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muffinbeliever · 3 years ago

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When the Stars Align [09]

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Soulmate!Reader

Word Count: 5868

Warnings: angst, mentions of drinking, depressing thoughts, blood, violence, cute older brother!Sam

Summary: Soulmate!AU– Everyone has the first words their soulmate says to them tattooed on their wrists. You and your cat are living a normal life in Fort Collins, Colorado when three men come bursting through your door, completely changing your life. Reader-insert story. Starts around S06E08, but Sam has his soul, and it doesn’t really follow the series from there

A/N: hello lovelies ! here is the 9th part! i hope u like the ending lmao u know i love a good angsty ending

Masterlist | When the Stars Align Masterlist

Your parents were soulmates. They had met in college though mutual friends. Growing up, you had never truly realized how much they meant to each other. Sure, they were your parents, but they were also two halves of a perfect whole.

If you tried hard enough, you could still hear your mom’s giggles as your dad teased her, his boisterous laugh echoing around the kitchen and seeping into the living room where you would watch TV on Saturday mornings. At restaurants, he would take her tomatoes and she would claim all of his carrots.

Because of the car accident, you never had to see one live without the other, and you were thankful for that. The pain you were in now was unbearable, and you’ve only known Dean for a little over a year. You couldn’t even begin to imagine the devastation your mom would’ve felt if your dad hadn’t survived but she did.

The weeks following what you were now calling The Incident™ were a blur. Each day merged into the next, eventually becoming one continuous day. You remembered how you left your job at the bookstore, or rather, how you were fired because you stopped showing up. You remembered Meatball’s paws kneading against your chest, as if he was trying to numb the pain in your heart.

Your house was a mess; clothes on the floor and dishes in the sink. You were sure that the food in your fridge had expired long ago. You hair was a rat’s nest, oily and tangled. You spent your days in bed, imagining a certain pair of forest green eyes and the way they would crinkle when Dean laughed. You didn’t have any tears left. You had thrown up all of your alcohol. You were alone.

When your parents had passed away, you were scared. Straight out of college with no job or family, you were scared. But you weren’t alone. You always had hope that one day your soulmate would come and complete you. You thought he would swoop in and save the day, reminding you that everyone had someone to rely on, and for you, it was him. You imagined ice skating dates and picnic lunches. You imagined he would visit your parents’ resting place and tell them about you, baring his soul to them before asking for your hand in marriage.

But then you met Dean, and none of that happened.

Sure, his job was unconventional, and your situation was less than ideal, but you had thought he would put in some effort. Clearly, you were wrong to place your trust in him. He barely gave you a chance to process that you were soulmates before he was rushing out the door, content with leaving you behind. He didn’t think twice when he invited that blonde woman back to his room. He didn’t tell you he was saving Lisa and Ben. He left you alone.

You were utterly, truly alone. And that scared the shit out of you.

The sun came and went and the days grew shorter. You had become a recluse. Thomas had tried to comfort you, in fact he was over every day for two weeks, but when you had snapped, throwing books at him and screaming to get out, he gave you a sad smile with a promise that his door was always open to you. That was weeks ago.

You didn’t eat much, often going three to four days before having food delivered. And when Meatball’s food ran out, you were thankful that society had evolved to have door-to-door grocery deliveries. At some point, you had stopped drinking. One reason was because you had thrown up all of your alcohol after nights of drinking yourself to oblivion. The second was because you knew that if you had alcohol in the house, you’d be half-tempted to drink yourself to death.

It was November now, three months after The Incident™. You hadn’t heard a single word from the boys or their angel friend, but truthfully, you were thankful. You had taken the time to mourn what you and Dean shared and what it could’ve been. Room by room, you had put your home back together. You started with the living room, picking up the empty liquor bottles and dirty cups. Then, you moved to the kitchen, washing the dishes that had piled up and mopping the floor. You threw out the old take out boxes and food delivery bags. You deep cleaned your bathroom, disgusted at the amount of dust that had piled up due to your neglect.

