Work Text:
Living in that stupid house is hard.
Your uncle had left you once again at Singer's Salvage Yard to go hunt down another vampire. Being at Bobby's wasn't hard; you loved Bobby, he'd play all the card games you liked-probably letting you win most of the time because he couldn't bear to see you upset anytime– he'd let you pick out the movies on Fridays, even let you help with research so that you wouldn't be bored out of your mind on rainy days where you couldn't wander off into the woods. That wasn't the hard part; the hard part was dealing with one little Winchester, one stupid, gross, handsome Winchester.
Dean loved toying with you, commenting about what you wore, speculating about what you were going to do in the woods all the time, your hair that never seemed to stop being frizzy, what a loner you were at school. He fucking loved any chance to play with you he could get.
Sammy was the complete opposite, probably because you were a little older than him, but he loved hearing about the adventures you used to go on with your parents when they were alive. And having someone smart enough to help him with his homework, who wasn't constantly trying to get into any girl's pants who passed by. He was such a sassy kid, though; it was like your own little comedy show watching him and Dean bicker with each other, then Dean would turn around from hearing your little giggles and put on that stupid macho persona, saying, "What's so funny, sweetheart?"
UGHHHHHH
He loved calling you that. It's like he liked watching your face turn beet-red and watching you suddenly stutter over words like your teeth and tongue got in the way of your ability to utilize your basic motor functions.
That's why living there was hard.
Because of your stupid massive fucking crush on him, you'd tried to erase the thought from your head: nothing would ever happen with him; he's basically been with every cheerleader that you go to school with! I mean, that's gross! Right?! Right? Well, school was out, and the only friends you'd made weren't exactly people you'd want to date; your friend Henry and Abigail were nice, but they were probably good as just friends.
These are the thoughts that plague your head as you walk through the woods behind the Salvage Yard. He was so experienced, and you were.... Not. No boyfriends, cause if your uncle ever found out, he might actually leave you on the side of the road; no holding hands, and no sharing first kisses. The only 'rebellious teen' thing you've done is drink a little vodka, and that... wasn't your favorite, and come out to the clearing where you could see the town from above and light a cigarette.
Life wasn't exactly all daisies and roses; you still remembered all the monsters that hurt you, ripped your arm to shreds, leaving scars on your body and your mind. That took your family; sometimes you just needed an outlet, and for you that was walking in the woods and smoking.
That was the big secret Dean was always trying to pry from you, always questioning if you were meeting someone there or conducting witchcraft.
You stopped at the bench with the perfect view of the town and sat down, reaching into your jean pocket; you took out the little Marlboro Red you'd stolen from who knows where, and your engraved Zippo lighter. You put the filter between your lips and lit it up, breathing the bitter smoke into your lungs, and out, like you'd done whenever the world got too loud.
Just as you were bringing the cigarette to your mouth again, you heard leaves rustling and whipped your head behind you to see what it was.
Dean.
The person you came out here to get away from because he reminds you of everything you're not: confident, brave, strong.
And now he's standing there, with his stupidly handsome, smug, grin, "Didn't know you smoked, sweetheart." he started walking up to the bench, approaching from the side you weren't sitting on.
"There's a lot you don't know about me, Winchester." You sighed out, smoke following the words.
He sat next to you, not saying anything for a while. He reached into his own jean pockets–ditching his usual leather jacket since it was mid-June- pulling out a whole pack of Reds, feeling around for a lighter.
"Yeah, well, now I know you're the one that's been stealing my cigarettes," he scoffed out, still trying to find that lighter. You gave in and just handed him your cigarette, not trusting him with your dad's old Zippo. He looked at you with wide eyes for a sec, obviously not expecting the gesture, but gently took it from your fingers anyway. Still holding eye contact with you, he inhaled and blew the smoke out the side of his mouth. You looked back to the town, not wanting to stare at those soul-gazing green eyes of his.
