Supernatural One-Shots (Actors and Characters)

I Never Meant to Leave ~ Dean Winchester

It's hard to believe that it had been so long ago. Realizing that I had been hugging Dean for a fair few moments, I released him, stepping back. I could see that Sonny was trying to suppress a grin, but it was a failed attempt.
"Well, we've got a few things to talk about," Dean told me, scratching the back of his neck, "But I'd really like to talk to you again. Maybe we can catch up, and I can explain."
A lot of people say that they'd like to catch up, but they never do. Originally, that was what I believed Dean was planning to do, but when the last few words escaped his lips, I realized that he was actually being genuine. He was going to tell me why he had skipped town on the night of the school dance; why he had left me feeling humiliated when he didn't show up and spent my night in the school parking lot waiting for him.
"That'd be great," I agreed, a smile tugging at the corners of my mouth, "I better go check on the boys. Those little devils are probably picking on poor Timmy again. Sounds like you have something important to talk about. Do you want me to bring Ruth?" I asked Sonny, who nodded in return. Sending one last grin to the trio, I exited the room, feeling a familiar pair of eyes follow me until I turned the corner.

Another accident occurred the next day. Something went wrong while Ruth was taking her bath and she died. It wasn't long after that incident that another happened. One of the boys had found Ruth's rosary in the lawn mower, and now he was lacking several fingers. Both events were horrible.
I had a feeling that there was someone or something in the farmhouse. Ruth had talked about it, and a ghost was the only way to explain everything that was going on. I didn't want to believe it, but I didn't have too many other ideas.
If it was a ghost, it seemed to be going after staff members, with the exception of the boy, since it had finished off Dave and Ruth. I was terrified that I was going to be next.

I was in the kitchen, making chocolate chip cookies. I thought I was the only one on the main floor, but when I felt eyes on me, I turned and saw that Dean was standing in the doorway, watching me.
"See something you like, Winchester?" I asked, holding a spoon of dough in his direction.
"Of course," Dean replied, walking over to me and taking the treat, "I'm looking at you."
"You've become a smooth talker, have you?" I questioned, raising an eyebrow at him, "You weren't always that good."

I was standing in Sonny's kitchen, baking cookies. Mom got called in early this morning, so I decided to spend my day at the home. All the boys had chores to do, so I had to put in time until they were finished.
I was nearly done making the dough; all I needed was flour. Unfortunately, it was on the second shelf. Determined to get it without a chair, I stood on my toes and stretched my arms up as far as they would go. I was an average height, so I wasn't used to having problems like that.
"Do you, uh, do you want some help?" I heard Dean ask awkwardly from behind me. I went back onto my flat feet and faced him with a deep pout on my lips. He chuckled at my expression and came up beside me, easily reaching up to get the container. He was only a few inches taller than me, but he had long arms.
Dean had only been at the home for about three weeks, but he was already my best friend. We were rarely seen without each other, except for when he had chores.
Taking the flour from him, I grinned, going back to what I was doing. He kind of just stood off to the side, propped against the counter as he observed me. Looking up from my task, I held out a spoon with dough on it.
"Want some?" I offered. He nodded and happily took it, beginning to eat it. I took a spoon of my own and leaned on the counter beside him. It was silent, so I tried to make conversation.
"You know, sometimes Sonny jokes that the only things sweeter than homemade Miller cookies are sugar and maple syrup," I told him, laughing to myself. It was true that the cookies were really sweet; Mom taught me to put a pile of sugar in them.
"Nothing-nothing's sweeter than you," Dean said, trying to flirt with me. I chuckled to myself at his attempt to be smooth; it was cute. His cheeks slowly turned pink.
"You've never flirted with a girl, have you?" I asked, turning my body to face him. He shook his head and moved over to the sink, placing his spoon in it.
"I'm sorry, that was stupid," he said, beginning to walk away, but I stopped him. He looked down at my hand, which was gripping his shirt sleeve. His eyes trailed up to me and he remained silent, waiting for me to speak.
"I though it was adorable," I admitted, moving away from the counter. His ears soon matched his cheeks. "You look pretty cute as a tomato, too," I giggled.
Dean reached his hands up to cover his cheeks. Laughing once more, I placed my hands over his own, bring them back down to his sides. I didn't release them, though. He seemed to note that, and intertwined his fingers with mine.
We were standing fairly close together, but I still took a step forward, leaving very little space between us. Without warning, I moved toward him, placing my lips on his briefly. I had never kissed a boy on the mouth before, so I didn't want to linger and mess it up.
Dean looked at me in shock, but he soon smiled. His smile was beautiful, if that word can be used to describe a man.
He released my left hand and gingerly pushed my bangs out of my eyes, as if he was afraid that he was doing something wrong. His eyes were soft as they stared into my own, never looking away.
His hand reached down again to lace our fingers together again. His face grew closer and closer to mine, and soon our lips met once more. It lasted longer than last time, and I could tell that we were both more relaxed than the first time. After several seconds, we pulled away, hovering an inch away from each other.

