The Family Business

by maisey2k10

Hermione's peaceful, yet boring life is disrupted when notorious hunter, Dean Winchester, walks into her book shop. Dean's life is completely changed when he meets, Hermione Granger, Brightest Witch of her Age. But maybe that's just what they both needed. Mostly Dean's POV. Rated M for a reason.

17. Chapter 17

THE FAMILY BUSINESS: SEVENTEEN

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Summary: Hermione's peaceful, yet boring life is disrupted when notorious hunter, Dean Winchester, walks into her book shop. Dean's life is completely changed when he meets, Hermione Granger, Brightest Witch of her Age. But maybe that's just what they both needed. A series of one-shots based on their lives together. Mostly Dean's POV. Rated M for a reason.

Disclaimer: I do not own canon events and characters, they belong to J.K Rowling and the creators of Supernatural. I am not making a profit from writing and posting this fanfic.

AN

Let's keep this short. Why have I been gone so long? Real-life has been terrible. With COVID 19 and everything that's been happening, I lost my job and mentally, I hit a bit of a rough patch, something I've been trying hard to dig my way out of. I had no motivation to write, and I barely had some to edit. But I'm slowly getting back into and I'm glad my first chapter back is so damn long.

And here it is, one of the moments we've all been waiting for so buckle up and strap in, this is going to be a long ride.

I've also changed one or two aspects, such as Dean is the one driving the car, but in canon it was Sam. And Dean's outburst and destruction of the car, that will take place before the clown case, not after as shown in canon.

So glad you enjoyed the permanent wedgie scene, and it is a serious question I have asked other family members before. Their answers? They were all useless and not very informing. I also apologise for any choking or injuries caused.

As a warning, perhaps have a tissue standing by.

Q&A

Padfoot'smyMan – Exactly! I swear, that's a normal conversation in my house. Between myself, my mum and my sister... Well, my dad's mortified and he's got his hands full.

Meldz - I swear, I love writing the domesticate, non-important scenes more than I do the actual plot. I never know what's going to happen until it's already written. I don't even know where half of it comes from.

Blondie95 – I think our mums would get on swimmingly.

RoseSwan9 - I can't give an honest answer. With so many WIPs, I know everyone has their favourites and I do try to keep it fair in the writing and posting of new chapters. But it also depends on the muse. Sometimes I can write multiple chapters for one fic in a couple of days, other times I can barely string together one chapter together in six months. Before, I used to stick to a strict schedule of 2-3 updates a week but it was killing me and I struggled, and my writing suffered. Since striking off a specific update schedule, my writing's gotten much better and I'm much happier with the outcomes.

Deangirl1996 – Thank you! I always struggle to write Dean's character, more so in the way he'd react to things as whilst I do try to keep him close to his canon character, I always like to put a little twist of my own into play. And honestly, writing Hermione/Dean pairings has become one of my favourites. I love the fun I can have with it.

Kwork108 – Thank you! Pack Life, given how long it's been since I last updated it, I am struggling to work my way back into writing it, something that's super annoying as it's almost finished. But I do have half of chapter 42 written, I just need to force myself to finish it, so hopefully, it won't be too much longer a wait. As for Hermione/Sam, honestly, whilst they are intellectually better suited, I've always seen them as more of brother/sister because they're so alike. But I am trying to work on a Hermione/Dean/Sam, and it might hopefully change my mind towards Hermione and Sam as a pairing.

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Page count: 31

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Two days later...

"I've got presents," Hermione sang, sweeping into the motel room and kicking the door shut behind her.

Dean was sprawled across the bed watching TV, Sam was on his laptop at the table and his father was flipping through a collection of newspapers.

"Presents? You only went to buy milk," said Dean, looking to the half a dozen bags she carried in her hands.

"Please, everyone knows that when you go out to buy something in particular, you always spend more than intended," she replied, setting the bags on the floor by the bed.

"I don't."

"Well, you're not normal," she quipped.

He rolled his eyes. "And you bought presents because...?" He prompted.

"Because I like buying presents for people, leave me be," she scowled at him. "First, Sammy..." She dug into one of the bags before throwing an unwrapped box across the room, it being caught by Sam, as he removed the lid and looked to Hermione in surprise. "I know how you like your gadgets."

"Yeah, thanks, it's great," Sam responded happily.

Dean saw Sam remove an item from the box before fastening it around his wrist and tapping at the watch face.

"Smartwatch," Hermione explained, distractedly digging through the bags. "Papa Winchester, catch," she threw something over her shoulder without watching what she was doing, his father having to reach to catch it.

"A wallet?" His father arched an eyebrow.

"A designer wallet, you ungrateful arse," she huffed. "That's genuine Italian leather. I don't know how you can stand having loose change and bills stuffed into your pockets. It drives me bloody batty when I see the folded bills sticking out of your pockets. And the number of times I've had to pick up the bills that have fallen from your pocket before someone else does is downright annoying. Use the wallet or I'll kill you with it."

"It's genuine Italian leather," he parroted.

"Yes, something that I paid for. I'll kill you and then pawn it, I'll get most of my money back and kill you off, it's a win-win."

He snorted at her, digging his change and bills from his pocket before stuffing them into the wallet under Hermione's glare. Smiling happily, she turned back to the bags and dug through them once more.

"Ah, there it is," she said triumphantly, rising to full height and throwing something towards him before once more digging through the bags.

It was a silver Swiss Army knife, his initials monogrammed on not only the handle but on each of the appliances, too. He felt his mouth tug into a smile. He'd mentioned in passing that he could use a new one but that had been well before Christmas, and he hadn't thought anyone had listened to him or would remember. In fact, he hadn't remembered until he'd seen the gift she'd bought him.

"Thanks," he grinned.

"I've also bought this."

She lifted something from the bag and unfolded it before holding it up, revealing a plan light-grey hoodie. He eyed her strangely. He never wore hoodies, and she knew that. He didn't own any. Why would she buy him one?

"Put it on."

"What?"

"Put it on."

"Why?"

"Because I bought it, I want to see what it looks like on."

"You know that's not my kind of thing," he replied.

"Put it on," she huffed, tossing it at him.

Sighing, he removed his shirt before reaching for the hoodie and slipping it over his head, finding that it fit almost perfectly. Hermione tilted her head to the side before nodding to herself.

"I like it," she confirmed. "I'm going to jump through the shower, don't take that off."

"What if I get too hot?"

"Suffer," she shrugged, uncaring. "Just don't take it off until I come back. I'll know if you have."

She headed for the bathroom and closed the door behind her, Dean's eyes following her movements before they darted to his amused brother and father.

"What the hell was that about?" He asked, perplexed.

"I stopped trying to understand her months ago," replied Sam, once more tapping away at the screen of his watch.

Hermione stepped out of the bathroom half an hour later, her wet hair piled atop her head, her skin flushed pink from the heat of her shower and she wore cotton pyjama pants and the matching tank top.

"You can take it off now," she told him.

Silently thanking God, he quickly removed the offending item of clothing, only to blink in surprise when she took it from him and slipped it on over her head, the sleeves falling past her wrists and the hem falling to her mid-thigh. She snuggled against the fabric, burying her nose under the neckline before sighing happily.

"That's better."

"Okay...?" He questioned slowly.

"What?" She looked to him, folding her arms around her middle. "You know I steal your clothes all the time, but you don't have any jumpers or hoodies I can steal. We're in the middle of winter, it's bloody cold all the time. I said I bought this, but I didn't say I bought it for you."

"Let me get this straight, you bought a hoodie to give to me to give to yourself?" He scratched at his head.

"That's right," she nodded. "And now, it smells like you, too, really drives home the illusion that I stole it from you. Isn't it cute?" She smiled before returning to the bathroom, looking at herself in the mirror.

"Witches, I'll never understand them," Dean muttered.

"Women," his father corrected. "No matter the race or species, whatever you wanna call it, all females are difficult to understand."

~000~000~000~

Two days later...

"Is it me, or have dad and Hermione been getting along recently?" Dean asked his brother as they waited in line at the drive-thru, having already placed their order but were waiting for their food.

"Have they?" Sam asked distractedly, his nose buried in one of Hermione's magical books, this one something to do with the history of the Witch Trials and the implementing of the Statute of Secrecy. Dean couldn't think of anything more boring.

"Hermione hasn't tried to kill him in over a week, they haven't had an argument in two days and dad seems less hostile when she uses her magic."

Sam snorted. "I imagine it has nothing to do with her saving his life."

"That's the point. Hermione saving his life causes the hostility and arguments," replied Dean, pulling the car forward one space as another took their leave from the queue. "Remind me to get ketchup packets."

