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arazialotis · 1 year

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Gabriel(a)? - Part 5

Characters: DeanxReader, Sam, Jack

Word Count: Around 5860

Warnings: Season 14 Spoilers (Does not follow plot exactly, but takes from main ideas), Swearing, Typical SPN Violence/Gore

Summary: Team free will seems to be out of answers and hopeless as one of their own falls sick. Yet a micheavous and annoying mystery girl pops up out of nowhere and may be able to offer a solution, if not more.

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4

This is purely for a hobby and my enjoyment. Maybe some of you will enjoy it too. I am by no means a writer so I apologize in advance for any mistakes or grammatical/spelling errors. I appreciate any feedback or suggestions!

----

“Yeah, yeah. The motel just up there.” You pointed and leaned over the front bench, guiding Dean to the near-empty lot.

It was a crappy estate, but hopefully cheap to host the lot of you. Shutters hung askew, tiles were missing from the roof, and paint was peeling off the plastic siding. The current state of the place had nothing to do with the string of tornados earlier this month. You had viewed the damage of one driving into town. The roads were clear, but only a few fallen trees had been sawed up. Debris was piled high, electric wires were down, and homes were unsalvagable. Whatever the demons were up to, it was some heavy shit.

The Impala shuttered to a halt in the parking life. Even as Dean turned her off, the engine rattled from the mere exhaustion of the non-stop drive. Heat radiated off the hood as you made your way to the room. Dean said he was instantly ready for action, but the dark circles under his eyes proved otherwise. Sam was in better shape, but not by much. So you convinced them a quick clean-up would do them well with the hopes that sleep would find them once they sat down and were no longer in motion.

“Room numbers?” Sam asked.

“Six.”

They both stopped when you didn’t continue.

“Y/N.” Dean’s eyes were closed. “There’s five of us.”

“And three of us don’t sleep or need to, at least. I still enjoy the occasional unconscious jaunt so long as colorful hallucinations are present.” You rambled.

“And I enjoy my privacy.” Dean snipped back.

Sam sighed. “I’ll check in and get us another room.”

“God,” You complained as you neared room number six. “Are you ever going to learn to trust me?” You opened the door and waited.

Dean analyzed you and took the first step forward. Sam stayed put as Dean turned the corner and eagerly crossed the threshold.

Dean sighed in astonishment or relief, or a little of both. “Where have you been all my life?”

You still held the door open, staring down Sam like a lioness would her prey. It was clear that you had won over his brother, won over Jack. Would he and Castiel fall? Would he betray his instincts so easily as Dean had? Or was he wrong?

Sam adjusted the shoulder strap of his duffle and followed his older brother. The expression on his face changed like the stages of tasting a complex whiskey, first from shock, to amusement, to confusion at the possibility.

“Waiting for the Doctor Who moment.” You looked at an imaginary watch.

Sam stepped back outside, glimpsing the length of the motel. “It’s bigger on the inside.”

“There it is.” You held out your hand for a fist bump.

He shook his head and let out a huff with laughter as if to let you know; no, he couldn’t be won over, but he would be taking full advantage of the accommodations while he had to bear your presence. And surprisingly, he didn’t leave you hanging.

The door behind you closed with a soft click, and Sam still stood at the entrance. The duffle bag fell to his feet. The entryway led into a sunken living room with a wrap-around couch large enough for twelve people. Jack watched Harry Potter The Chamber of Secrets on the big screen TV over a white brick fireplace. The fire within crackled and popped. The open space included a dining room with a farmhouse-style table and matching benches.

Further back was a reading nook with an emerald barrel chair and a bookshelf. It was sectioned off from the kitchen by two rooms. The reading nook was separated from the kitchen by two rooms. The kitchen contained an island, modern appliances, and a gas stove. Aside from the entrance, each wall had two doors leading into bedrooms. Everyone's name was posted in silver lettering, assigning each one a room. The sixth said spa.

“Can’t spare any power for Jack, huh?” He questioned.

“Come on, Sammy.” You challenged him. “Grace is more complex than that… It's like heat. Well, that’s my running theory anyways. I assume you’re familiar with thermodynamics?" He nodded his head, and you contained an eye roll. "Naturally. Nephilim, from what I can tell, granted, there are only two of us (that we know of), are some of the most powerful beings in existence, but that translates to requiring more grace to heat us. There’s also the dynamic of specific heat, how well we store grace. Nephilim are like water, and angels like aluminum. Water has a higher specific heat; thus, more heat is required to change the temperature. And then there are the phase changes… Are you following? I’d happily pull out a chalkboard and review the specific physics with you.”

Sam couldn’t deny it; he was impressed. “No, the theory makes sense. For Jack to get to his full potential, he would need a massive amount of grace. To use your example, what you can give him without compromising your own is like melting ice on a stove. You can get him from a solid to a liquid, but you’re never going to be able to reach a boil without an external source of energy to keep yourself powered. It was enough to heal him but not sustain his power."

Dean, who had explored the space a little, was now near asleep as the two of you debated biology and mathematics.

"Honestly, I'm just making it up and hoping for the best." You confessed. "There isn't exactly a handbook on this shit. Heaven having wiped out my kind, and I suspect most of any recorded history about it."

Sam bent down, reached inside his bag, pulled out his laptop, and wandered to the dining room table. "You're absolutely right; we should start recording some of this down."

“We watched a YouTube video!” Jack called from his seat. “But I still don’t understand the math. I guess that is why I'm not a Ravenclaw."

“My money’s on Hufflepuff.” You commented.

“So long as it’s not Slytherin,” Jack mumbled.

“Hey,” You snipped. “We talked about this. Not all Slytherins are evil.”

“Yeah, but Ron said there isn’t a bad wizard who didn’t come from Slytherin, and no one here is either,” Jack argued back. “Sam’s a Ravenclaw, Cas is a Hufflepuff, Dean’s a Gryffindor, and you….” He furrowed his brows and tilted his head, trying to piece a puzzle together.

You only winked at him, wondering if he could settle on the right house. “I guess we will just have to keep watching the movies to see if Ron is right, won’t we.”

Dean rolled his eyes. “We didn’t drive all the way here for a movie marathon. We can paint each other’s toes and put on the sorting hat later; right now, we have a case to work.”

“Dean, you need to rest.” You tried to hold the lecturing tone out of your voice, but a small hint broke through.

Of course, he was defiant. “I need twenty minutes to freshen up, and I’ll be good to go.”

He paused, his eyes glazed over like he was staring at something far away. He put his hand against the wall to steady himself. This wasn’t the first time you noticed that look. He was here physically but not mentally.

“You’re exhausted.” Sam agreed. “We can get a head start and catch you up in the afternoon.”

Dean shook his head. “No, I’m good. I’m good.”

“Well, if you are certain you are good, freshen up and join Jack and me for the Prisoner of Azkaban.” You near ordered. “I’ve already got the day scheduled out. Going in as press, you and Cas have an appointment with the sheriff at 3:00. They wouldn’t let you speak with the coroner. My fault, yes, should have gone in hot with FBI, but I’m sure you can find a way around that. At the same time, Sam and Jack have an interview with the first victim's family and then at 4:00 with the second.”

