Supernatural One Shots

Dean x Daughter! Reader

It started a little something like this:

Your father was off in the alcohol getting the beer he would definitely not be letting you sample. Never. Your uncle was in the produce section gathering what you and your dad affectionately call 'rabbit food'. You were twirling your hair and deciding which bakery item would magically find its way into the cart and through the checkout. He was a boy your age who was lingering too long by the cakes and none too shyly glancing your way. When you met his gaze, he grinned in the self-assured way of a boy used to getting a certain reaction from girls. In reply, you cocked a curious eyebrow and sidled over to a different table. Game on. Would he follow you?

He would. He sauntered over in his name brand jeans and Hollister shirt intent on getting your attention again. Barely giving him a look, you pretended to read the ingredients on a box of muffins.

"I'm Caleb," he stated.

"Hi, Caleb."

"Say, are you doing anything later?"

"Depends on where you want to take me."

Caleb shrugged. "Girl like you probably enjoys pizza, right?"

"I might. You buying?"

"Of course. There's a place in that strip mall across the street. Meet me there at eight?"

"Meet me there at eight . . .?" you baited.

Caleb huffed a laugh. "Meet me there at eight please."

"Eight it is."

As he began to walk away, he turned back for one last question. "Hang on, I didn't catch your name."

"Don't worry about it." You winked. "I didn't say."

Later, back at the motel, you broke the news to your father and uncle. That went like this:

"Is this a date?" your dad asked.

"Rather sounded like one."

"Alright. What time should we get there?"

"I am getting there at eight. You are staying here."

"Nope. Either we both go, or neither of us goes."

Pursing your lips, you breathed deep to dilute a flare of frustration. You know you're a pretty girl, just the right mix of your mother and father, and your looks have gotten the attention of classmates more than once. At school you're no stranger to hallway kisses and lunch hour 'dates', but school is like Vegas: what happens there stays there. Little of these happenings are ever revealed to your family, and when you told your dad about that date, you should have expected a little resistance. You did, however, have your uncle on your side.

"I think she's old enough to go by herself, Dean," Sam interrupted. "She's got a driver's license, she's responsible, and she can take him out if he tries anything.

"Listen to him, Dad."

With a bit more convincing, he folded and gave you his car keys. "Not a scratch on the car," he warned, "unless it's from running him over."

The evening itself went like this:

Caleb pulled out a chair for you and didn't ask why your purse was so bulky – it contained an assortment of things including pepper spray, a small dagger, an inactive hex bag, a tin of salt, and a handgun. He spoke confidently and sat easily, and initially he was good company. As the night passed, he grew disinterested in doing much talking, and he wasn't paying attention to anything you said. You caught him checking out other girls in a conspicuous way, confirming your suspicion that he no longer wanted to be there. To his credit, he stuck it out long enough to pay for dinner like he promised and walk you outside.

"I don't see us having a future," he confessed on the sidewalk.

"Me neither. I guess not everyone works well together."

"Guess not. I mean, you're a nice enough girl, but I only date eights."

You should have slapped him. Your hand should have made direct, forceful contact with his face, but it didn't. Instead, he got a tasteful comeback and a pleasant smile. Then you strode away. Hurt, you stalked all the way to a bench that was out of sight of everybody and sat down to fume. Hot anger pulsed in your chest and between your temples, and for half a second you considered going after Caleb and teaching him a lesson. He deserved pepper spray in his eyes and a knee in his crotch, and who knows what curse the hex bag would have brought? You didn't move, though. You just sat and let yourself boil.

"Are you alright?" a familiar voice asked.

Looking up, you saw Castiel standing over you, head cocked to the side. Why lie? You shook your head. The angel sat beside you.

"Dean told me you were on a date," he said. "He asked me to check on you. I assume it ended badly?"

You bit your cheek and nodded sullenly.

"Should I smite him?"

A smile formed unbidden on your face. Castiel had an eyebrow raised and looked joking yet fully prepared to blast your date off the face of the Earth. "No. That's too good for him."

Castiel reached out and squeezed your hand. "Let me drive you back."

You gave the angel the car keys, and he drove the Impala back to the motel. That was the first time you've seen him driving your father's car. Back at the motel, your father and uncle were waiting for your return. When you walked through the door, the conversation went like this:

"How'd it go?" asked your dad.

You shrugged off your purse, barely glancing at him as you sat on the edge of the nearest bed.

"What'd he do?"

"Nothing." You shook your head and picked at a loose thread in the blanket. "Just a bad date."

"Bad how?"

"Just . . . bad. We weren't each other's type." You tried to swallow around a lump in your throat. "Or I guess I wasn't his."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Nothing."

"(y/n)-"

"Nothing, Dad!" It came out sharper than you intended, and the pang of shame was enough to make you hide your face in your hands. Caleb's words came back to you, the sting of them as fresh as the first time. I only date eights.

You knew you shouldn't have let him get to you. He was a pathetic lowlife who didn't know what he was missing. Still . . . what part of you wasn't an eight? What part of you didn't meet his standards?

Beside you, the bed dipped, and your father wrapped you in his arms. He was silent as he kissed your head and rubbed your arm. You didn't cry, and he didn't ask anymore questions. When he finally spoke, it was gentle and comforting.

"Whatever that son of a bitch did you to you," he said, "you didn't deserve it. Whatever he said to you, it's not true. You'll never see him again, and the off chance you do, I will send his ass straight to Hell."

"Thanks," you said through your fingers.

"No problem." He squeezed your shoulders and kissed your hair again. "Hey. You're my girl. You're my beautiful girl. Nothing some mouth-breathing kid will change that. And tonight we're gonna binge on junk food and watch B-movies until we can't stand them, okay?"

"Yeah."

He kissed you again. "I love you, beautiful girl."

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