Red Wings {d.w.}

girls after saying something smart: So yeah

In the Fields We Lie

Summary: World War I is at its climax. Dean is figuring out his life before his name gets drawn from the draft. Falling in love while he can. Will he get the life he always wanted? Or will the war destroy him? Word Count: 3k

Warnings: british!dean?? let's spice it up a little bit! I just know his deep voice with this accent would eat me alive if I could actually hear it! Also, world-building. No legit tw's.

Prologue

They say that in the midst of darkness and a time where nothing prospers, the mind tends to wonder. This is the time where inspiration strikes and masterpieces are made. There is, more than anything else we have in the world, is time. What we do in that allotted space is up to us to choose. What shall we occupy ourselves with? Where shall we let our minds wander off to? Distant lands or perhaps a reality that we dream of that is better than our present? Do you dream of being in your lover's arms? Or do you wish you could have taken back those harsh words you said to your mother recently? Others have to think quickly, in a fraction of a second, or else they will not live to see the light of day. 

In that darkness there is chaos and when everything turns quiet, is that moment of primal instinct to save your life or to accept that death will grab you and bring you to a hell that you have not seen yet. Anything to keep the mind busy in times of hardship is crucial. That is how we survive. The silence, especially in the time of war, is deadly. So deadly that it could turn anyone crazy.

Every soul is trying to keep themselves safe and there is not an option otherwise, unless they have lost their way. Lost hope. Those are the people you have to take care of, to watch out for. Without community and camaraderie, there is no purpose. Without care for others is the destruction of oneself. Without the care for oneself is to rot. Those who only think of the betterment of themself are soulless. To be self-sufficient is another story. To have support behind you, next to you, in front of you–gives you strength. To know that others are experiencing life similar to yours is comforting because ultimately you’ll feel less alone.

—

England

17 December, 1915

Friday

Dean Winchester was young and eager to work. He had always put some money to the side but now, with no end in sight to this war, he's been saving every penny. Maybe he could afford to send his brother to university–to save Sam from being a pawn in someone else's game.

It was a particularly cold morning, grey clouds coated the sky as far as you could see. The freezing air hitting Dean in the face feels like a pound of bricks. He’s already slipped and landed on his ass twice this morning while walking to work. Dean got a respectable job as a high-end tailor three years ago–a trait he has been naturally good at, all thanks to his mom.

He’s okay with having a wet bum because he knows the ladies he works with are going to have a good time making fun of him. What he isn’t okay with is his inability to stop daydreaming about his neighbor, and that is exactly what he does walking two kilometers to work.

They are acquainted. Dean has helped her move furniture and tried to fix her shower pipes once but failed miserably. Leaving him no other option but to pay for maintenance and to allow her access to his washroom. She had occasionally made him food whenever he came home late, or she would purposely bump into him in the morning before work to put a smile on his face.

They enjoy each other's company so much that they go to the market together to buy groceries. Sometimes, Dean stargazes in the park right below their building. On the occasion, she sees him through her kitchen window–every time she joins him to make sense of the clouds and their shapes. They’d always lay in silence, enjoying the presence not only from one another but the vast universe above them.

In this particular moment all Dean can focus on is her being in his home, using his shower. Being the gentleman that he is, he respected her privacy when she was over to wash up, which was every night for a week. But he also couldn’t, and presently cannot help but imagine her beautiful figure underneath her clothes.

The sound of her humming to herself in the shower echoes through his mind as snow crunches under his feet. Her voice sounds like a goddess blessing all of creation, a thought that had crossed his mind yesterday. She slipped the very first time she had been over and fell pretty hard; she screeched but then laughed hysterically. It was something Dean could get used to. Her coming over made Dean feel whole–made his flat less lonely.

Another thing happened yesterday. She had forgotten a change of clothes, and it was then that Dean knew he was truly in love with her.

—

Dean was making some boiled chicken and pasta when he heard the shower handle squeak and a handful of choice words fall from his beautiful neighbor's mouth. He assumed that she was rushing too fast while getting her toiletries together that she had forgotten something vitally important...

