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whimsyfinny · 2 months ago

Text

Sexy F*cking Nerd

Dean Winchester x F!Reader

Summary: When Dean discovers a little secret of (Y/n)'s during a case research session he can't help but let temptation get the best of him.

Warnings: Language, Smut, Fingering, PinV, Oral (M receiving), slight angst if you squint, Dean having a glasses kink (not really a warning but not everyone wears them hahaha lucky bastards)

MDNI! 18+

Word Count: 5688

A/N: It's taken a little while but here is the second competition winner from a few weeks back, the prompt provided by the wonderful @foxyjwls007 - I hope you like it!

The motel room was stuffy to say the least - that usual aroma of stale cigarettes and cheap air freshener lingering around us. There was a dripping sound coming from God knows where and the AC hummed in between the concerning clinking from deep within the vents. It was crap. So crap. But it was home for a few nights; just like all the motel rooms that came before. Dean stepped past me and over the threshold, immediately slinging his duffle and jacket onto his chosen bed. He stretched his arms above his head, the grey Henley clutching his muscular abdomen and rising enough to flaunt what lay beneath. I sighed, following him in and slumping onto the bed beside his - the musty stench from the sheets enveloping me.

“Well…” Dean started, pulling Sam's laptop out of his bag and placing it on the small table by the window.

“Well…?” My voice echoed as I focused on the ceiling fan that spun off centre.

“...This is… nice?” His statement was more of a question as he looked around with raised eyebrows. I propped myself up on my elbows, flashing him a look of speculation.

“Seriously?” A moment passed before he huffed a long-held breath and slapped his large palms on his thighs.

“No of course not, this place sucks more dick than a hooker on payday.”

“You got that right,” I flopped back down onto the bed, a small dust cloud erupting under my weight. I closed my eyes and listened as Dean pulled a chair out from under the table, slumping down into it. Then there was the familiar click of the laptop opening followed by the sound of stuttered not-quite-touch-typing, presumably he was starting work on the case that we’d come here to investigate. The tap tap tap of whatever was leaking began to drill into my brain, my patience already wearing thin with the rooms dire ambiance. I pulled myself up to sitting, criss-crossing my legs on the bed and brushing whatever that dust from the bedding was off my sweater sleeves.

“When's Sam back?” I asked, watching as Dean searched the keyboard in front of him for some long lost letter.

“Uuuh, I'm not sure. He said to work this case without him.”

“Ugghhh, I bet he's having way more fun than us right now, it's not fair,” I plopped my chin into my palm and stared past the older Winchester out the window, almost willing Sam to appear and walk in like any other day.

“It's just some dumb wedding, I doubt he's having that much fun.”

I scoffed before I could stop myself, Dean breaking eye contact with the screen to throw me a raised eyebrow.

“Look,” I collected myself, “you didn't know Sam in college. He won't admit it but he was popular. Really popular. Not the total nerd you think he is. He's absolutely having fun with these people.”

“Yeah right. So who's at this wedding anyway? Why was it so important that he just had to be there?”

I rolled my eyes, knowing full well Sam had already told him all the details. Typical Dean.

“It's for a couple of friends who he and Jess were close with back then. Pretty sure the bride was prom queen in highschool or something and the groom was a trust fund jock. Either way, not my crowd,” I sighed slightly, memories from my college days flooding my mind.

Deans eyebrows twitched into a small frown, his thoughts seeming to cloud his vision for a second before he reluctantly dismissed them. I looked down into my lap for a moment, reminiscing how I always kept my distance from Sam whilst at Stanford, but he had always been that boy that would make my heart flutter when he spoke up in class or when I'd see him on the quad with his friends. I remember seeing him with his nose in a book once at my usual desk in the library, my cheeks burning when he caught me staring. Who would've thought several years down the line I'd be sat in a bottom-rung motel room with his obscenely good looking older brother researching monster lore. At least we would be researching monster lore, if it wasn't for the small growl my empty stomach had gurgled out. I couldn't stop the small pulse of embarrassment burning into my cheeks as Dean eyed me with a grin.

“Wanna get some lunch?” He asked, standing up like he already knew my answer.

“Fuck yes. I'm feeling burgers,” I shuffled to the edge of the bed and stood up, watching as Dean shrugged on his leather jacket and headed to the door, holding it open for me.

“Now you're speaking my language.”

The diner was almost as sad and withered as the motel room, however the food was nothing short of spectacular. I watched in awe as Dean polished off his second burger, a small glob of sauce sticking to his stubble and threatening to drip off his chin. He must've felt me watching in wonder - or perhaps disgust - as when he looked up from his plate he shot me a questioning glance.

“What?” His tone was a little defensive through the mouthful of fries he'd just shovelled in. I took a second before asking, half-genuine:

“Where do you put all of that?”

“Put what?”

“The food - where does it go? Do you have hollow legs? Two stomachs? Does it just evaporate as soon as you swallow it?”

He grinned, wiping the sauce from his face with a napkin.

“Goes straight to the abs baby. It's muscle fuel,” he leant back in his chair, stretching a little before patting his stomach to punctuate his statement. I simply rolled my eyes.

“Yeah right, you're not that muscly Dean.”

“How would you know? You've never seen me with my shirt off.”

“I know, and I plan to keep it that way.”

He feigned a pout before returning to his fries. We ate in a comfortable silence for a few minutes, my mind absently going back to all the lore we should be trying to gather. I gripped my milkshake that had so generously been served in a thin paper cup, attempting to suck the practically solid beverage up the equally thin paper straw. Finding the nearest library would be the next task on our to-do list, despite the protesting I know I'll get from Dean.

“Hey, (Y/n)?” My train of thought was derailed at the sound of my name. The slurping of over-thickened milkshake from myself ceased.

“What's up?”

“What were you like in college?”

I eyed him with caution, wondering what part of his brain was in control right now.

“What do you wanna know?”

Catching the wariness to divulge him to such information, he smiled slightly, shrugging his shoulders.

“I'm not asking to be weird, I just-” he paused, choosing his next words tactfully, “the way you described Sam as being a totally different person - some hot-shot with the perfect grades, popular friends and a girlfriend like Jess - it just got me thinking. How would Sam have described you?”

I almost spat my dairy-goop back into the straw, my brain freezing.

“Dean,” I started before planning what I was going to say, placing my cup on the table. “Sam wouldn't be able to describe me.”

My words brought a small smirk to his lips.

“You were that hot, huh?”

“What the fuck- no- I wasn't- he didn't- Sam never- ” I stopped myself before I had an aneurysm and took a deep breath.

“I was in a totally different crowd to Sam. He was always surrounded by people and, well, I barely even had a crowd.”

“Lone wolf?”

“Bingo. But definitely not the cool, collected, stoic type. Think more, invisible to the public eye, always carrying books, and borderline selective mute because of how shy I was.”

“Oh… what changed?,” Deans tone changed entirely, genuine intrigue seeming to take the wheel. I couldn't help but laugh slightly, remembering my method to forcing myself out of my bubble.

“The only job I could get was in a bar. No one else wanted the hours and I desperately needed cash. I didn't really have a choice after that,” I paused, remembering how terrified I was on my first day and grinned slightly, grateful for the extra confidence I had now because I took that leap.

“Hey, what sort of crowd do you think I would've been in?”

I snorted, looking up into his expectant eyes - almost captivated by the glistening greens.

“What am I? A BuzzFeed quiz? I have no idea Dean, you're too much of a wildcard to predict. You probably would've fit in with anyone and everyone.”

“Even you?”

For reasons unbeknownst to even myself, my breath caught in my throat. The sudden soft sincerity of his voice contradicting his usual temperament, my heart starting to flutter in my chest. If the college version of myself had met Dean back then I just know I would have been enthralled at first glance.

“I don't think you would've noticed me. You would've been surrounded by every tall, thin blonde and brunette with perfect tits. Trust me, you would've been distracted,” I smiled an almost sad smile at the thought of him simply being on university grounds and having the time of his life - knowing it was something that he was never going to get the chance to experience in this upside down life of his. Of ours. He tapped his fingers on the table for a second, likely lost in some ludicrous thought I don't think I'd want to be privy to. I attempted another slurp of my milkshake when the paper straw gave out and flopped in half, the need to leave conversation and the diner suddenly looming over me.

“Come on, let's get to the library before it closes,” I stood and pulled my oversized sweater down so it covered my ass before reaching for my backpack. Just as my fingers touched the worn fabric of the strap it was torn away, my head snapping up to Dean who flung it over one shoulder with his signature grin on his face.

“Lead the way nerd.”

I couldn't help but beam at his playfulness. I hated the fact that he made it so easy to adore him. Hated that he completely overlooked how I was his total opposite in almost every way. How when we were talking, his eyes never left mine - how he was genuinely interested in what I was like in the past. And how, when I had his attention, he didn't even notice that the hot waitress had written her number on a napkin and left it next to him.

The trip to the library was about as eventful as it sounded. After checking out multiple books on cursed items, local lore and popular antiques from the seventies, we loaded ourselves back into the impala, made an all-important beer run before heading back to the motel.

The small table by the window was now totally smothered by a blanket of books, maps and empty beer bottles. Deans chin rested in his palms as he stared blankly at the screen in front of him, and I must've read the last sentence of the paragraph laid before me a dozen times without it even sinking in. The obnoxious dripping and humming of ancient appliances was starting to make me feel restless.

“It has to be the boots,” Dean groaned, draining the last of his beer.

“Either the boots or the disco ball. But my money is on boots as well,” I sighed, pushing the book away from me and standing slowly, gathering the quickly accumulating litter now scattered around us.

“I'm gonna make some coffee, my brain is fried over how fucking ridiculous this case is,” I ditched the trash in the bin before filling the coffee machine, listening to it whir to life whilst I headed to my bed. I could feel Deans gaze on my back as I rummaged around my bag in search of a specific item.

“What are you looking fo-” he'd started to ask the question but his voice died in his throat when I turned around. I quickly pushed my newly adorned glasses up the bridge of my nose, already feeling the oversized frame start to slip down as I tried not to make a big deal over them.

“What?” My tone was a fraction off aggressive when I realised he was staring. He seemed to snap out of his daze, quickly rubbing the back of his neck and turning back to the laptop screen. He cleared his throat

“I uh, I didn't know you wore glasses,” I could tell from the slight tremble in his voice that his mind was reeling.

“Is there a problem with that?”

“No! I mean, no, absolutely not. They look good. The glasses, I mean. The glasses look good. Not on their own, obviously. On your face. They look good on your face. You have a great fa-”

“Dean?”

“Yeah?”

“Shut up.”

“Sorry.”

I grabbed a mug from the cupboard and set it on the counter, filling it to the brim with caffeinated goodness. I couldn't stop the grin spreading across my lips at Deans fumbling, almost finding the whole ordeal a little charming. I sat back down at the table and pulled the books back towards me, also grabbing my pen and tattered notebook.

“The guests at the club mentioned hearing footsteps - so it has to be the boots, right? A disco ball wouldn't make that sound…” my voice trailed off when I realised that, even though Dean was looking at me, he wasn't listening to a word I was saying.

“Earth to Dean?”

He flinched slightly at his name, but felt no shame delving in with a completely off-topic question.

“So how long have you worn glasses?”

“I’ve always worn them,” I slid back into my chair at the table opposite him, not sure whether to laugh at the shocked expression on his face or whether to be concerned about his observation skills.

“What?! No way, I would’ve noticed,” He opened another beer and took a sip before tracing the opening to the bottle over his bottom lip.

“ I only wear them for concentration work, and I have emergency contact lenses if I know I’m going to be around a lot of people as I don’t particularly like how they look.”

Dean made a small disagreeable expression before averting his gaze from mine back to the laptop, taking another swig of his beer. I placed my coffee mug down and settled back into the book I was reading before, and after a few moments I could feel my skin begin to prickle - as though I could feel a pair of eyes on me. I glanced up, my breath immediately catching in my throat. Deans eyes found mine, burning with an intensity that made my heart hammer in my chest. I didn’t want to look away, but under his gaze I felt like I’d been stripped bare, unable to hide my insecurities from an eye that seemed to scorch through to my very core.

“Dean-”

“(Y/n), you should really have more confidence in yourself; I think the glasses look cute as fuck. You should wear them more,” a fierce blush erupted across my face when he spoke, his assured tone leaving no room for disagreement. I tried desperately not to let on that his words held any sort of impact over my decisions so I looked down, away from his scrutiny and simply said:

“Maybe I will.”

He hummed in approval, finally looking elsewhere and I couldn’t stop myself from breathing a sigh of relief when the pressure of his stare was averted.

The evening dragged on and an hour and a half had passed since his loaded comment. I was on the third book we’d checked out of the library, now trying desperately to find the curse that would cause a pair of 1970s glam rock boots to dance for eternity and haunt anyone who tried to wear them. This case was absurd, and I could feel myself growing restless with the small amount of progress we’d made. I huffed out a sigh and leant back in my chair, the faux leather and rusted metal creaking under my weight. Pulling the hair bobble from around my wrist I scooped my hair into a bundle on the top of my head, securing it in place; the sensation of air on my neck seemed to clear some of the fog from my brain. The messy bun was comfortably enough that I could forget it was there, and I allowed myself a stretch before leaning back over the table, grasping my pen. As I began to read the next segment, I absently traced the end of the pen over my bottom lip, running it back and forth a few times before gently nibbling on the end. I heard the shuffling of Dean moving in his seat and a ragged clearing of his throat before the sound of vigorous laptop keys clicking ensued. Without looking up at him I continued reading, the pen still tapping my bottom lip, and when I neared the bottom of the paragraph, I slowly licked the pad of my index finger. My eyes never leaving the words, I turned the page swiftly with my dampened digit, the transition from one page to the next perfectly seamless. Another shuffle from the man opposite followed by a quiet groan filled the silence between us. Pen still between my teeth, I lifted only my eyes to glance at him and noted the dusting of pink across his cheeks and the furrow in his brow. Concluding that he’d had one too many beers I decided to ignore his persistent fidgeting, returning to my previous task on monotonous reading. Several sentences in and I’d almost forgotten Deans restlessness - that was until I pulled my bottom lip between my teeth, deep in thought, that I earned myself a throaty groan and an exasperated sigh. I looked up just in time to watch him wipe a large hand down his face, momentarily masking his pained expression.

“Can you not do that? I can’t concentrate when you do that.”

“Do what?” Upon asking my question I absently took the pen between my teeth again, quickly glancing down at the book to place a mental bookmark.

“That.”

“What?”

“That. That thing you do with our mouth, and the pen, and your tongue and your finger. Can you please stop before it kills me.”

The heat beneath my skin was immediate at his admission, knowing my small, absent-minded actions were playing on his mind and making it hard for him to think straight. I instinctively crossed my legs, a fluttering in my lower belly instantly dragging my mind back to the deprived things I’d imagined Dean doing to me in the depths of night. The places I’d imagined his hands travelling, the areas his lips would touch and the sensations his tongue could create. These were deeply, deeply personal fantasies, and right now as Dean looked at me with a restrained hunger, I felt like I was wearing these fantasies for the world to see. For Dean to see.

“It doesn’t help that you’ve been sat over there like a sexy fucking librarian all evening, but every time you do that anything with that mouth - shit, sweetheart you’re driving me insane.” His voice was gravelly as he looked at me with desperate eyes across the table. The overly rational part of my brain had shut down completely, and now the part of my mind that had spent hours conjuring vivid scenes of Dean Winchester ravishing me in my entirety had taken the charge. I stood slowly, taking a moment to reason with myself - unsuccessfully of course - before sinking to my knees in front of my chair. I could see Deans strong thighs were spread wide beneath the table so I crawled forwards, across the cold tiles and placed myself between his legs. Resting my palms softly on his thighs I made him flinch at the unexpected contact. He immediately scooted his chair back, allowing a gap for me to poke my head through - his hand instantly acting as a barrier between the edge of the table and my skull. I got comfortable and allowed myself a moment to gaze up at him, to take in the strained furrow in his brow and the parting of his lips. I observed the way his chest rose and fell in apprehensive breaths, and the way his free hand clenched into a fist on his thigh - like he was so desperate yet so scared to touch me.

“(Y/n)-”

“Dean,” I spoke softly, slowly running my hands up his thighs - delicate palms against rough denim, “you’re a smart boy - you know I wouldn’t do something I didn’t want to do. So please, don’t say I don’t have to do this.”

Dean released a shaky breath the moment my fingers unclasped his jeans. I tugged them down slightly with his help, just enough so I could dip my hand into his boxers and wrap my fingers around his half-hard length. The moment my skin touched his, his head lolled back and his eyes fluttered closed with a breathy moan on his lips.

“Fuck…”

I gently pulled him from his confines, coming face to face with the cock I’d literally dreamt of again and again. I took the scene in, committing to memory the sharp outline of his jaw and the way his long lashes rested on his lightly-freckled cheeks. The way that, every time he breathed in, I could see his defined muscle tone through the thin fabric of his shirt; and with every small caress that my fingers made against his length, it made his fingers twitch and teeth clench. I licked my lips before leaning in and took his tip into my mouth, not giving him a chance to finish sucking in air through his teeth before I plunged his entire length down my throat.

“Oh FUCK.”

His hands flew to my hair, fingers gripping tight as they loosened strands from the messy bun, causing them to fall around my face. He’d lifted his head to look down at me, pupils blown as he pulled his bottom lip between his teeth. He looked nothing more than enthralled. Infatuated. Entranced. I moved my head up and down, up and down, again and again to a steady rhythm, pressing my tongue to the underside of his now rock-hard cock to trace every vein and nerve-ending.

“Shit, (Y/n), I didn’t know you could suck cock, like, at all… how’re you s’fuckin’ good…” his voice was breathless as he continued to grip my hair, his head flopping to the side as pleasure started to overcome his senses. I released him with a small ‘pop’, wrapping my fingers around him and smearing the warm mixture of saliva and precum from tip to base.

“Despite everything I told you earlier, Dean, I’m not a virgin - and this certainly isn’t my first rodeo,” my voice came out more sultry than I’d expected and I could feel Dean tremble beneath my palms.

“Fuck, I wish I’d known that sooner,” I chewed on my bottom lip, quickly becoming addicted to the way he writhed at my touch. The way he moaned and gripped my hair tighter when I sucked him back into my mouth was like pure ecstasy, my insides heating up and throbbing with an ache of familiar arousal. Like a thirst that could only be satisfied by him. By tasting him, feeling him on my tongue and drinking in every sound that passed his plush parted lips. The sensation of my glasses slipping down my nose as I sped up my ministrations had me reaching to push them back up, but not before Dean beat me to it. With the rough pad of his thumb he pushed on the plastic bridge, his palm and fingers pressed to my flushed cheek in the most tender, almost heart wrenching caress. I thought my heart might stop when he tilted my face up to his; lustful eyes burning into mine with a vehemence I’d never encountered. I stopped in my tracks, all actions ceased as the spell he’d somehow put me under wouldn’t let me look away.

“If you keep going like that darlin’ this whole thing is gonna be over before you know it,” his voice was raspy, a rawness to it from the harsh breaths and ragged moans that had been pulled from his throat. He slowly pulled his cock from my spit-slick lips and grasped it loosely, giving himself a few lazy pumps whilst his other hand never left my face. He stared down at me, taking a few moments as though he was committing the sight of me, knelt between his knees with flushed cheeks and swollen lips to memory. Once it seemed that memory was locked away in the depths of his mind, he grasped me by the arm and pulled me effortlessly into his lap, his fingers almost bruising against my skin. Immediately I felt him, in his entirety, press against me with the heat and wetness seeping through my jeans and past my panties. This time when our eyes met, there was a mutual desperation; a need to consume each other and to feel every inch of his heated skin against mine. He pulled me frantically down to him and crashed his lips against mine.

Some people describe their first kiss with someone like butterflies in their stomach, or fireworks exploding all around them. That wasn’t at all what this was like. Kissing Dean Winchester was different - it was wild and untamed - and describing this experience in such a mundane way would be like adding water to a top-shelf whiskey. Kissing Dean Winchester was like driving the impala at one thirty with the roar of the engine drowning out the rest of the world. It was like trying to ride a wild mustang without a saddle, or daring to stand on the highest peak on Earth with nothing to tie you down. It was exhilarating in the most dangerous way imaginable - and I was now officially a thrill seeker.

The warm taste of the beer on his tongue and the masculine scent of old leather and cologne was pulling me under. Breathing no longer mattered as long as his mouth was on mine and his fingers were in my hair, now tugging the bobble out and throwing it to the floor. As my hair tumbled free he grabbed under my thighs and stood effortlessly, moving me from his lap to the edge of the table without his lips leaving mine. I winced slightly as the corners and several books and the laptop jabbed into my rear and I fumbled to move everything aside, failing when I refused to unlock our lips. Deans patience was non-existent and with one sweep of his strong arm everything tumbled to the floor - including the laptop. I threw the remaining books from underneath me down to join them, no longer caring for their wellbeing. Before I could pull Dean back in - to allow him to do whatever the fuck he wanted to do to me - he hastily pulled off my boots and tugged down my jeans, throwing every item to the growing pile of chaos beside us. I discarded my sweater and top, but before I let his fingers touch my bra I wanted nothing more than to return the favour.

“I guess you can forget about that whole ‘never seeing me shirtless’ thing, huh?” he smirked through the sexual fog, not waiting for a reply as his lips hungrily found mine again, his own top falling to the floor.

“Shut up Winchester. Now are you gonna fuck me or wh- OH FUCK-”

Two thick fingers crept under my panties and plunged into me with zero hesitation, curling up and stroking the sensual cushion deep within my core with skillful precision.

“Oh yeah? You want me to fuck you?” Even with my face now buried in the crook of his neck, I could hear the smirk in his voice, the tormenting tone going straight to my brain.

“Y-yes- fuck- please,” my knees twitched either side of him, squeezing at his hips with every push of his fingers. I gripped his shoulders tight, nails indenting his skin as I leant back to look at him better. Seeing the beads of sweat on his chest and brow alongside the raw, carnal desire in his eyes could have undone me there and then. He frowned in disapproval when I moved to remove my glasses, the fingers that were just inside me now wrapped forcefully around my wrist.

“What d’ya think you’re doing?” straight away I knew his growling question left no room for negotiation.

“I was just-”

“The glasses stay on.”

“To the end?”

“‘Til I say you can take them off.”

I did as I was told, moving my hand to grip the soft strands on the back of his neck, softly dragging my nails over his scalp and drawing a shiver from his spine and a groan from his lungs. He pulled me against him, crushing his lips against mine one more time. He swiftly pulled away and I leant back on my hands, both of us taking a moment to drink each other in - to bask in lascivious glory. I pulled my bottom lip between my teeth and looked up at him through my lashes, the lenses of my glasses starting to fog around the edges. Another deep moan rumbled from his chest as his heated gaze stayed locked to mine.

“I can’t wait any longer now that you’ve looked at me like that. Fuck.”

With a large hand gripping the soft flesh of my thigh he pulled my underwear to one side and lined himself up, slowly sinking in. Blissful moans harmonised between us, the rawness of him stretching me was unlike anything I’d ever experienced and my quivering thighs wrapped around him, pushing him to the hilt. He secured his large hands on the soft flesh of my hips and held me in place as he slowly withdrew. I could feel him; feel every ridge and vein drag out and then in, out and in, over my most sensitive, intimate, area. The slick sounds of our intimacy began to echo around the room as he picked up speed, strong thighs working at a feverish pace. With every thrust he pushed against that one spot that made my legs jerk and eyes water, my arms almost giving out underneath me as the table rattled beneath my weight. With the ferocity of his pounding and the heightened sensitivity he’d curated between my legs only moments before, we both knew that neither of us would last long. The sounds of his ragged breaths and throaty moans alone had me clenching around him already, and I know my constricting muscles already had his hips stuttering as I sucked him in with every thrust.

“Fuck (Y/n)- You’re so fuckin’ tight-”

I chewed on my bottom lip as his desperate eyes met mine.

“Oh yeah? Well I feel like you’re cock is in my fucking ribcage- oh fuck-”

He slipped one hand between us, his large palm resting on my lower belly as his thumb drew fast circles around my clit. The immediate contact on my bundle of nerves had my whole body quivering, the knot of an impending climax already starting to twist tighter and tighter in the depths of my core. The way that Dean fucked me into the motel room table was something that I would be able to feel deep in my soul for the rest of my life - my body and entire nervous system having never been worked in such a feral way before. Dean dropped forward and crushed my body into his - one large strong arm wrapped around my trembling body and kept me pressed against him as his head dropped to the crook of my neck. Soft lips pressed hot kisses against my shoulder, teeth gently nibbling the soft flesh as the coil wound and wound, the wave of orgasmic bliss rising higher and higher as my mind emptied, leaving behind only one thought.

Dean.

He was all consuming - all I could see, taste and smell. All I could feel. Oh God could I feel him; driving me to the brink of pure bliss as he frantically sped up - desperate to seek his own undoing as well as my own. One… two… three more fervid thrusts and the peak he’d helped me ascend to shattered around me as I practically screamed his name, the white-hot euphoria scorching my insides as I clamped like a vice around him.

“Oh shit- (Y/n) I can’t- fuck-”

I grabbed the back of his head and pushed his mouth to mine as he came undone, spilling inside me as he worked through his own white-hot euphoria.

The kiss we shared evolved from hot and needy to soft and wanting - the sensation of hot cum running down the inside of my thigh and cooling against my skin being the only thing to pull me away. Dean continued to lean over me for a moment, looking down at me with an expression that told me he had so much he wanted to say. Instead, he looked down at his release now starting to pool on the floor beneath us, then to the books and laptop that had been thrown across the floor before turning back to face me with the most devilish grin on his face.

“You know that this mess is all your fault, right?”

I scoffed.

“My fault? How is it my fault?”

“Because, sweetheart…” he tucked a strand of hair behind my ear and pushed lightly on the plastic bridge sitting on my nose.

“You put on on those fucking glasses.”

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waynes-multiverse · 7 months ago

Note

Ok hear me out. I got this idea after the episode of Dean getting his "virginity" back and hooking up with the porn star when he's digging through her dresser and finds the DVD of her ANYWAY

Best friend Dean who's been pining after you for sooo long but doesn't want to fuck it up and lose you. You're hanging out when you ask him to go grab something from your room and he's digging through your drawers looking and accidentally comes across some lingerie and now it's days later and he's so hot and bothered cuz he can't think of anything else (the boy has a serious panty kink lets be honest) and you catch him in your room going through your drawers again and OH

A/N: As I warned y'all, this is a longer DD because, well, the prompt was long, so it's not really my fault. All that backstory took on a life of its own, but I think no one will be mad about it 😅 Again, I had tons of fun with this one! You'll see 🤣

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Female!Reader

Warnings: +18/NSWF, a ridiculous heat wave, friends to lovers (Wayne's Version), crack, a panty kink, some sneaky fluff, and some hot lovin' aka smut (oral f & face sitting)

Word Count: 4.5k (whoops)

Main Masterlist || Dirty Drabbles

Cruel Summer

“You open the beaches on the 4th of July, it’s like ringing the dinner bell for Christ’s sake…”

As Jaws flickered across the screen in the Dean Cave, the green-eyed hunter adjusted himself in his seat. Usually, he had perfect control over himself and his feelings for you.

But on some days – like today – when you sat right next to him on the couch in nothing but a loose t-shirt and some short sweatpants, fanning yourself with an old magazine of Busty Asian Beauties as beads of salty sweat collected on your forehead and trickled down your neck, you made it hard for him.

“God, I’m so hot,” you sighed exhaustively and sunk further into the couch cushions, lifting your shirt from your sticky skin to let some cool air to your boobs as a heat wave ravaged through Kansas.

Painfully hard.

“Dean?” You pouted with your best puppy dog look at your best friend.

“Huh?” Dean was in trance, watching you more than the movie, always on the edge of getting caught one of these days.

“We’re out of Sour Patch Kids. I have more in my nightstand. Can you get them for me please?” you asked sweetly. “I don’t wanna move. I might actually die from heat exhaustion.”

Dean sighed and wordlessly rose from his seat. He knew you always kept an array of salty and sweet midnight snacks in your room in case you got hungry and didn’t want to wander into the kitchen in the middle of the night.

Moreover, he was grateful for the break. God knows he couldn’t stand to be around you any longer, or he would’ve been too tempted to rip your clothes off and really make you sweat.

I’ll show her a damn heat exhaustion, he thought with a scoff.

Hastily grabbing the desired snack, his green eyes then caught something red and lacy sticking out from the first drawer of your dresser. The hunter knew the decent and honest thing would’ve been to just keep moving and leave your godforsaken room.

Turn around, as Bonnie Tyler sang. But for some reason, his bright eyes couldn’t resist, his curiosity overtaking him.

Dean opened the drawer with the intention to push the naughty little clothing item back into its place and out of sight. Get rid of the temptation, so to speak. It sounded like the perfect loophole. He got to touch it and look at it, but for a very heroic and noble reason – not because he was a creepy perv, violating his best friend’s privacy.

On some level, Dean knew he’d never stand a chance with you. He wasn’t good enough. He had so much baggage all his suitcases wouldn’t even fit into the bunker.

A damn touch of a pair of panties you weren’t even wearing was all he would ever get from you.

But then his fingers touched the soft and see-through material, his pads tracing every delicate scarlet thread with precision and care. It was game over for him then and there, cursing himself internally for not resisting harder as his cock twitched joyfully in his jeans.

Dean had laid his eyes on you the second you strolled with swinging hips into that diner in Wichita for your very first case together, a werewolf hunt six years ago. And he had managed to get by without an incident for years since then, even when you moved into the bunker, being rather proud of that achievement. He never wanted to lose you as a friend and didn’t dare to cross a line. Ever.

Recently, though, it became more difficult to keep his distance and not let his thoughts wander. His feelings were magma that slowly had filled a volcano over the years. Each time you did something sexy or sweet or goofy or smart, another drop was added. And now, that damn fire mountain was overdue for an eruption – no thanks to that stupid heat wave.

“Thanks,” you said absentmindedly as the hunter handed you the candy but didn’t settle back down. Instead, he stood behind the sofa and leaned his hands on the backrest.

What you didn’t know, though, was that Dean was sporting quite the boner and wouldn’t dare to come into your line of view. He was surprised he could even walk up straight and not like a caveman early in the evolution.

A hunter gathering panties.

“I’m gonna hit the hay,” he told you with a somber clear of his throat. As the fan carried a breeze of your perfume to his nose, his grip tightened on the couch.

You turned in your seat and looked over your shoulder at him, raising a surprised brow. “Already? But the movie’s not over.”

“Yeah, I’m beat,” he excused and tried his best not to look strained. He forced a tight smile to his lips while his little dude celebrated Spring Break in his jeans. “‘Sides, we’ve seen Jaws like a million times now, Y/N.”

It was a cherished summer tradition between the two of you, watching it every 4th of July.

“I guess so.” You shrugged disappointedly, watching your best friend retreat to his room. Truth was, you loved spending time with Dean and held those little traditions close to your heart.

The Winchesters were your family, the only one you ever had. And while some families wore matching pajamas on Christmas morning, you watched the first two Die Hard movies. You would watch Dean’s favorite horror movies on Halloween. Sixteen Candles and High Fidelity on your birthday, Tombstone and The Great Escape on Dean’s, and some lame-ass foreign language documentaries that you both snored through on Sam’s.

Valentine’s Day was a dreaded non-holiday for all three of you, but for the past four years, someone would leave a box of chocolate in front of your door. The salted caramel ones would always be missing, and it always came with the same Forrest Gump quote:

I’m not a smart man, but I know what love is.