"She has three bottles of ketchup in her purse."

"I know, I've had this argument with her before, apparently the bottles are for homemade food and the ketchup packets are for fast food. I don't see the difference but she swears they taste different," he rolled his eyes.

"Of course, she does," Sam said, unsurprised. "I've never seen someone with such an unhealthy obsession with the stuff, she practically drinks it from the bottle."

"Mayonnaise, too. She always puts one or other on the majority of her meals, I've seen her use both at the same time."

Sam grimaced. "She's a bottomless pit, I don't know where she puts it all. There's not an ounce of fat on her, how the hell is she so skinny? She should be the size of a house."

"Don't let her hear you say that," Dean warned. "Remember what happened last time dad said something similar."

Sam winced. "Yeah, that wasn't pretty," he agreed. "And as for dad's issue with Hermione's magic, he's been in the know for some time now, I guess it's finally setting in that she's not evil and that magic can be good and used for good purposes... Ketchup!... That and Hermione's getting annoyed with him looking at her as though she's the Anti-Christ."

"In his book, she might as well be," Dean replied, shifting the packed food into the bag Hermione had charmed to ensure the food stayed hot during the drive to the motel. "His reasoning, she has magic, magic comes from Hell."

"Hermione'll take offence to that," said Sam, absentmindedly sticking his hand into the bag, drawing back with a fry and putting it into his mouth. When Dean slapped him upside the head and glared at him, he sighed before slipping the food onto the back seat. "The magic from Hell is nothing but a cheap imitation of the magic of the trueborns," he recited, having heard Hermione's thoughts on the magic of Hell too many times to count. "To us, it's powerful and dark, to her, it's nothing but an annoying fly that can't be swotted away. And although I really don't wish to run into a demon-witch..." He paused a moment so he might sip from his drink. "I kind of do at the same time. We haven't yet, surprisingly, seen Hermione's magic against Hell magic, and she's adamant she can take multiple practitioners at once."

"And you doubt her?" Dean arched an eyebrow. "After everything we've seen her do?"

"No, I don't doubt her, I just wish to see it with my own eyes. Being aware of her limitations can only be advantageous, especially given what we're currently searching for. I don't particularly understand it but Hell magic obviously comes from Hell, it's powered by the trapped souls. But Hermione said her magic is believed to have come from the earth. She said she can sometimes feel the magic in the ground and air."

"What?"

"Beats me," he shrugged, his hand reaching back to steal another fry from the bag but Dean slapped it away.

"Don't look at me like that, she's too damn clever and she'll know that you've had your grubby paws in there. She'll make your life miserable."

Sam grumbled before burying his nose in the book once more, the remainder of the journey filled with the music buzzing from the speakers and Sam occasionally trying to steal fries but Dean intervening before he could.

When they reached the motel and parked up, they headed for his and Hermione's motel room, that being where they'd left Hermione and their father as he and Sam were tasked with retrieving dinner as well as carrying out a few pointless errands for their father, something neither of them understood the purpose of.

As they neared Room 3A, Dean felt his stomach twisting into knots, panic rising and his head spinning as the muffled sounds of a fight reached them. Ignoring Sam's words of caution, his hand automatically drew his handgun from the waistband of his jeans and he rushed forward, kicking the locked door open until it slammed into the wall, breaking the door frame.

As he did so, he caught a glimpse of Hermione's tight grip on his father's arm before she ducked beneath him and used some unknown strength to flip him over her shoulder. He slammed into the table, it breaking into pieces under his weight and the force, hitting the ground hard with a groan.

Hermione breathed heavily, partially bent over as she struggled to regain her breathing and then suddenly she was lying on the ground, her feet having been swept out from beneath her.

He hadn't even realised he'd aimed his handgun at his father or that he was slowly advancing in fury that he dared to lay a hand on her after all the warnings he'd had and after all the times Hermione had saved his life, not until he felt a strong hand clamp over his shoulder and it tugged him backwards, the handgun being plucked out of his grasp without effort.

"Calm down," Hermione muttered through a groan. "He wasn't hurting me."

"No, you look damn well hurt to me," Dean snapped, his furious gaze darting to his father who still lay sprawled on the ground with pieces of the broken table lying beneath him, all without a care in the world.

She winced as she pushed herself up onto her elbows, her gaze locking with his, and it was then he saw a bruise forming on her left cheek, a cut above her right eyebrow and a split in her lip.

The only thing that stopped him from reaching his father was Sam's tight grip.

"Honestly," she sighed, rolling her eyes. "Look at me."

"I am," he snapped.

"All of me," she corrected.

He was reluctant to do so but when he did, he noticed her flushed appearance, her hair being a complete mess with half of the curls being tied back from her face and the rest having fallen free. It wasn't intentional, that much was obvious. He suspected it had once been a bun that sat atop her head but now looked like a half-assed ponytail, with an extra helping of half-arseness. Her clothing, she wasn't wearing the t-shirt and jeans from before, neither was she sporting pyjamas or lounge pants. No, she wore sneakers on her feet, dark yoga pants and the matching sports bra.

His brow furrowed in confusion.

"I don't understand," he confessed, his eyes darting between her and his father.

His father released a sigh before he pushed himself up onto his elbows, too, looking unconcerned with the blood that sat beneath his nose and dribbled over his mouth, the bruise that was forming on his left-side jaw or the cut on his right cheek.

"He's teaching me."

"Huh?"

She rolled her eyes and blew a curl out of her face. "To defend myself. Let's face it, without my wand I'm pretty much useless, and I can only cast a limited amount of non-verbal and wandless magic. Yes, I know how to throw a punch with enough force to knock someone unconscious, but in a fight, I'm useless."

Dean blinked slowly, his eyes analyzing the scene before him. His father was helping her? Teaching her to defend herself without her magic?

"Why didn't you ask me to help you? Why didn't you say anything before?"

"Do I even need to answer that?" She cocked her eyebrow, apparently also being unconcerned with her injuries. "You'd be too cautious. You wouldn't want to hurt me or you'd worry about hurting me and you'd hold back. I know you, you'd never throw a punch at me even if I asked or if it was for the purpose of teaching me to better defend myself. And whilst Sam wouldn't be as reserved as you, I know he'd also worry about hurting me and hold back, especially given our size and weight difference. Your father has no qualms about punching me in the face or kicking me to the ground," she shrugged, wincing when the action upset her aching shoulder.

Dean glared at his father.

"I can't win," he grumbled, falling onto his back and staring up at the ceiling. "I fight with her, you don't like it. I avoid her, you don't like it. I try to improve her chances of surviving a fight, you don't like it. I give in."

Dean felt Sam release his shoulder before shoving him out of the way and moving to sit on the bed, placing the untouched and unharmed bag of food beside him, something Hermione's eyes were drawn to immediately.

"How long's this been going on?" Sam asked curiously. "It's obvious you do it when we're not around and with your magic and healing repairing injuries and potential damage, we'd never know. You throwing him over your shoulder, that isn't something that can be learned in a couple of hours, not with the confidence you showed, at least, and that means this isn't the first time," Sam deduced.

"I don't know, it started not long after Christmas. We spar a couple of times a week, depending on how often we're alone," she shrugged, once more regretting the motion but that didn't stop her from pulling herself to her feet, moving to sit on the bed and digging through the food bag in search of her order and the extra ketchup packets. "Why are they so bloody stingy, what am I supposed to do with three ketchup packets?" She griped.

Sam snorted and dug his own order from the bag, he and Hermione ignoring the mess in the room, him and his father lying on the ground without a care in the world. Dean honestly didn't know what to do or say about the revelation that his father had been teaching his girlfriend to defend herself for weeks without his knowing. He wasn't even certain of his motives.

Was he doing it because he felt he owed Hermione for all the times she'd saved his life? Was it because he enjoyed the opportunity to beat the crap out of her without her magic protecting her? Was it simply because she'd asked for his help? Did he have some ulterior motive? Was it a way to figure out her weaknesses so he might use them against her?

Sighing, Dean realised he had a headache forming and he silently crossed into the bathroom so he might splash some water on his face and scrub his hands before he ate his own food. As he rose to full height and dried his face with the nearby hand towel, his eyes caught sight of his father stood in the doorway, leaning against the door frame.

"I know what you're thinking," he stated.

"Do you?" Dean challenged, his hands settling on the porcelain sink and gripping tightly in an effort to prevent him from punching his father.

"Yes. You want to hit me for the injuries caused, no matter of the fact she gave as good as she got. For someone so tiny, she packs one hell of a punch, with and without magic."

