Dean Winchester ⇝ Supernatural

Whatever you need

by Supernatural-Jackles on tumblr

Dean x Reader

Word Count: 1,318

Warnings: Angst, Panic Attack, Fluff, Swearing

Request: Hey, can you please do a one shot were the reader gets into an argument with Dean over something stupid and Dean says he wishes they didn't have her to take care of and she starts having a panic attack and Dean starts freaking out and helps her? Thanks. I've been have a lot of panic attacks lately, and it would really help me.

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"I can't fucking believe you, Y/N! You weren't even supposed to be on this hunt. I told you it was too dangerous for you and look what happened!" Dean shouted. You knew the second you climbed out of the impala that he would go off on you. And he did. Dean was furious.

"It's just a sprained ankle, Dean! It's practically nothing. I don't understand why you're so mad at me for it," you said calmly, hoping that he would just talk to you about it instead of yelling at the top of his lungs.

"You wouldn't have a sprained ankle in the first place if you would have done what I asked you to and stayed home. You haven't been hunting that long Y/N and you weren't ready for something like that. Quite frankly if you're going to continue on your suicidal rampage I don't want you hunting at all. You're barely capable as it is," he said harshly, his voice was cold and you knew he was trying to hurt you so that you'd quit the life. He wanted you to quit the life.

"Dean, I am capable. I also have you and Sam there in case something does happen. How many sprained ankles have you had because of a hunt, and not even a difficult hunt? I'm guessing quite a few, it happens Dean!" You stated. "Dean, this argument is stupid. I'm not going to say sorry for joining the two of you on the hunt, and I'm not going to apologize for helping you lure the vamps into your trap. I can take care of myself you know."

Dean had always thought you were helpless, ever since he and Sam saved your life from a wendigo about a year back. You were almost dead when they found you and they helped you out, patched you up and invited you to stick with them. You had been hunting for a couple of years now, ever since your family was killed by a demon. You did some digging and found Bobby Singer's number and he taught you everything. Dean didn't think you knew anything though. He still thought you were this inexperienced kid who would be dead without them.

"But you aren't capable Y/N, you're damn lucky you weren't hurt any worse than this. You are reckless and I'm so sick of having to take care of you all the time! Things were perfectly fine before you attached yourself to the both of us."

There it was. The harsh truth you were waiting on. You knew you came off too strong some days. Sam and Dean treated you better than your own family did. They always made you feel safe and welcome. They made you feel loved. You had a feeling that you were wearing out your welcome, now you knew you had. Your throat grew tight at the thought. You were going to have to move on, start fresh again.

"I'm sorry," you whispered. You could feel the heat radiating on your cheeks. You knew your face was flushed. You had been here before. You had to leave the room before anything happened. You didn't want Dean to see you, you didn't want him to feel obligated to take care of you again. "I'll pack up my stuff and go then," you breathed out, you weren't even sure that you spoke loud enough. You didn't dare look at him. You could hear your heartbeat pounding in your ears. With that, you rushed out of the room despite your sprained ankle.

Your whole body was shaking as you ran down the halls. You were growing more and more lightheaded as you made your way to your room, you weren't going to make it that far. You tried to calm yourself, constantly repeating "you're okay", "you're imagining things", "everything is fine Y/N, just calm yourself, breathe" but you couldn't focus. Your whole body was shaking as you leaned against the wall.

You felt two strong arms wrap themself around you, pulling you into their body tightly. The strong smell of whiskey, leather and gunpowder filled your nose. Dean. You couldn't have him here, you couldn't let him see you like this. You tried fighting him off of you but you were extremely weak, and his hold was tight. "I've got you, everything is okay," he said softly. He sat in the middle of the hall, pulling you into his lap before he tucked you into him, his chin rested on the top of your head while his hand rubbed your back absentmindedly. "Match your breathing with mine, okay. I've got you. Nothing bad is going to happen to you, I promise," he whispered.

You listened intently to his heartbeat, using it as your guide to calm yourself down. The thing about Dean is that he always made you feel safe, no matter where you were or what the situation was, he made it all okay. Even if he was the one who helped bring this on, he was still there help pick up the pieces that broke off. You managed to calm down, relief washing over you before you realized just how stupid you felt. It happened every time. You felt like a complete idiot for panicking over the simplest thing. You broke from his grasp, smiling weakly at him before limping down the rest of the hall to your room.

You shut your door quietly and made your way over to your bed. The thing you hated most was the amount of energy your panic attacks took away from your body. You were exhausted, and weak.

You were about to fall asleep when your door cracked open, revealing the light from the hallway and a tall, broad figure in the door. You squinted your eyes to see it was Dean, he was standing there with a tray in his hands.

"Hey, you still awake?" he questioned, his voice low but gentle.

"Yeah," you whispered back. He walked over to the empty side of your bed, carefully placing the tray before take a seat next to you.

"I brought you some food, I figured you would probably be hungry after what uh-just happened," he said. You remained quiet. His hurtful words still ringing in your ears. "I didn't mean it. Not even a little bit. I'm not sick of taking care of you, it's the opposite really. I know you can take care of yourself and sometimes I wish you'd let me help, especially after that. You put on this brave face all the time and you don't have to."

"Thanks for the food," you mumbled. Dean let out a sigh.

"You know, I haven't actually dealt with someone having a panic attack, not to that extent anyways, and not in my arms. You were shaking and I could practically feel your heartbeat against me. It scared the shit out of me, but that doesn't even compare to how you were probably feeling. I can't imagine going through something like that, let alone by yourself," he told you. His eyes were on you as he brushed a piece of stray hair behind your ear. "I got mad at you for going on the hunt because I'm terrified that something is going to happen to you and I'm not going to be able to stop it. I know it's not fair to you, especially since I know hunting is what you do best. It's selfish of me really. Look, I don't expect you to forgive me, not any time soon but please let me try and make it up to you."

"How do you plan on doing that?"

"You tell me, and I'll do it. No questions asked. Whatever you need," he replied.

"In that case, I could use someone to hold me for a while. I wouldn't mind feeling safe for a little while."