#alternate universe dean winchester | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

kittenofdoomage · 3 months ago

Text

The Midnight Diner

THIS WORK IS ALSO AVAILABLE ON AO3. PLEASE DO NOT REPOST OR COPY MY STORIES. 18+ CONTENT AHEAD.

Summary: An unexpected rescue leads to an unbelievable revelation, and these two hotties being vampires is just the tip of the iceberg.

Fandom: Supernatural

Pairing: Dean Winchester x fem!reader x Sam Winchester

Word Count: 8371

Warnings: alternate universe, threat/injury to reader, character death, attempted assault, gun violence, vampires (not SPN canon-typical vampires, I prefer the Vampire Diaries type), blood drinking, biting/marking, smut (full penetrative sex, spit roast, threesome, oral sex, fingering), fluff, angst, plot twists

Friday night was always busy at the Midnight Diner, which only closed two days a year; Easter and Christmas. It was a surprisingly successful business despite not offering delivery in a world where everyone wanted Ubereats right to their front door, and though it wasn’t where you had imagined your life would lead, you couldn’t complain too much. Okay, you would never be buying your own home, but you made enough to feed yourself and pay your share of the bills, and your boss was a rare good egg. You liked the night shift too, even the slow ones, because the regulars, and even the irregulars, were great inspiration for your real passion.

And Friday nights provided the most entertainment when the various nightclubs in the district spilled out, bringing the hungry drunks to the door. For two hours, you would be too busy to stop for so much as a drink, but it was worth it when it quietened down and your tip jar was full to bursting. Drunk people were apparently generous when someone was serving up a triple bacon sandwich with extra cheese at two AM.

The crowd was all but gone by three, leaving a few lonely souls and regulars behind. You always counted regulars as the ones that were there before you were, but there were a few faces that had become familiar in more recent months. Dean and Sam were two of them, brothers who only came in when all the revelers were gone; they were both tall, handsome, even if there was something odd about them you couldn’t put your finger on. Whatever it was wasn’t enough to stop you flirting, not even enough to hold back the crush you had on both of them.

“Good evening, sweetheart,” Dean crooned as he swept in through the door, Sam hot on his heels.

“Good morning,” you chuckled, gesturing to the clock. “Coffee?”

“You got it,” he grinned before turning his attention to the counter display, humming at the pies. “And a slice of the cherry pie,” he added, rubbing his hands together.

You jotted down the order, and the brothers wandered away to their usual table. It didn’t take more than a few moments to make the coffees, and you swiped the best looking slice of the cherry pie, sliding it onto a plate before carrying everything over to their table. “Busy night?” you asked.

Sam smirked, and Dean laughed under his breath. “Yeah, you know,” he shrugged, “work.”

With a friendly smile, you nodded your understanding. “Lemme know if you need anything else.”

Returning to the counter, you got comfortable in your seat, pulling out your sketchpad. Hugo - the cook - was out on a break, probably sneaking a joint at the back door, and all six patrons had their orders, leaving you with a few moments to yourself. Ordinarily, you preferred working on your iPad, but you hated taking it out with you, so at work, you settled for pen and paper, practicing anatomy and poses instead of working on any commissions you had outstanding.

“What are you working on?”

Dean’s voice made you jerk your head up in surprise, and you pulled the pencil away from the paper. “Oh,” you whispered, “uh, I was just practicing...” Showing your work to others had always been awkward for you; you had no problem posting them anonymously on your blog, but whenever someone asked to see your drawings in real life, you felt they were never good enough.

“Wow,” Dean murmured as he gazed at the simple drawing. “You’re really good.”

“Thanks,” you replied clumsily, avoiding his gaze as your face burned. “Did you need something?”

His eyes lifted to fix on you. “Sugar,” he chuckled, holding up the empty container from their table. “This one’s out, and I think someone stole all the others.”

You groaned, rolling your eyes. “Not again. I’ll get some more and bring it over.”

Taking the container from him, you strolled through to the back, refilling it quickly. Hugo reappeared, raising an eyebrow at what you were doing. “I thought you did that last night,” he commented.

“Someone’s stolen them again,” you grumble, screwing the lid back on. “Do you remember where Oscar put the new box?”

Hugo shook his head. “Don’t worry about it,” he sighed. “I’ll get Denise to do it in the morning.”

His suggestion was gratefully received, seeing as you didn’t really relish the thought of spending the last two hours of your shift replacing them all. Saturday morning was quiet, Denise could handle the task when she arrived.

Running the sugar back to the brothers’ table, you handed it to Dean, who gave you a dazzling smile. “Thanks, darling.”

He’d never called you that before. You smiled back, then returned to the counter, feeling a little bit like a schoolgirl with a crush as you resumed your position at the till. An hour later and the brothers were leaving, both of them giving you a lingering hungry look as they walked out, the sort that sent a shiver running down your spine and inspired a few explicit imaginings.

It was hard to think of much else for the rest of your shift.

Time crawled by until five, when Denise arrived and you could finally get home. Outside was still dark, marginally chilly, so you wrapped your coat around yourself and clutched your bag against your body, hurrying along each block as the sky began to lighten. You lived on the other side of the neighborhood, and the quickest route home was through an wide alleyway that stretched behind some warehouses, a passage you’d taken many times before.

On this occasion, it was not empty. You made it halfway before you noticed them, lounging in the large doorway of a warehouse, five men passing a joint between themselves. Keeping your head down, you kept walking, hopeful that they were just hanging out and not looking for any trouble.

“Not even a smile, honey?” one of them jeered.

You ignored it, continuing on, hurrying just a little more.

Two of them got up, moving to block your path. Panic set in, and you came to a stop, turning instantly to go back the way you’d come, but the other three were already up, preventing your escape. “Don’t be shy, baby,” the one who’d spoken laughed as he got a little closer. He reached out, and you dodged his touch, only to back up into one of his friends who grabbed ahold of your arms.

You struggled, kicking furiously at the one coming at you from the front. “Let me go!” you shrieked, fighting him when he caught hold of your face with one large hand. He smirked, so you spat in his face, receiving a hard blow to the jaw for your effort. The impact left you dazed, and the man holding you let go, pushing you to the floor. Your head connected with the concrete painfully; you whimpered, feeling something trickle down your forehead as the men surrounded you, closing your eyes as if that could make them go away.

“Hey!”

The shout preceded a loud thud, then more yelling followed. You remained frozen, bringing your arms up to shelter your head from whatever was happening, trying to fight the urge to pass out as dizziness and nausea overwhelmed you.

Everything stopped. Silence surrounded you, interrupted by distant traffic, and an odd gurgling sound that enticed you from the fetal position and onto your knees. You forced yourself upright, swaying slightly, throwing an arm out to try and gain some equilibrium as you opened your eyes.