“And what will you be up to?” Sam asked.

At the same time, Dean asked. “Where is Cas, anyways?”

You addressed Sam first. “Our miraculously revived coma patient has gone missing. I bet you can guess why with the amount of sulfur in this town. I’ll start sweeping the town for her and any potential buddies. We’ll regroup for dinner and discuss any potential leads. As for Cas…”

The room labeled spa opened, and Castiel emerged from a cloud of steam in nothing but a tan bathrobe. Sam and Dean’s mouths parted.

“I would highly suggest scheduling to see Helga for a deep tissue massage before our time here ends,” Castiel advised.

Dean took a deep breath and sighed. His eyes snapped to yours. “God, I love you.”

Those weren’t the words you expected. He didn’t mean it like that, and you knew it. Despite that, bubbles rose in your stomach, and heat ignited in your core. Yet, somewhere deeper and darker, something twisted. Guilt, shame, fear. You couldn’t let them see any of it. Any part of you, the good or the bad. Especially with Sam’s unmistakable scoff. So you did your best and channel a neutral reply.

You examined your nails, “I know, right? I’ve honed in pretty well on the Alps and Cancun packages. The Shiatsu massage is still a work in progress, but my contacts in Shizuoka are closing in on a deal.”

“If there is anything I can do to be of assistance.” Castiel eagerly offered.

“We may need to roll our sleeves up for a minor miracle, but I’ll keep you posted.” You responded.

Sam couldn’t believe it. He was the one to invite you in. To trust you enough in the beginning, solely for Jack’s sake. But something about this didn’t settle right. Surrounding them with comfort so they would stay compliant and placid. Like you were fattening up a calf before slaughter. He dropped the conversation earlier with Dean but had to get this feeling off his chest. The problem was, finding the opportunity to do so privately. Even as he jotted down notes from your conversation, he took everything with a grain of salt, knowing you may be intentionally misleading him.

“Well, since we have a while, I guess a few hours of shut-eye wouldn’t hurt,” Dean announced before heading to his room, playing it off as casual as if he hadn’t almost fainted moments before.

You and Jack shared a look. More than a look, a conversation, a language that only you two could understand, that was privy to only you.

Jack nodded his head slightly and then put on an act again. “So, I can keep watching Harry Potter, right? There are still six movies to go. And I need to finish so I can decide if I should be a Jedi or a wizard.”

“That’s the best part, Jacky.” You hopped over the couch and joined him, summoning a bowl of popcorn and a Hogwarts blanket. “So long as the stories stay in our head, we can be a part of them. All of them.”

Sam eyed you a while longer, but you simply explained what movie details were missed during the conversation. Until Cas joined you on the couch and asked what a Hufflepuff was, you paused the movie so you and Jack could catch him up on the lore. Finally, Sam decided to surrender his reservations, and after saving his Word document, he headed to his room to freshen up.

With Jack present, you knew he could sense a split. The look you had shared had been concern over Dean. This spell he had was not from pure exhaustion alone. You had noticed one or two other occurrences, and Jack had noticed separate occasions as well. He agreed that you should check on him while a projection of you remained here not to alarm the others.

The bedrooms were not extravagant by any means. But they each consisted of a king-sized memory foam bed, a 4k tv, floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the same lake that showed in the kitchen window, and a private bathroom with a jacuzzi tub. Okay, so maybe you had overdone it a little. But why stay in a shitty motel when you could manifest a more pleasurable experience.

Dean came out of the bathroom; his face splashed with water. You stood inside the room at the closed door and rapped your knuckle on it, signaling your presence.

His eyes traveled over your body, and he sighed. “Not now, Y/N. I’m exhausted.”

The brave front he had plastered on for the boys had dropped. It stung a little bit, him assuming what you were here for.

There was concern in your voice as you spoke. “Are you okay, Dean?”

“I’m fine.”

The bed dipped under his weight as he sat on the edge and began to unlace his boots.

“Dean…” You whispered.

“Please. Y/N. I’m just so tired.” He stated plainly.

You pushed off the wall and stalked towards him. His weary eyes followed you across the room until you landed beside him. You cupped his cheek in your hand, and he leaned into it, fully resting and closing his eyes. Prying wasn’t what he needed right now; he just needed support, somebody to hold him.

“Trust me.” You pleaded as if saying the words would make it so. What you have been begging him since the very beginning.

You guided him with you as you leaned back on the bed, half reclining and half sitting against the headboard. When he realized you weren’t asking anything of him, Dean relaxed. He wrapped his arms tightly around your torso and nuzzled his head against your chest. You hummed a soft tune and ran your fingers gently through his hair. His breath slowed and deepened as sleep quickly took him. Were you being overly sappy and romantic, humming Can’t Help Falling in Love? Yes, but he didn’t seem to mind. Did you mean it? Again, yes. With all your heart. Even if you weren’t ready to say the words. Even though he had said them to you, but didn’t mean it. He didn’t understand. A tear broke free from the corner of your eye.

*****

Dean and Cas had just finished their fruitless interview with the sheriff and took a purposeful wrong turn to head to the county office’s morgue instead of the exit. Dean wore green flannel, a beige cardigan, dark-rimmed glasses, and a press badge. Castiel didn’t take to looking the part too seriously. He was back in his trenchcoat and blue tie, but at least it wasn’t the bathrobe. Dean looked over his shoulder once, twice, and again as he reached the door, trying the handle. It only jiggled slightly but wouldn't budge.

Dean reached inside his cardigan for the concealed pocket. A case slowly zipped open as Dean went for his lock-picking set. Cas eyed him with disbelief, took the handle, and popped the door open. With raised eyebrows, Dean huffed and placed the kit back in his pocket.

The morgue was empty, and a chill deeper than air conditioning ran up Dean’s spine. The silence was heavy as their footsteps echoed. There was currently a body covered on the main examination table. Dean snapped on latex gloves and checked the toe tag. It wasn’t one of the victims they were looking for. Papers rustled as Castiel began reading through reports, and Dean went to check the lockers.

“Ah, here we go,” Dean said.

The latch clicked open, and Dean rolled out the sliding metal table, snapping at the end. Castiel kept the notes flipped open in his hands but wandered over, the body able to reveal more than the corner’s observations ever could. Dean carefully pulled back the sheet and instinctively stepped back.

"What the hell?" He asked.

Castiel peered in closer. Dean regained composure and took a better look. The eyes were burned out alright, taking with it half the face. It had to be chemical, acid, or some sort. Dean took a deep breath to calm his racing heart.

"That is no angel." So he concluded, starting a thorough exam to seek further clues.

"Or." Castiel hypothesized. "An angel covering their tracks."

They stared each other down, sharing an unspoken conversation, questions more than answers. What was Michael up to that needed covering up? If Michael was here, was he connected to the demonic activity? Weren’t demons beneath him? Was it even Michael to begin with? If not him, then who? The same person came to mind.

“Dean…” Cas began in a lecturing tone.

“Cas.” Dean interrupted. “We are treating this as any other case, and all evidence so far points to demons until we have something contrary….”

He held his open hand towards the corpse. “This is contrary evidence.”

