Underneath The Mistletoe - DeanxReader SPN Fanfic

Caught Again

"Hey, y/n." 

The familiar voice rang through your ears. You turned around, and who else but the oldest brother to be standing there? He was visually exhausted; the hunt had taken more than expected out of them all.

"Hey," you returned, releasing your strong hold on the doorknob.
The brass quickly moved back to its original place, its screech echoed in the room as the stagnant reminder. You were trying to leave once again.

"Where are you headed," he casually asked.

Wandering eyes trailed you as he placed his elbow on the kitchen counter and rubbed his eyes. You wouldn't realize, but for one of the very few times, his gaze wasn't at your voluptuous body, but at what was held beside it. Right below the tight denim jeans was your army green duffel and a bottle of alcohol.

'(y/favorite alochol), no doubt,' he thought to himself.

Even the uneducated could gather what you were planning to do. From the rattle of the door to the familiar jangling of keys in your pocket, it was evident. With a huff, you stepped forward and in front of your belongings. Grabbing your keys to silence them, you began,
"oh, just getting some air." 

The others were fast asleep, no doubt. On the contrary, the other Winchester was wide awake. He ran his fingers through his hair, and after grabbed at his chin. His thumb and index finger pushed closer to his lips as he drew another breath. 

"With your...bags?"

His questioning was not only noticeably sarcastic but there was a hint of hidden empathy. Out of them all, while he probably was the one that hated it the most, he was also the one that completely understood your running. He too wanted to leave, yearned to run away but never really had the guts to. What held him back, was his family...something he could never leave, even if he wanted to. 

You closed your eyes and sighed. (Caught again.) You turned your head and looked down at your feet, you couldn't even face him. A curtain of y/hc fell down, keeping you hidden from his sight. After you licked your lips, your voice broke. 

"Just let me go, Dean." 

It was unlike anything he's ever heard; the way you had sounded was something he would remember. The few words were hushed, seemingly forced; it was a type of pleading that could send you to your knees. With the desperation of a thousand burdened souls, he realized that you couldn't keep fighting the constant urge to leave. To your surprise, he didn't click his teeth. He didn't smirk, ironically chuckle, give a plea, or even slam his hand down demanding that you stayed. Instead, he silently exhaled and made his way towards you. Though you were fearing the worst, he calmly stood near you, and in one swift movement he reached down. Forcing himself to not trace the curves just above your boots, he picked up the duffel and bourbon. Handing you the (y/alcohol), you raised your brow and opened your mouth as if to say something. When you met his gaze, though, you quickly shut it. 

"I will," he said, willingly and ever-so-gracefully giving into your wishes.