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whimsyfinny · 4 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 · 9 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

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luci-in-trenchcoats · 5 months ago

Text

Oh, Baby

Summary: When Dean is cursed on a hunt and turned into a baby, the reader has to take care of him along with Sam. Dean however, is a bit more adult than they might realize...

Pairing: Baby!Dean x reader

Word Count: 4,500ish

Warnings: language

“Nice job, Sam,” you said, Sam sighing in relief.

“I think she was trying to hex me before I put her down,” said Sam, shaking his head. You hummed, glancing around and pursing your lips. “Where’s Dean?”

“We split up. I thought he came back to you,” you said.

“I thought he was with you,” said Sam. You both took off in opposite directions, combing through different rooms of the house. You were in the kitchen when you heard a baby start to cry somewhere. You opened a door and saw it go down to a basement. You had your gun out, following the sound as it got louder, finding an infant shouting it’s head off in the middle of the room.

“S’okay, baby,” you said, shoving your gun away and picking him up off the cold floor. “You’re alright. The witch is gone and...”

You noticed a lump of clothes nearby, Dean’s navy jacket and his gun in the pile. You stared at the six month old in front of you, wet green eyes staring at you.

“No, baby. No, you aren’t...” you said, the baby scrunching up his face before he was crying again. “Dean?”

He stilled for a moment, recognizing his name but he started crying again and burrowed himself into your jacket collar.

“Okay. It’s okay. We’ll fix it Dean. Stop crying baby. We’ll fix it.”

“Sam,” you said, sitting in the backseat of Baby with Dean an hour later, Sam trying to install a baby seat in the back. “Sam! Hurry up!”

“What?” said Sam, glaring at you, Dean shouting even louder. “Dean! Stop crying!”

“Don’t shout at him, he’s a baby,” you said. “Get that damn seat together so he can get some sleep.”

“He’s shouting his head off and it’s not exactly helping,” said Sam, fiddling with a strap. You managed to get Dean in a diaper, any attempts at finding an adult stuck in that tiny body not resulting in anything beside Dean recognizing his name. “Put him in some clothes. He’s probably cold.”

“Well hand me the bag with the onesie’s in it then,” you said, Dean yelling some more. “Dean, baby. Please calm down.”

“I got it,” said Sam, clipping something in place. He took Dean from you and got an earful, Sam strapping Dean in as he kicked his legs. “Dude. Relax. Here.”

Sam leaned into the front seat and grabbed a bag, shoving a little blanket over Dean and tucking it in, Dean calming right down and conking out like a light.

“Finally,” said Sam, grabbing the bag and shoving it in the back. “Let’s get home so we can get this figured out.”

“Hi Dean,” you said softly the next morning, Dean grabbing his toes in the makeshift crib you’d made out of a laundry basket. “Good morning.”

He scrunched up his face as you caught the smell, wiping at your nose.

“Okay so you’re really like a baby,” you said, picking him up and setting him on your bed. You got a towel under him and some wipes, gagging when you plucked off the diaper. Dean wasn’t crying so far which was an improvement but he got red in the face when you tried to put a fresh one on. “Dean, you have to wear it.”

He tried to pout and you sat next to him, running a hand over his head.

“Agg!” he said, kicking his feet.

“Are you an adult in there?” you asked. Dean seemed to ignore you, staring up at the ceiling. “Or do you really think you’re a baby?”

“Neither,” said Sam, knocking on the door frame as he came in. “I figured out the spell. He’s a baby in most senses of the word. He likely only remembers us as family and that we’ll take care of him. But he’s not arguing that he doesn’t want to wear a diaper because he’s adult Dean. He just doesn’t want to wear one right now...I think.”

“How long is he going to be like this?” you said, Dean grabbing hold of your finger and sucking on it. Sam swallowed and stared at his feet. “Sam.”

“...Six months,” said Sam.

“Six fucking months!” you said, Dean dropping your hand and starting to cry. “Sam we can’t take care of a baby for six months. We’re damn hunters.”

“We’ll have to figure something out,” said Sam.

“I don’t know how to take care of him though,” you said. “I can change a diaper but I don’t know how to feed him or-”

“We’ll buy some parenting books I guess,” said Sam, staring at Dean. “I have some other news you won’t be happy about.”

“What?” you said.

“Jody called. She needs backup on a hunt,” said Sam.

“One of us has to stay here with him,” you said.

“Can you stay?” said Sam. “I ran out this morning and got more stuff for Dean but...he doesn’t cry as much around you.”

“Fine but if I call you better answer your phone. Better yet, give it to Jody, she was a mom,” you said.

“I know,” said Sam, walking inside, putting a hand on Dean’s head. “Be good for Y/N. We’ll try to figure out how to make this as painless as possible.”

By the time you got Dean in a diaper and a onesie, Sam had already headed out. You carried Dean on your hip to the kitchen, finding the jars of baby food and instant formula Sam had bought, Dean giggling as you sat him in a high chair at the counter.

“Well you sound like you’re in a better mood,” you said with a smile, picking up the different jars, finding some sweet potatoes and swirling it up before you set it in front of Dean. You turned around and grabbed a frozen breakfast sandwich from the freezer, tossing it in the microwave.

“Afba agah uf,” said Dean. You turned around, Dean staring at the jar and then you.

“I’m so sorry, you can’t feed yourself,” you said, shaking your head as your grabbed the little spoon and held it to his mouth. “Go ahead, Dean.”

Dean shook his head, pointing at the sandwich you were making.

“No, that’s adult food Dean. You can’t have that,” you said. Dean blinked at you slowly and you swore you saw an eye roll in there. “Dean...are you really a baby?”

He shook his head again, your eyes wide.

“Okay. After breakfast, I’m going to look into that spell Sam found some more. Maybe he missed something,” you said. Dean stared at you, blinking a few times.

Then he spit up all over himself.

“Did you just throw up?” you said, Dean shaking his head again. “Do you have any idea what I’m saying?”

Dean shook his head, patting his hand on his tray.

“Oh course not. Well...might as well feed you like this in case you make another mess.”

“Dude,” you said, Dean giggling on the floor of the bathroom. “You got potato in my hair. I don’t even…”

Dean laughed as he looked up at you, shirt covered in baby food.

“I’m glad you find this hilarious,” you said, peeling off your shirt. You grabbed the little tub meant for washing babies one and under and filled it with warm water. Dean wasn’t sure what to make of it when you sat him in it but he started splashing and he had a big smile on his face.

You used way too much soap, accidentally squirting an adult size amount in your hand but Dean didn’t mind that you had to dump out his soapy water for fresh. When you finished with him, you wrapped him up in a big towel, Dean leaning back in the thing and practically falling asleep on the bathroom floor. You kept an eye on him as you took a quick shower, Dean still passed out once you took care of yourself.

“I really hope this doesn’t take six months.”

Dean’s POV

Pretty much the only reason I wasn’t shouting was because it freaked Y/N out. I’d tried earlier in the day to make her understand that I was a full fledged adult trapped in an infants body and she’d almost caught on but she misunderstood. Throwing up was inevitable with how awful that baby food crap tasted and now we were back to square one.

I didn’t want to act like a baby. I didn’t feel like a baby. But stuff just happened on its own. One minute I’m sitting there, the next I’m wrapped up in a towel in the bathroom with no idea what happened in between.

Y/N was drying herself off after her shower, giving me cautious glances every few seconds while I sat there. Fuck, this was awful.

“What’s with the grumpy face?” she asked, kneeling down next to me. “Do you have to go potty? Do you want your diaper on again?”

Diaper? I’d worn a diaper already? Oh hell no. I was not dealing with that for a day let alone six months.

“Okay, okay,” she said, shushing me and picking me up. I tried to squirm but she sighed and started to walk out of the bathroom and to our room. She threw her towel down on the bed and put me on top, moving around the room before she pulled out a baby shirt. It wasn’t a onesie at least but I would have preferred something with less fire trucks.

She set it it down next to me, cocking her head before she ripped off the tag and undid the bottom clasps, a sigh out of me making her smile.

“Well they didn’t have any black or flannel so we had to settle for the trucks. Unless you wanted kittens and puppies,” she said with a smile. I shook my head, Y/N, laughing. “I know, you want some clothes on. One second little dude.”

She turned around again, dropping something on the other side of the bed I couldn’t see.

Next thing I knew I was being picked up by the legs and when I sat back down, there was something soft there.

“I am not wearing one of those!” I shouted, the words translating to some sort of very loud and high pitched shriek. Y/N blinked a few times and rubbed her ears. I yelled at her again that at least I had control over that function thank God. At least I was pretty sure I did.

“Do you think this is fun for me?” she said, hands on her hips. “Please stop screaming at me. I have to do this.”

She sounded so...off. So already beaten down. I closed my eyes and relented. Maybe after a little while she’d figure out I didn’t need it and we’d figure out some kind of bathroom signal.

God this was going to suck.

Eight Hours Later

“Dean, you haven’t gone to the bathroom all day,” she said, cocking her head at me after dinner, kneeling next to the crib she was forcing me to sleep in. “Are you sick?”

I grumbled at her, trying to say I really had to take a leak and she hadn’t gotten a single message that I was this close to losing it.

“Do you have a fever?” she asked, putting her hand on my forehead. “Sam bought one of those baby thermometers I think.”

“I need to take a piss! That’s what’s wrong!” I said, glaring at her as she stood up.

“Again, screaming does not help,” she said, looking around the room. “Just...stay right there. I’m gonna go see if it was the food I gave you.”

She walked out of the room and I about lost it. I couldn’t get out of this damn thing without help and I was not going to…

“You’re fucking kidding me,” I said, glaring at my lap. “Stupid infant body and I only went because my body forced it and Y/N! Get me out of this thing!”

Y/N came rushing back in at my screams, frowning when she saw how mad I was.

“Oh, you went!” she said. “Maybe you were just shy.”

“Shy my ass!” I shouted, pointing at my lap, instead whacking myself in the leg.

“You’re a very angry baby,” she said, picking me up and moving me over to the changing table she set up. I was glad to be out of the wet one but I most certainly was not going back in one.

I kicked when she tried to move me again, hitting her in the face.

“Ow. Dean,” she said, holding her hand over her nose, pulling it away and a little trickle of blood coming out. She wiped it away with a tissue but more came out.

And for some reason I had to start sniffling. Of fucking course. Did I feel bad? Yes. But it was not a cry worthy occasion and now she was picking me up and telling me it was okay.

“Calm down. It was an accident,” she said, rubbing up and down my back. “I still love you, Dean.”

I leaned back as best I could to look at her, Y/N smiling at me.

“I’m gonna take care of you,” she said. “Just like I know you’d take care of me if I got stuck as a baby.”

“Y/N,” I groaned.

“Okay, okay. I know the diaper pisses you off. How about we make a deal? Daytime, no diaper. I’ll take you every couple of hours to the bathroom. But if we have to go out or at night, you have to wear it, just because you might have to go and I can’t get you to one in time,” she said. “First accident though and it goes on all the time. Agree?”

I nodded, that plan sounding much better.

“I wonder how much of you is an adult in there…” she said. “You can hold it I’m guessing...maybe that’s why you hated your baby food.”

I made a face, Y/N laughing at me.

“Okay. As soon as your teeth come in, you can have some fruit and other stuff,” she said.

I frowned, rubbing my hand up to my mouth, wincing when I realized she had a point.

“Don’t worry babe. Your teeth will start to come in soon I’m sure.”

“Sup Dean?” said Sam, smiling at me when he finally came home. I wanted to yell at him to go give Y/N a break but I hadn’t quite figured out how to spit out the pacifier in my mouth yet.

“Oh, let him watch his cartoons. He’s starting to teeth and that pacifier is his new best friend,” she said.

I narrowed my eyes at her, Y/N giving it right back.

“Is that a potty face?” you asked. I shook my head, Sam wearing a big smile. “Don’t get your hopes up. Being able to hold it and an affinity for pie flavored foods are the only adult things I’ve been able to concretely confirm.”

“It’s only been a week,” said Sam, sitting down next to me. I rolled my eyes, trying to shift away but he pulled me into his lap. “You hanging in there?”

“I hate this. I hate you. I hate everything,” I mumbled under the pacifier, Sam chuckling as he bounced me on his knee.

“He doesn’t like that,” said Y/N, Sam pulling me off his knee to lay back in lap instead. “So how was the hunt?”

“A pain. I’m glad to be back,” said Sam, stretching back on the floor.

“Uh, be careful with him,” said Y/N.

“I’m just taking a quick nap,” said Sam.

“She’s worried about you crushing me, doofus,” I mumbled, Sam sighing as he sat up with me. He picked me off the ground, way higher than Y/N did and I instantly clung to him. The pacifier fell out of my mouth when my jaw dropped, something I’d have to try to remember, and Y/N was instantly over.

“Give him here,” she said, Sam handing me off, Y/N bending down to grab the pacifier and give it back to me. “He got scared. New stuff you have to go slow.”

“He knows I wouldn’t hurt him,” said Sam.

“He knows but...like he goes full blown baby sometimes and you have to slow down. Most of the time he’s just grumpy and wants to watch TV,” she said. “There’s a learning curve to him.”