Dean couldn’t deny it. “Well, until we have a solid lead, there is no need to go around pointing fingers.”

The angel scoffed. “Says the man who she has wrapped around her finger.”

Dean did not take kindly to that accusation. “I wasn’t the one fawning over the sauna this morning.”

“Sam sees it too.” Castiel continued to argue. “Everything she has done since her arrival has either caused us to be distracted from hunting Michael or making us so comfortable we forget Michael is even out there, to begin with.”

“She’s being too nice, which equals her murdering two randos in nowhere, Pennsylvania. You forget she literally saved Jack’s life.” He defended.

“As her way in.” He wasn’t going to drop it. “What else has she done to help us?”

Dean thought about it. You were helping Jack with his powers but with a limited grace supply; to say he was lacking was an understatement. The theory you proposed conveniently made sense and let you control the biggest potential threat. Yet the kid adored you. True, he wasn’t the best judge of character. You made really good pie which only played into the comfort aspect, and you were even better at fucking. God, how he wished to be buried inside you instead of entertaining this bullshit conspiracy theory. But it was more than all these things Cas and Sam argued were the cause of docility; it was the way Dean felt about you. The determination, the boldness, the fragility and loneliness underneath it all, the radiating care for team free will that had won Dean’s trust. If there was ill will, those intimate moments shared would feel more sickly, leery, and gated. There was still no good response for Cas, but Dean would try anyway.

“You’re just jealous I have a new friend.” He was already kicking himself as the words came out.

Before he could redeem himself, a flutter of wings cut him off, and you appeared from thin air, bringing with you the reek of sulfur.

You bent over, leaning on your knees and gasping for breath. “We have a major problem.”

They both waited for you to continue, but you were more concerned about steading your heart. When you resumed normal breathing, you looked between them, and the tension was so thick it could but cut with a butter knife.

“Am I interrupting something?” You asked.

“No.” Dean said as Castiel said, “Yes.”

“Great, well, my matter takes precedent.” You ignored Castiel’s honest response. “Do either of you know how to close a gate of hell?”

Dean’s eyes widened. This was bigger than they thought.

“Did you open it?” Castiel immediately accused.

Your voice raised what seemed to be ten octaves. “What in God’s name would I want to open a gate of hell for?”

“That’s what I’m waiting for you to tell us.” Castiel prompted.

“You are this close to losing all sauna privileges.” You threatened.

He faltered for a second but ultimately held his ground. “Answer the question.”

Your eyes darkened, peering at him as you carefully spelled out each syllable. “If I opened a way to Hell, I surely wouldn’t come around announcing to you asshats that it was open in the first place. Furthermore, if I opened it, I would know how to fucking close it!”

“A yes or no will be sufficient.” He practically ordered.

You chuckled. “Forget it. I don’t need this! I will try again to figure it out on my own. And when demon hordes overrun this state, you will have no one to blame but yourself, and don’t think for a second I will help you without copious amounts of groveling.”

Dean saw you fading and rushed, “Start with a devil’s trap to contain it, then come back, and we’ll figure out how to seal it back up.”

Before you completely vanished, you winked and shot him with a finger gun. The tension between Cas and Dean fully resumed. Dean pointed to where you had been.

“Go apologize. And help her close the damn thing.” He barked.

Castiel rolled his eyes but knew Dean was right on more than one count. Maybe he was just being jealous. They could figure out the details and reconvene after the gate was sealed. He sighed and went to find you.

After all this was over, Dean needed a fucking vacation. A real vacation. On a beach, in the sun, and with never-ending bottles of beer in his hand. He pulled out his phone to update Sam, only to see Sam was calling him.

“Yeah?” Dean answered.

“We got one,” Sam informed him.

“One what?” He asked.

“A demon. Inhabiting the girl who was comatose.” Sam said.

Finally, a way to get some proper answers. “Send me your location; I’m on my way. Oh, and Sam, this is bigger than we thought.”

----

Sam, Dean, and Jack stood outside a devil’s trap, the demon tied to a chair in the center. Everyone’s patience was frayed to the edges. The vessel currently inhabited was a girl in her late twenties. She was weak in appearance from the years of lying in a hospital bed and being fed only from a tube. But the monster inside her was any but, like a feral cat caged. Her hair was field mouse brown and unstyled. Her eyes a doe brown when they weren’t shining black. At least the thing had the decency to change from the hospital gown. As for its personality, well, what could you expect from a demon?

Dean checked his phone; they still hadn’t heard from you or Cas.

“Who opened the devil’s gate?” Sam asked through his teeth.

“I already told you, no fucking clue, hot shot.” She spat out.

“Funny how I told your leader….”

That made her laugh. “Hell has no leader. You thought it was chaos down there before. I haven’t seen anything like it—faction against faction—dog eat dog. All power-hungry narcissists clawing for the throne. As soon as that gate opened, I and anyone else with an inkling of self-preservation hightailed it outta there. I’d rather face you Winchesters any day of the week than face what’s down there. You’re not even an ounce as bad as they say you are.”

Dean twirled the demon blade in his hand. “Oh, that’s just because we're just getting started, sweetheart.”

“Whatever gets you off, Dean,” She teased. “I was on your rack before.” Her smile spread at his reaction. “Don’t you remember? You’re not as bad as you think you are. I can take anything you throw at me.”

Sam looked Dean up and down, realizing how strained Dean was at trying to keep it together. He stepped forward, protectively of Dean.

“Was it Michael who opened the gate?” Sam asked, this time, more kindness apparent in his voice, trying to coax out any drop of empathy this creature might have left.

She leaned forward, doubling over in laughter, her body falling as far as the restraints granted her. “I’m sorry, I’m… I didn’t realize how stupid you were. Must be hard to make space for a brain when you're filled up with all that muscle.”

“Tell us what you know!” Jack snapped, power radiating off him.

That got her quiet. “All I’m saying is why would an angel open up the gate when it’s their very job to wave about their moral superiority and keep us locked up in the first place?”

Sam rested a hand on Jack’s shoulder, hoping to help calm him down. The energy around him still hummed but was no longer on full display.

“Who here on earth then would help you escape?” Jack breathed out, trying to remain steady.

“Could be a number of my kind,” She acted dumbfounded. “I’ll make ya a deal; let me go, and I’ll help you find out who.” A smirk grew across her lips.

A flutter of wings announced the arrival of you and Cas. An angel blade fell from Castiel’s hand, clattering on the ground beneath, as he slid down the wall, resting with his head between his knees. The clothes that garbed you both were dirty and ragged. You leaned your head against the wall, taking deep shallow breaths, trying to keep your head from spinning. Imagine hiking up Mount Kilimanjaro (a five to nine-day trek to the summit) without any endurance or cardio training; that is what closing the gate felt like without a proper team or the necessary equipment.

Castiel looked up at the concerned faces. “It’s done.” He announced.

“Glad I got out when I had the chance.” The demon smirked.

“About how many of your friends joined you?” Dean demanded.

“It’s hard to say. Once we saw it, it was like a Black Friday rush; people were trampled, others clawed their way through the crowd. I’m just lucky to have gotten the prize.”

Sam was through. They were not going to get anything further from her. They had caught themselves a demon who was only looking out for themselves, not part of some grand scheme.