Your attackers were scattered around. One was crumpled against a dumpster, another was bent awkwardly over the steps they were originally lounging on. Another one was only a few feet away, splayed across the floor, neck bloodied and eyes open in a lifeless stare. You lifted your head a little more, finally seeing who or what had saved you.

Sam had one of the last two on his knees as he tore at his throat, drinking greedily from the crimson that spilled out. Next to him was the last of your attackers, in Dean’s grip, dangling several inches off of the floor as Dean fed on him. A tiny gasp escaped you, and Sam’s eyes snapped open, deep black fading to hazel as he released the dead man to slump on the floor.

Whatever reaction you could have had to the scene was scrambled by the dizziness swamping you. Your knees trembled, and you felt yourself falling again, only to be caught by Sam, who had moved impossibly fast, cushioning your descent with his strong arms. You fought to keep your eyes open as he grasped your face, and the last thought you had before everything went black, was that maybe they’d kill you too.

The room that greeted you when you opened your eyes again was not familiar. It was dimly lit by several wall sconces, and the bed you were resting on was comfortable, so you didn’t move for a few seconds as you tried to recall what had happened. You were still dressed in the black shirt and pants you had worn to work, though your coat appeared to be hanging neatly on a hook across the room. The collar of your shirt was stiff with something, and that was when the memory of hitting your head came back to you, swiftly followed by the five possibly dead men, and your handsome diner regulars that had dispatched them by -

It wasn’t real.

Was it?

You sat up, just as Sam appeared silently in the doorway, making you jump. He smiled sheepishly, remaining where he was, obviously nervous of how you might react. “You’re awake,” he announced a little lamely. “How’s your head?”

Reaching up with your hand, you felt the raised wound. It was only an inch or so long, tender but not sore. “I-it’s okay,” you managed, eyeing him warily. “Those men -”

He straightened and cut you off. “Yeah, uh,” he scratched the back of his head with a light chuckle, “we can explain all of that, if you wanna…” His thumb jerked behind him, so you assumed he wanted you to follow him. Slowly, you swung your legs over the side of the bed, feeling a little sluggish as you got to your feet. “Are you okay?” he asked, watching as you tested your own balance.

“I think so,” you mumbled, touching the injury to your head again.

“Just take it slow,” he instructed with concern in his voice. “You might have a concussion.”

His worry over your injury went some way to assuring you that he wasn’t going to eat you, otherwise you would have still been in that alleyway, and your curiosity overrode any fear you held. You followed him out of the bedroom and into the hall, noting the lack of windows. “Who lives here?” you asked nervously, suddenly a little worried they had done the same thing to the occupants as they had to the men who attacked you.

Sam glanced back with a furrowed brow. “We do?” he answered with an inflection. “Uh, it’s a basement apartment, if you’re wondering about the windows.”

Your face filled with heat. “Oh.”

He smirked, leading you on into a large kitchen where Dean was lounging against a counter, and he looked up from his phone as his brother entered with you behind. “Hey,” he greeted with a smile, “how are you feeling?”

“Fine, I guess,” you mumbled, smiling politely when Sam pulled out a chair at the table for you to sit down.

“Coffee?” Dean offered, and you nodded, clasping your hands together on top of the table. There was a patch of gravel rash across your fingers, probably from where you had fallen. “I can order breakfast if you’re hungry.”

You weren’t sure hunger was on your list of priorities. “Uh, no, I - I don’t even know what the time is.” Your phone suddenly appeared in front of you, and you blinked up at Sam, who smiled and withdrew to sit on the opposite side of the table. “T-thank you,” you whispered, picking it up. The only notification was an email informing you that your phone bill was due soon; you weren’t entirely surprised that your roommate failed to notice your lack of return. It was nearly midday, so you’d been out for a few hours, and apparently in the possession of vampires.

The phone clattered to the table as everything began to sink in, and the noise made both men look in your direction. Dean jerked his head at Sam, making a gesture to indicate he should talk, but you were pressing your palms into your eyes, trying not to see the bodies.

“Can I, uh, can we explain?” Sam asked gently.

You lifted your head to look at him, suddenly unable to summon a single emotion. “About the vampire thing or the five dead guys from the alley?” you choked out, following it up with a burst of laughter. “Or maybe I was hallucinating, ‘cause of the head injury. Because vampires aren’t real.”

“We’re pretty damn real, sweetheart,” Dean deadpanned, turning his back on you to make coffee.

“What Dean means -” Sam clarified, raising a finger. “Yes, we’re vampires. And yes, we killed those guys. Because if we didn’t, the things they planned to do to you would have happened to someone else.”

Your jaw dropped. “T-the things they -” You shook your head. ��How could you know -”

“They weren’t good people,” Sam continued. “You know that.”

“What about the police?” you snapped. “They’re gonna find the bodies, they’re gonna -”

“Uh-huh,” Dean provided. “And it’ll be another unsolved crime in the city. They tend to overlook cases with extreme blood loss because they know guns don’t work on us.” He picked up the coffee he’d made, bringing it over to you and placing it on the table with a smirk. “Kinda funny that I’m serving you coffee now, huh?”

You failed to see any humor in the situation, though you took the drink gratefully. It was made exactly how you liked it, information you didn’t recall sharing with them, but when you looked at Dean, he only smiled a little more, taking a seat at the head of the table.

“Are you guys actually brothers?” you asked, narrowing your eyes at them both.

“If we weren’t, I wouldn’t have put up with him for this long,” Sam grumbled, and Dean promptly kicked him underneath the table which was all the proof you needed that they were siblings. “I get this is a little weird, Y/N -”

“A little?” you squeaked. “A little?”

“Okay, a lot,” he amended sheepishly.

“You killed five guys in under a minute, drank their blood, and then kidnapped me.” Something occurred to you and your eyes widened. “How did you even know I was in that alley?”

Dean folded his arms across his chest, smirking irritatingly at his brother as the taller man fumbled his words. “Well, we, uh, I mean, we -”

“What Sammy is trying to articulate,” Dean interrupted, “is that we’ve been watching over you for a while.”

You scrunched up your face, uncertain how to take the confession. “Watching over me?”

Sam shot his brother a glare before his features softened and his gaze returned to you. He sighed, leaning heavily on the table. “We’ve been alive a long time, Y/N,” he said softly. “Even with each other, it gets lonely.”

“I don’t see what that has to do with me,” you breathed, even if your mind was provided several ways that had something to do with you.

“It has everything to do with you,” Dean muttered, sitting forward with one hand on the table, the other on his knee. “We always talked about it, and then we came here. The second I saw you in that diner, I - we both knew. You’re… you’re special.”