You knew the anonymous someone was Dean, and you knew he meant it as a joke. Still, you clung to those little traditions. They might seem silly and stupid to some, but to you, they were your lifeline in a world full of darkness.

So, you felt rather saddened Dean didn’t seem to honor them anymore. It wasn’t just Jaws, either. He’d been withdrawing from you for a while, and you didn’t understand why.

Unbeknownst to you, the green-eyed hunter had kept a lacy souvenir from your room.

Now, Dean had managed to avoid you for four days. Every night since his stealthy excursion, he would lie in his bed with your stolen panties in one hand and his throbbing length in the other, feeling goddamn pathetic for sinking so low.

It was probably so low that even his memory foam mattress would remember it.

With closed eyes, he then imagined how the perky globes of your ass would look like covered in crimson lace. How you would stretch out on his bed on all fours, with your ass high in the air and wiggling in front of him. How his fingers would push the wicked material aside to push into you, taking you deep and hard while you moaned his name.

As he ruined tissue after tissue, the guilt would wash over him as soon as he was done. Call it a post-nut epiphany.

Dean knew it was wrong to think those things. He knew he only made it harder for himself to ever look you into the eyes again. Hell, he barely could do it now, even though a part of him audaciously wondered what other treasures were hiding in that drawer of yours. And more pressingly, what ultimate wealth he would find beneath your clothes. If your lingerie was gold, he’d be a creepy-ass dragon sitting on it.

So, Dean tried to avoid you as best as possible. Mostly because, well…

“God, fuck me,” you groaned exhaustively and opened the refrigerator door, leaning against it as the refreshing cold hit you from behind. On top of that, you held a big bag of frozen peas to your sweaty chest. You already wore the bare minimum – some short denims and a white tank top, your hair up in a messy bun.

“I swear underboob sweat is the worst. Just be glad you don’t have tits,” you complained. “Guys, seriously, can we invest in an AC? This heat wave is killing me! This bunker is like one giant oven…”

You watched as Dean squirmed in his seat as he ate his cereal, looking as uncomfortable as you. Surely, the boys were suffering just as badly during those sweltering temperatures, already forgoing the usual flannels and opting for plain t-shirts instead. How they were still wearing jeans was beyond you. When you first moved in, you protested against Dean’s suggestion of Naked Tuesdays, but these days, you were actually giving it a second thought.

“Well, I’m gonna drive to Kansas City today and see if I can get us an AC. Apparently, they’re all sold out, but I figured maybe with a bit of flirting and some cleavage, I can still get us one,” you explained your plan with a bright smirk and wiggled your eyebrows. “What d’you guys think, huh?”

Dean then abruptly banged his fist on the table, spilling some milk from his bowl on the surface. “For God’s sake, Y/N!”

You frowned in confusion at his unexpected outburst. “What’s up with you? Are you having a heat stroke?”

“Flirting, really?!” the hunter barked, his brow shaped into a deeply furious v.

“What’s wrong with that? Double standard much? You do it all the time to get shit,” you countered and watched his jaw clench in anger.

“I do-... not,” he remarked snappily with a fierce finger drilling into the table, clearly lacking a good argument. Sam cleared his throat in agreement with you, but that only earned him a glare. “And Jesus fucking Christ, would it hurt you to put on some goddamn clothes? You’re not even wearing a bra!”

“Did you not hear my tits rant just now? Of course I’m not! ‘Sides, those boobs are gonna get you an AC, so be a little more grateful to them,” you retorted, annoyed with his attitude. You’d think of all the people in this world, Dean Winchester would understand. (And maybe even appreciate it.) “And how can you even tell, huh?”

“‘Cause science, Y/N! You’re literally cooling your tits! What did you think was gonna happen, huh? Nipples!” he vented outrageously. “This ain’t a strip club!”

“It’s 102 degrees, Dean!” you argued, throwing your arms up. “Look, if I could, I’d even go naked, alright? It’s fucking hot!”

“Oh, for crying out loud!” Dean shook his head and stormed out of the kitchen without any further comment.

Confused, you blinked at the younger Winchester. “What’s up with him?”

But Sam only shrugged, shaking his head. “Uhm, I don’t know,” he replied, although he could take an educated guess, suspecting his brother’s feelings for you as the culprit.

“Well, alright, I’m going to Kansas City,” you decided without wasting another thought on the older Winchester’s strange behavior. “Text me if you guys need something. I can pick it up on my way home.”

Dean knew he was in deep trouble as his bow legs bolted down the bunker’s hallways. He tried so hard to keep it together, but when he saw you, half-naked and panting in front of the fridge, he quite literally lost his coolness in this goddamn heat wave.

The green-eyed hunter understood a thing or two about torture, but this was the worst of all. He’d rather have a demon repeatedly peel off his skin in hellfire than endure a day more of this fucking madness.

If the temperatures didn’t drop soon, it would be a cruel summer ahead of him.

As Dean heard the door to the garage close, he knew you’d left for your trip and exhaled a deep sigh of relief. At least he’d get a few hours of peace.

With the best intentions, he strolled to his bedroom, but as he passed your room on his way, he found the door ajar. Whatever good motives he had up until this point, went quickly out the window right then.

His hand twitched at the thought of more riches, worse than any trigger finger and competing with a California earthquake, and well, so did the dick in his jeans. It was an addiction at this point, an obsession he couldn’t resist nor get rid off. The fact that it was forbidden and wrong only made it even more appealing. The apple in the garden of Eden.

Unfortunately, there wasn’t an anonymous support group for this kind of sickness.

As unbearable shame and guilt collected in his stomach like rainwater in the gutter, his eager hands rummaged through your dresser drawer. There was purple lace and black satin, navy G-strings and white Brazilians. It was never ending, and the hunter couldn’t stop as he picked up each item and let his fantasies roam wild.

God, the things he wanted to do to you were as colorful as your rainbow full of underwear.

“Dean?!”

The green-eyed hunter froze in his place, a white lace panty still bunched up in his large palm. The hair in the back of his neck stood up in shock, a part of him refusing to turn around at the sound of your voice. He was caught red-handed, and he knew it.

“What are you doing in my room?” you prompted, suspiciously cocking an eyebrow. It looked fairly obvious what your best friend was up to, but you didn’t want to accuse him right away, giving him the benefit of the doubt.

Frankly, it was quite unbelievable.

“It’s not what it looks like,” Dean replied and swallowed thickly, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he held up his hands like a criminal during an arrest, the evidence still in his grasp.

“Well, it looks like you’re snooping through my lingerie,” you pointed out bluntly.

Dean nodded, guilt-ridden and reluctant. “I can explain.”

“Good,” you said, crossing your arms over your chest. “I’m waiting…”

“Right, uhm…”

“Oh, before you scramble for an answer, you should know, though, that I’m aware a pair of red lace panties is missing, and I know the washer didn’t eat them,” you said and raised an expectant brow.

You had a feeling your pervy best friend was behind the mystery of the missing item. Now you knew for sure.

“Man, I always knew you were a kinky son of a bitch, but this is a new level, Dean,” you scolded.

Dean’s gaze dropped to the floor in shame, scratching the nape of his neck. “Look, uhm, there’s no good excuse. I know I fucked up here. I’ll sleep in a motel tonight until I find my own place. You can stay here with Sam, alright? I’ll move out and won’t bother you anymore.”

As he tried to brush past you, you blocked his exit and grabbed his arm. “So, you’re gonna leave? Just like that?”

“What other choice do I have? I don’t wanna make you more uncomfortable,” he stated without glancing at you once. He couldn’t bring himself to look into your eyes and see the disappointment and disgust there. “I know what I did was wrong.”

“Oh, so wrong,” you agreed. “I just figured you wouldn’t run away like a coward and take your punishment like a man, you know? Aren’t you at all curious what I’m wearing right now?”

That was when Dean’s juniper eyes slowly wandered to you and caught your gaze for the first time. You smirked as his breathing became heavy and his look darkened and filled with lust. It seemed like he wanted to rip your clothes off with his goddamn bare teeth like a wild animal.

“I can’t tell if you’re joking or if I’m dreaming,” he admitted, his deep voice part harsh swallow and part nervous chuckle.

“Neither,” you said, biting your bottom lip.

Carefully, you leaned closer, your hands reaching up to cup his scruffy cheeks. Noses nuzzled as your lips ghosted against his with a daring grin. You wouldn’t go further; it was up to Dean to make that final decision.

And then, as no more than a mere second ticked by on the clock, the hunter crashed his lips against yours in a kiss so scorching it made the current heat wave look like an ice age. If you thought you were hot before, now it felt like you were burning in a wildfire.

Dean roughly pushed you against the door, his kiss all teeth and tongue in an uncontrollable frenzy. His dick was hard and thick, straining against his jeans and rubbing along your thigh. Pantingly, you gasped for air and grabbed his hand, guiding it down your body and into your shorts.

“Feel that?” you asked mischievously as his fingers dug through your soaked folds and collected the arousal he caused. A wanton growl left his plush lips. “All for you, baby. You’ve been a bad boy, haven’t you?”

“Shit, yeah, so bad…” Dean rasped huskily against your throat as he worshipped his path down your body, forcing your shirt up till his wet tongue rolled over your pert and still cold nipple.

“Gonna make it up to me, huh? Show me how sorry you are?” you prompted, your fingers raking through his sandy blond and soft hair, eliciting a groan from him every time you tugged a little harder.

Teeth pinched your skin, tongue cherished your taste, and lips left your throat bruised. It was equal parts hot, sweaty, messy, naughty, dirty, and sticky as your bodies rutted against one another, looking for dire release.

With swollen and plumper than before lips, he came back up for air and found your eyes. He kissed you with heated passion once more as if he couldn’t resist to touch you over and over again. He had to restrain himself to be able to speak.

“So, uhm, you sure about this?” Dean asked between labored breaths with an insecure gleam in his green eyes. “‘Cause if we go further, I don’t think I can stop. And I don’t mean just this time but ever… If you want this to be a one time thing, you gotta tell me, sweetheart, so I can mentally prepare myself. I mean, I’ll take what I can get, you know? Not that I care either way… Well, that’s not true. I do care. A lot… But, you know, you’re you, and I’m me, so I’m not delusional. I know there’s no way you would–”

You interrupted his babbling with a kiss, causing the hunter to lose his words. You looked deeply into his eyes and offered him a small smile of comfort.

“Dean, listen to me, okay? ‘Cause this is very important,” you urged, your hands gripping his shirt tightly.

He nodded, gulping anxiously. “O-Okay.”

“You’re incredible,” you said and watched him inhale sharply at your words, blinking at you in disbelief. “Absolutely fucking bonkers incredible. You’re right – you’re you. And thank God you are, because you’re the best, funniest, smartest, kindest, and goddamn hottest man I’ve ever met. I’m tired of you not seeing that. As my boyfriend, I really need to you to see that, alright?”

As Dean pensively took in your words, his brow began to furrow. “Boyfriend?”

The corners of your mouth rose to a beam. “Yeah, boyfriend,” you confirmed. “That’s what you want, right? ‘Cause I’d really like that, too.”

“Uh, yeah, yeah… That’s what I want.” Dean nodded eagerly before another swallow followed. “I mean, among other things…”

You bit your lip, smirking. “What other things?”

“Well, uhm…”

Dean didn’t finish his sentence, his lips impatiently claiming yours instead. He pressed you hungrily back against the door, massive hands sliding down your sides till they hooked into the hem of your denim shorts and ripped them down to your ankles, leaving you only covered in teal lace. He growled shamelessly at the sight, his thick digits eagerly diving inside.

“Wanna be inside you,” he groaned into your ear, thumbing furiously at your clit. “Every hour of every day…”

“We can do that,” you agreed with a giggle, your arms locking around his neck, fingers carding through his hair in the back.

“Wanna feel your mouth around my–” The last word was muffled as he ravaged your neck, but you understood where he was going with this.

“You can do that,” you said with a smile.

“And fuck, I want you to ride my face,” he declared. That demand left you speechless, making even Dean stop for a minute and look at you. “Too far?”

You shook your head and smirked. “I can do that.”

Before Dean’s mind could fathom your words, you shoved him onto the bed, his back hitting the mattress. When you stood before him, slotted between his muscular legs, his gaze trailed up and down your body, memorizing every beautiful curve. As your fingers curled into the waistband of your panties, however, the hunter stopped you.

“Leave ‘em on, sweetheart. Don’t you dare take those off,” he told you, his hands rapaciously reaching out to you.

You played with the hem of your top and smirked, your tongue licking over your lips. “What about this? On or off?”

“Off,” he shot back faster than a bullet leaving a barrel.

“You first,” you demanded and grinned. “Remember, this is still your punishment.”

“God, I love getting punished,” Dean mumbled and slipped out of his shirt. He then swiftly shimmied out of his jeans, discarding each item carelessly around the room.

He then took a deep breath as he tugged the waistband of his boxers, his erection already fighting its way out. “Well, here goes nothing,” the hunter said and pulled his underwear down.

You tilted your head to see his hard cock from a better angle as it sprang against his stomach. Your lips parted in anticipation, wondering what he’d taste like on your tongue and how deep you’d be able to take him. You guessed there’d be a struggle ahead, considering how huge and wide he was.

“Oh, I would not call that monster nothing,” you commented with a scoff, your pussy throbbing with need. “Explains all that BDE.”

Dean blushed. It was cute to watch. “Thank you.”

Giggling, you removed your shirt and tossed it at his face, blinding him for a second. You used that momentum to slide onto the bed and straddle his torso. As his eyes finally found you again, he almost choked on his spit when he gazed up at your perfect tits above him. A primal grunt escaped his throat.

With a mesmerized sparkle in his eyes, his hands trailed up your body and cupped your breasts, massaging them roughly as your panties grew damper by the minute. He then pulled you down to his lips and kissed you breathless before he left them with a boyish smirk on his freckled face.

“Hop on, sweetheart.”

And as if his words hadn’t been enough motivation, his hands wandered to palm your ass and hauled you closer to his mouth. He was an impatient one – or maybe he’d waited years for this and was finally tired of it.

Your knees sunk into the mattress on either side of his stubborn head. His fingers dented your flesh as they grabbed onto your thighs. Yours held onto the headboard for support. You tried not to look down, because then you’d see his big lopsided and full of excitement grin.

The same one he had when you found a diner in Kentucky that advertised the biggest burger in America (it wasn’t). The same one he had when he thought he had run into a member of Metallica at a gas station outside of Phoenix (he didn’t). The same one he had when you and Sam gifted him his own beer brewing station for his last birthday (which tasted horrible, but neither you nor Sam had the heart to tell him).

And now, he had that same grin when he was about to be with you.

As your pussy dripped above him, Dean couldn’t hold back his lewd groans any longer. You didn’t even have to lower yourself; he just dragged you down onto his face all to eagerly. His fingers swiped your panties to the side, and before you could even adjust your grip on the bedpost, his tongue darted into your soaked channel as deeply as he could and sucked you goddamn dry.

With several whimpers, you clenched around his wet muscle. If you were water in the desert, he was parched and drinking to survive.

His nose was buried in your folds, rubbing deliciously against your clit as he lapped your pussy in a vicious attack that left you squirming and moaning to a pornographic degree above him. Because Dean was just that – pure porn.

Instinctively and irresistibly, you ground your cunt against him, the vibrations of his keen groans against your sensitive flesh rocking you to the edge of your climax. He ate you out and devoured you like that damn gigantic burger in Kentucky. And as you dared to blink down and watch him in action, he had the audacity to devilishly smirk up at you with the crinkles around his green eyes alone, gauging your every reaction to his touches as if you were a goddamn movie on a silver screen.

You trembled and quivered and screamed as your orgasm electrified every molecule in your body. You white-knuckled the wood in your grip, your body only held up by Dean’s strong arms because God knows your weak legs were useless now.

As wave after wave washed over you, Dean drank every drop of yours, his tongue never getting enough of your taste. The sounds that filled the room were carnal and obscene.

“Fuck, Dean,” you sighed blissfully and lifted off his face and captured his swollen and red lips in a grateful kiss, your palms finding purchase on his broad shoulders. Your drenched and sensitive cunt settled on his thighs as an egregiously large erection poked your belly and tempted you further.

Dean smirked up at you, all satisfied and confident with his achievement. “I think we have a slight problem, though.”

Your brow knitted, your heart tightening with anxiety. Had you been as disappointing as the burger, beer, and that fake Metallica band member?

But Dean only grinned teasingly at your confused face. “There’s no way I learned my lesson here.”

You snorted and sought out his lips, the kiss giving you a taste of yourself. “We’ll work on that. I might have to nickname you Jaws after this,” you joked.

“Can’t wait for you to explain that one to Sammy.” Dean snorted, chuckling. “Now, how about you hop on again, but this time a little further south, huh?” he proposed with a wiggle of his eyebrows and a suggestive twitch of his cock for emphasis.

You giggled with a few nods. “I can do that.”

Was it worth the words? 😝

For all you newcomers and as a general reminder, Dirty Drabbles are always open. I still have quite a few left, but you're welcome to send more in, and we'll add it to the collection at some point 😎🔥

PUT YOUR DIRTY THOUGHTS HERE

TAGS:

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#dirty drabbles #dean winchester #dean winchester x you #dean winchester x reader #dean winchester x female reader #dean winchester x y/n #dean winchester reader inser #dean winchester smut #dean winchester fluff #supernatural #supernatural reader insert #jensen ackles #jensen ackles smut #dean winchester fic #dean winchester fanfic

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cosicas-cuquis · 2 days ago

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What the fuck just happened?!

Crash - Part 8 - Wreckage

Words: 2945 Dean x Reader Warnings: angst, grief, death of a character (*hides*) Summary: Y/N rushes to find Dean after being awoken by the worst feeling yet. A/N: This is part of a series! Read the other parts here first: 1 2 3 4 5 6 7

I’m just going to put this here… *set out box of tissues* *whistles casually* *runs*

Your name: submit What is this? <![CDATA[// <![CDATA[ function replaceAll(find, replace, str) { return str.replace(new RegExp(find, 'g'), replace); } function myHandler() { var input = document.getElementById("inputTxt").value; document.body.innerHTML = replaceAll('Y/N', document.getElementById("inputTxt").value, document.body.innerHTML); } // ]]]]><![CDATA[>]]>

You forced yourself to swallow, vaguely realizing how sick you felt. Your heart was hammering away in your chest and matching the urgency of each of your movements. You pulled yourself out of bed and into your chair, rolling yourself as quickly as you could over to the armoire in your room and absolutely wrenching the doors open.

Your eyes fell on the familiar sawed-off shotgun leaning against the back, partially hidden by the hanging clothes. You snatched it and the small canvas bag sitting beside it, hauling it into your lap and hastily digging out two shells.

Loading the rock salt rounds into the gun you hurried into the hallway. As you rolled past Sam’s door you yelled to him and pounded a fist on the wood. “SAM!” you yelled desperately. You did the same when you passed Bobby’s door, but didn’t slow your momentum as you whirred past Dean’s room, empty with the door open, the sheets not even disturbed. You were suppressing your panic as best you could. You could feel your hands starting to shake and you talked to yourself in your head in a frantic attempt to calm down.

Ok, Y/N. Focus. You have to calm down. Just get to Dean. Everything will be fine.

Seguir leyendo

#supernatural fanfiction #supernatural dean fanfic #spn fanfiction #fanfic #fanfiction #supernatural reader insert #spn reader insert #dean x reader #dean winchester x reader #crash series

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arjwrites · 3 months ago

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crawl home to her- dean winchester x fem!reader

summary: heaven or hell, dean will always crawl home to you.

warnings: brief mentions of hell, references to drinking, fem!reader

word count: 1.4k

a/n: i got a bit carried away with this one and it ended up a little longer than anticipated hehehe i had too many ideas. this song is so sickening and is so dean-coded in the very best way. i hope you enjoy <3

arj's 100 follower event

xxx

Dean awoke in a permeating blackness, blinking his eyes, unable to tell at what point they were open or closed. His first instinct? To draw in a deep, sharp breath. His lungs resisted him, hesitant to stretch and swell as if they had been sitting stagnant for months. They offered him no help in forming words, a call for help. It took him a minute to gather his bearings, but the next thought that came to his mind? You. And from that moment, his body took over. As he kicked his way out of the pine box and clawed his way through the cold and heavy earth, he felt almost animalistic. He didn’t know where he was, he hardly knew who he was, but he knew he had to crawl home to you. Wherever you were.

As Dean emerged from the ground, he gasped for air- clean, fresh air. It swirled around inside of him, exacerbating the emptiness of the cavern of his chest. He grappled with the earth around him, arms reaching out in a desperate fervor to pull him safely from the grave. There were sensations everywhere, almost screaming at him, so loud and foreign as if he hadn’t experienced them in… he didn’t know how long. The tickling of the damp grass against his arms, the hot sun beating down on his back, the heavy breeze settling behind him. It was you, he thought. It had to be your way of welcoming him back earthside- planting soft green kisses to his skin, wrapping him in healing warmth and light, and lifting him up to carry him home with the wind. He let his body push him to his feet, feeling every flex and release of his muscles individually, excruciatingly.

It was agonizing for Dean to will one foot in front of the other, trudging aimlessly in search of civilization. Maybe it was the exhaustion, or maybe it was the hunger, but he could see you right there next to him, clear as day, coaching him through each step of his journey. You floated along next to him like an angel, filling his emptiness and setting direction in his footsteps.

He thought back to the day your paths had been undoubtedly intertwined forever. You and Dean had known of each other for a while- hunters always did- but never exchanged more than a few cordial hellos in passing. That was until a vampire hunt in a small town drew the attention of more than just himself and Sam. When you showed up on the hunt, he couldn’t help but be enamored by you. The way you made hunting, something so dark and painful, into something so graceful, so elegant, so beautiful.

When he was able to convince you to stick around and celebrate after finishing the hunt, Dean felt both his heart leap and his stomach sink. As he drove, he kept glancing up into his rearview mirror to catch a glimpse at you, following behind him in your own car. He wracked his brain, trying to come up with conversation topics like he was rubbing together stones trying to create a spark. He was so excited to have you around, yet so nervous- an accusation he defended against when Sam taunted him on the ride over to the bar.

“I don’t get nervous, Sammy. I- I don’t know, man. There’s just something about her. Can’t put my finger on it.”

His eyes flickered back up to the rearview mirror as he spoke, catching you singing along to whatever song you were listening to. His heart fluttered- he wanted to know you, to memorize your favorite songs, to hear his inner thoughts spoken in your voice. In the here and now, where he was trekking through the woods, he smiled at the memory and let it instill in him a surge of motivation. He picked up his pace, humming your favorite song as he went, half to keep him grounded in the moment and half to help his mind wander back to you.

Still thinking back to that first day, he remembered getting to the bar and admittedly, letting his nerves get the best of him. He threw back shots and tipped back beers in the hopes of quelling his anxieties, suppressing the parts of him that weren’t useful and drawing out his confident, personable self. Sam had left early, as usual, leaving the two of you alone, sat at a table in the corner of a crowded bar. The surface was a graveyard littered with empty bottles and glasses, very few of which belonged to you. You had been nursing your drinks, sipping slowly as Dean downed and gulped. So when he got a little out of hand, you were there to carry him home.

When Dean woke alone the next morning, he was sure you had been a dream- too perfect to be real life, or his real life, anyway. His head pounded as he glanced around the unfamiliar motel room, noticing the single bed and feminine belongings that clued him he wasn’t in the room he had rented with Sam. He sat up, grasping at his head, trying to piece together where exactly he was. There was no way he had gone home with you. He remembered the way he had acted the night before, and how sober you had still been. You must have dumped him with a random girl to take him off your hands. His heart sank to his stomach- if he had messed up his chances with you, he wouldn’t forgive himself.

Before he could linger in this fear for long, he heard two separate laughs nearing the front door. When it swung open to reveal you and Sam, chatting and clutching coffees and paper bags of breakfast food, Dean let himself flop back down to the bed in relief. Wishing him a good morning, you tossed him pain relievers and a water bottle, setting a coffee and a breakfast sandwich down on his- no, your- bedside table. You briefly recounted the night before for him, noting how you had brought him back here when Sam didn’t answer his phone. You didn’t dwell on his actions, didn’t poke fun, didn’t complain or criticize. Your presence was light as a feather, your body and voice floating around the room as you tidied things up or nibbled at your breakfast. Sam shot him a knowing glance that would later be supplemented with verbal approval. I like her, Dean. Don’t mess this up.

Back in reality, Dean had finally emerged from the woods, stepping from the dense tree cover onto a dusty road. There wasn’t much to see- no buildings or signs of civilization in any direction. The breeze picked up and whistled through his ears in the form of your voice- keep going, Dean. So on he went.

As he walked, sometimes his image of you would flicker and fade like a ghost and his thoughts would plunge back down to Hell. There were a few moments along his path where he would pause to hinge at the hips and dry heave in a desperate attempt to purge the memories from his body alongside the dust in his throat. It made him sick, what he did in Hell. At a few points, when he got too caught up in his thoughts, he’d come to a full stop. In those moments, he didn’t care if he lived or died. His heart ached for you, but he didn’t deserve you anymore. You were the only pure goodness in the world that he had ever known, and now, he was tainted beyond repair. But then would come the breeze. This time, it smelled sweet- miraculously, as there was nothing but dirt road and baking heat to scent it. It was beckoning him, calling him home. It was washing him of his sins. You didn’t care, you never would. Always kind, always forgiving. That was his baby. Sweet as can be. The journey ended in your arms. At times, he thought it never would. He thought he was trapped, imprisoned on a long dirt path, being taunted with the promise of you like a carrot on a stick. But he found a car, found a map, found his way home. You didn’t believe it was him at first- why would you, when a long list of monsters seemed so much more plausible? But if Dean’s first act of repentance had been his passage home, his second act was proving himself to you. That it was him, here and now, real and resting in your fingertips. All Dean knew was Hell. It was real, he had lived it. But when you reached out your arms to embrace him, Hell was just a word that dissipated into space the moment it left his lips. This must be Heaven. You must be heaven.

#arj's 100 follower event #dean winchester x reader #dean winchester one shot #dean winchester x y/n #dean winchester x fem!reader #dean winchester x you #dean winchester fanfic #dean winchester fanfiction #dean winchester reader insert #supernatural #supernatural fanfiction #supernatural x reader #supernatural one shot #supernatural reader insert #dean winchester fluff #dean winchester drabble #supernatural drabble #requests <3

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gilverrwrites · 8 months ago

Note

Could you make a Sam Winchester having erotic dreams with his female best friend?

Author Note: Hello! I hope you don't mind, but I combined this request with your other request for Dean in the same scenario (and added Cas cause 😍) I'm also working on a separate fic for Dean having erotic dreams about a rival per that request. I really hope you enjoy! ❤️

Rating: M/18+

Words: 1940 (Dean 685, Sam 685, Cas 570)

Request Info | Masterlist | Ko-Fi

It's a total coincidence that Dean and Sam are both 685 each!

Please remember: To focus on the things that make you happy.

Dean Winchester

“Oooh yes Dean, yes, that’s it.” Your voice sounds hoarse and breathy. Makes sense cause you’ve been moaning like that, praising like that all night. “You like that baby?” Dean asks from beneath you, completely entranced by the bounce of your breasts and the sway of your hips as you ride him. “You like fuckin’ yourself on my dick baby?” “Yes, Dean, yes! You feel so fucking good. Make me feel so good.” You chant, and when your head rolls back in ecstasy, Dean follows. His fingers grip at your skin, forcing you against him as he ruts into you, spilling himself inside.

That was last night’s dream. The most recent in a string of dreams that left him hot and bothered every morning. The worst part was facing you. Trying to look you in the eye, discuss a case, or make a game plan without thinking about you naked and moaning on his dick.

He’d been avoiding you as much as possible, but sometimes just your name was enough to make him pop a boner, much like the one he had now. He positioned his beer bottle over his offending member and forced himself to stare out the window, averting his gaze from the sight of you, bent over the nearest pool table.

“Hey, what’s up with you?” The sound of your voice made him jump. Man, how out of it was he?

“What?” He looked up at you, hands on hips, staring down at him. The sight made his lips dry. “Oh nothin’, I think I’ve had too many. Maybe I should call it a night.”

“You’ve had like two drinks. That barely even touches the sides.” You state, and you’re not wrong. You know him too well. He can’t help clenching his jaw as you sit down across from him. When he sees how your new angle offers him a perfect shot of your cleavage, he thinks he might start grinding away his teeth. “Anyway, that’s not what I meant.”

“What do you mean then?” He leans in closer. Not to be closer, but he hopes leaning forward might help hide the bulge in his jeans.

“You’ve been acting funny, and avoiding me all wee-“

“N-“

“Don’t interrupt. Yes, you have.” You punctuate your statement by placing your drink on the table. You don’t slam, but it's hard and firm enough to communicate your point. “Don’t you try to deny it Dean Winchester! I know you too well. You’ve been avoiding me, and when you can’t get away you’re all squirrely and quiet. Now tell me what’s going on.”

He drains his beer as he thinks it over. Partly to try and return some moisture to his mouth but primarily to buy himself some time while he thinks things over. If he’s honest, he might get something out of it. A one-night stand, a fuck buddy, maybe more? Or he might lose you, which he couldn’t stand.

“I…”

“Come on Dean, whatever it is, we’ll get through it. We always do.”

Fuck it. You’re right. He gestures to the bartender for another round, takes a deep breath, and spills. And a funny thing happens: he starts to feel more relaxed as he lets it out. If you’re not into it, that’s fine. So long as it doesn’t scare you off.

When he’s done, he watches you as you process his confession. Man, he loves the way your face moves when you’re thinking.

“So…” You purse your lips and take a quick sip of your drink as you prepare your response. “What’s the problem? Do you not want to sleep with me?”

“No, I do. Obviously, you’re…” hot, incredible, the only woman I want. Unable to voice any of the thoughts in his head at that moment, he gestures to you, head to toe and back again. “I just don’t want it to cause problems between us. Our friendship”

“Then we won’t let it.” You state matter-of-factly. “Now, are you gonna take me back to the bunker so we can fuck each other dumb or not?”

“You don’t have to ask me twice.”

Sam Winchester

His fingers are knuckle deep inside of you as you lay back, spread out across his bed. “Fuckkk… Sam!” You look up at him, eyes hazy, hair a mess, and he can feel his dick throb in response. “Sam, I’m so full.” “Poor baby.” He coos in response. “So full already, and I’ve barely even touched you.” He watches the way your expression melts at his words with pride, when he sees your lips start to form your reply, he places a direct smack to your clit. The whine you release is music to his ears. The way you wither and moan as he begins to play with your clit, fuck, you’re so hot. “Are you ready for more?” He asks. He’s pleased when you begin vigorously nodding. “Yes, Sam! Yes! Yes, please!”

Years of impersonating officials and hustling at almost every bar he stopped at had earned Sam a more than convincing poker face. But you always saw right through it.

For that reason, Sam had been bending over backwards to avoid you. He wasn’t totally sure what he was hiding, the fact that he’d dreamed about you, or the fact that he’d furiously masturbated to the memory of it upon waking up. Either way, he wasn’t ready to face you.

He’d hung back in the morning, grabbing his breakfast later than usual. Gone to the local library all day to research, citing a change of scenery when Dean questioned him, and had gone grocery shopping as an excuse to stay out later.

After unpacking the shopping, he’d hopped in the shower, making up for skipping his usual morning routine.

What he hadn’t accounted for was finding you, dressed in nothing but your panties and one of his t-shirts, in the centre of his bed. The very bed he’d vividly fantasised about pleasing you in.

