⸝⸝.ᐟ⋆゛𝒔𝒕𝒂𝒓𝒕 𝒐𝒗𝒆𝒓
𝗌𝗎𝗆𝗆𝖺𝗋𝗒: yourself and dean had a very messy breakup. you find him at your door at 3am begging for forgiveness.
𝗐𝗈𝗋𝖽𝖼𝗈𝗎𝗇𝗍: 735
𝗉𝖺𝗂𝗋𝗂𝗇𝗀: dean winchester x reader
𝙢𝙮 𝙢𝙖𝙨𝙩𝙚𝙧𝙡𝙞𝙨𝙩 𝙬𝙚𝙣𝙙𝙞𝙘𝙝𝙚𝙨𝙩𝙚𝙧'𝙨 𝙢𝙖𝙨𝙩𝙚𝙧𝙡𝙞𝙨𝙩
It's 3:07am when someone knocks on your door.
And, of course, you're already awake. Mostly because heartbreak doesn't believe in sleep schedules, yet you're frozen on the couch, blanket pooled around your legs and the TV's hushed teleshopping advert in the background.
The knock doesn't tell you much other than the fact it's frantic and desperate.
Your stomach drops before your brain catches up.
You pad over to the door slowly, bare feet against hardwood, peering through the peephole.
Dean.
At first, he was a little hard to make out, but you know the slope of his shoulders when he's tired, or the way he leans forward when he's bracing for a hit.
He looks wrecked.
His hairs a mess, jaw unshaven. His leather jacket is thrown on with his hands shoved in his pockets, one constantly reaching for his face.
You unlock the door anyway.
“Hey,” you say, flat. Careful.
His eyes snap up. Green, glassy, wild with relief.
“Hey,” he breathes, like it’s a prayer.
Silence stretches between you. The hallway light buzzes overhead. Somewhere down the building, a door slams. Life keeps happening. Rude of it, honestly.
“I...” Dean starts, then stops. Swallows. “Can I come in?”
You hesitate, then step aside.
He walks into your apartment like it might bite him. Like he’s crossing into sacred ground he already burned once. You shut the door behind him, the click of the lock echoing too loud in the small space.
Then he turns, and it’s like everything spills out of him all at once.
“I messed up,” he says, immediately. No jokes. No deflection. No Hey, sweetheart. Just truth, raw and shaking. “I messed up so bad, and I know I don’t get to just show up here, but I didn’t know where else to go.”
You cross your arms. It’s instinctive. Protective.
“You made that pretty clear when you left,” you say quietly.
His face crumples.
“Yeah,” he nods. “Yeah, I did.”
You wait. Let him talk. You learned that the hard way that Dean only figures things out when he’s allowed to hear himself say them out loud.
He takes a step closer. Then stops himself. Good. Progress.
“I was scared,” he says. “Not of you. Of… all of it. The good stuff. The future stuff. You were talking about—about staying, and I panicked and said things I can’t take back.”
You remember. God, you remember.
The way his voice had gone sharp. Defensive. The way he’d said you deserved someone better, like that was somehow kinder than the truth.
“And instead of fighting for us,” he continues, voice cracking, “I blew it up. Because that’s what I do.”
You swallow. Your throat burns.
“Why are you here, Dean?”
He exhales shakily, runs a hand through his hair. Finally meets your eyes.
“Because I can’t stop thinking about you,” he says. “Because every road I take ends up right back here. Because I don’t want to be the guy who ruins the best thing he’s ever had and just… lets it stay ruined.”
Your chest aches.
He steps closer now, close enough that you can smell him; leather, cheap motel soap, regret.
“I’m not asking you to forget,” he says quickly. “Or forgive me tonight. Hell, maybe not ever. I just—” His voice breaks. “I want a chance to start over.”
The words hang in the air between you, fragile and terrifying.
Start over.
You look at him. You look at the man who broke your heart and came back anyway. At the fear etched into every line of his face. At the hope he’s barely holding together with shaking hands.
“You hurt me,” you say.
“I know.”
“Badly.”
“I know.”
Silence. Then softly, “I’m still here, though.”
Dean nods, eyes shining. “Yeah. You are.”
You don’t hug him. You don’t kiss him. You don’t magically fix anything.
But you take a breath. Then another.
“You can stay,” you say. “Tonight. On the couch.”
A laugh breaks out of him, wet and disbelieving. “Yeah?”
“Don’t push it, Winchester.”
He grins carefully. “Thank you,” he says. “For not slamming the door in my face.” You turn toward the hallway, heart racing, already exhausted by how much you still feel.
“Don’t make me regret it,” you say.
“I won’t. I swear. I’ll do it right this time.” He murmurs.
You don’t know if starting over is possible, but it's worth a try.
✧ 𝒊𝒇 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒘𝒂𝒏𝒕, 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒄𝒂𝒏 𝒔𝒖𝒑𝒑𝒐𝒓𝒕 𝒎𝒆 𝒉𝒆𝒓𝒆.ᐟ // ✧𝒔𝒆𝒏𝒅 𝒊𝒏 𝒂 𝒓𝒆𝒒𝒖𝒆𝒔𝒕 𝒉𝒆𝒓𝒆 // ✧𝒓𝒆𝒒𝒖𝒆𝒔𝒕 𝒂 𝒑𝒆𝒓𝒔𝒐𝒏𝒂𝒍𝒊𝒔𝒆𝒅 𝒎𝒐𝒐𝒅𝒃𝒐𝒂𝒓𝒅 𝒉𝒆𝒓𝒆.ᐟ
