Falling for a Hunter (Female Reader x Dean Winchester)

Book 2 Chapter 3: The Foundry

It must be close to three in the morning when you stir from a blissful slumber. Dean's arm is tightly wrapped around you, his warmth radiating like a comforting blanket. You close your eyes, hoping to drift back into your dreams, but minutes tick by, and you finally give up. Staring at the wall, you feel a pull—a quiet urge to explore the secrets this bunker might hold. Yet, the idea of moving Dean's arm, potentially waking him, makes you hesitate. His peaceful breathing, slow and deep, feels like a lullaby all on its own.

But as if he's sensed your thoughts, Dean slips his arm from under you, turning to face the other side of the bed, his snores filling the silence. Carefully, you swing your legs off the edge and stand, wincing at the creak of the bed frame. You glance back, watching Dean's hand dangle lazily from the mattress, his face smooshed into the pillow, still utterly undisturbed.

A small smile plays on your lips as you carefully turn the handle and slip out, closing the door in the quietest way possible. Taking a deep breath, you start down the concrete corridor, squinting slightly at the dim overhead lights. As you reach the library, the familiar smell of mahogany fills the air, and you almost feel transported to another world.

You pause, noticing Mary sitting at one of the long tables, her head bowed over a worn journal. She looks completely absorbed, her fingers tracing the edges of the pages. An unexpected nervousness prickles at you, a reminder that this is still new territory. You're in Dean's mother's space, the woman he's revered for so long. But before you can retreat quietly back to the hallway, she glances up.

"Oh, hey," she says softly, her smile warm and kind. "You're up early."

You laugh quietly, nodding. "So are you."

Mary sighs, looking down at the old leather-bound journal in her hands. "Just... reading John's journal," she explains, her smile tinged with sadness. "Couldn't sleep."

"Oh... right," you say, fidgeting as your gaze drifts around the bookshelves. "Well, I won't keep you. I know you probably want a little peace."

She waves a hand, chuckling. "Are you kidding? Sit down. It's nice to have company."

You slip into the chair across from her, feeling the cool surface of the wood beneath your fingers. You want to say something, anything, but the words don't come easily. Meeting the in-laws isn't something you ever thought you'd have to do, let alone in the middle of the night in an underground bunker, and you're struck by the weight of what you want to say.

For a few moments, silence settles over you both as Mary returns her gaze to the journal, and then looks back at you. "It must feel strange... being here. In all this."

You nod, your hands twisting together. "Yeah, a little. But it's... good. Being with Dean again... and meeting you." You smile, but it feels forced on your lips.

"How have you really been handling everything?" 

Mary's question hangs in the air, cutting through any illusions of ease you might have put up, her brow furrowing in a way that's both gentle and imploring. She's seen right through you. You swallow, letting out a strained laugh, but there's a tremble in it. "Honestly?" you ask, hoping humor will mask the truth. "I have absolutely no idea..."

Mary lets out a soft chuckle, nodding knowingly. "Resurrections," she says with a dry humor that makes her pain all the more palpable.

"What will they think of next?" you chime in with a half-smile, trying to lighten the mood. But your own question hangs heavy between you. "How are you doing?"

She shifts in her seat, fingers lightly grazing the leather cover of John's journal resting on her lap. Her eyes narrow thoughtfully as she searches for words, a flicker of sadness hiding just behind them. "I feel... out of place," she admits, her voice low but steady. She chuckles a little, but the sound is hollow, reflective. "I mean, I don't know half of what's going on anymore. People have computers in their pockets. My sons are all grown up. Married." Her hands gesture helplessly like she's trying to convey how overwhelming it all is, pressing down on her with the weight of lost time. "It's just all..." Her voice trails off, her gaze drifting somewhere distant.