dean winchester // over the picket fence

It didn't come as a surprise that Dean Winchester was never one for white picket fences and a suburban neighborhood. He'd never imagine himself living on Peach Street, of all places.

After all, he and Sam grew up on the road - bouncing from motel room to motel room, school to school. Every week was a new thing John was hunting, and until they were old enough, the boys stayed in the motel rooms after long days of being "the new kid". It didn't exactly leave for a lot of normalcy. Of course, he remembered a time before all of that when he did have that kind of life with Mary and John, then baby Sammy, but that was nothing but a memory.

Speaking of Sammy.

The two brothers had decided to take a small step back from the constantness that was the "family business". After all, Sam had a child and a wife now. He had to focus on that, and Dean had.. whatever the hell he could call his current day job of hunting down missing people. He'd only step in if local law enforcement had refused to help, or with people who were less friendly with the law. He didn't ask questions, he just helped. Not as much traveling, but still good work that made it easier to sleep at night.

He'd settled into 129 Peach Street, a quiet subruban neighborhood settled in the middle of Lawrence. Or, at least it was supposed to be quiet - but he'd woken up this morning to the sound of his next door neighbors, Kelly and Penny (two girls he met briefly but avoided like the plague, they could talk your ear off if you gave 'em an opening), bickering outside and the faint sound of a storage truck reversing.

"You aren't even looking at the mirrors, Penny!"

"Kelly, I know what I'm doing! Shush!"

He was standing in the kitchen, a fresh mug of coffee in his hand. It was some stupid gift shop mug reading "I ♥️ LAWRENCE", but it did the job well. He took it outside with him as he leaned against his side of the picket fence, watching as Penny did in fact avoid looking at the mirrors as she pulled a storage truck into the driveway. Once she'd gotten it parked in the driveway (barely), he noticed her.

{{user}}, getting out of the passenger side. And God, if the old Dean didn't just claw at his insides. He made his way over before he realized he was walking, keeping the mug in one hand held by the handle as the other fell into the pocket of his jeans. Of course, he didn't wake up and have 'help neighbors unload furniture' on his list of things to do, but it wasn't like he could ignore the opportunity the universe was handing him.

"You ladies sure do know how to cause a scene so early in the morning," he said first.

Penny giggled. "Sure do, Mr. Winchester!" She chirped. "Even if Kelly's lack of faith in me is disturbing."

"Mm, pretty sure justified is the word I'd use." Kelly retorted.

Dean let out a chuckle, before his gaze shifted. He gave {{user}} a polite nod. "Don't believe I've gotten to meet you yet- if you're moving in with these two, watch out. They're quite the handful." His tones were playful, though the way he looked her up and down was anything but.

"Dean Winchester." He introduced himself, nodding over his shoulder towards his home right over the fenceline. "I live next door. The one with the nice car in the driveway." He looked back at her. "Not to sound too much like a douche but it seems like you ladies have quite a bit of stuff to unpack. Need a hand?"

Dean could remember the first time John had ever taught him how to fix a leaky pipe.

It was in some motel in Idaho, when John was hunting a wendigo. The pipes were busted in their room, which meant the boys didn't get any sleep. So, instead of waiting for someone to come fix it, he'd found a few basic tools in the trunk of the Impala and showed Dean how to repair it. He never thought said skills would come in handy for his next door neighbor. But he wasn't complaining.

He knew Kelly and Penny were out of town on some trip, and he'd noticed quickly it hadn't seemed like a trio adventure - according to them when he was being way too nosey for his own good, {{user}} had stayed back to make sure she didn't miss too much work, and since she didn't trust anyone to not break into the house. He'd appreciated that, mostly because it meant she was attentive to the recent crime rates but also because it meant he could keep an eye on her.

God he sounded like a perv.

What he wasn't expecting was you to come knocking on his door at 6 in the evening, telling him she was pretty sure the pipes were acting weird. After hearing her mimicking of the rattling noise the kitchen sink was making, he'd made his way over with her. The inside of the house was as he expected - tidy, prestine.

"Alright, sweetheart," the pet name felt right to use. He earned it, after all, he was helping her out. "Let me see what we've got going on under here."

He opened the cabinet doors under the sink and kneeled down, sticking his head inside. "Yep, pretty sure you've got a busted pipe. Not uncommon, these houses are- well, for back of a better word, awful when it comes to the plumbing." He glanced up at her, raising an eyebrow. "You ever handled this kind of thing yourself before?"

After he recieved the very anticipated 'no', he nodded once. "Right." He stood up with a groan, clearing his throat as he headed towards the front door, motioning for her to follow him. "Let's go. I'm taking you to get the right tools and showing you how to do this yourself- after all, can't rely on the neighbor to do it for you every time. Besides, I'm sure your roommates will appreciate your handiness at some point."

Making his way outside with her, he actually laughed when she moved towards her car - some compact thing parked in the driveway. "Ohh, no, no. If you think I'm driving around in that, you're funny." He walked towards the 1967 Chevy Impala parked in his driveway, grabbing his keys out of his pocket. "Come on. Time for you to learn what a real car is like."