You shook your head slowly, uncertain what special meant to them. Sam grimaced, huffing lightly. “Neither of us knew how to approach you,” he confessed quietly, “so we just kept going to the diner, kept getting to know you, and in the meantime, we kept you safe. Honestly, we never had to intervene until last night, and then…”

“We couldn’t leave you there to explain five dead bodies to the cops,” Dean finished.

That made sense, at the very least. You didn’t relish the thought of hours being grilled by the police when all the answers you had would probably lead to a psychiatric hold. “Okay,” you muttered. “So, say this is all real, and not some concussion-based fever dream - why am I special?”

They looked at each other, like they were holding a silent conversation. You sat back, folding your arms across your chest, watching them expectantly. The seconds ticked past and neither of them spoke, giving rise to a ball of frustration in your throat.

Dean clicked his tongue against the roof of his mouth and rolled his eyes. “You’re ours,” he stated firmly as Sam grunted his name in disagreement, earning himself a sharp look from his brother. “We said we’d tell her the truth, Sam, I’m just ripping the bandaid off.” His attention turned back to you, cutting off your confused questions before the first one could even make it out of your mouth. “Me and Sam, we’re not, uh, typical of vampires. Most vampires have a kindred spirit, someone who belongs to them, who they belong to.”

“Like soulmates?” you asked curiously, glancing between him and Sam.

Sam smirked, and Dean chuckled. “Something like that,” he agreed. “Except for us? That someone is just one person.” His eyes locked on yours, and a new, strange feeling slithered down your spine. “You.”

Your heart felt like it was pounding with the weight of his gaze. “How… how do you know that it’s me?”

“We just know,” Sam murmured solemnly.

“Like you knew those men would hurt me?” you whispered, letting your hands fall into your lap. “I’m really not dreaming, am I?”

Dean shook his head. “We’re not monsters, Y/N,” he said softly.

The recollection of the dead men made your stomach twist. “But you’ve killed people.”

“Not monsters,” Sam repeated. “But we are predators. Humans are our prey, we can’t survive without blood. Most of the time, it’s catch and release. They never remember a thing.”

You knew his justification didn’t make it right. Despite what those men had done, what they could have done, the guilt of their death was a weighted burden on your soul. “Do you…” Your lips were too dry, so you wet them, attempting your question again. “Do you feel bad about it?”

“About them?” Sam clarified, and you nodded. “No.”

“Others, yes,” Dean added cautiously. “We weren’t always as restrained, or as careful.”

At least they were honest about it, you mused, looking down at your hands, rubbing your thumb over the patch of damaged skin. “So what do you want from me?” you asked, lifting your eyes to them again. “If I’m… special. What does that mean? Are you going to keep me here?”

“No,” Sam chuckled, shaking his head. “Whatever happens next is your choice.”

“What do you want though?” you pressed, leaning forward. “Am I supposed to… to become like you?”

They shared another look, another silent conversation. Dean spoke first, turning his green gaze on you with a flash of the same hunger he’d shown you the night before. “We both want that - eventually. But it has to be your choice.”

“And you don’t have to make it right away,” Sam continued on quickly, his tone stressing his point. “Right now, we just want you to get to know us.” He smiled, resting his elbows on the table. “We waited a long time to find you, and we can wait for however long as you need.”

You stared at him, wondering if he sounded so confident about it because he was right. There had been an attraction to both of them the minute they’d walked into the diner, and you’d spent too many hours thinking about them, even sketching them, to dismiss the idea of belonging to them easily. But it was still overwhelming, a little hard to digest when you’d spent your whole life being told the supernatural didn’t exist.

“I think, uh, I think maybe I should go home,” you finally decided. “This is… a lot.”

Sam nodded, getting to his feet. “Of course,” he agreed with a smile. “Lemme get your coat.”

He disappeared, leaving you alone with Dean, who was still watching you, a thoughtful expression on his handsome face. You looked back at him nervously, unused to being under such scrutiny - the only person who’d ever told you that you were special was your grandmother, and she was gone now, along with the rest of your family. The idea of being important to someone was a far off memory; you hadn’t had a boyfriend in three years, and you spent most of your time alone or at work. Picking up your coffee, you drained it despite the heat, putting the cup down as something occurred to you.

“How old are you?” you asked suddenly.

Dean blinked, then smiled. “I was thirty-two when I turned,” he replied. “In 1759.”

“Oh,” you gasped. “Wow. You’re -”

“Nearly three hundred,” he chuckled. “I know, I look great, right?”

The joke made you smile, and you ducked your head, feeling warmth in the tip of your ears. Sam returned, holding out your jacket and shoes as he placed your bag on the table. “We’re only a couple of blocks from your apartment,” he murmured. “I can call a cab if you like or -”

“I wanna ask how you know where I live,” you replied warily. “And how Dean knew exactly how I take my coffee.” You sighed, taking your shoes to drop them on the floor. “But I’m getting a headache so…” Fixing a smile on your face, you slipped your shoes on. “I can walk. It’s not raining or anything, right?”

“Nope,” Dean grumbled. “It’s a really nice sunny day.”

The penny dropped. “Right,” you breathed. “Because sunlight -”

“Does absolutely nothing,” Sam finished with a laugh. “There’s a lot of old wives tales that some authors like to spin.”

Your smile tightened. “Information for another time.”

“Yeah,” he said, stepping back when you rose to put your jacket on. “Maybe take some Tylenol for your head,” he suggested. “I put our numbers in your phone.”

“Thanks,” you mumbled, sliding your phone into your bag. “I’m gonna go sleep this headache off and, uh, I’ll text, or something. Or you can text. I’m -” You sighed, dropping your shoulders. “I’m gonna go…”

Dean didn’t follow as Sam led you to the front door, which opened up to a set of stone steps directly onto the street. You recognized where you were as soon as you stepped out, and you turned to look back at Sam, realizing you hadn’t thanked them for saving you.

“Listen, I wanna -” Pausing, you clung to your bag, and he waited, giving you time to answer. “Thank you for saving me. I… I know I’d probably be dead or worse right now if -” The words trailed off, and you sighed, shaking your head. “Thank you.”

He watched you for a moment, then he smiled gently, bowing his head for a brief second. “Go get some rest,” he urged. “We’ll talk soon.”

It took all of twelve hours for your curiosity to get the better of you, and while a part of you thought there might be something otherworldly drawing you towards the brothers, you didn’t decline when Dean asked if you wanted to spend the evening with them. You weren’t sure what to expect when you returned to their strange underground home, so when you arrived to find they’d cooked dinner for you, you were pleasantly surprised.

