Objection! Part 11

Supernatural, Hunting, Living and Love Part 11

Dean Winchester x fem!reader

1.6k word count

fluff, idiots in love, friends to lovers

warnings none

Original / Previous Chapter / Next Chapter

For 6 weeks we avoided each other. Only leaving our rooms to get something to eat or drink. Groceries where dropped off on a weekly basis, Dean was always waiting by the hatch when the drop off happened. I would sit by the top of the stair case to listen in to the brief conversation that took place, it was always the same. “Are you going to let us out yet?”

“Have you worked it out yet?”

“Fat chance of that happening”

“Then no”

For the next 2 weeks I tried to talk to Dean. Clearly waiting them out wasn’t going to work and honestly at this point I would rather be honest about how I felt and risk rejection then keep playing this game. At least this way I could tell Theresa I had tried. Surely they couldn’t keep me here if Dean was the one not playing by their rules.

My first attempted at talking to Dean was when our weekly delivery came. I waited for him to make his way down stairs then I followed behind him. Once the groceries had been delivered the hatch closed I tried to talk.

“Dean I don’t think waiting them out is working” I mentally slapped myself for pointing out the obvious.

“Clearly but we don’t have a better plan” Dean didn’t even look at me as he picked up all 8 bags of groceries in one go heading to the kitchen.

“We could talk it out like adults” I sighed.

“Hate to tell you sister but I have 10 years on you and a whole lot more life experience then you, you’re barely an adult” Dean still refused to look at me dumping all 8 bags on the counter top.

“9 years and I’ve been an adult at longer then you think”

“9 years” Dean rolled his eyes and walked off.

“Where are you going?” I called after him.

“To my room”

My second attempt, third and fourth attempts where all met with eye rolls as Dean walked away from me. It was becoming clear that the only way Dean was going to have a conversation with me is if he was trapped with no escape. Dean had made it a habit of going for a shower at the same time every night. He wouldn’t risk leaving the shower if he knew I was in the room. Or at least I hoped so. I had smuggled a butter knife back to my room one night after I had made myself dinner. I had then waited patiently for Dean to have his dinner and went to test the butter knife on the lock of the bathroom door. As I had hoped the butter knife was the perfect thickness to help me turn the lock on the door. I hid it in my room and waited for him to head to the shower. That night however Dean didn’t go for his shower as normal. He ate and went back to his room. I gave him an extra half an hour just in case he was busy with something for had forgotten. But when I heard the light switch in his room, I had guessed he had gone to bed. I wandered out into the hallway just to make sure he had gone to bed. The light that was normally visible under Deans door was off. Making plans to try again the next night I ducked back into my room long enough to grab my towel before heading to the bathroom myself. I dropped my towel on the bench before running a bath. I was exhausted from days of trying to talk to Dean. Not physically exhausted but emotionally exhausted. All I wanted was a nice long hot soak in the tub. Once the tub was full, I stripped down and submerged myself in the water. I took a face washer and submerged it in the hot water before laying it over my face. I took a deep breath, laid back and let myself relax.

“You’re looking pretty comfortable there” Deans sudden presence startled me.

“DEAN WHAT THE HELL!” I screamed grabbing the shower curtain dragging it in front of the bathtub to cover me.

“I’m sorry where you not trying to do this exact same thing to me?” Dean chuckled closing the toilet seat cover to take a seat on it.

“Well yes but only to get you to talk to me” I squealed.

“So talk”

“I…uh…I…”

“Oh so now you can’t talk” Dean chuckled again “Look it’s clear this avoiding each other plan isn’t working”

“And what do you suggest we do now?” I raised an eyebrow while looking at the shower curtain now hanging between us.

“I honestly don’t know” Dean let out an awkward chuckle “For once in my life I don’t actually have a plan”

“We could always try being honest”

The room fell silent. I watched the droplets of water slowly falling from the tap waiting, internally pleading for Dean to break the silence.

Dean shifted uncomfortably, his silhouette rubbing the back of his neck. His silhouette looking away, then back to me. I could almost see the gears turning in his head, the urge to argue or deflect swimming just beneath the surface. But instead, he surprised me.

"Being honest?" he echoed, as if testing out the words. "You really think that could work? I mean... after everything?"

I kept my gaze steady, resisting the urge to look away. "We’ve tried everything else, haven’t we? What do we have to lose?"

Dean let out a breath, his shoulders slumping as though the weight of everything we’d been carrying was pressing down harder than ever. The silence returned, but this time it felt heavier. I glanced at the tap again, watching the droplets hang in the air before they fell, one by one.

Finally, he stood up, pacing the small, dimly lit room. "You don’t just be honest” he muttered. "That’s not how it works."

"It might not," I admitted. "But pretending we’ve got it all under control isn’t working either. We’re running out of moves, Dean. This could be the only one left."

He stopped pacing, staring at me. The room was filled with a mixture of frustration and fear. “What if…What if we tell the truth and it just... makes everything worse?”

I swallowed hard. I hadn’t let myself fully think about that possibility. But now that it was out there, spoken aloud, it hung in the air between us like a dark cloud.

“Then we deal with it,” I said, my voice steady despite the doubt creeping into my chest. “At least we won’t be running anymore.” I whispered the last part.

Dean turned away from me, staring out the window again. His jaw tightened, the muscles in his back visibly tensing under his shirt.

"You’re really ready to do this?" he asked quietly.

I didn’t answer right away. Instead, I thought about everything we’d been through, all the lies, the half-truths, the fear that followed us wherever we went.

“Yes,” I said finally. “I’m ready.”

Dean nodded, his back still to me. “Alright,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. “Then we do it.”

He turned back to face me, his expression hardened with resolve. “But if this goes south…” He didn’t finish the sentence, but he didn’t need to. We both knew what was at stake.

Dean stood there, his chest rising and falling with the weight of his breath. The tension between us thickened as the silence stretched on. I was about to say something—to break the spell that had settled between us—but before I could, Dean crossed the room in a single, swift movement.

Before I could respond he had moved the curtain out of the way. His hands gripped my arms, not harshly, but with a firmness that caught me off guard. “If this goes south…” he started again, but his words faltered. His gaze, intense and searching, locked onto mine, and in that split second, I could see the conflict, the hesitation, and the unspoken emotions simmering just beneath the surface.

Then, without another word, Dean pulled me into him, his lips crashing against mine. The world seemed to blur at the edges, all the tension and fear melting away in the heat of that moment. His kiss was desperate, almost like it was the last lifeline he had left. It was raw, full of all the things he couldn't say out loud—the fear, the uncertainty, and something deeper I hadn't expected.

For a second, I froze, my mind racing to catch up with what was happening. But then, instinct took over, and I found myself kissing him back, my hands tangling in his shirt, pulling him closer. The world outside didn’t matter anymore—the looming threats, the uncertainty of what lay ahead. All I could think about was the way his hands held me, like he needed this as much as I did.

When he finally pulled back, both of us were breathless, and I could see it in his eyes—he was as terrified as I was. Not just of what we were about to do, but of what this moment meant.

“I’m sorry,” Dean said, his voice hoarse. He let go of me, stepping back slightly, running a hand through his hair. “I didn’t mean—”

“Don’t,” I cut him off, shaking my head. “Don’t apologize.”

He opened his mouth to say something else, but I could see the uncertainty in his expression, the conflict still brewing beneath the surface. This was new for both of us, and neither of us knew what to do with it.

For a long moment, he just stood there, the weight of what had just happened hanging in the air. But despite everything—the danger we were facing, the uncertainty of the future—I couldn’t help but feel that maybe, just maybe, we were finally being honest.

Objection! Part 7

Rafael Barba x fem!Carisi!reader

3.4k word count

Summary All you wanted was to be a lawyer like your big brother Sonny. So what happens when you get a job working under the famous ADA Rafael Barba

slow-burn, colleague to friends to lovers

Previous Chapter / Next Chapter

The air felt heavier, the silence more oppressive, as we kept moving through the tunnels. My flashlight flickered against the walls, catching glimpses of rusted pipes and slick concrete. We were both exhausted, but giving up wasn’t an option. Not now. Not when every step could bring us closer to the answers—or the way out.

Then we saw it: a door. Unlike everything else down here, it looked new, the metal gleaming faintly in the dim light. I stopped, my pulse quickening. “That doesn’t belong.”

Nick nodded, stepping forward to inspect it. “Looks like it was built recently. Think this is what we’ve been looking for?”

“Only one way to find out.” I grabbed the handle, hesitating for half a second before pulling it open.

The sight inside hit me like a punch to the gut. A teenage girl, barely older than fifteen, was strapped to some kind of metal frame. Her head lolled to the side, her breathing shallow but steady. She was alive, thank God, but her eyes were glazed over—drugged.

“Oh, my God,” I whispered, rushing forward. “Hey, hey, it’s okay. We’re here to help.”

Nick moved beside me, his flashlight sweeping the room. “She doesn’t look hurt. Just out of it.”

I checked her over quickly, relieved to find no visible injuries. The restraints were another story—heavy-duty cuffs locked tightly around her wrists and ankles, anchoring her to the frame. I tugged at one, testing its strength. “We’re going to need a key.”

Nick started searching, his flashlight darting over every inch of the room. “No sign of one,” he muttered, frustration creeping into his voice. “Nothing on the walls, nothing on the shelves.”

I scanned the space desperately, looking for anything that could help. That’s when Nick stopped, shining his light on a small, barely noticeable hole in the wall near the roof.

“What’s that?” he asked, looking up. “It doesn’t belong there.”

I stood beside him, squinting into the darkness. “Looks like… a hole. A really small one. Like someone drilled it.”

He glanced at me, then gestured to the hole. “Worth a shot. Take a look.”