Your bedroom was last. You ended up having new sheets delivered, for the ones on your bed now held too many memories. You weren’t quite sure what you were going to do with them. After debating on throwing them out, you huffed and grabbed an old dress box from the back of your closet. You shoved the sheets and comforter in the box and placed the gently folded the dark henley that was once your prized possession on top. Eyes free of tears, you put the lid on and crammed the box into the smallest corner of your closet, vowing to forget about it.

You ran four loads of laundry and folded it all, your drawers once again full of clothes. You took a long shower, rinsing away all of your despair from the last year. You watched the memory of Dean’s green eyes swirl down the drain, along with the way his arms held you. You rinsed away the soft puff of his breath against your lips before you kissed and the deep groan he made when he came. You stepped out of the shower a new woman.

‘People lived without their soulmates all the time,’ you reasoned. ‘Look at Thomas. He’s lived without Lucy since they were 13.’

“If he can do it, then so can I,” you swore to the woman in the mirror. She was someone you didn’t recognize. Her eyes had lost their spark and held an emptiness that wasn’t there before. The foundation on her face was used to cover her paleness and eyeshadow brought out her sunken eyes. She hid behind baggy clothes, hiding exactly how much weight she had lost over the past months. You tested her smile. It wasn’t great, a little forced around the edges, but passable. This was a woman who would survive.

For the first time in months, you stepped outside. The scarf wrapped around your neck did little to ease the constant chill that lingered in your body. The wind was strong, and you were sure you would have blow away if it weren’t for the heavy boots weighing you down. The air was crisp, stinging your lungs with its sharpness, and the sky was dark, clouded with the promise of rain. You didn’t travel far. You didn’t even make it to the end of your driveway before you decided that was enough for one day, and you headed back inside.

When you were fired from the bookstore, you were surprised by the lack of loss you had felt. Rather, you felt relieved. It wasn’t like you needed the money anyways. Grateful for your parents’ foresight and your less than extravagant spending habits, you were sure you’d never have an issue with money. You took advantage of your free time.

It first started with reading. You were determined to get through all of the little adventures that were dotted around your house, engrossed in the worlds that were so very different from your own. You cried with the main character and cheered for their victories. You took note of the authors you especially enjoyed, deciding to buy more of their books.

In between books, you had taken up baking. You were always a lover of pastries and breads and you intended to do something about it. Starting simple, you made a basic loaf of bread that you enjoyed with butter and coffee for the next week. Then, you graduated to cookies, icing them to look like turkeys in light of the upcoming holidays. When you realized you wouldn’t be able to eat all of the baked goods, you began to donate them to the local church, surprising the congregation with goodies every Sunday.

You had reached out to Thomas and apologized for your rudeness. With a smile and a shake of his head, he pulled you into a hug as he reassured that you had nothing to be sorry for. He offered to be friends again, and you accepted, under the condition that he wouldn’t be mentioned.

“Between all of the trouble Dyl’s been causing and the fact that I haven’t seen you in months, there’s enough drama already!” He exclaimed when you presented your terms of friendship.

Thomas caught you up on what you had missed. Apparently, during the time you went MIA, the nation-wide corporation, Richard Roman Enterprises had declared bankruptcy, leaving thousands of Americans jobless. Once again, you were thankful for the large sum of money that your parents had left behind for you.

Although Dylan now had enough money to be able to afford his own place, him and Thomas had grown exceptionally close over the months, and they decided to continue living together. After all, splitting the rent was a way to save money. Due to the sheer amount of time you spent with Thomas, it was only natural for you and Dylan to also become closer.

You had fallen into a routine, one full of words, flour, and the brothers. In the mornings, you would read, swaddled in your favorite throw blanket, lounging on the couch as you absorbed the warmth radiating form the fireplace. Around noon, you would eat a small lunch. Because of the cold weather, you had made a huge pot of vegetable soup, and you were slowly making your way through it all, bowl by bowl. After lunch, you would stoke the fire, piling enough logs to last until the evening, so you wouldn’t have to go outside again for more wood. As the sun began to set, you would bake a dessert to bring to Thomas’ when you went over for dinner.