She had a date who was waiting for her outside the building. Jealousy raged over him when she told him that a particular man was taking her out to dinner. Apparently, they’ve known each other since grade school, even dated in their early teen years, then reconnected at a mutual friend's wedding. The negative emotions he was feeling quickly dissipated when she said his name.

“Dean…”

She sounded worried. Why was she worried? Was she nervous?

“Fran, I know your nerves are getting the best of you, but I’m sure you look lovely…” He turned around to find her in just a towel. Eyes widened, jaw dropped, and heart racing at a million miles an hour. Too stunned to speak, Dean quickly spun on his heels so he wasn’t starring. “Shit, I- I’m, I-”

She’s now laughing at his embarrassment. All worry washed away from her voice, “I forgot my dress. I guess I was so excited to get ready that I forgot it. Can I borrow a blanket or shirt to cover up in?” 

After a few moments of silence she walked up to him and tapped his shoulder and spoke, “Dean, it’s okay. Turn around.”

He did as he was told, making sure that when he did, he only looked into her eyes. She was so beautiful–so confident in her body and in herself to let a man she wasn’t with, to look at her when she was indecent. A strand of curly hair fell into her eyes, before she could move it herself. Dean gently pushed the lock behind her ear, and both of their breaths caught in their throats. 

Dean managed to whisper, “I’ll um, go grab you a shirt.” He never walked so fast in his life. Making sure he picked out a nice shirt that smelled good was top priority. He ended up dabbing some cologne on the collar just in case.

She was too busy admiring the books on his bookshelf to notice that he had come back, so he cleared his throat before speaking, “Fran, you better change quickly before your date thinks you’ve fallen in the toilet.”

“Ha, ha. Very funny Winchester. Gimme that.” Snatching the shirt like it was hers to begin with. She disappears behind the washroom door and reappears seconds later it seems like, but maybe that’s from the state of shock Dean’s still in. Fran has to ask him this twice to get his full attention, “Will you watch for any unwanted eyes as I walk to my flat?”

“Of course I will. Let me see your key so I can unlock your door.” 

Walking past her is painful, he can feel his excitement pushing against his trousers. It’s only just started but he needs to be free of Fran soon or else she’ll see his indecency. Moving quickly and lightly, making sure not to cause a ruckus and concern the nosey neighbors. He unlocks her door and sets her key on the small table that sits just to the right of the door. Making sure that no one is in sight he quietly calls out her name. She holds her dirty garments to her chest as she sleepwalks to him. Hopping almost. Bloody cute, this one, Dean thinks to himself. As soon as she’s in her doorway Dean stands in front of her with both arms outstretched, and hands grabbing the baseboards to make for a better cover for Fran.

They are extremely close again, both of their hearts are pounding so hard it’s a surprise they can’t hear each other's heartbeats. 

“You better have fun on your date. Hurry along then, you don’t want to miss him.”

“Oh, I will. Aaand… don’t tell me what to do.” Fran winked at him and then closed the door in his face. Dean smiled and walked back to his flat. He ended up burning his pasta on the stove. If this was any normal night, he would have lost his wits if he burned his food, but he made an exception for the gorgeous woman that stole his attention.

—

Ever since that incident, a very particular image of Fran has been taking over Dean’s mind. The shirt that Dean gave her was a pale pink shirt and he never realized, that without an undershirt underneath, that it was sheer. When Fran came out of the bathroom, her hair had gotten the fabric around her breasts wet. It was only for a brief moment that he looked, and Dean swears that she did it on purpose. She was perfect, everywhere. He thought he saw her smile when he gazed his eyes up and down her body, seeming almost satisfied with his actions. An angelic devil.

Too distracted by his thoughts, he barely realized that he was arriving at work. Taylor the Tailor: “Let Taylor, Tailor You!” was displayed above the building in bright red lettering. It was a quaint little shop that sparked Dean’s interest when he first moved to the city. Before he even asked for a position, he had to come in for a repair on a set of trousers. Long story short: while moving into his flat, he had slipped on some ice like he had been doing presently, and ripped them right down the bumline. Quite embarrassing, even more so, considering one of his neighbors came out of the building right as it was happening and laughed. It turned out to be Fran. She still teases him about it.

