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gvf23 · 29 days ago

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dean winchester x fairy! reader

make me feel like a person

description: you were never meant to cross paths with a human, let alone be saved by a hunter. but after a late-night diner run, you learn what it feels like to be human. and dean, he remembers what it feels like to be more than a hunter. (strangers --> friends --> lovers)

fluff • minor angst • sfw • 5k words

warnings: none, dean nearly runs the you over in the beginning though hehe

The backroads were slick with rain and shadow. Branches clawed at the sky like skeletal hands, and the Impala's headlights carved narrow tunnels through the dark. Something about nights like this, quiet and murky, should've set Dean on edge, but it was oddly familiar given all the late night hunts he used to go on growing up.

Classic rock buzzed low on the radio, and Dean tapped the steering wheel to the beat, his other hand holding a lukewarm coffee. Sam was back at Bobby’s chasing down lore on a spirit near the Cascades, which gave Dean the pleasure of this solo errand: destroying a cursed trinket from two towns over.

His foot hesitated on the gas when something flickered across the road up ahead.

It was small, fast, and luminescent. At first, he thought it was just a reflection, but-

“Shit!”

He slammed the brakes and the Impala fishtailed before screeching to a halt.

Heart pounding, Dean jumped out, gun half-drawn.

The thing, or person, he almost hit was lying in the middle of the road, curled up, trembling.

“Hey!” he called out. “You alright?”

It was a girl.

No, not a girl, a woman. Dirt-smudged face, wild hair matted with rain, wearing what looked like tattered green silk. Her skin was flushed, eyes wide with terror.

Dean jolted back as she scrambled to her feet, but he reached forward when she nearly collapsed again.

“Th-They’re coming after me.” She rasped, keeping her distance.

Dena shifted, “Who’s coming?”

“The hunters.” She whimpered, rubbing her slashed temple, eyes widening at the crimson.

Dean’s instincts flared. He took a step forward, scanning the woods behind her. “Hunters?”

Her breath quickened as she glanced at the forest, “They want to kill me.”

Dean’s grip tightened on his gun, “Why?”

She stared at him, panic crackling in her big eyes,

“I’m a fairy.”

He blinked.

“Right. Okay. Well… you’ve probably had a little too much to drink,” he huffed.

“I’m serious,” she said, voice hardening.

And then, to his complete and utter horror, she unfolded a set of wings. Gossamer-thin, iridescent, shimmering even in the gray fog of the storm. The air around her warped, as if her very presence altered reality.

Dean flinched. “Son of a bitch.”

He raised his gun on instinct. “What the hell kind of trap is this?”

“I’m not—!” she yelped, but Dean was already moving, pinning her to the wet asphalt with one knee.

There was a flash of hurt in her eyes before she went slack beneath him.

“Sorry, Tinkerbell,” he muttered, picking her up and starting toward the impala, “But I ain’t taking any chances.”

—

When you awoke, it was to the smell of motor oil, leather, and coffee.

There were booming voices echoing off walls made of wood and metal.

You stirred slowly, pulse drumming in your ears, shoulder blades aching to get up and expand your wings after being on your back for so long.

“…shouldn’t’ve knocked her out cold, Dean. She’s a goddamn fairy,” a thoughtful voice muttered.

“She sprouted wings like a damn peacock, what was I supposed to do?” another voice answered, gravelly, defensive. “I thought some sort of…I don’t know–siren trick!”

“You always think with your trigger finger,” grumbled another man. “Fairies are harmless. Some hunters go after them just for sport. It’s sick.”

Everything was strange, you blinked your eyes open, expecting to see the shutters of your cottage.

Instead, three men towered the dimly lit room: one with shaggy brown hair and big eyes, one in a trucker cap with a scowl, and him. The man from the road.

They were talking about you like you were an animal in a cage. You felt the sting of tears spring into your eyes. You never should’ve crossed into human territory.

Whispers of how brutal man could be floated around, but you’d read tons of lore on the creatures so similar to you fairies and came to realize not all of them were bad.

But you were proven gravely wrong, and now you had to pay the price.

Admittedly, you romanticized human life in your head, so curiosity got the better of you when you stupidly wandered a little too far out from the forest.

You began searching around you for a pipe, a dagger, anything, to take down your captors. Your eyes landed on the soft light illuminating your peripheral.

