Chapter Text
Winch’s deep growl wakes you up, followed by Sam’s soothing words. “Come on, Winch, it’s okay, I just want to see if your mom is okay.”
“Get the hell out of the way, mutt,” you hear Dean snap.
“Hey, keep your mouth off of my dog. He’s not a mutt, he’s a German shepherd, and he could take your nose off of your face before you knew what hit you.” You say, wincing when pain shoots through your head. Your keep your eyes shut. “He is also, apparently, the only man on this porch who cares that I hit my head.”
You try to lift your head, but it hurts, and hair tickles your nose. You open your eyes to see a big, furry chest in your way. You groan. “Winch, buddy, get out of the way.”
The big dog steps away and turns to lick you on the face and whine. You lay there and let it happen. “All right, buddy, all right,” you say, reaching up to stroke his soft face.
You sit up slowly, still keeping your eyes closed. “Ow,” you mutter as you sit up.
A warm hand on your face makes your eyes pop open. Green eyes are studying you intensely, and you’re glad you’re not standing, because oh my God it’s so unfair how fucking gorgeous he is.
“How many fingers am I holding up?” he asks, his voice rumbling in his chest, which is also too close to you for comfort.
“N-none,” you stutter.
He nods. “You’ll be fine.”
You’re saved from answering by the oven beeping. “Shit,” you say mildly, gingerly getting to your feet. Winch circles you, pushing Dean out of the way, whimpering. “Come on, gentlemen,” you say dryly. “All three of you, breakfast is ready.”
“Did she just lump us in with the dog?” you hear Dean ask Sam, offended.
“Shut up, Dean, she’s freaking out.”
“I am not,” you say, trying to inject as much sarcasm in your voice as you can as you lead the three boys into the kitchen. “It’s just, you know, the two gorgeous main characters of my favorite show appeared at my doorstep today while I was making cinnamon rolls.”
When you turn back to look at them, Winch’s ears have come up, and Dean’s face lights up at the words “cinnamon rolls.”
You laugh, then stop abruptly when your head hurts again. “Ugh,” you grumble, grabbing an oven mitt and opening the door with one hand, pressing your other hand to the top of your head.
You place the pan on the counter and push the oven door closed with your hip. You turn the timer off and turn around to examine the men in your kitchen, pressing down on your head. “Okay, so what are you doing here?”
Your fear has dissipated somewhat from the pain, and you already fainted, how much more embarrassing can you get? They think you’re an idiot, the anxiety assures you.
“We’re looking for you.”
You shoot Sam a bitchface. “You’re kidding,” you deadpan.
Dean grins, and it warms you down to your toes. “We’re looking into a weird event here last night.”
You nod. “What kind of weird event?” you ask, turning to start gathering ingredients for cream cheese icing.
“We don’t really know, honestly,” Sam says. You pull the mixer down from the top shelf, wincing as the blood pounds in your head. “There was a series of crazy stuff that happened last night.”
“Such as?” you ask, unwrapping the cream cheese and slopping it into a mixing bowl.
“Um, three women and one cat gave birth prematurely, all babies and kittens lived,” Dean is counting off on his fingers. “A blind man was suddenly able to see, and any untold number of smaller weird things happened between now and then.”
You frown, turning the mixer on and whipping the ingredients together. “Hm, some weird things happened here, too,” you say loudly. “The neighbor called his dog the wrong name, my cell won’t work, and my cigarettes changed.”
The mixer turns off and you dump powdered sugar in. You notice that Winch has taken up post behind you, but he’s sitting now, watching the brothers, who are leaning in your doorway.
You blush hard and mix harder. Keep it together.
“Cigarettes changed?” Sam asks.
You nod. “Yeah, the flavor changed. I bought a new kind, and when I woke up, it had changed back to my normal ones.”
