Dean Winchester One-Shots

It's just a hobby.

"Seriously?" Dean grumbled as he looked in the rearview mirror, seeing me untangling meticulously at my knotted yarn ball.

Knowing where he was going, given his normal banter, I just laughed and continued to focus on the craft in front of me.

"I pulled this out like 20 minutes ago. You're just now noticing?"

"I'm watching the road," he argued, and I rolled my eyes at the lie. As always, he had been sneaking glances to the back of the cab at me every other moment he could. "The hunt wasn't even 40 minutes away from the bunker. Why did you bring that?"

"Why do you listen to the same three Led Zeppelin songs when you're upset about a hunt?" I countered, and he opened his mouth to disagree, but I answered for him to skip the sarcastic conversation brewing. "Comfort Dean. It's all about comfort."

"Why are you so weirded out by a normal hobby?" Sam jumped in, smirking, and sporting one of the many beanies I had made him with said hobby, which he had come to love. He looked down at a newspaper in his lap, no doubt already scoping out a new hunt.

"It's not-" Dean stumbled on his answer. "I'm not weirded out by it. It's just not a hobby I imagine someone like Y/N taking up."

"You just described how you're weirded out by it," Sam looked at him with a blank stare at his contradiction.

He ignored him and rolled his eyes.

"What kind of people do you imagine the crocheting community to be full of?" I smiled, still looking down at my hands and knowing his answer already.

"Grandmas," he replied almost immediately.

"Hmm," I hummed as if surprised by his confession, even if it was wrong. "Well, if that's the case, I'll stop wasting my talents on things for you."

I could see his eyes shoot up in the mirror and a look of regret ghost over his green eyes.

Dean liked to make a big deal about this particular hobby I had started up a little over six months ago. I think a part of him just liked to tease me about it, but deep down, I knew he was proud of my growth. He was just bad at voicing it.

The first things I ever crocheted were just simple squares in different stitch work to learn a variety of them better. Those squares became washcloths or potholders and, surprisingly, were still used daily in the kitchen.

I learned to make bags, socks, hats, sweaters, stuffed animals, and even a few blankets.

"Just 30 minutes ago, you took down five security guards, wrestled three teenage vampires, and booby-trapped half of his nest. Now you're crocheting a sweater for Charlie that says, 'What's up bitches?' in the backseat. Mind you, with blood still smeared on your face," he raised an eyebrow at me in the mirror.

I looked up and leaned toward the front to get a better look at myself in the reflection.

"Oh, shit, I thought I got it all," I groaned, seeing a smear on the side of my face I must have missed.

"It doesn't add up," he shook his head, looking at me from where I was almost cheek to cheek with him, but I could see a joking smile on his lips.

"Much to your surprise Dean, girls can have more than one personality trait. I know you boys are all, 'Ugh, monsters! Kill, kill, kill! I need a scotch in my hand and The God Father playing on loop in the background to show how manly I-'

"Hey," Sam cut me off and looked at me with his sad puppy dog eyes. "I'm on your side."

"You're right... You also like to read and share fun facts," I winked, touseling his hair within the knitted beanie and getting a scoff of a laugh as he swatted my hand away and adjusted it back. "See how hurtful it can be when you forget our brains have the capacity to do more than one thing?" I leaned back from my position leaving my arms crossed on the bench seat in front of me.