Before I could protest he lifted me easily so I could peer into the hole. I angled my flashlight toward it, straining to see. And there it was. A tiny key, tucked just out of reach.

“I see it!” I exclaimed. “Give me a second.”

With some awkward maneuvering, I managed to fish it out using the thin edge of my flashlight. Once I had it in my hand, Nick set me down, and I rushed back to the girl. The key slid into the lock smoothly, and the restraints clicked open one by one.

“There,” I said softly, catching her before she slumped forward. “We’ve got you. You’re okay now.”

Nick helped me lower her gently to the floor. She was groggy but conscious, her eyes fluttering open. “We’re going to get you out of here,” Nick said firmly. “Can you walk?”

She nodded weakly, and together we got her to her feet. She leaned heavily on me as we guided her out of the room and back into the tunnel.

“Now what?” I asked Nick, my voice low. “We can’t go back the way we came, and so we take the other way?.”

“Then we keep moving,” he said, determination in his voice. “There’s got to be a way out. We’ll find it.”

I nodded, gripping the girl tightly as we started moving again, this time with more urgency. The clock was ticking, and whoever had set this up wouldn’t be happy to find we’d ruined their plans.

The tunnels felt tighter now, like the walls were pressing in with every step. Sections that should be open were now completely sealed off, the blockages smooth and deliberate. Whoever had orchestrated this had more time and resources than I wanted to imagine.

The girl—Sophie, as we’d learned—was starting to regain her strength, walking on her own now, though she still stayed close to me. The fear in her eyes hadn’t faded. Not that I blamed her. My own nerves were shot, and I wasn’t the one who’d been strapped to some twisted contraption.

Nick kept glancing around, his flashlight darting over every surface. “This guy didn’t just throw this together. He’s been planning this for a long time,” he muttered.

“Yeah,” I said, my voice barely above a whisper. “And he’s got a serious grudge against Barba.”

The words were barely out of my mouth when the intercom crackled to life, the sound sharp and grating in the otherwise silent tunnel.

“Congratulations,” the voice drawled, its tone dripping with mockery. “You found one. Well done. Although, I must say, I’m disappointed—again. Where is Rafael Barba? Too busy hiding behind his desk to face the consequences of his failures?”

I tensed, my grip tightening on the flashlight. Sophie flinched at the sound, pressing closer to me.

The voice continued, growing colder. “Do you know what he did? How he abandoned her? She needed him, and he turned his back. My sister deserved better. She deserved justice.” There was a pause, heavy with emotion. “But don’t worry—I’ll make sure he pays. And if you don’t want to be trapped down here forever, I suggest you pick up the pace. Tick tock.”

The intercom cut out with a harsh click, leaving the tunnel in an eerie silence.

“Barba? This guy’s sister?” Nick said, frowning. “What the hell is this guy talking about?”

“I don’t know,” I admitted, my stomach twisting. “But we don’t have time to figure it out right now. We need to keep moving.”

Just ahead, another door came into view. This one was different—bars instead of solid metal, like a prison cell. My heart sank as we approached, and I saw what was inside. Two more teens, a boy and a girl, probably sixteen or seventeen. They were sitting on the ground, but when they saw us, the boy shot to his feet, gripping the bars.

“Help us!” he shouted, his voice hoarse but determined. “Please, get us out of here!”

“We’re going to,” I promised, stepping closer to the door. “Just hold on.”

Nick inspected the lock, a grim look on his face. “It’s not a key this time. It’s a combination lock.”

“Great,” I muttered under my breath. “Alright, start looking. There’s got to be something here that tells us the combination.”

We began searching the area, scouring the walls, floor, and any nearby objects for a clue. The boy paced behind the bars, his fists clenching and unclenching. “You have to hurry,” he said, his voice cracking. “He said he’d come back soon.”

“We’re hurrying,” Nick said firmly, his flashlight sweeping over a patch of graffiti. “Just stay calm.”

“Easier said than done,” I muttered, glancing at Sophie. She was standing guard, her arms wrapped around herself as she kept an eye on the tunnel behind us.

As I turned back to the bars, something caught my eye—a faint scrawl etched into the frame of the door. Numbers.

“Nick, over here!” I called, shining my light on the marks. “It’s a sequence. Could be the combination.”

He rushed over, inspecting the numbers. “Alright. Let’s hope this works.”

With a quick nod, I reached for the lock, my hands trembling slightly as I turned the dial. The click of the lock opening was the most satisfying sound I’d heard in hours.

The door swung open, and the teens stumbled out, the boy clutching the girl protectively. “Thank you,” he said, his voice thick with relief.

“No time for thanks,” Nick said. “We’re not out of this yet. Let’s move.”

I led the group back into the tunnel, my heart pounding. We had three of them now, but the clock was ticking, and every step brought us closer to whatever the psycho behind this had planned.

…

Rafaels P.O.V

Olivia’s radio crackled to life, the static cutting through the tense silence. My breath caught as Finn’s voice came through, hurried but steady.

“We’ve got an open door,” he said. “Amanda and I are heading in now. Looks like it leads into the tunnels.”

A surge of adrenaline coursed through me. Finally, progress.

Sonny cam through, his voice urgent. “I’m on my way. Where exactly is it?”

“East 37th, near the old maintenance lot,” Finn replied.

Olivia nodded sharply, already moving toward the car. “We’re heading there too,” she said into the radio. Then, in one fluid motion, she flipped channels. “All available units, converge on Detective Tutuola’s location. Repeat, East 37th, old maintenance lot. Possible access to the suspect’s tunnel system.”

The gravity in her voice struck me hard. It wasn’t just procedure—it was personal. For all of us.

“We’ll find them,” Olivia said, her tone resolute as she glanced at me.

I didn’t respond. Couldn’t. My thoughts were locked on Y/N and the hell she must be in right now. My mind raced with all the things I should’ve done differently. The choices I’d made that put her in this position.

Olivia touched my arm, grounding me for a moment. “She’s strong, Rafael. And she’s not alone. We’ll get them out.”

I nodded, swallowing hard, but the knot in my chest didn’t loosen.

As we sped toward Finn’s location, I forced myself to focus. Y/N was down there, likely facing God knows what. Regret wasn’t going to help her. Action would. And for once, I had to put aside the arguments, the courtroom maneuvers, and the carefully crafted words.

Because this time, words wouldn’t be enough.

…

Y/N’s P.O.V

The sound of our hurried footsteps echoed down the tunnel, sharp and unrelenting. My chest ached with every breath, but I didn’t slow down. Nick’s hand rested on his gun as he moved beside me, his eyes constantly scanning the dimly lit space ahead.

Behind us, the teens huddled close, their voices low but insistent.

“Who are you, really?” the boy, Ethan, asked, his tone edged with suspicion. “We know he’s a cop, but what about you? What’s your role in all of this?”

I glanced back, offering what I hoped was a reassuring smile. “I work with the DA’s office,” I said, keeping it simple. “We’re here to get you out and stop whoever’s behind this.”

“But why us?” the girl, Mia, pressed, her voice trembling. “Why is he doing this?”

“We’re still trying to figure that out,” I admitted, my voice steady despite the growing dread twisting in my gut. “But I promise, we’re not leaving without you.”

Before either of them could ask more, the intercom crackled to life again, the grating static sending a chill down my spine.

“Well, well,” the voice drawled, its tone a mixture of amusement and fury. “I have to admit, you’ve surprised me. Not only have you managed to find more of my little treasures, but it seems Barba and his merry band have decided to crash the party.”

My stomach dropped, and I exchanged a quick glance with Nick. His jaw tightened, his hand shifting on the grip of his gun.

“You’re ruining my plans,” the voice continued, its amusement fading into cold anger. “But no matter. I’ve played my part. I’ll see you all soon. Very soon.”

The intercom cut off with a sharp click, leaving us in heavy silence. For a moment, none of us moved.

Then Nick and I locked eyes, the same mixture of joy and dread mirrored in his expression. “They’re in,” I whispered, my voice breathless. “They’re coming for us.”

“But so is he,” Nick added grimly.

Without another word, we broke into a sprint, the teens scrambling to keep up behind us. My heart pounded, not just from the exertion but from the urgency driving me forward. If the team was in the tunnels, we had to find them—fast.

“Stay close!” I called back to the teens, glancing over my shoulder to make sure they were keeping up.

Every twist and turn of the tunnels blurred together, the oppressive darkness and endless sameness threatening to disorient me. But I didn’t stop, didn’t let myself think about how far we still had to go or what might be waiting around the next corner.

The only thought keeping me going was the hope that, somewhere in this maze, Rafael and the others were searching just as desperately for us. And that we’d find each other before it was too late.

…

Rafaels P.O.V

The damp, stale air of the tunnel pressed against me, thick and suffocating. Every step we took echoed against the concrete walls, amplifying the tension hanging in the air. But then we stopped short, met with a solid brick wall.

“What the hell is this?” I muttered, running my hand over the freshly laid mortar. It was still rough to the touch, and the smell of wet cement lingered.

Finn crouched down, inspecting the base. “This is new,” he said, his voice low but certain. “Whoever put this up didn’t do it long ago.”

Sonny spun around, spotting a couple of officers near the entrance. “You two!” he barked, his voice sharp enough to make them jump. “Get sledgehammers, now! I don’t care where you find them, just move!”

The officers bolted, and for a moment, the tunnel fell silent again except for the distant dripping of water. My frustration simmered dangerously close to the surface. Every second we stood here felt like a second wasted—a second Y/N and Amaro didn’t have.

“You think they’re past this wall?” I asked Finn, though my voice came out more desperate than I intended.

“They’ve gotta be,” he replied. “This guy’s trying to funnel them.”