There was a metal lamp on the table beside you. You didn’t think, just reached an arm out as quietly as you could.

You grabbed it, and toed forward lightly,

Then you lunged.

“Whoa—hey!” the green-eyed man barked, stumbling back as you swung.

“Let me go home!” You yelled.

“Easy, okay? You’re not in danger!” he said, holding up his hands.

You scoffed, wild eyes flickering to the sharp weaponry practically displayed on the walls.

They probably planned to kill you in here, tack your wings up like one of those awful taxidermy trophies you read about in your books.

“You're lying.”

“We’re not lying,” the taller man reasoned. “You’re in a safe place, alright? We aren’t the kind of hunters you ran from.”

Your hands trembled around the lamp. You looked between them, unsure.

“I’m Sam Winchester,” he said, resting a hand on his chest, before motioning to the man that knocked you out earlier, “This is my brother Dean.”

Your eye caught the older man watching vigilantly from across the room, eyes shadowed beneath the brim of a frayed cap, “That’s our friend Bobby.”

“You wanna tell us your name?” He asked gently.

You faltered, mumbling your name before tightening your iron grip in case they decided to cut the nice act.

“Here,” Dean began, “Let’s make a deal.”

“Deal?” You bristled, giving him a look.

“You must be hungry, right? I mean I would be, after being hunted and all…” he trailed off, chuckling nervously.

His smile dropped at your hard stare, before he cleared his throat.

“You let go of the lamp, I’ll get you a burger…deal?”

You falter a little, a furrow taking place between your brows.

“Burger?” You mumbled to yourself, jolting back as he stepped toward you.

“How about we find something for you to wear first?” Bobby suggested from behind the boys, giving your tattered dress a gentle regard.

You looked down, your gown snagged with twigs, blackened with grime.

“Think I got a few extra clothes here.” Dean murmured, snagging a few flannels from his bag, before tossing some over to Sam, knowing you were still a little jumpy around him.

“Here,” Sam said, “You wear this and he’ll take you out for some food.”

You felt your stomach churn.

It was either uncertainty, the desire to consume whatever this burger business was, or both.

You nodded, “Deal.”

“Good,” Dean grinned, extending an apprehensive hand toward the lamp, “Just gonna put this back.”

—

The material was soft, smelled faintly of something woodsy and leathery, and the collar gaped slightly around your neck. You didn’t hate it. That was the most unsettling part.

Your wings were hidden again, tucked back into your skin, though your shoulder blades still ached faintly. Your hair was damp from the earlier downpour, and your skin was a touch too pale from everything you’d been through.

The bathroom door creaked softly as you peered out, just enough for one eye and a sliver of your cheek to catch the low light.

The hall beyond was quiet, a low hum of conversation bleeding in from the living room.

Just because they hadn’t hurt you yet didn’t mean they wouldn’t.

So you waited at the edge of the door, half-thinking maybe this was part of some trick. That if you stepped out, the kindness would vanish, and you'd see their true faces.

“Hey,” Dean’s voice called from the couch.

Your heart kicked.

He was lounging there, one arm slung over the back, head tilted toward the sound of her door.

When you didn’t answer, he stood up. His eyes found yours in the shadow and softened.

“They fit okay?”

You stepped out slowly, making uncertain steps on the creaky floor. The boots clomped awkwardly, slightly big around the ankles. And the shirt, his shirt, swallowed you whole.

So much for wanting to be human. You felt ridiculous.

His eyes raked down and then back up, slowly.

“Dean?” Sam called, nudging him, “Grab a belt.”

“Huh? Oh. Yeah.” Dean blinked, before fumbling for the nearest one off the back of a chair. “Here.”

He stepped toward you, holding the belt out, but the moment he crossed into your space, you tensed, body still instinctively leaning away.

Dean froze. He didn’t say anything, just stepped back.

Sam came up behind him, “Mind if I?”

You nodded once.

As Sam strained to kneel at your level and carefully wrap the belt around you, you eyed the sheer length of his legs with mild curiosity. Your gaze flitted toward Dean’s legs. He was very tall, but not freakishly so, like his brother.

What’d they eat as children?

The flannel pulled in gently, not tight, but just enough to give the fabric a bit of shape, making it look more like a dress than a borrowed shirt.

