#Dean x you

[marvelfanfn2187a113]

Abandoned and Recovered

Part 4 of the Uncaged series

Sam and Dean Winchester & little sister!reader

Requested by @chocorade

Synopsis: You’re having a rough day, but your brothers are there for you…eventually (I took so much creative liberty with this one, it kinda took on its own life I’m sorry 😅)

Warnings: mentions of torture, nightmares, fluff, probably continuity errors with the show

“You’re not real,” Sam muttered for the millionth time. It couldn’t be real—he couldn’t be real.

“Of course I’m real,” Lucifer chuckled. “You think I ever would’ve let you out of that cage?”

“If you were real, then Y/N would see you too,” Sam argued.

“Oh.” Lucifer grinned. “She sees me exactly how I want her to…for now.”

Sam’s head shot up when he heard your voice cry out in your room. Lucifer was leering at him, but Sam ignored him as he jumped up and rushed to your room. He slammed the door open, first looking around—Lucifer hadn’t followed him here.

His eyes turned to you as you sat up suddenly on the couch, gasping for breath.

“Sam?” You whimpered as you rubbed your eyes.

“Hey,” Sam breathed, rushing over and kneeling down in front of you. “Hey, what’s wrong? What…” Sam swallowed. “What did you see?”

“Fa…his…” you swallowed. “Hi-his face. I keep—I keep seeing it…”

“Do you…see him now?” Sam whispered, as if Lucifer would hear him.

“What?” You blinked up at Sam, face scrunched in confusion. You shook your head slowly, focused more on breathing than trying to speak.

“Then…” Sam glanced around the room nervously as he tried to gather his thoughts. “Then how…where did you see him?”

“Sleep,” you whimpered. “Every time I…I…”

Sam took in your appearance suddenly, struck by how much you looked like him—sleep deprived.

“You haven’t been sleeping,” Sam breathed. “Because you don’t want to see him.”

You nodded. “Isn’t that why you haven’t slept?” You asked.

Sam swallowed, staying silent. He wouldn’t tell you the truth, he couldn’t. He wasn’t avoiding sleep to avoid Lucifer—he couldn’t sleep because of Lucifer. But if you thought that Lucifer was here…

Your hand in Sam’s caught his attention, and you squeezed his hand twice; a reminder.

You promised never to lie to me.

“I’m…” Sam swallowed. “I—“

“Hey.” Dean’s voice interrupted the moment. “C’mon, me and Bobby might just have a plan.”

You started to get up, staggering a little in exhaustion. Sam grabbed hold of your arms.

“Maybe you should stay here,” Sam said.

You shook your head hard, but Sam didn’t relent.

“You haven’t gotten enough sleep,” he argued.

“He’s got a point,” Dean said. “We’ll do this one without you, kid. You stay here and get some sleep.”

You grabbed onto Sam’s hand, and he glanced back. The look in your eyes was clear:

Don’t leave me here alone.

But Sam had something else in the back of his mind—if he left, would Lucifer go with him? Would you be ok if the two of you were separated? He still couldn’t be sure if the Lucifer he was seeing was real or not, but if he was, and he was also somehow haunting you when you fell asleep…

Maybe Sam just needed to stay away from you, and you’d be ok. It wouldn’t be the first time Lucifer made the two of you stay apart. It was one of his favorite games in the cage.

“And where do you think you’re going?” Sam was only feet from you, crawling on his blood-soaked knees after a long “fun session” with Lucifer, when Lucifer’s hand in Sam’s matted hair brought him to a halt.

“Huh Sammy?” Lucifer’s eyes flickered to you. “Oh, did you wanna see little sis? I think the two of you have had enough bonding time, don’t you? So how about this…if you go near her again without my permission…I’m gonna make her regret it. And then I’m gonna make you regret it.”

And he did. Again and again and—

Your tug on Sam’s arm pulled him back to reality. You were still staring at him with those desperate eyes…

But he couldn’t let you be in pain. Not when this might stop it.

“We’ll be back soon,” Sam promised. “You should try to get some sleep.”

Sam pulled his hand from yours, and you trailed right behind him as he turned and left your room. When he still wouldn’t look at you, you turned your attention to Dean, grabbing hold of his hand instead.

“I’m sorry kid,” Dean said, pulling his hand away and placing both his hands on your shoulders. “You gotta stay here, and you know why. Please, I can’t be worried about you while we do this. I need you to stay here.”

“We going or what?” Bobby’s voice from the other room caught your brothers’ attention. You didn’t say anything as they left, but the despair in your eyes as you watched Sam turn away would stick in his brain—and his conscience—for far too long.

…

You started out by laying down on your bed—the last thing you wanted to do was sleep, but maybe if you did, then Sam would stay with you next time. There was something he wasn’t telling you, you just knew it, but you didn’t know what. Why wouldn’t he talk to you? The two of you had promised never to lie to each other, and this was about Lu…about him.

You were so busy worrying about Sam that you didn’t even notice yourself giving into your exhaustion until it was too late to try to stop it…

“You didn’t really think I let you leave, did you?”

The voice hit you before you even opened your eyes.

“No no no no,” you breathed. “Wake up wake up, it’s just a dream, wake up.”

“Actually you’ve got that backwards.” A rough grip on your neck had your eyes snapping open of their own accord to see Lucifer leering at you. “This is reality. All that with your brothers? That’s the dream. That I gave you, by the way. And it’s as close as you’re ever gonna get to good ol’ Dean..”

“Why would you do that?” You whimpered. “Why would you ever let me be happy, even in a dream?”

“Oh.” Lucifer chuckled. “Because it’s so much more fun to hurt you when you think I can’t. I get to dangle the happiness in front of you…” Lucifer took hold of a chunk of your hair, letting the strands dangle in front of your eyes. “And then I rip it away.” The hand in your hair tightened as Lucifer yanked on it, dragging you to your knees. He ignored your cry of pain as he continued. “Oh, and…I remember telling you not to speak…seems like someone forgot the rules.”

“No.” You shook your head. “You don’t get to tell me that. You’re a dream, you’re just a dream!”

“Aww,” Lucifer cooed. “I knew letting you see Dean again would put some fight in you. It was getting so boring, all torture no fight.” The face—Nick’s face—started disintegrating piece by piece, and you squeezed your eyes shut before Lucifer’s real face could appear.

“Again and again, she forgets the rules.” Lucifer clicked his tongue. “This could take longer than I thought.” Lucifer’s hands were on your face now, pressing down on your closed eyelids. “C’mon now, you look at me when I talk to you.” He pressed harder, and you whimpered when you felt warm blood trickle down the side of your face from your eyes. “Feel that?” He whispered, the cold air of his breath invading your ears. “That doesn’t feel like a dream, does it? This next part won’t, either.”

His hands retreated from your eyes, which you kept tightly shut—whether because you were scared of the pain or if seeing Lucifer, you weren’t sure. Your breath came in quick gasps as you waited for him to do something. Instead of feeling his touch, you heard his laughter, echoing from every corner of the cage so you couldn’t tell where it was coming from.

Finally, you couldn’t take it anymore; the anticipation of the pain was almost worse than the pain itself. Despite the stinging in your eyes, you slowly forced them open…

You were in Bobby’s house, in your room. You lifted your hands to your face—no blood. The pain was slowly fading away, too…

But you could still hear the laugh. It was everywhere—in the room, in your head. You plugged your ears, but it just got louder and louder…

“It was just a dream, just a dream.” You couldn’t hear your own voice, and you realized you hadn’t spoken aloud. You tried again to speak, but you couldn’t force your mouth around the words.

Your heart was hammering in your chest, and you could still hear Lucifer’s words.

“I remember telling you not to speak…seems like someone’s forgotten the rules.”

You blinked rapidly, afraid to let your eyes close too long. Afraid to go back to the cage.

When the sound of Lucifer’s laughter finally faded, you forced yourself to your feet. You had to get up; you couldn’t go back to sleep. You made your way to the kitchen—maybe some food or something to drink would keep you awake.

You’d just retrieved a glass from the cabinet when—

“Did you miss me?”

The glass shattered on the ground as you whipped your head around, searching for the source of the voice—his voice. There was nothing; no one. You continued to glance around in absolute silence, your breath slowly picking up as you became more panicked despite still not seeing him. Slowly, you reached down to pick up the broken glass.

“There are consequences for breaking things.”

Your fingers slipped, and you whimpered as the glass sliced into your palms. You took a step away from the glass, still looking around for the source of the voice. The glass was still sliding around in your blood soaked fingers, and you dropped a large piece onto your foot. Your hardly even noticed the pain as panic clogged your airways as you collapsed backwards, sitting down on the cold tiles and trying to force breath in and out of your lungs.

You couldn’t even tell where the blood on you was coming from anymore—was it just your hands, or did you cut your feet? You couldn’t feel anything but the fear.

You hyperventilated as Lucifer’s chilling laugh echoed around you yet again. You couldn’t force the voice out of your head, but you did force yourself to keep your eyes open, too afraid that if you closed them again he’d return.

You were still sobbing on the floor of Bobby’s kitchen when the laughter finally died away. You didn’t move for a long moment, unable to breathe and unsure if the sounds would return. As your cries faded to whimpers, you slowly forced yourself up. You threw away the little bits of glass still in your hands, too afraid of your own clumsiness to pick the rest up—if the voice came again, you knew you wouldn’t be able to control yourself.

You got Bobby’s first aid kit from the cabinet and did a crap job at wrapping up whatever cuts you found. You were too distracted to realize that you hadn’t even cleaned the cuts.

“I’m going to get you.”

You whimpered.

“You’re mine, little thing. You always will be.”

You bit back a sob, forcing yourself to stay quiet as the voice echoed in your head and in the room.

“Y/N…”

“Y/N…”

“Y/N!”

You gasped in surprise when hands gripped your shoulders. You blinked, focusing your eyes. Dean was in front of you, his green eyes flooded with worry.

“Jeez kid, where were you? You looked like your mind was on another planet.”

You threw yourself into Dean’s arms, and he staggered a little in surprise.

“Whoa, hey, it’s ok. How long have you just been sitting here?”

“Dean!” Sam’s voice caught both your’s and Dean’s attentions. “There’s blood and glass all over the floor in here.”

“What?” Dean pulled you away. “Hey, are you hurt? There’s blood all over you, where are you cut?”

“What, were you throwing glass around?” Bobby glanced around at the mess all over the kitchen floor. When he turned his gaze to you, he saw that you’d missed the lightness in his tone—your eyes were wide and you were shaking. “Hey, I didn’t mean…it was just a joke, kid, I promise.”

Dean was still trying to find where you were hurt, and when Sam heard you start to cry he looked up.

“Hey, Bobby…” Sam got Bobby’s attention and left the mess in the kitchen for him to clean, coming straight to you. Dean stepped to the side to give Sam room. “Hi,” Sam said gently, making sure you saw him before he reached out and grabbed your hand, squeezing it once. Your eyes snapped to his, his familiar gesture grounding. “Nobody’s gonna hurt you,” he promised. “Bobby’s not mad, it’s ok. We just wanna get you fixed up, ok?”

You squeezed his hand twice in answer, and he smiled. Sam lifted you in his arms, his shoes crunching on the glass as he carried you over to the kitchen counter and set you down. He carefully and silently removed your bandages while Dean filled a large bowl with warm water.

“I’ve gotta clean those cuts,” Dean said, ringing out a rag.

“Alright, give me a second,” Sam replied before turning his attention back on you. “Y/N, sweetheart. Dean’s gonna clean up some of these cuts, ok? It’s gonna hurt for a little bit, but we’re gonna get you fixed up.”

Dean wasn’t used to seeing you like this—needing reassurance before every movement, not prepared to handle pain—so he let Sam tell him when it was ok to start cleaning you up. Once Sam nodded at him, Dean got to work.

“There’s some glass stuck in these,” Dean said. “I’m gonna have to get it out, ok kid?”

You nodded mutely, and Dean sighed.

“Can you tell me what happened?” Sam asked, trying to keep your eyes and attention on him so you wouldn’t be staring at Dean.

You shook your head again.

“I thought you were gonna get some sleep,” Sam pried. “Did you have another nightmare?” Instead of nodding, you just stared at Sam. “What?” He asked. Again, nothing.

“Kid, you’ve gotta give us something,” Dean said.

“Pretty hard to get some help when you can’t speak, huh?”

You flinched hard when Lucifer’s voice returned to your mind.

Dean watched as Sam’s gaze turned fearfully to the corner of the room at the exact same time you flinched.

“What was that?” Dean demanded. Sam tore his gaze from Lucifer and put his attention on Dean.

“What was what?” Sam followed Dean’s gaze to you—you weren’t looking at the corner where Lucifer was sitting, but you were uncharacteristically stiff and still. “Did…” Sam swallowed. “Kiddo, did you hear that?”

“Hear what?” Dean asked. “What’s going on?” He didn’t notice what he was doing with his hands, but when you hissed in pain he turned his attention back to where he was pulling glass from your cut. “Ok, just…” Dean huffed. “Let me finish this. We can talk about the rest in a minute.

The three of you lapsed into silence while Dean removed the glass, then cleaned your cuts, then re-bandaged them.

“There you go,” he said, tapping your hands gently. “Good as new.” When you threw yourself at him, he wrapped his arms tightly around you. “Ok, yeah, I’m right here,” he soothed. “You’re ok.”

“How about we just relax for a little bit,” Sam suggested. “You can tell us about your day when you feel a little better, ok? Let’s just watch a movie.”

Bobby had already finished cleaning up the kitchen at this point, so now he turned to the three of you.

“You know where the DVDs are—I’ll make us all some sandwiches.”

Dean carried you to the couch without another word, letting you lean against him while Sam got a movie going. Sam then got comfortable next to you, squishing you between your big brothers.

“You’re safe,” Sam promised in a whisper, and you managed to smile at him.

The smile dropped in an instant when the voice of your nightmares returned.

“You will never be safe.”

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@redbird-tf

[ninii-winchester]

Trust In Ashes

Pairing : Dean Winchester X Reader

Word count : 2.7k

Warnings : angst, alot of angst, demons, blood, violence, slight spoilers but not exactly following plot, language, mentions of injuries, dean(?) I’m sure he’ll never do anything like this but wtv, not proofread.

I DO NOT GIVE PERMISSION TO COPY MY WORK, TRANSLATE IT OR POST IT TO ANY OTHER PLATFORM. REBLOGS ARE APPRECIATED.

The fluorescent lights of the cramped motel room flickered as Sam sat hunched over his laptop, the glow illuminating his focused expression. His fingers danced across the keyboard, searching for any leads on unusual supernatural activity. It had been a slow week for the Winchesters, but something was nagging at the back of Sam's mind.

After a few moments of scanning through local news sites, he stumbled upon a small article dated just a couple of days ago. The headline sent a chill down his spine: "Strange Occurrences in Willow Creek: Locals Report Electrical Disturbances and Missing Pets." He clicked on the link, his eyes darting over the text.

He glanced at the couple snoozing in bed, Y/n leans back against Dean, who wraps his arms around her in a protective embrace. The warm glow of a nearby lamp casts a gentle light over them, highlighting the content look on their faces. Their legs are tangled together, and they shift slightly to find the perfect position. Dean buries his face into her soft hair, breathing in the familiar scent, while the she relaxes into his embrace. 

Sam knew the news definitely had something to do with demons, the omens were there, he just wanted to wait for the couple to have a good sleep before they got on the road. Things have been tense with the apocalypse looming and the two angelic brothers wanting to jump Sam and Dean. The thought of being a vessel to Satan himself was something that made Sam uneasy. He almost never wanted to think of the repercussions of him saying yes to him, sometimes he felt his resolve waver but Dean and Y/n kept him grounded, even he was ever going to lose himself and say yes to Lucifer he was sure Dean would never allow Michael to take over his body and cause the end of the world.

As he shifted in his chair, the mattress creaked under Dean's weight. Sam turned slightly, watching them. Dean's brow furrowed in sleep, his protective instincts still active even in slumber. Y/n's hair fell across her face like a curtain, shielding her from the worries that had plagued them for weeks. Suddenly, a soft rustling from the bed drew his attention. Y/n stirred, her eyes fluttering open. "Sam? What's going on?" she asked taking in his distraught expression, her voice laced with sleep but edged with concern.

"Just some strange happenings in Willow Creek," he replied, trying to keep his voice steady. "Electrical issues and missing pets. I think it's connected to something... supernatural."

"Demons." Dean quipped waking up, his eyes fluttering open as he stretched. Sam nods in agreement as he was thinking the same.

“Willow Creek’s not far from here, actually. If we leave soon, we can get there by nightfall,” Sam replied, glancing over at Dean and Y/n. He knew they needed rest, but time was of the essence.

Dean’s hand found Y/n’s, giving it a gentle squeeze. “What do you think, sweetheart. You up for a little demon hunting?” His smirk was faint, but the affection in his eyes was unmistakable. His first instinct was to keep her out of danger but he would never ask her to stay back. Y/n offered a sleepy smile and nodded, though she couldn’t ignore the knot forming in her stomach.

Sam quickly packed up his laptop, his expression hardening as he prepared for the road ahead. The looming apocalypse was a weight that hung over them all, a constant reminder of what was at stake. But now all their focus was on whatever that was waiting for them in Willow Creek.

The drive to Willow Creek felt fairly short with Dean behind the wheel. Sam took a nap in the backseat while Y/n accompanied Dean in the front. The Impala rumbled to a stop outside a rundown motel on the outskirts of Willow Creek. They walked into the lobby, where a tired-looking receptionist barely lifted her eyes from the old TV on the counter. Dean leaned forward, flashing a charming smile. They got themselves a room with two beds and turned in for the night.

The next morning the trio decided to talk with the townspeople for more information on the unnatural occurrences around the town. They went to see the girl who had reported her pet cat missing. She was teenager named, Alice. She told them that Alice has been missing for days and she had last seen the in her room. Upon investigating the room, Y/n found traces of sulfur on the window sill and even caught a trail. She gestured her head to the boys to follow her. The trio moved through the dense woods just outside Willow Creek.

Y/n clutched a small iron knife, glancing around with cautious eyes, while Dean kept his shotgun at the ready, salt rounds loaded. Sam walked slightly ahead, scanning their surroundings for any signs of demons.

“This place is giving me the creeps,” Y/n murmured, shivering slightly as a cold wind passed through the trees.

“Yeah, something doesn’t feel right,” Dean agreed, his voice low. Just as Sam was about to speak, a few people came out of the trees, ambushing the trio.

“Well well well, look who we have here.” A female said inching closer to the three. “The Winchesters.” Dean narrowed his eyes at the woman and then Sam spoke.

“Meg?” He questioned looking at her curiously. She beamed at him sarcastically and tilted her head to look up at him.

“You recognised me, though i must say this suit is prettier than the last.” She said running her hands through her raven hair.

“What the fuck are you doing here?” Dean growled aiming his gun at her. But she laughed at him, holding out her hand.

“Please Dean, don’t even try.” She closed her hand cutting off Dean’s air supply and making him drop the gun and clutch his neck. Y/n immediately moved to his side trying to help him. Meg quickly released him and he coughed up a bit before she spoke again. “Had to create hell lot of ruckus to get you guys here. But I just need Sam.” She said looking up at the tall man.

“Why?” Sam glared at her, clenching his jaw.

“Oh nothing serious, just need you to say yes to Lucifer.” She replied nonchalantly making the trio rage.

“Like hell we’re letting you take him. Even if you do he won’t say yes.” Y/n snapped.

“You know what, I’m tired of this conversation.” Meg gestured her goons to capture Sam but Dean quickly killed of the demons with the demon blade, while Sam was fighting off other demons, Y/n started to chant the exorcism. “Can’t let you do that, honey.” Meg slapped Y/n making her stop and the latter punched her back.

Dean watched Meg slap Y/n and was distracted momentarily which gave the demon, he was fighting, an upper hand, getting him stabbed in the side. Amidst all chaos, Meg and Demons managed to take Sam and Y/n away. Dean screamed and yelled but they disappeared right in front of his eyes and he leaned against the three holding his wounded side.

Dean managed to go back to the motel and patch himself up. He grabbed a beer bottle from the fridge and gulped it down before thrashing the room. He quickly pulled out his phone and called Bobby. The man answered the call almost immediately.

“Bobby,” Dean breathed. The old man urged him to speak before he lost his mind. “We were on a hunt, me, Sammy and Y/n, it was ploy to get us here. Fucking demons.” Dean growled pulling at his hair as he paced the room. He filled Bobby in on everything that Meg said, and that he was going to lose his mind if he couldn’t find either of them.

“Dean, I think you should call for Castiel. He might be able to locate them.” Bobby suggested and Dean nodded vehemently. He was glad he called Bobby as his brain had completely shut down.

After ending the call Dean continued to pace the room as he called for Castiel. He prayed with his whole chest so the angel would hear him. He desperately needed his help.

“Hello, Dean.” Castiel appeared in front of him. The blue eyed man was looking at him curiously as to why he’d called, since he was sure Dean would never change his mind about saying ‘Yes’.

“Castiel, man i need your help. I know I’ve cursed you a bit too much but you gotta forget it all help me.” Dean spoke way to fast for it be coherent but the angel somehow managed. He nodded and asked Dean how he could help. Dean told him everything that’s happened and waited for the angel’s response.

“I would love to help you Dean,…” Castiel spoke and Dean felt like there was a ‘but’ coming in and he was right. “But if Sam says yes then it’s over. You’re gonna have to say yes to Michael.”

“My brother would never say yes to him.” Dean glowered grabbing the angel by the lapels of his trench coat.

“Dean.” Castiel’s voice was harsh. “Lucifer’s Demons have got him. You can’t even begin fathom the horrors they could inflict on him to get him to say yes.” Dean gritted his teeth at the mental image that flashed into his mind, he didn’t even want to think of it.

“You’re wasting time, Castiel.” A heavy silence settled in the motel room as Dean shoved his weapons into a duffel bag. Holy water, shotguns with salt, his regular gun and of course the demon blade. If Castiel isn’t going to help him then he’s not going to sit around waiting for a miracle. Two of the most important people in his life have been abducted by demons and he’d be damned if he didn’t do anything about it.

“Dean, I can’t locate them.” Castiel commented after a while and Dean stopped in his tracks.

“What do you mean?” He questioned, his brain already filling with the worst case scenarios.

“They’re probably under sigils, the demons must’ve painted the place to keep them hidden from me. They’re blocking me.” The angel explained and the hunter nodded.

“I’ll find them on my own.” Dean said leaving the motel room and getting into the Impala. He drove around like a madman trying to see anything that resembles a demon’s hideout. It must probably be a warehouse or an abandoned building. Castiel appeared beside Dean in the Impala, scaring him. Dean gave him a curious look.

“I’ll know when my powers are being blocked that way it’ll narrow it down for you.”

Dean gripped the steering wheel of the Impala, the engine roaring in protest as he sped down the winding road, his mind racing with thoughts of Sam and Y/n. Castiel sat in the passenger seat, his expression focused, eyes scanning the landscape as they searched for any sign of the hidden demons.

A few moments later, Castiel pointed out the window. “That abandoned warehouse—there’s a disturbance in the air around it. I can sense the darkness.”

Dean slammed on the brakes, the Impala skidding to a stop in front of the dilapidated building. He took a deep breath, steeling himself. “You sure?” And Castiel nodded.

“I’m afraid I can’t go any further.”

Dean looked back at Castiel but nodded, he appreciated him coming along but he wouldn’t waste any more time. Without saying another word he loaded his shotgun and went inside. The walked further inside the dark warehouse and saw Y/n and Sam, tied to chairs and they were both in bad condition. Sam worse than Y/n. All Dean saw was pure rage.

Sam’s whole face was bloodied, the crimson liquid poured from the side of his head, his chest was covered in bruises, while wide gashes ran along his arms. Dean’s heart clenched in his chest as his gaze fell onto Y/n. Her lip was swollen and gashes were visible on her arms as well, he could see a faint fingerprints around her neck, and her forehead had a split, dripping blood onto her cheek. While Sam still wasn’t completely unconscious, Y/n’s head lolled to the side as she succumbed to the darkness.

“Sweetheart,” Dean kneeled in front of her tapping her cheeks lightly. She fluttered her eyes open and he sighed in relief.

“Dean,” she choked smiling painfully but then she remembered, “Sam.” She mumbled looking the side. “Help him.” Dean nodded at her.

“I’ll help him, I’ll help you both.” Dean said moving to untie her hands when he heard footsteps approaching.

“Ooh the hero is here to save the day, huh.” Meg taunted walking towards the trio. Dean turned to glare at her and she smiled.

“A few more hits and he’ll be begging to say yes.” She spoke evilly and Dean shot at her but she dodged it.

“Get him out of here.” Y/n mumbled to Dean. In that moment Dean’s mind was troubled but he knew if he left Sam with them they’d probably torture him enough to say ‘yes’, which will result in the end of the world. His mind kept chanting, ‘Save Sam’ and he knew he had to save his brother.

Dean stood up to his feet and punched Meg, knocking her unconscious, he quickly untied Sam and supported his weight on his shoulder. “I’ll be back for you sweetheart, I promise.” He said to her and she nodded weakly.

“I trust you, Dean.” Was the last thing he heard before he went outside. He quickly threw sat Sam in the backseat of the Impala.

“Castiel heal him.” Dean commanded and Castiel put his fingers over Sam’s forehead but nothing happened.

“I..I can’t.” The man in the trench coat said looking half ashamed and half perplexed. “I think this is some sort of dark magic that I can’t undo. He needs medical help.”

In that moment Dean forgot what else he was supposed to do, who else needed him. His brain kept telling him his brother was dying and he couldn’t let that happen. He forgot that he was supposed to go back inside and save the woman he claimed to love. But in that moment nothing mattered except for the fact that his brother was on the verge of dying and he had to save him. He got into the driver’s seat and drove off towards the hospital.

An hour later, Sam was out of the ER and shifted into a private room, while he slept Dean paced the hallway when Castiel approached him.

“Dean,” he placed a hand on the hunter’s shoulder. The green eyed man turned to the angel who had a sombre look on his face. “I heard Y/n.” All the color drained off of Dean’s face when he heard her name and he realised that he’d abandoned her. “She was calling out my name, even yours, she seemed anguished, pained.” Dean’s breath caught in his throat as Castiel’s words sunk in. Y/n was calling for them—calling for him—and he hadn’t been there to answer. The weight of that realization pressed down on him like a heavy shroud, threatening to suffocate him.

“I can’t hear her anymore,” Castiel continued, his tone grave, eyes filled with a mixture of sympathy and concern. “I’m sorry.” The apology felt like a dagger twisting in Dean’s heart. He staggered backward, trying to process the implication of Castiel’s words. He had left Y/n, left her in the hands of demons. Despair washed over him in waves, threatening to pull him under. His mind raced with images of Y/n, her smile, her laughter, now replaced by fear and pain. He had failed her when she needed him most.

He sunk to his knees, the weight of the world crashing down around him. The cold concrete floor felt like a punishment beneath him, a stark reminder of his failures. His breath came in shaky gasps as he struggled to hold back the tide of emotion that threatened to overwhelm him. This is something he would regret for the rest of his life. “I’m so sorry, Y/n,” he whispered into the emptiness, feeling as though his heart was breaking into a thousand pieces.

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[chevroletdean]

dating dean winchester camera roll ── ✮⋆˙

a/n: basically more of a moodboard/edit kind of thing instead of a fanfic / oneshot / headcanons. but it‘s technically still meant to be a dean x "reader" post either way. just wanted to add a cute lil clip to my intro post and, well, post the clip itself separately as well.

credit & links: capcut template ──〃★ request here

taglist: comment a green heart 💚 to be added to the dean x reader taglist (please note: ageless blogs will only be tagged in fluff and angst posts)

@winchester-whiskey @whormotional @spacecowgirl126 @zepskies @hot-and-confused

@spookyfunhottub @calibootsgirl @ladysparkles78

[craftymommabear]

This series is sooo good!

WASTE ── series masterlist.

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader

Word Count: 40.469 / ?

Warnings: +18! (Minors DNI), SMUT!, loss of virginity, unrequited love, heavy angst, hurt, drama, jealousy, sexual tension, painful, confessions, suspense, friends to lovers

Click Here for AO3 Link.

♱ Waste: Chapter: 1 ♱ Waste: Special Chapter 1

♱ Waste: Chapter: 2 ♱ Waste: Special Chapter 2

♱ Waste: Chapter: 3

♱ Waste: Chapter: 4

♱ Waste: Chapter: 5

♱ Waste: Chapter: 6

[doctorbitchcrxft]

Mystery Spot | Supernatural Series Rewrite | Dean Winchester x Fem!Reader

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Fem!Reader

Warnings: so much death. just lots of it. SMUTTTTTTTTTT (18+ MDNI!!! LEAVE!!!), car sex (yum), canon violence, canon gore,

Word Count: 7578

Mobile Supernatural Series Rewrite Masterlist

Supernatural Series Rewrite Masterlist

Supernatural Series Rewrite Playlist

Sam was incredibly insistent on working a case he’d found instead of going after Bela, much to your and Dean’s dismay. You and your partner were desperate to get your hands on her and tear her a new one. 

However, you decided to humor Sam. 

“I really don’t think this is gonna take that long,” you told Dean. “Should be like, a week, at most.”

You’d found a motel room in a small town in Florida. Broward County was the last place your victim had been seen. You left Sam in the room, and you and Dean went for a night drive.

“I’m runnin’ out of time, though, (Y/N). I wanna find the bitch before I croak,” he responded. 

“Babe, I know. And we will,” you sighed, sadness taking over. 

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t ‘ve brought that up,” Dean said, referring to his nearing trip downstairs.

“No, no, it’s fine,” you told him. “I know it’s constantly on your mind. It’s constantly on mine, too.”

He threw a lingering glance at you out of the corner of his eye before looking back at the road. Then, he pulled off to the side of it in a small clearing. 

“Dee, what are you doing?” you asked. 

Then, his lips were on yours. You let out a small squeak in surprise, but you melted into his kiss with your eyes fluttering shut. He wrapped his arms around you and pulled you across his lap. You pressed yourself down onto his hips and began to grind slightly over the top of his growing bulge. Dean groaned into your mouth, and you pulled his hair back to get better access to kiss his neck. He squeezed your ass, making you inhale sharply, and he took the opportunity to push your lips back to his and away from his neck. 

“Back seat,” he growled. 

“Yeah,” you nodded breathlessly. 

With Metallica’s “Nothing Else Matters” playing in the background, Dean pushed you down into the backseat. Grinding down onto your core, he pressed passionate kisses to your lips. You pulled at his shirt, trying to cue him to take it off.

He chuckled against your mouth. “So needy.” He continued to kiss you while he quickly got his shirt off, and then, his lips were back on yours. He started to kiss down your neck and pushed your shirt up over your stomach. “ ‘S this okay?”

You nodded breathlessly. “Please.”

Dean pulled your shirt over your head, then unhooked your bra, then peppered kisses between your breasts. You tugged on his hair, making him groan. You tried to grind your hips up against him for some sort of friction, but he used his free hand to press your hips down. You whined, and you could feel him smiling against your right nipple as he bit gently on it. 

“Stop teasing,” you begged. 

“All business tonight, huh?” Dean taunted. 

“It’s been too long, c’mon,” you whined. 

That seemed to get through to Dean, and he started to unbutton your jeans. When your breath hitched, he immediately stopped. “Are you sure you want this?” 

You nodded frantically. 

“Words, baby,” Dean said, voice low and rumbling in his chest. 

“Please, fuck me, Dee,” you begged. 

That was all the encouragement he needed. He discarded both your and his pants and quickly sheathed himself inside you. You took in a sharp breath. No matter how many times you’d had sex with Dean, the stretch was still surprising no matter how turned on you were. 

Breathing heavily, he gave you a little time to adjust. 

“Move. Move, please,” you keened. 

Dean rolled his hips into yours slowly and kissed you deeply. This was different than the other times you’d had sex. While you’d had very passionate sex before as opposed to rough or kinky, this was just you and Dean. It was you and Dean in your rawest, most vulnerable forms. 

Before Dean, the phrase “love making” made you cringe. Now, you knew what it felt like. The kind of love you and Dean had for each other was the love you’d been searching for all your life. As a little girl, Disney princess movies had always been fun for you to watch, but you weren’t sure you wanted such a mushy, fluffy love. As you got older, you read about Mr. Darcy and the way he loved Elizabeth. That was the kind of love you were searching for. And, in his own way, Dean loved you just as powerfully. With each deep thrust of his hips, he was proving it to you. 

When you’d both cum, Dean laid on top your bare chest. The two of you just allowed time to pass as rain started to patter against the windows of the Impala and the Metallica cassette tape came to an end. 

Despite Dean’s avoidance to verbally telling you he loved you, you found him showing you more and more frequently as of late. Whether it be the extra time he took to make sure you were okay on hunts, his protectiveness, or those secrets he’d gotten better and better at sharing with you, there was no doubt in your mind Dean loved you. He would clean your guns without you asking, sharpen your knives, and replace your sets of your favorite black ink pens when you’d run out of ink for your journaling and sketching. When you smiled at him, it looked as though he was studying your facial expression as if to imprint it on his mind. 

You’d noticed him trying his best to tame his wandering eyes and flirtatious remarks to himself at the beginning of your relationship, and now, it wasn’t even a conscious effort. You seemed to be the only woman on the planet in his eyes, which was shocking considering the way he acted when you met him. All these things he did to make you feel more secure in your relationship proved to you how much he loved you. 

With that in mind, you pressed a kiss to the top of Dean’s head and noticed he’d drifted off. You smiled thoughtfully and raked your hands through his hair to soothe him. 

***

A day later, you woke up to the sound of Asia’s “Heat of the Moment” playing loudly through the radio on the nightstand between the bed you shared with Dean and Sam’s bed. 

“Rise and shine, Sammy!” Dean laughed. He sat on the end of your bed, tying his shoes. 

You pushed his back with your feet still under the covers. “Get your shoes off my bed, Winchester!”

“Dude, Asia?” Sam scoffed. 

Dean hummed. “Come on. You love this song, and you know it.”

“Yeah, and if I ever hear it again, I'm gonna kill myself.”

Dean turned up the volume. “What? Sorry, couldn't hear you.”

You giggled, still trying to push Dean off the bed, and he suddenly flopped back down across your body. “What’s gotten into you?” you asked regarding his bright-eyed and bushy-tailed demeanor. 

“I got to fuck my baby in my baby. What could be better?”

Sam groaned. “Ew, guys. Dean? Shut up.”

You grabbed a pillow and chucked it at Sam. Then, you got up and moved to the bathroom. Dean slipped a hand on the small of your back and came to brush his teeth next to you. Sam took the only remaining spot at the other sink and did the same. In the midst of you and Sam brushing your teeth, Dean gargled his spit obnoxiously. 