Dean's brow creased. Was that... Pride he'd heard? He turned to face him, leaning back against the sink.

"You wanna know my reason for helping her. It's as she said, you and Sam won't and can't help her, Sam doesn't know his own strength sometimes and she's turned you soft."

"No, she hasn't," Dean denied.

His father snorted. "I'm not saying it's a bad thing, even if you do let her plaster your face in those ridiculous face masks..."

"That you enjoy," Dean interrupted but he continued as if he hadn't heard him.

"...Paint her toenails or braid her hair for her, something I never thought I'd see."

"It's damn hard, there's so much of it!" Dean argued. "You need at least three hands to hold all the damn hair... I can hotwire a car faster."

"Look, I know I wasn't and haven't been the best father, you and Sam deserved better. I know I fucked up your childhoods, that you've both got a shit tonne of issues that may never be worked out... But you've changed, you're different and for the better and I know it's because of her. She might deny the fact she's had anything to do with it, but I know it's only because of her that you're better, I know she's the reason Sam's kept it together after what happened to Jess, and for that, I owe her in ways I can never repay. I know Sam loves her like a sister and I know you love her..."

Dean swallowed, an uncomfortable knot twisting in his stomach as he fought the urge to shuffle and shift his weight.

"I'm helping her because I owe her. As much as I hate to admit it, she's saved my life more times than I can count in the last few weeks. She's the reason Sammy's sane and you're happy. She's the reason you're still alive. And I know you love her, so I'm doing it for you and for her..." He sighed, bringing his hand up to rub over his face, wincing when he nudged his nose. "She's not... She's not evil," he confessed despite the fact he'd struggled to speak the words. "She's not, and neither is her magic, and that's something I'm beginning to understand. You and Sam know how to defend yourselves and you have weapons training. She doesn't, and it's not fair to put her at risk because neither you nor Sam is capable of teaching her without worrying about her or pulling punches. The way I see it and from what I've seen so far, you're gonna put a ring on her finger at some point..." His mouth twitched, seeing Dean's clear discomfort. "And she's gonna be family, officially. It's the right thing to do, to ensure her safety and in the process, yours."

"Mine?"

"You're less likely to do something stupid if anything happens, knowing that she can handle herself with her magic and without."

"I don't know what to say," Dean admitted, his mind filling with potential responses but none of them seemed right.

"You don't have to say anything," his father shrugged.

"When you two are done having a mother's meeting!" Called Hermione's voice. "There's food out here and if you don't come and get it, I'm eating it!" She threatened.

Dean snorted and rolled his eyes, he and his father sharing a look before they both stepped from the bathroom, Dean noting that all of the damage to the furnishings and the door had been repaired, and as Hermione ate her burger, she was also tending to her injuries.

~000~000~000~

Three days later...

"Bitch!"

"Arsehole!"

"Demon!"

"Knobhead!"

"Hag!"

"Wanker!"

Dean rolled his eyes, barely taking his attention from the road before him and when he felt a nudge at his cheek, he reached up with his hand, a purr sounding by his ear as he scratched Sadie's head, his little protector curled around his neck and along the back of his seat, as was usual.

Dean had honestly gotten used to their insults and petty arguments, they were like children when they were confined in small spaces for more than an hour or two. Usually, he would just turn the radio up to drown out the noise but they'd started arguing louder to the point they were screaming and it gave him a headache.

"Witch-Demon!"

"Prat!"

"Wicked Witch of the West!"

"Ooooh, that's original, it's no wonder your two brain cells couldn't come up with something better, you bloody moron!"

"Don't be surprised if a house falls from the sky and lands on you, you're the intended target!"

"That was the Wicked Witch of the East, you imbecile. The Wicked Witch of the West melted after having water thrown at her."

"Great idea, let's see if it works!"

"I swear, if a single drop of water hits me, I'll turn you into a toad!"

"Ooooh, that's original! Who'd you steal that from? Morgan De Ley!"

"It's Morgana Le Fey, you dick! If you're going to make fun of my people's history, at least get it right!"

"Whatever, at least I'm not a damn witchling!"

"No, are you sure? You do seem to enjoy a pamper session and I've seen you reading Cosmopolitan Magazine on your own decision. Is there something you wish to tell us...? And neither am I, I'm a full-grown witch and have been for a decade."

"Full-grown? I've seen dogs bigger than you!"

"How dare you?! I'm average height for a woman of my weight and age! Be more sensitive, Knobhead!"

A pause of silence...

"You've used that one already."

"No, I haven't."

"You have," Sam piped up, barely taking his eyes from the book in his grasp.

"I... I have?"

Dean looked to her, seeing her horrified expression.

"Afraid so," he replied, nodding slightly.

"Oh, Merlin!" She whispered, looking truly disgusted with herself as her gaze darted to her hands. "What have I done? I used the same insult twice in one day. Godric! There's something wrong with me, that's unforgivable." She lifted her head, looking directly to him, her expression deadly serious as she said, "You need to break up with me."

Sam snorted, the sound being followed by the turning of a page in his book.

"It's been a long day, you're tired. I forgive you," said Dean, his mouth twitching in amusement.

"You're too good to me and I don't deserve it."

Shaking his head in amusement, Dean looked back to the road, hearing his father say,

"So I win?"

Hermione whipped around so fast it was a wonder she didn't give herself whiplash.

"Like Hell you do!"

"You used the same insult twice," he responded smugly.

She narrowed her eyes. "It's been a long day, I'm tired," she argued.

His father opened his mouth to respond when the ringing of a phone sounded in the car, his father reaching into his pocket and drawing back with it. Dean turned down the radio, his eyes darting between the road and his father as he took the call, his father's expression growing grave, angry and sullen before he snapped the phone shut.

"So?" Hermione prompted.

"A friend of mine, Pastor Jim Murphy... He's been found dead, suspected demon killing."

The atmosphere in the car plummeted and Dean spied the way Sadie shifted on the back of his seat as if to be closer to his father, and Crookshanks lifted his head from his paws, watching his father carefully from his place lounging in-between him and Sam, whilst Domino was sprawled across Sam's lap.

"What do you want us to do?" Dean asked.

"Continue to Salvation," he responded, his voice and eyes void of emotion. "This ends...Now... I'm ending it. I don't care what it takes."

"Well I do care," Hermione added, looking to his father with something he didn't quite understand, but the older Hunter did. "I understand he was your friend, and if it was a demon, chances are it was done to draw you out. Word's bound to have spread what we're up to and they're going to do everything they can to stop us. Killing your friend is likely another attempt to draw you out so they might get what they want. It wouldn't be the first time. And because it was a friend of yours, that makes things personal and when emotions are involved that's when things go tits up."

"You don't know what you're talking about," he snapped.

Dean almost slammed on the brakes so he could turn to look back at his father and glare at him for daring to snap at his girlfriend in such a way, especially when she was only trying to help.

"Don't I?" She responded, her tone chilly, her expression cold and angry. "I guess you glossed over the part where I was a fucking child solider. Where I was a fugitive, a torture victim, where I had countless near-death experiences all before the age of eighteen. Where I was forced to watch those I cared for, those that I knew and that were my friends and mentors, die. I think I know better than anyone what grief and emotion can do to a person. And let's not forget when my partner of five years allowed his personal attachment to a hostage victim get the better of his judgement, resulting in the death of twelve others as well as himself and I barely survived. Do you know what it's like to be the sole survivor of such a thing? Or the psychological damage it leaves behind? No, you don't. So don't you dare presume what I do and do not know," she snapped, her cheeks flushing red and her hair frizzing up, golden sparks zinging about her head.

"Grow the fuck up, there's more on the line here. You're not just risking your life, but mine, Sam's and Dean's, and you're not the only one that cares for them. You witnessed how my family's accepted them, how my nieces and nephews adore them. They'd be devastated if anything should happen to either one of them and if it does and you're the cause because you let your emotions cloud your judgement, I'll put you in the ground, and that's a promise. I don't care if you take me with you or if I'm already dead when I do so, my number one priority is ensuring Sam and Dean are safe, something that as their father, should be yours. You've already fucked their lives up to the point neither of them would be considered securely sane, and I won't let you cause any further damage by throwing yourself headfirst into this without proper thought or planning."

Silence reigned for far too long as they stared at one another, Dean's eyes darted between them and the road and Sam's eyes had widened and his mouth hung open, his book long since forgotten.

~000~000~000~

"You should've told me!"

Dean felt his anger build as his eyes darted between his visibly upset younger brother (who Hermione was trying to comfort as she glared daggers at his father) and his furious father.

