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janethewinter · 10 years ago

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I just can't anymore. Too f*cking much feelings. Damn it! All in all it was brilliant, by the way.

Promise You’ll Return

((A/N: Angsty. Super angsty. Also smut? But not really smut. I mean… you’ll see. It’s a request and came from this prompt:

Here the angsty fic! I hope tumblr doesn’t eat it! Can I have an au Dean where he’s married to the reader, and it’s WW2, and he has to go off as a bomber. It’s like the last evening and full night they have together before he leaves, and he wants to make it really special. They’re really desperate and stuff, not wanting to say goodbye, so angst/smut whatever you want to put in, I figure you can just go somewhere you want with this? Anyway, thanks!

Word Count: 2500

Pairing: Dean x Reader

Warnings: Sex, language, feels.

Also tagging @aprofoundbondwithdean))

You had both known this day would come. Dean’s leave home would be brief at best, granted one last time home with his best girl before the deployment over Nazi Germany. He was a bomber, and that was a job that over enemy lines not a lot of people came back from. You both knew it. Didn’t make it any easier.

Married or not they had drafted him into one of the most difficult units. His entrance into the army had been of his own volition though you had begged to run off together. You had cried and prayed and hoped he might agree. But his brother had also been shipped off and he wouldn’t do it.

He had made the night one for the history books. Your home was in the middle of nowhere, Kansas. The house, an old farmhouse that you struggled on your own to keep up with, was still a beautiful wooden home situated by an even more gorgeous pond. You spent hours with a book out there and Dean argued you’d go blind if you didn’t let up every once in awhile. It was why the two of you had spent the day out there, drinking wine and eating.

Dean had laid with his head in your lap, white dress covering your thighs and knees. You held “Alice in Wonderland” in one hand, reading his passages as you played with his hair. He listened. He had been donning only his white tank top and khaki slacks, uncaring of his attire. You were both alone in your little paradise.

‘I’m seven and a half exactly.’

‘You needn’t say “exactly,”’ the Queen remarked: ‘I can believe it without that. Now I’ll give you something to believe. I’m just one hundred and one, five months and a day.’

‘I can’t believe that!’ said Alice.

‘Can’t you?’ the Queen said in a pitying tone. ‘Try again: draw a long breath, and shut your eyes.’

Alice laughed. ‘There’s no use trying,’ she said: ‘one can’t believe impossible things.’

‘I daresay you haven’t had much practice,’ said the Queen. ‘When I was your age, I always did it for half-an-hour a day. Why, sometimes I’ve believed as many as six impossible things before breakfast.”

Dean had laughed at the quote, telling you that he believed in the impossible a million times a day. When you had asked what, he said, “I believe in fate. I believe in love. I believe you’re an Angel sent to me by God himself. But nothing has proven that wrong yet.” Even still you blushed.

When the sun dipped low and you struggled to read the reality of the situation had set forth. You had begun to cry as you put the book down and Dean had felt so tragically lost, “Hey, sweetheart, don’t you go breakin’ down on me now. You’re the strong one, remember?” He had sat up, brushing away a tear with his thumb.

“I want to be, Dean. Lord knows I do. But it was hard enough when you were gone that first time, waiting each day for the damned car. Praying it wouldn’t show. Now you’re going into the worst of it yet and all I have is me.” He sat up and moved behind you, wrapping his arms warmly around you as he kissed at you through your hair and on your visible skin.

“You’re not alone. Every night before you fall asleep, know that I am sleeping and dreaming of you. You’ll never be alone, Princess. Not even for a second.” He burrowed against your neck and you continued to fight back tears. It felt selfish to be crying but there was nothing else you could think to do. The man you had devoted your life to would be leaving. You wanted him to beat the odds. Was that an impossible thing to believe?

“Let’s be together, one last time, before I go. I want to memorize every curve of your body. Every dimple. Every freckle. Every strand of hair.” He smiled as he reached up and moved your hair back, kissing against your neck. Who were you to deny the love of your life one final time together before he had to leave?

And it was lovemaking. Nothing vulgar or dirty. The sky had become dark just as quickly as the sun had set and in the summer that told you it was certainly late. The light from inside the house was all that guided you forward, the moon and the stars dancing over your skin. With care he unzipped your dress from behind, trailing soft kisses down your back and your spine as the dress began to fall from your delicate shoulders.

He encouraged the straps to slip downwards, his warm, heavy hands pushing them carefully off your body. Without a bra for coverage you felt the warm night air dancing dangerously off your skin. It was exciting. When he finished he shifted positions, you still sitting up, and he smiled at you never once breaking from your eye contact once he had it, “Lie down, beautiful.” He requested it. Not demanding it.

You did so, the soft blue picnic blanket beneath you, feeling still the texture of the grass. You looked up and saw the stars glittering in a show of beauty. All for you. All for Dean. He worked the rest of your dress and underwear off, feeling his fingers as they guided down your body, “I want to look at you… admire you. I have to memorize you, remember?” He lifted his head back to where you were and he smiled, “Let me show you how much I love you.”

And he did. He removed his own tank top and slacks with ease, not making a show of it as they fell to the ground, hands hands reaching and touching to your body. He was warm. He was good. His firm body pressed against yours as he trailed kisses from your lips down to your throat and neck. He fluttered kisses over your collarbone and down your chest. His lips kissed tenderly at your breasts, hands moving down over your stomach, to your abdomen, down to your sex.

He continued to kiss as his hands moved on, grazing over your thighs, down your knees and calves. They moved back upwards again on the other side and his touch sent shivers and sparks through your body. He asked only that you lay there and enjoy it. And you were. He was kissing every inch of you and you were staring up at the stars, absorbing every sensation that came with the moment.