Before I could respond, the officers returned, lugging two heavy sledgehammers. Sonny didn’t waste a moment, grabbing one and swinging it against the wall with a loud, echoing crack. Finn took the other, their combined efforts creating a rhythm of destruction that felt painfully slow.

Finally, with a groan of collapsing masonry, a section of the wall gave way. Dust billowed out, but I didn’t hesitate. I stepped through the opening, flashlight slicing through the darkness as the team followed close behind.

We hadn’t made it far when an intercom crackled to life. I froze, my breath catching in my throat.

“Well, well,” a voice sneered, its tone laced with mockery. “I have to admit, you’ve surprised me. Not only have you managed to find more of my little treasures, but it seems Barba and his merry band have decided to crash the party.”

I felt my chest tighten at the mention of my name. The venom in his voice was unmistakable, and the weight of his hatred settled heavily on my shoulders.

“You’re ruining my plans,” he continued, his amusement fading into something darker. “But no matter. I’ve played my part. I’ll see you all soon. Very soon.”

The intercom cut out abruptly, leaving us in a silence more oppressive than before.

“Was that…?” Olivia began, but I didn’t let her finish.

“It was him,” I said firmly, my voice cold. “Let’s move.”

I broke into a sprint, the others close behind. The adrenaline surged through me, pushing back the exhaustion creeping in from hours of searching. Every step was a mix of hope and dread, knowing that the voice wasn’t just taunting us—it was a warning.

Y/N was down here. Somewhere. And I wouldn’t stop until I found her.

…

Y/Ns P.O.V

We sprinted through the inky blackness, our footsteps echoing in the confined space. Each breath was a gasp, a desperate inhale against the burning in my lungs. But we couldn't stop. We were almost there.

Then, a new sound cut through the silence—heavy footsteps, deliberate and approaching. Nick's hand shot up, a silent command to halt. He raised his gun, his eyes scanning the darkness, a predator poised to strike.

Time stretched into an eternity. The footsteps grew louder, closer. And then, around the bend, they appeared: Olivia, Sonny, Rafael, Finn, and Amanda. Their faces, etched with relief, were a beacon in the darkness.

"Y/N!" Olivia's voice, raw with emotion, pierced the air. "Amaro!" Sonny's grin was wide, his relief palpable.

I stood frozen, disbelief washing over me. We had made it. We were free. But Olivia's voice, steady and grounded, pulled us back to reality. "We're not done yet. Let's get everyone out of here."

Nick nodded, his expression hardening, though the lingering relief was still visible. We pressed on, the tunnel seeming endless. Finally, we burst into the open air of New York City.

Nick's jubilation was infectious. He whirled me around, his laughter echoing in the night. "We did it, Y/N! We're out!"

I couldn't help but smile, the exhaustion momentarily forgotten. But the respite was brief. Olivia's voice, serious and focused, brought us back to the task at hand. "We found the other teens. They're all safe."

A wave of relief washed over me, but it was short-lived. The mystery of the man behind this twisted game remained unsolved.

We recounted our ordeal to the team: the cryptic messages, the personal vendetta against Rafael, the constant references to a sister. Rafael's face, once hopeful, now bore the weight of a painful memory.

"I know who it is," he murmured, his voice barely a whisper. "I know exactly who it is."

A heavy silence fell over the group. The man's identity, his motives, and his ultimate goal remained shrouded in darkness. The game was far from over.

…

Rafael P.O.V

I watched as Nick spun Y/N around, a wide grin plastered across her face. A pang of longing shot through me. I had wanted to be the one to celebrate with her, to hold her close and never let go. But I’d hesitated, a fear of rejection holding me back again.

The relief of finding Y/N alive and well was immense. She was more than just a teammate; she was a beacon of hope in the darkness. I’d yearned for her presence, her strength, her unwavering belief in me.

Now, as we stood outside the tunnel, the weight of the past settled on my shoulders. I turned to the team, my voice barely a whisper. “It’s Anya,” I confessed. “His sister.”

A hush fell over the group as they absorbed the revelation. Anya, a name whispered in the darkness, a haunting reminder of a life lost.

“She was one of the first victims passed across my desk” I continued, my voice trembling. “Smart, kind, and full of life. That was until this man she met on one of those random dating apps took advantage of her. She begged for months for me to put him away but there just wasn’t enough evidence and being as young and stupid as I was I didn’t want to prosecute a case I knew I couldn’t win. So I turned her away. A week later she jumped in front of a train in the subway. Her brother, Marco then came begging me to charge the man who attacked Anya with her death as well but again it was a case I knew I couldn’t win so I said no”

The memory of our last conversation, filled with accusations and heartbreak, still stung. I had failed her. The guilt had consumed me ever since.

“Rafael you can’t beat yourself up over it, you live and learn” Y/N gave me a small smile resting a hand on my arm.

“I could have stop all this before it got this far, he put you in danger, Nick in danger” I looked at her fighting back tears. Before the conversation could go any further a text message lit up my phone screen.

I know your weakness, Rafael.

I stared at the message, a shaky hand coming up to wipe the sweat from my forehead. When I finally looked up from reading and rereading the message my heart sank. Y/N was no longer standing next to me.

“Rafa what’s the matter?” Olivia spoke up seeing the look of panic on my face.

“Where is Y/N?” I asked turning to look behind me.

“She’s fine, she went with Sonny to get some water” Olivia pointed off towards Sonny’s squad car.

I took off in a sprint towards the car Olivia on my heels. Each step felt like a million miles. Sonny had been knocked out and left crumpled on the road. Olivia called for a paramedic while I stood shaking, spin around trying to look everyone were at once.

“No, no, no” I shouted, my phone lit up again catching my attention “Liv he has her”

Time for round two with the most precious prize.

Tag List!

@geeksareunique @pinkladydevotee @pumpkindwight

Supernatural, Hunting, Living and Love Part 20 Finale

Dean Winchester x fem!reader

4.7k word count

fluff, idiots in love, friends to lovers

warnings none

Authors Note: We've reached the end!

Original / Previous Chapter

The days blurred together in a haze of crying—sometimes the babies, sometimes her. Most of the time, it was both.

Y/N dragged herself from one moment to the next, barely hanging on, snapping at anyone who dared try to help. She didn’t care that everyone meant well. Didn’t care that Theresa gently offered to take one of the girls so she could rest, or that Sam would cook and leave meals outside her door, uneaten and cold. She didn’t want help. She didn’t want them.

She wanted Dean.

Her girls—Mary and Jody—deserved to know him. Deserved his rough voice humming lullabies, his arms rocking them to sleep, his wide grin when one of them smiled for the first time. But he was gone. And pretending otherwise only made the ache worse.

She kept the nursery pristine, almost obsessively so. Every bottle in its place, every onesie folded just right. The twins were fed, changed, held, and loved. But not once did she hand them over to anyone else, even when her hands trembled from exhaustion. They were all she had left of Dean, and she wouldn’t let them go.

Mornings were the worst. She would wake with one or both babies curled against her, and for a split second, she’d roll over expecting to find Dean beside her. And every time, that moment of Jody shattered like glass.

She’d sit up, hold the girls tighter, and pretend she hadn’t cried again.

It was sometime after midnight when the knock came. Not loud. Just a soft, almost hesitant tap at the door.

Y/N didn’t answer.

She was on the floor beside the crib, one arm resting against it, cradling Mary to her chest while Jody slept in the bassinet behind her. Her body throbbed with fatigue, her shoulders tight from days of tension, but nothing compared to the ache in her chest. The empty space beside her—where Dean should have been—felt unbearable.

Another knock. Then, silence.

“Y/N,” came Castiel’s voice—quiet, careful.

She shut her eyes, jaw tightening.

“Go away.”

But the door opened anyway. Of course it did. Angels didn’t need permission.

Castiel stepped inside, his presence soft but undeniable. He moved slowly into the dim room, scanning the shadows until his gaze landed on her. She didn’t bother to look up.

“You haven’t left this room in four days,” he said.

“I’m aware.”

“You’re not eating. You’re barely sleeping. The girls—”

“What I need is Dean,” she cut him off, sharply. “Not you. Not a report on how I’m doing. Not this constant hovering.”

Castiel didn’t move. “Dean is gone.”

She turned her head toward him, her eyes blazing despite the exhaustion carved into her face.

“And you can just go see him, can’t you?” she said, voice trembling with restrained fury. “You can just pop into Heaven like it’s nothing. Visit him. Talk to him. While I’m stuck here—trapped—with two babies and no answers.”

Castiel’s expression faltered.

“Don’t deny it. Don’t lie to me,” she pressed, her voice cracking. “I know what you are. I know what you can do. And yet you come here with your sympathy like that’s supposed to make it better.”

“I didn’t go to see him,” Castiel said quietly. “Not once. Because I knew it would be unfair to you.”

Y/N laughed bitterly under her breath, tears welling. “Unfair to me? He’s your friend too, Cas. Don’t pretend it doesn’t eat you alive. But at least you can. You could just walk through those gates and see his face again. Hear his voice. I would give everything for that. Do you even realize what that kind of power means to someone like me?”

Castiel looked down, then slowly crossed the room. He didn’t touch her—he never did without permission—but he knelt beside her, his tone solemn.

“I hear him in Heaven,” he admitted. “Not his voice. Not like before. But the peace? The light? It’s stronger when a soul like his is there. I feel it. It radiates outward.”

Her face crumpled. “Then tell me he’s okay. Please, just—tell me he’s happy.”

Castiel’s eyes softened. “He is. He is more at peace than I have ever seen him. But he misses you. He misses you and the girls. That pain lingers, even in a perfect place.”

A sob escaped before she could stop it. Mary stirred, whimpering, and Y/N instinctively hushed her, pressing a kiss to her forehead.

“I’m drowning down here,” she whispered. “I can’t do this without him.”