You and Sam were disgusted, and Dean did not hide his excitement at that fact. 

Next, you got dressed in the bathroom. When you headed back into the bedroom, Dean was rummaging through his duffel bag. He pulled out your black, lacy bra. “This yours?” he asked Sam. 

“Dean!” you shrieked, grabbing it out of his hands and shoving it back in his bag. 

He laughed before rummaging around some more and pulling out his Taurus. “Bingo.” He got up and headed toward the door. “Now, who’s ready for some breakfast?”

You rolled your eyes, smiling lopsidedly, and headed out to the car behind him. 

***

The cashier was talking to an old man as you entered the diner. It was quite small, and the wood paneling on the walls was likely making the room feel smaller. 

You found a booth and sat down, and Dean sat next to you. Sam sat across the table, somewhat between you and Dean on the opposite bench. 

Dean noticed a poster on the wall. “Hey, Tuesday. Pig in a poke.”

“You even know what that is?” Sam grimaced. 

The waitress, whose name tag read “Doris,” came up to your table. “You folks ready?”

Dean grinned. “Yes. I'll have the special, side of bacon, and a coffee.”

“Make it two coffees and a short stack,” said Sam. 

“How ‘bout you, darlin’?” Doris asked you. 

“I’ll take a coffee and a short stack, too. Thanks,” you smiled. 

“You got it,” Doris nodded. 

“I'm telling you, Sam, this job is small fry. We should be spending our time hunting down Bela,” Dean said quietly. 

“Okay, sure, let's get right on that. Where is she again?” Sam remarked. 

“Shut up,” Dean grumbled. 

“Look. Believe me, I want to find her as bad as you do. In the meantime, we have this.” Sam pulled out a newspaper. 

“Alright, so, this professor—” Dean began to read over the headline. 

“Dexter Hasselback was passing through town last week when he vanished,” Sam informed. 

“Last known location?” you asked. 

“His daughter says he was on his way to visit the Broward County Mystery Spot,” Sam replied. 

You looked down at the flier Sam had put in front of you. 

Dean pulled it slightly closer to him for a better view. He read off the back of the paper, “Where the laws of physics have no meaning.”

You snickered. 

Doris arrived with a tray of coffees. “Three coffees, black, and some hot sauce for the—” Doris gasped and cut herself off when the hot sauce teetered and fell off the tray. The bottle smashed to bits on the ground. “Whoops. Crap! Sorry.” She turned around to the back of house. “Cleanup!”

***

After finishing breakfast, you walked down the street hand in hand with Dean. He’d been growing more and more touchy as of late; undoubtedly as his time was drawing nearer. 

A golden retriever barking pulled you out of your thoughts.

You gasped, “Puppy!” and turned your head over your shoulder to look at it. 

Dean chuckled. “What are you, five?”

You shrugged. “What? I like dogs.”

Dean reached over and grabbed the Mystery Spot flier from Sam’s hands. “Sam, joints like this are only tourist traps, right? I mean, you know, balls rolling uphill, furniture nailed to the ceiling, they're only dangerous to your wallet.” 

“Okay, look, I'm just saying, there are spots in the world where holes open up and swallow people. The Bermuda Triangle, uh, the Oregon Vortex—”

You cut Sam off. “Broward County Mystery Spot?”

“Well, sometimes these places are legit,” the younger brother shrugged. 

“Okay, so if it is legit—” you began. 

“And that’s a big ass ‘if’,” Dean interjected. 

“What’s the lore?” you finished, shooting a glance at Dean. 

Dean accidentally bumped into a blonde girl who was carrying a stack of papers and bustling past. 

“Excuse me,” she said. 

“The lore's pretty fuckin’ nuts, actually,” Sam responded. “They say these places the magnetic fields are so strong that they can bend spacetime, sending victims no one knows where.”

“Sounds a little ‘X-Files’ to me,” Dean scoffed. 

You watched two movers try to get a desk through the door of an apartment complex.

“Told you it wouldn't fit,” one of them said. 

“What do you want, a Pulitzer?” the other replied. 

“Alright, look, I'm not saying this is really happening, but if it is, we gotta check it out; see if we can do something,” Sam continued. 

“Alright, alright, we'll go tonight after they close; get ourselves a nice long look,” Dean conceded. 

*** Later that night, you did just as Dean said. The man in question was shining his flashlight around the glow-in-the-dark objects. Just as he’d said, there were various pieces of furniture nailed to the ceiling. “Wow, uncanny,” he commented. Dean moved his flashlight in your direction where you inspected a lamp at an angle to the floor. “Find anything?”

“No. Sammy?”

He held an unresponsive EMF meter. “No.”

“You have any idea what you're looking for?” Dean questioned his brother. 

“Uh…” Sam trailed off. “Yeah.”

You shot Sam a look. 

“No,” he admitted. 

You shook your head, smiling a bit. 

Suddenly, a gun was pointing directly at your forehead. “What the hell are you doing here?” the voice behind the gun questioned angrily. He appeared to be the owner of the Mystery Spot. 

“Whoa, whoa!” Dean said, holding his hands up in surrender. The owner moved his gun to point it at Dean. 

“We can explain,” the older brother continued. 

“You robbing me?!” the man shouted. 

“Nobody’s robbing you, I swear,” you said. 

“Don’t move!” the owner roared. 

“Just putting the gun down,” Dean explained, moving very slowly. 

The owner fired unexpectedly, and you shrieked in surprise. “Dean!” You rushed to his side as he fell to the ground, breathing laboriously. 

“Oh, my god. Dean!” you cried, his breaths becoming more and more choked. 

“Hey!” Sam shouted at the owner. “Call 9-1-1!”

“I—I didn't mean to—”

You cut the man off. “Now!” The owner left. 

You cradled Dean’s head in your lap. “Oh, my god. Not like this, please…” Tears welled in your eyes. “Not yet.”

Dean choked out one last breath, and then he went still; his eyes closed. 

You closed your eyes and rested your forehead against his. 

“Heat of the moment,” you heard Asia singing. 

Confused, your eyes snapped open.

“Rise and shine, Sammy!” Dean laughed. He sat on the end of your bed, tying his shoes. 

Dean looked to Sam, waiting for a reaction. “Dude. Asia.”

You shot up and looked over at the younger Winchester for any validation that you weren’t going crazy. 

He seemed confused, too. “Dean?”

Okay, so maybe you weren’t alone in this. 

Dean hummed. “Come on. You love this song, and you know it.” He grooved along to the song just as he had— yesterday? In your dream?— you weren’t sure. 

Then, you got up and moved to the bathroom. You just needed to get away and try to come to grips with what was happening. Next, Dean slipped a hand on the small of your back and came to brush his teeth next to you. Sam took the only remaining spot at the other sink and did the same. In the midst of you and Sam brushing your teeth, Dean gargled his spit obnoxiously. 

Noticing that you and Sam had no reaction, he deflated and spit. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” you and Sam responded in unison. 

“Just had a weird dream, that’s all,” you said. 

Sam shot you a curious look. “Me, too.”

Dean looked between the two of you, expression somewhere between confusion and upset. “Clowns or midgets?” Dean asked. 

You rolled your eyes. Next, you got dressed in the bathroom. When you headed back into the bedroom, Dean was rummaging through his duffel bag. He pulled out your black, lacy bra. “This yours?” he asked Sam. 

“Dean!” you shrieked, grabbing it out of his hands and shoving it back in his bag. 

He laughed before rummaging around some more and pulling out his Taurus. “Bingo.” He got up and headed toward the door. “Now, who’s ready for some breakfast?”

You rolled your eyes and headed out to the car behind him. 

“(Y/N), (Y/N), wait,” Sam called after you. 

You stopped just before the door. 

“You—”

You nodded. “It’s like de ja vu, man, it’s weird.”

“What the hell is happening?” Sam asked. 

***

The cashier was talking to an old man as you entered the diner. It was quite small, and the wood paneling on the walls was likely making the room feel smaller; just like yesterday. 

You found a booth and sat down, and Dean sat next to you. Sam sat across the table, somewhat between you and Dean on the opposite bench. 

Dean noticed a poster on the wall. “Hey, Tuesday. Pig in a poke.”

“It’s Tuesday?!” you and Sam asked in surprise. 

Dean looked between you and Sam. “Yeah…?”

The waitress, whose name tag read “Doris,” came up to your table. “You folks ready?”

Dean grinned. “Yes. I'll have the special, side of bacon, and a coffee.”

“Nothing for me, thanks,” said Sam. 

“Let me know if you change your mind. How ‘bout you, darlin’?” Doris asked you. 

“I’ll take a coffee and a short stack. Thanks,” you smiled uncomfortably. 

“You got it,” Doris nodded. 

“I'm telling you, Sam, this job is small fry. We should be spending our time hunting down Bela,” Dean said quietly. 

You stared after Doris, and Dean snapped his fingers in front of your face. “You guys with me?”

You shook your head. “You really don’t… remember any of this?” 

“Remember what?” he asked. 

“This,” Sam began. “Today. Like it's— like it's happened before?”

“You mean like déjà vu?” Dean asked. 

“No, I mean like, like it's really happened before,” Sam replied. 

“Yeah. Like déjà vu.”

“No, Dee,” you said. “What he’s saying is, it feels like we’re living yesterday all over again.”

“Okay, how is that not dé—”

Sam angrily cut his brother off. “Don't, don't say it! Just don't even—”

Doris came back to the table with a tray with two coffees and a hot sauce. “Two coffees, black, and some hot sauce for the—oops! Crap!” Sam caught the hot sauce bottle as it fell, and he seemed a little stunned by his own action. 

Doris gasped. “Thanks.” She put down the bottle and left. 

Dean looked confused. “Nice reflexes.”

You and Sam were frustrated, and you just stared down at the steaming coffee in front of you. 

***

After finishing breakfast, you walked down the street hand in hand with Dean. 

A golden retriever barking pulled you out of your thoughts.

You turned to look at it as you passed. 

“Guys, I’m sorry, but I don’t know what the hell you’re talking about,” Dean sighed. 

“Okay, look,” Sam huffed. “Yesterday was Tuesday, right? But today is Tuesday too.”

“Yeah. No. Good. You're totally balanced,” Dean deadpanned. 

“Why don’t you believe us, Dean?” you asked, frustrated with the whole situation. 

Dean laughed as he collided with the blonde girl holding papers and bustling past yet again. 

“Excuse me,” she said. 

“Look, I'm just saying that it's crazy, you know, I mean, even for us crazy. ‘Dingo ate my baby’ crazy. Hey, maybe it was another of your psychic premonitions.” Dean was clearly reaching. 

“How does that explain me, then?” you challenged. 

“I— I don’t know,” Dean sighed. “You’re—”

“Careful,” you warned. 

Dean closed his mouth at your firm stare. 

“Listen, we were at the Mystery Spot, and then—” Sam cut himself off. 

“And then what?” Dean prompted. 

Sam paused, appearing as if he didn’t want to say. “Then, I woke up.”

You watched two movers try to get a desk through the door of an apartment complex.

“Told you it wouldn't fit,” one of them said. 

“What do you want, a Pulitzer?” the other replied.

Sam snapped his fingers at you. “Wait a minute! The Mystery Spot. You think maybe it— “ The younger brother cut himself off again. 

“Maybe what?” Dean asked. 

“We gotta check that place out. Look, just – go with me on this, okay?” Sam said. 

“I agree,” you added. 

“Alright, alright, we'll go tonight after they close, get ourselves a nice long look,” Dean conceded. 

Sam stopped in his tracks, as did you. 

“No, no,” you rushed out. 

“Wait, what?” Sam exclaimed simultaneously. “No!”

“Whoa,” Dean dropped your hand and looked between you and Sam. “Why not?”

“Uh,” Sam thought aloud, “Let's just go now. Right now. Business hours, nice and crowded.”

“My god, you're a freak.” Dean rolled his eyes. 

“Dean,” you warned again. 

“Okay! Whatever. We'll go now,” he sighed. Dean walked a few feet ahead of you and his brother and looked to his right. Suddenly, a car slammed into him from his left. 

“Dean!” you and Sam cried. 

You ran to the spot where Dean laid face down in the street. You rolled his head over into your lap, and his face was covered in bloodied scrapes. “No, no, no, not again.”

Again, you rested your forehead against Dean’s, hugging his body close to yours, and closed your eyes. 

“Heat of the moment,” Asia sang. 

Your eyes snapped open again. 

“Rise and shine, Sammy!” Dean laughed. He sat on the end of your bed, tying his shoes. 

Your heart dropped. 

***

Dean noticed a poster on the wall of the diner. “Hey, Tuesday. Pig in a poke.”

“Okay, would you listen to me, Dean? 'Cause I am flipping out,” Sam said. 

You were flipping out as well, so much so that it felt like your brain was short circuiting to where you couldn’t speak. 

The waitress, whose name tag read “Doris,” came up to your table. “You folks ready?”

“He'll take the special, side of bacon, coffee, black. Nothing for me, thanks,” Sam said. 

“How ‘bout you, darlin’?” Doris asked you. 

“I’ll take a coffee and a short stack. Thanks,” you smiled uncomfortably. 

“You got it,” Doris nodded. 

“Sammy, I get all tingly when you take control like that,” Dean snarked. 

You hit his shoulder lightly. “Shut up.”

“Quit fucking around, Dean,” Sam groaned. 

“Okay. Okay. I'm listening. So- so, you think that you guys ‘re in some kind of a— what again?”

“Time loop,” you and Sam replied simultaneously. 

“Like Groundhog Day,” the older brother said monotonously. 

“Yes, exactly,” Sam nodded. “Like Groundhog Day.”

Dean nodded skeptically. 

“So you don't believe us,” you said, feeling defeated. 

Dean laughed. “It's just a little crazy, I mean even for us crazy, you know, like, uh—”

“ ‘Dingo ate my baby’ crazy?” you cut him off. 

Dean turned to you sharply. “How'd you know I was going to say that?”

“Because you said it before, Dean, that's our whole point,” Sam responded. 

Doris came back to the table with a tray with two coffees and a hot sauce. “Two coffees, black, and some hot sauce for the— oops! Crap!”

Sam caught the hot sauce bottle as it fell, and he didn’t even have to look at it to do so. 

Doris gasped. “Thanks.” She put down the bottle and left. 

Dean looked confused. “Nice reflexes.”

“No, I knew it was going to happen.”

“So did I,” you added. 

Dean sighed. “Okay, look. I'm sure that there's some sort of an explanation—”

“You're just going to have to go with me on this, Dean, you just have to, you owe me that much!” Sam exclaimed.

“Sam, calm down,” you chastised. 

“Don't tell me to calm down! I can't calm down. I can't. Because—” the younger brother cut himself off. 

“Because what?” Dean pressed. 

Sam couldn’t answer.

“Because you die today, Dee,” you said softly. 

He tilted your chin up with his first two fingers. “I'm not gonna die. Not today.”

“We’ve watched you die twice now, and I—” you grabbed Dean’s wrist. “I can’t do it again. I won’t. Please, just go with us on this. Please.”

“Alright,” Dean nodded, “Okay. We’ll figure it out.”

You rested your forehead against his and nodded. 

Sam sat across from you watching, and Dean cleared his throat awkwardly. He pointed at Sam. “I still think you’re nuts, but we’ll figure it out.”

***

After finishing breakfast, you walked down the street hand in hand with Dean. 

A golden retriever barking pulled you out of your thoughts. You turned to look at it as you passed. 

Dean collided with the blonde girl holding papers and bustling past yet again. 

“Excuse me,” she said. 

You watched two movers try to get a desk through the door of an apartment complex.

“Told you it wouldn't fit,” one of them said. 

“What do you want, a Pulitzer?” the other replied.

Dean’s mind was still racing over the situation, and you could very clearly see the wheels in his head turning. “And you think this cheesy-ass tourist trap has something to do with it?” he asked out of the blue. 

“Maybe it's the real deal, you know? The— the magnetic fields bending spacetime, or whatever,” Sam suggested. 

The older brother tsked. “I don't know, it all seems a little too ‘X-Files’ for me.”

“Well, I don't know how else to explain it, Dean!” Sam snapped. 

“Alright, alright, we'll go tonight after they close, get ourselves a nice long look,” Dean conceded. 

“No!” you cried, stopping in your tracks. “No! We can’t.”

“Why not?” he asked. 

“Because—!” You shook your head and looked away, unable to finish. 

“Because what?” Dean questioned. It dawned on him suddenly. “I die there?”

“Blown away, actually,” Sam muttered. 

“Huh. Okay, let's go now,” said Dean. He walked a few feet ahead of you and his brother and looked to his right. Before he could step out into the street, you and Sam grabbed him and pulled him back from nearly being hit by the car speeding past. 

“Stay out of the way!” the man driving the car yelled. 

Dean laughed, staring after the car, until he saw your and Sam’s faces. “Wait, did he—?”

“Yesterday. Yeah,” Sam nodded. 

Dean raised his eyebrows. “And?”

“And what?” you scoffed. 

“Did it look cool, like in the movies?” Dean grinned widely. 

Sam rolled his eyes. “You peed yourself.” He walked off. 

Dean immediately got uncomfortable. “Of course I peed myself. Man gets hit by a car, you think he has full control over his bladder? Come on!”

“You didn’t,” you told him. “And it did look like the movies.”

Dean smiled with boyish pride before holding you back while he looked both ways across the street. 

***

“Folks, I can't tell you how much I appreciate this. We could use all the good ink we can get,” the owner of the Mystery Spot told you. 

“How long have you owned the place, Mr. Carpiak?” Sam asked. 

“Well, my family's been guarding the secrets here since you don't want to know when.” Of course, he kept up the act. 

“So you'd know if anything strange happened,” the brunet continued. 

The owner chuckled. “Strange? Strange happens here all the time. It's a Mystery Spot.”

“What exactly does that mean?” 

“Well, uh, it's where the laws of physics have no meaning.”

Clearly, Sam was getting fed up. “Okay, like how?”

“Take the tour,” the owner grinned. 

“The guy who went missing, Dexter Hasselback, he take the tour?” asked Dean. 

The owner’s smile dropped. “Uh, uh, hold on a minute, what kind of article is this?”

“Just answer the question,” you demanded, patience wearing thinner than Sam’s. 

“The police scoured every inch of this place. They couldn't find that man. I never seen him before. We're a family establishment—”

You stepped to him, shoving the pen in his face. “There is something weird going on here. Now, do you know anything about it, or not?” 

The owner stiffened, staring at the end of the pen that he was keeping his distance from. “Okay. Look. Guys, um, give me a break. I bought the joint at a foreclosure auction last March, alright? Hell, I used to sell bail bonds.”

You continued to stare him down. 

“Okay, Anne Lewis, let’s get some air,” Dean grumbled, steering you away from the man. 

You weren’t angry at Dean, but you were upset with the entire situation. You shrugged Dean off as you hit the street outside. 

“Well, I hate to say it, but that place is exactly what I thought: it's full of crap,” Dean remarked. 

“Then what is it, Dean? What the hell is happening to us?” Sam argued. 

“I don't know,” he sighed. “Alright, let me just— So, every day I die.”

You nodded. 

“And that’s when you two wake up again, right?” 

You nodded again. 

“So let's just make sure I don't die,” Dean finished simply. “If I make it to tomorrow, then maybe the loop stops and we can figure all this out.”

“Just… that easy? I don’t know, Dean,” you shook your head. 

“It's worth a shot,” your partner shrugged. “I say we grab some takeout and head back to the motel, lay low until midnight.”

You nodded, hopeful and anxious. 

“Alright,” Dean beamed. “Who wants Chinese?” 

He started walking again and got two steps in before a falling desk crushed him completely. It felt like the air was crushed out of you, and you looked up at the movers from the window who’d dropped the desk. You dropped your head back and closed your eyes. 

“Heat of the moment,” Asia sang again. 

‘I’m gonna go fucking crazy,’ you thought, staring at the ceiling. 

“Rise and shine, Sammy!”

***

One-hundred Tuesdays. You’d been through one-hundred Tuesdays, and there was no end in sight. No matter what you and Sam did, talked about, or tried to change the daily routine, nothing worked. Dean had gotten food poisoning, been electrocuted, choked, been shot— he’d died every way you thought a person possibly could. 

You were so frustrated, you thought you were going to end up dying next by your own hands. 

The cashier was talking to an old man as you entered the diner. It was quite small, and the wood paneling on the walls was likely making the room feel smaller; just like yesterday. And the day before that.  

You found a booth and sat down, and Dean sat next to you. Sam sat across the table, somewhat between you and Dean on the opposite bench. 

Dean noticed a poster on the wall. “Hey, Tuesday. Pig in a poke.”

Sam placed a set of keys on the table; Mr Pickett’s, the man who’d hit Dean with his car on your second Tuesday. 

“What are those?” Dean asked, clearly bewildered. 

“The old man's. Trust me, you don't want him behind the wheel.” Sam’s voice was scarily devoid of emotion. 

The waitress, whose name tag read “Doris,” came up to your table. “You folks ready?”

Dean grinned. “Yes. I'll have the special, side of bacon, and a coffee.”

‘Hi, angel,” you said curtly. “How ‘bout you log in some more hours at the archery range. You’re a pretty awful shot.”

“How'd you know that?” she asked, looking both startled and hurt. 

“I’m not gonna answer that question,” you replied. 

Doris walked away from your table, clearly uncomfortable. 

“Okay, so you think you're caught in some kind of what, again?” Dean asked you and his brother. 

“TIme loop,” you and Sam answered in unison. 

“Like Groundhog Day,” Dean said, unsettled by you and Sam talking at the same time. 

“Doesn't matter. There's no way to stop it,” you and Sam said again. 

“What is wrong with you two?” Dean asked, looking between the two of you in concern and confusion. 

“This is the hundredth Tuesday we’ve been through, Dean,” you said. “And it never fucking stops.”

“Hot sauce,” you and Sam stated together.

Doris came back to the table with a tray with two coffees and a hot sauce. “One coffee, black, and some hot sauce for the—oops! Crap!” Sam caught the hot sauce bottle as it fell, and he didn’t even have to look at it to do so. His face was stony as he slid it across the table. 

Doris gasped. “Thanks.” She put down the bottle and left. 

Dean looked confused. “Nice reflexes.”

“We knew it was gonna happen, Dean,” you and the brunet continued together. 

“We know everything that’s gonna happen,” Sam said on his own. 

Dean scoffed. “You don't know everything.”

“Yeah. We do,” you argued. 

“Yeah, right,” the three of you droned together, you and Sam copying Dean’s dry tone. “Nice guess.” 

“It wasn’t a guess,” you and Sam said. 

“Right, you’re mind readers,” the three of you remarked. “Cut it out, Sam.” Dean looked to you. “(Y/N)!” you and Sam whispered sharply with Dean. “Stay out of this, (Y/N).”

Dean was growing frustrated, and the three of you leaned together to continue your memorized conversation. “You think you're being funny but you're being really, really childish!” You paused in time with Dean. “Sam Winchester wears makeup. Sam Winchester cries his way through sex. Sam Winchester keeps a ruler by the bed and every morning when he wakes up he—”

Dean threw up his hands. “Okay, enough!”

“That's not all,” you said. 

“Randy the cashier?” Sam continued for you. “He's skimming from the register. Judge Myers? At night, he puts on a furry bunny outfit.”

“Over there, that's Cal. He's gonna rob Tony the mechanic on the way home,” you nodded at the man.

“What’s your point?” asked Dean. 

“We’ve lived through every possible Tuesday,” you explained. “Sam’s ripped the fucking Mystery Spot apart, I burnt it down, and we’ve both tried everything we know to save your life.”

“But we can’t,” added Sam. “No matter what we do, you die. And then, I wake up. And then, it's Tuesday again.”

***

After finishing breakfast, you walked down the street hand in hand with Dean. 

“Dog,” Sam pointed out. 

A golden retriever barking pulled you out of your thoughts.

“There's gotta be some way out of this,” Dean exasperated. 

“ ‘Where’s my damn keys?’ “ you and Sam mocked Mr. Pickett. 

You passed him searching his pockets for the keys Sam stole. “Where’s my damn keys?”

Dean collided with the blonde girl holding papers and bustling past yet again. 

“Excuse me,” she said. 

Dean stopped walking. “Hey. All the times we've walked down this street, I ever do this?” He turned to go back to the blonde girl. “Excuse me, miss!”

You sighed. “No.”

The blonde gave Dean one of her papers which you knew was a missing poster for her father, Dexter Hasselback. You’d spoken to her before around Tuesday sixty-seven. 

The dog growled and barked at Dean, and this was exactly what you were worried about. You tried to hold the dog back, but it still brutally attacked Dean. You closed your eyes again, not even wanting to see Dean lying dead on the concrete.

“Heat of the moment.”

***

The cashier was talking to an old man as you entered the diner. It was quite small, and the wood paneling on the walls was likely making the room feel smaller; just like yesterday. And the day before that.  Everything was as it should be, but something was really bothering you you couldn’t quite put your finger on. 

Sam typed away at his laptop researching Dexter Hasselback having finally thought to do so when he got the chance over the last twenty or so Tuesdays.

You barely listened to the conversation between the two boys as you finished breakfast. When you got up from the booth, it dawned on you what was wrong. The man at the table next to you had used strawberry syrup. 

“What’s wrong?” Dean asked you. 

You saw the man who usually sat at that table passing by the diner windows. “He always has maple syrup.”

Sam caught on to what you were suggesting. “(Y/N), you’re a genius.”

“Someone wanna bring me into the loop, here?” Dean’s voice broke in. 

“Nothing ever changes here, Dean,” you said. “Just us.”

“Heat of the moment.”

***

You confronted the trickster, who, surprisingly, was the one you thought you’d killed back at that college. Somehow, though, he survived. 

“Why are you doing this?” Sam demanded, still having the trickster pinned to the wall with the steak. 

“You're joking, right?” the trickster snorted. “You chuckleheads tried to kill me last time. Why wouldn't I do this?”

“And Hasselback, what about him?” Dean questioned. 

“That putz? He said he didn't believe in wormholes, so I dropped him in one.” The creature laughed at his own joke. “Then you guys showed up. I made you the second you hit town.”

“So, this is fun for you? Killing Dean over and over?” you asked angrily. 

“One, yes. It is fun. And two?” He turned his attention away from just you to you and Sam. “This is so not about killing Dean. This joke is on you, Sam. Watching your brother die, every day? Forever?”

“You son of a bitch,” Sam growled. 

“And my lovely (Y/N).” The trickster zeroed in on you again. “Joke’s on you, too. But you… you’re a lot more fun to push to your limits than Sam is.”

“And why is that?” you snarled. 

“Because you’ll actually give me something interesting to watch. I can’t wait to see what kinda magic you make when Dean goes to Hell,” the trickster laughed. 

Despite how his words rattled you, you kept your face steely. 

“How long will it take you two to realize?” the creature continued to taunt. “You can’t save him. No matter what.”

“Oh yeah? I kill you, this all ends now,” Sam pushed back. 

The trickster’s smirk dropped. “Oh-oh, hey, whoa! Okay. Look. I was just playing around. You can't take a joke, fine. You're out of it. Tomorrow, you'll wake up and it'll be Wednesday. I swear.”

“You’re lying!” you sneered. 

“If I am, you know where to find me. Having pancakes at the diner,” he grinned. 

You looked to Sam, refusing to look at Dean and let him see the emotions swirling in your eyes. 

Sam kept his gaze on the trickster. “No. Easier to just kill you.”

“Sorry, kiddo. Can’t have that,” the trickster tsked and snapped his fingers. 

“Promise me, I’ll be back in time,” Huey Lewis & The News sang. 

You snapped up, back in bed in your motel room. 

“What, you two gonna sleep all day?” Dean asked you and Sam. He stood near the bathroom sink. 

“No Asia,” you breathed out.

“Yeah, I know. This station sucks.”

“It's Wednesday!” Sam exclaimed. 

“Yeah, usually comes after Tuesday. Turn that thing off, will you?” Dean asked, gesturing to the radio closest to you. 

Sam grinned. “What, are you kidding me? This isn't the most beautiful song you've ever heard?”

“No,” Dean snorted. “How many Tuesdays did you guys have?”

“Had to have been, like, one-hundred thirty,” you noted. “Hey, wait. What do you remember?”

“I remember you guys were pretty whacked out of it yesterday, and then, I remember running into the Trickster. But no, that's about it.”

“Alright, pack your stuff,” Sam asserted. “Let’s get the hell out of town. Now.”

“No breakfast?” Dean pouted. 

“No breakfast,” you smiled lopsidedly, kissing his cheek as you moved to the bathroom to get dressed. 

Dean headed down to the car while you and Sam continued to pack. A few minutes of silence passed between you and Sam before you suddenly heard a gunshot. 

Your heads snapped toward each other, and you were instantly speeding out of the door to see if Dean was okay or needed help. 

You hurried down the exterior motel stairs, and you made your way around the back of the Impala. To your horror, Dean splayed out on the ground with blood rapidly soaking his shirt. 

“Oh, god,” you breathed out, dropping to your knees and ignoring the gravel digging into your jeans. “No, no, no, Dean! Baby, look at me!” You pulled his head into your lap as you’d done many Tuesdays before. 

Sam was trying to close his eyes to make something happen. “I’m supposed to wake up. (Y/N), we’re supposed to wake up.”

Your heart dropped. “Somebody help!” you brokenly screamed, tears pouring down your cheeks. “Help us!”

***

Six months later, you were a shell of a human. No matter how many demons you hunted down, ghosts you’d popped, or monsters you’d slaughtered, you were unsatisfied. 

You hadn’t spoken to Sam in months. You hadn’t seen Bobby for even longer. It was lonely, but you only wanted Dean. Bobby left numerous voicemails, but you hadn’t heard from Sam. You figured he was doing just as well as you were. 

Sam had the Impala, and you kept stealing cars. The FBI was on your tail after St. Louis and Maryland and the bank robbery, and even more so now with your trail of stolen cars. However, you had gotten very good at leading them away. 

No wound you sustained was enough to shake your emotionless expression. You’d become a weapon; a mindless, killing machine. And you could only imagine what Dean was experiencing in Hell. That thought haunted you. You knew you had to get downstairs to help him some kind of way, but you hadn’t quite figured out how to ensure your one-way ticket to Hell. 

Well, you’d thought of a few possibilities, but you weren’t sure you were ready to do something that drastic. 

Another thing you were mulling over was what the trickster had said to you. “I can’t wait to see what kinda magic you make when Dean goes to Hell.” You wondered if this was what he was talking about. Was this what he’d imagined you’d be? Was there a worse fate to be discovered? 

Sleep was not your friend lately. You’d stay up rereading your journal entries from the years you’d spent with Dean and imagine the way your drawings would look in real life. If you couldn’t handle that as it was oftentimes painful, you’d just sit beside the window in the dark staring into the moonlight and imagine that Dean was sleeping in the bed across the room from you. 

A few years ago, you would have made fun of yourself for your life having fallen apart after the death of the man you loved. You were always incredibly independent, and this breakdown would have been incredibly out of character for you to act this way before Dean. 

Now, you sat at the table in the motel room illuminated by the lamplight eating takeout. 

Suddenly, the trickster appeared in front of you. “Holy Full Metal Jacket, (Y/N). Gotta say, sweetheart, if this is you now? I can’t wait to see the real deal.”

“What do you mean?” you asked, unsure what to do in this situation. You didn’t have a stake on hand, and you hadn’t really been paying attention to the trickster recently. You didn’t see a point in it given Dean was gone either way. 

“What, you really thought Dean was doin’ the hellfire rumba?” he tsked. “I gave you more credit than I should’ve, looks like.”

“Wait, this was all a trick?” You stood from your chair angrily. 

“Whoa there, Megan Turner,” he chuckled, holding his hands up in surrender. “Sam’s given me a deal. I’m here to put you two out of your misery.”

“Then why come and talk to me instead of just do it?” you asked. 

“Because! It’s more fun this way. It’ll be the last time I talk to you, hopefully. A little sentimental, no?” the creature smirked. 

You folded your arms. “Not really. But what do you want? Why stall?” “ ‘Cause I have a few parting words for you,” he replied. “You were a little quicker on the uptake than Sam to realize that you can’t save Dean from Hell. At least, not before he takes the plunge.” You looked at him in surprise. Did he know what you were planning to do?

“Yes, angelface, I know exactly what’s been swirlin’ around in that head of yours,” he continued without you saying a word to him. “And your little plan is bat crap crazy, but like I said before, I can’t wait to see what you do, kiddo. You’ve always been my favorite of the Three Stooges.”

It was as if your brain wasn’t quite processing what he was saying, and you just kept staring ahead with your arms folded. 

“Good luck out there, champ.”

“Promise me, I’ll be back in time,” Huey Lewis & The News sang. 

You snapped up, back in bed in your motel room. 

“What, you two gonna sleep all day?” Dean asked you and Sam. He stood near the bathroom sink. “I know, no Asia. This station sucks.”

“It's Wednesday!” Sam exclaimed. 

“Yeah, usually comes after Tuesday. Turn that thing off, will you?” Dean asked, gesturing to the radio closest to you. 

Tears rushing to your eyes, you leapt out of bed and ran into Dean’s arms. He made a sound in surprise but quickly returned your hug with your same ferocity. 

“Sweetheart, how many Tuesdays did you have?” he asked you. 

“Enough,” you muttered into his chest. 

“What, uh, what do you remember?” Sam asked, awkwardly standing near. 

“I remember you guys were pretty whacked out of it yesterday, and then, I remember running into the Trickster. But no, that's about it.”

Sam nodded. “Let's go.”

“No breakfast?” Dean pouted. 

“No breakfast,” you smiled lopsidedly, kissing his cheek as you moved to the bathroom to get dressed. 

“Alright, I'll pack the car,” said Dean. 

“Oh, hell no,” you replied from behind the closed door in the bathroom. 

“It's the parking lot, sweetheart.”

“Just— just trust her,” you heard Sam tell him. 

“Hey, you don't look so good. Something else happen?” Dean asked Sam. 

There was silence on the other side of the door for a moment. “I just had a really weird dream,” Sam finally replied. 

You could hear the smirk in Dean’s voice. “Clowns or midgets?”

