#Heart is beating faster feels like thunder (Dean Winchester) | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

holylulusworld · 2 years ago

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Never gonna love again

Summary: Will he get a second chance?

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader

Warnings: angst, mentions of abandonement, regrets, fluff

A/N: Inspired by Lykke Li‘s ‘never love again’; lyrics taken from the song

Divider by @firefly-graphics

He stands outside the fancy house, clothes and hair soaked from the rain. What else can he do? Storm into your new home, and shoot the guy next to you in the head?

Dean still doesn’t know why he follows you and the guy to your house. He was simply strolling through town in need of a drink.

Life is funny sometimes. Right when he was about to at least forget about you for the night, you stepped out of the nearby drugstore to follow your new man toward his expensive car.

Now he stands here and doesn’t know what to do with himself.

It’s all on him. Dean knows it’s his fault you are celebrating your birthday with someone else but him. And that you will wear that guy’s ring in no time. You always wanted Dean to be your one and only but he, well he just couldn’t give you what you needed the most.

Instead of telling you, he feels the same, Dean did what he always does when someone gets too close to him. He ran. Fuck, he almost broke a new speed record when he jumped into his car and never looked back.

Baby can you hear the rain fall on me

Never gonna love again

Baby can you hear my heart cry tonight

I can't keep running away

This time

I can't keep running away,

'Cause I'm never gonna love again

Dean knows he’s got no right to have a broken heart. Not when he broke yours first and thoroughly by leaving you behind. In the rain. On a night like this.

He looks up at the sky, huffing as more dark clouds seems to follow him. “More rain, huh? Or how about a thunderstorm? Yeah, that would be nice.”

The night sky illuminates with lighting and thunder, making Dean laugh even louder. “Here I am,” he slurs. “Come and get your pound of flesh. I’m right here for you to take.”

“What the fuck?” he drops his eyes toward the now open door. “Who are you? What are you doing out here?”

“I-“ his eyes widen as you aim your shotgun toward his head. Dean swallows thickly. “Uh-I just came by and wanted to…” He trails off. There is no rational reason for standing outside your house. “My car broke down.”

“And then you come here to yell at the moon like a lunatic,” you unlock your shotgun. “Get back inside.” You glance over your shoulder at a woman and the man Dean saw with you. “I’ve got this.”

“Is that the monster?” the woman asks as the man places his hand on her shoulder. “Is it over when you kill it?”

“Monster? I’m not a monster,” Dean grumbles as you blink a few times. It’s hard to see anything beyond his silhouette in the darkness and with the rain pouring down on you.

“Step inside the light, but don’t you dare to try anything. A bullet is still faster than you,” you threaten as the stranger steps out of the shadows to reveal his true form. “Dean? What are you doing here? Where’s Sammy?”

“Hi, Y/N,” he awkwardly waves at you.

“Do you want to take over my case? That’s not going to happen, dude.”

“I,” Dean licks his lips. If he tells you he came here to spy on you and your new boyfriend you’ll chase him away without a doubt. “I didn’t know you are already taking care of the case. Sorry, sweetheart.”

“Well,” you ponder. Can you trust Dean after he chased you away and broke your heart? He’s one of the best hunters you know. “It can’t hurt to have a backup, I guess. Get your shit.”

Dean watches you walk back inside the house. He acts as if his heart didn’t stop beating for a second when you smiled at him.

“I’ll be quick.”

“That’s what a girl wants to hear from a guy, Winchester,” you sass back as he takes too long to walk toward his car to get his duffle bag and guns. “Hurry up. If you make it inside within thirty seconds, I’ll pay for the drinks next time we meet.”

“I’m on it,” Dean runs toward the house, snickering as you roll your eyes. “Never offer free drinks to me, sweetheart. You’ll only make me run faster.”

“Yeah. You’re an expert in running,“ you turn around and focus on the task at hand. “Especially in running away from your feelings and shit.”

Every time the rain falls, think of me

On a lonely highway

How can we

Turn around the heartache

Oh, I'm alone tonight babe

And I'm never gonna love again

“Straight to the point, huh? No, hi. How have you been, or do you want a beer?” Dean tries to play it cool. Inside a thunderstorm of emotions is fighting to win the upper hand. He’s close to falling to his knees and begging for forgiveness. Dean wishes he could tell you how he feels since you’ve been gone.

“Why waste time on small talk Dean? I never beat around the bush. If we do this, we should make one thing clear,” with hands on your hips you glare at Dean. “I won’t work with you before you admit that you fucking missed me!”

“I,” he chuckles as you look him up and down. You cock your head and wait for his reaction. “Y/N, sweetheart.”

“No sweet-talking Winchester. I wanna hear it,” pointing your index finger at him you purse your lips. “Or do you want me to say it first?”

“I…shit,” he drops his bag and cups your face to press his lips to yours. “I fucking missed you, Y/N. You don’t know how much. I should’ve never run away from you and my feelings.”

“Was that so hard?” you lift one brow, smirking as he looks down at you. Confused as hell. “Damn you, Winchester. It only took you like a year and a half and a case to make you come to me. Now you will apologize for leaving me after I admitted my feelings.”

“I’m sorry…so fucking sorry,” he hastily says.

“Never mind,” you run your hand up and down Dean’s chest before you grip his jacket roughly. “You still owe me so much more. Like dinner, and candles and all that stuff girls like.”

“You’ll get it,” he clears his throat. “But we should get this job done first. Don’t you think?” you nod as Dean looks around the living room of the house that, as he knows now, isn’t yours. “Let’s kick some ass.”

“Welcome back, pipsqueak,” Sam gives you a hive-five as you walk into the library. While Dean carries your belongings into your room, his brother smirks. “Took him long enough to apologize.”

“Samuel Winchester,” you whisper, “did you lie to your brother about my non-existent boyfriend? Don’t lie to me. Dean told me about the things you told him. And how did he find me?”

“I dropped that someone saw you with a guy. It wasn’t my fault Dean believed he’s your boyfriend,” Sam shrugs. “Dean wanted me to trace your phone and the rest is…history”

“You’re the best,” you stand on tiptoes to peck Sam’s cheek. “I’ll keep it a secret.”

“Sweetheart, are you coming? I need to show you something,” Dean calls for you, making you giggle as he hurriedly walks back inside the library. “Y/N, I need to show you something…”

“You mean the shrine with the things she left and her pictures on your wall, in your room,” Sam teases as his brother’s eyes widen. Dean believed he hid his secret well from any prying eye.

“No. Uh-I got you a knife matching my favorite one,” Dean shows you a knife with your initials on the blade. “See, it says Y/N, toughest hunter ever.”

“I love it,” you wrap your hand around Dean’s wrist. “Let’s have a closer look at those pictures on your wall now…”

Tags in reblog.

#Never love again #dean winchester #dean winchester x you #dean winchester x reader #dean winchester fanfic #dean winchester fanfiction #dean winchester SPN #Never gonna love again

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supernaturalfreewill · 4 years ago

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Words: 5,089 Demon!Dean x Reader Warnings: None really! Summary: Y/N meets Lucifer and moves forward with plans. We learn a little more about what once happened between Y/N and Dean. A/N: This has been a long time coming. I have had writer's block on this story for some time, but I think I've worked through it! This is part of a series! Read the other parts first! Part 1 :: Part 2 :: Part 3 :: Part 4 :: Part 5 :: Part 6 :: Part 7 :: Part 8.

Your name: submit What is this?

The constant thunder served to cover the sound of your approaching footsteps. You entered alone—the demon underlings refused to enter the chamber and were quite literally shaking in their boots. But not you. You strolled into the darkness, broken at first only by the blinding flashes of lightning. As you approached the hulking structure, flames rose up and licked around it in a circle, obscuring any view of what you knew to be inside. You stopped at the edge of the fire, the intense heat blowing back your hair, and raised a hand before slowly dropping it to the ground. The fire abated, obeying your command. The interior of the rectangular cage was cloaked in shadow and stillness. You stared hard into the abyss, trying to pick up some movement or shape. You didn’t have to strain your eyes for long.

There were suddenly two points of fiery light burning deep within the darkness—his eyes. They were red hot, like the irises were made of flame, but after a moment they dimmed and disappeared. Footsteps followed, slow and deliberate, and echoing loudly in the cavernous chamber, even over the sound of the thunder cracking and rolling overhead. You marveled at this inwardly now. How could there be thunder and lightning? Wasn’t there a ceiling of some sort way up there? Something, somewhere above you? But apparently He and His effects defied explanation.

