I Don't Bite [Dean Winchester x Reader]

The Roadhouse

In all my years, I would have never expected to hug Dean Winchester with such fervor, or for him to hug back. It wasn't the first time of course, but this was different. This was... well, rather than watching him fight for his life, he once again nearly died in front of me. This time, it wasn't even by the hand of some villain - it was by his own.

Despite the longevity of the case, the goodbye hadn't lasted long at all. Andy's replies were short, clipped, although meaningful. He appreciated our efforts in helping him, in believing him, but he was still processing the thought of having just killed his brother, who he had known for maybe ten minutes. I didn't envy him.

My mind raced, no coherent thought quite sticking before it was gone. The Impala roared, the passengers seat warm beneath me. For what must have been the hundredth time that hour I cast a quick glance over my shoulder at Andrew. He hadn't said a word since the end of the case, his eyes locked on something outside the car window as trees rushed past.

I shrugged back into my seat, shoulders pressed firmly against the back and tensed enough that I thought I might strain something. No one had spoken since we said our goodbyes. That was normal for most hunts, and I assumed the conversation would pick up again soon. Dean would put on some music and start singing along atrociously enough that we would all laugh, or Sam would start geeking out about some new monster or lore he had found.

I zoned out after a while, lost in my own thoughts, a nail between my teeth chewing it to a stub. I hadn't bothered to ask where we were going, hadn't registered that we had essentially ditched the stolen Subaru. Few things other than my thoughts and the unsettling silence registered with me.

I flinched at the feeling of a warm touch on my knee and followed the calloused hand's path to Dean. He glanced every few seconds between me and the road, a look of worry on his handsome features.

"You OK?" he murmured quietly, soft enough to not disturb the silence of the car. Truthfully, I wasn't sure I'd have been able to hear him if I wasn't a monster. I dropped my gaze and stared blankly at his hand before nodding.

Dean frowned and withdrew his hand, placing it back on the steering wheel. Neither of us were quite sure how to press the conversation. I knew he understood my anxiety, why I was so... stiff. He almost died by his own hand this time. How he was so calm after that, I would never understand.

Dean didn't understand it either. Like usual, he was ignoring it, refusing to process what had happened - well, everything but one thing.

"Your eyes are still yellow," he mumbled out again, casting another glance in my direction. I froze in surprise then quickly clamped my eyes shut and shook my head.

"Sorry," I replied just as soft, eyes still shut tightly. Maybe if I stopped thinking about it, they'd return to their normal color. I jumped once more as his hand grasped mine, dwarfed in comparison to his.

"Don't apologize," he answered, less of an order and more of a plea. I had nothing to apologize for, and he was trying his best to convey that. My cheeks flushed, but I didn't remove my hand from his grip.

---

The next few hours were totally silent. No music, no talking, not even a sigh. After a while, it became more comfortable than unnerving as everyone processed the night's events.

The sun was beginning to peak over the horizon when the Impala pulled off the main road and onto a dirt path that I recognized almost immediately. I hadn't bothered to ask Dean where we were going, the thought had never crossed my mind.

The Roadhouse came into view, towering over everything around it, although that wasn't hard. The land was barren aside from a few scattered clumps of grasses. The once neon sign was faded in the coming morning, the sky dappled blue and gray. There were fewer cars and motorcycles around than there had been a few days ago, although that didn't surprise me.