Series Rewrite Taglist: @polireader @brightlilith @atcamillanorrman @jrizzelle @insomnia-bookworm @procrastination20 @mrs-liebgott @djs8891 @tiggytaylor @staple-your-mouth @jesstherebel @rach5ive @strawberrykiwisdogog @bruhidkjustwannaread @mxltifxnd0m @sunshine-on-marz @big-ol-boat @mgchaser @capncrankle @chervbs @simpingdeadcharacters @nesnejwritings @stillhere197 @tearsforhan @take-it-on-the-run @iloveyou2mia @maxinehufflepuffprincess @ohgeehowdigethere @seninjakitey @berarenado @s0urw00lf @princessleahorgana @quarterhorse19 @isla-finke-blog @silverdoragon @karacaroldanvers @gayandfairycore @examishbookwyrm @star-yawnznn @real-sharena-h @fandomloverrr @metalmonki @onlyangel-444 @yu-winchester @benniwiththefanni @daisychaingirl @immagods @missmieux @yoongi-holland @littledebbieinabigworld

[alexsoenomel]

POV: Texts between you and The Winchesters (group chat edition)

*at the bar*

*at the bar... again*

I will definitely make more

[take-it-on-the-run]

Rosyln

Dean Winchester x FreshlyTurned!Reader

It was supposed to be a simple hunt. Something to get the three of you back on your feet after a year of thinking Sam was dead and no contact between you and Dean.

Word Count: 2.1k

Tags: Vampirism, the reader is turned, angst, hurt/comfort, soulless Sam is slacking, blood, vivid descriptions of smell and pain, vomiting, illness comfort, Samuel Campbell (yes he is a warning he sucks), brief mention of the reader killing Dean

Characters: Dean Winchester, Soulless!Sam Winchester, FreshlyTurned!Reader, Samuel Campbell

Anonymous requested: "hi <3 wasn’t sure if I could request this or not, feel free to ignore if you don’t feel comfortable doing it, but can I request a hurt/comfort fic with dean :) like patching up an injury or smth, thank you !!!"

Read it on AO3!

A/N: Bon Iver + St. Vincent title. Okay, I'm going to preface this by saying this went a little off the rails from what the request asked for, and I hope that this is still generally within the realm of hurt/comfort. Thank you for the request anon, and if you don't think I quite hit the mark, I'm sorry. Other than the haywire writing, this was a ton of fun to write, and made me brush up on my season six lore. Every mistake is my own, heed the tags, and enjoy!

Dean Winchester Masterlist | Supernatural Masterlist | Main Page Masterlist

Blood ran down your chest and stomach, coupled with a hot, searing pain that pulsated from the side of your neck.

The barn you were in was slipping in and out of vision as you tried to focus on a small crack that ran through a few of the ceiling boards.

The reality of your life coming to an end in a barn on the outskirts of a small Midwest town crashed down on you.

It was supposed to be a simple hunt.

Something to get the three of you back on your feet after a year of thinking Sam was dead and no contact between you and Dean.

Rush the vamp nest, take them out, and torch the place for good measure.

It was a fairly simple plan, given the things you three had gone through over the past years. Ghosts, demons, and the damn devil himself. A plan that would’ve gone through perfectly if Sam followed through on his end.

You were supposed to go through one of the top windows, Dean through the front, and Sam the back.

You found two vamps up in the loft, swiftly cutting through the head of one before the other kicked you straight through the loft’s railing, landing on your back a floor below.

Before you could get to your feet, he was on top of you, yanking the machete in your hands and throwing it across the room. He brought his grotesque mouth to your neck, all sharp needles made of bone. The metallic smell of blood caked to the back of his teeth wafted over your senses.

You could feel the muscles in your neck drawing taught as his teeth attempted to rip out the soft flesh between your neck and shoulder. You tried pushing him off, but the harder you pushed, the more his jaw would close. The only thing stopping him from ripping your throat clean open was Dean running behind him and holding the vampire’s mouth open like a wild animal.

Through your drowning ears, you could hear Dean yelling for Sam to come kill the monster on top of you, but no such relief came.

You didn’t know where Sam was, but you knew Dean had a choice to make.

Either let the vampire’s jaw go, letting him yank your throat apart as he scrambled for a weapon to kill it, or continue yelling for his brother who was yet to be found.

Your eyes met his briefly through the struggle of his vice grip on your attacker. You could see confusion, followed by regret, flash in his eyes; like you were telling him it was one way or the other.

As strong as Dean was, you knew that he wasn’t strong enough to wait for Sam and still have the energy to hold the vampire on you.

He knew it, too.

You closed your eyes when you saw his hands starting to move away from the vampire’s jaw before they slipped off and he was out of your sight.

You didn’t blame him. It was a tough call to make, and if the roles were reversed, you were sure you’d make the same choice.

That’s the life, after all.

You were barely conscious enough to recognize Dean dragging you away to prop you up against a wall with a grunt. You heard the rotting door of the barn get kicked open, and you blinked your eyes open enough to see Sam finally make an appearance with the med kit that you stashed in the Impala.

“Where the hell were you,” Dean spit at his brother with venom. You heard Sam’s voice, but the words were garbled and you couldn’t put together what he was saying.

Your voice rattled a moan without your control, like a ghastly breath escaping your lungs in an attempt to cling to life. Their voices came to a hush as Dean returned to kneeling at your side.

“Hey, hey sweetheart,” his hand cupped the side of your face while the other remained pressed harshly on the gaping wound in your neck, “I need you to focus on me. Just keep your eyes on me, everything’s gonna be alright.”

You knew you were at the end of your blood tank; in reality, it was a miracle you were still awake at all.

Fuck.

You moved your jaw, Dean’s hand riding on the side of your neck in an attempt to keep the wound covered.

In no human realm should you be awake or alive in this moment.

But, as Sam shoved thick pads of gauze into Dean’s hands, you felt the world stop as a new smell cut through the one of your blood.

A deep, unsatiated hunger, as if you hadn’t eaten since the moment you were born, dawned on your tongue. It didn’t pile in your stomach like normal hunger; it coursed through your body, wracking you with the urge to find the source of the smell.

Dean.

The smell was coming from Dean.

You forced yourself away from him, kicking against the rickety floor of the barn as he looked at you in shock.

“What are you doing? You’re going to bleed out, please, I know it hurts, but…” his words died in his mouth as you slowly stood to your feet, feeling around the site of the wound. Your hand moved on your skin, slipping in your blood but not dipping against the gaping holes you knew should’ve been there.

“I need you two to back up away from me, please.” You stated as calmly as you could. Something was clicking in your jaw, and you guessed it was the new teeth forcing their way through your gums.

The two of the brothers stepped away, Sam a little faster than Dean, as you dug your nails into a wooden beam to stop your feet from moving.

You watched them from a distance, whispering to each other with occasional glances your way.

Dean took a step towards you, his hands in front of him cautiously as you firmly planted your feet to the ground.

“Sam says he and Samuel may know how to deal with this, he thinks they might have a cure. I’m going to grab the guy that turned you,” he turned to the body slowly, keeping eye contact with you, “and we’ll need you to come with us. Can you do that for me, sweetheart?”

You craned your neck to look around before your eyes were burned with the light creaking through the walls. It burned like the sun had come down to Earth and set it on fire, swirling up to your brain and distorting your thoughts.

“Dean,” you heaved out, planting your hands firmly over your eyes, “I don’t think-” your brain felt too light to form more words. Everything was too bright, too fast, too much.

Your body buckled at your hips as you heard one of the pair approach you. Hands lightly pressed at the backs of your legs, and you were swept off your feet.

When you woke up, you were sat upright in a chair, alone in one of the many rooms of the Campbell’s compound. You recognized it as one of the rooms dedicated to the many monsters the Campbell family took in; the barred door locked from the outside.

You gasped, holding back a gag as you tasted your rancid breath.

“Y/N?” You heard someone call out your name from down the hall, and you scrambled to the bars, wrapping your hands around them.

“Dean?” You called out with a weak voice. The owner of the voice turned down the hallway, revealing Dean’s broad figure walking swiftly to you.

He knelt in front of the bars, gaze sweeping over you, taking in your ragged appearance.

“Hey,” he said, voice low and steady. “How are you feeling?”

You laughed bitterly. “Like something chewed me up and spit me out.” The words felt strange coming out of your mouth, as if each syllable scraped against your throat, raw and foreign. You tightened your grip on the bars, the metal cold against your clammy skin.

Dean nodded slowly, glancing down the hallway where Sam and Samuel’s muffled voices were discussing… something. Something about a cure. A way out of this. But you could tell by Dean’s face that the chances weren’t great.

“Listen, they’re working on it,” he said. “Sam and Samuel think they might be able to stop this, to reverse it somehow. You just have to hang in there.”

You met his gaze, searching his eyes for any sign of certainty, anything that might give you hope. “And if they can’t?” Your voice was softer than you’d meant, but you had to ask. The hunger clawing at your insides was getting stronger, more insistent, and it terrified you more than anything else.

He exhaled sharply, pressing his forehead against the bars. “Then we deal with it.”

You felt a shudder run through you, half from fear and half from the hunger that twisted your insides at the scent of his blood. “Dean… you don’t get it.” You tried to explain the gnawing feeling, how you could practically taste his blood just by being this close. “I’m not safe, not like this.”

Dean’s jaw tightened. “Then I’ll find a way to make you safe. Whatever it takes.”

Just then, Sam and Samuel came down the hall, carrying an ancient-looking book and a glass filled with a thick red liquid. You guessed it had blood in it, by the smell, but various other scents in the drink made you want to double over. Dean turned, his face hardening as he looked at them.

Sam cleared his throat, glancing at you behind the bars. “We… we think this might work. The cure’s based on a blood transfusion from the vampire that turned you, mixed with some ingredients Samuel and the family found.” He met your eyes, his expression somber, with a blankness in his eyes. “It’s gonna hurt. A lot. But if you can make it through… there’s a good chance we can turn you back.”

With a nod, you stepped away from the door, allowing Samuel to unlock it with a key he pulled from his pocket. Dean stared at you intensely as Sam crossed the threshold into the cell. He handed you the cup and quickly stepped back out of the room.

Before either Sam had a chance to close the door again, Dean stepped in.

“What are you doing?” Samuel asked, creaking open the door so Dean would have the chance to leave.

“If this has the chance to kill her, I think we owe her enough to not let her die alone in a cell like some damn dog,” Dean said harshly.

Sam looked as if he was going to say something, but Samuel silently closed the door and locked it.

“Dean,” you groaned out, the ache of your new sharp teeth erupting past your gums making it hard to speak, “you shouldn’t have done that.”

“I know you, and I know that out of all of us, you’d be the one with the most control to not eat me alive.” He said wryly, sitting against the wall opposite of you as you leaned against it.

You smiled despite the pain radiating throughout your body. The drink in your hand smelled like blood mixed with something bitter that sat in the back of your throat. You looked a Dean for a moment, before raising the cup a little in a ‘cheers’ motion and starting to slam the liquid down.

It burned like the first time you drank booze, but there was no warm and fuzzy feeling when you finished. You coughed roughly, dropping the cup and leaning over to sputter your inside up. Dean moved to you within a second, hand holding your hair out of the way as you finally opened your eyes to see what was escaping you.

Blood.

Blood shot from your lips over and over, the only relief found in the form of Dean’s hand gently rubbing your back as your body purged the vampirism straight from you.

You didn’t know how long you spent ridding the disease from your body, but it was long enough to create a puddle of blood that soaked into the jeans you were wearing. You brought your nose away from the smell, not realizing that the hunger in you had finally stilled. Every inch of your body was stretched and burning, but the smell that Dean carried with him was finally gone.

He leaned back against the wall again, bringing you against his chest as he whispered near-silent words of encouragement and comfort. The two of you sat in that cell for what seemed like an eternity, not bothering to call out for anyone to let the two of you out.

[nelachu2423]

This is such a good series 😱

Can't wait for the last few chapters 😁

Soulmates? Yeah, right, pft. Master List

When you turn sixteen, and your soulmate's name doesn’t appear anywhere on your body that you can find, you figure you had to be the only person on the planet who didn’t have one. Most of the town shuns you, so you stick close to family. Your Aunt Ellen raised you after your parents died in a car crash when you were two, but what happens when the Winchesters return to town and buried secrets begin to come to light?

Pairing: Mechanic Dean Winchester x OC Reader/You

Each chapter will have its warnings posted. This is typical stuff when it involves the Winchesters, no matter what AU they are in, lol.

A/N: This is my non-Supernatural fic I'm attempting. Please let me know what you think, as I always love hearing from my readers. Not sure when this one will be up and available to read yet. Just getting the chapter list started for it.

Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8 Chapter 9 Chapter 10 Chapter 11 Chapter 12 Chapter 13 Chapter 14 Chapter 15 Chapter 16 Chapter 17 Chapter 18 Chapter 19 Chapter 20 Chapter 21 Chapter 22 Chapter 23 Chapter 24 Chapter 25 Chapter 26 Chapter 27 Chapter 28 Chapter 29 Chapter 30

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[inknopewetrust]

𝐍𝐞𝐜𝐭𝐚𝐫 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐆𝐨𝐝𝐬

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐓𝐰𝐨: 𝐀 𝐁𝐮𝐭𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐝 𝐓𝐨𝐧𝐠𝐮𝐞

𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: 𝐘𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐜𝐪𝐮𝐚𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐞 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐖𝐢𝐧𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐁𝐫𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐬 𝐠𝐨𝐞𝐬 𝐥𝐞𝐬𝐬 𝐬𝐦𝐨𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐥𝐲 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐧 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐚𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐜𝐢𝐩𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐝. 𝐁𝐮𝐭 𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐛𝐨𝐲𝐬 𝐟𝐢𝐧𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐦𝐬𝐞𝐥𝐯𝐞𝐬 𝐢𝐧 𝐚 𝐟𝐢𝐱 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐚 𝐝𝐢𝐬𝐠𝐫𝐮𝐧𝐭𝐥𝐞𝐝 𝐬𝐩𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐭, 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐦𝐚𝐧𝐚𝐠𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐬𝐚𝐥𝐯𝐚𝐠𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧 𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮’𝐝 𝐥𝐞𝐟𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐫𝐞𝐞 𝐲𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐬 𝐚𝐠𝐨.

[𝐃𝐞𝐚𝐧 𝐖𝐢𝐧𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐱 𝐅𝐞𝐦!𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫] [𝐰𝐜: 9.1k]

𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: 𝐥𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐮𝐚𝐠𝐞, 𝐯𝐢𝐨𝐥𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐞, 𝐝𝐞𝐬𝐜𝐫𝐢𝐩𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐢𝐧𝐣𝐮𝐫𝐲, 𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐬𝐭, 𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐩𝐨𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐛𝐥𝐞 𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠, 𝐬𝐩𝐨𝐢𝐥𝐞𝐫𝐬 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐬𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐨𝐧 𝟏 𝐞𝐩𝐢𝐬𝐨𝐝𝐞 𝟓, 𝐬𝐞𝐦𝐢-𝐜𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐧 𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐩𝐥𝐢𝐚𝐧𝐭, 𝐨𝐡, 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐬𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐨𝐧 𝟏 𝐃𝐞𝐚𝐧.

𝐐𝐮𝐢𝐜𝐤 𝐋𝐢𝐧𝐤𝐬: 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 | 𝐒𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐬 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 | 𝐏𝐫𝐞𝐯 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 | 𝐍𝐞𝐱𝐭 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫

In the entirety of Sam Winchester’s life, he’d always believed Dean to be a certain type of person.

A stereotype, a written-by-a-writer caricature of someone their father wanted him to be but underneath the grit, underneath the bloodied fingernails or the mud covered boots, Dean Winchester was as broken as the next sorry soul lined up on Earth’s surface.

Dean’s eyes were hardened. Ablaze with spite reserved for Sam’s misgivings.

“I hope for your sake I didn’t just hear what I think I did.”

The words rattled between Sam’s ears. Pinging back and forth like a bell awakening a mistake, or not, of the grandest proportions. But alas, they were still stuck. Dead ends meeting every street they drove onto and he was tired. Sam was immensely tired of finding nothing to sport the cause of finding John.

In response to Dean’s ire, Sam scoffed. A nervous half smile grew on his face as he tried to wipe it away with his hand. He shrugged his shoulders, deciding to toss the cell in Dean’s direction instead.

“So what,” Sam settled. “If you’re gonna be too much of a man to ask for help, then I’m gonna do what’s best for us.”

“We don’t need the help, Sam,” Dean stressed, his voice deep. “She isn’t going to help us.”

“Yes she will!” The laugh Sam had expressed returned. “We have known her our entire lives and she is more than cap—“

“You went behind my back, Sam!”

“Because it’s the right thing to do!” Sam shouted. “I don’t know what happened, I don’t know if I want to know but Christ, Dean, if you don’t start letting me have a say or choice in what happens, then I don’t know why I’m even here.”

Dean uncrossed his arms and threw them up in an almost-defeat.

“Fine,” he spat with spite. “When she gets here and everything goes to shit and you come running to me with an apology, I’ll just say I told you so.”

“Why do you have to be such a bitch about this?” Sam spoke before he could process the words.

Dean inclined his head, arching a brow at his brother. “What did you say, jerk?”

“You heard me.”

“I could clock you a real good one, you know? Have your brain playing ping pong while you try to tell me right from wrong.”

Sam tutted. “Yeah, I see why she left you. You’re an ass. She doesn’t deserve an asshole like you.”

It was so petty, so elementary of them. Flashing back to two boys arguing in a motel room or outside of their eighth high school about who got to go with Dad on his next “trip.” Nothing was normal–it was never normal

“You don’t get to talk about us, you got it?” Dean got defensive. A dark cloud formed over head in ire at Sam.

There were very few things in the world that made Dean’s fuse truly erupt.

“I don’t care if we grew up with her, I don’t care if we know her, I don’t care if everything goes to shit. You don’t get to talk about us.”

“Us? Dean, please.”

“You don’t know shit. You don’t know anything because you weren’t there. Instead you were saddling up to your big Ivy League pals and playing house with a big lie hanging over your head.”

“Stanford isn’t an Ivy League.”

“Oh fuck off, Sam!”

Sam knew he had crossed many lines in the last twelve hours. But he knew this one was one he’d try not to make the mistake of crossing again.

Beneath the destruction that internalized Dean’s shell, there was a man with a fractured soul. Sam wasn’t going to push it as far as he could have.

Sam backed off, walking opposite of Dean with an air that changed.

“Alright,” Sam resolved. “Fine. I’m sorry I went behind your back but she’s coming whether you like it or not so put on your big boy jeans and put on a fake smile because I’m not going to watch you mess this all up because you can’t get past an ex-girlfriend.”

“I am past her!” Dean let out a huff of frustration and turned back to the motel. “I’m done here—we’ve got work to do.”

“Wait!” Sam shouted causing Dean to turn around again. “Here.” He tossed Dean’s cell phone across the lot.

“It’ll be good for us. You’ll see.”

Dean shook his head, clutching the phone in his hand tightly as if it were a lifeline. A lifeline to the world then, and the world now. He may have been angered at Sam’s actions but he could never hate him for trying something he thought would be best even if it crawled underneath his skin and uprooted the foundation beneath his feet.

“Come on,” Dean grumbled. “We’ve got a coroner to see.”

The first flight available out of New York had two seats left unclaimed and by happenstance, the opportunity had given one of those seats to you. In the pressurization of the cabin, you felt the weight of choice begin to settle and the “what if’s” hadn’t reappeared but deepened fears of what would be the steps of the future beyond a case closing.

Flight attendants passed down the aisle for the short flight. One service, no chance for distraction. The old couple next to you kept to themselves as you attempted to edit work and keep busy but the inches in the air drew you closer.

Closer and closer and closer until there was nothing more than a static announcement of fifteen minutes to landing and within the next two hours, you’d be face-to-face with them.

And you’d be lying if the prospect hadn’t terrified you.

What it would be like to say hello again after the world stopped; splintering into a million pieces just to be taped together again somewhere else. To communicate and stand next to one another when you know there’s been others who have filled the gaps of the needs the both of you have.

To be strangers when you’d known anything but.

You weren’t someone to claim you had crippling anxiety when it came to the day to day. But the knowledge that Dean, Sam, and your past was mere minutes from meeting your eyes again caused your palms to sweat and heart to beat faster.

It would be okay, you reassured yourself. You’re being dramatic. It will be okay.

But when the plane landed you had a sudden feeling wash over you. How bad had the world gotten that Sam felt the need to call you? There were hundreds, thousands of other hunters who were better than you that could assist and yet Sam’s mind landed on you of all people.

A lowly, laughing stock of a reporter who was just trying to find her place in this messed up world.

Your skills were no different than their own, your knowledge of the world was no different than their own. Sure, you could work your way through stacks of papers in rapid fashion but you were no superwoman of the supernatural.

The seatbelt buckle light turned off followed by the echoing of clicks throughout the cabin. You kept on with the affirmations to calm nerves that bubbled when there was no reason for them to—at least that’s what you believed.

Then, the door to the cabin opened and there was no turning back now.

Text said ‘massive cerebral bleeding.’ Might have been a stroke, you were right. Going to the house now, address attached. -Sam.

You revisited the text message as the awkwardness of standing inside of the Shoemaker home had begun to set in. You didn’t know anyone, you felt more than icky having written a story that they all surely read about him, and Sam and Dean were yet to arrive.

If God was real, he loved to play cruel waiting games with you. Standing there alone, sitting with your thoughts of impending doom.

Maybe it was a mistake—answering Sam’s call and coming here.

You looked back on the two message text chain that had transpired while you were in the cab. First, Sam’s text of what the coroner tech had said which was their initial visit of the morning. There was no point in heading to the site with their conclusions already far from the truth of the matter. Second, you knew that already.

You had connections. You were a journalist after all… even if that word was exaggerated.

Aware. I’ll meet you at the Shoemaker’s. See you soon.

Beside the mantel in the living room, an old lady sitting on the couch kept glancing at you as you remained with your duffle bag strapped to your shoulder and eyes glued to your phone. There was nothing on it. No internet, no simple games, or music to listen to. She sipped her tea and cleared her throat.

“How did you know Steven?” Her voice was shrill.

You glanced up from the device to do a double take. A sweet smile, eyes probing for answers.

“M-me?” You questioned. As you looked around the room it had become obvious she was making conversation with you.

“Yes,” she continued to smile. “How did you know Steven?”

“Oh!” You gave her a small chuckle. “Work… you know, I am—was—the receptionist at the, um, front.”

“Was?”

“I was let go,” you fibbed. “But Steven was always so kind to me, so generous.”

She wallowed. “That does sound like him.”

“How did you know him?”

“He was my neighbor. Always helped shovel the sidewalks when it snowed.”

You hummed, looking for an escape. “Well—“ you began but trailed off as you eyes caught movement in the entry way when Sam, taller than you recalled him, walked into the room.

It had been three years. Three long years and he had just begun college the last time you had talked to him. As he looked around the room, he passed over you at first. It didn’t surprise you. You hadn’t seen him in years and people change even if it feels like they don’t. Your hair was done differently, your clothes a bit too refined compared to the girl he knew but his eyes snapped back to yours in seconds after they had passed.

Sam loved you like a sister. If it weren’t for Dean, if it weren’t for Bobby, and if it weren’t for you, then he wouldn’t have had the small taste of life he’d once longed for. He cherished it. Although the months had been long and the trials had been testing, seeing you alongside the fireplace felt like the puzzle pieces connecting again. Even if he’d rather not revisit the distant past.

You smiled at him. Eyes gleaming with a joy you had to dig up from within you and then, you gave a small wave. Your hand dropped when Dean followed him in.

In the gloom of circumstance, Dean Winchester still held an aura around him that shone brightly even in his own darkness. Eyes gravitated toward him like magnets. The ones that fluttered, the ones that rolled, they were all the same because it was hard to see anyone else when he was in the room. Sam’s small grin fell as the look on your face deflated to one he couldn’t read. Dean had looked forward into the hallway only to recognize they were severely underdressed.

He turned to blab about it to Sam but he could sense the air around his brother had changed drastically from two seconds before they entered the doorway.

“I think—“ he too was caught in his tracks.

Dean’s eyes didn’t pass you up like Sam’s did, they never could. There, in your professional attire and far more formal than he, Dean felt the air inside of him get sucked out. The quiet exchanges turned into his ears ringing; the clattering of forks against plates became his heart thumping mercilessly against his chest. He couldn’t smile nor could he jest although the situation called for neither.

But Dean could feel. He always felt something even if he attempted to bury it beneath a façade.

He could feel a pain that was itching to emerge. This pulsating, burning flame carrying through his arms and legs and heart and mind and settling somewhere in his stomach where it sat uncomfortably waiting to be heard. Dean knew from the way you looked that he didn’t know you as he once did. That time and space and situation had led you both down two very different paths that have no reattached to one another.

The feeling was mutual.

As you looked at Dean in his brown jacket and muddied shoes, you recognized him as half of the man you knew. You weren’t sure if the one who had led you to the edge of a cliff was still inside of him, time would tell, but he looked like it. The blasé nature of his stance to his face; you could hear the strings of your heart telling you that it was still there and that at twenty-six, he still hadn’t figured it out.

What it was… life? Love? The world? You couldn’t be definitive in codifying the story of Dean Winchester’s life if he didn’t want you there.

Movement to Dean’s left broke your trace of him. Sam shifted his hand out of his pocket and motioned for you to join them to which you hesitated and to Dean, that small, short second that lingered between yes and no hurt even if he had no right to be offended by it.

Everything had been his fault, in the end. He was stupid—he was twenty-three and the mistakes at twenty-three were different from the choices he’d make now.

But your feet did move. They carried you to Sam who held open his arms and hugged you tightly, gently rocking you from side to side in jubilance. Your head rested against the side of Sam’s chest and found itself in an unpleasant position to looked right at Dean who shoved his own hands inside of his jacket pocket and watched you watch him.

He wasn’t sure what to say.

“It’s good to see you,” Sam said. “How was the flight?”

“Fine, Sam,” you replied slightly muffled from his coat. “You got tall.”

“I was tall before.”

“Yeah? Well, you were just a baby then.”

“A lot’s happened since,” Sam pulled away but his hands remained on your shoulders. He felt the bag strap and pointed to it. “I’ll take this to the car, alright?”

“Oh!” Your eyes flickered between the brothers. “No! That’s—“

“No, it’s no problem. Just hold on-“ he grabbed the bag from you and backed away. “I’ll be right back!” His own gaze fluttered between you and Dean before leaving out the door they had just walked through.

In an instant, you were alone with Dean in the presence of strangers. He had buried his hands inside of his pockets but they remerged as Sam left out of sheer nervousness. Dean was fidgety and flighty; he peered at you as you gaped in a disbelief at Sam’s boldness. His tongue stuttered to make out the words his mind was racing to speak of—a butchered tongue severing his ability to voice anything welling up inside of him.

You wet your lips that had quickly gone dry. It was hard to look at him. It had always been hard to look at Dean because you could never think straight when you did. When you bore into his eyes and felt your soul bleed into his, there was no turning back to the world of before because there was no point. Dean was one of a kind. He was he one to take you to hell and ascend you to heaven and send you spiraling in the space between.

“Hi,” your mouth was moving before you had a chance to speak. You turned to the side to face him more directly. “I—yo—it’s good to see you, Dean.” His name sounded like a choir of angles on your tongue.

“Yeah,” his voice had grown more deep over the years. “It’s ah,” he cleared his throat, “it’s good to see you too.”

His fingers twitched to touch you. To wrap themselves around your shoulder and pull you in close. To feel the weight of you leaning into him; the smell of your hair underneath his nose, or the feel of your fingertips digging into his skin when everything became too much.

Dean’s initial anger had long subsided. He wasn’t angry at you or Sam but himself. It was always at himself—the rage manifested itself onto others instantly in ways he couldn’t take back. It was his biggest fault, amidst his biggest faults.

“I’m sorry about your dad. I’m sure he’s out there somewhere.”

Dean wasn’t sure if you were really sorry. You’d made it increasingly known in the last few instances he had seen you that you hated his father immensely. Sure, John wasn’t the most personable and Dean would never let the complaints against his father stand if it was anyone else. He’d understood in his own way Sam’s disagreements but he could never, through the veil of his own prejudice, see why someone like you could hate John so deeply. He’d never considered the influence of Bobby and how different everyone had been treated by the two elder males in your lives.

“Thanks,” he accepted. Eyes flickering around your face to drink in all of the features he had seen in his dreams and in his nightmares. The ones he could vividly trace and the ones that had melded together in time. You’d done the same to Dean.

“We’re doing all we can to find him.”

“And that’s why Sam’s with you now?”

“Yeah,” Dean nodded. “New York better than Sioux Falls?”

You shook your head. “Nothin’s better than Sioux Falls… but I think you knew that answer.”

“So,” Dean’s words lingered. There was a nicety about the formality of the situation. You couldn’t swear at him in front of all these people, he couldn’t raise his voice and argue back. He couldn’t point fingers at the why without causing a scene. “The New York Times?”

“Mhm,” you hummed. “I guess I made it to the big leagues.”

“I guess you did.”

“You know,” your eyes glimmered in a way he disliked. It was that cunning, irritated glare that caught him in all of his bad moments. “You’d be surprised what people can do when they’re not doubted by those close to them.”

Dean let out a heavy sigh, gaze going stern and jaw flexing in frustration. He said your name as gently as it could come out and shifted, moving a step closer to you. The space shrunk. The room became small and the world closed in on the two of you still standing in the foyer for all to see.

“Please,” Dean muttered. “Don’t.” A warning of kind.

You looked him square in the eyes. “Do you just want me to ignore it?”

“Now’s not the time,” his brows lifted as if it were obvious. “I’m sure we can have a great talk in the back of my car after this is all done—“

“God, Dean,” you scoffed as he eluded to something more. “Can you for once just talk to me like a normal person?”

“Am I not?” A creased formed as his brows furrowed deeply. He leaned into you, back slightly hunched as his voice became more intentional in tone. “I wasn’t implying that—“

“Yes you were. You always do.”

“So now what? You don’t like my personality?” He accused and you would have laughed if the conversation weren’t hushed.

“You are the most ridiculous person I’ve ever met, you know that?”

“Ah,” he grinned. “I think I’m a lot of things but that may be the least of my qualities.”

“It would be at the top of the list with: self-centered, asshole, and ch—“

“Don’t even say it,” Dean did end up pointing a finger at your face. “I didn’t cheat on you.”

“Oh really?” You inflated. “I’m sorry, what was her name again… Cassandra… no… Cassie? Or was it Lis—“

“We were on a break!” Dean emphasized with both his hands. “You said we were on a break, sweet—“

“Oh, Dean, don’t say it.”

“Hey!” Sam’s voice cut through the fog that had permeated around you and Dean. He gave a strained, sorrowful chuckle and snapped the both of you out of the haze. “Hey guys… you know we are in public, right? People can hear you.”

You shook your head at Dean, looking away from him and down the long hallway to the door of the backyard. He burned a fire inside of you that could never be extinguished. You’d learned that the long and hard way over the most pivotal years of your life. You were entwined by this invisible string. The world would always draw you back together even if the states and time zones separated you.

It was the cruelty of living, you supposed. Dean Winchester needed to grow up. He needed to look into a mirror and for once not see the man he performed for, but the one that burrowed inside.

“Yeah,” Dean spat in his own way. “Let’s get this over with huh? Think you can act, sweetheart? Or is that not part of the deal with Sammy?”

Sweetheart.

Oh, Goddamit, Dean.

You turned back around to look at Sam and Dean.

“I can act just fine, handsome.” Dean bristled. “Start with the daughter first,” you suggested. “She’s the one who said it.”

Bloody Mary is folklore.

Bloody Mary is legend.

But like all of the elements of your life, the line between fact and fiction is nonexistent. It’s always been blurred where you half-thought you were crazy when Bobby took you on your first hunt and it was a poltergeist terrorizing a college dorm not far outside of Madison, Wisconsin. So rattled from the sight of a ghost, Bobby had you sit out any further hunts for a whole year until Dean had convinced you that remembered the “training” that filled the odd-ended free time of your childhood, nothing bad would ever happen.

You nearly lost a finger on the next trip.

You’d learned that it was natural—the danger. It had thrilled you for a while. The chasing, the friendships, the romanced infused within the quiet moments. You were living one giant movie that never seemed to end until it did. Until you got sick of feeling like every corner you turned would be the last and the tether between Dean and yourself was a mere thread of the rope it once was.

Yet in the back of Baby’s cab, you’d nearly forgotten about the danger of it all.

Sam had thrown your bag in the back haphazardly which bent the pages of your journal. Like all organized hunters, the journal you kept was far cleaner and succinct than the boys’ fathers. Bobby had encouraged you after a few years of consistent encounters that keeping log of the solutions and history would find its purpose eventually. Stored in the back of your closet, you had to dig deep to find it buried underneath old birthday cards and dried up flowers.

“Did your dad have anything on it?” You asked as the rumble of the engine nearly silenced you. Sam was flipping through John’s journal as Dean drove faster than the speed limit of the neighborhood.

“No,” Sam replied loudly. “Nothing more than the original tale. Doesn’t seem like he ran into this much. I would’ve thought kids summoned it more than they really do.”

“Maybe they do,” you closed your journal and leaned forward. Settled your arms between Sam and Dean, you rested your head on your entwined hands. It was a strange feeling. Content and familiar.

“What if it doesn’t attack everything that it’s summoned by?”

Dean looked at you through the rear view. “What do you mean?”

“Any kid growing up having a slumber party is going to play that game. It’s a classic! I’d be like—“

“Not having a pillow fight in your underwear?” Dean smirked.

You narrowed your eyes as Sam shook his head disapprovingly. “They’re kids, Dean. That’s disgusting.”

“That is not what I meant,” he defended fiercely but you knew that. He was talking about you, not them. You talked over his defense instead.

“What if it’s target isn’t just some random kid or person doing it? It has to have a motive. Everything has a motive.”

“So there’s a reason Mr. Shoemaker was killed and not his daughter,” Sam clarified.

“Bingo, Sammy,” you smiled at him.

“Since when is it Sammy?” Dean asked you and Sam groaned as though it was going to lead into a fight. “Only I call you that.”

“If there’s a reason he was the target, then he might not be the only one going to be killed by her… or it, or… do we even know if it’s actually the legend? What if it’s not even her?”

“Are we all too afraid of saying ‘Bloody Mary’?” You asked them but both shook their heads.

“We don’t know anything about why Shoemaker was attacked so maybe don’t go saying it so freely,” Dean reminded everyone, however, in particular you.

Sam hunched over and pulled open the glove compartment to scour maps that nearly vomited on the floor as they flooded out. He easily located the one he was searching for.

“Do either of you have a computer?” You wondered before falling back against the bench.

“Gonna write a story?” Dean was unimpressed through the mirror. “We kinda got a case on our hands.”

“Oh, really?” You feigned oblivion. “I had no idea.”

“How’d you know about this case anyway?” Dean inquired. Sam glanced at his brother who sat with one arm extended over the wheel, driving it with his wrist, and the other slightly perched on the front bench. Even with the overcast sky and the chill of fall settling in, Dean radiated a coolness Sam never could achieve. Casual, striking. He tired greatly of the fawning his brother received in the eyes of any of the women they came across on a hunt and thought maybe that would settle with the emergence with you. It didn’t, nevertheless, as the Shoemaker girls and their friends immediately perked up at the sight of him.