You stepped over the line of holy oil that had been burning at your feet and he came into view. And he was looking right at you with curiosity as he emerged from shadow.

Your heart beat a little faster.

“Yes, I can see that easily,” he said, turning his eyes back to you again, guessing at what you were thinking. His lips curled into a devious smirk. “But there’s something else, isn’t there?” You did your best to keep very still and to keep your face impassive. He pressed his face close to the bars and his eyes bored into you. The intensity of his gaze was unbelievable and you almost quailed under it for a brief moment before you steeled yourself again. Best not to show weakness to the literal Devil during your first meeting. “How is it that a Knight of Hell is walking around with an almost untouched human soul still?”

You gulped at the tightness in your throat but said nothing. He only smiled wider. “Where, oh, where did you get that?” He let out a chuckle and stretched his arms up over his head casually and sighed. “Aren’t we going to meet properly?” he asked.

You gulped, hoping your voice wouldn’t come out strained and tight with nerves. “You don’t know who I am?” you asked him.

“Can’t exactly get the news or the weather down here,” he said in a singsong voice. “And you’re not one of the old Knights of Hell.” The devious smirk grew on his face again. “I certainly would remember you. You’re all shiny and brand new.”

You swallowed again at the tightness in your throat. You hated to admit it, but he radiated power.

“So, you have me at a disadvantage, you see,” he said. He kept his voice low, the tone still casual, like you were two strangers meeting at a bar. “You obviously know who I am because you came looking for me. No way to stumble on this place by accident—and I’m a little conspicuous. But I don’t know who you are, so let’s remedy that.” He stuck an outstretched hand through the bars. You eyed him warily. What was your move here? Could you snub a handshake from frickin’ Lucifer? Was it some sort of trick? Could he really do anything to you? Afterall, he was still in the cage.

You stepped forward and grasped his hand, your heart hammering in your chest. He took a firm hold of yours and tugged suddenly. You couldn’t stop a small, surprised gasp from leaving your lips as you were pulled right up to the bars in front of him. His eyes, no longer wreathed in flame, were an icy gray blue and they were again boring into yours. You felt a chill climbing up your arm from the hand he was clutching. He lifted your hand in his and brought it slightly through the bars, kissing the back of it before his lips curved into a mischievous smile. “Enchanté,” he said. The corners of his eyes crinkled with his smile. He finally let your hand fall from his, leaving your fingers still feeling strangely cold. You stepped back.

“I’m Y/N,” you finally managed.

For some reason this sent him chuckling again and he hopped a little playfully away from the edge of the cage, one foot at a time. “Oh, you are? …perhaps I do know something about you,” he said. The smile was still on his lips and there was a brightness in his eyes as he turned back in your direction. You gave him a questioning look. He shrugged. “I used to have some loyal followers who managed to get the occasional message to me. Before Crowley put a stop to that… In any case, you,” he said, pointing at you with his index finger, “run with the Winchesters.”

“I used to,” you corrected him. He looked at you with renewed interest.

“Are you sure? From what I’ve seen the only way out with those two is six feet under, you know what I mean?” he said with a fake grimace. He rubbed at the stubble on his chin. He gripped a bar in each hand and stared at you, seemingly studying your face again. “How exactly did you become a Knight of Hell?”

“That really isn’t important,” you replied.

A smile flickered on his lips again and he shrugged carelessly. “Right. I’m sure it has nothing to do with Dean being a Knight of Hell…”

You licked your lips a little nervously but said nothing. He seemed to know more than he first let on.

“Hmm. And, uhh, Y/N, that human soul glowing inside you… is that yours? It seems surprisingly unmarred. Pretty unusual. In fact, I can’t think of ever hearing of anything like it in all my eons.”

“I have a proposition for you,” you interrupted loudly, wanting to steer him back toward your purpose and away from your backstory.

“Ooh? Is that so? You have a proposition for me? Because I have several in mind for you.” Lucifer bit his bottom lip. “As you can imagine it has been a very, very long time since I had any visitors, let alone one quite as striking at you are. And I’d really like to get to know you better,” he smirked.

You ignored his innuendo. “How would you feel about running Hell?” you asked him bluntly.

You saw a flash of something in his eyes, maybe desire or surprise. “From in here?” he asked, gesturing to the cage. “Well, that’s quite impossible,” he chuckled. “Besides, I don’t think Crowley would concede.” There was a question in his voice and you knew he was trying to feel you out.

“You don’t have to worry about Crowley. He’s… let’s say, indisposed.”

“Is he dead?” Lucifer asked, an eager and hopeful look on his face. “Because that would be great news. I’m so sick of that little, meddling twerp…”

“So, you’d be interested?” you asked again.

“Sign me up,” he said, again leaning casually on the bars, wiggling his eyebrows at you. “But what’s the catch?” Every time he looked at you, you felt like he could see you without your clothes on… and you couldn’t figure out if he actually could, or if perhaps he was seeing your true form, your soul or some Knight of Hell version of it… It was a vulnerable feeling, and if there was one feeling you hated as a demon it was vulnerability.

“There would be certain concessions you’d have to make. Things you would need to agree to,” you said. “Terms.”

He smiled deviously. “Really? And you’d just take Big Bad Lucifer at his word?”

You scoffed and rolled your eyes. “Of course not.”

He pointed at you enthusiastically and chewed on his bottom lip again. “I like you. You have spunk.” He paced slowly in the cage, but his eyes stayed fixed on you. “I’d like to know more about these concessions and exactly how you think you’re going to hold me to them. But more importantly I want to know why you’re even here in the first place.”

You thought about how to answer that question for a long moment. There were several reasons you had ended up where you were… which one should you offer up? Or should you offer up none of them? But, finally, you settled on a half-truth. “Revenge,” you said. This snapped Lucifer’s eyes to your face and a faint smile grew on his lips.

He chuckled and wiped a thumb over his bottom lip. “Personally, one of my favorite reasons for mayhem.” He paused thoughtfully. “On whom, may I ask?”

You crossed your arms a little guardedly. “I’ve fallen into this whole… running Hell thing,” you said. “It’s more a side effect really. Turns out, someone does actually need to do it. And I have essentially zero interest in most of the job.”

“So, revenge on Crowley? You took over just to piss off Crowley and now you’re stuck with it. Amazing how much administration and bureaucracy is involved in running a realm, isn’t it? Not to mention all the eager underlings,” he said, rolling his eyes.

“It’s simple. I have my own plans and I want to be able to do them when I want, how I want.”

“Sounds like what we all want, doesn’t it?”

“Let me be perfectly clear: you would not set foot outside of Hell. You can do whatever you want regarding… let’s call them, day to day operations. But that’s it.”

He held up his hands, palms out, lips pressed into a tight line. “Hey. Considering my current position, I would still call that a huge upgrade…” He leaned on the bars again. “So, when is my coming out party? Where do I sign?” He was looking you up and down without the slightest effort to hide it, and you felt the hair raise on the back of your neck under his gaze, but you weren’t quite sure exactly why. Was it just the pure power that he radiated? Was it some foreshadowing? You didn’t know, but it did make you uneasy. Still, you plunged recklessly ahead. What exactly did you have to lose?

“I have some things to prepare first,” you said vaguely.

“Oh, preparations? Party decorations? I’d like black streamers and Devil’s Food cake,” he quipped. You shot him a blank look which only elicited a shrug. “I get it. Enough with the questions. I just find you so… interesting. I’ve been sitting down here, rotting in obscurity and boredom and suddenly a brand new Knight of Hell shows up at the Devil’s cage wanting revenge on Crowley and some sort of, let’s say partnership. I’m not supposed to ask questions?”

“You can ask questions. Just don’t expect an answer.”

A wide smile broke out on his lips and he pulled the bottom one in between his teeth again. “Are you flirting with me? Because it’s working.”

You felt another prickle run up your spine and gulped at the nervous tightness in your throat which you were trying so hard to hide. “Just… sit tight. I’ll be back.”

“Like I have any other choice!” he said with a smile. “You’re just trying to play hard to get, trying to keep me titillated!” he called after you.

You stepped away back, breaking the gaze between you and him, and flicked a hand and the holy fire sprang up around the cage again. You could feel Lucifer’s eyes on you the whole way to the door, even though your back was to him. It was with some sense of relief that you finally closed it behind you. This was insane. What the hell were you doing? Did you seriously think you could pull this off? The alternative was to keep going the way you were—annoyed, frustrated, angry—you hadn’t asked for any of this. Crowley had turned you. So, whatever happened, ultimately, it was on him… Right? And Dean—just the thought of him sent you reeling with anger, frustration, and… shit. How was it that Dean was somehow still eliciting this whirlwind of emotions? You’d had enough. You wanted control again, so you were taking it.