They'd finally found a pattern, occurrences that had happened in Lawrence, Kansas before the death of their mother, and they were happening in Salvation, Iowa. When they'd finally arrived in Salvation after a long, tense and silent few hours, they checked into the closest motel they could find before they decided to split up and divide the tasks amongst them, having so much to do and it needing to be done as quickly as possible.

As such, Hermione and Sam headed for the medical centre so they might sneak a look at the birth records of all children born within the last six months, Dean handled the search for any more potential strange occurrences, trying to map it out to a specific location, and his father took control of surveillance.

After Sam suffered with another vision (something that hadn't happened in weeks) and he and Hermione unexpectedly met the woman and child centred around his vision, they'd been unable to warn her and they returned to the motel to share the development with him, which meant his father was hearing about Sam's strange powers for the first time, case and point his anger.

"What the Hell were you thinking? Obliviously, you weren't. When were you going to tell me about this?"

"We didn't know what it meant," Dean ran a hand through his hear.

"Something like this starts happening to your brother, you pick up the phone and you call me."

Dean saw Hermione open her mouth to no doubt berate his father, but Dean beat her to it, his own patience had worn thin.

"And when the Hell were we supposed to do that?" Dean snapped, his father's eyes being drawn to him and he visibly blinked in surprise. Aside from the one time he'd raised his voice at him after he'd shot Hermione, he'd never before done so. "When it began happening we were searching for you for months and you deliberately ignored us, no matter how many calls or texts we sent. We'd have had a better chance at winning the damn lottery than you answering the phone! As for after, I don't know if you've noticed but we've been busy lately and we've had a lot to deal with, he hasn't had an episode for weeks and we forgot about it."

"Forget, you forgot!"

"Yeah, forgot!" Dean confirmed, not backing down. "Sorry to say, my attention's been on my girlfriend since you shot her, and I've been trying to stop you from killing each other."

"Maybe you shouldn't have bothered!"

"Maybe you're right!"

"Stop it!" Sam interrupted, his hands rubbing at his temples as he stared down at the ground.

Dean looked to him, seeing his tired, defeated expression and as Hermione had her hand pressed to his back, rubbing comfortingly, her eyes moved to him, her glare softening as she silently asked if he was alright. He took a breath, uncurled his clenched fists and subtly nodded. She didn't respond as her eyes darted back to his father, her glare reappearing.

~000~000~000~

"I thought the bitch was dead," Dean grumbled, pushing his hand through his hair.

"Technically, she is," Hermione shrugged her shoulders. "The fall did kill her, even magic wouldn't be able to heal that kind of damage, I'd bet everything I have that she died upon impact. But she'd possessed by a demon, isn't she? Or is that yet to be confirmed? Anyway, the moment it leaves her body, well..." She trailed off, allowing them to come to their own understanding.

"What're we going to do?" Muttered Sam, slumped over at the table with his face buried in his arms.

"We can't give her the Colt," said Dean. "We need it."

"But if we don't, she'll continue to kill everyone he knows," added Hermione.

"So we don't give her it," his father spoke up, stood by the window and staring out at the parking lot. "She's never seen it before, she won't be able to tell the difference between the Colt and a fake."

"But when she does figure it out, she'll kill you," Hermione pointed out. "And even if she doesn't, she'll still kill you. Either way, you're dead. We all know she's not going to let you walk."

"So I'll be quick."

"I'll go with you."

All eyes turned to Hermione, one set unsurprised, the other two very surprised.

"What?" Dean and his father unintentionally asked.

"I'll go with you," she repeated, barely taking her attention from the bag of candy in her grasp as she searched for the one she wanted.

"It's too dangerous," Dean said, whilst his father added, "Sam and Dean need you here."

"Shut up, the both of you," she sighed, lifting her gaze momentarily before lowering back to the bag of candy. "As far as we're aware, Meg doesn't know about me. When I rescued Sam and Dean from her trap, I was hidden by my magic, she didn't see or hear me. And if she ever does find out about me, I doubt she'll cause much trouble. As I said before, the supernatural holds no power over trueborn magic and therefore, the lower level and less powerful demons and whatnot are afraid of us. It's why they keep their distance. Even if we do have magic protecting our entryways into the Wizarding World, we're still able to feel a potential security breach from the supernatural and as far as I'm aware, there's never been a recorded instant, and I'd know; I used to have access to such files given my law enforcement background."

"Anyway, if I go with you, I can ensure you get out safely. I could be stood right beside you and they'd never know. And whilst I'm with you, Sam and Dean can stake out Monica's house and ensure hers and Rosie's safety. They know what they're doing, they don't need me, so I can be with you."

"Makes sense," Sam nodded in agreement. "Better for your safety, too," he looked to their father. "You'll be all but invincible with Hermione by your side."

"Dean?" The older Hunter questioned.

Dean's brow furrowed and a twisting began in his stomach. He didn't like that idea, hated it, really. He liked Hermione to be nearby so he could keep an eye on her, no matter of the fact she was the most powerful person he knew and she was more than capable of handling herself. In fact, she was the one that kept them out of trouble more often than not. But still... To leave her and his father alone... Together... He didn't like it.

"If she gets hurt, it's your ass," he warned, levelling him with a narrowed gaze to show he was serious.

"I can take care of myself," Hermione said indignantly before she slipped a gummy worm into her mouth, biting the head off with more aggression than was necessary. "As for the fake Colt, any ideas?"

"I can head out and buy one easily enough," Dean shrugged.

"Why do that when you have me?"

"What d'you mean?"

She rolled her eyes, set her bag of candy aside and then drew her wand from beneath her sleeve. Standing, she crossed over to the table and muttered something beneath her breath, the newspaper that sat on the table transforming into a handgun.

"I'd forgotten you could do that," said Dean, still finding himself amazed at the all but limitless things she could do with her magic, and he wasn't stupid; he knew it to be practice, skill and dedication rather than just luck. She worked hard to perform the feats of magic she cast, he'd seen her practising the wand movements for a water manipulation charm for three hours before she deemed herself ready to attempt casting the charm. Something she perfected on the third attempt, he might proudly add.

"That's not a Colt," said his father as he stepped away from the window and closer to the table, seemingly unphased by the newspaper-turned-gun.

"You don't say," she rolled her eyes. "I'm not an idiot, that was just a quick demonstration. Give me an hour and I can transfigure a Colt that will be so indistinguishable from the other, even you won't be able to see the difference."

His father arched a challenging eyebrow. "And will it fire bullets?"

"With a little extra spellwork, more than likely, yes. But I have to warn you, transfiguration isn't permanent, but given how small an object it is, it should be good for a few hours. There is a spell I could use in order to create a physical copy, but that has an even shorter life-span, usually around an hour before it disappears."

"Well then, Witchling, get to work."

Hermione sent a glare so chilling, it was a wonder she didn't give his father frostbite.

~000~000~000~

One day later...

"Err...Dean, Honey, I know you're worried about your father but can you please slow down."

Dean's eyes darted to Hermione beside him, seeing the way one hand gripped the door, the other the edge of the seat and she'd pushed herself as far back into the seat as possible, her eyes wide in terror and her teeth sunk into her lip in worry. Blood was smudged across her pale face, it soaked the sleeves of her t-shirt and coated her hands.

So much had happened in the last twenty-four hours, more than Dean thought possible and more than any one person could deal with.

The yellow-eyed demon had made an appearance and for the first time in decades, they'd had the chance to kill him. Unfortunately, he'd managed to escape but in doing so, they'd been able to save the life of Monica and her baby, Rosie.

Having not heard from his father or Hermione, he'd tried to get in touch with them, which was when Meg had answered the phone, promising he'd never see his father again. He'd been filled with worry but with her failure to mention Hermione, he was hopeful it meant she was still unharmed and undetected, meaning they still had a chance.

He and Sam needed back up and after a long and tense argument, they'd headed to Bobby's hoping the older Hunter might be able to help them with their search. However, they'd barely been there half an hour when Meg arrived, kicking down a perfectly good door that was already unlocked.

After trapping her under a demon's trap and exercising the demon, they'd been left with a clue from the dying human Meg. It seemed Hermione's assumptions about her dying on impact had been wrong after all.

Hours bled into more and when they finally tracked down their father (sans Hermione which had worried the shit out of him) they were able to rescue him from the guarded apartment before hiding out in a remote cabin. It wasn't until his father complimented him, until he said some suspiciously kind words that he felt dread fill his stomach, knowing something was wrong.

And he was right. He'd been possessed by the yellow-eyed demon.