The only difference of their interest remaining is that when Dean opens his mouth, he often forgets circumstance. He’s not as empathetic to strangers as Sam was and when obliged, he makes asinine commentary that is sure to drive any suitable woman miles away. You stayed for a long time, he supposed. But maybe that was a fault of space, time, and job.

“I have my sources,” you replied passively.

“And that source is?”

“None of your business. I don’t see why it would be.”

“Well if you haven’t noticed sweetheart, we’re all kind of on the same team here. It’d be nice to know a voice on the inside.”

“It’s not someone,” you rolled your eyes and looked at him dead-on in the mirror. “When you have a badge and name and credibility through a publication, it’s a lot easier to get information out of people. I don’t need to bribe them or flutter my eyelashes to get what I want.”

“That badge would have been a little helpful with Mr. Intern at the morgue.”

“So you do need my help then.”

“No,” Dean pursed his lips. “I think we’d still manage just fine without you.”

“Guys!” Sam interjected loudly. Your eyes snapped to the back of his head, Dean went silent.

“Sorry Sam,” you sighed. “Maybe this wasn’t a great idea.”

“You think?” Dean scoffed.

“I think,” Sam began, “that there’s something bigger than all of us out there right now and we need to find it before it hurts someone else. I don’t care if you two are mad at each other for eating the last slice of cake but for my sake, please, just try to be civil. There’s no point in arguing when it won’t solve anything.”

“Ok, Nietzsche. Whatever you say.” Dean gave in too quickly.

“There’s a library off Stanley and Cross. They’ve probably got more than one we could use.” They did not have any to use.

Sam had always been leveled headed but being inside of the car, walking beside the two of you was driving him near insane. It wasn’t normal. It was a chance he had taken that he regrets in the slightest as the now major inconvenience of the library having no working computers spiraled into a “why are you even here” and “we don’t need you here” dialogue shouted in the small space once more. His head beat with a pounding headache as Baby’s rumble roared toward the motel and you muttered into the books checked out from the not-so-tech-savvy library.

The youngest Winchester couldn’t fathom how differently you and Dean treated one another. There would be an infrequent comment of civility and then in a turn of a word, a dark cloud would form over your heads. It’d sprinkle a shower of memory rain and drag the both of you back to things that either should have been solved years ago or menial pettiness that had no need for the spotlight in the ring.

When the three of you returned to the motel, Sam used that headache as an excuse to flop down onto the bed and try to rest. Dean didn’t object to it because he knew that Sam wasn’t getting the sleep he needed and wanted him, more than anything, to get a good nap in. He wouldn’t be helpful if he was running on energy drinks or coffee. His body needed the rest whether he liked it or not. With Sam on the bed, you settled at the table and laid out the books before you in a way that made sense to only you.

Methodical, measured. It was a researchers way of doing the digging.

Dean took the seat across from you as Sam fell asleep on one of the beds. You looked at each other, half-illuminated by the curtains that let the sun in and the lack of lights that colored the room, and fell into silence.

Silence for the first time since you’d reacquainted with each other that morning.

You both opened your books and got to work.

Sam had been out of it for two hours.

The silence had overtaken the room besides the infrequent groans Sam let out as he dreamt. It was difficult to ignore. You’d always known Sam to be level headed and sound in his actions. Nothing he did in his life haunted him. It wasn’t the same to Dean—who had been having nightmares like that all of his life and you’d more than once woken him up from those terrors.

Dean’s eyes never strayed far from the books or his brother.

You turned a page. In your own journal, you took note of the different methods people had been found dead beside a mirror in the town. There was no continuity, however. Nothing matched and Dean was finding only dead-ends as well.

Sam made a noise again. Dean’s eyes didn’t lift this time, but yours did.

“What happened?” You looked at Dean with a pencil pushing into your cheek. “This isn’t like Sam.”

Dean glanced up at you but returned them quickly to the book he was losing interest in. “Nothing.”

“When he called me, he had said something happened. He wasn’t in school anymore.”

“He’s not.”

“Why?”

Dean looked up fully from the book and locked eyes with you. They had always pierced right through you. His green eyes were so bold and beautiful. Either it be relishing the way they shone in the light or the way they nearly changed a shade in the night, they encapsulated what it felt to be the item in his line of vision.

“Sam,” he talked low and quiet. “He had a girlfriend at Stanford, Jessica.”

From the morose way he spoke, you knew it ended poorly.

“And from what he’s said she was great. Really liked her and they were living together and made a whole life for themselves…” he looked over at Sam’s sleeping figure. “Something killed her—the same way it killed our mom.”

Your heart skipped a beat. “You mean…?”

“Whatever killed my mom is still out there? Yeah, it is.” Dean tapped his pencil on the book roughly. “It got Jessica a few days after I showed up and Sam and I had gone on a hunt together. My dad left a trail, left the journal for us to find.”

“There’s no way it wasn’t intentional,” you interjected. “Whatever it is.”

“No,” Dean agreed. “I’m sure it was. Everything about it was the same.”

“I take it Sam’s not handling it well?”

“Do any of us?” That may have been the smartest thing Dean had said all day.

“Any leads?”

Dean shook his head. His eyes bounced around your face and sitting figure.

“What?”

“Nothing.”

“Dean,” you stressed. “I can see the smoke coming out of your ears. You’re not a quiet thinker.”

“The gears are rusty, that’s all.” You smiled at his joke and he wanted to frame it.

“So, what?”

“Nothing. It’s really nothing.”

You sighed heavily and closed the book in front of you.

“I’m just surprised you actually came, that’s all.” His clarification was filled with holes. He wasn’t truly surprised. He had wanted you to come even if he said he didn’t. “It’s been a long time.”

“Sam was frantic on the phone—or at least came off that way. He practically begged me to come.”

“I don’t think anything we’re facing here is normal.”

“Nothing about this is normal.”

“I mean,” he took one of his legs and crossed it over the other, ankle resting on his thigh. “The frequency, the type. Every town or place we’ve gone to feels like it’s been dialed up to one-hundred. It’s manageable but it’s different. It’s different from when we were kids.”

“Maybe we’re just getting too old.”

“Twenty-six? Hardly.”

“Just wait until we’re thirty, Dean,” you imagined. “It will be a challenge to even get out of bed.”

“Now who’s the dirty one?” His eyes gleamed.

“I didn’t—“

“Mean it that way? I know. I was kidding.”

“I know.”

A lull hung over your heads again until Sam gasped for air and woke with a start. If you hadn’t been so accustomed to nightmares and the relief waking up from them brought, it would have startled you. Sam breathed deeply. His heart racing in his chest as his mind tried to erase the images of Jessica on his ceiling ready to burn. This time, it had been blue. Hotter and meaner than all the rest.

“Why’d you let me fall asleep?” Sam’s voice was grovely as he stared up at the popcorn ceiling.

“Because I’m an awesome brother.” Dean sighed. “So, what’d you dream about?”

“Lollipops and candy canes.”

“Yeah, sure,” Dean pandered to you as if to say ‘see, he’s struggling.’

“Either of you find anything?”

You shook your head.

“Oh, besides a whole new level of frustration? No. We’ve looked at everything.”

“Suspicious deaths, murders, anything you can name, nothing. It’s like we’re investigating a brick wall.” You glanced at the journal before you. “A few names but no Mary’s. Suicides but nothing with the eyes.”

“Whatever’s happenin’ here… maybe it just ain’t Mary,” Dean suggested as Sam’s phone rang.

Sam glanced at the caller but didn’t recognize the number. He answered with hesitance but his eyes quickly hardened and the stern, serious Sam returned. The caller on the other end must have been as frantic as the way his eyes ping ponged between you and Dean.

“Yeah, alright… we’ll be right there.” Sam hung up the phone and sprung from the bed.

“What? Sam. What is it?” Dean asked.

“That was Charlie—one of Donna’s friends.” Donna, the daughter of Steven. “She said that one of the girls who was at the repast, Jill, was found dead with her eyes gone. She’s pretty stricken about it.”

“Did she find her?” You began to get up from your chair but Dean held a hand out to say ‘stay.’

“No,” Sam shrugged on his jacket. “But she wants to meet us at a park. She doesn’t think it’s normal either.”

“Ok let’s go,” Dean rose from his own chair and when you tried again, he did the same thing.

“I’m not a dog, Dean.”

“You’re staying here.”

“Excuse me?” Your face contorted into anger. “What do you mean I’m staying here? Isn’t this why you called me?”

“I didn’t call you,” he pointed at Sam. “But we can’t multitask. Keep looking. We know it’s not local, right?”

“Right,” you agreed. “But now it’s managed to kill another person here so maybe it is.”

“But it’s never happened before Shoemaker.”

“So… imported? Maybe not ‘you-know-who’ but a witch? Maybe a coven out for revenge?”

“No,” Dean shrugged on his own jacket. The leather was more worn but it still fit him like a glove. “It’s gotta be the mirror.”

“It’s a summoning tool?”

Dean snapped his fingers. “Just keep digging. I’ll call you if we find anything.”

You didn’t have it in you to argue. You simply nodded and watched as the brothers gathered their things and slammed the door too loudly on the way out. Baby came to life and in an instant, you were alone in a motel in Toledo, Ohio.

The days moved fast in Toledo.

Dean had called not three hours later with the knowledge that Bloody Mary had written the name of someone on the back of Jill’s mirror. You dug into the name who turned out to be a boy killed in a hit and run that was never solved to which Charlie inferred was likely Jill’s car. Helping Sam piece together that this spirit may be out for revenge, the three excluding you attempted to uncover Steven Shoemaker’s secret as well—killing his wife.

And as the sun went down and the static of the motel room began to eat away at your exclusion, you sat on one of the beds with your foot tapping anxiously. The phone in your hand twisted and turned and flipped open and closed repetitively until you finally had the courage pick up the phone and select the contact.

He didn’t like using the phone beyond emergencies.

Was this an emergency? An emergency of your sanity, perhaps.

“Hello?”

“Bobby?”

“Hi,” you could hear the raspy chuckle on the other end. “How you been, kid? It’s been a minute.”

“A couple weeks, yeah… I’m in Ohio.”

“Ohio?” You could hear Bobby perk up on the other end. The ugly wallpaper on the wall across from you suddenly became the most interesting feature of the room. “What the hell are you doin’ there?”

“Did you know Sam was hunting with Dean again?” You asked him.

“You’re with the Winchester boys? Oh, honey,” you weren’t too fond of that nickname either. “You with Dean again?”

“No!” You said louder than you should have. “No, God, I was wondering if you could help us. We don’t have the internet here and I need you to look up some transactions.”

Bobby hummed on the other line and began processing through the request as he tried to make small talk even though he hated it. He wasn’t a chatty man. Far from it, in reality. But he was a figure of comfort you all depended greatly on.

“How’d you end up there?”

“Sam called,” you laid back on the bed with a flop. “Somethin’ real bad happened to him, Bobby, and I’m not sure we know the width of this mess. The stories I’d been hearing from Ellen were too much for my editor to sell to my bosses. It doesn’t surprise me but it’s scary.”

“Everything’s scary,” he replied. “It’s why we do this whole thing.”

“It’s a different kind of scary, I guess.”

“Where are the boys?”

“Not around.”

“And they dragged you out there just to leave you behind?”

You turned over. “I think that was Dean’s doing. He’s been… Dean.”

“I could kick his ass for you.” You laughed on the other end and smiled.

“That’s alright,” you settled. “I’m sure some haunt will do it for me.”

You could hear his fingers rapidly typing away on the computer. Bobby was the best in the game. You’d been lucky to grow up in his company with him peering over your shoulder and encouraging you to do what you wanted to. He was the first in line to dry your tears as a twelve-year-old girl with a little heartbroken from a schoolgirl crush and the one to stand back and watch you weave your own battles against a man he’d consider as close as he could to be a son.

“And how’s that been? It’s been what, a day?”

“Barley two.”

“Did you think it was going to be easy? I mean, you’re just kids. I wish you would have told me that you were going. I would have met you and softened the blow.”

“You can’t fight all of my battles for me, Bobby.”

“Maybe,” he shrugged on the other end. “Doesn’t mean I can’t help wade you through them.”

“I specifically remember you tellin’ me that you wanted to hear nothing, and I repeat, nothing, about it and by it I mean me and Dean.” You sat back up at the sound of the rumble of the Chevy. “I think this conversation is going to get cut short here.”

“They back?”

“Affirmative,” you rose from the bed and peaked out the small window beside the table. Dean pulled Baby into park and you could see their defeat. “Got anything for me?”

“A buyers receipt,” Bobby began.

“Digitized?” You interjected.

“Would you let me finish?”

“A purchase was made a few weeks ago from an estate sale of ‘Mary Worthington’s’ brother. Same name of the woman from the police report.”

“So we’ve got our Mary,” you sighed. “Where was it sold?”

“An antique store in… well, I’m sure you can guess where.”

“Toledo.”

“Seems like it hasn’t been sold yet either. Just waiting.”

The door to the motel opened with a start. Its creepy hinges groaning as Dean and Sam entered the small room. Dean clocked you beside the table on the phone holding your finger at your lips. He peered back at Sam who couldn’t provide him any more answers.

“Can I get the address?”

Biting open the pen cap from the table, you took note of the address quickly.

“Alright,” you huffed. “I’ve gotta go.”

“Be safe alright? And keep Dean on a leash.”

“You know that sounds weird coming from you, right? And I don’t have any kind of power like that.”

Bobby scoffed from the other end. “I just don’t need to see you that way again, alright? Either of you, for that matter.”

“Yeah,” you agreed solemnly. Dean leaned against the table with his hip as Sam took a seat on the bed he had claimed as his. “We’d rather not relive that too. I’ll stop by when this is all over, before I go back.”

“Go-“

“Now’s not the time. I’ve gotta go. Bye.”

You hung up before Bobby could protest. Turning the journal in Dean’s direction, his eyes flicked from you down to the pages.

“Sun’s going down. Is this gonna be a friendly visit or one that requires me to disable to alarm?”

“Neither,” Dean pushed the journal back to you after reading the address. “You’re not coming.”

“Dean,” you lamented. “You can’t call me here and expect me to sit out on this. Just let me do all the heavy lifting and you boys can go be the ‘man?’ No.”

“I didn’t call you hear—just in case you didn’t remember who’s voice you heard on the other end. That’s Sam’s fault.”

“Sam, come on…” You pandered. “I might be a little rusty but I’m not a fool. I know how to handle my shit.”

“We don’t think you’re a fool,” he said your name with such a wallowing sigh that not even his bangs could hide the apology.

“No,” you disagreed again. “I don’t care if you’re a little too big in the britches to have me on a hunt. I am going whether you like it or not.” You moved to exit the corner you had found yourself in and Dean blocked your way. “Get out of my way, Dean.”

“If you can say no then I can too.”

“You’re being ridiculous about this.”

“It’s dangerous.”

You laughed and his head tipped back in annoyance. “Dangerous? Oh my, you really have lost it haven’t you? Come on, Dean. We’ve been on plenty of hunts together and plenty have gone right. This is easy. Smash the mirror or perform an exorcism or make her face her own reflection I don’t care. She’s gonna come after all of us because we’ve all done shit we’re not proud of.”

“You could get hurt,” Dean suggested and Sam threw his head in his hands. He loved his brother dearly but knew he’d just dig himself in the hole further.

“I truly have no words to even answer that one.” You’re eyes were steely and hurt. “We could all die tomorrow but you’re so desperate to let me stay here and feel like a fool for coming to help…”

“Fine!” Dean huffed. “Fine! You can come. But I don’t want to hear it from you or Sam or goddamn Bobby that it’s my fault if you end up in stitches.”

“Fine!” You agreed. “I’ll dig my grave, Dean. But it’s time you accept your own too. Things happen for a reason—you can’t stop them. If I was meant to be here, then let me be here.”

“So we’re going with fate,” he nodded his head, putting his hands back into his pockets. “Fate brought you here to help us and now you’re going to save the day.”

“Maybe your life too but you probably wouldn’t accept the fact that I can do that. Doubt is kind of your M.O.”

Dean stepped closer to you and the gap became a sliver. Sam stood from the bed and mumbled “guys, guys, guys” over and over until you cut him off with “I’m a girl, Sam.”

“If we don’t hurry up, an innocent girl is going to die.”

“Not so innocent if she is a target then, huh?” You reminded him.

“It’s not her fault. It isn’t, I promise. But she doesn’t deserve to die and I think we can all agree that whatever the hell you want to say to each other can wait just a few hours more so we can save an innocent, or more, people from dying.”

Sam pleaded with his big brown eyes and a fragment of hope as the sun finally set behind the three of you in the window. You swallowed your words and peaked at Dean to see he had done the same—a small concession of the evening.

“Alright,” you nodded your head at Sam. “Let’s go kill a ghost.”

With all of the hunts you had gone on within the last near 15 years of your life, Sam and Dean Winchester always left you in a burning pain. Whether it be your back or your head or your hands or your heart, no hunt was the same but the outcome was a long list of memorable feelings.

In the mirrors of the antique store, your reflection reminded you of it.

“If we break all of these,” you asked Sam, “do you think we’ll have bad luck.”

“We already have pretty shit luck,” he laughed. Maybe, for the first time in awhile. “I can’t imagine it’d be any worse.”

Reflecting lights from the flashlights beamed off the mirrors like disco balls. It was beautiful, in its own sight. The rain pattering on the windows; each drop mimicking the time ticking away at the clock of a girl’s life or more. Your shoes pattered on the floor as each mirror passed turned out to be the wrong one. Dean went in his direction, you in yours, and Sam in his. Someone would find it and the first one to do so would summon Mary to end this all and if luck, while shit, was on your side, then it would be over for this town and what would have been the next.

It dawned on you too late that you hadn’t disabled the alarm.

“Fuck,” you muttered as you turned back around and gasped at the sight of Dean following you around. “Goddamit! Are you stalking me?”

“You said I have an M.O. but you’re the one with a catchphrase. We’re not on T.V., try to be less predictable.”

“You’re insufferable. Go help find the mirror—we have a job to do, remember?”

“Why were you turning back? Too frightened?”

You wanted to slap him. “What is your problem with me? I didn’t do anything wrong here, Dean!” You made your way around him and went for the alarm. It was giving off a red flashing light.

“You forgot the alarm?” Dean stressed and aligned himself with the wall as the light of a police cruiser came into view. Sam’s smashing of another mirror boomed in the background. “You had one job, sweetheart.”

“It’s kind of hard when you’re breathing down my neck like that,” you put the flashlight between your teeth. “Go solve it.” The police were out of their vehicles now. Dean didn’t budge. “Do you want to the girl to die? Go solve it!”

“Shit,” Dean said quietly as he walked around you. “I forgot that I liked it when you’re bossy.”

You could barely get out the ‘oh my God’ before he was out the door and putting on a display. The smashing in the background had ceased but Sam could handle himself—you thought. Dean’s fake chuckle leaked through the crack in the door before the sound of bodies hitting the pavement passed over the lights of the cruiser. You opened the door with the sound of the bell.

“Now they’ve seen your face.”

“We will be gone in the morning,” he shook out his fist. “Come on. Sam already found it.”

“What!?” You exclaimed. “Did he summon her?”

“Yes!” Dean squeezed past you and the feel of his body against yours was jolting. “Hurry up!”

You locked the front door and ran after Dean who bolted through the store. Sam’s painful grunts were echoing through the corridors; the cluttered corners were nothing but the sounds of a mimic calling back out to Sam with affirmations of evil. Dean’s long strides had taken him further than your legs did you. He slammed his tire iron into the mirror that had Sam in a vice.

The glass shattered everywhere and while Dean cradled his brother’s head, rising him to his feet again, you caught up to find Mary crawling out of the mirror. The hairs on your arms stood tall. Tingles sent a shiver down your spine.

“Oh my,” you put both of your hands on the backs of Sam and Dean. Sam crumbled to the floor, followed by Dean who began to hold his head in his hands. The cool blood of your body began to seep through your eyes and streaks of red tears painted your face.

You weren’t dying today.

The pain struck inside of your head. A piercing, heavy hand squeezing your brain wracked its memories in pictures to find the ones you were least proud of. It was your fault. It was your fault.

“The mirror-“ you fell beside Dean. You weren’t dying today. “Dean, the mirror.”

Make her face her own reflection. You didn’t read about it and Bobby didn’t tell you to find a reflection. It was a last second Hail Mary that this Mary couldn’t survive. Dean lifted the mirror with as much strength as he could garner to hold it out in front of him.

In an instant, the pain ceased and the tears stopped falling.

Mary’s reflection soured. Her own words that haunted her victims played for her like chorus calling her to Hell. She fell apart touching her hair in agony; sorrow of her actions swiftly transformed her from victim to perpetrator. Absolved of herself, Mary Worthington died for good. She was at peace and so were the ones she had taken down in her own pain.

Dean tossed the mirror to the side which caused the glass to smash with the other hundred mirrors unsalvageable in the store. He laughed about it, falling to lay on his back in exhaustion beside you in the middle and Sam to your left. His head turned and peered at you, then Sam.

“This has got to be about six-hundred years of bad luck.”

Sam sighed and closed his eyes. You couldn’t help but grin. You shifted your head to look at Dean who was already staring. Rusty and unable to follow one simple task, you were a liability.

But you had saved the day.

It was your suggestion to hold up the mirror after all.

“Thanks,” Dean offered. You smiled tightly. It didn’t really reach your eyes and Dean could see it. He had planted the seeds of doubt and knew it was half his own fault. “And I’m sorry.”

“It’s alright,” you played it off.

“No,” he said more firmly. Sam let a sly smile fade onto his face as he listened with his eyes closed. “I mean it. I’m sorry.”

“Yeah… me too. I mean, what would you have done without me?”

“You ruined it, you know that?”

“Eh,” you wiped the side of your cheek with the back of your hand and smeared the blood across it. “That just means we’ll have to do this again.”

“What happened to flying back right when this is over?”

There was a glimmer of hope inside of the antique store that evening.

“I think they’ll be fine without me for a few days.”

[wildwestdean]

impetus

summary: dean gets targeted by a witch while working a case, and she curses him to yearn for what he secretly loves the most. it seems to have no effect, until it's pointed out that he can't seem to stay away from you - but what happens when he tries to fight it?

pairing: dean winchester x female reader

word count: 9.4k+

warnings: violence, hunting/working a case, mentions of murders, gore, evil witches, reader and dean get attacked, swearing, alcohol consumption, angst, fluff, yearning, mutual pining, idiots oblivious to their own feelings, magical curses, hallucinations, nightmares, depictions of death, depictions of drowning, fighting/arguments, heart-to-heart, confessions, use of [y/n], nicknames, mature themes

“Right, well, this isn’t creepy at all,” Dean declared, rolling Baby to a stop before switching into park. 

You both sat quietly as you surveyed the desolate building, a feeling of unease washing over you. 

“Maybe we should wait for Sam,” you suggested half heartedly. He was only down at the Sheriff’s station, and it wouldn’t even take ten minutes for him to meet you here, but you knew Dean wouldn’t wait. 

“No,” he said, confirming what you already knew. “Someone else is missing and this is our best lead so far. If you don’t want to go in, that's fine, but I am.” 

“I’m not letting you go in there alone,” you snapped, sitting up as tall as you could despite the pit forming in your stomach. 

“Awe, you worried about me, sweetheart?” Dean teased, turning to look at you with a grin; one that was effectively wiped from his face when he saw the look in your eyes. “Hey, what is it?” 

“I don’t know,” you said honestly, shrugging lightly. “I just have a bad feeling about this.” 

“Bad feeling like what?” he questioned, his brows knitting together. 

You thought about it, trying to pinpoint what it was you felt, but you couldn’t. “Just…. don’t go wandering off,” you ended up saying- begging, more like. 

“Alright,” he agreed easily. “We stick together, and we’ll be in and out before you know it.” 

“Right,” you confirmed with a nod. “Let’s gear up.” 

You exited the car as quietly as you could, making your way around to the back as Dean unlocked the trunk and propped up the panel to the arsenal.

“You and Sam better be right about this,” he muttered, digging out the box of witch-killing bullets. 

Your mind raced through the details of the case: An exsanguinated priest, a dead nun with her tongue ripped out, the president of the high schools abstinence club found without a heart, and various livestock missing various body parts - if this wasn’t a witch, you were a little scared to find out what else it could be. 

“We have to be,” you breathed out, loading your ammo. 

“Can you do me a favour and sound at least a little confident?” he asked playfully, lightly nudging your arm with his own before tucking his gun into his jeans. 

“Sorry,” you said sheepishly, holstering your own gun. 

“It’s alright,” he said earnestly, handing you your favourite knife (one that used to be his before you claimed it as your own). “I’m just not used to seeing you so spooked.” 

You couldn’t help but chuckle quietly as you took the knife from him. “I’m not used to feeling spooked.” 

“We’ll make it through,” he consoled, closing up the trunk. “Just like we always do.” 

“Just like we always do,” you echoed with a nod, following him towards the building. 

The overgrowth brushed your calves as you made your way up the walk, and after a quick survey of the facade, Dean swung the door open after picking the lock. 

“Wait!” you hissed, stopping him before he entered. “Sam does know we’re here, right?” 

You watched as his shoulders shrugged before stepping inside. “Probably.” 

“That’s… comforting,” you sighed, following him across the threshold. 

The two of you did a quick preliminary sweep of the main level before making your way to the top floor, finding nothing of significance in any of the rooms. Making your way back down, you both stopped dead in your tracks as you heard a clatter come from beneath you. 

“Of course there’s a basement,” Dean whispered. “Why wouldn’t the creepy ass witch be in the creepy ass basement of this creepy ass house?” 

“How do you know she’s a creepy ass witch?” you teased, raising an eyebrow at him. “Maybe she’s hot. Or a guy. Or both.” 

He faltered over his response, considering your words for a moment. “I’ll bet whatever tab you drink up at the bar once we end up ganking this bitch. She’s creepy.” 

“Deal,” you grinned, wiggling your eyebrows at him. 

You both chuckled, before another noise from the basement drew your attention back to the case at hand. Dean awkwardly cleared his throat before leading the way in search of the basement entrance, using the occasional noise as guidance. 

“God, I hate witches,” he muttered to himself, slapping away cobwebs as he descended the stairs. 

“I don’t think the witch put those webs there,” you said with a snicker. 

“No, they’re just the one turning this rotting corpse of a house into a lair of evil and despair,” he hissed. 

You rolled your eyes in response, unable to stop the fond smile from creeping onto your face as you made it to the bottom of the stairs. 

A muffled cry caught your attention, and Dean spared you a quick look before running in the direction it came from, you hot on his heels. Coming up on a corner, he slowed to a halt and peered around the wall. 

“It looks clear,” he decided after a moment. “Just be careful,” he added, continuing on his way. 

Upon turning the corner, you were enveloped in the warm glow of candles, which would have been nice, had it not been for the rest of the scene. An altar lay at the far wall, burning candelabras stood in each corner of the room, and the very person you were searching for was bound and gagged in a chair in the middle of the room, surrounded by a circle of candles. 

Dean cursed and muttered under his breath, surveying the room. “I’ll get him, you get the altar.“

“Okay,” you agreed, running across the room. Once you reached the altar, you couldn’t help but stare in shock and disgust for a moment as you took in the sight; all the missing body parts seemingly staring back at you from where they lay soaked in blood. It took Dean shouting your name from across the room to bring you back to your senses, and you quickly upturned the altar as Dean instructed the now freed man to get out as fast as possible and wait by the car. As soon as the contents of the altar were scattered, an ear piercing shriek came from behind you. 

Quickly whirling on your heels, you were greeted by a cloaked figure, who seemingly came out of nowhere. 

“What have you done?” she screamed, dropping her hood as she stared daggers into you. 

“Oh, I’m sorry,” you feigned innocence. “Did I ruin your big plan?”

“You ruined everything!” she shrieked, slowly approaching you. “You’ll pay for this!” 

“Yeah, I don’t think so,” Dean called out from behind her. 

“Do you have any idea how long I’ve waited for this?! How many centuries passed by until the circumstances were right? I had it! I had it all! I was one spell away from seeing my love again!” she continued to scream, advancing further towards you as she ignored Dean.

“Back off, Grunhilda!” Dean roared from behind her, drawing his gun. 

“No!” she shrieked, barely lifting her hand in order to easily swing his gun away - and stop you from drawing your own. “You stupid little gnat. You think you can just come in here and mess with things you don’t understand? You think you can take this from me?!” 

Her shouting was drowned out by the sound of your own heart pounding in your ears, your entire body feeling like it was on fire as your throat constricted, the air leaving your lungs and not returning. You felt your bones cracking beneath your skin as your feet left the floor, and you shared a look of terror with Dean before black began to cloud the edges of your vision. 

Without an effective weapon handy, Dean rushed the witch and tackled her to the floor, sending you crashing down. You met the concrete with a thud, and it knocked the rest of your senses out of you. You laid there for who knows how long, fighting off the waves of pain and nausea, willing yourself to move as you listened to the struggle happening a few feet away from you. 

By the time you managed to prop yourself up, Dean was pinned down as she advanced on him, and you desperately looked around for either of your guns. 

“Do you have any idea what it’s like?” you heard her ask, menace laced deep in her words. “To want something so desperately, to feel that desire within your very soul?!” 

Dean struggled against her hold as you struggled to pick yourself up, to at least crawl to a weapon if you had to.

“Well you will,” she sneered, cackling to herself. “You’ll know how it feels. To have what you want the very most to be so close to you, to have it at the edge of your fingertips, only to never be able to grasp it! For it to be the only thing you can think about!”

“Shut the hell up,” Dean seethed through clenched teeth, glaring at her. 

She only stepped closer towards him, cackling to herself. “Your strongest yearning, hidden deep in your heart, will nevermore be yours to part. Be it with sun or with rain, that which brings joy won’t be without pain.” 

“You finished yet?” Dean interrupted, before he had the wind knocked out of him, rendering him silent. 

Moving as quickly as you could without being noticed, you closed in on Dean’s pistol while the witch carried on. 

“Whatever you crave you cannot say, yet you’ll seek it out be it night or day,” she continued, hovering over him. “Consider yourself lucky, you useless toad. I’ve had countless lifetimes yearning to see my love again, and I’ll spend lifetimes more. At least you only have this one measly little life to yearn for what you want.” 

Grasping the gun in your hands, you carefully rose to your feet and steadied yourself to take aim. “Man, you really do talk too much,” you huffed out.

The shot rang out just as she turned towards you, though it was silenced by a roaring wind that accompanied a bright blue light. Within seconds, everything was calm and quiet again.

Fighting every urge you had to collapse back onto the floor, you trudged your way over to Dean in an attempt to help him up. 

“God, I told you she’d be creepy,” he gasped out, groaning as he stood. 

“You want a prize?” you asked incredulously, staring up at him. 

“I wanna get the hell out of here,” he said, ushering you to take leave. “Then I want those drinks you owe me.” 

After what felt like another entire day, you and Dean had dropped the victim off at the hospital, patched each other up, cleaned out the basement, showered, and filled Sam in on everything that went down. 

“So… she cursed you?” Sam asked curiously, trying to understand. 

“I dunno. She tried to, I guess,” Dean replied nonchalantly. “But [Y/N/N] put a bullet in her. No witch, no curse, right?” 

Sam shared a brief look with you, before turning back to Dean. “Yeah, but… there was no body.” 

“What?” Dean asked gruffly. 

“The witch,” you said. “I shot, but she vanished. What if she isn’t dead?” 

“Well, I feel normal, so I’m gonna say she’s dead,” Dean declared with a shrug. “Now, can we head to the bar? I’m in desperate need of a drink… or twelve.” 

Without waiting for an answer, he quickly stood and donned his jacket before looking back at you and Sam. “You guys coming or what?” 

“Oh, do I have a choice to not go?” you asked playfully.

“You can stay if you want, but your wallet comes with me,” he replied, smiling innocently. 

“Alright, let’s go,” you said with a dramatic sigh, grabbing your own jacket. 

Not long after, the three of you were sliding into a booth in the nearest dive, enjoying the lack of people; you guys seriously needed to decompress. 

“Alright, I’ll be back,” you declared, hopping out of the booth to get the first round of drinks. 

“Make sure you get a tab started!” Dean jokingly called after you. 

You flipped him off in response, taking a seat at the bar after placing your order. While you waited, Sam watched as Dean grew more restless in his seat. 

“Dude, what the hell is your problem?” he finally asked, eyeing Dean as he fidgeted anxiously. 

“What?” Dean asked cluelessly, glancing around the bar. “I’m thirsty. She’s been gone for what, like, half an hour?” 

“It’s… barely been two minutes, Dean,” Sam informed him with an amused grin.  

“Yeah, well. I want my beer,” Dean mumbled, tapping his fingers on the table as he glanced around once more. “I’m gonna go see if she needs help.”

Before Sam could even reply, Dean was already halfway across the bar, meeting you just as you got your final drink. 

“Need a hand?” Dean asked cheerfully, his sudden appearance making you jump. “Sorry,” he added with a snicker. 

“Dick,” you muttered with a laugh, hopping down from the stool. “Here you go,” you added, handing him his beer.

“Awesome,” he beamed, taking the bottle from your outstretched hand. 

He followed closely as you made your way back to the table, handing Sam his drink before sliding into the booth; Dean followed suit, leaving you nestled in between him and the wall. 

The three of you had a few more rounds before Dean slipped away, determined to teach a lesson to the arrogant ass harassing players around the pool tables - just because you didn’t need to hustle people anymore didn’t mean it wasn’t still fun every now and then. You watched him fondly, laughing quietly to yourself as you watched him fumble around with his cue before making a terrible break. Harder than it looks, you could just hear him say. 

Your attention was turned back to Sam when he cleared his throat, and you were met with his questioning gaze. “Does he seem weird to you?” 

“Weird how?” you asked, face scrunched in confusion. 

“I don’t know, strange,” he replied with a small shrug. “Like- like antsy or something.” 

Your eyes flit back across the room to Dean, who was very much in his element as he upped his ante, before focusing on Sam again. “I haven’t noticed anything, Sammy.” 

He sighed in resignation, seeming to already know that would be your response. “It’s probably nothing, just forget I said anything,” he replied, shaking his head dismissively before finishing his drink. 

“If you say so,” you muttered quietly, sipping your drink as you cast a worried gaze across the bar, getting lost in thought.

By the time you each finished another round of drinks, Dean made his way back over to the table; much to the surprise of you and Sam. 

“Done so soon?” Sam questioned, raising an eyebrow at his brother. 

“Yeah,” Dean shrugged, sliding back into the seat beside you.

“But you only played one round,” you said quizzically. 

“So?” Dean wondered, gulping down the rest of his beer. 

“So, you usually play a lot more than that,” Sam pitched in, shifting his gaze between you and Dean. 

