Killing Floor

Killing Floor - chapter 4

Author's notes: Finally giving you some smut for being so patient! Don't forget to comment:) Find me on tumblr: deans-jiggly-pudding

Killing Floor Chapter 4

It's January 25th, 1969 and you're sitting in a sticky red diner booth with Dean Winchester reading the daily paper. You definitely didn't just see an article about a mysterious disappearance in South Boston, and you hoped that Dean wouldn't catch it either. Looked like your kind of thing. But this trip was about staying away from crazy shit like that, not meeting it head-on.

"What time did you come in last night?" you asked curiously. It was an honest question.

"'Bout 2am," Dean replied as he folded the paper and set it to the side, the waitress setting down our breakfast. "I stopped drinking once you left. The guys at the pool table all sucked. Bonzo was still at the bar when I left, of course. God it's hard to see him there, knowing how bad the alcoholism gets for him over the next eleven years." He got quieter as he spoke, the last bit barely a whisper.

You nodded and picked up your fork. "Yeah. I know. I cried my whole way through listening to Coda for the first time." Why the hell did you tell him that.

Dean dug into his bacon and eggs, deciding to change the subject. "I made like fifty bucks playing pool last night. Like I said, those guys blew. Which, converted into modern day taking inflation into consideration, makes... about..." He counted on his fingers for a second. "...between three hundred and three hundred fifty. Where you wanna eat tonight?" he finished with a laugh.

"Did you sleep ok?" you avoided the question. "The traffic never really stops outside our room."

Dean stopped chewing and sat up straight. "Did I wake you up?"

"It's just that," you sighed, "I'm a light sleeper."

He took a sip of his coffee. "How much did you hear?"

You realized you had been avoiding his gaze. You sacked up and looked him in the eyes. "Everything." Dean moved his tongue around his mouth, like he was trying to get something out of his teeth, but you knew he was stalling. You swallowed and took his hand across the table. "I've been stuck on you for awhile, too." His knuckles were dry and calloused from lack of hunt aftercare and the unforgiving winter air, but they sent a warmth into you that was calming.

Dean held onto your hand in return and smiled. "Wait, since when?"

"Since about two months after I moved in." You smiled and looked down as you remembered. It was the day you came back from a hunt screaming at yourself for missing the wendigo and lighting a bird's nest on fire instead. You locked yourself in your room and buried your face in your pillow, shaking. Dean made quick work of the lock, sat on your bed and told you that you can't beat yourself up over stuff like that, that you're a badass, and that he can't even throw that far, and then he took you to the gun range. He made some ridiculous joke about people who can shoot tight groupings being the same kind of people who always sunk the cheerios while learning to aim while they pee, and if you had a penis then you'd definitely be able to sink all the cheerios. That laugh he got out of you, the one he gave you when you needed it the most, that was the moment. You loved his gruffness and terrible jokes, his same four flannels and old food lying around his room, the way he moved and the way his eyes crinkled up when he laughed. You loved the moments in between when he let you peek into his soft interior, like a hug or pep talk after a rough hunt. These feelings were so intense, so scary, you buried them deep inside so they wouldn't distract you on the job. But you hid them so well, he had no idea how you felt until now.

"I've had eyes for you ever since you moved in," Dean confessed, "but you had just lost your roommate. It would've been totally out of line to make a pass at you." You looked down at your plate, not enjoying the memory. "Pretty soon you were a permanent resident, but I had gotten so used to having you around, I figured I'd scare you away," he chuckled and waited for a response.