“You are doing it,” Castiel said gently. “And not alone.”

She shook her head. “It doesn’t matter how many people are around. None of them are him.”

“No,” he agreed. “But they love you. And so did he. So does he. That love hasn’t left you, Y/N. It’s in every breath your daughters take.”

She didn’t respond for a long time. Just sat there, rocking Mary slightly, the pain raw and exposed between them.

“Stay,” she said finally. “Just for a while. Not because I need help. Just… don’t go.”

“I won’t,” Castiel replied.

And for the first time since Dean died, Y/N let someone stay.

The descent was gradual—so slow that at first, no one noticed.

Y/N stopped sleeping entirely. She only ate enough to keep up her strength for the twins. And when they slept, she didn't. Instead, she read. She read until her eyes burned and her fingers trembled from turning pages.

Every book in the Men of Letters library on angels, resurrection, lore from apocryphal texts, fragments from Heaven’s war, rare Nephilim accounts—she devoured it all. A growing storm of theories and possibilities formed in her mind, fraying at the edges with every passing day.

She stopped seeing Sam and Theresa, stopped letting them into her room. She only emerged to feed the girls, bathe them, rock them. And then she disappeared again, always clutching another volume.

The girls were thriving, healthy and strong—but their mother was unraveling.

Then came the night Castiel appeared again.

He had felt it—the pulse of her energy across the bunker like a beacon, unrefined and full of intent. He found her standing in the war room, her hair unbrushed, circles under her eyes, books scattered across the table in a chaos that had once been meticulously organized.

"You knew," she said as he stepped closer. Her voice was low and brittle, like a fraying wire stretched too tight. "All this time, you knew. You can bring him back."

Cas stiffened. “Y/N—”

“Don’t lie to me!” she shouted, slamming a book down. “I’ve read it all. The Enochian rites. The resurrection rituals. The divine exceptions made during the Fall. Even the lore on Nephilim interference. Don’t you dare stand there and pretend it’s impossible.”

He moved slowly toward her, hands at his sides, calm and cautious. “There are rules.”

“You’re an angel,” she spat. “You break rules. That’s what you do. You raised Dean before, didn’t you? You pulled him from Hell.”

“That was Heaven’s will,” Castiel replied. “I was ordered to. Now? There is no order. No divine instruction. I cannot act on emotion alone.”

“Then lie,” she whispered. “Lie to them. Trick the Host. Steal him out if you have to. You’ve done worse, Cas. You’ve done so much worse for less.”

He stepped closer, voice softening. “You don’t understand what it would cost.”

“I don’t care,” she said through clenched teeth. “I’d give anything. I’d die right here, right now, if it meant he could hold his daughters.”

Castiel’s face twisted in quiet agony. “Y/N—”

“You get to see him,” she snapped. “You walk in and out of Heaven like it’s a hallway. You get to know he’s safe. You get to feel his peace. And me? I get nothing. I get to hear his voice in my dreams and wake up with my arms empty.”

The silence that followed was deafening.

Y/N’s breath came in hard, shallow gasps. She clutched the edge of the war table like it was the only thing holding her up. Her mind raced with every word she’d read, every ritual that might be twisted into a loophole.

“You owe me,” she said. “You owe him. Bring him back, Cas.”

Castiel’s eyes shimmered, but he didn’t speak.

“I swear to you,” she said, voice cracking, “I’ll find another way. If you won’t help me, I’ll do it myself. I don’t care if I have to summon every goddamned archangel in existence. I’m not raising them alone. I won’t.”

The twins cried from down the hall.

Castiel turned his head, just slightly—toward the sound, toward the reminder of what Dean left behind.

“I will not desecrate his peace,” he said quietly. “Not even for you.”

Y/N stared at him, her face crumpling, fury collapsing into anguish.

“Then leave,” she whispered.

He did.

And she stood in the center of the war room, books scattered like broken promises around her feet, and let herself fall apart.

…

Castiel entered Heaven not with ceremony, but with solemn weight.

He stepped through the veil in silence, the hum of celestial energy thrumming faintly in the distance. Heaven had changed since Jack's ascension. The cold bureaucracy of the old Host was gone, replaced by something softer—more open, more human.

But even still, some doors were not meant to be opened lightly.

Castiel stood in the Garden—Heaven’s heart, where souls wandered freely beneath ever-blooming trees and gentle sunlight. Everything here was serene. Peaceful.

Except for him.

Jack was already waiting. He sat barefoot in the grass beneath an arching willow, sunlight dancing on his skin. He looked young, impossibly young for someone bearing the mantle of God. But his eyes—his eyes held eternity.

“I knew you’d come,” Jack said quietly, not looking up. “You’ve been wrestling with the question since the moment Dean died.”

Castiel didn’t speak right away. His trench coat barely stirred in the celestial breeze. He watched Jack closely, searching his face for a trace of the boy he once knew—the child he raised, protected, mourned.

“Y/N is falling apart,” Castiel said at last.

Jack nodded, fingers idly brushing the petals of a flower near his knee. “She’s grieving. And she’s not alone in that.”

“She’s beyond grief now. She’s... desperate.” Cas took a slow step forward. “She’s reading resurrection rites, apocryphal scrolls. She’s going to burn herself out trying to find a way. She thinks I’m holding back. And maybe I am.”

Jack’s gaze met his then—gentle, but immeasurably ancient. “Are you asking me for permission? Or for power?”

Castiel swallowed. “Both.”

Silence hung between them, thick and sacred.

“I could bring Dean back,” Jack said, voice steady. “With a word, I could restore his body. His soul. His memories. He could walk back into that bunker like nothing ever happened.”

Cas felt a flicker of hope, painful and sharp.

“But,” Jack continued, “there is a balance. Dean died fulfilling his purpose. He died at peace, surrounded by love. To bring him back would mean unraveling that final thread.”

“He didn’t get to meet his daughters,” Cas said. “He didn’t get to live the life he earned. That wasn’t peace—it was unfinished.”

Jack looked away again, toward a distant hill where a soul wandered alone, humming some long-forgotten tune.

“Sometimes peace isn’t a full story,” Jack said. “It’s a quiet ending. And sometimes love means letting go.”

Castiel stepped forward, his voice quieter now. “She’s drowning, Jack. The girls—Dean’s daughters—will grow up without knowing him. If there is a way, if there’s even a chance... I have to ask. What would it take?”

Jack was silent for a long time. The wind whispered through the Garden, and for a moment, everything was still.

Jack looked up at him again. “It would take sacrifice. A life for a life. Or something greater. Dean’s return would echo across realms—it would upset the natural order, fracture the peace of countless souls. He would not come back without cost.”

Castiel stood still, the quiet words settling over him like snowfall. He understood. He had always understood.

He looked at Jack—really looked at him. The boy who had become God. The child he had raised. The one who had once looked to him for guidance, for love, for identity.

Now Castiel looked with nothing but certainty.

Jack didn’t ask. He didn’t need to.

And Castiel didn’t speak. He only bowed his head.

Just once.

A silent agreement passed between them—wordless, sacred, irreversible.

The wind in the Garden shifted.

The light grew warmer.

Jack closed his eyes.

And Castiel disappeared.

…

The night air was cold, biting at my skin as I stood in the center of the old crossroads.

It was quiet—too quiet. The kind of silence that made you feel like the world was holding its breath, watching you with wide, unblinking eyes. The box in my hands felt like it weighed a hundred pounds. Inside it, every piece of me I had left to give. Dirt crusted my boots. My hands shook.

I was really going to do this.

I fell to my knees, digging. Just like the books had said. Four corners. Unmarked earth. Blood if needed.

I wasn’t afraid. Not of the demon. Not of the deal. Not of what it would cost.

Dean was gone. And there wasn’t anything left of me without him.

The girls were safe. Sam and Theresa were doing everything right. But I couldn’t do this anymore—pretending like my soul wasn’t already six feet under with him. I needed him back. I needed to be whole again.

I pressed the box into the earth. A tear slid down my cheek as I whispered the words.

But before the last syllable left my lips, the air cracked like thunder.

Grace.

The light around me shimmered with gold.

“Don’t,” came a voice, quiet and calm but firm as iron.

I spun around, stumbling to my feet.

“Cas—” I nearly choked on the name.

He stood just outside the circle, trench coat fluttering, face drawn tight with something I couldn’t place. Grief. Resolve. Love.

“You don’t have to do this,” he said. “You were never meant to.”

My voice cracked. “Then who was? Who’s supposed to live like this—raising his daughters without him? Pretending everything’s fine when I feel like I’m drowning every second of the day? I need him, Cas.”

“I know.”

“No, you don’t,” I snapped. “You can go to Heaven. You can see him. I’ve read every book in the library. I know you can visit. And yet you let me rot down here with nothing but memories. You let the girls grow up never knowing their father!”

Cas didn’t flinch. He just walked closer.

“I did visit,” he said softly. “And I spoke with Jack.”

I froze.

“What?”

He looked at me then, and something passed between us—something deep and ancient. The kind of weight only an angel could carry.

“You were never meant to carry this pain alone. And you won’t have to for much longer.”

I stared at him, hope and fear clashing violently inside my chest. “What are you saying?”

“I can’t promise when. Or how. But I made a vow. To Jack. To Dean. To you. And soon… you won’t have to call the dark things anymore.”

My knees gave out. I dropped to the ground, sobbing into the dirt. The box spilled beside me, its contents scattering—photographs, Dean’s amulet, his old flask.

Castiel knelt beside me, laying a hand on my shoulder.

“I will not let you be alone forever,” he said.

For the first time in weeks, I believed him.

…

The sun was just starting to rise, washing the sky in soft strokes of pink and orange when Cas brought me to the house.

It didn’t feel real.