His mum taught him how to sew, crochet, and knit, so already having experience was attractive to the owner, Mr. Taylor. He was hired on the spot actually. He loves everyone he works with and that’s the reason why he’s stayed with the shop for almost two years. 

He welcomes Mimi and Rena as he walks through the main room and towards the back to set down his jacket. Dean can hear the two older ladies gossiping about who knows what but it makes him chuckle. They think they’re whispering but they’re both basically shouting at each other.

“Ladies, ladies,” Dean interrupted them, “No need to whisper about how gorgeous I am, when I’m right here!”

Rena rolled her eyes, while Mimi stood up and made her way to him. Mimi takes his blue bowtie from his hand and begins to put it on for him. A little tradition that they’ve made. Dean is fully capable of doing it himself but he lets her. They both gain from it. “Thank you, my darling,” He kisses her on the cheek when she’s finished. “And how are both of my girls today? Ready for the weekend?”

“Always ready for the weekend, Winchester. Two days out of the week where I am free of you.”

“I’m truly hurt by your words Rena. You know what that does to my ego. Everyone loves me, right Mimi?”

Mimi laughs, “You are very lovable Dean. Rena is just an old fart. You’d think after so many years she’d warm up to ya.” That is exactly how each day goes. Rena is the stern and conservative type but has her moments, Mimi is a freer spirit and can get along with both of her coworkers, and Dean is, well, Dean…

The day is long and cold, everyone is being careful not to let their fingers get too stiff. Their day has only gotten longer, because right before five o’clock, a woman comes in. She is in desperate need of fixing her husband's work attire that her children had shredded with scissors. Three shirts and four trousers. She was a fairly sweet woman and she would pay them extra to get it done for her by Monday morning. They all obliged.

To make things fun, Dean took on three garments that were badly damaged, and told the ladies he would finish all of them before they finished their two pieces. This didn’t amuse Rena, but she ended up finishing before him and she was greatly satisfied, giggled even. Getting out of the shop around half past nine was quite impressive and everyone patted themselves on the back for the hard work.

“Get home safe my loves, I will see you later. Rena, you better think of me!” He yells at them when they’re about to round the corner of the street. It makes Rena furious.

The weather changed within the last two hours, snow is falling fast. He usually doesn’t mind walking through it, but he’s afraid that he’ll fall like he did earlier. His tailbone was still throbbing. As if summoning the inevitable, he slips and one of his legs extends too far out in front of him. Almost ripping his pants, again! Thank goodness for having hands to catch you. It was a close call—the amount of stretch he felt was worrisome. 

As he approaches his building, he notices an all too familiar Rolls-Royce that belongs to someone who is the epitome of rubbish. Someone who is used to getting his way. Maybe it’s the money he has or possibly the fact that he has not struggled a day in his life–is why Dean hates him so much. There’s definitely another reason that has nothing to do with those things though. Dean is reluctant to go inside the entryway but likes to make this man suffer.

“Hello, Dick! It’s awful seeing you here,” Dean coldly welcomes him, “Where will you be taking Fran tonight?”

“For the last time, it’s Richard. And it should be none of your business, but I know she’ll tell you anyhow. We are going to my brother’s engagement party, and before you say anything–”

“Speaking of engagement, when will you ever ask Fran to go steady with you? Oh wait, that’s right, you were too busy getting your dic-” By the look on the other man's face, Dean knew Fran was walking up to them, “Dick! So lovely to see you mate!” He then turns around, smiles at his beautiful neighbor. As he walks up to her, he whispers for her to be safe, and heads up to his flat. In the stairwell Dean could hear Dick tell her how much he annoys him, and that is always his goal.