After shit hit the fan, resulting in him and Sam being thrown around and Dean being sure he had some internal damage, Sam was able to shoot their father in the leg, restoring some control before the demon fled.

And it was at that exact moment when the door was blown off its hinges and Hermione stepped into the doorway, her expression livid. As she darted over to his father upon Dean's request, she tended to him the best she could, trying to keep him alive for as long as possible until they were able to reach a hospital.

Even with her magic and potions, she was only a magical paramedic; she could handle minor injuries and broken bones, even gunshot wounds such as her own, but she didn't have the right equipment, knowledge or experience to handle an injury such as his father's, not when the femoral artery had been hit and he was losing too much blood. She stuffed potions down his throat quicker than his father could swallow and she hadn't been kind about it either, and that was when Dean discovered that his father had injected Hermione with a sedative (where the Hell did he get a sedative?) before his meeting with Meg, which is how and why he'd been captured.

Dean was furious with him, even if his father swore he'd done it to keep Hermione safe, to keep her away from the demons and to keep her unknown to them.

And after they dragged him to the Impala, despite his own injuries and refusing Hermione's insistence that she give him a once over, his worry for his father overrode his concern for himself and he was speeding his way to the nearest hospital. He felt awful for frightening her, especially after what she'd gone through - waking up in a random hotel room with nothing but her wand (Dean having had her magical purse) and the clothes on her back, and she had to track them down across another State.

"I can't," he muttered, giving his head a shake.

"You're worried, I get it, but I've done all that I can for him."

Dean darted a glance back at his father, seeing him tiredly glaring at Sam who was determinedly looking out of the window, avoiding that glare.

"I've not stopped the bleeding but I have slowed it and given him a blood transfusion, it should be enough to keep him stable long enough to get him to the hospital, but really, you're scaring the shit out of me. Driving like this, you're only increasing the possibility of a crash."

"We're not going to crash."

Oh, how wrong he was.

~000~000~000~

One day later...

He felt odd.

He felt fine, but not at the same time.

He felt like himself, only something was missing.

When his eyes fluttered open to be met with blinding lights, it took him a moment to adjust and when he did, he soon discovered that he was in a hospital room. Feeling confused, he absentmindedly shifted from beneath the blanket, climbed from the bed and went in search of someone, anyone.

It wasn't until he began walking the empty corridors that he grew suspicious and it wasn't until he tried to get the attention of a nurse who looked to have no idea he was even there that he grew worried. Concerned and worried, he headed back to his room, blinking in surprise at the sight of... himself. He was lying on the bed, unresponsive and hooked up to more machines than he could count. And it wasn't until Sam appeared with bumps, scrapes and bruises that things began to set in.

They'd been in a car accident.

The very thing Hermione had warned him against.

Hermione! Where was she? Was something wrong? It must've been, he knew her. She barely left his side when he had the damn flu a few months back, there's wasn't a chance in Hell she wouldn't be at his bedside now, not unless she couldn't be.

He'd tried to get Sam's attention, tried asking for answers, but his brother had no idea he was there, his soul detached from his body, able to observe but not interact.

"Your father is awake."

Dean's head snapped towards the door as a doctor stepped into the room. His father? Oh God, he'd forgotten!

"You may visit with his if you wish."

"And Dean?"

The doctor's expression grew sullen. "Your brother has suffered many serious injuries, however, I am most concerned about the head trauma cashed during the RTA. Unfortunately, I can't determine the full scale of his injuries until he wakes... If he wakes."

"Don't say that," Sam interrupted, shaking his head vigorously in denial. "You don't know him the way I do. He's a fighter, he's been through worse than this. I know he'll wake."

"It's best not to get your hopes us," warned the doctor before he made to leave.

"And Hermione? Hermione Granger?" Sam asked and the doctor turned to face him once more. Dean held his breath, waiting for his reply.

"Mr. Winchester, you know I cannot reveal such confidential information on another patient."

"That patient is my brother's fiancé. She's like a sister to me and I promised Dean that I would take care of her if anything happened to him. I can't do that if I don't know what I'm working with. She was in the car with us."

The doctor sighed. "Have you had any luck contacting her next of kin?"

"No. Her brother's in England. Not only is there a time difference, the only number I know to reach him on was on Dean's and Hermione's phones. Dean's was damaged during the crash and Hermione's hasn't been recovered yet. I never thought I'd need it so I didn't memorise it or add it to my contact's list. Right now, until I find a way to get in touch with him and even if I did, he's in a different continent, I'm her next of kin, regardless of a bit of paperwork."

The doctor held Sam's gaze for a moment, Dean's eyes darting between them, hoping Sam's words had worked to persuade the doctor in revealing her condition. Hoping she had but a few bumps and bruises.

"Should anyone hear that I revealed such information to a non-family member..."

"I won't tell anyone," Sam promised. "When Dean makes it out of this, they're going to get married and we will be her family."

The doctor cleared his throat before nodding stiffly. "As Miss. Granger and your brother were seated in the passenger and driver seats and from the angle of collision, they received the brunt of the injuries. As the car was struck on the passenger's side, Miss. Granger's injuries are severe."

Dean stumbled backwards, straight through the medical equipment and into the wall. His head swam, his vision blurred, his throat tightened, his heart clenched, his stomach knotted. It was all too much. It was too painful.

His girlfriend had been injured because of him. Severely injured. He swore to never harm her, to always protect her and he was the reason she was in the hospital.

"Her injuries are similar to your brother's, she's currently in surgery as they attempt to repair the damage to her pancreas and slow the internal bleeding. Despite the abdominal trauma, Miss. Granger's injuries might have been worse had she not been wearing a seatbelt. She appears to also have head trauma, but as I said with your brother, we won't know the full scale until she wakes."

"Thank you," Sam muttered. "And erm... I don't know if this matters or not, but she might still have a sedative in her system."

"I'm sorry?" The doctor questioned in surprise.

"Sedatives, I'm not sure what kind, only that she had some."

"And when was this?"

"More than twenty-four hours, at least."

"And why would she have a need for sedatives?" The doctor pressed.

"She served in the British Army before retiring and relocating to America. She suffers from PTSD, sometimes she's given a sedative if it's triggered and she can't be calmed by other methods," Sam lied. "My father should know the name if it's important."

The doctor cleared his throat. "Thank you, Mr. Winchester. Someone will be by soon to check on your brother and as I said, you may visit with your father."

"And Hermione?"

The doctor hesitated before saying, "When she is out of surgery, I will have someone inform you."

"And their jewellery? It might not seem to be worth much, but they have extreme sentimental value, something I know can't be replaced."

"We'll do our best to ensure they remain undamaged and that they are returned."

~000~000~000~

Dean wandered the hospital in a blur, numb to everyone and everything around him. He'd searched every room possible in search of Hermione, even the ORs and when he exited the last one, he came to the conclusion she was out of surgery and he retraced his steps, searching for her room.

He wasn't sure how long he wandered but he almost collapsed in relief when he caught sight of Sam's mop of hair. Stepping into the room he occupied, he was sat in a chair beside a bed that rested Hermione. Her face was marred with cuts and bruises, bandages were wrapped around her head, tubes came from her mouth and arms, monitoring her condition and ensuring her health.

As she was dressed in the hideous and draughty hospital gown, her chest rising and falling softly, she almost looked to be peacefully sleeping.

He'd done this to her.

He hated himself.

She almost died because of him. She could still die because of him. What was he going to do? How was he ever going to make this up to her? She'd never trust him again. She would leave him and he deserved it.

When Sam unexpectedly sprang from his seat and out into the hallway, it caught his attention and Dean followed, seeing Sam flagging down a nurse that held a clear plastic bag, one that contained what looked to be a mixture of their personal items.

"I'll take that," said Sam to the nurse who gave him a suspicious look. "That's my brother's jacket and Hermione's purse. I want to see if her phone was found, I need to contact her brother and let him know what happened."

"Her brother?"

"Yes, he lives in England."

"England?" She blinked slowly.

"Yes, London, England, Hermione's British," Sam replied, his expression being clear that he had no time or patience for the woman.

Once he'd taken the personal belongings, he returned to the room and dumped them out on his lap, finding Hermione's phone amongst them. It looked to have some damage but it didn't stop it from working.

"Harry? It's Sam..."

Dean couldn't stay. He didn't want to leave Hermione but he couldn't stay and listen to Harry's furious response, he couldn't stay and listen to him blame him when he already felt like shit.

~000~000~000~

"What happened?" Dean asked his brother, pushing himself into a sitting position and leaning back against the pillow.

Waking up and choking on a tube shoved down your throat was not something Dean would recommend.