“Sorry,” said Sam. I sighed when Y/N handed me back but then I sort of liked it, getting to be tall again. “So...what do you do for fun, Dean?”

“Seriously? Jackass,” I mumbled, Sam tickling my stomach.

“That’s a cute little sound,” said Sam, cocking his head. “You smell funny.”

“He needs a bath,” you said, sitting on the couch. “Would you mind giving him one?”

“No!” I shouted, shaking my head, spitting out the pacifier again.

“Uh, does he not like baths?” asked Sam.

“No, it’s one of the few things he likes actually,” you said. “Do you want me to show Sam first?”

I sighed but nodded. Y/N needed the break and it wasn’t like I hadn’t done all this crap for Sam when he was little.

Ten minutes later I was in the tub, surprised at how gentle Sam was.

“Does he sleep through the night?” asked Sam, wiping a cloth down over my hair.

“He does. I don’t,” you said.

Oh boy. This again.

“Trying to research still?” asked Sam.

“Yeah. I’m paranoid something’s going to happen to him all the time and it’s my fault he’s stuck like this. I shouldn’t have let him go off by himself,” you said.

“Stop being stupid. I’m a grown man, or at least was. We did that hunt exactly how we were supposed to. By the way, I’m fine. I’ve started to figure out his crawling thing so don’t worry about me,” I said.

“What the blabbering little guy just said,” said Sam.

“You understood me?” I said, Sam seeming to ignore the comment. “Oh. You said blabbering. Don’t mind me. I’ll just sit here and make squeaking noises for your entertainment.”

“Someone is talkative today,” said Y/N, a relieved little smile on her face. “I’m happy Sam’s home too. But we should get you out before you get too pruny. Sam, you can learn the joy of getting him into his pajamas.”

“Oh, I can’t wait.”

The Next Day

“What happened?” said Y/N. Good. She was home and she could yell at Sam properly.

“He had an accident and then he started yelling and he got even louder when I put him in a diaper. He hasn’t been quiet since,” said Sam.

“Dean, I know we had a deal but you had an accident. I think you’re too little to-“

“It was his fault,” I yelled, pointing at Sam. “He forgot to...I will destroy you both if you-“

“When’s the last time you took him to the bathroom?” she asked Sam.

“I don’t know,” he said.

“Has he gone since I took him at breakfast?” she asked. Sam looked away and thankfully Y/N was getting with the program. “You have to take him Sam. Of course he had an accident. His bladder isn’t as big as yours.”

“I don’t get why he just doesn’t wear the diapers,” said Sam.

“I will kick your ass when I’m big again Sam,” I growled, Y/N settling me on her hip.

“He doesn’t like them and you upset him. This is a baby but it’s Dean too. If there’s a shred of adult in there, we’re going to try to make him feel like himself,” she said.

“Best fucking girlfriend ever. I so owe you,” I said, leaning down to give her a hug.

“Well...don’t piss on me again,” grumbled Sam.

“Maybe now you learned your lesson.”

Three Months Later

“Hi Dean,” said Y/N when I crawled over. “What’s up?”

“Guess what I figured out how to do,” I said, grabbing her leg and standing up, able to take a few shaky steps on my own before falling on my butt. “I’m mobile.”

“Well look at you! You’re growing up all over again,” she said, scooping me up to sit in her lap. “We made it halfway there. Just another few months and you’ll be big again.”

“Trust me, I’m counting the days. Figuratively I mean since telling time is a bit hard right now but you know what I mean,” I said, Y/N humming. “Uh oh. That’s the bad hum.”

“Don’t worry, Dean,” she said. “Sammy’s just checking on a last ditch effort. I’m not getting my hopes up is all. Besides, you and I are going to have my favorite thing right now.”

“It’s nap time,” I said, grunting when I started to get carried. “At least this part isn’t too bad.”

Something was off when I woke up twenty minutes later. Y/N had her head in her hands and was crying on the bed.

“Sam,” she said into her phone. “You said six months.”

“Rowena is going to work on a counterspell to get it to reverse back,” he said.

“But she only has three months left or else he’s gonna he a baby permanently. I don’t want to raise my boyfriend. I’m barely keeping it together,” she said.

“Rowena is the best witch there is. She’ll figure out what the other witch did,” said Sam. “Just try not to let Dean see you upset or he’ll think something’s wrong.”

“Too late for that,” she said, moving her hands away, looking over at me with a sigh. “I’ll see you at dinner.”

“So I’m fucked,” I said, trying to cross my legs in the crib but making no progress. “Fuck.”

“Dean,” she said. She picked me up and gave me a hug, wiping her face off when she pulled back. “Don’t worry. I will always take care of you. Big or small.”

“I really hope Rowena can figure this out.”

Three Months Later (Almost)

“Big day today Dean,” said Y/N, rubbing her hand over my head.

“Yeah. In about an hour I’m a baby for good and I’m sort of thinking that means I’m going full baby mode and I’m gonna forget everything and everyone and how to even talk…” I said, Y/N shushing me.

“Don’t cry. I hate seeing you cry,” she said. “And if things go south today...don’t be scared because we got you.”

“How’s he holding up?” asked Sam, Y/N giving him a sad smile. “He has to understand if he’s so upset.”

“I know. I know part of him is an adult in there,” said Y/N. “Rowena’s in the library sweetie and she’s going to keep working as long as we got left.”

“I think I’ve got it,” said Rowena, rushing into the kitchen. “I need materials though.”

Sam took off with her, both of them taking far too long in my opinion. Y/N eventually plopped me down in the high chair in the library, Rowena shoving a mixture in a bowl at Y/N.

“He has to drink it,” she said.

“Dean, don’t throw this up,” said Y/N, tilting the bowl, some of it dribbling down my face. “Get a damn bottle. Now!”

“Come on. At least a sippy cup, not the stupid bottles again,” I grumbled, Y/N taking one from Sam, pouring the slop inside and twisting the cap on.

“For once, do not fuss with this thing,” she said, putting the bottle to my lips. I wanted to scoff at her but she squeezed it and liquid flooded my mouth. It tasted awful and she just kept squeezing more in, forcing me to swallow. I drank most of the bottle down as a timer went off, all three of them jumping about a foot back.

I peeled open an eye, bottle hanging from my mouth and ass currently sat on the floor and pieces of broken high chair.

“Dean?” asked Sam. I spit the bottle out and stood up, blinking down at myself.

“Excuse me but I’ve had to piss the last two hours,” I said, moving past them all for the bathroom, ripping the obnoxious baby outfit off and sitting down. “Oh, I never thought I’d be so happy to be using the bathroom again.”

Reader POV

“Hey, Dean?” you said, walking into the bathroom, Dean currently walking around the space in a pair of boxers, happy as could be. “You doing okay? All adult in there again?”

“Yes. Thankfully,” said Dean. “I’m just enjoying things like brushing my own teeth and shaving and oh yeah, I can actually talk again.”

“So how much-”

“I understood everything. I acted a lot like a baby whether I wanted to or not but I understood it all,” said Dean. “Thank you so fucking much for not making me use the damn diapers.”

“Well...I figured there was some of you in there,” you said. “Sorry about the bottles. And baby food. And pacifier. And the onesies.”

“Eh, they grow on you,” he said with a shrug. “I wasn’t a very well behaved baby.”

“You kept out of trouble for the most part,” you said, wrapping your arms around him, so glad to have him back to his normal size.

“I want a burger and steak and sweet potato fries,” said Dean.

“Okay. You can have all that,” you said with a laugh. “You can even drive to the store if you want.”

“Oh, I am looking forward to it.”

#dean winchester #dean #spn #supernatural #one shot #spn fanfiction #supernatural fanfiction #dean fanfiction #dean winchester x reader #winchester #baby!dean #dean one shot #supernatural one shot #spn reader insert #supernatural reader insert

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take-it-on-the-run · 6 months ago

Text

And I Love Her

Sam Winchester x Reader

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

Word Count: 1.5k

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

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

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

Read it on AO3!

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

Sam Winchester Masterlist | Supernatural Masterlist | Main Page Masterlist

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

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

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

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

You failed.

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

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

He repeated his process on you a few times.

Your arms.

Your hands.

Your legs.

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

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

Snaps.

Taunts.

Cracks.

Screams.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Gordon.

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

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

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

If you could call it a body, that is.

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

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

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

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

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

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arjwrites · 5 months ago

Text

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 · 10 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 · 11 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 · 5 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 · 6 months ago

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The Beginning of Their Downfall: A Supernatural Series Rewrite Prequel Masterlist by @dianawinchester03

This book is dedicated to the childhood of Sam and Dean Winchester along with their best friend Y/N L/N. Both families lost their matriarch to devastating house fires. Sam and Y/N were just 6 months old at the times, while a 4 year old Dean witnessed not only one, but all two of his closest relatives diminish to nothing but ash.

The events in this books take place after the fires with John Winchester and F/N L/N struggling to raise their three kids meanwhile restarting the family business of which F/N had to reveal to John the dangers of the world, having been a hunter himself along with his wife, who was born from a lineage of psychics.

Prequel to The Old Testament Series: A Supernatural Series Rewrite (Dean Winchester x Reader)

Aftermath

First Kiss?

Makeover

Period.

Juvenile Delinquent

Juvenile Detention Center

Behind Bars….Again

Haircut

Legally Drunk

Senior Prom

The Rebel

The Runaway

Authors Note: I promise more will be coming soon, this is just the only few I’ve finished

Updates on this will be slower because I’m terrible at multitasking but in time I will finish it, promise.

Xoxo

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s0urw00lf · 15 days ago

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Twisted luck

Woman in white

Sam Winchester x reader ALL INCLUSIVE

Summary: when Sam and dean show up in your living room telling you that you mother and john were missing you couldn’t leave them hanging. Besides it was only one hunt, one hunt can’t hurt right?

AN: I'm actually super proud of readers addition to the story. I hope everyone likes it!!! Also if you see any mistakes please let me know, I went over this 4 times. Twisted Luck master list

Next chapter

You usually slept all through the night when your boyfriend was home, the comfort of his presence behind you gave you the constant reminder that you aren’t alone anymore usually helped you sleep better, but recently you couldn't shake the feeling of doom that settled deep in your gut.

So you sat awake with the t.v. on low hoping that the soap opera playing would lull you to sleep, but you were the furthest from it and really wanted popcorn but you knew Jason would wake up if you were gone too long.

‘I'll just be quick’ you thought to yourself before carefully removing his arm from around your waist and tiptoed out of the room, closing the door so that if you made too much noise it wouldn’t wake him.

You walked to the kitchen rummaging through the cabinets in search of the popcorn, until you saw a glimpse of it on the third shelf, “Jason you ass” you muttered to yourself, climbing onto the counter reaching for it.

Your fingertips barely brushed the box before you found yourself pausing when you heard one of the floorboards creak, immediately you tensed from instinct.

Looking over to the bedroom you saw that the door was still closed so it couldn’t have been from your boyfriend.

You slowly climbed down off of the counter and bent down below the counters, opening up one of the lower cabinets you reached in feeling the top for the gun you had hidden before your boyfriend moved in, silently cursing to yourself when you realized it wasn’t there.

You looked around for another efficient weapon and your eyes landed on the rack of knives Jason insisted on buying for the kitchen. You grabbed the one that Jason had just sharpened the day before and began moving towards the sound.

It was as if the person you’d tried to bury for three years was seeping back out through the cracks. Your breath was even and your heart was beating steady. You knew whoever was in your home would regret even laying eyes on it when it was all said and done.

Your trained ears picked up the hushed whispers coming from the living room, you long ago memorized every nook and cranny of the apartment, down to which parts of the floors creaked and avoided them easily.

You peeked into the room and saw two tall figures one towering over the other immediately you knew who they were.

You placed your knife on the floor before you swiftly ran towards the shorter one wrapping your legs around his neck before twisting your body, causing his body to flip over and landing on his face. “Told ya” he groaned.

You stood up placing your hands on your hips and let a sly grin take form on your face “Hiya Dean” you said, then looked over to Sam who held an impressed expression. “I see you haven't lost your touch” he teased, moving to help Dean up.

“Over my dead body” You said, moving to flick on the lights and motioning for them to have a seat.

You sat on the couch in front of them crossing your legs out of habit from your job “so what's with the family reunion?” You asked, looking between the two of them.

Both Dean and Sam glanced at each other having a silent conversation that you completely understood. “Our parents are missing. They were on a hunting trip” Dean started. “And?” You questioned urging him to get on with the story.

“And that was about a month ago, haven’t heard from ‘em since” he continued. You eyed him “okay, well what were they hunting” you asked leaning forward.

Dean pulled out an article from his jacket pocket placing it on the coffee table “ they were checking out this two lane blacktop just outside of Jericho California. Around the time they left this guy-“ he pointed to the picture of a young guy “they found his car, but he vanished. Completely MIA”

You skimmed over the article before glancing back up at the brothers “so what was he kidnapped?” You questioned, finally Sam spoke up, “that’s what i thought too but check this out, there was one in April, another one in ‘04, ‘03, ‘98, ‘92” he said as he handed you more articles of missing men. “Ten of them over the past twenty years” Dean said. “All men, all the same five mile stretch of road”.