Two stories. White shutters. A little porch swing that creaked softly in the breeze. There were flowerbeds, already blooming, and a patch of wild green yard out back that looked big enough for the girls to run wild in.

It looked like something out of someone else’s life—somewhere safe. Somewhere still.

“Where are we?” I asked, voice thin, like I was afraid speaking too loud might break whatever fragile thing was happening.

Cas didn’t answer right away. He just looked at the house with that quiet reverence he sometimes got when he looked at the sky or talked about humanity. Then he turned to me.

“This is your home now. Yours, the girls’, and Dean’s.”

The world stopped moving.

I blinked. “What do you mean?”

“I spoke to Jack,” Cas said, stepping closer, his voice soft but sure. “We reached an agreement.”

I could barely breathe. “Dean…?”

Cas nodded. “He’s coming back. But there’s a condition.”

My heart pounded so hard it hurt. “Anything.”

“You and Dean have to let go of hunting. No demons. No ghosts. No monsters. You live a normal life. This house is warded, protected by Jack’s power. No supernatural being can enter without your permission.”

My knees went weak. I grabbed the porch railing to steady myself.

“A normal life?” I whispered, like I didn’t quite understand the words.

“You raise your daughters. You rest. You heal. Dean gets to be a father, and you get to be with him again. But this is your only chance. If either of you return to hunting… the deal ends.”

I didn’t respond. I just stared at the front door like maybe if I looked hard enough, I’d see Dean stepping through it already. Alive. Whole. Real.

Cas placed a hand on my arm. “He’ll be here soon.”

I didn’t realize I was crying until he gently wiped a tear from my cheek. I turned and looked up at him.

“Why?” I asked. “Why did Jack say yes?”

Cas hesitated. “Because he saw you. Saw what this grief was doing. And because Dean—he earned peace a thousand times over.”

“And you?”

Cas offered a faint smile. “I believe in second chances. Even for the broken.”

I nodded, unable to speak. My chest felt cracked open, all the pain and rage and ache pouring out, replaced with something softer. Something I hadn’t let myself feel in months:

Hope.

Cas gave my arm a gentle squeeze. “Go inside.”

I opened the door and stepped into a home that already smelled faintly like cedar and lemon. There was furniture—simple, warm, familiar. Two bassinets sat by the window, facing the sunlight. The couch had a dent in it, like someone had already spent time curled up there. There were picture frames on the wall—empty now, but waiting.

Waiting for a life to begin.

And then I heard it.

Footsteps on the porch.

My heart slammed into my ribs, and I turned so fast the world blurred.

The door creaked. The air shifted.

And there he was.

Dean.

His eyes locked on mine, and everything inside me broke and stitched itself back together in the same breath. He looked exactly like I remembered—tired eyes, crooked smirk, soul-deep weariness tucked behind every glance—but alive. So vividly alive.

He crossed the room in two strides and wrapped his arms around me. I clung to him like I’d never let go again. My hands tangled in his shirt. His lips pressed against my temple.

“I missed you,” he murmured, voice rough.

“I love you,” I breathed.

He pulled back just enough to cup my face. “I love you too.”

Outside, the sky kept shifting, the world kept spinning.

But inside our little house, time finally stood still.

The world felt like it was moving in slow motion. Everything around me—Dean, the house, the air itself—was just… perfect. The kind of perfect you don’t ever really expect to happen in your lifetime, but here it was. Here he was.

Dean.

He was holding me, holding on like he wasn’t sure if he could, like maybe he’d disappear again if he let go. But he didn’t. We just stood there, breathing each other in, feeling the weight of the moment settle around us like a soft blanket.

“Dean,” I whispered, pulling back slightly, just enough to look up at him. “You’re here.”

“I’m here,” he said, voice thick, like he couldn’t believe it either. “I’m not going anywhere.”

My fingers trembled as I reached out to touch his cheek, tracing the line of his jaw as if making sure this wasn’t some dream I’d wake up from. “We’re really doing this. We’re really—”

Dean’s lips pressed to mine, cutting off the words I didn’t know how to finish. When he pulled back, I could see it in his eyes—the promise, the relief. “We are. You and me, and the girls.” His voice dropped a little, as if the weight of it hit him too. “We’re a family.”

Tears burned my eyes again. This time, they weren’t from grief—they were from something deeper, something quieter. I nodded, feeling it in every part of me. “Yeah. We are.”

And then, like a gift, like a miracle, the sound of tiny coos filled the air. The soft gurgling noise that was both a question and an answer, coming from the other room.

“Come on,” I whispered, taking his hand and tugging him toward the nursery.

His steps faltered just slightly, but he followed. We passed through the living room, where the sunlight streamed in through the windows, casting a warm glow on everything, and into the room where our daughters were sleeping soundly in their cribs.

Dean paused in the doorway, his breath catching as his gaze landed on them. The twins—our girls—lay there in the soft pink blankets we’d picked out weeks ago. Their tiny faces were peaceful, round, perfect.

I stepped into the room, guiding Dean with me. Slowly, he approached the first crib where one of the girls lay. His hand hovered just above her, like he wasn’t sure how to touch her, but then he reached down, his fingers brushing gently against the baby’s tiny hand.

“She’s beautiful,” he murmured, looking up at me, his face full of awe.

“You’re going to be a great dad,” I said, voice thick with emotion. “They’re going to know how loved they are.”

Dean’s lips trembled, his eyes shining with something I hadn’t seen in so long. “I can’t believe this,” he whispered. “I can’t believe I’m finally getting to be their father.”

I stepped beside him, wrapping my arm around his waist, and together we looked down at the girls, at our daughters. I could feel his heart pounding in his chest, and I knew mine was matching his beat for beat.

And then, Dean did something I’ll never forget. He leaned down, his lips brushing against the forehead of the girl in the crib. He whispered something, so soft, so tender, that I could barely hear it, but I knew what it was.

“I’ll always be here, baby girl. Always.”

And just like that, the world shifted. The pain, the loss, the years of fighting, of struggling—all of it seemed so far away in that moment. Because in front of us, right there, was everything we’d ever wanted. A family. A home. A future.

Dean stepped back, standing straight again, but still keeping his eyes on the twins. “They’re gonna be alright, right?” he asked, as though it was the only question that mattered.

“They’re going to be perfect,” I said, taking his hand and squeezing it tightly. “Just like you.”

We stood there together for a while, just watching them sleep. The sound of their breathing filled the room, soft and rhythmic, like a lullaby that was just for us. And for the first time in a long time, I allowed myself to believe in the possibility of peace. In the possibility of something real.

For the first time in a long time, I felt whole.

…

It’s strange how life has a way of weaving moments together. The simple, everyday things that used to feel like they were just part of the grind—things I didn’t even notice—now feel like a blessing.

Like the soft click of the front door opening and closing. Like the way the air smells after a spring rain, fresh and clean. Like the sound of tiny feet shuffling on the hardwood floor.

And then there’s Dean.

Every moment with him feels precious now. The way he moves around the house, the way he looks at me as though he can’t quite believe we’re here, together. It’s like we’re both waiting for something—waiting for the world to remind us that this is real. But I don’t need a reminder anymore.

We’ve settled into a routine, something I never thought I’d have. Dean helps with the twins when he’s not working on the house, and we’ve even started making plans for things we never thought we’d get to do.

Like a trip to the beach.

“Alright, baby,” Dean says, his voice rough with exhaustion but soft with love, as he reaches for one of the babies from the crib. “Let’s get you ready for your bath, huh?”

I watch him from the doorway, my heart swelling in my chest. His hands are steady as he lifts our daughter into his arms, cradling her with such care that I can hardly believe how far we’ve come. His touch is gentle, like he’s still learning how to be her dad, but he’s getting better every day.

When he looks up at me, his eyes are full of warmth. “You doing okay?”

I nod, leaning against the doorframe. “Yeah. Just taking it all in.”

Dean walks toward me, his steps slow and deliberate as he carries the baby. “You sure you’re okay? It’s been a lot, I know.”

I smile softly, feeling the weight of the words in my chest. “I’m better now. I just… I never thought I’d get to see this. Us. Together. Our girls.”

He stops in front of me, his free hand reaching out to touch my face. “Me neither,” he admits, his voice quieter. “But here we are.”

I lean into his touch, closing my eyes for a moment, allowing myself to just feel. To feel the steady beat of his heart, the warmth of his skin, the promise of a future we thought was lost.

Dean presses his lips to my forehead, his breath warm against my skin. “You’re everything I’ve ever wanted, Y/N. I’m not going anywhere. I’m here.”

I open my eyes and look up at him, and for the first time in what feels like forever, I believe him. I believe in us.

We’re a family now. And nothing—no matter what came before, no matter what might come next—could change that.

The sound of the babies gurgling softly in the other room pulls me back into the present. Dean looks toward the nursery, and we both share a quiet laugh. It’s a laugh that says we’re in this together, no matter what.

“We should probably get them fed,” I say, my voice light, teasing.

Dean smirks. “I’m on it. But you’re doing the diapers.”

I raise an eyebrow, mock-horrified. “Oh, so we’re trading roles now?”

“You bet,” Dean says, the grin on his face wide and full of that familiar cocky charm. “But you’re better at it. Trust me.”

I roll my eyes, but I can’t help the smile that spreads across my face. “Alright, alright. I’ll take it this time.”

Dean chuckles, and as he walks away, I watch him with a softness in my chest. It’s a feeling I never thought I’d get to have again. Not after everything.

We’re here. We’re safe. And I know, deep down, that we’ll be okay. We’ll face whatever comes next together. As a family.

“Ready for this?” I ask as he turns back to look at me, baby in his arms.

Dean smiles. “Always.”

And with that, we walk into the next chapter of our lives. Together. No more demons. No more hunts. Just us and our girls, building a life we never thought we’d have.

