You thank the woman you just met an hour ago for the ride home, unable to remember her name. She waits to pull away from the motel until she sees that you make it inside your room safely, the door closed behind you. Very kind of her, you think to yourself, and make it as far as the bed before sinking slowly to your knees, the little strength you had left deserting you.
You jump, startled, as a knock rattles your door. Not now, you think, please not now. But Dean is not one to give up easily, and he's apparently been waiting for you to make your way back from the bar. You force yourself to rise back to your feet and trudge your way to the door, throwing the lock and opening it, stepping back to allow him to enter.
"Look, I'm sorry if I messed things up with that…" he starts, and then you close the door and turn to face him. His jaw drops and he comes at you, making you flinch back involuntarily, and he stops in his tracks. "Holy shit, Y/N, what happened?" He comes closer, a little more slowly this time, and your back is against the door, anyway. He takes your hand, pulling you gently closer to the table, urging you into the chair there near the lamp.
"I'm okay," you manage to say before his hands are on your face, brushing your hair back, a finger beneath your chin to tilt you towards the light as his features tighten with anger. He stares at your split lip, the flesh swollen, blood still on your chin. He turns you a little more, the muscle in his jaw jerking at the sight of the darkening bruise blooming over your right cheekbone, a small cut still oozing a little just at the edge of your eyebrow.
"It was that asshat from the bar, wasn't it? I want a name." There is death in his eyes, and you shake your head slowly.
"No. I took care of it. It's over."
"Tell me his fucking name. I'm gonna…"
"No. You're not. I said it's over." You push him away and stand, but the combination of shock from the attack and the adrenaline quickly ebbing from your system has left you weak and shaky, and you stumble. He's there, steadying you, pulling you over to sit on the bed, and he kneels in front of you.
"What the fuck happened?"
"Asshat didn't want to take 'Hell, no' for an answer," you say, but it sounded more sarcastic and brave in your head. Especially since your emotions decide to hijack your self-control right at that moment, and you can't hold back the tear that rolls down your cheek.
"I'm gonna kill him," Dean mutters, holding you tight against his chest as your fingers clutch at his shirt, your forehead against his shoulder. "I'm gonna fuckin' kill him."
No more words are spoken as he holds you close, a few more tears wetting the front of his t-shirt as he cradles your head, one hand stroking gently over your back. When you finally sit up, he strokes a thumb softly over the uninjured side of your face, then rises to his feet, heading to the bathroom. You hear the water running, and soon he comes back with a warm, wet cloth, kneeling once more and cleaning the blood from your face. You wince in spite of the care he takes, your lip very swollen and tender to the touch, your cheek beginning to throb in time with your heartbeat.
"I need to make sure there's nothing broken, okay?" he asks, and you nod, bracing yourself by digging your fingers into the comforter. He probes as carefully as he can at your cheekbone, finally satisfied that it's no more than an ugly bruise, and then he rests back on his heels as he looks at you, keeps looking at you until your eyes finally meet his. "Did this happen at the bar?" he asks quietly, but his voice is vibrating with anger, and you know he won't let it go until you tell him the details.
"I went to the bathroom, and he followed me in." you say, and he frowns at the raspy sound of your voice. He tilts his head, his frown deepening, and takes in your torn shirt, the marks on your neck, and he is on his feet in an instant, moving for the door.
"I'm gonna find that son of a bitch," he growls, but you fly from the bed to grab at him, holding the door as he reaches for the handle.
"No! Dean, listen. Please, listen. I already told you, I handled it. He won't feel like touching anyone for a while. Trust me. And besides, the bartender called the cops, there were witnesses and he confessed. It's over." He slams the flat of his hand against the door, frustrated fury momentarily twisting his features.
"Believe me, Dean, he's probably in jail right now with an ice bag between his legs. Or in the infirmary, he wasn't walking too well when they led him out of there."
His eyes narrow a little. "Good. Hope you ruptured his nads." He lets out a harsh breath, then turns to pull you close again.
"We were kind of flirting all night. But then I went back to the bathroom, and he followed me in, and grabbed me… Dean…"
"I know," he says, and you feel his lips on the top of your head as he holds you. "Didn't like it that you fought back, the dickless coward."
You shudder, and his hold on you tightens a little more. "I'm okay, really. It just - it shook me up. I mean, I fight monsters and demons, right?"
"That's right, you're a badass," he agrees, kissing your forehead, and then you're crying again.
"I should have listened to you and left when you guys did, Dean. This is my fault. I shouldn't have been flirting with the asshole in the first place. I should just…"
"Whoa." Dean took hold of your shoulders and held you at arms length, staring down at you with fire in his eyes. "I don't ever want to hear those words from your mouth again, you hear me? This was not your fault. You didn't do anything to deserve being treated like that. Don't you forget it. This was all on him. Tell me you know that, Y/N."
He stares into your eyes until he sees the acceptance of the truth dawn in them, and you nod with a weak smile. "I do know that. I just don't know why I always have such crap luck with men. Maybe I should just become a nun."
A one-sided smirk curves Dean's lips, and he shakes his head. "Now that would just be a crime."
You manage a little laugh. "Oh, come on, I'm not that bad."
Dean's smile fades as he stares down at you. "Not what I meant."