The icing is done, so you dip your finger into it and hold it down. Winch immediately leaves his protective post and stands to lick your finger happily. It’s habit, so you don’t even realize you’re doing it until you hear Dean make a disgusted noise.
You turn to look at the horrified faces the boys are making. “Oh, shut up,” you say with an eye roll. Your anxiety has never stretched to Winch. He’s the best damn dog on the planet. “You’re fine, his mouth is cleaner than yours.”
When Winch finishes cleaning your finger, you run your hand under hot water, then wipe your hand on your apron.
Sam is still eyeing your hand when he asks, “You said your cell phone didn’t work?”
You nod and point. “Yeah, it’s on the table.”
You turn back to the icing, pulling a knife out of the drawer to spread it onto the rolls.
“What the fuck?” You turn back around to see Sam staring at your phone. He looks up at you and holds it up. “Is this it?”
“Yeah, what’s wrong?”
He stares at you. “Y/N, what type of phone is this?”
You frown at him. “It’s a cell phone, Sam.”
His irritated look sets your stomach quivering. They hate you, they think you’re an idiot. You’re halfway in love with them and they hate you.
You turn quickly, smearing icing on the cinnamon rolls. “It’s an iPhone seven, um, I don’t know what’s wrong.”
Winch groans deep in his chest and bumps your hip with his nose. You put a hand on his head to steady yourself. “I’m okay, bud,” you whisper.
“Y/N,” Sam says slowly, like he’s talking to a child, which sends your anxiety and self-deprecation to new heights. “The newest phone out is an iPhone three.”
That shocks you out of the nasty thoughts swirling in your head. You turn slowly. “What? No, it’s not. It’s twenty-fifteen, Sam, God.”
Dean approaches you slowly. “Y/N, it’s two thousand nine.”
You look at him, starting to panic. “What? No, it’s not. What are you talking about?”
Sam pulls his phone out and shows you the date. September ninth, two thousand nine.
You fall back against the counter, and Winch starts growling at the boys again. “What?” you whisper, unable to look at either of them. “No, it’s twenty fifteen. It… It can’t be… That, that makes no sense.”
You sink slowly down to your butt, pulling your knees up. Winch whimpers and circles you, nuzzling and licking your face. You wrap your arms around his neck, burying your face in his coarse fur. “What’s happening to us, Winch?” you whisper.
“Y/N, hey, we’ll figure this out, okay?” Sam’s gentle words do nothing to calm you.
You can feel it. Your body is breaking out in sweat, your mind is racing, and you can’t breathe. You’re about to have a panic attack. And you are not about to have it in front of these two lovely men who have been through so much, and faced it so bravely.
You leap to your feet and snap your fingers. “Winch! With me!” You call as you sprint to your bedroom.
“Y/N!”
“Y/N!”
You ignore their shouts of your name as you slam your bedroom door and lock it behind Winch. You put your back against it, crying in earnest, trying to keep as quiet as possible. You slide down to your butt, wrap your arms around your knees, and cry like your world has been shattered.
Which it has.
Dean runs behind you and slams on the door. He knocks, and there’s no answer but sniffles and soft whimpers. He can hear the big dog whimpering, too, and he can only imagine what’s going through her mind.
“Dammit,” he swears softly, stepping back from the door.
He turns to Sam. Sam has always been better with crying women than he has. “Fix it,” he snaps at his brother.
Sam looks at him incredulously. “Dean, what the hell am I supposed to do? It looks like she’s… I don’t know, this whole thing is crazy. I have no idea what to say to her,” he whispers fervently.
Dean runs a hand through his hair, frustrated. He doesn’t understand why he cares so much that Y/N is upset. But it’s tearing him up inside, and even if he doesn’t understand it, he wants to do something about it.
“Dean, maybe we should leave. Come back later?”
Dean shakes his head, never looking at his brother. “No.”
He raises his hand and knocks on the door gently. “Y/N?”
“Y/N?”
God, he’s persistent, you think, taking a moment to be annoyed before the panic overwhelms you.