The whole evening was bewildering. Just being around them put you at ease, and they answered every single one of your questions without hesitation, holding nothing back. They told you about their lives, before and after their turning, spinning one wild tale after another, with each brother often correcting the other when they didn’t recall things the same. You listened to everything they said, enjoying their company more as the evening progressed, eventually dozing off on their couch before they decided it was probably time you went home to your bed.

You returned the next night. When you had to go to work, you lamented not being able to see them, resorting to text messages that had you smiling to yourself behind the till. At the end of your Monday night shift, they appeared just as you were leaving, insistent on walking you home. They did the same the next morning, and the next, and it began to feel like a physical torment to separate yourself from them. Your next weekend off, you barely bothered to return home, finding better rest in their presence than you might have ever had in your life.

Every day, their belief that you were theirs seemed a little more true. You’d never been great at keeping relationships with people going, spending most of your time alone or in online communities. It had always been hard to form long lasting connections, something you’d always put down to your introverted nature, but with the brothers, it was like they drew out a person you’d never been before. They made you feel something new, something you didn’t want to let go of.

It was only natural when the relationship moved beyond just talk within a few weeks. You had stayed the night, or rather, the day after work, sharing a bed with both the brothers, and had woken up sandwiched between them. Vampires did sleep, albeit lightly, and they were surprisingly warm, though Sam had explained that they were only as warm as their surroundings. When Dean had stirred, face to face with you, the impulse to kiss him was too strong to ignore, and when he responded, it had escalated. Sam woke only seconds after, and soon you were dizzy and breathless from their attention.

As much as you wanted to take it further, you had to get to work. The whole night, you were antsy, glancing at the clock every five minutes and cursing the slowness of time. When the brothers arrived shortly before the end of your shift, you couldn’t keep the smile off of your face, even when Hugo teased you about it. Dean and Sam both waited patiently for you to finish up, ready to walk you home, but you stopped them just outside the diner, looking between them nervously.

“I don’t wanna go home,” you whispered shyly. “At least… not my home.”

They smirked at each other, and then Dean gestured down the sidewalk to a large black classic car. “Good thing I brought the car tonight,” he chuckled.

“Meet Dean’s pride and joy,” Sam sighed. “He’s talked about it enough.”

“Her,” Dean corrected. “Don’t bad mouth my Baby, Sammy.”

The car didn’t seem entirely practical, even if the leather upholstery was comfortable. You sat in the middle of the back, clutching the edge of the seat as Dean fired up the engine, obviously showing off just a little. “Humor him,” Sam laughed, and you gave a quick thumbs up of approval.

It was a quick drive back to their apartment, and you got more nervous the closer you got. If they noticed your apprehension, they didn’t draw attention to it, at least, not until you were inside, hovering anxiously in the lounge. Sam approached first, taking your hand to kiss your knuckles.

“You’re trembling,” he murmured, running his hand along your arm up to your shoulder before stopping to cradle your cheek. You leaned into it, smiling as you met his gaze.

“It’s… I’m out of practice,” you admitted, covering his hand with your own. “And there’s two of you. And you’re vampires. Makes me… nervous.”

He chuckled, shaking his head. “We only bite if you ask nicely,” he joked.

The ferocity of your body’s reaction to that thought took you off guard. Arousal pounded between your thighs, and you sucked your bottom lip between your teeth, unable to tear your gaze off of his. “I want it,” you whispered, moving closer to him. He groaned, leaning down to kiss you.

“Getting started without me?” Dean muttered in a good natured tone as he entered the room, loitering in the doorway with his arms folded across his chest.

You broke away from Sam sheepishly, and he stepped away, tugging you towards his brother. You followed, feeling your heart pound as they led you into the bedroom. Dean took Sam’s place and kissed you, guiding you down onto the bed. “I’m a little lost on the logistics,” you confessed quietly. “I’ve never - not with two -” You could feel a babble coming on, so you shut your mouth, hoping your inexperience wasn’t a problem.

Dean’s thumb swiped across your cheek before his fingers curled under your chin, forcing you to look into his eyes. “That’s pretty much the dealer's choice,” he murmured. “You being the dealer, darlin’.”

“Oh.” You inhaled sharply as Sam moved to sit on your other side. “I don’t - I don’t know.”

“Being naked is a good start,” Dean suggested lewdly, stripping his shirt over his head. For a second, you could only stare at his bare chest, feeling your mouth getting dry as your core started to throb. On your other side, Sam was now shirtless too, and you felt a little self-conscious in the low bedroom light.

Sam moved so quickly, you didn’t realize he’d done anything until the light went off and the dim lamps came on. You inhaled sharply, steeling yourself before unbuttoning your shirt, sliding it off shyly. As if sensing your apprehension, Dean pulled you into a kiss as Sam tugged your shirt off the rest of the way and tossed it, immediately putting his mouth on your bare shoulder.

“D-do we need anything?” you gasped as Dean’s fingers explored underneath your bra, pulling down the cups until he could thumb at your nipples. “Condoms?”

With a low chuckle, Sam shook his head. “No need,” he promised softly, letting his hand drop to the fastening of your pants.

You nodded listlessly, moving when Dean snapped the fastening on your bra to get rid of it entirely. He pushed you backwards until you were laying across the bed, laying beside you while Sam dragged your pants down your legs, leaving you in only your panties. They went next, sliding off under nimble fingers that returned to pry your knees apart, and you gasped when Sam’s lips brushed against your sensitive inner thigh. Before you could make a sound, Dean kissed you, thrusting his tongue against yours as his brother’s mouth descended on your cunt.

All your earlier nerves were all but obliterated, and when Dean turned his attention to your breasts, you could only just about remember to breathe. He sucked one hard nipple between his lips, and you thread your fingers through his short hair, moaning as Sam’s tongue teased your clit. It was deliriously pleasurable, but you wanted more, managing to whimper as Dean lifted his head to look at you. “Bite me,” you begged, watching the edges of his eyes begin to darken as his fangs descended.

He glanced at Sam, who only shrugged, intent on keeping up the torment on your clit. Your hips rocked against his touch, tightening your fingers in Dean’s hair.

“Please,” you whispered desperately.

Lowering his head again, he ran his tongue around your hardened peak, then lower, pressing his mouth to the swell of your breasts. There was a tiny prick of pain as his fangs pierced your skin, but the first slight pull on your blood had your eyes rolling back. Sam groaned as you shuddered, shifting to press two fingers against your entrance, sinking them in without stopping his assault on your clit.