“I hope the short bout of freedom was worth it.” He raised a hand and began the incantation. He had long since had it memorized. “Exorcizamus te, omnis immundus spiritus…”

“Sam, let’s gank her.” Dean stopped his brother. “There’s no one in that meat suit.”

Sam sighed. He didn’t like it, but his brother was right. The girl had been like this since she was a teenager. No one was coming back after an exorcism. It would just be one less demon to deal with. Dean twirled the blade in his hand once more and approached the circle.

“Want me to beg, pretty boy?” The demon taunted. “That was one of your favorite parts in the underworld, as I recall.” She licked her lips.

Dean's fist tightened, and he raised the blade.

“Wait!” You called out and pushed off the wall. “Wait.”

Dean almost didn’t. If he was being honest, he wanted to. But regardless, he took a step back and deferred to you. You crossed the circle, unafraid, knowing she held no power over you. You crouched before her, looking her up and down. She could sense you were the same as Jack, and it made her sweat. Finally, you settled on her eyes.

“Do you know why you were sent to hell?” You asked, your brows furrowing.

She scoffed a laugh, but her eyes pricked with tears, and her lips pinched together. “I can’t say I recall. It’s not if you get a trial. You just wake up there one day on a rack.”

“Do you think you deserved it?” You asked.

“Deserved what? To be tortured for all eternity? To burn in a lake of fire? To not know mercy and love from a God who is said to abound in it simply because I was born human, because I was born imperfect because I didn’t have the chance of knowing him in my mortal life.” Her eyes snapped towards Castiel. “Tell me, angel, how is your God omnibenevolent when being born surrounded by circumstances of generational religion, geological location, violence, and trauma, keeps one from his saving grace, and yet he is omnipotent and omniscient, thus condemning his very creation to hell from the beginning. He cannot be all three, so tell me, which is he? What did I do that was so bad to be condemned to hell? What did any of us do?”

You swallowed a lump in your throat. You looked past her, past the vessel, past the anger, past the trauma, into the very depths of her soul. It was so tormented, so twisted. Her pain was cascading in violent waves against you. And at the very center, she was alone and lost. You tuned the world out, and it was just you and her.

“Let me help you.” You whispered.

The others watched as your eyes glazed over and emitted a glowing gold light. Then, your hand extended forward, your fingers blurring into the space that was her heart. At that, the demon started screaming, straining against the binds, desperate for an escape.

“What is she doing?!” It howled. “Make it stop, make it stop!”

Tears spilled out, and she opened her mouth, trying to flee, but you had the soul held in the palm of your hand, picking the tangled mess apart like a necklace chain that was wound up together.

“Y/N,” Dean whispered. “Let her go.”

But he couldn’t reach you.

You did your best to console the terrified girl lost in the center. The words were only spoken to her. “It’ll be over quickly, I promise.”

The demon wailed in pain. Dean recognized her now. He squinted his eyes shut and shook his head, reminding himself he wasn’t there.

“Y/N.” He ordered more forcefully. “Stop.”

He went to grab you by the shoulder to shake you out of this, but he was greeted by a bolt of electricity that shot him back, falling on his ass. Everyone’s eyes widened with shock as they saw tendrils of black leaking out of her heart, slithering up your arm and into yours. Dean’s concern was no longer for the screams to stop but for your safety.

“Cas, Jack.” He barked. “Get her out of there!”

Hold, on. You slowed time around them as you continued to work. Just a few more seconds. There! Momentarily the gold in your eyes showed black, but you blinked it away.

“What did you do to me?” She sobbed.

You stood up, dusted off your jeans, and undid her bindings. Dean and Sam stood on defense, ready for any trickery. But she only fell out of the chair and curled into herself, inconsolable.

You leaned over and brushed her hair out of her face, the ends damp from tears. “It’ll take some time, but you’ll be okay.”

Castiel, who had since gotten up himself, came over to inspect her as well. As he did, you broke the devil’s trap with the heel of your shoe. Castiel’s brow was furrowed; he pressed two fingers to her forehead, and instead of pooling with darkness, her eyes filled with white light.

“What did you do?” He looked at you, bewildered.

You stepped staggered, and Dean caught you by your elbow. He gazed into your eyes, assessing your state. Your pupils were wider than before as if you were a cat in the darkness. You weren’t concerned. They should recede after a few hours. A raspy breath drew your attention. The girls sobbing was softening, but she still shook. Castiel draped his trenchcoat over her, his hand resting on her shoulder.

“Y/N?” Dean asked.

“I showed her she wasn’t alone. I took her pain as my own. I healed her soul.” You gulped, forcing tears from spilling out. “She has a second chance now.”

Sam was calculating it out. “She not human again, is she?”

“No.” You and Cas answered in unison.

“But she’s not a demon either.” You clarified. “She’s something new.”

A pounding split your head, and your knees gave out. Jack raced to your side, supporting you with the help of Dean. You caged the swirling in your head and stood again. The world was spinning, and off balance, you thought you would faint. Could you even faint? That didn’t seem like a very nephilim thing to do.

“I need some air.” You steadied yourself in their grasp and started off, but Dean didn’t let you go. “I’ll be okay.” You assured him and nodded back to her. “Once she’s calm, you might have a decent chance at questioning her this time ‘round.”

Dean stayed put either by you forcing your will onto him or him simply respecting your need for space; you weren’t sure. The barn was one of several rundown outbuildings in the area. It must have been a big farming operation at one point, managing both livestock and crops. Now tall grass grew between them. There were no discernible paths. Concrete that used to be parking areas for tractors and trucks was now cracked and angled from the push of the earth. An old, forgotten wood pile was stacked and rotting against one of the buildings, probably once used to keep warm during winter months.

You closed your eyes as the breeze carried the smell of wheat and sweet grass. The air was helping, yet a nauseous feeling was growing in the pit of your stomach. You heaved over as pools of liquid obsidian spilled out of you. Three or four heaves, and it was done. You spit several times to clean your mouth. Creating distance from your sickness, you found a red barn and sat down against it.

A sniffle caught in your nose, and the feeling of liquid running down caused you to wipe at it with the back of your hand, revealing further obsidian that smelled of sulfur. Clearly, your body was trying to purge you of the pain and evil you had taken on.

Heavy footsteps crunched the gravel and dry grass underneath. You sighed; you weren’t ready for this. You needed a few more moments alone to process, to grief, to heal yourself. You weren’t ready to face one of them, to convince them that this wasn’t some twisted plan, that they could trust you. Breaths shook out of you as you tried to steady yourself and build strength.

The sun was bright as the looming figure approached you. Relief flooded you as Dean’s outline, not one of the others approached. But as he blocked the sun, outlining him like a halo, the alleviation turned to terror. His posture, stance, and how he oozed arrogance clued you into who it really was. You pushed up against the wall to meet him head-on. He had already discovered you in a vulnerable state, and you wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of prolonging that experience.

“Michael.” You gritted your teeth together.

He adjusted the cuffs on Dean’s flannel. You could tell it bothered him to be clothed in anything less than an Armani suit. Hopefully, it itched.

“Care to fill me in on that little stunt you pulled back there, Gabriela?”