There was a small gaggle of demons waiting just outside the door looking amazed and scared and you turned to the one in front. “Did you get them?”

He gulped and looked a little sheepish. “We—we still have to find a couple more.”

Your jaw tensed. “Well, do it. Now.”

_ _ _ _ _ _

Sam gritted his teeth when he stepped into the kitchen early in the morning to see Dean sitting at the island with a mug, apparently at his ease.

“Sammy,” he said, raising his mug slightly. “Little brother… How’d you sleep?”

Sam let out an irritated scoff. “How did I sleep? How’d I—you want to know how I slept? I didn’t. I didn’t sleep. Because the King of Hell is in one room, and a Knight of Hell was wandering the bunker. So, I didn’t sleep.”

One corner of Dean’s mouth flicked upward. “You really need to learn to relax…”

Sam grabbed the empty carafe off the coffee pot and gestured vaguely. “I thought you made coffee,” he said.

“What do I look like, a barista?” Dean’s gruff voice answered.

Sam glared at him. “You’ve got a mug.”

Dean looked down into it and back up at Sam. “This is whiskey.”

Sam rubbed a hand over his face. “Whiskey. It’s 6 am.”

“I run on demon time now, Sam,” he said, sipping carelessly at his drink. “It’s where I do whatever I want, whenever I want.”

Sam’s eyebrows lifted. “Really?”

“Yeah. Really.”

“So, you’re telling me of all the possible things you could be doing, running on ‘demon time,’ this is what you want? Sitting in the bunker with me, Cas, and Crowley.” Dean didn’t say anything, just held his brother’s eyes with a blank expression on his face. “For some reason I find that a little hard to believe,” Sam said skeptically, turning to fill the carafe with water and put some actual coffee on.

“Do you have some sort of point you’d like to make? Something you want to say to me?” There was a dangerous growl in his voice now.

Sam sighed heavily and turned around to face him again. “I’m sick of this ‘I don’t give a shit’ act, Dean! You showed up here because of Y/N, so some part of you, no matter how small or how far down you’ve shoved it, actually cares about something. And yet you won’t even tell us what happened when you saw her! Make up your mind—you can’t have it both ways! You either want to figure out how to get Y/N back or you don’t. …But I don’t know. Maybe you really don’t care. Maybe you don’t care if Y/N ends up dead or—”

Dean was on him so fast that before Sam even realized it he was up against the wall with Dean’s hand on his throat and the glass carafe was shattered on the floor. The puddle of water was slowly expanding, weaving its way around the shards of glass, making them look even more like jagged ice crystals floating in a shallow sea. Dean’s breath was hot on Sam’s face. “Don’t you ever say that about Y/N again. You have no idea what the hell you’re talking about.” With some effort, his hand shaking as he drew back, he released Sam. His eyes were filled with a savage light that Sam had never seen before and for a moment he was reminded of the power and anger this version of Dean was capable of wielding. Dean gave him one final glare and stormed from the room.

Sam heaved a frustrated sigh and reached up to rub at his throat. Gulping down the sudden wave of fear, he grabbed a broom, starting to sweep up the shards of broken glass into a pile. Cas breezed in.

His face immediately darkened as he took in the mess on the floor and Sam bending to pick up a few particularly large pieces of debris. “I heard something. What happened?”

Sam sighed and tossed the pieces forcefully into the trash before running a hand through his hair to push it out of his face. He gestured vaguely at the mess. “Dean. Dean happened…”

Cas swallowed at the uncomfortable tightness in his throat and gave him a questioning look. “What do you mean?”

Sam sank heavily onto a nearby stool. “I don’t know. Nothing. It’s probably my fault… I was—challenging him.”

Cas’s brow sank even lower over his blue eyes. “Sam—don’t do that. I know it’s hard to reconcile but he’s not entirely the brother you knew… He’s not the same.”

Sam let out a dry scoff. “Yeah. Tell me about it…” He sighed again, deep in thought now. “There’s something though…”

Cas nodded. “With Dean. About Y/N.”

Sam’s eyes shot up to meet Cas’s. “Yes. Exactly. He threatened us about messing with him, warned us about messing with Y/N, and then he just freely shows up here all of a sudden? And then just now… I said something about Y/N and that just set him off. It was like a switch flipped.”

Cas continued. “I’ve noticed it too. If the old Dean, some part of him, wasn’t still in there with this Knight of Hell, he wouldn’t give a damn that Crowley turned Y/N. He wouldn’t care about anything. He wouldn’t be here. Or he would have killed all of us by now...”

Sam nodded. “And yet he called us. He showed up here. He’s furious with Crowley...” He gave Cas a knowing look and the angel nodded.

“We need to know what happened between the two of them. It might explain why Y/N suddenly went barreling into Hell,” Cas mused. “I don’t believe it was only to punish Crowley.” The look in the angel’s eyes grew faraway as he sunk further into thought. “We need Dean to talk to us.”

“Yeah, good luck with that,” Sam scoffed. “He’s obviously being tight-lipped about it on purpose. There’s something he doesn’t want us to know, for whatever reason.” Sam stood up and resumed his kitchen clean-up. “And no one is going to force it out of him.”

“I just can’t shake the feeling that somehow Y/N is going to be his way back from all of this…” Cas said. Sam gave him a thoughtful looking, his brow wrinkled with worry.

“Then we better try our best to find out what really happened when they last saw each other.”

Cas went in search of Dean and after checking the usual common areas he headed deeper into the bunker, peeking into every open door. He was expecting to find him in his old room but was surprised to see it empty and undisturbed. Just next door, however, was your room, and Cas found Dean inside, standing over your desk.

He cautiously stepped across the threshold and waited patiently for Dean to speak, not entirely sure that he even would.

Dean was studying the books, notebooks, and stray paper spread out all over your desk. He paged through it gently, almost tentatively, with slow, intentioned movements. “All this—all of it… it’s about me. I mean, about Knights of Hell and demons… Every single note, every marked page.” His deep voice was absent its usual gruffness, and Cas noted that this wasn’t the first time he had seen Dean, the Knight of Hell, soften when thinking of you.

Cas swallowed a little nervously. “She wanted to get you back. We all did. But she was the one who refused to give up. Even when I stepped away. Even when Sam couldn’t go on.”

Something changed suddenly and Dean let out a wry laugh. “Waste of time,” he said, dropping the paper in his hand and withdrawing suddenly from the stacks of notes like he had been burned.

Cas’s brow contracted. “Is it?” he asked, meeting Dean’s eyes.

“Well, a lot of good it did her. Clearly, I’m still a Knight of Hell. And on top of that, it seems she is too. There is one thing I do know,” Dean said a little quietly, “Y/N doesn’t belong in this world. A frickin’ Knight of Hell,” he said, shaking his head.

“She would say you don’t either,” Cas asserted.

“That’s not the same.” Dean licked his lips thoughtfully and stared back at the angel for a long moment.

“Let me ask you something,” the angel started cautiously. He hoped if he could just keep Dean talking about you, perhaps he would explain what had occurred when you saw each other. “Why the hunting? The monsters? The humans?” Cas asked him. “I mean the demon underlings make sense. Might as well be an annoying fly under a newspaper but… why is going after the human criminals?”

Dean’s mouth lifted on one side and he crossed his arms over his chest. “You know, at first I thought she was just experimenting, trying out her new form and they were convenient targets. But I think it’s more than that.”

“What do you mean?”

The deep bass of Dean’s voice was now touched with gravel again and he paced over to sit on the edge of your bed, glancing at the novel and trinkets on your bedside table, now dull with a layer of dust in your absence. “Think about it. If she just wanted to learn new tricks she didn’t need to hunt down bad guys and monsters. She could have smoked the first thing she came across. But even now she has a conscience or something like it. She isn’t just killing just to kill. She’s clinging to some purpose, however self-manufactured it is,” he said, getting up from your bed and dusting off his hands. “She’s just trying to feel something…” Dean trailed off here and Cas watched as a cloudy veil came over his eyes.

“You saw her?” Cas asked, already knowing that he had, but hoping Dean would reveal more.

“Oh, yeah, I saw her. She threw me into a wall,” he said with a smirk. Cas’s expression darkened.

“Why?”