It wasn’t an unusual sight. You were his best friend after all. You often hung out in each other’s rooms, and you frequently borrowed his shirts. He just really could have done without all this today.

“Hey Sam.” You greeted him with a smile, looking up from your laptop. “I missed you today.”

“Hey.” He responds awkwardly. Both hands clutching at his towel. He clears his throat before continuing. “Yeah, I was busy I guess. You too.”

“No worries.” You assure him before returning your gaze to your screen. “I could use your help with something if that’s alright?”

“Sure.” He approaches the bed. Certain close proximity will escalate his predicament he resolves to remain standing. However, looking down at you, with your head so close to his crotch, is equally stirring something within him. Reluctantly, he sits beside you. He glances at your computer briefly but quickly becomes preoccupied with adjusting and readjusting his towel, determined to cover the growing erection beneath.

“So, I’ve been looking into the apple of Sodom for Claire but…” he swears he meant to listen, but he’d never noticed how good you smell before, or how your skin glows even under the dingy light of his room. “Sam? Sam are you even listening?”

“Yeah, of course.” He finally tunes back in. “Apple of Sodom, Claire… hand of God?”

He looks into your eyes to judge his improv, but you’re staring, wide-eyed, right at the thing he’s been trying to hide.

“Is that- are you…” You look at his face, and he can feel the heat spreading across his cheeks. “For- because of me?”

“I’m sorry!” He stands, pausing to compose his words before continuing his apology. “I just, I had this dream last night about you, and it’s all I’ve been able to think about all day. I know I shouldn’t. I know it’s wrong.”

“Why is it wrong?”

“Because you’re my friend. My best friend.”

“Right.” You always saw right through him, but fortunately, that was a two-way skill, and right now, he could hear, he could feel the disappointment you were radiating.

“Unless…” he cocks a brow at you, and your body immediately perks up. You look up at him, eyes hazy, identical to his dream. “Do you want this too?”

Castiel

You’re a vision on your knees before him, eyes watering, cheeks puffed out, hair tangled between his fingers. He stares intently, relishing in all the subtle movements of your faces as he lazily pumps his penis between your lips. His grip grows tighter every time he feels the back of your throat against his tip. Your muffled pants and moans are music to his ears. The way your lips glisten beneath the sheen of your own saliva is erotic, and he worries the sight of you alone will be enough to make him finish before he’s really begun.

It’s that vision he’s thinking of now as he watches you on your hands and knees, scrubbing a chalk pentagram off the floor.

He’s brought out of his chain of thoughts by the sound of your voice. “Is there something on my face?”

“No.” He squints at your face; he is confident it looks fine, more than fine, beautiful in fact, but he examines it in more depth, nonetheless. “There is nothing on your face. In fact, your face is quite adequate.”

“Quite adequate, I’ll take that as high praise.” You laugh. He’s not certain what’s so funny, but the sound is exquisite, and only further fuels the unfamiliar fiery feeling he’s experiencing. “But seriously, why are you staring at me?”

Your line of questioning makes sense to him now. He briefly considers lying to you, but on the spot he cannot think of anything convincing. “I slept last night.”

“I didn’t know Angels did that.” It’s not a question, but he has learned many human cues during his time on Earth. You’re digging for more information.

“We can, but we do not need to, so typically we don’t. I thought I might trial it to see if it would help in replenishing my grace.” He answers.

“Did it help?” Your inquisitiveness is ceaseless. It is something he has always liked about you.

“No.” He replies, he enjoys the brief frown of disappointment you give in response. “I did however, dream of you.”

“Ahh, and what did me and my quite adequate face do in your dream?” You’re smiling again as you scrub at a particularly stubborn stain. He notices the unintentionally alluring way you chew at your bottom lip and is immediately reminded of the way you had looked in his dream, as you waited in anticipation for him to expose his genitals.

He allows himself to wonder how you will react to his next statement; he hopes you’ll be as excited and pliable as you had been in his fantasy. “You were nude, on your knees, performing fellatio on my, well, my vessels penis.”

“Oh!” You respond in a tone that he believes to be humorous and a little surprised. Until you look down at your knees, considering your precarious position. “Oooooh.”

You don’t say anything else, nor do you look back up at him. He begins to worry that he may have said something inappropriate, or that you thought he had disliked the experience.

“It was an enjoyable dream, if that is your concern.” He attempts to offer comfort.

“Well, I suppose that’s good news.” You nod to yourself; your tone gives nothing away. “I wonder if my real-life skills are as enjoyable as your fantasies.”

“I wouldn’t know, we have never…” His line of speech, his thoughts are interrupted by the enticing sight of you crawling towards him. “Oh.”

#supernatural reader insert #supernatural imagine #dean winchester x reader #sam winchester x reader #castiel x reader #supernatural x reader #spn imagine #gilverrwrites

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couldyouimagine-that · 10 months ago

Text

Cuddles With Satan

Genre; Hurt/Comfort, Flufffff

Word Count; 1.2k

Warnings; None, just the reader being exhausted beyond belief and Lucifer convincing you to let him hold you while you go to sleep.

Pairings; Lucifer (Supernatural) x Reader

I know that soft!Lucifer isn't everyone's thing, but I haven't found enough fics like this so I am filling the gap myself! I guess he's inherently OOC for being soft, but I've written him as in character as possible if he decided to be affectionate towards the reader. (Also comment if you think I should do something similar with Casifer, I am very much considering it). Enjoy!

Here's part 2!

Masterlist

“I know you don’t really believe it yourself, but you are right.”

You had told Dean, Sam and Castiel that it was okay to leave you alone with the Devil. That if he wanted you dead, you would be.

“Besides, why would I kill you? That little moral dilemma that you’ve got going on is far more interesting than your corpse would be.”

That little moral dilemma was that you liked Lucifer. And he knew it.

You were incredibly tired. You didn’t feel well, you hadn’t been sleeping or even eating properly and you had convinced the others to go so that they could get a break from Lucifer’s antics. You knew that if someone hadn’t left, you would have ended up with a full-blown fight on your hands, and you didn’t want to have to deal with the fallout of one of your friends conveniently forgetting that they were nothing more than an insect to an archangel. You’d already had the job of patching up Sam and Dean when one of them got a little too self-righteous and a flick of Lucifer’s hand had sent them both flying. Castiel at least had slightly better control, but you’d had to hold him back from starting something in retaliation more than once. Not that pushing the angel back by his shoulders would actually do anything if he had a mind, but so far it had served as a good enough reminder to stop him from antagonising the Devil.

You turned around to face him, arms crossed over his chest and head resting in one hand, leaning against the edge of the table. Utterly relaxed and confident. He tilted his head just slightly as he watched you, a smile pulling at his lips.

“I need to go and get some rest before I pass out. Please, please don’t do anything while I’m gone.” He stayed quiet, enjoying the look you were giving him, pleading him to help you out. Until you dropped it, huffing a sigh and shaking your head. You were going to fall asleep regardless and you’d rather not be in the main room of the bunker when it happened. You made for the corridor at the back without another word, heading to what had become your room. Naturally, Lucifer followed.

“How about I come with you?” You said nothing, allowing yourself a silent sigh. “What? Two birds, one stone – that way you get to rest and you know where I am and what I’m doing.”

Not for the first time, you cursed yourself for having ever opened your mouth. A few weeks back, whilst sharing some beers with the boys and reminiscing on happier times, talk had turned briefly to partners. Sam and Dean had mentioned that in each of their longer-term relationships, their girlfriends had said they felt safer being held when they went to sleep. You had agreed, saying that you usually also slept better if someone was holding you. The conversation had moved on, that had been it. Apart from the fact that Lucifer had been hanging around somewhere and heard every word, and hadn’t left you alone about it since.

“Not today, Lucifer. Please.” You could hear the smile in his voice when he answered and you knew he’d heard the defeat in yours.

“Come on, Y/N, just this one time. What harm will it do?” He just kept walking behind you when you didn’t answer. “It’s not a one-way ticket downstairs, if that’s what you’re worried about. You’ve got far worse on your resume than ‘cuddled with Satan’.” You could feel your fight draining with every passing second.

“Why do you even care about this so much?” You asked at length, leaving the door to your room open out of habit since you were still having a conversation. By the time you considered that maybe slamming the door in his face would have ended the conversation, he had already walked inside.

“Curiosity. Angels don’t sleep, as you know, so I’ve never experienced holding someone until they drift off. I want to know what it feels like.”

You stared at him for a moment, uncomprehending. You knew your powers of reasoning weren’t operating at full capacity, but that sounded so… genuine. Gentle. Usually bad things when associated with Lucifer but you were running out of both reasons and time remaining before you collapsed where you stood.

“Come on.” His voice was so quiet, so soft, that you would never again wonder how he had convinced anyone to do anything. You just hoped you were right in thinking that there were worse things you could be agreeing to.

“I- alright. Fine.” You raised your hands briefly in surrender then collapsed onto one side of your bed, faced away from him.

You felt the mattress shift beneath his weight as he laid down behind you, felt his gaze on you as he lightly traced two fingers down your spine. You had to fight to hold back your sigh. His hand moved ever so gently along your side, up to your shoulder where he applied just a little bit of pressure to push you onto your back. His expression was soft, one arm beneath his head as his eyes tracked the path of his hand. He didn’t even have to lean to reach over you and your eyes shuttered when he slipped his hand beneath your back, pulling you over to him with no effort at all. You found yourself pressed against his side, head on his shoulder and with nowhere else for it to go, your arm resting on his chest.

His hand started a gentle passage up and down your back and you gave up on trying to hold back your contented sigh. Lucifer smiled genuinely at the sight. He rested his chin atop your head as he moved his flat palm to your lower back, again pushing gently to reposition you how he wanted. With sleep already winding its tendrils through your mind, you figured in for a penny, in for a pound. You received an appreciative squeeze when you crossed your leg over one of his, and another when you wrapped your arm around his torso, laying your hand against his ribs. You played with his soft shirt for a few moments, moving the material between your fingers, before tucking your face more firmly against his shoulder. Lucifer shifted slightly and you felt the scratch of the scruff on his chin against your forehead and a gentle pressure before he moved back again. Even mostly asleep, that woke you straight back up again.

A forehead kiss? That had nothing to do with wanting to know what it felt like to hold someone as they fell asleep. You looked up questioningly to find his expression caring – caring – and his gaze already trained on you. He would only offer a minute, one-shouldered shrug in response. Just felt like it, the movement said. I don’t really care. You simply chose to lay down again rather than start another conversation, and Lucifer’s chin returned to your head and his hand resumed its path across your back. You eventually let your train of thought go so that you could finally get some rest, but you couldn’t help but wonder what it was going to mean to have Lucifer’s affection.

#supernatural lucifer x reader #spn lucifer x reader #supernatural lucifer #spn lucifer #supernatural reader insert #spnfandom #spn fanfic #supernatural #spnfamily #lucifer #lucifer x reader

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moonlightspencie · 4 months ago

Note

ahh hi, i just read through your master list youre so talented!

wondering if dean winchester and enemies to lovers? with angst but also a happy ending but also like shouting confessions and stuff but also like dean is like patching up reader or maybe not shouting but like stuff? protective? abuhwfc idek what im saying but yes tysm <3 have a good day

awww thanks so much! this was fun to write, i looooove writing dean

pairing: dean winchester x gn!reader

warnings: mentions of injuries!

——————————

“What the hell were you thinking?” Dean snapped at you for the fifth time since you’d gotten in the car with him.

You huffed a sigh, still holding onto your leg in what was most definitely not a small amount of pain.

“I get it, Winchester, you’re pissed. Are you done bitching at me yet?”

“No, I’m not!” He let out a breath in annoyance, glancing sideways at you as he drove. “Running in without me was… was freaking stupid. You could’ve gotten killed.”

“I didn’t.”

“But you could have, damn it! I should’ve never agreed to bring you along.”

“I got the job done.”

“Barely.”

“Screw you.”

He opened his mouth to speak again, his chest heaving in anger as he glared at you again. He decided on a simple shake of the head as he tore through town to get to the motel.

As soon as he pulled in, he practically dragged you out of the car, carrying you into his room and setting you on the bed. You winced.

“Watch it. Kind of got a bullet wound here.”

You half expected Dean to snap something snarky back at you, but all he did was glance at you with his brows furrowed as he hurried around the room.

“Sorry,” he muttered. “I’m trying to get said bullet out of that hole in your leg.”

You sighed softly, then started trying to gingerly pull your jeans off without further irritating your thigh.

“Damn it,” you cursed under your breath.

Dean turned quickly at that. “What?”

You merely shook your head, continuing to try and pull off your pants.

“Usually someone will at least try to flirt before they strip for me.”

“Shut up,” you grumble back, trying to hide a small smile.

He sat on the bed next to you, setting down his first aid supplies to help you get your pants the rest of the way off.

“Usually a guy will at least buy me dinner before taking off my pants,” you quip back at him.

“Shut up,” he smirked a little. Then he cleared his face. “You’re an idiot. You could’ve been killed tonight.”

“So you’ve said.”

“I’m serious,” he said, finally freeing you from your jeans with minimal jostling. “You acted like… like…”

“Yeah, yeah. I was stupid. I get it.”

He huffed again, shaking his head as he started prodding softly at your leg.

“Ouch,” you muttered softly, face scrunched in pain.

“I know. Sorry.”

“S’fine. Just pull it out.”

“I’ve been known to be pretty good at that,” he said noncommittally, slowly pulling the bullet out with a pair of thin tweezers.

You winced softly, but stayed mostly quiet as he worked.

“Attagirl,” he patted your knee gently. “Alright, we’re gonna have to stitch this up.”

“Damn it,” you groan, head falling back against his pillow.

“That’s why you don’t run off without me.”

“Shut it.”

“Just saying.”

“Well, don’t. I won’t hesitate to kick your ass.”

He snorted once, a tiny smirk on his face. You frowned, looking at him.

“What?”

He shrugged. “You sound like Bobby sometimes. I always forget you lived with him for a couple years as a kid.”

You hummed once. “Yeah. He acted like he hated it, but he was a pretty great foster dad for the time.”

“He was a great… well, everything.” He cleaned around the wound, handing you a bottle of some dark colored liquor. “Drink.”

You complied immediately, knowing you’d need a little something to take the edge off that inevitable pain. He took the bottle back, pouring a little on the wound to make sure it was sterilized on the outside.

“Ow!”

“It’s only gonna get worse.”

You scoff. “Not exactly comforting, Dean.”

“Not meant to be.”

You braced yourself as he started stitching you up, trying to focus on literally anything else until he finally finished. You let out a heavy breath.

“Good. You’re fine, see?” Dean said, looking at you expectantly.

You sighed, opening your eyes and glancing at your leg. It wasn’t half bad for some hunter stitches. You’d definitely had worse. You nodded a little at his work.

“Yeah. Good.”

“Good,” he repeated again, then placed the bandage on it. “You’re a pain in the ass, you know that?”

“I know.”

He looked at you for a moment. “I’m serious. I wish I hadn’t brought you.”

“I get it. But…”

“No buts about it. If we ever work together on anything again, and I mean ever, you’ll do as I say. Got it?”

You rolled your eyes. “Please. You’re not my dad or my boyfriend, and even if you were, I still wouldn’t take orders from you. Get a grip.”

“You almost got killed,” he repeated.

“I heard that the first fifty times, Winchester. But you almost get— you know what? No. You have gotten killed. More than once! You can’t say that shit to me!”

“I—” he started, but obviously didn’t really know what to say to that. He hummed once in thought. “Well… well, that’s different.”

“No it isn’t.”

“I don’t have to deal with losing me if I get killed!”

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

“I just… it’s different. If it’s you, then,” he sighed, running a hand over his face. “If it’s you, or if it’s Sam, or anyone else, I’m left here to know that it’s probably my fault it happened. I have to deal with it if you die and I can’t deal with it!”

“Oh, come on, you’ve always hated me. You’d live.”

“I don’t hate you.”

“You think I’m annoying at the very least!”

“Yeah, cause you are! But I don’t want you to die!”

“How sweet,” you deadpan.

“Oh, shut up. You know what I mean. I don’t… I couldn’t…”

“What?”

“I like you! Alright?! Is that what you want to hear?”

“No you don’t. You hardly tolerate me.”

“Because you’re too damn independent and it freaks me the hell out!” he snaps again. “I don’t want to like you because that means I’ll fall for you and that means if you die, I’ll… I’ll…”

You groan in irritation.

“Cut it out. I’m trying to tell you I want you!”

You scoff. “Excuse me?”

“I want you! Always have! You got any clue how many times Bobby smacked me when he caught me checking you out?”

You stared at him for a moment in shock, then burst out laughing. He scrunched up his face in confusion, staring at you. He swallowed.

“Quit— quit laughing.”

“You’re serious?!”

“Yes, I’m serious. You don’t have to be a dick about it.”

You laughed again. “Oh my god! You’re being a bitch because you have a crush on me? What, are you 13?”

He rolled his eyes. “This is why I can’t stand you.”

“Apparently you can’t stand me because you like me too much,” you laugh.

“You— You know…” he tried, but was obviously too flustered to speak properly.

He ran through options in his head, but one sounded way more fun than the others. He suddenly leaned in, pressing his lips to yours. That shut you up quick.

“Mm,” you mumbled against his lips, kissing him back.

He could be a douche, but he was also super hot. Not to mention, he was a total sweetheart when he wasn’t determined to be an asshole. Like now. He pulled away, breathing heavier.

“Don’t laugh at me again. It’s mean,” he muttered softly.

“Don’t confess to a little crush like that again and I won’t. Next time you wanna confess, just kiss me instead. Much more effective.”

“Will do,” he breathed out, leaning in again.

#dean winchester #dean winchester x reader #dean winchester one shot #dean winchester fanfiction #dean winchester fanfic #dean winchester fic #dean winchester fluff #supernatural #supernatural reader insert #supernatural drabble #luna’s dean fics #gender neutral reader

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dianawinchester03 · 16 days ago

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Season 2, Episode 19 - Folsom Prison Blues

Series Masterlist

Author's Note: Hi loves! Quick disclaimer, this chapter is a bit longer than I intended, it’s currently just a little over 17k words and I know a lot of people would love that lol🥰

But I feel compelled to let you know that it’s a long one and to remind you to take breaks in between, drink water and eat something because as a reader myself, I get lost in reading stories that I forget to eat and I end up getting yelled at😭

So get a snack and enjoy besties!!😘😘😘

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Third Person POV

After the successful hunt and seeing Dean hook up with her favorite actress, Y/N made it her duty not to sulk over this, refusing to let a guy get to her, even if it was Dean. So the second they entered that dive bar, she started her engine. Sam and Dean were at one end of the bar in a dingy old booth while Y/N sat at the bar, chatting up the bartender.

"What can I get you, beautiful?" The bartender asked, leaning across the bar, eyeing her like a snack. "I think I need something strong," Y/N said suggestively, giving him a smirk, swirling a lock of her hair around her finger.

The bartender chuckled, a low rumble that sent a shiver up her spine. "Strong, huh? Trying to drown your troubles, I'm guessing?"

“Something like that” She snorted, shaking her head as she tried to swallow that sick feeling down her stomach.

Sam and Dean were well into their fourth or fifth beers when they spotted Y/N chatting up a chick at the bar; a very pretty brunette chick. She was buying her drinks, smiling and laughing.

“Did heaven lose an angel?” Y/N joked, flashing the woman a coy smile. The woman laughed, leaning against the bar, resting her hand on Y/N's forearm. "You're not exactly bad-looking yourself, sweetheart," she said back, giving her a wink.

“I didn’t take you for the type to laugh at a cheap pick up line. Here I was expecting a drink tossed in my face” Y/N chuckled, leaning into the woman’s touch. The brunette chuckled, her fingers gently tracing Y/N's arm. "I guess I have a soft spot for pretty (h/c) gals," she said, her eyes darting down to Y/N's lips for a moment before meeting her gaze again.

Y/N bit her lip, extending her hand to shake the woman’s. “Y/N. And you are, sweetie?” She introduced herself. "Jenna," the brunette replied, giving her a dazzling smile. "Pleasure to meet you, Y/N." Jenna’s fingers were still wrapped a bit around Y/N's hand, lightly rubbing the inner part of her wrist with her thumb, sending shivers up her spine.

“The pleasures all mine, beautiful” Y/N shot back with a sly wink, “Can I buy you a drink?” Jenna chuckled, tilting her head to the side, eyeing Y/N with a smile. "A pretty thing like you buying me a drink? You know I can't say no to that" she leaned into Y/N a bit more, her leg brushing against Y/N's.

From across the room, Dean noticed Y/N was sitting at the bar with a woman who was, by his standards, incredibly hot. The sight made his chest a bit tight. It was a feeling he didn't often like to acknowledge or confront whenever it crept up on him.

Seeing her sitting so close to another woman, talking and flirting with her so openly, it was grinding his gears and not in a way he liked...yep, he’s a hypocritical asshole.

Dean's jaw tightened as he watched Jenna lean in and whisper something in Y/N's ear; she'd thrown her head back with a laugh, shaking her head. He felt himself clenching his jaw as he took another mouthful of his beer while Sam sat beside him on his laptop, practically giggling into his beer because of Dean’s growing jealous of seeing y/n and Jenna, as if he didn’t just hook up with her favorite actress.

After a few more rounds and a copious amount of flirting from Jenna, Y/N suddenly jumped down off her stool. She then wrapped an arm around Jenna’s waist and pulled her away from the bar. The brunette woman let out a playful gasp, a smile on her face as she intertwined her fingers with Y/N’s. “Where are we going, gorgeous?” she asked, shooting Y/N a sultry smile.

Y/N chuckled, turning her head to give Jenna a wink. "Somewhere more…private" she said, giving Jenna's hip a squeeze. Her eyes flicked over her shoulder to where Sam and Dean sat, and she noticed how Dean looked rather brooding. She felt a little smug satisfaction from that.

____________________________________________

Y/N was pushing Jenna against the closed door of her motel room, their bodies pressed together as they frantically kissed. Y/N’s hands were on Jenna’s hips, fingers sliding under her shirt to brush against her skin, while Jenna’s hands were tangled in Y/N's hair, pulling it loose from the bun she kept it in. All while Y/N ignored the pangs of guilt and the voice in the back of her head that sounded suspiciously like Dean.

They stumbled into the room, their lips still connected as they stumbled back towards the bed. Y/N’s hands roamed, pushing Jenna’s shirt up her stomach, pressing kisses to her throat and collarbone. She was trying to drown out the thoughts of a certain Winchester brother in her head, replacing them with the feeling and scent of Jenna.

Jenna’s hands went to the hem of Y/N's shirt, pulling it up and over her head, before they both fell onto the bed. Jenna was now nipping and sucking at her neck, her hands sliding down Y/N's body, making her gasp.

Y/N moaned lightly at the feeling of Jenna’s mouth against her neck, and before she could even think about what she was doing, she suddenly flipped them so she was on top, pinning Jenna’s hands above her head.

The next morning, Y/N woke up to the sun spilling through the motel room curtain. Her eyes fluttered open. She was met with the sight of Jenna sleeping peacefully beside her, her hair messy from all the fun last night, but she had a peaceful expression on her face. Her head was pressed into Y/N’s naked chest, the hunter’s arm draped protectively around the petite brunette. Y/N smiled as it soon faded when the memory of the previous night finally caught up to her.

The sound of her phone ringing pushed her out of her thoughts. With a groan, she fumbled around her jacket on the floor until her hand wrapped around her cellphone. She answered the phone, rubbing her eyes with her free hand.

"Hello?" Y/N said wearily into the phone. She could faintly hear the sounds of Sam and Dean arguing in the background. "Oh good you're awake" Dean grumbled, his voice gravelly and filled with annoyance. "We found a case"

“Dean, it’s-“ She checked the time on the wall clock, “6am!” She lowly exclaimed. “Couldn’t this have waited?” Y/N spat, pulling Jenna into her chest closer. “No it couldn’t have ‘waited’.” Dean snarked, “We got bodies piling in a prison and we’re wasting time waiting for your beauty rest” he huffed, making rude gagging noises.

“Oh for fucks sake- fine. Give me 10 minutes” Y/N cursed, groaned from her pounding hangover. “See ya soon,” Dean grumbled before the call went dead. Y/N dropped her phone next to her on the bed before looking down at Jenna, who was still asleep.

Y/N didn’t want to wake up the woman, but she knew she had to leave. With a soft sigh, she placed soft kisses along Jenna’s shoulder as she began to stir. "Jenna, I have to go,” she whispered, continuing to place gentle kisses along her bare shoulder.

Jenna let out a soft grumble, burying her face further into Y/N’s chest. Y/N chuckled softly, her hand brushing through Jenna’s hair. She would’ve loved to stay in bed with the woman, but duty called.

After a few minutes of convincing and more kisses, Jenna finally peeled her face away from Y/N's chest, groggily blinking her eyes open. She looked so damn adorable with her hair messy, her eyes half-lidded, and her lips in a pout.

“You have to go?” she mumbled out, her voice filled with annoyance. “Yeah, I’m sorry” Y/N apologized, pressing a kiss to her lips before forcefully peeling herself from the bed.

Jenna whined as Y/N untangled herself from her, and the hunter chuckled. She was now sitting up in bed, the comforter pooled around her hips.

After a quick (yet steamy) shower together and a change of clothes, Y/N was getting ready to leave. Jenna sat on the motel bed, her back propped up against the headboard, watching Y/N finish buttoning up her overshirt.

“You sure you can’t stay a few more hours?” Jenna joked, giving Y/N a small pout. Her eyes were locked on Y/N's neck, which was littered with various hickeys, mirroring Jenna’s neck.

“Duty calls, sweetie” Y/N chuckled, lacing up her combat boots. A knock at the door startled them, “Come on, Princess. We don’t got all day!” Dean's voice boomed from behind the door, along with Sam’s, “Chill out dude, give the girl a break” this made Y/N roll her eyes in annoyance.

“Hold on a second, asshat!” Y/N called back, placing on her leather jacket before slinging her bag over her shoulder. A small smirk appeared on her face, and she turned to face Jenna, who looked rather disheartened at Y/N leaving. But Jenna swallowed it down and slung her own bag over her shoulder.

Y/N pulled open the motel door, revealing Sam and Dean on the other side. Dean’s jaw was tight, his gaze fixed on the hickeys decorating Y/N’s neck. It took every inch of self-control he had to keep his mouth shut.

Sam, meanwhile, was giving Y/N a proud knowing smile, but he also noticed how pissed off and brooding his older brother was.

Jenna then appeared behind Y/N, giving her a small smile and wrapping her arms around her waist. "I guess this is where we part ways," she said, placing a gentle kiss on Y/N's cheek. Y/N returned the smile, wrapping her arms around Jenna in return, and leaned her back into her chest.

This made Dean's eye twitch, even more, "I really did have a great night, darlin',” Y/N said, placing a hand on Jenna's hip, giving it a squeeze. Jenna looked down at the floor, fiddling with the edge of her shirt.

“Just wish you could’ve, y’know, stayed a bit longer,” she mumbled with a pout. Y/N grinned, pressing a final kiss to her lips. “Oh, trust me I would’ve loved to keep you all to myself a bit longer,” Y/N replied in a hushed tone, her hand going up to caress Jenna's cheek. Their little bubble was interrupted by Dean clearing his throat, an obvious impatient look on his face.

"Can we get a move on? We got a case to solve" he spat out. Sam shot Y/N an apologetic glance, but Y/N just shook her head, her own eye twitching in annoyance as they darkened. “Watch your tone with me, Winchester” She warned harshly, narrowing her eyes at him before turning back to Jenna with a soft smile. “I’ll see you around, hun. And I’ll call you”

Jenna smiled, “Hopefully sooner rather than later” she said, giving Y/N a final squeeze before pulling away. Y/N returned the smile, placing a chaste kiss to her cheek before walking out of the motel room, not even bothering to look at Dean as she headed towards the impala.

“Don’t judge me, charming” She spat with a smug smirk, opening the back door as she and Sam shared a quick high-five. Dean scoffed as he made his way to the driver’s door. “Whatever you say, Princess” he muttered as he got in the car, starting the engine. Sam chuckled from the passenger seat as Y/N got in, a knowing smile on his face.

Y/N rolled her eyes at him, closing the door of the impala with a slam. Dean glanced at her through the rearview mirror, his left eye twitching at the sight of some faint hickeys still visible on her skin.

Needless to say, Y/N definitely enjoyed herself last night. And she was intending on calling Jenna.

____________________________________________

•One Week Later

Little Rock, Arkansas

Arkansas Museum of Anthropology

Sam and Dean Winchester shone their lights in the dimly lit halls of the museum, “This way” Dean whispered to his brother, ushering him down the hall. “I hate this plan, Dean,” Sam whispered back, following behind his brother. “Yeah, I got that the first 10 times I heard it” Dean muttered back sarcastically, rolling his eyes.

The two continued down the hall, purposefully setting off security alarms as they walked down. They made it to a case, picking the lock and opening it. Retrieving some old antique weapons. The unlocking of a door down the hall caught their attention, the two shared an alarmed look before stuffing the items into their bags and rushing down the hall, right into the arms of police officers.

“Freeze!” Two officers yelled at them, pointing their guns and flashlights, they spun around to be met with another pair of officers. “Don’t move!” The other pair ordered. They attempted to make a break for it but they were bombarded by another pair of police officers.

“I said freeze!”

“Hold it right there!”

“Get down on your knees now!”

Both Winchesters did immediately as told, Dean wore a smirk as he got down on his knees with his hands pressed to the back of his head while Sam looked terrified. The cops handcuffed their hands behind their heads as Sam shot his brother a deadly glare. Dean just shrugged in return.

____________________________________________

“Front. To the right” The photographer instructed Sam as he took his mugshot. The younger Winchester looked stoic as he took his picture.

While Dean, “I call this one the Blue Steel” Dean snarked before pursing his lips and furrowing his brows in an exasperated attempt to joke the situation away. “Yeah, that’s great. To the right. Okay. Back to the lineup” The photographer deadpanned.

“Wait. Who looks better? Me or Nick Nolte?” Dean smirked, “Shut up!” The photographer groaned in annoyance.

As they were shoved into adjoining interview rooms, Dean began drumming on the table, whistling and even kicking the chair to try and annoy a certain brother sitting in the interrogation room next to his own. Dean smirked as he heard a muffled “Cut it out!” from the room next to his, he did it again and in reply. “Knock it off!” Came the reply.

The door finally opened revealing Victor Henriksen in his formal FBI attire and a familiar face. Dean instantly recognized the man to be Alexander Thompson, Y/N’s ex boyfriend from high school. He clenched his jaw, his eyes darkening as they connected with Thompson’s. “Well, it’s about time. I’ll have a cheeseburger” Dean sassed.

Victor tilted his head at Dean as Alexander shut the door behind him, a grim look etched on the cop-turn-FBI Agent’s face. “Extra onions” He shot at Xander with distaste. “You think you’re funny,” Victor scoffed. Dean pursed his lips, “I think I’m adorable” Dean shot back with sass, flashing Victor a cheeky smile.

“They letting anyone into the FBI now? Last I saw you, you were working a shitty beat” Dean snarked at Alexander, the envy and hatred clear in his tone. Xander clenched his jaw, standing across from Dean, his hands on his hips, while Victor stood beside him, a smug grin plastered on his face. “Last I saw you, I was picking your ass up on that shitty beat” Thompson rebutted with equal sass.

“What are you, here to measure my dick?” Dean snapped, shooting the ex-boyfriend a venomous glare. “I don’t have my ruler on me” Xander replied back, just as venomously, the smug smirk on his face made a fire grow in Dean’s chest.