You blush a little at his meaning and at his expression. "Now, why can't I just find a guy like you?" you laugh softly, turning to move back towards the bed. You sit down there, reaching a hand up to gingerly touch your throat. Dean hasn't moved, and he hasn't made another sound, and you look up, wondering why. The look in his eyes makes your heart skip a beat. There is no Dean Winchester cockiness, no snarky humor, no anger left there, only longing. He moves towards you, sitting down next to you, staring down at the floor.
"I'm right here," he whispers, and you hold your breath, still not believing what you're hearing.
You turn towards him, almost afraid to have him look up at you, and you whisper his name. "Dean?"
He looks up at you, and you feel it as if he'd touched you, it takes your breath and raises your heart rate. He leans in to kiss your forehead, taking hold of you and guiding you to lie down, and he hovers over you, his lips ghosting over your face, barely touching where you're hurt, and you've never wanted to kiss someone so badly in your life. His lips gently caress the uninjured corner of your mouth, his tongue touching there briefly, and you feel a throbbing ache begin at your core as you whimper softly.
He raises his head, worry in his eyes. "Is this okay? Maybe I should…"
"No, Dean. Please. I want you." His green eyes, dark and intense, stare into yours, and you take a deep breath, whispering, "I've always wanted you."
His eyes half close for a second as his tongue darts over his lips, and he quietly moans, "Fuck," before bending to kiss right beneath your ear. He climbs back off the bed, taking your hands to pull you to your feet in front of him, staring down at you for a moment before reaching for the hem of your shirt.
You lift your arms as he carefully removes it, then runs his fingers over the soft skin of your shoulders before reaching behind you to unclasp your bra. He takes a deep breath as he gazes down at you, his fingertips barely brushing over the upper curve of your breast before moving to your waist, and soon your jeans and panties join the rest of your clothes on the floor as he helps you step out of them.
He pulls the comforter and sheet down before effortlessly sweeping you up into his arms, walking around to the side of the bed and laying you down, your head on the pillow. Then he strips down, and you can't take your eyes off the muscular roll of his shoulders as he moves, and you blush as you let your gaze move lower. And then he's on the bed, next to you, over you, propped up on his arms as he bends to touch his lips to your throat. He kisses over every mark left there by your attacker before moving slowly down, nibbling deliciously over your collarbone, then over the soft mounds of your breasts, moving a hand to cover one as he reaches the nipple of the other with his mouth.
"Dean…" His name leaves your lips unbidden, a cry from your heart as he uses his lips, his tongue, his teeth to gently send you into a state of utter bliss, leaving you breathless and mindless under his touch. When his fingers trail slowly down your body, over your belly, and move between your thighs, you throw your head back and moan, your hips bucking up beneath him. He strokes over you slowly, then focuses on your clit, rubbing gently but relentlessly until you cry out. Then he presses against it, hard, as he sucks your nipple between his teeth, sending you into a blinding high, a hoarse cry echoing through your room as your thighs quake and your nails dig into his bicep.
As your vision and mind begin to clear, he slides first one finger, then two, inside you, stroking into you as he moves again to nip and suck gentle marks on your shoulder. "That was amazing, baby," he whispers next to your ear. "I want to be inside you when you do that again. Please…"
You whimper out a "Please… Dean…" in answer, and he moves, centering himself over you, pulling his fingers slowly from you before you feel the head of his cock brushing over you. He enters you slowly, and your mouth opens in a silent scream of pleasure as you almost come again just from the feeling of him pushing into you and the sounds coming from his lips.
He nuzzles his face in the side of your neck as he pistons his hips smoothly, delicious tingles traveling through every nerve in your body, and he groans deep in his throat as he holds himself in deep for a moment before allowing himself to move again. "Damn it, I want to kiss you," he says, his voice rough with need. He pulls back, then drives himself deep, a low growl building in his throat, and he reaches between you as he thrusts into you hard and fast. A wordless cry leaves your lips as you contract and spasm around him, your legs clamping around his waist and your fingers digging divots into his shoulders. He groans, low and loud, as he explodes into you, his fist clenched into the pillow next to your head as he shudders violently, lowering himself wearily over you. You clutch at him, holding him tight, your face wet with tears you didn't notice until now, and soon he's raised his head, brushing gently at the tears with his lips, his hand stroking through your hair.
"Why…" He stops for a moment, brushing another tear from the corner of your eye with his thumb. "Why did we wait? I've wanted this… But I didn't think you wanted to get close to me. You always seemed…"
"Afraid?" you whisper, nodding slowly. "I've wanted you for so long, Dean, but I've been so scared." A shiver goes through you as he twitches inside you, and he smiles a little in response.
"Scared of me?"
"Scared of ruining our friendship, scared of getting hurt, I don't know. Of losing myself in you."
He hums appreciatively as he moves his hips a little against you, and you both moan softly. "I like getting lost in you," he says, brushing his lips over the shell of your ear, chuckling quietly at your quiet gasp.
He finally pulls himself from you, moving to your side and surrounding you with his arms as you nestle into his shoulder. You lie in his arms, silent, your fingers tracing over the tattoo on his chest, your bones almost fluid with utter contentment. You feel his lips touch your hair and you sigh, your eyes drifting shut. "So you really took him down?" You smile, nodding, and he hugs you a little tighter. "That's my girl."