"So this is what you've been coming out here and doin'? Y'know you coulda just told me, instead of making me guess you were leading a cult out here or something." You scoffed softly at that as he handed it back to you.
"I told you, I just come out here to get away sometimes. It's nice, quiet, no 'bitches' or 'jerks' being yelled out here." He smiled at that; he was so close to you that you could practically feel his soft breaths on your neck. Your face was definitely getting red now. You took another drag.
"Keep telling me things about yourself. I know you and Sammy talk all the time, but it's almost like I never see you, always busy." You turned your face towards him. God, why was he so close to you right now?
"I didn't think you wanted to hear about me, you're always out with Emma or Ashley." You let out softly; his arm had somehow wrapped around the back of the bench without you noticing. The smoke curled between you two, and it almost seemed like he tried to inhale it.
What. The. Fuck is going on?
"They're all pretty and stuff, but none of them are you. I wanna know about you. Plus, I wanna know the things you don't even tell Sammy," he drawled out, a small grin forming on his lips.
Maybe it was the way he was looking at you, so close to your face you could make out the little streaks of dark green in his irises, or that if you tilted your heads just right you could feel his lips on yours, or every time you took a drag from your shared cigarette he'd curl his fingers around yours to take it from you, and when the smoke pushed it's way from your lips he inhaled to try and take it from the air between you. Like the smoke was his oxygen, coming from your lungs.
Well, whatever it was, you didn't give much thought to what else you should tell him and blurted out, "I've never kissed anyone."
Dean's eyes widened just a tad, and before you could see his smug face, you turned to look down at your hands, feeling your face becoming incredibly hot.
"Is that so?" Dean mockingly cooed. You felt his rough hand on your chin, gently pulling your face back up. "Well then, we'll just have to change that, won't we, baby?"
Oh.
You'd never heard him call anyone baby, well, except for his car. Kinda like it...
You crept your hand up and grabbed his wrist, you didn't really know what to say; you must've looked like a fish out of water trying to form a coherent sentence. Dean must've seen your hesitance and stuttered out in a rush,
"If you want to, of course! I'll do anything you want to! O-or nothin' you don't want to!" His eyes were a little wide, and now his cheeks and ears were getting a little red.
Oh, how the tables have turned.
Breaking out of your daze of 'DEAN WINCHESTER WANTS TO KISS ME', you started giggling. Payback for all those times he left you a red, stuttering mess. He was frowning now, still holding your cheek as you let out soft little laughs. You took another drag and this time leaned up to him.
He opened his mouth a little bit, and instead of exhaling normally, your lips met, the smoke moving from you to him, filling him. His lips were soft, and your other hand that wasn't still holding his wrist came up to rest on his cheek. When you pulled back, he exhaled the little smoke that was left between you onto your face. Dean's eyes slowly opened; this might've been the calmest you'd ever seen him-no macho man act up, just Dean.
"Did you like it?" he whispered, his thumb running over your cheekbone. All you could really do was smile and nod, nerves making it hard to speak. "Wanna try that again?" he asked just as softly, thumb now brushing over your bottom lip; you wanted to bite it–he might just let you. You nodded again, and your lips met once more.
You and Dean sat there for a little while longer after the fourth and fifth kisses you shared, just sitting together talking about teenage bullshit, the cigarette finished a long time ago. Dean's arm was wrapped around your shoulders, shielding you from the cold breeze that was coming in with the sun going down. You both decided it was probably a good time to head back, and Dean never let go of your hand once, not until you both were inside the house for dinner.
After both of you were done with getting ready for bed, Sammy and Bobby already sleeping, Dean stopped by your door. You looked up at him. You beat him before he could say anything first, "Thank you."
Dean smirked, but it was one of his genuine smiles; his hand cupped your cheek again, repeating that same smoothing motion he always seemed to do without thinking. He leaned in, kissing the space between your eyes. "Thanks for sharing, baby."