“Such a nosey neighbor…”

“I think he’s perfectly fine, Richard. Leave him be…” Her voice is so soft. She wouldn’t be talking so tenderly to him if she knew that he was seeing other women besides her. It infuriates Dean to his core, but he can’t tell her because she would rip him a new one and he does not need anything else being torn apart. Second, Fran would be so devastated and Dean doesn’t want to deliver that news to her. She will find out sooner or later, and Dean prays that he gets front row seats to Dick getting his balls kicked in.

—

The storm only got worse throughout the night. The power went out shortly after Dean got home. Currently at the kitchen table reading a book but failing horribly from sore eyes, waiting for Fran to be dropped off. At this point it could be likely that she had to stay with Dick and his family, which is revolting. It’s none of Dean’s business where she is, who’s she with, and he shouldn’t be waiting up for her but something isn’t sitting right. Looking back on it now, it seemed too late for an engagement party. Maybe it was a surprise and maybe the couple went out to dinner while everyone set up? He needs to go to bed and stop worrying, Fran is a grown woman and she’s more than ready to stick up for herself. She’s fine.

Looking out of his window one last time, to make sure he doesn’t miss her, is when he sees headlights crawling towards the building. Assuming it’s Fran, Dean sighs in relief and heads to his washroom to get ready for bed. As he gets done brushing his teeth is when he hears her walking up the stairs and decides to meet her in the hallway. Knowing she can barely see up the stairs from the power outage, he brings out a candle to give her when she gets home.

“How was your night out Miss Fran?” He questions as genuinely as he can, as she reaches the last step. She’s too quiet. He walks closer to her once she reaches her door and leans against the wall. She looks sad. Her eyes and nose are red. Dean can make out where the tears streamed down her face. His stomach flips and he feels nauseated instantly. 

What happened to her? He wants to ask but knows it’s not the time.

Her voice is hoarse, “You know, you don’t need to wait up for me—it’s sweet but a little strange.” She half heartedly jokes. “My night was fine, thank you. See you tomorrow, yeah?”

“Of course. Here, take this…” He straightens up, taking a few steps to get closer to her, and he smells the alcohol coming from her breath. It must’ve been a rough night because she hardly drinks. 

Handing her the candle and keeping eye contact he whispers, “So you can see where you’re going. I’ll come get you tomorrow.” 

Dean wipes away a fallen tear from her face with his thumb and kisses her cheek in that same spot.

So softly she murmurs, “Goodnight Dean.”

“Goodnight Fran.” He says with equal gentleness. With even more longing.

—

A/N: Please let me know what you think!! I edited this on four hours of sleep lol.

tags! @aylacavebear @daylighted (idk if yall wanted to be tagged but hopefully it's okay!)

need him to hold me and tell me it's all good. it's fine.

HARRY STYLES | GOLDEN (BEHIND THE SCENES)

he is 46, dude.

This song was made for him 😏🥵

02

parings: married!deanwinchester x married!reader

synopsis: life married to dean

warnings: no smut

the nights always ended the same way, no matter how long he’d been gone. his hands, calloused from gripping the wheel of the Impala, always found their way to the curve of your waist, pulling you close, grounding himself in your warmth. it was like he was making sure you were still there, flesh and blood and not some fleeting dream he could lose again.

when dean came home, it was like the house breathed with him. the soft creak of the door, his boots thudding heavily on the wooden floors, the rustling as he shrugged off his jacket. it was all the noise of a man who fought his way back to you, every damn time. sometimes it was days, sometimes weeks, but every return felt like the first, like he’d fought a hundred battles just to hold you again.

“you up?” his voice broke the stillness, low and familiar, a sound you’d missed more than you could admit. you stepped out of the kitchen, where you’d been waiting, and met him halfway, your arms wrapping around his neck as his settled on your waist.

“i’m always up when you’re coming home,” you murmured, pressing a soft kiss to his cheek. he held you tighter, a sigh of relief escaping him as he buried his face in your neck, just breathing you in.

sam’s footsteps echoed lightly behind him, and you glanced over dean’s shoulder. “sam, you know where everything is. get some rest.”

