?”
“I don’t fuckin’ know,” she grumbled.
He laughed, throwing his head back as he did. His hand came down to grip the wounds again, obviously hurting himself.
She took his right hand, lifting it off his side and taking it in her own. “Shit, your hand’s covered.”
“The shirt’s already ruined, sweetheart,” he mumbled, somewhat reluctantly pulling his hand away and pressing it back against the gash.
Her soft laughter was cut off by the sound of her front door slamming open, revealing the tallest male-model she’d ever seen, holding a giant, gleaming gun and a flashlight that tried its best to blind her.
“Damn it, Sammy!” Dean groaned, covering his eyes.
The new intruder—Sammy, apparently—looked more than a little dumbfounded. “You…you’re okay?”
“‘m fine. Had a great nurse,” Dean winked at her.
Sammy sighed heavily, pushing his gun into the back of his pants. “Of course you’d find a way to flirt with this girl. Look, ma’am, I’m really sorry about my brother.”
Holy shit, what genes did their parents pass down?!
“It’s no problem, I guess,” she shrugged.
“Alright, we’ll get outta your hair. C’mon, Dean,” Sammy wrapped Dean’s free arm around his shoulders and helped the hurt man to his feet slowly.
Dean grunted and groaned and, without a second thought, Y/N slid under his other arm, her hands finding his waist amongst all the flannel to help him along.
“Can’t stay away, huh?” Dean smirked, though he looked a little more woozy and less clear.
“Ma’am, you don’t have to—”
“Don’t worry about it. Where’re going?”
Sam led them all the a beautiful, sleek black classic car that was parked right in front of her home. They pushed him into the passenger seat as gently as they could. Dean waved Sam off, leaving the former and Y/N alone as he walked around to hop in the front seat.
Dean looked up at her, looking more like a lost puppy and not the bear that she’d feared when she awoke a short while ago. He smiled, and she felt all warm inside, the terror completely gone. “You sure I can’t make it up to you?”
She tried to hold back her own smile in return, and failed. “Well, if you wanna take me to dinner tomorrow night, I won’t object.”
His smile got wider, and he looked like a child just given a puppy. “Sounds good. I’ll pick you up around six?”
“Sounds good. And, seriously, thank you.”
She shrugged. “It was probably the dumbest thing I’ve ever done.”
“Wait until after dinner tomorrow before you say that,” he joked, which pulled a light laugh from her. “Hey, you know my name, but I don’t know yours.”
“Y/N.”
He repeated it, nodding his approval. “I like it. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“Might have to ask Sammy for the address.”
Dean opened his mouth to object, but then then stopped and, after a beat, shrugged.
“Sleep tight, okay?” she said as she began to close the door.
“Night!” Dean called, just as Sam leaned over and said the same, even thanking her again for her help.
She stood there in her pajamas on the sidewalk, watching until the car was out of sight. She then turned around to her home and began cleaning up a little bit some of the blood Dean had left behind, as well as the medical stuff she’d left on the floor.
She even picked up her frying pan, though she had to stop cleaning for a bit as she laughed. It was completely ruined, a giant dent right smack dab in the center of the pan. She was going to have to take Dean up on his offer for a new frying pan the next day but, no matter what, she was never getting rid of this one.