And I know now, more than ever, that this is where I was meant to be.

Do you ever read such an amazing reader insert fan fic that when you are done you’re sad for a few days because it’s not your real life?

No? Just me?

I’ll see my way out.

So I just spent the day making Canolli's for Christmas lunch tomorrow because I told my Mum I'd learnt how to make them. What I didn't tell her was why.

I only learnt to make Canolli because of Sonny Carisi and his obsession with them. My God are they heavenly. I could eat them all day.

Guess who just deleted the entire Masterlist for Supernatural Hunting Living and Love. Yep my tired ass clicked delete instead of edit. All I wanted to do was update the list!

Supernatural, Hunting, Living and Love Part 19

Dean Winchester x fem!reader

1.4k word count

fluff, idiots in love, friends to lovers

warnings major character death

Original / Previous Chapter / Next Chapter

The bunker felt different tonight.

It wasn’t the kind of change that came from a hunt or some looming threat. No, this was something softer—something warm, something filled with quiet anticipation. The air was charged, but instead of fear, it carried excitement, nervous energy, and love.

Theresa was having her baby.

The contractions had started hours ago, slow and far apart, until they weren’t anymore. She had insisted she was fine, pacing through the war room, snapping at Sam when he hovered too much. But now, as she lay in the hastily prepared bed in one of the bunker’s spare rooms, her face glistening with sweat, she no longer fought our presence.

Sam sat on the edge of the bed, gripping her hand tightly, his thumb brushing soft, soothing circles over her knuckles. I stood on the other side, one hand on her shoulder, squeezing gently every time she winced through another contraction. The room was dimly lit, and though exhaustion clung to every one of us, love filled the space so completely it left no room for anything else.

Cas stood at the foot of the bed, his expression calm as ever, but his grace flickered softly, casting a golden glow over Theresa. He was keeping the pain at bay, letting her breathe, letting her hold onto this moment without being lost in agony. It was a gift only he could give, and for once, she didn’t argue about accepting help.

Sam whispered encouragements, his voice thick with emotion, and Theresa squeezed his hand back, her own trembling.

“You’re doing so good,” I murmured, brushing damp hair back from her forehead. She turned her head slightly toward me, her eyes glassy but full of determination.

Then, with one final push, the sound we’d all been waiting for filled the room.

A cry—sharp, piercing, alive.

Theresa let out a breath, half-laugh, half-sob, as Cas took the tiny, wriggling bundle and placed him against her chest. She wrapped her arms around him instantly, eyes wide with wonder. Sam let out something between a laugh and a cry of his own, pressing his forehead against hers, their son cradled between them.

“He’s perfect,” Theresa whispered, her voice cracking.

Sam nodded, unable to speak, his fingers gently brushing the baby’s tiny hand.

Cas placed two fingers against Theresa’s temple, his eyes glowing softly for a brief moment before he stepped back, satisfied. “She’s in good health,” he confirmed, his voice gentle. Then, as quickly as he had come, he was gone.

I lingered for a moment, watching the way Sam looked at his son, the way Theresa held him as if he were the most precious thing in the world. Because he was.

Dean Robert John Winchester.

A name too big for such a tiny thing, but one that would carry him through life with all the love in the world.

Tears burned behind my eyes, but I blinked them away. This was their moment, their family.

But as I turned to leave, a weight settled in my chest, a quiet fear coiling deep in my stomach.

Theresa’s labor had been long, but Cas had helped ease her suffering. She had Sam by her side every step of the way, holding her, grounding her, reminding her she wasn’t alone.

Would I have that? Or would I be alone, just like I had been through every doctor’s appointment, every moment of quiet fear when I felt the life inside me grow?

I swallowed hard and forced myself to move. I couldn’t afford to think about that now.

I slipped away quietly, my heart aching and full all at once.

…

I lay on my side in bed, my hand resting on the curve of my stomach. The room was dim, the only light coming from the small lamp on the nightstand. Dean’s voice broke the silence, soft and steady.

“You know I’m gonna be here for you, right?”

I closed my eyes. The weight of it all pressed against my chest. In eight weeks, I would have two baby girls in my arms. Our girls.

I exhaled slowly, trying to steady myself. The thought of labor, of bringing them into this world, filled me with a quiet kind of fear. I had seen Theresa’s strength tonight, but I wasn’t sure if I had that in me.

A soft flutter beneath my palm reminded me I wasn’t alone.

Then, the air shifted.

I opened my eyes to see Cas standing at the foot of the bed. His presence was never loud, never intrusive, but it filled the space like something eternal. He stepped forward, his blue eyes settling on me with quiet concern.

Without asking, he placed his hand over my belly. Warmth spread from his touch, a gentle hum of energy coursing through me. I relaxed, feeling the tension ease from my body.

“They are healthy,” Cas said softly, his voice carrying an edge of something I couldn’t quite place. Relief, maybe.

I nodded, swallowing against the lump in my throat. “Good.”

He hesitated, his gaze flicking to mine. “I do not know if they will be like you.”

My breath hitched. “You mean—part angel?”

Cas nodded. “I have never seen a Nephilim have children before. It is… uncertain.”

I pressed my lips together, my fingers tightening over the fabric of my shirt. “So, they might not have powers.”

“They might not,” Cas admitted. “Or they may.”

I let out a slow breath, my mind racing. The idea of passing on something I barely understood myself was terrifying. What if they grew up feeling different? What if they struggled like I had?

Cas studied me for a long moment before speaking again. “No matter what they are, they will be loved.”

I nodded, my throat too tight to respond.

Cas withdrew his hand, his expression unreadable. “You are strong, Y/N. Do not doubt that.”

Then, like always, he was gone.

I stared at the empty space he left behind, my fingers tracing absent patterns over my stomach. The twins kicked softly, as if responding to my thoughts.

Strong. I hoped he was right.

…

Days passed, and I watched Theresa and Sam adjust to life as parents. Their world had shifted, their focus narrowed to one tiny, perfect baby. Hunting, the darkness, the things that had once been at the forefront of our lives—all of it faded into the background.

They doted on baby Dean, passing him between them with soft murmurs and quiet laughter. Theresa barely let him out of her arms, and Sam watched them both like they were his entire world. They were at peace. Truly at peace.

And yet, all I could think about was if I was putting my girls in danger.

How would I juggle hunting and motherhood? Could I? At what point would I have to train them? When would I have to teach them about the monsters that lurked in the dark? Would we take turns hunting and looking after the kids? Would I even be able to leave them at all?

Doubt weighed on me heavier each day as my due date crept closer. I envied Sam and Theresa’s confidence, their ease in stepping into this new life. I wanted to feel that, but the fear never left me.

I was bringing my daughters into a world that had never been kind to people like us.

And I had no idea if I could protect them from it.

…

The day came faster than I thought it would.

I had been restless all night, shifting in bed, trying to get comfortable. Dean’s voice whispered comforts in the back of my mind, but it did nothing to ease the tightening that had begun low in my belly.

By morning, the pain was coming in waves.

I gripped the edge of the dresser, gasping through another contraction, sweat beading on my forehead.

“Dean,” I whispered, voice cracking. “Dean, please—please don’t leave me. Please—”

But there was only silence.

The ache of labor was nothing compared to the ache of his absence.

Sam found me moments later and called for Theresa. They helped me to the same room where she had given birth weeks before. It felt different now. Colder. Empty.

Cas arrived quietly, his grace wrapping around me, dulling the pain but not erasing the fear. I begged for Dean again and again between contractions, sobbing his name even as my body pushed through the agony.

I screamed when the first girl was born. Cried harder when the second followed minutes later.

Cas confirmed they were healthy. Perfect.

And then he was gone.

I held them close, two tiny bundles wrapped in blankets, and sobbed until I couldn’t breathe.

They were here. My daughters.

But so was the grief.

So was the silence.

And I didn’t know how I was going to do it without him.

Sonny Carisi question

Does Sonny speak Italian? We know he speaks Spanish we've heard that. Sonny is Italian-American so I want to assume he does. I'm working on my Barba x Reader, the reader is Carisi's youngest sister and I was thinking I would have them have little secret sibling conversations in Italian. I speak fluent Italian, French and Spanish so incorporating it would be no issue I just don't want to use it if Sonny doesn't speak Italian.

After The Fire

Evan 'Buck' Buckley X Reader

4.1k word count

Summary You and Buck are both complete done with your respective partners. Eddie is the middle man.

Authors Note: Sorry for disappearing. 2025 has been the worst year for me. I worked my own break up into this story. I wish I had a Buck to help me. Oh well enjoy!

After a long day on tour, all you wanted was to come home and lay in the bath so long you turn into the world’s largest prune. You’d been daydreaming about lavender bubbles and scalding water since lunch. You smelt strongly of smoke and sweat, and your spine had officially decided to disown you.

But the second you opened the door to your apartment, reality slapped you in the face.

The first thing that hit you was the smell—Goose’s litter box, untouched. Again. Then came the sight: dirty dishes piled so high in the sink it was a game of Jenga waiting to collapse. Laundry—your laundry—scattered across the floor like it had exploded out of the hamper. And in the middle of it all, your boyfriend, Kyle, slumped on the couch in the same hoodie he’d been wearing three days ago.

Goose waddled toward you with an indignant meow, brushing his hefty body against your legs. The poor thing looked like he’d spent the entire day plotting your murder. You gave him a quick scratch behind the ears, noting how empty his food bowl was. Again.

Before you could even say hello, Kyle piped up without taking his eyes off his phone.

“Finally. I’m starving. What took you so long? Can you make that lasagna you did last week?”

You blinked. “What?”

He sighed, as if you were the inconvenience here. “I’ve been waiting for you. There's nothing to eat. You said you’d grab groceries yesterday.”