Victor chuckled in amusement at the two men with clear vendettas against each other, “It is a pleasure to finally meet you in person, Dean.” Victor chimed in, glaring at Dean, who’s eyes were piercing Alexander’s. Dean finally broke his gaze on the agent and turned to Victor. “I’m Special Agent Victor Henricksen. This is my partner, whom you seem to know, Special Agent Alexander Thompson.”

“Henricksen. Not the Milwaukee Agent Hendricksen” Dean said in recognition, the smug look returning to his face. “Live and in person” Victor confirmed, rolling his eyes. Dean chuckled as Victor took out a picture of Dean and Y/N at the bank robbery. “Nice shot” Victor said sarcastically, Dean noticed Alexander gulp when Victor tossed the photo on the table.

Assuming that y/n still had some weight on his heart, Dean rolled his eyes. “Thanks. You should see us from the back” Dean stated nonchalantly as he looked at the picture before leaning back in his chair. Xander’s glare darkened when Dean made the comment, wanting nothing more than to smack the smirk off the hunter’s face.

Victor didn’t miss the jealous look on Xander’s face nor did he miss the venomous glare that he sent back at Dean. Victor could sense the built-up hatred the two men had for each other.

“You can hang that up in your cell at Supermax. Right after you tell us where Y/N is” Dean kept the smug look on his face, knowing that he wasn't gonna give up his girl even if it meant torturing it out of him. “Alright, maybe we can just forget the cheeseburgers, huh?” Dean chuckled.

“Oh, yeah. Keep that game face on. Try and cover up how cornered you are” Victor shot back as Dean pursed his lips. “Read him the charges” He instructed Alexander. The agent rested his hands on his hips as he began, “We got mail fraud, credit card fraud, grave desecration-” Xander began.

“Skip to the good ones” Victor cut him off. “Armed robbery, kidnapping and, oh, three counts of first degree murder” Xander smirked. “And after Milwaukee, your brother and your girlfriend are now suspects in murder cases themselves.” Victor chimed in, Alexander had to stop himself from flinching when he referred to y/n as Dean’s girlfriend while the elder Winchester smirked.

Trying to mask his clear irritation. “I’d say for you three, ‘screwed to hell’ is a major understatement” Victor snarked, a smug look on his face. “Well, where there’s life, there’s hope, huh?” Dean snarked. “See, that’s what I kept thinking when I was searching for your asses all over hell and gone.” Victor shot back.

Xander clenched his jaw, his face turning a slight shade of red in anger as the elder Winchester chuckled in amusement. He continued his smirk as he leaned forward with his hands clasped together. “You searched for me on your own time?” Dean asked, his voice dripping with sass.

He leaned down on the table, pressing his hands to it. “Your dads taught you well. The way you cover your tracks. And after Milwaukee, the way you-” Victor whistled, “-vanished. Near went nuts trying to find you. But two outta three, I’d say I did great myself” This line from Victor made Dean snort. “Ask him,” Victor pointed to Xander

“He damn near went nuts” Xander deadpanned as Dean craned his head back over to him, wearing a cocky grin on his face while Dean glared at him. “And after all that, you get tripped up on a motion detector” Victor said in a low tone. “Pretty rookie move” He snorted. “Gotta say, I was…surprised”

“Yeah, you and me both” Dean’s grin widened as he leaned back in his seat. Xander clenched his jaw, his hands clenching in a fist as he tried to hold himself back from punching the smirk off his face. “We got into a tight spot,” Dean added.

“Henricksen. Can you give me a minute with him?” Alexander chimed in. Victor turned to the agent, an amused look on his face. “Sure” He said before eyeing Dean and walking out of the room. Dean’s cocky smile dropped slightly when he realized he was alone with Xander.

“I'm gonna keep it real with you, Dean” Alexander snapped, leaning down to face Dean. His hands pressed into the table. “I’m not here to be your friend. I’m here to do my job. Now, where the fuck is Y/N?!” He demanded, his voice filled with authority.

Dean raised his eyebrow, his lips curling up in a cocky smirk once again. “Wouldn’t you like to know?” Dean replied in a sarcastic tone. Alexander’s jaw clenched tightly, his lips twisted into a grimace as he tried to control his anger.

“Look, smart ass,” Xander began, his jaw grinding in frustration. He grabbed Dean by the collar of his shirt, yanking him forward so that they were face to face. “She was a good person. And this crap you’ve gotten her and Sam into, it’s on you!” Xander growled in disgust, shoving the elder Winchester back forcefully, causing him to stumble back into his chair with an annoyed glare etched on his features.

Dean’s hands clenched into fists tightly in his cuffs. His glare darkened significantly. “Don’t you dare pin this on me. Y/N is her own grown woman, she can make her own decisions” He warned, his voice low and menacing. His muscles tensed as the anger boiled inside him, he wanted nothing to smack the agent across the face.

“Where.Is.She?” Xander asked again. Dean gritted his teeth, he felt his irritation growing by the second. “Somewhere where you won’t touch her. I swear to god, if you lay one finger on her, I will kill you” Dean threatened, the anger was now clear in his voice.

Xander scoffed, shaking his head at the fact that Dean threatened to kill an officer of the law, “After all these years, you’re still pining after her like a lovesick puppy” The agent chuckled dryly. The fire inside Dean's chest burned with every word that came out of Xander's mouth.

His jaw ached from how tightly he clenched his teeth and his knuckles turned white from how hard he clenched his hands into fists. “You have no idea what you’re talking about” He snarled back through clenched teeth.

“Oh, I think I do,” Xander shot back, a smug look plastered on his face which only made the anger inside of Dean grow more as he picked up the picture of them on the table. “You have fun in Supermax, dick. And when we do find Y/N, I’m gonna make sure she doesn’t see your sorry ass again” Xander spat, fixing his suit and with that, he left the interrogation room.

Dean slammed his fists against the table, cursing as the door slammed shut. The anger inside him was at its boiling point. He growled lowly, the veins on his forehead popping and a muscle in his jaw twitching.

____________________________________________

Green River County Detention Center

The boys’ lawyer explained to them that they would be staying in the county jail for a week until their sentencing. Which meant they had a week to catch this spirit and bust out.

The prison bus pulled up to the county jail, unloading all the prisoners, the Winchesters included. “Alright, let’s go! Watch your step!” The prison guard ordered the men as they piled off in a single file line.

The prisoners jeered at the boys as they walked, still cuffed and detained. “You’re mine baby!” A prisoner threw a lustful kiss in Sam’s direction, making the Hunter grimace in disgust, wishing he had Jo by his side right at this moment. “Don’t worry, Sam. I promise I won’t trade you for smokes” Dean said to him from in front.

Sam rolled his eyes as Dean snickered.

They finally got suited up in the classic Orange jumpsuits, now hauling their stuff, which consisted of a pillow, an extra pair of clothes and toilet paper. Dean entered his cell he shared with a fellow prisoner, “I call top bunk” Dean smiled but the man scoffed, taking the top bunk. “Okay” He muttered, turning to see his brother Sam come face to face with a man who was actually larger than him.

Sam’s face dropped as the guards locked their door simultaneously, turning to face his brother who was behind held across the hall from him.

Now in a line outside to get strip searched, Sam stood behind his brother. “My roommate doesn’t say much, has yours?” Dean asked Sam in a low tone. “He just keeps staring at me, in a way that makes me…really uneasy” Sam admitted, making Dean smirk and chuckle. “It sounds like you’re making new friends,” Dean snickered.

“Dean. This is, without a doubt, the dumbest, craziest thing we’ve ever done. And that’s in a long, storied career of dumb and crazy” Sam whispered in a harsh tone. “Calm down, it’s all part of the plan” Dean whispered back. “Oh, really? So Henricksen and fucking Alex showing up to as part of the plan?” Sam shot back.

Dean could feel the pressure build up in his chest at the mention of Alexander, “Yeah, well they move a little faster than I thought” Dean covered up his distaste with humor. “I mean, can you believe it? That jock is FBI now” Dean scoffed, shaking his head.

“A lot can change in six years, I guess” Sam retorted as the man behind him grabbed his arm. Sam instantly tensed, looking over his shoulder towards the man who was leering creepily at him. The man just smirked and winked at him, causing Sam to shiver and look away again quickly.

Dean snickered before changing the subject, “Look, all we gotta do is find this ghost, put the sucker down and then grab ourselves a couple of teardrop tattoos” Dean said as if it were simple, “That’s not funny” Sam grumbled, looking at the back of his brothers head disapprovingly. “Dean, what about this escape plan? It-?” Sam stammered.

“It's a 100-percent sure thing. I wouldn’t have gone in if it wasn’t.” Dean assured him. “I mean, come on man. This place has all the signs of a haunting” He whispered back. “And innocent people are dead. Four so far” He added. “Yeah, innocent” Sam scoffed ironically, rolling his eyes. Dean picked up on his tone, looking back at his brother.

“What? You from Texas all of the sudden? Just because these people are in jail, doesn’t mean they deserve to die. If we don’t stop this thing, people are gonna continue to die. We do the job wherever it takes us” Dean said firmly, turning to face the front again. “Look, Dean. Just be straight with me, alright? You’re doing this for Deacon?” Sam asked him for reassurance.

“Damn right” Dean assured him. “Well, you barely even know the guy,” Sam pointed out. “We know he was in a corps with dad. We know he saved Dads life. We know we owe him” Dean insisted. “Yeah, but don’t you think he’s asking a little much?” Sam stated. “It doesn’t matter” Dean shot back, keeping his eyes to the front where men were getting scanned with metal detectors.

“We may not be saints, but we’re loyal and we pay out debts. Now, that means something to me, it means something to y/n and it ought to you too” Dean said in a firm tone, an underlying principle in his tone. “Look, I’m not thrilled about this either” He admitted, his heart on his chest aching at the fact that he has to spend a week away from the woman he loves.

“But Deacon asked us to hunt this thing down, and that’s exactly what we’re gonna do”

____________________________________________

Sam Winchester’s face contorted in disgust as he sniffed the unappetizing looking noodles on his fork, now in the cafeteria with Dean scruffing down his own food next to him. “You know, this chicken isn’t half bad” Dean commented, clapping his tongue. “Great. Finish mine” Sam groaned, plopping his fork down on his tray before shoving it aside.

Dean raised his brows before shrugging and taking up the chicken from Sam’s tray with his fork, “Alright, so let’s go back over this, Dean. Spirit suspect number one is Mark Moody, right?” Sam began. “Yeah. Psycho-Killer extraordinaire. Satanism. Ritual murder. Died in jail” Dean listed off, stuffing a piece of chicken in his mouth. “Are you sure it’s him?” Sam asked.

“Pretty sure. Y/N looked into his file, seemed legit” Dean nodded, chewing on the chicken. “Dean, considering our circumstances, I’m gonna need a little bit better than pretty sure or seemed legit” Sam exaggerated. “Really pretty sure” Dean rolled his eyes. Sam sighed deeply as Dean continued.

“Moody died of a heart attack, which is exactly what all the victims in here are dying of. Okay? He died in the old cell block which they closed right after he croaked 30 years ago. They just opened that back up, that’s when the killings started” Dean explained, filling his mouth with noodles. “So, you think his spirit was released somehow?” Sam asked.

“Mm-hm.” Dean shrugged. “What if he was already cremated?” Sam suggested. “Y/N assumed there’s something in the old block that belongs to him that’s keeping him around. She’s got a point” Dean replied. “Now, whatever it is, we gotta find it, and you know the rest” He finished. “I’m done,” Dean muttered, placing his fork down before dusting his hands off.

Sam sighed, nodding as Dean got up before getting up to follow behind his brother. As Sam was walking, he accidentally bumped into another inmate, grunting harshly as the man stumbled back a bit. The older inmate turned to Sam with wide wild eyes, “Sorry, I-” Sam instantly went to apologize, his heart rate increasing.

“Watch where you’re going” The inmate growled. “Yeah, sure. I just-” Sam nodded frantically, but Dean instantly went into protective mode. “He said he was sorry” The elder Winchester stepped in, his tone standoffish as he got in the face of the other inmate. “Dean-” Sam tried to warn his older hotheaded brother.

“You talking to me?” The inmate scoffed, Dean didn’t answer, instead, he kept a brooding look on his face. “Are you talking to me?!” The inmate repeated. Dean rolled his eyes before muttering. “Great, another guy who’s seen Taxi Driver one too many times” he snorted, “Yeah, I’m talking to you” Dean spat.

“Trust me. Let it go” He said firmly, the prisoner clenched his jaw before walking away. “Dean, come on,” Sam pleaded. “See, that’s how you gotta talk to these guys. Instant respect” Dean grinned and winked at his brother. Sam’s eyes stayed trapped on the prisoner who made his way over to another yet large inmate.

The two whispered indistinctly to each other, “You were saying” Sam whispered to Dean with wide eyes as the two approached Dean. “Great” He groaned before the prisoner swung at him, knocking him straight in his jaw. “We can end this right now. No harm, no foul” Dean growled as he snatched the inmate by his hair. The inmate didn’t let up so Dean retaliated.

Sending him face first into the wall as he held his hands behind his back, the inmate then stepped on Dean’s foot harshly, making the Hunter hiss in pain. Dean retaliated with a kick straight to his groin, making him double over in agony. The prisoner groaned in pain as Dean sent a kick right to his face, causing him to fall on his back, clutching his face.

“That’s enough!!” A guard bellowed, breaking up the fight. He approached Dean with a stern expression, “On your feet, Lucas!” The guard barked at the prisoner who was previously attacking Dean. “Yes, sir, boss” Lucas grunted before pushing himself up from the ground, clutching his bleeding mouth.

The guard kept his gaze on Dean before retracting his baton at his waist, he approached Dean, pressing the baton under his chin. “What’s your name?” He gritted his teeth at Dean. “Winchester” Dean glared at the man, “Well, Winchester, not a good start” He snapped before retracting the baton from Dean’s chin.

“Solitary. You too, Lucas!” The guard ordered, pushed his way through the crowd as another guard grabbed Dean, “Yes sir” Lucas said obediently. “Are we having fun yet, huh?” Dean grinned at Sam as he was being escorted. Meanwhile another prisoner, Lucas’s friend, Tiny, pressed his thumb to his neck, dragging it across while looking at Sam.

The younger Winchester internally rolled his eyes and groaned at the threat.

____________________________________________

Now in solitary, Dean leaned his back against the wall, bored out of his mind, “I wish I had a baseball” He said out loud, “What? What’d you say?” Lucas said from the other cell. “I said I wish I had a baseball,” Dean repeated. “You know, like Steve McQueen,” he said through the single open slot. “Yeah? Well I wish I had a bat, so I could bash your fucking head in” Lucas growled.

“Okay. Well, so much for the bonding-in-solitary moment.” Dean muttered, pushing himself back against the wall before dusting his hands off. His mind wandered to y/n, within the past few days being here, Dean had grown a sense of loneliness. Sure, Sam was here but he missed his girl.

Thankfully, he got Deacon to sneak them a few phones, claiming that “Sam missed his girl”, referring to Jo. When in reality, Sam wasn’t the only one missing ‘his girl’. He had hidden it in his boxers so he quietly fished it out from his pants.

Dean switched his phone on and instantly looked in his contact list, clicking on her number and holding the phone to his ear. Soon enough, he heard Y/N’s voice after about three rings. “Hello?” Her sweet voice filtered through the phone. “Y/N,” Dean said instantly after hearing his love’s voice, a smile growing on his face at the sound of her.

“Dean?!” Y/N exclaimed in a low tone, she crushed her cigarette bud in the ashtray before gently peeling back the curtain to the motel room window she was hiding out in. “Hey, sweetheart,” Dean chuckled as he heard her reaction as she heard his voice. It was a voice he was craving to hear for days.

Call it toxic codependency, but after not hearing her voice for those few days, he thought he was gonna go insane.

He stayed quiet for a moment, taking in her voice before sighing, “God, it’s good to hear your voice” He admitted, resting the back of his head against the wall, “Are you okay, sweetie? How are you holding up?” Y/N asked him gently, she could hear the tension in his voice. This skyrocketed her concern.

“I’m holding up fine. This place is shitty” Dean assured her while clenching his jaw, “But don’t worry about me” He added instantly, “I’m more worried about you” He admitted while closing his eyes, imagining the look on her face right now.

“Charming, you’re the one in prison and you’re worried about me?” Y/N chuckled dryly, shaking her head. “I hate this plan” She muttered, running her hands over her face as she sank into her bed. The corner of his mouth curled up a bit, “Of course, I am, princess” He chuckled softly, imagining the pout on her face.

He wanted nothing more than to wrap his arms around her right now and assure her he was okay. He shifted in his spot, now laying on his back as he spoke to her. “It’s a risk, yeah, but it’s what we do, baby” He replied gently, he understood her worry.

Y/N’s heart fluttered when Dean called her ‘baby’. But she quickly swallowed it back down, reminding herself that it’s just how he talks and it doesn’t mean anything, “How’s Sammy holding up?” She asked him, concerned wavering in her tone.

“He’s alright. A little freaked out, though” Dean admitted, closing his eyes as he exhaled deeply. As per usual, his main concern was his little brother’s well-being. He always was a protective older brother. He clenched his jaw remembering his previous interaction with the other inmates.

“Just a minor scuffle so far,” He added quietly. “Of course you’re getting into fights” Y/N scoffed disapprovingly, shaking her head as she placed her hand on her forehead. “Let me guess. Someone tried to steal Sam’s lunch money?” She mused with a roll of her eyes.

Dean cracked a smirk as he stayed quiet for a moment, a little surprised and proud she immediately guessed right. “Ahh, you know me too well” He chuckled as he rolled his eyes, a smile on his face. “Can’t let some assholes push Sammy around” He replied, closing his eyes.

After a few seconds of silence, he then added, “I miss you…” He confessed, opening his eyes as he stared up at the ceiling. He was never one to express his emotions, especially not on the phone, but he couldn’t help it anymore. He missed her so damn much.

Y/N felt her heart practically shift in her chest, she hated the thought of those fellas behind bars, she knew they could handle themselves. But she had been worried sick, “I miss you too” She whispered back, biting her lip slightly as she took a deep breath.

Dean’s heart ached at hearing her words, his features softened as he pressed the phone against his ear, hearing her voice. “Y/N/N, it’s okay. We’re gonna be okay” He said gently, attempting to soothe her anxieties. He didn’t like being a source of worry, and he knew she wouldn’t stop worrying about them as long as they’re in here.

“You better be. Because I’ll kick your ass” She mockingly threatened with a weak chuckle, “If you need help with anything on the case, you call me. Don’t hesitate, I’ll always be here for you” Y/N said firmly.

A soft smile tugged at his lips, he would expect nothing less from her. She was protective when it came to the people she cared about, especially him and Sam. “Don’t worry, we’ll call ya if there’s any development” Dean replied with a soft chuckle.

Inside his cell, Sam leaned the back of his head against the wall, his eyes closed. As he sat there in silence, the only sound in the room was the sound of the guards patrolling outside the door. He held the phone in his hand, thumb hesitantly hovering over Jo’s contact on the screen.

After a few seconds, Sam caved, pressing on her name. He held the phone to his ear just as it began to ring, mentally preparing himself to hear her voice, it was almost like it would be too much to hear her yet it wouldn’t be enough at the same time. Sam waited for her to answer, his breathing slowed and his heartbeat quickened.

Finally, after what felt like both a long and short time, Sam heard the familiar and oh so sweet sound of Jo’s voice come through the receiver. “Sammy?!” She exclaimed in a low tone, sounding a little surprised. “Hey angel” Sam responded with a low chuckle, looking up on the bunk to make sure his cellmate was asleep.

“How are you? Are you okay?” Jo instantly asked, concern clear in her voice. Despite the low tone and the low volume, Sam could tell she was worried. He smiled at the fact, his heart fluttering at being greeted with her sweet voice.

“I’m fine,” Sam assured her, “Deans in solitary confinement. Got into a fight” He sighed, resting his head against the bricked wall. Jo rolled her eyes at the news that Dean was sent to solitary for getting into a fight, “Of course he is. Idiot” She muttered into the phone, a part of her was annoyed, but a part of her was secretly amused.

Sam chuckled, shaking his head gently. “He’s Dean” He laughed softly, he could never blame his brother for being the way he is, he would never change him. As stubborn, and infuriating, and idiotic as he could be, Sam loves his brother.

“I miss you” Sam confessed, his heart heavy at not seeing Jo for weeks on end. He was feeling it worse now being locked up. Jo’s heart fluttered at hearing his words. She missed him just as much. “I miss you too. I hate not seeing you” She whispered into the phone, she wanted to see him, hell, she wanted to at least give him a hug to reassure him.

“We’ll be outta here soon enough” Sam said gently, mentally reassuring himself at the same time. It’s so hard sometimes, being apart from the people you love. As they were both caught up in their conversation, Sam’s cellmate let out a loud snore, jolting Sam’s attention for a moment.

Well into their conversation, Jo let out a soft breath, “Hey, Sammy? Just…” She trailed off, she didn’t know what to say, “Just be careful, okay? Please” She said quietly, she would be devastated if something happened to either Sam or Dean while in prison.

Sam’s heart ached at hearing her words, he felt so guilty at how worried she sounded. “I will, I promise” Sam assured her, his features softened at hearing the quiet worry in her voice. No matter what happens, he promised himself he’d always come back to her.

Now back to Dean, he laid down on the dusty uncomfortable ground as he continued to talk to his love, “Everything’s fine. I’m fine, Sam’s fine” He assured her for the millionth time. Just the sound of her voice alone was enough to make him feel better, he needed to hear her voice to keep himself sane in this place.

“Yeah, sure you are” Y/N responded with a scoff, not believing a word coming out of his mouth. She rolled her eyes, a small smile tugging at her lips. Despite her worries, she felt peace hearing his voice, even in the middle of this shitty situation, just hearing his voice was everything.

Dean chuckled deeply, swallowing harshly as the air in the cell grew colder and the lights began flickering. “Oh fuck” He muttered upon seeing his own breath. Y/N’s brows furrowed when she heard his muttered curse. “Dean? What’s going on?” She asked in a serious tone, sitting up in her bed at hearing the change in his tone.

Dean slowly pushed himself up in a sitting position, his eyes shifting around the now chilly and dim cell. “It’s nothing sweetheart-” Just as he was about to dismiss her worries, a rattling sound cut him off, his gaze darted to the cell door. “Fuck, I’m gonna need to call you back” Dean said urgently.

Before Y/N had time to say anything, Dean quickly ended the call. The cold air seemed to grow even cooler as the rattling became louder and more urgent. Something was coming.

“Lucas, listen to me. Stay very still” Dean said through the louvers on the door to his next door cellmate. Lucas looked through the louvers to see nothing, but he felt the air growing colder. His heart nearly stopped when a pair of eyes appeared through the louvers, staring back at him.

Lucas’ body became rigid, beads of sweat already starting to appear on his temple as the chill spread through the room, his breathing hitched, “What the hell is that” He choked out. His eyes were wide and glossy as he stared into the terrifying pair of eyes.

Dean could hear Lucas screaming from his own cell, his heart pounding out of his chest, his eyes wide as the inmate shouted, “Aaarrrggghhh!!” Through his ears.

____________________________________________

Back in the station, Victor Henricksen and Alexander Thompson were working the case of the Winchesters and L/N’s together. “Hey Vic?” Alexander drew his superior’s attention to him. Victor snapped his attention to Alex with a questioning look, he arched a brow at him. “Yeah?” He asked him with a raised brow.

“I’ve been going through the Winchester and L/N charges, and I gotta say…there are some weird inconsistencies” Alexander sighed, running a hand through his blonde hair as he took a seat across from Victor.

Victor rolled his eyes as he listened to Alex. He leaned back against his chair and crossed his arms in front of his chest. “Welcome to my world” Victor scoffed. “I talked to a cop in Baltimore who swears up and down that Sam, Dean and Y/N saved her and helped her catch a killer. And there’s a witness to the bank robbery in Milwaukee, she swears they saved her life” Alexander listed off.

Victor pursed his lips as he listened to him. “Saved her from what?” He let out an annoyed sigh. “She- she was a little unclear” Alexander sighed, leaned back into his chair. “That’s because she’s nuts,” Victor insisted but Alex wanted to give them the benefit of the doubt.

“Look, I was in Milwaukee, I spoke to her, I spoke to all the witnesses.” Victor began. “And?” Alex questioned. “And, all I know is that where they go, people die. It’s that simple” Victor said firmly. Alexander huffed out a sigh. “That simple?” He repeated, his voice filled with skepticism. “No, it can’t be that simple” He argued.

“It’s never that simple. They’re good people” He insisted. “At least- y/n was..” Alex’s voice died in his throat. Victor scoffed at the roomie agent’s stubbornness, he rolled his eyes before sighing softly. After staring at him for a beat, he leaned closer to the table towards Alex. “Look kid, I get it, you had a past with the girl, she’s the one that got away” Victor said the last part a bit sarcastically.

Alex crossed his arms over his chest, furrowing his brows. “But you’ve been here, what? A year? I’ve been on this racket for years, they’re not the people you knew.” Victor said firmly, pressing his hand into the table. Alex shifted uncomfortably in his seat at the mention of Y/N, he hated how right Victor was about her.

It was no secret he had feelings for her still. But he chose to remain stubborn and ignore the feeling he felt in his chest when he thought about her.

After a few moments, he scoffed and shook his head. “Whatever” He muttered. “You let your feelings for her cloud your judgment and it’s going to kick you in the ass one day” Victor warned him, looking stern and serious, trying to knock some sense into his agent.

“They just don’t seem cut-and-dry guilty to me, Vic” Alex said, running his hand through his hair. “I think, there’s more to this”. Victor’s face hardened a bit as he listened to him. He sighed deeply and let go of the table, leaning back in his chair and crossing his arms. “And I think you’re letting your past with Y/N affect the way you’re viewing this” He replied back to him.

Alex remained quiet, a mixture of anger, denial, and frustration building up in his chest. But he knew there was no point in arguing with his superior, once he made up his mind about someone or something, there was no stopping him.

Victor gave him a weary stare, he could tell the agent was pissed off but didn’t care much for it. He sighed and dropped the subject before looking down at his watch and checking the time.

After a few more minutes of silence and Alex not responding back, Victor let out a sigh. “You’ve been working all day, kid. Why don’t you go get some rest and come back tomorrow” He said with a softer tone this time, trying to ease the tension that was in the room.

Alex looked up at him in surprise, his angry expression fell for a moment. He took a breath and let it out shakily, he was tired, exhausted really but he didn’t want to admit it. He was the new guy, and he wanted to prove that he could handle this job. But he had to listen to his superior.

Alex stood up from his chair and nodded, “Yes sir” He responded in a mumbled tone before turning around to head out of the office.

____________________________________________

It was the next day, Sam was mopping up the bathroom with another fellow inmate, Randall. “How you doing?” Sam attempted to make casual conversation. “I’m 54 years old, mopping the floor of a crapper with bars on the windows. How do you think I’m doing?” Randall responded sarcastically, earning a chuckle from Sam in return.

“Alright” Sam muttered, dipping his mop in the bucket. “Bad icebreaker” He sighed as he took the mop out and wiped the floor. “I’m Sam” He introduced himself. “Randall” Randall responded. “Nice to meet y-” Sam said politely before the familiar name dawned on him. “Randall? Hey, weren’t you there the night that guard died?” Sam asked, referring to the last death of a prison guard.

“Yeah” Randall confirmed, “Well, what happened?” Sam asked curiously. “They say the stress of the job got to him” Randall shrugged. “Yeah? What do you say?” Sam smirked, Randall’s head snapped over to the hunter as he cocked his brow. “Why are you inside, kid?” Randall questioned, continuing to mop.

Sam sighed deeply as he returned to mopping, “Cause I got an idiot for a brother” Sam muttered, “That’ll do it” Randall mused, “Yeah” Sam sighed. “Well, this place ain’t so bad. Compared to the old cellblock, this is the fucking Hilton” Randall assured him. Sam’s ears perked up at this. “You spent time in the old block?” He asked.

“Oh, yeah, I was a regular customer” Randall responded casually, “Didn’t they have Mark Moody over there for a while?” Sam asked, “He was there,” Randall confirmed, turning to face Sam. “You know, I was there too, the night that lunatic bought it” Randall gossiped. “Yeah? It was a heart attack, right?” Sam carried on the conversation.

“Sure, his heart stopped right after the guards stopped using his head for batting practice” Randall snorted, this made Sam’s jaw drop. “Next morning, I was in his cell mopping up the blood. What a mess” Randall sighed. “Wait- so he was- he was beaten and nobody reported it?” Sam asked in shock.

“You kept your mouth shut unless you wanted to die from the same heart attack, you know?” Randall put it simply. Sam thought for a second before asking. “Randall…exactly how much blood was there?”

____________________________________________

Sam immediately went out into the prison yard after his shift to see Dean playing poker with a fellow inmate for cigarettes. “Call.” Dean said, placing down a card. “Three Aces” The inmate smirked, holding up his cards. Dean feigned a sigh, “That’s a bad beat.” The inmate went to pick up the cigarettes, “That is a bad beat, but see, I’m full. Threes over aces” Dean smirked widely as the inmate huffed in frustration and smacked the table.

Sam rolled his eyes as Dean laughed, “I’m sorry. Hey, it’s a cruel game, my friend” Dean laughed, shrugging as the inmate tossed his cards on the table and left. “Sorry guys” Dean smiled tightly as he gathered the cigarettes laying on the table up and placed them into a little baggy. Sam took the inmate’s seat, sitting across from his brother.

“It’s like picking low hanging fruit” Dean cackled, as he bagged the cigarettes up. “You rarely smoke, Dean” Sam scoffed, pointing out the obvious, “You kidding? This is the currency of the realm” Dean retorted, earning a deadpan look from Sam that said, ‘Yeah, right’. Dean rolled his eyes, “Fine, it’s a little gift for Y/N. Sue me for being an awesome friend” Dean shot back.

Sam rolled his eyes again, Dean was more excited about having cigarettes to give Y/N than he usually was about anything. The younger Winchester cleared his throat, wanting to get Dean’s focus back on to something else. “Dean…” Sam began.

“Yes, Sam?” Dean responded, gathering the cigarettes and bagging them up. “I’ve been doing some talking” Sam began, “I’ve been talking too” Dean retorted, “Yeah?” Sam asked, a little skeptical. “What have you been talking about?” He inquired. “I think I’ve got a good lead on Moody,” Sam said.

“Yeah, me too. His spirit paid a little visit last night” Dean replied, stuffing the bag into his jacket. “What?” Sam gasped, “Clock-stop, flickering lights, cold spot. I mean, he did everything but yell ‘Boo’” Dean scoffed, “Well, what happened?” Sam asked concerned. “He walked right by me,” Dean sighed, looking down at his hands.

“Lucas wasn’t so lucky. I mean, the way he was screaming…The guy was a jerk, but he didn’t deserve to go like that” Dean shook his head, “What'd you find out about Moody?” He asked Sam. “Yeah, so I think I know where we might find his remains. Blood in his old cell” Sam explained. Dean furrowed his brows at this.

“Blood? I thought it was a heart attack” Dean said, “it was, after the guards worked him over” Sam scoffed, “I mean, apparently, there was so much blood in there, they had trouble mopping it out” He further explained, Dean nodded in return, reaching into his jacket to take out a cigarette from the baggy, “How are we gonna get in?” He asked Sam as he placed the cigarette in his mouth and lit it.

