#I just gotta get through demon dean | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

godmadeaterribleerror · 7 days ago

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Hold You Tight In My Mind

Main Masterlist

Read on A03!

Tags: Dean Winchester/Female Reader, Love Confessions, Smut (p in v, blowjobs, kinda fingering), soft angst, injury, hurt/comfort, demon possession, friends-with-benefits to lovers.

Summary/Warnings: You and Dean have an agreement. Best friends who have sex, no strings attached. But when a case goes south, you learn a few things about Dean, specifically his thoughts on the arrangement.

Maybe you won't have to love him in silence after all.

Author's Note: Kinda request from @brtodd on tumblr!! Nothing I love more than a good old love confession, enjoy!

Title from Terrance Loves You by Lana Del Ray

Word Count: 8.5k

That’s a lot of blood. You’ve spent nights in motels stitching wounds and lost yourself on the side of the highway shouting for help, your guts half spilled on the pavement, but you’ve never seen that much blood.

“Son of a bitch, that’s a lot of blood.”

Dean, apparently, hasn’t seen this much blood either.

“Should we, um,” you scan over the tile floor, your nose slightly scrunched. “Should we take a picture for Sam?”

“Yeah, he should see this shit too-“

“No, Dean,” you give him a flat look. “For the case. To help him figure out what the hell this thing is.”

Dean gives you a bright, boyish grin and nod of approval. “Good thinkin’, in case he gets mad at us-“

“Gets mad at you,” you correct, moving to stand at Dean’s shoulder as he takes the photo. “I’m not a part of this. I just wanna go home.”

Dean shrugs. “We all wanna go home, Sweetheart. Hell, I’ve got a wife and kids- Shit-“

He doubles over slightly from your elbow in his ribs, and you roll your eyes.

“You have a fake wife and kids. And your fake wife,” you jab your thumb at your own chest. “Doesn’t want her fake brother-in-law to kill her.”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah, Dean’s never allowed to have fun.” He mutters, rubbing his side. “And Sammy wouldn’t kill ya’-“

“He’d kill my fake husband.” You pout at Dean, placing a hand over your heart. “And that would kill me.”

Dean chuckles, rising back to his full height. “I love it when you pretend that you care about me. Makes me warm and fuzzy.”

You roll your eyes, hoping he can’t see the low flush on your face. “You’re an asshole.”

“I know.” He shrugs. “You’re into it, though. C’mon, we gotta see if there’s actually a body in here, or Sam’ll kill both of us.”

Dean trudges off through the lake of blood, and you have to shake your head slightly to clear it. This case is going to kill you. This is so fucking gross, and the longer you’re here—in this room, in this town, on this case—the sicker you feel.

And it’s not just the blood. It’s all of this. It’s the haughty country club patrons who are downright impossible to properly interrogate, it’s the extra fancy clothing you have to wear for the investigations, and the shitty little tea cakes that the club serves. Tea cakes that you can feel your stomach growling for, because you haven’t had a chance to eat all day, and that only makes you feel worse. As every hour passes, you only feel more and more sick. You only spiral into starving mess that needs either food or Dean.

And that just makes you ill. Every time you look at Dean and hear him say wife, you want to strangle him then kiss him and it’s exhausting. Because you’d walked into this stupid fucking country club with a plan that would’ve worked fine—Sam’s your driver because he drew the short stick, Dean’s your bodyguard, you’re some fancy heiress looking to spend some money—and everything went sideways the moment the front desk asked how many household members, and Dean said four. Dean said that he was your husband, and you have kids, and that he knows he’s punchin’ above his weight class, but damn him, he can’t feel bad about it.

You want to hate him for that. You want to throttle him for how he’s treating this like it’s casual and easy, like every time he says wife it’s not so quietly cruel to your heart. How it flutters and glows before withering, because you’ll never have that. Dean always says wife with a teasing voice and nudge of your shoulder, and you can only grin at him like it’s not killing you, reminding you of what you can’t have.

But you can’t hate Dean. You don’t really know how to hate Dean. And he doesn’t know that this is like torture, because he really thinks you’re happy with this. Not just the fake wife thing—because you are playing into it, trading the same taunts and jokes and grins—but the very real, no-strings-attached fuck-buddies arrangement you have. Have had for fucking years. The one where you’ll follow him to the ends of the earth and never, ever look back to see what you’d left behind, but all he’s asking is that you stay in his bed and let him fuck you when he asks.

It’s not a bad arrangement. He’s a sex god, he gives as good as he gets, and you’re technically exclusive, but it’s still not what you want. Crave. Desire more than you’ve ever desired anything.

Because you really just want all of Dean. Something he’s never offered anyone‚ will certainly never offer you, and you’re going to chase until it kills you. You’ll warm Dean’s bed and touch his body for as long as you’re allowed, and cling to these small deaths of maybe this could be real until they all finally catch up to your heart. You’ll gather small offerings he drops in your lap without knowing—you’re the only person he looks at, and his eyes don’t seem to stray, and he’s the one who decided you should be fake married—and build a shrine to him along your ribs he’ll never be allowed to see.

But his voice still haunts your dreams with words you feel over your skin where he’s touched you before. Words you’ve heard a million times—so pretty, sweetheart, good girl—and words you’ll never hear. Words that circle your brain and bang on your skull all the fucking time, even in this disgusting, haunting mess of blood. Words that make some small part of you spark whenever you hear Dean’s deep, strong voice say your name, because you’re a little pathetic and you can’t stop praying that he’ll say them. He won’t. He never does.

He calls your name, and that spark kicks up your spine, and he still doesn’t say them.

“I got it!” He sounds so proud, and you hate that it makes you smile. “We’re looking at a demon!”

You turn, pushing through the blood to join Dean at where he’s standing at a fireplace, running his finger over the mantle with a twisted expression of disgust.

“Sulfur?” You ask, stopping as close to his side as he can manage, and he shoots you a grin, holding up a bloodied—but blackened—finger.

“Bingo, Sweetheart.” He winks, obviously missing your open, wanting gape at him as he looks back to the mantle. “Nasty son of bitch, though, I’ve never seen one of those douchebags do this.”

Dean gestures around the room, and you hum an agreement.

“So we’re good?” You ask, standing slightly on your toes to survey the sulfur buildup. “That’s it?”

“That’s it.” Dean pulls his phone out of his pocket. “I’m gonna call my wife, tell her I’ll be home for dinner-“

You whack his arm, and he laughs like a handsome, cocky fucking asshole you still can’t figure out how to hate.

“Your wife is starving, and tired of standing in blood.” You kick your foot through the mess, wrinkling your nose. “Can we please go?”

“I dunno, I think this is kinda romantic.” Dean gives you a shit-eating grin, and you swallow. “I mean, this is freakin’ gross, but it’s just us and all these guts, I think we could waste some time-“

“Shut up.” You shove him, and he doesn’t stop grinning at you. “Haul ass, Winchester, or you’ll be in the fake doghouse.”

He chuckles, rebalancing in a second. “You’re being a little dramatic, kid-“

“Don’t kid me, Dean Winchester, I’m your fake wife. I gave birth to your fake kids-“

“You’ve got some good points,“ Dean drawls your name, pulling you right against his chest, and suddenly the smell of metallic blood is nothing compared to the leather and whiskey and gunpowder of Dean. The sticky heat of the room is overtaken by the heat in your core, the heat of Dean’s breath as he lowers down to kiss right behind your ear, his voice dropping to a deep, teasing growl. “And I’m gonna real fuck you when we get back to the motel. But I gotta call Sam and catch him up, can you-“

You nod, reaching into his pocket to grab the keys, and force yourself not to look back as you leave. You wince slightly as you lean into the Impala—starting the car before rising back up and leaning against the door—but it’s not like she’s never been covered in blood before. This just… a lot more blood than usual.

Dean takes a year to join you, and when he walks out of the building he’s smirking, spreading his arms in a wide aren’t you happy to see me? gesture.

“Sam’s workin’ it.” He stops right in front of you, too close and never close enough. “Can I buy a pretty lady a beer?”

“You can buy her some food.” You cross your arms, grinning up at him. “I saw a drive-thru down the road, we shouldn’t go inside looking like this.”

“Smart.” He places his hand on your lower back, guiding you around the car and into the passenger’s seat, and just being so fucking impossible as he opens the door and helps you inside. “Greasy fast-food for me and my girl, comin’ right up.”

You have to learn how to hate him. You have to learn how to flip Dean off and mean it, how to not flush and giggle like a schoolgirl with a crush under his attention. He doesn’t mean it, he doesn’t know how to mean it, but it still makes your lower gut warm and your face split into a wide, stupid grin when he calls you my girl, drawls your name in the car, and rests his hand on your knee as you pull through the ordering window. When he parks in the lot and you laugh together, his eyes rarely leaving yours and his smile never falling from his face.

Even when he gets out to use the bathroom—promising he’ll be fast and try, somehow, not to draw attention to how he’s soaked in blood—Dean still grins and winks at you, and you can’t figure out how to shove his chest and shout that this is mean. That he’s mocking you and stringing your heart up on wires to play with, and he can’t be expected to know that but this is so fucking mean. He needs to stop smiling at you, and stop saying wife all the time like it’s real when it’s not. It won’t be, it can’t be, and now that’s going to haunt you forever.

You sit there for long, lonely minutes while Dean’s gone, trying get as little blood as you can on the upholstery, because Dean had already started grumbling about how much work this is gonna be to clean up and you can’t bring yourself to make anything harder for him. You spiral through the sound of Dean calling you my girl and promising to fuck you, sit in the ghost of his big, warm hand on your body and his chest pressed right against your breasts. The gleam in his eyes that was full of promises, and the fantasy of all the plans he might have for that aforementioned fucking.

Then you hear his phone ring, and you frown. Dean almost never forgets his phone in the car, even if he’s just getting beer or paying for gas. It’s a hazard, to not have it. To not be able to reach you or Sam if he needs to, for you and Sam to not be able to reach him.

And he’s been gone a while. Long enough that your throat starts to form a small lump, and—when you pick up the call—your voice is a little unsteady, your attention on where Dean had disappeared into the building.

“Yeah?”

“Oh, hey.” Sam says your name through the speaker, his tone a little surprised. “Where’s Dean?”

“Bathroom.” You frown at the building, desperate for Dean to just appear, and soothe this horrible twisting in your gut. “What’s up?”

“I figured out what we’re looking at.” You can hear some papers shuffling on Sam’s end, his words slow and careful. “Special kind of demon that feeds off of lustful blood, which explains why he’s been going after all those rich people. Like, ten ladies and five dudes have tried to sleep with me this week, and I know you and Dean got that, uh, offer-“

“Sam.” You mutter, your eyes still on the building. “Can we exercise it?”

“Kind of. We can’t use the normal one, because it’s not a normal demon, but there is a way. And these guys seem to be capable of being injured, more dependent on their vessels or something. So-“

“If we find him we can knock him down,” you mutter. “Hold him until we figure out how to flush him out.”

“Exactly. And I’m trying to work on the flushing part,” Sam sighs, and you can picture his sheepish expression. “But I don’t have it yet. Are you-“

“We’re coming back soon. Do you want us gone a little while longer, so you can focus-“

“No, Dean told me about all the blood. Sounded gross.”

You nod, even though he can’t see you. “It was. But-“

“I’ll take the car, need to stop at the library anyway.” Sam says your name through the phone, and there’s a sound of pity in it that makes you curl slightly into yourself. “You and Dean can shower, relax, do, uh, whatever you do-“

You sigh. “Please don’t give me permission to fuck your brother, dude. It’s weird.”

“Yeah.” Sam chuckles through the static. “Sorry. I just know he’s been trying to get you alone-“

“He’s always trying to get me alone.” A dumb smile takes over your face as Dean reappears, and he’s fine. Still covered in blood, but grinning at you with a dizzying joy and gleam in his eyes. “I’ll tell him what we’ve got, and text us when you’ve got the exorcism.”

“Will do. Call me if you need anything, or if, uh, I should stay away longer-“

“Suck my dick.”

You end the call as Sam laughs, and look up to find Dean tapping on your window with a smirk. You blink at him, because he might be covered in more blood than before. There’s a bruise on his forehead that wasn’t there a second ago, his shirt is on backwards, and his jacket is drenched, but he’s look at you like he won the lottery, and you’re not sure what the hell is going on.

“Dean,” you frown at him as you roll the window down, your brow furrowed as he braces an arm on the roof of Baby. “Are you-“

He cuts off your words by ducking down, grabbing your chin, and pulling you into a long, mind-numbing, sloppy kiss that leaves you gaping and dumb. Your fingers curling in his shirt, his low chuckle rolling through your body as he pushes his tongue down your throat, the taste of Dean—lingering burger and sweet soda and salt for your food, plus something innately Dean that’s heady and always leaves a perfect aftertaste on your tongue whenever he kisses you—overtaking the taste of blood just enough override your sense of this is kinda gross, and make you pull him closer.

When Dean pulls back—leaving you starting at him, your breathing ragged and heart trying to escape your chest as he grins at you—he grins at you, his voice a gravely promise.

“You ready to head back, darlin’?”

You blink at him. He’s never called you darling. Darling doesn’t sound like a Dean word. “Uh, yeah, but are you feeling okay? You were in there a while-“

“Food didn’t sit right,” he shrugs, drawing back up with a last wink. “Trust me, Sweetheart, it ain’t gonna be an issue anymore. I’m all flushed out.”

He rounds the car, and you watch him move with a frown. That’s the Dean swagger-walk, but it’s longer, with almost no urgency. Dean always walks with a least a little urgency, and he calls you Sweetheart but not darlin’, and something is still squeezing around your throat and telling you something’s wrong, when Dean’s right here. He’s winking at you from the driver’s seat, driving with the same cool ease Dean always has behind the wheel, and talking to you like he always does. Like your every word is fascinating and amusing, and you could say the grossest thing in the world but he’d still call you adorable.

You hate that he does that. It’s perfect and painful, feeding that shrine over your ribs, and almost enough to distract you from how weird he’s being. How he doesn’t seem at all interested to hear about the blood demon, how his first clarification is so Sam’s gonna leave us in the motel, and how he’s growing bolder with his hand on your leg. Trailing fingers lazily up your thigh and grinning when he brushes over the apex of your thighs, chuckling at your small gasp.

“Think we’re ready for that fuckin’, Sweetheart?” He drawls, pulling into the motel lot. “You sure seem real needy-“

“We’re not having sex, Dean, there’s a demon on the loose-“

“A demon Sammy’s handlin’.” He shrugs. “And I’ve been tryin’ to get you alone all freakin’ week. C’mon, we deserve some time together.“ Dean leans forward, smirking at you. “And I know you want it, babygirl. I bet you’re real fuckin’ wet for me.” He reaches up to your face, running his thumb over your lower lip. “So pretty, darlin’-“

There it is again. Darling. Darling, and the excessive drawling, and the slow walk, and the glint in his eyes you’re only now noticing. It’s colder than how Dean ever looks at you. It’s shallow and crude, like he can’t see anything past a pretty face and body, when Dean is—above all else—your friend. When there’s always a shining light when he looks at you that—both amazingly and awfully—reminds you that you’re more than just a body, and he mostly sees you as the best friend he’s ever had. The one he can do this with, because you care about each other too much to complicate things, and who he’ll always respect.

And this doesn’t feel respectful. It doesn’t feel like Dean. His hands are touching you, but there’s something off about them. Dean would be tracing his fingers over your inner thigh, not moving any further until your either grabbed his hand and moved it for him, or downright pleaded for him to touch you. He’d be disgusted by keeping your bloodied clothing in Baby for even a second more, and choose to back you against the motel wall instead of whatever this is. He’d let you get a word in, for your mock sparring and teasing that he always seems to win.

He would’ve worked in a joke about wanting to fuck his wife, because she can be a real brat when he neglects her. And you’d have smacked his chest, and he’d have laughed, raising his brows and saying see? She gets all bitchy and dramatic when I don’t fuck her right.

But Dean’s not doing that right now. And when you reach over the seat, trailing your hand up his chest in a pretend gesture of need, you feel it.

Warm, sticky blood that’s fresh, and seeping through his shirt. Pouring from a wound you can feel the dip of, that somehow doesn’t make him flinch when you press slightly on it.

A wound right over his anti-possession tattoo.

You move before the demon—not Dean, this isn’t Dean, and you feel fucking ill—can register what’s happening. You pull one of the Impala’s random guns out from the glove compartment, thank a God who’s obviously not listening that it’s weighed and heavy, and ram the butt of it into Dean’s temple. Not hard enough to kill him—you do want your Dean back after this— but hard enough to knock him out. To buy you enough time to grab his by the neck of his jacket and drag him out of the impala. You kick open the motel room door, scream to Sam for help, and haul him into a chair. Sam ties him down, while you take long, deep breathes, and your words are soft and short when you finally manage to speak.

“He’s possessed.” You whisper, starting at the floor. “They carved through the tattoo.”

“Shit,” Sam starts to pace, and there’s a ringing in your ears that makes it hard to hear him. “It’s-“

You nod. “The blood demon.”

“Are you good to stay here?” Sam marches over to the table and shoving his laptop into his bag. “I’ll go to the library, find what we’re looking for, and call you when I’ve got it. Okay?”

You nod, trying not flinch at Sam’s sympathetic pat of your shoulder, and stare at Dean as Sam leaves. You feel vile. That’s not Dean, but it’s Dean’s body. Dean will still be injured when you get this piece of shit out of his body. He’ll still be covered in bloody, disgusting clothing, and he’ll remember you knocking him out. He’ll ask questions that you’ll have to answer, about how you knew. And you’ll have to tell him that you just did. You’ll leave out the part about how you have every piece of him memorized to worship, so that even if the demon had tried a little harder to pretend to be Dean, you probably still would have caught on. You’d recognizes Dean’s bones in the grave. You’d recognize his voice in space. You’d recognize him just fucking near you if you were being waterboarded and flayed alive. And you’ll have to look him in the eyes and say the painfully basic and obscuring answer of I just did, and that will hurt.

But you have time to practice. The demon’s still knocked out in Dean’s body, and Sam’s taking too long to figure this out, but you don’t have anywhere to be. You can tug Dean’s jacket off his body with a mumbled apology he can’t hear, and busy yourself trying to clean it. You can’t stop looking at him—battered, vulnerable, his face so painfully slack—and the warm, soap-covered cloth isn’t enough to keep you from spiraling. From flinching as the blood, Dean’s blood, becomes red bubbles, and trying to convince yourself that this isn’t going to be so impossibly horrible. That, maybe, the demon just won’t wake up, and you won’t have to do anything but clean Dean’s jacket until Sam gets back

But you’re not that lucky.

Pretty, green eyes that are but don’t look like Dean’s flutter open, the demon drops any pretense of playing pretend, and your skin begins to crawl as it speaks.

“Good mornin’,” it leers at you from the chair, pulling slightly on the bonds. “Aren’t you a pretty sight to see after some forced shut eye.”

You start to scrub on the leather to a degree that can’t be helpful, your knuckles white.

“Knockin’ us out wasn’t very nice to your friend in here, Sweetheart. He’s awfully torn up about it. Feelin’ like he failed you, beggin’ me not to hurt you, hates that I was able to get the up on him and touch you at all. But can I tell you a secret,” the demon says your name, and your blood curls in your body. “He really wants to touch you himself. You’ve got a real dirty minded fellow on your hands. Who woulda thought the great Dean Winchester’s weakness would be a smart-mouthed bitch-“

The demon seems to choke on that last word, and when your gaze shoots up Dean’s body looks like it’s in pain. He’s curving into himself—his eyes screwed shut and sweat forming on his brow—and you’re moving before you know what’s happening. Jumping out of your seat and grabbing his face between your hands, your voice high and frantic over the blood pounding in your ears.

“Dean?” You run your thumb over his cheek, and he twitches, like he can’t figure out if he wants to flinch away or lean into your touch. “Shit, Dean, I need you to talk to me-“

Dean’s eyes snap open—that foul glint still rooted deep into them—and he laughs as you jerk away like he’d burned you.

“I’ll give ‘im this.” The demon says, the words still slightly strained. “He ain’t an easy ride. Keeps tryin’ to break out and talk to you, tell you not to listen to me and go find Sammy.” The demon laughs again, and it might be the worst sound you’ve ever heard. It’s Dean’s laugh, but inverted. Cold and hateful and wrong. This is so fucking wrong.

“Shut up.” You mutter, taking an unsteady step back, and the demon raises Dean’s brows.

“Well, darlin’, you’re just breakin’ poor Dean’s heart. Hurtin’ him, tellin’ him to shut up, tyin’ him up-“ The demon cuts himself off, twisting Dean’s face into a smirk. “Well, that one’s a funny little case, ain’t it. He’s too much of a pathetic little bitch to admit it-“

You scowl, standing a little taller. “Dean’s notpathetic-“

The demon pushes on as if you’d said nothing at all. “But he’s kinda into this. Likes the idea of you havin’ some fun with him however you want, pleasin’ you however you like, or,” the Demon’s grin grows mocking and crude. “Switchin’ places. Keepin’ you down to find out if he can make you scream louder than when he does that thing with his tongue, see if he can get you beggin’ all pretty. Nothin’ gets him goin’ more than when you beg-“

“Shut up.“ You hiss, grabbing your phone off your bed. “I don’t know what your fucking angle is, but I’d recommend you get out of my-“ you catch yourself, taking a short breath before plowing on. “Out of Dean-“

The demon caught it, though, and his smirk grows. “Your what? He ain’t your boyfriend, darlin’. But Jesus, he hates that too. I don’t think you’d keep indulgin’ this asshole if you could spend a second in here with ‘im like I am. He’s fuckin’ obsessed with you, it’s goddamn pathetic-“

You clench your jaw so hard you might break teeth, your movements rough as you scroll for Sam’s contact. “I said shut up-“

“He thinks he’s fuckin’ poison.” The demon sneers, and you can’t look at Dean’s face—can’t see it cruel and filled with hate—or you might start crying. “And shit, darlin’, he’d like to poison you. He’d like to do everythin’ to you. Fuck ya’ and buy you flowers and marry ya’,” the demon cackles, and you feel a little dizzy. “’S why he’s been doin’ this stupid fuckin’ charade all week. He wants to bruise ya’ and bite ya’, then whine and bitch about how he’s so disgustingly in love with you-“ The demon hacks a slight cough, and shakes his head with a mocking grimace. “Makes me fuckin’ sick, how needy and weak this piece of shit is-“

“I said,” you cross back to the chair, fisting Dean’s blood-covered shirt in your hand and yanking him up with cold words and words you hate on your tongue. “Shut the fuck up. And get out of him, before I fucking kill you.”

The demon just laughs at you, spit covering your face. “You ain’t gonna kill me, Sweetheart. Not while I’m in your precious Dean’s body. Not while you got me here, tellin’ you all the nasty things he’d like to do to ya’, how he worships the ground your fuckin’ walk on and dreams about you sayin’ you love a pile of trash like him-“

You tear off your own jacket, bundle up the sleeve, and stuff it the demons mouth. You don’t fucking care if it’s trapped in Dean’s body until Sam gets back, you can’t keep listening to it. Listening to it fucking lie and rip you apart with only words, watch it eyes gleam as it puppets Dean’s mouth to torture you. Why the fuck would it say things like that. It can’t be to hurt Dean, because all he’ll have to do is tell you when this is over that he’s sorry about what the demon said, and that it’s all just lies. And the demon doesn’t know—can’t know—that it just ripped your heart out of your chest and ran it through a meat-grinder. It doesn’t make any fucking sense, and you feel like your skin is trying to fly off your body, and Dean’s still covered in blood and it’s horrible-

Your phone buzzes on the floor—slightly cracked from being suddenly dropped—and it’s Sam. When you pick up he doesn’t wait to hear you before he launches into frantic words, practically shouting into the speaker.

“Found it!” He sounds a little out of breath, and you wouldn’t doubt that he’s been running back to the car. “Can you put me on-“

“Yep.” You press speaker, ripping your jacket out the demons mouth and turning the volume all the way up. “Go.”