It was an adventure to get to Thomas’ place every day. A thick pair of socks covered your usually exposed ankles and a heavy sweater hung from your body to protect yourself from the frigid December air. You would stand at your front door, dessert in one hand and your keys in the other. After making sure that you had everything and giving Meatball a goodbye kiss, you would open the door and immediately unlock the car before turning to lock your front door.

You would race to your car, the harsh winds blowing past your already frozen ears and you would tumble into the drivers seat like a heap of clothing in the laundry machine. The most important thing was turning on your car first, allowing the engine to warm up as well as the heater to kick in. While you waited, you resituated yourself, placing the desserts on the passenger seat and shedding your many layers of clothing.

Once everything was set, and your seat warmer was on the highest setting, you would make the short drive to Thomas’ apartment complex, spending a significant amount of time putting your layers back on before you made a mad dash inside. Thomas usually already has dinner made and Dylan sets the table as you take off your jacket and pull off the shoes from your massive socks. You would comment on how amazing the food smelled before digging in. You would stay for a drink and perhaps a movie before bidding them goodbye at a reasonable hour. You would go home and cuddle with Meatball until you fell asleep. In the morning, Dylan would take the leftover dessert to the body shop where it would be inhaled by hungry mechanics.

It was a rhythm that you were able to work with. It provided you enough time to yourself while also ensuring that you stayed in contact with Thomas. You enjoyed your time with the brothers. With them, it was easy. There was occasional teasing and many jokes thrown around the table, but it was natural. You didn’t have to worry about their safety when you weren’t there, nor did you feel the nudge of pity that you always felt around the Winchesters. It wasn’t a great life, but it was a stable life. Or so you thought.

It was a snowy Tuesday evening. You were prepared to make the great trek to your best friend’s place for your favorite pasta that he promised to make. One hand held a container of homemade gingerbread cookies while the other held your keys. Meatball had been patiently waiting for his kiss before scampering down the hall after he received it; he had learned that a kiss on the head meant that the cold air was coming, and he wanted to be as far away from it as possible— preferably under the comfort of your duvet. You opened your front door, only to jump back with a scream. Sam Winchester was standing on your doorstep.

“Sam?” You asked after a second of silence, and he gave you a weak smile.

“Hey, Y/N,” came his familiar voice. He tentatively stepped closer to you, and you stood in shock. He pulled you into a deep hug, and for the first time in weeks, you cried.

You weren’t exactly sure why you were crying. Perhaps it was the way Sam’s flannel rubbed against your cheek in a way that only Dean’s ever did, or it was the security provided by the embrace. You were pulled from you thoughts when a gust of wind hit the two of you, and you yanked Sam inside before slamming the door shut, keeping the cold out.

“What are you doing here?” You asked, bewildered by his sudden appearance. Only then did you realize that it was Sam and not Dean. Which meant that something was wrong. Panic filled your chest as you thought about what could’ve possibly happened to him.

“Oh my God, Sam. Why are you here? Is he okay?” You rushed out. He didn’t need clarification on who “he” was, and it would’ve been a waste of breath if you had explained. Sam placed a hand on your arm, dragging you back to reality.

“He’s okay,” Sam reassured. A sigh of relief escaped you, and you felt a glimmer of joy, but it was immediately squashed when you thought about the reason for your soulmate’s absence.

‘Perhaps he had taken your advice and shacked up with Lisa,’ you thought bitterly, anger and jealously seeping through each word, reopening the wounds that you had stitched back together with the flimsy promise of a happy future without Dean.

“Why are you here, Sam?” You sighed, suddenly exhausted. You wanted nothing more than to snuggle under your covers with a good book and Meatball.

“I—uh… I wanted to see how you were doing,” he stammered, and you rolled your eyes, unbuttoning your thick jacket before hanging it on the coat rack.