"You don't remember?" Sam frowned.

"It's a little fuzzy," he admitted. "Where's dad? Hermione?" He wasn't certain why, but at the mention of her name, he suddenly felt sick, disgusted.

"Car accident. Dad's fine," Sam answered. "The work Hermione did on his leg held long enough that the doctors were able to patch him up. He's even up and walking."

"And Hermione?"

Sam hesitated.

"Hermione?" Dean pressed.

"Her injuries, like yours, were severe. She had to go into surgery to have her pancreas repaired and the internal bleeding stopped, from what I understood, everything went fine. She had some head trauma they were worried about but I was able to contact Harry. He was here within half an hour and with an army of magical doctors. They've taken over her room and barred everyone from entering, including us. You know, since we're not supposed to know about magic? The last I heard from him, she's doing well. Her condition's improved massively and with their potions and magic, coupled with the surgeons having already taken care of the internal bleeding and damaged organs as well as the blood transfusion, Harry reckons they're just dealing with the head trauma. She's expected to wake soon and make a full recovery."

Dean released the breath he hadn't realised he was holding.

"It wasn't your fault."

"What wasn't?"

"The accident, it wasn't your fault."

Dean's brow furrowed before his eyes slammed shut and he brought his hands up to his hair, fisting the strands tightly as a pounding headache was called forth, bringing with it flashing, horrifying images. Snippets of what had happened.

"Oh, God. I did this to her," he whispered in horror, feeling bile rise in the back of his throat.

"No, Dean, you didn't," Sam assured him. "It wasn't your fault. I don't blame you, neither does dad or Harry. I told him everything and he doesn't blame you."

"I was the one driving..." He insisted. "If I'd have just slowed down like she'd asked..."

"It wasn't your fault," Sam said forcefully. "Okay, it wasn't. We were hit by a truck. Purposely!"

"What?" Dean choked.

"It was a demon, Dean. I saw it. A demon possessed a truck driver and he targeted us. He wanted to kill us. No matter the speed you were driving, he still would've hit us."

"It wasn't my fault?" He pleaded.

"It wasn't your fault," Sam promised. "And she's going to be fine. Come on, you know Hermione. The damn witch was Christmas shopping not twenty-four hours after she was shot." Dean felt his mouth twitch. "She's too stubborn to die. You know she'd never leave you."

Footsteps drew their attention and their father appeared in the doorway, Sam explaining that he was going to find Harry and see what else he could tell them about Hermione's condition, leaving him and their father alone.

"How are you feeling?"

"Fine, considering..." Dean shrugged.

"And that girl of yours?"

"Sam said Harry told him the magical doctors think she'll wake soon and she'll be fine."

"That doesn't surprise me, I've never met a more stubborn woman," his father nodded, stepping further into the room. Dean eyed him carefully. Something didn't feel right. "I'm sorry, with this life and everything that's happened... You had to grow up far too fast. And I want you to know I'm proud of you."

"Are you possessed again?" Dean asked cautiously.

"No," his father chuckled, giving his head a shake. "This is me and this is long overdue."

"What's wrong? Why are you saying these things?" Dean frowned in concerned.

Avoiding his questions, he said, "Watch out for Sam."

"Haven't I always?" He arched an eyebrow. "And with Hermione's help, he's more protected than the President. Hell will freeze over before she lets anyone near him. I can't wait until he starts dating again, she'll vet the poor woman until she knows what cereal she eats and who her kindergarten teacher was." His father nodded, offering a smile. "Seriously, what's wrong? You're scaring me."

"Don't be scared."

His father approached and whispered something into his ear, something that Dean struggled to process. And when he blinked, he was gone. Dean stared at the doorway for what felt like hours and when he heard the frantic calls for help, he stood from the bed and moved into the corridor, watching in horror as his father lay on the ground surrounded by nurses and a doctor and Sam was stood a little ways behind. He watched in horror as his the doctor called the time of death.

10:41am.

John Winchester was lost to the world.

His father was dead.

~000~000~000~

One week later...

Hermione watched from the doorway with a mug of tea in her hand, Dean tinkering with the Impala and trying to get it in working order as he had been for the last six days, and Sam sitting on the porch steps, a book in his lap but his eyes watching his brother.

It'd been seven days since John Winchester had died. Six days since she'd woken from a coma and been medically cleared and learned of his death. Five days since they'd given him a Hunter's funeral and they'd holed up at Bobby's, the older Hunter allowing them to crowd his house for however long they wished. And no matter how much he complained and grumbled about them always being in his way or getting on his nerves, Hermione knew it was a front. He was trying to act normal, trying to offer normalcy to Sam and Dean after losing their father.

And honestly, she was worried.

She knew Dean, she knew him better than anyone and better than herself. She'd seen him in every situation imaginable, every one situation but this one. The death of a parent. A parent, who she later discovered, gave his life so that Dean might be healed of his injuries and survive.

In the days since John's death, Dean appeared to shut everyone and everything out, focusing solely on the Impala, only taking breaks when she called lunch or dinner, and when it grew past midnight and he climbed into bed beside her (something Bobby didn't protest against, this time, at least) and held her so tightly, she was concerned she'd wake with broken ribs.

If it were Hermione, she'd have just written the car off and bought a new one, but from what Sam had told her, John had gifted Dean the car. It wasn't the car itself, rather what it stood for, what it meant and the memories it held. The ring she wore around her neck, whilst it wasn't worth much, to her it meant everything. Dean had gifted it to her, something he'd had for years and he'd given it to her so that every time she touched it or saw it, she'd be reminded of him and that she wasn't alone.

She wanted to help him but she wasn't certain that was something he'd allow her to help him with. He was bottling his emotions up, putting them far out of reach and soon, Hermione knew he would explode. She knew from experience it was never a good idea to hold back such strong emotions.

Her eyes darted to Sam.

He and Dean had been arguing a lot recently and she'd tried her best to keep out of it, allowing Bobby to step in when the arguments grew heated and it looked as though fists might go flying. Sam was one to bottle up his emotions, as proven when he'd lost Jess. But if she could get him through that, she'd be damned if she didn't get him through this, too.

Sighing, she crossed over to him and sat on the porch step above him, setting the mug beside her before she reached over and folded her arms around his neck, pressing her chin atop his shoulder.

"How you doing today?" She asked softly, her eyes locked on a deeply frowning Dean. He knew he was out of it; he wasn't even paying attention to the little white cat that circled his feet, sensing his pain, offering comfort and trying to get his attention.

Sam shrugged half-heartedly in response.

"You know I'm just as much yours as I am his, right?" Sam arched an eyebrow and looked at her over his shoulder. "Oh, you know what I mean," she huffed.

He chuckled and brought his hands up, folding them around hers and giving a gentle squeeze.

"I know," he nodded, his eyes darted back to Dean, watching him worriedly. "It's like he's not grieving. Like if he doesn't acknowledge it, it didn't happen."

She sighed. "I know. I'm doing my best not to push him but I'm worried, too. Bottling all those emotions... He's going to explode, sooner or later. I know, it's happened to me before, and the outcome wasn't pleased."

Sam hummed, his eyes still on Dean.

He was quiet, too quiet. And that's when it happened. He finally snapped. He'd been waiting seven days for it to happen.

Sam had been expecting it but he hadn't expected for Dean to take a crowbar to the car, releasing his pent up anger and grief as he shattered all the windows, knocked the wing mirrors to the ground and dented the previously repaired hood.

"You should see to him," said Sam.

"And what about you?"

He shrugged uselessly. "Dean's taking this a lot harder than I am. Not only was he closer to dad, but he blames himself."

"He's your father, too, and it's okay to miss him, to grieve, even if he was a shitty father."

His mouth twitched. "Maybe later, but right now, he needs you more than I do. You're the only one that's gonna be able to get him through this."

"This is foreign territory for me," she admitted quietly.

"He doesn't need you to tell him things will get better and that it wasn't his fault, he just needs to know that he has you."

She sighed tiredly. "Okay, I'll handle him and when I'm done, I'll come and find you."

"Don't rush, take your time."

"If you need to, talk to Bobby. He might be able to help more than I, given how close you are. We both know that bottling it all up isn't good for anyone."

After pressing a kiss to his cheek, she unfolded her arms around him, pressed the mug of tea into his hand and then rose to her feet, slowly descending the porch steps and halting to a stop a short distance from Dean. She didn't want to be in the line of fire, knowing Dean would only feel worse if he were to accidentally harm her.

A short while later, all of the fight and anger seemed to suddenly fade and he dropped the crowbar to the ground, his head lowering and his shoulders slumping as he breathed loudly and heavily.