Sam starts to recite a long, fancy string of Latin words, and you can’t bear to see Dean’s body thrash and roar and fold in pain, but you need to make sure the demon goes. That when Sam finishes and Dean’s eyes start to flutter, it’s safe to thank Sam, hang up the phone, and fall to your knees at Dean’s side.

“Dean,” you cup his jaw, angling his head slightly back. “Shit, Dean, please say something-“

He moans your name, and you almost start crying in relief, dropping your head carefully onto his leg.

“I, shit-“ Dean’s voice is hoarse as he pulls slightly at the bonds around him. “I’m happy to see you too, Sweetheart, but I kinda need you do untie me-“

“Fuck, sorry-“ You scramble with the ropes, scanning over his body as you do. “I’m gonna go get Sam’s medkit, can you take your shirt off-“

“Well, I’d usually make you but me some dinner- shit-“ He’d already started to pull his shirt off, his whole body shuddering as his arms tried to raise up.

“Dean-“

“Gimme three, I’ve got it-“

“No, you don’t. I’m cutting your shirt off, just-“ You move to your feet, pointing a stern finger at him. “Stay.”

He raises his hands, flinching slightly at the movement. “Yes, ma’am.”

Neither of you speak for a long while. You throw yourself entirely into his stitches, tossing the bloodied rags of his shirt into the trash and stealing small at Dean’s handsome, exhausted features. He’s watching you the whole time, his mouth opening and closing like he wants to say something but it’s sure where to start. When he finally clears his throat, you hum, keeping your hands steady on the stitches.

“This fucking sucks.” He grumbles, and you huff a dry laugh.

“Yeah. It really does.” You pull another stitch through the gash, and Dean winces. “Shit, I’m sorry-“

“Don’t apologize.” He mutters. “I should be apologizing to you.”

You frown up at him, your hands coming to a still. “Why?”

“I let that asshole get one up on me.” He grunts, refusing to meet your eyes. “Couldn’t get a hold over him, either. Let him say all that shit to you-“

Something cracks in your heart, but you just shrug. “That’s not on you, Dean. Demon’s lie, you don’t have to explain it-“

Now Dean’s frowning at you. “What?”

“The demon,” you mumble, your face flushing slightly. “What he said. I get it, it’s what they do, you don’t need to-“

“The demon didn’t,” Dean coughs, his face redder than you’ve ever seen it, his voice almost nervous. “It didn’t lie. He was a dick about how he said it, but he didn’t lie.”

“I, um, I don’t-“ You gape at him for a long second, trying to figure out if he’s joking. This isn’t something Dean would joke about, but that just means you must have heard him wrong. The demon said Dean loved you, and Dean didn’t love you—you haven’t even allowed yourself to entertain the thought outside of secret fantasies and feverish dreams—so the demon lied. The demon lied. The demon had to have lied, but why would Dean-

He says your name, tone cautious and features soft when you blink at him. “Lost you for a second, Sweetheart, are you-“

“I’m okay.” You mumble, refocusing on the stiches. “I’m probably just tired, I thought I heard you say-“

“That I love you?”

You swallow. There it is again. “I-“

He says your name again, careful fingers brushing hair from your face. “Look at me.”

You can’t. You don’t know what’s going on, and there’s still so much blood.

Dean hand moving under your chin and guides your gaze up, you lips parting slightly as your eyes meet his. He’s scanning over you, a slight furrow to his brow, and you can’t stop your hand from moving up and wiping a little blood off his cheek.

“Dean-“

“Never mind.” He mutters, shaking his head slightly. “Thought that we, uh, never mind.”

When you finish the stitches—your hands shaking slightly, your head spinning with confusion—you force him to shower first. It gives you time to spiral down, down, down, your brain turning desperately to figure out what that was. Why Dean would say that, why he’s acting so strange, why the demon would say that, why Sam’s being such a dick and insisting that he’s getting a second room, because Dean would—allegedly—rather have you here as the three of you had already been rotating through the floor, couch, and bed.

Which means you’re stuck with alone Dean for the night. And he’s not fully looking at you when he exits the shower, and you’re mostly just mumbling to each other, and he doesn’t love you but he looks like a kicked puppy. He picks up your own blood-covered jacket, helps you carefully out of your seat, takes the soapy rag from your hands, and flat out refuses to sit until you move to the shower.

And the water doesn’t help. You feel cleaner, but the steam makes your head spin all the more, and you can’t stop picturing Dean’s fallen, almost pained features, and playing the demons words over in your mind.

Dean’s disgustingly in love with you. He worships the ground you walk on and dreams about you saying you love him. And you do love him, but he doesn’t love you, and it’s dangerous to hope that he’d love you, and-

And he still looks so beaten down when you exit the shower. He barely looks at you as you cross the room, his attention wholly on your jacket, and when you drop on the bed and clear your throat, you could sworn he pales.

“Are you,” you swallow, forcing your voice to be stronger. “Are you feeling better?”

“Yep” He mutters, still not looking up. “Stitches are fine, Sweetheart. Good work.”

You flush slightly, but push on. “And your head?”

“Pounding like a bitch, but I’ve gotten through worse.” He shrugs, and words start to creep like vomit up your throat. “We’ll grab Sam in the morning and get goin’-“

“What did you mean?” You blurt, and Dean freezes. “When you said the demon wasn’t lying?”

Dean sighs, and drops the rag, running his hands over his face before turning to you, his voice low and elbows braced on his knees. “What I said.” He grunts, his eyes now refusing to leave yours. “He didn’t lie.”

“About-“

“All of it.”

Your breathing is shallow, your voice barely a whisper, but you have to ask. It will ruin everything, but you need to ask.

But you’re a coward, and you ask the wrong thing.

“Why did you tell the country club we were married?”

Dean lets out a low, humorless chuckle. “Because I thought it would be fun. I’d get to call you my wife and see you blush all freakin’ week, and this case was gonna be shit so I thought what the hell.”

“Oh.” You whisper, unsure what to make of that. “Okay.”

Dean still doesn’t look away. If anything his eyes sear into you as his voice drops lower, his expression darkness and unreadable. “How’d you figure out I was possessed?”

You’d practiced this. You just did. You just knew it wasn’t him. That’s all you have to say, and you can’t. Something grabs your tongue and all you can say is the truth.

“Because I know you.” You mumble, unable to break his gaze. “And that wasn’t my Dean.”

“Your Dean,” He chuckles, shaking his head like he doesn’t believe you. “Wasn’t sure I was your anything, kid-“

“Well, I didn’t think you loved me.”

You say the words before you can actually think them through, and time freezes. Dust seems to the hanging static in the air, red water still and motionless on the table, the hum of the bathroom fan stuck on one long note, and you and Dean both trapped in place. Neither of you strong enough to speak, but not weak enough to run, and why did you say that, Dean doesn’t love you-

“I didn’t think you’d want to hear it.” He’s searching over your face, words low and whole body tensed. “And I’d try to take it back for you, but-“

“Don’t take it back!” You almost yelp, and Dean’s eyes widen slightly. “I don’t want you to take it back, I just- I don’t-“

“You don’t believe me.”

You nod weakly, wishing he would look away. Wishing Dean would just let you curl into yourself and hide for a million years, until this ends. Until this sore heat of shame over your skin and blooming warmth of hope that Dean might, maybe, really, possibly love you both die a quiet, easy death.

But he doesn’t look away. Dean pushes himself out of the chair with a grunt, walks on unsteady legs to stand before you, and takes your face between his hand, his words deep and firm.

“I love you,” he says your name, lowering his face to yours. “And I know it’s not what you want, but I do. I won’t apologize for it, but if you’re done messing around with me because of that, I’m never gonna make you pretend you love me back-“

You’d been sent into a daze of Dean loves you, he’s saying it himself and it’s the truth and he loves you, and that snaps you out of it. You close the last breath of space between your lips without effort, and this is a long, lazy, peaceful kiss that people without blood and demons would have. It’s cementing, steeling it fully into you that Dean loves you. You’ll never have to try and force yourself to hate him, because it’s shit work to hate Dean Winchester and there’s no point it anymore. He loves you, and it’s impossible to doubt that he loves you when he’s kissing you like this—not invasive but deep, not demanding but still dragging small moans and happy sighs from your throat, holding your cheek with one hand and cupping the back of your head with the other—so it’s not a war with yourself push him back a little and finally say words that have been stuck in your throat for years.

“I love you too.” You smile at him, and his eyes flash. “I don’t have to pretend, and this is what I want, so please,” you take a shaking breath, moving your hand to hold his against you. “Please don’t apologize for this. And please,” you lean a little further forward, bumping your nose with his as he continues to stare. “Keep messing around with me, Dean. I love you, so I’d-“

You cut yourself off with a squeak as Dean pulls you back into a kiss, this one heavier and sloppier, leaving you with ragged breath and puffed lips. Your hands curl into his shirt as he drops onto the bed at your side, hauls you over him with only a low, slightly pained grunt, and looks up at you with a slight frown on his face.

“That son of a bitch kissed you.”

“I thought it was you,” you mumble, tracing a small patten on his chest with one finger. “Sorry-“

“I’m not mad at you,” Dean gives you an amused look, pressing another, smaller kiss to your lips. “I’m mad at that douchebag, for trying to get with my girl.”

His words are mumbled against your lips, settling deep and warm in your stomach, and you can barely manage a hum of, “Oh. Okay.”

He chuckles, his hand moving under your shirt to run up the skin of your waist, your body shivering with pleasure at the touch. “I’d like to fuck you,” he mutters your name, his eyes on yours so attentive and dark that you might agree to jump off a cliff if he asks. “But my doctor said I need to take it easy-“

“I’m your doctor,” you gasp, dropping your brow to Dean’s as he brushes the underside of your breast. “And I think that- shit, Dean-“ He’s adjusted you in his arms, settling your core right over the obvious, proud bulge in his jeans. “If we take it easy, and you promise to let me stay on top-“

Dean shakes his head, leaving open-mouthed kisses along your jaw. “That’s gonna be a real hard,” he ruts up into you, and you whimper. “Promise to keep, babygirl-“

“Well it’s that,” you lean back, giving him a stern glare. “Or nothing, Winchester. Your choice.”

He gives you a look of mock disbelief. “I can’t believe I fake married someone so freakin’ mean to me-“

“I can.” You press a kiss to the corner of his mouth, your own lips curling up slightly. “What’s it gonna be.”

Dean narrows his eyes at you, his hand trailing down your stomach to cup you right over your pussy as he drawls. “I think you should make that choice, Sweetheart. Tell me exactly how you want me to fuck you.”

“I-“ You lean forwards, burying your face in his neck to try and stifle your moans. “I already-“

“You said you stay on top, but that can mean a million things,” he mutters your name, kissing right under your ear. “I can fuck up into you, or you can ride me, or,” Dean starts to rub you through your pants, his thumb drawing rough, taunting circle over your clit. “I can finger fuck this pretty pussy until you cum all over my fuckin’ hand.”

“Dean,” you moan against his skin, your nails digging into his back. “Fuck, I-“

“This,” he moves his free hand up, playing with the waistband of your pants. “Seems to be getting in our way. Take it off for me.”

He doesn’t have to ask twice. You almost scramble to pull off your clothing—still manage to shoot Dean a glare for his low, teasing wolf-whistle when you’re fully bare before him—and almost throw yourself back onto him before you freeze. He’s still dressed—you can see the outline of where his pants must be becoming painful—and he’s still hurt. That’s why you had to stay on top in the first place. Dean won’t say it, but he’s in pain, and that’s more important than sex. You’re aching for him between your legs, you whole body whining to be pressed to his, but you can’t let him injure himself.

So you drop to your knees, help him out of his pants and boxers—feeling Dean track your every movement, remaining silent as you work—and swallow as his cock springs into view. You’ll never get tired of the sight of it. Big and meant to fit so well inside of you, pretty because it’s Dean’s, and he’s not really capable of being ugly.

Dean grunts your name as you take him in your hand, your fingers trailing over his strong thighs as you start to pump him slowly.

You smile up at him, raising your brows. “Do you like that?”

“Of course I fucking like that-“

“Do you love me?”

You say the words innocently, squeezing your hand lightly, and he blushes slightly, throwing his head back as he groans. “Shit, Sweetheart, you don’t know what you’re doin’ to me-“

“I do,” you whisper, pressing an open mouth kissed to the broad, red tip of his cock. “You do it to me too.”

“’S not-“ You take him into your mouth, hollowing your cheeks and letting him bump against your throat, and he cuts himself off with another groan. “Fuck, ’s not the same-“

You pop off of him with a frown. “It is. I love you too.”

“I know, pretty girl.” He mutters, moving hold your cheek, his cock twitching in your hands as you lean into the touch. “But you don’t gotta do this for me just cause you love me-“

“I like doing it.” You shrug, licking a long stripe up his shaft to prove your point, savoring the grunt it draws from his chest, the way his hand moves to fist in your hair. “I might love you, Dean Winchester,” you grin at him, replacing your mouth with your hand as you speak. “But I also really just like sucking your cock.”

“Son of a-“ Dean’s voice is a growl, his eyes darting over your face like he’s looking for something. “You’re- fuck it.”

You squeak as he pulls you up, back to his lap, and impales you on his cock in one smooth motion.

“Dean!” You try to gain a little power over your mouth, your fingers running over his fresh stitches. “Your doctor did not, fuck-“ He rolls his hips, and you bite your tongue to stop your moan. “Winchester, your doctor did not approve picking heavy things up-“

“You’re not that heavy.” He shrugs, kissing your shoulder as his arm braces you against this chest, his words teasing and low. “And lucky me, my fake doctor is also my fake wife, and they’re both,” he moves his mouth back over yours, muttering against your lips. “Begging me to fuck them all pretty.” His other arm wraps around you, starting to guide the rolls of your hips, his eyes on yours so soft for how he’s splitting you open and bumping against the deepest places inside of you. “And get them to cum all over my fuckin’ cock.”

You moan, throwing your head back as you start to grind down on him, and you’ve done this a million times before, but it feels different. You’ve fucked Dean enough that you must have covered every base—rough and fast and soft and slow and teasing and desperate and angry and blissful—and it’s the same to your body, but different to your mind. Dean’s hands still ignite fire on your skin as he holds you as close as he can manage, but you’re not worried about how they might drop away. He’s still kissing you everywhere he can reach, but there’s nothing turning in your head about how he might not like what he tastes. He’s doing it all right—he always does it right—but it’s so much more.

You squeeze around his cock and he moans your name, almost pinning you into his laps as he latches his mouth to your upper chest. Sucking and nipping you where people can see. He’s always kept his small habit of marking you to where it won’t be visible, where people won’t jokingly ask you who got messy. But people will see this, and he knows that, and it seems to spur him on. His mouth crashes back into yours, his hands keeping your rhythm on him steady as his mouth and cock unravel you above him.

“You gonna cum, Sweetheart?” Dean growls down your throat, and you just nod frantically, swiveling your hips around him.

“So close,” you whine, trying to find just a little more friction. “Please, Dean-“

He starts to slam up into you, holding you steady with one arm as he leans back, bracing himself on the bed. His stitches are somehow still closed, he’s looking at you like you’re all the world gathered for him to hold, and his mouth is lowering to pull your nipple between his teeth. Keeping you right on the edge as his thrusts grow uneven, his hands bruising on your skin in the best way.

“Fuck, you wanna cum with me, babygirl?” He groans, flicking your nipple with his tongue before pulling you down to him, dragging you into a kiss of spit and need and pure fucking desire. “Think you can ask me real pretty-“

“Please. Please, Dean, please.” You gasp, your clit starting to rub against his abdomen, your whole body so close to bursting into flames. “So fucking close, need it so bad-“

He bites on your lower lip, smirking at your high whine. “Good girl.” He jerks up into you one last time, the movement rough and uncontrolled, and groans into your ear. “Cum.”

You might have screamed, but everything goes blinding and loud and holy like a hymn you only know in the language of Dean, and you never want to stop singing for the rest of your life. You can hear him shouting your name as he spills up into you, but you’re so high on your pleasure— on the smell of Dean everywhere around you and his lingering taste on your tongue—that it’s distant and only a rush of good. Dean feels good, and he’s muttering in your ear that he loves you, so you think everything might be really good.

And it is. This isn’t blood or work. This is Dean’s cock still buried inside you, his hot, warm cum running down your thighs, and your hands tracing over his warm skin to check that his stitches are still together. This is your face pressed into the crook of Dean’s neck, his hands combing through your hair, and a priceless sense of peace. It’s always lingered before, but it would wash away as you both left the bed, and drift into nothing as you wandered back into the real world. It feels more certain now. It feels more set into your bones, and you know you’ll see more blood and stitch more wounds, but this is going to stay. Dean is going to stay, and you have all of him. And that’s welcoming this sense of peace that’s so finite and rare, you’d have to be insane to let it go.

So you won’t. And you won’t have to cling to him, because Dean isn’t foolish enough to let you go either. You’ll keep all of Dean, he’ll do the same for you, and he’ll keep igniting a spark in your gut by saying my girl that you won’t ever allow to go out.

End Note: Look! A Rare Dean Winchester dealing with his own emotions! Spotted in the wild! And I am physically incapable of writing a short one-shot, and I'm very sorry about that.

If you like this story, please reblog, share, or leave a comment! <3

Taglist

@artemys-ackles @ambiguous-avery @nightxcreature

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take-it-on-the-run · 6 months ago

Text

And I Love Her

Sam Winchester x Reader

The reader and Dean are being tortured by Gordon Walker because of her relationship with Sam, and all they can do is hope he'll get there in time.

Word Count: 1.5k

Tags: Torture, graphic depictions of being cut into, descriptions of gore and severe bodily harm, Sam Winchester is out of character depending on who you ask

Characters: Sam Winchester, Reader, Dean Winchester, Gordon Walker

@ghostlyaccurate requested: "Hii! Can I request a Dean and/or Sam Winchester (sepperate) x fem! Reader set in season two, with an established relationship, where it's like when Gordon kidnaps Dean, but instead of just Dean he also kidnaps reader. (I can imagine if it's a Dean x reader Gordon uses reader to get Dean to not try anything, and if it's a Sam x reader Sam just going even more ballistic than he originally does in the show). Thank you!!"

Read it on AO3!

A/N: Beatles title. My first Sam fic! Honestly, it was really hard writing this one for some reason, and after five revisions I'm still not completely in love with it. Regardless, I hope you enjoy, and heed the warnings! Do not read if this will make you uncomfortable!

Sam Winchester Masterlist | Supernatural Masterlist | Main Page Masterlist

Gordon stared blankly at the wall in front of him while you tugged at the ropes on your wrists. A bandana was tied tightly around your mouth that tasted like dirt and your own blood. Dean was tied up to the left of you in a similar state, and both of you were staring down Gordon like it would kill him.

Traps lined every entrance from the doors to every small crack in the wall. Sam was powerful, but you doubted he could break through solid brick. Grenades, tripwire, even a shotgun trap that looked like something straight out of a movie; Gordon wanted Sam dead at all costs.

You knew your boyfriend would come to you and Dean’s rescue, but damn was this cutting it close. Gordon had already tried his best with Dean, but when it was your turn, he took his sweet-ass time.

He punched you, kicked you, even spit on you. Now, you tried your best to not scream as he dragged a knife against the soft flesh between your neck and shoulder.

You failed.

Biting down on the bandana, a muffled scream ripped through your lungs. You tried focusing on Dean, but he wouldn’t meet your eyes which were spilling over with more tears than you thought were in your body.

You could feel your blood dripping down your back and your chest, slithering its way to the floor as Gordon wiped his blade with the rag in his back pocket. He wrenched your head to the side, forcing the fresh wound close and for more tears to streak down your face.

He repeated his process on you a few times.

Your arms.

Your hands.

Your legs.

Every time somehow hurt more than the last, the hunter pulling open your skin and snapping it back together like a rubber band. Your vision was spotty, but you held steadfast to the thought that your boyfriend would be here any minute to save the day like he always did.

Gordon took a step back, wiping sweat and blood from his face and arms. He looked down at you with a glare that you’ve held plenty of times for the less-than-human creatures in the world. You guessed that, in his eyes, you, Sam, and Dean, were held in a similar regard.

Snaps.

Taunts.

Cracks.

Screams.

All because you fell in love with someone born under a bad sign.

You didn’t regret meeting Sam. Kissing him, falling for him, even the idea of just having him in your life was enough for your mind to justify the situation you were in. It wasn’t his fault you were having your life drained out of you minute by minute, and you hoped he would be smart enough to know that.

“Sam’s going to be here any minute, you know. Gotta convince himself he’s the hero of this story, and I’m the big,” Gordon turned to you, knife in hand, “bad, evil dragon. But I’m not the one with demon blood, am I, Y/N?” He placed the edge of the blade against the bottom of your chin. You could feel the cold steel heavy against your skin, and any sudden move would surely spill even more of your blood.

Dean glared at Gordon, his face shades of purple and blue, which mirrored the pain you felt along your entire body. Gordon dug the knife into the bottom of your chin, piercing your skin ever so slightly, but not enough to fatally wound you. Your mind was trying hard to hold onto the cracks of reality that remained in your vision; the smell of the dingy house you were in, the feeling of the carpet making contact with your boots, anything that wouldn’t send your consciousness reeling over was enough of an anchor for you to hang onto.

Gordon walked away from the two of you, returning to his position of peering out one of the boarded-up windows in wait for Sam. You glanced at Dean, which granted you a glance back from him. His eyes were dry, but they held enough behind them to let you know what he was thinking. Sam was going to burst into this booby-trapped hellhole, and Dean could do nothing but blame himself.

It’s all your fault, really, a thought that smashed through what you knew was the truth said.

This isn’t any of our faults, you told it back, wanting to tell Dean the same. Sam wasn’t to blame for the two of you being taken, and neither of you was at fault for being used as bait; it all landed in the hands of the rogue hunter who deemed himself holier-than-thou.

Though you couldn’t see yourself, you knew you were starting to resemble a bloody pulp more than a human being. Dean could barely look your way for longer than a second, and deep cuts that surged whether you moved or not continued to scrape away at your consciousness.

Gordon disappeared, and as you tried to turn your head to follow him, you felt a burning pain across your chest. Highlighted by a spurt of blood splattering over your thighs, you wanted to vomit. The top of your head started to feel like it was being lifted off from the rest of your skull, and the black spots in your vision connected at the edges of your eyes.

You grunted, head going slack and opening wounds on the back of your neck. Either spit, blood, or bile dripped out of your mouth, but at that moment you didn’t care- the black at the corners of your eyes bled together, and all you could do was limply hope Sam would find you.

You blinked, slowly, noticing light creeping in from the boarded-up windows. The second thing you noticed was the searing pain in your body, coupled with grunting and what you could guess was a well-landed punch.

“Y/N!” Someone called out to you, but you could barely lift your head to meet their voice. The bandana in your mouth was pulled away and hands cupped your face, warming your skin that was ice cold after losing so much blood.

The hands left your face and moved to the ropes at your wrists, cutting them off quickly and placing your arms in your lap. You forced your eyes up high enough to see it was your hero, Sam, standing before you with tears starting to fill his eyes. If your face would’ve let your smile, you would’ve, but every movement flashed the memory of Gordon cutting into you.

Gordon.

“Where’s-” You managed to sputter out through a sore jaw and a severely dry mouth.

“Dead,” Sam answered coldly. For the first time, you noticed his knuckles were a hue of bright purple, complimented with blood splattering up his arm. Sam moved your arms around his neck and picked you up as gently as he could.

“Dean’s already in the car patching himself up. I’m going to try and lay you down in the back seat so we can get to the closest hospital. I left Gordon in the room by the first door, so keep your head to my chest if you don’t want to see him, okay?” He asked softly. The tears that were in his eyes had faded slightly, but you could see the emotions he’d no doubt try to hide later on. Regret, blame, guilt - the more he looked at you, the more you could sense that your battered state was tearing away at his consciousness. You wanted to reach out, hold his face, and tell him you’d be okay, you’d survived worse, that it wasn’t his fault, but your thoughts were halted by Sam stepping past Gordon’s body.

If you could call it a body, that is.

His nose was sunken into his face enough that his eyes were slightly popping out of their sockets. His mouth had more gums than teeth, which were scattered around the room. He was lying against a dresser, and his limbs were spread out in the wrong directions. You thought you saw a bone, but before you could look closer, Sam turned and shut the door behind you.

