The reader can’t muster up the courage to talk to the cute barista until she has a really bad day. Technically, he talks to her first, and just when she needs him the most.
Pairing: Barista!Sami Zayne x Reader (Y/N)
Warnings/Promises: fluff, terrible bosses
Word Count: ~980
Note: I thought I’d try my hand at Sami Zayne. Please let me know how I did with comments, likes, and reblogs! My tag lists are open if you like my work, and so are my requests if there’s a fic/smut-less character out there you would like to read. Please enjoy!
It was a pleasant little coffee shop; the “Espresso Express” was equipped with anything a busy business person could wish for in the morning. It had a small display of pastries, its own roasting machine in the back, and a plethora of espresso machines. The most common delight of patrons was the slightly curved bar that ran most of the length of the shop. The standing bar made service extra quick and fun due to its closeness to the coffee action.
As for you, the main attraction was a certain barista with bright red hair and a smile brighter than the sun.
His deft hands had small cups and plates in front of patrons with a flip. Espresso was measured and served with the timing of a master. And empty cups were left on the counter no longer than ten seconds. At the same time, you had almost seen him tip a tray of drinks with the same hands if he was telling a quick story. They seemed to flip about on their own, making you giggle as one of his fellow baristas ducked to avoid a concussion.
If you were braver, you would talk to him. Unfortunately, you had no such courage. Or luck. You had mustered up the strength to talk to him once with the help of your friends one Friday morning but he had completely missed you. His eyes glanced right over you to the spillage further down the bar and he rushed to it. Instead, you were served by the dark-haired barista; handsome too, but intense and always fawned over by the college women between classes.
It took you another whole month to find that strength again.
“What can I get for you today?”
“A cap… a cappuccino. Please.”
“Coming right up.”
And that was it. You paid by the pastry display to the other barista and left quickly. But at least it was a start, right?
Then disaster struck.
You should have sucked it up and asked your roommate for a ride. Called a taxi. Or put off the presentation for next week. Instead, you left the apartment without checking the weather and carried your presentation notes in a simple non-water-proof manila folder. Between the two blocks between your apartment building and the coffee shop, with two more to your office, you went from enjoying the sunniest day in history to arriving soaked and distraught.
The folder landed with a loud plop on the back corner table. It soon spread its puddle outwards till it was dripping on the floor. Your equally wet scarf did nothing to help the mess. With your head resting on your hands you didn’t notice you had a visitor. Your shoulders tensed as his voice cut through your personal thundercloud.
“What can I get for you today?”
You peaked through your fingers into his bright blue eyes, all the brighter framed in his red curls.
“A puddle to swallow me,” you muttered under your breath.
He chuckled. “If you don’t mind me saying so… it seems the puddle already spit you back out.” He nodded towards your folder. “Is there anything I can do to help with that?
“Not really unless you’ve got a hairdryer in the back.” You let your head sink all the way to the table as he shook his head.
“I don’t think we do. But we do have a fridge that gets hot on top. Do you want to try drying them that way? How much time do you have till your presentation?”
You checked your still-dry phone. (Yay Autobox.) “An hour and a half. If I had waited till my usual time instead of trying to be early I could have known to carry an umbrella.”
“Your boss can’t hold it against you for trying. Let me take those and get you a coffee. Cappuccino, right?” You barely had time to respond before he was off like a shot. He spun in place after a few steps. “Name’s Sami by the way.”
“Y/N.”
Half an hour later your presentation was dry but you hadn’t moved. You giggled as Sami’s hands flew through the air.
“The jazzy version of ‘Moves Like Jagger’ is definitely in my top five oddest songs I’ve heard in the shop.”
“Was it on someone’s phone?”
“No, just on some YouTube playlist one of us found. The rest was fine, just your usual jazz mix we play. This one had slowed down pop and classic rock songs mixed in. Your turn. Top three oddest phone calls to your office?”
You took a breath to tell the story, but it came out in a squeak as your phone buzzed. A tap of your thumb later you cursed under your breath. “Are you kidding me?”
“What?” Sami looked at you. “Did they move up the meeting? I didn’t make you late did I?”