“thanks,” sam replied, offering you a small smile before disappearing into the guest bedroom.

the door clicked shut, leaving you and dean alone in the quiet house. his hands slid down to your hips, his thumbs brushing over the fabric of your shirt. “missed you,” he whispered.

“missed you too.” your fingers traced the edge of his jaw, noting the rough stubble that had grown since you last saw him. “come on, you look beat.”

he didn’t argue, letting you lead him to the bedroom. the familiar sights of your shared space surrounded you—the nightstand with his gun and knife, the salt lines carefully laid at every entry point. it was a fortress, one you both had built together, knowing the dangers that lurked just outside those walls.

he sat on the edge of the bed, pulling you to stand between his knees. his eyes were heavy with exhaustion, but there was something else there too—a quiet gratitude, a sense of peace. “the road was rough,” he admitted softly. “but this… being here with you… makes it worth it.”

you cupped his face in your hands, brushing your thumbs along his cheekbones. “you’re home now. that’s all that matters.”

he nodded, pulling you down into his lap, holding you close. the weight of him, the steady beat of his heart under your palm, it all felt like home. three times a week, if you were lucky, he’d be here, his presence filling the space, his warmth seeping into you. and in those moments, the worry and the fear melted away, leaving just the two of you.

sometimes, you wished he would stay longer. that the job wouldn’t pull him away so often. that there’d be more mornings where you could wake up to the sight of him, hair tousled, eyes half-lidded with sleep, his lips curved into a lazy smile that was just for you. mornings where his hands would roam, slow and deliberate, exploring every inch of you as if he had all the time in the world. mornings where he’d whisper your name like a prayer, his lips tracing the line of your collarbone, his breath warm against your skin.

“we’ll have more mornings,” he said softly, as if reading your mind. his lips brushed against your temple, his voice a comforting rumble. “i promise.”

it wasn’t just about the sex, though God, when dean touched you, it was like the world stopped spinning. his fingers, rough and sure, knew exactly how to unravel you, to make you shudder and cling to him in the dark. but it was the way he looked at you after, like you were the only thing anchoring him to this world, that made your chest ache with something fierce and unrelenting.

you were his home. his sanctuary. and even though you wished he could be there more, you never doubted for a second that he was yours, fully and completely. every kiss, every touch, every whispered word in the dead of night was a promise—a promise that no matter how far he wandered, he’d always find his way back to you.

taglist: @iloveeveryoneyoureamazing @legalmente-loca @bluemerakis

The thing about Jensen and Misha is I don’t actually want them to have sex. Full penetration would fix them and I don’t want them to be better. That would be massively counterproductive

Ten Years Gone {d.w.}

1. Strangers in a Bar

Hi everyone!! This is my first Dean Winchester fic! Please let me know what you think of it, happy reading!

Summary: Dean hasn't been out of Purgatory for long and finds himself in a small town on the coast of Maine. He runs into a mysterious woman and she makes him question his retirement? Will Dean actually step away from the job? And what is this woman hiding from him? Warnings: slight aggression. +18 MDNI (even though there’s nothing R rated in this)

It’s late on a Tuesday night, the jukebox is humming in the corner of the bar playing slow country music. The air smells of liquor that’s dried on most surfaces of this place, a smell that’ll cling to your clothes until you wash them. It was the kind of late where only the restless or wrecked hung around, and tonight, Dean Winchester felt like both.

He sat at a table nursing a whiskey, tracing the edge of the glass with his middle finger. The bar was mostly empty, but Dean always made it a point to observe even when it’s not needed; the bartender wiping down the counter, two guys at a table loudly arguing about whether the Bruins are going to the playoffs or not, and a woman a few seats away from Dean, scribbling away in a notebook. He can’t tell if she comes here often or if she’s in the same boat he’s in, restless. Making sure to keep a watchful eye on her, especially since she’s the only woman in the building.