Sam laid you across the back seats of the Impala, trying his best to be gentle with the abhorrent number of cuts across your body. You couldn’t guess how the hospital wasn’t going to ask questions, but you hoped the brothers would figure that out. Your head laid in Sam’s lap, and he looked out the window as Dean buried Gordon.

“Sam,” you slowly moved one of your arms to his face, bringing his attention to you, “thank you. You saved us both. You had to do what you had to do.”

Sam smiled but still didn’t say a word as he dipped down and planted a gentle kiss on your forehead.

You wanted to be able to tell him everything your racing mind was coming up with but were beaten by the overwhelming need to not move. Dean climbed into the front seat, beating the gas pedal to the floor and hitting the highway as Sam ran his fingers comfortingly through your hair.

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lila-lou · 3 months ago

Text

✨Cuffed - Part 1/2✨

Summary: Dean reluctantly tags along to a Halloween party, but things take an unexpected turn when he meets you. What starts as playful teasing quickly turns into undeniable chemistry, leaving Dean caught off guard in the best way.

-Halloween-Special-

Pairing: Dean x Reader

Warnings: Language, TEASING

Word Count: 4492

A/N: English isn’t my first language, please be lenient. 💛

Dean groaned, leaning back in his seat and glaring at Sam, who was pacing around the motel room. “For the last time, Sammy, this is a stupid idea. A Halloween party? Really? That’s your idea of a good time?”.

Sam stopped and sighed, running a hand through his hair. “Come on, Dean, it’s not just about the party. It’s been ages since I’ve done anything remotely normal. Besides, I’m nervous about seeing Lina again”.

Dean shot him a look, his brow furrowed. “Lina? The chick from the coffee shop a few weeks ago?”.

Sam nodded. “Yeah. She invited me to this thing, and I don’t wanna go alone. It’s been forever since I’ve been to something like this, and I don’t wanna screw it up”.

Dean rolled his eyes. “So let me get this straight. You want me to tag along to some stupid party because you’re too nervous to talk to some girl? Dude, you’ve faced down demons and vampires, and you’re freaking out over this?”.

Sam gave him a pleading look. “It’s different, Dean. You know it is. She’s… she’s different”.

Dean groaned again, tossing his hands in the air. “Fine, but I’m not dressing up. I’ll go, I’ll stand there, and I’ll drink their bad punch or whatever. But don’t expect me to pretend like I’m enjoying it”.

Sam smirked, a bit of relief washing over his face. “Deal. Thanks, man. I owe you one”.

Dean shook his head, standing up and grabbing his jacket from the back of the chair. “Yeah, you owe me more than one for this”, he muttered, slipping the jacket on.

“It won’t be that bad, Dean. Just try to relax. Lina’s cool, and I’m sure her friends are too”.

Dean shot him a skeptical glance. “Yeah, sure, because that’s what I need. Small talk with a bunch of strangers while you’re off making eyes at Lina. Sounds like a hell of a night”.

“Look, I just… I don’t know, man. It’s been a while since I’ve tried to date. What if I mess this up?”.

Dean’s expression softened, just a little. He sighed, then clapped Sam on the shoulder. “You’re not gonna mess it up. Just be yourself. She invited you for a reason, right? Just don’t overthink it”.

Sam nodded, but Dean could see the nerves were still there. He was rarely this wound up unless it was something serious.

“Come on, let’s hit the road before you start hyperventilating”, Dean said, making his way to the door.

A week later, Halloween finally arrived, and despite all of Sam’s attempts to get Dean into the spirit of things, Dean refused to even consider wearing a costume. As Sam finished getting ready, slipping into his vampire getup, Dean just leaned against the Impala, arms crossed, shaking his head in disbelief.

When Sam walked out of the motel room, fangs in place and a cape trailing behind him, Dean immediately burst out laughing. "You’ve gotta be kidding me, Sam. A vampire? Really? After everything we’ve been through? You want me to take you seriously when you look like that?".

Sam rolled his eyes and adjusted the cape. “Yeah, laugh it up, Dean. It’s Halloween. I’m trying to blend in, unlike some people”.

Dean smirked as he opened the car door. “I don’t need a costume to look good. Besides, you realize the irony, right? A vampire hunter dressing as a vampire. You’re asking for bad luck here”.

Sam slid into the passenger seat, ignoring his brother’s teasing. “It’s just a costume. Relax. And I didn’t exactly have time to come up with anything else, considering how you kept shooting down all my ideas”.

Dean laughed as he started the engine. “Dude, you wanted me to dress up as a werewolf! We hunt werewolves! What were you thinking?”.

Sam raised an eyebrow. “Better than not dressing up at all. You’re gonna be the only person there not in costume”.

Dean grinned as he pulled out of the parking lot. “Yeah, well, someone’s gotta be the cool one".

Sam shook his head, but he couldn’t help the small smile that crept onto his face. The familiar banter between them helped calm his nerves, even if Dean’s sarcasm was relentless. The truth was, Sam was still nervous about seeing Lina again. The party wasn’t just a Halloween get-together; it felt like a real step forward with her, and he didn’t want to mess it up.

As they drove, Dean couldn’t resist making more jokes. “So, when you see Lina tonight, are you gonna sparkle in the moonlight, or should I call you Count Samula?”.

Sam groaned. “Seriously, Dean, let it go”.

But Dean just chuckled, keeping his eyes on the road. “I’m just saying, you’re giving me a lot of material here. Don’t be surprised if someone at the party mistakes you for the real deal”.

Sam sighed, leaning back in his seat, trying to tune out Dean’s relentless teasing. He knew Dean was only giving him a hard time to ease his anxiety, but that didn’t make it any less annoying.

After what felt like an endless barrage of vampire jokes, they finally pulled up to the house where the party was being held. It was decked out with Halloween decorations—fake cobwebs, glowing jack-o'-lanterns, and a skeleton hanging from the porch. The muffled sound of music and laughter spilled out into the yard as they approached the front door.

Dean parked the Impala and glanced over at Sam, who was fidgeting with his costume again. “Alright, you ready for this, Count?”.

Sam took a deep breath and nodded. “Yeah. I’m ready”.

Dean gave him a small, genuine smile, one that told Sam his brother had his back, no matter how much he made fun of him. “Go get ‘em, tiger—or, uh, bat. Whatever you are”.

Sam rolled his eyes once more, but couldn’t help the chuckle that slipped out. "Thanks, man".

They stepped out of the car and made their way toward the party, Sam adjusting his fangs one last time while Dean, in his usual jacket and jeans, stuffed his hands in his pockets. He might not have been dressed up, but he was still scanning the place with a hunter’s eye, watching everything, even in what was supposed to be a laid-back situation.

As they reached the door, Sam hesitated for a second before knocking. Dean caught the look on his face and nudged him. “Relax, Sam. You’ve got this. Just go in, have a good time, and stop overthinking everything”.

Before Sam could reply, the door swung open, revealing Lina, dressed as a classic movie star in a sleek, black dress and gloves. Her eyes lit up when she saw Sam. “Hey, you made it!”, she exclaimed, smiling wide.

Sam’s nervousness melted away as he smiled back at her, stepping inside. Dean followed, keeping his distance, though he made sure to give Sam a small, approving nod. It wasn’t exactly his scene, but for his brother? He could handle a few hours of lame costumes and bad music.

Lina led Sam deeper into the party, and as they mingled with her friends, Dean hung back by the snack table, grabbing a beer and observing the crowd. It was all normal, but Dean couldn’t shake the feeling that something about the night might turn out to be more than just a harmless Halloween party.

But for now, he watched Sam, relieved to see his brother smiling, laughing, and, for once, not worrying about monsters or demons.

That was enough for Dean—for now.

Dean took a sip of his beer, scanning the room lazily when something—or rather someone—caught his eye.

In the kitchen, he spotted you, probably the hottest little police officer he’d ever seen, struggling to reach a stack of red cups on the top shelf. Your short, dark dress was riding up dangerously as you stretched on your tiptoes, clearly trying to avoid asking anyone for help.

Dean raised an eyebrow, smirking to himself. Well, you were also the tiniest police officer he’d ever seen. He watched for a moment longer as you muttered something under your breath—probably cursing quietly at your predicament. Amused and unable to resist, he set his beer down and pushed away from the wall, making his way toward you.

Leaning casually against the doorframe, Dean tilted his head slightly and quirked a smile. “Need a hand there, Officer Short Stuff?”.

You froze mid-reach, startled by the sudden voice behind you. Turning your head, you narrowed your eyes at him, though there was a hint of a smirk playing at your lips. “Officer Short Stuff? Really? That’s the best you’ve got?”.

Dean shrugged, completely unfazed, as he stepped into the kitchen. “Well, I call it like I see it”. He moved past you, effortlessly grabbing the stack of cups from the shelf and handing them to you with a grin. “You’re welcome”.

You took the cups, giving him a slightly suspicious look, though you couldn’t help but chuckle. “Thanks, I guess”.

Dean leaned against the counter, folding his arms over his chest as he looked you up and down, his eyes twinkling with amusement. “So, let me guess. You’re here to keep all of us in line? Make sure none of these crazies get too out of hand?”.

You gave him a playful smile, setting the cups down on the counter and turning to face him. “Maybe. Or maybe I’m just here to arrest anyone who makes bad jokes about my height”.

Dean chuckled, that low, gravelly laugh of his, shaking his head. “Good thing I didn’t make any jokes then. Just speaking the truth”.

You raised an eyebrow, crossing your arms. “Uh-huh. And what about you? What’s your excuse for not being in costume?”.

Dean shrugged, glancing down at his usual jacket and jeans. “I’m wearing one. I’m the guy who saves the world from monsters and bad beer. Pretty convincing, huh?”.

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t help laughing. “Right. Well, your undercover work needs some fine-tuning”.

He smirked, clearly enjoying himself. “Maybe. But I think I’ve got this situation under control”.

There was a brief pause as the two of you exchanged glances, and you couldn’t help but notice the way his eyes lingered on you—confident but not overly cocky. Just enough to make you feel a bit flustered.

“So, what brings you here, anyway?”, you asked, leaning back against the counter across him. “Doesn’t seem like you’re the party type”.

Dean glanced toward the crowd for a second, his expression softening slightly as he nodded toward Sam, who was deep in conversation with Lina. “My little brother dragged me here. First date with that girl he’s been talking about. Figured I’d play the good wingman for the night”.

You followed his gaze and smiled at the sight of Sam, who looked much more relaxed now, happily chatting with Lina. “That’s sweet. You know, for a guy who doesn’t wear costumes, you’re a decent brother”.

Dean chuckled, turning back to you. “Don’t go spreading that around. I’ve got a reputation to maintain”.

You smirked, your eyes meeting his again. “Don’t worry. Your secret’s safe with me”.

For a moment, there was a comfortable silence between you, and Dean felt something stir—a familiar, easy attraction that made him forget for a second about the constant weight he carried. Here, right now, he could just enjoy the conversation, the way your eyes sparkled when you teased him, and the effortless way the banter flowed between you.

“So, Officer”, he said, leaning in just a little, his voice low and playful. “What��s the penalty for distracting a cop from her duties?”.

You smiled, biting your lip slightly as you pretended to think. “Well, that depends. Are you planning on being a repeat offender?”.

Dean’s grin widened. “Oh, absolutely”.

You smirked at Dean’s playful response, your hand casually resting on the pair of handcuffs clipped to your belt. “Well, if you’re planning on being a repeat offender”, you began, toying with the metal cuffs, “maybe I should go ahead and arrest you now. Save myself the trouble later”.

Dean’s gaze dropped to the handcuffs, his smirk growing as he reached out and, without hesitation, gripped them lightly, testing their weight. He raised an eyebrow, his expression intrigued as he realized they were the real deal. “Well, look at that. You’re not just dressed as a cop, huh? These are actual handcuffs”, he said, his voice low and teasing.

You leaned in slightly, your lips curling into a mischievous smile. “What, you think I’m not a real officer? Could’ve fooled you, huh?”.

Dean’s eyes flickered with amusement, his grip on the handcuffs still firm as he toyed with the chain between them. “I’ve gotta say, this just got a lot more interesting. So, Officer… are you planning on using these tonight?”. His voice was laced with humor, but there was a flicker of something more dangerous, a challenge hidden beneath the surface.

You raised an eyebrow, your arms crossed, pretending to consider it. “Depends. Are you going to give me a reason to?”.

Dean chuckled, finally letting go of the cuffs but not breaking eye contact with you. “Sweetheart, I’ve been giving people reasons to arrest me for years. You sure you can handle that?”.

You smirked, leaning in even closer, your voice dropping to a low, teasing whisper. “Handle you, huh? You might be the one who’s in over his head. I’ve got plenty of ways to keep you in line”. You gave him a slow, deliberate once-over, your eyes sparkling with mischief.

Dean’s grin widened, clearly enjoying every second of the exchange. “Oh yeah? I’m almost tempted to act up just to see what you’ve got planned”. His voice was thick with suggestion, and you could feel the tension simmering between you, neither of you backing down from the game.

“Careful. I’ve got some special skills when it comes to making sure bad boys like you behave”.

His eyes darkened slightly, the playful edge not fading but shifting into something a little more dangerous, more tempting. “Special skills, huh? You’ve got me curious now. How exactly do you plan on keeping me in line? I’m not exactly known for following orders”.

You took a step closer, your lips just inches from his, your voice a seductive purr. “Oh, I’m sure I could find a way to tie you down. Keep you in check. Handcuffs are just the beginning”.

Dean raised an eyebrow, looking at you like you were the best challenge he’d faced in a long time. “I think you’re underestimating just how much trouble I can cause. But I’ve gotta admit, you’re making it sound pretty damn tempting”.

You leaned even closer, your breath brushing against his ear as you whispered, “Oh, I’m not underestimating you. In fact, I think I’d enjoy making sure you stay right where I want you. Let’s just say, I’m very… hands-on with my approach”.

Dean’s breath hitched slightly at your words, but he recovered quickly, his smirk never fading. “Hands-on? Sounds like a party I’d definitely stick around for”. He tilted his head, eyes locking with yours. “But tell me this, Officer. When you finally get those cuffs on me, what are you gonna do next?”.

Your smirk widened as Dean’s last words hung in the air. Without warning, you made your move—fast and smooth, taking him completely by surprise. In a fluid motion, you grabbed his wrist and spun him around, pressing his chest against the kitchen island before he even had a chance to react.

Dean’s eyes widened in shock as you swiftly snapped the cuffs around his wrists, his hands locked together behind his back. He let out a low laugh, his cheek pressed against the cold countertop. “Well, damn. Didn’t see that coming”, he muttered, clearly impressed despite himself.

You grinned, stepping back slightly to admire your work, your eyes gleaming with victory. “Guess I wasn’t exaggerating about being hands-on, was I?”. You leaned in close again, your voice low and teasing as you spoke right next to his ear. “How does it feel?".

Dean shifted slightly against the cuffs, testing them, but you had them secured tightly. He let out another chuckle, low and rough. “Alright. I’ve gotta give it to you—you’ve got some skills". His voice dropped, filled with that unmistakable mix of humor and challenge. “But you know, this only makes me want to break a few more rules”.

You grinned, stepping around the island to face him, eyes dancing with amusement. “I don’t think you’re supposed to enjoy this so much”.

Just as you were about to reply to Dean’s playful challenge, the sound of footsteps approaching interrupted the moment. You glanced toward the doorway, and there stood Sam and Lina. Sam took one look at his brother cuffed on the kitchen island and let out a long, exasperated sigh.

“What did you do this time, Dean?”, Sam asked, his voice half-resigned, half-amused.

Dean, ever the opportunist, turned his head as much as he could and flashed his brother a grin. “Hey, I’m the victim here. Officer Short Stuff took me down without warning”.

You raised an eyebrow, leaning back slightly with a smirk. “So, Dean’s the name, huh?”.

Dean gave a low chuckle, still pinned against the countertop. “Yeah, well, now you know what name to shout when you need backup”.

You rolled your eyes, gripping his arm and helping him stand up—though not without a little roughness, just to remind him who was still in charge. His wrists remained cuffed behind his back as he straightened up, a smirk still firmly in place on his face.

Meanwhile, Lina leaned against the doorframe, watching the entire scene unfold with an amused expression. “You know”, she said with a grin, “I always said you were good at your job. But damn, girl, you don’t waste any time. Got him cuffed and everything. I’m impressed”.

You shot Lina a playful look, folding your arms as you leaned back against the counter. “Hey, what can I say? When you’ve got a troublemaker like this on your hands, you have to act fast”, you teased. “Besides, I thought I’d give him a taste of what real discipline feels like”.

Lina laughed, shaking her head. “Oh, I don’t doubt it. You’ve always been the one to take charge. Poor Dean never had a chance”.

Dean, still cuffed and watching the exchange, raised an eyebrow. “Poor Dean, huh? I don’t know, I think I’m doing just fine”. he said, grinning shamelessly. “But, you know, Officer, it’s probably a good idea to uncuff me now… unless you plan on keeping me tied up all night”.

You glanced at him, smirking as you considered his words. “Well, maybe that’s exactly what I had in mind. Keep you out of trouble, right?”.

Dean chuckled, his voice low and smooth. “Trust me, sweetheart, trouble’s a lot more fun when I’m not cuffed”.

With a mock sigh of reluctance, you finally stepped behind him and pulled the key from your belt, unlocking the handcuffs with a quick click. Dean flexed his wrists, rubbing them slightly as he turned to face you. “Thanks", he said, his tone teasing. “But next time, I might not go so easy on you”.

You raised an eyebrow at that, smirking as you pocketed the cuffs. “Next time, huh? Sounds like you’re already planning on breaking the law again”.

Dean winked, leaning in just a little closer. “Only if you’re the one bringing me in”.

Lina, who had been watching the entire exchange with barely contained amusement, shook her head with a grin. “Alright, lovebirds, let’s not get carried away”.

You shot her a playful look. “Don’t worry, Lina. I’ve got everything under control. Someone’s gotta keep an eye on this one”.

Dean gave a mock salute, grinning like he was enjoying every second of the attention. “And what a view it is”, he said, earning a playful nudge from you as Sam rolled his eyes.

Sam shook his head, grinning as he looked between you and Dean, clearly more amused than exasperated. “Alright, I think Dean’s got… something to take care of”, he said, his voice laced with humor. “Let’s get going before we witness something we definitely don’t want to”.

Lina laughed, nudging Sam with her elbow. “Yeah, I think we’ve seen enough flirting for one night. Let’s give these two some space”.

You shot Sam a playful glare, though you couldn’t hide the smile tugging at the corners of your mouth. “Oh, please, Sam. You make it sound like something’s actually going to happen”.

Dean raised an eyebrow, his smirk growing. “Who says it won’t?”.

Lina groaned dramatically, grabbing Sam’s arm. “Alright, that’s our cue to leave. Enjoy yourselves, guys”, she said with a wink, pulling Sam out of the kitchen as they made their way back into the party, leaving you and Dean alone once again.

As soon as they were out of earshot, Dean turned to you, his signature grin still firmly in place. “Well, they were quick to leave. Guess that means we’re all alone now”, he said, his voice dropping just enough to send a shiver down your spine.

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t help the way your pulse quickened. “You’re trouble, Dean”.

Dean chuckled, stepping a little closer. “I think you’re starting to like that about me”.

Two hours later, the party was still in full swing, but you and Dean had found yourselves gravitating toward each other, the banter between you growing more heated with every passing minute. The air around you both felt thick, charged with an undeniable tension that neither of you could ignore. Every teasing word, every subtle touch, every glance shared only made it harder to keep things light.

You were standing near the back of the room now, tucked into a quieter corner as the party buzzed around you. Dean had been throwing playful comments your way all night, pushing the line with each one. It was like a game, one that neither of you seemed to want to end—but also didn’t want to lose.

Dean leaned in a little closer, his breath warm against your ear as he spoke, his voice low and husky. “You know”, he drawled, that signature smirk plastered across his face, “I think the backseat of my car is practically screaming for us right now”.

You glanced up at him, your heart skipping a beat at the suggestion. There was that spark in his eyes, the one that promised he wasn’t joking—not entirely. You felt the heat rise in your cheeks, but you weren’t one to back down easily, not when you had the upper hand.

Raising an eyebrow, you replied with a teasing smirk, “Oh, is that so? I thought you were all about being a gentleman”.

Dean chuckled, his green eyes darkening with the weight of the moment as he leaned even closer, his lips just a breath away from yours. “Oh, sweetheart, I can be a gentleman. But I get the feeling you might want something a little more… not so gentleman like tonight”.

Your breath hitched, your pulse racing as his words sent a jolt of heat through you. The tension between you two was almost unbearable now, a palpable charge that had been building all night. You could feel the pull, that magnetic draw that made you want to throw caution to the wind and close the gap between you.

You bit your lip, meeting his gaze head-on. “Maybe I do. Or maybe I just like keeping you on your toes”.

Dean’s smirk widened, his hand resting casually on the small of your back as he leaned in, his lips grazing the shell of your ear. “I’ve been on my toes all night, and let me tell you, sweetheart, you’re killing me here".

The air around you seemed to hum, the noise of the party fading into the background as everything else blurred out. It was just you and Dean now, standing so close that every breath felt like a shared promise.

You could barely breathe, and neither could he. The weight of your back-and-forth flirting had built up into something more—something neither of you could resist any longer.

“So”, Dean whispered, his voice rough with desire, “what’s it gonna be? Are we doing this, or are we just going to keep playing games?”.

Your heart pounded in your chest, the temptation of his offer heavy in the air between you. Your gaze flickered to the door, then back to him. You could almost feel the heat radiating off him, his body inches from yours, the promise of what could happen hanging between you like a challenge.

You let out a slow breath, your lips curling into a wicked smile. “Let’s find out what that backseat has to offer”.

Dean’s grin widened, his eyes lighting up with excitement. “I knew you were trouble”.

Without another word, he grabbed your hand, leading you out of the house and toward the Impala parked just outside. The cool night air hit your skin as you made your way to the car, but the heat between the two of you didn’t diminish. If anything, it burned brighter.

Dean opened the door, the faint smell of leather filling the air as you glanced at the backseat. His hand on your waist brought you back to him, and you turned just in time to see him lean down, his lips finally crashing into yours in a kiss that felt like it had been building for hours—fiery, intense, and full of all the things you both had been holding back.

The backseat of the Impala had never felt more inviting.

———————————

A/N: Please let me know what you think.🥰

Part 2

Taglist: @blackcherrywhiskey @baby19sthings @suckitands33 @spnfamily-j2 @lyarr24 @deans-baby-momma @reignsboy19 @kawaii-arfid-memes @mekkencspony @lovziy @artemys-ackles @fitxgrld @libby99hb @lovelyvirtualperson @a-lil-pr1ncess @nancymcl @the-last-ry @spndeanwinchesterlvr @hobby27 @themarebarroww @kr804573 @impala67rollingthroughtown @deans-queen @deadlymistletoe @selfdestructionandrhum @utyblyn @winchesterwild78 @jackles010378 @chirazsstuff @foxyjwls007 @smoothdogsgirl @woooonau @whimsyfinny @freyabear @laaadygisbooornex3 @quietgirll75 @perpetualabsurdity @pughsexual @berryblues46 @deanwinchestersgirl8734 @kr804573 @spxideyver

#jensen ackles #dean winchester fic #deanwinchtser #dean winchester #dean winchester x y/n #dean winchester x you #dean winchester x reader #dean x y/n #dean x you #dean x reader #spn #supernatural #supernatural fanfiction

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marvelfanfn2187a113 · 11 months ago

Text

Search and Rescue

Sam and Dean Winchester & little sister!reader

Requested by anonymous

Synopsis: Sam and Dean’s 6 year old little sister gets kidnapped by demons

“Hey N/N, we’re back!”

Dean’s words echoed through the empty motel room, and no answer came.

“Y/N? Honey, where are you?” Sam asked, doing a quick scan of the room. “She’s not here.”

“What?” Dean demanded, dropping his duffel bag and double-checking the small room.

“Dean, over here.” Sam’s eye had caught sight of something strange by the window.

Dean stepped up beside him and gritted his teeth.

“Sulfur.”