“Because she could,” Dean said. “But after that I made a point of getting in her way,” he said, stretching his arms out in front of him.

Cas shook his head, not completely understanding, but he felt like he was getting close to something. “What do you mean?”

“I got in the way of her hunts. She didn’t like that.”

“How?” Cas pressed him. For now, Dean seemed content to talk, but the angel continued to press for more details.

“Killing who and what she was going to before she could. She really didn’t like that,” he said, one corner of his mouth flicking upward again. “All I was doing was pushing her buttons, trying to get a response. Payback for what she had been doing to me…” Here he trailed off again and Cas watched a change come over his face.

“What had she been doing?”

Dean’s green eyes flickered up to meet the angel’s and for a moment Castiel felt certain he was about to explain, but the next second the that had passed and he offered only a vague explanation. “There’s some connection between the two of us, probably just a Knight of Hell thing, but… it made it easy for us to get at each other.”

“Hmm.” Cas was pretty sure that it had much less to do with being a Knight of Hell than it did with whatever was between you and Dean.

“I could find her. Somehow, I just knew where she was and where she would be next.”

“Well, where is she now?” Cas asked.

Dean stood up and shrugged, the corners of his mouth turning down. “I don’t know. Based on that voicemail she left, my best guess is that she is actually in Hell, and if so then it seems I can’t reach her there the way I could when she was just running around icing douchebags.” He shrugged again.

“And all that happened between you was a fight?” Cas asked again.

Dean seemed a little caught off guard by the question and it took him a long moment to answer. “Apparently.” And with that he strode out, leaving Cas standing alone in your room with a peculiar feeling that wasn’t true and almost more questions than when he started.

Some years ago

The trip to South Dakota and what had happened between you and Dean while you were locked in Bobby’s panic room left you with a hopeful excitement in your chest. As you rode in the back seat of the Impala, heading back to the bunker, you couldn’t help glancing up at Dean behind the wheel and you caught him looking over his shoulder at you several times as well. As soon as your eyes met, both of you broke into nervous smiles and you felt your cheeks respond with a warm flush which lingered long after you turned your attention to the waves of grass whizzing by outside.

Finally making it home late that night, Sam immediately muttered sleepy goodnights and headed for bed. This suddenly left you and Dean standing alone in the front room and the atmosphere was thick with expectation. Dean tossed the Impala keys down on the table with a loud rattle and his green eyes caught yours.

He shoved his hands into his pockets, shifting his weight a little nervously, the eye contact between the two of you magnetic. “Sooo…”

You laughed a little anxiously. “So. Alone again,” you said, unconsciously biting your bottom lip.

Goddamn… Dean couldn’t handle that and he tilted his head at you a little as he gave you an almost desperate look, his lips falling partially open as if he was about to say something. Your blush deepened and you were about to ask him something in return when suddenly he was right in front of you, slipping an arm around your lower back and his fingers into your hair and crashing into you, pulling you against him so suddenly, so forcefully that you were unbalanced on your tiptoes. The heat and passion of that kiss was staggering and you sank into it, giving yourself over entirely to the sensations of Dean—the rough stubble on his jaw, his strong arm tight around you, his lips moving effortlessly with yours, hungry and pleading.

Your lips broke apart for a brief moment and Dean studied your face, you doing the same in turn. The green of his eyes was olive in the dim light and there was a flame burning that you felt spreading straight to the center of your chest, heating you up.

“Is this—was that okay?” Dean asked you, suddenly a little unsure, a little worried he wasn’t reading the moment right. He had told himself for so long that wanting you was pointless, because it was impossible you wanted him back in the same way. He didn’t deserve you. So, the idea that this was happening at all was surreal and he was terrified of screwing it up.

“More than okay,” you replied. Your voice was breathy, like you’d just run a marathon. “Dean—”

His lips met yours again before you could even get the rest of your thought out and the next second it was gone as you were surrounded by, enveloped in Dean again.

You broke apart with no small amount of effort, your arms around his neck, and gave him a shy smile.

His eyes were questioning as he studied your expression.

You slipped your fingers in between his and gave him a warm look, starting to tug him in the direction of your room.

Dean’s heart pounded. He wanted this so badly. There wasn’t a single other thought in his mind. All he could think about was the feeling of you beneath his fingers, the taste of you, the intoxicating scent of your hair… He followed you down the hallway toward your room, but when you both were rounding the last corner there was a familiar rustling noise behind him and he spun to see Cas standing there with a grave expression on his face. His fingers slipped from between yours and you stood beside him, your heart sinking from stratospheric heights to the lowest depths at the shadow that was on the angel’s face.

“We have a big problem,” Cas said. And just like that, it was like you were yanked out of the perfect dream into a nightmare.

#demon!dean #deamon #dean x reader #demon!dean x reader #reader insert #supernatural #spn fics #fanfiction

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alleiradayne · 4 years ago

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Submitted for the approval of the Midnight Society, I call this story…

THE MIDNIGHT RIDE

Long is our list of ghost stories laid to rest. But when the dark rider returns thirty years after his exorcism at the hands of the Winchesters, Sam, Dean, and I are faced with the possibility that we’ve been wrong about one thing.

Some urban legends never die.

Part III - Unsolved Mysteries

Summary: Sam, Dean, and the reader head to the Old Dutch Cemetery. Warnings/Tags: General elements of horror and fear, graveyards, coffins, sorta-not-really-death... Characters/Pairings: First Person Female!Reader/Sam Winchester, Dean Winchester Word Count: 5,385

The Impala jostled over the transition from street to gravel path as Dean turned for the graveyard. Tall, stout trees lined the trail to the Old Dutch Church, their long sinuous branches reaching out as though to grasp and pull unwary travelers into the shadowy depths of the surrounding forest. A chill ran down my spine as the car lumbered on, descending into the darkness, and a foolish sense of fear filled my stomach with dread. I had vanquished many vengeful spirits with Sam and Dean. The last decade of our lives had been nothing but. And yet, something about the case had me on edge.

Around a shallow bend in the path, the church materialized from the darkness atop a hill as the Impala’s headlights flashed across it. Dark windows and a distinct lack of exterior lighting shrouded the building in impenetrable black despite our approach. The car climbed the steep hill, and as it crest the top, I saw a thick stone wall and a tall iron gate in the distance.

“At least we’re alone,” Sam mentioned as he followed the church.

“Good,” Dean started, then squinted through the windshield as we neared the gate. “Is it open?”

“I’m guessing the graveyard isn’t maintained if the church is abandoned,” Sam stated.

As he pulled up to the gate, Dean put the car in park and climbed out. Sam and I followed, and between the three of us, we managed to pull the gate apart wide enough for the Impala to pass. Dean returned to the car and, as he pulled into the graveyard, that chill, loitering beneath my skin, clawed deep into my bones. The Impala entered the great yawning maw and slid into the belly of the beast.

When I remained still too long, Sam ushered me along with a reassuring hand at my shoulder. His wide stare betrayed his crooked smile, and that creeping dread seeped into the very marrow of my existence.

“This feels too easy.” I had intended to speak with more conviction, but my voice faltered.

“Don’t jinx it,” Sam retorted.

“I’m not trying to,” I said as I rubbed an ache in my left arm. Drawn to the darkness, I scanned the graveyard from edge to edge. “I’m… something feels off. Like we’re forgetting something.”

He turned to me then, and the warmth of his large hand enveloped my shoulder. An odd sense of calm replaced my looming anxiety. And his voice assuaged my worst concerns. “Whatever happens, we’ll get through it together. I’m here, Dean’s here. You know what you’re doing, too. I believe in us.”

And I believed him. I didn’t just know it to be true, but felt it, like that deep ache in my bones. But the case, the urban legend. It all had me on edge. Despite my oscillating emotions, I smiled a wry smile and looked up to him. A slanted ray of silvery moonlight illuminated his own crooked smile, and the last of my concerns receded to the edges of my mind. “Thanks, Sam. You’re really good at that.”

He turned for the car as Dean stopped up the path. “At what?”

I followed with a skipped step and said, “Making a lady feel special.”

His subtle smile turned into a devious smirk I’d not seen on him in age. “Good. You are,” he said. A hitch in his breath hesitated his next statement, but then he turned to me once more and said, “I’ve been meaning to tell you this for a while, but I’ve been feeling pretty shitty myself since Chuck.”

Dean remained in the car, illuminated by the glow of his cell phone. Safe, for the moment at least, I figured it couldn’t hurt to hear Sam out. “What’s on your mind?”