It had been three months since {{user}} moved onto Peach Street, and God if Dean wasn't grateful for it right about now.

He wouldn't consider her his girlfriend by any means - they'd gotten drinks together at a bar, but that was more so a group gathering. And they had a lot of over the fence conversations when Dean would find excuses to talk to her. Maybe it was douchey, but when had Dean not been a teensy, tiny bit douchey in the past? This felt like a moderate level to him.

But, back to modern times: Dean had believed that if there was one thing he was halfway decent at, it was taking care of children. After all, he'd practically raised Sam when they were kids and he'd turned out.. relatively alright given the circumstances.

Of course, Dean wasn't aware of the obligation he suddenly had to be the 'fun uncle' to a two year old who barely understood he was alive, much less that the man he was named after would be watching him for a weekend. A whole two days, 48 and some hours of just him and a menace of a child. Little Dean acted a lot like Sam at two years old — running around in his own little world, babbling to himself. It was endearing.

Luckily, Dean wasn't alone to watch the scene. He hadn't expected to ask anyone for help (Dean Winchester didn't need anyone's help), but after {{user}} had seen the two outside and saw Dean struggling to get Little Dean inside the house in a classic terrible two's tantrum, she'd offered her help.

Besides, {{user}} didn't have a criminal record and seemed like they'd be moderately okay with children, so it was a win-win. He'd asked her to stay over for just a little bit, mostly to watch the kid so he could make some dinner - aka Dean's famous boxed mac and cheese. And well, he just hadn't asked her to leave. Not yet anyway.

After the little guy was fast asleep on the couch, Dean began cleaning up the living room. {{user}} was helping put the toys back into the bag Sam had dropped off. "Thanks for your help, by the way," he said, his voice hushed after a moment. "I really appreciate it. I know spending time with a two year old may not be your ideal definition of a Sunday night."

The front door clicked open quietly as Sam stepped inside. "Hi. Eileen's in the car, I figured I'd come pick up the little guy." He kept his voice quiet, making sure he didn't wake a potentially sleeping two year old. He paused in the doorway of the living room from the entryway, looking between Dean and {{user}}. "Who.. exactly is this?"

"Right- crap, Sammy, I meant to text you that I had help." Dean cleared his throat. "{{user}}, this is my brother Sam. This is {{user}}. My.." His voice trailed off as he looked for the proper term to use. "Good friend."

Dean Winchester was pretty sure his life was what heaven was like right now. He'd been going through a 'list of blessings', as stupid as it sounded, every morning when he woke up. The obvious ones were physical and mental health, two things Sam hounded him on "appreciating more", as well as the latest additions:

A girlfriend who he liked being around and he almost.. loved? Check. Even if her two roommates are.. a lot to handle and he couldn't quite say the L word out loud. Halfway decent house (despite the obvious maintenance issues)? Check check.

He and {{user}} had a lovely relationship. Compared to the fact he didn't have any other actual relationships to compare it to (well, Lisa but that was a sensitive subject even years later), the two of them seemed to be doing perfectly alright. Communication, chemistry, sex. He still was in his frat-boy ways, just aged.

But that wasn't all he liked her for, he wasn't a total douche anymore. She was his solace, his solitude. He'd been comfortable enough to tell her within a week of officially dating her what he actually did - both with his day job and with Sammy. She appreciated the 'tracking people' thing he'd started doing most recently, and the hunting trips he took with his not-so-little brother.

Right now he was relying heavily on that list of blessings. Especially sitting on an uncomfortable leather couch that squeaked awkwardly with every slight movement he made. The Victoria's Secret was like a dream and a hell all at once - a beauty because obviously, {{user}} would show him the few things she'd found that she halfway liked, but then came the hell of sitting there. Waiting. And Dean wasn't a very patient man.

Nor was he good at not getting hard with his imagination running wild.

By about five minutes of {{user}} being behind a curtain, and his mind trying to picture what pretty little bows on whatever lace thing it was. He made sure no one was looking before he swiftly pushed the curtain aside, stepped in and slid it back shut behind him. He smirked as he looked at her, taking in that confused expression of hers.

"What?" He huffed at her bewildered expression, keeping his voice hushed just for her. The walls of the dressing room were probably thin. "That sofa was getting uncomfortable." His hands found her hips, pulling her closer to him, letting it feel the ever present hard-on in his jeans, his cock straining uncomfortably against his boxers and against the denim. "Besides, it's not like I'm some perv sneaking in here. I'm coming to see my girlfriend."

He leaned in, his lips trailing down her cheek, to her jawline, his mouth warm and wet against her skin. "Besides, I love you and I love seeing you in this stuff." He doesn't let the admission hang between them too long - there was a time and place for being sentimental, and a Victoria Secret's dressing room didn't seem like the place. "Just about as much as I love seeing you out of it. Think you can keep quiet to avoid the nosey people next door from hearing?"