Dean sighed, his bottle clanging on the table as he set it back down. “Why am I getting the third degree here? I played a game, he learned his lesson, I got over it. End of story.”

“Okay, grouchy,” you snickered, ruffling his hair a little just because you knew he hated it. Except he really did love it when it was you doing it.

“Whatever, anyone want another round?” he asked with a huff, lightly swatting your hand away. 

“No, I’m gonna call it a night,” you admitted, shifting to slip your jacket back on. 

“Yeah, me too,” Sam declared, starting to stand from the table. 

Dean stood as well, assumingly just to let you out. “Alright, let’s go.”

You and Sam both stilled in your movements at his response, sharing a shocked look with each other. “You’re… coming with us?” 

“Why wouldn’t I?” he asked with a scoff, shrugging his jacket on as he looked questioningly between you and Sam. “Seriously, what the hell is wrong with you guys?”

“We just didn’t expect you to call it a night so early,” Sam explained helplessly. “Gettin’ old, huh?” he added, trying to lighten the mood a little. 

“Yeah, I mean, you barely even wracked up a tab!” you declared with a laugh, before grinning mischievously. “Drinks just don’t agree with you anymore, do they, old man?”

Dean scoffed and rolled his eyes, fixing his collar just to busy his hands. “Okay, alright, one more wisecrack and I’m leaving you both here.” 

Despite the finality in his tone, the amusement dancing in his eyes gave him away - as did the hand he extended to you to help you slide from the booth. 

“Whatever you say, grandpa,” Sam teased, patting Dean on the shoulder before walking away with laughter in his wake. “I’ll be outside!”

You chuckled in response, and the stern look Dean gave you only made you laugh even more. “Yeah, yeah. Hurry it up, chuckles,” he chided, wiggling his fingers at you. He surveyed the bar as you finally took hold of his hand, sliding out from your seat with ease and standing before him. “Ready?” he asked, gaze turning back to look down at you. 

“Yeah, I just gotta go pay,” you replied, nodding your head in the direction of the bar counter. 

“Alright,” he said with a nod. He gave your hand a squeeze, though instead of letting go like he normally would, he held it firmly as he led the way across the bar. 

You followed along quietly, trying your hardest to not read too much into it. Though when you stood before the bar and he had yet to release your hand, you gave him a puzzled look. “Did you wanna go get the car?” you asked hesitantly. 

He looked confused for a moment, as if he wasn’t entirely sure what was going on either, before he cleared his throat with a curt nod. “Yeah. Yeah, I’ll meet you out there. Don’t take too long,” he rushed, giving your hand another fleeting squeeze before shuffling away. 

Strange, you thought briefly, before shifting your attention to the bartender before you. 

As you paid the tab, Dean settled into the driver's seat of Baby, and Sam watched him impatiently drum his fingers against the wheel as he hummed along to whatever song was in his head; and he couldn’t help but snort a laugh as Dean checked his watch one, two, three times since getting into the car. 

“You’re ridiculous,” Sam chided with a laugh, shaking his head. 

“What?” Dean inquired, annoyance clear in his voice. 

“Dude, please tell me you see what’s going on,” Sam pleaded. 

Dean widened his eyes in confusion, glancing around the near empty parking lot before looking back at his brother. “What’s going on?” 

Before Sam could reply, their attention was caught by the opening of the bar’s door when you emerged from the building, a grin forming on your face as you caught sight of them waiting in the car. 

Dean matched your grin, quickly reaching for the door handle and scrambling outside. “There she is!” he greeted happily, opening the back door for you. 

“Fucking idiot,” Sam muttered to himself, staring out the window with an amused grin as you and Dean settled into your seats. 

The three of you made it back in no time, and, having to settle for a single bed when first getting to town over driving for another who-knows-how-long just to find another motel, shuffled out of the car and into your shared room with heavy feet.

“Finally,” Dean muttered with relief, shutting the door behind him as Sam took a seat. “Whoa, whoa,” Dean barked, holding up a hand. “What’re you doing?” 

Sam froze just as he sat on the bed, staring up at his brother. “What?” 

“That’s my bed,” Dean declared with a huff. 

“No, it’s not,” Sam answered with a scoff. “It’s your turn for the couch.” 

“Dude, I’m not sleeping on the pull-out!” Dean declared with finality.

“What, are you kidding me?” Sam asked incredulously. “You got the bed last time!” 

“Yeah, and I just got ragdolled by a crazy ass witch, I deserve a mattress!” Dean argued, stepping towards the bed. “Get up.” 

“No,” Sam argued stubbornly, relaxing further atop the sheets. 

“You guys are ridiculous,” you said with an exasperated sigh, walking across the room. “I’ll take the couch.” 

“Not a chance,” Dean denied, not even sparing you a glance. 

“What, why?” you asked in confusion. 

“First of all, I’m not sharing with Sam,” Dean replied, turning to look at you. “Second, you got it worse than I did. I’m not shoving you on a pull-out.” 

“Oh, please-” you started to argue, before he cut you off. 

“I patched you up myself, [Y/N]. Don’t bother trying to lie to me,” he cautioned. 

You opened your mouth to argue once more, but the look on his face stopped you short. “Whatever,” you mumbled, turning towards the bathroom. “I’m getting ready for bed. Figure this out before I get back so I can actually go to bed, please.” 

The bickering resumed as you quickly retreated, shutting the bathroom door on Dean’s disgruntled declaration of “best two out of three.”

By the time you re-entered the room, you were met with silence. Surveying the surroundings, you found Sam digging through his toiletries bag while sitting in his original spot on the bed. Your gaze snapped over to the couch, where Dean sat looking like a kicked puppy. 

“You went with scissors again, didn’t you?” you asked, raising an eyebrow at him. 

He met your gaze as Sam snickered behind you, causing his face to sour even more. “Shut up,” he mumbled before standing, bristling past you with slumped shoulders. 

You chuckled quietly to yourself and grabbed the spare sheets, quickly making up the pull-out for Dean while he got ready; hopefully he’d be a little less cranky about it all if this was at least already done. 

Once finished, you made your way over to the bed and curled up under the covers. After saying a quick goodnight to Sam, you were asleep before Dean even left the bathroom. 

Fear gnawed at Dean, his body frozen in place as a cold spread through him, panic clinging to him like ice. He tried to call out to you, but all that left him was a strangled breath as his lungs seized up. He watched as the waves carried you away, further and further from where he stood. By the time his legs finally moved to carry him closer to shore, his feet were so heavy it was as though he was wading through quicksand. 

“No, no, no,” he pleaded quietly, watching as the waters edge never grew near no matter how far he ran. 

Your voice cried out to him, surging him forward even faster as you drifted ever outwards, terror seeping deeper into his bones with every futile step he took.

He couldn’t reach you. 

He couldn’t save you. 

The realisation that you were gone caused his world to come crashing down around him as he fell to his knees. A roaring filled his ears, and he didn’t know whether it was the irascible water that held you captive or the blood racing from his pounding heart. 

As he stayed there - watching the crashing waves for any sign of you, listening for a call of his name, unwilling to move for fear he’d miss you - the water suddenly crept up around him, as if to mock him. 

The sky darkened as he let out an anguished cry, his voice blending in with the storm beginning to brew around him. Yet despite the deafening howls, he heard it clear as day: your voice, calling out to him.  

“Dean.”

The world stilled around him once more, your voice ringing out in a whisper as gentle as the wind. 

“Dean.” 

He stood, frantically searching the horizon for you. He tried to call out, yet his voice still never came. 

“Dean!” you called out, voice booming like thunder from above. 

A small hand gripped his own, pulling him so forcefully he was yanked off his feet. He let out a startled cry, a spark of lightning igniting so brightly before him that he screwed his eyes shut. 

“God dammit, Dean!” 

Another force shook him, and when we reopened his eyes, he was met with the suspiciously stained ceiling of the motel room. He bolted upright, heart hammering against his chest as he looked around. He caught your worried gaze as he wiped the sweat from his brow, trying to steady his breathing as you leaned in closer. 

“[Y/N?]” he gasped out, pushing himself further upright.

His hand reached out automatically, fingers tentatively brushing against your cheek as if to evaluate your solidity. When he was satisfied that you wouldn’t evaporate, he surged forward to wrap you in a desperate embrace; the icy grip of terror finally starting to melt. 

“It was just a nightmare, De,” you soothed quietly, tracing a hand along his back. “Everything’s alright.”

“Yeah,” he said tightly, swallowing the lump forming in his throat as he let you go. “Yeah, it’s fine. I’m alright, get back to bed.” 

“You’re okay?” you questioned, concern laced in both your face and tone of voice. 

“I’m okay,” he affirmed with a nod, casting his gaze aside so you wouldn’t see the panic still swirling within him. 

“Okay,” you said softly, placing a gentle kiss upon the crown of his head before standing from the edge of the pull-out. 

Dean got up after you to grab a glass of water, his heart jumping in his chest as he remembered the sight of you being ripped away by the current. 

“Just a nightmare,” he reminded himself under his breath. “Just a nightmare.” 

Not having slept another wink after his nightmare, Dean was unsurprisingly the first one up the next morning. Taking it upon himself to get breakfast for the three of you, he found himself at the nearest diner waiting for his order. 

Drumming his fingers impatiently on the sticky linoleum counter, a burning desire to call you began to build within him. Knowing you were likely still sleeping, he decided to busy himself with a stupid game you downloaded on his phone. 

Yet the urge to reach out to you grew tenfold as he sat there, a sinking feeling that it might mean you were in danger starting to take hold of him. Just as his mind began to swirl with questions of what the hell was going on with him, he heard your voice calling his name. 

His head snapped up, expecting to see you sliding onto the stool beside him, ready to give you hell for walking here in search of him all by yourself in a random town. He figured you must’ve known he was here, and it wouldn’t have been a far walk from the motel, but it was still stupid.

Though the words died on his tongue as he realized you weren’t there, and that familiar feeling of dread trickled through him after scanning the diner and not finding you anywhere. 

Another voice called out, this time the waitress, announcing that his order was ready. He met her smiling face with nothing but confusion, her smile faltering for a moment.

“Everything alright?” she asked hesitantly.

“Huh?” he asked, before snapping out of his daze. “Oh, yeah. Just a little too early for me. Thanks-” he paused, squinting to read her name tag. “Thanks, Edna,” he charmed, flashing his signature grin as he gathered the order. 

“Anytime, sugar,” she charmed, her smile perking back up as she sent him a wink. 

With one last - albeit awkward - grin sent her way, Dean quickly left the diner; already feeling lighter for knowing he’d be back at the motel soon. His grin only grew when he glanced across the street and caught a glimpse of you staring back at him, proving that he wasn’t crazy and you really did come to meet him. 

He took a step forward, intending to call out to you, when a truck drove by and blocked you from sight. The grin was wiped from his face and the coffee tray nearly slipped out of his hand when he noticed you had completely disappeared in its wake. 

Fearing the worst once more, he scrambled into the car and quickly called you, firing Baby to life as the line rang. 

“Hey,” you answered with a stifled yawn. “Please tell me you’re getting breakfast. And coffee.” 

“Yeah, I-” he faltered in his response, having to let out a breath of relief as he realized you were safe and sound. “I’ll be back in a few, you and Sammy still there?” 

“Where else would we be?” you asked with a giggle. 

While the sound would normally bring a smile to his face, your words only caused a frown to appear. “You only waking up now?” 

“Don’t judge me,” you teased. “It’s only… ten after seven, I barely slept in.” 

“Just not used to being up before you,” he lied, knuckles turning white as he gripped the steering wheel. 

“Miracles really do happen,” you joked with a laugh. “You sound weird, is everything okay?” you added, worry tinting your voice. 

“Hm?” he wondered, not processing your question right away. “Oh, no- yeah, I-... just didn’t get much sleep.”

“Right,” you said, teetering on the edge of believing him or not. 

“Really, I’m good,” he assured, sensing your apprehension. “I just gotta catch some z’s and I’ll be good as new.” 

“Okay. I’ll see you in a few then,” you relented. “Drive safe,” you added as an afterthought before hanging up.   

The line went dead as he stopped at a red light, his stomach churning as he stared at his reflection in the rearview.

“Just need some sleep,” he assured himself. 

“Dude, would you quit it with the pacing?” Sam snapped, setting his book down on the table for sheer lack of concentration. 

Dean stopped just long enough to stare daggers at his brother before marching down the library once more. “She’s been gone too long.” 

“She’s been gone an hour,” Sam informed, hands running over his face in exasperation. 

“Exactly,” Dean replied, pointing a finger at Sam in acknowledgment. “Something must’ve happened.” 

“Dude, she’s at the grocery store. With Jack. What the hell could possibly happen?” 

“I don’t know!” Dean exclaimed, arms flailing as he whirled to face Sam. “Something must’ve! She hasn’t answered my last text and it’s been-” he paused, pulling out his phone to brandish the screen. “Seven minutes!” 

“Oh, my god,” Sam groaned, tossing his head back to stare at the ceiling. “I can’t deal with this anymore.” 

“What are you talking about? Aren’t you worried?” Dean asked gruffly. 

“No, Dean, I’m not worried! There’s no reason to be worried!” Sam proclaimed. 

“No reason? She could be dead!” Dean barked, his face taking on an expression of disbelief. 

Sam sighed as he leaned over the table, raising his eyebrows. “Okay, let me ask you this: why, exactly, do you think she’s dead?” 

“Oh, come on, Sam!” Dean grumbled. “We don’t exactly live cookie cutter lives here, you know. One minute she’s returning the shopping cart, and the next she’s got a damn knife in her back!” 

“Dean,” Sam soothed. “You know as well as I do that’s a load of crap.” 

“No,” Dean argued, shaking his head. “We don’t know that. We don’t know anything, you know why?” 

Before Sam could even respond, Dean waved his phone around before dropping it on the table. “Because she won’t answer her damn phone!” 

“Okay, this is actually ridiculous,” Sam declared. “How can you seriously not see what’s been happening to you?” 

“Knock it off, Sam,” Dean muttered, waving a hand dismissively as he began pacing again. “I’m fucking fine.” 

“You’re fine,” Sam repeated incredulously. “You’re friggin’ cursed, Dean!” 

“I’m not cursed!” shouted Dean. “Would you quit it with that crap?” 

“Right, because nothing’s been going on with you lately, right?” 

“Right!” Dean agreed with a huff. 

“You haven’t been, say, I don’t know…. not sleeping? Feeling stir crazy? Getting paranoid?”

“Sam-” 

“No, I’m serious, Dean! How can you not see this?” 

“Because I’m fine!” Dean argued, stalling his movements to gather his phone from the table.

After a few moments of silence, Dean rolled his eyes and found himself once more walking the length of the library. “Okay, maybe I’ve been feeling a little weird lately, but I’ve just been tired - and you know what? I survived worse. So yeah, I’m fine!” 

“Right,” Sam said sceptically.  “And have you… noticed when it is that you feel… weird?”

“I don’t know!” Dean announced frustratedly.

“Dean,” Sam chastised. 

“What?” 

“You’ve been feeling like this all week, and it’s only getting worse. You’ve been like this since that witch cursed you - and don’t say she didn’t. Use your fucking head, Dean! You’re cursed!” 

Dean’s jaw clenched as he tried to remain calm, taking a moment to formulate his response. “You’re insane,” he finally declared. 

“I think you’re the insane one,” Sam contested. “You were cursed to yearn for something, Dean. Only in this case… it’s someone.” 

“What the hell are you talking about?” 

“C’mon, Dean!” Sam pleaded with a laugh. “The only time you get like this is when you’re more than ten feet away from [Y/N].” 

“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” Dean muttered dismissively. 

“You’ve checked your phone another five times since you picked it up.” 

“So?” Dean questioned, failing to resist the urge to check it once more. “I’m worried, not cursed.” 

“You’re worried because you’re cursed!” Sam argued. 

“I’m worried because I lo-” Dean quickly fell silent as the words died on his tongue, his brain firing into total overdrive as he laughed nervously. “I care, that’s why I’m worried.” 

Sam stared at his brother in total disbelief, trying to find a way to make him realize what was going on- or, most likely, acknowledge what was going on. 

Yet before the conversation could go any further, the bunker door screeched open and the sound of your laughter fleeted down to greet Dean, effectively turning his scowl into an affectionate grin. 

“Hope you remembered my pie!” he called out, marching to meet you at the foot of the stairs without so much as a glance back in Sam’s direction. 

“When have I ever forgotten?” you asked, feigning offence as you held out the bag which contained his pie.

“Well,” he started, taking the bag from you. “There was that time in Redford-”

“Hey!” you interrupted with a laugh. “I didn’t forget, they were out!”

“See, I still don’t believe you,” he teased, heading for the kitchen. 

“Believe whatever you want, Dean,” you replied playfully. 

“I’m still waiting for it, you know. You should get me two next time,” he joked, though he was partly serious. 

“Dean?” Sam’s voice tentatively called out.

“Yeah?” Dean replied hotly, keeping his back to Sam as he went to grab a beer from the fridge. 

“Who, uh… who the hell are you talking to?” he asked carefully, surveying the empty kitchen. 

“Hilarious, Sam,” he said dryly, shutting the fridge. “I’m talking to-”

His mouth ran dry as he turned around, being met with just his brother, who was staring with concern from the doorway. 

“[Y/N],” Dean finished weakly. 

“Her and Jack aren’t back yet, Dean,” Sam said carefully, as though talking to a lost child. 

“Yes, they are. They got back, she gave me my pie, we came in here,” Dean said fiercely, his confidence shattering when he went to gesture at the pie he set down moments earlier and found it to be gone.  

“Maybe you should sit down,” Sam suggested, not knowing what to do. 

“I’m fine!” Dean shouted, hovering over the counter. “I’m fine,” he repeated, moreso to himself than anything. 

“Okay, look, how about I try calling [Y/N], okay?” Sam offered, hesitantly walking further into the kitchen. “See when they’ll be back.” 

“They are back!” Dean barked, glaring at Sam. “She was just in here!” 

Sam didn’t know what to say, the fear and concern for his brother crashing down on him. 

“She was just in here,” Dean repeated shakily, meeting Sam’s gaze with confusion. 

“Dean,” Sam started to say, before the familiar tone of your ringtone came from Dean’s phone, cutting through the air like a knife. 

Dean pulled the phone from his pocket, clearing his throat before answering. “Yeah?” 

“Dean, thank god,” you cheered, sighing in relief. “Listen, we came out to a flat tire and I don’t have a spare because I forgot to fucking replace it and there are too many people around for Jack to, you know, try fixing it,” you rambled anxiously. “Can you please come help?” 

“You’re still at the store?” Dean clarified, looking up at Sam with frightened eyes. 

“Yeah, we’re stuck in the parking lot,” you told him breezily. 

“Okay,” he said, swallowing thickly. “Alright, I’ll be right there.” 

“Thanks, De!” you said happily, ending the call. 

Dean stood there for a few moments staring down at his unopened bottle of beer on the counter, trying to gather his thoughts, before finally lifting his gaze to Sam.

“I’ll, uh…. I’ll be back,” he told him, not waiting for a response before trudging out of the kitchen.

You found yourself yet again rushing down the hall to Dean’s room, his muffled yells waking you in the dead of night once more. 

He uttered your name as you shut the door behind you, and though it took you by surprise the very first time it happened - nearly two weeks ago, now - it was something you’ve almost come to expect. It was killing you, watching him go through this every night and not being able to fix it. You would sit with him, find ways to gently rouse him from his terror filled slumber and comfort him when he woke, but it never seemed like enough; he deserved more.

At first you didn’t think there was too much going on, figuring his shift in behaviour was just due to his lack of sleep. You didn’t believe Sam when he talked to you about it; Dean may have been acting a little more strange than usual, but it didn’t raise any red flags.

It wasn’t until the morning following your conversation that you noticed it, cluing in and realising how different Dean had been; how long he’d been different. The excess text messages, the increase in phone calls, the insistence on you not going anywhere without him and his exuberant reactions to you getting back safe when you did go somewhere without him, his constant questioning on where you were or where you’ve just been. Something else was going on, and you could only think it really did come down to the witch you two encountered.  So you and Sam called up Rowena, getting her take on the situation and figuring out what to do. 

Her words now echoed through your head as you perched yourself on the edge of his bed: “Magic isn’t simple. Some curses are anchored by the witch, ending whenever they were to die. But others are more complex, rooted not in the witch but the object of the curse itself, not breaking until their purpose is carried out one way or another. Perhaps if you can figure out what it is Dean needs, you can break the curse yourselves. If this carries on for any longer… I’m worried it will kill him.” 

While you ran your fingers through his hair, you decided right then and there that once he woke up, you wouldn’t leave without confronting him about it. You knew it would likely start a fight, and you felt a little guilty knowing you would all but interrogate him right after having another nightmare, but all that guilt flew right out the window the second Dean startled himself awake, the sight of his panic stricken face as he gasped for air nearly bringing you to tears; you’ve seen him like this too often as of late. 

“It’s alright, Dean,” you soothed, reaching out to him. “I’m right here, everything’s fine.” 

His gaze snapped to you, unable to hide the confusion and terror still coursing through him despite the relief he felt. “[Y/N]?” 

“Yeah, De,” you cooed, running a hand across his shoulder blades. “We’re in your room, everyone’s okay.” 

He let out a shuddering breath, hanging his head in his hands. “You’re okay,” he whispered softly. “You’re okay.” 

You sat quietly with him for a few more minutes, patiently comforting him as best as you could while you thought of how to approach this conversation. 

Clearing his throat, Dean was the first to speak again as he rose from the bed. “Sorry I woke you again.” 

The dejection and shame laced in his voice tore your heart to bits, and you had to put up a good fight to keep your emotions in check. “You don’t need to apologize.” 

“Yeah, I do,” he disagreed, trudging to his sink in the corner. 

“Dean, please talk to me,” you pleaded, watching as he turned on the water. 

You fell silent, waiting for him to deny you and brush you off again. You waited for him to say something, to do something, but all he did was stare at the running water. 

“Dean?” you asked cautiously, slowly getting up from the bed yourself. 

“I can’t save you,” he muttered quietly, his gaze on the faucet unyielding. 

“What?” you asked curiously, not knowing what he meant. 

“I can never save you,” he carried on. “You always just… slip away from me. Every time. It’s always the same.” 

“What’s always the same?” you questioned, moving closer towards him. 

“I try,” he muttered, seemingly oblivious to your presence. “I run, and I fight, and I try, but I can never reach you. I can never get to you.”

He seemed to snap out of his daze a little, moving to splash water over his face before turning off the tap. “You keep dying. I keep watching you die. I can’t watch you die again, [Y/N]. I can’t.” 

“This is what your nightmares have been?” you wondered. 

He fell silent again for a minute before meeting your gaze in the mirror. “Yeah.” 

“It’s not real, Dean,” you told him softly.

“It’s real enough for me,” he muttered, turning to face you. 

“And is this why you’ve been… acting differently towards me?” you asked hesitantly. 

He averted his gaze, hanging his head as he considered your question. “I guess,” he said with a shrug. “Maybe, yeah. I don’t know.” 

“Dean,” you scolded with a sigh, plopping back down on the bed. “Why won’t you just tell me what’s going on?” 

“Because everything’s fine!” he argued once again. 

“I’m not stupid, Dean!” you challenged. “I know you. I can see something's eating you alive and it’s fucking killing me to witness it. So please, tell me what the hell is going on.” 

“It’s just nightmares,” he lied, crossing his arms against his chest. 

“It’s more than nightmares!” you cried. “You’re withering away into nothing, Dean! I mean let’s face it! You’re practically a zombie nowadays with how little sleep you get, you’ve been acting like a puppy with separation anxiety, and let’s not forget how completely erratic you’ve been.”

He glared at you, jaw clenching as he decided whether or not to entertain this conversation. “Okay, so maybe I haven’t slept lately,” he admitted starkly. “But like I keep saying, I’m fine.” 

“Don’t you ever get tired of lying?” you sneered, glaring up at him. 

He rolled his eyes, averting his gaze to anywhere else as he shook his head. “No, but I’m getting tired of having this conversation all the time.” 

“Well too bad!” you yelled, abruptly standing from the bed. “Cause I’m tired of never having this conversation go anywhere! I’m tired of you brushing off the idea of you being cursed. I didn’t believe it at first either, but what the hell else could it be, Dean?” 

“Oh, come on!” he barked, running a hand over his face. “I see Sam got his hooks into you.” 

“Yeah, he did. And you need to listen to us.” 

“No, I really don’t,” he scoffed, starting to head to the door. 

“Even if it kills you?” you blurted out. 

“It’s not gonna kill me!” 

“God, look at you, Dean! It already is!” you argued, marching closer to him. “How would you feel if the situation were reversed?” 

He let out a sigh, pausing with his hand on the doorknob before turning back to you. “What?” 

“What if it were me going through all this instead of you? Would you let me get away with not even listening to you and Sam?” 

He narrowed his eyes at you, staring at you in silence for so long you expected him to turn away again. Instead, he let out a deep breath as he took a seat, gesturing for you to carry on. “Five minutes.” 

You almost went to argue before you thought better of it, knowing full well that if Dean never came around to the theory he would actually cut you off at the five minute mark. So, you did your best to recount the entire situation for him, reiterating what you, Sam, and Rowena had to say about it all in the hopes of getting through to him. By the time you finished, you knew it was well over five minutes, so you took Dean not interrupting you to be a good sign. 

“Okay,” he finally said with a small nod. “Well, I listened. Can I go now?” 

Your heart dropped to your stomach, anger and fear bubbling inside of you as you exploded. “God, you are unbelievable!”

“Well what do you want me to say?” he grumbled. “I just don’t believe that’s what’s going on.” 

“How can you not believe it?” you asked incredulously. “It’s obvious!” 

“Look, I said I don’t believe it, alright?” Dean snapped. “Why are you so hellbent on making this into some big fight? Just accept it.” 

“No!” you seethed. “I can’t just accept the fact that this could kill you. Especially not when there’s a way we could end this.” 

“No,” he disagreed, shaking his head. “You can’t fix this, [Y/N/N]. You just can’t.” 

“I can!” you cried. “Just tell me.” 

“Tell you what?” 

“You know what,” you scolded. 

“This is so fucking ridiculous.” 

“Tell me anyway.” 

“Why the hell do you care so much?” he questioned exasperatedly. 

“Because I’m fucking terrified, Dean!” you exclaimed. “I’ve watched you grow more restless and anxious every day since the night we finished that case. I’ve seen the life drain from you more and more as sleep became nearly impossible for you. And I know it’s nearly impossible for you, because I have spent the last eleven nights sitting on that bed as you got terrorised by your own mind. I don’t care if you believe in this curse or not, Dean, because I do.” 

Dean stood quietly, absorbing what you said as the severity of the situation began to dawn on him. 

“I mean don’t you get it?” you asked sadly, cutting through the silence. “If something happens to you, if I lose you… that’s not something I can come back from.” 

Dean fell silent once more, running a hand through his hair as he took a deep breath, pacing around the room a little as he turned everything over in his head. 

“I’m scared, Dean,” you reiterated softly. “Please, just let us try to fix this.” 

“There’s some things I should tell you, then,” he admitted quietly after a moment of silence, taking a seat on the bed. 

“About what’s been happening?” you asked hopefully. 

He nodded, staring down at his hands folded in his lap. “Yeah.” 

“Okay,” you said, moving his desk chair to take a seat. “I’m listening.” 

He took a bracing breath, taking a few minutes to build the courage to speak. “Well, you know I’ve been having nightmares.” 

“I do,” you agreed quietly. 

“It’s always the same one,” he admitted, keeping his gaze cast downwards. “I could never figure out why. It didn't make sense to me why it was always the same thing. So I finally talked to Sam about it, and he had a pretty good theory. But, you know me. I didn’t want to believe it because it came back down to that witch and this stupid fucking curse.” 

He let out a bitter laugh, pausing long enough for you to speak up. “What did he have to say about it?” 

“I tried telling myself I was fine,” he continued, ignoring your question. “I was fine, at first. At first it was just not sleeping well… but then other things started happening.” 

“Other things like what?” you wondered quietly. 

“Like my blood feeling like it’s on fucking fire,” he muttered, wiping at his face. “And my skin feeling like it-… like it’s being peeled off my goddamn bones, and my face feeling like it’s melting… and how I get this- this bubble inside my chest that feels like it’s either gonna burst or suffocate me and how it all only happens-” he stopped in his rambling, taking a deep breath before chuckling in disbelief. “God, it only happens when you’re not around, [Y/N].” 

“I-... what do you mean?” you asked breathlessly. 

“Oh, come on, [Y/N],” he said bitterly. “I know you’ve noticed. I text you more, I’m almost always calling you. I just- I get this… this unwavering panic inside me when you’re not around. I keep-... I swear to god I see you everywhere when you’re gone. I catch sight of you across the street, I smell your stupid shampoo when I’m alone, I hear your voice when no one’s there. I had an entire conversation with you and you weren’t even there,” he carried on, shaking his head as he briskly wiped away an angry tear. “God, I’m going fucking crazy,” he added with a manic chuckle. 

“You’re not crazy, Dean,” you said gently. 

“That night,” he started, staring at the wall across from him. “She was trying to get back someone she lost… someone she loved.” 

“Right,” you agreed. 

“They used to drown them, people they accused of being witches,” he continued slowly. 

“Yeah, it was pretty common. Sink, and you were innocent. Float, and you were guilty,” you pitched in. “But… what does that have to do with this?”

“I think they were innocent,” he said simply. “Whoever she lost… I think that’s how she lost them.” 

“Why do you think that?” you asked curiously. 

Dean cleared his throat, staring pensively at his hands once more. “The nightmares. It’s always… you always drown. I keep-... I can never save you.” 

“I don’t get-” you started to say, before he cut you off. 

“It’s how she lost who she loves, [Y/N],” he said curtly. “It makes sense for me to see the one I love go the same way.” 

“I-... what?” you asked, too stunned to think of anything else to say. 

“The dreams, the hallucinations, the- the way I’ve been feeling… I didn’t want to admit it, I still don’t, but I can’t… I mean I can only ignore it for so long, right?” he said, scoffing quietly. “Especially with you and Sam breathing down my neck about it.” 

“Ignore what, Dean?” you asked breathlessly, your heart hammering in your chest. 

“You,” he muttered. “They way I feel about you. The way I’ve always felt about you.” 

You didn’t dare respond, his words ringing in your ears as he fell silent, each of you lost in your own thoughts for a while. 

“I’ve always known that I love you, [Y/N/N],” he carried on, slowly meeting your gaze with glistening eyes. “But this… this curse, this whatever it is. God, it’s just made it all so much worse, and I knew. I knew it was you that my entire being was screaming out for but I couldn’t… I couldn’t admit it.” 

“Why not?” you asked shakily, feeling your tears starting to build. 

“How could I put that on you?” he asked, a few rogue tears slipping down his face. “You said it yourself, this thing is killing me. It’s gonna kill me, unless I get what I want, and given that that’s you, I’m calling it game over.” 

“No, Dean, it’s not,” you denied with a sniffle, cutting through your own stray tears. “You should’ve told me.” 

“Yeah, well,” he grumbled, shrugging lightly as he looked back at his hands. “I told you now.” 

“Dean,” you sighed, wiping your face as you stood from your seat. “Do you trust me?” you asked, walking towards him.

“Of course I do,” he said quickly, almost offended by the question. 

“Okay, well, I’ll need you to trust me on this,” you replied, stopping just in front of where he sat. 

“Okay,” he said with a huff. 

“You gotta look at me, though,” you said, laughing softly. 

Sighing dejectedly, he slowly lifted his head to meet your gaze, a ghost of a smile dancing on his lips as he looked at you. 

You smiled softly at him, gently taking his face in your hands before wordlessly bringing your lips down to meet his. At first, neither of you really knew what was happening, and just when you thought to pull away you felt his lips moving against your own. His hands gripped your waist to hold you in place a moment longer before you each pulled away, staring silently at each other as you processed what just happened. 

“What, uh… what was that for?” Dean finally asked. 

“Well, it was either that or slapping some sense into you,” you said playfully. “Which I almost think you still deserve, because I can’t believe you honestly think I don’t love you back.” 

“What?” he asked, his grip on your waist loosening in shock before tightening once more. 

“You’ve had me since the day we met, Dean,” you told him softly, carding your fingers through his hair. 

“You actually…” he trailed off quietly, trying to focus his thoughts. “You actually love me, of all people?” 

“Yeah,” you said quietly. “I do.” 

“So I- well, I guess I could’ve saved a lot of trouble if I really did just tell you, huh?” he asked jokingly, laughing tightly. 

“I’ll give you hell for it tomorrow,” you teased, half serious. “For now, how about we try getting you back to sleep?” 

“Actually,” he said, eyes sparkling with mischief. “I have a better idea involving this bed.” 

You couldn’t help but snort a laugh, grinning fondly at him. “Oh, really?” 

He grinned back, laughing with you before taking on a more sombre tone. “Do you trust me?” 

“Always,” you said honestly. 

“Good,” he replied with a grin, laughing heartily at the shriek you let out when he tossed you on the bed. 

He stared down at you, a look you’ve never seen before painted on his face. “What?” you asked, giggling nervously.

“I love you,” he said earnestly, brushing a lock of hair away from your face. 

“I love you, too,” you replied shyly, grinning softly. 

He matched your grin, drinking you in a moment longer before crashing his lips upon yours once more. 

When Dean woke the next morning, it didn’t take long for a grin to spread across his face as he quickly realized two things. 

The first thing being that you, the love of his life, still remained tangled up in both his arms and the sheets, sleeping peacefully atop his chest. 

The second being that, for the first time in a total of thirteen days, he was able to sleep without being haunted by his nightmares. 

He felt you stir, and his grin widened as you nestled in closer, tightening your grip on him as you slept. He planted a kiss against your temple, pulling you in close as he blissfully settled in for another peaceful rest. 

Maybe witches aren’t so bad.

tagging: @roseblue373

let me know if you'd like to be tagged!

[whimsyfinny]

Sexy F*cking Nerd

Dean Winchester x F!Reader

Summary: When Dean discovers a little secret of (Y/n)'s during a case research session he can't help but let temptation get the best of him.

Warnings: Language, Smut, Fingering, PinV, Oral (M receiving), slight angst if you squint, Dean having a glasses kink (not really a warning but not everyone wears them hahaha lucky bastards)

MDNI! 18+

Word Count: 5688

A/N: It's taken a little while but here is the second competition winner from a few weeks back, the prompt provided by the wonderful @foxyjwls007 - I hope you like it!

The motel room was stuffy to say the least - that usual aroma of stale cigarettes and cheap air freshener lingering around us. There was a dripping sound coming from God knows where and the AC hummed in between the concerning clinking from deep within the vents. It was crap. So crap. But it was home for a few nights; just like all the motel rooms that came before. Dean stepped past me and over the threshold, immediately slinging his duffle and jacket onto his chosen bed. He stretched his arms above his head, the grey Henley clutching his muscular abdomen and rising enough to flaunt what lay beneath. I sighed, following him in and slumping onto the bed beside his - the musty stench from the sheets enveloping me.