“Dean and I care a lot for you,” he stated as he closed the space between us. He scoffed before he said, "But I… Dammit, we weren’t supposed to be in fucking graveyard when I finally told you… and especially not on a case. I’ve wanted to say this for months, but we haven’t taken a break, and I never get five minutes with you alone—”

“Sam.”

His teeth clicked shut at my interruption. A thick swallow bobbed his throat before he said, “I’m sorry. I’m nervous.”

“I can tell,” I replied with a short laugh. “But I get it. I am, too. I’ve… felt the same way for a while.”

Despite the darkness, his entire face brightened at that. “Really? Like… how long?”

I turned for the Impala and said over my shoulder, “Longer than I care to admit.”

He trotted to catch up to me at the trunk. When he opened his mouth to speak again, the driver’s door opened, and Dean’s boots crunched on the gravel. Before he squandered the moment, Sam slipped his hand to the small of my back and whispered in my ear, “We’ll talk more later?”

I sucked a breath through my nose as I bit my bottom lip but managed a quick nod as Sam straightened. There is a reason I don’t play poker; Dean spotted the obvious a mile away, his approach slowing and his glare narrowing on me, then on Sam, who had busied himself on his phone.

“What’s going on?” he grumbled as he unlocked the trunk.

Sam hardly looked up. “Hm? Nothing, just waiting for you. C’mon, let’s go,” he said as he grabbed a shovel and flashlight, then strode away for a set of plots.

Dean’s glare fell to me then, as though he measured me under a microscope, and I shifted on my feet. “Y/N…”

“What?!” I squeaked, then cleared my throat. “What?”

“Don’t ‘what’ me,” he declared as he rummaged through the trunk. “You look… do you need to take a leak or something?”

The surge of sensations from Sam’s attention passed, and I stilled. “No, I’m fine. Just… graveyards, right? This whole case has me kinda freaked.”

Look, I’m not dumb, and I know Dean isn’t either. But thankfully, he let my half-truth slide and grabbed a shovel. “You know the drill. This’ll be quick once we dig it up.”

I took the shovel from him, then the flashlight. “Got it. I’ll start helping Sam look for this needle in a haystack unmarked grave.”

“Good idea,” he replied. “I’ll catch up in a minute. Need to grab a few more things here. Go on ahead.”

With my shovel shouldered, I turned and hesitated. Headstones sprawled to the opposite tree line three hundred yards away, and between them rolled a thick mist. Cloud cover rolled in almost as if it were on a schedule. Darkness masked the moon and plunged the graveyard in a night so deep, and my flashlight flickered like a tiny shivering candle flame.

One foot in front of the other. That was all I needed to do. Just walk. Read headstones. Find the unmarked grave. Not that hard. Lost count of the graves I've dug up over the last decade. Like I mentioned earlier, Sam and Dean changed my life—for the better—the day we met. Digging up graves happened to be a part of the gig.

As I traipsed through the graveyard, headstones passed beneath my flashlight, materializing out of the dark mist. The light lingered long enough for me to see any sort of epitaph, then moved on, the stone vanishing into the fog once more. My mind wandered as that monotonous repetition seeped into my muscles, weary and aching. Hypnotized by the swinging flashlight—left, right, left, right—the graveyard faded away, the headstones ceased to exist, and I wandered aimlessly.

"Over here!"

Sam's booming baritone echoed through the darkness, a bodiless voice carried on a bone-chilling gust of wind. Another shiver coursed along my spine, and my flashlight quivered in my white-knuckled grip. Strange trees and unfamiliar headstones surrounded me, appearing and vanishing in the thick mist that languidly coiled through the graveyard. Sam's voice breached the silence again, emanating from everywhere and nowhere at once.

Each echoing thump of my heart beat faster than the previous. Each breath filled less and less of my lungs, shallow and thin. And each thought muddied the waters further as I waded through the muck until not a single coherent idea remained. Silence settled in, stilled the graveyard's night sounds, and death's icy breath lashed out at me.

Long seconds stretched so thin, one tick of my watch marked an entire lifetime. As my heart raced, its sharp staccato strikes drowned out the world. A moment, one terrifyingly calm instance of hyperawareness passed before I realized that thumping no longer beat in my head but from through the ground and into my chest. Horse hooves raced in the distance, and with each expeditious plot, they neared.

Pressure. A shift in the air behind me snapped my instincts into action. I wheeled about and brought the shovel to bear only to find more of the thick graveyard mist ambling between headstones and trees. Sam's voice echoed again. And again. And again. I tried to call back, but no sound escaped my throat, dry as the desert in a drought. Though desperate to move, my feet refused. Rooted in that hallowed ground, I firmly remained where I stood, my head spinning.

That was until I heard the most terrifying sound in recent memory.

The blood-curdling bray of a horse screeched through the night air, so shrill and ethereal. Impossibly sustained, the cry lingered an eternity. That haunting melody accompanied the thundering hooves’ rhythm, both building in a wild crescendo until out of the mist burst the stuff of nightmares.

Black as pitch, a horse bearing a headless rider barreled through the graveyard straight for me. Fire fanned from the steed’s wide eyes, and smoke blacker than his coat roiled from his nose. Bones and ligaments jutted through his muscles, and his jet black hide scored with whip lashes, runnels of blood, and burns beneath crimson and iron tack.

And yet, the horse paled in comparison to its burden. Astride the cursed beast sat a giant of a man clad in green armor so dark, it was nearly black. He wielded a fiery whip that cracked like thunder with a flick of his wrist, and in the other hand, he manifested a flaming cannonball. He hefted it high over his head—the empty void where his head should have been—and aimed.

Never in my life had I run so fast. Like lightning, I leaped through the graveyard, racing for whatever outlet I could find. Reaching tree branches snagged my coat, my jeans, and one sliced a gash across my cheek. Pain and fear fueled my survival, and the last ounce of hope I had desperately clung to echoed once more, so much closer.

“Y/N?!”

Sam’s shout distracted me a second too long; the fiery cannonball singed my hair as it hurtled past my head and destroyed a headstone. Graveyard turf caught my toe as I threw my arms up to shield myself from flying stone, and I crashed to the dirt face first. Blood poured from my nose and soaked my shirt as I scrambled to my feet. Whitehot pain rolled in waves across my face, and tears blurred my vision as I searched for my thrown flashlight and shovel. Thundering hooves closed on me, drawing closer and closer until my hand seized the metal grip of my shovel. I torqued my entire body and swung the bladed end with all my might.

The rider’s whip coiled high above his shoulders, then unfurled with a wicked snap of his arm. Inch by inch, the flaming bones rolled to me until time raced to catch up. The last foot disappeared in a single heartbeat. An earth-shattering crack of thunder rattled in my teeth as the bone whip wrapped around the steel shaft of my shovel. He snapped it from my hands with little effort and freed his whip, then raised it again for another strike.

Despite the fact that I knew I had no chance of escaping, I ran. Thunder rolled once more as the whip descended upon me. Sudden clarity steadied my heart as death’s icy chill breathed down my back once more. Final heartbeats counted down my last seconds as the whip’s scorching grasp coiled about my neck. Where time had once moved too fast, it slowed again, creeping until it stopped.

The world faded away to nothing. No sound, no light. No racing hooves or hearts. No shrill horse’s cry. No fire and no ice. No pain. Suspended in a nothingness sea, I drifted aimlessly. Lost. Even time’s relevance ceased to exist. The threads of my consciousness unraveled as though tugged by anxious fingers. Soon, I knew that I, too, would unweave until I remained nothing but a mere memory in other's minds.

Then a cry pierced the silence, muted, as though it belonged to someone else’s. Desperate, I focused every conscious sensation that yet belonged to me on that singular sound, a siren’s salvation, and clung to it. The voice thinned and focused, sharpened as though I dialed in on the perfect frequency until it burst through the emptiness and rendered me senseless.

And then I fell. Hundreds of thousands of feet, I descended, plummeting faster and faster as the shout continued to grow. Another voice joined, bellowing my name as I sank. The onslaught of vertigo ravaged every fiber of my pitiable existence as I tumbled through space and time until my mind and body reunited. Reality returned in a blossoming of flashlights, two men shouting in shock, and a freshly dug grave into which I dropped the final five feet. I screamed as I crashed onto the exposed coffin, then collapsed in a heap.

My first gasping breath dragged in dirt and grave rot, and I choked. Before I could string a coherent thought together, two sets of hands grasped me by the arms and hauled me from the grave. They set me on my feet, but I collapsed to the ground, sprawling on my back and stared up at a clear, cloudless night sky.