Dean shifted in his seat, trying not to think about the fact that he’s on the road by himself, again. It wasn’t the first time his brother needed a break from this life, and it wouldn’t be the last. They’ve been hunting nonstop for eight years, and after everything Sam has been through with the demons and Lucifer, the Leviathan’s and not knowing if Dean was dead or not for a year—he was bound to crack. The two of them fought over the fact that Sam didn’t hunt for a year, that Kevin was abducted and nothing was done about it. Sam was adamant about stepping away for a while, so he’s with his girl, while Dean is on the lookout for The Prophet. 

For some reason this time feels different. Dean’s gotten older, he’s not young and stupid anymore, and he sure as hell has been through the wringer more than he’d like to be. He has a hard time lying to himself that he’s fine on his own. He needs Sam. The feeling of crippling anxiety that won’t cease is new, and it’s a feeling that’s not easily quieted by liquor. His hand shakes while he downs the remainder of his whiskey. The job is his life but is his life worth the job? It’s a hard decision to make, almost impossible.

He was so lost in his thoughts he almost didn’t notice that the woman had gotten up and started walking towards the bar. She distanced herself as far away from the other two men as she could then ordered, “A margarita with a salt rim and a double whiskey, please.” It didn’t take long for them to notice that she’d gone up there. Dean didn’t like the looks of them, they had a mischievous gleam in their eyes when looking at her. One of the Bruins fans stood up and advanced towards the bar.

“Hey there, pretty lady,” the man slurred, propping himself up against the counter. “What do ya say I buy your drinks for ya, sweetheart?”

Dean sighed, his grip tightening around his glass. He knows how these movies end, and they don’t end well. 

The woman didn’t so much as flinch, without turning to look at him, she said, “I can take care of it myself, thanks.”

Her voice was cold and sharp, the kind of tone that could cut through steel, but the drunkard didn’t take the hint. He leaned in closer. She could smell the alcohol on his breath, see his eyes narrow in determination, and sense his bad intentions. 

“Aw, come on honey. Let me treat ya, then maybe we can head back to my place, if you know what I’m sayin’?”

“I said no. Walk. Away.” Her gaze finally snapping to him, one so chilling that it could turn a man to stone if she tried hard enough. 

Dean was not expecting her to be as harsh and as direct with the guy, he admired that. He knew that a guy like this wouldn’t take no for an answer, so he pushed out of his chair loudly and started to make his way towards them.

As she was turning to leave the counter, the guy grabs her by her bicep and pulls her into him, “You’re a good for nothing bitch, is what you are–”

Dean walks faster, boots thudding against the worn out floorboards. “Hey!” he barked. His voice low and dangerous as he got right in the drunk’s face. “When a lady says no, you listen. Now, let her go before this gets ugly.”

The man sneered then released her, muttering curses under his breath as he stumbled back to his friend. Dean turns to the bartender, his expression sharp. “And you–what kind of place are you running where this shit flies? Do better.”

He turns around to meet the woman, “You okay?”

She nods, her hardened features softening just a fraction at his kindness. “Thanks. I appreciate it.”

“It’s not a problem, Miss..?”

“Novena.” She smiles up at Dean and reaches her hand out to shake his. 

“I’m Dean.” He gave her a warm smile back and took her hand in his. Her handshake was firm, he’s even more impressed.

“I was actually getting you a drink, believe it or not.” Her voice was rid of any trace of bitterness that had been there before, “I saw you sitting by yourself and you looked upset. Thought I’d bring you another round.”

“Thank you, I definitely need it.” Dean takes the glass from her, his fingers brushing against hers. Novena tenses up and her gaze immediately meets his, but within a second her state of shock is gone. Dean notices but doesn’t think too much of it. He doesn’t mean to be cocky, but a lot of girls in the past have frozen up around him before. Usually from being a flirt but he’s made no effort tonight—maybe he still has the juice after all.

Novena gives him another smile, then makes her way back towards her seat. This was the first act of kindness anyone has shown him since he got back from purgatory, and it was refreshing. A total stranger noticed that he wasn’t doing alright. He had been standing in the same spot, staring into space long enough for the bartender to give him the look of, “dude, you good?” He wasn’t good, but maybe he could distract himself from his anxiety for a little while, she was mysterious and that intrigued Dean. 