”i'm guessing it got worse” you said and Dean nodded “so they went to dig around, I haven’t heard from them since. Then I got this voicemail yesterday.” He says as he pulls out a tape recorder before pressing play. The audio was scratchy and breaking up but you could make out John’s voice almost perfectly.

“Dean...something big is starting to happen...I need to try and figure out what's going on. It may... Be very careful, Dean. We're all in danger.”

“You check it for EVP?” You asked, Dean gave you a grin telling you that he had “not too bad sweetheart” Dean shakes his head before “I slowed it down, ran it through a gold wave, took out the hiss and this is what i got” he said pressing play again

“…. I can never go home”

Dean sets down the cassette tape and they both look at you expectantly. You sighed rolling your eyes, knowing your answer before they even ask ‘once a hunter always a goddamn hunter’ you thought, rolling your eyes. “So what do you think?” Sam asks, eyebrows pinched together as if he was trying to read you.

You looked back towards the bedroom, surprised your boyfriend hadn’t come out in search of you even through all the ruckus ‘it’s just one hunt. Right?’ You thought. “I think… we got ourselves a hunt boys”

At that a smile slipped on both boys faces and Dean let out a loud ‘whoop' causing you to let out a laugh before pausing, “just this one. I have a… life here” you explained, and just as quickly as it came it was gone, well for Dean at least. “Wha-“ he was cut off by the bedroom door creeping open and out walked Jason, his hair was messy from sleep but he looked confused at the two men you were so comfortable sitting with in the living room.

“The hell,” Dean muttered as he stood up. Before anyone could do or say anything you stood up “uh Jason this is Dean and Sam. I grew up with them.” You explained as Jason got closer a look of realization set on his face “uh nice to meet you” he said as he stepped to give the brothers a handshake, Dean eyed him but surprisingly shook his hand, and then he moved to Sam who gave you an unreadable look as he shook Jason’s hand.

You then decided to break the silence, looking at Jason “uh i need to talk to you” you said, he looked between you and the boys confused “sure okay” he said with a slow nod.

You glanced at Sam and Dean, giving them a look that meant ‘beat it’. Sam immediately picked up on it and cleared his throat “we’ll wait in the car” he said, stepping past Dean. Dean gave your boyfriend one last look as he followed Sam.

Once the boys were gone Jason gave you an expectant look, you sighed trying to think of the best way to tell him about the situation.

You’d never talked about your life before leaving hunting, especially not to your clueless boyfriend, no matter how annoyed it made him that you knew more about him than he did you. “I'm going on a trip with them, just a… family thing.” You began.

Jason scoffed “so you just decide at what-“ he paused to check his watch “four in the morning to go on a family trip?” He asked, tilting his head.

You slowly nodded her head “yeah, just family stuff” you shrugged, Jason rolled his eyes at you “babe the most I’ve ever heard about your family were their names. You don't visit them during holidays, or birthdays. To be completely honest I thought they didn’t exist.” He said rubbing a hand through his hair.

You scoffed, taken aback by his comment, walking away from him and going to your shared room to pack. “Where are you going?” He called, following after.

“To pack my stuff, so I can go on a roadtrip with my ‘imaginary’ family” you sarcastically remarked, grabbing your old hunting bag and subtly placing the box full of your old hunting gear in it before moving to pack some clothes.

Jason sighed “look babe, I didn’t mean it like that. All i'm saying is it's a little weird they show up randomly at four in the morning and demand a road trip” he defended himself.

You threw her head back in irritation. Not at him but more so that you’d been born into such an odd, unexplainable family life, “can you at least tell me where you're going” he asked defeated.

You put your head down, clenching your eyes shut hoping that this moment would end already, “my mother is missing.” You stiffly admitted.

Jason let out a scoff, when you looked at him he looked about ready to lose his mind because you’d lost yours. “Your mother is missing and instead of calling the cops you go on a road trip?” He asked, not really being able to believe what he was hearing.

You paused “you wanted to know my family? Here’s a glance into my world.” You said, zipping up the duffel bag. Looking at Jason you could see the confused and helpless look on his face, sighing as you walked towards him and pressing a kiss to his lips, before pulling away, brushing the stubble on his chin with your thumb “i'll only be gone three days tops, ‘kay? Then when i get back you can ask me anything and i'll do my best to answer” you promised

Jason looked like he was studying your face for the last time “okay” he said, you nodded leaning in to give him one last kiss before you departed “ill see you soon, i lo-“ you cut yourself off before you could even start.

Jason nodded again, giving your hips a squeeze and pressing a long kiss to your forehead, before you backed away.

Sometime after getting in the car your body finally allowed you to sleep, maybe it was the sound of baby’s engine lulling you to sleep like it used to all those years ago, or maybe it was the sense that nothing would hurt you while you’re with Sam and Dean and that allowed the feeling in your gut to settle.

When you woke up, the sun was up and the car was no longer moving. Sam was sitting half way out of the front seat looking at the box of cassette tapes Dean inherited from john. “Where’s Dean?” You asked, catching Sam’s attention.

He gestured to the old looking gas station. You took in the surroundings and grimaced “charming” you muttered to herself as you got out of the car, to stretch your legs.

You were finally able to take a good look at Sam and suddenly a wave of nostalgia hit you like a truck.

Though he’d gotten taller and more lean since the last time you saw him, you felt like that nineteen year old girl on the road with her boyfriend and best friend, and a sense of longing filled you quickly seeping into her chest, but you shut it down before you could dwell too much on it.

You had a new life now, better, safer, and a boyfriend you couldn’t wait to get back home and see. Though you weren’t excited for the ‘ghosts, goblins, and vampires are real’ talk.

You moved towards Sam and leaned over him to peek into the box to see the same old cassette tapes he had when you left. Not one more or less.

“He seriously needs new music,” you joked, pulling out a cassette labeled ‘AC/DC’. “Tell me about it,” Sam laughed, causing you to smile. “Hey” Dean called from behind the car, catching you and Sam’s attention. He held up some snacks he bought while in the gas station. “Want breakfast?” He asked

“No thanks” Sam said, returning his attention back to the tapes. Dean then looked to you questioningly “im fine, but i will take that” you pointed to the drink in his hand. He tossed it to you and you caught it effortlessly. “So how’d you pay for that stuff? You and dad still running credit card scams?” Sam asked. You snorted “you’re surprised?”

“Yeah well hunting ain’t exactly a pro-ball career” Dean replied as he put the gas pump back where it belongs. “Besides all we do is apply, not our fault they send us the cards”. You raised your eyebrows in agreement “can't exactly argue with that” you said, getting back into the car. “Yeah, and what name did you write on the application this time?” Sam re-adjusted himself in the seat before closing the door.

Dean paused before he got in the car “uh Bert afframnian, and his son hector. Scored two cards out of the deal.” Dean smiled proudly. Sam laughed “sounds about right” he said. “I swear man, you gotta update your cassette tape collection” Sam said, causing Dean to frown “why?” He asked.

“Well for one there cassette tapes” you interjected putting your head in between theirs, Sam began to pick up singular cassettes and list the names “and two, Black Sabbath, motor head, metallica” Sam finished as Dean snatched the tape from his hand looking very offended.

“It’s the greatest hits of mullet rock, Dean there’s a whole world of music you’ve left undiscovered. You’d love Avril Lavigne” you teased causing Sam to laugh. Dean placed the cassette in the player “house rules Sammy, driver picks the music, shotgun shuts his cake hole, and you stay in the back seat” he said pushing your head back so you were sitting correctly before starting the car.

Sam rolled his eyes at his brother ”Sammy is a chubby twelve year old, it's Sam” he tried to correct. You laughed “good luck trying to make that stick sammy” you said before Dean turned up the music. “Sorry I can't hear you, the music’s too loud,” Dean said before pulling off. The sound of the engine giving her another wave of nostalgia, maybe you had missed this more than you let yourself believe.

“Okay thanks” you said before closing your phone, “so there’s nobody at the morgue matching mom or john’s description, so that’s a start” you tell the boys. Sam nods at the information while Dean pulls off to the side of the road, his attention set on the bridge just ahead crossed off with yellow tape.

“Check it out” he said before opening the glove box and pulling out another box filled with fake ids, he smirked at you and Sam before getting out of the car “let's go”. You and Sam looked at each other with worry, both of your carriers were on the line if you got caught, you tilted your head “we have to” you said, before following Dean out the car, Sam not too far behind.

You, Sam and Dean walked onto the crime scene taking in every piece of information you could. “I’m guessing that’s the sheriff”, you pointed to a man looking over the bridge before moving to talk to another officer who looked to be dusting for fingerprints inside the car.

“No sign of struggle, no footprints, fingerprints spotless, it’s almost too clean” the officer said to the sheriff. The man sighed at the information “so this kid Troy, he’s dating your daughter isn’t he? How’s Amy doing?” The sheriff asked the officer.

“She’s putting up missing posters downtown” he answered. Dean walked toward them interrupting their conversation “you fellas had one like this last month didn’t you?” He spoke loudly, catching the sheriff's attention. “And who are you?” He asked, causing Dean to flash his fake badge “federal marshals” Dean answered.

The man did a once over at the three of them, none of them looking a say over 20 “you three are a little young for Marshall’s aren’t you?” You and Sam smirked at each other while Dean laughed “thanks that’s awfully kind of you” he said before moving on quickly “you did have another one just like this correct?” He asked. The sheriff nodded “yeah that’s right, about a mile down the road. There’ve been others before that.” He said.

You walked over to the car leaning down to get a closer inspection “do you mind if i uh…” you asked, gesturing to the car, the sheriff nodded “go ahead, but there’s nothing there. We swept it from top to bottom” he said. You smiled “I’m sure, I just want to get a good look myself” you said. You began to inspect the car making sure not to touch anything or leave any kind of DNA just in case.

Sam and Dean continued questioning the sheriff while you inspected the car, and so far you came up with nothing. The car’s clean, eerily so. Maybe some small part of you began to believe that whatever was here took your parents, that maybe they didn’t skip town to lead their kids on a manhunt for them, but then again they were too stubborn to die by the hands of something as little as a pissed off spirit.

Dean walked over beside you “anything?” He whispered, you shook your head “nothing, almost like he was never even here” you told him, standing up. “So what's the theory?” Sam asked, walking over to where you and Dean stood. The man shrugged “Honestly? We don’t know, serial murder, kidnapping ring” the sheriff answered.

“That is exactly the kind of crack police work I'd expect out of you guys-“ Dean was cut off by Sam stomping on his foot. Your eyes widened but you covered it with a smile “please excuse us, we're done here” you said, pushing Sam and Dean to walk past the confused man “thank you for your time” Sam said giving a quick smile.

Sam walked ahead of you and Dean and she could tell he was irritated just by the way he was walking. Dean looked back to see if any of the police were looking before he slapped the back of Sam’s head. “Ow!” Sam whispered with clenched teeth.

You rolled your eyes at their antics, not in the mood for their arguing, you walked ahead of the both of them, somehow being the only one to catch the three men walking towards the three of you.

Two of whom were real FBI agents, you paused your walking backtracking a few steps and turned to both Sam and Dean who had his back toward you, you caught Sam’s eye over Dean's shoulder and gestured to the men behind her. Sam cleared his throat trying to send the message to his brother. Dean turned just as the men reached them.

“Can I help you kids?” The local officer's demeanor was a lot more authoritative than the others. You gave the men a charming smile “oh no sir, we just wanted to know what happened, we were just leaving” you said, not dropping the innocent act.

You led the brothers away from the bridge and back to the car, shaking your head the whole way.

When they all got back in the car you spoke “i say we go talk to that Amy girl”

Downtown

You, Sam and Dean walked downtown in search of Amy for about five minutes until all of your eyes landed on a girl putting up ‘missing’ posters. “I bet you that’s her” Dean said, you and Sam agreed.

The three of you walked up to the girl “you must be Amy” Dean said, the girl nodded as she taped up a poster. You stepped in front of Dean “yeah Troy told us about you, I’m y/n, this is Dean and Sammy were his aunt and uncles”, Amy eyed you weirdly, Sam and Dean could pass but you not so much.

Dean must’ve noticed because he nudged you toward Sam’s side and you caught on pretty quickly, wrapping your arm around him.

You couldn’t see Sam’s face but you were sure it was something along the lines of shock, then a look from you to Dean then quickly covering it with a tight lipped smile as he stiffly tugged you in closer.

Amy must’ve accepted the facade as she returned to putting up the posters “he never mentioned you to me” she said before turning to walk. The three of you followed and you and Sam let Dean take the lead in talking “yeah well that’s Troy i guess, we’re not around much we’re up in Modesto” he lied.

Sam broke away from you making you frown a bit, watching him move in front of Amy bringing her walk to a halt. “So we’re looking for him too and were kind of asking around-“ Sam was cut off by another girl stopping next to Amy asking her if she was okay, you assumed she was her friend.

“Do you mind if we ask you a couple questions?” You asked to which Amy agreed.

Amy and her friend led the three of you to a cafe, it was dark inside no thanks to the lack of sunshine outside, you sat between Dean and Sam whilst the two teenage girls sat on the other side.

Amy began telling you about the last time she and Troy spoke “I was on the phone with Troy. He was driving home. He said he would call me right back, and...he never did.” She said.