“No, my boss is just…” You held up your phone in front of your face and read, “Hey, Y/N. Sorry I’m telling you late, but we decided last night to move this morning’s presentation to next week. Feel free to take today off, I’ll see you Monday.” Sami frowned as you tsk-ed. “Asshole.”
“Agreed. But do you know what else that means?”
“What?”
“That you can come out to lunch with me. That is… is… if you want to. I thought since we’d already had the coffee then a lunch date would be next. Unless you just want lunch. Doesn’t have to be a date; doesn’t have to be today. There’s a good place I like a few blocks away but I have a gift card and I could give it to you if you want to go by yourself sometime. If you want.” His cheeks had tinted a rosy pink and you held your cup close to you as his hands stopped mid-flight to clasp tightly in his lap.
Prompt: “My request is this: DeanxReader where the reader has Endometriosis but she’s hiding it from Dean but one day on a hunt when it gets bad she collapses and finally has to tell him and lots of fluff and so on and she explains how painful it is and he helps her and is supportive. I hope it’s something you’ll want to write! I’m trying to bring awareness to the disease.” – @destielshipper222
Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader (Y/N)
Warnings: period stuff (to the extreme), angsty beginning, eventual fluff, mild language
Word Count: 1500+
Quick Background: Endometriosis is when uterus tissue grows where it shouldn’t be. It can cause cysts and fusing of the uterus to other organs. The tissue reacts to the menstruation cycle and leads to interior bleeding because the broken-down tissue has nowhere to go. This leads to intense pain before/during periods and during everyday life. It affects millions of women around the world and is often waved off by doctors as “normal pain.”
Note: I had no idea this disease affected so many women before doing a little research for this fic. I’m not a huge blog yet, but I hope this gets the word out there. Incredibly painful period pains are not normal, so if any of this sounds familiar you might want to consider talking to someone.
You hoped to finish the case before it hit. You hoped it would hold off for a few more hours. You hoped the monster couldn’t sense the pain you were in. It was unlikely it wouldn’t. Vampires had a way of seeking out such things.
“You ready?” Dean asked, handing you a machete from the trunk.
“Yeah.” A jab inside your abdomen made you steady yourself on Baby, playing it off as casual leaning.
“What’s wrong with you?” His brow instantly furrowed. That’s how he was every month. So far, you’d been able to hide the truth from him.
“Just cramps. It’s a good thing I’m the bait. Sam, do you have any other info?”
“He seems to be a loner, maybe trying to start a new pack. Another casualty of the British Men of Letters probably.”
You grunted as another pain shot through you. “Then let’s get this show on the road.”
The three of you avoided the main drive towards the house. You signaled the boys when you saw the vamp walking around inside. Sam broke off to find the back door. You and Dean made your way to the front, crouching under the window sills. Dean mouthed “be careful” when you found the door was unlocked.
At the center staircase, he went left, you went right. The vamp had wandered into another part of the house, leaving the picturesque country living room empty. You ignored the dust fairies swirling in the sunlight, choosing instead to focus on the next doorway. It was getting harder to hold the blade up high enough to hit anything. Wave after wave of pain surged through you as your cramps hit near peak intensity. As usual, the morning meds weren’t doing much. Between the cold sweat and the pounding heart, you were sure the vamp would find you soon enough. The goal was to distract him enough to take him out, but your sight was beginning to tunnel to five feet in front of you. You never saw the fist coming.
The vamp sent you sprawling and your machete clattering under the couch. He pinned your arms to either side with his knees and clamped his hands over your mouth, hovering just above sitting on your chest.
“Well hello there. I didn’t think I was expecting visitors, but you’ll do.” He leaned down and took a long sniff up the side of your face. “Hmm. There’s something wrong with your blood, love. You know, one little bite will fix all that.”
“Ngho Phank Wu,” you mumbled through his fingers. You kicked your legs, hoping to get the boys’ attention.
“Don’t worry. Your friends will be down shortly, but with a new stamina I’m sure you’ll appreciate.” He laughed openly as you struggled beneath him, intent on signaling Dean before he or Sam went upstairs.
“Hey, douche bag!”
The vamp looked up just in time to be beheaded. You were sprayed with blood and yelled to Dean, “there’s more upstairs!” He dashed off, leaving you to gather yourself and follow him.
Only you couldn’t.