“There you go,” he murmured. “Better?”

“Better.” You smile softly, feeling a little less like hunter prey and more like a human for the first time.

—

Dean held the Impala door open with a quiet gesture.

You stood for a moment, hand on the roof of the car, studying the metal beast like it might lunge.

“Promise it doesn’t bite,” Dean said, voice light but genuine.

You hesitated, then crawled inside.

Dean shut the door with a soft thunk, then walked around to the driver’s side. The moment he twisted the key, the engine roared to life.

You flinched, shoulders curling in, eyes wide with alarm. It sounded like he’d woken an ancient beast.

“Sorry, she’s got a bit of a bark,” Dean muttered, shooting you a glance. “Should’ve warned you.”

You slowly uncurled, watching the dashboard lights flicker like fireflies.

The radio kicked on automatically, something grating and electric that had your body tensed again.

Dean caught it. “Right, right—hang on,” he mumbled, flipping the knob.

Static, then a low, gentle melody filled the car. A simple acoustic rhythm, a man’s voice, gravelly, but sweet, singing about rivers and grass.

You relaxed almost immediately, leaning back, weary gaze softening.

“Better?” he asked.

You nodded.

“Good.”

He tapped the wheel in rhythm, humming faintly, occasionally letting a lyric slip out under his breath.

You listened.

“You have a nice voice,” you say, breaking the silence.

Dean glanced over, surprised. “What? Nah.”

You turned toward him, resting your head lightly against the seat. “It’s true.”

He scoffed dismissively, shifting in his seat.

“Did you…ever want to be like this man?” You ask, pointing at the dashboard where the voice came from.

Dean smiled faintly, the question catching him off guard, “I think I was more the fireman type when I was a kid. But a rock star? Yeah, that’d be cool too.”

He glanced sideways at you, saw you watching the lights on the side of the road blur past, mesmerized.

“What about you?” he asked, “Do fairies have...you know, jobs?”

You smiled, “Yes. But I always wanted to see what this was like, the human world…to be a person.”

Dean didn’t answer right away.

He just kept driving.

But after a moment, he looked over again with a soft grin, “You might end up being better at it than me.”

—

A few moments later, Dean pulled into a diner, glowing under the night sky, sat at the edge of a cracked lot.

You sat in the passenger seat, eyes fixed on the building ahead with growing excitement.

“Alright,” Dean killed the engine, glancing at you with a grin, “get ready for the best damn food your woodland heart’s ever seen.”

When you stepped out of the car, you absorbed the scene with a curiosity you didn’t bother to hide.

Warm light spilled onto the parking spaces, silhouettes moving past steam-fogged windows.

Your gaze drifted, lingering a beat too long on a group of giant leather-clad bikers leaning against their Harleys just outside the entrance.

You tilted your head.

They sort of looked like a different breed of human.

Large, boisterous, laughter booming and eyes sharp beneath shaggy brows.

One of them, slightly scrawnier than the rest, raised an eyebrow at you, half a smirk forming at the corner of his mouth.

You frowned, wings twitching underneath your clothes in half surprise, half disgust.

Dean turned back to you, following your line of sight before he chuckled. “Yeah, let's not make new friends tonight.”

You turned to him just as he reached for your hand.

The warmth of his palm curled around yours without hesitation. The contact startled you, wings tensing slightly under your jacket, but you didn’t pull away.

Instead, a strange sense of steadiness spread through your chest, like your feet were planted a little more firmly on this unfamiliar earth.

Dean leaned back against the booth, one arm stretched along the top of the seat like his presence was effortlessly at home here.

You knew the world had places like this, but to see it all in motion, the colors, the smells, the closeness of strangers, was something else entirely.

It all felt strangely familiar, like the scent of a place you’d visited in a dream once.

The waitress approached and the moment she looked at him, her demeanor shifted.

“What can I get you, sugar?”

She didn’t bat an eye your way, glancing at Dean every so often as she wrote an order down like he might disappear if she blinked.

You chuckled under your breath in disbelief as you noticed another girl at the bar tucking her hair behind her ear while sneaking a look his way.

And another.

They all looked at him like he was made of something rare.

Then it hit you.

Dean Winchester must be…desirable, in the human world.