“What now?” Sam asked. “We’ve been gone for hours, who knows how long she’s been missing?” The boys almost never left you alone in a motel, but they’d just left for the morning to interview some survivors of what looked like a haunting.

“Now we find those demons and bring her back,” Dean growled, snatching up the demon knife and his bag before heading out to Baby.

“So no plan? Great,” Sam huffed, but followed his brother regardless.

…

Meanwhile, you were in the next state over from your brothers, having been grabbed from your bed and thrown into the back of a van. You were currently chained up in a dark room, and you couldn’t make out more than a few feet in front of you. Your shackles were connected by a short chain to the ground, so you couldn’t take more than one step before they stopped you. You sat on the floor, your wrists raw from your attempts to free them. You gave up pretty quickly, it hurt too much and you were just too scared of what the demons would do if they saw you trying to escape.

One of them had already hit you, and you still didn’t know what they wanted. All you knew was that you had never been this far away from Sam and Dean, and you didn’t know what to do.

…

Two weeks. It took two weeks before the boys finally caught a break, and they were able to track demon activity that was mere hours from where you’d been taken.

Dean had never driven Baby so fast in his life.

Neither brother was willing to bring up the biggest likelihood; that you were already dead. After all, if the demons had kept you alive this long, why hadn’t they tried to contact the brothers for an exchange or something?

But this logical path was not one either boy was willing to go down, not yet or ever.

…

“I spot six, but there could be more inside,” Sam reported as he watched the warehouse for demon activity.

“Alright, let’s go,” Dean said, opening his door.

“Hold on, Dean we need a plan,” Sam insisted.

“I have a plan,” Dean replied before stepping out of the car and slamming his door shut.

“Get her back.”

…

You were used to hearing screams from where you sat in your little prison. The only difference this time was, that these weren’t your own.

You found the strength to lift your head wearily when the door to your prison scraped open, but you turned away instantly when the light from the other side nearly blinded you.

Involuntary whimpers escaped your lips when you heard the scratch of footsteps against the stone floor, getting inevitably closer. You cried out hands grabbed the sides of your face, and you struggled to get away.

“Hey, hey, Y/N it’s me!”

You froze, instantly recognizing the voice. Also, you noticed that the hands on you weren’t rough; he was cradling your face.

You blinked your eyes open, squinting against the light to see your big brother Sam.

You couldn’t speak, couldn’t move. All you could do was cry in relief as Sam picked the lock on your chains. The moment you were free, Sam had you in his arms, rubbing your back and whispering soothing reassurances in your ear.

“Y/N.” You looked up to see Dean standing in the doorway, relief lightening his features before he stiffened again. “C’mon, Sam we’ve got to get her out of here, there might be more.” Dean crouched a bit to look at you. “Baby, can you walk? We gotta go.”

You shook your head with a whimper, clinging onto Sam for all you were worth.

“It’s ok, I’ve got her,” Sam reached a hand to his belt to grab the demon knife. “You take this, lead us out of here.”

The three of you reached the Impala with minimal disruption, and you clung to Sam the whole way.

Sam didn’t bother trying to put you in the back seat, he just got into the passenger’s seat and sat you on his lap.

Dean started the car without a word, glancing anxiously around for any more demons as he sped off.

“Is she ok?” Dean demanded once he was sure you weren’t being followed.

“Give her a minute,” Sam said quietly, still trying to sooth you as you trembled in his arms.

“Sam, I need to know if she’s hurt,” Dean said as he white-knuckled the steering wheel, glancing at you every few seconds.

“Sweetheart,” Sam spoke softly as he pulled you back slightly so he could look at you. “Did they hurt you?”

You squirmed in his arms, trying to get closer to him. You nodded, and he relented, letting you squeeze closer to him.

“Where?” Dean asked, trying to keep his voice calm.

You didn’t respond.

“Honey, you can talk to me,” Sam said.

“I didn’t,” you mumbled.

“What?” Sam asked.

“I didn’t talk,” you said, and you started to shake even more in Sam’s arms. His heart broke at the sound of your cries as you struggled to speak. “They-they tried to make me-make me talk, but I didn’t.”

Sam’s haunted eyes met Dean’s. Their six-year-old little sister was tortured by demons for information, and she didn’t give in to protect them. Guilt didn’t even begin to describe what the brothers were feeling.

“What did they do?” Dean was struggling to get control of himself.

“They had a big knife,” you whimpered. You didn’t say anything more, and the brothers didn’t try to make you.

Sam carried you inside when you got to the motel, and Dean instructed Sam to find you some food while he checked your wounds. The last thing Sam wanted to do was leave your side again, but one look at your malnourished frame convinced him.

Dean peeled your sweat-soaked, torn, bloody clothes from your skin. He wet a washcloth with warm water and started to clean the blood off of you with a gentle touch, paying close attention to when you flinched or whimpered.

As soon as you were relatively clean, Dean grabbed disinfectant from the first aid kid and went to work on the many cuts scattered across your body. He was struggling to contain his rage with every new cut he found, but he knew that he had to to keep from scaring you even further.

You didn’t say a word while Dean worked, you just watched him with wide eyes, as if you still couldn’t believe he was there.

“Baby I’m so sorry,” Dean said finally. “We never should’ve left you alone.”

You seemed to mull his words over for a moment before disregarding them. You hadn’t even thought for a moment to blame your big brothers for the scary demons hurting you.

“De, did I miss Sammy’s birthday?” You asked instead, and Dean looked taken aback.

“Uh…no kiddo, it’s in a couple of days.”

“Can we get him a pie?” You asked hopefully.

Dean just nodded, unsure of how to deal with the change in conversation. The motel room once again fell silent as Dean carefully stitched up a couple of your worse cuts. He hated himself the whole time, especially when he saw how hard you tried—in vain—to keep from crying.

“All done,” he finally breathed, and he couldn’t tell who was more relieved; you or him. He helped you get changed into some clean clothes before letting you get settled in his lap. He held you close, just as unwilling as you were to let go.

He hadn’t even noticed that he’d started humming until he saw that you had stopped crying, soothed by the sound.

“I’m never gonna let anyone hurt you again,” Dean promised.

“I know,” you said with so much confidence that it reassured Dean almost as much as you.

“Hey guys,” Sam greeted quietly as he returned to the motel room. “How we doing?”

“I’m sleepy,” you mumbled.

“Do you think you can eat some of this before you sleep?” Sam asked, pulling out a takeout container of soup.

You nodded and let Sam carry you to the table before taking the spoon he offered.

“We should try to get her strength back up,” Sam said to Dean as the two watched you.

“With that?” Dean scoffed. “Get her some meat.”

“I wanted to start off with something light, since we don’t know when the last time she ate was,” Sam argued. That shut Dean up, as he imagined you locked in that tiny little room, starving.

“Can I go to sleep now?” You asked, and Sam stepped up and was surprised to see that you’d eaten nearly half of the soup.

“You bet, honey. You did good,” he praised, lifting you into his arms and carrying you to his bed.

You were asleep within minutes, and Dean settled himself on the very edge his own bed so that he could still be close to you and Sam.

“She asked if she missed your birthday,” Dean said quietly as he watched your stomach move up and down with your breaths. “She wants to get a pie.”

Sam smiled at you, brushing your hair out of your face.

“She always did love birthdays.”

“We can never slip up like that again,” Dean’s tone was suddenly serious. “She deserves so much better.”

“I know,” Sam kept his eyes on you, unable to look at his brother. Both boys were blaming themselves.

“Hey,” Dean sat up when he saw you start to twitch. “Is she—“

“No,” you whimpered, and your body started to squirm. “No, don’t!”

“Sweetheart, hey,” Sam reached his hand up and shook your shoulder. “Kid wake up.”

“No!” You cried, awakening with a start that almost had you falling off the bed. Sam held you in his arms to keep you steady.

“Easy, it’s ok honey. N/N I’m right here, I’m here.”

“Sammy?” You whimpered as you relaxed against his hold.

“Yeah, it’s me. Shh, it’s ok,” he soothed, rubbing your back as you began to cry.

“Here.” Dean reached for you, and Sam reluctantly gave you up to your oldest brother. “Hey, you’re ok baby, it’s Dean. How about you go back to sleep, ok? Me and Sammy are gonna chase away the bad dreams for you, how does that sound?”

You nodded, sniffling.

“Yeah, good.” Dean cradled your head in his hand, holding you close. “If you have another nightmare, I’m gonna be right here for you.”

“Ok,” you sniffled, relaxing once again. It only took a few short minutes before you were asleep in Dean’s arms, and the brothers relaxed at the peaceful cadence of your breaths.

“She’s ok,” Dean breathed, and Sam didn’t know who he was trying to reassure. Sam just nodded.

“She will be.”

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doctorbitchcrxft · 6 months ago

Text

No Exit | Supernatural Series Rewrite | Dean Winchester x Reader

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader (Eventual ? )

Warnings: Jo and reader are dicks to each other, canon violence, canon gore

Word Count: 5754

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You and the Winchester boys had been hunkered down in the rooms Ellen told you about the first time she met you for a few days now. You were grateful for her generosity while you and the brothers tried to pin down your next move with the demon or another hunt, but you were going stir crazy. You sat on the hood of the Impala under the shade of a tree pouring through newspapers. Sam and Dean approached you after a few hours of you researching.

“What are you doing to my baby?” Dean asked you.

“Dee, she’s fine, we’re bonding,” you said, tapping the spot next to you on the hood. “Nothing’s dented or broken; promise.”

He gave you a skeptical look but said nothing else.

“ ‘Sides, I was getting ready to come get you anyway,” you said, hopping down. “I think I got something. Los Angeles, California.”

“What’s in L.A.?” Sam asked.

“Young girl's been kidnapped by an evil cult,” you smirked.

“Yeah? Girl got a name?”

“Katie Holmes.”

Dean chuckled, and a grin spread across your face.

“Seriously, though, it’s like all things supernatural disappeared off the face of the earth,” you continued.

Dean turned his head toward the Roadhouse at the sound of a glass breaking. “Ooh, catfight.”

You grimaced and followed the boys into the bar cautiously. Ellen and Jo were arguing loudly about Jo wanting to go off and Ellen wanting her to stay at the Roadhouse or go back to school. She stopped shouting when she noticed you. “Guys, bad time.”

“Yes, ma'am,” Sam said. The three of you turned to leave.

Dean got one more quip in, saying, “Yeah, we rarely drink before ten anyway.”

“Funny, let’s go,” you deadpanned, grabbing his jacket lightly and pulling him to the door.

“Wait. I wanna know what they think about this,” Jo said.

At the sound of the creaking front door, you turned to see a family with two kids under three walking in wearing bright yellow “Nebraska is for Lovers” t-shirts.

Ellen continued to yell despite the customers that had entered. “I don't care what they think!”

The father of the two young kids cut Ellen off. “Are you guys open?”

Jo yelled, “No!” and her mother yelled, “Yes!”

The dad grimaced and shrank away. “We’ll just… check out the Arby’s down the road.”

The phone rang as the family left, and Ellen went to answer it. Jo turned to you and the brothers; her gaze mostly focused on Dean, per usual.

“Three weeks ago, a young girl disappears from a Philadelphia apartment.” She shoved a file at Dean. Dean looked down at it strangely. “Take it, it won't bite,” she said.

“No, but your mom might,” he responded.

Jo’s lips pinched, still holding out the folder. He took it reluctantly as Jo continued explaining. “And this girl wasn't the first. Over the past eighty years six women have vanished. All from the same building, all young blondes. Only happens every decade or two so cops never eyeball the pattern. So we're either dealing with one very old serial killer, or—”

Dean flipped through it and cut her off. “Who put this together? Ash?"

Jo smiled proudly. “I did it myself.”

Dean hummed, impressed, and you took the folder from him. You flipped through it, secretly hoping to find holes in it somewhere, but you couldn’t at first glance. You were impressed, too, much to your chagrin.

“I gotta admit. We hit the road for a lot less,” Sam added.

“Good. You like the case so much, you take it,” Ellen stated.

“Mom!”

“Joanna Beth, this family has lost enough. And I won't lose you too. I just won't.”

Your gaze softened as you took in Ellen’s grief-stricken features. You could completely empathize with how that felt. And so, you and the brothers set off.

***

“I feel kind of bad, snaking Jo's case,” Sam said as the three of you stalked around the deceased’s apartment.

“I don’t,” you said. “Her mom’s only trying to protect her.”

“Exactly. Maybe she put together a good file,” Dean added, “but could you see her out here working one of these things? I don't think so.”

You pulled out your EMF meter and continued walking around the very nice apartment. “What I wouldn’t give to have one of these,” you muttered. “You getting anything?”

“No, not yet,” replied Sam. Just as he spoke, you heard his meter beeping. He leaned over to something in front of him, and you walked over.

“What's that?” you asked.

“What?” Dean came up behind you as Sam reached down to the lightswitch and lightly touched it.

“Holy crap,” the younger Winchester said.

Dean reached forward, too. “That's ectoplasm. Well, Sam, I think I know what we're dealing with here. It's the Stay-Puft Marshmallow Man.”

You snickered. “Can we get through one hunt without a Ghostbusters reference, please?”

“Never.”

“Guys, focus, please,” Sam deadpanned. “I've only seen this stuff, like, twice. I mean, to make this stuff you have to be one majorly pissed off spirit.”

“Alright, let's find this badass before he snags any more girls,” Dean said. You followed him out of the apartment and immediately had to cling to a wall to avoid being seen by the approaching voices. Your face fell when you realized one of the voices was Jo’s.

“It is so spacious.” Her voice was getting closer. “You know, my friend told me I absolutely have to come check it out, and I have to admit, she was right. You did a really good job with this place.”

Dean stepped out suddenly. “What the hell are you doing here?”

“There you are, honey,” Jo grinned, wrapping an arm around Dean’s waist. You could’ve killed her. “This is my boyfriend Dean, and his buddies, Sam and (Y/N).”

“Good to meetcha,” the landlord said. “Quite a gal you've got here.”

Dean smacked her ass roughly, trying to convey his frustration to her. “Oh yeah, she's a pistol.”

“So, did you already check out that apartment? The one for rent,” Jo asked Dean.

“Yeah. Yes. Loved it. Heh. Great flow.”

“How'd you get in?” the landlord asked.

Dean swallowed harshly. “It was open.”

“Now, Ed, um, when did the last tenant move out?” Jo grinned back at the landlord.

“Oh, about a month ago. Cut and run, too. Stuck me for the rent.”

“Well. Her loss, our gain! 'Cause if Dean-o loves it, it's good enough for me.”

“Oh, sweetie,” Dean gritted through his teeth, smacking her again.

Jo pulled out a wad of cash. “We’ll take it.”

The landlord’s eyes widened, and he immediately brought you back to the front office to get a key.

***

You paced around the lovely apartment furiously at Jo re-hijacking the hunt you’d hijacked from her.

“I’ll flip you for the sofa,” she said to you.

“Does your mom even know you’re here?” you asked.

“Told her I was going to Vegas.”

You scoffed. “She’s not stupid, She’s not gonna buy that.”

“I'm not an idiot,” Jo challenged. “I got Ash to lay a credit card trail all the way to the casinos.”

Dean took your humorless laugh as an opportunity to jump in before you got any uglier. “You know, you shouldn't lie to your mom. Shouldn't be here, either.”

“Well, I am,” she said. “So untwist your boxers and deal with it.”

“Where'd you get all that money from, anyways?” Sam questioned.

She gave a prideful smile. “Working. At the Roadhouse.”

“Hunters don’t tip that well,” Dean replied.

“Well, they aren't that good at poker, either,” she smirked.

‘Take away her immaturity, inexperience, rashness, and massive crush on Dean, I probably could be friends with her,’ you thought.

Dean’s cell phone rang. “Yeah?” He answered, still glaring at Jo. “Oh, hi, Ellen.” Dean and Jo had a furious muttered argument before he said, “I haven’t seen her” back into the phone. “Yeah, I'm sure… Absolutely.” Dean hung up, and Jo grinned cheerfully.

“Why didn’t you tell her?” you hissed at Dean. “Ellen’s gonna murder us.”

“Seriously?” Jo folded her arms at you. “You’re scared of my mom?”

“No,” you spat back. “I just don’t wanna babysit the whole time I’m trying to hunt.”

“(Y/N), stop it,” Sam warned.

“Me? This chick has a death wish, and I need to ‘stop it’?” you snarked. “I’m going to get some air.” You stomped out of the room, Dean trailing behind you.

“(Y/N), where are you going?” he asked.

“Away,” you snorted. “She’s pissing me off. I’m not hunting with her.”

He grabbed your arm. “I’m not happy, either, but what’s this really about?”

You felt caught. “What?”

“You heard me. What’s goin’ on? You’re normally the one who has to talk me off the ledge. Not the other way around,” he said.

You lowered your voice. “I don’t trust her,” you began. “I don’t trust her to have any of our backs. All she’s tried to do thus far is get in your pants and act like an immature brat.

"She has potential, sure, and she’s smart, but she’s not one of us. And I have no idea what her skillset is. She pointed a rifle at you one time; we’ve never seen her use one. She could be an awful shot. And she has no idea how to actually kill anything. She’s, what, twenty-one, twenty-two? She didn’t grow up hunting. She has no experience.

"She doesn’t belong here. And you not telling Ellen she’s here was a huge mistake. Because now, she’s our responsibility. And like I said, I’m not babysitting. If it’s between you or Sam, and her, I’m saving you and Sam every time.”

Dean smirked down at you.

“What?” you hissed.

“You’re jealous,” he said simply.

“Seriously? Did you hear anything else I said?” You crossed your arms and quirked a brow.

He chuckled. “Yeah, I did, and I agree. I’ll watch her if you’ll watch Sam, okay? No blood on your hands if something happens to her,” he replied.

You shook your head. “No, Dean, I don’t like that, either—”

Dean smirked down at you. “What, don’t you trust me?”

“Of course, I do,” you replied. “I don’t trust her.”

He chuckled. “I think you said that already.”

“Just—” you huffed. “I don’t want anything to happen to you.”

Dean snorted. “C’mon, it’s me we’re talking about. I’ll be fine. Will you come back and be civil now?” he asked.

“No promises.”

“Okay, I guess we’re doing this, then.” He raised his pinky at you, and you rolled your eyes.

“I can’t make a pinky promise I can’t keep,” you replied.

“That’s the point. You have to, so I know you’ll be civil.” Dean looked down at you, a challenge in his eyes and a smile plastered on his face.

“But—” you tried.

“No.”

“Dean,” you groaned but locked pinkies with him nonetheless.

“See, was that so hard?” he smirked down at you.

“You can’t use my own thing against me,” you said as you headed back to the apartment. “That’s against the rules of pinky promises.”

“Oh, there’s rules now?” Dean questioned playfully.

“There are when I say there are,” you responded flippantly, opening the door to the apartment.

Jo and Sam turned to face you, and you suddenly felt incredibly uncomfortable.

“Look, Jo—” you started.

“Save it. It’s fine,” she replied.

“Well, okay, then,” you mumbled, softly enough that only Dean could hear you mocking her.

Dean gave you a warning look. “(Y/N).”

“I know, I know.”

***

You sat at the table with your laptop next to Sam as Dean paced around the room. Jo had been flipping her little knife around for the last thirty minutes while she looked over the blueprints for the apartment.

“This place was built in 1924. It was originally a warehouse, converted into apartments a few months ago,” she explained.

“Yeah? What was here before 1924?” Dean questioned.

“Nothing. Empty field.”

“So, most likely scenario, someone died bloody in the building, and now he's back and raising hell,” Sam added.

Jo shook her head. “I already checked. In the past eighty-two years, zero violent deaths. Unless you count a janitor who slipped on a wet floor.” She looked up to Dean. “Would you sit down, please?”

Dean sat hesitantly at the head of the table, eyeing Jo guardedly. “So, have you checked police reports, county death records—”

“Obituaries, mortuary reports and seven other sources. I know what I'm doing,” she said.

“Jury’s still out on that one,” Dean replied. “Could you put the knife down?”

She complied, eyeing him angrily. He glared back.

Sam huffed. “Okay! So, uh, it's something else, then. Maybe some kind of cursed object that brought a spirit with it.”

“Meh, unless somebody’s got a relic from an Egyptian tomb, I’m not sure a cursed object has the kind of spirit power necessary to make ectoplasm,” you said.

Jo completely ignored you. “Well, we've got to scan the whole building. Everywhere we can get to, right?”

“Right. So. You and me, we'll take the top two floors,” Dean said firmly. “Sam and (Y/N)’ll take the bottom two.”

“We'd move faster if we split up,” the blonde tried.

“Oh, this isn't negotiable,” Dean responded.

***

You and Sam returned to the room way sooner than Dean and Jo did. The two of you found nothing of particular interest, unfortunately, and opted to just sprawl out on the couch and floor watching a rerun of Seinfeld.

“I just wanted to tell you,” Sam began, “I don’t think you’re wrong about Jo. Just… tone it down a bit. My brother’s dickish enough to her.”

You sighed. “Dean made me pinky promise I would be civil, so you don’t have to worry about me anymore.”

He scoffed. “My brother made you pinky promise?”

You giggled. “I introduced him to the concept.”

“What have you done to him?” Sam chuckled sarcastically.

You shook your head. “I have no idea. I don’t know what he’s doing to me, either.”

Sam paused. “Have you… talked about it at all?”

You nodded your head from side to side as if to say, “sorta.” “I just don’t think now’s the right time. I mean, after your dad, I don’t wanna take advantage of that or him to use me as a distraction.”

He nodded in understanding. “I get it. But… I also don’t think Dean would use you.”

You shrugged. “Better safe than sorry.” You paused. “How are you holding up, by the way? We haven’t had much of an opportunity to hang out one-on-one recently.”

“Honestly? Not great,” he sighed. “I’m scared, man. I don’t know what’s happening or how to stop it. And I think my dad died thinking I hate him.” Tears began to well in his eyes. “I never should’ve said those things to him.”

You got up from the floor and went to sit next to him. You reached out and grabbed his hand, squeezing firmly. “If it helps at all, I think my dad died thinking the same. And that feeling goes away after a while. I think both our dads knew that despite our many, many, many issues with each other, the bottom line is, we loved each other a lot.”

He squeezed your hand back and looked at you with sad, puppy-dog eyes. “I hope you’re right.”

The door opened to reveal Dean and Jo bickering and Dean’s fist clenched around a clump of blonde hair with skin attached to it.

You giggled. “What, you hate each other that much that you ripped a piece of Jo’s hair out?”

Dean deadpanned, “No, smartass. We found this in a vent.”

Your stomach dropped. “Oh. Gross.”

“Yeah, exactly,” Dean grumbled. He opened the trash can in the room and dumped it inside.

“Alright, it’s getting late,” Jo stated. “Who’s sleeping where? There’s four of us, two beds, and a couch.”

“(Y/N) and I’ll take a bed,” Dean said casually almost immediately. “Sam’ll take the other. Jo, you got the couch.”

The three of you were stunned at Dean and his adamancy.

Oh-kay,” Jo said, still shocked.

“C’mon,” Dean said, jerking his head toward one of the rooms. He picked up your duffel bags and headed off.

You followed behind, saying “Goodnight, guys,” and shut the door behind you. You tapped the sides of your thighs with your palms as you stayed firmly planted by the door.

Dean seemed to feel a little awkward, too, and blew out a breath. “Was this… uh, okay?”

You nodded. “Yeah! Yeah. Sure. Why not? We’re adults. We’re friends. We can share a bed. No big.”

He chuckled. “You sure? You ramble when you’re nervous.”

“Nervous?” you laughed awkwardly. “Why would I be nervous?” He raised a brow at you, and you took a deep breath, letting it out slowly. “I’ve just… I’ve never… Hunting’s lonely. Even when I did hook up, I’d leave before I fell asleep.”

Dean seemed stunned. “Really? Why?”

“I don’t know, it just… felt too intimate, I guess? And I’ve never had anybody I seriously cared about that I’d want to experience that with,” you explained, sitting on the foot of the bed and kicking off your shoes.

His voice quieted considerably. “You sure you’re okay with this?”

You nodded. He seemed to understand what that meant, though both of you refused to talk about it.