#dean winchester #dean x you #dean x y/n #dean x reader #supernatural #spn fanfiction #SPN FANDOM

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lifeonus · 11 months

Text

Hi there fellow readers. In advance... I sincerely apologize for any grammatical errors or spelling mistakes

20 October 2023. Lying in bed, sick from the flue. Thinking wow... I'm Blogging. I'm not quite sure what to write or say that could captivate anyone really.

I'm not sure if it will really reach anyone. I could have 0 views on this. I might be better off on Tik Tok😴😉. How the world has changed.

I went to work to day with the craziest flues, could be COVID but do not let me get started on the work environment I am currently in. From drama, scandals and manipulation. Maybe, I might be the problem... How do I get in these situations. Well... Stay tuned and live in someone else's work drama for a change.

From Work life, love life, family life and food life. This is my Blog.

Check out the below:

#New #startup #love #my words #work in progress

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serotonindrip · 6 years

Text

August 22, 2008

A background story that leads to my diagnosis of Bipolar Disorder. If anyone even stumbles upon this post, there may be triggers in here for some readers. I apologize for any grammatical or spelling errors, I am typing this on my phone on my lunch break.

It was a Friday, my second week of my junior year in high school. School was out for the day for a teacher development day. My mother woke me up around 9 o’clock in the morning to show me pictures of my cousin who was born earlier that morning. I gave generic comments you say about new babies and rolled over in the bed, desperate to take advantage of no school. My mom gently shook my shoulder and told me to get up, that she needed to tell me something. I brushed her hand off and tried to focus on falling back asleep. She shook my shoulder again, more forcefully this time. “Please get up.” I heard the crack in her voice and turned over to look at her. I asked her what was wrong. “I’m so sorry,” tears were falling at this point and I started to feel the anxiety build, “Your daddy passed away last night.”

“Your daddy passed away last night.”

The sentence replayed in my head over and over again. I asked my mom, “What? What do you mean?” She repeated the sentence. I remember jumping out of the bed and backing into the wall. “No, no, no, no,” I kept telling her. And as she kept telling me how sorry she was and trying to hold me, the no’s turned into screams. I crumbled to the ground and kept screaming no. I remember my grandmother and cousin rushing into the room and my mother told them what had happened. The voices seemed a hundred miles away.

June 16th, 2008 was the last time I saw my dad. I got mad at him for some reason, a reason I can’t remember. June 17th, 2008, my dad called and wished me a happy birthday and told me he loved me. That was the last time I talked to him. Ten years later, that guilt still eats away at me. He tried to communicate with me, and I always ignored his calls.

My dad was sick. Something my mom constantly told me as a way to get me to talk to him. Looking back, I wish I did. But I was a stupid teenager and didn’t want to hear it. My dad was a functioning alcoholic, he drank his fair share of beer plus more, but was able to hold a job. He got hurt on the job and that’s when his spiral into addiction started. Something I didn’t know at the time. When he passed, I knew he had cirrhosis of the liver and Hepatitis C. At the time of his death, that’s what I believed he had died from. It wasn’t until January 6th, his birthday, of the following year, that I found out he had died of a heroin overdose.

After my dad passed, I went into my first major depressive episode. I pushed all of my friends and family away. I would come home from school and do my homework and then go to bed. I developed bulimia and I started cutting again. Something I had been doing on and off since I was 11. With each week, the cuts got deeper and deeper. No one noticed. I hid them well. After each meal, I would disappear into the bathroom and purge. No one noticed. The purging and cutting felt so good. Because I actually felt something. I was numb for so long after my dad passed away, but every time I would cut into my skin, or shove my finger down my throat, I would feel a sense of relief, even if it only lasted for a few minutes, it felt so damn good to feel something.

It was the worst depression episode I had experienced so far. I had been dealing with depression since I was a small child, but not a single one of those episodes came close to how I felt during this one.

One day the sadness disappeared. Anger took its place. I felt a rage deep down inside of me. I was angry at my dad for leaving me. I was angry at myself for ignoring him. I was angry at my mom for delivering the worst news of my life. I was angry at my family for not understanding how I felt. I was angry at God and began to question his existence. I had anger inside of me for so long that it became the only friend I knew.

It all changed on my dad’s birthday. I skipped school that day so I could go to my dad’s grave and visit for the first time since his passing. I was on Facebook and saw that my older cousin had posted something about my dad. Someone I didn’t know commented on it saying they didn’t know he had passed away and asked what happened. My cousin replied back, “He overdosed in Florida.”

I read it over and over again. I felt something inside of me break. I felt something deep inside of me change. In that moment, I felt so betrayed. It was my dad’s own actions that caused his death and wasn’t able to quite grasp my mind around it yet.

The days following my dad’s birthday, I suddenly had more energy. I was still angry, yes, but for the first time in a long time, I felt good. I started talking to my friends again, going out with them, and I became more reckless. I started stealing money from my family and would buy things I didn’t need or necessarily want. I started driving my car at high speeds for the thrill of it, gaining a couple of speeding tickets while I was it. I felt on top of the world. I didn’t have the need for sleep anymore. I would stay up for days at a time, crash, and repeat. Looking back, this was my first manic episode. I had the textbook symptoms of a manic episode, but I didn’t understand what was actually happening.

The sleep deprivation finally took its toll on me. The more days I went without sleep, the more I would hallucinate. I began hearing these voices. They would tell me things I didn’t want to hear. They picked at everything from my appearance to how my family felt about me. I would try to sleep just so I wouldn’t hear the voices, but they were still there in my nightmares. I wasn’t sleeping, eating, or doing much of anything anymore. The voices started telling me how worthless I was, and how everyone would be better off without me. I started to believe them. So I started to plan my suicide.

I wrote the letter out and shoved it in my backpack. I went downstairs and ate dinner with my family and excused myself to the bathroom afterwards. I threw it up, naturally, and looked through the medicine cabinet. I opened a few bottles and poured them into my hands and then went up to my room and took them.

I don’t exactly remember what I took, it was mainly a mix of Tylenol PM and NyQuil. It only made me sick to my stomach for a couple of days, and at the point I had been up for three days straight and I grew hysterical. I wanted to die so badly that I grew angry at myself for not being able to commit suicide. I could hear the voices laughing at me and I felt so embarrassed. I was up for two more days and finally broke down and told the therapist at school what I had done.

I was sent to an adolescent behavioral unit and spent a month there. That was when I received my diagnosis of Bipolar Disorder.

Ten years later Bipolar has become a part of my everyday life. Some days are good and some days are bad. I try to take each day as they come, but it can get pretty difficult occasionally. My mood swings are something my friends accept and understand, for which I’m beyond grateful for. Because I know how hard it is to deal with me at times.

I’m currently having mixed episodes due to my mother recently overdosing. I started this blog as a way to get my thoughts and feelings out of my head. I’m back on mood stabilizers and I hope I start to feel normal sometime soon. It’s going to be a battle that’s for sure, but I hope this blog helps. I’m so tired of keeping everything to myself. I want to be able to get my emotions out.

If anyone reads this, thank you for your time. I mainly did this for myself, but it if you find it, thank you for reading my story.