“I got a plan” Sam shrugged, earning a smirk from Dean. “That’s the Sammy I know. I mean, come on. You’re like Clint Eastwood from Escape from Alcatraz” Dean chuckled as he let the steam from the cigarette out through his nose. “Look, the problem is, Even if we do find something, how are we gonna salt and burn it? We don’t have any accelerant” Sam signed heavily.

“Good thing I’m like James Garner from The Great Escape” Dean winked at him before taking out the cigarette baggy, ready to bet more and win more to take back home, “Hey fellas?! Who’s ready to deal?” Dean shouted, holding up his lit cigarette and the baggy of cigarettes. Sam rolled his eyes in return as Dean took another drag from his cigarette and more inmates piled around him.

____________________________________________

Y/N was pacing around the motel room, her anxiety was over the top today since that phone call with Dean and the fact that her best friend was running late wasn’t helping. She looked at her watch and groaned loudly, “Where is she?” She muttered under her breath and continued pacing around the room.

Y/N has been on edge since the boys purposefully got themselves caught, she hated the idea and was very vocal about it but she understood where Dean was coming from when he said that they repaid their debts. That didn’t stop her from worrying though.

Because she herself was a fugitive, Y/N was under motel arrest and she had no way to comfort herself other than her pack of Dunhill and wearing one of Dean’s old shirts. It still smelt like his musk and gave her the comfort she needed right now to stop herself from running into a wall repeatedly.

Did she feel stupid because her friend's shirt was bringing her comfort? Yes, she felt insane and as though she was desperate. Was she gonna admit that to him? Fuck no. But was she going to continue wearing it and most likely sleep in it tonight? You bet your last dollar she was.

After waiting impatiently, there was a knock on the door. Y/N’s head snapped up and she quickly went to the door, opening it to reveal her best friend, Jo Harvelle. “Oh thank God ” Y/N sighed, pulling Jo into a tight hug.

“You’re late,” Y/N scolded once she pulled away from the hug, closing the door behind her. Jo raised her hands up in defense, “I know I know. I’m sorry, I had some stuff to take care of” She replied apologetically. Y/N’s harsh facade quickly melted to concern, “Everything okay?” She asked worriedly.

Jo sighed as she sat down on the edge of one of the beds, “Yeah, no, it’s no biggie” She replied, watching Y/N take a seat on the other bed. Y/N didn’t believe that for a second, she knew her best friend too well to believe her. She raised her eyebrows at Jo, “Don’t lie to me, Joanna” She pointed a finger at her.

Jo chuckled a little at the use of her full name, she rolled her eyes and sighed, “Alright, I had a bit of a run in with my mother” She admitted. Y/N sighed, offering her friend a small smile. “She still mad about you hunting?” She said softly as Jo nodded, peeling off her jacket, a small frown on her face.

“She’ll come around, Jo. She loves you” Y/N assured her as she took out two beers from the mini fridge, handing Jo one. Jo took the beer from Y/N’s hand and took off the cap, “Yeah, but I wish she did a better job at showing it” She replied with a hint of frustration, taking a swig of the beer. Y/N sat down next to her on the bed and put a comforting hand on her shoulder.

“She’s just worried about you,” She said softly. “Besides the point” Jo tried to change the topic, taking a seat next to Y/N. “How are our boys?” Jo asked, sipping her beer. Y/N let out a sigh, “Sam is doing alright. Dean on the other hand…” She trailed off, looking down into her beer. “He hung up on me last night and I’m worried.” She added as she brought the beer to her lips, taking a long sip.

“Now I know they can handle themselves in there but fuck, I’m worried” Y/N murmured. “Did you talk to Sam?” Y/N asked Jo. The younger hunter nodded, “Yeah but you know how vague they can be” Jo shrugged, “All he told me was that they were both fine and not to worry” She added, Y/N rolled her eyes, “Yeah, that’s reassuring” She muttered sarcastically.

They sat in a moment of silence, both sipping on their beers. Y/N’s mind was going at a hundred miles an hour as a hundred different thoughts, worries and scenarios ran through her head. Jo studied Y/N for a few moments before noticing she was beginning to bite her nails which was a sign of anxiety. Jo gently smacked Y/N’s hand, “Stop it, you’re nervous” Jo scolded.

Y/N flinched at the smack and looked over at Jo, “Sorry” She mumbled, pulling her hand down and putting it in her lap, “I’m just worried” She admitted. “I can’t stop thinking about all the things that could go wrong in there” She added, fiddling with one of the rings on her fingers.

“Hey, hey, stop it” Jo interrupted, “They’ll be okay. You know that, our boys can handle themselves” Jo said in an attempt to reassure her, but she didn’t sound too confident and it sounded more so she was trying to convince herself.

Y/N exhaled and nodded, “Yeah, I know they can but there’s something about this case that’s making me worry more” She confessed, fiddling with the ring in her fingers. “This is prison we’re talking about, there’s a lot more stuff that can go wrong” The young psychic said, her voice laced with concern.

Jo sighed softly, reaching over to rest a comforting hand on Y/N’s leg “They’re gonna be fine. You know them, they’ll come back in one piece” She assured her, squeezing her leg in a gentle way. Y/N nodded, attempting to believe her words, “Yeah, okay. You’re probably right” She mumbled.

Jo gave Y/N a small smile, “I know I’m right” She said, gently poking Y/N’s leg, trying to make her laugh. Y/N chuckled, gently swatting her hand away. Jo chuckled lightly in response, “There’s that laugh” She smirked. Y/N shook her head before sighing deeply.

“Well, I’m under motel-arrest until they call me when it’s time to come pick ‘em up when the case is over. You sticking around till then?” Y/N asked hopefully, “You could surprise Sam” She added in a teasing tone, nudging Jo with her foot.

Jo blushed slightly, a grin broke out on her face as she playfully shoved Y/N’s foot away. “Maybe I will” She giggled, trying to hide her smile. Y/N grinned widely at her friend, it was so easy to tease Jo about her crush.

“Ooh! We could order in, watch crappy movies and paint each other’s nails” Jo said, getting excited, she loved girl time, especially with her best friend after being on the road for so long. “You’re talking like we’re a couple of thirteen-year olds having a sleepover” Y/N teased, laughing. “I’m totally down for a movie night, though” Y/N added.

“We’re in our twenties and we’re fucking hunters, we need to have girl nights once in a while. We deserve it” Jo said as she placed her beer bottle on the table beside the bed. “Now, we’re going to order some food, and you are going to chill, because worrying is not going to do anything and those two dumbasses will be fine” She said, fixing Y/N with a look.

Y/N rolled her eyes playfully as she picked up her phone, “Whatever, but I’m picking the movie, you can pick the food” She shot back, handing Jo the phone. Jo chuckled and took the phone from Y/N, “Only because I don’t wanna listen to you complain” She said as she began ordering the food. Y/N rolled her eyes again, “You suck” She muttered, trying to hold back a smile.

After Jo ordered the food, Y/N sat with her, sipping on her beer, chatting and waiting for the food. Y/N smiled to herself as a wave of unfamiliar happiness took her over. Sure she spent the majority of her time with the boys and she loved the brothers like her own family.

But there was something special about having a girls night, even if it was just in a motel room while waiting for a call from Sam or Dean to haul their asses out of prison and the “girls night” was just movies, room service and girl talk. It made her think of the home she never really had, of how Y/N would wish she had a mother to have girls nights with.

Sure, growing up she would twist Sam or Dean’s arm (mainly Dean) into watching chick flicks with her, but she never had that bond with another girl, as much as she wanted to. It sucked moving from town to town and never being able to grow a strong friendship with someone she could call a ‘sister’. Not that she wasn’t grateful for her brother, she’d die for Sammy in a heartbeat.

Her friendship with Jo had a rough start, but she’ll forever be grateful for Jo’s forgiving nature and allowing her to experience the wonders of sisterhood. But what she didn’t know is, Jo felt the exact same way about her. She was her sister, they were sisters and nothing was going to change that.

____________________________________________

Sam and Dean were currently in the lunch line, “You sure about this?” Dean whispered to his brother as they scooted along the line, “Pretty sure” Sam whispered back, Dean rolled his eyes. “Yeah, well, considering the circumstances, I’d like a little better than pretty sure” Dean shot back, using Sam’s words from the day before against him.

Sam scoffed in return, “Okay, really pretty sure” Sam sassed before moving out of the line. Dean shook his head before turning to the cook. “I’d like mine al dente” He mused as the cook just slapped down a pile of noodles on his tray harshly along with some beans. “Perfect” Dean grimaced, smiling tightly as he made his way over to a table.

Sitting by the table was Tiny, Lucas’ friend. He slapped his tray on the table as the heavy tatted and rather large inmate glared at him. “Save room for dessert, Tiny” Dean laughed as he sat across from Tiny. “Hey, I wanted to ask you because I couldn’t help but notice you are two tons of fun” Dean said sarcastically, making Tiny’s eyes darken in his direction.

Dean then leaned in, “Just curious, is that a thyroid problem or is that just some deep-seated self-esteem issues?” Dean smirked, trying to get a rise out of the inmate. Sam gulped from across the room, trying to be subtle about his action. “Because, you know, they’re, uh, just doughnuts. They’re not love” Dean chuckled as Tiny narrowed his eyes at him.

Tiny nodded with a faux smile as Dean continued to laugh, Sam kept an eye on the two, waiting for someone to hit the other. Tiny did exactly as anticipated and balled his fist up, right hooking the elder Winchester in a flash. Dean was tumbling to the ground, grunting as he pushed himself back up to see Tiny standing over him.

He wore a smug grin before punching Tiny across his jaw. The inmate barely reacted, earning a confused and slightly fearful look from Dean. So he left hooked him quickly before punching him in the gut but Tiny was still standing. He snatched Dean by his collar before head butting him, making Dean grow dizzy as a guard attempted to subdue Tiny.

But Tiny quickly grappled the guard and sent him reeling in a table back first. The fight finally caught the attention of a few other guards, “Guys, give me a hand!” One of the guards yelled as they charged at Tiny and Dean, both were still throwing punches at each other.

Meanwhile, Sam took the opportunity of the distracted guards to sneak into the kitchen. The younger Winchester quickly pocketed a jar of salt before making his way to one of the vents, pulling out the covering before crawling into the open space.

Dean was still outside, the guard trying to part him and Tiny. With a couple more heavy grunts, they finally separated the two riled up inmates, three guards were holding back Tiny as a one yanked Dean up from the floor. One of the familiar guards gripped Dean by his face, forcing him to look at him.

“If we waited longer, you’d be dead” The guard said firmly before pushing his face away. “Well, you waited long enough,” Dean said, feeling a bit woozy from the fight. The guard gritted his teeth before kneeing Dean in his gut. The Hunter doubled over in pain, gripping his midsection. “Do yourself a favor. Don’t talk” The guard growled, gripping Dean by his hair.

Dean Winchester winced, blood dripping from an open wound on his cheek, his eye was already looking bruised from the fight the day before and it was just getting worse from the blows he received from Tiny. “Take the both up to the infirmary” The guard ordered his subordinate. He nodded in agreement before escorting a groaning Dean out of the cafeteria.

Meanwhile, Sam finally made his way into the old cell block after crawling his way from the vent in the kitchen. He scanned the area, investing and looking for the old cell of Moody.

Eventually he stumbled on an old cot, grimacing as he turned it to reveal old dried blood. Sam groaned in disgust as he took out the salt from his pocket and Dean’s lighter he used to light his cigarette. He salted the blooded cot before breaking one of the lighters and emptying the lighter fluid onto the cot.

He then struck a match before tossing it onto the cot, burning it fully, hoping that the spirit was now put to rest.

During this time, Dean was in the infirmary. His head pounding, his jaw aching and the only thing that was keeping him sane was the thought that his brother was nearby and the woman he loved was waiting for him on the outside. All he wanted right now was a warm hug and to inhale that coconut shampoo and tobacco he’d never grow tired of smelling on her.

“Hey, Tiny?” Dean called out to Tiny, who was in the cell next to him on his own infirmary bed. “Yeah?” Tiny responded. “Hey, sorry about the things I was saying earlier” Dean apologized sincerely, crossing his arms over his chest as he leaned on the cold wall. “I can’t really tell you why, but I had to get you angry,” Dean said vaguely as he sighed.

“So, uh….anyways, sorry” Dean added, looking as his hands. He couldn’t see it, but Tiny smiled a bit at his apology, the large and heavily tatted inmate nodded, “It’s okay. Truth is, I have low self-esteem issues” Ting admitted, tears welling up in his eyes. Dean’s brows cocked up in surprise as Tiny opened up.

“My old man treated me, my brother and my little sister like crap. Right up until the day he died” Tiny told him, standing up to lean against the bars. “How'd he die?” Dean asked curiously, making casual conversation with the inmate. “My brother shot him. And my sister buried the body” Tiny admitted.

Dean's eyes widened at how casually Tiny said it, “Okay…” Dean muttered, pursing his lips when his eyes landed on an unfamiliar figure. What looked like the figure of a very nasty looking woman was staring back at him. The room grew colder and the clock at the corner of the room stopped. “Oh fuck” Dean cursed, pushing himself up from his cot.

“What is it?” Tiny asked upon hearing Dean curse. As Dean stared at the ghost, he couldn’t help but think if Y/N was here, she’d say she was getting ‘that feeling’ and Dean would mock her about her ‘ESP Thing’. He tilted his head as the dirty pale woman dressed like an infirmary nurse made her way towards him.

Instantly, Dean tried to push at the bars but it was no use, the guards had locked him in along with Tiny. “What’s going on?”’ Tiny asked again as Dean rattled at the door and the ghost inched towards them. Dean quickly reached into his tray of food, taking up the salt but the ghost quickly sent him flying into the wall, back first.

Dean grunted in pain as he tumbled into the ground, “Oh, fuck!!” Dean shouted, “What is it?!” Tiny yelled back in concern, hearing the commotion but he couldn’t see from the angle his cell was in. Dean opened his eyes to see the ghost standing above him, she instantly placed his hand over his heart, causing him to groan, feeling as if his heart was slowing down.

The ghost growled at him, the hunter could feel his heart begin to give out but thought quickly and flicked the cap off of the salt in his hand, tossing it on the ghost. Making her disapparate. Dean gasped as the tension of the ghost attempting to kill him left his body, the pain easing. But his eyes widened when he heard Tiny scream in terror, “NOOO!!” The inmate cried out.

“Tiny!!!” Dean shouted, pushing himself up from the ground. “Tiny!!!!” Dean tried to warn him, but Tiny was fading, groaning and screaming in pain. “Guard!!! Guard!!!” Dean rattled at the bars, shouting for the guard, but it was no use.

The sounds of the inmate’s tortured scream echoed through the block, sending a cold shiver down Dean’s spine as he gripped the bars tighter, his knuckles turning white.

However, like in the blink of an eye, silence fell over the two blocks. The sound of Tiny screaming had ceased. The hunter panted heavily, his heart beating hard and fast in his chest. The air was eerily thick as the silence continued.

____________________________________________

The next morning, Dean was giving Sam the rundown of the events in the infirmary. “Wait, so you’re telling me it wasn’t Moody?” Sam asked surprised as they strolled through the prison yard. “Not unless he liked going around dressed like a nurse” Dean shot back, burying his hands in his jacket. “Poor Tiny, man. Poor…giant Tiny�� Dean sighed.

“Wait so, this is- this is like the ghost of some nurse who worked here or something?” Sam asked, “I don’t know man, I guess” Dean groaned, “You know what, Dean. At this point, ‘I don’t know, I guess’ isn’t really working for me” Sam sassed, “See, uh…I thought we were done” The younger Winchester retorted, “I called Deacon, it’s happening. We’re getting out tonight” Sam informed him.

“I guess we gotta do some quick research, then” Dean said as if it were simple. Sam looked at his brother as if he were crazy. “How? I mean, maybe you haven’t noticed, we’re in jail!” Sam exclaimed in a whisper tone, gesturing to their surroundings.

“So you wanna know about some nurse? Why do you wanna know” Randall asked the boys as they interrogated him in the prison yard. “We got our reasons” Dean said bluntly, earning a side eye from Sam. “But, uh…we’ll make it worth your while” Dean smirked, holding up one of the packs of cigarettes he won.

Randall smirked in response, accepting the cigarettes from Dean. “So this nurse, she would have had white hair, one screwed-up eye. Is that ringing a bell?” Dean asked, pointing to his eye. “Yeah. Yeah, I remember her” Randall nodded. “You remember her name?” Dean asked, “No, that’s still kinda fuzzy,” Randall smirked.

Dean rolled his eyes as Sam chuckled, “Give it to him” Sam told Dean, indicating to the cigarettes. Dean clenched his jaw, “It’s for Y/N” He whined, “Dean, you’ve got tons remaining. Just give it to him” Sam insisted, crossing his arms over his chest.

“Oh, come on, man!” Dean groaned, handing over the cigarettes to Randall begrudgingly, who took it without hesitation. “Glockner. Nurse Glockner” He told them, stuffing the cigarettes into his pocket. “Nasty old bitch worked here in the 70s” Randall scoffed with distaste.

“You knew her?” Sam asked, “I met her once. I had to get a tetanus shot” Randall told them. “She damn near jammed the needle through the other side of my arm. At least I got outta there alive.” He explained. “What do you mean?” Sam asked curiously.

“Well, there were these stories, you know? I don’t know if they were true. Cons love to talk, but we’re all liars” Randall shrugged. “What kind of stories?” Dean asked. “Well, guys would go up to the infirmary with a cold, next thing you know, they’re in a body bag. A whole rash of heart attacks. Young guys, old guys” Randall further explained.

“Heart attacks?” Sam raised his brow at this. Randall nodded, “Yeah. The story was Glockner had it out for cons and she did the Charles Bronson thing with a hypodermic.” Sam and Dean shared a look as he spoke. “But anyway, that was a rumor. Nobody proved anything” He added. “Whatever happened to Glockner?” Dean asked.

“I don’t know. I finished my bit and left. Next time I landed back in here, she was gone” Randall shrugged.

It was now lunchtime and the Winchesters were discussing the case in the cafeteria, “Okay, let’s say those stories on Glockner were true.” Sam began. “It’s a thought. In life, she’s a vigilante. In death, same thing” Dean whispered. “Right, but I mean, how’s she tied in with the old cellblock?” Sam questioned. “And if she’s going after cons, why kill that one guard?” He added.

“Well, I did hear in the yard that that guard wasn’t exactly squeaky clean. So, maybe she’s going after anybody that breaks the law, like me” Dean stated, Sam’s brows furrowed as he narrowed his eyes at his brother. “You heard in the yard?” Sam gave Dean his classic bitchface. “Yeah” Dean shrugged. His normalcy made Sam snort.

“Dean, does it bother you at all how easily you seem to fit in here?” Sam pointed out, “No, not really” Dean shrugged again. Sam rolled his eyes again in return, “Alright, well, listen. Either way, we need more info on Glockner. If she’s buried. If so, where. And we got…five hours to get it” Sam stated. It was Dean’s turn to give Sam a bitch face.

“No, no. Don’t you dare give me that ‘we-gotta-see-this-thing-through’ look.” Sam warned Dean, pressing his index finger to the table. “We are leaving tonight, no matter what” He said firmly. “I just don’t wanna let Deacon down. We owe him” Dean whispered back. “Yeah. But we don’t owe him our lives, Dean!” Sam lowly exclaimed.

Dean clenched his jaw, thinking deeply. He thought for a few seconds before making up his mind. He then got up from his seat without a word, “Where are you going?” Sam scoffed, “I'm gonna go have a chat with our favorite psychic” Dean smirked.

____________________________________________

Dean was currently sitting in the non-contact visiting area, patiently waiting for Y/N to arrive. Sure he had his phone that he could use to call her, but as selfish as it sounds, he needed to see her. Of course, y/n was skeptical about coming. It was a risk for her to show herself, but being a hunter means you gotta learn to disguise yourself.

She wouldn’t admit it, but she needed to see Dean just as much as he needed to see her. So, she made Jo wait in the Impala while she met with Dean.

It wasn’t too long when the glass doors opened and Y/N walked through, being led inside by a guard. She was wearing a long beige trench coat to cover her entire body, along with a dusty long wig with bangs that looked like she bought it from Party City to hide her natural (h/l) (h/c) hair.

Dean’s heartbeat quickened as he eyed her, it was as if she were an ice cold drink on a burning hot day. His eyes raked her up and down, he hadn’t forgotten just how damn good she looked.

Y/N sat in the seat across from him through the glass and picked up the phone, “Hey charming” She greeted with a smile that had clear relief behind it, putting the phone up to her ear. “Hey, princess” Dean replied, his heart fluttering in his chest as he took in the view before him.

Seeing Y/N’s face had lifted his mood instantly, he missed her more than he’d like to admit. “You have no idea how much I missed you” He added. She chuckled at his words but the sound was only heard through the phone, “Right back at you” She responded. Her eyes roamed his face, his rugged look as well as the look of his orange jumpsuit.

Her eyes landed instantly on the dark red bruise on Dean’s eye, her heart dropping. “They treating you okay in there?” Y/N asked, noticing the bruise. Her question made him smirk, “Nothing I can’t handle, sweetheart” He assured her. Y/N’s brows furrowed in response, not convinced, “Dean, this isn’t funny. Be serious” She said.

“I am being serious” He countered, his smile never leaving his face, even with the bruise. She stared at him with a firm expression, “How did you get that black eye?” She asked, cocking an eyebrow. Dean’s smile began to falter, “Um, uh-“ he stuttered, hesitating a moment.

She narrowed her eyes and cocked her eyebrow at him again, “Don’t lie to me, Dean” She warned. Dean knew there was no use in trying to get out of this one, “Okay, I um…I got into a little scuffle” He admitted sheepishly. “Another one?! Are you trying to get yourself killed?!” She lowly exclaimed through the phone.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa, hey now. Calm down, I’m fine” He told her, holding one of his hands. Y/N pursed her lips out, “You promise you’re fine?” She questioned. “I promise” He nodded a little, seeing the pout on her face. Her worry was always endearing to him.

However, Y/N wasn’t convinced. Dean noticed it so he instantly held up his pinky, waving it from the other side of the glass. “I pinky promise” He said with a charming smirk. Her lips finally curled up into a smile at the sight of his pinky. She rolled her eyes fondly at him as she let out a soft sigh, “You can’t break a pinky promise” She teased, holding up her own pinky in return.

“Okay, now onto what I called you here for” Dean’s tone switched to a serious one as they placed their pinkies back down. Y/N’s face dropped to a more serious face as he did, “Yeah” She nodded, ready to listen. “We need you to dig up some intel on a Nurse Glockner. She worked here in the 70’s.” Dean informed her, keeping his voice quiet incase if anyone was listening to their conversation.

“Wait, wait. Glockner? I thought Moody was haunting the prison?” Y/N responded, keeping her voice low. “Yeah, that’s what I thought too but, turns out, he’s just a regular con” Dean explained, the conversation was sounding a bit ridiculous. “Turns out the ghost of Nurse Glockner is our culprit,” He added.

“We think she was doing some vigilante thing. Killing the cons she felt deserved it” He whispered. Y/N leaned her forehead against the glass thoughtfully and chewed the inside of her bottom lip as she listened. “Alright. I’ll get on that right now.” Y/N nodded, “And Dean?” She said quietly, her eyes flickering to meet his.

“Yeah?” He responded, leaning his forehead against his side of the glass, their faces mere inches away from each other, the only thing separating them was the glass. “Please be careful” Y/N pleaded, placing her hand up against the glass.

He smiled softly at her, a look of tenderness appearing in his features. His hand instinctively went up to the glass, mirroring hers. He wished he could touch her, hold her, bring her in his arms. He missed that more than anything, but he couldn’t. His gaze was soft and gentle as he spoke, “I will” He promised.

“Good. I want you to come back in one piece” She told him firmly. “No promises, sweetheart” He joked with a smirk, but deep down he was serious. She narrowed her eyes at him in response, not amused. “I’m kidding, I’m kidding” He put his free hand up in front of him, as if surrendering before leaning his head on the glass again.

She finally chuckled softly but rolled her eyes at him. “Seriously. Be careful, sweetie.” She warned again, more firmly than the previous time. She didn’t let him respond, instead, she placed a kiss on her hand and pressed it against the glass. Offering him a small smile before reattaching the phone to the compartment.

Dean felt his chest flutter at the sight of it, a feeling of warmth spreading through his body. He gave her a smile in return, a real smile. His heart ached for her, he missed her so damned much. His heart almost exploded when she planted the kiss behind the glass.

Dean watched as she walked away, mimicking the action after she left. He pressed a kiss to his hand before placing it in the exact spot she placed her own kiss. Unfortunately, her back was turnt to him as she walked out the door, so she didn’t get to see, but he didn't care. Just seeing her, even if there was a glass separating them, just made his day.

A feeling of emptiness consumed him when her figure disappeared through the door. He sat in the chair, staring at the closed door with a look of disappointment and heartache before placing the phone back into the compartment. He wanted to get out so badly, he felt like a caged animal in a prison cell. He knew he was getting out in five hours, but it felt like an eternity.

He sighed as he ran a hand down his face, “Dammit” He muttered to himself.

Y/N could feel her heart in her ass as she exited the building. Her hands were buried in her pockets of her trench-coat, quickly making her way to the Impala where Jo sat waiting in the passenger seat. Jo had a bored expression on her face, looked back towards her upon her seeing Y/N walking towards the car. “Well?” She asked, wanting to be updated on the visit.

Y/N sighed heavily as she opened the driver's side door, plopping into the seat. “They want us to do some research on a Nurse Glockner who worked there in the 70s. We gotta get this like yesterday because Deacon already called me, they’re breaking out tonight.“ Y/N explained as she peeled off the dusty blonde wig, tossing it in the backseat.

“Glockner? That’s kind of a weird name ” Jo responded, her head tilted as she watched her friend toss the wig into the back. “Wait, they’re getting out tonight?” Jo’s eyes widened at the news. “Yep, you’re getting to see your boy toy, don’t worry” Y/N teased Jo about Sam as she started the ignition to Baby.

“Shut up,” Jo muttered with a roll of her eyes to Y/N’s joke about Sam, crossing her arms over her chest. “You’ll get to see your boy toy too, you know” She retorted with a smirk on her face. Y/N’s heart fluttered at the thought of seeing Dean soon, “Shut up,” She responded, pulling out of the parking lot.

Two hours later, Sam was waiting in the prison yard for Dean, his eyes scanning the area. It was pretty easy to point out that Sam hated being there, he was just counting down the hours until they could bust out of this hell-hole and he can get back to a dingy old motel and call Jo but he didn’t know she was already in town with Y/N.

Sam let out an impatient sigh as he paced the yard of the prison, his hands shoved deeply into the pockets of his orange jumpsuit. He hated it, he’d much rather just hunt monsters down than be stuck behind a set of bars.

He also missed Jo a lot. He had missed seeing her smile, her laugh, her eyes, the way she could make him feel things he didn’t normally feel. Just the thought of her made his heart skip a beat. All he wanted to do was-

His thought process was cut short when Dean came into view, he waved at his brother from across the yard. Quickly making his way over to him, “How’d it go?” He asked Dean about his visit with Y/N. “As good as a visit through a piece of glass can go, I guess” Dean responded, not able to hide the disappointment in his voice.

“I could hardly see her,” He added. The disappointment that Sam heard in his voice was obvious. Dean cleared his throat, shook his head and stuffed his hands into his own jacket. “She’s digging up some dirt on the deadly nurse” He filled him in.

“We can’t wait around too long, Dean,” Sam said impatiently. “Sammy, relax. It’s Y/N, the chick can dig up lore half asleep, running on a pack of cigarettes and a cup of Joe. She’s got this” Dean assured his brother. Sam scoffed, rolling his eyes as he stuffed his hands in his pockets again. “Even if she can’t do it, we could give it another day,” Dean added firmly.

Sam clenched his jaw, “No no no, we’re leaving tonight, and that’s it” He said stubbornly, “So we’re not gonna finish the job? We’re just gonna let these people die?” Dean gritted his teeth as Sam pinched the bridge of his nose. “Don’t give me that, alright? This was your stupid plan. And me and y/n went along with it, much to our demise, so we’re sticking to the plan, Dean” Sam kept his voice low but firm.

Dean’s nostrils flared as he ran his fingers along his bruised eye, “Okay, you leave. I’m gonna stay” Dean spat before turning on his heels to walk away. Sam’s eyes widened. “Hey, don’t turn away from me!” Sam shouted, “Fuck you!” Dean shot back angrily, “What?! Fuck you!!” Sam’s blood boiled as he grabbed his big brother by his shoulder, forcing him to look at him.

Dean instantly retaliated, shoving his little brother harshly by his chest. A herd of guards were instantly on their asses, one holding back Dean and another holding back Sam. “Alright, hard case. I see the usual methods ain’t gonna work with you!” The familiar guard said harshly as he tossed Dean into the other guard's hands.

“You too, sweetheart” He growled at Sam, snatching him by his shoulder. The Winchester brothers glared at each other as they were escorted from the prison yard and to the showers.

One of the guards shoved Sam and Dean into the shower as the familiar guard said, “Take off. I wanna handle this alone.” He instructed him, the subordinate listened, doing exactly as told. As he left the showers, the guard turned to the pair of brothers, approaching them slowly.

A smile broke out on his face as he ruffled Dean’s hair, the three men chuckling. “Deacon, you are beating the holy hell out of me, man” Dean groaned as they turned around, Deacon chuckled in response as he undid their handcuffs. “Sorry, Dean. I thought I was going easy on you” Deacon shot back playfully, undoing Sam’s handcuffs.

Dean laughed in response, “I’m just, uh, trying to make it look real” Deacon assured them as he unhooked the cuffs. “Yeah, well, mission accomplished,” Dean snorted. “Thanks for those phones, by the way, came in real handy” Dean said gratefully before patting his brother on his shoulder. “My brother here was missing his girl” He chuckled, earning a bitchface from Sam.

Deacon chuckled as he watched the Winchester brothers, finding the interaction slightly amusing. Sam was already pissed off for a few reasons, and Dean's words about him missing Jo just pissed him off more as he shoved him by his shoulder.

“Shut up. Speak for yourself” Sam hissed, rolling his eyes at his brother’s comment and shoving Dean back. Deacon chuckled once again at the exchange, “No worries, man. So, is it over?” Deacon asked them as he stuffed the handcuffs into his pockets.

“No, it turns out it wasn’t Moody” Sam sighed, “What?” Deacon's jaw dropped, “Yeah” Sam nodded. “Then who?” He asked, “Uh, we think it’s some nurse who used to work here. But we’re still shy on all the intel we need. Now my sister is working on it but we’re not sure if she’s gonna get the intel in time” Sam explained.

“Which is why we should stick around until we find it” Dean said, receiving a glare from Sam in return. “Oh, hey, guys” Deacon began as he pulled something out of his pocket, Sam started on Dean’s case. “You wanna have this fight for real, Dean?! We gotta go, we gotta go now!” Sam shouted at his brother.

“I’m just saying, Y/N will get it done!” Dean defended. “Guys-” Deacon tried to butt in. “We’re leaving, Dean! Otherwise we’ll be leaving in shackles for Milwaukee with Henricksen as company!” Sam argued, “Oh come on!” Dean scoffed, waving a dismissive hand at Sam. “Guys!!!” Deacon shouted.

“What?!” The Winchesters snapped in unison, turning to Deacon. The prison guard had an amused look on his face as he held up a paper, handing it to Dean. “Your girlfriend left this for you” Deacon chuckled. Dean's heart fluttered for a split second as he snatched the letter from Deacon.