The cramps controlled your body now. Your skin felt like it was vibrating. You could hear your breaths coming out in short bursts. The air that should have been coming in was nowhere to be found. Ceiling turned into wall and turned into floor as you curled into a ball praying, willing the agony to go away. Dean came thundering down the stairs covered in blood and proud of himself. Then he saw you.
“Y/N!” He kneeled by your side and cradled your head in his lap. “What’s wrong? Did he turn you?”
“No,” you gasped out before curling up again.
“I’m taking you to a hospital, now.”
“No. We’re covered in blood. Too many questions. Just get me to the car and my bag.” His face hovering over you upside down was the last thing you saw before blacking out.
The tree line breezed by in brilliant shades of green.
“Hang on, Y/N. We left your bag at the motel. Just, hang in there. Please.”
You mentally compared his irises to the trees before fading out again.
When you woke up Dean was sitting next to you with your meds and a glass of water. You felt warm and appreciated that he had dressed you in your usual sleeping clothes.
“Steady,” he murmured while he propped you up. You took the pills and the water, swallowing both in turn and not looking at him. You could feel him practically buzzing with questions, but he waited for you to finish the glass. You sat up further on the bed and realized he had also found your heating pad. He sat against the headboard next to you and put his arm around your shoulders. “How are you feeling?”
“No worse than usual.” You found a stain on the wall to focus on when his eyebrows shot up.
“What was that, Y/N? That can’t be usual!”
Unfortunately, it is. “Dean, I’ve been living with this for a while. It’s not something you get used to, per say, but there are ways to circumnavigate the pains.”
“Why didn’t you ask Cas to do something?”
You found a different spot on the wall. “We’re busy fighting things a lot bigger than my Endo.” Shit.
“Your what?”
“Endometriosis. It’s what my disease is called.”
Dean pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed. “The second Cas gets enough mojo back, we are zapping it away, no matter what. Deal?”
You curled into his chest as the meds kicked in, easing the pounding in your stomach. “Deal.”
Sleep was probably a few minutes away when there was a knock at the door. Dean leaped out of the bed and pulled out his wallet. “In the meantime, I ordered food.” He paid the pizza guy and turned to show you the pie with all your favorite toppings, even the ones he doesn’t like. “And when we’re ready for dessert, the motel office had an ice cream cooler.”
Pizza and ice cream. Your usual go-to cramp food. He’d been paying attention.
“What did I do to deserve you?”
Dean chuckled. “The real question is who did you piss off to get stuck with me?” He pulled the covers over his legs as he joined you in the bed. “Because you are stuck with me, sweetheart.” He took a slice and began to pick off the undesirables. “So, how long have you had endomet…metro… the thing?”
“Since I was about twelve. I was in class thinking they were normal pains, then I woke up in the nurse’s office. That was long before I started hunting. I learned how to deal with the pain in a normal life.” Your voice dropped off to barely a whisper, “I don’t know what I would’ve done if I’d been hunting alone and collapsed like that.”
“What do they feel like, if you don’t mind talking about it?”
“Like getting stabbed. And considering that I know how that feels, it’s accurate. It’s never just one jab though. It’s all day, and usually lasts the whole week.”
Dean leaned his forehead against the side of your head. “Shit, Y/N. I had no idea. Besides the food and the meds and the heating pad, what do you usually do to keep them at bay?”
You smiled. “Sleep usually. Focus on being research central for you and Sam. Some of the yoga Sam taught me helps, but I have to be willing to move in the first place.”
“Next time you need someone to motivate you to do yoga, I’ll join you. Only if we do it in the garage, where Sam can’t see!”
You giggled at the mental image of Den trying to hold tree pose and not fall over. You would definitely find the effort just to see that.
“Now what? Do you want to sleep?”
You shook your head. “Pizza was too good. But… can you…” you hovered between wanting to be pampered and not wanting to be a bother. “Can you get me some more water… please?” Out of nowhere, Dean handed you another glass. You peeked around him to the lamp table between the beds to see a small army of glasses filled with water. And one with what looked like whiskey.
Dean shrugged with a nervous grin. “You were out for a while. I may have panicked a little.” He smiled in full when you giggled. “Okay, what’s your usual next step?”