“I said I’d be working until tonight,” you said flatly, slipping off your jacket and dropping your keys into the dish by the door. “You’ve been here all day.”

He shrugged. “Yeah, but I didn’t know what to get. Besides, you always cook it better.”

Your mouth opened, then closed. You looked around at the disaster zone of your home—the dishes, the laundry, the cat fur rolling across the floor like tumbleweeds. Goose let out another mournful cry, and you knelt to fill his bowl while Kyle continued scrolling on his phone like he hadn't just dropped a match into a puddle of gasoline.

That bath you’d been dreaming of? Gone. Replaced by the sharp heat of frustration rising in your chest.

“I’ve been working nonstop for two weeks, Kyle,” you said slowly, carefully, like your words were made of glass. “And I come home to this. Again.”

He looked up, clearly annoyed now. “You don’t have to make it a big deal. I’ve been relaxing. You always freak out over little stuff.”

You stared at him, and something inside you snapped—quietly, neatly, with the same finality as a door clicking shut.

“You need to leave.”

He blinked. “What?”

“You heard me,” you said, standing up and grabbing your bag. “I’m done. You want someone to clean up after you, feed you, do your laundry—get a maid. Or better yet, grow the hell up. I’m not your mother. And I’m not your girlfriend anymore.”

“You’re overreacting,” he said, rising from the couch, arms spread wide. “You’re seriously breaking up with me over dinner?”

“No,” you said. “I’m breaking up with you because I’m tired. Tired of being the only one trying. Tired of coming home to a boyfriend who thinks my time and energy are his to drain. Pack your stuff. Be gone before I get back.”

You slung your bag over your shoulder, gave Goose another quick pat, and walked out the door—no bath, no prune time, just clean air and the kind of peace that comes from finally choosing yourself.

…

Bucks P.O.V

Buck’s shoulders sagged as he stepped out of the elevator and into the hallway, the weight of another brutal shift hanging heavy in every bone. Smoke, sweat, and exhaustion clung to him like second skin. All he wanted was a hot shower, a cold drink, and maybe five hours of uninterrupted sleep if the universe felt like cutting him a break tonight.

He unlocked the door to his apartment and stepped inside.

The lights were on.

That was his first red flag.

The second came when he spotted her—Maya—sitting at the kitchen table with her arms crossed, a full plate of food in front of her, untouched and long since gone cold.

Crap.

“Hey,” he said cautiously, shutting the door behind him. “Didn’t know you were coming over tonight.”

“Obviously,” she snapped, icy gaze locked on him. “You’re late. Again.”

He dropped his gear bag by the door, instinctively checking to make sure he hadn’t tracked ash or soot onto the floor. “We had a three-alarm warehouse fire. I texted you.”

“Oh, right,” she said, her tone thick with sarcasm. “The firefighter excuse. Again. You always have a reason, Buck. You’re always late, always too tired, always somewhere else. You never think about me. Or us. Or our future.”

He blinked, caught off guard. “Maya, we’ve talked about this. You knew what I did when we started dating. You said you respected it. You said you understood.”

“Well maybe I thought I could handle it,” she snapped, standing now. “But I’m sick of being second place to your job. What kind of future are we supposed to have if I’m always sitting here waiting for you to show up?”

He ran a hand over his face, grit scratching under his fingers. “It’s not like I’m out at bars or cheating on you. I’m saving lives. That’s my job. It’s always been my job. And yeah, sometimes that means being late. I can’t just walk out of a burning building because you made chicken parm.”

“You always do this,” she spat, voice rising now. “Turn it around on me like I’m being unreasonable.”

“Because you are,” he said, his own frustration bubbling up now. “You’re throwing a tantrum because dinner got cold. Meanwhile, I’m out there dragging people out of collapsed buildings, Maya. I don’t get to clock out when it’s convenient.”

She stepped closer, jabbing a finger at his chest. “Then quit. Quit the job. If you cared about me, you would.”

And that was it.

Something snapped.

He took a step back, staring at her like he didn’t even recognize the woman in front of him.

“You want me to what?” he said, low and sharp. “You want me to give up the thing I’ve dedicated my whole damn life to—because your dinner got cold?”

“No,” she said, but he didn’t stop.

“I pay the rent on this apartment. I pay your bills. Your phone, your car insurance, the shopping sprees, your nails, your hair—everything. I bust my ass every day so you can live like you do, and the second I’m late, you’re ready to throw a fit like a spoiled kid who didn’t get dessert?”

“Buck—”

“No. I’m done. If this is how you act when you don’t get your way, then I don’t want to be the guy you rely on anymore. Get your stuff, Maya. I want you out.”

She stood there in stunned silence, mouth parted like she had something to say but no words to fill the space. He didn’t wait for a response. He grabbed his bag, slung it over his shoulder, and walked back out the door, slamming it shut behind him.

He didn’t know where he was going. He just knew anywhere was better than here.

…

Eddies P.O.V

Eddie fumbled with his keys, eyelids heavy and muscles aching as he finally made it to his apartment door. The shift had been brutal—hot, chaotic, and long—and for once, he didn’t have to go home and slip right into Dad mode. Chris was spending the night at his abuela’s, and that meant one very rare, very sacred thing: peace.

He stepped inside, locked the door, and headed straight to the shower. Ten minutes under scalding water worked miracles. He emerged in clean sweats, reheated some leftover enchiladas, grabbed a cold beer from the fridge, and collapsed onto the couch like a man finally free.

He picked up his fork, raised it toward his mouth—and that’s when the knock came.

He froze. Chewed air.

With a heavy sigh, he set down the fork, got up, and opened the door.

There she was—one of his best friends, still in her jacket, eyes sharp and stormy. Before he could say anything, she brushed past him and made a direct line for his fridge.

“Uh… sure, come in,” Eddie muttered, mostly to himself, as she popped open a beer like she owned the place.

He barely had time to process her arrival before another knock came. He turned, still halfway to asking her what the hell was going on and opened the door again.

Buck.

Eddie stared.

“Hey,” Buck said, looking sheepish and slightly windblown. “Mind if I—?”

Eddie stepped aside with a sigh, waving him in.

“Thanks, man.” Buck clapped his shoulder in passing, heading straight for the kitchen like this was all part of the plan.

Eddie shut the door, turned slowly, and finally followed them into the kitchen, where the two stood—backs against the counter, bags dropped nearby, bottles in hand—like they'd claimed the place as neutral territory in some unseen war.

He stared at them for a beat. “Okay. Why are you both standing in my kitchen, drinking my beer?”

They exchanged a look and, like it was rehearsed, both said at the same time:

“I broke up with my boyfriend.” “I broke up with my girlfriend.”

Eddie blinked. “Seriously?” He rubbed a hand over his face. “One at a time. You first.” He nodded at her.

She sighed, the fight draining out of her a little now that she wasn’t alone. “I walked in the door and all I wanted was a bath and five minutes to myself. Instead, he starts whining about how he’s starving and wants a big dinner. Meanwhile, the place is trashed, Goose hadn’t been fed, the litter box was disgusting—and he just sat there all day doing nothing. Again. Like I’m supposed to come home from work and play housekeeper-slash-chef for a grown man.”

Buck let out a low whistle.

She took a long swig of her beer. “I told him to pack his stuff and get out.”

Eddie nodded slowly, impressed. “Good for you. You?” He turned to look at Buck.

“She could’ve done better from the start,” Buck muttered. “That guy was a walking red flag with a superiority complex. I never liked him.”

Eddie turned to him. “That’s not what I meant, Buck.”

Buck blinked. “What?”

“I meant your breakup. Not hers. Why did you break up with your girlfriend?”

Buck shifted his weight. “Right, yeah—okay. So, I get home, she’s sitting there with this whole meal set up, cold as hell, waiting to ambush me. Starts going off about how I’m late all the time, how I don’t care about her or our future. I try to explain—again—that I can’t control fires, or emergencies, or the clock.”

He took a swig. “She starts screaming, like actual screaming, demanding I quit being a firefighter if I care about her. Like, she really said that. ‘Quit your job.’”

Eddie’s eyebrows shot up. “Seriously?”

“Dead serious. So I lost it. Told her I’m not her sugar daddy or her emotional support firefighter. I pay her bills, her shopping, her nails—everything—and I’m done. Told her to get out.”

Silence settled for a second.

Then Eddie sighed and walked past them both, grabbing a third beer from the fridge. “I was this close to a quiet night,” he muttered, holding his fingers an inch apart.

She gave him a sheepish look. “Sorry, Eddie.”

Buck raised his beer. “We brought drama, but at least we didn’t come empty-handed.”

Eddie just rolled his eyes, dropped into a chair, and motioned between them. “You two are lucky I like you. But if either of you tries to use my shower, I’m tossing you out the window.”

…

Your P.O.V

Eddie had grumbled the whole night, but he never kicked them out.

After a shared late dinner of lukewarm enchiladas and three more beers each, the three of them ended up sprawled across his living room—Buck face-first on the carpet, you curled up on one end of the couch, and Eddie passed out in the recliner with the remote still in his hand. It wasn’t comfortable. It wasn’t quiet. But it was safe. And after the emotional dumpster fire that was the night before, that was more than enough.

The next morning, after caffeine and mutual groans of “never again,” you and Buck left together, splitting off to check your own places. Both were blessedly empty. No texts. No calls. Just space.

You should’ve felt lonely.

But you didn’t. Because over the next few days… then the next week… then the one after that—Buck kept showing up.

Sometimes with coffee. Sometimes with food. Sometimes with Goose’s favorite treats. A few times with nothing but a tired face and a, “Hey, is it okay if I hang here for a bit?”