Dean chuckled victoriously before turning to Sam, “I told you y/n would get it done!” Dean exclaimed triumphantly, waving the paper with the information on Nurse Glockner on it. “Man, I am fucking velvety smooth” Dean said smugly as he tore open the letter, “You wanna maybe open it, you know, after you’re done patting yourself on the back, loverboy??” Sam sassed.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah” Dean grumbled, rolling his eyes Deacon snickered in amusement at the exchange between the brothers as Dean opened up the letter. “Wow,” Dean muttered as he read the information that was neatly written in Y/N’s handwriting. “What? Well, you wanna share with the class, Dean?” Sam asked impatiently.

“Glockner died in the old cell block right after Moody bit it” Dean informed them, Sam’s eyes widened as he and Deacon shared a panicked look. “Seems like they had a little inmate uprising, she got caught in the middle. They dragged her to a solitary cell, gave her a severe cerebral edema” Dean read. “Someone bashed her head in,” Sam gasped.

“Yeah.” Dean muttered, “Say where she’s buried?” Sam asked, “Yep. Seems like y/n already handled it” Dean nodded, a proud smile on his face at the fact that within a couple of hours, she got the information and took care of the spirit. Sam smiled in relief at this, “Alright, let’s get you the hell outta here” Deacon said before moving over to a vent in the showers. .

Sam and Dean nodded in obedience, “Boys, uh…I can’t thank you enough for this. I know it was asking a lot, but you two and your friend still came through.” Deacon said gratefully, “Your daddy and his friend raised you kids right” Deacon complimented them, Dean smiled softly, appreciating the compliment as Sam gulped.

“Well, we owed you” Sam assured him with a timid nod, placing his hand out to shake Deacon. The guard accepted, pulling Sam into a firm bro-hug. “I hope to see you again, huh? Just not in here, okay?” Deacon said to the pair as he hugged Dean. The three chuckled as they nodded.

“Yeah, we’ll do our best” Sam assured him, “Right, yeah” Dean laughed as they moved over to the vent. Dean then suddenly remembered something, turning back to Deacon with his fist up. “Oh. Where do you want it?” He smirked at Deacon. “What?” Deacon asked, confused.

Dean gave him his classic cheeky smile in hopes he’d get to punch him as a cover up of them escaping after Deacon practically beat the hell out of him. Realization dawned on the prison guard’s mind as he snorted, “Yeah, uhem..” He pointed to his cheek. Dean instantly reeled back his fist. “Uh-” Deacon stopped him.

Dean raised his brow at him, “Make it look real, son” Deacon smirked, Dean chuckled in return before nodding and reading his fist back. Sam instantly turned his head away as Dean right hooked Deacon across his jaw.

Deacon groaned in pain as he clutched his jaw in agony. Sam chuckled as Deacon continued grunting and groaning in pain, as Dean watched with a smirk on his face. “Damn, you sure know how to put some force behind those swings,” Deacon grunted, “I’ll be feeling that for days, man” He added, wincing as he spat out some blood from his mouth.

“That’s the idea, big guy,” Dean said gruffly as he patted him on the back. Deacon chuckled as he held his jaw, “That hit was for kneeing me” Dean retorted, patting his midsection.

____________________________________________

Sam and Dean appeared in the parking lot a few minutes later, quickly making their way over to the beloved car. “Hey!” Sam called out as they approached Y/N who was leaning against the Impala, smoking a cigarette. “Woahh, look at those handsome faces. I hope you fellas didn’t drop the soap” Y/N teased as she tossed the cigarette on the ground, crushing it with her boot.

“Ha, ha, ha, very funny” Sam rolled his eyes with a scoff as wrapped his arms around her shoulders into a quick hug, Y/N returned the hug as a smile stretched across Dean’s face, “Oh, baby. Aren’t you a sight for sore eyes” Dean muttered, eyeing his car. “Are you talking to me or the car?” Y/N teased as Sam stripped out of his jacket, he was yet to see Jo in the passenger side as they were all on the drivers side.

“I’m talking to the most beautiful girl I know who just so happens to be leaning up against my car” Dean smirked, Y/N rolled her eyes, she never failed to blush or get butterflies in her stomach whenever he would compliment her, especially with that mischievous smile that was a hundred times more sexier in the orange glow illuminated from the orange lamp in the parking lot.

“Don’t try to be smooth now, asshat” She chuckled, pulling him in for a hug. Dean wrapped his arms around her frame, pulling her into him. He inhaled her scent which always seemed to soothe him as he buried his nose into the crook of her neck. Y/N smiled and tightened her grip around his waist.

Sam rolled his eyes at the two, crossing his arms over his chest. “I got a gift for you, Sammy” Y/N told him as she and Dean pulled away from the hug. Sam’s brows furrowed in confusion, then a honk from the Impala caused him to jump. His heart stopped when he heard, “You better give me one of those hugs, Winchester” Jo’s voice filled his ears as she climbed out of the passenger side.

His eyes widened as he looked over at the passenger side, his breath hitched in his throat as his heart skipped a beat or twenty when he saw Jo, she closed the car door after hopping out. As quickly as he could, Sam wrapped his arms around her frame, hugging her tightly against his body as Jo chuckled softly, returning the same affection.

Sam buried his nose into her hair, inhaling her scent as Y/N watched in amusement alongside Dean as they leaned against the hood, watching the scene play out in front of them. “I’ve got a gift for you too” Dean smirked at Y/N, reaching into his jacket pocket.

Y/N looked up at him curious as to what ‘gift’ he had for her. Dean’s smirk grew, knowing that she would absolutely love it and probably laugh her ass off. “You do, huh?” She smirked back as she shoved her hands into her leather jacket.

“Mhm,” Dean responded with a small nod, his smirk still firmly in place in his face as he pulled out a pack of cigarettes he saved from when he won playing poker. “Tada” He said in a mockingly theatrical way, waving the pack in her face. Her eyes widened, excitement filling in them as she eagerly took the pack from him,

“Prison cigarettes?” She gasped mockingly, placing a hand over her mouth. “A man after my heart” She teased. “Something like that,” Dean responded, his smirk widening. He noticed the way her eyes lit up when he handed her the cigarettes, and her sarcastic comment made him chuckle. He loved seeing her excited and happy, even if it was over a simple thing like a pack of cigarettes.

“Ahem” Jo cleared her throat dramatically, leaning against the Impala with Sam beside her, a smug smile gracing his features. Dean and Y/N had seemingly forgotten Jo and Sam were right there. Y/N and Dean snapped out of their own little world and turned their attention to the other pair, who were casually leaning against the Impala, watching them with amused expressions on their faces.

Y/N chuckled awkwardly, rubbing the back of her neck, feeling a bit embarrassed for not paying attention while Sam and Jo stood there, grinning at the two. “We don’t mean to break up the love fest, but we gotta go before they haul all our asses in jail” Jo joked as Sam opened the back door for her.

Y/N shot Jo a nasty glare for her comment, “Shut up, skank” She huffed in annoyance as she opened the drivers side door, the keys dangling in her hand. Dean smirked, a little bit of pink playing on his freckled nose. He would never get tired of watching her drive Baby. He climbed into the passenger's seat, while Sam got into the back next to Jo.

“Bite me, slut” Jo retorted, grinning widely as Y/N started the Impala. “Oh, I’ll bite you alright” Y/N threatened with a smirk, “I’m not promising you’ll like it though” She added as she shifted into drive and started pulling out of the parking lot. “Oh, baby I’ll like it” Jo winked playfully at Y/N, this made her roll her eyes as Dean bursted out into laughter.

“Jesus, you guys are gross” Sam muttered from the backseat with a roll of his eyes, Jo giggled as she elbowed him. Y/N heard his comment and flipped him off through the rearview mirror, causing him to scoff out a laugh.

When Dean’s laughter subsided, he narrowed his eyes at Y/N’s chest, and not for the reason you’re thinking of. A wide smirk graced his face, his eyes flickering to the back where Sam and Jo sat, the two seemingly now in their own bubble as they spoke. Dean gently bumped Y/N on her knee.

Y/N looked over at Dean in puzzlement, confused as to why he was smirking at her. “What?” She asked him. Dean nodded down to her chest, that smirk still plastered on his face. “Nice shirt” Dean mused, pointing out the fact that Y/N was wearing his Led Zeppelin shirt.

Y/N chuckled as she looked down at the shirt she was wearing. It was also one of Dean’s favorites, it was very worn-out and well-loved, but she loved wearing it. “Yeah, well I didn’t do laundry. You know I hate it” She responded teasingly, waving it off but he wasn’t dumb and knew that she stole it.

“Uh-huh” Dean hummed in amusement, seeing right through her excuse. “Sure you didn’t” He added sarcastically. Y/N rolled her eyes at him and shoved his shoulder playfully with her free hand, the other on the steering wheel.

“Whatever. It’s comfy, okay? Sue me” Y/N muttered, trying to change the subject. Dean shook his head with a light snort. The gesture went straight to his head, boasting his ego. He thought she looked unbelievably hot in them, but he was gonna only admit that to himself.

As Y/N drove, the car was filled with laughter, playful banter and casual conversation. Sam and Jo continued to tease each other in the backseat while Dean and Y/N engaged in their own conversation, practically in their own little bubble again. The atmosphere was light and carefree, a nice change of pace from the previous intense and dangerous situation from the prison.

____________________________________________

Author’s Note: Hi beauties!! I hope you guys loved this episode because so far, it was one of my favorite’s to write for this season (Born Under A Bad Sign has a special place in my heart since it was the one I was most excited for🫶)

Now we all know which episode is next *coughs dramatically* I’m so freaking anxious for it gaaahhhhh😩

Can I just say, how I think this was a lot to unpack and how fucking TIRED I am of Dean and Y/N because they’re already acting like a damn couple but won’t ADMIT THEY LOVE EACH OTHER FUCKKKKK. I’M PHYSICALLY ILL BROOOO JESUSSS🥲

Okay, I’m done having my breakdown😭Once again, I hope everyone loved my interpretation of this episode, I’m not gonna lie, I really wanted y/n in prison😔

Tell me what you loved and what you hated about it, don’t be shy! Until the next episode…. *coughs dramatically again*

Taglist: @hjgdhghoe @rach5ive @tiggytaylor @star-yawnznn @quarterhorse19

@deangirl96 @bitchykittenconnoisseur @globetrotter28 @hobby27 @mrsjjkwinchester

@juwu-theliciosa @magiccliopleurodon @nesnejwritings @karrah89 @whattheduckisupkyle

@iloveyou2mia @thelittlelightinthedarkness @lmhf1 @littletomboy2 @zigzoggy

@hey-its-zoe @modiddys-blog @thvxr

Xoxo

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take-it-on-the-run · 4 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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whimsyfinny · 3 months ago

Text

Fix Your Attitude

Dean Winchester x F!Reader

Summary: (Y/n) is just like an other woman trying to function in this fucked up world - and she's starts her day with coffee. At least that was always the plan until Dean interfered.

Warnings: Language, Smut, Fingering, PinV, slightly Dom! Dean, and if you squint there's maybe possessive/jealous Dean

MDNI! 18+

Word Count: 4470

A/N: So this is technically my first ever one shot! Woop! I've written this as part of my competition from a few weeks back, and this is for the wonderful winner @spookyysinsanity ! Hope you enjoyyy.

“Seriously, Dean? What the actual fuck!?” The audacity of the older Winchester brother had me throwing my hands up in frustration, my irritable tone bouncing off the walls in the kitchen and landing on ears that couldn’t possibly care any less.

“Should’ve got here sooner, sweetheart. You know how it is; first come first serve,” he tauntingly raised his coffee mug to my dishevelled figure standing over the empty coffee pot. The lack of caffeinated bean-water had brought a panic-sweat to my temples, knowing all too well how things would pan out if I didn’t get what I needed.

“How many cups have you had?”

“What?” He blinked frustratingly slowly - he knew what I’d asked.

“Jerk - I said ‘how many cups have you had’?”

“Hmmm…” he tapped his finger against the side of the mug, lips pursing over feigned thoughts.

“DEAN.”

“Maybe… three?” He shrugged his shoulders nonchalantly - although the nonchalant bubble popped when a sly smirk slipped through the cracks. My mouth opened and closed a few times, words forming and disappearing too rapidly through my mind to even make it past my lips as desperation sizzled into rage.

“You DICK!”

“Hey don’t yell at me - just make another pot,” he held his hands up defensively.

My eyes flitted over to the empty tin on the side - an empty tin left tauntingly in plain sight.

“You know damn well I can’t do that! We’re out of coffee, totally out. Zilch. Nothing. Empty.”

“Well,” he lifted his mug to his lips, “not totally empty.”

“What do you- oh…OH,” I felt my razor sharp glare zero in on the mug at his lips - there had to be at least half a cup in there with how little he had to tilt it up before taking a gulp. I took a step forward and jabbed my finger towards the prize.

“Give me that.”

He offered me nothing but raised eyebrows and a loud slurp.

“Dean.”

Again, silence only echoed back, however my frustration towards him started to buzz in my head as he slowly lowered the mug to unveil a slap-worthy grin.

“DEAN.”

He gently placed the mug on the table and turned to me, large arms crossing over his broad chest as he settled in his chair, thighs spreading wide for comfort.

“Wow, I thought I was grouchy in the mornings before coffee but damn, sweetheart you’re really claiming first place with that one.”

I took a step closer, my eyes practically burning a hole in the cup next to him on the table. His grin widened as he noticed me stalking forwards, like a predator ready to pounce on its unsuspecting prey. However my prey was incredibly suspecting and, in all honesty, not really prey at all. My bare feet padded quietly towards him, each tentative step raising more suspicion in Dean as my desperation for caffeine became all-consuming and my honed hunting skills became sloppy. I gave myself away when I tore my gaze from the mug and glanced over at Dean, catching his amused smirk and playful eyes before I lunged forward, hands grasping at air where the liquid-treasure should have been. Spinning on my heel after almost colliding with the table I turned to face Dean, now standing a few steps behind me with one hand wrapped around the ceramic and the other dipping lazily into the pocket of his jeans.

“Come on darlin’ you’re better than that.”

“Fuck you.”

A low whistle floated in the air between us before he tutted at me, shaking his head slowly.

“So mean.”

“Says you!”

“Hey I got here first - I'm the victim here. You're the one trying to rob me.”

“Don't play that game - you are not the victim here. All of your bullshit has been calculated,” I narrowed my eyes up at him as he traced his tongue over his bottom lip.

“Maybe it has been. Not much you can do about it now though is there?” His eyes glinted like the tricksters before he took another gulp of his coffee. I could feel my palms growing sweaty in apprehension, knowing all too well that the coffee level was dropping inside that cup.

Time to try a different approach. Something more… tactical.

“You know…” I pulled a lock of hair between my fingers, twirling it around, “you're my favourite Winchester.”

I paused and he raised his eyebrows, suspecting yet silently urging for more.

“Sam is just so nice and tall but…” I quietly stepped towards him, inwardly cheering when he made no attempt to move away.

“But?”

“But I mean look at you, so ruggedly handsome… and with that authentic ‘tough guy’ personality to make all the ladies swoon. And don't even get me started on these broad shoulders and big arms of yours…” I padded around him, tracing a single finger delicately up one arm, over the back of his shoulders and down the other arm. I almost missed the small shiver that ghosted over his skin and raised the hairs on his exposed forearms.

“Oh, so you like what you see?” He raised an eyebrow, his voice subtly dropping to a deeper tone.

I chewed my bottom lip slightly before stopping in front of him, a hair's breadth away. From here I could smell the masculine scent of his cologne - the same one I'd only ever known him to wear - and the subtle, intoxicating scent of leather and gunpowder. Combined, those three items were the very essence of Dean, the warmth of it all clinging to his clothes and practically seeping from his pores. I couldn't stop myself from taking a deep breath and letting the hypnotic scent travel straight to my brain. He’d always smelt divine, but I was never going to give him the satisfactory access to that information.

Upon tilting my head up to lock eyes with him, I could feel his coffee-scented breath fan over my face, the smell of what I wanted most almost making my mouth water. I couldn't let myself become enveloped in the addictive haze around him - I needed to remember what I was here for without letting myself become distracted.

Evergreen eyes flitted between mine, unsure of my next move. But the more I looked into them, the more dilated his pupils became. I couldn't help but grin a little to myself, relishing in his reaction.

“Come on Dean, just hand over the coffee. I know deep down that you really want to…”

He hummed, the sound a little gravelly as it emanated from his chest.

“You see sweetheart,” he smirked a little as he gripped the mug, lifting it to his lips. The action immediately caused me to take an urgent step forwards, a part of me truly believing that he would drain the cup right there and then. He must've seen the panic jolt through me as he released a small, breathy laugh.

“I see what?”

“You see… I don't think it's coffee that you need to stop being such a bitch in the morning.”

My eyes immediately narrowed towards him at his choice of words. He can make it so easy to look past his good looks when he acts like such an ass.

“What the actual fuck does that mean?”

“Oh I think you know what it means.”

“Fuck you, Dean.”

“If you want.”

“Go to- wait what?” I felt my heart leap in my chest, my mind unsure if I wanted to have heard him correctly.

His smirk spread across his face as he pulled his bottom lip between his teeth, his mossy green gaze dragging over my figure as though I were totally naked.

“You heard me,” he took a step forward, his boots heavy on the hard kitchen floor. My cheeks burned, and I wasn't sure if it was from whatever scandalous thoughts of him I'd pushed to the back of my mind that I never intended to humour, or the rage bubbling to the surface at the sheer audacity from him, thinking I'd just accept this sort of shitty attitude.

“You’re crazy if you think that I’d let you in my pants,” the bewilderment in my voice was evident, and so was the growing frustration. This conversation had taken a wild turn and it’s safe to say that I didn’t like the direction it was headed. It was a rocky path of buried desires and a cocky male ego - a male ego that somehow knew what buttons to press to get my temper sizzling.

“Oh but sweetheart I could make it so good…” his voice was like caramel, becoming harder to ignore as he took another step forward, backing me into the table. I swallowed the almost nervous lump that had started to form in my throat, my heart rate quickening with every second he looked at me with those darkening eyes.

“And why would you want to do that?” I did well at hiding the slight nervous wobble in my voice. He chuckled slightly before breaking eye contact and looking down at his boots, thinking for a moment before shooting his eyes back to me, his intense gaze burning into mine.

“Because for once, I’d love to see that smart mouth of yours moan my name.”

I couldn’t stop that small gasp that escaped between my parted lips at his sudden bold statement, and that small gasp seemed to be all that it took to invite Dean in. In one fluid movement he drained the remainder of the coffee into his mouth and took a final step forward, closing the gap between us and wrapped a single strong arm around my waist, pulling me firmly against his body. His other hand quickly discarded the mug before grasping my face, his thumb pushing into my cheek and urging me to open my mouth. Before I was able to conjure a single thought he’d pulled my mouth to his, his plush lips covering mine before transferring that mouthful of coffee over to me. My eyes widened at the sudden appearance of warm liquid gliding over my tongue, the flavour of coffee, sweetened with sugar, would have soothed my senses if it wasn’t for the way it was administered. I hurriedly swallowed it down, not caring for the trickle that escaped the corner of my lips, now more preoccupied with Dean Winchesters mouth pressing onto mine. He allowed one… two… three heated kisses before pulling away, leaving me gasping and gripping the edge of the table for dear life. As he pulled away, he released his grip on my jaw, spotting the trickle of coffee and catching the droplets with his thumb. I didn’t intend to dwell on the action too much, at least not until he pushed his coffee-coated thumb past my lips and into my mouth, pressing lightly on my tongue. Still taken aback by the kiss, I stared up at him dumbly, my mind simultaneously racing whilst emptying itself of all logical thoughts. On instinct, I licked the coffee from his thumb, hearing a gruff hum of approval from him.

“Look at you - quiet for once.”

Before I could retaliate to his comment he pulled his thumb from my mouth and grasped my jaw again, a little softer this time as he guided my face to his. His lips grazed mine as he spoke.

“Have you finished acting like a bitch?”

I nodded.

“Are you sure? Because I think I should fuck you on this table here - just to be sure.”

The involuntary shiver that shimmied down my spine gave my innermost thoughts away when Dean noticed it; another smirk gracing his lips as he pulled himself between my knees and grasped under my thighs to lift me onto the table. I hissed slightly as the cold surface bit at my bare rear, the oversized Metallica t-shirt doing nothing to shield me as it rode up on my hips. There was a short moment, like a breath taken and held as we paused to look at each other. His eyes darkened like a forest at dusk, piercing into my own before studying my lips. I found myself doing the same to him, watching how his gaze darted up and down, frantic to find a focal point on my face whilst his lips parted, tongue poking out to wet them. We shared each other's hot coffee-scented breath, my heartbeat starting to echo in my ears as my blood began to run hot at the thought of him taking me right here on this table. He chewed slightly on his bottom lip, the fantasies of my own prurient mind running rampant at what that mouth was capable of doing to me. What I undeniably wanted it to do to me. Before another thought appeared he hastily leaned in and planted a searing kiss on my neck, his stubble tickling my ear whilst one large, strong hand planted itself just below my shoulder blades; his whole arm crushing me against him. Everything he did made me want to purr. His lips exceeded expectations as he kissed red-hot paths up and down my neck; my skin prickling when he pressed his lips below my ear and jaw, pulling pathetic whimpers from my lungs. He kneaded the silky-soft flesh of my thigh with his other hand, eventually causing me to gently hook my legs around him to ease the desperate need to writhe at his every touch.

“Dean…” his name left my lips as an airy gasp when the hand on my thigh travelled up, his thumb hooking under the waistband of my panties.

“What happened to that big, tough girl persona? Can’t really take it huh?” His taunting words went straight to my brain when he spoke them with his lips pressed right to my ear.

“Fuck, Dean… I hate you.”

He chuckled, placing a kiss on my cheek before uttering over my lips:

“Of course you do, sweetheart.”

As his sentence ceased as his mouth claimed mine, muffling the moan bubbling in my throat as his tongue pushed against my own. I reached one hand up to tug on his hair, dragging my nails across his scalp when the strands at the base of his skull were too short to grasp. He groaned into the kiss, lips moving faster at the sensation of my fingertips. His broad chest became a resting spot for my other hand, the taught muscle flexing beneath soft skin as I glided my delicate fingers up to clutch his shoulder. It was like being in a trance; the only thing I was capable of thinking about was him. Dean. The strength of his hand on my back contrasting the tenderness of the one on my thigh. The heat of his mouth, his tongue on mine, consuming my gasps and ragged breaths. His devouring reduced me to naught but lustful putty in his arms, especially when an assured hand slid from my hip to my ribs and a gentle thumb smoothed over the softness of the underside of my breast. The feather-light touch caused goosebumps to erupt on my skin, the warmth of his palm doing nothing to soothe them away. When a groan passed my lips at his actions, he gripped tighter, my legs instinctively pulling him closer. This time it was Dean that groaned, as pulling him towards me had pressed the ever-growing bulge in his jeans against the soft cotton of my panties. The sensation was electric, igniting the fiery ache between my legs as my thighs twitched when he didn't pull away - instead pushing himself against me harder. I sucked in a breath where I could, his lips refusing to leave mine, even to let me breathe. He was hungry. Animalistic. Dominating. I don't know what I'd been imagining when I was alone in my room in the depths of night, but this… this was something I'd never fantasised about. How commanding he was, how he pulled me in with stern words and an air of authority. Gone was the boyish charm and playful pickup lines - this was something that could easily suck me in and pull me under. He could drown me in sharp comments and tantalising games.

And I would let him.

“Look at you, twitching like a virgin,” he pulled away enough to huskily speak against the corner of my mouth. I moaned slightly, biting my lip when his thumb moved from the underside of my breast to my nipple, delicately toying with the perky skin.

“Who's to say I'm not?” My voice was more breathy than I'd anticipated, my head lolling back when he started to trail kisses down my neck again. My comment pulled a laugh from his chest, the sound almost cutting through the sexual haze.

“Oh darlin’, don't think I don't know about your motel room escapades - I was always in the room next to yours,” he finally pulled back slightly to look at me, the cool air flooding between us in his absence. As my eyes met his, my heart hammered in my chest at the raw blackness of his irises - pupils blown wide with hot arousal and leaving no soft greens in sight. I could feel my cheeks heating up with embarrassment, realisation creeping in. Dean took it all in with a grin on his lips.

“That's right sweetheart - I heard it all. Every little noise you made when those jerk-offs touched you. When they tried to make you feel good,” his smile faltered slightly before he leaned in a little closer, “but you know, I never heard any of them make you cum. I only ever heard you finish when they were gone and you were all alone.”

He pressed more of those red-hot kisses just below my jaw, the hand on my breast descending, trailing a path down the soft skin of my abdomen before disappearing down the front of my panties. A moan tore from my throat when he slid his skilled fingers through my folds to gather my pooling wetness, his hum of approval ringing in my ears when my mind emptied at his fingers tracing circles around my clit. My grip on him was vice-like, whimpers already tumbling off my tongue.

“You know (Y/n), you should've just come to me. You should've told those useless bastards to fuck off and let me do everything you needed me to do,” his breath was hot against my neck as he spoke, and he finished his sentence off by finally pressing a rough finger against my clit. I whined like a bitch in heat as he went around and around and around, making me clench around nothing and crave him in his entirety.

“I would've done this to you every night - made you forget everything but my name.”

“Dean…”

“Thas’right sweetheart. Never would've left you unsatisfied.”

“Please, Dean… please… I need you to fuck me,” my words were desperate and I could tell he relished in that, suddenly plunging two thick digits inside me without so much as a word. My hands flew to his back, nails digging into broad muscle as I leaned into him, burying my flushed face into his neck and breathing in his intoxicating scent. He curled his fingers up and pushed against the pleasure-cushion inside me, knowing exactly what to look for and what to do with it. My legs tightened even more around him as I was unable to stop the euphoric twitches jolting through my limbs. He removed his hand that was pressed below my shoulder blades and lifted it to my hair, unclipping the claw-grip to let the unruliness tumble out. He practically chucked the plastic clip to the table before threading his fingers through my hair, grasping close to my scalp before tugging my head back to make me look at him.

“Now that you've dropped your attitude and asked nicely, I'm going to fuck you until you can't walk.”

He pressed his fingers inside me one final time, drawing another pathetic whimper from my lips before pulling his fingers out and lifting them to his lips. I watched, mouth agape and breaths ragged as he licked my slick from his digits, savouring the taste of me with a satisfied groan.

“That’s the best shit I’ve ever tasted,” his deep, gravelly tone had me reaching desperately for his belt buckle as Dean claimed my mouth again, his own eagerness starting to show. As I finished unzipping his jeans I pushed them down his hips just enough to dip my hand into his boxers and pull his cock free. A deep moan pushed its way into my mouth as I curled my fingers around his length, his size already intimidating as his cock rested hot and heavy in my palm. I wasted no time on gripping him tight, starting gentle motions going up and down again, and again, and again, causing Dean to move both hands to my thighs - his grip on me threatening to leave bruises. I dragged my thumb over his tip, urging a blissful shudder to surge through him as I smeared the gathering precum up and down his length. His lips never once left mine. I could feel him becoming breathless as I slowly increased the speed of my hand, so I caught his bottom lip between my teeth as a means to pull away for a moment. As I breathed in his contented groan, I pulled back slightly further to get a look at his face.

“Dean… Dean please - I need you inside me-”

“Stop fucking around then and c’mere.”

I squeaked a little at his harsh tone, unable to stop the next words from tumbling out.

“Yessir.”

I watched his brows knit together and his eyes almost roll before he dropped his head to my neck, grabbing the underside of my thighs and dragging me right to the edge of the table. With one hand he grabbed his cock and used it to move my underwear to one side before lining up and sinking in. The lascivious moans that spilled from our lips were almost harmonious, Dean pushing in to the hilt and forcing me to wrap one arm around his neck and the other to prop me up behind me - both stopping me from losing my balance under Deans intensity. Dean looked as though he was getting lost in a sexual haze as he crushed me against him again with one arm, having the decency to remain still for a few moments so I could adjust to his size as he eye-wateringly stretched out my insides - the sensation almost burning.

“Jesus- fuck-” his breath was slightly strained as he groaned into my neck, “now I’m mad that you decided to fuck lonely jerk-offs instead of me - with a pussy like this- shit- I would’ve been crawling back for more.”

He started to move slowly, pulling out gently before slipping back in - easing me into it with sexual expertise.

“Oh fuck- Dean- you don’t mean that-”

“(Y/n) you’d have to shoot me to stop me - you feel too fucking good.”

He started to up the tension - dropping every ounce of softness as he lost control of that part of him. He fucked the same way that he hunted monsters: raw, skilful and always in control - my mind racing with the knowledge of how dangerous this man actually was. He was Dean fucking Winchester, and here he was - fucking me over the breakfast table whilst I wore nothing but a band t-shirt. As he pounded into me and the intensity grew I was unable to stop the lewd noises tumbling from my lips. Such lewd noises however seemed to spur Dean on, the power of his thighs and hips inching the heavy wooden table across the floor.

“How are you still so fucking tight-” his words were almost slurred, his sexually inebriated mind seemingly becoming obsessed.

“Shit- Dean, I’m getting close already,” my eyes squeezed shut as I began to feel that familiar knot in the depths of my core. With every thrust he dragged over every over-sensitive nerve ending, unravelling me quicker than I’d even been unravelled before.

“Oh yeah? You wanna cum?”

I nodded my head vigorously, loose strands of hair falling around my face as tears started to well in my eyes. Dean glanced down at me without so much as a stutter in his hips, a slight grin playing on his lips even in a moment like this.

“Tears?”

“Fuck-fuck- you Dean, it's not my f-fault you're the first one to fuck me properly- oh God-”

“Well I'm glad it was me sweetheart,” he tried to keep up the slightly playful tone but I could see in his eyes that he was on the brink as well. Without another word he moved one hand to push lightly on my lower belly, his thumb dipping down to rub soft circles over that oh-so-sensitive bundle of nerves. I gasped at the contact, Dean taking the opportunity to plant uncharacteristically soft kisses on my parted lips before whispering:

“I need you to cum for me - I need you to let go. I've got you darlin’.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

The circles drawn with his thumb increased in speed and as did the pounding of his hips against mine.

“Dean- Dean please-”

I could feel him winding that knot tighter, and tighter, and tighter; lifting the euphoria coursing through my veins to its highest peak before the white-hot heat of orgasmic bliss erupted inside me. Wave after wave after wave of pleasure cascaded down, drowning me in the most earth shattering climax I'd ever experienced. I could feel myself tightening repeatedly around Dean, his thrusts becoming frantic before his own release rolled through him.

“Oh Fuck- (Y/n)-”

His guttural groan into the crook of my neck sent a shiver down my spine and goosebumps across my skin, the sound of him cumming making me clench even tighter around him.

“You squeeze me any tighter darlin’ and you're gonna kill me,”

“I-I’m not- I mean- I'm sorry?”

He groaned again when I twitched slightly, this time he pulled back to look me in the eye, taking note of the drying tear-tracks and smudged mascara.

“You good?”

“Y-yeah, I'm good,” I huffed out a deep, contented sigh, "I am so, so good.”

He grinned, the assertiveness from earlier seeming to dissipate and the good ‘ol Dean was returning.

“Best you've ever had?” His green eyes twinkled mischievously.

I playfully slapped his shoulder, not impacting the smirk on his lips whatsoever.

“Easy there cowboy - if your ego gets any bigger there'll be no living with you.”

“You didn't answer my question.”

I chewed on my bottom lip slightly, making him wait a little for the answer before I replied with a grin of my own.

“Yeah, definitely the best I've ever had.”