“Netflix.”
You were a sucker for Bollywood films, and “Bang Bang” was probably your favorite. Dean kept his mouth shut about having to read the movie, but he laughed more as the film pulled him in. Even your favorite songs weren’t enough to pull your focus back to the laptop screen. Dean was pressed close against you and steadying the tech on his knees. You slept perfectly that night curled into his chest. No sex, minimal pain, just cuddling into his warmth better than the best heating pad. Having him next to you, knowing what you were going through and being supportive, was more effective than any medical remedy.
Y/N gets dragged to a boxing match by her friends where she meets Dean “Raisin’ Cain” Winchester. When asked out on a date, she says she’ll only go if he wins. Which is a serious problem.
Pairing: Boxer!Dean x Reader
Warnings: violence in the form of boxing
Word Count: 3100+
Note: I’m not a boxing expert, but I have watched a lot of fights from the greats to make this series. Find any Sugar Ray Robinson fight on YouTube and use it for background music if you’d like. I certainly used some to get in the zone. Feel free to leave comments on how you like or dislike it (with reasons why you dislike it) and guess where the story is going.
The den didn’t look like much from the outside. The brick was chipping on the corners and several of the windows were boarded up. If there hadn’t been a line of patrons waiting at the door, Y/N would have thought it was abandoned.
She looked at her ticket stub again. Admit One: Winter Chicago Amateur Semi-Finals.
“Why are we here?” she asked Jo, her roommate.
“Because Claire got tickets from her friend who works concessions. She’s already inside and said to meet at the seats on the second row.” Jo spun, flaring her skirt and drawing the eye of several men standing around them.
“I feel overdressed.” Y/N looked down at her little black dress, wincing at the grand amount of tulle under the skirt. In reality, it was only a notch above what she wore around town, but she would have preferred to save this dress for a Sunday. “It’s just going to be a bunch of sweaty guys beating each other up. We could watch that any night at your mom’s bar.”
“Y/N,” Jo sighed, “try to enjoy this. The guys fighting tonight are going to look a lot better than the ones at the bar.” Jo leaned close and whispered, “and they’ll be wearing considerably less clothing.”
“Jo!”
A quick cheer resounded from the front of the line as the doors opened. Light poured out into the street, followed quickly by lively music. Barely twenty people had walked through the doors when the bet collectors were yelling the stats. Y/N and Jo showed their ticket to the bouncer and were nearly drowned in the rush to get in. They were separated, but Y/N walked over to a less populated part of the arena to catch her breath.
“You alright, sweetheart?” a voiced asked.
She turned and found herself face to chest with a man in a suit. Taking a step away, she looked up into the greenest eyes she’d ever seen. He watched her with concern, but something about him made him feel dangerous. Like he could easily overpower her in more ways than one.
“Yes. Thank you. Now if you’ll excuse me, I need to get to my seat.” She turned to walk away.
“You might want to wait a few more minutes till the crowd dies down or you’ll get swamped again.” Y/N stopped to listen. It was still crowded. “And I would take a moment to breathe. Once you’re sitting down, it’s probably not going to smell good.”
“Wonderful,” she muttered under her breath. But she stayed all the same. If the smell of sweaty men could reach her up here, then it was going to be unbearable down there.
“I’m Dean. What’s your name?” he asked, holding out a hand. She shook it with her fingertips.
“Y/N. Pleased to meet you.” She turned to watch people find their seat, reminded of the movements of ants.
“Have you ever been to a fight before?” Dean asked.
“Are you writing a book?”
He raised his hands in defense. “Just wanted to get to know you, sweetheart.”
Y/N snickered, “I hope you don’t think you’ll get anything out of it.”
“Well now that you mention it…” Y/N turned to gape at him. He was serious. If he wasn’t so big she would have thought his boyish movements would have been cute. She almost missed his question while watching his tongue dart out to wet his lips. “Did you hear me?”
“Please?”
“What are your plans after the fight?”
“As far as I can see, nothing with you.” Y/N turned to walk away, she could handle the second-row problems better than this.
“Come on, princess. Being one of the boxers should get me somewhere.”
Y/N took a deep breath. He was big enough to be a boxer but didn’t seem to fully fit the type. Not to mention he wasn’t dressed for a fight.