#first post #bipolar #mental health #speak up #you’re not alone

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arazialotis · 2 years

Text

Gabriel(a)? - Part 4

Characters: DeanxReader, Sam, Jack

Word Count: Around 4000

Warnings: Season 14 Spoilers (Does not follow plot exactly, but takes from main ideas), Swearing, Sexual Tension, Promiscuous Situations

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3

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This had to stop. It was getting out of hand. Your leg bounced uncontrollably. You were supposed to focus on the material before you, but all you could think about was the man across the room. Your fist was pressed against your lips, and you gently bit a knuckle. Dean was in the same boat as you. He looked up to catch you staring, so you averted your eyes back to the book. It went on this way for a better part of an hour and a half. What started as a fun distraction for both of you was now working its way under your skin. And everyone in this room had bigger things to focus on other than a petty fling. Michael.

Even with Jack mostly recovered, though he still had much to learn, it wasn’t time. Michael was not going to be found until he was ready. Everyone knew it, yet they were determined to take the offense, spending hours pouring over potential leads and plans.

You looked back to Dean, who hadn’t taken his eyes off you. Was he thinking the same thing as you? Watching every minute tick by until it was reasonably acceptable to call it a day? Waiting for that moment when you would finally be able to escape reality and enter a world where just the two of you existed.

You cocked your head to the side. No, it had been on his mind, but that was not what he was thinking at this moment. He was analyzing you. Reading you, or at least trying. It was your leg. You forced it to stop bouncing. You went back to the text and took a deep breath. You needed sugar. Skittles. A small pile appeared on the desk beside you, and you dove in. The sweetness instantly alleviated your nerves. You were losing your edge, and if you didn’t keep composed, they’d figure it all out eventually.

Dean cleared his throat, drawing your attention back to him. This time, the way his eyes drank you in, his thoughts had returned elsewhere. At 3:15, he decided he was finished for the day. This wasn’t like regular employment, where a supervisor would pop out of nowhere to fire him for cutting hours. His chair scraped back, echoing in the silent hall. Your eyes followed him across the room, and just before he exited, he glanced at you, giving the slightest nod as an indication to follow him. You smirked and wondered if you had unintentionally Pavlov’d him into desiring sex anytime you summoned sweets.

Giving him a few minutes head start, you flipped a page and scanned the words. Three others remained; Sam, Maggie, and Ryan. You were relieved Jack was not there. Though you could still get away with what you were about to do under his watch, it would simply require extra effort if he were present. Focusing, you created then projected an image of yourself in the same position you currently were in. Once it became solid and followed your movements, you disappeared. Autopilot would take care of the rest were someone to ask a question or approach you.

You were correct in assuming Dean would be in his room. As soon as he clicked the door locked, you appeared. The need was clear, and the magnetic pull to each other was instantaneous. Both of you pounced.

Clashing together was like two storms meeting; thunder roaring, lightning cracking, and winds howling. The force in which you met had Dean up against the door. Your lips roved over each other, seeking to fill a hunger that was never satisfied. His hands were at your waist, riding up your shirt, desperate to feel your skin. Your lips traveled over his jawline, landing just below his ear. Greedily, your hands were already tugging at his belt. As you found the clasp, you gently scrapped your teeth against his neck.

Breathing heavily, you said, “I’m going to fuck you into the next millennia.”

He took control and pushed you against the adjacent wall, pinning your hands to the concrete. His length strained in the denim, pressing upon you. Grinding, you responded, starving for the friction you had been deprived of all day.

“Is that a promise?” He purred into your ear.

“It’s a guarantee.” Your eyes sparked with anticipation.

His fingers gripped tightly around your wrist but then released, traveling down your arms and then your side, wandering back up under your shirt. With free hands again, you ran them through his hair and pulled him in, kissing him deeply. A soft moan escaped your lips as he pushed you further against the wall.

In one swift movement, his hands found the back of your thighs, and he hoisted you up so that your legs were straddling his waist. Even with the barrier of clothing, how he rubbed into you sent shivers down your spine.

Now that he had you pinned, one arm kept you hoisted, and you may have assisted a bit in keeping yourself suspended. (What was the point of having powers if you weren't going to use them?) With his free hand, he sought a target under your bra. He found the destination, and the fabric pulled away with ease. You huffed a laugh. The devil had unclasped your bra without your knowledge. Dean Winchester was a god-damned force to be reckoned with.

The humor of the moment vanished as he took the stiff peak between his fingers and pressed upward with his thumb. You tilted your head back, and your praise of him sounded to the ceiling.

He buried his face into your chest, biting the collar of your shirt and pulling away so he could sneak a view of what lay beneath. He twisted his fingers. Another moan. He glanced up at you, gauging your reaction. Two could play at this game. Your hand snaked down to where he had you pinned, taking the bulge into your grasp and squeezing gently. Your shirt snapped back as he hissed in response.

"I have this overwhelming feeling," He paused to kiss you intensely. "That you're going to be the death of me." He said as he pulled away. The forest in his eyes deepened as they searched yours. You would have challenged him if he didn't appear so sincere. "I wouldn't have it any other way."

Your jaw clenched, and he mirrored the gesture, unsure of your lack of response. He continued to stroke your breast as the two of you stared each other down. A tinge of delightful pain shocked through you as he tightened his grip.

"Enough of the teasing." You nipped at his lip. "Are we going to do this, Winchester?"

Dean was about to shift when pounding at the door startled you both. You were both too stunned to answer. Another knock.

"Dean," Sam called from the other side.

You looked at each other. A wicked grin crossed your face. Dean swallowed the lump in his throat and shook his head. Whatever devious thoughts were running through your mind, he didn't even want to know.

The lock jiggled, and Sam knocked with the heel of his palm.

"Dean, wake up. I got something." He urgently said.

Dean rolled his eyes and backed away, the moment lost. "Yeah, yeah. I'm coming."

He wiped his hands over his face and through his hair, trying to center himself. A few moments of deep breathing and thinking about baseball made him, at the very least, presentable. Dean cracked the door to find Sam anxiously waiting with his laptop in hand. Having kept yourself suspended for a few extra moments, you realized the moment was over and slid back down, landing on your feet.

Sam instantly noticed something was off about Dean. “Oh, sorry if you're not up...."

Dean cut Sam off before he finished. "No, I'm fine, I'm…."

Dean stopped as you simultaneously responded, unaware only he could hear you.

"Oh, he's up." You leaned over for a better view, second-guessing yourself. "Or he was a second ago."

His head snapped to you, and he pinched his lips together before shooing you like he would a fly. Oh, he was going to pay for that.

"You sure you're okay?" Sam asked, pushing into Dean's room.

Dean looked between the two of you; Sam headed to the desk to set the laptop down, paying you no attention. Dean shot you a deadpan look as he put two and two together.

"Shh." You pressed your fingers to your lips with a wink.

"Dean?" Sam called again.

He waved you away again before answering. "Yeah, yeah. I'm good." Dean moved to sit on the bed adjacent to the desk to get a better look. "What do you got?"

"Do you remember the start of the apocalypse? Our first apocalypse." Sam clarified. Dean widened his eyes at the absurdity of the question. "Of course you do."