Sam leaned forward, more intrigued. “He didn't say anything strange, or out of the ordinary?” He asked. Amy shook her head, a frown painted on her face “no. Nothing I can remember” she said.

You glanced down at Amy’s necklace. It was a pentagram “i like your necklace” you complemented. Amy glanced down at the necklace and smiled “thanks, Roy gave it to me. Mostly to scare my parents with all that devil stuff.” She laughed at the memory.

Sam huffed out a laugh beside you “Actually, it means just the opposite. A pentagram is protection against evil. Really powerful. I mean, if you believe in that kind of thing.”, you raised your brows not expecting Sam to go full on encyclopedia. “Okay. Thank you, Unsolved Mysteries.” Dean said earning a bitch face from Sam

Dean took his arm off the back of the seat and leaned forward. “Here's the deal, ladies. The way Troy disappeared, something's not right. So if you've heard anything” Dean trailed off noticing the look Amy and Rachel give to each other “What is it?” You ask, tilting your head slightly.

“Well, it's just... I mean, with all these guys going missing, people talk.” Rachel started “What do they talk about?” The brothers say in unison, creeping you out just a little bit “It's kind of this local legend. This one girl? She got murdered on Centennial, like decades ago.” Rachel continues to explain.

Dean gives you and Sam a look you returned with a glance while Sam continues to listen to Rachel’s story “Well, supposedly she's still out there. She hitchhikes, and whoever picks her up? Well, they disappear forever.”

Sam and Dean looked at each other. “We got a lead,” you muttered under your breath to the brothers.

You sat in a chair to the side watching as Dean typed on the computer, coming up with nothing every time he pressed enter. Sam tried to take over the computer “let me try.” He said, but Dean smacked Sam’s hand away, “I got it,” he grumbled.

Sam sighed, pushing Dean's chair out of the way and scooted his closer, “dude!” Dean says hitting Sam’s shoulder, though the younger Winchester didn’t even spare him a glance “you’re such a control freak” Deans says and he scoots closer.

You smiled at their bickering, you didn’t miss the blow out fights you all used to have but you did miss the moments like these that you found yourself thinking about often causing a comforting feeling to spread in your chest.

“So angry spirits are born out of violent death, right?” Sam asks.

“Right” you confirmed, scooting closer to get a better look at the computer. “Well maybe it’s not murder” he says replacing ‘murder’ with ‘suicide’ in the search bar then pressing enter, an article popped up titled ‘suicide on Centennial’.

“I think he's got you beat Dean-o” you sarcastically remarked, earning a glare from Dean.

Sam opened the article dated back to April 25, 1981. “This was 1981. Constance Welch, twenty-four years old, jumps off Sylvania Bridge, drowns in the river.” Sam reads, Dean leaned forward “does it say why she did it?” He asked.

“Yeah” you answered, “what?” “Says an hour before they found her, she called 911. Apparently her two little kids are in the bathtub. She leaves them alone for a minute, and when she comes back, they aren't breathing. Both die.’” You read, sympathy settled in your gut for the woman.

Sam continued reading “‘Our babies were gone, and Constance just couldn't bear it,' said husband Joseph Welch." Sam says as he scrolled, a picture of the bridge you were at before showed itself on the screen “that bridge looks familiar to you?” Dean says.

SYLVANIA BRIDGE

By nightfall you, Sam, and Dean were back walking down the bridge, you all stopped to look over the railing down into the rushing river, “so this is where Constance took the swan dive” Deans said, before continuing on walking.

You and Sam followed “so you think they would’ve been here?” Sam asks Dean, Dean looks back at the two of you “well he’s chasing the same story and we're chasing him” Deans answered.

You sighed, continuing your walk. “Okay, so now what?” You and Sam simultaneously ask. You could tell Dean was purposefully not looking back at you and Sam “Now we keep digging until we find him. Might take a while.” Dean answered slowly.

You and Sam stop, glancing at each other before looking at Dean. Sam sighs “Dean, I told you, I've gotta get back by Monday-“ Dean cuts Sam off as he turns around “Monday. Right. The interview” he says, cutting a glance at you.

You shrugged, while you didn’t have any important plans like Sam, you still had to get home to Jason “i gotta get home Dean” you said.

“You're really serious about this, aren't you? You think you're just going to become a Lawyer? Marry your girl?” Dean asks, and something struck your heart, the thought of your first love marrying someone else, you pushed it away. “Maybe, why not?” Sam answered.

Dean looked at you “you gonna marry that guy hmm? Knowing he can't protect you? Being normal while knowing the truth about the things that come out at night?” He asked, stepping towards you.

You shrugged, getting irritated. “If that's what happens, yeah Dean, why is that so bad?” You questioned, you thought when you left Dean was happy for you, supportive at least but you could see now it was a facade.

“Do they even know the truth, i mean do they know about the things you’ve done?” Dean asks. Sam steps forward “ no and she’s not ever going to know” “that’s not gonna happen” both you and Sam said at the same time.

Dean paused, raising his eyebrows “Well, that's healthy. You can pretend all you want. But sooner or later you're going to have to face up to who you really are.” Dean said as he turned and kept walking.

You sighed, knowing that Dean was just upset. He wanted things to go back to how they were with you, your mom, Sam, John and him. He wanted his family back and you couldn’t fault him for it.

But the way he was going about it wasn’t the right way. Sam however feeds into it “and who’s that?” He asks. “You're one of us.” Dean answers, making Sam rush to get in front of Dean.

“No. I'm not like you. This is not going to be my life.” Sam finalized, Dean rolled his eyes “You have a responsibility to-“ Sam cut Dean off “To our parents? And their crusade? If it weren't for pictures I wouldn't even know what Mom looks like.” He said before pointing to you, “she’s been on the receiving end of y/m/n’s anger about y/f/n’s death her whole life” he continued, your chest tightened a little at his words, you’d never admitted it to anyone other than Sam when you were barley thirteen.

“And what difference would it make? Even if we do find the thing that killed her, they’re gone. And they aren’t coming back.”he finished. Dean grabbed Sam by his collar and shoved him up against the railing of the bridge, making you step forward “hey! Calm down” you shouted, Dean ignored you.

“Don’t ever talk about her like that”Dean warned before releasing Sam from his grip and continuing on his walk. Sam looked at you seeing your expression “y/n i-“ you cut him off “don’t, just don’t.”

You walked past him, it wasn’t what he said about your father that upset you, you’d accepted it a long time ago, but him telling Dean something you admitted to him after he found you crying, hit a nerve.

When you looked ahead your heart skipped a beat, not far ahead of you was Dean, but what caught your eye was the woman in the white dress standing on the ledge of the bridge.

“Sam.” Dean called, not taking his eyes off the woman, Sam moved to stand next to Dean and the tree of you watched the woman look at you before stepping off the ledge, you immediately sprint towards where she was, but when you got there she was gone “where’d she go?” Sam asked, “I don't know,” you said looking down at the river for the second time that night.

The sound of the impala starting immediately caught you and the brother’s attention, the headlights shined bright and the engine revved loudly. “Shit” you muttered. “Who’s driving your car?” Sam asks. Dean pulled the keys out of his pocket and you glance at them and roll your eyes “great”.

As soon as the words slipped past your lips the car began speeding towards the three of you, you didn’t waste any time taking off in a sprint, Sam and Dean weren’t far behind you and you could hear one of them yelling “go go run”.

They caught up to you fairly quickly thanks to their long legs, Sam grabbed your wrist pulling you with him as he jumped over the railing after Dean. Luckily he hadn’t let go because your foot slipped off of the side leaving you dangling over the river, holding on to nothing but Sam.

“Don’t let me go!” You shouted over the loud rushing of water below you. “It’s okay i got you” Sam said, pulling you back up, and this time you were careful with your footing.

You let out a breath “thanks” you huffed, Sam smiled “no problem”. His smile warms your heart and you fight the blush threatening to show on your cheeks. You looked back over the railing to see baby parked as if nothing happened.

Looking around you couldn’t spot Dean anywhere “where’s Dean?” You asked Sam. The both of you looked over the ledge, shouting Dean's name. After two calls you saw something crawl out of the water covered in mud “what!” It shouted.

It was Dean, “are you okay?” You shouted, Dean put up an OK sign with his hand “I’m super” he said. You and Sam smiled glancing at each other before climbing back over the railing.

Not long after Dean closed the hood of the impala “car alright?” Sam asked. “Yeah whatever she did to it, seems alright now. That Constance chick, what a bitch!” Dean shouted into the distance.

You came up beside him “well she doesn’t want us digging around that’s for sure” Sam said, and you hummed in agreement “So where's the job go from here, genius?” You asked Dean who just flicked the mud off of his hands in response.

Just then the wind blew and your nose caught the smell wafting from Dean making you cringe. You saw Sam making the same face before looking at Dean “you smell like a toilet” he said, you smiled, holding your laughter at the look on Dean's face.

“One room please” Dean said, dropping the card on the guest registry list, the old man at the front desk picked up the card eyeing Dean's muddy attire, before looking at you then Sam.

“You guys having a reunion or something?” The clerk asked, your brows furrowed in confusion. “What do you mean?” Sam asked, speaking your mind. I had another guy, Burt Aframian came in with his wife. He came and bought out a room for the whole month.” The man said. Dean turned and gave you and Sam a look.

You stood beside Dean completely blocking the view of anyone looking while Sam picked the lock to the room your mother and John stayed in. The door creaked open and you followed Sammy into the room.

You looked around in shock and Sam yanked Dean into the room and closed the door. “Woah” was all Sam could muster up. The room was a mess as if they just vanished, a suitcase thrown over the bed, food wrappers were still on the nightstand.

And papers were still thumb tacked to the wall. You stepped over the ring of salt and further into the room not paying any attention to Dean sniffing the day's old burger. You moved to pick through the discarded suitcase that was unmistakably your mothers, not listening to the conversation Sam and Dean were having.

Your heart sped up feeling as if you were about to commit a crime when you opened the suitcase, you would’ve never heard the end of it if your mother ever caught you going through her personal belongings.

Her clothes were inside neatly stored in rows of shirts, pants and whatever else, however nothing could’ve prepared you when you pulled a knife out of the bottom. The blade was covered by a white sheath.

You pulled the knife out of the sheath to take a look at the blade. It was long about the size of a ruler, and the brand new white leather on the handle made your breath hitch.

It looked exactly the same as your mothers, the one your father had gifted her the day of your birth, you turned the knife to look at the bottom and your initials and a date was engraved in a small font. “Hey Sam?” You called, catching him and Dean's attention. “Yeah?” He said moving towards you.

“What’s today’s date?” You asked. Sam’s eyebrows furrowed in confusion but still pulled his phone out to check “it’s November second, why?”. You turned to face the brothers showing them the knife.

Dean opened his mouth to speak “is that-“ “no, it looks like hers but it has my initials and today’s date. What does that mean?” You asked. Sam and Dean looked at each other unsure themselves.

You excused yourself from the motel so you could call Jason and update him a bit, the phone rang a few times before Jason’s cheery voice greeted you ‘Hey Jason here, I couldn’t come to the phone. Leave a message and I’ll get back to you when I can’. Voicemail.

You started to feel that feeling settle in your stomach again. So you called again, and again voicemail. Every time. “Son of a bitch” you said tilting your head back. After a few more tries and still no luck you re-entered the room again.

Sam looked up at you from one of the two beds in the room. He turned off his phone, he must’ve been calling Jessica and had just about the same amount of luck as you.

You plopped down on the other bed letting out a breath, you and Sam sat in a comfortable silence until you broke it. “How’s college life treating you?” You asked, looking at him. Sam looked back at you from his seated position and smiled, “it’s great, yeah. Normal” he said.

You smiled, “I bet, can't imagine Sam Winchester at a college party” you laughed at the thought, Sam laughed along with you shaking his head “yeah no it’s not really my scene” he said. You smiled, “so, what have you been up to since you left hunting?” Sam asked you. You paused, huffing out a laugh i uh- I’ve been looking to join the FBI. Behavioral analyses specifically.” You admitted.

Sam’s eyebrows shot up in surprise, “The FBI? Y/n that’s great! I mean what-“ Sam cut himself off with a scoff.

You smiled “yeah i know i uh got into Yale, not long after i left and majored in criminal justice and psychology. Got through it pretty fast, thanks to hunting I mean it was pretty easy to grasp.” You shrugged.

“Y/n this is big! Does anybody know-“ Sam was cut off by Dean swinging the bathroom door open “know what?” He asked, grabbing his jacket off of the coat rack. “Uh nothing” you said before Sam could say anything.

Sam picked up on your hesitance and sent Dean a tight lipped smile. He looked between the two of you weirdly before shrugging it off. “Anyway, I'm starving. I'm gonna go grab something to eat at that diner down the street” Dean said “want anything?” He asked.

“No thanks” “no” you and Sam said. “You sure? Aframian’s buying” he said, both you and Sam declined again. Dean shrugged and stepped out of the door.

When the door closed you turned back to Sam “I haven’t told anyone. Just you.” you said, Sam looked at you with understanding. “Well maybe we’ll work together on a case,” he said with a smile. “You bet law boy”.