When you really took his features in for the first time, it made sense.

He was handsome, striking, really, even by fairy standards. His eyes a forest green that glinted like they had secrets tucked behind long eyelashes, the slope of his nose almost a feminine aquiline, and blushed lips not too thin nor too large.

His gaze met yours, a flicker of amusement already in his eyes.

You flushed and averted your gaze, quickly busying yourself by perusing through the menu like it was the most interesting thing you’ve seen in all your time here.

“Y’know,” he said, voice low and warm across the table, “you don’t look too bad yourself.”

You stiffened, still unable to meet his eyes. You dared a glance up, catching on the subtle way his smirk softened when he looked at you.

Luckily, the food arrived with a clatter and a puff of heat to break the tension.

The burger towered in front of you, layers of meat and cheese like some architectural feat barely held together by the skewered toothpick stabbed through its center.

Everything smelled rich and heavy in a way that made your stomach both growl and hesitate. Dean noticed your expression, half amusement, half sympathy lighting in his eyes.

“Alright, don’t panic,” he said, pulling the burger from his plate. “This is edible. Just gotta know how to tackle it.”

You watched closely as he plucked off the toothpick, adjusted the bun with practiced ease, then held it up like a prize catch.

“See? Two hands. No dainty fairy bites. You go in with conviction.” He explained, putting his game face on.

You couldn’t help the chuckle escaping you at his monstrous bite.

He muffled a satisfied sound, then set it down. “Now you.”

You eyed your burger like it might fight back.

Still, you mirrored him, gently lifting it with both hands. It wobbled slightly, sauce already threatening to drip down your fingers. You glanced at him, unsure.

Your first bite was awkward, too much bread, a piece of lettuce tried to slide out. You chewed slowly, then cautiously nodded.

“Oh,” you mumbled.

“What do you think?” Dean asked, eyes trained on your expression.

“That’s… that’s actually nice.”

“There you go,” Dean chuckled, “Welcome to America, Tinkerbell.”

“Whose Tinker?—”

You were cut off when the waitress placed a thick creamy drink crowned with a swirl of whipped cream and a bright red cherry beside you.

Your lips wrapped around the straw and you took a sip.

Your eyes widened.

Cold. Sweet. Rich. Like frozen vanilla clouds, more indulgent than anything you’d tasted in your forest glades or mountaintop springs.

You took another sip.

Then another.

Dean watched you drain half the glass in one go, “Woah there, pace yourself.”

“This is incredible,” you said, breathless.

He grinned, flagging down the waitress again. “Can we get a slice of apple pie?”

Apple pie?

You paused. “I’ve had that before.”

Dean raised a brow. “Yeah?”

You nodded. “Years ago, an old lady that lived near my cottage left one on her windowsill in the woods, and well…I took a piece. Just a small one.”

“You’ve got a sweet tooth,” He murmured, reaching to wipe a dab of whipped cream from your upper lip with his thumb.

You jolted slightly, but let him clean it off anyway.

You snuck a glance behind the brim of your glass as he brought his thumb to his lips and licked it clean, “So do I.”

Before you could flush brighter than the cherry still floating atop your milkshake, the pie arrived.

“So,” Dean started, popping the cherry into his mouth and fiddling with the stem, “What do fairies eat anyway? Aside from stolen pies.”

“A lot of things. They aren’t too far off from what most humans eat…but I don’t know—I wouldn’t wanna bore you with all the details,” You shrugged.

He grinned, suckling on the cherry as he leaned forward, “Try me.”

You flushed, eyes widening just a tad.

Is it normal for humans to act so…flirtatious like this?

Or maybe this isn’t flirtatious at all, it’s just a cherry.

Yeah, he’s just eating a cherry.

But he keeps staring at you.

For Christ sake! This wasn’t in the human lore books–

“You there?”

You jolted, mind pausing from its endless reeling.

“Huh? Oh,” you shifted, ignoring his almost knowing grin.

“Well, Spring’s got flower nectar. In Summer there's berries and herbs, sometimes pine nuts. Autumn, we preserve by drying apples. During the Winter we eat frost sugar or moss biscuits.”

Dean blinked, “Moss biscuits?”

“They’re pretty good.” You nodded, “I’ll bring you some one day, you can try them out yourself.”

