Dean X Male Reader One Shots

Educate Me

"You are this close to making me commit homicide, Winchester. And don't think I won't." Your face is twisted into an annoyed scowl as you look up at the hunter. He backs away, hands raised in surrender. His brother cracks a smile and shakes his head turning back to his laptop.

"I was just asking questions," Dean takes a kitchen chair and sits down in it.

"Well, you're too damn curious for your own good. Leave me the hell alone, so I can get this read." Sam leans over to inspect the textbook you're reading and gives up after a few seconds, his nose wrinkling in disgust.

"I don't understand why you're so invested in this college stuff. What are you gonna do with it anyway?" You look up from your notes to give Dean a 'are you fucking serious?" look. You stick a bookmark in your textbook and lean back in your chair.

"Well, for one I'm not wanted for a laundry list of crimes across the entire United States so I have the freedom to study without the FBI coming down on my ass. Two, I really want to do something other than hunt monsters for the rest of my life because we both know what usually happens in this lifestyle. I don't feel like getting murdered. That's the end of it, Dean. Now leave me alone so I can study." Sam snorts out a laugh and Dean socks him in the arm.

"Bitch."

"Jerk."

Still scribbling notes a few hours later, Dean comes back to you and snatches the textbook from you. If looks could kill the eldest Winchester boy would be dead a thousand times over.

"Take a break. Let's go get something to drink." Your cramping fingers and aching head agree with Dean's sentiment and you groan.

"Alright, but just one. Ok? I've got an exam to study for." Dean takes you to the local dive and you sit down for a drink. That one drink always turns into ten and before you know it you're rambling drunkenly to an attentive Winchester.

"And then this guy has the audacity to insinuate that the entire thing is my fault just because my sexual orientation isn't normal. Like, what the fuck? On what planet do random white frat boys get to tell me how to live my life? Not this one, that's for fucking sure." Dean nods in assent and takes another swig from his beer. "Have you ever had anything like that happen to you, Dean?" He shrugs, screwing his face up in thought.

"Once or twice but only because I was hitting on some girl's boyfriend instead of her. She got pissed and slapped me once or twice before I could get an apology in. I hate people like that. Always formulating their opinion of you before you can even get two words out. They don't even know you but they claim they know everything about you just from either your appearance or your behavior." You hold your bottle up to him and take a long pull. Your brain is snagging on something important but the drinks have made things hazy. Not that you mind, after all, studying was beginning to give you a headache. Your eyes fly wide and you facepalm yourself, much to the amusement of the other bar patrons.

"Dean I need to study!" You try to stand from the barstool and your legs feel about as steady as the deck of a ship at sea. Dean grabs onto your arm and chuckles. He pays the bartender and walks you out, talking to you the whole way.

"Why are you still intent on studying? College is a waste of time and money anyway." You shrug Dean off and sit yourself down on the curb.

"It's the only way I can survive. I don't want to be stuck in this life forever. Running and running. Covered in scars and scratches and blood, always afraid to look around every corner. I may be a hunter in blood but I want the choice to change my future." Dean sits down next to you and his demeanor has changed. He seems sad and despondent, his shoulders hunched.

"I understand that. Dad dragged me headfirst into this business when I was only a kid. Sammy was only a baby and I was only 4 when mom died. I was being taught things like how to load a shotgun when other kids my age were learning their multiplication tables. Shit happens and life doesn't always go the way you plan, but learning to control your own life is definitely a start. I'm sorry that I keep giving you shit. It's-"

Your head drops to Dean's shoulder as a sudden wave of exhaustion slams over you. You yawn and blink your eyes a few times struggling to stay awake.

"Alright, let's get you back." Dean eases out from underneath your head and climbs to his feet. He extends a hand out to you. Right as you look up at him a cold waterfall of alcohol pours over you and you gasp like a fish out of water. Beer stings your eyes and runs into your mouth, soaking your shirt and making the slight chill of the night that much worse.

"Fuckin' queers. There's no room on this Earth for people like you. Go to hell." Dean's face twists up in rage and you soberly pull yourself to your feet. Wiping beer out of your eyes, you get your first real good look at your antagonist. Of course, their face is full of Dean's fist as he slugs the person.

"Been to hell, come back. Nothing to sneeze at. Come on Dean. I want to go to bed." You stumble off down the street until Dean catches up with you and rights you when you almost fall. "Thanks for that. I get that more often than I thought I would in this era." Dean doesn't say anything for a long, quiet moment. He opens his mouth like he's going to say something then shuts it again as though he thought better of whatever he was going to say. When he opens his mouth again it takes your brain a minute to comprehend what he's saying.

"I've had my fair share of that. It's not a huge deal. I'll always take care of things like that for you and I'll always take care of you. Now let's get you back to the motel you smell like cheap beer." I love you too, dork.