————————————————————

Taglist: @roseblue373 @hobby27 @calibootsgirl @suckitands33 @jackles010378 @lyarr24 @autistic-gothic @wattpaduser200

#dean winchester #dean winchester smut #dean x y/n #dean x you #dean winchester x reader #dean winchester x you #dean x female!reader #dean x reader #dean winchester x reader smut #dean winchester x you smut #dean winchester one shot #dean imagine #supernatural imagine #supernatural reader insert #reader insert #supernatural fanfiction #supernatural #spn

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imagineteamfreewill · 2 months ago

Text

Powerful Magic

Title: Powerful Magic

Pairing: Sam Winchester x Reader

Word Count: 13.7k

Warnings: Brief language, witches, magic/curses, frequent mentions of death and dying, crying, very light blood, angst, fluff

Summary: While on a witch hunt in Boston, Sam puts his life on the line to save Y/N. When he begins to suffer from the effects of the magic the next morning, they’re forced into an impossible situation with no way out.

A/N: This is a commission for the lovely @park-simphwa. Thank you to them for giving me such a fun prompt to write, and thank you to everyone who supports me in a million other ways. As always, I hope you enjoy this story!

Dividers by @firefly-graphics

You aren’t expecting to run into anyone on the grocery run, least of all your old hunting partner, but life’s been throwing fireball after fireball at you lately, so you really shouldn’t be surprised. It’s been years since you’ve seen Jason, and somehow he still looks exactly the same, maybe with a few more wrinkles and scars. His hair is still greasy and cropped close to his skull, and you can smell the cigarettes on him even from where you stand a few feet away. His boots are caked with dried mud that sprinkles across the tile of the grocery store every time he shifts his weight or takes a step to get out of someone’s way, which is often because he’s always been the type of guy that thinks of himself first and others second.

Smiling tightly, you yank your cart closer to the shelves of jarred salsa and bottles of colorful sodas to make room for people trying to get by, and you use that movement to look over your shoulder. There’s no sign of Sam or Dean.

Damnit.

“So, how’ve you been?” Jason asks. “You look good, Y/N.”

You nod. “Good, fine. How about you? Are you still…?” You don’t dare utter the words aloud, but Jason gets the hint. He nods.

“Still in pest control. It keeps me busy.” He grins, and you try not to grimace at the yellow tinge of his teeth. How had you ignored all of his red flags for so long? With the exception of your last hunt together, it’s not like Jason was necessarily a bad guy, he was just gross and inconsiderate. On top of the constant smoking, he always took too long to shower after coming back from hunts. You know for a fact that he only brushed his teeth once a week. Plus, you don’t remember ever seeing him do laundry, though logically, he’d done it at some point… Right? Or maybe you’d just gotten used to the stench.

“There you are,” Sam’s voice in your ear makes you shiver, but his hand on your lower back warms you right back up. “I was looking for you.” He pauses. “Who’s this?”

You glance up at him, smiling in relief. Sam doesn’t smile back. His face is a hard mask of protectiveness, one that you’re always grateful for, even if it’s being wasted. You know that he’s amping it up a little just because you were approached while he was out of sight. He’s always a little more protective when he thinks you’re getting hit on by some creep. You can’t count the number of times he’s pretended to be your boyfriend to help you avoid men hitting on you at the skeevy dive bars that you always seem to find after hunts. Part of you should be offended that he’s stepping in instead of letting you handle it yourself, but you know he doesn’t do it because he doesn’t think you’re capable. Sam does it because you shouldn’t have to fend them off on your own. You shouldn’t have to be in that position, but because you are, he’s not going to let you be there alone.

“This is Jason. He’s an old coworker, from before I joined up with you and Dean. Jason, this is my…”

You hesitate, instantly knowing that you shouldn’t. You and Sam are just friends. It doesn’t matter how badly you want to be more than that, or how easily the two of you fall into the rhythm of a fake relationship, both for a moment in the grocery store or for a week-long hunt. It doesn’t matter that Dean insists his younger brother likes you. It doesn’t matter what Sam said the one time you’ve seen him really, truly drunk. You’re just friends.

“—friend,” Sam finishes. He holds out his right hand, and his fierce expression has been replaced with a polite smile, though you can tell it’s fake. You know him well, but for a second, he almost looks a bit jealous. “Sam.”

Jason shakes his hand with both eyebrows raised. His smile had faded the second Sam approached, but now he seems uneasy. “Sam. And… Dean?” He glances between you and Sam. “As in…?”

You cut him off with a quick, “I’m so sorry, Jason, but we’re really cutting it close on time.” His mouth snaps shut and he has the decency to look chagrined. Anyone with any common sense in the hunting world knows not to name names, especially last ones. You never know who might be listening.

“She’s right. Dean’s waiting on us, and we’ve got to get back on the road. It was great meeting you,” Sam adds. “Any friend of Y/N’s is a friend of mine.” His hand drops from the small of your back. You try not to let your disappointment show.

With one last smile and a promise to keep in touch, even though all three of you know that you won’t, you make a u-turn with the cart and walk with Sam toward the checkout lanes. He doesn’t say anything as the two of you unload the items onto the belt, nor does he say anything as the items are scanned and bagged. Your stomach churns as the tension crackles between you. Why had you hesitated? Why had you acted so weird? Had Sam really been jealous, or did you just imagine it?

Chill out, you think as you load the bags of groceries into the cart. Sam pulls out his wallet and swipes his latest fraudulent card, then takes the receipt. You watch out of the corner of his eye as he tucks the card into the left hand pocket, the one he reserves for cards he’ll need to ditch soon.

You’re going to make this worse if you don’t relax.

You follow him out to the Impala, pushing the cart slow enough that you won’t run into him if he stops. Dean is already leaning against the side of the car. He has an energy drink in one hand and his phone in the other. Whatever else he decided to buy has already been loaded into the trunk. He glances between you and Sam as you get closer, clearly sensing something is off, and you watch as he straightens and deposits his phone into the pocket of his jacket.

“Everything okay?” Dean asks.

Before you can answer, Sam nods. “Yeah, all good. They were out of the soup you wanted.”

Dean grumbles to himself and opens the trunk, then helps you unload the groceries. His three bags of purchases are already tucked into the back, and you’re careful not to load anything on top of them in case he bought something that could get squished. As you work, Sam goes around to the passenger side and takes his seat, shutting the door behind him.

“What happened?” Dean asks you. He rearranges some of the bags you’ve put onto the trunk’s false bottom. Though there’s plenty of noise to talk over in the busy parking lot, he keeps his voice quiet enough that Sam won’t be able to hear it through the backseat.

You don’t meet his eyes. “Nothing. Just ran into an old partner of mine, that’s all.”

“Partner?” You can feel his gaze on you, and your cheeks grow warm.

“Not like that,” you huff. “We were just… partners. For a while, it could have been something else, but it never happened.”

“Why not?”

Unloading the last bag, you glance up at the storefront, where Jason is exiting. He’s only got two bags in hand, but there’s a six-pack of beer tucked under his arm. He already has a cigarette tucked between his lips. Dean looks past you and grunts a little.

“If that’s him, I can see why.”

“Be nice,” you tell him.

“Was he at least a good guy?”

You shrug. “He wasn’t bad. Just kinda gross, that’s all.”

Dean grabs your arm before you can walk away with the cart. You look back at him, and he’s watching you with the same protective glint in his eye that Sam had inside the store.

“Did he hurt you?” he asks, and you shake your head. “Did he say something to you in there?”

“No. That’s not why it was weird.”

“I gotta know if something happened, Y/N. If I’m gonna ride in the car with the two of you—”

“I hesitated, okay?” you answer, yanking yourself free from his grip. Your cheeks are definitely hot now, and it’s not the sun. It’s still cloudy from last night’s storm. “I went to introduce Sam and I hesitated.”

Dean is staring at you like you’ve just broken into song. “You hesitated?”

Sighing, you look up at the clouds, willing yourself not to be so embarrassed by this. It shouldn’t be this big of a deal.

“Yes, I hesitated. Instead of just saying that his name was Sam, I said, ‘This is Sam, my….’” You gesture with the hand not holding the cart, letting the unfinished sentence hang in the air.

His face twists. “Oh. Rookie move, Y/N.”

“Gee, thanks.”

“So what did you end up saying?” Dean asks.

“I didn’t. Sam finished and said he was my friend.”

“And you want to be more than friends.”

“I didn’t say that,” you quickly reply, but you look away, and your cover is ruined.

“Why don’t you believe me when I tell you that he likes you? You two are driving me insane. I’m going to lose my mind before we ever get to Boston if this keeps up.”

You roll your eyes and head towards the cart corral, then push the cart in with the others. Dean’s already in the driver’s seat by the time you start walking back, and he starts pulling out of the spot as soon as you have the back door shut. Sam doesn’t say anything. You cast him a quick glance, but that’s all you risk as you settle into your usual spot with the book he’s loaned you. It isn’t one you’re particularly interested in, but you’ve traded books for the trip. You’re fairly certain that you got the short end of the stick. Despite the years of friendship under your belt, he never takes your book suggestions. Then again, you don’t take his.

The universe finally takes mercy on you, and the rest of the drive to Boston goes by faster than expected. You have one overnight stay in a motel, but the boys decide to get two rooms instead of one, so you get a queen size bed and the bathroom all to yourself.

Once in Boston, you check in to a second motel, then head out to get your bearings. The person who sent the information to Dean had only given you the address for the hotel where the witch is supposedly hiding out, plus the names of two of the victims. Sam decides to look at some old, non-digitized records of the hotel, so you go with him, knowing that if you go with Dean, you’ll most likely end up at the morgue. You’re not really in the mood for a dead body. You’ll take an afternoon with your best friend over that any day, even if your best friend is currently giving you the cold shoulder.

You’re in one of the reservable rooms at the library, looking over the papers and logbooks spread out over the table, when Sam finally brings up the grocery store incident.

“Are you okay?” he asks, and you look up from the patron log you’ve been carefully sorting through.

“Yeah, why?” You try not to seem surprised that he’s asking, considering he hasn’t said much of anything to you since you left the grocery store over 24 hours ago.

“You’ve been quiet since we ran into Jason.”

You shrug a little and look back down at the page, then flip it over to look at the names listed on the back. “I’ve been reading the book you loaned me.”

“It’s not that,” he says. “This is your ‘I made a mistake’ quiet.”

Not knowing how to answer, you keep your eyes on the book in front of you. Sam stares at you, and you can feel him watching you as you gingerly turn the page again.

“I don’t want to press—”

“I haven’t seen him in a while,” you finally say, still not looking up. It’s the truth, even if it’s not the whole truth. “It just… caught me off guard, that’s all. It’s not every day you run into someone that almost got you killed, you know? And then I was flustered when I introduced you, and I panicked. I was worried that maybe you were offended because I got all tongue-tied.”

He’s quiet for a second. You risk a glance in his direction, only to find that Sam is already watching you.

“What?” you ask. You fidget with the corner of the paper for a second, and then you have to force yourself to release it before you damage the time-worn parchment. “I’m sorry, I really didn’t mean—”

“No, that’s not it,” Sam interrupts, shaking his head. “I’m not offended, Y/N. I don’t think you could ever offend me.”

The tension between you breaks, and you grin at him. “Oh yeah? Not ever?”

He laughs and pulls his laptop over to where he’s sitting. “Well, maybe if you—”

“No, you can’t take it back now!” you laugh. You scoot your chair closer to his, closing the palpable gap that had been left between you. Sam shifts his stuff to make room for you, and you smile wide, happy to have your friend back. You try to ignore the way your heart leaps into your throat for a brief moment after his hand brushes yours.

You continue researching, but only a couple minutes have passed before Sam clears his throat and speaks up again.

“So, you and Jason,” he starts, and you close the logbook. There’s nothing useful in it and you add it to the growing pile of books you’ve finished.

“What about me and Jason?”

“Were you ever… together?”

You raise an eyebrow at him. “Like, dating?” Sam nods and you grab another book, not wanting to look at him when you answer, “Yeah, for a little while, right before we split.”

“Ah.”

“Mm-hmm.” You open the book, silently hoping he doesn’t ask any more questions about Jason. The two of you have never really talked about any of your past partners. It’s a sore subject for Sam, so you’ve respected the territory, even though you’ve come dangerously close on a few occasions. You usually don’t mind, considering you’d have to lie if he asked if you were interested in dating, and he can always tell if you’re lying.

“You said he almost got you killed,” Sam says, his voice a little softer. His fingers stall over his laptop keyboard, and the screen goes black.

You look up from the book and he’s watching you carefully, gauging your reaction. He knows how hard it can be to discuss the past, and you’re in public. It’s not exactly the safest place for a hunter heart-to-heart. These kinds of conversations are best held in the bunker, or late at night in a motel room.

After a second, you nod. ��Yeah. He… He used me as bait, and I didn’t know that was the plan. And then, while he was waiting for them to approach me, he got drunk. He showed up much, much later than he should have.”

You have to look away and swallow the lump in your throat. Under the table, Sam finds your hand and squeezes.

“I promise to never do that to you,” he tells you, with such conviction that tears spring up in your eyes.

You squeeze his hand in return, blinking quickly to clear your vision. “I know.”

“I will always keep you safe, Y/N. You know that, right?”

Nodding, you look up and take a steadying breath, then smile a little. Sam’s expression doesn’t change. He’s not smiling back at you. Instead, he’s staring at you with an unmatched ferocity, and your smile fades.

“I know,” you gently reply. “I’ve never doubted that.”

You and Sam stare at each other for a long few moments. The other patrons in the library continue to go about their business, and he holds your hand under the table until his phone chimes loudly and several people look over. Sam pulls away first, reaching for the phone. You turn back to the book, feeling like a rug’s been pulled out from underneath your feet.

What was that all about?

You and Sam have spent countless hours alone together, even going so far as to pose as a couple on a hunt, but it’s never felt like this before. He’s never been so adamant that you know he cares about you and your safety, and he’s never asked about your past love life. Sam’s a passionate guy, too, but you rarely see this side of him. His passion is normally directed toward hunts, or toward the academic subjects and topics he studies in his free time.

“Dean’s got a lead,” Sam relays, staring at the message on his phone. He texts back a response as you nod and begin to pack up. He puts his phone away and starts to help, and you finish cleaning up together, bumping elbows and hands as you stack the materials the way they’d come. Sam carries them back to the circulation desk before you can offer to help, leaving you to follow behind. You don’t mind.

As soon as the three of you are together again, Dean drives to the abandoned hotel and parks in an alley, far enough back from the street that you won’t be easily seen. You unload the guns and witch-killing bullets while they compare notes. You listen in silence as you load all three weapons. The whole thing sounds very straightforward.

“Ready?” Sam asks, and you nod, holding out his gun. He takes it and gives it a quick once-over before nodding his approval. Dean does the same.

You decide to head into the hotel through the old maintenance entrance. The two victims had been found just outside the door, and you quickly discover that it was the right choice. Dean taps on your shoulder only a minute after you enter the building, then points at a bookshelf half-full of spell ingredients. Jars of all shapes and sizes hold everything from small animal bones to a shimmering blue liquid that reminds you of the “potions” you would make using various soaps and shampoos as a kid. It’s one of the few memories you and Sam have in common from your childhoods, though you made yours at your house and his toiletries came from a long string of motels.

There’s another tap on your shoulder and you glance behind you at Sam, who gestures to your left with his gun. You turn down the hallway, following the sound of shuffling that you hadn’t heard before. It gets louder as you get closer, and then the person begins to chant. Her voice is deep and rich, and without realizing it, you’re lowering your gun. All you want to do is listen. The Latin is almost melodic.

“What are you doing?” Dean hisses. He pulls you away from an open doorway by the collar of your jacket. You stumble and blink at him.

“She okay?” Sam whispers.

“I have to…” You struggle to voice the burning desire inside of you, the little voice in your head telling you to find the witch. Deep down, you know that it’s dangerous and that you’re being affected by whatever spell she’s performing, but your hands move of their own accord, pushing the boys out of your way.

Stop! You have to fight this, you think, but it’s as if your conscience is behind a thick glass pane. Your own thoughts feel muffled and far away. They’re useless against the effects of the witch’s magic.

Sam reaches for you, and you dodge him as you duck into the next room of the hotel. It’s an old ballroom with high, vaulted ceilings. A dusty chandelier with cracked crystal pendants hangs precariously over the center of the patterned dance floor, and cobwebs are strung up in every corner. Broken tables and chairs are pushed against one wall, and boarded up windows separate you from the garbage-littered street outside. A balcony winds around two of the walls, with the staircase behind the witch. The banister is made of marble columns and a dark wooden handrail coated with a thin layer of dust. Lit candles litter the floor, and beneath the chandelier, the witch stands surrounded by metal bowls of ingredients and a sigil painted in white.

She reaches out a hand for you when you enter. You’re in a daze, and as your feet carry you closer to her, your gut churns. Something inside you is screaming—every hunter’s instinct you have is telling you to lift your gun and shoot, but you reach down and place your weapon on the dusty tile instead.

Chanting louder, the witch’s eyes begin to glow a vibrant red. An aura around her does the same, and your breath hitches at the sight.

This is wrong!

She smiles then, beckoning you with her fingers, and the sudden onset of nerves dissipates. You smile back, taking another step.

“Y/N!”

Dean’s voice makes you blink, and you flinch when a gunshot goes off behind you. It hits the banister behind the witch. Her volume increases again, reeling you back in as she pulls a thin, jagged knife from a sheath at her hip. Letters etched onto the blade glow red as well, and your eyes are drawn to it. Your mouth feels dry as you shuffle forward, entirely focused on the weapon in her hand.

“That’s it,” the witch coos, now finished with the incantation. “It’s alright, dear one.”

“Y/N, don’t!” Another shot rings out, but it sounds far away as you step closer. You’re almost to the edge of the sigil. Two more steps and you’ll be within her reach.

Someone grabs your arm, yanking you backwards. She screams a horrible scream, one that makes you shudder and cringe as an arm winds around your stomach, pulling you even further away. Your feet drag across the floor and you cling to the arm of whoever’s holding you. You’re torn between fighting them and letting yourself be rescued, but then the glow from the witch’s eyes fade. You gasp for air, feeling her hold on you relax.

“Dean,” you croak. You can’t see his face, but the feel of his jacket against your palms is familiar and comforting. Your throat feels raw, as if you’ve been screaming for hours. You go to say something, to warn him that her spell is almost finished, when the red light concentrates at her fingertips. “Dean!”

There’s a flash of red. You close your eyes, turning your head away as Dean pulls you harder against him and whirls around so his back is toward the witch. Over the witch’s shout, you hear Sam yell something, and then there’s a heavy thud.

“Sammy!” Dean releases you, cursing, and you fall to your hands and knees.

You yelp when you hit the floor. Your bones immediately ache from the impact, and you stay there for a minute. You know that you’ve messed up. Guilt blooms in the center of your chest and tears well up in your eyes. You feel weak and, for a second, violated. You should’ve been able to resist the witch’s magic.

Get it together, you silently order. You have to focus. You can feel bad after you kill her.

“Y/N!”

Looking over, you see Dean crouching beside his brother, who’s laid out on his side. Sam’s eyes are closed and your chest tightens.

“Sam!” you cry, and you scramble over to where he lays just outside the witch’s sigil.

Dean rolls him onto his back, and you kneel beside him, cradling his face in both hands as you search for any sign of life.

“Sam? Sam, wake up,” you plead.

“He’s still breathing,” Dean tells you. “She knocked him out with whatever that was.”

“Please, Sam. Please, open your eyes.”

You stare at him, your heart pounding, and you’re crying by the time he inhales sharply through his nose and blinks his eyes open. They immediately focus on you.

“Thank God,” you sob, and you throw yourself on top of him, hugging him tightly. Sam’s hand comes up to pat at your back.

“You okay?” Dean asks.

Sam grunts and winces as you pull back to look at him. “I think so,” he says after a second. “Did you get her?”

You shake your head and take a shaky breath, wiping at your cheeks and eyes. You sniffle for good measure, then say, “She got away, but she hit you with something. I’m so sorry. This is all my fault.”

He shakes his head back at you, then closes his eyes. “It’s not your fault. She was more powerful than we thought,” he tells you. With his eyes still closed, he feels for your hand. He squeezes it when he finds it, and you squeeze back, just like you had in the library.

“You sure you’re okay?” Dean asks. “You hit the floor pretty hard.”

“Just give me a minute.”

After several minutes, Sam slowly sits up. You and Dean help him to his feet, and then the three of you make your way back through the hotel to the car. Sam seems mostly himself on the drive back to the motel, but you’re on edge. You watch him carefully, cataloging anything that’s even slightly out of character.

“We’ll have to keep you awake tonight, make sure you don’t have a concussion,” Dean says as he sheds his jacket. He throws it over the back of one of the dining chairs.

“I definitely have a headache,” Sam replies. He moves slowly and stiffly, and you don’t blame him. You’ve been thrown to the floor dozens of times. It never hurts any less.

“I’ll take first shift,” you tell Dean. “Clean up and get some rest.”

He nods and heads into the bathroom while you help Sam get settled on the bed. You take his jacket from him, carefully noting how he winces when he moves his right shoulder, and drape it over the second chair.

“It’s a good thing we’re friends,” Sam says. He takes off his socks and shoes, then positions the pillows behind him so he can sit up against the headboard with his legs stretched out in front of him.

“Huh?” Your heart skips a beat. What’s he talking about?

“It would really suck staying up with me,” he clarifies. “If we weren’t friends, that is.”

“Oh. Yeah.” You smile a little before plugging in your phone. “You want some water?”

“Are you okay, Y/N?”

You freeze, fiddling with the lid of the ice bucket. You’ve got your back to him, so he can’t see the way you close your eyes, but he’s caught on to your lingering guilt much sooner than you hoped he would. You were hoping that Dean would at least be asleep before you had to have this conversation.

“I’m fine,” you answer. You grab the bucket and turn, giving him a forced smile. “Just tired. I’m gonna go get some ice.”

Sam swings his legs back over the side of the bed. He tries to hide his wince, but you catch it. You always do.

“I’ll come with you,” he says.

“You already took your shoes off.”

“What’s a little tetanus between friends?” He smiles at you and stands. You step closer, ready to steady him if needed. He’s fine, however, and he takes the ice bucket from you before gesturing toward the door.

Unable to argue, you lead him outside. The two of you walk in silence until you hear the door click shut. You’re already several rooms down, but the motel is larger than most, and the only working ice machine is in the tiny vending machine room at the far end of the building.

“What happened back at the hotel?” Sam asks.

You know he won’t judge you, but you keep your gaze forward. You don’t want to see his expression.

When you haven’t replied after passing several rooms, he gently asks, “Y/N?”

“I don’t know,” you finally admit, shoving your hands in your jacket pockets. You’re glad you kept it on. There’s a receipt in one of the pockets and you crush it into a ball as you continue, “Whatever spell she was doing… It’s like it was directed at me. I didn’t even realize what was happening until it was too late, but by then I couldn’t stop it. I couldn’t control myself. I was just—”

You inhale sharply and stop walking, looking up at the dilapidated roof covering the motel walkway. You’re blinking away tears again, and you hate how weak you feel.

“It’s not your fault,” he says. He moves to stand in front of you, blocking the sun as it sets over the motel parking lot. “She was more powerful than we anticipated.”

Sniffling, you cross your arms over your chest and stare at one of the support columns off to the side. “I know.”

“You’re still you,” Sam says.

“What?”

“You’re still you,” he repeats. “No matter how her magic affected you, you’re still you. You’re not any less strong or smart or tough than you were before we went into that building.”

Tears truly well up at his words and you look up again, letting out a weak chuckle. “How is it that you know exactly what to say?” You wipe at your eyes and take a shaky breath to try and steady yourself.

When you finally meet his gaze, Sam answers, “Because I know you better than anyone else, and because I’ve been where you are. And you know what you told me the last time I was doubting myself because of all the crap I’ve been through?”

You sniffle and force a wobbly smile, remembering the late-night conversation you’d had months ago after he’d had a particularly awful nightmare. “That you’re still you,” you repeat. “And that we’ll always be friends, no matter what.”

Sam smiles back. After a second, he tilts his head to the side, toward the door to the vending machine room. You nod and start walking again, and he falls into step beside you. The silence that settles between you is comfortable again, and the knots in your stomach have loosened with his reassurance.

You get back to the room to find Dean already asleep, face-down on the bed. Sam climbs back into bed as well, and you fill up both your and his water bottles with ice water. He takes it with a silent, grateful smile. You slide under the covers beside him, intent on researching the witch on your laptop while he reads on his phone. You probably should yell at him for staring at a screen with a possible concussion, but you both know that he’s had so many that a few hours in front of a screen won’t kill him at this point.

Dean wakes up a few hours later and switches places with you. Though you know you should probably shower before you sleep, resting up is more important if you’re going to find the witch sooner rather than later.

“You sure you’re okay?”

“I’m fine, Dean. Just tired.”

“Maybe you should hang tight for today, try and get some sleep while Y/N and I do a little more research.”

You blink your eyes open and immediately squint. Dean must have every light in the motel room on. You swear he does it to spite you, and you groan in protest.

“Good morning to you too,” he teases, stepping into your line of vision.

You throw a pillow at him, and Dean catches it with one hand, laughing. You grunt and push yourself up with one hand, using the other to rub at your eyes.

“How’d you sleep?” Sam asks.

Yawning, you start to answer, but you stop as soon as you see him. Sam looks awful. His skin is pale and drawn, and the bags under his eyes are darker than you’ve ever seen. He gives you a weak smile.

“We’re heading to the diner down the street for breakfast,” he says. “You wanna come with?”

“You’re not going anywhere,” Dean replies. He pulls on his jacket and digs the keys out of his pocket. “Except back to bed.”

You sit up a little more, frowning. “You sure you’re not sick?” you ask Sam. “I mean, I’ve seen you when you’re tired, but you look…”

“Like he’s been hit with a spell,” finishes Dean. “I’ve already told him that, but he says that the witch didn’t say anything when she hit him with that freaky red light.”

“I’m fine, Dean,” Sam says. He stands from the side of the bed, but he instantly starts to sway. You’re on your feet in a split-second, steadying him with a hand on his arm.

“Maybe you should stay here,” you quietly suggest. You glance over at Dean, who holds up his hands.

“I’ll be in the car,” Dean tells you, and you nod.

You and Sam stand in silence until Dean’s gone and the door shuts behind him. Then, you look at him with as stern a look as you can muster having just woken up.

“Be honest.”

“I’m tired.”

“Sam.”

He sighs.

“Sam.”

“I’m… exhausted. I don’t think I’ve ever felt this tired in my life, and I want to sleep, but I’m scared,” he admits.

Your eyebrows push together as you frown even harder, and you guide him to sit beside you on the edge of his bed. “Why are you scared?”

“The witch didn’t say anything when she hit me with whatever it was, but we also know that her magic was strong enough to affect you from several rooms away,” Sam says. “If she did something to me, we have no clues as to what it is.”

You hum a little, mulling over his words for a second before looking over at him. “What if I gave Rowena a call? Had her come check you over, see if there’s any kind of lingering effect we haven’t seen yet?”

Sam takes a deep breath, then exhales and shakes his head. “We already owe her.”

“It’s a price I’m willing to pay. You’re my best friend, Sam. I want to make sure you’re okay.”

Because I wouldn’t know what to do without you. Those words go unspoken, but you hope he hears them regardless.

Nodding, Sam replies, “Okay. Okay. I’ll… I’ll give her a call.”

“No, I’ll do it. You should rest. I’ll keep an eye on you,” you assure him. “I’ll make sure you’re safe, Sam.”

He smiles just a little bit, though you can tell it’s only for your sake. “You always do.”

You get up to grab your phone from where you’d left it charging, and Sam slowly lays back on the bed. As you type out a text to Rowena, you try to remember if the witch really hadn’t said something, or if you’ve just forgotten it.

“I’m gonna text Dean and let him know to go ahead without me. Do you want him to get you anything?” you ask. He doesn’t reply. “Sam? Did you hear—”

Turning, you stop when you see Sam has his eyes closed. For a second, you worry that he’s dead, and you hold your breath as you wait to see his chest move. When it does, you exhale heavily.

He’s okay, you reassure yourself. He’s going to be just fine.

You shoot a quick text to Dean with your order, plus a few things that Sam might want, and Rowena replies as soon as you’re done. She’s nearby.

The rest of the day goes by uneventfully. Sam sleeps for an hour or so at a time. Every time he wakes, he looks more tired than before, and the smaller-than-usual meals he eats don’t seem to help him at all. It’s hard to tell since he’s been in bed most of the day, but when he gets up around dinnertime, he looks thinner.

Dean’s pacing the length of the room by the time Rowena shows up at the door, and you’re in even worse condition. You’re pretty sure that if she’d shown up any later, he might actually have relented and taken Sam to a hospital. You caught a glimpse of his phone when he passed by and he had the directions already open on his maps app.

Rowena stands beside the bed and moves her hands over Sam’s chest. He’s awake now, and he stares straight up at the ceiling as she works. A soft glow emanates from her palms, but as you watch from a few feet away, it strengthens, turning from golden to crimson to a vibrant purple.

“Well?” Dean asks. He shifts in place by the small dining table. His fingers twitch and he makes a fist with one hand. “Is he alright?”

She drops her hands and turns to face the two of you. Sam sits back up against the headboard, and you glance over at him. His eyes are bloodshot, as if he hasn’t slept in days. You’ve seen him look like this before, but it’s never been this concerning. He’s never managed to look this ragged so quickly.

“It’s a siphoning curse,” she explains, adjusting the jacket she’s wearing over her black jumpsuit.

“Siphoning?” Dean questions. “Siphoning what?”

“Life.”

You suck in a breath. It’s cold against your teeth, and Sam meets your eyes. There’s recognition in them, and not in a good way. A lump forms in your throat as you turn back to Rowena.

“Life?” you ask her. “But… Then…”

“I’ll die,” Sam finishes.

You blink. Your eyes burn and you frantically shake your head, taking a deep breath. Inside your chest, your lungs stutter as you try to compose yourself.

“No,” Dean says, shaking his head. “No. There’s got to be a way.”

Rowena purses her lips a little. She clearly knows more, and you take a step forward, clenching both hands into fists.

“Tell us,” you demand. “Tell us!”

You don’t mean to scream—you really don’t—but it just comes out. Dean reaches for you, grabbing your arm and looking toward the door with wide eyes as he listens for a response from anyone nearby who might have heard. Rowena doesn’t react. Swallowing thickly, you look from her to Sam, who has his eyes downcast and his hands folded in his lap. If you didn’t know any better, you might think he was sleeping, but the way he grimaces as you yank your arm from Dean’s tells you that he’s awake and listening.

Your throat feels raw and you swallow again. “How long?” you croak.

“A week, at most,” Rowena adds. “It’s likely he will be unconscious for the last few days. It takes a lot of energy to stay awake, and his body will try to conserve as much as it can before it fully shuts down.”

Dean mutters a curse and shakes his head again. “No. There has to be a way. A counter-curse?”

Rowena shakes her head, and this time, her expression is almost apologetic. “I’m afraid not. Whoever cast this spell is very powerful, and it would take extremely powerful magic to reverse the curse.”

You look from her, to Sam, to Dean, and then finally back at her. Rowena is the most powerful witch you know.

“Can you reverse it?”

“I’m sorry, dear,” she replies, meeting your gaze. Her lips press together in a sad smile. It’s the first show of genuine emotion you’ve seen from her, and it’s not enough. “But this is beyond even me.”

“And if we killed her?” Dean asks.