Dean grinned, leaning back against his seat, “Yeah?”

“Why not?” You grinned, motioning to his plate “You could use a little green in your diet.”

You chuckled at the dry look he shot you.

After a long comfortable pause you spoke up again,

“I’ve read about places like this, in secret mostly” you said softly, looking around the diner.

“In secret?” He asked.

“My parents used to forbid me from human lore. I remember sneaking a few under my bed anyway.”

Dean tilted his head, resting his cheek against his palm, brows furrowed as his gaze flitted around your face.

Something about his attention was admittedly flustering, yet made it so easy to speak your mind.

So you went on.

“The books had table etiquette, music, and how people eat together in booths like these. How everything stays buzzing and on. I mean, it’s like the human world never sleeps.”

You sighed almost dreamily, eyes lingering on the cracked laminate of the table before trailing back up to him.

His gaze hadn’t left you once. And suddenly you were aware of how long you’d been talking.

You were cut off mid-thought, “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to ramble. You know all this.”

You took another long sip from your milkshake, eyes darting away.

Dean didn’t say anything at first, but when you glanced back up, his brow was less tense than before, eyes softer and less playful.

Then, he reached for the fork.

“Here,” he cut off a piece of pie, and offered it, “Try it warm this time.”

You took it, shaky fingers brushing his as you did with a little smile.

—

After the pie had been reduced to crumbs and the last of the milkshake drained, the diner had settled into a lull.

A small crowd had gathered near the back where a dartboard hung crookedly against the wall.

Dean leaned against the bar counter, watching the room with half-lidded eyes and a content smirk.

You sat beside him, perched on one of the tall stools. The vinyl creaked every time you shifted, so you started spinning slowly, letting your heels brush the metal footrest and giving yourself gentle pushes.

The motion was simple, rhythmic. Your legs swung, and your hair shifted around your shoulders like the soft rustling of leaves in the wind.

You closed your eyes, letting the hum of the diner and the motion blur together, like a memory you hadn't had yet.

Dean’s amused glance turned sharp the second he noticed it.

A cluster of sparkles escaped from your back, a gold trail, floating just high enough to catch someone’s eye if they looked close enough.

He straightened immediately and stepped closer, hand settling gently but firmly on the back of your stool. “Alright, Tinkerbell. Ease up.”

You blinked at him in confusion until you followed his line of sight.

“Oh,” you murmured, biting back a smile. “Guess the spinning woke them up.”

“Yeah, well, this place ain’t exactly fairy-friendly,” Dean huffed, stepping between you and the rest of the room. “Next time someone sees sparkles coming off your back, they’re either gonna call a priest or start filming.”

You laughed under your breath, just as a sharp metallic thunk drew your attention toward the far corner of the room.

It was the same guy, the one who’d given you that too-long stare earlier. Only now, he was hunched in front of the dartboard, except he wasn’t throwing darts.

He was throwing knives.

They landed with angry precision, the blades biting deep into the already-splintered wood. He didn’t seem to be playing with anyone. Just showing off.

You nudged Dean’s elbow, keeping your voice below a whisper. “Do you think you could beat him?”

Dean didn’t look up right away, just smirked at the question. “You kidding me, sweetheart?” he drawled, “I’m a damn pro.”

“Pro or not, I can help you win a decent amount of cash,” You hum.

Dean raised a brow, “How’s that?” —

As the two of you approached the back of the room, the air felt thicker. More tension, more eyes, more testosterone.

You trailed behind Dean as he strode toward the knife-thrower. The man looked up just as Dean came to a stop beside him, then let his gaze flick toward you.

Dean shifted, just slightly, to stand in front of you.

“Mind if I play a few rounds?” Dean asked, “Winner snags a hundred?”

There was a tense pause, then the man grunted and handed over a spare knife.

The first few throws were close, solid enough to draw impressed murmurs from the crowd.

Upon your involvement, the biker’s next knife landed several inches outside the bullseye.

Dean raised his eyebrows, mock-sympathetic. “Tough break, man.”

The game wore on, sometimes Dean’s elbow bumped yours on purpose everytime he ‘missed.’

Other times, he just looked at you out of the corner of his eye and grinned like you shared a private joke.

In the final round, you barely moved, just bent the air pressure in the tiniest, imperceptible way.