Dean showered, as did you, and then you climbed into bed next to one another. The two of you seemed to have scooted to the far edges of the bed, facing away from each other. After several minutes in silence, Dean spoke up.

“(Y/N)?” he murmured.

“Yeah?”

“C’mere.”

You could feel yourself getting flustered as you shuffled over to Dean, who now laid in the center of the bed. He opened his arms and wrapped them around you, allowing you to lay on his chest. You rested your hand on his stomach, and he took in a sharp breath.

“Should’ve cleaned the pipes,” he muttered.

You scoffed. “Perv,” and moved your arm across his stomach completely. You settled into him and drifted off to the most peaceful sleep you’d had in a while.

***

The next time you awoke, you felt arms around you, and you tensed. It took you a second to remember Dean was sleeping soundly next to you. His arms held tighter when he felt you shift, and you turned your face toward his. You smiled sadly at his beautiful, peaceful face, knowing this hunt would be the only time for quite a while that you’d get to wake up to him. You closed your eyes and nuzzled back into him, only to feel him groan above you; beginning to awaken.

“Morning,” he said. His sleepy voice was incredibly attractive. His arms didn’t move from around you.

A smile spread across your face. “G’morning. How’d you sleep?”

“Great, actually,” he admitted. He almost looked sad and regretful as he looked down at you.

“What’s wrong?” you asked.

“You’re confusing me again,” Dean said.

You looked away from him, understanding. Your face fell, too. “You’re confusing me, too.”

“I want to… be more to you so bad,” he began, “but I can’t. I’m tired, (Y/N). I’m so fucking tired. I’m tired of this job, I’m tired of dealing with my dad, I’m tired of… all of it.”

“I know,” you said. “So, what do you want us to do? Do you— Do you want me to leave?”

“No, god, no,” he said quickly. “I don’t know what I want.”

You snorted. “Well, what is it you don’t want? Why don’t we start there?”

He considered for a moment. “I don’t wanna lose you.”

“You won’t,” you immediately said.

“Will you let me finish?”

“Sorry.”

He sighed. “I don’t wanna name and claim anything right now. I don’t wanna be just your best friend, but I also— I don’t think I can—” Dean paused and took a deep breath. “I wouldn’t be able to give you what I want to give you right now. I can’t be what you deserve.”

“Dean,” you said. “This is a very low-pressure situation. I know you and I can’t go there right now. I know that. And… I want to, too. I care about you more than I’ve ever cared about… anybody else.” You swallowed tensely, not sure if you’d said too much. “I— I want you to heal. And I know you’re tired. And I know it’s awful. And I hope that one day, I can make things better for you. But I also know that you have to fix you first. But until then, we can just be us. I won’t initiate anything. I need you to come to me when you’re ready. And until then, we’ll just be you and me.”

He nodded. “Thanks.”

You smiled softly. “Always.”

***

After you and Dean talked things over a bit, you learned from Sam that another girl had died. Dean was off to investigate the room while you, Sam, and Jo researched. Jo wouldn’t look at you with anything but disgust after you spent the night with Dean. Her schoolgirl-ish crush was beginning to really just annoy you more than make you jealous.

Dean burst through the door. “Teresa Ellis, Apartment 2F. Boyfriend reported her missing around dawn.”

“And her apartment?” Jo questioned.

“Cracks all over the plaster, walls, ceiling. There was ectoplasm, too.”

“Well, between that and that tuft of hair, I'd say this sucker's coming from the walls,” Sam added.

“But who is it? Building's history is totally clean,” Dean reminded you.

There were various pictures and blueprints from Jo’s file spread across the table between you, Sam, and Jo. You picked up a picture of the field where the apartments now stood. Next to it was a building with bars on its windows. “Check this out. We’re next door to a prison.”

“Nice going, (Y/N),” Sam grinned.

Jo pulled out her phone. “I’ll call Ash—”

“No,” you shook your head, standing. “Let me figure this one out. Something about this is sounding really familiar to me, and it’s gonna bother me if I’m not the one to nail it down.”

“And what a shame that would be,” Jo snarked.

You glared at her as you continued to pace around the room. “Blonde hair, in the walls, prison, field, Philadelphia…” you murmured to yourself. You repeated it over and over to yourself until something struck you. “H. H. Holmes,” you breathed. “Holy shit.”

“What? What about him?” Sam questioned, straightening in his seat.

“That was his whole thing! He was really, and I mean, really into blondes— though, he’d kill just about anybody— had his whole ‘murder castle’ thing in Chicago, and the feds tracked him all the way to Boston. They brought him back to Philly, and he was hanged. Hence, field. Fields next to old prisons were almost always used for hangings,” you explained.

“What do you mean, ‘murder castle’?” Jo questioned. “And how do you know all this?”

“I like true crime,” you shrugged. “He built all these fake walls, fake hallways; his place was a fucking maze. Acid vats, trap doors, quicklime pits all up in his basement— although most of that was probably sensationalized— but anyway, this guy was a complete freak. ‘Multi-murderer’ was first used to describe him before they knew what serial killers were. He confessed to twenty-seven murders, but he probably killed over a hundred. He, uh, he used chloroform to kill his victims.”

Dean nodded, “Which is what I smelled in the hallway last night.”

“At his place,” you continued, “cops found human remains, bone fragments, and long locks of bloody blonde hair.”

Dean snickered at Jo. “Boy, you sure know how to pick 'em.”

“Well, we just find the bones, salt 'em and burn 'em, right?” she said, anxiously.

“Nope. His body’s in town encased in a couple tons of concrete,” you responded.

“What, why?” she asked.

“Didn’t want anybody fuckin’ with his corpse. ‘Cause, y’know, that’s what he did,” you cringed.

“Wait, (Y/N), that means Teresa could still be alive. Inside the walls,” Sam added.

You nodded. “Yeah. Poor girl.”

“We need sledgehammers, crowbars. We've got to smash these walls; anywhere thick enough to hide a girl,” Dean barked out, hurriedly moving around the apartment.

***

You went with Sam, and Dean went with Jo as he promised you he would. Sam couldn’t get too far into the crawl-spaces of the walls, and you insisted on pressing forward. If you could get through, then the space was big enough to hide a girl.

“(Y/N), holler if you need, okay?” Sam called to you.

“I’m good, dude, I promise. But you do the same.” You continued to wriggle through winding, claustrophobia-inducing corridors till you came face to face with the man himself; H. H. Holmes. Although, this version of the famed serial killer was a lot more gray, decayed, and gaunt than the one you’d seen in pictures. You screamed, “Sam!” before the world went dark.

***

You next awoke in a box that eerily mirrored a coffin; it was made of wood and just big enough for you to lay down in. You pointed your flashlight up at the ceiling to see long, deep, bloodied gashes in the wood; presumably nail marks. You huffed out a shaky breath, collecting yourself, when you noticed a slit in the wood to your right. A noise startled your already shaken mind, and you heard Jo say, “Hello?” You refused to talk, worried that it would upset Holmes even more.

You heard another woman’s voice coming from a different part of the room. “Is- Is anybody there?”

Jo continued talking. “Your name's Teresa? This won't make you feel better, but I'm here to rescue you.”

“Oh, god. He's out there; he's gonna kill us!” Teresa cried.

“No, he won't. We're getting out,” Jo insisted. “My friends are looking for us; they'll find us.”

Footsteps fell eerily nearby, and you could vaguely make out something approaching you.

“Oh, god, he's here!” Teresa sobbed.

“Shh! Just be quiet!” Jo scolded.

‘So much for being quiet, Jo,’ you thought. The next thing you heard was Jo screaming in pain, and you bit the inside of your cheek to keep yourself from calling out to her.

You took a knife out of your belt and began hacking at the wall. You kicked with all your might until you finally started to break through a little. Suddenly, a man’s mouth appeared at the opening you were making in the wood.

“You're so pretty. So beautiful,” the spirit cooed, reaching in your cell to stroke your cheek. You cringed and turned away, groaning in disgust. You turned back and stabbed it with your knife, the spirit crying out before disappearing again. You went back to kicking and hacking at the door with even more force than before. At long last, the paneling came loose, and you laughed in relief. You pried the rest of the paneling away from the wall and rolled out onto the floor, catching yourself before you toppled over completely. When you stood and dusted off your hands, Holmes appeared behind you and clasped a hand over your mouth. You kicked and struggled against him, screaming behind his hand muffling you. You wrestled with him a bit more before the spirit suddenly let you go. He disappeared completely when you heard a gunshot go off.

“(Y/N)!” Dean ran into the room, holding a shotgun.

You breathed out a sigh of relief. “Holy shit, I’m so happy to see you.” You ran to him and wrapped your arms around him.

“Um, little help, here!” Jo said from her box.

You ran to the wall next to her and picked up a crowbar lying nearby. You began prying the cell open, groaning strenuously as you did so. When it finally released, you helped Jo down. “You okay?” you asked her.

“Been better. Let's get the hell out of here before he comes back,” she answered.

“I’m not leaving here just yet,” you said.

“(Y/N), no—” Dean protested firmly. He seemed to understand what you were doing.

“What other plan do you have, Dean?” “Wait, what’s going on here?” Jo questioned.

“(Y/N)’s gonna use herself as bait,” he explained.

“What, would you rather Jo be bait? I don’t think so,” you said flippantly. “Now, get them out of here.” You gestured to Sam to help a frightened Teresa and Jo out of the room.

***

You sat in the center of the room completely unmoving. You sat cross-legged, breathing evenly. You’d learned long ago how to steel yourself to these situations. You grinned slightly when Holmes began to approach you. When he got very close, Dean yelled, “Now!” and Sam and Dean began shooting the bags of salt you’d strung up to the ceiling to create a perfect circle of salt around the spirit. You ran out of the circle, leaving Holmes trapped inside. He wailed and growled at you, running around the salt circle pathetically.

“Scream all you want, you dick, but there's no way you're stepping over that salt!” you laughed coldly.

You and the brothers climbed back up out of the sewer and closed the grate, fully silencing Holmes’ howls.

***

“So? This job as glamorous as you thought it would be?” Sam asked Jo as the three of you stood over the top of the closed sewer..

“Well, except for all the pee-your-pants terror, yeah. Sure. But that Teresa girl's gonna live a life because of us. It's worth it, isn't it?” Jo replied.

You nodded. “Yeah. It is.”

“Hey, what if somebody finds that sewer down there, or a storm washes the salt away?” she questioned.

Sam chuckled. “Both very fine points. Which is why we're waiting here.”

“For what?”

As if on cue, you heard the beeping of a large truck backing up. You grinned over your shoulder at Dean backing up the cement truck he’d stolen, and motioned for him to stop when the spout lined up over the sewer’s entrance.

Dean got out of the cab and came to stand next to you.

“You ripped off a cement truck?” Jo scoffed.

“We’ll give it back,” you shrugged. You turned a lever on the side of the truck and watched the cement pour down into the entrance.

“Well, that oughta keep him down there till hell freezes over,” Dean grinned.

***

As you and the brothers were heading out with Jo in tow, Ellen appeared at the entrance of the apartments, intense anger bubbling just under the surface. You and the boys cringed at the sight of her.

“Mom—” Jo began.

“Not now.”

She forced the five of you to ride back to the Roadhouse in complete silence. Ellen sat in the front seat, staring blankly ahead, and you were sandwiched between Jo and Sam in the back.

Dean chuckled awkwardly. “Boy, you– you really weren't kidding about flying out, were you?”

“You told her?!” you couldn’t help but blurt out.

Ellen scowled at you in the rearview mirror. You shrunk under her gaze.

“How about we listen to some music?” Dean flicked the radio on. Ellen immediately reached forward and flicked the radio off.

You looked up to Dean, who looked back to you.

“This is gonna be a long drive,” he muttered.

***

Ellen dragged her daughter into the Roadhouse by her elbow, and you and the brothers followed closely.

“Ellen? This is my fault. Okay?” Dean tried. “I lied to you and I'm sorry. But Jo did good out there. I think her dad would be proud.”

Ellen whipped around, angrily commanding, “Don't you dare say that. Not you. I need a moment with my daughter. Alone.”

The three of you left and loitered around in silence for the next few minutes. Jo stormed out of the Roadhouse soon after, tossing a glance to Dean to incentivize him to follow her.

“That bad, huh?” he asked as he walked after her.

“Not right now.”

“What happened? Hey, talk to me.” He grabbed her arm and spun her around.

Jo immediately jerked her arm out of Dean's grasp. “Get off me!”

“Sorry. See you around,” he said, turning back to you and Sam.

“Dean,” Jo’s broken voice called.

He turned back to the blonde.

“It turns out my dad had a partner on his last hunt. Funny, he usually worked alone; this guy did too, but,” she swallowed her forming tears, “I guess my father figured he could trust him. Mistake. Guy screwed up, got my dad killed.”

The older brother’s face scrunched up. “What does this have to do with—”

“It was your father, Dean.”

Dean scoffed. “What?”

“Why do you think John never came back? Never told you about us? Because he couldn't look my mom in the eye after that, that's why,” Jo spat.

“Jo—” Dean tried.

“Just... just get out of here. Please, just leave.”

The three of you did as Jo asked. You headed back to Bobby’s to regroup and find yourselves another hunt. Dean was silent on the multi-hour-long drive back. When you stopped at Bobby’s house, Sam went inside. Dean stayed seated in his car, and you stayed with him.

“What’s wrong?” you asked.

He scoffed. “ ‘What’s wrong’? Did you hear anything Jo said?”

“I did, I just wanted to see what’s goin’ on in your head,” you replied, unfazed by his attitude.

He shook his head and sighed. “If Ellen hated my dad so much and didn’t trust us at all, then why the fuck would she have called my dad in the first place?”

You nodded, getting out of the car; followed by Dean. “Yeah, I don’t get it,” you agreed. “She wants to get involved with your personal family shit and the demon and let us bunk at her place, and then bring up old crap you and Sam weren’t even a part of? I mean, I get that John did something that got ‘im killed, but I really don’t see how that’s your fault.”

“Whatever,” Dean grumbled. “At least we don’t have to babysit anymore.”

You snorted. “That’s one way to look at it, I guess. But you don’t have to pretend you’re not bothered by it. I know you are.”

He scoffed.

“Dean. I know you are. And I also know that I trust you with my life. And you know I don’t trust easily. You are not your father.” You walked up the steps into Bobby’s house, leaving Dean in the junkyard to mull over your words.

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

#dean winchester x reader #dean winchester x y/n #dean winchester x you #dean x reader #dean x y/n #dean x you #dean winchester #supernatural #supernatural series rewrite #spn #spn series rewrite

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igotanidea · 2 years ago

Text

The spell: Dean Winchester x reader

„Sam? This better be important ‘cause I’m kinda in the middle of something.”

“I’m using the emergency line, right?”

“Last time Dean used the emergency line it was about lack of pie. I swear he’s older but acts like a complete child sometimes.” Y/N shook her head not that Sam could see that through the phone.

“Yeah.” He agreed “But I would never….”

“Remember the time when you lost a shoe?”

“That was one time Y/N! And it was…. Under different circumstances…..”

“Oh, relax, I’m just teasing. But seriously, go on and tell me what is this about, cause I really am busy.“

“It actually is about Dean…”

“Oh, I had a feeling this day would be intense. What do we deal with? Demon? Jinn? Shapeshifter? Oh, please tell me it’s shapeshifter, those are my favorites.

“A witch, in fact.”

“Fine by me.” Y/N shrugged, unaware that Sam’s words has a second meaning. Only the prolonging silence on the other side made her a bit suspicious “Sam? You’re still there?”

“Yes.”

“So? Where do we meet? At the motel or at the crime scene?”

“Stop talking like a CSI!”

“I am CSI, Sam! Now again, where do we meet?”

“At the motel. But please…..”

She did not let him finish, since Sam was making her impatient by straining information. So she had no idea what was coming for her.

***

“Guys?” Y/n entered the motel room without knocking and two pair of eyes landed on her figure. Sam was his usual self, calm and collected, sitting by the desk, working. But Dean…. Dean was distracted, in the lack of better word. Pacing around like he was suffering from the sudden fit of anxiety. “What the…..?”

“ Should have listened to me….” Sam muttered, while his older brother took one stride towards her and wrapped his arm around her without any word.

“Um… good to see you too, Dean, but what’s with the PDA?”

“Can I just hold you?” he mumbled, begin so out of character

“Yeah… I mean, sure” she frowned, hugging him back. This was unexpected, to say the least. They have been together for a couple of months now, but the older Winchester were mostly keeping his laid back attitude in the relationship. “But…..” she hesitated, but stopped the question. This was actually pretty nice. Having Dean in her embrace like this, being the one he was turning to. It made her heart stutter a bit.

“But what?” he asked pulling away

“You know what, nevermind” she smiled brightly brushing hair from his face “if you need me….”

“I always need you.” he burst without thinking

“ Oh….” She felt her heart skip a bit. That was definitely new and she wasn’t sure whether she should feel the warmth and happiness or rather get worried about his current state. “Um…that’s nice, Dean.” She hugged him again, at the same time peeking over Dean’s arm, mouthing words at Sam asking for explanation. “How about you sit here for a moment, Dean, huh? I just gotta talk to your brother, who surely owns me some explanation.”

“I don’t want to let go of you…..” Dean pouted

“I’m not going anywhere, I swear” she smiled and pushed him onto the chair next to Sam and talking the third left spot. Dean immediately leaned towards her and grabbed her hand, caressing it gently.

“Y/N…..” he turned towards her, begging for attention, even though she was doing nothing more than giving it to him

“Yes, Deanie?” her eyes focused on her boyfriend without any sign of annoyance.

“Come sit on my lap.”

“What?” now she was blushing

“Come on…” Dean patted his thigh but seeing her becoming reluctant, just reached for her, grabbed her waist and put her where he needed her, hugging her to his chest from behind.

“Um…’ she muttered, distracted by his hands. He was doing nothing, just holding her and she was already melting. This was dangerous.

“do you want me to leave you two alone?” Sam laughed, but once he met with Y/n’s murderous gaze covered it by coughing

“Talk!” she shout at him “What happened?”

“You remember when I mentioned the witch?” Sam started

“Yes, of course. Now please, cut to the chase! Not that I’m complaining, but I’d rather have the real Dean back. I want my bickering, teasing and sensitive on the inside boy.” Said boy were currently planting kisses on her neck. “Oh, god, I just can’t ….” She muttered, standing up from Dean’s lap immediately meeting with his sad eyes and mouth curved down. “I’ll be right back to you, sweetie, all right?” she smiled caressing his cheek and facepalming herself on the inside for calling him like that. What the heck was going on. Was it like the “it’s Tuesday again” situation? Did she wake up in alternative reality “Just stay here for a moment. And you.” she turned to Sam “you’re coming with me.”

***

“The charm?” fifteen minutes later Y/N and Sam were sitting in the booth in a crappy diner. The girl being herself ordered herself some pancakes, leaving the younger Winchester to do the talking “Guess I should have connected the dots… what? why are you looking at me like that?” she swallowed a particularly big piece of her dish and frowned

“You and Dean are so similar when it comes to your favorite food.” Sam shook his head and smiled lightly

“I’m hungry! I’ve been on the field for hours and didn’t have breakfast so cut me some slack! Now back to the witch. What do we do to break the spell? Burn her? Capture her? Slave her?”

“We are not doing anything. I’ve already got her location and ….”

“Sam…” Y/N sighed, putting her fork down and looking him straight into the eyes “you know the rules. You know I can’t let you go alone.”

“I’m not asking.”

“I’m not answering .”

“You either leave me alone or Dean. Given his current love-sick puppy state I think it’s pretty clear who need the supervision.”

“Sam…..” her tone became a bit warning

“Come on, Y/N, you know I’m right. It’s an open and close case. No trouble I promise.”

“You always say that….” She muttered “Fine. You really left me no other options, did you?”

“Look on the bright side.” Sam flashed a smile “you get to spend some quality time with you boyfriend. Maybe even get a little action….”

“Shut up Winchester!”

***

“I’m back Dea…. Woah!” she barely get the chance to step through the door when Dean swept her off her feet and spun In the air. “Put me down! Put me down!”

“Oh I may put you down, but I’m not letting you get away, again.”

“Oh please…” she scoffed, but not honestly not being opposed to his actions and switching rather towards teasing him about it “I was gone for like fifteen minutes, surely you did not miss me that….”

She was cut off by his lips on hers. Damn, he was such a good kisser. And because of that spell also needy and maybe a bit desperate. Holy shit… Sam was right, it has been a while since….

“How’s that for not missing?” he asked cupping her cheek and brushing thumb over it. Oh, how she wanted to give in, let him pull her closer… Sad thing, she could not. It was like she told Sam in that diner- she was not opposed to clingy Dean, searching for affection, but this was not him. She needed the assurance that all of his actions were a conscious choice not the side effect of some witchcraft.

“How about we slow down a bit, huh?” she pulled away, or rather tried to pull away, since his large hands stopped her from doing so.

“But I need you…” he whined

“I know honey, but ….”

“What? Why are you always turning away from me?”

“I’m not turning away, love.”

“I love you Y/N.”

“I love you too, Dean and that is why I think you need some rest. Don’t you wanna lay down for just a bit?”

“As long as you stay with me.”

“I will. I promise. Now come on.” She grabbed his hand and lead him towards the motel bed. It was far from comfortable, but both Winchesters and Y/N were already used to that. The girl slowly pushed Dean onto the cushions and reached for the blanket to cover him, but he was way faster. When she moved towards the edge of the bed he grabbed her wrist and pulled her flush onto his chest, sneaking one hand under her shirt, tracing patterns on her bare skin. It was nice. It was really really nice, but she could smell his neediness with every inhale and exhale he was taking. So she moved a bit, just to look into his glistening eyes.

“What do you need, Dean? Tell me.”

“I just want to feel you next to me.”

“I think we got that covered “ she grinned “you practically got me caged here.”

“I’m sorry” he looked down, but she grabbed his chin and met his eyes again

“Stop it, Dean Winchester. You hear me, stop it. If I wanted out, you would never be able to stop me, but I chose to be here. So go on. Talk.”

“Can you just hold me?”

“Sure my pretty boy. Come here.” She laid on her back motioning for him to snuggle into her arms and put his head on her belly, arms locked around her waist. “It’s gonna be all right” she cooed running her fingers through his hair “We’re gonna get you out of this mess. You are not alone, baby.”

***

Two hours later, she found out she fell asleep. The sun was slowly setting over the horizon and instinctively she turned onto the other side, hand searching for Dean but he was not there and her heart fluttered.

“Dean?” she mumbled getting up, rubbing her eyes and walking outside. He was standing by the railing, eyes fixed on the space “Hi….” She whispered slowly approaching him and wrapping arms around his waist, pulling herself closer.

“Hi baby.” He answered closing his eyes.

“Are you… back?”

“Guess Sam did some good work. And by himself. At this point I feel expendable. You two clearly can handle all this shit by yourself. “

“You idiot.” She smacked the back of his head in the lightest hit there ever was “Expendable. You are truly unbelievable. How much do you remember?” her voice trembled a bit.

“All of it.”

“Oh.” She gasped but then smiled “so you do remember the affectionate attitude?”

“Yes.”

“And how needy and whiny you were?”

“Yes.”

“And?” she tilted head trying to get any reaction out of him which clearly was going to be a little challenge. “Was it …. Was It just the spell.”

“No.”

“God, don’t piss me off, Dean.”

“It was all real, all right? Whatever charm this was it made me act the way I felt. Cause I do need you. And I should have told you that sooner.” He turned towards her and reached for her hand “you are important to me. Damn, Y/n, you know I love you, don’t you?”

“Of course I do, Dean.” She assured “you speak through your actions. And frankly ,the way you behaved was not about me. It was all about you.”

“How so?”

“You needed love. Affection. Some softness. Maybe it was all because of the fact you suppress all those needs? Cause you are reluctant to admit you have them? Hm?”

“I;m not even going to answer that.” He mumbled

“Dean, come on. We’re all humans… and yes, I believe that even despite you being a vessel for an angel, you are still human. It’s normal to need someone to hold you and love you. And you got me, so promise me, you won’t hide from me.”

“You want me to be open and honest?” he smirked

“Is that too much to ask for?”