"Get to the point, Sam," Dean stated, hoping this conversation would be over soon so he could resume other activities.

He felt the bed dip and turned to see you prowling toward him. His heart thudded inside his chest. He turned back to Sam and gulped.

"We've seen that strange weather patterns can indicate significant angelic activity." Sam angled the screen towards his brother, showing a news story. "Uniontown, Pennsylvania. Five tornadoes within seven days for a state that sees an average of ten total a year, and it's outside of the season."

"Anything else to go on?"

A shiver ran down Dean's spine as your breath kissed his neck. He could feel your lips hovering a mere touch from his skin.

You leaned in closer, whispering in his ear, "Agree to go, so he'll leave us alone. The details will come later."

Your hand reached around and grazed the inner length of his thigh. Dean squeezed his eyes shut and thought long and hard about when the Texas Rangers last had a shot at the world series.

Sam was speaking, and it took all of Dean's energy to focus on his words.

"... Comatose since the accident. Her doctors are saying her recovery is nothing short of a miracle." Sam finished.

Your lips nestled in the crook of his neck, nursing the spot that drove him near feral. The tips of your fingers trailed over his zipper.

"Ahhh.. mmm… mmhmm." Dean altered his moan into something of a sound of understanding.

He grabbed your wrist and pinned it to the bed, struggling to keep his composure. Your free hand stroked his cheek and then over his lips. His mouth parted.

"Are you sure you're alright?" Sam repeated.

"Yeah." He squeaked out. Sam switched tabs to another article, but Dean was ready to call it. "It sounds like…."

You pulled your lips away from Dean, skimming over the article. "Wait, no, this is interesting." You shifted and sat up, getting a better glance.

Dean blinked rapidly. "I mean, there's even more, to go on?"

"Hey." You called from the hallway, knocking on Dean's door before entering. "Everything alright, Sam? You left in quite a hurry."

Dean was seeing double. He looked between your two figures, barely able to wrap his head around what was reality. You planted a peck on his cheek and morphed back into one, the form they both could see.

"Oh hey, Gabriela… or Y/N?" Sam still was confused on how to address you. Other than Dean, everyone else always referred to you as the former.

You did not help the situation and did not offer clarification.

"You find something?" You asked and pointed to the laptop. "Here I've been digging through books all day when Google has never let me down once."

"Yeah, I was just running it by Dean before addressing it with the group, but since you're here, we might have a lead in Pennsylvania. It started with tornadoes…." He started to explain.

"Weather, miracles," Dean interrupted, knowing you had heard it all before. "You were just getting to the good part."

"Right. Two murders." He switched tabs again. This time to a database he shouldn't legally have access to. "Both with their eyes burned out."

"Well, you could have started with that," Dean said, exasperated.

"That's a really good lead." You agreed.

"Too good." Another voice called from the corner. Castiel. "Certainly a trap."

Dean stood up and paced his room. "When did the privacy of a bedroom become nonexistent?"

Castiel's brow furrowed in confusion. "We've all been in this room before without there being concern. Have the terms of our relationship changed?"

"What? That's not…." Dean was too flustered to explain. "You make a good point."

"About our relationship?"

You coughed a laugh.

"No, Cas. About it being a trap." Dean waved his hands.

"I don't see what other choice we have," Sam interjected. "This is the only lead we've had in months. If we have any shot at stopping Michael, we need to make the most of this."

Castiel sighed but nodded his understanding. "Then we have to go in strong."

"With a rogue angel, two nephilim, and a bunker packed to the brim with amateur hunters, I'd say the odds are in our favor," Dean concluded.

“While I appreciate your enthusiasm Dean, this is not the time for false optimism.” Cas retorted.

“It’s just one angel.” You stepped in. Castiel was about to argue, but you stopped his voice from speaking, proofing your point further. “Yes, I’m aware he is the most powerful archangel in existence, and we don’t have a way to kill him yet. But theoretically, we just need to outsmart him. Lay a trap ourselves with holy fire or containment with Enochian sigils.”

“The handcuffs,” Dean suggested to Sam.

“Handcuffs?” You couldn’t stop from blurting out. Dean gave you a second glance as you subconsciously licked your bottom lip. Why had he not spoken of those before?

“It's worth a shot.” Sam agreed. “We should get going and plan the rest on the way. Lessening the chance Michael moves on or realizing we are on our way.”

Sam got up, and Dean was already going for a duffel in his closet.

“Jack and I will meet you there.” You stated. “Good opportunity to hone in those teleportation skills.”

Cas eyed you wearily, and both brothers could sense the tension. It was clear a few people in this room still didn’t trust you.

“Of course, Castiel, you are welcome to join us. I’m sure you can give the kid a few pointers.” You offered.

He accepted the proposition with a nod and vanished to prep Jack.

“I’ll inform the others,” Sam cleared his throat and left the room.

Dean turned around but found you had vanished as well. Dammit. He had hoped to sneak in a quick round while the others were scrambling to leave. Resuming packing, he parted the shirts in his closet and nearly jumped out of his skin as you appeared from within.

“Jesus, Y/N.” He snapped. “Are you trying to give me a heart attack?”

You ignored his rhetorical question. “You’ve been holding out on me, Winchester.”

Dean rolled his eyes. His last name must be the replacement you liked most after the pet name debacle. You raised your hand and let one end of the cuffs fall out of your grasp. You bit your lip, imagining the possibilities.

If Sam or Cas knew you got your hands on those, Dean knew you would both be done for.

“Give me those.” Dean chastised you while taking them forcefully from you.

“Trust me. That was my every intention.”

You closed the gap, snaking your fingers through his hair and pulling him in to find his lips yet again.

“Somehow.” He said between breaths. “I find it hard to believe,” He stopped again as your mouth parted in a moan, allowing him further access. “That these would have any effect over you.”

You smiled against his lips. “These are powerful sigils, Dean. And while they may not render my powers completely useless, they may be enough to even the playing field.”

Finally, you were able to unclasp his belt and began tugging it through the jean’s loops.

“But there is no certainty until we try.” You said before gently biting his lower lip.

He pulled back, searching your eyes for permission. When he found only confidence and no hint of hesitation, he took your wrist.

“Dean,” Sam called from outside the hall. “You ready to go in five?”

Dean was going to say he wouldn’t be ready until tomorrow morning, at the very least, nightfall, but you beat him to it, your voice shaking in a defeated laugh.

“To be continued.” You pulled him in for one last kiss and disappeared.

“God dammit,” Dean swore.

***

The roar of the Impala’s engine rumbled through the entire vehicle as Dean pushed her to her limits. Sam had his eyes closed, drifting in and out of sleep in the early hours of the morning. Dawn was close to approaching as the sky turned shades of periwinkle.

The clock read 4:30 AM when Sam woke with a stretch and yawn.

After a few minutes of coming too, Sam offered, “You wanna switch?”

“Nah, I’m still good.” Dean had been going since 10:30 PM. He lifted his hand off the steering wheel to check the gas tank. “Though baby could use a fill-up, and I wouldn’t say no to a spot of coffee.”

Sam yawned again and nodded his agreement before checking his phone. “You hear from anyone yet?” Dean shook his head no. “Jack, Cas, and Y/N should be there by now.”