Carefully he spread your legs apart, moving himself between them, his face once more in your periphery. He was smiling, “Most beautiful woman in the entire world beneath me. Be with me, one more time.” He whispered the words as he got closer to you, lips finding their way to yours as he gently slid inside of you.

You gasped, even through the kiss, feeling Dean filling up your entire body. It felt that way. His hands found yours and he interlocked his fingers with yours. His eyes, deep and green locked onto your own eyes, “Tell me you’ll never forget me.” You whimpered as you broke from the kiss. Dean got closer, his entire body connected to yours.

“I couldn’t forget you if I tried. I’ll be with you forever.” He whispered into your neck, words that sent shivers and sadness into your body. His hands let go of yours as he ran them all over your skin again, every inch of your body that he could touch. Your arms gripped to him, feeling his muscles in his back working as he thrust into you.

Your moans filled the night air and mixed with the world around, lost in the moment. His own grunts and murmurs of your name joined you in a chorus of pleasure. All at once, he lost himself inside of you and you around him. Together you came, gripping hard to one another and refusing to let go.

He collapsed onto you, sweaty, breathing hard, pushing back your hair as he looked down at you, ecstacy and joy on your features. He smiled, “I would take a picture of this if I could. Save it for all time.” You smiled, touching his face, 5 o'clock shadow visible and tangible as you leaned up to kiss him.

“Promise you’ll come back to me.” You whispered as he leaned in for another kiss, lips dancing delicately over your own.

“I swear it.”

____

You had fallen asleep after hours spent trying to remain awake. You two spoke of every wish and dream. How you had wanted to travel to Europe once the war was over, or how you two would start a family together. He told you to hold on and wait on that family part. You grinned.

When you woke the sun was shining but Dean was nowhere to be found. A blanket covered your body and you realized, given where the sun was, that he had left some time ago. And so you sat on the picnic blanket outside by the pond and you cried. You cried because you didn’t know what would happen next, because you were afraid Dean would never come home. You cried because you didn’t know what would happen next.

Your days carried on as they had before, cleaning the house and trying to stay in touch with Jessica, Sam’s wife, who was also anxiously awaiting word about her own husband. The two of you spent time together but mostly you wanted to be alone.

Once or twice when the energy struck you went to the movies in town, driving Dean’s old black car downtown. A woman going alone to the movies was unheard of and you got a few looks for being so bold. But you didn’t care. The rest of your time was spent reading books and glancing at the window. Waiting for that car.

The letters from Dean came regularly, which you expected, and you wrote with similar frequency. Letters that you held onto, letters that described the world around him. In one of the letters you were able to tell him, with desperate happiness, that you were pregnant. You told him you’d be starting the family with him that you’d dreamed of. But when you never got a letter back, you felt it.

That night you had woken with a start, tears streaming down your face with a sort of desperate ferocity. You reached for Dean but remembered he wasn’t there. Tears continued and you panted, feeling your stomach, feeling the child growing inside. A child you wanted to have a father but you felt terrified may not.

It was two weeks later, you were reading Lewis Carroll again, when the dark car pulled up down the long driveway. Your mind went blank as you watched it, two men dressed in their formal military gear came to the door. The book dropped from your hands and the world moved in slow motion. You ran to the door and opened it, screaming at the men behind it. They had seen it so many times before. They understood.

One of them had held you as you sobbed, wordlessly exchanging the understanding that your husband had been killed while in action. The General informed you, grief heavy in his voice, that he could not divulge the nature of his death but that he had died a hero. You didn’t care. All you cared about was the fact that your husband had died.

You fell into a depression and grief too great to be described accurately. Your parents had come to stay with you, ensuring you were cared for during your pregnancy. For a long time, however, many seemed to think that you would never come out of your grief. But grief can be debilitating, and after a few weeks you had discovered from the doctor that you miscarried. Not uncommon, he had said. Women were the weaker sex, were they not? Sometimes they couldn’t handle the emotional toll death had.

But you made it through. Each day. You had begun to imagine Dean with you one day, during an especially tough day. You imagined that he was coaxing you out of bed how he always had, ensuring you ate and suggesting books for you to read. He made sure you took care of yourself. And after a year, you had begun leaving the house again.

The nearby library had allowed you to work there part-time, and you had enjoyed the work. Some tried to set you up with different men as they came back from the war but you wouldn’t have it. So be it, if I die a spinster! You had shouted at Jessica one day. She had stopped after that.

Another year had passed and you had begun to live again. You had traveled to the coast and taken sailing lessons. You’d become the most well-read person who worked in the library. In your spare time you traveled to cities in Europe and Canada once the war was over. You experienced everything you had wanted to.

But one day, as you slipped a book back onto the shelf, you felt it. Eyes trained on you. Curious, you climbed down from the shelf to see a man on the other side of the shelf, only able to make out his silouette as he read a book, “Actually, the best gift you could have given her was a lifetime of adventures…” He closed the book and your eyes watered.

“Have you believed at least six impossible things before breakfast this morning?” Your voice floated from your lips and you watched as the man dressed in a military uniform came around the otherside, Dean Winchester smiling a crooked smile, clear scarring along his neck and left side of his face.

“At least six. I aim for more.” You ran to him and threw your arms around his neck, almost toppling him over as you held tightly.

“They told me you had died.” You choked out sobs, ignoring the stares and looks you were getting. Damn them all. You had Dean.

“It appeared that way. Trapped behind enemy lines for a long time. But I’m here now, Y/N. I’m here with you. And I’ve been away from you too long now. Let us dream impossible dreams and live our adventures together. Let’s show that Carroll guy we already live in Wonderland.”

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