Words: 2,132
Dean x Reader
Warnings: angst, anxiety, description of loss of family members
Requested by sunkitchi (“Hi! This is my first time actually submitting a request and I was wondering if you could do a Dean x Reader oneshot where Dean finds out that Reader has an intense crippling fear of thunderstorms?”) and shesgotnoworriesintheworld (Song fic based on Safe & Sound by Taylor Swift ft. The Civil Wars).

Your name: What is this?

”How’s the research coming?” Dean kicked the door closed behind him, arms filled with a case of beer and a paper grocery sack.

”Uggggggh,” you groaned and put your head down dramatically on the book that was splayed open in front of you.

Dean chuckled at the action. “You look like you could use a beer,” he said, setting the load of snacks down on the remaining space on the table that wasn’t occupied by piles of paper with your scribbles or stacks of old books.

You rubbed your hands over your face. “What I could use is some time out of this frickin’ hotel room. Sometimes I wonder if I should get trained up to go on the actual hunts with you guys,” you said, standing and stretching. “Research really isn’t as glamorous as it sounds.”

Dean frowned as he watched you sit down on the end of one of the beds and start pulling on your boots, starting to lace them up. “Yeah. But research is much safer than the actual hunts,” he said. He shut the door to the mini-fridge after he crammed the case of beer inside.

You smiled at him, knowing he was inwardly worrying about you. “Maybe I could use a little danger in life,” you retorted.

Dean only twisted off the bottle of his beer and continued to frown at you. “Where are you going?” he asked as he watched you finish lacing up your boots.

”Like I said,” you stood and adjusting your shirt, “I could use some time out of this frickin’ hotel room. I’m going on a walk.”

”Not now you aren’t,” Dean said. He sat suddenly up in the chair he had slumped into.

”What? Why the hell not?”

”Because it’s about to start pouring down buckets of rain. I heard the thunder when I was coming back from the store. Look outside,” he said, gesturing vaguely towards the window. He propped his feet up on the pouf nearby and leaned back into the padding of the chair again.

Your face suddenly blanched. “What? It’s going to—to thunderstorm?”

Dean gave you a slightly perplexed look. “Yeah. We are in the mid-west. That’s sort of what it does here in the summer,” Dean said, taking a sip of beer and continuing to study you over the bottle. “Why—what’s the matter?”

”N-nothing. Nevermind.” You marched hastily across the room towards the bathroom. Dean watched you, furrowing his brow at your sudden change in mood.

”Y/N?” he called after you, starting to climb to his feet. In an instant you were in the bathroom and had shut and locked the door behind you. You paced back and forth anxiously, but in the small space you were essentially spinning in circles, which was doing nothing to ease the nauseous feeling in your gut.

You turned on the tap and leaned over the basin, letting the cold water run into the sink before you caught some between your hands and splashed it over your face, trying to force deeper breaths in and out.

There was a gentle knock at the door. “Y/N?” Dean’s voice drifted through the door, laced with concern. “Are you alright?”

You knew your voice would shake if you answered but you couldn’t just ignore him. “F-fine. I’m fine.” You were right. It did shake. You were positive Dean had heard it. You grabbed the hand towel and pressed your face deep into the scratchy cotton, dabbing at the water clinging to your skin.

”That was not convincing…What’s going on?” he asked through the door. There was worry in his voice. And you felt stupid. Only little kids were supposed to be afraid of thunderstorms…

Staring up at your blanched reflection, you forced in one final deep breath and pulled the door open. He was there, leaning up against the doorframe, now just inches away from you. He straightened up as you avoided his eyes.

”Are you alright? What’s going on?” His voice was gruff like usual, but through it all was the unmistakable edge of concern.

At that moment there was a huge clap of thunder and you couldn’t help but flinch and squeeze your eyes shut tight, your hand white-knuckling the doorknob where it still rested.

”…Y/N?” Dean ventured gently.

”I’m fine,” you lied, forcing your eyes open even as heard the pouring rain pounding the roof begin and saw the flashes of lightning illuminating the thin curtains.

Dean gave you a look of mixed worry and skepticism. Another boom of thunder rattled the thin windows and you jolted again. “Y/N…” Dean was starting to work out what was the matter. “Are you afraid of thunderstorms?”

You frowned, feeling your cheeks burn a little pink. “No…” you lied again. You walked hastily over and sat on one of the beds, leaning up against the headboard, wrapping your arms tightly over your chest. With your hands tucked under either arm, you hugged yourself, trying to will yourself not to start trembling. You closed your eyes against more flashes of lightning.

Dean’s brow was now deeply furrowed, and he abandoned the beer bottle in his hand on the television console table and came to sit on the edge of the other bed facing you. He folded his hands together and rested his elbows on his knees. You could feel his green eyes studying your expression and you leaned your head back against the headboard and kept your eyes closed, trying not to squeeze them shut tighter as the thunder outside rolled. Your eyelids burned orange with each flash of lightning. You couldn’t even shut it out.

”Do you want to talk about it?” Dean asked quietly, delicately.

You said nothing but lifted your head and looked at him, feeling your eyes watering, certain that he could see them glistening. You flinched again with another crack of thunder that sounded like it was trying to break into the room. You tried to control the sudden shallow and rapid nature of your breathing.