“Yeah. Way, way too much. But I’ll try.”

“I can work with that.”

“Good. Now shut up and kiss me.”

“I thought the effects of the spell were over….” She tapped her chin in reverie

“Guess I do have to take action by myself” Dean mumbled leaning forward and capturing her lips in sweet, gentle, delicate kiss. It was not needy, not anymore. It was a promise from him to try and do better in a relationship. “Shall we take that inside?”

“You had to kill the moment” she rolled her eyes at him “Welcome back, you prick.”

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ninii-winchester · 6 months ago

Text

Dusk till Dawn

Pairing : Dean Winchester X Reader

Word count : 1.7k

Warnings : angst, violence demon dean, language, illusions to sex (nothing explicit)

Part 2 to I don’t wanna live forever

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

But you'll never be alone

I'll be with you from dusk till dawn

Baby, I'm right here

Sam had finally managed to track down Dean and has brought him back to the Bunker. Y/n wasn't scared of him but she wasn't excited to see him again in his demon form either. Sam had Dean cuffed inside the dungeon and she could hear him scream every time Sam injected him with human blood.

She knew she'd have to face him sooner or later, so two hours later, she decided that she'd go see him. She entered the dungeon and she watched as Dean thrashed around in the chair he was tied to, he spewed hurtful words at Sam and the latter retorted by telling him this isn't his brother speaking.

Dean eyes landed on Y/n as she walked inside, her arm still in a cast. He turned his eyes black before turning them back to normal. He threw her a smirk and she visibly tensed. She knew he was tied and Sam was in the room as well but she couldn't help but shrink under his gaze.

"How's the arm?" He mocked.

"I'll live." She replied curtly. He laughed evilly before speaking again.

"Hm I wonder why Crowley saved you, were you fucking him? I mean you do look like a skank.." She felt herself tear up at his harsh comment, this isn't my Dean she kept repeating to herself. "I mean I wouldn't put it past you-"

"Dean shut up." Sam intervened.

"What you fucking her too?" Dean cackled. "Cmon Sammy you can do bette- argh" Dean growled loudly as Sam interrupted him by giving him another shot. He groaned breathing heavily.

Y/n felt her heart thudding inside her chest, she wondered if part of Dean actually thought all those things, how long can she hold on and believe that this is the demon talking. Sam noticed the apprehension on her face and pulled her outside.

"Hey..you can't let him get to you, that's not Dean." Sam said holding her good arm. "He's trying to rile you up, don't fall for it."

"Yeah..!" She nodded her head, seemingly out of it. "Yeah I know Sam." She snapped herself back.

Four hours later Y/n was in the kitchen when she heard it, Dean's voice. But it wasn't him groaning or screaming, it wasn't coming from the dungeon either. It was closer. She ducked and ran out of the kitchen hoping to find Sam before Dean finds either of them.

Dean continued to call out for Sam, asking him to come out and talk with his big brother, his voice was scaring the wits out of her and she hoped she doesn't run into him. But just because she's so lucky she rounded a corner and saw him. Dean stood right in front on her with a hammer in his hand.

"Well hello there, sweetheart." Dean smirked. She backed away and he took a step forward. Suddenly the power in the bunker went out and the emergency lights were turned on. "That's smart little brother, locking the place down." Dean yelled. "But you see I don't want to leave." Well at least now she knows where's Sam. But the control room is a bit too far from where they were and she's on her own here. "You're gonna have to wait for me, Sammy. I gotta finish what I couldn't last time."

Y/n knew there's no point running, so she did what she thought was the best. She moved towards him. Dean glared at her before grabbing her hair and slamming her in the wall. A smirk plastered on her face. "You can go ahead and kill me, but just so you know, Sam's gonna cure you. He won't stop until he does." She prayed that Sam finds them soom or it's gonna get ugly pretty fast.

"I can see right through your brave girl act." Dean sneered. "This is gonna be so much fun." Dean grabbed her injured arm and pressed hard making her scream.

Dean let her go and held the hammer with both his hands, he raised it above his head and Y/n braced herself for the impact but it never came. Sam had tackled Dean to the ground, the hammer falling from his hands. Dean struggled in Sam's hold. "Let me go." He growled slamming Sam into the ground. Thankfully Castiel appeared and caught hold of Dean.

The two men hauled him back to the dungeon and Sam completed the ritual. Dean was finally back. Sam threw holy water on his face and the lack of sizzling flesh brought relief to Sam and Cas' face. "Welcome back, Dean." Sam said with smile. Dean's face flashed an array of expressions, but he was happy to be back.

While Sam helped Dean get back to his room, Cas found Y/n in the same hallway they had left her in.

"Cas?" She groaned holding her arm, slumped against the wall. Castiel kneeled in front of her, he placed his hand on her arm and eradicated the pain. "Cas, Dean-"

"He's not a demon anymore." Castiel informed and she sighed in relief. He nodded and helped her up. The two of them went to the library. Sam was hyper excited that his brother was back and he told them he's going to bring his brother lots of cheeseburgers now that's he's hungry again. Y/n's smiled dropped when Cas mentioned the elephant in the room, that Dean still has the mark.

"One thing at a time Cas." She replied before leaving the library.

Cause I wanna touch you, baby

And I wanna feel you too

I wanna see the sun rise on your sins

Just me and you

To think everything would go back to normal after Dean was cured was wishful thinking on Y/n's part. She hasn't seen him ever since he turned back. He's been avoiding her. She knows he feels guilty and is beating himself up for whatever happened but she needs him to know that she forgave him because it wasn't him.

Y/n was in the kitchen, her hand wrapped around a steaming cup coffee. She was lost in thought but she heard the sound of footsteps approaching the kitchen. Dean entered the kitchen, stopping mid way as he noticed her figure and turned back to leave. But her voice stopped him.

"How long are you planning to continue this?" She asked, her voice filled with hurt. He didn't turn back or answer her question. She has had enough of him ignoring, she moved to grab his hand and turn him towards her. "Talk to me, please." A tear dropped down her cheek as she looked at his face while he looked at the ground avoiding eye contact.

Dean gently shrugged her hand off his arm, he wanted to reach out and wipe that tear off her face but he was scared to touch her, afraid to hurt her or worse break her. He has already done enough and he'd be damned if he does it again. She lifted his chin with her fingers to make him look at her and he relished in her touch. Her face was healed but a few scratches were visible and he felt nauseous knowing he did that.

"I hurt you." Dean spoke for the first time. She shook her head.

"It wasn't you."

"It was me, those were my hands on you, I hurt you physically and emotionally. I said those vile words to you, about you. It was me. But none of it was true, you’re not- " He couldn’t continue further. A few tears escaped his eyes.

"I forgive you, Dean. I love you." She said cupping his cheek and wiping his tears.

"You shouldn't." He whispered.

"The only time you’re allowed to tell me what to do is, in bed." She teased hoping he'd loosen up a bit but he didn't. His gaze lingered on the cast on her arm. "Dean look at me." She said with authority and smiled when he obeyed. "Can you answer some questions for me?" He nodded. "Do you blame Sam for what happened to Kevin?" She asked softly.

"No. It was Gadreel. Not Sam." Dean replied in an instant.

"Exactly. If you don't blame Sam for Kevin, why can't you stop blaming yourself."

"That's different." He shook his head.

"Do you love me, Dean?" Dean looked offended she'd even asked but he replied without a beat.

"With everything I have. I love you so much."

"Can you forgive yourself for me, then?" Dean stayed silent "please, baby."

"I don't wanna hurt you again." He confessed.

"You won't. I know you're only capable of loving me unless you're being controlled by some stupid curse. And I know you tried to fight it."

"I did." He placed his hands on her waist and she sighed in relief hugging him as tightly as she could with one arm. "I really did."

Light it up, on the run

Let's make love tonight

Make it up, fall in love, try

She pressed her lips to his and he kissed back ever so softly. His lips moved against her with fervour. He wanted to breath her in, imprint her on his mind. He snaked his hand around her waist and picked her up. And she wrapped her legs around him, not wanting to break the kiss. She needed him as much as he needed her. He pressed kisses to her face and jaw, he sat her on the table and stood between her legs.

"I'm sorry." He dropped feather light kisses to her neck. "I'm so sorry." He held onto her tightly as if she'd disappear if he let go.

"I'm right here baby." She assured him. "I love you."

"I love you, sweetheart." Dean made love to her, with his soft and gentle touches, he made it up to her, his actions showed her how much he loved her, how sorry he was. As their breathing slowed, they held each other close, savouring the moment. In the silence that followed, they knew they were far from okay but they would be okay together.

Tags:

@s0urw00lf @spnfamily-j2 @deangirl96

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lunajay33 · 8 months ago

Text

Terror🪦

Summary: Going on a Hunt with Dean and Sam, your older brothers, you come across a case that triggers an old memory of fear, things go wrong and they need John to help bring you back from a horrified state

Pairing: Dean x lil sister, Sam x lil sister, John x daughter

•Masterlist•

As a kid you were always interested in the supernatural, whenever you could you’d beg John to tell you his hunting stories or even informing you on creatures, the werewolves, vampires, spirits, they were all so intriguing until….he told you about pagan gods, for some reason they terrified you especially when one case he was working on the Pagan god took you as leverage sticking the fear of god into you, after John had been able to save you, you went into a kind of catatonic paranoid state, you freaked at every noise, didn’t speak for weeks and stayed locked in the motel rooms refusing to leave, after about a month John was able to help cokes you out of the shell you hide in and you were back to your normal self

Flash forward to Now

You woke up to your cell phone ringing, you shot up in bed answering an unknown number

“Hello?”

“Sweetheart is that you?” Your heart dropped

“Daddy? Are you okay are you hurt?” Your brothers woke from your panicked tone

“I’m fine but you need to listen, you’ve gotta stop following me, now take these names down I’ve got a job for you all”

“But……but I miss you”

“Is that dad give me the phone” Dean groaned from beside you but you waved him off

“I know I miss you kids but I can’t put you all in danger give the phone to Dean”

“Okay……..I love you dad”

“Love you too kid”

Dean got the names and you were off driving to Indiana for a new case, on the way there Sam and Dean got into it again about helping dad, parking in the side of the road

“We don’t have to follow his every rule we need to go to California” Sam groaned getting out of the car, you and Dean quick to follow

“Sammy please don’t do this just get back in the car” you said scared he was going to leave again

“I’ve gotta go help, this demon killed mom and killed Jess”

“Sam I swear I’ll leave your ass here” Dean said slamming the trunk

“Then go”

“No sam please stay, don’t leave again”

He didn’t say anything breaking your heart and Dean could tell, you were heart broken when Sam left the first time and when John went MIA it was even harder on you

“Come on kid, we got people to save” you were hesitant to go desperate for Sam to get back in the car but he was persistent on leaving so you got back in the Impala watching Sam disappear in the rear view mirror, feeling the tears brim wiping them away before they fell

“Don’t worry kid you always got me, I’m never going anywhere”

“Thanks Dean”

Getting into the town you and Dean started asking around about the case, two missing people a guy and a girl but the town folk were dismissive and closed off, definitely hiding something

You got directions to where they last left off too coming to an orchard, it was old and gave you the chills

“Dean I don’t like the look of this place”

“Yeah me either, come on let’s look around” you sighed getting out and following him through the orchard until you came across a scarecrow

“Scariest scarecrow I’ve ever seen”

“You got that right” he says climbing up to inspect the thing

“He’s got the missing guys tattoo, think I know what we’re dealing with” he said looking at you with weary eyes as he climbed back down

“What? What is it?”

“Think it’s a Pagan god, they’re sacrifices” your heart dropped feeling instant chills and a wave of anxiety course through you

“Dean no…..you know I can’t….”

“Woah woah calm down, I know I remember, let’s get you outta here” he leads you out of the orchard back to his car

“We’ve got research to do, so we can get the hell outta here soon” he drove to a near by school that had history on pagan gods

“You stay here I won’t be long” he assured as he left

Pagan? Out of all the cases John could send you on it was the one thing that scared you the most

All of a sudden the door on your side of the car opened and the sheriff was there holding the butt end of a rifle towards you then everything went black

You woke up in a dark place with a throbbing pain in your head, groaning you try to get up when you hear something near you

“Hello?”

“Y/n is that you?”

“Dean oh thank god” you sigh making your way over to him listening to his voice, feeling his arms wrap around you

“What’s gonna happen to us?”

“I’m not gonna let anything happen to you” the doors above opened revealing the people you questioned in the town, the sheriff pointing a gun

They dragged you both out tying you to trees in the orchard

“I’m sorry but it’s for the greater good” the older lady says before they all left

“Oh god it’s happening all over again Dean, why would dad send us on this case?” You panicked as the sun got lower

“I’ll get us outta this”

“How?”

“Let me think?” It was dark now and there was still no plan

There was footsteps behind you getting closer, you scream and cry trying to escape

“Dean? Y/n?” It was Sam he came back

“Oh thank god, Sammy get us out of here, watch out for the scarecrow too” sam starts to unchain you both

“What scarecrow?” You all turn to where the scarecrow is suppose to be hanging and it was gone, groans were right behind you quick to turn and it was the scarecrow coming your way, Dean took your hand as you all ran almost out of the orchard the the towns people surrounded you

“Just let us go” Sam pleaded

“We can’t he needs a sacrifice” he’s stopped when a scythe is driven through his heart given you and your brothers to run making it out of the orchard in time as screams were heard behind you

You collapsed by the side of the impala the adrenaline wearing off as the fear came crashing down consuming you triggering all the memories that you so desperately tried to forget, you woke in a new motel room obviously gone from that horrid town

“Hey sweetheart how’re you feeling?” Dean asked from your bedside you wanted to answer but that fear was still there, it felt like if you just curled up and locked yourself away they pagan gods couldn’t get to you so that’s exactly what you did

You turned away from Dean and didn’t speak, refusing any food, this went on for weeks, until eventually it was two months and you were wasting away, every day was filled with fear and Sam and Dean didn’t know what to do to help you, they tried everything, even while working on other cases they felt desperate like you were one case they couldn’t fix

“Love you gotta eat or get outside we can’t see you like this anymore it’s not healthy” Sammy said but still no response

“We need to call dad, he got her out of this last time, it’s our last choice here” you missed your dad dearly he was always sweet on you, you were his little girl and reminded him so much of Mary

You could hear them calling over and over again desperate for an answer when finally after the 6th time he must have answered Sam

“Dad I know you told us to not call but it’s bad”

“That case a few months back you sent us on it was a pagan god, they got y/n you know how she is with that stuff”

“Yeah she’s like before, but worse, she needs you dad”

He hung up the phone looking at you with a worried look, you felt embarrassed and like a burden, you tried really hard to get better but every time you closed your eyes you saw them

“He’s coming sweetheart, it’ll be okay” Dean said brushing your hair back soothing you a bit

You were sleeping hearing faint voices around you, you opened your eyes to see Sam Dean and John talking in the entry way of the motel room, they noticed your movement and ceased all talk

John made his way over kneeling down by your bed so he was eye level with you

“Hey sweetie, heard you weren’t doing good” you shake your head side to side

“They can’t hurt you, your brothers would never let that happen”

“But……but I’m scared” your voice raspy from lose of use

“I know but you can’t do this to yourself, you’ve gotta be strong”

“I’m sorry” you say your lip trembling

“Not your fault, now come on let’s get you some fresh air”

After that your brothers were there easing you back into everything, eating, hunting and eventually you were back in business but you swore to never work on a pagan case again

#supernatural imagine #supernatural #dean winchester x sister!reader #dean winchester x you #dean winchester fluff #dean winchester x reader #dean winchester #sam winchester x y/n #sam winchester x sister!reader #sam winchester x you #sam winchester fluff #sam winchester x reader #sam and dean #john winchester x daughter #john winchester fluff #john winchester x reader #john winchester #John Winchester imagine

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gilverrwrites · 11 months ago

Text

Their Perfect Date [Human Edition]

Rating: General

Angel Edition | Demon Edition

Please remember: good days are ahead of you.

Adam

Brings you a small bouquet of flowers.

He’s paying for the date (at least the first date), it's just how his mom raised him.

Defo the movie and a meal type.

Some kind of historical drama or action comedy.

Slushy with 2 straws, and the classic yawn and stretch into putting his arm around you.

If all else goes to crap, you can at least talk about the movie during dinner.

Dinner being pizza/burgers from the closest table service fast food place.

Charlie

No gift, actually, it's your job to bring a selection of snacks. (She will also be providing a selection of her own favourite goodies.)

Chips/crisps, candy, pizza.

Bring caffeine too because it's gonna be an all-nighter.

It’s a gaming sleepover – think RE6, overcooked, Mario Kart, Wolfenstein ET, or whatever multiplayer games you’re into.

All on her couch in your hand-made blanket fort, until you both crash, or find another, more intimate activity.

Dean

Won't bring you a gift but will pay for at least the first round of drinks.

Gotta be some unknown dive bar with 50 beers on tap, barrels for tables, greasy food, and a classic rock tribute band that goes hard.

Tasty food, good music, stunning company, what more could a man want.

Also, a pool/foos/hockey tables are a must.

Spend the night drinking, dancing, and kicking his ass at your game of choice.

Bonus points if cook him breakfast in the morning.

Ketch

Would gift you wine(/some kind of alcohol), the fancy kind that’s hard to pronounce. Or if you’re not a drinker, probably a box of chocolate (Fortnum & Mason or a similarly high-end brand).

The date itself, something active but competitive.

Axe throwing, paintball, maybe even go-karting or dirt biking.

Wants to show off for you.

If you struggle to keep up, he’ll give you pointers, help you improve, but won’t pretend to be bad/let you win.

If you’re genuinely good, even good enough to beat him… *heart-eyes*

Sam

I actually think he would really enjoy going to a museum or gallery.

He’s a smart guy, and he loves to learn, but so often it's under s time constraint, or it's specific.

But on a date, he gets to not only spend time with the person he loves

But he’s able to slowly, casually explore the museum, observing, and learning about each piece without it being for a case.

If you’re the kinda person that always carries a bag, he’d hold it for you all the way through, and hold your hand.

You’re gonna stop and look at everything he wants to look at, and he’s gonna do the same for you.

Heart eyes when you start dragging his mammoth height through the crowds when you get excited to see something.

Debrief and refresh afterwards at the closest café, where you can both gush about your favourite parts.

#adam milligan #charlie bradbury #dean winchester #arthur ketch #sam winchester #supernatural #spn #headcanons #dean winchester x reader #sam winchester x reader #adam milligan x reader #charlie bradbury x reader #arthur ketch x reader #gilverrwrites

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deancasbigbang · 4 months ago

Text

Title: In Through the Out Door

Author: AlleiraDayne

Artist: Lotrspnfangirl

Rating: Explicit

Pairings: DeanCas, Sam/Eileen developing into but not really depicted Sam/Eileen/Rowena/Gabriel

Length: 39076

Warnings: MCD (temporary), Graphic Depictions of Violence

Tags: Depression, suicidal ideation, alcoholism, prolific profanity, polyamory, ambiguous ending

Posting Date: October 10, 2024

Summary: Castiel was dead. Again. And it was all Dean's fault. After failing to drink himself into an early grave, Dean finds a little resolve to pick himself back up and do the right thing: save people. With Sam and Jack by his side, and a little help from a few other survivors, they take on Chuck, restore the world, the multiverse, and everything's back to the way it oughta be. Everything but Castiel, that is. Dean clings to a death wish five miles wide after that. And he gets it, dying on a hunt. But the worst is yet to come when he wakes up and finds himself in the Empty. And he's not alone.

Excerpt: “I love you.” The memory replayed clear as a bell that time. More than Castiel’s death, his last three words haunted Dean like a restless spirit. And yet… that wasn’t it, either. The words themselves? Yeah, that tracked. Of course Castiel loved him. Duh and, or hello. No, what had left Dean feeling like the biggest asshole to have ever assholed had absolutely everything to do with the fact that, in Castiel’s most vulnerable moment of his entire existence, Dean had balked. “Don’t… don’t do this, Cas.” What a stupid fucking response. Who says that to someone as they’re carving their heart out of their chest and handing it over to you on a silver platter in a last-ditch effort to save your stupid fucking dumbass from your own stupid fucking dumbass plan? Dean. That’s who. He had to make it right… Dean opened his eyes and breathed. “I love you, too, Cas.” There. Done. Did he feel any better? Nope. Not really. Not at all, in fact. Castiel was still fuckin’ dead. Deader than a doornail. But he’d said it. And dammit all to hell, he’d meant it. That was all that mattered. He shoved the key in his pocket with a defeated grunt. At least Billie was dead, too. Gotta pick out the positives where he found them. Right? He’d keep telling himself that until he passed out at the bottom of another bottle. If he could find one. The walk back to his room passed in a blur. He swung the door closed, but never heard it latch. Not that it mattered. Nobody needed him, really. Sam and Jack were busy enough trying to find a solution to the real problem. He’d only slow them down. Dead weight. Or just dead. If only. Eternal rest in Heaven sounded nice right about then. Reliving his favorite hits from his best cuts. No piece of shit monsters, no asshole demons, no dickbag angels… That last thought brought him up short at the edge of his bed in a sudden rush of clarity. A Heaven of reruns sounded awful. He shuddered, gagging against that rancid taste rising in his throat again. A drink. One more ought to do the trick. Dean tore open the drawer in his bedside table and withdrew his flask. The cap spun with a practiced flick of his thumb and forefinger. Then he threw his head back and downed the entire thing. Yup. Close enough. The flask clattered on the nightstand as he dropped it and collapsed onto his bed. With his face buried in his pillow, he reached for his lamp, slapping haphazardly as he searched for the switch. If he ever found it, he couldn’t remember. But he must have. Oppressive darkness filled his room, and he closed his eyes, hoping he could at least sleep like the dead. Dead. Castiel was dead. Again. And it was all Dean’s fault. It was the last coherent thought he had before he finally, blessedly, passed out.

DCBB 2024 Posting Schedule

#dcbb 2024 #fic preview #2024 promo #deancas #destiel

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scoobydoodean · 6 months ago

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Looking at your recent posts/reblogs has reminded me of how much I hate the conversation between Dean and Bobby at the beginning of 4.22 when Dean is trying to deal with the fact that Sam has chosen to trust Ruby instead of him, when Dean can see that he’s obviously being manipulated, and, in response, Bobby just says

You stupid, stupid son of a bitch! Well, boo hoo, I am so sorry your feelings are hurt, princess! Are you under the impression that family's supposed to make you feel good?! Bake you an apple pie, maybe? They're supposed to make you miserable! That's why they're family!

and I feel like that line just summarizes how so many people view Dean both in the show & in discourse about it: that whenever he’s upset by something someone does, he’s being overdramatic, and the tension it creates is his fault for not just accepting that his loved ones will make him miserable.

(& the context of the quote is kind of the perfect example of this because Dean has spent the whole season trying to deal with his own trauma from hell & the fact that the angels won’t leave him alone while also continually giving Sam chances to be upfront about what’s going on with him and trying to warn him that Ruby is manipulating him into doing what she wants, and when that tension finally breaks because Sam refuses to believe—or even consider—any of Dean’s suspicions about Ruby, Dean is basically told by Bobby that he should just let it go)

I agree with you—and that speech is absolute trash.

To frame Bobby's reaction here a little, he and Dean have some conversations in 4.21 and 4.22 that I think leave Bobby pretty unsettled. I think his emotional reaction is driven by that.

In 4.21, Dean and Bobby don't see things the same way when it comes to Sam's demon blood detox and they also disagree on Dean intending to sacrifice himself by signing himself over to the angels to protect Sam. So I'd say leading into 4.22, Bobby is already apprehensive about Sam and Dean both being killed. We know he didn't weather Dean's death at the end of season 3 well.

In 4.22, right before Bobby blows up at him, Dean is also jumping to some conclusions about his relationship with Sam that are pretty extreme.

DEAN No, damnit! No. I gotta face the facts. Sam never wanted part of this family. He hated this life growing up. Ran away to Stanford first chance he got. Now it's like déjà vu all over again. Well, I am sick and tired of chasing him. Screw him, he can do what he wants. BOBBY You don't mean that. DEAN Yes I do, Bobby. Sam's gone. He's gone. I'm not even sure if he's still my brother anymore. If he ever was.

