Tough Love ✔️

Son Of A Gun

You follow Dean back to the motel he was in - same one as what you were in before you checked out before the hunt - in your truck and follow the famed hunter as you both get to his room. "Sammy'll be researching or something..." Dean rolled his eyes, and sliding the key into the lock and opening the door, the pair of you gasp and withdraw.

"That was definitely not research," you breath, and slowly turn it into a laugh that Dean share.

"Hmm..." he frowns after a few seconds, "we could crash in the Impala if you want; not going to interrupt what Sam's got going on."

You nod. Sounds like a plan.

"I'll take the front seat, then," he grins. "You get back, _____."

You nod, not sure if the blush that has crept out of a cage in hell and onto your face is entirely visible in the dark. Dean unlocks the Impala, and you take your jacket and curl yourself into a ball on the backseat. The leather covers wasn't cracked - not as many people mustn't have been on the backseat.

And slowly, you fall asleep.

For a couple of hours. It's something like two A.M. when a semi trailer goes hurdling down the blacktop highway and you snap awake. Your (e/c) eyes widen, hand already to the knife on the floor of the backseat.

"Shhh," you hear a voice from the front of the car say; it was Dean, "shhh, it was only a truck going by. Go back to sleep."

You'd love to back to sleep, you'd really do. It's just that your heart is beating fast in your chest and head swimming and no, no, you can't go back to sleep. "I could ask the same thing." You groan and turn over so your back is flat against the seat and head can see the flat expanse of the inner roof. Dean gave a long sigh and you added into your short speech, "C'mon. Tell me. I'm all ears."

"Nightmare."

You nod. "Hunting nightmare or just ..."

"Hunting." He gruffly replied. "Someone died that was important to me."

You nod. "Sam," you give a sigh, and add , "Dean, Sam's okay he's -,"

He cut you short with a silent shake of his head. "Wasn't Sam, though." You sat in the Impala surrounded by the absence of noise and answers. Almost five minutes pass, you and Dean sitting there, front seat and back until he adds, "it was you. Demons got you. And you died before me ..."

You nod. "But Dean, I'm not dead. Look, heartbeat and soul." You lean forward in the seat to lightly touch his shoulder. As soon as you graze Dean's jacket, his tension uncoils.

"Are you ... are you into me, Dean?" You didn't mean it to be mocking, but it sort of sounded the way a fourth grader would tease.

He didn't move, "I don't know, _____ ... yes. I've never seen a hunter like you before and I just wanted to do this in the bar and I wasn't sure if it was okay," he turned, and reaching, caressed your face. You expected yourself to flinch under his touch, but nothing bad came. "I feel like I've lived a whole life with you already. It just ... I just feel right around you. You know?"

Oh, you realised. You were in love with him.

"Dean," you whispered, "Dean, you can come onto the backseat. If you want."

He gave a laugh, and dropped his hand. You did so too. "Is it big enough to have both of us?" he wondered.

You shrugged. "Only one way to find out," you smiled.

You heard the shifting of a leather jacket on the upholstery and the quiet closing of a door and the slight night air tossing your (h/c) hair silently and slightly in the breeze. And then the creaking of another person beside you in the backseat of the car, the click of the door back in place.

"Dean?" you asked.

"Yeah?" he whispered.

"Would you ... be offended if I wanted to kiss you tonight? Cuddle at most?"

You saw Dean shake his head. "No. I'd never be offended. We'll go at your pace."

You relaxed into his form, and felt his arms wrap around you, a head resting on top of your. You could hear - and feel - Dean humming something in his throat, some familiar rock song.

"Is that ..." you frown, "is that Blue Oyster Cult?"

He nods. "Burnin' for you, _______, I'm burnin' for you."

You grin; it was always a favourite of yours. "Son of a gun, Winchester, you are a son of a gun." You whisper into the Impala. "And I think I love you."

You hear the noise of Dean settling into the backseat comfortably. "I know I love you, ______. I know I do."