You’re weak, you’re an idiot. They have been through so much, and you what? You’re confronted with something weird, and an hour later, you’re freaking out? Stupid. Pathetic.
Round and round your thoughts go, self-hatred chasing itself in your head. You’re crying like crazy, your chest heaving and your breath coming in huge gulps. Winch has settled next to you, his big body wrapped around yours, his head resting on the tops of your feet as you freak the fuck out.
You rearrange yourself until you’re lying next to him, your arms wrapped around him, sobbing into his neck. You can’t count the number of times Winch has been your touchstone through attacks like this, how many times his serene acceptance of everything that made up the person who is you had calmed you down.
It’s been a while, around half an hour, and there’s another knock at the door. “Y/N?”
You look up and sniffle. You were on your downward descent, and his voice threatens to send you back. You’re staring at the door, because it sounded like he was… Sitting?
“Y/N? How you doin’, princess?”
You snort and bury yourself back into Winch. He groans deeply in his chest and lifts his head to look at you. You look back at him, a smile twitching the side of your lips as you look at your big, beautiful dog.
Who immediately betrays you by standing up and scratching at the door. “Winch!” you hiss, glaring at him. He ignores you. Damn dog.
“Winch?” Dean asks from the other side of the door. “Hey, buddy, get your mom to open the door for me.”
The unbelievably irritating dog looks back at you expectantly. You glare at him and shake your head. “No!” you whisper. “Absolutely not, you horrible animal.”
He barks at you and scratches at the door again. You can’t believe this. “Traitorous fuck,” you mutter, standing and going to the bathroom that is attached to your bedroom.
When you look at your face, you wince. Your hair is a little wild, and your face is swollen. Your eyes are red and puffy. Yeah, that man is not coming into this room.
You look down at Winch, who’s looking at you and wagging his tail. “Dude,” you say softly. “He can’t come in here. Look at me. Absolutely not.”
Undeterred, Winch barks at you and bounces to the door, where he scratches at it again. You groan. “This is a rental!” you hiss, coming back out into the bedroom. “Stop it!”
He continues.
You narrow your eyes. “Winchester, I swear to God, if you don’t start behaving, it’s right back to the pound with you.”
He barks happily and bounces again. It’s an empty threat, it’s always an empty threat, and it always comes right before you give in to his crazy dog demands.
You sigh and go to the door. You swallow hard. “Um, Dean?”
“Yeah, princess?”
“Um, I need to let Winch out. Would you mind putting him in the backyard? He won’t go anywhere, he’s just being obnoxious. He doesn’t even need to go outside, he just wants me to get out of the room, because he thinks that if I leave, I’ll feel better. But, you know, what do you expect? He’s a dog, he has no idea that I can’t even begin to-” you stop yourself abruptly, realizing that you’re babbling, and realizing that Dean Winchester, of all people, does not care about your anxiety. “Um, anyway, can you let him out? Please?”
There’s a beat of silence, then, “Yeah, okay.”
You fight with yourself for a moment, then turn the lock and step behind the door to open it. Winch bounds out, and you shut the door quickly behind him. You slide back down to your butt, stretching your legs out in front of you this time, and you give yourself over to the panic.
The thoughts in your head are nasty, and not really what you always think of yourself. You’re funny, and smart, and you have been known to have moments of bravery. But when it gets like this, when your anxiety takes over, you can’t stop it. It’s easier to just let it happen.
Tears leak out your eyes, much more subdued than before. It’s always like this when Winch isn’t here. It will take longer to be all right again, much longer, but at least you’re on the downhill slope.
The knock at the door startles you. “Y/N?”
You jump. “What is it, Dean?” you ask softly.
“Can I come in?”
You shake your head, and then realize he can’t see that. Then you take a moment to be thankful he can’t. “Um, I don’t think so, I’m a mess.”
“Y/N-”
“I’ll be fine, Dean, just give me a minute.”
