Tough Love ✔️

I Want To Understand

You did remember a bit of the dream. You just weren't going to tell. And Bobby invited you back with open arms and a gruff roll of his eyes and smirk from underneath that beard of his but nonetheless you were in the fold again. A patten emerged; Dean would make a show of affection - usually by picking a weed or flower from outside and present it to you - and you'd accept it, and made sure not to get it squished in the thousands of books Bobby had around.

You hadn't actually admitted you were in love with him, really. And all Dean Winchester was doing was being a gentleman, in your opinion. A really hot, leather-wearing Impala-driving gentleman.

Then came a Thursday night when you had been curled in the bed upstairs, asleep, only to be woken by the thrumming, ear-drum splitting sound of gunshots. You were a hunter, you should have been okay with the noise but you choked back tears and grabbed for the weapon under the bed.

A knife.

The noises happened again, and shrieking, you tossed yourself from the bed and under the window, to peek outside. It happened again. Followed by a thread of light zigzagged across the sky, arching like a dangerous dancer, and you choked back tears.

Thunder and lightning.

"_______, are you okay?" You heard a voice come from the doorway of your room, seeing Dean Winchester's silhouette. You swallowed what saliva had built up in your mouth, and shook your head.

"I'm trying to be," you replied. "I hate thunder."

He nodded, and you could see Dean crossing the room to get to you. "Don't have to always be brave, _______," he frowned, and you watched as he took a seat beside you, on the floor under the window. "Yeah, sometimes you need to let someone protect you."

Another round of lightning and thunder came, and you shuddered. Feeling arms wrap around your waist, you smelt the warmth of the eldest Winchester full your noise and calm yourself.

"What about you?" you asked. "Protecting me, who protects you?"

You felt the shrug of his head and a small laugh, "consider it taken care of, ______, it's just going to be okay, I can promise you that."

You relaxed into his side, head on his shoulder, feeling his heartbeat and almost being him.

"You're famed as a womaniser," you whispered to him.

"You're famed as unafraid," Dean murmured back, "of anything."

"Truce?" you breathed.

"Truce." he smiled.

A clap of thunder, much louder than the others boomed across the sky. You shuddered, feeling seven years old again, and faced Dean, burying your face in his neck. You felt his hands clutching your back to him, like a child, and you wished for a second that it would always be like this.

Him holding you. Not thunderstorms, oh, no, never thunderstorms.

"I kind of like you a lot," you whispered into his neck, still trembling from the noises. "Like, as in not as friends."

You were answered by silence. Then, "I - I like you too, _____, it's just ... I won't be here much longer. I've made a reservation and I need to pay the fine."

You withdrew yourself, and from the light of the oddly silent lightning you searched Dean Winchester's face. This couldn't possibly be what that dream was about. But it was. You knew it inside. Deep inside, in the pit of the stomach.

"Tell me everything," you pleaded. "I want understand ... this hasn't got anything to do with Yellow-eyes, has it?"

You woke the next morning curled around Dean on the floor underneath the window of your bedroom, mind buzzing from the dreams fuelled by what he had confessed to you.

The deal with the demon. Sam was alive because of that and Dean -

The dream was right.

You looked to the man laying on the floor beside you, his short blonde hair a mess and face relaxed by sleep. You'd never know from a look that he was going to hell in just a few weeks.

"I love you, Dean Winchester," you whispered, looking at him. "Huh, of all the people I could fall for, I get you. And I - I don't mind. I'll always be there for you. Always."

You turned to your wallet on the beside table and took a photo out from the side; one of you a few weeks ago. You looked tranquil. Dean would need that. And you put it in his hand, and gathered your escape bag, and walked out the front door.

You heard shouts - not loud, and you turned. Sam Winchester was following you.

"You can't go," he pleaded. "We need you, Bobby needs you ... Dean needs you."

You gazed into the eyes of the younger Winchester and shook your head. "I had a dream that I wasn't supposed to be here anymore, Sam," you whisper-yelled at Sam, "I was told last night by your brother that he's got a place in hell reserved just for him. And I've been told not to be here. You're looking for Lilith, aren't you?"

You saw Sam nod. "Yeah, we've got leads ... "

You tightened the grip on your bag and gave a grim smile. "I need to go." You turned and started walking for the road.

"______!" Sam exclaimed, and you felt a hand on your shoulder. "Who told you not to be here anymore? Who - who does that kind of stuff?"

You shrugged. "In my dream, he was God." You gave the younger Winchester a wry smile. "Tell me when Dean goes, please. You can always contact me if you need stuff on a hunt."