Making his way over to her slowly, he notices that she had been making a sketch of someone. “Mind if I sit with you?” She closes her book when she hears his voice, as if not to be caught with her doodle. “I know it’s late and I, I don’t wanna seem like that scumbag over there—“

“Sit. I can tell a tortured soul when I see one,” she gestures with her hand for him to take the chair opposite from her. Novena emphasizes, “Please.”

Also not what he was expecting, but her voice was calm. Demanding but gentle. He does as he’s told.

“Yes ma’am.” They stare at each other, scanning each other's features in a way that is more intimate than it should be. Dean finally speaks up, “So, if you’re a tortured soul like me, what’re you doing out so late on a Tuesday?”

Novena sighs and takes a sip of her drink, “There’s a lot going on but to keep it sweet and simple, my dad recently passed, my boyfriend, well…ex now, destroyed my car when I ended things,” with sad eyes, she looks down at her fingers, fiddling with one of the rings she has on. She clears her throat before asking, “What about you, Mr-New-In-Town? What brings you into The Salty Dog?”

Dean lets out a small chuckle at her enthusiasm when saying the name of the bar, but says seriously, “I’m sorry to hear about your dad, I am. It’s not easy losing a parent,” He takes a swig of his whiskey, thinking of Bobby especially. “I uh, lost my father figure not too long ago as well.”

“Oh god, I’m so sorry.” Novena’s brows furrow and she places her hand over Dean’s so naturally, gently rubbing her thumb over the top of his knuckles. 

He’s taken aback by this, he almost jumps at her touch. His eyes dart to hers and he’s met with empathy and compassion; there’s a lump in his throat that’s unbelievably painful with the grief that’s been hidden away. Not one soul has been able to break through Dean’s wall as easily as the woman before him. His eyes are jumping from their hands to the table, scoping out the rest of the bar to see if anyone is paying attention, which no one was, then back up to Novena. Tears were threatening to escape the corners of his eyes and once he saw that her mascara had run down her face, was when Dean let go. She removed her hand from his, leaned over the small table, cupped his face and wiped away the dampness on his skin. 

It almost felt like Novena was taking away his pain with her touch, and it looked like it too. The eye contact hadn’t broke since he looked up at her. Dean was a mess and he couldn’t decipher if what he was seeing was a figment of his imagination or not—but it seemed like his struggle was held within her eyes? There was this humming noise that was coming from somewhere, the jukebox or the overhead lights maybe, that was soothing. Ultimately easing Dean to breathe slower and to quiet his racing thoughts. 

“I, I don’t know what that was.” Dean whispers, “I’m sorry, that’s embarrassing. This never happens to me…” he gestures at himself.

Novena pulled away from him concerningly, “Showing human emotion never happens to you?” 

“Wow—that’s not what I was expecting you to say. But, yeah. I usually don’t allow myself to show people how I’m feeling. To be frank, I don’t know why I’m telling you this. Long day I suppose.”

She didn’t know how to respond to him. He’s different from other men she’s met, that’s a given. Dean almost immediately crumbled under her touch. It felt like he was begging to let someone in, wanting to be understood. If they hadn’t mentioned that they’ve both lost someone dear to them, then Dean probably wouldn’t have been easy to get a reading from. Novena liked that he related so much to her, that Dean felt so deeply that his emotions had transferred through their touch.

He was trying to brush off what had just happened. Novena could see it in his eyes, that he was questioning the intense moment they shared. Dean covered his face with both of his hands and sighed. This was the perfect moment to change subjects.

“I better get going, it’s getting late–I have to be up early for work. But I’ll see you around?”

—

A/N: Any and all feedback is appreciated! Feel free to send me asks or dm’s :)) I'm just making things up as I go, so be patient with me lol. This will be multiple parts as well as blurbs. I have a busy schedule but I’m going to try my best to write these chapters cuz I’m really obsessed with the idea I have!

tags! @ambiguous-avery