“I’m peachy,” you bit back.

“Good, that’s…” he cleared his throat, “that’s good. I’m glad to hear that.” The two of you stood in an awkward silence, Sam not knowing what to say and you wanting the whole night to be over with as soon as possible so you could go to bed.

“Well, okay. It was nice seeing you Sam. Please don’t take this the wrong way, but it would be better if you didn’t visit again,” you said gently, not wanting to hurt your past friend. Sure, you may not have spent a lot of time with Sam, but an instant bond formed when you had met. Sam was like the older brother you never had. You turned on your heels, walking towards your bedroom. Sam knew how to let himself out.

“Wait, Y/N!” Sam called after you, and you stopped and turned around, looking at him expectedly.

“Did you eat dinner yet?” He asked, absentmindedly scratching the nape of his neck, a trait you assumed he picked up from his older brother. You shook your head.

“No, I was on my way to dinner, but suddenly, I’m not very hungry anymore,” you responded dryly before taking out your phone and shooting a quick text to Thomas.

Sam’s here. I’ll see you tomorrow.

“Let me make you dinner,” Sam pleaded, and you sighed, knowing you couldn’t resist his puppy eyes.

“Alright,” you surrendered, and Sam smiled and headed toward the kitchen.

“I’m not much of a cook, but I can get by. Dean usually does m—,” Sam stopped himself and looked at you sheepishly.

“Sorry,” he offered and you gave him a sad smile accompanied by a shoulder shrug.

“He’s your brother. You can’t help it,” you reasoned lightly, following him into the kitchen.

“He misses you, you know,” Sam noted as he shuffled through the contents of your fridge.

“Yeah, well…” you trailed off, unsure on how you should reply. Luckily, your phone vibrated from inside your pocket and you were relieved.

“I gotta take this call, Sam. I’ll be right back,” you said before you rushed out of the kitchen, answering the phone.

“Hello?”

“Are you okay?” Came Thomas’ concerned voice.

“Thomas! I’m so sorry about dinner! Yeah, I’m okay. Just a little shocked is all,” you reassured your friend. In the background, you could hear Dylan’s voice, but you couldn’t make out what he was saying.

“We can come over if you need,” he promised and your heart warmed at the kind offer. You were lucky to have a friend that cared like Thomas did.

“No, it’s okay. I’ll manage. I’ll see you tomorrow though? I’ll even make your favorite chocolate raspberry cake,” you promised, and you could hear his frown through the phone.

“Alright,” he resigned, “I mean it though, Y/N. Just call if you need us.” You agreed with a laugh and hung up, returning to the kitchen. Sam had helped himself to a beer and was already hard at work chopping up garlic while a pot of water was heating up on the stove. He heard you enter and turned his head away from the cutting board.

“I hope you like pasta, because that’s about the only decent thing I can make,” he joked and you laughed. “Pasta is perfect,” you reassured, and you swerved around him, pulling out a wine glass from the cabinet and helping yourself to a generous pour.

The conversation flowed easily as the two of you debated various books that you had both read. He was intelligent and posed excellent arguments, and in the back of your mind you remembered that he was applying to law school after Stanford. You made a simple salad, the two of you working side by side.

“No, I’m telling you, Sammy. It’s a monologue from the perspective of a person on the outside looking in. One could even say she is embracing her culture and identity by the way she has taken advantage of the situation,” you argued, and he let out a huff.

“No, Y/N. Trust me. She is degrading the very foundation that her morals were built upon by writing this monologue!” He exclaimed. You glared at him.

“I’m sorry,” you said sarcastically, “Were you an English major?” Sam’s face scrunched up in anger and frustration, causing you to burst out laughing. Less than a second later, Sam joined you, his fingers wiping away his tears as he caught his breath.

“That was a good one,” he complimented and you flicked your hair your shoulder with feigned confidence.

“Thanks your honor,” you joked back, and a sudden thought hit you.