You came within seconds, crying out with your fingers in Dean’s hair, writhing desperately as Sam pushed you higher. Dean groaned as he stopped feeding from you, dragging his tongue over the wound before lifting his head to crush his mouth against yours, cutting off your cries. The taste of your own blood invaded your mouth, startlingly not unpleasant, and when you nipped at Dean’s lip, he pulled back in surprise, a smile spreading across his lips.

Your eyes fluttered shut for a moment as Sam kept nuzzling into you, using his tongue in slow strokes right through your swollen lips. The bed shifted when Dean got up to remove the rest of his clothing, and when it dipped under his weight, you opened your eyes to his glorious nudity, and new desire pooled in your belly.

“C’mere,” he beckoned, moving up the bed to sit at the headboard. Lust drove your movements as Sam withdrew, and you heard him shedding his pants behind you as you crawled towards Dean, stopping short of straddling him as his cock caught your attention. His head thudded against the headboard when you dipped to lick at him, moaning when you wrapped your fingers around the shaft and squeezed.

The bed moved by your feet, and you glanced back to see Sam, now as naked as you and Dean. You couldn’t resist wiggling your rear in his direction, only for him to grab at it with one meaty hand, holding you in place as he positioned himself behind you. Dean’s cock twitched in your hand, and you turned your attention back to him, using your tongue to circle his tip while Sam ground his length against your bare cunt. You responded by pressing back into him, eager for him to fill you, but he resisted, continuing to tease you as you teased Dean.

Dean’s fingers tickled along the side of your head, encouraging you to take him into your mouth. He moaned decadently, and Sam chose that moment to thumb the tip of his generous cock into you, penetrating just enough for you to feel the stretch around his girth. You tried to focus, emitting muffled little whimpers as Sam rocked back and forth, filling you a little more at a time.

“Come on, Sammy,” Dean groaned, tightening his hold on your head. “Stop teasing her and give her what she wants.”

The other brother laughed under his breath, then thrust forward, burying every inch inside you. You felt like the air was punched from your lungs, so you lifted your head, keeping hold of Dean with one hand while you caught your breath, gasping loudly as pleasure buzzed outwards from where Sam was throbbing deep in your cunt. “Oh god,” you whined. “Fuck.”

It felt different than any other lover you’d had before. Maybe it was because Sam wasn’t quite as warm as you; the only warmth his skin held was what he leeched from you and the air around him. He was definitely bigger, thicker, pushing the limits of what you felt you could take.

Seconds ticked by, and Dean’s hips jerked slightly, reminding you of what you had been doing. Giving him a shy grin, you dragged your tongue up his length, then slid your lips over him; Sam started to move with shallow thrusts, holding your hips in place with ease. You lost yourself in both of them, moaning around Dean’s cock when Sam started to fuck you harder, and when a hand slipped underneath you, long fingers easily finding your clit, you responded by taking Dean deeper.

You’d never been so aroused in your life. Sucking cock had always been a favor, but somehow with them, you felt a desperate need to please, growing wetter with every impact of Sam’s hips against yours, with every twitch of Dean’s dick in your mouth. Your first climax shuddered through you, and they kept going, pushing you higher until you were almost dizzy with pleasure.

Sam’s enthusiasm grew when he felt your cunt squeeze him; he dragged you away from Dean and upright, holding you with one hand loosely around your throat. You gasped, looking at Dean as he watched, one hand wrapped around his dick, eyes heavy and hungry.

“You want me to bite you too?” Sam grunted, right against your ear. All you could do was nod eagerly, still trembling from the orgasm he’d fucked you through. He growled, slamming into you harder until you were crying out, and with one last powerful thrust, he came, sinking his fangs into your throat as he filled you. Your eyes fluttered shut at the sensation, a low whimper falling from your lips when fresh pleasure blossomed in your gut.

He didn’t take too much, releasing you gently when he was done, and you dropped onto your hands, gasping as he withdrew. You couldn’t think through the flood of bliss in your veins, so when Dean pulled you towards him, you went willingly, straddling him as he lined up and tugged you down onto his cock. One hand held you down, full to the brim again, and the other cupped your breast, guiding your nipple to his mouth.

Instinct made you grind down onto him, and he growled, fucking up into you. You wrapped your arms around his shoulders, throwing your head back as he filled you over and over, riding the wave of ecstasy until you were trembling from head to toe. He didn’t stop until he was spilling into you, abandoning your breast to kiss you again. When he stilled, you felt like you were floating, and your whole body shook as you reluctantly lifted yourself off.

You landed on your back, gasping for breath as you came down from the high they’d driven you to. “Is it too soon to say I’m falling head over heels?” you laughed, feeling them press in close on either side of you.

“You know,” Dean mumbled against your bare shoulder, “when you’re like us, this will feel a million times more intense.”

You should have been perturbed at how comfortable you were with the idea of being like them when he mentioned it; you’d figured that eternity was their end game early on, but you had never imagined your own easy acceptance of it. The more you thought about it, the more you wanted it, and that alone should have frightened you. “It does?” you asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Mmhmm,” Sam hummed, one hand sliding over your hip. “Everything’s more intense.”

By the time you pulled yourself away from their bed that evening, you’d all but decided you were done with the mortal coil. The brothers had been right about where you belonged, and more than that, you wanted it. Forever didn’t sound so scary if you got to spend it with them.

You felt like you were floating as you walked to work, replaying moments with them over and over, smiling to yourself. Hugo was the first to comment when you made it through the door at The Midnight Diner, but you were in too good a mood to let it bother you. Even folding napkins couldn’t dampen your spirit.

Usually, you would pride yourself on your ability to read a customer. You could tell if someone was trouble, yet when he first walked in, nervously requesting a coffee to go, you didn’t pick up on the weird vibes he was giving you. With a smile on your face, you prepared his drink and rang him up on the till, only to realize he’d covered his face, and he was now holding a gun. You threw your hands up, and another customer noticed the exchange, screeching when she saw the gun.

The man instantly turned his weapon to her. “No!” you cried, getting his attention back on you. “You want money, right?”

“Empty the drawer,” he snapped, fingers shaking on the pistol.

You hit the button, opening the till drawer, pulling out everything in there. He grabbed for it, needing only one hand, and it was obvious he was unhappy. “T-that’s everything,” you stuttered, feeling sweat bead on your forehead.

“You’re lying,” he growled, pocketing the seventy-five bucks. “You gotta have more.”

“It’s emptied every day,” you shrieked when he thrust the gun closer, finger on the trigger.

“Hey!” Hugo’s voice made you turn your head to where he was standing with his own weapon brandished. The man twitched, and time seemed to slow to a near-stop.

The sound of a gunshot made you jump, and you stared at the man in the balaclava as his jaw went slack, gaze dropping to the blood slowly soaking through your shirt. You looked down, moving one hand to press at the wound to your stomach, vaguely registering the gunman’s departure as your knees grew weak. “Shit,” you whispered, crumbling to the ground.