Dean nailed his final throw with a satisfying thunk, the blade hitting dead-center.

The biker cursed under his breath and Dean sauntered over to collect the cash without much fuss. The group had grown significantly more sour and suspicious.

But they’d never figure out a fairy and a hunter had just hustled them out of a hundred bucks.

“Think that’s our cue,” Dean muttered, looping an arm around your waist casually, and steering you toward the door.

The diner door swung shut behind you with a final clang, the warm hum of laughter and jukebox music fading into the cooler, quieter night.

Dean tucked the bills into his jacket pocket, then glanced sideways at you.

“So, are you glad you came?”

You looked up at him and nodded, still buzzing with energy, laughter bubbling just beneath your ribs. “That was… fun.”

The town was still alive in patches, dim porch lights, a flickering sign from the motel across the street, a dog barking somewhere in the distance.

It would’ve been perfect if your wings would just sit still.

They twitched again, stubborn under the flannel shirt. You shifted your shoulders uncomfortably, trying to make it look like nothing at all.

But every few steps, another flicker of movement pulsed through you, an involuntary flutter trying to push through the heavy cotton.

Excitement always did this to you. Too much motion, too much joy, and your wings started behaving like they had minds of their own.

Dean cast a sideways glance at you, catching the subtle fidgeting.

“You alright?” he asked. “That belt too tight or something?”

“No, it’s fine,” you lied quickly, straightening a little.

He squinted. “Alright.”

Then, with that usual ease, he muttered, “Well, don’t worry. We’ll get you out of those clothes in no time.”

You froze.

Well that didn’t help.

Before you could even gather a reply, Dean continued, completely unbothered,

“Sam and Bobby should have something figured out soon,” he sighed. “Way to get you home, keep you off the radar.”

You didn’t answer right away. Something about the words hit differently than they were probably meant to.

Home.

Avoiding trouble and leaving all of this behind.

Your steps slowed slightly and your posture slumped as you stared down the quiet street, now somehow lonelier than it had looked before.

Dean glanced at you, then looked around, just to make sure no one was watching.

Satisfied, he reached into his jacket and pulled out the small hunting knife from earlier.

“Hey,” he said quietly. “Turn around.”

You blinked up at him. “What?”

He gestured with the knife, but his eyes were soft. “Just trust me.”

You hesitated for only a moment before turning, facing away.

You felt his hand gently tug the back of the shirt outward, then you heard the fabric tear. One long, slow slice, followed by a second on the opposite side.

Cool air brushed against your back, and just like that, your wings slipped free.

You sighed as they unfurled slowly, stretching out like they’d been holding their breath all night.

Dean stood there, knife still in one hand and his breath caught in his chest.

His eyes followed the slow motion of your wings, transfixed by the almost-hypnotic way the breadth of them pulsed with gentle light, like moonlight scattered across water, translucent and alive.

Dean reached out, just a little, like he was about to touch them, fingers lifting midair.

But he blinked and pulled back.

“Sorry,” he gruffed, clearing his throat. “Didn’t mean to…get weird about it.”

Your smile was soft, a little amused, but not mocking.

You turned slightly, just enough to glance at him over your shoulder. “It’s okay.”

Movement caught your eye just off the path, a small clearing between trees where an old swing set sat crooked, half-swallowed by time and overgrowth.

You pointed. “Come on. I wanna show you something.”

—

The chain screeched as you climbed on, boots barely touching the ground. Dean followed at a slower pace, arms crossed, watching you like he wasn’t quite sure what you were up to but wasn’t about to say no.

You pushed off the ground, trying to gain momentum, but it was hard given how rusted the joints of the chains were.

“Here,” he offered, stepping up behind you. “I’ll give you a boost.”

You rolled your eyes, “I know how to swing myself.”

“I know,” He drawled, grabbing the chains gently and pulling you back.

You braced for the push, but when it didn’t come, you looked to the side and flinched to find his face close to yours.

You sucked in a breath when his eyes flickered down to your lips, then back up to your eyes.

“Ready, Tinkerbell?”

“Yeah," You whisper.

Then your brows furrowed, "But…whose Tinkerbe—Agh!” You yelped, caught off guard as he lurched you forward.

You swung high, your wings fluttering with the motion.