After the conversation ended, Sam began to fill you in on the woman in white legends that you missed earlier, but he wasn’t able to get very far in because your phone began to ring.

You picked it up hoping it’d be Jason, it wasn’t it was Dean. You sighed, answering “yeah?” You answered.

“Dude, five-oh take off.” You whipped your head to Sam “what about you” you asked standing up “they kinda spotted me. Go find our parents” he says then he hangs up.

“We gotta go, cops. They’ve got Dean already” you said. Sam moves to look out of the window but quickly backs away when he sees the cop start towards the room.

After you and Sam escaped you both split up, Sam went to speak to Constance’s husband and you went to figure out a way to get Dean out of the hole. Which wasn’t too hard, all you had to do was shoot a few rounds and then call it in, waiting for the cops to leave and let Dean do his part.

While you were waiting Sam called you “got anything?” You asked, “so the husband was unfaithful. We are dealing with a woman in white. And she's buried behind her old house.” He said.

You looked at your surroundings, you weren’t far from the old Welch house “okay, how bout i meet you there?” You suggested, eyeing the small blue car you were passing. “Wait, what about Dean?” He asked

you smirked “Deans fine, trust me”. Sam nodded, though you couldn’t see “and uh, how do you plan to get there?” He asked, and just as he finished his question he heard a car alarm go off, he scoffed with a smile “you're stealing a car?” He said.

You shrugged “what can i say Sammy, old habits die hard”. Sam rolled his eyes “okay meet you there”

While you were driving your phone rang again, the id wasn’t one you knew but you answered none the less. “Hello?” You said.

“Sam’s in trouble” Dean's voice rang out. Your eyebrows furrowed “what how?” You asked, speeding the car up a little. “No time to explain, just get to the Welch house” he said before hanging up. “Damn it Sam” you said driving way past speeding limits.

When you arrived you started to hear gunshots, telling you that either of them beat you there. You stopped the car seeing Dean holding his shotgun, shooting at Constance’s spirit with a… salt round?

You shook off your confusion before getting out of the car and running towards him. But before you reached them the impala took off and crashed into the side of the house. Suddenly the voice rang through your head ‘I can never go home’ you almost laughed to yourself. He took her home.

Hurriedly you ran towards the passenger side beside Dean. “Sam! Sam, you okay?” Dean asked, Sam groaned, causing relief to spread through you “I think..” Sam said.

“Can you move?” You asked. Sam nodded his head “yeah, can you help me” he asked, and Dean helped Sam out of the car.

When Sam was out of the car you noticed Constance holding a frame, most likely of her family, until she looked up at the tree of you and dropped the frame, stepping out of the way and pushing you guys against the car with the dresser.

You groaned when the dresser hit your hips and it was for sure to leave a bruise, even with you and the boys combined strength you couldn’t move the dresser.

Constance stepped towards you with malice in her eyes, but stopped when the lights started flickering. You looked around in confusion at her confusion.

Then water began flowing down the stairs and you saw shadows of two small children at the top. ‘You’ve come home to us mommy’ the children said, sending goosebumps down your spine.

Suddenly the children were behind Constance, she turned and looked at the children who embraced her in a hug causing her to scream, soon enough all three spirits were reduced to a puddle on the floor.

The hold on the dresser disappeared and you guys were able to push the dresser off of you. You walked over to the puddle with Sam and Dean in tow “ So this is where she drowned her kids.” Dean said.

You and Sam nodded “that’s why she could never go home, she was too scared to face them” Sam replied.

You frowned “it’s tragic what heartbreak can do to someone” you said. There was a silence before Dean slapped Sam’s chest “you found her weak spot. Nice work Sammy” Dean complemented proudly. Sam winced at the impact but shrugged it off with a laugh.

“Yeah, I wish I could say the Same to you. What were you thinking shooting Casper in the face, you freak?” Sam joked “Hey. Saved your ass.” Dean replied, moving to look at the car. “I'll tell you another thing. If you screwed up my car?” Dean turned around to look at Sam. “I'll kill you.” He pointed. You and Sam looked at each other with huge grins

And just like that you were back on the road headed home. Sam in the passenger seat held a flashlight so he could see the map “okay, here’s where they went. It’s called black Water Ridge, Colorado” Sam said.

You leaned forward looking over his shoulder “how far?” You asked. Sam glanced back at you before looking at the map “about six hundred miles” he answered. You hummed, sitting back in your seat.

Dean nodded along to the music “Hey, if we shag ass we could make it by morning.” He said. You and Sam paused glancing at each other. “Dean-“ you started but was cut off by Dean “you’re not coming” he said nodding. “The interview's in like, ten hours. I gotta be there.” Sam says, Dean looks back at you through the rear view mirror.

“I have a job Dean… and Jason’s expecting me-“ Dean cut you off “yeah whatever, I’ll take you home” he said, you could hear the disappointment in his tone. You sighed

laying your head against the headrest.

When you got to Sam's apartment you waited for him and Dean to say their goodbyes before you got out of the car calling his name.

He turned around and you wrapped your arms around him. He hugged you back with a laugh, “it was good seeing you sammy” you said, pulling away. He nodded “yeah, you too… see you at work?” he asked.

You smiled, nodding “see you at work” you confirmed. Before getting back in the car, the front seat this time. Before pulling off, Dean looked at you with a smirk causing you to roll your eyes. “Knock it off Winchester,” you joked.

Dean laughed before pulling off. You weren't able to get very far before your stomach began burning like molten hot lava in your organs.

You whimpered, holding your stomach in pain. The sound caught the older Winchester's attention as he began shaking you and saying something you couldn't make out.

But what you could make out were the flashing images in your head. Blood and fire. It was everywhere like a massacre.

When the images went away the pain faded slightly and you were finally able to say “Dean, go back, we have to go back.” the look in your eyes must've scared him because he didn't waste any time swerving the car around.

When you got back to sams apartment it was already on fire and before the vehicle was stopped you were out ant running towards it

Dean wasn’t far behind you and it didn’t take any time for you to reach his apartment, Dean kicked down the door and you both ran in. Sam was on his bed staring up at the ceiling in shock shouting Jess's name.

As much as you wished you could save the girl she was already gone so you and Dean dragged Sam out of the apartment, it wasn’t an easy fight given Sam’s height and strength but you did it nonetheless.

However getting Sam out didn’t stop the burning feeling in your stomach, the ambulance arrived on the scene officially announcing Jessica dead, and you saw the emotion drain from Sam’s face, it was as if a switch flipped inside of him, he walked off leaving you with Dean.

You looked at the older Winchester with teary eyes “Dean you have to take me home. Please.” You begged. Dean looked at you with sorrow as if he already knew. You both knew what it meant but you wouldn’t believe it. No you wouldn’t accept it. He saw the inner turmoil in your eyes and nodded “okay, let’s go.” He said, wrapping an arm around your shoulder.

He led you back to the car where Sam had been putting a shotgun together with tears in his eyes. He looked at you then Dean, before shaking his head, throwing the gun back into the trunk. “We got work to do”

On the drive Dean quietly filled Sam in on what happened with you, though you weren’t too sure he was listening. You weren’t listening either, you were busy calling Jason’s phone over and over and over.

Every time the call went to voicemail the burning sensation got worse. When Dean parked outside of your apartment building you wasted no time getting out.

You heard both of their doors open as well and Dean called your name. You turned around to look at him, eye’s nothing but teary. “You want us to come with?” He asked. You looked between him and Sam, who looked like he couldn’t handle much more tonight.

You shook your head not trusting your voice enough to speak. Dean nodded “we’ll be right here if you need us” he said. You nodded, before turning around and continuing your walk.

The whole way to your apartment you held your new knife in your hand, when you reached your door you paused, not sure if you really wanted to enter, however you pushed the feeling down and opened the door.

Immediately the smell of blood hit you, the metallic smell seemed so strong it almost gave you a headache. Tears began to freely fall down your face when you saw the puddle of blood leaking from the other side of the kitchen counter.

Carefully you stepped over the pool of blood and walked further in, that’s when you saw him. He was on the floor, his face bruised and neck slashed.

Your heart shattered, and you began to hyperventilate as you dropped to your knees, not caring anymore about his blood staining your clothes.

You placed a soft hand on his face, it was still warm and your tears dripped onto his cheeks “please, Jason please im sorry. I’m sorry I shouldn’t have left. I could've protected you. I'm so sorry” you sobbed.

The longer you looked at him the more it hurt. You began to shiver from the feeling of your clothes soaked with his blood and the heartbreak that was crushing your chest.

But you didn’t care “no, no, no, this wasn’t supposed to happen to you.” You laid your head against his chest, hoping to hear a heartbeat.

But it was silent. Your sobs filled the air around you, until you heard footsteps enter the apartment.

You picked up the previously discarded knife with shaky unstable hands ready to fight whoever, but it was just Sam and Dean.

You saw Dean first, he stopped in shock and Sam wasn’t far behind. They took in the scene, your bruised bleeding boyfriend, and your completely broken state.

You seemed to be covered in his blood which made it worse. Neither of the brothers knew what to say or do and Sam looked on the verge of crying again too.

Dean moved to pick you up out of the bloody mess until he saw bloody writing on the wall ‘you were too late’.

Sam saw what his brother was looking at,and you turned to see. The bloody letters dripped down the wall as if it was still fresh.

Dean shook his head, picking you up from the ground. You hardly made any effort to fight him off and Dean thanked God for it because even though you were now a grown woman, he still saw you as that little girl he always protected. And you need that now more than ever.

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whimsyfinny · 4 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 · 3 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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doctorbitchcrxft · 6 months ago

Text

It's The End of the World As We Know It (And I Feel Fine) | Castiel x Demon!Fem!Reader

Pairing: Castiel x Demon!Crowley's Daughter!Fem!Reader

Warnings: general demon snarkery, canon violence, canon gore

Word Count: 8503

A/N: Request fulfilled for this nonnie! I hope this makes your week a little better, sunny!! it sort of turned out to be a rewrite for Abandon All Hope 5x10 and and The Song Remains the Same 5x13. enjoy, kids!

Songs of the fic !

It’s The End of the World As We Know It (and I Feel Fine) by R.E.M.

Roll the Bones by Rush

Too Sweet by Hozier

Dream Girl Evil by Florence + the Machine

Dirty Diana by Michael Jackson

Take My True Love by the Hand by the Lamplighters

Queue up your favorite music streaming service and listen while you read along, if you'd like!

General Writings Masterlist

“Are you sure you want this?” you asked, stepping closer to the man before you, heels crunching the gravel beneath them.

The man nodded.

“Use your words, darlin’.”

“Yes,” he replied.

You grabbed his neck to pull him down to kiss you, but he shoved you back. “Whoa, whoa, whoa, wh— what are you doing?”

“What, you didn’t think we were just gonna shake on it, did you?” you grinned.

“Oh,” the man replied. He hesitantly leaned back down toward you, and you tilted your chin up slightly to kiss him.

When you pulled away, you wiped his spit off your lips— he’d been a horrible kisser— and turned away. “See you in ten years.” You closed your eyes and reopened them once inside your father’s mansion.

The Louboutins he’d gotten you clicked across the marble floors leading down the hall to his office, and you wanted to be anywhere other than reporting to him. However, since Hell was in shambles, here was one of your only options. You knew you’d inevitably be taking a trip downstairs soon enough to speak to your accomplices.

“Ah, (Y/N/N), welcome back,” your father said. “Business seems to be as usual.”

“Always,” you sighed. “Let’s skip the pleasantries, though. Given I’m doing your job for you, I don’t exactly have time to chat.”

“If you want to keep your position, I suggest you keep the attitude to a minimum,” your father argued, effectively silencing you.

“Whatever,” you replied. “What do I have to do?”

“I need you to get the Winchesters here,” he stated simply.

“What?!” you exclaimed. “What could you possibly want with those idiots?”

Your father took the Colt out of his desk and placed it in front of him. “They need this. I intend to give it to them.”

“And how does that help us?” you asked.

He looked at you strangely, as if it was obvious. “They need it to kill Lucifer. We need them to kill Lucifer so he doesn’t kill us.”

“I mean, sure, but why are we relying on them to get the job done?” you scoffed.

“They’ve got an angel on their shoulder. I’m sure they can handle it,” he responded.

***

Hell was completely in chaos. There was no corner you could go to without bloodshed happening in front of you. Therefore, you and your allies decided to meet in the most inconspicuous of places: a coffee shop. In fact, it was one another one of your allies ran; it was covered in enochian symbols to keep angels from getting too close or hearing something they weren’t supposed to.

“So, what is he just on vacation?” you asked, taking a sip of your latte.

“Apparently, he’s got something set up in Carthage, Missouri,” your friend, Fallon replied. “Whatever it is has the reapers so excited they came running to me with information. I swear, they haven’t been this uppity since they dropped the atom bomb.”

“Oh, great,” you sighed.

“Lucifer’s following is getting shaky, too,” your other friend, James, chimed in. “We’ve started spreading the word that he’s gonna kill us when he’s done with earth.”

“Wait, they didn’t know that before?” you questioned.

“They seem to be on a need-to-know basis,” he shrugged.

“Typical,” you snorted. “Any word on the Winchesters?”