Hugo was beside you in an instant, uselessly padding the wound with napkins as he yelled for someone to call an ambulance. You stared at the ceiling, tasting blood on your tongue, wondering why it didn’t hurt more, and you drifted, struggling to keep your eyes open as the chef begged you to stay with him.

The paramedics arrived in what felt like a blink. They asked questions, and you tried to pay attention, but all you could think about was that maybe you should have said yes to Sam and Dean while you could. It felt like the end, your end, at the hands of a stranger with a gun, on the faded linoleum tiles of The Midnight Diner.

Somewhere, you registered the concern of the medics attending to you. They chattered quickly, mentioning blood loss, words that sounded important but held no meaning to you. “My phone,” you choked out, tasting more blood as you tried to move, and then the pain kicked in. “Sam -”

One of the paramedics pressed against your shoulder, keeping you flat. “You need me to call somebody, hon?”

All you could manage was a nod. Everything was getting dim, becoming too hard to focus, so you closed your eyes, letting the sounds fade too. For a moment, the world was still, and quiet, peaceful. Something beckoned to you to let go, like a tug on your soul, and for a moment, you thought about how easy it would be.

A soft beeping infiltrated the darkness. Heaviness filled you, and you realized it was your own body weighing you down. The cold floor you’d been on was gone, replaced by softness, and with a low groan, you opened your eyes to see a strange woman in a white coat standing over you. She smiled sadly, and you felt the whisper of a touch on your arm.

“She’s awake,” she murmured, looking away from you, prompting you to follow her line of sight with a turn of your head.

Sam and Dean were standing in the shadows of the small room. You felt a sweeping relief when you saw them, even if the expressions on their faces matched the same sadness the woman seemed to have. She spoke your name softly, making you look back at her, and you knew that whatever she had to say wasn’t good.

“I’m Doctor Freely. Do you remember what happened?” she asked.

The man in the diner. The gun. You remembered it all. “I was shot,” you rasped, feeling moisture in your eyes.

She nodded. “The bullet did a lot of damage,” she explained hesitantly. “We’ve tried to repair it but it hit your liver.” You frowned at her, and her smile became sympathetic, the pity in her words palpable. “We did everything we could. Your only hope is a transplant but -” The implication was clear as she trailed off, and you clenched your jaw, tears clinging to your lashes.

You were going to die.

“We’re doing everything we can to make you comfortable,” she whispered, obvious distress on her face, though you imagined you were not the first person she’d ever told they were going to die.

“How long?” you asked, throat clogging with emotion.

“Hours,” she replied. “Maybe days.”

You nodded, blinking away tears as you turned your head away and closed your eyes. The doctor sighed, glancing at Sam and Dean before retreating without another word, and before the door could click shut, they were at your side. “We shoulda been there,” Dean murmured, leaning over to kiss your forehead.

“You didn’t know,” you replied in a shaky voice, though you couldn’t open your eyes for fear that the tears would overwhelm you. The pain of your injury was beginning to push through the numb, heavy feeling; everything about your body felt wrong, which you guessed should be unsurprising if you were that badly hurt. “I don’t -” You swallowed, finally forcing yourself to look at them, and your fear was proved right when fat tears rolled down your cheeks. “I don’t wanna die.”

Sam’s hand cupped your jaw. You looked up at him as he wiped your tears away with his thumb, smiling at you softly. “I know you wanted to wait,” he murmured, “but I don’t think that’s an option anymore.”

“W-will it work?” you asked. “You said that sometimes -”

He cut you off by shaking his head. “You’re strong enough,” he assured you. “You fought your way back to us once already.”

Dean’s voice was low when he spoke, drawing your gaze to him. “Your heart stopped in the diner,” he explained, taking hold of your hand. You could see the moisture in his eyes, so you gripped his hand back, ignoring the discomfort of the IV underneath your skin. “If we do this, we don’t have much time.”

Hours, you thought to yourself. Before all this, you’d been planning for weeks, months, and now, the choice had been taken away. You were surprised you didn’t feel more grief for the life you were leaving behind. “Who’s gonna -” Kill me, you finished in a thought, knowing they would understand.

“We agreed it should be Sam,” Dean replied, sharing a look with his brother.

You nodded. “What happens next?”

They had already told you how vampires were made - you had to drink their blood and then, essentially, die. “Your heart will stop and the venom will change you,” Sam explained softly. “You’ll be out for around twelve hours. And then you’ll wake up.”

“We’ll make sure we’re there,” Dean added, still clinging to your hand. “We won’t leave you.”

“And then everyone will assume I’m dead, right? I can’t -” You sighed, shaking your head. “I can’t ever see anyone I know again.”

Sam smiled sadly. “They’ll think you died from your injuries. We can get your stuff from your apartment, and then we’ll figure out what to do next.”

The pain was getting stronger. Your chest hurt, and breathing was making your whole body ache. “It hurts,” you murmured. The machines registering your heart rate started to beep faster, and the brothers looked up in alarm. “I don’t -”

Yanking the plug from the wall, Dean silenced the alarm before it could start. “Now, Sam,” he ordered. “We can’t wait.” He released your hand, moving towards the door to keep a look out as Sam cradled your face again, leaning in to kiss you softly.

“Don’t be frightened,” he soothed as you gasped for breath, nodding your consent. Your eyes filled with fresh tears as he bit into his wrist, sending crimson trickling over his pale skin, and when he offered the wound to you, you didn’t hesitate. His blood was cold, dribbling sluggishly into your throat until you couldn’t swallow anymore, and he pulled away, wiping away the stray droplets from your lips.

Just like in the diner, your vision began to gray and blur. Sam reached over to plug the machine back in, and instantly the monitors went wild. Dean opened the door, yelling for help, and Sam stepped back as medical staff flooded the room. Your eyes fluttered shut, and everything stopped as the machines let out one last long steady bleat.

One Week Later…

There was a vacant table in The Midnight Diner. In the middle, pushed up against the wall, was the last employee photo you had ever taken, surrounded by flowers and little notes from the regulars and other staff. You had read every single one as you stood on the other side of the road, giving one last goodbye to the life you were leaving behind. Dean and Sam had been sleeping when you left them, but they’d find you easily enough.

You’d never realized the need they felt for you was so deep, at least not until you’d woken up with the same insatiable pull, though it felt like something you couldn’t adequately put words to. It was a stronger sensation than anything you’d felt in your human life, giving you a deeper understanding of why they’d been so drawn to you.

“There you are,” Dean murmured, appearing in the shadows beside you. You smiled at him, then looked back at the diner, sighing softly as Sam appeared on your other side. “Are you ready?”