I think Dean having to work through thoughts like this is understandable given probably less than 24 hours ago, Sam was strangling him unconscious in absolutely seething rage, had spent the entirety of the season lying to Dean and then getting indignant when Dean caught on, and reiterated the incredibly damaging things he said about Dean's hell trauma from 4.14. At the same time, I don't think Dean's thinking straight. Sam's motivations in the demon blood arc are incredibly multi-faceted... but hating hunting or their family simply is not part of this situation. This is made most clear to us just a couple episodes before in 4.19 (where Sam tries to push Adam into hunting and praises their father for teaching them to protect themselves—and this certainly didn't go unnoticed by Dean who confronted him about it). The bit about not wanting to hunt hasn't been true in years and won't resurface again for several more. It seems like Dean is just swirling through a lot of unaddressed hurt and misunderstandings from the past as he processes through the last year.

I think Dean saying he is done trying and he has tried and tried and tried and he is not doing it anymore is completely reasonable (he also has no idea yet that Lilith is the last seal), but I think when presented with the harm Bobby knows Sam is doing to his body by proceeding, thinking about "his boys", Bobby sees Sam as being in more imminent danger and wants Dean to reach out one last time to try and get through to him. Dean's rare show of verbal processing sets Bobby on edge and because he's human too, he says some stupid things. And if we're being real, Bobby is like this sometimes. I love Bobby to death, and in a general sense, I think he's very caring and supportive toward the people he loves. But when he himself is scared or angry or otherwise agitated, his patience evaporates and other people's vulnerability makes him upset. "The Curious Case of Dean Winchester" is a more sympathetic example of this. Bobby is angry and raw and deeply depressed, and Dean's well-meaning love and support—no matter how casually offered—is received like poison because it reminds him that he is not okay. The same sort of language about Dean being a pansy and how they're both going to "grow lady parts" shows up from Bobby in this episode.

I go back and forth on what Kripke was thinking when he wrote that dialogue, because the man is absolutely obsessed with the exploration of "toxic masculinity", which I think he's done well at times and extremely poorly at others, and I think Bobby's speech clearly embodies that interest. At the same time, I actually do think that, leading into season 5, there are some aspects to the fallout of Sam and Dean's season 4 conflict that are ultimately just very lazily brushed over and so I do think he bought the shit he had Bobby shoveling to an extent. Setting the content and tone aside, in a vacuum, the idea that Dean has to be the one to reach out—while exhausting—plays into the idea of Dean as the hero character. And when I say this, I don't mean that Sam isn't a hero. Sam is VERY much trying to be the unconventional hero this season. But Dean is often made to embody the concept of the righteous hero as an ideal, and part of being the righteous hero in season 4 means ultimately being... right (in more ways than you even knew) but another part of it is having to be the bigger person. Your wrath has to be tempered by love. We could go further down this rabbithole as far as themes and meta narrative, but none of this, from a human perspective, makes me like this speech any more. It just sucks balls.

#mail #4.22 #4.21 #the flannel business #do i look like a ditchable prom date to you?#dean and bobby

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soft-pine · 2 months ago

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spn20rewatch: 1.14 nightmare // cn discussion of domestic violence and suicide

what an aptly named episode. this is one of the most upsetting episodes of the whole show for me. while it touches on themes that i love - what if the monster was family - the way it handles ms miller is deeply uncomfortable. and max's story is just downright awful.

i do find it interesting that this is the second time this season where dean is arguing that they have to stop someone even if they happen to be human. while sam is vehemently insisting that them being "human" means they have to take another approach.

the first is in faith:

DEAN: Sam the guys playing God, he's deciding who lives and who dies. That's a monster in my book. SAM: No. We're not going to kill a human being Dean. We do that we're no better than he is.

and then again here:

SAM: Dean. He's a person. We can talk to him.

i've said and i'll say again that dean understands that monstrosity is the result of actions and choices not something intrinsic. i think sam sees monstrosity and humanity as more of an intrinsic dichotomy and that's one reason he struggles so much in season 2. anyway.

but really what i want to talk about is ms miller. and how clear it is that she is also a victim of domestic violence. i understand, deeply, why max is so angry with her and why he sees her as an extension and enabler of his abusers. but i simply cannot fathom a world where max is experiencing the torrential abuse he's suffering where those people are not also harming ms miller deeply.

max accuses her, "You didn't do anything. You didn't stop them, not once!" their old neighbor says, "the worst part was the stepmother. She'd just stand there, checked out, not lifting a finger to protect him." the neighbor's claim always strikes me as a remarkably cruel reading of someone who is clearly also suffering and likely dissociating. like idk man of course i think adults have responsibility in situations like this (and i do appreciate the nod to the cops being useless) but like... "the worst part" THE WORST PART was the stepmother. i kinda feel like the worst part was the abuse, no?

but the upshot of it all is that ms miller's implied abuse seems like it has no witnesses. and that's of interest to me because of some interactions we've already dealt with in season 1.

in 1.03, we get this exchange:

DEAN: ... all that anger, you can't keep it burning over the long haul. It's gonna kill you. You gotta have patience, man. SAM: How do you do it? How does Dad do it?

then this in 1.08:

SAM: Remind you of somebody? Dad? DEAN: Dad never treated us like that. SAM: Well, Dad never treated you like that. You were perfect. He was all over my case. You don't remember?

and at the end of 1.14, sam says:

SAM: Well I'll tell you one thing. We're lucky we had Dad. DEAN: Well I never thought I'd hear you say that. SAM: Well, it coulda gone a whole other way after Mom. I little more tequila and a little less demon hunting and we woulda had Max's childhood. All things considered, we turned out ok. Thanks to him.

listen, i would never argue that john winchester didn't abuse sam. but i think it's interesting that though sam is critical of john's parenting and though he has complaints about how john treated him, he doesn't seem to think john treated dean poorly.

which, we just simply know he did. we know it because john does it in 1.09, 1.12, 1.20, 1.21. and because we're told he did in 1.18, 1.22, 2.01, 4.19, 9.07, 14.11, 14.12, 15.20, i mean i could go on.

and not that i have to filter everything through season 14 episode 12 prophet and loss. but i will. because it very clearly lays out how 1. dean was forced into the role of keeping the peace and 2. john would treat dean badly in ways dean wasn't sure sam was witnessing.

DEAN: I know things got dicey… you know, with dad… the way he was. And I just… I didn’t always look out for you the way that I should’ve. I mean, I had my own stuff, you know. In order to keep the peace, it probably looked like I took his side quite a bit. Sometimes when I was… when I was away, you know it wasn’t ‘cause I just ran out, right? Dad would… he would send me away when I really pissed him off. I think you knew that.

the uncertainty behind, "i think you knew that." ough.

but bad boys goes even farther here:

SAM: Hey, Dean ... I mean, why didn't you just tell me you went to a boys' home? DEAN: I don't know. Uh, it was Dad's idea. And then it just – you know, the story became the story. I was 16.

john told dean to lie to sam about what was happening to him.

so what does this all mean in an episode where dean is somewhat mirrored to and protective of the allegedly bystanding stepmother?

that abuse is shitty, cruel, secretive, and protects itself by pitting its victims against each other.

i don't know i wish i had something a bit clearer to say than all this. but it's just sad.

#spn20rewatch #1.14 #1x14 #nightmare #cn domestic violence #cn suicide #cn: abuse #dean studies #dean & john

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impala-dreamer · 7 months ago

Text

Sweet Little Lies

A Supernatural Story

~ It’s funny how one little white lie can spiral so out of control that the beginning seems eons ago and the end is nowhere in sight.~

Dean Winchester, OFC Eddie, OMC Leslie, Sam Winchester and others

8,517 Words

Warnings: Show Level Angst and Violence, Blood, Major Character Death, Some Funnies

A/N: This is written for @jacklesversebingo My prompt was "A white lie that spirals out of control" and boy did it. I do hope that you enjoy. This took me forever to write and I really love how it turned out. Thanks for reading!

JacklesBingo Masterlist

Impala-Dreamer’s Masterlist ~ Patreon ~ Published Works

With a worried sigh, Dean grabbed the Impala keys off of the little round kitchenette table and his green canvas jacket from the chair. In a rush to leave, he nearly toppled the chair, but it found its footing on the dingy orange carpet.

“Be back later,” he groaned, clearly annoyed and slightly confused.

Sam shook his head from the bathroom doorway. He leaned against the door jab as he finished drying his hands with the slightly gray hand towel. The motel was beyond old, and suspiciously filthy, as if a maid hadn’t stepped foot inside in the past two decades.

“You’re really going?”

Dean huffed as he paused just half a step from the door. “What choice have I got, Sam?”

“You could not go,” Sam offered with a hint of snobbery that Dean did not appreciate. “You know it’s a trap, right?”

Dean spun on his heel and pursed his lips into a tight line. “Yeah, I know it’s a damned trap! Of course it is! But I gotta go.”

Sam sighed heavily, his massive frame sinking just enough to drive his point home. “Dean-”

He tossed his hand up and waved Sam away. “I gotta go, Sam. Someone could die.”

“I know.” Sam cleared his throat. “You want me to go with-”

“No.” Dean turned back to the door and fingered his keys, easily pulling out the one that fit his Baby. “I’ll call ya if I run into trouble.”

The sun was fading and golden light struck his face when he opened the door. The air was cool; a fresh early spring breeze made him take a breath as he stepped out.

Sam clicked his tongue and shot one last jab under his breath: “When you run into trouble…”

The demon’s phone call had chilled Dean’s blood and confused the shit out of him all at once. He racked his brain, combing back through the last year, trying to find a clue as to what the bastard was talking about, and consistently came up empty.

Clearly, it was a trap. Sam wasn’t saying anything he didn’t already know. Hell, demons had been playing this game for the last twenty years it seemed, always trying to lure him into some abandoned warehouse with broken windows and bare, hanging light bulbs that blinked as they swayed. It was always cold in those big spaces, and something, no matter the weather, was dripping from the roof. And always, no matter how hard he tried to avoid it, Dean stepped in the puddle and got plinked in the forehead with a droplet of whatever the hell was dripping. It was getting old, frankly, but he had to go.

Engine roaring, Dean pushed the Impala to eighty and wove through the dense traffic on the highway.

Even if the hell-spawn was making the whole thing up and he was walking into an ambush, he had to go. On the off chance there was someone in danger, someone who- No. It was impossible, he was 99.999% sure that it was impossible, but he couldn’t take that chance.

That’s just who he was: an idiot hero who couldn’t risk an innocent’s life.

Besides, he had to find out what the hell was going on.

Two hours later, he was there. He pulled up beside the giant, abandoned warehouse and sighed as the headlamps gleaned off of dusty, broken windows.

“Great. A warehouse.”

He cut the engine and checked his gun. Loaded.

He pulled the Angel Blade from his jacket. Armed.

He popped his collar against the cold night. Ready.

“Let’s do this.”

The front door was ajar so he walked in without a problem. His gun was raised; the safety was off. He squinted into the dark lobby and walked past a few empty offices before finding his way.

Two giant doors stood before him, locked with a flimsy bolt and framed in flickering yellow light as if light bulbs were swinging from half-frayed wires on the other side.

Dean took a breath and lifted his right foot, kicking the portal open.

The doors swung and crashed against their respective walls with a loud clang of metal on metal.

“Hey Lucy,” Dean shouted as he made his entrance, “I’m home!”

To say that Dean was shocked by what he saw would have been a lie. He was totally and completely unsurprised to see a giant, empty room with broken windows lining the top of each wall, and rusty metal beams decorating the ceiling. There was even the standard line of unshaded hanging light fixtures that were moving in some breeze blowing in from a hole in the roof that was also -

“Son of a bitch,” he muttered, slapping a drop of icy water from his face.

The demon who, presumably Dean had spoken with on the phone, stood in the middle of the warehouse, his pale face beaming with a sinister grin. He was slight and lanky, with a mop of ginger hair atop his cotton swab shaped head. He wore a navy suit that was a size too big and a striped tie that made it look as if the entire ensemble had come prepackaged together from a department store. Dean wasn’t judging- he’d been there many times too.

Standing behind the ginger-demon were two others; their black eyes shining with an intimidating sheen as an air of cockiness pulsed off of them in waves. Dean almost laughed, but he held it in, giving them a bit of dignity. At least their suits fit, he thought.

And, finally, positioned between them and tied to a rusty metal folding chair, head covered in a black velvet sack, was the woman Dean had been charged to save. He squinted at her from afar, accessing his whiskey-addled memory, but without seeing her face, there was no way to figure out who it was. Her clothes were normal- nothing out of the ordinary or distinctive that he could see besides a silver charm bracelet on her left wrist. Otherwise, she was just another body tied to a chair. Light Jeans, black boots, and a dark blue sweater. That’s all he could see.

The main fiend finally spoke up, his hands moving with dramatic flair as he greeted the famed hunter. “Dean Winchester! We meet again!”

More confused than ever, Dean’s squint moved from the damsel to the demon. “I’m sorry, I can’t seem to figure out who the hell you are.” He took a slow step forward and pointed his gun sideways in a way that made him look like the bad-ass, no-nonsense cop from a thousand 80s movies. “I know I don’t have the best memory, but I think I’d remember a skinny little fuck like you.”

The demon took offense, standing up straight and frowning as his cohorts chuckled in the background.

“I fucking knew it,” the bald demon on the right sniggered.

“Shut up, Karl!” The ginger hissed over his shoulder. After a breath, he turned back to Dean who was struggling to hold back a laugh. “You know me,” he insisted, gesturing to himself. “I am Leslie Wintermillt! Crossroad Demon Extraordinaire!”

Dean smacked his lips and lowered his gun. He looked away, comedically pretending to remember, but his mind was blank. “Oh, yeah… You were at that place doing the thing. Yeah, yeah.” With an eye roll, he lifted his weapon again and cleared his throat. “How ‘bout you let the lady go and we can all go home and get on with our lives, OK?”

Karl and the nameless demon laughed again, clearly amused by the lack of respect Dean was showing their ringleader.

Leslie grew more angered, his eyes slicking to pure black and his cheeks growing beet red. He clenched his fists and dragged a blade from his breast pocket.

“You shouldn’t be so quick to insult people, Dean,” he warned, quickly spinning to stand behind his kidnapped victim. “Especially a being as powerful as I!” The blade pressed into the black velvet sack and the woman squirmed. She mumbled something; her scream clipped behind a gag.

Dean held up his hands in a show of surrender. “Hey, hey. OK! No need to go playin’ with knives, now. Let’s all just calm down.”

The bound woman screamed once more and began twisting against the ropes. She was tied at the ankles and her wrists were locked behind her back. She shook herself in an effort to break free, but all it did was annoy Leslie even more.

“Fine,” he growled, pulling the blade away from her chin and addressing her with familiarity and ire. “You want to see your betrothed so badly? You want him to watch you bleed? I’m happy to oblige!”

Before the words could fully sink into Dean’s head, he saw her face.

The bag was pulled away and he was met with big blue eyes hidden behind rather pretty lashes. Her blonde hair was long and messy- half in a ponytail that had fallen from the crown of her head, the rest tugged free and frizzy from the velvet hood. Her face was pleasantly plump and rather pink from all the exertion, and her thin lips were parted by a thick piece of the same brown rope that tied her limbs to the chair.

Dean had absolutely no idea who she was.

She looked at him, begging for help with huge eyes and a stunted voice.

Leslie grinned devilishly. “Well, Mr. Winchester, what say you? I’ve captured your fiance and your unborn son. I’ve won our little dance once and for all!”

Dean sucked in a quick breath and held it, confused and pondering his next move. Obviously, he was going to save the woman, kill Leslie, and at least one of the other demons, but- the whole thing just wasn’t sitting right with him.

He cleared his throat again, pushing away the feeling of being so utterly lost in his own scene.

“Uh. I’m sorry. And no offense, but…” He looked from Leslie to the blue-eyed captive and cocked his head. “What the hell is going on?”

The background demons whispered to each other, clearly mocking Leslie.

“What do you mean?” Leslie asked, desperately clinging to the illusion of victory.

Dean gave his head a little scratch and locked eyes with the blonde. “Who is she?”

Edith Rose Marshall fell into hunting in the usual way. She was not brought up in a family of skilled hunters, nor was she the legacy to a vast compendium of supernatural lore and knowledge. Truthfully, about ninety-five percent of active hunters aren’t either. No, Eddie- as her friends called her- was thrust into the world of ghost hunting and demon dodging at the tender age of sixteen when a werewolf attacked her and her high school sweetheart while the couple was parked up on VanHorn Cliff. The teens had snuck away for the evening, ready to consummate their love for the first time, in a place that most of the youngsters in Marchant Creek, Virginia knew all too well.

As Jason mustered his nerve to finally reach the Holiest of Holies and unhook Eddie’s bra, a scratch upon the hood made them both jump.

Instead of spending the next two and a half minutes slightly unimpressed and a little bit in pain, Edith Rose was treated to a world-class view of Jason’s still beating heart as it was ripped from his chest by a hairy, wolfish claw.

Splattered in his blood, unable to breathe or utter a scream, Eddie stared at the monster as it sank its yellowed, hellish fangs into the dripping muscle. As it licked its paws clean, Eddie came back to herself and scrambled to open the passenger door; her shaking fingers fumbling over the handle. While she struggled, the beast rounded the front of the car and slammed its furry fist into the window. The glass shattered and Eddie’s scream rang out over the cliff. It grabbed at her long blonde hair, tugging out a clump from the roots. She swatted at the arm but wasn’t able to fight it off.

The wolf pulled her from the car, dragging her over the jagged shards of tempered glass, leaving a bloody trail down her back and sides. She twisted and kicked; screamed and begged, but the monster was undeterred. Lifting its snout to the dark sky, it howled with an intensity that shook Eddie to the core. Eyes wide, jaw slack, she saw the creature fully for the first time and an entire world of impossible facts came slamming into her.

The bright moon washed over the wolf, its human eyes, and its matted, bloody fur. Eddie held her breath as fangs lowered, reaching for her throat.

Hot, metallic breath breezed over her cheek and Eddie screamed. With a surge of self-preservational strength, she shoved at the wolf and sent it stumbling back a few steps. Before it could steady itself and charge forward once more, a shot rang out and blood sprayed from the wolf’s chest. Coated in more blood, Eddie stood motionless, staring in shock as the beast fell, dead at her feet.

Adrenaline and panic stormed through her veins and Eddie grabbed her head as a scream ripped through her soul. She fell to her knees, trembling as the prior moments flashed again and again, becoming more clear with each repetition of memory.

“Hey! You’re OK.”

A gruff voice called to her and Eddie opened her eyes to find a tall man with dark hair and a shadowed jaw towering over her. His clothes were old and filthy, his hazel eyes stern but kind.

“You’re OK,” he said again, reaching a hand for her to take.

Eddie swallowed down her boiling emotions and let him help her up. His hand was rough but warm and she blinked up at him, terrified and confused.

“What. The hell. Was that!”

The man laughed softly under his breath. “That, sweetheart, was a werewolf.”

Her stomach flipped painfully. “A what!”

“A werewolf,” he said again, slowly letting her hand drop. He took a step back and gave the corpse a kick. “Don’t worry. He’s dead.” Turning away, he clicked the safety on his pistol and tucked it into the back of his waistband, hiding it just under his leather coat. “You’ll be fine.”

Eddie floundered. She looked back at the car, at the torn body of her boyfriend and the broken glass stained with his blood. When she looked again at the wolf, she knew she was staring at the shattered pieces of the way she thought her life would turn out.

The picket fence was gone; the cushy office job had vanished. Her two-point-five kids and yappy dog went up in an ethereal puff of smoke.

Nothing would ever be the same.

She watched as he walked away, heading towards the far side of the clearing. There, a giant boat of a black car was waiting; its hood shining in the moonlight. Eddie lost her grip on everything and collapsed to her knees in the bloody grass. She felt her chest tighten and every breath was short and pained.

A car door squeaked open and she looked up to see the man arguing with a younger guy who had leapt up from the passenger seat. They spoke heatedly over the hood, the younger one gesturing towards Eddie and the crime scene. Close as they were, Eddie couldn’t hear anything over the blood rushing in her ears, echoing like thunderous drumming inside a cave. The young man finally gave up and bowed his head respectfully, ceasing his protest.

Without another word, he got back into the car and stared forward. He bit his tongue and his jaw clenched tight. He met Eddie’s hopeless gaze and sighed.

The engine roared like a mother lion as the car disappeared down the hill and out of Eddie’s life.

That was the first time she ever saw Dean Winchester.

It was also the last.

Well… sort of.

The thing you have to remember about the Hunting Community is that it’s less of a community as it is a wildly random assortment of people around the continent that seek out the company of evil creatures over their warm-blooded compatriots. They’d rather spend a weekend covered in dust and monster muck than sit around at a baby shower or backyard barbeque making small talk and drinking imported lager.

That being said- there are times when groups of American Bogeyman Slayers get together to shoot the shit or share information. They work together, mourn together, and occasionally share a barstool at an out-of-the-way safe house. There really is no way to predict who would show up or when, but one thing was certain- where there be hunters, there be booze. And where there be booze, there be hunter stories.

Hunter stories aren’t just retellings of cases or anecdotes of happenings on the road. Oh, no. They are elaborate, extravagant, wildly inaccurate tales of bravery, heroics, and sometimes death that have been stretched and twisted around like taffy on a pulling machine. They rarely tell the whole story or every legitimate fact within. However, more often than not, they hold some grain of truth.

The hunters that can weave such tales as to captivate a tavern full of peers are revered and spoken about for weeks after. Their stories travel to every corner of the country and sometimes beyond, becoming legends with the bards themselves.

Those who cannot expound upon their adventures in a stylistic and mesmerizing way, tend to stick to the background at larger gatherings, lingering in the shadows and soaking up knowledge as it is passed around.

Eddie had been hunting for years, but she wasn’t exactly great at it. Nor was she great at telling stories. If she could travel back to see her ancestors in ye olde country, she would find them hugging the barstools and shyly staring as the raconteur spun their yarns and sang epic tales of wonder.

So, for the most part, Eddie went unnoticed. There were no stories circulating of the time she rescued a poodle from a witch who was about to skin it alive for some ritual to bring her sister good fortune. No rumors about how amazing she was at memorizing random facts about creatures that never actually came in handy, or how she could lasso a horse if it stood still long enough.

Eddie Marshall was barely known to anyone, even in the circles she normally found herself in. To the others, she was just a sweet kid who was probably in over her head, and boy did it piss her off.

Just once, she wanted to be the center of attention. She wanted to stand on the bar with a bottle in her hand and regale the tavern with poems of her Herculean strength and Captain America-like bravery. Just once. But she had nothing to talk about, no credibility whatsoever.

One evening at a rundown roadhouse bar on the outskirts of Kalamazoo, Michigan, Eddie lost her mind a bit.

She was sitting at the dark end of the bar, head in hand, beer warming next to her as she half listened to a couple of hunters yodel on about some demon that was running amuck in Kansas. She was barely paying attention until two words jumped out and smacked her in the face: Dean Winchester.

Sure, over the years, she’d heard many, many stories about Dean and his brother Sam. They were basically celebrities in the underground world of vampire slayers; the real Buffys out there saving everyone else’s asses just about every other damned day. Most of the stories were fantastical and hard to believe. Sam had been possessed by Satan? Sure. Dean had died, gone to Hell, and come back in one piece? M’kay, right. Still, they couldn’t all be fictional. And even if they were, so what? It wasn’t like the Winchesters were hanging out in gross dusty bars chatting up other hunters. Hell, Eddie hadn’t even seen him once since that night back home when John Winchester saved her life and started her on the path to certain, heroic death.

So, OK, tell some wild story about the Impala being equipped with rocket boosters and a grenade launcher in the trunk. Spin a tale about the time Sam was given the power of flight and temporarily knocked down the power grid in Las Vegas during his wedding. Who’s getting hurt? No one. Who’s getting some street cred?

…Eddie didn’t even realize what she was doing before the lie came spilling out of her mouth.

“I was there when Dean Winchester took down that twenty-strong vamp nest in Albany with a single blade and a flask full of holy water. It was epic.”