A cascade of brilliant stars dotted the emptiness, teaming with ancient light. Cool, clean air filled my lungs for the first pure breath I’d taken in a century. Clarity followed, and my first thought echoed between my ears like a struck church bell.

Did I just cheat death?

“Y/N?”

Sam’s strength slipped beneath my shoulders and legs as he hauled me into his lap. His face, knotted and twisted with worry, flooded my vision. “Y/N, are you okay?”

Inventory. No sliced cheek. No burnt hair, no broken nose. Most importantly, no burned lashes on my neck. I started a few thoughts before I settled on, “I think I’m fine.”

He seated me on the ground once more and sat beside me. Dean knelt as well and placed a stable hand on my shoulder. “What happened? One second, I was right behind you, and then the next, you were gone.”

The chilling scream of an undead horse echoed in the furthest recesses of my mind. “I saw it. The…” I stuttered as I motioned to my head. “He had a whip of bone engulfed in flames and a fiery cannonball.” I paused, seized by the memory of such fear. “He... he ran me down—”

“That’s it, I’m putting an end to this shit right now,” Dean interjected as he hopped into the grave.

Sam and I leaned over the edge as Dean pried open the old pinewood box. Wood splintered and popped as he made short work of the rotted enclosure. But then the top snapped free and fell aside to reveal nothing and everything all at once.

Ash and black scorch marks marred the entire interior of the coffin. “What the fuck?” Dean spat. He sifted through the ashes, flinging them about, searching. “No, this can’t be right, there has to be something—”

“Dad did it.” Dean and I both turned to Sam. “Thirty years ago, he had the same idea we did: roast the bones, send the spirit on.”

Dean turned back to the box and stared. A long minute passed as thumped his crowbar on his thigh, the gears in his head churning so hard, I swore I heard them. Then he replaced the cover and crawled from the grave with Sam’s help. He dusted off his jeans but remained silent as he paced, deep in thought.

I grasped Sam’s hand and hauled myself up to stand beside him. His warmth enveloped me as I curled into him, and he held me close. With a reassuring squeeze, he asked, “Are you sure you’re alright?”

“I will be,” I sighed. “I think I…”

The thought trailed off as Dean began shoveling dirt back into the grave. “Son of a bitch ghost,” he spat with a violent stab of the shovel. “Fucking piece of shit curse.” Another stab. “Stupid fairy jerk.” Another stab. “Lame ass urban legends!”

“Dean!” Sam insisted, “what the hell are you doing?”

“What does it look like I’m doing?!” Dean barked. “We gotta get out of here and figure out what to do next before this circus freak shows up again.”

Sam sighed as he smoothed his hand across my shoulders and said, “You can head back to the car, I’ll help—”

“No!” I declared, far louder than I had intended. “Sorry, no. I’ll…” I spotted my shovel and flashlight lying not three feet away from me. Unwilling to question how either object had returned with me, I hefted both. “I’ll help. I need something to do.”

Concern clouded Sam’s visage, but he shrugged and made room for me to dig. As I started in, fresh memories flooded my mind’s eye, and I did my best to relive the moments as clearly—and objectively—as possible. Undead horse. Crimson tack. Headless rider. Fiery whip and cannonball. Green armor that could easily be mistaken for black.

“He was wearing green armor,” I stated.

Dean froze at that. “Green? Like the Gawain legend?”

“I assume so,” I replied as I continued shoveling. “I think we’re still on the right track. It’s an amalgamation of urban legends. The Hessian, the dulachan. Gawain. A fae-cursed german soldier that fought against the colonies during the American revolution. Not sure how the English legend plays into it though.”

“Maybe it doesn’t,” Sam said with a grunt. “Maybe being decapitated by an enemy soldier during a war is close enough to match the English urban legend.”

“Could be why he only comes back once a year,” I agreed.

Dean shook his head. “Let’s just get this grave filled and figure it out back at the motel.”

With a sense of finality on the topic, we continued to shovel. As I worked, I couldn’t help but lose myself in thought to the point where I hardly recalled shoveling. A filled grave stood before me less than half an hour later. Wordlessly, we gathered up our things, then turned our backs on the grave and started for the car.

No more than fifty yards from the unmarked headstone, Sam stopped first, frozen solid. I lurched to an awkward halt beside him, my hand held fast in his. I looked up to him and asked, “What’s… Sam?”

He stared straight ahead at the car, then looked at me. “Didn’t you hear that?”

“No,” I said as I turned to the Impala, then back to him. “What are you talking about?”

“C’mon, Sam, let’s—”

I heard it then; the relentless cry of a terrifying horse careened through the still graveyard. Dean had heard it too, his thought suspended, unfinished. The echoing bray of the horse faded as a fresh thundering of hooves clamored in the distance.

“Get to the car!”

My shout startled Sam and Dean into motion. The first hundred yards passed, but beating hooves pounded in from all sides. Another terrifying whinny screeched through the night, and in the last hundred yards to the car, my nightmare returned in full force.

The undead horse and its rider materialized from the mist and leaped the car’s trunk, heading straight for us. I screamed and skidded to a halt, then twisted to run back into the graveyard. Sam and Dean followed, catching my shorter gait in a few sprinting strides. With one final look over my shoulder, I spotted the headless rider gaining on us and shouted.

“We can’t outrun him!”

Ahead, Dean pointed at a wide paved path on the far side of the graveyard. “Follow that road! I’ve got an idea!”

“INTO THE WOODS?!” I screeched.

“Trust me!” he shouted back as we reached the road and turned towards the treeline.

I trusted Dean with my life. But he had not seen what I had. Just as the thought crossed my mind, an iron ball of fire lobbed past Dean’s head and landed in the asphalt, spraying dirt and rock. Dean leaped the divot and checked back over his shoulder. “Seriously, who throws fucking cannonballs at people?!”

Without a second to retort, we rounded a sharp curve in the path that twisted around a copse separated from the forest. On the other side sat a fork in the path, our only options left or right. At the last possible second, Dean darted right, and we followed. The road narrowed considerably, too small for a car to pass. Asphalt transitioned to dirt, and thick forest trees encroached. No light from the moon or stars penetrated the dense canopy above.

I checked behind me to see the rider and his nightmare steed gaining ground, no more than fifty yards away. “Dean, what are we doing?!”

He searched the trees, the path as his head whipped about, but I knew he saw nothing but the same desperate hope of salvation I sought. Thundering hooves counted down the final moments of our lives, one gallop after the next. Though I had seen dire situations hunting beside Sam, Dean, and Castiel over the years, none compared to the complete despair I felt in that moment, running ragged through the woods from the Headless fucking Horseman.

An urban legend was about to kill us. A friggin' fairytale told to scare kids.

Dean skidded to a halt so suddenly, Sam and I blasted twenty yards past him. I spun about gracelessly and gripped Sam’s arm for leverage. Behind us, Dean stood in a pool of opulent moonlight illuminating the dirt path through a clearing in the forest canopy. Beyond the lighted path, the rider and his horse closed the distance so fast, Dean risked losing his chance to escape.

"Dean, what are you doing?! Run!" Sam bellowed as he started for him.

"Sam, no! Stop!" I pleaded as I ran to catch him, but his legs proved too long and too fast for my own.

Despite his speed, I knew he'd never make it. An unseen force hindered him, as though the hands of the dead emerged from the ground and snatched at his ankles. He reached for Dean, his entire body straining and stretched to its fullest. The horse’s hooves pounded the dirt only a few yards away, but Dean stood fast, head held high and feet planted. And there in the darkness, I understood.

Dean knew something I did not. Something worth its weight in gold. Literally.

Heavy coins landed in the dirt as he backed into the shadows and flung his arm in a wide arc. Like so many shards of broken glass, they scattered. Each tumbled and turned end over end, glinting and glittering as they flipped and rolled to settle in the dirt.

With Dean's final cast of the dice, time stood still. He distilled everything that transpired that night in that singular moment. I watched helplessly as Dean stood defiant in the shadows, and Sam failed to reach him. The horse leaped the final feat as the rider raised his whip, coiling high over his shoulders. Hooves breached the moonlight as the rider brought down his arm in eternal judgment, the flaming lash his gavel. Horse and whip bore down on Dean, crossing the golden coins’ threshold and thoroughly bathed in brilliant moonlight. My last hope of salvation incinerated, and in that final second, I screamed.