“I think so,” you replied, feeling a small measure of sadness for the person you’d been. You wished you could have told the ones who cared about you that you were okay, but it was far easier to disappear this way. There was a funeral with an empty casket to be held tomorrow - you weren’t sticking around for that weirdness.

They had closure, both with your burial, and the arrest of the man who had been responsible for shooting you. Dean had suggested finding him yourselves and dealing with it, but you didn’t feel any need for revenge when you’d been headed for this future one way or another.

Sam’s hand slipped into yours, dragging you out of your thoughts. “Where do you wanna go first?” he asked.

Your smile grew. “Anywhere,” you whispered, looking at him, then Dean, taking his hand too. “As long as it’s with you.”

THANK YOU FOR READING, PLEASE CONSIDER REBLOGGING SO OTHERS CAN ENJOY IT 😁

#supernatural fanfiction #alternate universe fanfiction #vampire Sam and Dean #Sam Winchester fanfiction #Dean Winchester fanfiction #reader insert #dean winchester x reader x sam winchester #monstober 2024

67 notes · View notes

take-it-on-the-run · 11 months ago

Text

Bridge Over Troubled Water

Dean Winchester, Reaper!Reader

Dean Winchester didn't want to know what life was going to be like without his brother, and he didn't intend to learn

Word Count: 2.5k

Tags: Suicide attempt, angst, major character death, minor injury, typical cannon violence, angst with a happy ending

Characters: Dean Winchester, Sam Winchester, Reaper!Reader

Read it on AO3!

A/N: Simon & Garfunkel title. This has been stewing in my drafts since August, so I'm very happy I was able to finally finish it! This is set around season 5 (Dean is 30 and Sam is 26). PLEASE heed the warnings, and please don't read further if this story will make you uncomfortable. Unbeta'd and every single mistake is mine :)

Dean Winchester Masterlist | Supernatural Masterlist | Main Page Masterlist

Rain clung to a man as he peered over the rails of a bridge he couldn’t name. It was big enough to have a name, he was sure of that, but not big enough for people to be driving by at three in the morning.

His hands wrapped around the steel beams meant to keep cars from tipping over into the rushing waters below. They were cold to the touch, but he didn’t feel that. He could barely place one foot in front of the other, let alone feel anything besides the hollowed-out hole in his chest.

His car was parked just off the side of the road less than half a mile away, keys still in the ignition, lights blaring onto the tree trunks that ran on for as far as the eye could see. There was no one for miles, the only souls accompanying him in those moments being those of the rodents scattering into crooks and crannies to hide from the rain.

A heavy weight shifted in his pocket, nudging against his thigh, reminding him why he was standing alone in the rain. He couldn’t comprehend that in the morning, people would come looking for him, that he would be missed; that he would be mourned. He only knew the pain that was engulfing his very being, pushing him closer and closer to life’s edge.

He wanted to compare it to Hell, but he knew that in Hell he’d at least pay for what he’d done in the form of flames and pure, unimaginable agony, like he’d experienced all those years ago. Here, he could only wallow in the fact that he was alive, and the only person he’d give his life for wasn’t.

The first time he tried to pitch himself over the rails, his foot slipped and his head collided with the metal. Blood trickled down his forehead as he remained on the ground. Any other time, he’d be able to climb anything, anywhere; but now all he could hear was the sound of the river below calling for him.

Join me. It said, beckoning him to his feet once again.

Though he couldn’t see me, I was there watching him as he tried to will himself to take his own life. Standing a mere ten feet from him, leaning on the opposing set of rails, I watched as he clambered upright. In complete honesty, I didn’t know if he’d do it or not. I did, however, know that he wasn’t meant to be there. He was meant to pass in a horrible accident three weeks before at his own hands, leaving his brother the only survivor. His name was in my book, and I was meant to take him to the great hereafter, only to find him standing over his brother’s body.

The man didn’t know it, but his brother was there too, watching him on that bridge. He tried to get his brother to hear his pleas, but he couldn’t, so he turned to me.

He begged me and begged me to not let his brother take his life. This had happened many times since I started my life’s work, people trying to offer me their souls in place of a loved one’s, but my duties remained as they were. I’m a pathway to the afterlife. No more, no less. Never once had I prevented someone from dying, never once had someone slipped between my fingers, and never once had I stuck myself in Earthly affairs.

I leaned into the rails silently, letting the rain fall onto my bare skin. I could imagine how cold it was for him, shivering and bleeding as his world seemed to crumble.

His brother clung to my side, clawing and tearing at my skin as he wailed for me to let his brother live, that his soul should be enough for me to have.

I turned to him and looked into his widened eyes, and all I could do was wonder. Wonder why such a young man was content in his own death, and why he didn’t want his brother to die as he did.

“You Winchesters and your family bond. You know Samuel, there aren’t many people out there who aren’t pissed at the person who killed them.” I said as I acknowledged the youngest Winchester for the first time since he started our conversation.

“He didn’t-” Sam looked to his older brother, still oblivious to my presence, “-my death wasn’t his fault. You got your soul, now you can report back to your big boss and just leave Dean alone, please.”

I turned to him, ready to tell him that my kind didn’t deal in souls, but was interrupted when the click of a handgun made Sam and I turn our heads.

“Are you my reaper?” He asked, matter-of-factually, poorly aiming his pistol in my general direction. I took a step toward him, the rain beginning to fall more violently.

“We both know you’re smart enough than to try and use that on me, Dean,” I said, ignoring his question as I took more steps toward him.

“Answer-” Dean readjusted his slipping grip on the gun, eyes wearily trained at me. “-answer me.”

“I was your reaper, yes,” I answered, closing the distance between us, cool metal pressed against my chest.

His eyes were green and sunken; packed with tears, veins, and blood. His pupils darted around my face expectantly, begging me to do something, make his pain simply go away.

I felt a heavy pang in my chest, that hooked onto my heart and sunk to my feet.

I reached up to his face, gently cupping as I skimmed my fingers over untrimmed facial hair. He flinched as my hand made contact, probably expecting to get ripped from his body.

“Don’t be afraid, Dean. He’s safe.” I said gently. His eyes closed, and he leaned into my palm as he let out a heavy breath.

“He isn’t angry at you. You know, he practically begged me to come stop you.” I smiled, smoothing over the gash on his forehead. The deep cut disappeared as my fingers skimmed over it, offering him some relief.

“It’s not fair-” Dean choked out, coughing as the weather around us began to take its toll on his body. “-Sammy, he’s got a whole life ahead of him. College, a big lawyer job, a normal life. All I’ve got is hunting, and waiting to run into someone sharp enough to finally get me.”