“Why were you even reading multidimensional poetry in the first place?” You asked, perplexed. As an English major, you were required to read all sorts of poetry, but that didn’t mean you liked it. A reminiscent look flashed in Sam’s eyes, and you saw him deflate.

“My girlfriend in college… she was an English major too,” he said, intensely focusing on the pasta he was stirring. You remembered Dean mentioning that Sam used to have a girlfriend. In the back of your mind, you recalled the story of how she died in a fire, just like the brothers’ mom did. What was her name? Josephine? Juliet? No. Jessica! Yes, her name was Jessica.

“I’m sorry, Sam,” you offered him a small smile that he returned. It was your turn to lay a comforting hand on his arm. The kitchen was quiet once again, only the bubbling of the boiling water could be heard.

“Will you tell me about her?” You asked, tentatively. He looked at you, his eyes glistening with unshed tears, and he nodded.

“Not today,” he said, his voice thick with emotion, “But someday, I’ll tell you everything.” You patted his arm and the two of you resumed cooking. You were setting the plates on the table when your doorbell rang. Sam shot you a confused look.

“Are you expecting someone?” He asked and you slowly shook your head. His eyebrows furrowed. “Wait here,” he said before rushing to the front door. He peeked through the peephole first, and you saw one of his hands reach for the back of his pants and the other slowly opened the door. You couldn’t see who it was, because Sam’s body was blocking the sliver that was open, but you could hear their voices. Familiar voices.

“Sam, wait!” You called out, running over to the door, confirming your suspicions. Thomas and Dylan stood on your front porch, wrapped in scarves and beanies, both of their hands shoved in their pockets.

“You’re gonna catch a cold,” you scolded as you pulled them inside, rolling your eyes.

“I thought I said that I was okay,” you said pointedly at Thomas. He had the decency to look at least a little bit nervous by your anger.

“I know! That’s what I said, but Dylan insisted that we check on you,” he said, gesturing to his darker-haired brother, who promptly flipped Thomas off.

“Thanks for throwing me under the bus, asshole,” Dylan muttered under his breath. You opened your mouth to say something, but you were cut off.

“Y/N, do you know these men?” Sam asked, his eyes darting between the two brothers. You let out an exasperated sigh.

“You men have such little faith in me. Of course I know them Sam, I wouldn’t have let them in if I didn’t,” you said, irritated. Dylan snickered behind you and you spun on your heels.

“And you! What are you laughing at, Dyl? You’re the one who showed up to my house, when I specifically told you not to!” You retorted, wiping the smug look off of his face.

“We were just… Well we… You see…,” Thomas fumbled, clearly not enjoying the confrontation. You sighed.

“Just go, okay? I’m fine. I’ll see you guys later,” you told the two brothers, and they nodded, leaving with a hug and a promise to see you tomorrow for dinner. When the door had closed behind them, you looked at Sam.

“Sorry,” you offered, with a shrug, not really knowing what else to say. He merely shook his head.

“I’m just glad that you have people who care,” he said and walked back into the kitchen. The pasta was still on the table, albeit a bit cold now, and the two of you ate in silence.

“You know,” Sam started, halfway through the meal. “You might not believe me, since Dean is my brother and all, but I’m glad you're happy, Y/N. I didn’t believe it at first when Cas told me, but I can see now that he was right.”

“Cas? What does Cas have to do with this?” You asked, confused. Sam sent you a classic Winchester wink.

“Well, you didn’t expect us to leave you without any protection now, did you?” He teased. “Protection? What are you talking about?” You hadn’t seen the angel since you prayed to him that one time.

“Cas has been your guardian angel,” Sam announced, proudly.

“You have ten seconds to explain what’s going on, or else I’m going to make you tell me,” you threatened, but both of you knew that Sam could easily take you. His smile slipped form his face.

“Damn it. Dean was right. You are pissed,” he muttered to himself. His eyes rose to meet your steely glare and he sighed.