“Well…” Dean started, pulling Sam's laptop out of his bag and placing it on the small table by the window.

“Well…?” My voice echoed as I focused on the ceiling fan that spun off centre.

“...This is… nice?” His statement was more of a question as he looked around with raised eyebrows. I propped myself up on my elbows, flashing him a look of speculation.

“Seriously?” A moment passed before he huffed a long-held breath and slapped his large palms on his thighs.

“No of course not, this place sucks more dick than a hooker on payday.”

“You got that right,” I flopped back down onto the bed, a small dust cloud erupting under my weight. I closed my eyes and listened as Dean pulled a chair out from under the table, slumping down into it. Then there was the familiar click of the laptop opening followed by the sound of stuttered not-quite-touch-typing, presumably he was starting work on the case that we’d come here to investigate. The tap tap tap of whatever was leaking began to drill into my brain, my patience already wearing thin with the rooms dire ambiance. I pulled myself up to sitting, criss-crossing my legs on the bed and brushing whatever that dust from the bedding was off my sweater sleeves.

“When's Sam back?” I asked, watching as Dean searched the keyboard in front of him for some long lost letter.

“Uuuh, I'm not sure. He said to work this case without him.”

“Ugghhh, I bet he's having way more fun than us right now, it's not fair,” I plopped my chin into my palm and stared past the older Winchester out the window, almost willing Sam to appear and walk in like any other day.

“It's just some dumb wedding, I doubt he's having that much fun.”

I scoffed before I could stop myself, Dean breaking eye contact with the screen to throw me a raised eyebrow.

“Look,” I collected myself, “you didn't know Sam in college. He won't admit it but he was popular. Really popular. Not the total nerd you think he is. He's absolutely having fun with these people.”

“Yeah right. So who's at this wedding anyway? Why was it so important that he just had to be there?”

I rolled my eyes, knowing full well Sam had already told him all the details. Typical Dean.

“It's for a couple of friends who he and Jess were close with back then. Pretty sure the bride was prom queen in highschool or something and the groom was a trust fund jock. Either way, not my crowd,” I sighed slightly, memories from my college days flooding my mind.

Deans eyebrows twitched into a small frown, his thoughts seeming to cloud his vision for a second before he reluctantly dismissed them. I looked down into my lap for a moment, reminiscing how I always kept my distance from Sam whilst at Stanford, but he had always been that boy that would make my heart flutter when he spoke up in class or when I'd see him on the quad with his friends. I remember seeing him with his nose in a book once at my usual desk in the library, my cheeks burning when he caught me staring. Who would've thought several years down the line I'd be sat in a bottom-rung motel room with his obscenely good looking older brother researching monster lore. At least we would be researching monster lore, if it wasn't for the small growl my empty stomach had gurgled out. I couldn't stop the small pulse of embarrassment burning into my cheeks as Dean eyed me with a grin.

“Wanna get some lunch?” He asked, standing up like he already knew my answer.

“Fuck yes. I'm feeling burgers,” I shuffled to the edge of the bed and stood up, watching as Dean shrugged on his leather jacket and headed to the door, holding it open for me.

“Now you're speaking my language.”

*

The diner was almost as sad and withered as the motel room, however the food was nothing short of spectacular. I watched in awe as Dean polished off his second burger, a small glob of sauce sticking to his stubble and threatening to drip off his chin. He must've felt me watching in wonder - or perhaps disgust - as when he looked up from his plate he shot me a questioning glance.

“What?” His tone was a little defensive through the mouthful of fries he'd just shovelled in. I took a second before asking, half-genuine:

“Where do you put all of that?”

“Put what?”

“The food - where does it go? Do you have hollow legs? Two stomachs? Does it just evaporate as soon as you swallow it?”

He grinned, wiping the sauce from his face with a napkin.

“Goes straight to the abs baby. It's muscle fuel,” he leant back in his chair, stretching a little before patting his stomach to punctuate his statement. I simply rolled my eyes.

“Yeah right, you're not that muscly Dean.”

“How would you know? You've never seen me with my shirt off.”

“I know, and I plan to keep it that way.”

He feigned a pout before returning to his fries. We ate in a comfortable silence for a few minutes, my mind absently going back to all the lore we should be trying to gather. I gripped my milkshake that had so generously been served in a thin paper cup, attempting to suck the practically solid beverage up the equally thin paper straw. Finding the nearest library would be the next task on our to-do list, despite the protesting I know I'll get from Dean.

“Hey, (Y/n)?” My train of thought was derailed at the sound of my name. The slurping of over-thickened milkshake from myself ceased.

“What's up?”

“What were you like in college?”

I eyed him with caution, wondering what part of his brain was in control right now.

“What do you wanna know?”

Catching the wariness to divulge him to such information, he smiled slightly, shrugging his shoulders.

“I'm not asking to be weird, I just-” he paused, choosing his next words tactfully, “the way you described Sam as being a totally different person - some hot-shot with the perfect grades, popular friends and a girlfriend like Jess - it just got me thinking. How would Sam have described you?”

I almost spat my dairy-goop back into the straw, my brain freezing.

“Dean,” I started before planning what I was going to say, placing my cup on the table. “Sam wouldn't be able to describe me.”

My words brought a small smirk to his lips.

“You were that hot, huh?”

“What the fuck- no- I wasn't- he didn't- Sam never- ” I stopped myself before I had an aneurysm and took a deep breath.

“I was in a totally different crowd to Sam. He was always surrounded by people and, well, I barely even had a crowd.”

“Lone wolf?”

“Bingo. But definitely not the cool, collected, stoic type. Think more, invisible to the public eye, always carrying books, and borderline selective mute because of how shy I was.”

“Oh… what changed?,” Deans tone changed entirely, genuine intrigue seeming to take the wheel. I couldn't help but laugh slightly, remembering my method to forcing myself out of my bubble.

“The only job I could get was in a bar. No one else wanted the hours and I desperately needed cash. I didn't really have a choice after that,” I paused, remembering how terrified I was on my first day and grinned slightly, grateful for the extra confidence I had now because I took that leap.

“Hey, what sort of crowd do you think I would've been in?”

I snorted, looking up into his expectant eyes - almost captivated by the glistening greens.

“What am I? A BuzzFeed quiz? I have no idea Dean, you're too much of a wildcard to predict. You probably would've fit in with anyone and everyone.”

“Even you?”

For reasons unbeknownst to even myself, my breath caught in my throat. The sudden soft sincerity of his voice contradicting his usual temperament, my heart starting to flutter in my chest. If the college version of myself had met Dean back then I just know I would have been enthralled at first glance.

“I don't think you would've noticed me. You would've been surrounded by every tall, thin blonde and brunette with perfect tits. Trust me, you would've been distracted,” I smiled an almost sad smile at the thought of him simply being on university grounds and having the time of his life - knowing it was something that he was never going to get the chance to experience in this upside down life of his. Of ours. He tapped his fingers on the table for a second, likely lost in some ludicrous thought I don't think I'd want to be privy to. I attempted another slurp of my milkshake when the paper straw gave out and flopped in half, the need to leave conversation and the diner suddenly looming over me.

“Come on, let's get to the library before it closes,” I stood and pulled my oversized sweater down so it covered my ass before reaching for my backpack. Just as my fingers touched the worn fabric of the strap it was torn away, my head snapping up to Dean who flung it over one shoulder with his signature grin on his face.

“Lead the way nerd.”

I couldn't help but beam at his playfulness. I hated the fact that he made it so easy to adore him. Hated that he completely overlooked how I was his total opposite in almost every way. How when we were talking, his eyes never left mine - how he was genuinely interested in what I was like in the past. And how, when I had his attention, he didn't even notice that the hot waitress had written her number on a napkin and left it next to him.

*

The trip to the library was about as eventful as it sounded. After checking out multiple books on cursed items, local lore and popular antiques from the seventies, we loaded ourselves back into the impala, made an all-important beer run before heading back to the motel.

The small table by the window was now totally smothered by a blanket of books, maps and empty beer bottles. Deans chin rested in his palms as he stared blankly at the screen in front of him, and I must've read the last sentence of the paragraph laid before me a dozen times without it even sinking in. The obnoxious dripping and humming of ancient appliances was starting to make me feel restless.

“It has to be the boots,” Dean groaned, draining the last of his beer.

“Either the boots or the disco ball. But my money is on boots as well,” I sighed, pushing the book away from me and standing slowly, gathering the quickly accumulating litter now scattered around us.

“I'm gonna make some coffee, my brain is fried over how fucking ridiculous this case is,” I ditched the trash in the bin before filling the coffee machine, listening to it whir to life whilst I headed to my bed. I could feel Deans gaze on my back as I rummaged around my bag in search of a specific item.

“What are you looking fo-” he'd started to ask the question but his voice died in his throat when I turned around. I quickly pushed my newly adorned glasses up the bridge of my nose, already feeling the oversized frame start to slip down as I tried not to make a big deal over them.

“What?” My tone was a fraction off aggressive when I realised he was staring. He seemed to snap out of his daze, quickly rubbing the back of his neck and turning back to the laptop screen. He cleared his throat

“I uh, I didn't know you wore glasses,” I could tell from the slight tremble in his voice that his mind was reeling.

“Is there a problem with that?”

“No! I mean, no, absolutely not. They look good. The glasses, I mean. The glasses look good. Not on their own, obviously. On your face. They look good on your face. You have a great fa-”

“Dean?”

“Yeah?”

“Shut up.”

“Sorry.”

I grabbed a mug from the cupboard and set it on the counter, filling it to the brim with caffeinated goodness. I couldn't stop the grin spreading across my lips at Deans fumbling, almost finding the whole ordeal a little charming. I sat back down at the table and pulled the books back towards me, also grabbing my pen and tattered notebook.

“The guests at the club mentioned hearing footsteps - so it has to be the boots, right? A disco ball wouldn't make that sound…” my voice trailed off when I realised that, even though Dean was looking at me, he wasn't listening to a word I was saying.

“Earth to Dean?”

He flinched slightly at his name, but felt no shame delving in with a completely off-topic question.

“So how long have you worn glasses?”

“I’ve always worn them,” I slid back into my chair at the table opposite him, not sure whether to laugh at the shocked expression on his face or whether to be concerned about his observation skills.

“What?! No way, I would’ve noticed,” He opened another beer and took a sip before tracing the opening to the bottle over his bottom lip.

“ I only wear them for concentration work, and I have emergency contact lenses if I know I’m going to be around a lot of people as I don’t particularly like how they look.”

Dean made a small disagreeable expression before averting his gaze from mine back to the laptop, taking another swig of his beer. I placed my coffee mug down and settled back into the book I was reading before, and after a few moments I could feel my skin begin to prickle - as though I could feel a pair of eyes on me. I glanced up, my breath immediately catching in my throat. Deans eyes found mine, burning with an intensity that made my heart hammer in my chest. I didn’t want to look away, but under his gaze I felt like I’d been stripped bare, unable to hide my insecurities from an eye that seemed to scorch through to my very core.

“Dean-”

“(Y/n), you should really have more confidence in yourself; I think the glasses look cute as fuck. You should wear them more,” a fierce blush erupted across my face when he spoke, his assured tone leaving no room for disagreement. I tried desperately not to let on that his words held any sort of impact over my decisions so I looked down, away from his scrutiny and simply said:

“Maybe I will.”

He hummed in approval, finally looking elsewhere and I couldn’t stop myself from breathing a sigh of relief when the pressure of his stare was averted.

The evening dragged on and an hour and a half had passed since his loaded comment. I was on the third book we’d checked out of the library, now trying desperately to find the curse that would cause a pair of 1970s glam rock boots to dance for eternity and haunt anyone who tried to wear them. This case was absurd, and I could feel myself growing restless with the small amount of progress we’d made. I huffed out a sigh and leant back in my chair, the faux leather and rusted metal creaking under my weight. Pulling the hair bobble from around my wrist I scooped my hair into a bundle on the top of my head, securing it in place; the sensation of air on my neck seemed to clear some of the fog from my brain. The messy bun was comfortably enough that I could forget it was there, and I allowed myself a stretch before leaning back over the table, grasping my pen. As I began to read the next segment, I absently traced the end of the pen over my bottom lip, running it back and forth a few times before gently nibbling on the end. I heard the shuffling of Dean moving in his seat and a ragged clearing of his throat before the sound of vigorous laptop keys clicking ensued. Without looking up at him I continued reading, the pen still tapping my bottom lip, and when I neared the bottom of the paragraph, I slowly licked the pad of my index finger. My eyes never leaving the words, I turned the page swiftly with my dampened digit, the transition from one page to the next perfectly seamless. Another shuffle from the man opposite followed by a quiet groan filled the silence between us. Pen still between my teeth, I lifted only my eyes to glance at him and noted the dusting of pink across his cheeks and the furrow in his brow. Concluding that he’d had one too many beers I decided to ignore his persistent fidgeting, returning to my previous task on monotonous reading. Several sentences in and I’d almost forgotten Deans restlessness - that was until I pulled my bottom lip between my teeth, deep in thought, that I earned myself a throaty groan and an exasperated sigh. I looked up just in time to watch him wipe a large hand down his face, momentarily masking his pained expression.

“Can you not do that? I can’t concentrate when you do that.”

“Do what?” Upon asking my question I absently took the pen between my teeth again, quickly glancing down at the book to place a mental bookmark.

“That.”

“What?”

“That. That thing you do with our mouth, and the pen, and your tongue and your finger. Can you please stop before it kills me.”

The heat beneath my skin was immediate at his admission, knowing my small, absent-minded actions were playing on his mind and making it hard for him to think straight. I instinctively crossed my legs, a fluttering in my lower belly instantly dragging my mind back to the deprived things I’d imagined Dean doing to me in the depths of night. The places I’d imagined his hands travelling, the areas his lips would touch and the sensations his tongue could create. These were deeply, deeply personal fantasies, and right now as Dean looked at me with a restrained hunger, I felt like I was wearing these fantasies for the world to see. For Dean to see.

“It doesn’t help that you’ve been sat over there like a sexy fucking librarian all evening, but every time you do that anything with that mouth - shit, sweetheart you’re driving me insane.” His voice was gravelly as he looked at me with desperate eyes across the table. The overly rational part of my brain had shut down completely, and now the part of my mind that had spent hours conjuring vivid scenes of Dean Winchester ravishing me in my entirety had taken the charge. I stood slowly, taking a moment to reason with myself - unsuccessfully of course - before sinking to my knees in front of my chair. I could see Deans strong thighs were spread wide beneath the table so I crawled forwards, across the cold tiles and placed myself between his legs. Resting my palms softly on his thighs I made him flinch at the unexpected contact. He immediately scooted his chair back, allowing a gap for me to poke my head through - his hand instantly acting as a barrier between the edge of the table and my skull. I got comfortable and allowed myself a moment to gaze up at him, to take in the strained furrow in his brow and the parting of his lips. I observed the way his chest rose and fell in apprehensive breaths, and the way his free hand clenched into a fist on his thigh - like he was so desperate yet so scared to touch me.

“(Y/n)-”

“Dean,” I spoke softly, slowly running my hands up his thighs - delicate palms against rough denim, “you’re a smart boy - you know I wouldn’t do something I didn’t want to do. So please, don’t say I don’t have to do this.”

Dean released a shaky breath the moment my fingers unclasped his jeans. I tugged them down slightly with his help, just enough so I could dip my hand into his boxers and wrap my fingers around his half-hard length. The moment my skin touched his, his head lolled back and his eyes fluttered closed with a breathy moan on his lips.

“Fuck…”

I gently pulled him from his confines, coming face to face with the cock I’d literally dreamt of again and again. I took the scene in, committing to memory the sharp outline of his jaw and the way his long lashes rested on his lightly-freckled cheeks. The way that, every time he breathed in, I could see his defined muscle tone through the thin fabric of his shirt; and with every small caress that my fingers made against his length, it made his fingers twitch and teeth clench. I licked my lips before leaning in and took his tip into my mouth, not giving him a chance to finish sucking in air through his teeth before I plunged his entire length down my throat. 

“Oh FUCK.”

His hands flew to my hair, fingers gripping tight as they loosened strands from the messy bun, causing them to fall around my face. He’d lifted his head to look down at me, pupils blown as he pulled his bottom lip between his teeth. He looked nothing more than enthralled. Infatuated. Entranced. I moved my head up and down, up and down, again and again to a steady rhythm, pressing my tongue to the underside of his now rock-hard cock to trace every vein and nerve-ending.

“Shit, (Y/n), I didn’t know you could suck cock, like, at all… how’re you s’fuckin’ good…” his voice was breathless as he continued to grip my hair, his head flopping to the side as pleasure started to overcome his senses. I released him with a small ‘pop’, wrapping my fingers around him and smearing the warm mixture of saliva and precum from tip to base.

“Despite everything I told you earlier, Dean, I’m not a virgin - and this certainly isn’t my first rodeo,” my voice came out more sultry than I’d expected and I could feel Dean tremble beneath my palms.

“Fuck, I wish I’d known that sooner,” I chewed on my bottom lip, quickly becoming addicted to the way he writhed at my touch. The way he moaned and gripped my hair tighter when I sucked him back into my mouth was like pure ecstasy, my insides heating up and throbbing with an ache of familiar arousal. Like a thirst that could only be satisfied by him. By tasting him, feeling him on my tongue and drinking in every sound that passed his plush parted lips. The sensation of my glasses slipping down my nose as I sped up my ministrations had me reaching to push them back up, but not before Dean beat me to it. With the rough pad of his thumb he pushed on the plastic bridge, his palm and fingers pressed to my flushed cheek in the most tender, almost heart wrenching caress. I thought my heart might stop when he tilted my face up to his; lustful eyes burning into mine with a vehemence I’d never encountered. I stopped in my tracks, all actions ceased as the spell he’d somehow put me under wouldn’t let me look away. 

“If you keep going like that darlin’ this whole thing is gonna be over before you know it,” his voice was raspy, a rawness to it from the harsh breaths and ragged moans that had been pulled from his throat. He slowly pulled his cock from my spit-slick lips and grasped it loosely, giving himself a few lazy pumps whilst his other hand never left my face. He stared down at me, taking a few moments as though he was committing the sight of me, knelt between his knees with flushed cheeks and swollen lips to memory. Once it seemed that memory was locked away in the depths of his mind, he grasped me by the arm and pulled me effortlessly into his lap, his fingers almost bruising against my skin. Immediately I felt him, in his entirety, press against me with the heat and wetness seeping through my jeans and past my panties. This time when our eyes met, there was a mutual desperation; a need to consume each other and to feel every inch of his heated skin against mine. He pulled me frantically down to him and crashed his lips against mine. 

Some people describe their first kiss with someone like butterflies in their stomach, or fireworks exploding all around them. That wasn’t at all what this was like. Kissing Dean Winchester was different - it was wild and untamed - and describing this experience in such a mundane way would be like adding water to a top-shelf whiskey. Kissing Dean Winchester was like driving the impala at one thirty with the roar of the engine drowning out the rest of the world. It was like trying to ride a wild mustang without a saddle, or daring to stand on the highest peak on Earth with nothing to tie you down. It was exhilarating in the most dangerous way imaginable - and I was now officially a thrill seeker. 

The warm taste of the beer on his tongue and the masculine scent of old leather and cologne was pulling me under. Breathing no longer mattered as long as his mouth was on mine and his fingers were in my hair, now tugging the bobble out and throwing it to the floor. As my hair tumbled free he grabbed under my thighs and stood effortlessly, moving me from his lap to the edge of the table without his lips leaving mine. I winced slightly as the corners and several books and the laptop jabbed into my rear and I fumbled to move everything aside, failing when I refused to unlock our lips. Deans patience was non-existent and with one sweep of his strong arm everything tumbled to the floor - including the laptop. I threw the remaining books from underneath me down to join them, no longer caring for their wellbeing. Before I could pull Dean back in - to allow him to do whatever the fuck he wanted to do to me - he hastily pulled off my boots and tugged down my jeans, throwing every item to the growing pile of chaos beside us. I discarded my sweater and top, but before I let his fingers touch my bra I wanted nothing more than to return the favour. 

“I guess you can forget about that whole ‘never seeing me shirtless’ thing, huh?” he smirked through the sexual fog, not waiting for a reply as his lips hungrily found mine again, his own top falling to the floor. 

“Shut up Winchester. Now are you gonna fuck me or wh- OH FUCK-”

Two thick fingers crept under my panties and plunged into me with zero hesitation, curling up and stroking the sensual cushion deep within my core with skillful precision. 

“Oh yeah? You want me to fuck you?” Even with my face now buried in the crook of his neck, I could hear the smirk in his voice, the tormenting tone going straight to my brain.

“Y-yes- fuck- please,” my knees twitched either side of him, squeezing at his hips with every push of his fingers. I gripped his shoulders tight, nails indenting his skin as I leant back to look at him better. Seeing the beads of sweat on his chest and brow alongside the raw, carnal desire in his eyes could have undone me there and then. He frowned in disapproval when I moved to remove my glasses, the fingers that were just inside me now wrapped forcefully around my wrist.

“What d’ya think you’re doing?” straight away I knew his growling question left no room for negotiation.

“I was just-”

“The glasses stay on.”

“To the end?”

“‘Til I say you can take them off.”

I did as I was told, moving my hand to grip the soft strands on the back of his neck, softly dragging my nails over his scalp and drawing a shiver from his spine and a groan from his lungs. He pulled me against him, crushing his lips against mine one more time. He swiftly pulled away and I leant back on my hands, both of us taking a moment to drink each other in - to bask in lascivious glory. I pulled my bottom lip between my teeth and looked up at him through my lashes, the lenses of my glasses starting to fog around the edges. Another deep moan rumbled from his chest as his heated gaze stayed locked to mine.

“I can’t wait any longer now that you’ve looked at me like that. Fuck.”

With a large hand gripping the soft flesh of my thigh he pulled my underwear to one side and lined himself up, slowly sinking in. Blissful moans harmonised between us, the rawness of him stretching me was unlike anything I’d ever experienced and my quivering thighs wrapped around him, pushing him to the hilt. He secured his large hands on the soft flesh of my hips and held me in place as he slowly withdrew. I could feel him; feel every ridge and vein drag out and then in, out and in, over my most sensitive, intimate, area. The slick sounds of our intimacy  began to echo around the room as he picked up speed, strong thighs working at a feverish pace. With every thrust he pushed against that one spot that made my legs jerk and eyes water, my arms almost giving out underneath me as the table rattled beneath my weight. With the ferocity of his pounding and the heightened sensitivity he’d curated between my legs only moments before, we both knew that neither of us would last long. The sounds of his ragged breaths and throaty moans alone had me clenching around him already, and I know my constricting muscles already had his hips stuttering as I sucked him in with every thrust.

“Fuck (Y/n)- You’re so fuckin’ tight-”

I chewed on my bottom lip as his desperate eyes met mine.

“Oh yeah? Well I feel like you’re cock is in my fucking ribcage- oh fuck-”

He slipped one hand between us, his large palm resting on my lower belly as his thumb drew fast circles around my clit. The immediate contact on my bundle of nerves had my whole body quivering, the knot of an impending climax already starting to twist tighter and tighter in the depths of my core. The way that Dean fucked me into the motel room table was something that I would be able to feel deep in my soul for the rest of my life - my body and entire nervous system having never been worked in such a feral way before. Dean dropped forward and crushed my body into his - one large strong arm wrapped around my trembling body and kept me pressed against him as his head dropped to the crook of my neck. Soft lips pressed hot kisses against my shoulder, teeth gently nibbling the soft flesh as the coil wound and wound, the wave of orgasmic bliss rising higher and higher as my mind emptied, leaving behind only one thought.

Dean.

He was all consuming - all I could see, taste and smell. All I could feel. Oh God could I feel him; driving me to the brink of pure bliss as he frantically sped up - desperate to seek his own undoing as well as my own. One… two… three more fervid thrusts and the peak he’d helped me ascend to shattered around me as I practically screamed his name, the white-hot euphoria scorching my insides as I clamped like a vice around him. 

“Oh shit- (Y/n) I can’t- fuck-”

I grabbed the back of his head and pushed his mouth to mine as he came undone, spilling inside me as he worked through his own white-hot euphoria. 

The kiss we shared evolved from hot and needy to soft and wanting - the sensation of hot cum running down the inside of my thigh and cooling against my skin being the only thing to pull me away. Dean continued to lean over me for a moment, looking down at me with an expression that told me he had so much he wanted to say. Instead, he looked down at his release now starting to pool on the floor beneath us, then to the books and laptop that had been thrown across the floor before turning back to face me with the most devilish grin on his face.

“You know that this mess is all your fault, right?”

I scoffed.

“My fault? How is it my fault?”

“Because, sweetheart…” he tucked a strand of hair behind my ear and pushed lightly on the plastic bridge sitting on my nose.

“You put on on those fucking glasses.”

--------------------------------------------------

Taglist: @roseblue373 @hobby27 @calibootsgirl @suckitands33 @jackles010378 @lyarr24 @autistic-gothic @wattpaduser200 @spndeanwinchesterlvr @mxtansy @libby99hb @magssteenkamp @redmaro86 @slut-for-evans-stan @spookyysinsanity @localjisung

[supernaturalfreewill]

"If getting my shit absolutely rocked by a monster is what it takes to get you in my bed, it was definitely worth it," Dean murmured, his bleary green eyes fixed on your face. You lifted the cloth you were using to dab at the wound near his hairline.

"I'm not sure sitting on the edge of the bed counts," you said with a small smile.

"Hey—I'll fucking take what I can get," he said softly, his eyes closing.

You drank in the sight of him and sighed. "You really scared us. That was stupid," you scolded him, but there was no bite in your voice.

His eyes opened again and searched your face, took in the soft pout on your lips. "You have no idea how stupid I can be," he quipped.

You couldn't help a low laugh. "Yeah, I do. And I'm still here. So, shut up and rest."

"You're staying here tonight?" he asked hopefully.

You nodded. "Yeah. Sam made up the couch for me."

"The couch? That's so far," he objected. "Why sleep on the couch when I have a perfectly available and delightfully comfortable spot right here next to me?"

You smiled and relented. "Fine. But keep your hands to yourself, and don't hog the blankets," you said.

"I'll do my best. But I'm not responsible for what happens when I'm concussed and/or asleep..."

Prompt: "You have no idea how stupid I can be." / "Yeah, I do. And I'm still here."

[zeppelinlvr]

"Better?" "Much"

Dean Winchester x Female Reader

Summary: waking up next to Dean and getting ready with him

Notes: I promise I'll give Sam some love after this, I love the idea that Dean acts like a dad when he gets up, hacking, coughing, groaning, the whole nine yards. I wanted to thank you guys again for all of the support, you're all so sweet! 💗💗

warnings: cursing, dean and reader playfully argue, kissing, lots of fluff, reader goes to the bathroom while dean is in there, but I promise its nothing gross or weird 😔

w.c: 1k

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The rising sun shone through a crack in the curtains of the motel room. You stirred awake, the light managing to hit you right in the eye. Dean lay next to you, softly snoring, drooling lightly and laying in a position that couldn't possibly be comfortable. You grimaced for him and the thought of how bad his neck was going to hurt when he woke up.

Sam was already awake, he still sat in his pajamas but he was sipping on a cup of coffee and had his computer open, researching as he typically did. He noticed you waking up and gave you a soft smile, not wanting to wake Dean.

You weren't exactly an early riser so you cuddled into Dean, burying your face into his side, trying to block out the light. You found yourself struggling to breathe and let out a sigh, knowing you weren't going to be able to fall back asleep.

Dean groaned as he awoke, grunting as his vision cleared and he noticed your face smushed into him.

“You trying to smell my pits or something?” he said with a small laugh, his voice slightly hoarse from having just woke up

“Love the pheromones” you replied sarcastically and brought your head up to look at him.

His hair was tousled and he had pushed half of the blanket off the bed in his sleep but he looked handsome as ever. Your hair was a mess, the shirt you slept in was twisted around your body, and your sleep shorts were riding up like crazy but Dean still thought you were the most beautiful girl in the world, simultaneously enjoying how your legs and ass looked when your shorts rode up.

Both of you were wild sleepers, flipping around in the night, blankets and pillows being pushed off the bed, Dean waking up in a panic when you would jerk in your sleep, and you hitting Dean with your pillow when his snores would grow too loud. The two of you would go to bed cuddling every night and wake up with your arm sprawled over his face and his legs on your side of the bed. Neither of you would have it any other way.

You moved yourself so your head rested on his chest, he brought his arm around you and placed a kiss to the top of your head.

“What's our next move Sammy?” Dean asked, “you found anything yet?”

“There's signs of vampires in Carterville Missouri, it’ll take us about five hours to get there though, so we should head out soon.”

“I can get us there in four, as long as grandma here doesn't have to pee every half hour” he said as he motioned towards you.

“I’m not the one who needs to stop for snacks constantly” you defended “and since you want to be Kevin Harvick with how fast you drive, you can make up the lost time from my bathroom breaks”

“Why do you guys just wake up arguing?” Sam asked

“We didnt, he kissed me then we started arguing” you defended with a sweet smile

“Yeah, come on Sam” Dean added

The two of you received an eye roll from Sam “go get ready, we can leave in an hour” he told both of you.

Dean sat up with a loud groan earning a response of “You sound like a father and you're not even one” from you.

“What are you talking about”

“All dads sound like they're dying when they get out of bed, all that loud groaning and back popping makes me think you need to go to the chiropractor.” you told him

“Alright sweetheart” he responded not even bothering to give in to what you were talking about, and gave you a kiss. You scrunched your nose after he pulled away.

“You need to brush your teeth” you giggled

“Same goes for you”

The two of you got out of bed and made your way to the bathroom, brushing your teeth at the same time. Dean was at it again with his noises, he was hacking and spitting like there was no tomorrow while he brushed his teeth.

“Jesus, you dont have to kill yourself with the toothbrush you know” You told him after you rinsed your mouth out.

“Teeth won’t be clean if I don't brush em like this” he told you, muffled by his mouth full of toothpaste.

“Okay Dean, I’m gonna pee while you finish up” you said and sat down on the toilet, Dean gave you a nod with his toothbrush still dangling out of his mouth. You scoffed and then laughed at him, unable to take him seriously with his extensive morning routine.

“You look so helpless when you pee” he said

“What are you talking about” you asked with a laugh

“You just sit there like you're waiting for a bus, it makes me feel bad” he explained “at least I can stand up and put my hand on the wall or something.”

You shook your head at his observation, laughing at how ridiculous it was.

The two of you finished up in the bathroom and made your way to your bags to get changed. Sam went to the bathroom to clean up, having already changed. You opted for a tee shirt, jeans, and a jacket you had stolen from Dean. Dean put on attire similar to yours, adding a few more layers than you had chosen to.

Dean made his way over to you and kissed you sweetly, his lips lips plush against yours. He brought one of his hands up to the side of your head, toying with your hair with his fingers. He placed his other hand on your waist, rubbing his thumb back and forth along your hip. You brought your hand under his shirt, lightly scratching along his back, earning a soft groan from him. You knew he was a sucker for you scratching his back, always asking you to when the two of you laid in bed, or after he'd had a long day. You smiled into the kiss at the noise he had made. Your moment with Dean, that was much needed by both of you, was cut short by Sam clearing his throat, your face heated upon hearing him and you quickly pulled away from Dean.

“My breath better?” Dean asked a grin playing at his face

“Much” you told him with a small smile, his minty taste still lingering on your lips.

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[mind-empty-just-fictional-people]

He’s Not A Machine!

main masterlist | supernatural masterlist

summary: when dean collapses from exhaustion, it takes everything in you not to beat the shit outta john

pairing: (stanford era) dean winchester x female reader

rating: R for language

word count: 4.0k

warnings: hurt/sad dean, language, john being a terrible father, john being an asshole in general but what else is new

pairing note: reader washes/brushes her hair

author’s note: hiiii me again after many moons of zero contact with this lovely website. sorry for taking so long, hopefully i’ll stay a while this time lol.

It’d been nearly four weeks of back-to-back hunts. This was the seventh motel you and the two Winchesters had been at this month and you were almost ready to call it a night. 

“I’m gonna wash this wraith stench off of me,” you told Dean. You then added quietly so John—who was sitting at the table and cleaning his guns—wouldn’t hear; “Would you like to join me, handsome?”

“More than anything,” he whispered before he bent down and kissed you. John coughed loudly, and you weren’t sure if it was just a perfectly timed accident or a purposeful guilt trip. It was most likely the latter. “But… I think it’s better if I don’t, sweetheart.”

You smiled sadly with a small nod; “Next time, then,” you assured him. You looked up into his eyes and noticed the tiredness laced with the usual burden he carried. He blinked unusually slowly as if he was trying his damndest to stay awake, and you furrowed your brows. “How about you head to bed, you can shower after you get some sleep.”

“It’s alright, I’m not that tired,” he said.

“Hey, are you feeling okay?” you asked him, barely above a whisper so that John wouldn’t hear.

John didn’t like you. He didn’t really trust your intentions with his son, and he thought you were just a distraction that would end up getting Dean killed if he wasn’t careful. He didn’t like how easily Dean would get ‘all giggly’ when he was near you, and he didn’t like that his son kept his guard down when he was with you.

He didn’t like the matching rings you wore, or that you too often referred to the other as husband or wife when a stranger would ask. You weren’t married, you were his fucking girlfriend and John fully believed you wouldn’t still be together by the time Sam finished his first four years at Stanford. 

“I’m fine,” he replied, matching your quiet tone. “I’ll shower right after you so don’t use up all the hot water, okay?” There was a teasing smirk on his face which made your worries subside temporarily.

“I promise to leave you some,” you said before you kissed him once more.

**

“Dean are you okay?” you asked, seeing the far-off look in his eyes when you left the bathroom.

“Yeah, I uh…” He rubbed his eyes as he tried to again focus on your face. He looked over at his dad, who raised a brow at his eldest son. “I’m fine, sweetheart.”

You followed his line of sight and pursed your lips when you saw John.

“Dean says he’s fine, drop it Y/n,” he told you.

Against your better judgment, you decided not to ask Dean again. With your hair still wet from the shower, you took the brush from your bag and started fixing it. 

“Aren’t you gonna shower, babe?” you asked Dean, who hadn’t moved an inch.

“Uh, yeah,” he said. He started to kick off his shoes when he tripped and fell straight to the floor, his cheek now pressed against the carpet.

“Dean!?” you exclaimed and hurried over to him. You fell to your knees and took him into your arms, shaking him gently in hopes he’d just wake up. “Dean? Dean, honey, please? J-John he’s not waking up!” You pressed your lips to his temple; “C’mon, Dean!”