He started crashing on the couch. Then staying for dinner. Then leaving a spare toothbrush in your bathroom. Then a few shirts in your drawer. Then Goose started sleeping on his chest instead of yours.

You didn’t question it at first. You were just glad to have someone who saw you at the end of a shift, someone who talked to Goose like he was royalty and didn’t expect you to cook unless you felt like it. Buck washed dishes without being asked. He vacuumed. He once left and came back with a new litter box because, quote, “Goose deserves a throne.”

Eventually, though, you noticed the way he lingered.

He never seemed in a rush to go back to his apartment. Never mentioned it, really. He'd get quiet if you asked what he’d been up to there. And one night, when you found him still sitting in your kitchen at 1 a.m. nursing a beer, eyes glassy with the kind of tired he rarely showed, you finally pressed him.

“Buck?” you asked softly, standing in the doorway. “You good?”

He blinked, pulled back from wherever his mind had wandered. “Yeah. Just… thinking.”

You stepped into the kitchen, opened the fridge more for something to do than anything else. “You’ve been here a lot.”

“I can go,” he said quickly, sitting up straighter. “I didn’t mean to—”

“No, no,” you interrupted, grabbing your own drink. “That’s not what I meant. I like having you here.”

He smiled at that—small, unsure.

“But,” you added gently, leaning on the counter across from him, “you’ve basically been living here. What’s going on, Buck?”

He hesitated. Twisted the bottle cap between his fingers. “I’m not… used to being alone. I thought I’d be fine after Maya left, you know? Like, good riddance and all that. But that apartment feels... empty. Cold. Like I walk in and the walls echo, and suddenly everything’s quiet in a way that makes my skin crawl.”

You watched him for a second, your heart softening.

Then you said, “Well… you don’t have to be alone. Not if being here helps. You can move in.”

His eyes snapped up to meet yours. “Wait—are you serious?”

You smiled. “I’ve already lost half my fridge space to your energy drinks and Goose likes you more than me. Might as well make it official.”

He laughed, that big, boyish sound that made something warm bloom in your chest.

“You sure?”

You nodded. “Yeah. I mean, we already know you’re good at cleaning and Goose has claimed your lap as property. Consider this your unofficial roommate interview. You passed.”

He looked at you like you’d just handed him something he didn’t know he needed. And maybe, in a way, you had.

“Thanks,” he said quietly. “Really.”

You clinked your drink to his. “Welcome home, Buck.”

…

The first few days felt like a weird kind of vacation.

Buck brought over the rest of his stuff in a series of chaotic trips, including (but not limited to): two duffel bags, an entire crate of protein powder, at least six fire department t-shirts you were pretty sure he stole from other people, and a worn-out hoodie you immediately claimed as yours.

Goose sat in the middle of the living room and watched the entire process like he was supervising the transition. He didn’t complain, and that was saying something—Goose hated everyone.

By the end of the week, your apartment felt... different. Lived in, but not in a messy, suffocating way like before. It was the kind of lived in where the coffee was already brewed when you woke up, and someone left a note by the door that said "Kick ass today." Buck had that rare kind of presence that made everything feel just a little lighter.

You’d always gotten along well—working together created a kind of shorthand between you—but something about having him in your space all the time cracked things open a little wider.

Like how you noticed the way he always turned toward you when you laughed. Or how he paused a movie to ask what you thought would happen next because he “likes hearing your theories.” Or how he always cooked enough for two now, even if you said you weren’t hungry.

But it wasn’t all easy.

There were the little things, too. Like the way he left his wet towel on the floor even though the hamper was right there. Or how he used all the hot water on long showers because “thinking is a full-body experience.” One night, he accidentally used your fancy shampoo and tried to play it off like he didn’t, even though he smelled like vanilla and chamomile for two days.

You bickered sometimes—snapped over dishes or laundry or who forgot to buy more coffee filters. But somehow, it always ended in laughter. Or one of you giving the other a peace offering in the form of snacks.

The shift was slow, creeping in like sunlight through curtains you forgot to close.

It was the comfort of hearing him hum off-key while making pancakes. The way he knew exactly how you liked your tea, or that you needed silence for the first thirty minutes after a shift. It was the way he looked at you sometimes—soft, unguarded, like you were a home he hadn’t known he was missing.

One night, after a long shift that had left you both emotionally wrecked, you came home and didn’t say a word. Just sank into the couch, kicked off your boots, and stared at the wall.

Buck wordlessly brought you a blanket. Sat beside you without crowding. Waited.

After a while, you leaned your head on his shoulder.

“You ever feel like the job just... hollows you out some days?” you asked.

“Yeah,” he said, quiet. “But being here? With you? It fills the rest of me back up.”

You didn’t respond. Just sat there, heart stuttering like maybe it had finally caught on to something the rest of you hadn’t.

You weren’t sure what this was—roommates, best friends, something else—but for the first time in a long time, it felt like you weren’t just surviving. You were healing.

Together.

…

The heater had gone out.

Of course it had—on the first truly cold night of the season. You were both bundled on the couch, buried under every blanket the apartment owned. Buck had even added one of his flannel shirts to Goose’s bed, who seemed personally offended by the drop in temperature and took it out on the both of you by yelling dramatically from his spot atop the radiator.

Buck was scrolling on his phone, one arm lazily draped around your shoulder. You’d spent the past hour wedged against him, and by now it felt so natural you almost forgot you weren’t alone on the couch.

Almost.

“You know,” he murmured suddenly, voice low and a little hoarse, “I’ve been thinking.”

“Dangerous,” you teased, nudging him gently with your elbow.

He didn’t laugh. Just turned his head slightly, watching you. “About us.”

That made your stomach tighten—just a bit. Not in panic. Not quite. But in anticipation.

You glanced up. “What about us?”

Buck’s eyes searched your face, like he was checking if he was about to say too much.

“I didn’t plan this,” he admitted. “Didn’t plan to move in. Didn’t plan to get... attached.”

The word landed heavy between you, but not unpleasantly. It didn’t feel like a warning. It felt like an opening.

You exhaled slowly, your hand resting where his hoodie bunched near your ribs. “But you are?”

He gave a small smile—just one side of his mouth. “Yeah. I think I was before I ever moved in.”

Your heart thumped once, hard. Then again.

The blankets shifted as you turned more toward him, the soft brush of knees and hands and something else hanging in the air like static.

“I care about you,” he said, quiet but sure. “Not just in the roommate, crash-on-your-couch, eat-your-snacks kind of way. I think you know that.”

You did. You’d felt it in every small thing—every look, every laugh, every night he found his way back to you. You just hadn’t let yourself admit it.

Until now.

“I think I’ve known it since you walked into Eddie’s kitchen with a beer like you lived there,” you murmured. “And honestly? I haven’t stopped thinking about it since.”

Buck’s hand found yours beneath the blankets, fingers curling gently.

“We can take it slow,” he said, as if reading your mind. “I just… needed you to know. I’m here. I’m all in.”

You didn’t answer with words. Instead, you leaned forward and kissed him—soft, tentative, but no less certain than anything he’d just said. His lips were warm against yours, familiar in a way that made your chest ache.

He kissed you back like he’d been waiting for it.

When you finally pulled away, you didn’t move far. Just rested your forehead against his, smiling when Goose meowed loudly from across the room.

“We’ll take it slow,” you whispered. “But you’re not getting out of paying half the rent.”

Buck grinned, pulling you closer. “Deal.”

…

They didn’t mean for Eddie to find out.

Not like this, anyway.

It started innocently enough—just the three of you catching up after a hellish double shift. The station had been chaos, the call-outs nonstop, and by the time the sun dipped below the horizon, you were all running on fumes and pure stubbornness.

So naturally, someone suggested beer and burgers. You didn’t say no. Buck didn’t either.

Now, you were all gathered around Eddie’s kitchen island, fries in one hand, beer in the other, talking over one another like usual. Goose had even come along for the ride and was currently sleeping under Eddie’s table like it was his second home.

Which, to be fair… it kind of was.

Everything was normal—until Buck did it.

You didn’t notice at first. You were mid-bite, something snarky on your tongue, when he casually reached over and brushed his fingers along your wrist. Just a light touch. A reflex.

But Eddie noticed.

Because of course he did.

He went completely still. Not a blink. Not a sound. Just slowly turned his head and looked at you both, brows raised in that signature really? expression that spoke volumes without him having to say a damn thing.

Buck froze, halfway through a sip of beer. “What?” he asked innocently, though he was definitely already blushing.

Eddie narrowed his eyes. “No. Don’t ‘what’ me.”

You swallowed your bite with a bit more force than necessary. “Okay, so—maybe something’s… happening.”

Eddie didn’t break eye contact. “Happening.”

Buck shifted in his seat. “It’s new.”

“Clearly not that new if he’s doing the wrist thing,” Eddie replied, pointing at Buck with a fry.

You looked at Buck. Buck looked at you. Then back at Eddie.

“So you’re not… mad?” you asked, cautious.

Eddie leaned back in his chair, arms crossing loosely. “Why would I be mad?”

Buck blinked. “I don’t know. Because we didn’t tell you?”

Eddie snorted. “I’m not your dad, Buck.”

“Feels like it sometimes,” Buck muttered.

Eddie just rolled his eyes and took a drink, then looked between the two of you again—this time, a little softer.

“I figured it was coming eventually,” he said. “You’ve been orbiting each other for months. Was just waiting to see who’d trip first.”

You gave Buck a sideways glance. “It was him.”

“Hey!”

Eddie laughed, for real this time. “As long as you’re good to each other, I don’t care. Just—” He paused, raising a hand. “No PDA in front of me. I already have a teenager. I don’t need you two acting like hormonal high schoolers in my living room.”

Buck held up both hands. “Noted.”

You grinned. “I make no promises.”

Eddie groaned. “God help me.”