Fallon smirked. “Word on the street is their little angel friend has been trailing you.”

“I thought so. He’s not exactly subtle,” you laughed.

“Be careful tonight,” she warned. “They’ve got a little blonde friend who’s planning on showing up.”

“Great,” you rolled your eyes. “I’m sure the lumberjacks won’t be far behind.” A sigh tore through you. “I swear, if they fuck this up…”

“I’m sure they will, (Y/N). They don’t exactly have a track record that suggests otherwise. Does Crowley have any sort of… insurance in place?” James questioned.

You bit the inside of your cheek. “It’s my father we’re talking about. I’m sure he does; probably involving a desert island and mai thais. And I’ve got some of my own.”

“What’s that smirk for?” he asked.

“That angel fella. What’s his name?”

“Castiel, I think,” Fallon answered.

“Think he’s into demons?” you grinned broadly.

“(Y/N), you’re fucking crazy,” she scoffed.

You leaned back in your chair, feigning offense. “What? I can be very persuasive.”

“Yeah, I know, but… I mean, have you ever tried it out on an angel?” You shrugged. “Never had the opportunity.”

“That is a huge risk, though,” James pointed out. “You realize how sideways that could go?”

“Obviously. I’m bored, though. Business is slow, my dad’s a fucking idiot, and Lucifer’s gonna kill us all. Why not fuck an angel while I have the chance?” you replied.

Fallon shook her head. “Good luck with that, lover. I’ll see you when I got something else you can use.” She headed to the back of the shop near the restrooms and disappeared under the cover of the shadows.

James patted you on the shoulder to say goodbye. “Let me know when they’ve got the Colt. I’ll keep a tail on them when they do.”

“Thanks, love. See you around.” You walked out the front door of the café knowing the angel was near. You could almost feel the light emanating off him.

You lead him to a clearing in the woods outside the small town you’d met your friends in. “I know you’re there, angel,” you almost spat out the words, but you tried to keep your voice sugary sweet.

You heard a flutter of wings behind you. “Hello, (Y/N),” the angel’s deep voice rumbled.

You turned to face the voice, and you couldn’t lie, he was incredibly attractive. “Y’know, if I wasn’t so disgusted by your existence, I’d find you pretty hot.”

“Is that supposed to be flattering?” Castiel asked, cutting his eyes at you and cocking his head to the side.

You smirked. “You’re kinda funny for an angel.”

“I do not believe we have senses of humor,” he responded, seeming confused.

Crossing your arms, you shook your head and rolled your eyes. “Why are you following me?”

“Crowley has something that belongs to the Winchesters,” Castiel replied.

“And that concerns you, how?”

His expression remained deadpan. “I don’t have to answer to you.”

“Just making conversation,” you returned. “I’m assuming the cavemen in question are heading to my father’s house as we speak?”

Castiel nodded.

“And I’m guessing they’re gonna try and kill him?” He nodded again.

“I don’t think it’ll be in their best interest to do that,” you said evenly.

“And why is that?” Castiel asked.

“Because my father wants to help. And so do I,” you explained.

Castiel furrowed his brows at you. “Why?” he grumbled.

“Personally, I’m not interested in being turned into minced meat by the man in charge,” you snickered.

He seemed confused.

“What, you didn’t know? Or is your face just… permanently ‘deer in headlights’?” you taunted, circling him.

“Why would Lucifer kill his own kind?” the angel asked pointedly. He followed you with his gaze as you walked by turning his head.

“We’re not his own kind, genius. He’s a disgruntled frat boy with serious daddy issues, and we’re just the sorority girls he fucks over repeatedly trying to ignore his own problems,” you explained.

“Lucifer knows he won’t win, correct?”

You scoffed mockingly. “You wanna tell him? ‘Cause he firmly believes he shall inherit the earth.”

“I would rather not cross paths with Lucifer again. And I’d rather you change your tone when you speak to me,” he replied, his much taller frame intimidating you slightly. Still, you held your ground.

“Whaddya say we work together?” you asked, coming to a stop in front of him. “Y’know, you scratch my back, I scratch yours?”

“What could a demon possibly offer me?” he grumbled.

“I can think of a few things,” you smirked.

Castiel furrowed his brows once more, and you could see the smallest bit of lust in them. ‘Gotcha,’ you thought.

“I know demons,” you explained. “I know how we work. I also know how to kill us. And Hellhounds adore me. I could be a valuable asset in the undoubtedly stupid plan you and the Winchesters are gonna go through with after tonight.”

He seemed hesitant, but you could tell you had him on the hook.

“Whaddya say?”

***

Much to your surprise, Castiel had agreed to allow you to help them with their mission. However, the Winchesters clearly weren’t aware of that fact.

Your shoes clicked across the concrete as you headed toward the gates where the Winchesters and their friend Jo had just put down two of your father’s servants.

“It’s a shame,” you said. “We just got the driveway pressure washed.”

The two brothers were clearly surprised to see you, and the taller one squared his shoulders at you, holding out his knife.

“Relax, would you?” you said evenly. “And put that thing away. Follow me.”

You turned on your heel and lead the duo into your father’s home.

The heavy doors closed with a thunk behind the brothers, and you continued down the hall toward your father’s office. He’d apparently been expecting you, as he was sitting behind his desk with a cocktail in hand looking bored. You stood off to his side, leaning one arm on the back of his chair.

“Wh— It’s Crowley, right?” Sam asked, trying to appear strong despite his clear disorientation.

“So, the Hardy Boys finally found me. Took you long enough,” your father smirked.

“I thought I told you to put that knife away,” you said, referencing the one in the taller man’s hand.

Your father pulled the Colt out of his desk drawer and placed it down in front of him. “This is it, right? This is what it's all about.”

“What the hell is this?” Dean questioned gruffly.

“Do you know how deep I could have buried this thing?” Your father waved his hand, and the doors behind the Winchesters slammed shut. “There's no reason you or anyone should know this even exists, except that I told you.” Sam scoffed. “You told us.”

“Rumors, innuendo, sent out on the grapevine,” he returned.

“Why? Why tell us anything?”

Your father picked up the gun and pointed it at Dean. “I want you to take this thing to Lucifer and empty it into his face.

“Uh-huh, okay,” Dean deadpanned, “and why exactly would you want the devil dead?”

“None of you are that quick on the draw, are you?” you snickered.

Dean looked confused.

“I’ve already had this conversation with your Heavenly lap dog. It’s about survival.” You stalked around the two boys, who were clearly a little intimidated by you. “Lucifer isn't a demon, remember? He's an angel. An angel famous for his hatred of humankind. To him, you're hideous, unwashed miscreants. If that's the way he feels about you, what do you think he thinks about us?”

“But he created you,” Sam noted.

“Well, that’s a nice sentiment— parental love, and all that— but to him, we’re just servants; cannon fodder.” You came to a stop beside your father again.

He spoke up to finish your explanation. “If Lucifer manages to exterminate humankind, we're next. So, help me out, huh? Let's all go back to simpler, better times, back to when we could all follow our natures. I'm in sales, dammit! So what do you say if I give you this thing, and you go kill the devil?” He held out the Colt, handle first, to Sam, who hesitantly stepped forward to take it.

“Great,” Sam said, looking down at the gun in his hand.

“Great,” Crowley nodded.

“You wouldn't happen to know where the devil is, by chance, would you?” he asked.

“He’s got an appointment in Carthage, Missouri on Thursday,” you explained. “I’d be more than happy to escort you.”

Dean laughed. “No offense, sweetheart, but I don’t think we’ll be needing any help from you.”

“Oh, you don't?” you scoffed, eyebrows raised. “Your friend Cas seems to think I could be useful. In fact, he’s already agreed to let me come.”

Dean shook his head. “No. No fuckin’ way. Why the hell would he tell you that?”

“Trust me,” you replied, “you two troglodytes are chum in the water for whatever Lucifer’s got camping out over there. You’re gonna want another great white on your team.”

“Oh, and, uh, excuse me for asking, but aren't you kind of signing your own death warrant? I mean, what happens to you if we go up against the devil and lose?” Dean questioned.

“Number one, he's going to wipe us all out anyway. Two, after you leave here, I go on an extended vacation to all points nowhere. And three, how about you don't miss, okay! Morons!” your father roared, his gravelly voice thick. You tossed the bullets at Sam and Dean, giving them no time to recover before you disappeared.

***

A flap of wings behind you told you that Castiel had actually shown up to your planned meeting.

“I’m surprised to see you, darlin’,” you said, turning to face him.

“You demons are so peculiar with your terms of endearment,” he replied, voice rumbling deep in his chest. “But yes, as much as I’m unhappy about it, I am here.”

“Your boys seemed a little off-put by you putting your faith in me,” you smirked.

The angel became defensive. “I am not putting my faith in you. You are simply convenient.”

“Wow, you really know how to make a girl feel special,” you snickered.

“This banter is exhausting, (Y/N). What is your plan?” he questioned.

“All business,” you sighed mockingly. “Well, I’m not gonna put myself in the Winchesters’ line of fire. Or yours, for that matter. What I will do is jump in to keep the other demons at bay and help you find Lucifer.”

Castiel nodded, his face as stoic as always. “I will be with the Winchesters. We will meet you in Carthage, and you need to help us get into the town. I am sure there will be demons guarding it.”

“Naturally,” you replied. “You realize this is a huge risk for me, right?”

“I am aware. It’s a risk for me, too,” Castiel cut you off.

“But you’re not going against your own kind. I could lose some serious street cred,” you said sincerely.

“I did,” he said simply.

You turned back to him. “But the angels didn’t kill you when you did. You just got sent away. I’d be tortured. Forever, potentially.”

“No one is forcing you to help us, (Y/N),” Castiel replied dryly. However, he did seem to feel slight sympathy for you. That was overshadowed, though, by his disdainful stare.

“My father is,” you said.

“Crowley?”

“The one and only,” you snickered. “If I had it my way, I would’ve fucked off to somewhere in the mountains and raised a couple goats when Hell went to… well, hell.”

“Why didn’t you?” Castiel asked pointedly.

“What difference does it make why I didn’t?” you snapped. “My point in bringing that up is to tell you not to pretend we’re the same in this situation. I have a lot more riding on the line than you do. You may wanna start being a little less of a dick to me.”

“Are you, a demon, sincerely going to call me out on an attitude problem?” Castiel grunted.

“Yes,” you replied. “If I’m telling you your attitude sucks, then it must really fucking suck. Just… don’t treat me like the scum of the earth, okay? I didn’t ask to be a demon.”

“Well, you must have done something to get yourself sent to Hell to become one,” the angel responded.

“I didn’t, actually,” you stated. “My mother was a human. She got pregnant with me, and I became my father’s right hand man when she died.”

“You’re a natural-born demon?”

“Are you dense?” you scoffed. “That’s what I just told you.”

“I’ve never heard of one before,” he said, ignoring your flippance.

“I’m the first. Which, again, adds to the danger. I’m the demon-equivalent of a nephilim, and everybody wants me. That’s not me being cocky,” you explained, “that’s just me stating the facts. Everyone jockeying for power down in Hell wants me on their team. And I stayed loyal to my father. Which has made quite a few demons wanna put my head on a pike on their front lawns.”

“If you have all these powers, why haven’t you used them on me yet?” he questioned.

“You’ve got a pretty face,” you said coolly. “I’d hate to make a mess of it.”

***

The next day, you waited near the outskirts of the town for the 1967 Impala and the band of misfits that would be accompanying it.

“Hey there, (Y/N),” a voice said behind you.

“Jesus, James!” you squeaked. You turned and shoved his shoulder. “You scared the fuck out of me. What are you doing here?”

He didn’t seem as happy to see you as he usually was. “I wish you wouldn’t’ve come,” he told you.

Your expression hardened. “Why…?”

“This isn’t gonna end well. For anyone,” he replied, equally as cryptically.

“Stop talkin’ like Shakespeare. Spit it out,” you snarled, getting angry.

“Meg’s here. With the Hellhounds. This isn’t gonna end well if you help them,” James explained.

“What the fuck, did you help her, or something?” you asked.

“No, but your dad’s got me directly in cahoots with her. I’m gonna have to duke it out with you since you’re here,” he replied.

You nodded, understanding why he was behaving so strangely. “We’re not leaving here till one of us his dead, huh?”

James nodded. You knew you couldn’t hug him since you were likely being watched by some of Lucifer’s followers, but you gave him an empathetic look knowing he didn’t stand a chance against you.

“Don’t go easy on me, love,” you told him.

“Ditto,” he replied, a smirk tugging at the ends of his lips.

He rushed you, and you dodged him easily. The two of you sparred for a few minutes as your thoughts spiraled downward. James had been your friend for centuries, and he was one of your father’s most devoted followers. He was a low-level crossroads demon, and his powers were nothing against yours. With your telekinesis and ability to manipulate light and energy, he could’ve been on the ground within ten seconds.

“This is definitely a hell of a way to go,” James grunted as you threw him back to the ground.

You panted, “It’ll give you a cool story to tell in… whatever’s after this.”

Your friend seemed to get sad at that. “I’m not sure there is anything after this.”

“Well, I’ll see you when I see you, J,” you said, tears rimming your eyes.