Dean sighed and stood, coming to sit next to you on the bed, leaning back against the headboard just as you were, still leaving a half a foot between the two of you. You both stared at the opposite wall in silence. You continued to try and stop yourself from jumping.

”You know,” Dean’s voice came out smooth and gentle again, a welcome contrast to the storm that was raging on outside, “when I was little, my mom used to tell me that thunder was just the angels bowling, knocking the pins down. When one of them got a strike, God celebrated with flashes of bright light.” He finished and smiled a little to himself at the memory. You watched as the corners of his eyes crinkled just a little and his mouth twitched upwards at the ends. For a moment you forgot the storm outside.

A long growl of thunder reminded you. You let out a little gasp of an exhale and shut your eyes, leaning your head back against the headboard. “Notice how you said ‘when I was little’? What kind of adult is—is terrified of thunderstorms?” you said, again feeling foolish about your fear.

Dean studied your face. With your eyes closed he felt like he could allow his eyes to wander over you freely, lingering on your pouting lips and the tension in your forehead. “The kind that has a right to be,” he said. You opened your eyes and looked at him again. “Come here,” he said. He tilted his head a little and held his arm out. You considered him for a moment, biting your bottom lip, before scooting over and settling in next to him with his arm wrapped around you.

Your heart was fluttering away in your chest now being so close to him and you took in a deep (albeit still a little shaky) breath and sighed it out. You felt safer with Dean’s arm around you. He suddenly rested his other hand gently on your knee. Both of you were determinedly looking at the opposite wall still, avoiding one another’s eyes. “It was thunderstorming the night my family died,” you suddenly whispered. You immediately stared down at your hands, fiddling with your sleeve just for something to do. You wrinkled your brow and cleared your throat as the memories flooded forward and threatened to force tears to spill from beneath your eyelids. You pushed them down. You had never told anyone about that night, not since you had told the cops.

Dean’s eyes found your face now, his lips falling slightly open at your uttered words. They traveled over your face and turned sad as he watched you jump and squeeze your eyes shut again as another crack of thunder shook the room. He tightened his arm about you. “I’m sorry,” he said.

You nodded. “I was scared of the storm. I went in to sleep with my parents. I was in their bed when the men broke into the house.” Now that the words had begun spilling out they just kept flowing. “My parents told me to hide underneath the bed. They killed my brother first. He was sleeping in his bed. And then they came into my parent’s room.” Now you could no longer stop the tears, and you shook your head at the senselessness of it all. “My dad tried to stop them…but—“ you sniffled and wiped at your eyes. “They had guns and we had nothing. They shot both of my parents. I remember thinking that the shots sounded like the thunder outside and the flash from the muzzle was like lightning. I was hiding under the bed the whole time. I had my hands over my mouth to keep from screaming or breathing too loudly.”

Dean felt heavy as he looked at you sadly. There was anger on your behalf brewing in his chest. “What did they want?”

You laughed bitterly and wiped your eyes again, finally meeting Dean’s green ones. “Money. They took the car and a handful of my mom’s jewelry, took her purse from the kitchen counter. They killed my family for a car and a couple hundred dollars.”

Dean’s jaw clenched and he tried to swallow the tightness in his throat. He looked away so you wouldn’t see the blaring anger burning in his eyes. “Did the cops ever catch them?”

You nodded. “Yeah. They were two drug addicts. They were convicted no contest and locked up for the rest of their lives.” You stared down at your hands again. “But that doesn’t bring my family back.”

”I’m sorry…” It was the only thing he could say. At that moment he was thinking that those men were far worse than some of the monsters he and Sam had hunted and put down.

”Yeah,” you sniffled again. “Me too.” You leaned your head on Dean’s shoulder and he looked over at you, surprised at the action but pleased as butterflies flitted to life in his stomach. He rested his cheek against the top of your head and held you closer.

You sat in silence for a while with Dean that way. You closed your eyes, trying to shut out the flashbacks and the storm outside. Suddenly Dean was humming. You could feel it resonating in his chest and the effect was calming. Your chest relaxed and your breathing deepened as you listened to him and felt his hand warm on your arm and the other resting on your leg. He began to sing quietly and the words were wrapping around you protectively, deadening the sound of the thunder and rain.

I remember tears streaming down your face when I said “I’ll never let you go”/ when all those shadows almost killed your light.

I remember you said “Don’t leave me here alone”/but all that’s dead and gone and passed tonight.

Just close your eyes/the sun is going down/You’ll be alright/no one can hurt you now/come morning light/you and I will be safe & sound.

It was the first time you had slept during a thunderstorm since the night your family was stolen from you. And Dean didn’t move once. Even when his leg cramped up and his arm around your shoulders fell asleep, he stayed completely still. Before he drifted off he pressed a kiss to the top of your head, and through your slumber you still felt it and the corners of your mouth turned up in a smile. Dean smiled to himself and rested his cheek against your head and drifted off. The pair of you slept that way, with smiles on your lips, until the storm had cleared the next morning and the sun began to peek through the breaks in the clouds, chasing away the shadows.