Steeling herself for possible rejection, she approached, her hand coming up to sit on his shoulder, feeling him tense beneath her touch. And when she thought he was going to shrug it off and demand he be left alone, he took her by surprise when he turned to face her, reached out and pulled her against him, feeling the breath being knocked out of her as he buried his face against her neck before she had the opportunity to see it.

Her arms folded around his neck, her hand lightly scratching at the nape of his neck knowing it was something that comforted him and she stood on her tiptoes, pressing her forehead against his shoulder.

"Hold on," she whispered before she reached for her wand beneath her sleeve and apparated them up to her bedroom, landing firmly on her feet.

Dean didn't falter or complain having long since gotten used to the feel of her apparition and after she muttered a Silencing Charm, giving them privacy, her wand fell from her grasp and to the ground when he held her impossibly tighter. And then she felt it.

A wet tear hit the skin of her neck.

The dam burst, Dean's shoulders shaking as he was overcome with silent, uncontrollable sobs. She felt her heart shattering into a thousand pieces, her chest tightening and her throat burning with the effort it took to hold back her own tears. Having lost her own parents, she understood exactly what he was experiencing, both the loss and the guilt. Dean felt guilty not only because his father had given his life for own his, but also because she'd been admitted to hospital due to his actions, even if the accident wasn't his fault, no matter how many times he was told by others he wasn't to blame. He just couldn't shift the guilt. She carried guilt in her heart because her parents had died simply because she existed, and not only had they suffered, but they'd died not knowing of her existence. They both had deaths that weighed on them heavily, no matter of the fact they hadn't been the ones to actually pull the trigger, so to speak.

She wasn't sure how long they stood holding each other but her legs were going numb and Dean's shoulders had stopped shaking but he'd yet to lift his head from her neck. At the very least, she could see that some time had passed as the daylight was slowly fading.

"What was that?" She asked softly, having heard him mutter something but not his actual words.

He drew back from her slowly but didn't release his hold on her and he stared down at her unflinching, unembarrassed and unafraid, something that surprised her. She had seen Dean in many scenarios and the like but she'd only seen him cry twice, both after waking from a nightmare and even then, she wouldn't name it as crying as there'd only been a couple of tears before he fought them off.

But as he stared down at her, his eyes bloodshot and tear-filled, dried tear tracks on his cheeks and his nose looking a little red and sore, she'd never seen him so open with her. Right now, he was showing her everything, baring his soul to her.

"I love you."

Hermione would've fallen over if Dean's hold on her wasn't so tight. If she was honest, whilst Dean opened up to her more than she believed he'd ever done to anyone else before, she didn't think she'd ever hear those words fall from his mouth, but she didn't need to hear them. She already knew. She'd known for months Dean's feelings for her, no matter of what Sam and their father had said. She'd loved Dean barely a few months after agreeing to be his girlfriend and although she'd wanted to say the words to him, she'd always hesitated and refrained, not wanting to overwhelm him or pressure him. He had to be ready to do it in his own time.

"I love you," he repeated, his eyes slowly tracing her face, searching for something in her expression.

She closed her eyes briefly before they fluttered open again, her hands shifting until they held his head and her thumbs swiped over his skin, his eyes falling closed before slowly opening.

"I know, I know you love me. I've always known. You don't need to say the words to verify what I already know, your actions more than speak for you. And I love you, so very, very much that sometimes it hurts, sometimes I find myself so overwhelmed that I can't think or focus on anything but you," she promised.

She understood his sudden need to verbally tell her of his love for her. For months he'd been showing her, whether he knew it or not, but after the war, it wasn't uncommon for people to suddenly, unexpectedly or randomly make declarations of love to their partners, children, family or friends. Merlin knows she told Harry she loved him every day for nearly two years, even if they were the only words she spoke to him in a week, given their busy and separate work schedules. They all made a habit of confessing their love as they'd been shown the harsh truth that anyone could be taken and lost to you before you realised it and regrets were always felt if feelings hadn't been shared beforehand.

"Please, don't ever leave me. Promise me," he begged, his voice cracking as he struggled to finish his plea.

"I promise that I will never willingly leave you. I promise that I am yours forever, and I do so make these vows upon my magic."

A golden glow appeared suddenly, Dean's head turning to glance down at her wrist, seeing a golden strand wind its way around her wrist, forming a band before fading into nothing, only a slight shimmer being seen as it caught the final rays of sunlight before night fell.

"What the Hell was that?" He swallowed, looking back to her eyes.

"I made those vows upon my magic, if I should break one of them, there is a high possibility I might lose my magic as punishment. Or at the very least, it might render me a Squib."

He looked horrified. "I know what I'm doing. Trust me on this."

She did know what she was doing. She loved Dean like she'd never loved anyone before. She loved Dean with every fibre of her being, with her heart, with her soul and with her magic. She trusted him with every part of her, with every whispered secret no matter how innocent or dark. She trusted him with her past, present and future.

She wasn't entirely a believer of soul mates and destiny, but she did believe that everything happened for a reason, she believed that everyone had that one person that was meant solely for them, and she believed that when that person was found, one would know in their heart and their magic. She felt that with Dean. The moment he'd walked into her shop she'd known there was something different about him, and if she was honest, it was the main reason she'd agreed to hunt with him. She could live with the boredom, with the calm and quiet, but at the time, she'd felt she had to go with Dean, she'd felt that he'd lead her to where she needed to be. And that was right by his side.

Harry and Ginny. Molly and Arthur. Her mother and father. Remus and Tonks. Her and Dean. They'd all overcome obstacles to be together. Harry and Ginny, separation and the war. Molly and Arthur, broken marriage contracts. Her mother and father, the age gap and her disapproving Grandparents. Remus and Tonks, his Lycanthropy. Her and Dean. She being a witch and him a Hunter.

They were all meant to be together. She could feel it in the air when around them, that one thing that made them click, that made them perfect for one another and no one else.

Even if he hadn't of wandered into her shop, she was convinced she and Dean would've met through other means. After all, what were the chances that she happened to be close friends with Bobby Singer, the man who was like a second father to him? What were the chances they'd meet at the same motel and that she'd save his life when there were plenty of Hunters in the US? When he was working a case that landed him in that same town as her? When it wasn't often he worked cases at all?

"I know what I'm doing," she repeated.

"I love you... I just needed you to know in case... I would never forgive myself if..."

"I know, I understand, war veteran, remember?" She said softly. "I told Harry I loved him every day for two years after the war, because I was afraid he might be taken from me and I didn't want his last thought to be that I never loved him."

She drew back from him despite his reluctance to let go, but when he saw she was only intending to move to the bed, he released her, allowing her to drag him over to it. After climbing onto the bed and reclining against the pillows, Dean followed, moving to lie beside her, his arms folding around her and his head resting against her chest. Her heart broke for him all over again. Silently, she lifted her hand and ran it through his hair, the other trailing soft patterns on his arm with her fingertips.

"I don't know what to do," he confessed quietly.

"Honestly, Dean. There's nothing you can do. There's nothing I can say or do to make this easier for you, and you know that if I could, I would do it in a heartbeat. And I don't mean to sound harsh when I say this but... He's not coming back. You loved him, he was a shitty father, but you loved him and I think towards the end, he was trying to make it up to you. He's not coming back and you can't change that, so, perhaps don't dwell on the what ifs and the I wish... Celebrate his life and achievements. Celebrate who he was. An arsehole, a shitty father and a badass Hunter who loved face masks and manicures more than he'd willingly admit."

Dean snorted.

"He loved arguments, reading Cosmopolitan Magazine, watching shitty action movies, eating sour candy and I know it was him that ate my pancakes no matter how innocent he thought he was. Honestly, if I'd have had proof, I'd have hexed him bald and made it so he was only capable of fantasizing about donkeys for a month."

Dean gave a laugh, a laugh that morphed into a sob.

"It hurts too much."

She sniffled, fighting back her own tears. "I know, Honey," she whispered. "But you have to feel that pain. Trust me, if you don't, it'll make everything worse. You have to feel it to process it, and processing it leads to understanding, understanding leads to acceptance, and acceptance leads to moving on. Your father wouldn't want this for you, would he? I survived my grief because I had people to help me, and you? You have me and I'm not going anywhere."

~000~000~000~

The door slowly opened, a slither of light from the landing peeking in as Crookshanks and Sadie darted inside, both being quick to leap onto the bed, the white cat snuggling her way in-between her and Dean and Crookshanks laying behind Dean.