"A lot has changed," Dean told me, bringing me back to reality.
Looking at his worn and tired face, I could hardly believe that he was the same person as the gentle sixteen year old. His eyes were the same, though. Even though they were hard and shielded when he looked at most things, they were the still soft when he gazed down at me. He was still my Dean.
"Are you ever going to explain why you left without so much as a call?" I inquired, turning back to face the counter, mixing the bowl, "Sonny told me that your Dad made you go, but that didn't mean that you couldn't have at least let me know so I didn't have to spend my night in the school parking lot, waiting for you to show up."
I heard him sigh. "It's a long story, Katie," he began.
"I've got time," I responded, putting the cookie sheet in the oven and turning towards him. He was about to begin his story when a vase flew past my head, hitting the wall a foot away.
Dean immediately came over and pulled me close to his body, shielding me in case anything else came out of nowhere.
"I'm sorry."
I looked into the hall and saw Timmy, one of the boys who lived here. He was a sweet little kid. Strange sometimes, but sweet.
"Sorry for what, sweetie?" I questioned, getting out of Dean's grip to kneel down in front of the little boy. He clutched his action figure, Bruce, in his hands.
"I can't stop it," Timmy replied, looking apologetically towards me.
The next second, a lamp came at me, narrowly missing my head. I hugged Timmy's body to shield him from the shards that flew everywhere.
Dean grabbed my arm, pulling me away from Timmy and back into the kitchen. Sam was coming through the door just as we entered the room. Dean shouted for his brother to get out, but when Sam tried to open the door, it wouldn't budge.
Rummaging through the cupboard, Dean found a box of salt and tossed it to Sam, who began to shake it onto the floor in a circle around the three of us.
"What's going on?" I asked, my voice breaking. The older Winchester gripped my upper arms gently and spoke in a soft voice.
"Okay, listen to me. What ever happens, you stay inside this circle."
I nodded in response. Looking over at the doorway, I saw Timmy. I tugged on Dean's sleeve and motioned to the boy.
"I can't control her," he told us.
"Can't control who?" Dean asked urgently. Timmy just stood there, frozen.
"Your mom, right?" Sam asked, watching the kid. How he knew about Timmy's mother, I didn't know. There's not even anything on file about her.
Timmy explained what happened with his mother, and I couldn't help but feel sorry for him. A kid his age shouldn't have had to see his mother die.

A little while and a lot of pain later, the ghost was gone. It was Timmy's mother. She was only trying to protect her son.
I was sitting on the front porch, getting some fresh air when Dean sat beside me.
"So that's why you left, huh?" I assumed, "That was why you moved around a lot." I saw Dean nod from the corner of my eye.
"Yeah," he answered simply. We were in silence for a second, then Dean reached out to hold one of my hands. It was just like when we were younger.

Dean's large hand was wrapped around one of my own, keeping it warm. Curfew was in a half hour, so we were spending all the time we could together before he had to go to bed.
We were on the front porch, sitting with our feet on the stairs. My head was resting on his shoulder, and his arm was securely around my waist. We barely spoke, but the silence was comforting. Neither of us were big talkers anyway.
"You know, the school dance is in a week," Dean told me, rubbing his thumbs over the back of my palm.
"Yeah it is," I acknowledged, looking up at him.
"Could I have the honor of being your date?" he asked hopefully, placing his lips on my forehead.
I lifted my head and kissed him gently, "I couldn't imagine going with anyone else."

"I never did get to dance with you," Dean said, looking up at the starry sky.
"No, you didn't," I replied, squeezing my hand.
Dean stood up and pulled me to my feet, then released my hand and banged twice on the front door. A second later, slow music began to play.
'Sonny', I thought as a grin grew on my face. Dean faced me again and offered me his hand.
"What do you say? For old time's sake?"
I took his hand and walked forward into his arms. One of his hands rested on my waist, while the other held mine close to his chest. My arm was wrapped around his, my hand resting on his shoulder, and my face was buried in his neck. There was no space between us.
"I never meant to leave," he whispered in my ear tenderly as we swayed together.
"I know, Dean," I replied, gently kissing his collarbone.
As we held each other close, I could only hope that this was not the last time I would see him.