“I’ll tell you what. You win your fight tonight and I might meet you after the prizefight. Otherwise, forget it.”
Y/N walked away from his grinning face and into the pit. Jo and Claire didn’t have time to ask questions as the first opponents arrived at the ring. Y/N was ready to forget Dean.
“Dean! Where’ve you been, boy?” Bobby Singer grabbed Dean by the lapels and tugged him into the prep room. “You need to get dressed before Uriel gets here.” They froze as someone knocked on the door. “Balls.”
Bobby opened the door for Uriel. Dean hated his sneering face, but he was second in command for the match-fixing ring.
“Take a dive in the fifth, Winchester, and stay there. Feel free to do what you want till then as long as it doesn’t keep Cole from taking you out.”
“That’s not what we agreed, Uriel,” Bobby snarled, “Dean’s supposed to go to the big prize match in March.”
“He will. We had to add a week into the schedule so a special guest could meet you there. You’ll get a rematch next week, and then you’ll be on your way as planned.” Uriel laughed, a sound everyone found akin to nails on a chalkboard.
“You’d better not screw me. Not like you did to Cas with Bartholomew.” Dean stayed back, but his fists were tight enough to turn his knuckles white.
“Yeah, wasn’t that a bite? He made the distance till the tenth, though.” Uriel chuckled.
“It was torture,” Bobby spat.
Uriel stepped forward till he loomed over Bobby. “I wouldn’t focus on the past if I were you. Those who look back too much tend to get lost in the future.” He nodded at Dean and walked out, shouting over his shoulder, “the fifth, Winchester.”
They stood in silence, both seething. But it was the life they were in, one that they more or less chose. Sometimes they joked that God himself couldn’t stop them from deciding who lived and who died. They saved that for nights even darker than this.
“One of these days someone’s going to feed him a knuckle sandwich,” Dean growled.
Bobby nodded in agreement. “But it’s not gonna be you. And it’s not gonna be tonight. You’ve got too much riding on your family for you to rebel. It’d take the whole house of players to end this.”
“Or getting caught,” Dean mumbled.
“Bite your tongue boy! If they get caught, we get caught. And then all their attack dogs will get stuck in the same cage as us. We wouldn’t last the night.” Bobby sighed. Dean looked at him from the corner of his eyes. He was getting old, and the stress of the maintaining the fixes was taking its toll. Bobby shook himself with a grunt. “You need to change quick if you want to catch Sam before his fight.”
Dean shed his jackets while Bobby hunted out the shorts and gloves. He’d signed on to do whatever Uriel told him, but the image of the pretty girl from earlier mixed with the shame of being a fixed boxer made him question how tonight was really going to turn out.
Y/N jumped as the bell rang, ending the match. The ref announced the scores, awarding the win to the tall man with long hair. She halfway wondered how he could see his opponent.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” the announcer started, “these ring officials have been appointed by the Illinois State Boxing Commission.” He rattled off several names, she couldn’t remember if they were different from the match before, but they did look a little grimmer. “This is the feature presentation of the light heavyweight not exceeding 175 pounds. From Fort Benning, Georgia, wearing the black trunks with the white stripe and weighing 170 pounds: Cole “Avenger” Trenton.”
A quick cheer rang through the arena. The announcer waited for it to die down before continuing.
“And from Lawrence, Kansas, wearing the white trunks with the black stripes and weighing 175 pounds: Dean “Raisin’ Cain” Winchester.”
Y/N nearly fell out of her seat. It was the man she’d met earlier. And he was the title fight! She covered her face with her hands as Dean looked around the crowd before finding her. He smiled and winked, making her blush. She hoped he was too far away to see it.
“And ladies and gentlemen here is referee Balthazar Smith with instructions for both contestants. And ladies and gentlemen, no smoking, please.”
The referee stepped up to the mike and waited for Dean and Cole to meet. Their coaches stayed close, massaging their shoulders, and probably holding them back based on the daggers they were shooting. “You boys received your instruction from the Illinois Boxing Commission. I want a clean break at all times; careful of your kidney punches and your rabbit punches. In case of a knock-down, I want you to go to your furthest corner and stay there ‘til I tell you to come out fighting. Also, in case of a knock-down, you must take an eight-count. It that understood?” Dean a Cole nodded. “Shake hands and come out fighting.”
