Supernatural Imagines

Dean x Reader//Baseball is the New Black

Song of Choice: Day Dreaming (Of You)- Vague003

Requested by EllenGrillo:
     Dean finds you passed out drunk in a baseball field.
- 

He spent the last hour looking for you. In every cranny and crack his eyes had reached, there wasn't a trace of your smile or laugh. He was beginning to get worried. You told him you'd be home by nine, possibly drunk, but home. It was now ten and you were nowhere to be found. Your car was in the parkway, keys still in the ignition, but there was no you.

Dean was cursing you out, yelling your name like he was looking for you in the stars instead of in this shabby motel room. Sam wasn't worried and was telling Dean to not worry either; you'd come back. You were probably still out having fun. They were here for a short trip, anyways. It's not like any paranormal being was after you.

But Dean didn't think around that type of logic. HIs brain was on hunting drive, all day, every day. It was one of the reasons none of you stayed dead for too long. So, with that thought in mind, he grabbed Baby's keys and tore out of the room. He took your key out of the ignition and locked your car when he passed it, chuckling at how badly you parked.

Then he squealed out of there, tires leaving black scrapes in the cement, a memory for others to look back on and scoff. Kids, they say. But no; it was just a worried man worrying over you. His heart was clenched, blood refusing to pass through until you were in his arms, safe, happy, okay. That was all he wanted.

And, when he found you, an empty bottle of vodka in your hand, flannel wrapped around your waist, laying in the middle of an empty baseball field, he nearly cried in relief. Dean ran out of his car, ignored the droplets of rain that started to sprinkle down, and wrapped you in his arms. When they left, the only remnant of that night was the empty vodka bottle glinting in the moon and the shape of knees plunged into the grass next to a body print.

Small, but relevant. Intricate, but minimalistic all at once.

The two of you were now on the couch, Dean rubbing a blanket over your shivering shoulders, you just blinking and waking up to his ticked off eyes and a dry mouth. He was grumbling, words of this and that, hate and anger, but all of it was topped off with that ever remaining flicker of love. Hate was a secondary emotion, after all.

"I'm never letting you go to another bar," he stated, pushing back strands of your hair, dripping with rain. You giggled, still fully drunk, and reached up a hand to pat his cheek.

"I got smashed." Dean rolled his eyes and stood you up, hands around your waist so you wouldn't fall and smash your head into the cheap coffee table with stains of questionable colors. He brought you to your bed and dropped you on it, your body bouncing, you laughing your head off, and Sam coming over to stand next to the two of you.

"Is she okay?" He asked, voice soft and gentle like what's left of a trickling waterfall. Dean nodded and playfully pushed his brother's shoulder, telling him to shove off, but in words much worse than that.

He helped you out of your drenched, grass stained clothes and into some pajamas. Bottoms of yours, a top of his. You refused to dress in your own top, seeing as it didn't "smell good enough" to you. Dean had sniggered at that, obviously going to bring that up in the morning in a loud shout when all you would want was peace and quiet. It was your fault for getting pissed.

Your eyes began to close as you snuggled into his Zeppelin shirt, curling up on the bed. Dean pulled the scratchy covers over you and kissed you on the forehead before heading over to the television.

"Goodnight," he whispered. You didn't hear him.
-

This is really short, but it was really fun to write! Anyways, how are all of you? What's been your favorite thing so far of the week?

-noelle
     xo