He fell asleep some time ago and had yet to move with his head being cushioned on her chest. The moment he'd quieted and his breathing evened out, her tears silently fell. Hours had passed, she wasn't certain on the time, only that it was late and she'd yet to fall asleep.

Domino soon made an appearance, leaping onto the foot of the bed and she was followed by Sam, dressed in pyjama pants and a t-shirt. He poked his head inside and seeing his exhausted expression, she silently patted the space beside her.

He didn't ask if she was certain or comfortable, he just slipped inside and closed the door behind him, moving to sit beside her on the bed. Silently, she took her hand in his, the other resting on Dean's back and she'd rub comforting circles and shush him when he made a distressed noise in his sleep.

When Bobby woke to the use the bathroom in the early hours of the morning, he peeked into the bedroom, seeing Sam propped up against the headboard, his hand held by Hermione's as his sleeping head rested atop hers, as it was pressed against his shoulder. As she slept, Dean lay across her chest, the three Hunters being surrounded by the three cats.

Quietly, he stepped into the room, retrieved the comforter that was folded on the chair in the corner, and he draped it over them before taking his leave.

~000~000~000~

Three days later...

Dean was exhausted.

He'd barely left the bedroom since he'd allowed himself the breakdown. The morning after when he woke, he thought he might feel embarrassed, ashamed, uncomfortable, but he didn't.

Hermione didn't pity him, she didn't belittle him or pressure him. She loved him.

He'd suspected, of course. Whilst she'd never said the words before, he was certain she'd had a few near misses, there'd been a few times when she hesitated or paused and then quickly changed her words as though he hadn't noticed it. And he knew it was because of him. She hadn't said the words because she didn't want to pressure or overwhelm him.

Dean didn't process emotion well, never had done, but he had gotten better since meeting her. What happened last night, his breakdown and his confessing of his love for her, that was proof. Before, he hadn't known what to name the things he felt for her, and it wasn't until he lost his father that he realised. He loved her. He'd always loved her. He'd loved her before she'd met Sam and before he'd asked his younger brother what it felt like to love someone.

And he knew she loved him, too. She really did.

After his breakdown, he had no energy. It wasn't that he was being a lazy asshole or that he was wallowing in grief, he just felt tired. Worn out. Drained. And he needed time to process all that had happened, the changes that would need to be made and the plans that needed ironing out for the future.

Hermione barely left his side, something he felt guilty for but something he was also thankful for. When she was nearby, the grief seemed less constricting and tight, like she was helping to carry the weight and lessen the load. She only left his side to prepare meals and use the bathroom, and she was never gone longer than half an hour, and she brought his meals to him so he might eat in the bedroom.

He wasn't stupid either, he knew Sam was having a hard time, he knew that when he was sleeping, Sam would sneak into the bedroom and fall asleep holding Hermione's hand, and he would wake in the morning and sneak out before Dean woke. He knew because he'd spotted the black cat hair on the blanket, and Domino wouldn't be present unless Sam was.

The time Hermione spent with him hidden away, sometimes they sat in silence, sometimes Dean regaled tales of his childhood and the good memories he had of his father, sometimes his emotions swallowed him hole and Hermione just held him and other times she read aloud from a book, the title or content didn't matter to him. He wasn't listening to the words spoken, only that it was her voice, her softly spoken tone that calmed him and made him sleepy. And it was moments like that when he realised how lucky he was to have her, how lucky he was that she'd chosen him.

Hermione was powerful, beautiful, funny, intelligent, kind, fearless and she could have any man she ever wished for. He'd seen it. All she had to do was snap her fingers and men would drop at her feet and she'd have her pick. And still, she'd chosen him. A psychologically damaged fuck up with mommy and daddy issues. Oh yeah, he was a catch.

He still wondered what it was he'd done that made it so she'd chosen him, that made it so she'd decided he would be the one for her, that would make her risk losing her magic in her vowing to never leave him. What the fuck had she been thinking to do something so stupid? But she'd been so confident that she would never leave him, that she would be his forever. And she had said forever. He'd heard it. It repeated in his mind on a loop, just as her words 'I love you' did.

Dean looked to his watch, his brow furrowing. Where was Hermione? She'd been gone at least an hour. She'd never been gone more than half an hour. They'd already had breakfast and it was only a little after ten o'clock. She said she was going to the bathroom and then she'd be back. Where was she?

The door opened and he heaved a sigh of relief, pushing himself up from his stomach and into a seating position and when he turned around to face the door, he froze, his eyes widening in surprise.

He'd expected Hermione. He hadn't expected Hermione to be accompanied by others. Well, that explained why she'd been gone so long. She's snuck off to London.

"Uncle Dean," James began, slowly crossing over to the bed and stopping before him, looking up at him with big, sad eyes. "Aunt 'Mione said Papa John's gone to Heaven."

Dean felt his throat constricting and he swallowed, nodding sharply.

"He has," he tried for being as calm as possible but he choked on the words.

James sniffled before he wrapped his arms around Dean's torso.

Feeling the sting of tears in his eyes, Dean closed them and reached down, lifting James onto his lap, the little boy shifting his arms to wrap around his neck.

"You're sad," whispered James.

"Very sad," Dean admitted, hugging the child against him.

"It's okay to be sad. Daddy gets sad all the time when it's Halloween. That's when my Grandma Lily and Grandpa James went to Heaven. And he gets sad 'coz Uncle Sirius and Uncle Remus went to Heaven. And now, Papa John's in Heaven. I bet they're having lots of fun together. Daddy always says they're happy and they're keeping us safe."

His throat tightened and his eyes stung as a tear fell. He didn't have the heart to tell the kid his dad most certainly hadn't gone to Heaven. Selling his soul meant a one-way ticket to Hell.

"I'm sure they are."

"Papa John can teach them to play football and baseball, and my Grandpa James and Uncles Sirius and Remus can teach him how to fly and play Quidditch and show him how to prank people. And my Grandma Lily, she's very good at hexing people, just like my mummy and Aunt 'Mione." Dean gave a muffled sniffle-laugh. "They're having lots of fun, I know they are. Please don't be sad, Uncle Dean. I don't like it when you're sad. I love you."

Dean felt another tear fall.

"I love you, too, Buddy," he whispered.

Feeling a tugging at his t-shirt, he looked down to see Albus staring up at him with his big brown eyes. Silently, he reached down, shifting the younger Potter brother onto his lap until they were both hugging him tightly and another tear fell.

When they drew back, they smiled at him and he laughed when they simultaneously pressed a sloppy kiss to his cheeks. Standing, he dropped them both onto the bed and they laughed and giggled. He wiped his eyes as subtly as he could before he crossed over to Hermione, crouching down and removing the little lady from her car seat.

When he lifted her into his arms, she blinked up at him with her beautiful, large eyes, giving him a gummy smile as she stuffed her fist in her mouth. It had barely been a month since he'd last seen her and he couldn't believe the changes or how big she'd grown. She wore an adorable black dress printed with flowers, the right sleeve soaked with saliva, and she wore white tights, contrasting against the black colouring of the dress.

He rose to full height before turning his eyes to Hermione questioningly.

She smiled. "There is only so much I, Sam and Bobby can do. The rest has to be you, and children can do wonders for healing; they're full of life and joy. They might be what you need to help yourself. I went to London this morning to speak with Harry and Ginny, though given the time difference; I had to visit them at work."

"How long do we have them?"

She smiled, as though she knew he'd liked the answer. "For however long you wish."

He blinked in surprise.

"Ginny wanted to come, too," she added. "She wants to mother you, and now that she's got kids, she's worse than Molly. It's frightening."

Dean snorted and shook his head.

"They staying here?"

"Of course," she chirped.

"Does Bobby know?"

"Not yet," she grinned. "He and Sam are out getting groceries."

Dean felt a smirk pull at his mouth.

"That'll be a surprise then. Going to get groceries and coming back to three kids, one who wakes at all hours of the night."

She laughed. "He's going to love it."

"He'll kill you," he corrected.

"Nope, you know how adorable they are, the moment he meets them he'll be won over. And when he sees Lily for the first time, you might have to share her," she teased.

"Not a chance in Hell," he said seriously and she laughed.

Hearing giggles, they looked to the bed, seeing Albus and James whispering between one another before more giggles broke free. When Lily gurgled and fisted his shirt, he lowered his gaze, his eyes locking on hers. And with that stare and the giggles behind him, he felt a little piece of his heart slot back into place.

"Thank you," he said, looking to Hermione. Smile and tipped her head. "I love you."

She blinked before her smile widened. "I know. I love you, too. And we'll get through this. Together. I promise."