The hunters across the bar turned and stared, seemingly impressed. The larger man with a beard down to his gut scratched his jaw and nodded her way.

“Tell me more…”

Suddenly, Eddie had something she’d never had before: a spotlight. Having the ear of other hunters enlivened her and something inside snapped. She told a few more stories, vaguely hinting that she was friendly with the famed Winchesters and worked with them often. She pulled monster names out of the lore stored in her head; and plucked cities off of the map lodged in her brain. The more she spoke, the more she lied. The more she lied, the more heads turned her way, and soon, Eddie was surrounded by a group of inebriated but intrigued hunters.

“You really take down a wraith in Cedar Knolls?” An older man with graying red hair tucked beneath a wool beanie leaned in, his beady eyes locked on Eddie’s face. “I got a friend down there. You know Jessie?”

She nodded thoughtfully as if trying to match a face to the random name. “Oh, sure- I think I crossed paths with him a few times.”

The man hummed curiously. “Jessie’s a broad.”

Eddie coughed behind a laugh. “Oh! Yeah! Jessie!” She bit her tongue and righted the ship. “I was thinking of someone else. Anyway- the wraith came at Sam but Dean went right for it and…”

“Did you know that the Impala has a secret panel inside that holds pure silver bullets and crosses that were blessed by the Pope? I kicked it open by accident once when Dean and I were fumbling ‘round in the backseat if you know what I mean…”

“Dean once fell six stories off the roof of a hospital while chasing a snallygaster. Nasty lookin’ thing. He fell on his back, rolled, sprang up, and shot the thing in the chest with a freaking arrow. Killed it dead.”

“Last October, Dean and I went to Battle Creek and took out an entire coven. Just knocked ‘em all dead. Town was so thankful, they paid for dinner for us at this fancy French restaurant. We got a little tipsy… and handsy…”

It was almost as if whatever she said was instantly believed, no matter how outrageous it seemed. After her third beer- purchased by someone else, by the way- she had to really keep track of what she was saying. Twice, she’d almost mentioned riding Dean while riding a unicorn but thought better of it. There were only so many things she could get away with, or so she thought.

As the night wound down, Eddie was running out of tales to tell. Sometimes, the audience would ask follow-up questions, occasionally they’d laugh at her outlandish claims, but never did anyone call her bluff. The Life was so fantastical that there really was no way to say what was real and what was dream work.

She walked away from the bar in the twilight hour, feeling exhilarated by all the attention and only slightly guilty for fibbing. It really wasn’t that bad, she reckoned. After all, what damage could a few sweet little lies do?

To some, demons may seem like the ultimate evil. They are mysterious- slinking in the corners of the universe unseen until they decide to attack. They are powerful- able to inhabit the body of just about anyone they choose, flooding their host with charcoal smoke until they fill every inch, every cell, taking over and using the mortal as their unholy puppet. They are clever- often laying traps for their victims to fall into and ultimately sell their souls for the glory of whatever their darkest desire might be. They are murderous and wicked, terrifying and cunning. They haunt the shadows of life, biding their time until the moment is right, only to strike down their prey with all the power of Hell, damning their souls to an eternity of pure torment and the scorch of hellfire.

Sure, there are demons in the higher ranks that may fulfill this preconceived notion of how Satan’s Henchmen behave. But, more often than not, the demons that venture to the surface to reap souls for their higher-ups are little more than low-level fetchers, more akin to worker drones in skyrise office buildings than to anyone with any real power. They collect on contracts, set up hazard traps, and generally carry out whatever tasks have been handed down to them from on high. Or, rather, from below.

Occasionally, a group will get together and take on something larger; plan a job that will not only net them a coveted prize, but help them gain favor, and therefore credibility, with their superiors. These plans could include such impossible tasks as kidnapping the President and forcing him to comply with Lucifer’s wishes, or sinking a battleship in neutral waters thus triggering the inevitable World War III. These plans never pan out, of course, but some of the smaller ones do. Things like infiltrating an entire sorority and causing a panic that leads to a rush of unexplained deaths, or trapping a well-known hunter and using them to massacre an entire congregation during Easter Morning service.

These acts are greatly praised and their legends grow far and wide, often twisting and expanding in detail like a game of demonic telephone as it passes through the ranks.

Those who recount the tales and pass them along like notes in a grade school classroom are usually awed by the stories and yearn to be the focus of such epic adventures themselves. However, those who spend all their time wishing, often fail to achieve, as their heads are clogged up with fantasies of their own glory and their feet never actually move.

The demon that can dream it, can do it. The demon that only dreams of dreaming of doing it, cannot.

Originally from Tucson, Leslie was an unimportant man who had lived a rather pointless life that revolved around telemarketing schemes and large gambling debts. He was mostly harmless in person, but some of his ventures had resulted in the untimely demise of others, thus marking his soul for eternal torment in the fiery pits of eternal damnation.

It hadn’t taken long for Leslie to worm his way off the rack and into the mailroom of

Hell, slowly learning the ropes and advancing up the proverbial ladder. However, black eyes and slick words only got a body so far, and Leslie was stuck on Crossroads Duty, bargaining for souls and whistling at HellHounds. He was bored but unable to make a move, even laterally. As just another peon, he was disrespected by his bosses, ignored by his peers, and generally left to fade into the background.

This, however, did not stop him from trying to sneak into the limelight and better his position in the afterlife. He took any opportunity to talk himself up, even going so far as to take credit for co-workers' achievements or ideas, and generally spinning webs of lies about how amazing he was.

One night while chatting about himself at a little bar in Raleigh, he took a few more liberties than usual. Around a table full of pint glasses in various stages of emptiness, Leslie wove a tale that had even his closest friends, Karl and Phil, laughing at his claims.

“There is no way you did that,” Phil said with a laugh that shook his shoulders and rocked the cheap wooden chair beneath him. “You’re so full of shit.”

Leslie sneered and lifted his chin high as if Phil’s claim had offended him greatly. “How dare you! You don’t know what happened, you weren’t there!”

Shaking his bald head, Karl leaned in. The stink of stale beer floated from his lips across the table and struck Leslie in the face.

“You really trying to tell us that you kidnapped Dean Fucking Winchester and lived? No fucking way.”

The liar pursed his lips and set his hands firmly on the table. He peered around quickly as if checking for prying eyes, and leaned in, whispering. “I did. I kicked his redneck ass all over the place, too. Left him with four broken ribs, a busted up nose, and a gash on his chest longer than his dick!”

Phil choked on a sip of beer and covered his mouth with the back of his hairy hand. “How do you know how long his dick is?”

Leslie slammed his palm down in annoyance. “I- that’s not the point!” Sitting up straight, he settled his shoulders and clicked his tongue, giving himself a moment to collect his thoughts.

The thing about lying is, you have to make it believable and stay consistent.

“Fine. I don’t know how long his dick is, but the cut was deep. He was bleeding all over himself and his thrift store flannel.” Leslie paused and watched their eyes glaze over with a tiny flicker of belief. He almost had them. “I would have killed him,” he went on, gesturing vaguely with one hand. “But that stupid angel showed up and ruined everything. I barely got away. He tried to smite me but I fought him off. Still got a little singed by his Grace, but I’m fine, thank you for asking.”

The demons across the table held their breaths and their tongues for a long moment. They stared at Leslie and then looked at each other, seemingly absorbing all the information.

Leslie, proud of himself for convincing them, sat back and crossed his arms smugly over his suited chest.

“So, there you have it,” Leslie ended, waiting for applause or a congratulatory clamp on the shoulder.

Neither were offered.

Instead, the duo laughed in his face. Loud, grandiose laughs that drew the attention of half of the room. Two dozen sets of eyes turned their way and Leslie felt his cheeks burn with embarrassment and hatred.

“There is no way you’d get away if that asshole angel tried to smite you. He’s taken down the best of the best. Are you kidding?” Karl screeched with amusement.

Phil laughed so hard he started coughing. “You’re a pissy little liar, you are! No way, no how did that ever happen? I’ll bet you’ve never even seen Dean Winchester!”

Leslie seethed.

Karl smacked his leg and added: “Never even been in the same state as him!”

Phil cackled. “Or continent!”

“Planet!”

Back and forth they went until there was no geography left to name, no corner of the Milky Way left unaccounted for.

Leslie let the flame of injustice broil his already charred heart. It was one thing to be ignored or tossed aside, but to be mocked- it was too much for the demon to bear.

“I’ll show you,” he warned, teeth gnashing behind his thin lips.

“Sure you will, Leslie,” Karl teased. “Just call up old Deano and have him stop by since you’re such good friends.”

“We are not friends! We are-” Leslie’s fists closed at his sides and he stood up, unsure if he wanted to run away crying or throw a punch. While they probably expected the former, he knew he’d never get away with the latter.

He turned and slunk off to lean on the bar, dejected and annoyed with himself. If only he could hatch a plan, actually get some face-time with the famed hunter, maybe, just maybe he’d be taken seriously for once. If only he could figure out how to lure that filthy, annoying, demon-slaying De-

“Dean Winchester! I knew that was you!”

The famous name shot out from over the throng of drunken voices and blaring 90s hip-hop, striking Leslie in the gut. His head snapped to the left and he found a short blonde thing clad in denim and a baggy navy sweater, perched on the edge of a stool. The speaker, a tall brunette with all the curves of a toothpick, was stumbling into the next seat, a mostly empty bottle of Bud Light in her grasp.

She was in awe of the blonde, practically star-struck, and Leslie zoned in on the strange encounter.

“You’re his girl, ain’t you?”

The blonde shrugged. “Yeah… I mean, we don’t have an official title or anything but-”

“No. Way.” The brunette held up her hand and leaned in. “I knew it. Tell me everything! As soon as I saw you, I said, that’s Eddie, I said. I said that to Jimmy- Where’d he go? I said, I’ve heard all about her. She’s the chick keeps hookin’ up with that sexy Winchester. Oh, I’ve heard all about you!”

Eddie’s shoulders curled inwards as if she were shy.

Leslie’s focus sharpened. Dean Winchester’s girl? His luck must be turning.

“That’s so sweet, um-”

“Jennifer,” the woman said, running a hand through her teased hair. “You call me Jen. All my friends do. We’re best friends now.” A drunken burp ended her yapping, but only just.

“OK,” Eddie said with a smile. “Jen. Nice to meet you.”

Jen finished her beer and slammed the empty bottle down on the bar. “Yo!” She sat up and leaned over onto the counter, snapping at the bartender. “Another one!” Pausing, she looked at Eddie and then gasped. “Sorry, hun… And one for my friend!”

Eddie shook her head. “Oh, no thanks, I-”

Jen’s jaw dropped and she leaned back to look Eddie over, her hazel eyes darting to the woman’s stomach. “Oh. My. God. Are you pregnant?”

“I, um…” All Eddie had meant was that she wasn’t planning on staying much longer. Jen was very over the top and kind of irritating, so she hadn’t wanted another beer. But, if Jen was going to assume things, who was Eddie to deny her fan a little more excitement by being in on a huge secret?

Eddie smiled and lay a hand over her tummy. “Yeah. But, don’t tell anyone! We haven’t even told Sam yet!”

Leslie’s eyes grew huge and he scooted a little closer. “Well, goddamn…” It had to be a sign. There was no way this wasn’t meant for him. Right place, right time.

Jen lost her drunken mind. “Holy shit! This is amazing! Oh my god! When? What? Tell me everything!”

Eddie laughed gently and shrugged. “Um… I’m like… three- no four- months now. And we’re hoping for a boy. I mean, Dean kinda wants a girl, but I think all those little flannel shirts and jeans on a boy would just be the cutest! But yeah… we’re so excited.”

Leslie echoed her excitement. His thoughts were racing faster than his heart, concocting the perfect setup to get Dean Winchester in his grasp and make stupid Karl and Phil look like assholes. His time had finally come.

Jen sighed happily and patted Eddie’s stomach without asking. “A little Winchester. Just perfect.”

Eddie was beaming, but not from hormones. She was in her glory, finally about to become a legend in the hunting community.

“I can’t wait to tell everyone. After the wedding, we’ll- oh! Oops…”

Jen squealed. “You’re engaged!”

Eddie nodded and spent the rest of the night layering lie upon lie.

It’s funny how one little white lie can spiral so out of control that the beginning seems eons ago and the end is nowhere in sight.

Leslie waited patiently, gathering all of the information that he could. Finally, he slipped away and let the boys in on his plan.

When the bar closed and the moon was high, three demons cornered a lone hunter in a dark alley. She bit back her scream, channeling her panic into her blade. Black eyes gleamed in the dim light of the flickering street lamp; Eddie’s Latin recitation echoed down the vacant path.

Metal flew through the air. Punches landed on yielding flesh. Arms fit around her like steel ropes.

Eddie saw the bricks spinning as her eyes unfocused. Her head was throbbing and the darkness was winning. She saw a flash of golden-red hair before the bag was lowered and her world went dark.

Once she woke up, Eddie wouldn’t shut up.

Twice, Leslie had threatened her with the painful removal of her tongue with a pair of dull safety scissors, but even then, she wouldn’t be still. She thrashed and kicked, spat, and yelled. As far as hostages went, she was the worst. Not that he’d taken another before, but he could imagine.

The gag finally shut her up.

Phil and Karl hung around in the background, observing Leslie as he put his plan into motion.

Step One- Kidnap Dean Winchester’s pregnant fiance.

Step Two- Call Dean Winchester and get him to show up, thus sacrificing his life for hers.

Step One(B)- Get Dean Winchester’s phone number.

Step Three- Kill him. Kill her. Reap all the rewards of fame and fortune that could be bestowed upon him by the King of Hell!

So far, he was stuck on Step Two. It had taken three calls before he’d gotten the right phone number and on the first try, no one had picked up. It wasn’t as if he could leave a voicemail with such important information, so he tried again.

The second time, Dean picked up and Leslie was in such shock that he almost hung up on him.

Finally, after much deep breathing, Leslie had convinced Dean to meet him and save Eddie’s life.

“We will be waiting, Mr. Winchester…”

Eddie bit hard into the rope between her lips and screamed. She twisted as best she could against her bindings and rocked the chair back and forth.

Leslie had no choice but to make her stop, and thus, pulled the gag out.

“What!”

She spat out a mouthful of saliva and frayed rope bits. “You can’t do this!”

The demon gave his cohorts an ambushed look and laughed. “Oh, really? Because it seems like I already have.”

Eddie groaned. “No, you don’t understand,” she went on, begging for her life. “IT won’t work. He won’t come.”

Karl’s ears perked up, but Leslie moved around to the other side of his victim, blocking her from view. He leaned close.

“What are you talking about?”

She grit her teeth and set the truth free. “He won’t come because he has no idea who I am.”

If demon blood could run cold, Leslie’s would have. He balked.

“W-what? No. You’re carrying his child! Don’t insult me with your lies. They won’t save you.”

Eddie hissed. “He won’t either! I don’t know him. I saw him once when I was a kid, but we didn’t even meet then. It was like in passing. I’ve… I… I made it all up, OK?”

“Why would you do that!” Leslie yelled in a whisper, leaning closer still.

“I don’t know!”

“Keep your voice down,” he warned.

Eddie whispered harshly. “I don’t know, OK? I just… it just happened. I started talking about hanging out with him and one thing led to the next and-”

“And now you’re pregnant with his child and engaged to be married!”

She sighed. “Yeah. But no. None of that is true. It’s all just… lies.”

Leslie closed his eyes, processing everything. He’d lied again and again which had led him to this spot, trying to prove himself to his friends, all in the name of attention.

And now, it seemed, so had his captive.

He was screwed.

“There a problem, buddy?” Karl called to him from across the warehouse, his smile smug, his eyes curious.

Leslie straightened up and adjusted his striped tie. “No! Not a thing. Everything’s going to plan!”

Quickly, he grabbed the rope around Eddie’s neck and lifted it to her lips.

“Oh, please don’t,” she asked, looking up with pathetic eyes. “It’s so uncomf-”

The velvet bag slid down next and all they could do was wait.

Dean gave his head a little scratch and locked eyes with the blonde. “Who is she?”

Eddie’s heart sank. Even though it was a stupid thought, she’d imagined that somehow, some way, he’d heard of her. Maybe the Slayer Telegraph had made its way to Kansas and tickled his ears. As he stared at her, she was sure it had missed the connection.

Dean was more handsome than she remembered, but not as much as she’d conjured up. He looked tired and badly needed a shave. There was a faint line of an old cut on the bridge of his nose and his jaw was bruised. Still, she thought, he was pretty hot. She wondered sadly how she looked and hoped that her hair wasn’t too much of a mess.

Leslie cleared his throat and tried to ignore the movements behind him. Karl and Phil were moving in, ready to attack- him or Dean- he couldn’t tell.

He was in trouble.

“Uh- What do you mean! Are you going to disavow knowledge of your lovely bride-to-be and the life within? Are you so cruel as to toss her to the wind and leave your offspring to die fatherless in a ditch on the side of the ro-”

“OK, shut up!” Dean roared, taking aim in earnest. He set his stance, boots shoulder width apart, and squared his shoulders. His expression melted from shock and confusion to one of pure focus. It didn’t really matter who she was- she needed help, and he could be it. “Let’s just… do this.”

Leslie moved to protest just as the first shot rang out.

It was loud and Eddie cringed, terrified to be trapped in the middle of a gunfight.

Karl shot back, missing Dean by about a mile and a half. He shattered the window to the left of the door and Dean laughed.

“Nice shot.” He countered and hit the demon in the shoulder, knocking him over. “Winchester, one; demon, zero.”

Phil took up Karl’s place and shot back. Three consecutive blasts from his pistol made Dean duck and spin away - Phil was a much better marksman than his bald friend.

While they exchanged bullets and quips, Leslie did the only thing he could think of: he bargained for his life.

Quickly, he untied Eddie’s legs and sliced through the rope binding her wrists. He lowered the gag for greater effect and Dean froze when she screamed his name.

A bullet nearly clipped his ear, but Dean’s focus had shifted to Eddie. Without looking, he shot at Phil and the demon fell, clutching his gut. The wounds wouldn’t kill them, but they sure as hell would feel the pain.

“Dean!”

He wished to God that he recognized her.

He still didn’t.

Dean held his left hand up in surrender but kept the right aimed at the demon’s head. “Hey, now. Let’s all just take a breath.”

Leslie held his blade to her jaw. She flinched when he pressed the sharp edge against her flesh, and a thin line of blood trickled down her throat.

She held her breath, afraid to move, afraid to do anything but stare at the man she’d invented a life with, the man of her impossible dreams.

Dean pressed his tongue between his lips as he calculated his next move. One shot to the head would send the prick to the ground, but he could hit the girl. He could also piss off the demon and in turn get her throat slit. The situation called for a delicate maneuver for sure.

He took a breath and lowered his gun. “Just let her go and you and I can talk.”

Leslie laughed and lowered the blade to her chest. “I don’t think so. The only thing standing between me and certain death is this lying pixie.”

Eddie squirmed an inch and huffed, resenting the title but afraid to really move or backtalk the demon.

Dean nodded. “You’re not wrong.” Reaching behind him, he stuck his pistol in the waistband of his jeans and pulled out a blade. The ruin-carved, serrated blade shone in the flickering light as he twirled it in his palm. “I’m gonna kill you. But you can do one good thing before you go.”

The demon swallowed hard and dropped his hand to her stomach. The tip of the knife dug gently into her side. A small pool of wetness darkened her sweater.

“Really?” he asked. “What’s that?”

Dean took a step. “You can let her go.” He took another. “You can drop that knife and surrender. Save her life.” A third step had him less than a dozen feet away. He stared at Eddie and nodded subtly. She’d be OK, she just had to trust him. “Come on, man. Save her life.”

Leslie laughed. “And why would I do that?”

“Because…” Dean paused, his words failing him. He clicked his tongue and then shrugged. “Well… I don’t really have a good answer, and you’re gonna die anyway, so I’m just asking you nicely. Let the girl go.”

There was a moment of utter silence.

A hard, terrifying silence in which Eddie could hear nothing but the painful thrumming of her heart as it reached its quickest pace. The warehouse faded around her and the men who held her life between them became sharp shadows that moved in through the sludge of the air like beasts stuck in quicksand.

She saw the outfield demons attack with guns blazing and fists flying.

She saw Dean dodge their bullets and lunge forward. He hit the ground and rolled closer, springing to his feet like a gymnast.

She saw Leslie’s arm raise; heard his warning like a mumbled groan in her pounding head.

She felt the push of steel into her side; tasted the tidal wave of blood as it struck her tongue.

Dean’s voice cut through the ringing in her ears but it was hard to pay attention, hard to pick his words out and make sense of anything.

She watched as he swung around, roaring like a lion defending his territory from enemy attack. He jabbed his knife into Karl’s temple and sparks burst from the demon’s mouth and eyes.

Eddie laughed gently. It always amused her the way demons lit up when they died. It made their heads look like jack-o-lanterns. A cough overtook her and blood spilled down her chin, hot and wet- self-made lava. She wondered if she looked like a Halloween horror too.

Dean shouted at her, waving a hand her way. “Just hold on!”

He seemed so sweet. Why he would care about her at all was beyond her grasp at the moment, but she was grateful. Maybe all the stories about him were true. He was brave, that was for sure, and strong, and so-

Dean stabbed Phil in the heart and fireworks danced from his open mouth.

The knife twisted inside of her and Leslie’s horrible laugh echoed through the giant room.

“Too late, Winchester!” he yelled, catching Dean’s attention once more. “She’s dead.”

Eddie laughed. She wasn’t dead. Her knees hit the ground. It was hard and cold; pain spread up through her bones and she groaned loudly. The blood was thick in her mouth and her eyes were heavy.

Dean rushed towards her and looked down with a pained expression.

She smiled. “I’m OK,” she tried to say, but all he heard was a gasping gurgle.

Her shoulder hit the floor, but this time, she couldn’t feel anything. It should have hurt, the way her bone collided with the concrete, but her whole side was numb. She shivered at the chill seeping up from the ground and wondered why she could still feel the cold if not the pain.

She heard Leslie scream something and Dean yelled back. She heard shoes behind her and watched as Dean threw his blade, aiming like an archer with an arrow. Leslie let out a surprised grunt and Eddie heard the shimmer of demonic pyrotechnics as he hit the ground far behind her.

Eddie rolled onto her back and looked up at the ceiling. Pieces of roof were missing and she could see the sky above. Maybe there were stars out, but she couldn’t see any from where she was, and besides, her eyes weren’t working so well suddenly.

“Hey! Hey…”

Dean slid down beside her and carefully scooped Eddie’s head into his lap. He wiped at her chin with the sleeve of his canvas jacket, clearing away a mess of blood. “Hey, I’ve got you. You’re gonna be OK, you hear me?”

She knew he was lying. She was dying, quickly.

Eddie smiled. “Liar.”

A darkness washed over his handsome face and Eddie couldn’t help but smile at the constellations of faint freckles that covered his cheeks and nose. They were more beautiful than any stars that were out that night, more perfect.

Dean pressed a palm to her stomach and Eddie let out a pitiful cry. Searing pain spread through her and she focused on his hand. He was big and strong and she was amazed that he was really there. He was really, truly there. He was solid and whole. His heart was beating and his brow was pebbled with sweat. His eyes were so green, so impossibly green-

Eddie’s eyes rolled and Dean shook her gently, bringing her back.

“Hey, come on now-” He leaned in close and smiled a hopeful smile. “You gotta stay with me, OK? I need you to explain to me what the hell just happened. I need you.”

She laughed and it hurt. Not because the pain was bad, but because he’d never find out what exactly had happened. He’d never hear her story, never know it that she was the girl his father had saved on that overlook years ago. The girl he had fought with his dad over. The girl who had lied about him again and again. The girl who deserved to die bloody and cold in his arms in some godforsaken warehouse in the middle of nowhere.

He’d never know.

She couldn’t feel her body, couldn’t feel the blood pouring out of her and spilling over his hand. She looked up into his gorgeous face and smiled.

Tears welled in his eyes. “Who are you?”

She smiled. “I’m Eddie,” she whispered with her last breath.

Dean closed his eyes, and let a single tear escape down his stubbled cheek. “Hey, Eddie,” he said softly. “It was nice to meet you.”

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