The boxers separated and went to their respective corners. Their managers took their robes and gave them mouth guards. The row in front of the girls was filled with men from the press. Y/N had been listening to the man directly in front of her all night as he announced the fight for a small radio program. He kept using terms she didn’t always recognize, but sometimes he’d clarify for visiting listeners. She hoped Dean wouldn’t get hurt.
Bobby held Dean back as he bounced and shadow boxed. “I know you don’t want to, but do what Uriel says. Next week you’ll get the rematch, and then we’ll be onto the big time.” Dean nodded and danced towards the center as the bell rang.
“Ladies and gentlemen, that was the opening bell for this scheduled ten rounder, and Raisin’ Cain Winchester, who won the championship last year, is on his way to defend his title against a younger opponent in the semi-finals. Cole the Avenger is fighting in memory of his father, who died due to boxing injuries.”
He labeled several punches and moves as the men started to swing at one another. “Trenton, who is very effective inside, very good at body punching, and Winchester who is obviously good at long range… with that snappy left jab… and the right cross.”
Dean cinched Cole’s arms to his sides, preventing further body punches. Already they were both sweating, and Dean’s grip was slipping. The referee came over and broke them apart. They separated, but Cole chased Dean into a retreat. Dean fired out a jab, which Cole returned. They traded punches, uppercuts, and several different types of blows that Y/N had learned that night.
“That right hand to Winchester was just a trifle short. If Winchester keeps dancing around the ring like he is, he might tire before he can knock some wind out of Trenton. But there can be no doubt that both men came here tonight to fight. A short minute remaining in round one.”
To Y/N, the minute felt like ten as the men quickly exchanged blows faster than the reporter could call them. Cole landed a solid punch to Dean’s face, making him stagger back into the ropes.
“A little trickle from Winchester. Trenton is scoring repeatedly!”
The bell sounded as Dean pushed off. They ignored one another and went to their corners.
“And round one is over! Raisin’ Cain Winchester taking about as much punishment as I’ve ever seen him take in round one except for last year when Castiel Novak nearly punched him out of the ring. Winchester came back to win that fight. Novak fought and lost to Bartholomew in his next bout in a nearly murderous display. Winchester has had a total of 130 bouts, losing seven, two draws, and one technical knock-out trying to win the middleweight championship when he first started.”
The reporter continued to pass along Dean’s stats and Y/N couldn’t help but be slightly impressed. He was actually a good fighter. But she wasn’t sure she wanted to date a boxer. Not yet. There were still nine rounds to go to see if he could hold up his end of the bargain.
Rounds two, three, and four came and went with similar displays of prowess. Dean’s cut on his brow kept bleeding into his eye. Bobby kept patching it up and cleaning it the best that he could. Y/N learned that he had been a boxer back in the day, but an unsportsmanlike hit to his spine kept him out for several years. When he came back, he stuck to training others and found the Winchesters: Dean and Sam. He was a coach for both of them. Y/N wondered how his heart stayed in his chest on nights when they both fought.
“Trenton talking to Winchester constantly. And the eye of Dean Winchester is starting to smear a bit. Right on the right eyebrow.”
Cole swung out, catching Dean in the ribs, making him double over.
“Probably the best blow of the fight! Avenger Trenton overhand right swinging below to catch Winchester in the ribs.”
Dean swung wildly, missing Cole completely as he ducked. Dean backed away and tried to wipe the blood out of his eye, but missed seeing Cole’s left hook. He dropped like a stone, his head bouncing painfully against the canvas.
The world slowed down to single heartbeats. Patrons leaped to their feet like rocks in molasses. Bobby shook his head, refusing to watch. Y/N looked for his eyes, begging whoever would hear her to see the brilliant green instead of the blood over his closed lids. She gasped as they fluttered.
He found hers as well, latching onto them like a ship to a lighthouse during a storm.
The referee started to count.
One.
Two.
Three.
“To hell with this,” Dean mumbled.
Four.
He reached for a rope, using it to pull himself up. But knees don’t count. He knew he had to get to his feet.
Five.