John had left his spot on the couch and was now hovering over you, as you looked up at him desperately.

“Is he breathing?”

“Yeah,” you replied, tears slipping down your cheeks. John helped you lay Dean down so he could check his breathing.

“He seems fine,” John deduced. “Is there a wound we missed or something?”

“W-We need to call an ambulance,” you said and rushed to grab your phone off the nightstand.

“Y/n, Dean wouldn’t want us to call the cops,” John replied. He seemed a little too calm for your liking, so you weren’t about to let him call the shots regarding Dean’s wellbeing.

“I don’t care, we’re getting him to the fucking hospital,” you said as you dialed and made your way back to Dean. “Now hide your goddamn guns before the paramedics get here—I need an ambulance at the Rosebud Motel room 302, my husband just collapsed unexpectedly.” You ignored the look John gave you when you called Dean that. The operator asked questions and you answered each one; “Yes, he’s breathing… No, no bleeding… He’s twenty-five… Uhm, I’m not sure…” You pulled the phone from your ear; “Has he had anything to drink yet tonight?”

John was putting away the guns and paused to think before he shrugged; “I dunno, I wasn’t watching.” 

Your eyes widened and your teeth clenched, the fucking audacity. Looking at the table you saw three opened beers so you made an educated guess when you answered the 9-1-1 operator.

“He might’ve had a beer or two, but he’s not a lightweight, he’d never pass out after two beers… Yes, his dad is in the room with me… Yes, I can stay on the line.” You took in a shaky breath as you brought his hand to your lips and kissed his knuckles. 

“Just stay calm, ma’am, help is on the way.”

“I’m trying,” you replied, tears streaming down your cheeks as you kept his hand pressed to your lips. “Th-This isn’t like him, he’s–he’s always okay.”

**

You bounced your leg anxiously as you sat next to John in the waiting room. As you absentmindedly played with the ring on your right ring finger, you couldn’t help but think of the time when Dean had told you how much you truly meant to him almost three years ago.

* flashback *

“I got you a present.” His smile was adorable as he sat next to you on the couch. He saw your face light up and felt the need to downplay the gift; “It’s nothing much, don’t get too excited.”

“Dean, you could give me a dirty sock and I’d love it,” you teased, placing a quick kiss on his pink lips.

“Well… this is like one teer above ‘dirty sock’, I think.” He smirked and handed you the small velvet box. 

You opened it and your jaw fell open; “Oh my god, Dean!”

“I know how much you like mine,” he said quietly.

“I do like yous,” you took his right hand in yours and kissed the ring on his finger, “I love yours, Dean.”

“Well, this one is exactly like mine.” He smiled. “Except it’s in your size, obviously, so we can… you know… match.” You took the ring out of the box and admired it for a moment. You were about to put it on but he stopped you; “May I do the honors, sweetheart?” he asked. You couldn’t help the giggle that escaped your lips as you nodded and he took it from you. He slipped the ring onto your right ring finger before he kissed your hand. 

“I mean this in the most genuine way possible; this is by far the best gift anyone has ever gotten me, Dean! Ever!”

A sheepish blush was forming on his cheeks as he leaned over and kissed your lips; “I love you so much.” He pulled away so he could look at you; “And, I want you to know this isn’t a regular gift.”

“Yeah?” you asked, your smile growing. 

“Yeah,” he replied and kissed you again. When he pulled away again he chickened out a little and didn’t say what he was going to. “You’re twenty-one, which means you can now legally drink in all fifty states.” He stood up, pulling on your hand gently so you would follow him to the kitchen. He took two beers out of the fridge and put them on the table. He used the ring on his finger to easily open one then handed the other to you. “Why don’t you give it a try.”

It took you a few tries but you managed to open the beer using the ring he just gave you; “Okay, now that’s awesome!”

“Happy birthday, sweetheart!” Dean said and you clinked your beers together before you both started drinking them. As he brought the bottle down from his lips, he watched as you kept drinking and smiled to himself. He suddenly felt the courage he felt when he bought the ring and decided to tell you his thoughts; “You know you’re the only girl for me, right?” You nodded with a smile. “I don’t just mean ‘for now’ I mean like forever. That’s the real meaning behind the ring, I love you and I want to be with you for the rest of our lives.”

You couldn’t help the happy tears beginning to sting your eyes as you looked up at him; “Forever?”

“Forever.”

* end of flashback *

You were shaken back to cruel reality by the sound of John’s voice beside you; “What’s taking them so long? We’ve gotta get back on the fuckin’ road.”

“Are you fucking serious right now?” you scoffed and looked at him. “Dean might be in serious trouble, and you’re thinking about the next hunt!?”

“Dean’s gonna be fine.” He rolled his eyes.

“We don’t know that,” you replied. You again started fiddling with the ring Dean had given to you.

“You know that ring doesn’t make you two husband and wife,” John commented. 

You stood up abruptly, not wanting to say what was running through your head; Yeah, and Dean being so fucking perfect doesn’t make you a good father.

“Dean Smith’s next of kin?” the doctor asked. 

“I’m his wife, this is his dad,” you said. “H-How is he?”

“He’ll be fine,” she replied. “He has a very minor concussion from when his head hit the floor, but he just needs some rest.”

“What happened?” John asked. 

“He fainted from over-exhaustion, he’s gonna be okay.”

“Over-exhaustion?” You furrowed your brows, placing a hand over your chest. “B-But he’s been eating fine? A-And sleeping as much as me, I think?”

“Actually,” John interrupted, “he’s been helping me with research at night, he doesn’t sleep as much as you.” 

Never in your life had you wanted to knee John Winchester in the balls as badly as you wanted to at that moment.

“How many hours a night are you sleeping, hun?” the doctor asked you.

“Like three to five… every other night,” you admitted. “And that’s always been enough! If it wasn’t, Dean could’ve just taken a nap he didn’t have to—fuck.”

“Can we see him?” John asked.

“He’s still asleep but yes, you can go and see him,” she replied.

On the way to Dean’s room, you kept wondering how this all happened—how did Dean get so fucking tied he collapsed!? If he was staying up at night, why didn’t he just sleep in the car? You would’ve happily driven Baby, and it’s not like you hadn’t done that before—Dean’s love language was sharing that fucking car.

“This hasn’t ever happened before, right?” you asked John. 

“Never,” he replied. “Guess Dean’s just not as strong as he used to be.”

“Excuse me?” you seethed and stopped in your tracks, pulling John to a halt as well. “Dean is a fucking hero but he is not a machine, he’s a fucking human being who’s been treated like a soldier since he was six-fucking-years-old!”

“If you wanna say something, fucking say it!” John exclaimed. 

“Oh, I am saying it! How fucking dare you work him so hard that he lands in the fucking emergency room!”

“We all know in this line of work, we have to do what we have to do!”

You slapped him hard across the face and your eyes widened when you realized what you did. 

“Dean is your son,” you said, quickly changing your facial expression back into one of pure rage. “He is your fucking child and you’ve been treating him like shit for far too long. He deserves better, he doesn’t deserve to be so fucking exhausted that he collapses.”

You walked away and into Dean’s room. Seeing him lying in the hospital bed made your heart break as tears welled in your eyes. 

“Oh god,” you mumbled. “Dean.” You quickly pulled up a chair so you could sit next to his bed and patiently wait for him to wake up. John did the same, though he seemed annoyed by the fact Dean was still asleep. 

You weren’t sure how long had passed before John got fed up; “Can you press the button for the nurse so we can ask when he’s supposed to wake up?”

“I think we should just let him sleep, don’t you?” you whispered, not knowing if Dean had been sedated or if he was just resting like normal.

“I didn’t ask for your opinion, I told you to call the damn nurse,” he said, raising his voice which caused Dean to stir awake.

“Hey sweetheart,” Dean said groggily, his eyes half-hooded as he brought your hand to his lips and placed a kiss on your knuckles. He then dropped your hand and rubbed his eyes to wake himself up. “This isn’t the motel,” he realized. He noticed John sitting at the other side of the bed and he sat up a little, trying to somewhat compose himself. “Wh-What happened?”

“I’ll fill you in,” John said. “Y/n, why don’t you go grab us some coffee so I can talk with my son?”

All your instincts told you not to leave the two Winchesters alone but what choice did you have? You didn’t want to start another fight with John, you were tired too, and you didn’t want Dean worrying.

“Yeah, sure,” you said. You took the time to bend down and place a loving kiss on Dean’s forehead, causing him to smile. “No coffee for you though, you need more sleep,” you told him before you left the room. 

About ten minutes later you walked back in and the sight practically made your eyes bulge out of your skull as your jaw flew open. 

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” you asked and placed the two cups to the side. 

“Dad said there’s a hunt,” Dean said matter-of-factly. “I can sleep in the car or something, let’s go.” He started to stand up so you pushed him back down. 

“How fucking dare you!” you exclaimed at John, who stood on the other side of the bed. “How dare you tell him to suit up right now! He is staying here in this hospital, and he is getting some goddamn sleep!”

“That is not your decision,” John replied. “If Dean says he’s fine, then he’s fine.”

“You realize those are the exact words you said to me before your son collapsed, right?” you scoffed. “Dean lay back down now,” you told him as you began taking his boots off. “You are staying here for the night, you understand me?”

“Don’t you boss him around!” John exclaimed. “Dean and I are leaving here now.”

“You can leave if you want to, but Dean is staying put!” you replied, matching his tone. 

“No, he is not!” John yelled. 

You’d never fought with John like this, usually yelling and getting yelled at made your eyes tear up in the most inconvenient way. But this? Dean’s health? You were not about to back down. Not one single tear dared to appear in your eyes as you looked at John with such anger you wanted to slap him across the face… again.

“Why don’t we get a third opinion?” you suggested.

“Yeah, Dean, do you wanna sit here like a pussy or do you wanna go save some fucking lives?” John turned to look at him.

“Don’t answer that,” you said quickly. “I meant, let’s call the nurse and see what they have to say about it.”

Before John could protest, you walked over and pressed the button. It took half a minute—during which you and John stared daggers at each other—but soon the nurse walked in.

“How is everyone?” she asked, noticing the tension in the room.

“Do you think this young man here can leave yet? He’s doing fine and wants to go home,” John said. 

“Let me check his chart,” she replied before doing so. “I would have to no, he should definitely stay here and get some much-needed rest.”

“Is there a doctor—” John started but you stopped him.

“Goddamn it John!” you scoffed. “He is not leaving!” 

“You are not his fucking family!” John shouted, much louder than before. “I am! You aren’t his wife, you aren’t his sister, you aren’t his fucking mother—you are just his current girlfriend, and believe me that’ll fucking change in a heartbeat. You are not in charge of what Dean does, you are not family.” There was a short pause as your eyes brimmed with tears yet you refused to let them fall. John sighed and continued; “I am Dean’s father, I know what’s best for him, and I say he’s packing his things and getting the hell outta here.”

The nurse looked absolutely shocked, her jaw hanging open. The look John gave her made her hurry out of the room.

“Dad,” Dean said, seeing the tears in your eyes. “Dad, you can yell at me all you want, I’m your kid but…” He exhaled shakily as John turned to look at him with a frustrated look. “But you can’t talk to her like that, you just can’t. You might not think of her as family but that’s on you, she is a part of my family, Dad. And yeah, we might not be legally married or whatever but she’s not just my current girlfriend? She basically is my wife, we’re not just… dating?” Dean looked at his father with a sense of desperation, John just had to apologize and you could all drop it. Of course, John, being a stubborn bastard, held his ground and crossed his arms authoritatively. “I-If you aren’t gonna take back what you just said to her y-you can go on this next hunt alone.”

“Excuse me?” John scoffed. 

“You heard me,” Dean replied. “She’s everything to me and I can’t sit idly by while you talk to her like that.”

“So you’re talkin’ back to me now? Like Sammy?” John asked. “Refusing to take orders?”

“This isn’t about me, Dad!” Dean said, his face twisted with guilt. “You know I follow any orders you give, that I’m quick to obey. But you saying Y/n isn’t family? I-I’m sorry but I can’t let that slide, Dad.”

John huffed and abruptly left the room.

“I’m sorry,” you said to Dean the moment John was out of earshot.

“Me too.” Dean smiled sadly as you both wiped your eyes quickly.

“Why don’t we get these jeans off of you so you can be more comfortable?” you suggested patting his shin.

His brows shot up; “Really? Here? Now?”

“Dean, no!” you chuckled, shaking your head. “I meant comfortable so you can go to sleep!”

“Oh…yeah, that makes more sense.” His trademark cocky smile was back and that made your own smile return to your now tear-stained face.

“I’m serious about you staying put, you know.” You nodded toward his pants and he got the message. 

“You can be real stubborn, you know that?” he laughed as he hurried and slipped his pants off. You folded them up and put them on the chair along with his belt. He shrugged off his jacket and you tossed it on top of where the pants sat. 

“Get under the covers,” you said. He rolled his eyes playfully but he obliged nonetheless. 

“Happy?” He smiled when he was comfortable in the bed. 

You nodded; “I love you, Dean.” You leaned down and placed a kiss on his lips, causing his smile to turn more genuine. 

“Hey,” the doctor interrupted as she walked into the room, “Nurse Roberts just told me about the little outburst… everything okay in here?”

“Yeah, just a little misunderstanding is all,” you replied. “But it’s all settled—Dean’s staying the night.”

“That’s good to hear,” she said with a smile. “I’ve gotta be honest I’ve never seen anything like this.”

“What do you mean?” you asked, clearly anxious about her statement.

“I just meant that your husband is very healthy,” she assured you; “I’ve never seen a young, healthy man like him just collapse from over-exhaustion.”

“First time for everything I guess,” Dean laughed nervously.

You glared at him; “Not funny, babe.”

“She’s right,” the doctor backed you up. “Now, whatever you’ve been doing recently that caused you to lose this much sleep, get this stressed you need to quit it right here, right now.”

“It’s our job, we can’t just… quit,” you said. “But I will definitely keep a closer eye on him from now on, make sure he’s getting enough sleep.”

“You can’t put this all on her, you understand me, Mr. Smith?” She looked at Dean before he nodded shyly. “Mrs. Smith you need to fix your own sleeping habits as well — if you both don’t smarten up and take better care of yourselves, you will definitely be right back here before the end of the year. You got that?”

“Yes, ma’am,” Dean said. 

“Good.” She nodded. “Now, I’m gonna give you a small dose of a mild sedative to help you fall asleep, alright?” She said as she made her way over to Dean’s IV bag to give him the sedative. “You ripped this out the second you woke up, didn’t you?” She asked him when she realized the needle was no longer in his arm. “You two, I swear!” She started preparing to simply inject Dean with the sedative but you stopped her.

“Is there maybe like a pill equivalent to what you’re giving him? He doesn’t really like needles,” you said. 

“There is, would you prefer that?” she asked Dean, and he nodded vigorously. “Alright, I’ll go and grab that for you then. Mrs. Smith the chair in the corner folds out into a small bed if you two don’t want to share one.”

“Oh, that’s alright, I’m not tired,” you said. 

She gave you a look; “Seriously? Hun, what did we just talk about?”

“I get that, but I know Dean’s not gonna sleep properly if he doesn’t feel safe.”

“This is a hospital, it’s safe,” she said. 

“Sorry,” you said with a small shrug, and again she sighed.

At that moment, John decided to walk back into the room, making your breath hitch a little before the doctor left to get the meds for Dean. 

“It’s alright, you two get some sleep; I’ll keep watch,” he said as he made his way over to the chair and sat down. 

“You sure, dad? I thought you said there was a job nearby?” Dean asked. 

John looked at you and smiled ever-so-slightly. Maybe it was something you had said to him, maybe John didn’t want you being alone with Dean while he was so weak, or maybe there never was a job and he didn’t have anything better to do than stay with his son. 

For whatever reason, John Winchester sighed and answered; “You’re more important, Dean. Your safety is more important. Now quit whining and get some sleep.”

Dean pulled the covers back, silently asking you to join him in the bed and, of course, you obliged. You gave him a quick kiss on the lips before getting comfortable in his arms.

“I love you, sweetheart,” he said, kissing your temple. 

“I love you more,” you replied, making him let out a soft laugh. 

“You always gotta one-up me, huh?” he chuckled. 

“Uh-huh,” you giggled. His arms tightened around your frame as he tucked your head under his chin. John couldn’t help but feel a twinge of guilt for treating not only you but his own son so poorly. Every time John saw Dean be this relaxed and happy, you were always the cause. Maybe that wasn’t such a bad thing.

By the time the doctor got back about seven minutes later, you and Dean were both fast asleep; the latter letting out snores that gently moved your hair with each breath. She smiled a little at the sight and decided to duck back out of the room so as not to wake you two.

[thesilmarillionblog]

Thank you so much. That means a lot! 🥹 I'll do my best to make the ending prefect and I'll post at least two special chapters for this series. (Funny, I had planned 'Waste' to be a one-shot story, but it turned out (possibly) +50k words 'mini series' thanks to all of your comments. ) 🫣 ❤️

𝐖𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄 ── Part 5

Click here to read the first part.

Summary: In the hopes that things would improve between you, you choose to lose your virginity to your friend Dean Winchester because you have been in love with him madly for a long time. However, he doesn't feel the same about you.

Pairing: Dean Winchester x F!Reader

Warnings: confessions, heavy angst, sick reader, distant Dean, insecure reader, painful, jealousy, misunderstandings, edgy

Word Count: 10.2k

A/N: English is not my first language.

Song: 'Now the One You Once Loved Is Leaving' by Lydia.

Dean was disturbed by the frantic knocking on the door and felt helpless to stop you from sobbing. He had absolutely no idea what was wrong. Minutes earlier, everything between you and him was perfect in every way. But suddenly, the moment you spent together had become an absolute misery.

If someone hadn't been beating on the door as if he were going to break it, he might have tried to talk to you about it and figure out what problem you were suffering from. The idea of pushing you made him feel quite sick. Dean believed he had worked very hard to make sure you desired this. He wouldn't have touched you in the first place if he felt even a little hesitation. 

Without a doubt, you and him needed to talk about that. However, it wasn't the right time. He knew you needed a little time and you needed to get out of here right away. It hurt to see you cry like you lost someone. Once again.

Fuck the ghost.

You did your best to stop weeping, adjusted your outfit, and wiped the tears from your cheeks out of fear that someone might catch you and Dean. You felt terrible for abruptly having a breakdown and made Dean feel dreadful, spoiling the lovely night. A beautiful Halloween may have been. The perplexity on his face was palpable. You wanted to cry more at the notion of him never touching you again, but you attempted to keep your focus on the present so as not to make a scene and make things worse than they already were. Later on, you would try to explain yourself. That was something you owed him.

Dean sighed deeply and stood up, watching you wipe away your tears as your crying gradually turned into regular breathing. You tried to persuade him that you were the only one responsible for this and that it was just a moment of weakness on your side. You didn't intentionally ruin it after kissing him first.

You secretly wanted him to console you, calm you, and convince you that everything was okay and that you two could fix whatever the problem was. But he remained silent, which just increased your sense of solitude.

However, if he questioned ��why’ how could you really explain that you were just lovesick? 

You wanted to depart as quickly as possible, so you pushed yourself to stop crying before Dean got to the door and unlocked it himself. Robb was the one who was almost angrily banging on the door. When he noticed your teary, red eyes and Dean standing behind you, gazing at Robb with an obviously irate expression, his fist kicking the door stopped.

His voice was worried as he questioned, “What the hell happened to you?” Robb was clearly taken aback by your facial reaction. His fist loosened as it made contact with your arms.

You felt like you could start crying in front of them again when he gave you a comforting back rub. But since you didn't want to give yourself any more embarrassing yourself, you tried your best to smile and tell him, “I'm alright.”

Robert didn't seem to believe you, and he gave Dean a dubious look while remaining close to you and placing one of his hands on the door. “Did you just force her?” Your eyes widened in disbelief and embarrassment when Robb abruptly snapped while taking a quick glance around the room.

“Robb! Of course not!” you said in panic. You thought someone was about to start a fight when you saw Dean's expression go from one of perplexity to fury. Robb's concern for you was appreciated, but it irritated you to see him accuse Dean of committing such an awful act.

“Seriously,” Robb said, examining your face more closely while softly massaging one of your arms. He then turned to face Dean, who appeared ready to hit Robert at any moment. “What did the two of you do in that room? I became a little curious when one of my friends informed me that you two had gone straight upstairs after entering the home.”

You and Dean looked at each other. There, he was clearly caught up in an internal conflict. He gazed at Robb's arm as it brushed yours, who was acting like he was your lover. He couldn't deny how angry he was at the sight before him. A lot. To be honest, that made Dean want to smash Robert's face already. Let alone his stupid accusation, was enough of a reason for Dean to put the doctor in comatose. He would enjoy this in a very twisted way.

You hurriedly clarified, “We were just curious about the room you talked about earlier,” in the hopes that Robb would stop interrogating you and Dean. You withdrew your arm from his contact in order to set boundaries. You needed a place to relax and rest your ass because your heels were causing so much pain in your feet at the moment.

“What?” Robb asked, puzzled by your bizarre response. You would never be interested in such crap. After all, you weren't a teenager. You've also never been interested in such things before. You were a really reasonable person, as far as he knew you. “But that is not the room I have talked about. For heaven's sake... It's in the dowry. The room is completely empty, plus Jordan isn't even using it.”

As Robert crossed his arms over his chest and gave you and Dean a serious face, you felt your cheeks turn white. You felt faint when you realized that the room in which Dean had fucked you wasn't even the correct one. You were overwhelmed by fear to see Dean's face and his reaction. The only sound you heard was him taking a big breath. At this moment, you didn't want to know what he was thinking.

Dean, however, was the one who informed you that the locked room was the right one. There was nothing at all wrong with you other than starting the process by kissing him out of affection. He came up with the idea, not you. You needed to take an aspirin. You were now feeling somewhat more sick due to your headache. 

When Robb opened his lips to ask additional questions that would make you feel worse, you said, “I need to use the bathroom.”

“Sure.” As he showed you where to find the restroom, then Robert said, “We'll be downstairs with Dean.” 

Dean's keen gaze on Robbert was palpable. You thought you'd find the right opportunity for sorting it out later, but the need to boldly stare at his face and pretend that what happened there wasn't anything important was too strong. If only you had enough courage.

Dean wanted to rub you on the back and tell Robb to go fuck himself after seeing your weary and pale face, but he didn't want to make a scene and ruin your evening any further. Even though he didn't appreciate Robb's snobbish words, Dean only nodded to you to indicate that everything was all right. With those deadly shoes, he questioned how you were even walking. You must have been in pain based on the look on your face as you took nearly clumsy steps to the restroom. He wanted to remove them right away from your feet himself.

Fortunately for Robb, he wasn't glancing at you. If he was, he would have stared at your clothes, particularly your skirt, in a spiteful manner, such that Dean would decide to think of a reason to make a scene. Reluctantly, Dean and Robb went downstairs after they watched you go into the bathroom. A few were observing and spoke in whispers. Most of them were dressed foolishly and high as fuck. Dean came to the realization that he had no fun on Halloween. There was nothing at all enjoyable about it.

Only you and the food.

“So,” Robb remarked, passing him a cup of whiskey while they were standing near a table filled with food. His cigarette theme costume made him appear really ridiculous. Yet Robb had figured out a clever way to make use of his height. “What were you two doing up there?”

Angry when someone stepped on his cloak while he was walking by, Dean pulled it to himself. He didn't respond to Robb and kept piling food on his plate for you and him before he consumed a whole pie. In order for you to share in the small feast, he hoped you were hungry. That might make things less awkward between you. 

“Isn't it obvious?” As he proceeded to choose sweets to place on his tray, Dean eventually winked. You would love that desert.

“She's not into crap things. I know that,” Robb said with certainty. Dean was getting irritated by his cocky and confident appearance. Even though he was making every effort to avoid saying anything offensive, he had a suspicion that Robb was doing it on purpose. When you were around, he was a little different. 

“Then you don't know her.” 

“I do know she's a very sensitive and reasonable person,” he said. “She couldn't possibly want to go inside that room and see herself if it is haunted indeed.” Robb took a sip of his whiskey and said "hi" to a few visitors passing by him. Dean seemed irritated at hearing Robb's assurance when mentioning you. 

Robert had no idea who you really were, no matter how long you had been friends. He has never witnessed you hunting beasts or ghosts. He was clueless. 

“You have no idea,” Dean answered simply, looking at him intently. 

“I know her for a long time,” Robb said, sounding almost aggressive. When someone else walked on his cloak again, Dean became irritated and stopped putting food on his plate, pulling his clothing about his arm. “More than you.”

Dean replied, “Don’t talk like you know a shit,” with the same fury. He wondered whether that person was attempting to irritate him so that Dean would punch him in the face, cause a scene in front of you, and so forth. He would have kicked his ass already if he hadn't realized that he was your best buddy, which was dreadful enough.

“You must know,” Dean said, turning to face him with a cunning grin. “There, she showed a lot of curiosity. She wanted to see herself if the rumors were true, and I'm a really encouraging and helpful friend.”

Robb froze at Dean's implication. He was still in touch with your life and choices since you and him never lost contact. You weren't the type to keep significant information from him, especially those who you were interested in. Well, for a long time, you weren't into anybody, so Robert became tense with skepticism as a result of Dean's inappropriate imply. Robb was aware that you would have discussed it over the phone or via text if that guy was that significant and the things he intimated were true. Robb was aware that you were still untouched. He never criticized you for something like that, though it was still unexpected. He respected you.

He was aware that you wanted it to be with someone you loved and cared about, which Robb deeply valued. That's why he was annoyed by Dean's remarks. That man had no shame. 

Robb said, almost menacingly, “Be careful what you're talking about,” and Dean took a deep breath to keep his composure. He could tell that the night was coming to an end, with him smashing his nerdy face.

“That's what happened. Both of us were enjoying ourselves there and were a bit curious. Until you showed up,” Dean went on. He wanted Robb to initiate the fight so he could smash an empty plate on his thick idiot head. Dean was no longer smiling. When Dean first saw this man with you that evening, he knew he was going to be a pain in the ass. 

“The way she looked was different.”

With a harsh tone, Dean demanded that Robb stop talking so much. “She's fine.” If there was someone else to talk to, it would be better, but Dean just couldn't walk away, knowing Robb would talk to you nonstop. He wondered what you were doing up there. 

Robb was right when he said that you weren't at all okay, but Dean chose not to consider that. He couldn't help but notice how fragile and pale you were. Dean didn't understand what actually happened between you. He couldn't remember exactly who made the first move since he was inside of you so abruptly. But it didn't matter. What mattered was the root cause of your extreme sensitivity, which Dean was unable to fully grasp. It was just a wonderful moment, he thought—a chance for you to enjoy yourself in your own hunter ways. Twisted, but hot.

Having sex in a room he believed to be haunted was hellish, but it felt thrilling with you. He had fucked Jo once or twice weeks prior while they were on a ghost hunt, but it had been quick and not quite what Dean was hoping for. He couldn't find the satisfaction he was searching for. Maybe you simply loathed the environment you were in. A warm bed surely would make you feel better. Dean would think about this later.

Given that Dean was either obstinate or an egoistic jerk, Robb inhaled deeply. Dean gave him a proud, secure appearance, and he was undoubtedly aware that he looked good. Robert couldn't help but wonder whether you've been feeling anything recently for an ignorant man like him. But it was difficult to believe that you would genuinely fall in love with someone so egotistical and reckless.

“I know her limits.” Robb didn't say anything too direct to put you in a bad position, only remarked, “We've been friends for too long. And I can say that she wouldn't be possibly keen on lowering such boundaries with a man like you.”

The man in front of Robb continued to make overly explicit comments, so Robb's tone was harsher than he had expected. 

“I'm good at destroying stuff, and believe me, there are no other men like me.” Dean waited for you to arrive while checking the stairs. He made sure the plate was stuffed. He was about to punch the man in front of him. He was able to cure himself. So he needed you.

Robb let out a little sigh as he saw Dean was still giving the impression that you were actually interested in him, doing such crap things with him there. But once he saw your fragile, sobbing face, he refused to ignore it and go on

“Cut this off.” Robb said, “She's not like other women you met before,” in a tone so irate that Dean dropped his dish on the table with a harsh move. He was annoyed, surprised by the nerd's anger. He was absolutely trying Dean to make a scene.

“Say something else and I'll break your face,” Dean said, showing his frustration beyond control. In order to inform you that he knocked your friend unconscious in self-defense, he waited for Robb to initiate the fight since the atmosphere was tense. It would only be a defensive move. Reasonably harmless.

Robb's jaw tightened as well, sensing Dean's growing rage. He wasn't scared of that kind of man. But it was unsettling how he didn't give a damn and just concentrated on himself, regardless of what was going on. Robert wasn't sure whether that man was aware that you were still a virgin, but he didn't want to place you in a difficult situation.

“Do you even give a damn about what she is?” Almost in a bored whisper, Robb asked. He was aware that he needed to learn some things. He answered the inquiry as politely as he could, hoping you were still okay and Dean was just playing tricks on him about you.

When Robb asked an absurd question, Dean scowled. He was aware that you were a hunter and an orphan. One of the most sensitive and intimate aspects of your life was that. Dean didn't bring up the topic of your family so as not to upset you. Robb was more foolish than Dean had believed if he had been talking about this. 

To demonstrate that he knew you well, Dean remarked, “I know that she's an orphan,” almost in a whisper. Dean was pleased that the doctor was unaware that you were a hunter. He was and would never be that close to you. You were also closer to Dean than anybody could be. Maybe that shouldn't have made him feel proud, but it did. 

“She's...untouched,” Robb said. Before he spoke, he peered upstairs. “A virgin. Thus—”

“You lie,” Dean intervened, his fist clenched in what he believed to be an attempt to get Dean to kick his ass. He couldn't possibly be speaking the truth.

Robb was genuinely lecturing Dean, as he was deep in thought. Dean was by himself in front of the table when he heard that he had finally vanished when one of his friends greeted him and drew him to meet others. He drank one glass after another while reminiscing about the first time he fucked you. Dean was certain that he waited long enough before escalating the situation because you didn't say anything before he pushed himself inside of you.

“I wasn't surprised that seeing that face of yours,” Robb said, taking a step back and smiling while sipping his whiskey. “So you keep that attitude to yourself when she's around and stop embarrassing her by implying stupid things.”

Drinking from a glass wasn't enough, so Dean grabbed a bottle of whiskey and started to sip it while still thinking about the time he spent with you. He was aware that you hadn't seen anyone in a while. Because he believed you might wanted more than just being attracted to someone and that your loss for your family was still raw, he didn't ask you the reason that he hasn't seen you with anybody since you first met. It was good you let him touch you as he liked it, but he couldn't have predicted that you were still...virgin until he touched you.

He took a frustrated breath, disturbed that you didn't even provide him with such crucial information. He was unable to explain the rage that was clenching his jaw.

Dean attempted to figure out why you wouldn't have given him such an important thing, but he was unable to come up with a suitable explanation. He made an effort to ignore the pictures of how he had fucked you quick the first time. But he wasn't sure if he would follow through if he knew. That wasn't important to know, though. There was no way he could take it back.

As you watched him sip from a bottle of whiskey, lost in the moment, you muttered, “Dean?”

After cleansing yourself, you felt a little better, but the nausea remained. Your face was still pale, so you wondered whether you were sick. It may have been the cold weather. It could have been better to bring a hoodie or anything else. Your legs were unsteady from the things Robert told you. However, it didn't feel like the right time to bring it up. For a genuine conversation, you and Dean must be alone. You felt terrible at the thought of him being irritated about your sudden collapse when he was literally inside of you.

Since he was unaware that you were by his side, you softly rubbed his arm to draw his attention to you. He finally gave you a glance. For a moment, he appeared rather perplexed. 

“Where is Robb?”

He responded, “I-,” but then he arched an eyebrow and dropped the bottle on the table while still examining it between his hands. He seemed startled. You were curious about how much he had already consumed. His mouth was never empty. “I guess he's spending his time with his friends.” 

“Alright,” you said, concerned about the change in his behavior. 

You picked one of the sweets that looked so good off the table to ease the tension between you. Perhaps the nausea was brought on by the fact that you hadn't eaten anything since the morning. Dean was observing you with a serious expression on his face as you chewed it slowly. You would say he got frustrated if you didn't know him.

After swallowing a little portion, you placed the piece in your palms on the table and said, “Is everything okay?” When Dean's focused gaze was making you feel uneasy, it was difficult to enjoy anything.

“Yeah.”

After finding out the truth about you, Dean couldn't help but feel a little strange about you. He just didn't know how to continue processing things with you without causing you any more pain. 

He glanced around for a moment before asking abruptly, “Do you want to leave?”

You were hoping to meet Robert's buddy, the home's owner, and have a chat with him, but Dean didn't seem interested in striking up a conversation. To be honest, you didn't either. You could tell from the experience that you were about to become sick and your heels and feet were hurting. Just going back home would be nicer. 

“Yeah, but what about the ghost?”

To be honest, ghosts and hunts didn't really interest you right now. Regarding what happened thirty minutes ago, there were more serious problems between you and Dean that needed attention. Otherwise, you wouldn't be able to sleep tonight. Dean was obviously annoyed, too, based on how he looked. You had to tell him you were the only one responsible. You may tell him that you were simply stressed because of the atmosphere. Nothing more.

Dean just muttered, “I'll think about it later,” and he watched you expectantly to see whether you were prepared to go. He then took the plate he had prepared for both of you.

“Alright.”

Dean held the plate of food and the bottle of whiskey as he walked you to his car. It poured. You offered to drive since you were worried he could be a little drunk, but he told you he was okay and didn't drink that much. You didn't say anything to lighten the thick air between you. You could only see his stern face, staring at the dark road.

You felt somewhat nervous since he was so focused. It would have been simpler for you to discuss what occurred if he had spoken or if he had been feeling a little chatty. But you were too afraid to speak up and worsen the situation. While he was driving, none of you spoke. He didn't even glance at you.

When you thought Dean would just leave, he came after you. “You are welcome to stay if you so want. It's pouring outside,” you said as soon as you took off your heels and set the plate on the kitchen sink. It was so nice to be rid of those heels that you almost moaned with joy. Even though you hurried to get inside the car because of the heavy rain, your clothes and hair were soaked. You had to change before you became sick.

Dean shut the door behind him, and you watched him with excitement. “Okay.”

Exhaling with relief and delight, you pressed your smile back even though he didn't sound happy at all. The sounds, the rain, and the darkness brought back memories of your first intimate moments a few weeks prior.

As you saw him take off his wet cloak, you ran to the bathroom and got two towels for the two of you. “You can use the bathroom,” you said, leaving him behind as he dried himself and entered your room. Several times Dean and Sam had spent the night at your apartment, so he had clothes.