“Don’t cry for me. I’d rather you than Lucifer,” he assured you, letting you shove him to the ground one last time.

Your lip trembled as you held your hand up at him, and he closed his eyes in preparation for the blow. The most merciful way you could think to kill him was with a blinding light emanating from your hand that immediately disintegrated his essence. Tears finally fell from your eyes when the light dissipated, and you could see your friend’s limp body lying on the ground.

Collapsing to your knees, you held James's cold hand.

A voice came from behind you. “Who is he to you?”

‘Castiel,’ you realized. “My best friend,” you sniffled. “He was, uh, my guy on the inside.” You stood from the ground but refused to face him.

“I’ve never known a demon to cry before,” Castiel said, his voice sounding genuinely curious and sincere.

You sniffed again. “I told you. I’m half-human. I can feel differently than other demons. Where are the others?”

“We passed you when you were fighting with your friend,” the angel explained. “We should go talk to the reapers. They’ll know where to find Lucifer and give us some information as to what’s going on.”

“You do that,” you replied, facing him once you collected yourself. “I gotta go check on something.”

He looked at you curiously, but said nothing before you disappeared.

“Come on, boys. My Father wants to see you,” you heard Meg saying as you approached.

“I think we'll pass, thanks,” Sam replied.

“Your call. You can make this easy, or you can make it really, really hard,” she cooed dangerously. Meg had always been a true pain in your ass.

Suddenly, a gunshot rang out. You heard a Hellhound whine as you rounded the corner onto the street where the Winchesters were facing off with Meg.

“Run!” someone screamed.

You saw the hounds heading after the hunters, and one of them pulled Dean to the ground. He screamed in agony as it slashed at his leg.

“Dean!” the blonde from your father’s mansion cried.

“Jo, stay back!” he told her.

Suddenly, a sharp whistle broke through the air. You’d learned at a young age to communicate with Hellhounds, and your whistles could almost hypnotize them. Being a crossroads demon certainly meant having a strong relationship with the creatures, too.

Everyone’s heads turned to you, including those of the hounds. You walked forward calmly and called the dogs to your sides.

“Run,” you ordered the hunters.

They all listened gladly and sprinted away as Meg lunged at you. You couldn’t simultaneously control Meg’s hounds and fight her, and the hounds went back to their original mission. You threw Meg against the wall of a shop, and she retaliated by causing a telephone pole to nearly fall on you. There was never a window of opportunity wide enough to enable you to summon energy to smite her with the many telekinetic bl0ws she threw at you. You continued to grow angrier and angrier as time went on, and the two of you continued to fight, and Meg had apparently grown tired of your battle. She disappeared from view, and you panted laboriously when she’d gone.

You turned to the shop the Hellhounds were lunging at the doors of.

As much as you weren’t thrilled about helping people that were unkind to you— namely, Dean— you called the dogs off. The Hellhounds were always terrifyingly beautiful creatures, in your opinion.

Their ears perked up at your whistles, and you called them to your side.

“Hi, boys,” you said, stooping down to them. You pet one’s fur, and he nuzzled into your hand. You walked over to the splintered telephone pole Meg had brought down on you with the dogs hot on your heels and broke off a large piece of it. Throwing as hard as you could, you sent the dogs after their new chew toy.

Dusting your hands off, you made your way over to the shop the hounds had been chomping at the bit to get in. When you threw the doors open with your powers, you were met with guns and angry voices.

“Whoa, whoa!” you snickered, holding your hands up in surrender. “I come in peace.”

Dean and Sam reluctantly lowered their guns but didn’t seem pleased to see you.

“I just saved you from those mutts. Maybe a little appreciation would do?” you smirked.

“This is not the time for you to be a smart ass,” Dean grunted. He tossed a look over at the blonde woman on the floor bleeding profusely from her side. There was no doubt in your mind that she’d been attacked by a hound.

“Can you… help her?” Sam asked.

You shook your head. “No can do. I’m a demon. None of the powers we were gifted can exactly be used for truly benevolent reasons.”

“Great!” Dean threw his hands up sarcastically and ran them over his hair, pacing back and forth. “Alright, we gotta get them the hell outta town.” He was referencing the two women on the floor. The older one muttered encouraging words to whom you assumed was her daughter, and you looked on sadly.

“Won't be easy,” Sam noted.

“Stretcher?”

“I’ll see what we got.” The younger brother started off, but the blonde stopped him.

“Can we, uh, be realistic about this, please?” she said through labored breaths. “Ah—! I can't move my legs. I can't be moved. My guts are being held in by an ace bandage. We gotta—we gotta get our priorities straight here.” She tried to offer a sad smile. “Number one, I'm not going anywhere.”

“Joanna Beth, you stop talking like that,” her mother told her.

The blonde turned her head toward the woman weakly. “Mom, I can’t fight. I can’t walk. I can’t move. This is it for me.”

“There is… something I can do,” you said.

All of their heads turned to you, but Dean seemed to catch on to what you were implying faster than the rest of them did.

“No. No way in hell, bitch,” he asserted.

“Okay, first of all, watch how you speak to me.” You flashed your eyes red to get the point across, which Dean seemed to be slightly afraid of. “Second, do you have any other plan? You heard what she said. Your angel friend is locked up with Lucifer god knows where, and I can’t heal her. What I can do is put her out of her misery, and we can get out of here before those hounds get bored of their new chew toy.”

The blonde’s mother was horrified. “No! I— I won’t let you.”

“Mom, please,” the girl on the floor begged weakly.

“No!” her mother argued, tears streaming down her face.

“Look, these guys need to move on. I’ll only slow ‘em down, and you know they won’t leave here without me,” she continued.

“No, no! That’s not—”

The blonde cut her mother off. “Mom, this might literally be your last chance to treat me like an adult. Might wanna take it?” She smiled sadly up at her.

Her mom held her close, sobbing.

“I’ll give you some time to say your goodbyes,” you said, turning away. You waited by the shop doors looking for unexpected visitors or for the Hellhounds to come back. You watched the sun set while Sam, Dean, and the girl’s mother all exchanged their final words.

When you turned back, the blonde’s mother was on the floor with her.

“All of you need to leave. Any one of you in this room with me will die if you don’t,” you urged, looking at the girl’s mother.

“I will not leave you here alone,” the woman told her daughter.

“Mom, no,” the girl cried.

You remained stoic despite the pangs going through your chest. “Are you sure?” you asked her.

She nodded at you and smiled at her daughter. “Just make it quick. For both of us.”

You nodded and turned to the Winchesters. “Get outta here.”

Both men looked like they wanted to protest, but they decided against it. As soon as you were sure the two boys were out of danger, you raised your hand toward them.

“Goodnight, guys,” you told them.

The woman smiled at you and closed her eyes, leaning into her daughter and kissing her hair. “I will always love you, baby,” she told her.

Energy surged from the world around you into your extended hand producing a blinding white light that engulfed the room. When the light dissipated, both women were gone. “Good luck to you both,” you told them. The afterlife was no party; that was for certain.

You walked out of the shop and down the street where the boys were waiting for you. “C’mon,” you urged them. “I’ll get you guys as close as I can, and then, I’ll go find Cas.”

Sam nodded, but Dean’s mind seemed elsewhere. Still, the two followed you down the street.

You could feel the light radiating from Castiel and followed the feeling to a farmhouse at the edge of town. It was a peculiar feeling, though; most angels didn’t feel warm when you were near them. Their energy had always felt cold and unforgiving, even more so than demons.

You pulled the boys down into a bush with you, and the three of you peeked over the tops of the leaves. Dozens of men stood in the field, attention on something you couldn’t see through the darkness.

“Demons,” you whispered. “He’s here.”

You could feel Lucifer’s horrible presence. His presence felt like Hellfire scorching your skin the closer you got to him.

“Don’t miss,” you told Dean, referencing the Colt he was brandishing. He nodded at you, and you made your way around the field and into the farmhouse where Castiel’s energy emanated from.

Something else was here, too, though. You had to guess it was Meg; she’d always had a particularly close relationship with Lucifer. What sounded like flames crackled from upstairs, and you figured they had Castiel trapped in a ring of holy fire.

You crept up the stairs, praying Meg couldn’t hear your footsteps over the roaring fire.

“You seem pleased,” you heard Castiel say.

“We're gonna win,” Meg gloated. “Can you feel it? You cloud-hopping pansies lost the whole damn universe. Lucifer's gonna take over Heaven. We're going to Heaven, Clarence.”

“Strange, because I heard a different theory from a demon named (Y/N),” Castiel said.

Meg scoffed. “You don’t know (Y/N). Or Crowley.”

“They believe Lucifer is just using demons to achieve an end, and that, once he does, he’ll destroy you all,” Castiel continued.

“You're wrong. Lucifer is the father of our race. Our creator. Your god may be a deadbeat. Mine? Mine walks the earth.”

You used your powers to break a pipe off the wall and slammed the back of Meg’s head with it. She fell forward into the fire, and you held her screaming, writhing form down for Castiel to walk over.

Once he was free, you shoved Meg fully into the circle to trap her there.

“Hello, (Y/N),” the angel told you.

For the first time since you’d met him, you cracked a genuine smile. “Hello, Castiel.” Remembering your mission, your disposition became serious once more. “C’mon, we gotta get the boys. Something’s wrong.”

You and Castiel teleported to where the Winchesters were being held captive by Lucifer near the mass grave he’d created, and the angel held a finger to his lips to silence them. You let Castiel steer you where he needed your power to transport the boys. Once the Winchesters were delivered back to their friend Bobby’s house safely, you and Castiel regrouped in a clearing in the woods nearby.

“I can’t fuckin’ believe the Colt didn’t work,” you grumbled, running your hands through your hair in frustration. “Of course he’s one of the only five beings in the universe that thing doesn’t work on. Did you know?” You wheeled around to face Castiel.

He shook his head. “I wish I had. It could’ve saved Ellen’s and Jo’s lives.”

You looked up at the stars; unobstructed by city lights or trees blocking your view as a heavy silence settled over you and the angel. “What’s Heaven like, Cas?” you asked.

“What?” he questioned.

“What’s it like?” You turned to face him, pulling your attention from the stars above.

“It’s… nice, I think,” he said plainly.

You snorted. “ ‘Nice’? That’s all I get?”

“Why do you want to know?” Castiel asked, furrowing his brow at you.

“I wanna know if I sent that mom and her daughter to a good place,” you answered.

The angel seemed to marinate on that information for a moment, and you could see empathy flash across his face. “It is different for each person. Everyone has their own personal definition of ‘Heaven,’ and that is what awaits them at the end of their lives.”

“Did you like it up there?” you asked, turning your attention back to the stars.

“I didn’t like anything before I came to Earth,” Castiel replied.

You tilted your head to the side and faced him again. “Really?”

He nodded. The starlight caught his eyes, and your gaze softened, righting your head. “What is it?” he asked.

“Your eyes are really blue,” you told him.

He looked confused.

“They’re pretty,” you said.

Those blue eyes searched your face. “I think the correct response to that is ‘thank you’,” he replied.

You nodded, cracking a small smile and looking away from his intense gaze. “You’re welcome. Lucifer tell you anything worth noting?”

“No,” he answered, starting to walk around you. “I did find a particular distaste for car rides, though.”

You laughed, circling him just the same. “They’re the worst.”

Then, he abruptly stopped. “Why are you being so kind?”

You stopped, too, confused by his question. “What?”

“I mean, you’re a demon. It seemed you hated me when we first spoke,” Castiel explained. “It seemed your motivations were purely self-serving; like your father’s. And yet, you showed concern for Ellen and Jo. You saved Sam and Dean from the Hellhounds. You saved me. Why?”

You looked to the ground. “I don’t know,” you answered honestly. “The… human side of me always confuses the fuck outta me. I do my job, I play the part, but I… love humanity. Sure, they’re horrible to each other sometimes, but so are demons. Their full range of emotion is so complex. I just— they fascinate me. And sometimes, I wish I had a life as little as theirs.”

When you looked back at Castiel, he was staring down at you with such intensity it felt like he was staring straight into your soul.

“Don’t look at me like that,” you told him.

“Why?” Castiel asked, his expression unmoving.

“Because I don’t know what it means.”

He stepped closer to you, and your breath quickened. The angel slid his hand along your jaw and tilted your face up to his, kissing you with a fever. He grabbed desperately at you, and you, at him. When he broke away, you were dumbfounded.

“I learned that from the pizza man,” he told you.

You didn’t quite understand what that meant, but you laughed all the same.

***

The next time you saw Castiel, he informed you there was an angel he needed help handling.

“So, what’s your deal with this chick?” you asked him.

“Heaven had her imprisoned, and I heard the angels talking about how she’s free,” Castiel replied.

“Is she a major player?”

He gave you a strange look.

“Is she a big deal,” you clarified.

‘The only way she got out was if someone let her out. So, yes, she’s becoming one,” the angel nodded.

“And why do you need me?” you asked. “Seems like a family dispute to me.”

“Because you’re stronger than I am. And you’ve proven you’re trustworthy.” Castiel grabbed your hand to bring you along to wherever he’d determined Anna was.