Cole shouted at him, “stay down! Or you’ll be worse than done, Winchester.”
Six.
Dean managed to get one leg under him, but it wobbled too much to support him.
Seven.
Dean pulled again, straining against his bruised ribs to stand on his feet.
The crowd roared with delight.
“Dean Winchester was not down for the count yet, ladies and gentlemen! We’ve still got a match as long as he’s got any fight left in him.”
The bell rang, ending the fifth round. Cole looked pale and a little green around the gills. Dean nodded to him, taking the blame for the manager storm that was going to hit later.
They met again, but Cole let Dean do all the hitting, feigning exhaustion. Dean knew Cole’s fighting and his style. Cole was tired, especially now that Dean wasn’t pulling his punches.
“A slowly tiring Winchester, but Trenton slows as well. Not punching cleanly going into this round, missing. Winchester’s left hook was low, giving him a warning from ref Balthazar.”
Dean gave Cole four quick jabs to the torso, sending him stumbling into the ropes amid a chorus of cheers. He followed with three more to the head and face.
“Come on Dean! You’ve got ‘im!” Y/N screamed.
“Four clean blows into Trenton, and then three more. Winchester was hurting Trenton. He’s hurting him now. Jabs to the ribs and the face. Now a bolo. Trenton is round housing, missing Raisin’ Cain Winchester by a mile. Trenton’s left eye is swollen. Closing gradually. Damn! Pardon my language, ladies and gentlemen, Dean Winchester has spun Trenton around. He’s still standing, but blocking drunk. Ref Balthazar separates them again as Trenton leans on Winchester. Half a minute to go in the sixth round. Winchester set him up with those body blows, damaged his nose. He has Trenton on his feet asleep, holding on. The audience is standing and cheering.”
Dean kept jabbing. Cole wasn’t fighting back and he was a fellow pawn, but Dean was punching red. All those times when he had a win in the bag and Uriel told him to fall, or every time they promised him the prize fight, like tonight, but then took it away. He could hold himself up. They could take their schemes and schedules with them to hell.
“Trenton punching drunk as the bell rings, ending round six. The ringside doctor checking him out. If he doesn’t respond to the bell, the fight will be over. No! He’s up and ready to go. This is round seven, ladies and gentlemen. And Winchester is not holding back, not with the end so close.”
Y/N notices a flurry of movement to one side of the ring. The doctor is waving his arms till a large man nods. The bell rings, but Dean keeps going.
“Winchester doesn’t hear the bell. Ref Balthazar has to break them apart. But it’s too late! Down goes Trenton. The ref counts… and Dean Winchester has won by a knockout, ladies and gentlemen. For six rounds, Trenton gave better than he took. Then Winchester unleashed all of his best guns for the last round. Our score cards showing that Winchester was ahead sixty-three points to fifty-seven.”
The ref pulled Dean towards the middle as Cole’s coach and attendees pulled Cole’s body off the canvas. The announcer stepped on stage and grabbed the mic. “Attention ladies and gentlemen, the winner by knockout, in two minutes and fifteen seconds of the seventh round, and the defending winner of the Winter Chicago Amateur Semi-finals is Dean “Raisin’ Cain” Winchester. He will face his last opponent to defend his title for another year once dates have been determined.”
He raised Dean’s arm above their heads. Y/N joined the rest of the crowd with a standing applause and cheering.
“See! You enjoyed yourself.” Jo yelled above the din.
“Yeah. I guess I did. Thanks, Claire, for the tickets.”
Claire continued cheering, stopping for a split second to gasp out, “he’s coming this way.”
Y/N looked back at the ring to see Dean pushing his way through the managers. Aiming to meet him halfway, she headed to the chaos surrounding the canvas.
Bobby was shaking Dean. “What were you thinking?”
“Nothing,” Uriel’s voice said, breaking into the circle. “He wasn’t thinking at all.”
Dean stopped his struggle to face Uriel. “You want to duke it out here?” he challenged.
Uriel shook his head with a smirk. “No. But we will discuss this Winchester. Enjoy the light… while it lasts. And get that brow checked out; we wouldn’t want it to turn into something serious.”
Dean broke away, surging through the crowd. He bumped into the person he wanted to see most.
Our Deepest Desires 