“It won’t have an effect. You still need the magic to reverse it. Not even the caster herself can reverse this particular curse once it’s taken hold.”

“Then what are we supposed to do?”

“Go home,” Sam finally says. It’s so quiet that you almost miss it in your hurry to ask about recruiting another witch to help you, but you stop with your mouth open. Sam opens his eyes and sighs softly. “We go home.”

“Bullshit. I’m not taking you home just so you can die!”

“Dean. Enough. You heard what she said.”

Rowena looks between Sam and Dean. After a moment, she says, “I need a moment alone with Samuel here.”

Immediately, Dean is on guard. He straightens up, standing tall as he stares her down with enough ire that you want to shirk back, and you’re not even on the receiving end of his glare.

“I might be able to give him some more time,” she gently adds. With more confidence than you think you could muster if you were in her shoes, she places a hand on Dean’s arm and takes one step forward, guiding him toward the door.

“One of us stays,” Dean answers, nodding his chin in your direction.

Rowena nods, agreeing, “Y/N is welcome to stay, but you have a habit of riling him up. Big brothers always have a way of doing that, in my experience.”

“I need to know what you’re doing before you do it. No funny business,” he adds.

She nods again and gestures with one hand to the door. “Let’s talk outside.”

You stand by the dresser, watching as she leads Dean out of the room. He exits with one last look over his shoulder at Sam, but Rowena pacifies his worries with words too quiet for you to hear. She gives you a strange look before she follows him out and closes the door behind them.

You stare at the door for a second, then at the window adjacent. The white horizontal blinds have gaps in them after years of use, and you’re able to see Dean, then Rowena, as they move to the side to talk. Eventually, they walk away, most likely to the Impala for spell ingredients. Sam’s been keeping a small travel case in the trunk for the past year or so, especially since you’ve been away from the bunker more and more often.

As you wait for them to return, your gaze drifts back to Sam. He’s watching you.

“What?” you ask after a second.

“Nothing.”

“It’s not nothing.” You wipe your cheeks with both hands, unsurprised that there are tears you hadn’t initially registered. “I probably look a mess right now.”

“Not any more than me, I’m sure,” he replies with a wry smile. You both fall silent for a minute before he continues, “You’re gonna be okay, you know.”

“What?” Your voice cracks. You hate it.

“Without me.”

You inhale through your nose and push your hair back, doing anything to keep your hands busy. “Don’t— Don’t talk like that. Rowena said she might be able to give you more time. We’ll find something, Sam. You’re not going to die.”

“I was going to die eventually. Everyone does.”

“That’s not the point.”

“Then what is the point?” he asks.

You look up at the ceiling, staring for a few seconds at the circular brown water stain that stretches several feet into the room. You’re lucky it hasn’t rained in Boston since you arrived, judging by the darkness of the stain. The dark brown is unchanging, but it’s not enough to steady yourself.

“I don’t want to live without you,” you finally say, your voice trembling.

Sam doesn’t answer, and when you look down at him, he’s wiping tears from his own face. It’s the first time you’ve seen him look truly upset since Rowena broke the news.

Maybe it’s just finally settling in, you think.

His chest shudders as he takes a breath and it’s enough to propel you forward, to move you to his side. You stand beside the bed, staring down at him until he reaches for your hand. He grabs it with more strength than he’s shown all day and you suck in a sharp breath, tears welling up in your eyes all over again.

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, Sam,” you whimper, and you use your free hand to wipe them away, but he shakes his head. He pulls you down until you’re sitting on the opposite side of him. Your legs are draped over his and your feet dangle over the edge of the bed. You lean against his shoulder and start to cry in earnest, and Sam holds you. He doesn’t ask you to stop, and for that, you’re grateful.

Your cries have petered out by the time Rowena and Dean come back into the room. You can’t bear to make eye contact with them as they return, so you stare at where Sam is holding your hand atop your knees. Besides letting out the occasional sniffle, you simply listen as Rowena explains her plan to help extend Sam’s life. It’s a complex spell, one you’ve never heard of. She claims it will only add a few days, essentially putting off the point where he’ll become comatose, but it’s more hope than you had before. Sam asks questions about the ingredients and the text and the magic, which Rowena answers somewhat impatiently. Dean is strangely quiet.

“You’ll have to move for the spell, dear,” Rowena gently instructs.

Nodding, you clumsily pull your legs from Sam’s lap and move to roll off the other side of the mattress, but Sam grabs your hand before you get too far. You look back at him, confused.

“Stay,” he says. “Please.”

After a second, you nod again, then settle against the headboard beside him. Sam carefully lays down on his back. He rests one arm in the space between his body and the edge of the bed, but he takes your hand with the other. You rub your thumb over his as Rowena takes her place on the other side of him and begins to mix the spell in the small copper bowl they’ve retrieved from the Impala.

She chants, her eyes glowing purple, and Sam squeezes your hand with a grunt. His grip is almost bone-crushing and it takes everything in you not to yelp.

Stay strong, you urge yourself. He can’t help it.

The glow of Rowena’s eyes grows so bright it’s blinding. You look away, closing your eyes and gritting your teeth as Sam squeezes your hand even tighter, but then suddenly, he releases you.

You open your eyes and look over to see him passed out beside you. The purple light is fading and your heart leaps into your chest.

“Sam?”

“Sam!” Dean cries. He pushes Rowena backwards onto the other bed and pulls his gun on her. “What the hell did you do to him?”

She holds up her hands in defense as you shake Sam by the shoulder, then pat his cheek. “Your precious brother will be fine,” she soothes, a small smile on her face. “The spell takes some time to activate, like I told you. He’ll look better when he’s awake again.”

“And we’re supposed to believe you? Just like that?” Dean gestures a little with the gun, but it stays pointed in her direction.

Rowena scoffs. “Don’t forget that you came to me, Dean Winchester. You already owe me for the spell.”

You’re gentle as you check to make sure Sam’s still breathing. He is and you sit back on your feet.

“She’s right,” you say. “He’s still breathing.”

Raising an eyebrow, Rowena stares Dean down until he lowers the gun. She gives him a satisfied smile when he reluctantly tucks it back into his waistband, then stands and dusts off her hands.

“Now,” she sighs, smoothing the wrinkles in her jumpsuit from where Dean had shoved her. “I believe some payment is in order.”

Dean turns around to look at you. For a second, you stare at each other, and you have the brief thought that he might do something stupid, or crazy, or both, but then he grits his teeth and his jaw clenches. That’s when you know that he’s fighting the urge to pull his gun back out. The only reason he hasn’t is because Sam’s life is already on the line. One bad choice could lead to Rowena casting another curse on him.

“Go,” you quietly urge. “I’ve got him.” You nod in encouragement, and Dean returns it with one terse nod of his own.

You carefully move Sam’s hands to rest on his stomach, then sit beside him as Dean leads Rowena back out to the Impala. Whatever he’s giving her as recompense for the spell, it must be valuable, because he comes back in with clenched fists and muttering curses under his breath. He begins to pace the length of the room again. You don’t interrupt. Your chest aches and an empty feeling grows as you think of what life will be like if you can’t save Sam. Dean’s jaw is still clenched, and you know he’s doing the same.

“We—” He stops by the door to the bathroom, lifting a hand, but he drops it back down by his side. “Y/N, we have to find something.” His voice breaks and a lump forms in your throat, just as tears form in Dean’s eyes.

You nod. “I know.”

“We’ll— I’ll give Jody a call, and Garth. Maybe they’ll know of another witch that can help us.”

You look down at Sam and inhale shakily. With one hand, you adjust the sleeve of Sam’s t-shirt.

“I’m gonna take him home,” you tell Dean, not looking up.

“What?”

“He said he wanted to go home. I’m gonna take him home.”

“Like hell you are!”

Finally, you look up and meet Dean’s eyes. You have to take a second to breathe when you see him. You’ve been with Dean Winchester for plenty of hunts, but he’s never looked this afraid. He’s a man that laughs in the face of danger, not one whose hands tremble when he thinks about his brother dying.

“We have to try, Y/N,” Dean says, and he’s staring at you with eyes so wild that you find yourself gripping the motel sheets crumpled beside you. “I can’t just let him die. Not like this.”

You have no response. Dean will just argue if you try to reason with him, but you know that Sam isn’t one to prolong the inevitable. It doesn’t matter how terrified of a future without him you are. If he’s made his peace with it, then you need to consider doing the same.

Even if it kills me too, you think.

“Okay,” you murmur. “Okay.”

Dean swallows thickly, then nods once. “I’ll start calling. See what I can find.” He’s just looking for a reason to leave the room so you can’t see past his hardened exterior, and you both know it, but you don’t argue.

You stare at the edge of the bed, just behind where he’d been standing, as he starts to leave. He’s made it to the door when you lift your head and look over at him.

“Dean?”

“Yeah?”

“Someone needs to be in the bunker. It’s better if he goes with me than with you.” Before he can argue, you continue, “What if you need to check something against one of the books? Or if you need an ingredient we don’t keep in the car? What’s your plan then? Sam knows both the library and the storage rooms better than both of us combined, and he’ll be able to rest when he needs it. Plus, if I need to, I can try and recreate the spell Rowena cast to give him extra time.”

Dean is quiet for a minute, but you see him nod through the gaps in the metal floral divider that separates the door from the rest of the room.

“Okay,” he agrees. “Then you two should get going. The sooner you’re there, the better.”

You’d driven together in the Impala, but it doesn’t take long for Dean to hotwire a car from the farthest row of the motel parking lot. The backseat is, mercifully, big enough for Sam to lay down without being at too strange an angle. You and Dean drag him from the room to the car together. You’re lucky that it’s getting dark and no one is out to watch the ordeal.

Dean loads your backpack and Sam’s duffel into the trunk. Then, he sends you off with a simple, “Drive safe,” and a hug. He holds you a little longer than normal, but you’re not opposed. It’s nice to know that you’re not alone in this.

The drive is uneventful. Sam sleeps for most of the night. He only wakes up a few times during the day for food and bathroom stops, and though he looks better since Rowena’s spell, he’s lost muscle mass and he still looks exhausted. You have to support him on the walk across the street to the motel the following night, but he falls asleep again almost as soon as he’s in bed. His sleep seems to be dreamless, and for that, you’re thankful.

You, on the other hand, don’t sleep much. You probably should, considering you haven’t slept in 24 hours, but your brain won’t turn off. You spend most of that night awake, listening to Sam breathe, texting Dean about his progress, and doing what research you can online. At some point you actually do fall asleep, and you wake to the sound of Sam stumbling across the room to the bathroom.

He’s getting weaker, you think, and you lay on your back, listening to the sound of the toilet flushing and the sink running as you stare up at the ceiling. You’ve cried so much over the past few days that the thought of crying now is exhausting. You just don’t have the energy.

It’s not a strange occurrence for you to lay in bed and listen to the boys move around a motel room. There have been plenty of mornings that Dean has gone out for food while Sam showers after his run, leaving you to soak up a few more minutes of sleep under the covers. Now, you can’t help but feel a little nostalgic for all those mornings. You don’t have many more with Sam, and Dean can be unpredictable when he’s grieving. You’re not sure if he’ll go off on his own or if you’ll be able to stick together.

When the door creaks open, you turn on your side and meet Sam’s eyes. His face, which you’ve come to associate with bright mornings just as much as the sun itself, is gaunt. It’s a harsh reminder that you’re losing him bit by bit. His cheeks and eyes have begun to sink in as well, as if his body is collapsing inwards, like a black hole. The effects of Rowena’s spell seem to have been short-lived.

“Good morning.” He’s leaning against the open door frame of the bathroom, and he’s managed to pull on a pair of clean pajama pants and a t-shirt.

You try not to let your bad mood show. “Morning. How’re you feeling?” you ask.

Sam shrugs a little and his gaze wanders to the digital clock on the nightstand. You have no idea what time it is or how much you’ve slept. You’re lucky that your phone was plugged in when you finally fell asleep.

“Same as yesterday. Maybe a little bit more tired. Where are we?” asks Sam.

Sitting up, you yawn and stretch your arms above your head, then roll your shoulders and neck to try and release some tension.

“Ohio,” you tell him. You roll over to grab your phone and check the time—it’s after eight, and you’ve missed half a dozen texts from Dean. None of them are useful. “We’ve only got one more day of driving if I can go straight through. It’s about twelve hours.”

“We can take shifts.”

You look over your shoulder and fix him with a look, raising your eyebrows. He doesn’t react and you stand, then toss your phone onto the bed as you pull your socks back on your feet.

“I’m not letting you drive, Sam.”

“I can do it. I’ll be fine.”

“I’m not risking it,” you say, shaking your head. “I can’t risk it.”

“You can’t? Or you won’t?”

You falter as you rummage through your backpack for your last set of clean clothes. Sam is staring at you from the bathroom doorway, you can feel it, but you don’t look up at him. After a second, you slowly go back to searching.

“Does it matter?” you finally ask.

He shuffles toward you and grabs your wrist, stopping you. He doesn’t say anything, and he doesn’t move. Reluctantly, you look up and meet his eyes. They’re just as resigned as yesterday, and though it makes your chest ache, you can’t look away.

“If I only have a week—”

“You don’t know that, Rowena cast that spell—”

“—then I want to spend it with you,” Sam finishes, and you peter out, not even bothering to finish your claim that Dean will be able to find something to save him. You know it’s not worth it, not if Sam’s made up his mind.

He continues, “I want to spend it doing all the things I love doing with you. You’re my best friend, Y/N.”

You close your eyes and turn away, hoping he doesn’t see the tear that slips out and runs down your cheek. You hate this. You’ve never felt this helpless before, not even when you’d been held captive for a week. In that situation, you’d known that the boys would find you and save you. You have no way of helping Sam out of this.

“I want…” Sam trails off, and he tugs on your wrist to pull you into a hug. You wrap your arms tightly around him and press the side of your face against him, keeping your eyes closed.

I wish it was me, you think. I wish it was me instead of him.

“What are you thinking?” Sam whispers. His breath ruffles the hair on the top of your head.

“This is all my fault,” you reply. You can’t tell him what you’re really thinking without him lecturing you, so you pick the next best option. It’s really not that much better, if you’re being honest.

“Don’t say that,” he says. He squeezes you once. “This isn’t your fault. It’s not anybody’s fault.”

“Sam—”

“No, I love you, and I’m not going to let you beat yourself up over this. It’s not your fault, Y/N. Okay?”

You nod. “Okay,” you quietly answer. It hurts to hear that Sam loves you. You know that he does—he’s your best friend, of course he loves you—but it hurts to know that he’ll never love you the way that you love him. He doesn’t have time to love you that way.

“I love you too,” you say after a moment. “I don’t…”

I have to tell him, you think. You start to pull away. Sam drops his arms, and he sits down as soon as he’s not touching you. The way he lowers himself to the edge of the mattress reminds you of some of the people you’ve seen in nursing homes while interviewing family members.

I can’t do this. He’ll just feel guilty.

“You don’t what?” Sam asks, and you look away.

“Never mind. I should get dressed,” you tell him. You turn back to the backpack and grab the clothes, then start heading to the bathroom with your clothes crumpled against your stomach.

Sam reaches out with one hand and grabs your arm. “Talk to me.”

“Sam…”

“Please. I don’t want you to hide things from me because you think it’ll make me feel even worse. Trust me”—he lets out a wry laugh—“dying is the least of my worries right now.”

You freeze halfway to the bathroom, dropping your arms down to your side with your clothes clutched in one hand. After a second, you turn to face Sam, and you toss your clean clothes onto the bed behind him.

“That really doesn’t make this situation better,” you scoff. “I mean, come on, Sam! I’m about to lose the love of my life and he says that he’s not even worried about it? How’s that supposed to make me feel? Am I just supposed to be all, ‘Oh, okay! Let me tell you all about how I’ve had a massive crush on you—”

You stop talking the second you realize what you’re saying, which is much too late, and you snap your mouth shut. Sam stares at you with wide eyes and you stare back. Your heart is in your throat and when you finally feel embarrassed tears burning along your waterline, you turn around, clenching your hands into fists.

Of all times for me to say that, you think, and you wish you could hide in the bathroom for the rest of the day.

“I’m gonna shower,” you manage to say. You take a step, then another, until finally, you’re locking the bathroom door behind yourself.

Bracing your hands on the counter, you close your eyes and take a deep breath. Your heart is pounding inside your chest as your brain helpfully provides you with every possible outcome of the situation. None of them seem good. It should feel good to reveal the secret you’ve been holding so closely for years, but instead it’s only made you feel worse. On top of everything that Sam’s feeling and going through, he now has to deal with the news that you’re the biggest idiot on the planet. What kind of sappy Hallmark movie do you think you’re in? A hunter’s life doesn’t allow for love, let alone for a relationship with your hunting partner-slash-best friend.

A knock at the door startles you, and you quickly straighten up from the sink.

“Yeah?” Your voice is shakier than you’d like. You squeeze your eyes shut.

“Can I come in?” Sam asks. He jiggles the doorknob.

“Um..” Your voice trembles again and you inhale deeply through your nose as you open your eyes and look around. You catch a glimpse of yourself in the mirror; your eyes are bloodshot and your hair is a rat’s nest. The neckline of the old t-shirt you’ve been wearing since yesterday morning is stretched out and gaping, revealing a fading scar from a werewolf three weeks ago.

“You can say no,” Sam adds. “I can wait out here for you.”

Reaching out with one hand, you twist the doorknob and open the door. Sam has one hand against the door frame to help keep himself upright. Somehow he looks even worse than when you’d been by the bed just a minute before.

It’s probably just the lighting. He can’t be dying that quickly, right?

He doesn’t speak right away, so you step back into the bathroom and pull back the shower curtain, getting ready to start your shower.

“I’m sorry,” he finally says. “I reacted to that poorly.”

“I didn’t mean to say all that,” you quietly admit, stopping just past the end of the counter. You don’t dare look up at him right now. Instead, you look down at a yellowed stain on the edge, feeling heat rise in your cheeks. “It’s not fair of me to tell you and then run away, especially since it’s too late.”

He leans forward, slowly entering the bathroom so you have time to back away. You don’t.

“Who says it’s too late? I know it’s not ideal, but I did say that I wanted to spend my time with you.”

You shake your head, pressing your lips together as the new wave tears that have been forming finally escape. With one hand, you wipe them away and press your lips together. Sam pulls you into another hug.

“This is my worst nightmare,” you tell him. “I didn’t even know it was, but it is.”

“What? Spending time with me?”

A half-hearted laugh escapes you, and you blink your eyes a few times to try and clear the blurriness. “Don’t make me laugh.”

Sam kisses the top of your head and squeezes you once before dropping his arms so you can step away. Before you get too far, however, he reaches out to stop you.

“You didn’t let me finish,” he says, and you look back at him.

The bathroom is tiny. It’s barely big enough for a sink, toilet, and bathtub-shower combo, but it feels miniscule once Sam steps inside. He’s taking up the space between the wall and the sink, leaving you to stand with your back to the shower and both the toilet and the wall within fingertip distance.

“Finish what?” you ask. Your heart skips a beat and your mind begins to jump to conclusions. What could Sam possibly have to finish that involves you? He’s not about to confess his undying love for you, right? That would be too cheesy, and too predictable for a hunter’s life. You don’t deserve that kind of happy ending.

Then again, it’s not so happy if he dies right after. You push that thought away immediately and try to focus solely on Sam.

He takes both of your hands in his, and though he sways a little, he stays upright. You try not to think about how his grip seems less firm than it has in the past.

“I love you, Y/N.”

“I know,” you reply. “I love you too. And it’s okay if you don’t love me the same way. You don’t have to pretend to try and make me feel better. I’m not offended.”

Sam shakes his head and lifts your hands a little. “I love you, Y/N. I—” He stops to cough, a deep, bone-shaking, chest-rattling cough that forces him to lean against the wall on his left. He has to drop your hands to steady himself and cover his mouth, but you step closer and place one on his shoulder, hoping it’s enough to let him know that you’re there. When he drops his hand from his mouth, there’s blood on the side of his fist. Without a word, you tear off a piece of toilet paper so he can wipe it away.

“I’ve always loved you,” Sam manages after a few moments. He wheezes a little, and clears his throat to try and get rid of the raspiness left by his coughing fit.

“What?”

“I’ve—”

You quickly shake your head. “No, I heard you. I just don’t understand.”

He frowns at you, and you glance away, hating that you’re making this difficult for him. He’s balled up the bloody scrap of toilet paper in one hand, but he pushes himself off the wall and drops it into the trash can next to the sink. Without the support, Sam wobbles, and you reach out to catch him before he can fall forwards.

“You should sit,” you urge, and he shakes his head again.

“I’m fine.”

“You’re not fine, Sam. You look like you’re about to fall over.”

“I’m not going to fall over. There’s no place to fall in here.”

“You could hit your head on the edge of the counter, or you could knock me over and we could both fall into the bathtub,” you argue. “You could land face-first on the toilet which sounds like a horrible way to be knocked unconscious. You could fall backwards and I wouldn’t have the chance to catch—”

You’re cut off when Sam slides one hand up to cup your jaw back with one hand, then tilt your head back to kiss you. He moves quicker than you’ve seen him move in since the curse, and you’re so shocked that it takes you a second to process what’s happening.

Sam Winchester is kissing me, you think, and you let your eyes fall closed when his fingers shift, weaving into your hair as he crowds infinitesimally closer to you.

When he finally parts, pulling away just enough to catch his breath, you stay close, too. You can feel his chest heave a little as he breathes, and though it pains you to think that every time you kiss him from now on will be more and more difficult for him, you push those thoughts away. You want to savor this. You need to savor this.

“Sam,” you whisper, and he hums, then kisses you again. It’s shorter this time, and your hands migrate to fist in the loose fabric of the t-shirt at his sides.

“You kissed me,” you say the next time he pauses to breathe. He hums again and gives you another kiss.

“Sam,” you insist, and he gives an impatient sigh. His hand moves to rest on your upper arm. The side of your face feels suddenly cooler in his absence.

Sam opens his eyes to look at you, and you pause for a moment, your breath catching in your throat. You’ve always loved the way Sam looks—you’d be crazy not to—but it’s the first time you’ve felt it’s okay to unabashedly take in the brilliance of his eyes. Sam is beautiful, but he’s also intelligent, funny, caring, strong, and brave. You can see all of that just by looking at him. Maybe it’s a testament to how well you know him, or maybe he’s just that beautiful.

Both, you think. The thought makes you grin, and you duck your head to try and hide it. It’s definitely both.

“What?” Sam asks, impatience clear, though he’s not angry. “What’s so important that I had to stop kissing you?”

“You kissed me!”

“I know,” he answers. He leans into your space a little more. “I’d like to do it again.”

There’s heat in your cheeks now. It’s hard to tell if it’s from how he’s making you feel or if it’s from his proximity, but you’re not complaining about either of those things.

“Why?”

He gives you a look, one that asks if you’re serious, but you don’t rescind the question. Finally, Sam drops his hand from your arm to your hand, and he fiddles with your fingers as he answers,

“Because I love you, Y/N. I’m not sure how much clearer I can be.”

You gape at him. “So when you said that you’ve always loved me…”

“I meant it.”

Your brain is whirling as you process the new information, and Sam moves to sit on the edge of the counter. He still has your hand, so he pulls you with him. You let him lead you the few steps without a fight.

“So you…” You lick your lips, and you swear that he zeroes in on the movement because his eyes seem to grow darker despite the bright white light from the fixture in the ceiling. “You like-like me?”

Sam’s eyes lift from your lips to meet your gaze. He stares at you a second, then grins wide and lets out a loud laugh. It’s almost a guffaw, and it makes the heat flare up in your cheeks all over again. You feel silly, like you’re a teenager all over again, just waiting for the cute boy in class to make you swoon.

“Like-like you?” he asks. “Definitely.”

He pulls you close again, wrapping his arms around you in a tight hug. His legs bracket you on either side. You close your eyes and revel in his warmth and the scent of laundry detergent and the motel shampoo that somehow always smells better on him than it does you. It’s something you’ve come to associate with him, oddly enough, but you’re grateful. Motel shampoo is a constant in your life and it will always be there, even if he’s not.

Sam sways a little bit, leaning a bit more on you, and you open your eyes, moving your head back slightly so you can look at him. His head has lolled to the side and his mouth is parted slightly. His eyes are closed, but his eyelashes flutter as if he’s just asleep.

“Sam?” you ask. He doesn’t respond, and panic replaces the giddiness you’d felt only moments before. “Sam? Hey, wake up for me. Open your eyes.”

You unwind one arm from around him, pulling it towards your stomach and out from under his arm that’s still around you. You pat his cheek a little and look for any reaction, but there isn’t any.

Cursing, you try to maneuver him off the counter to the floor. It takes all your strength to keep him from collapsing or hitting anything on the way down. By the time you get him stretched out on the grimy tile and the towel that you pull from the bar on the wall to cushion his head, you’re sweating.

“Please wake up,” you plead, kneeling on his left, near shoulder. His breathing is steady, but he’s just as comatose as he was before.

After a few moments, you launch yourself up and out of the bathroom. Your phone is still plugged in on the nightstand, so you grab it and frantically dial Dean’s number as you hurry back to the bathroom. Sam’s still out when you get back, and you crouch between him and the wall as you listen to the line ring over and over again. Finally, Dean answers.

“What’s wrong?” he asks.

“I don’t know. Something happened, we were just—” You stop for a second, wondering if you should admit what you’d been doing, but Dean beats you to it.

“You were what, Y/N? What happened?” He’s shouting into the phone as he drives and you swallow thickly as tears burn in your eyes.

“I’m sorry, I don’t know what I did,” you choke out. “This is all my fault.”

“What the hell did you do?”

“Nothing! I mean, I kissed him! He kissed me first, and it seemed like he was alright, but then we were just talking and he gave me a hug and then he just passed out!”

Dean curses and you flinch at the volume, pulling the phone a few inches away from your ear. You’re on the verge of actually sobbing now, and you suck in a deep breath to try and stabilize yourself. Any sense of calm you’d felt less than a few minutes ago has completely vanished.

“He’s still breathing normally and I made sure he didn’t bump his head or anything—”

“You’re supposed to be taking care of him!” Dean shouts. “Where are you?”

“Ohio. At the Starlight Motel, off of I-71. We passed it on the way out to Boston.”

“I remember. I’m on my way.”

You can hear a turn signal on his end of the call and you set your phone on the floor, putting it on speaker. Judging by the noise in the background, he’s pulling off the road to turn around and head in your direction. After swallowing a few times, the lump in your throat begins to subside and you feel yourself starting to calm.

“How far away are you?” you ask, trying to focus on the steady sound of Sam’s breathing while at the same time listening for his response.

Dean answers, but you don’t hear it because Sam suddenly gasps for air. His eyes fly open as his chest heaves, and he coughs like he’s been suffocated. You shift onto your knees, lean forward, and quickly help him roll onto his side. He pushes you away with one hand as he props himself up with an elbow and continues to cough. You’re flustered and panicked, and your hands hover over his arm as you try to figure out how to help him further.

“Easy,” you soothe, and he takes another deep breath, followed by a few lighter coughs. There’s no blood this time, which is a welcome relief.

“I’m okay,” he wheezes.

Still propped up on his left side, Sam closes his eyes. He breathes in and out slowly, steadying himself. After several seconds, the hand not bracing himself against the floor searches until it finds yours. He squeezes it once and you squeeze back, watching him intently.

“How are you feeling? Are you in pain?” you question.

He rolls backwards until he’s flat on his back again, but he keeps hold of your hand, resting it on his stomach. He breathes for another few moments before opening his eyes to stare at the ceiling.

“Sam?”

“Y/N! Damnit, what’s going on over there?” Dean is shouting from the phone, and you realize that you’ve forgotten all about it. With your free hand, you scramble to grab it and pull it to your ear, taking the call off speaker with a singular jab of your thumb.

“He’s awake,” you tell him, feeling pretty breathless yourself. Your heart is still racing from the scare of Sam lurching into consciousness. “He’s okay. He’s alright.”

“He’s— He’s okay okay, or just okay?” Dean asks.

You look back at Sam, who lets go of your hand and pushes himself up into a sitting position. When he sees you watching him, he reaches for the phone.

“Hey, Dean,” he says, and he listens for a second before answering, “I’m fine. I think it’s gone.” He glances over at you while Dean replies, probably with more questions. “No, I’m not sure what it was, but I feel fine. Y/N and I will try to figure out what it was, and I’ll give Rowena a call, see if she can meet us here. How far away are you?”

“Tell him I’ll text him the address,” you interject, and Sam nods, relaying the message. He listens for a few moments longer, glances at you again, and then tilts his head away to try and hide his smile.

“Jerk,” he says. He smiles wider at Dean’s response. You don’t have to hear it to know what he says.

Sam hangs up a second later and hands the phone back to you. Without saying anything, you text the address to Dean, then slip the phone back into your pocket.

“Are you really feeling okay?” you ask.

He nods. “I think the curse, whatever it was, is gone. I don’t feel tired, and I’m not even stiff from laying down all day yesterday. Do I look any better?”

You search his face, looking for any sign of fatigue. The color has returned to his face, and the strange thinness that had made your stomach turn this morning is gone. He looks like he did just a few days ago when you’d made up in the library. Even his muscle mass has miraculously returned.

“You look a lot better,” you tell him, beginning to smile. “Like nothing even happened.”

Sam smiles back at you, as radiant as the sun, and you find yourself falling into his arms. He wraps them around you, but after a second he pulls away to look you in the eyes.

“I love you,” he says. “I know I said it before, but I mean it.”

Still smiling, you push his hair out of his eyes, cupping his face with one hand. “I know. I love you too.”

He kisses you then, like he did before, and your heart swells. You sit back on your feet as Sam leans into you. He smiles into the kiss when your free hand skims the length of his arm.

“Don’t ever scare me like that again,” you murmur once you’ve caught your breath. “Okay?”

He nods, his forehead resting against yours. “Okay.”

You close your eyes, reveling in the feeling of him being so close. The two of you sit in silence on the bathroom floor. All the events of the past few days have worn you out, even with the few hours of sleep you got, and you eventually shift to rest your head against Sam’s shoulder. He reaches over with his right hand, rubbing your back in long, soothing strokes. You hold his other hand, the one he’d been using to prop himself up.

The silence is broken by your phone ringing after a few minutes. Sighing, you pull away and answer the call on speakerphone, setting it on the floor.

“I hear that Samuel’s on the mend,” Rowena says in lieu of greeting.

“I’m cured,” Sam answers. “Or at least we think I am.”

She hums in acknowledgement. “I’ll need more detail than that if you want me to tell you for sure. I may be powerful, but I’m not a mind reader.”

You roll your eyes at the haughtiness in her voice and reply, “He was unconscious for at least two minutes, but there was nothing leading up to it. He just passed out.”

“Did you eat or drink anything? Say any spells? Pray any prayers?”

Sam stares at the phone, his eyebrows furrowed together. “No. We were just talking and then—” He stops.

“And then you what?” Rowena prompts.

Sam’s eyes flicker from the screen to your face, and then he lets out a quiet chuckle. He’s smiling again, and you smile back. It’s contagious, despite the fact that you have no idea why he’s smiling.

“We kissed,” Sam tells her, not looking away.

“I see.” Her arrogance has all but disappeared, and you know her just well enough to picture the sly smile forming on her face. “When it’s reciprocated by both, true love’s kiss is a very powerful form of magic. It’s one of the most powerful forms of magic. Wield it wisely, you two.”

You grin. “We will.”

She ends the call and you leave the phone on the floor, opting instead to lean in and kiss Sam again.

“We definitely will,” he says.

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