But that second never came. In a single, raging beat of my heart, time, and reality reunited, and I hardly believed my eyes. Smoke and cinders smoldered at the horse's hooves, engulfing him and the rider to headless shoulders as though fire had caught dry tinder. The nightmare steed cried out its ethereal scream. The rider raised both hands, whip, and a new projectile brandished high until consumed by the squall. And then a turbulent gust scattered the ashes as though they had never existed.

My scream faded as it echoed through the woods. Sam whipped about, terrified eyes searching for me in the darkness. Found, he raced to me, and I grasped onto his arms. One massive hand cupped my cheek as he looked me in the eye, searched for any sign of injury, and begged for reassurance. I dove into his embrace then, unwilling to stand alone any longer. All my anger and fear drained in the safety of his arms as though it ran through a sieve.

A soft clinking of metal drew my attention past Sam, and I saw Dean gathering up the golden coins at his feet. He returned them to his pocket, then headed for us, dusting his hands on his thighs along the way. When he reached us, his typical smile spread across his lips, and he spoke.

"That's one way to waste a ghost."

"Is it…" I asked, hope clouding my better judgment.

"It'll buy us some time," Sam said with a reassuring squeeze of my shoulder. "We need to get back to the motel and figure out what's next."

Dean started back for the car first. "You know, I'm starting to wonder if it's a tul—"

"It's not a tulpa, Dean," Sam spat as he followed, urging me along beside him. "Seriously, we've only ever seen one of those things."

Dean shook his head and laughed sardonically. "It's got all the signs. A big ol' mess of urban legends and myths. An entire country that believes in it. And real power. I mean, did you see that thing, it damn near ran me down." When neither of us responded, he turned over his shoulder and his ridiculous grin faded. "What?"

"You could have died," I stated.

Of course, he shrugged. "But I didn't," he said as he pointed to his pocket. "Back up plan."

"Speaking of which," Sam said before I could give Dean a piece of my mind. "Where'd you get that idea?"

As we neared the fork, Dean jabbed his thumb over his shoulder at me. "That website. I looked up a little on each legend and found the dulachan is sort of banished for a hot minute if a gold coin is tossed in its path. So I figured, why not try twenty gold coins?"

"Try?" I repeated.

At the fork, he stopped and turned to face us. "I had a hunch."

A hunch. I knew what that meant. He had no clue. One or twenty, Dean had not the faintest notion if a gold coin would stop the spirit. No additional research. No supporting theories. Nothing. Just a fucking hunch and the confidence of a man with a death wish.

I opened my mouth, intent on giving Dean the tongue-lashing of his life. My hands shook as I parted from Sam, trembled as one coiled into a furiously extended index finger, and the other balled into a tight fist. Unbridled heat twisted in the pit of my stomach, contorted my face, and rattled in my throat as I began to speak.

But cold dread drowned my rage, and my words succumbed to that torrential fear. A ghastly pale man astride an equally pale horse rounded the sharp corner past the fork, less than twenty yards behind Dean. No clop of hooves announced his approach, no horse’s chuff, no clatter of tack. Silent as the dead, he followed the path and stopped only a stride short behind Dean.

I gawked openly, as did Sam, and when neither of us spoke, Dean glanced over his shoulder only to startle and shout as he leaped to my side. “Christ, man, don’t sneak up on a guy like that!”

The pale rider’s gaze lazily drifted down and stared each one of us in the eye. Otherworldly, he appeared as though he had been ripped from his timeline and placed in ours. A three-point hat covered his long hair tied back with a thin leather strap, and a once-fine wool coat covered his linen shirt and felted vest. Thin gloves sheathed his hands, holding the reins. Heavy wool pants draped loosely down the thigh to gather at the knee where thick stockings tucked in beneath. Wide-buckled shoes with short heels completed the ensemble.

A gray layer of ash covered the rider, his clothes, his tack, and his horse, most terrifying of all.

“Good evening, my lords, my lady. Would any of you know the way to the schoolhouse? I seem to have gotten lost again…”

I glanced at Sam, who shook his head, then Dean. He cleared his throat and said, “We’re not from around here.”

“Pity,” the rider said. A twitch of the reins shifted his horse down the path to his right. “It’s always this fork that gives me trouble. Mayhaps the right will prove correct this time.” With a gentle prod of his heels, the horse obeyed and began walking once more. “A good evening to you all.” He tipped his hat as he passed, then turned ahead for the trail.

The sudden need to confirm my suspicions gripped me like a vice. Talk about a wild hair.

“Wait!” I squirmed from Sam and Dean’s arms and followed the rider. “Who are you?”

The horse turned broadside as the rider’s glassy stare fell upon me once more. Though I knew the answer before he spoke, my fingers and toes burned with anticipation.

“I’m the new teacher. Ichabod Crane.”

He turned back to the path with a final touch to his hat, and his horse started ahead once more. The dark depths of the forest swallowed him whole, vanishing as though a figment of my imagination.

Wordlessly, I returned to Sam and Dean, who also said nothing. A stunned silence followed us the remainder of the walk back to the car. Without anything to pack up—I made a mental note to recover our shovels and flashlights, lest they be found later—Dean slid in behind the wheel and started her up. I slipped into the backseat, beyond exhausted and unsurprised to find Sam there as well. Unintrusive, his fingers slipped between mine, and I clung to him, an anchor in a sea of madness.

Dean grasped the steering wheel, white knuckles twisting over the leather and a thousand-mile stare gazing through the windshield. When Sam tapped him on the shoulder, he shook his head as if to clear his thoughts, then wrenched the shifter into drive.

Through the gate and past the church, we returned to the main road. Small town Sleepy Hollow passed us by as though we drifted through another world. Halloween decorations no longer appeared quaint or impressive; grisly murals and disturbing effigies hooked into fresh memories, and I looked to Sam for solace. For comfort. For grounding.

And it worked. Kaleidoscope colors diffused the dull gray world around me. Only Sam and the distant, soothing rumble of the Impala remained. Though fear roiled in the pit of my stomach, a renewed sense of hope tempered that heat. Special. I’d meant it in jest earlier. Sam didn’t make me feel special. He helped me feel. In a world where I blocked out so much, he managed to give me something worth feeling again.

Just like that, the Impala undulated up and over the driveway as Dean turned into the parking lot of the motel. In his spot before our door, he snapped the shifter into park and slumped back in his seat. A long moment of silence stretched between us all until he sighed.

“Son of a bitch.”

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carry-on-my-wayward-imagines · 8 years ago

Text

Just Not Tonight

Anonymous said: So I saw this quote today and I was wondering if you could do a Dean/reader oneshot based off it? “You don’t know you’ve fallen for someone until after it happens.”

Anonymous said: Hi! First off, I’m addicted to your writing, it’s so good! I was wondering if you could do one where the reader confesses her love to Dean and he doesn’t feel the same way, but after a few weeks/months he starts to fall for her? Whether or not the reader takes him at the end is up to you :) Thank you so much! <3

@-sidetracked- said: Can we make this like, a dean story please where like dean is in love with the reader and he isn’t supposed to be so he tried to forget like all the memories and stuff but she still comes around for Sam and cas and Charlie so he can’t and it’s really hard for him

A/N: Long wait, huh? It’s been quite a busy year, but thanks to the encouragement of you guys and the awesome T(ristan), I’ve finally written just enough to publish this part. Thank you for your patience, and I’ll do my best to get the other parts out soon!

Word count: 1,951

Pairing: Dean x reader.

Warnings: Drinking.

“Let Go” series: Part I, II, III, IV

Theme songs: Gonna Get over You - Sara Bareilles

“Let Go” Series Spotify Playlist

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A smile pulled at your lips as soon as the cool glass touched your lips, taste buds dancing happily as the sweet alcohol washed over your mouth. A nightclub was not how you planned on celebrating Dean’s return to hunting, but it was his choice. However, instead of flirting while trying to not embarrass himself on dance floor like you had expected, he stayed quiet and motionless, talking with Sam over a beer while you glanced at him from afar.

Getting over Dean Winchester was not easy.

“So, after my family moved here from Korea, I really wanted to follow what my dad couldn’t do there, and that’s how I became a high school social studies teacher,” Soo-jin finished, sipping her scarlet drink. You looked away from Dean, not even noticing when your eyes had drifted away from her. “I’m in charge of some AP U.S. History classes and a regular one, so the kids aren’t that bad, but with today’s test scores…”

She eyed her drink with dark brown eyes while you laughed, nodding. Soo-jin seemed like an organized, soft-spoken person, and you couldn’t think of another profession that would fit her better. You had left Sam and Dean behind with the quick excuse of going to the bathroom and then getting a drink, but what you really needed was a break from Dean’s arm around your shoulders, making your heart beat faster than any alcohol in your body.