“After… you know,” he started, and you were thankful he left The Incident™ at that, “Well… I just didn’t feel right leaving you all alone. So I asked Cas to watch over you. Dean was upset at first. He said that you wouldn’t want it and that you could protect yourself, but after some convincing on my part, he agreed that it was best to keep an eye on you. That way, if something were to happen, Cas could save you before calling us.

“For the first month, all Cas told us was that you were deeply hurt and still processing what had happened. I had to physically restrain Dean from driving over here to check on you. But as time passed, Cas said you seemed to be getting lighter. You were taking care of yourself again, and you were putting yourself back together. He told us about how you were going outside again and how you would bake for the local church.

“I was happy for you— happy that you had found happiness. But Dean… well you know Dean. He insisted that it was all a front, that you were secretly suffering and hiding it behind closed doors. But when Cas said that you had stopped crying, Dean stopped arguing. I guess he finally realized he had lost you.”

You let out a shuddered breath, your head reeling as you took in everything Sam said.

“You had someone spy on me? Are you insane?” You blew up, unable to believe that the Winchesters would go so far as to violate your privacy.

“I was mourning, Sam. I was heartbroken. You had no right to invade my life like that!” You exclaimed, and Sam flinched as your shrill voice bounced off the walls.

“Y/N, look I know that we probably should’ve told you about it, but what if you had said no? We needed someone here to protect you, and if it wasn’t Cas, then it would’ve been Dean, and we both know that wouldn’t have gone well,” Sam reasoned. You deflated a little bit, thinking about his words.

“It was just a safety precaution. Cas checked in on you periodically; he wasn’t watching you the whole time. I’m honestly not sure of how much he saw, but he was polite enough to keep it to himself. He told Dean and I the bare minimum,” Sam said, taking your silence as a sign to continue.

“I get why you did what you did, but please. Since I’m okay now, can you tell him to stop? I promise I’ll call if I’m in danger or anything. You can put a tracker in my phone if you want. Just give me my privacy,” you compromised, and Sam let out a relieved sigh.

“Yeah, we can do that. That sounds good,” he agreed.

“Alright,” you clapped your hands, trying to clear the air, “now that that’s settled, let's finish eating so we can dive into those cookies I made.”

Dinner continued with ease, the conversation flowing between the two of you. Sam was recounting everything that happened with the Leviathans and Dick Roman and the redheaded hacker that had saved their lives. It was a lot to take in, but you were glad that everyone was safe. He told you about this mysterious bunker they had found that belonged to a group called the Men of Letters. The topic of conversation steered clear from Dean and anyone involved in The Incident™, and for that you were grateful. You weren’t sure if you could handle hearing about Dean and his new life with her.

You had made 24 cookies and between the two of you, 8 were eaten. You packed the rest in a container for Sam to take back to the bunker along with the left over pasta and vegetable soup you had in the fridge. Soon, the dishes were cleaned and the table was wiped. It wasn’t too late, but nonetheless, it was dark.

“Are you sure you don’t want to spend the night? I’d feel more comfortable if you left in the morning,” you offered, but Sam shook his head.

“I’ve gotta get back. Bobby found a new lead, so we’re gonna check it out,” he explained, and you nodded in understanding.

“Alright, then,” you said, before handing him your phone, “At least put a tracker in my phone and text me when you get back.”

Sam pulled his laptop out of his bag and pressed a few buttons, fiddling with the keys on his computer as he waited for the progress bar to load. It couldn’t have been longer than two minutes when Sam announced he had finished. He handed the phone back to you.

“Stay safe, Sammy,” you said, pulling him into a bear hug. Your face was stuffed against the soft cotton of his plaid flannel and his jacket.

“Take care of him, okay?” You pleaded. You hated how pathetic you were being, but you needed to know that Dean was safe, and as long as Sam was looking out for him, you knew that Dean would be okay.

“He’ll come around, Y/N,” Sam said with a squeeze.

“Yeah,” you said, but even to your ears it sounded fake. He pulled away and gave you a gentle smile that you returned. After making sure he had everything, you watched him from your front door as he left, getting into an old beat up car and driving away. As you watched his tail lights turn right, a surprising calm came over you. Maybe everything would be okay after all.