His teeth chattered in his mouth, and the metal against my chest disappeared as he let his arms drop to his sides.

“Big talk coming from someone who’s barely thirty,” I said, watching as Dean pulled away from my hands, and returned to leaning on the rails.

“It’s the-” Dean starts.

“-the life, yes. So I’ve heard from a great number of hunters.” I finished his thought as I joined him on the rails. “Why is it that all of you think your lifespans are so short? Hunters back in, I don’t know,” I wave my hand as I’m trying to come up with the words, “the seventeen hundreds still lived longer than a lot your folk do nowadays.”

He creased his eyebrows, his eyes flickering over my face.

“All I’m saying,” I take a long look at the sun starting to crawl its way over the horizon, “is that ‘the life’ doesn’t have to be your life, Dean. I can’t believe I’m even saying this, but you don’t have to die in some horrific fight that finally puts you down. Hunters have died of old age, you know.”

He looked at me, the freckles on his face more visible now that the rain was calming down, “but Sammy… he deserved his happy ending more than I ever will. He got out. Got a full-ride scholarship to freakin’ Stanford. Had a girl. I didn’t even have the guts to tell him how proud I was. I’d stand outside his dorm room for hours, trying to figure out a way to come see him without Dad, or without him hating me. I shouldn’t have dragged him back into this, and now he’s dead. In my place.”

“It’s the natural order of things, Dean. If not him, then you, and if not you, then some other person had to die that day.”

“But it didn’t have to be Sam. I would’ve gone just the same way as he did, but at least he’d have something dragging him forward, to move on.” He looked at me again with those tired eyes, letting out a sharp breath as his hands clung to the railing again, leaning his torso off halfway.

“Dean,” I said cautiously, watching his knuckles turn white as his heart quickened and eyes shut, “Dean.”

His feet were moving fast, and in one swift moment, he was off the bridge. His body flung over almost effortlessly and catapulted him down to the rocky waters below.

I turned away, expecting him to appear next to me in a moment, but his voice rose through the air instead.

“What…?”

I looked over the railing, only to see Sam was holding his forearms, holding him from his forearms before he could drop.

I turned to the younger Winchester brother, who was solely focused on trying to save his brother’s life, his spectral hands losing their grip the longer he held on.

“Dean, hold on, please. Please, man, just hold on. Don’t give up on me.”

Dean’s head snapped up, looking straight at his brother.

“Sammy?” Dean choked out, his legs starting to kick frantically as if he were trying to walk on air.

“Help me, help me get him up. Please.” Sam turned to me, struggling to hold onto his brother.

I blinked and I was beside him, yanking up on an almost-limp Dean, and throwing him onto the road of the bridge.

Dean lay on the ground, his chest rising and falling with each labored breath. Sam knelt beside him, his eyes filled with remorse.

“I didn’t want to give up on you, Sammy,” Dean whispered, his voice barely audible over the gentle rustle of the damp morning breeze.

Sam’s heart clenched at the sound of his brother’s voice, filled with a mixture of pain and regret. “I know, Dean,” he replied, his voice choked with emotion. “It’s not your fault. You never gave up on me. You took all of dad’s crap, and I mean all of it. The yelling. The hunting. The abuse.”

Dean looked at his brother before he went still, not saying a word as he clutched his chest with pale blue hands. His breaths grew shallower, his body beginning to tremble from the exertion and the cold rain that drenched him throughout the night. Sam glanced around frantically, feeling helpless in the face of his brother’s suffering.

“He needs help. Help him,” Sam said, his voice urgent as he looked up at me, desperation clear in his eyes.

I nodded, my heart heavy with the weight of the situation. “I’ll do what I can,” I replied, my voice solemn. “But I can’t interfere with the natural order of things.”

Sam’s shoulders sagged in defeat, but he refused to give up. “There has to be something you can do,” he pleaded, his voice cracking with emotion. “Please, just help him.”

I hesitated, the pull that the Winchester seemed to have with the universe was something even Death couldn’t withstand; but who was I to interfere? As I looked down at Dean, lying battered and broken on the ground, I could hear the cracking of his ribs drowning out my thoughts.

With a heavy sigh, I knelt beside Sam and Dean, moving Dean’s hands away from his chest with little force. “I’ll do what I can,” I said, my voice softer.

I laid my hands on Dean’s chest, warmth spread through his body, chasing away the chill of the rain and easing his pain. His breaths grew steadier, his trembling subsiding as color started returning to his hands.

Sam looked on in awe, tears welling in his eyes as he watched his brother’s condition improve before his very eyes. “Thank you,” he whispered, his voice filled with gratitude.

I nodded, a small smile touching my lips. “Take care of him,” Sam said, his voice barely above a whisper, and I nodded. “He’s gotta lot of fight left in him, and someone has to keep him up and running.”

I chuckled, moving to the side of Sam as I waited for him to pull away from Dean. The two of them sat there in perfect silence, staring into the blankness in front of them. I could barely hear Dean’s breath through the wind that curved between the air around us.

“I have to go, Dean,” Sam said, turning to face them as they both sat on the edge of the empty road.

“I can’t do this without you Sammy, I don’t want to,” Dean said, catching stray tears with the back of his hand. He took his brother into a firm hug; it was as if he was holding him to Earth, and to life itself.

“I love you so much,” Sam said as he rested his head on Dean’s shoulder, Dean taking in a shuddered breath. Sam slowly pulled away from him, and stood beside me, trying his best to smile, “bye, Dean.”

Dean looked up at his brother, nose red and raw from the tears that coated his face, hiccuping as he failed to drown his emotions with a weak smile, not saying a word. He scooted away from the road, sitting himself up against the rails as he watched me and Sam walk down the bridge, and out of view.

I can’t say that I forgot that day, especially when I was called again for Dean. He lay on a hospital bed, his once dirty blonde hair replaced with silver tufts, complemented by wrinkles brought on from years of stories to tell, and different kinds of scars in new places.

He looked just as he did that day on the bridge when he came to stand by me, watching the woman beside him, hair just as gray as his, holding onto his hand. An anti-possession tattoo peaked out from under her long sleeve as she reached over to plant a kiss on his forehead, watching as his heart monitor ran flat. After a few moments of silence, nurses came into the room, looking over Dean’s body as the woman shuffled out of the room and walked through Dean and me with a shudder.

“Hello, Dean,” I said, smiling gently, preparing to lead him out of the room when there was a laugh from behind us. Two hands were placed firmly around Dean before I could realize who it was.

“You ready? We’ve got a lot to catch up on, you know.” Sam said as he pulled away from his brother, the both of them smiling like I’d never seen before.

86 notes · View notes