But he always did that whenever you visited bars or clubs, knowing you weren’t looking for anyone to go home with other than him and Sam. It was a protective gesture, a brotherly act he apparently didn’t think to drop now that you were getting over him. Hearing Soo-jin talking about the Ottoman empire as you passed by the bar gave you another excuse to be away from him, at least for now.

“I took APUSH when I was in high school,” you said, grimacing. “I mean, no offense or anything, but I truly hated every day of my life in that class. Got a five at the end, though, and as much as I think our teacher was great, he was also a pain in the ass.”

“Don’t worry, I understand,” she chuckled. “That’s what I thought about my teacher, too. I try to make class a little more interesting and fun, but it is history, and—as much as I love it—I know these kids already have more AP classes to worry about than to care about the Civil War as much as I do.”

“Yeah,” you sighed, sipping your drink. Soo-jin stayed quiet for a moment, immersed in her own thoughts like you. “So...are you just here to drink or did you come for some more fun?”

“Definitely some more fun,” Soo-jin laughed as you wiggled your eyebrows teasingly, leaning in closer. “You know, I haven’t had a one night stand since college, but I just need a break tonight. Plus, there’s a few hotties here, so I wouldn’t regret getting lucky with, say, that guy over there.”

You followed her eyesight, giggling with her as you discreetly looked to one of the tables behind the both of you. A low whistle left your lips; white sleeves rolled up to the elbows, plush pink lips, dark bronze skin, and short, curly hair. But even as he smiled at the man and woman sitting with him, a wonderful, blinding smile, you couldn’t help to compare him to Dean. Rolled sleeves might have looked good on the stranger, but they turned you into a puddle when Dean did them.

Sighing internally, you turned back to Soo-jin with another giggle and a smile.

“God, that guy is literally the embodiment of all my late night dreams,” you said.

“He could be on the cover of an erotic book for middle-aged moms and I would definitely buy that thing,” Soo-jin agreed, nodding and taking another look behind her shoulder, but she quickly turned back around, eyes wide and mouth opened slightly before she burst into a loud laugh.

“What? What happened?” you asked, looking back as she had, but as soon as you did a pair of amused caramel eyes met you, and you twisted around as fast as you could, trying to hold back from laughing. “Oh, my God…”

“He was definitely looking at us, right?” Soo-jin asked, still laughing as you both sipped your drinks in an attempt to calm down.

“If he wasn’t then I’m definitely drinking too much already,” you grinned. Another bout of high-pitched giggles filled the air. “God, do you feel like you’re in high school again or is it just me?”

“Well, I do go to a high school five days of the week, but I get what you’re saying. Giggling about the cute boy in the hallways, talking about future one night stands without actually having them…”

Your heart started beating faster as you nodded quietly, bringing the cool glass to your lips. No. No, you shouldn’t do this, you thought, but there was no stopping the words that left your mouth.

“Hey, so, what do you think about green eyes and cheesy pick-up lines?” you heard yourself say as you put down your glass. Soo-jin pursed her lips, squinting slightly.

“How cheesy are we talking about?”

“Cheesy enough that they’re actually cute.”

“Then I love them,” she smiled. “Why? I don’t really know you that well, Y/N, but I’m getting the vibe that you’re up to something.”

Stop, your mind screamed, but you just shrugged.

“I actually came here with two other guys—not how you’re thinking, they’re like brothers to me—and I know one of them who is kind of looking for the same thing as you. One night stand, no strings attached. He’s nothing less than a gentleman, pretty cute, and also funny,” you finished, stomach flipping. “Do you want to meet him?”

“I mean, if you say so…” she said hesitantly.

“He really is great,” you added, smiling. You felt like vomiting; you were purposely setting up Dean Winchester for a one night stand. “Look, I’ll go get him, and if you want to back off just bite your lip and scratch your neck.”

“All right, but those green eyes better be nice,” she laughed, adjusting her blouse.

“Trust me, they are,” you said, hopping off the stool and leaving your drink behind. Your smile vanished as soon as you turned around, and a trembling breath left your lips as you walked back to Sam and Dean’s table. “What are you doing, Y/N?” you muttered. “This is just going to hurt like a bi—hey guys!”

“Look who finally decided to show up,” Dean grinned. “What took you so long? That chick was hot, but didn’t exactly look like your type.”

“That’s right, but she is yours. C’mon, I’m gonna introduce you,” you smiled, missing the look Sam shot Dean.

“Introduce me?”

“That’s right. Sammy here’s not being much of a wingman, so I’m taking the job for the moment. It is your celebration night, after all.”

“Y/N,” you hated the way your heart still fluttered at the concern in his voice, “are you, um, sure about this? I mean, honestly I wasn’t really looking to hookup tonight, I just wanted to be with you—and Sam.”

“Dean, I’m a big girl. I can hang out with Sam on my own, and I don’t make cute friends often,” you said, ignoring your thundering heartbeat. “And it would be kind of awkward to return without the guy I already warmed her up for. You don’t have to do this if you really don’t want to, but, like you said, she’s hot, and I can assure you she’s nice and funny.”

Dean glanced at Sam, who shrugged, before looking back at you. He would have rather spent the night with you, but he didn’t want to disappoint you. And, after all, Sam had warned him about how he felt for you. Dean didn’t want to tell you how he felt just yet in fear that his heart was playing tricks on him. However, if he was honest with himself, he was more afraid that you were really moving on.

“Alright, I guess.”

He was the first thing you thought of when you woke up.

A hammer pounded into your head without mercy, leaving you squinting at the series of numbers written on your right hand while you rubbed at your temple with the left. It was surprising to see how neat they were even after the drinks you drowned in together, but an odd sense of excitement began to bubble in your chest as you thought of dialing the number. It wasn’t as big as the excitement of just going into the kitchen to see Dean, but it was better than nothing.

An hour later, however, the dust of the excitement had settled, trampled over by the painful effects of your hangover. Wrapping a towel around your hair, you shuffled into the kitchen with heavy steps, the smell of bacon and coffee attracting and repulsing your weak stomach.

“Morning,” Sam greeted with a grim smile, his mop of unruly, brown hair sticking up in unusual angles. A steaming cup of black coffee rested on his hands. Sam never drank dark coffee, not unless he was having a hangover with the same intensity like yours. “Feel good?”

“Like I could run a mile,” you said, dragging your feet to the coffeemaker.

“Really?”

“No, I threw up in the shower today,” you admitted with a small groan.

“Did Dean come home already?” you asked quietly over the trails of steam dancing out of your coffee, hoping Sam would find your voice neutral. You had set him up with someone else, after all. “After two margaritas, three sangrias, and God knows what else I had, I’m not up for calling anyone right now.”

“Two margaritas? Sweetheart, the prohibition made me forget how much a lightweight you are,” Dean chuckled, a bright smile on his face as he walked into the kitchen.

Sam groaned, holding his head in his hands as Dean began to pour himself a cup of coffee, not caring about the painful ruckus he made as he slammed down his cup and the sugar container. You placed your middle finger on your lips, blowing air through your teeth to create a “sh” noise as Dean laughed.

“Also forgot how annoyed you get.”

“Whatever, loser. How are you not hungover? You were walking like Bambi on ice yesterday night,” you glared at Dean. “You should be hungover and useless like the rest of us.”

“Well, I, unlike you, children, can actually take my alcohol,” Dean said smugly, sitting in front of you and grabbing Sam’s discarded newspaper.

“What time did you get here, anyways?” you sighed, sipping your drink. “I’m hoping you were a gentleman and at least offered Soo-jin some breakfast. She seemed like a nice girl, and trust me, women sometimes don’t really feel the best after a one-night stand.”

“I didn’t go home with her,” Dean said, looking away from you. His voice was tense, and his words were short and to the point. Ending your conversation, Dean opened the newspaper, barricading himself behind it.

Shrugging, you tried to ignore the small, happy dance bubbling in your chest as you turned to Sam and began to speak with him again. You could figure out Dean’s odd behavior later, perhaps after figuring out your own mystery from last night; the number scribbled with pen on your hand, and a blurry, handsome face you couldn’t remember well.

“I didn’t go home with her,” Dean repeated under his breath, knowing you couldn’t hear him, “because she wasn’t you.”

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