Wednesday morning found you back in your routine, rereading the prose poetry that you had debated over with Sam the night before. He had sent you a text at 5 AM letting you know he got back to Sioux Falls safely and that he called Cas off the job. Your day passed by quickly as you floated around your house, high on whatever closure last night brought. You knew that you would never be free of the brothers Winchester, but for the first time, the thought didn’t fill you with absolute dread. Perhaps you would see Dean in the future, perhaps not, but you and Sam shared a sibling bond that not even a soulmate could break.

Before you knew it, it was Sunday, and you were at the local church handing out Christmas-themed sugar cookies to the congregation as they complimented the gingerbread house you had made to resemble the place of worship. Absolutely thrilled with all of the comments, you had gone home and baked to your heart’s content. You decided to indulge a little bit; after all, the holidays were approaching. You weren’t sure what the Thomas and Dylan were going to do for the holidays, and you made a mental note to ask about it tonight at dinner.

Much to your chagrin, you had not figured out a more efficient way to get from your house to your car in the dead of winter without freezing all of your fingers, and now that you had three containers of desserts, you had to make a decision. Either try and balance all three containers as you walked to the car— probably walking slower than necessary and therefore being colder than you usually were— or take an extra trip that would be much faster, but you would have to be in the cold twice. You decided the best course of action was to take the first dessert to the car and start the engine so that by the time you came back with the other two desserts, the car would be warm and ready. Your plan went off without a hitch. Satisfied, you hummed along to the radio as they played Christmas tunes, making your way over to Thomas’ for dinner.

You parked out front and groaned when you realized that you had the same dilemma, but this time, it was also up two flights of stairs that you hated. With a sigh, you gingerly stacked the containers, holding them close to your chest as you sped walked from your car and up the stairs to the apartment. You pushed the door open— it was always unlocked for you— and you were met with a different sight than usual. Dylan was at the stove, cooking, the table already set, and Thomas was nowhere to be found.

“Hey Dyl,” you called out, and he turned around and flashed you a smile.

“Hey, Y/N. Thomas is in the shower, he got home a little later than usual, but never fear, Dylan the Chef is here!” He cried out and you laughed, eyes rolling at his immaturity. You placed the desserts on the counter and shed your jacket and shoes. You and Dylan made casual conversation while he finished cooking. Soon, the food was ready.

“I’ll go and get Thomas,” you said, heading towards the hallway. “Lord knows the man spends 30 minutes on his hair alone.” You heard Dylan’s laughter echo down the hall. The bathroom door was wide open, light off and mirror not even slightly fogged. You furrowed your brows in confusion.

“Tommy?” You called out as you knocked on his bedroom door. There was no reply.

“Thomas, I’m coming in,” you said before turning the knob. You stopped in your tracks at the horrifying scene in front of you.

Blood was splattered on the walls and the hardwood floor. The bedsheets were strewn around the room and the curtains were torn. But the most terrifying part was Thomas sitting in the chair that faced the door, his eye sockets empty and his mouth stitched into a smile. You couldn’t even scream.

“Oh my god,” you panicked, pulling out your phone to call Dean.

“Not so fast,” said Dylan from behind you, shoving your phone out of your hand. You watched as it hit the wall and then the floor, its screen webbed with cracks.

“Castiel, please!” You screamed for your guardian angel as Dylan wrestled with you, eventually pinning you against the floor.

“Oh, your little angel friend won’t be coming any time soon,” Dylan said, and he blinked. His eyes were glowing yellow, like an exploded star.

“Tell me, Y/N. How will Dean Winchester will save you now?” He asked, a cruel smile on his face. You were bait. You opened your mouth to scream, to fight, anything really, but he hit you over the head, and you remembered seeing him wink at you as darkness clouded your vision.

Taglist: @akshi8278 @skyewardolicitycloisdelena91 @lanea-1 @slamminmine

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