Dean was confused and unsure of what to do as he nodded, not knowing how to get answers about the the truth. Robert could have been lying to him, but he needed to be sure and make you explain yourself. He couldn't ignore it any longer.

You quickly took off your costume and panties while Dean was changing there, dressing before he left the restroom. Even though you were still feeling a bit sick, you made an effort to keep yourself energetic. You were curious about whether he would sleep in your bed or on the coach when he walked in, but you didn't ask since you wanted to let him do as he pleased. Imagining him lying beside you was making your heart race with joy and delight. You needed that so much; your soul was yearning. You noticed that Dean was looking at you through the mirror as you were removing makeup from your face. You pondered why he continued staring at you with such seriousness. 

You both understood that you had got to solve the issue before it became too difficult to fix.

Dropping your stuff, you got up from the chair and looked around excitedly. It would feel better if he was a bit chatty. 

Even though you weren't sure whether it was the right way for expressing how you were feeling at the moment, you eventually said, “I'm sorry.” The fact that his expression didn't soften at all made your heart beat. He appeared to be seeking an answer as he gazed at you. “I was just a little stressed out there.”

Dean took a long breath. “I should have confirmed the room was the right one. It's my fault. I was just rushing.”

“Really, Dean, no. I just... Of course, what Robert told was false, and it was rude of him to say something like that. He must be drunk or something. The details Robb revealed about the murder made me a little uncomfortable and worried. I should have acted with  more professionalism.” You inhaled deeply and considered approaching him, but the way he was staring at you kept you still. “I'm really sorry for ruining it. Can’t we just act like it didn’t happen?”

Satisfied with the way you express yourself, you awaited the reply. You wanted him to see how much you truly wanted and looked for closeness with him, to know that you were prepared to be touched or taken anytime he wished to. Yet you wondered if Dean was genuinely open to seeing you, real you. He must have known that you would never turn him down. Whatever he wanted to forget about, he needed to know that you were willing to let it go. Your heart was aching for the times when he was closer to you, and the distance between you was shredding your soul in two.

He said, “Professional,” with a faint smile that never made it to his lips. Before he spoke, Dean took a moment to glance around. “How long has it been since you dated someone?”

You didn't seem to understand at all, despite Dean's best efforts to avoid asking in an aggressive manner so as not to shame you.

“Years ago maybe,” you said in an ashamed whisper. You were perplexed by his query, but if he needed clarification, then it was fine. “As you are aware, a lot has happened, and recently I have been too busy. Hunting monsters, ghosts, and my job—” you attempted to explain. These were undoubtedly just excuses, but how in the world could you tell him the truth when he appeared to be ready to judge you at any moment? 

There was no reason for you to risk your friendship with him. 

Your vague response caused Dean's eyes to narrow. He was aware that going forward, he would have to ask questions directly. “How recently did you have sex? Before me. When was the last time?”

When Dean asked you questions, your body tightened. You could sense the tension in the air as he drew closer. As he got closer, you should have felt better. It didn't. You pondered what precisely he and Robb talked about while you were away. You saw him get closer while lying. “A while.” You sounded a little harsh since you didn't like being asked such questions all of a sudden. However, you wanted to patch things up with him.

 “When?”

You muttered angrily, “Why do you ask such questions now?” as he closely examined the response you gave.

“Why are you not answering?” You felt trapped as Dean approached gradually, unsure of why he had suddenly begun to inquire about your private life. 

If everything between you was alright, you would be thrilled to see him coming closer, but the way he asked you in a tone that was almost harsh made your body tense with worry and stress. To put some distance between you and him, you stepped back and placed your hands on the chair's head. 

“Yes, I responded. It's been a while,” you said, refusing to give in to his dark stare that was crushing your soul. “Not everyone is obsessed with daily hookups like you, Dean, and I'm a busy person.”

You tried to maintain your calm by maintaining eye contact, but after a while your eyes wandered the room as if you were trying to walk away. Your inference didn't appear to be bothering him. He wouldn't be bothered, of course. 

Dean stated abruptly “Robert told me that you are a virgin,” and he briefly closed his eyes. “were.” 

Your knees felt shaky, and your face turned pale as he maintained his curiosity-driven eyes on you. You opened your mouth to speak, but you had no idea how to convince him that he was mistaken. When Dean revealed to you that Robert had informed him of such a private matter, you felt a surge of rage, but you were too perplexed to figure out how to handle the situation. You hated Robb. You hated him and Dean for discussing such a private subject while you were away. 

“He's lying,” you whispered. Your voice was hardly heard, even though you meant to sound harder and more resolute. 

“Robb is your closest pal. You told me this, remember? And now you're telling me he's lying,” Dean said. Indicating that he didn't believe you at all, he raised an eyebrow. “Why would he lie about something like that?” 

“Why does it even matter?” You snapped, no longer willing to discuss Robb or anything about yourself. 

Your question can be interpreted as a kind of acceptance. Your eyes met Dean's as your pulse pounded with nervousness. Dean was staring at you in confusion, as though he was trying to figure out what had actually happened. It was no longer necessary for you to even admit. Dean knew Robb was right. 

He was too blind to see it, even though he should have recognized it from the start when he rethought the specifics of your private moments, from how you felt extremely tight and how you hadn't seen anybody in a year. Taking a deep breath to keep his composure, Dean realized that if Robb didn't tell him, he would never know the truth.

“It does matter. You should have told me.”

“You're just exaggerating. I didn't want to inform you later and put you under any physiological pressure. It isn't that important,” you asserted. In anxiety, your fingers had gripped the chair behind you hard. You attempted to speak it out and seem normal while your heart was pounding and your legs felt weak, but Dean's reactions made it much more difficult. You weren't worried about your virginity at all.

He abruptly replied, “You could have told me beforehand,” raising his voice just enough to make you gasp. He moved closer until he was standing in front of you, staring into your teary eyes. “Have you given any thought to whether I would want to take your virginity? Why are you not answering?” He was so close that you could blow up because of the pressure he put on you.

Since it was one of the reasons you didn't tell him in the first place, it would be dishonest to convince yourself that it was what you expected. It's unlikely that Dean was aware of your want to spend your first time with him and your lone hope that he would grow to like you more later on. You were afraid that he may misinterpret your motivations and actions, even if the deed wasn't done with any cunning.

Your fingers loosened, and you released the chair with a disappointed heart. As you spoke to him, you were clutching onto the chair so tightly that you were unaware of it. Your fingers hurt. You questioned why he didn't treat you the same way he treated Jo. Were you worse? Did you not have any lovely features? You struggled to find the right words to soothe him as he gave you an irritated expression. But given how awful the night was, he had to be the one to soothe you.

You felt horrible and guilty.

“Dean, it's not really that special. Just.. heat of the moment.” To ease the tension between you, you tried to smile at him and added, “Don't think that I was expecting something when I decided to give it to you.”

“Good,” he said immediately before you were able to respond. You wondered why he was so frustrated because of the harsh and aloof tone of his voice. It couldn't be bound to what you hadn't revealed earlier. He could have felt somewhat guilty, but you were there to assure him it didn't matter. 

“Otherwise it would have gone to waste.”

This time, you struggled to contain your emotions since you were so devastated. You hated the way he treated you tonight; you could hardly restrain yourself from losing it again and looking stupid in front of him. All you wanted was for him not to feel under strain, so you never said anything. However, once he found out, he couldn't ignore something that was so personal. After learning, however, he must have felt pressured.

The yearning to keep him away was stronger than the need to stay close to him. Was it too much to want to sleep next to him in a warm mattress in the final days of October? Your heart clenched when you realized that he was okay with doing even more intimate things with Jo and other women. He wasn't generous with you. 

Dean couldn't help but feel regret for what he said as he saw your joyful look for a few moments before gradually waning and becoming filled with agony. His pride prevented him from saying anything, even though he wanted to apologize and comfort you. The fact that your first Halloween turned out to be somewhat terrible evening was awful. This was not what he had intended. You didn't either. 

Dean was overwhelmed as he observed your teary eyes idly looking into the room as if you were making an effort to make things better. He was no longer sure how to go with you. And he was unaware that he had gotten close enough that he could practically feel your hard breathing on his lips. If he took control, he could capture your lips and complete the task you began in that room an hour ago. Dean was confident you wouldn't turn him down and offer yourself to him again. He was tempted to move and let go of the tension that was driving him insane. If he lacked the strength to control his urges, he would have made the first move once again.

Since you didn't feel at ease in a stranger's bed, he was happy to take you to a warm bed. That could settle your disagreements. His mind and feelings, however, pushed him to fulfill none of them.

Dean became perplexed when he noticed that you were still staring at him expectantly and that neither of you had moved. The way you looked at his lips and then at his face with a pained expression as if you were about to kiss him made him even more confused. He was aware that he would respond to your kiss immediately, without a second thought. When he realized you were even a little bit closer now, he almost gasped. He was unaware of whether or not you were doing this intentionally.

You were able to whisper, “I'm going to sleep,” because you didn't want to talk about it any more for fear that he would hurt you further and not care about how you were feeling. You felt the rejection in your flesh and bones. Although it was hard to believe, Dean didn't care about you or how difficult it was for you to confess something so personal; you were desperately attempting to convince him that it didn't matter. He called it 'waste'.

Even worse, if he chose to sleep on your bed, on your side, you would still be too weak to feel peaceful. There was no need to disregard the cruel things he said to you or the way he looked at you, or to deny that your bound had weakened.

Dean stepped back. He said, “I guess the rain has stopped,” as you swiftly climbed your bed and moved away from him not to be seen.

Because you no longer wanted to look him in the eye, you turned your face toward the window and listened to the rain decreasing in pace. If you hadn't talked at all and he had simply been lying next to you, it would have been perfect to stay silent and let your bodies speak. As you wrapped the blanket around your cold body, you let your tears wet your pillow, knowing he would no longer see your expression. You didn't make a noise.

Nothing happened while you waited for him to lay down next to you and cover half of his body with the blanket. The only sounds you heard were Dean leaving your house and the faint sound of the door shutting behind him. When you heard him driving away, you repressed your feelings for him.

You couldn't contain your tears any longer and pressed your face against your pillow, sobbing aloud only as you were certain he had left. Knowing that you had no one to worry about who would find out that you were a pathetic lovesick sobbing over a man who didn't even treat you the same way he treated any of his hookups was almost nice. You didn't feel upset at Robb, but you did feel angry with yourself for not being honest with Dean from the very beginning. He should have been the one who soothed you and put things right, just as you were attempting to do.

Seeing him not try to maintain your friendship was the most painful thing. Everything appeared so simple to sort out, but his behavior made it hard to repair whatever had been damaged between you. So be it.

Your cries became sobbing, which in turn became harder to breathe as his words repeated in your head. You fell asleep on your wet pillow just as your headache was becoming worse and you were too exhausted to continue crying.

Your nightmares prohibited you from getting a good night's sleep, and you kept waking up in the middle of the night to see if Dean had texted or called. You checked your own temperature, and you realized that the chilly weather wasn't the only reason you were feeling unwell.

You understood from your experience that the sickness was also caused by your mental health and heartbreak. You considered skipping work today, but it would be best to keep yourself occupied. In order to forget what had happened, you wanted to work for hours on end without even taking a break. 

Before you left the house and forced yourself to eat something so you could take some medicine, you saw the plate Dean had set out for you in the kitchen, along with a bottle of whiskey. Your mind was overflowing with bad memories, so you threw the plate full of sweets in the trash can without giving it a second thought. You could drink whiskey another time.

Even though Dean tried to keep his thoughts busy, he had trouble falling asleep. He kept checking his phone throughout the night and considered calling or messaging you to talk it out, but he lacked the bravery and didn't want to wake you up because he knew you were pretty worn out and would be at work the next day.

Dean was sitting on the coach, whirling the phone nervously in his hands, sometimes checking the screen, when Sam arrived home in the morning. He assumed you were busy working at the moment.

“Hey,” Sam murmured while stretching his muscles. He scowled when he saw Dean consumed in his thoughts and still staring at his phone screen. “Are you waiting for a call?”

“What?” Dean said, confused. Sam was there, making himself some coffee, but he didn't even realize when he came.

“You keep looking at your phone.”

Dean defended himself by giving Sam an angry expression. “I'm not,” he said.

“So how did it go?” Sam sat on the couch and handed Dean a cup of coffee as well. He felt wonderful since he wasn't expecting his Halloween to be so joyful and enjoyable with Ruby. But Dean looked like he had been struck by a car. It was obvious he didn't get much sleep, Sam could tell. “You two got the job done?”

“No.” Dean just thought about the job you didn't finish in bed, even though he knew Sam was asking about hunting the Halloween ghost. Thus, his answer could work in both ways.

“Why?”

“It was locked,” Dean lied, unwilling to talk about the night before. 

“So you're telling me that you couldn't find a way to unlock it?” Sam's lighthearted tone made Dean tense, but he attempted to dismiss the image of your fragile look by taking a long breath to relax. Since you didn't seem good yesterday, he questioned whether you had become sick. 

When his brother offered him a broad grin that made him want to bite his skull, Dean smiled and said, “Will you stop acting like a bitch?” 

Sam gave up, not wanting to discuss the specifics in the morning. “Fine,” he sighed. “How is Y/N doing? She has not responded to my texts since yesterday. Did you leave the party too late?”

“Yeah, it was late.”

“How was your Halloween?” Dean asked so that the topic be changed. Since he wasn't particularly good at lying, he would undoubtedly tell Sam everything that had happened yesterday once he had any suspicions. Yet he didn't feel like listening to his little brother's lecture. 

“It was all right, but since you couldn't handle a single ghost, I suppose I should have accompanied you and Y/N,” Sam teased him. “It's unbelievable that you couldn't unlock a single door.”

Rather than arguing with Sam and letting him get under his skin with his grin, Dean remained silent and let his brother continue his teasing. Sam's eyes narrowed in suspicion as he saw Dean was no longer defending himself or fighting back, but he didn't ask him any questions. When Dean didn't fuck someone during an enjoyable night, he looked just like this. He would eventually tell him if there was anything else, or Sam would speak with you and find out himself.

The sound of a notification on Sam's phone caused Dean to turn toward him as Sam sipped the coffee in quiet. Dean continued to swirl his phone expectantly between his palms. Perhaps he should instead phone you or leave a message, but his pride prevented him from doing so. Yet his body ached to see you and talk to you.

It was absurd that he had been thinking about you nonstop since yesterday. In fact, he had been experiencing it for the past few weeks. He was unable to recall the precise moment it began, but it was driving him insane. Even in the most absurd situations, his mind kept thinking about you, which was crazy. Dean felt uneasy now that he had left your house after a somewhat little argument. 

While he stared at the screen, Sam said, “It looks like she'll be working all day.” 

“Did she text you?” With his gaze focused on Sam's fingers that were rapidly messaging you, Dean asked, his hands stopping to swirl his phone and waiting for the same notification. 

“Yeah,” Sam said while continuing to message you. As Dean watched his brother with a dissatisfied expression, the click sounds began to irritate him, and his boots began tapping the floor nonstop. 

Dean's fingers waited on the screen before tapping a thing when he checked his phone again and saw you online, but he instantly changed his mind since he was unsure of what to type. 

After tasting his own nasty smell, which caused him to frown in disgust, Sam finally put his phone down on the table and walked to the bathroom. Dean couldn't resist swiping Sam's phone and quickly checking it to see how you were or what you were doing just after he made sure his brother had closed the door. He hoped that you wouldn't actually be working all day. He might come to your place to fix things, or he may invite you. It was crazy how you avoided talking for so long. He couldn't even recall the last time you hadn't sent texts to each other for so long.

Fortunately, it was easy to go through the texts because he knew Sam's password. In any case, he wouldn't care. Dean read the texts, biting his lip, in which you told Sam that you were going to be working all day, that you were doing well, that Halloween went off well—all of which were complete lies—and so on. Dean typed without even realizing what he was doing since he assumed it was your lunchtime.

Just as he was about to put the phone down, the phone rang, prompting Dean to answer immediately to avoid Sam's interruption. He took a long breath and waited for you to say something. He felt like a teenager, with his heart pounding on his chest. With nervousness, Dean put his hands in his pockets and stood up from the coach.

“For God's sake, Sam,” you complained, “you've been typing for minutes.” All Dean was hearing were metallic sounds and fork sounds.

At last, he cleared his throat and said, “Sam is in the bathroom.”

You weren't expecting to hear Dean's voice. You swallowed as you recalled his cruel words and how he had abandoned you the day before. The food in front of you didn't appear to be as enjoyable as it had a few minutes before. You were no longer hungry. At least these hectic hours enabled you to forget about the argument between you and Dean, even if you've been working nonstop since the morning and the patients were especially challenging today. However, your longing for Dean's voice caused your heart to tighten once again, meaning that all of your efforts to forget were in vain.

Even though you didn't want to, you said, “Alright,” in a cold tone, as you were ready to end the call. Even at such a distance, you could feel the thick air between you. Being that way with him knowing that he had been inside of you hours before was insane. You were close and yet so far away.

Dean immediately said, “Wait, wait,” which caused you to pause. You patiently awaited till he spoke.

While Dean collected his thoughts on what to say, he took his hand out of his pocket and gripped the chair almost anxiously, his rough fingers clenched around it.

He said, “When does your shift end today?” When you informed his brother that you had been working all day, he hoped you weren't being honest. Otherwise, Dean didn't want the gap between you growing, and it would be hard to get together to talk about the matter immediately. He was going crazy from the uncertainty and your cold manner. The worst part was that he was aware of your best efforts to fix it.

Dean simply shut you out yesterday.

“I'll be working the whole day.”

“Why?”

“Because.” He acted as though nothing had transpired between you, and you were annoyed by it. You simply said, “That's what I was told.”

Dean frowned as he considered what to do. He had the option to see you at the hospital, but he doubted that it would be a good idea to discuss such sensitive subjects amongst ill patients while you were attempting to do your job responsibilities. And it didn't make sense that you would be working constantly just after Halloween night. You had to take a break. He wished to know whether you considered taking a day off.

“Tomorrow?” Dean asked softly. The first letters of your names that had been carved on the table were now being traced by his fingertips. He continued to touch your name softly on it unconsciously.

“I'll be working heavily this week.” You didn't want to be alone in your house thinking about Dean all the time. Although working full-time for a week would be extremely hard on your body and you were obviously exhausted, at least your mind would be occupied and you wouldn't be gradually thinking about Dean, creating fake scenarios in your head to overcome pain.

But your soul and mind desired to see him. When you heard his voice, it didn't make sense to do whatever you could to keep being upset with him. There could be a way to make things better. But like you, he had to listen to you and consider the situation from your perspective first.

Dean's jaw tightened in irritation and his hands halted. Now, what sort of shift was that? He was about to question whether you were lying again or if this was something you were doing on purpose, but he immediately changed his mind so as not to annoy you further.

You didn't wait for Dean to finish speaking when one of your colleagues said something. “Okay, I gotta go.” The longer you waited, the more anticipation filled your heart, making you feel even more sick.

Dean's lips opened to get you to stop, but it was too late. His mind was racing with ideas and plans on how to find a way to free up some time for you so that you could spend time together. He didn't move for a moment. He was aware that if he let go, you would grow apart and eventually lose sight of the initial reason for your small fight. He didn't want that.

Although he was still upset that you had withheld such crucial information from him, he needed to hear you out and understand your point of view. If he thought it was as unimportant as you said, you would have already started seeing other guys.

Dean was a little proud that you felt at ease sharing such an important thing with him, even if he hadn't understood the reason for it. He wasn't particularly proud of the way he hurried and didn't take his time to make it perfect for you, though. He couldn't even see your face properly since it was quite dark, even if he was doing everything properly. It still angered Dean to know that he would never have known if Robb hadn't told him yesterday. You couldn't determine that on your own and expect him to act normally about it. You have to understand him as well.

However, it didn't mean that you couldn't fix that problem.

Dean knew that you could become sensitive at times.

Your body ached from too much work as the days went by. Your body and mind were begging with you to take a break, and patients were being too much lately. You slept at the hospital at times and didn't even return home. Those naps were brief and of little use. You definitely needed to get plenty of rest till your body healed. The good news is that, as you had anticipated, Dean eventually left your thoughts. You just concentrated on resting. You washed your face again, looked in the mirror, and made the decision to spend tonight at home. Taking medications to force your body to work that hard wasn't a good idea.

You ignored Robb's warnings. You couldn't help but be irritated by his tone of voice, as though he hadn't told Dean the most intimate detail about your life. You blamed yourself just as much as you blamed him, since you should never have told him in the first place.

When you noticed Sam and Dean at the entrance after you had finished treating another patient and had given him and his girlfriend a ghostly smile, you could not move because their faces were covered in blood.

“Sam!” you said as you hurried over to accompany him, and your colleague looked at you bewildered. He appeared to be a complete mess. He wouldn't often visit the hospital for such injuries, but you were glad he did.

“Hey,” he said, scowling as he attempted to grin at you. His jaw tightened in pain. While you checked on Sam, you requested your colleague to look after Dean. You got the message from Sam's gaze when you asked him what had happened. Compared to Sam, Dean didn't appear as bad. You really didn't want to talk to him or feel brave enough to look him in the eye.

As you attempted to help him, you made him lie down and lifted his t-shirt. After all, it wasn't the first time. He had a little cut. But if Ruby saw it, she would lose her mind.

Your heart was racing as your colleague questioned Dean. You were unable to take your eyes off of them, and you noticed that Dean gave her a quick reply while continuing to stare at you.

Realizing that Sam's condition wasn't very serious, Dean offered the nurse to change her place with you, who was attempting to do her job by cleansing his hand of blood before stitching. You went straight to Sam without even looking at Dean properly, which slightly wounded his pride. Although he didn't care for himself, he assumed you would be curious about how he was doing.

Dean's heart melted when he saw how exhausted you were, how messy your hair was, and how completely messed up you looked. He was on the verge of losing it since you had been neglecting him for so long. And he nearly forgot what went wrong between you when he saw you in front of him, dressed in your sweet nurse clothing. None of them mattered at that moment.

When Dean called your name, you didn't look at him until your colleague, who was annoyed by Dean's actions, joined you. You let her look after Sam after apologizing to her with a bashful smile. Sam's wounded gaze was full of inquiry when you apologized to him as well, but he didn't care and simply huffed when he heard Dean making some noise. He believed that his brother had made an attempt to flirt with the nurse. There were times when he was very embarrassing.

While you examined Dean's wounded hand, you attempted to straighten your untidy hair with your wrist. It brought up memories of the day you were wounded. The whole thing was almost ironic. Your face grimaced as you saw how deep the cut was, and you noticed that your fingers lingered on his hand in a gentle manner, as if you were attempting to ease his suffering. Yet there were no sounds coming from him.

His voice was a whisper, “Hey,” as he sat on the stretcher. When you realized it was your first face-to-face encounter since that terrible night, your face instantly heated.

Once you finally turned to face him, you said, “How that happened?”

“One of the hunts didn't go quite well. It's not serious.”

You said, “It looks a little serious though,” as you began to take care of him. You were nearly as tall as him when he sat. You nearly forgot about everything when he looked at you. You had missed him. You had missed having a fairly casual conversation with him.

Dean said, “You've been very busy these days,” after noticing that you were suddenly overly focused. “I tried reaching out to you many times.”

“I needed some time alone,” you responded without trying to come up with an excuse to get him to talk to you about it.

Stating, “I hoped... We could talk about it,” Dean watched you intently to see all of your facial expressions. His heart was filled with anguish at how weary you sound. You wouldn't push him away with such determination if he didn't leave that night. He was unable to figure out how much his words had caused you to work so long and not want to go home.

Knowing what Dean was talking about, your cheeks reddened with guilt as he brought up the issue between you. You heard him groan in pain as your hands became a bit sloppy. He tried to create no sound by clenching his jaw, but he failed. You whispered sadly, “Sorry,” as one of your hands touched his compassionately. If there were nothing wrong between you, you would most likely give it a gentle kiss.

Dean immediately answered, “It's okay,” and his little smile made you glance at him to check whether he was telling the truth.

Whispering, “I'm really sorry, Dean,” You meant it. Even though it was difficult and uncomfortable, you had to speak to Dean about what had happened and ask him if he would be okay taking your virginity. Even if you felt different, you were still just close friends. You didn't intend to put pressure on him to inform him or make him find out your situation after you had sex. You'd never do that.

Once you gazed at him with sorrowful eyes, his lips parted in surprise. As you were stitching his injured hand, he had no intention of starting this conversation like this, yet here you were. Perhaps you were feeling relaxed at that particular time, and Dean didn't want to ruin that vulnerable moment.

“It's all right.” He tried to show that he was ready to sort out the matter between you and let the barrier fall through his words quietly, “I didn't mean to hurt you.” It felt right; you were so close to each other. He hardly ever slept because of how you let the distance between you grow every day.

As he spoke softly and urged you to look at him, your heart was pounding. It was crazy how things you believed to be serious and from which you would never fully recover now appeared trivial. Less than five words and a little effort, and they were all gone. You relaxed and took a long breath.

“I just need to know why you did this in the first place,” Dean stated. His voice remained warm and compassionate, as if he genuinely wanted to fully understand you and was prepared to consider the situation from your point of view. You waited for him to continue, as you were almost done tending to his wounds. “Why did you share such an intimate thing with me without even telling me who you were?”

You remained silent until you had gently wrapped his hand with a bandage and finished treating it. Your heart raced as you two waited in quiet, oblivious to everyone and everything around you as if nothing else mattered. You couldn't help but apply extremely gentle strokes to touch his palm where it wasn't injured because it was such a tender moment. By the way he stared at you, you could see that your behavior astonished him.

You realized then that you had gone too far to turn back. The damage was too severe to fix. Whoever had first wrecked the other one didn't matter. However, your feelings were certain about him. You knew that your feelings for him remained unchanged no matter how hard you tried or how many hours you spent trying to forget about him and what had transpired. No matter how hard you try to get away from it, the feelings he evoked in you when you gazed into his eyes and he gazed back at you will always be with you. There was no escape.

Your hands ceased rubbing Dean's hand as you looked at his face. He called your name again to get a response. This time, you stared at him without blinking and took a deep breath with a heavy heart.

“I love you.”

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A/N: Another long chapter for you, hehe. WE ARE IN THE ENDGAME NOW. Please, let me know what you think about this one. Comments and reblogs are very appreciated! Remember they keep me going and I put soo much effort hehe love you  ‪‪❤

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[dewwinchester]

stitches | d.w.

synopsis: dean texts you for help, and you drop everything for him.

requested by: @dingo-ate-my-hot-lettuce-crazy

pairing: pre-series!dean winchester x reader

word count: 1.6k+

warnings: fluff, some angst, john winchester, blood, wounds/injury, stitching up wounds, typical spn series warnings. no use of y/n, no pronouns used!

a/n: if john winchester has no haters, i'm dead <33 also, it's currently 12am, so if the editing is a little wonky, pls forgive me

You gripped the steering wheel tightly, knuckles turning white as you navigated through the torrential downpour hammering down around you and your car. The rain was relentless, blinding you as it pounded against the windshield. The smell of wet asphalt filled your car as the tires slipped on the rain-soaked road. Your heartbeat pounded in your ears – a mixture of adrenaline from trying to avoid a horrific car wreck and anxiety from the message still illuminating your car in a dim light.

I need your help.

It wasn’t a message you were expecting. Normally, in your line of work, pleas for help came in the form of a frantic phone call or a scream in the dark. They never came in the form of a random text message.

And they never came from Dean Winchester.

You were having a relatively normal night, working a case and staking out a couple of vamps, when your phone buzzed with several messages from Dean. First, he asked if you were busy. Then, he asked if you were nearby. Moments later, he sent you an address to a motel. Then, came the message that caused you to leave the stakeout completely and go frantically speeding down the road.

Your tires screeched as you rounded a corner. The neon light of the motel soon appeared ahead, its reflection dancing across the many puddles on the asphalt. You pulled into the first parking spot you saw and stepped out of your car. The rain immediately soaked you to the bone, wetting your hair and your clothes, sending a chill through you, but you couldn't find yourself caring as your eyes scanned for Dean's room number.

The motel was rather seedy-looking – more so than normal. The wooden palings were splitting, and the paint was chipping off the trimmings and walls. There wasn't any other car in sight. You wondered just how bad things were if Dean had found himself in a place like this.

Once you found his room, you practically ran over to the door and threw it open, not bothering to knock. Your eyes immediately landed on Dean, who sat on the edge of one of the beds, his back to you. A wave of relief washed over you – he was alive – but the sight of his tense shoulders and the untouched beer bottle in his hand kept your anxiety simmering.

You closed the door behind you and took off your saturated jacket, leaving it next to Dean's leather one.

"Hey," you said with a sigh, "You okay?"

Dean responded with a curt nod but said nothing more. You stepped closer to him and placed your hand gently on his shoulder. He flinched at the touch, and you felt a pang in your chest. When you finally got close enough, you quickly scanned his face. The bags under his eyes were darker than usual, and his normally sharp gaze was clouded with exhaustion. HIs hair was wet and spiky, and his lip trembled from the cold.

Your eyes continued to trail down to his side, where his shirt clung to his skin, dark and wet with blood. Three jagged and deep gashes spread across Dean's side. His shirt was torn.

Your eyes widened as panic once again surged through you. You frantically looked around for anything you could use to stop the bleeding. You grabbed the first towel you could get your hands on and pressed it to his side, grimacing when Dean winced in pain.

"Jesus, Dean. What the hell happened?"

"Werewolf," he gritted out.

"I think you're gonna need stitches."

There was no first aid kit in sight, so your mind began running through alternatives. You could go to the front desk and ask if there were any supplies, but asking for anything more than a simple band-aid would cause suspicion, and the last thing you needed was someone knocking on the door asking too many questions.

You could use dental floss. You had known plenty of hunters that used it in the past and not had a problem, but you weren't sure there were any needles…

"There's a sewing kit in the bathroom."

You raised your eyebrows in surprise. "You read my mind."

“One of my many talents.” 

----

Needle, thread, dental floss, tissues, water. You looked over the supplies in front of you, mind racing at a million miles an hour. Despite being a hunter yourself, you weren’t exactly a natural when it came to stitching wounds and performing first aid. In fact, the sight of too much blood caused your head to throb and your legs to go numb.

Dean had already taken off his shirt, leaving you to see the full extent of his injuries. The gashes started at the top of his ribs and curled around to his left shoulder blade. Blood continued to trail down his back, causing your mouth to go dry. Pins and needles tingled your toes, and the room began to spin…

You shook off your thoughts and shifted your weight between your two feet, hoping to get some blood flow back there. You put your thoughts and discomfort behind you and prepared to begin. 

“This isn’t gonna feel great,” you said, trying to control the shake in your voice. 

“Not my first time,” he replied. 

You grabbed the needle and thread, and – with shaky hands – tried your best to thread the cotton through the eye. You sat behind him, deciding to start around his shoulder. With a damp cloth, you tried your best to clean around the area, whispering apologies whenever Dean flinched. 

“What happened?” you asked quietly, using your gentlest touch to guide the needle through. 

“I told you,” he said through gritted teeth, “werewolf.”

“Yeah, I know, but…” you trailed off. “Where’s your dad?” 

Dean clenched his jaw, and you immediately knew you had touched on a rough subject. Throughout the time that you had known Dean, you had learnt his relationship with his father was far from healthy. John Winchester was not your favourite person in the world. In fact, you and Dean had gotten into plenty of arguments about him in the past. 

“He’s not here.”

“That’s not what I meant,” you said, continuing your stitching. “Why isn’t he here?”

“Do we have to do this–?”

“--Yes.”

Dean sighed, scrubbing his hand down his face. The anger and tension radiating off him was palpable, his shoulders were tense and his breathing was heavy. You finished stitching the first gash, and tied the thread off with a neat little knot. Instead of immediately moving on to the next one, you moved around and knelt in front of Dean so you were eye level. You placed a hand on his right knee and traced gentle circles into his skin with your thumb. You raised your eyebrows, sending him a look that was simultaneously stern and empathetic.

You just wanted to know he was okay.

“We’d been stakin’ out the thing for weeks,” Dean began. “We finally pinpointed it to this boathouse. Dad was sure that it was in there, so he sent me in first to sweep the area.”

“And…?”

“Turns out it was a lot smarter than we thought,” Dean said, a dejected smile on his lips. “It was waitin’ there for us. Dad knew, but I didn’t.” 

“Then why did he send you in there?”

Dean shrugged. “Couldn’t tell you. But the thing had me on the ground before I even realized what was goin’ on. Put it’s claws in me and ran.”

You shuddered. 

“Dad didn’t stay,” Dean continued. “The second he realised it jumped ship, he went too. Left me with my phone and wallet… I walked here.” 

“What?” 

If Dean’s anger was palpable, you were damn-near irate. You pressed your lips together, trying to control yourself from spewing all sorts of profanities. If you had it your way, you would have marched your way up to John Winchester and given him what for. You would have knocked his lights out if Dean had let you. 

You stood and pressed the heels of your palms to your eyes.

"He – you? God!"

"Alright hot-head, calm down."

"No, I will not calm down!" You spun on your heel, turning to face him again. "Your own father left you for dead!"

"He's done worse."

You laughed bitterly. "That doesn't surprise me."

"Alright," Dean sighed, raising a hand to stop your tirade. "I'm okay! I'm still here, aren't I?"

"Oh yeah, you're the pinnacle of okay."

"Your sarcasm isn't helping."

You shook your head. Angry tears pricked the corners of your eyes, but you were too stubborn to let them fall.

"I just wish you would understand that you deserve better," you said, trying to keep your voice steady. "You could leave his ass behind any time you like -"

"Oh yeah? And then what?"

You paused, and looked down to your feet. 

"You could come with me?" 

For half a second, Dean smiled. “You and I would kill each other in half an hour.” 

He was right – but you’d never let him admit it. 

“Why’d you text me then?” You asked. “If we’re just gonna kill one another–”

Dean shot you a pointed look. 

“– I’m serious.” You said. 

Dean stood up with a groan and walked over to you. You stood with your arms crossed, a slight frown creasing your brow. Nothing could be heard but the rain that battered against the windows and the thundering of your own heartbeat in your ears. 

Dean tucked a strand of your wet hair behind your ear, “You’re the first one I thought of… The only one I wanted here.” 

A blush crept onto your cheeks and you shook your head fondly. “You’re fantastic at changing the subject.” 

Dean winked, but his smooth-talking was soon replaced by a painful scowl. 

“Let’s finish this up later, shall we? I’d rather not bleed to death.” 

You helped Dean back to the bed and prepared to finish stitching him up. You knew this was far from over – with Dean, it never was – but for now, you would focus on the rain that pattered against the roof and the relief that Dean was with you, safe.