There’s a beat of silence, then, “I, uh, I can’t.”
You frown. Jesus, I just need a minute. Chill, dude. “Excuse me?”
“Just let me in, all right? Whatever this is, we can figure it out, Sammy and I will fix it.”
His words bring tears to your eyes. “You can’t fix it, Dean. I mean, okay, whatever is going on in my life, yeah, you probably can, I mean, there’s nothing so far that you can’t fix, so I’m sure you can. But this, what’s happening right now, isn’t really fixable. I’ll be fine, I just need a minute.”
Another beat of silence, then, “No.”
The doorknob turns and the door pushes against your back a little. You panic, realizing that you didn’t lock the door behind you when Winch left. You scramble to your feet, your eyes on the ground and your hands held up.
You see his shoes come into the room, and it sends your panic higher. “Dean, please-”
He closes the door behind him, and your heart is pounding so hard you can practically see your pulse in your eyes. “Dean, I can’t, really, I appreciate you wanting to help, but I can’t, you can’t be in here.”
He turns around, which you only know because his dress shoes are pointed to you again. God, he’s beautiful.
“Why? What’s going on, princess?”
You close your eyes as tears start falling again, still refusing to meet his gaze. “I, just, I can’t look at you, okay? And you can’t look at me. I just can’t handle it right now, okay?”
You see his hands come up to his sides, and his body shifts so you know he’s looking up at the ceiling. “Why?”
You shake your head and give a sarcastic, nasty laugh. “Oh, no, no way, I am not telling you.”
He steps forward, and you take a step back. “Well, I’m not looking at you, and I assume you’re not looking at me. So why don’t you tell me what’s going on?”
“Dean, I-”
“Princess, if you don’t tell me, I’ll look you right in the eye, I swear to God.”
Ugh. Is he always like this? “Dean, it’s humiliating.”
There was a beat of silence, then, “When I was eighteen, I got crabs from a waitress in New Orleans.”
The change of subject makes your head spin. “What?”
He chuckles, which sends real warmth down through your body. “Yeah, she was somethin’. Tammi, with an ‘i.’ She had this red hair… Anyway, it was real annoying. And my dad was pissed. I mean, how many times are you told to wrap it up when you’re in high school? And it didn’t sink in until I had to use that damn shampoo to get rid of it.”
You find yourself starting to chuckle with him. “Well, that is… Um, that is something.”
“So,” he says, and you can hear the smile in his voice. “I told you something embarrassing, so we’re on an even playing field.”
You shake your head. “We are so not on an even playing field, Dean. You’re... I mean, look at you. You’re freaking gorgeous, and I’m me. And right now, I’m a snot-covered crying mess who can’t even look at your face, so forgive me. We’re not on an even playing field.”
You’d spoken without thinking. You’re shocked that you spoke so much, that you told him, that that much of your lack of confidence had poured out of your mouth. And now you’re hoping that a spontaneous black hole will open up and fling you into nothingness. Oh, God.
You squeeze your eyes shut. “Okay, so let’s pretend I never said that, and we’ll just move on. You go, eat breakfast, and I’ll be out in a while. Don’t let my dog have a whole cinnamon roll, the fatass knows he only gets half, but he’s going to try to con you, and you can’t let-”
You’re stopped by his hands on your shoulders. You squeak. “Dean!”
“Shh,” he says softly, “Come here, princess.”
You feel kind of dazed when he leads you back to the door that you’d been leaning against. Your eyes squeeze shut and you look upward when you see him start to crouch at the door. You listen to the rustle of his clothes, then his hand on your calf makes you jump again. “Come here, princess,” he says again, gently.
His hand guides you until you’re sitting next to him, his arm wrapped around your shoulders. The panic is beating at you again, but somehow, his arm around you beats it back a little. “Dean, you don’t have to-”
“Yeah, princess, I think I do,” he says genially.