Unfortunately for you, he was right. You were trustworthy. As much as you started hanging around him for "insurance," he was becoming a true ally you couldn't double-cross.

“Hello?” the woman called into the darkness. “Who’s there?”

You stepped out into the flickering light. “Hi there.”

She jumped back in surprise. “Who are you?!”

Castiel stepped out from behind you. “Hello, Anna.”

Anna turned to face him. “Well, if I didn't know any better, I'd say the Winchesters don't trust me.”

“They do. I don't. I wouldn't let them come,” Castiel replied, beginning to circle her.

You followed suit, walking in the opposite direction.

“And why is that?” she questioned, continuing to face Castiel.

“If you're out of prison, it's because they let you out. And they sent you here to do their dirty work,” he responded.

She folded her arms across her chest. “And what makes you so sure?”

“Because I've experienced…” the angel trailed off, searching for the words, “heaven's persuasion.”

“You mean when you gave me to them,” Anna clarified.

Castiel sighed. “That was a mistake. Anna, whatever they sent you here to do—”

She cut him off. “They didn't send me. I escaped.”

“Darlin’,” you chimed in, “Heaven’s the supermax prison to end all supermaxes. Seriously, how’d you get out?” While she was distracted trying to answer your question and keep her focus between both you and Castiel, you used your powers to draw the knife she was hiding in her jacket and pull it around the back of her body to keep her from noticing it was missing.

“Castiel can tell you,” Anna replied evenly, “I’m not one to underestimate.”

You hummed. “So, if you’re not on team ‘god’—” you used air-quotes mockingly— “then what do you want?”

“I want to help.”

Castiel scoffed. “You want to help?”

“Yes,” she nodded.

“Then what are you doing with this knife?” You came to a stop in front of Anna, dangling it with a mocking pout on your face.

She seemed startled that you’d noticed it. “I'm not allowed to defend myself?”

“Against whom?” Castiel pressed. “That blade doesn't work against angels. It's not like this one.” He drew his own long blade that came to a pointed tip. “Maybe you're not working for Heaven, but there's something you're not telling us.”

Anna took in a shuddering breath. “Sam Winchester has to die. I'm sorry but we have no choice. He's Lucifer's vessel.”

You laughed. “He’s not the only one, doll.”

“What, that guy Nick?” she scoffed. “He's burning away as we speak. No. Sam is the only vessel that matters. You know what that means? If Lucifer can't take Sam, his whole plan short-circuits. No fight with Michael, no Croatoan virus. The Horsemen go back to their day jobs.”

“Even if you could…” Castiel trailed off, “kill Sam, Satan would just bring him back to life.”

“Not after I scatter his cells across the universe,” Anna stated almost immediately. “They'll never find him. Not all of him.”

You waited for Castiel to answer.

“We'll find another way,” was all he could manage to say.

“How's that going?” the redhead pressed. “How's the Colt working out? Or the search for God? Is anything working? If you want to stop the devil, this is how.”

“The answer's still no, because Sam is my friend,” Castiel said plainly.

She seemed taken aback. “You've changed.”

“Maybe too late, but I have.”

You tsked. “You’re breakin’ my heart, Cas.”

Your friend ignored you. “Anna, we've been through much together, but you come near Sam Winchester, and I'll kill you.”

The woman’s eyes widened a moment before she decided it best for her to disappear.

“Well, that’s fuckin’ great,” you commented, slightly exasperated. “I’ll get my friends on the lookout for the bitch. If she even sniffs close to Sam, I’m on it.”

“What is he to you?” Castiel asked. “Given your motivations, I’d think you’d agree with her.”

You turned to face him. “Well, things change. And if this kid is important to you, then he’s important to me.”

***

After thoroughly briefing your allies and your father, you ventured to the Winchesters’ motel room. You scrunched your nose up at the foul scent of molding carpet. “Ugh, you guys live like this?” you snarked, looking around in disgust.

“And what the fuck are you doing here?” Dean questioned.

“Dean,” Castiel warned, “I asked her to come.”

The older brother scoffed. “You did? Why?”

“I’ll need her help in case things go wrong.”

“What are you talking about?” you asked. “I thought you just needed me for the summoning ritual.”

“Well, I thought that was all I needed you for, too,” the angel sighed. “That was until I found out she’s in 1978.”

“Why would she be in 1978?” you asked.

“Yeah,” Sam replied, “I wasn't even born yet.”

“You won’t be if she kills your parents,” Castiel stated. “Anna can't get to you because of me. So she's going after them.”

“Take us back right now,” Dean ordered, bracing himself.

You scoffed. “And deliver you right to Anna? We should go alone.”

“No, no, no, sister,” the older brother argued. “I don’t trust you with my parents or Cas alone.”

“Why not?” you fired back. “It’s not like I saved you. Twice.”

Dean shook his head. “No. No way. They’re our parents. We’re going. Little help here, Cas?”

“It's not that easy,” the angel said calmly.

Sam jumped in, saying, “Why not?”

“Time travel was difficult even with the powers of Heaven at my disposal.”

“Which got cut off,” finished Sam.

“Which is why we need her,” Castiel nodded to you.

You sighed heavily. “I don’t know, Cas.”

“Oh, since when are you two on a nickname basis?” Dean gestured between the two of you. “And, what, you’re like a Delorean without enough plutonium?”

“I don't understand that reference,” the angel said dryly. “But I'm telling you, taking this trip, with passengers, no less—” he shook his head, “it'll weaken me.”

Dean walked up to Castiel trying to get him to meet his eyes. “They're our mom and dad. If we can save them, and not just from Anna. I mean, if we can set things right, we have to try.”

Castiel shook his head, but then, started to busy himself packing up a duffel bag with holy oil, his angel blade, and other angelic knick-knacks.

“Ready?” he asked when he was finished packing.

You nodded, grabbing both his and Sam’s wrists.

“Whoa, whoa, what? Is she coming?” Dean protested.

“Uh, yeah,” Sam snorted. “She helped us out a lot, Dean. And Cas needs the… juice, or whatever.”

Dean rolled his eyes. “Sorry, I’m not crazy about having a demon near our parents.”

“Well, get on board,” you said dryly. "Let’s get this over with.”

When you opened your eyes again, you turned to see Castiel collapsed next to you and bleeding from his nose.

“Cas?” you asked worriedly, bending down beside him.

Sam and Dean made their way over to you. The younger asked, “Did we make it?”

Dean pointed to the car driving down the street. “Unless they're bringing Pintos back into production, I, uh, I'd say, ‘yes’.”

“Uh, guys? Little help, here?” you remarked, gesturing to the collapsed angel beside you.

“I'm fine,” Castiel assured you. “I'm much better than I expected.”

You tried to help him up, but he ended up spitting blood and passing out.

“Great,” you huffed. “C’mon, help me get ‘im in a motel somewhere.”

***

With Castiel comfortably tucked in the bed of the honeymoon suite, you bid the boys goodbye and good luck on their mission.

“Wait, you’re not coming with us?” Dean asked pointedly.

“I think you kids can handle yourselves,” you replied. “I need to make sure he doesn’t die.” You gestured to the unconscious man behind you.

“Sure, sure,” Dean sarcastically said. “And I’m just supposed to trust that you’re not stabbing us in the back, here?”

“Look, if it wasn’t for me, you’d be dead. And without my help getting here, so would he.” You nodded your head toward Castiel. “So lay off me, would ya? And tell that angel bitch to suck my dick.”

Dean tried to resist laughing at your comment and covered it up with an uncomfortable cough. “Fine. If we get stuck here, though, know I’m killing you first.”

“Deal.”

Dean and Sam left with Castiel’s duffel bag, leaving you to take care of him. This was a first for you. You’d never nursed anyone back to health; let alone an angel.

You sat next to him and gently smoothed your hand over his delightfully fluffy hair. Castiel stirred, the ends of his lips pulling into a smile, but he didn’t wake. You repeated the action, which seemed to soothe him, and eventually, his arms wound around your waist. He buried his face in the hinge of your hip, and you froze in shock. Unsure of what to do, you just continued to play with his hair while he slept.

***

Castiel slept almost completely through the first day. Despite going stir crazy with no one and nothing to entertain you, the thought of leaving never crossed your mind.

You sat across the room from him, simply staring at him and memorizing his features. He was frustratingly beautiful. Something about him had you captivated, and you weren’t sure you enjoyed the feeling.

Every once in a while, Castiel would shift in his sleep. Each time he did, you got excited; hoping he’d wake up. When you realized he was still soundly asleep, you mentally scolded yourself for allowing yourself to become at all invested in the well-being of the angel.

When he did wake up, he groaned.

“It lives,” you snickered, your sock-covered feet kicked up on the desk and arms folded across your chest.

“Good morning,” Castiel’s deep voice rumbled.

“It’s three in the afternoon, dude.”

He perked his head up, his hair messy. “Oh. Really?”

You nodded, smirking. “Sit up. I gotta show you something.”

Castiel seemed confused.

“Again with that deer-in-headlights stare,” you sighed sarcastically. “You said you didn’t get Dean’s Back to the Future reference. Now, I’m making you watch the movie.”

The two of you sat beside each other with your arms crossed over your chests and legs outstretched in front of you. Your backs were against the situationally-dissonant heart-shaped headboard, adding an extra layer of school-girlish, giddy discomfort.

This feeling was entirely foreign to you. He was such a warm light that it almost felt as though the side of you closest to him was burning. The most startling part of it all, though, was you felt awkward. You never felt awkward or unsure. And yet, the angel beside you had you questioning every slight move you made.

His eyes were firmly glued to the television, and you found his endless curiosity adorable. “He’s aware that she’s his mom, right?” Castiel asked you.

You laughed, throwing your head back against the headboard. “Yeah, he is. This movie’s weird. Cult classic.”

“We shouldn’t be watching this, then,” he said plainly, looking for the remote.

“What, why?” You held the remote out of his grasp.

“Because cults are bad, (Y/N),” he replied.

You shook your head, still smiling widely. “Not a real one, Cas. It’s just an expression. I think it means something like it’s critically a bad movie, but a lot of people really like it.”

��This nomenclature is awfully confusing,” he said, sounding slightly disheartened.

You giggled. You giggled. You surprised yourself with the laugh that escaped you. Never in your hundreds of years of existence had you giggled at anything; much less an angel.

“You are fascinating, did you know that?” Castiel asked you, searching your face.

You tilted your head to the side. “I— I am?” ‘Oh, great. Now, I’m fucking stuttering,’ you thought.

He nodded, leaning his head toward yours slowly. You allowed his lips to meet yours, and you kissed him back with a fever. His hands pushed you down onto the bed, and yours wound themselves in his hair. He held himself up with one arm and rubbed circles on your stomach with the other.

When he pulled back from you, you were completely flustered.

A smile spread across his face. A wide, genuine smile; one that you mirrored. You pulled him back down to you with your hands on either side of his face and rolled yourself on top of him.

***

The last few days with Castiel had been wonderful. You were incredibly grateful he’d asked for your help with getting back to 1978, and even more grateful that you met him.

On the fifth day of being in 1978, Castiel’s disposition changed.

“What is it?” you asked.

“Something’s wrong,” he replied. “I feel… my brother’s here.”

“Uh, which one?” you questioned, popping up from the bed in worry.

“Michael.”

“Fuck, dude, we gotta get outta here, then,” you said. You moved to grab his wrist.

“Wait!” Cas urged. “I don’t— I don’t think I’m strong enough to do this, (Y/N).”

“Yes, you can. You have to. C’mon. I’ll help, okay?” you pleaded, holding both his hands.

He nodded trepidatiously but allowed you to begin getting you both back to the future.

***

You and Castiel appeared just behind Sam, and he caught sight of your reflection.

“(Y/N)? Castiel?” he breathed out.

You helped a stumbling Cas over to the bed in the room.

“You son of a bitch. You made it,” Dean chuckled, wrapping Cas’s free arm around his neck.

“I— I did? I'm very surprised,” Cas grumbled earnestly before collapsing on the bed in front of you.

“Well, I could use that drink now,” Dean told his brother. He quickly fixed one for each of you, much to your surprise. You were a bit taken aback when he held one out to you.

“Really?” you asked him, hesitantly taking it. “You didn’t… poison it or anything, right?”

He chuckled. “No.” He raised his own cup to his lips. “Well, this is it.”

Sam’s eyes flicked to yours, confused. “This is what?”

“Team Free Will. One ex-blood junkie, one dropout with six bucks to his name, a literal demon, and Mr. Comatose over there. It's awesome,” the older brother remarked.

“It’s not funny,” Sam said.

“I’m not laughing,” the other man replied.

“They all say we'll say yes.”

“The angels?” you asked.

Sam nodded solemnly.

“It’s getting annoying,” Dean grumbled, taking another swig of his drink.

“What if they’re right?” Sam worried aloud.

You shook your head. “They’re not.”

Both men turned to you.

You shrugged, a deadpan expression on your face. “If Mr. Comatose can genuinely crack a smile, then anything’s possible.”

Both brothers looked confused, but you just snickered to yourself and downed the rest of your drink.

#castiel x reader #castiel x y/n #castiel x you #cas x reader #cas x y/n #cas x you #castiel #supernatural #spn #supernatural reader insert #spn reader insert

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