All at once, a trail of fairy dust began to circle in your wake.

It spun behind you in soft spirals, glittering gold and green in the dark.

As you gained speed, it lifted higher, weaving around Dean too, curling into the air like enchanted smoke,

“You see that?!” You chuckled. Dean huffed in amusement, bringing a hand up to catch some fairy dust, before letting it float up and around him. For once, a "hunt" didn't bring about the image of horror in some lore book his father shoved down his throat as a kid. No, this was one of the stories his mom whispered to him before he drifted off to sleep. This was a fairytale. He was taken out of his thoughts when the volume of fairy dust nearly blurred his vision in a cloud of golds and greens.

“Alright, alright—I get it. You win the cool contest.” Dean groaned playfully, holding up a hand to shield his eyes from a stray swirl.

You threw your head back and laughed again.

But then his phone buzzed, the sound cutting through the moment.

He stepped away to answer it, muttering a quick “Yeah?” as he walked toward the edge of the clearing.

You slowed, the swing’s motion easing into smaller and smaller arcs until your boots brushed the earth again.

You hopped off, brushing your hands against your thighs as you approached.

Dean had a strange look on his face. Not worry, nor relief.

You tilted your head. “Everything okay?”

He looked off into the clearing, avoiding your gaze, before answering.

“Sam and Bobby found the hunters, found a way to mislead them,” he said. “They think it’s safe to get you back to where you came from.”

“Oh.” You nodded, folding your arms across your chest even though you weren’t cold.

You weren’t sure what to say. The silence stretched between you, filled only by the sound of trees rustling and the last drift of fairy dust settling into the dirt.

He ran a hand down his face, “We should…head back.”

—

You and Dean walked quietly along an old dirt trail winding through the forest, bordering on the territory you came from. Ancient willow trees loomed above, their leaves whispering with the breeze, while puddles shimmered faintly under the moonlight.

Your wings were folded tight against your back, aching quietly beneath the shirt, like they were holding in too much feeling at once.

You hadn’t meant for this to happen, hadn’t meant to feel anything for Dean, for a human.

The single night behind you felt too bright, vivid, too full of things you were never meant to have.

Every now and then he’d glance over, eyes flicking toward you like he wanted to speak but, for once that night, couldn’t find the words.

You stopped just as your parent’s cottage came to view, soft lamp lights spilling onto the damp grass. There was a puddle where you and Dean stood, shallow but wide and glassy, reflecting the stars like a second sky.

Dean slowed beside you.

“You alright?” he asked.

You didn’t answer right away. The word swelled in your throat, impossible to contain.

“No.”

He turned to look at you fully, brows twitching in surprise.

You kept your eyes on the puddle as you gently toed at it with your boot, watching the ripples warp the reflection of the stars above you.

“I like these boots.” You murmur, “And this stupid shirt.”

Dean said nothing.

You took a shallow breath, blinking back the sting rising in your eyes. “I almost wish tonight never happened...I-I wish I never met you.”

His gaze searched yours, “Why?”

"I...well, I think I-." You stammered, unable to form the words. You sighed in frustration, before your boots met Deans in the puddle, toes resting right on top of his.

You didn’t rightly know what you were doing, though the feather light hands on your waist steadied you.

“I love you, Dean," You breathed, "you make me feel like a person.” You rose up gently, just enough to close the distance and placed your lips on top of his.

He stood perfectly still for a beat, then leaned in just barely, as if the moment might vanish if he grasped too hard.

When you broke away to breathe, Dean’s head chased after yours for a half second, before he came to and pulled away.

He pressed his forehead against yours, “I could say the same to you.” You felt your heart leap just a little at the almost boyish tint that had risen to his face, "Next time, I'm taking you out to dinner." "Oh yeah?" He asked, voice tender as he suppressed a grin, "And what about desert?"

You rolled your eyes, “Only if you try out the moss biscuits first.”

He nodded, intertwining his pinky with yours, “Deal.”

Just then, your wings fluttered again, only this time you didn’t try to stop them.

A thin gleaming trail of fairy dust circled around the two of you, sealing a vow between a fairy and a hunter, to meet again under the glimmer of a summer night sky.

aaa i hope this was okay, i know it was long asf `(*>﹏<*)′

i finally figured out how to put gradient text on here i luv it omg

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