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-z-
You smile and laugh, let Dean spit honey-acid words as Sam looks on sadly. Because they’re the Winchesters and they’re hurting – always, they’re hurting.
-x-
Bobby had told you about it once, how nothing good ever happened to either Winchester, how they were always fighting because they never knew anything else and that was why they were so good.
So when you hear the rumor of Sam and Dean finally gone, you fight against your sadness because you think: finally, finally they’ll have peace.
But Bobby sighs when you tell him the news – he sighs and he says, “There’ll never be any peace for those boys. Walt and Roy better run an’ hide because Dean’ll be wanting blood when he gets back.”
You shook your head – thought Bobby was crazy.
Then Roy disappeared.
And not long after, so did Walt.
And then came the confirmed sightings of the Winchesters. So you bought Bobby his favorite rot-gut whiskey and hoped that you would never get on the bad side of the Winchesters.
-x-
The first time you saw Dean and Sam after Bobby’s passing, you pulled them in close – greeted them with the warmest smile you could muster.
Dean’s words were harsh as he saw what you were trying to do.
“Bobby belonged to all of us, Dean,” you snapped back – you’re grief crashing against your soul in waves. “Not just you and Sam.”
And Dean recoiled and then you remembered Bobby’s words – they’re always hurting – and you pull your anger back and you take a deep breath.
And when you blink, Dean is handing you a beer and talking softly and you know it’s an apology.
And when the case is solved, he lets you hug him without complaint – he lets you press a kiss against his neck, his temple, the corner of his lips. And then he’s backing you against the Impala and there’s nowhere to go – so you pull him impossibly closer and pray that, for just this night, you can help him to forget, to stop his hurting.
-x-
Your body may have been sore and your eyes tired from the day’s long drive, but the second the other Hunter cursed the Winchester name with disgust in his voice every muscle in your body tightened as you drew your fist back.
And then you were on that nameless Hunter.
And then, as if from on high, Dean’s voice is shouting your name and he has you pulled against him and he’s backing you out of the bar and pushing you into the Impala.
You let Dean take you back to his room, the whole time he’s scolding you for picking fights with Hunters three times your size and “Really, Garth, you got a death wish or something?”
“I couldn’t let him just trash you and Sam like that!” you shout back, slamming open the door to the bathroom as you wet a towel. “After everything the two of you have done?! Fuck that!”
And Dean is quiet as he stands in the doorway, watching as you gently wipe blood from your eyebrow and lip.
That night, things are rough and fast and you think Dean’s going to break you. And then the next night, it’s slow and lasts for hours and Dean’s as gentle as a Winchester can be. The third night, he gets a call from Sam about a new case and, after a long-slow kiss, Dean jumps into the Impala and disappears into the Mississippi fog.
And later that night, when you pray to the God that Dean swears doesn’t give a crap about anything or anyone, you pray that He will give Dean some peace, that He’ll give him a break.
“I think he deserves one,” you say into your pillow, still feeling Dean’s lips at the back of your neck.
-z-
End.