Falling for a Hunter (Female Reader x Dean Winchester)

Chapter 33: Everything is Dust in the Wind

This chapter is kind of jumpy... it follows Family Matters and Appointment in Samarra and skips the three episodes in between. Also, sorry for the end bit of Family matters, it's a little rushed, but buckle up for the Appointment in Samarra section!!!!!!!! 

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Family Matters

At exactly 5 AM, the morning after Dean's promise to you, you wake up to an empty bed. The fog in your brain from the previous night's tears lingers, making your head feel heavy and your thoughts sluggish. The pillow beside you is cold, and the usual comforting weight of Dio curled up at your feet is absent, adding to the unsettling feeling gnawing at your gut.

Reluctantly, you push yourself out from under the warm cocoon of blankets, feeling the chill of the early morning air as it bites at your skin. The familiar routine of your morning—showering, brushing your teeth, braiding your hair—feels oddly hollow without Dean's presence. The silence in the bathroom is only broken by the sound of running water and the soft rustle of your movements. Each mundane task is a little heavier today, the absence of both Dean and Dio making everything feel slightly off-balance.

Dressed and somewhat put together, you head downstairs, your feet moving automatically over the creaky wooden steps. Usually, the old house announces your every movement with a symphony of groans and creaks, but this morning, you seem to glide silently over the floorboards, as if even the house senses your need for stealth.

As you near the landing, you freeze, catching the low murmur of voices drifting from the kitchen. Dean and Bobby are talking, their tones subdued, almost as if they're afraid of waking the house. You hover just out of sight, straining to catch every word. They didn't hear your descent, or else the conversation would have shifted to something innocuous.

"She's never showed any... you know... signs," Bobby's voice filters through the quiet, each word landing heavily in your chest, making your heart pound in response.

"Are the signs usually clear?" Dean's voice follows, tinged with a bitterness that comes from guilt—the guilt of not seeing what was right in front of him.

"I guess not..." Bobby replies, his sigh audible even from your hidden spot. You can imagine him sitting there, his eyes tired and red-rimmed from the sleepless night he spent pouring over articles and forums, researching how best to help someone in your situation. His fifth cup of coffee probably sits half-finished on the table, the steam long since evaporated as he lost himself in thought.

"What do we do here, Bobby?" Dean's voice, usually so strong and assured, sounds strained, almost broken. The desperation in his tone makes your throat tighten with emotion. The image of him sitting at the kitchen table, hands running through his hair as he searches for answers in the face of his overwhelming fear for you, forms in your mind.

You can almost see Bobby shake his head, the deep lines of concern etched into his face as he sips his coffee. "I read a bunch of hippy crap online," he says, the words coming out with a resigned sigh. "Don't think she'd go for any of it..."

Dean's heavy breath fills the silence that follows. "It's like we're getting hit on all sides here..." His words are laced with frustration, the kind that comes from feeling powerless, from wanting to protect everyone and realizing that some battles can't be won with fists or bullets.

"Tell me about it..." Bobby's voice is a mirror of Dean's—tired, worn out from the constant barrage of crises, from trying to be the anchor for everyone when he himself is struggling to stay afloat.

As the conversation teeters on the edge of continuing, Dio, who had been lying beneath the kitchen table unnoticed, gets up and begins to pad over to the stairs. His nails click against the hardwood floor, breaking the delicate bubble of secrecy you've been hiding in. Knowing that he'll give you away, you decide to make the best of it. You take a deep breath, plastering on the most natural smile you can manage as you descend the last few steps, trying to act as though you've just come out of your room.