“I’m sure they're fine,” Dean assured, yet there was a tinge of worry in the back of his mind he wasn’t ready to acknowledge.

Sam rejected his answer and dialed Cas and then Jack, but neither answered.

“They are probably just taking a look around while they wait for the rest of us to catch up.” Dean attempted to convince Sam as much as himself.

Glimmers of orange joined the symphony of colors in the sky after Sam and Dean had stopped. Each of them now sipped on a cup of crappy gas station coffee, but at least this early in the morning, it was fresh.

Now that Sam was awake, Dean began to tune the radio, looking for something other than morning talk shows. Finally, found a station that played the 70s and 80s. Sam huffed a laugh as Kim Carnes’ voice joined the classic synth riff and waited for Dean to start his search again.

“Here,” Sam went for the box of cassettes under his feet. “Seems like your outta luck.”

Dean blocked Sam’s before he could put a cassette in. “No. no. This is fine.”

Sam chuckled again in disbelief but wasn’t going to argue. He returned the box to its resting place. “Too early for rock n roll?”

“What are you talking about?” Dean challenged. “This is rock. Soft rock.” He justified.

“Mmhmm.” Sam hummed skeptically.

Dean increased the volume a tad and softly drummed along on the steering wheel. He’d spent enough time in the car with Sam not to be shy about his off-key singing. Even so, he sang softly as his voice cracked, attempting to hit the notes.

“She’ll take a tumble on you; roll you like you were dice until you come up blue. She’s got Bette Davis eyes.”

Sam's mouth parted, and he stared at Dean, who was too into the music to pay him any attention. Had it not been so early in the morning, the pieces would have come together more quickly and clearly.

“She’s ferocious, and she knows just what it takes to make a pro blush. All the boys think she's a spy; she’s got Bette Davis eyes.”

The words paused as the riff took back over the song, and Dean looked to Sam, instantly on defense.

“What! What?” He did not apperciate Sam’s flabbergasted face.

“Wow.” Was all Sam said and went back to his coffee.

“Stop that.” Dean’s brow furrowed as he turned the station to two hosts who weren’t as funny as they thought they were, and he focused back on the road. He leaned his elbow against the door and ran his hand through his hair.

“I didn’t say anything,” Sam argued.

“Yeah, but you were thinking it.” Dean snapped back.

“I’m just surprised.” He said after another sip.

Were they really going to have this conversation? Now? It required at least two more cups of coffee.

“Surprised by what?” Dean pushed.

Sam sighed but gave in. “I thought you were just fooling around, but you’ve developed feelings, haven’t you?”

Dean pressed his eyes closed, then remembered he was the one driving. How had Sam figured it out? You’d been more than discrete. “What? No. Feelings? For who?”

Sam pulled out his phone to browse the web and see if any more developments had been reported in Pennsylvania overnight. “Just… be careful, Dean.”

“I know what I’m doing.” He assured.

Sam’s brow rose in question, but he surrendered. He knew he couldn’t convince his brother otherwise, and a lecture would only raise more resistance like that of a defiant teenager. They rode in silence until just outside of Columbus when you appeared in the back. Three fresh coffees and a bag of pastries were in hand.

“Heya, boys.” You greeted them, sounding tired yourself.

“Shit!” Dean swerved the car out of surprise and quickly regained control.

“‘Ey, watch the coffee!” You chided in a thick New York accent.

Dean pushed right back. “A little bit of warning next time.”

You stared each other down in the rearview mirror. The storm that was put on pause yesterday was still brewing. You retreated first, unable to handle the heat building in your core. If you didn’t push your thoughts elsewhere, Sam would be in severe danger of losing his driver. Clearing your throat, you passed two coffees up front and the bag, not before snagging a pain au chocolate.

“Call off the troops.” You instructed Sam. “It’s not Michael.”

“How do you know that?” Dean asked.

Sam pulled out his phone and asked, “We were waiting for you to touch base all evening. What happened?”

“I just know.” The way they looked at you in the rearview mirror knew that answer wouldn’t cut it. “Call it angelic radar. It was how I was able to recognize Cas immediately.”

“He could be hiding,” Dean said, unsatisfied with your conclusion.

“True, and I would think that if it wasn’t for the copious amounts of sulfur all over the town.” You showed little concern about the situation as you unwrapped the pastry.

“Great.” Sam sighed. “If we didn’t have our hands full enough with Michael, now we have miscreant demons running about unchecked."

“I thought you had given them the shakedown?” Dean asked.

“Apparently, the message didn’t stick,” Sam concluded. He sent a message to the groups following them to turn back home and keep digging for clues about the archangel.

You paused to bite into the croissant and moaned at the perfection of the flaky crust, chewy interior, overall butteriness, and hint of sweetness from the chocolate morsels.

Dean was taken aback by the sound he had become all too familiar with. “Do you want us to leave you two alone?”

“Jealous?” You snickered.

Dean looked at Sam, who was finally done texting but taking precious time to dig through the bag.

Dean snatched it from him. “Give me one of those.”

“As for the second part of your interrogation,” You sighed. “Jack had some trouble with the teleportation. He’s there and safe, but it took five jumps. The potion I gave him healed his sickness, but without his own source of grace, I think his abilities are severely limited. I can only lend him so much of my own before I start losing strength too. And despite being family, I will not set myself up to go against Michael at half power.” Sam clenched his jaw. “Castiel will confirm this theory if you think I’m spinning a tale.”

If Dean had any reservations, he didn’t voice them. He was currently occupied with breakfast. “God, where did you get these?”

“Oh, that also took up a chunk of time. I jumped over to the Leelanau Peninsula, where this wonderful little bakery is. Remind me to bring you a pie from there sometime. But terrible cell reception in that area. If you were worried, should’ve said a prayer.” You patted Sam on the shoulder. “You can always reach me that way.”

You leaned back in your seat and pulled out headphones for the remainder of the drive. Dean snuck a glance at you again, and the corner of his mouth slightly upturned. A feeling of comfort flooded him seeing you there. Like you were always meant to be there, and he had been stuck waiting.

Dean looked over to Sam. “So we still following through on this case or turning back?”

Sam shook his head, conflicted as well. “We're almost there anyways. And we shouldn’t give demons a pass to run rampant just because we have bigger fish to fry.” He rubbed his brow. “We’ll have plenty of people looking into Michael back at home, and with….” He jutted his chin to the mirror, indicating you. “It should be an easy enough hunt.”

"Good chance it will reinforce your warning as well, causing less problem in the future." Dean looked back to see you had since stopped paying attention, turned in the seat, and now had your legs stretched out. “Hey!” He swatted at you and missed. “Feet off the upholstery.”

You pulled out an earbud. “What was that? You want me to take a shift behind the wheel?” You knew very well what he had said but wanted to rile him up.

“Yeah, right.” Dean scoffed. “When Hell freezes over.”

A cheeky smile was painted on your face as you returned to your music, but your feet remained planted. Dean shook his head but let it go. They were only a few hours away anyways.

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Part 5

#dean winchester #dean x y/n #dean x reader #dean x you #supernatural #spn fandom #spn fanfic

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