#burned dean

[drulalovescas]

Burning your father

Burning your mother

Burning your friend

And burning the love of your life

[heliotrope155]

I do think it'd been hilarious to have a truth-serumed or spelled Dean around Cas, just start spilling his guts and flirting worse. But also genuinely think Cas would get so overwhelmed from going zero to eighty on this that he'd duct tape Dean's mouth shut after attempts to tell him to stop confessing romantic feelings kept failing. Final resort, Cas would whoosh away to some glacier and sit there until he'd collected himself.

[ghostpajamas]

woven together

[zepskies]

Against the Wind - Part 3

Pairing: Alpha!Dean Winchester x F. Omega!Reader 

Summary: You wake up in a strange alpha’s cabin in the middle of a snowstorm, all with a busted ankle. He holds shadows in his eyes, even though his hands are gentle. There are iron shutters around his heart, even though he saved you. You might just save him in return.

AN: Merry Christmas! I'm dropping this chapter a day early for you guys. Now, here's the full story, and what Dean is going to do about it…

Jacklesverse Bingo24 Prompt: True Mates @jacklesversebingo

Song Inspo: “Against the Wind” by Bob Seger

Word Count: 3.8K

Tags/Warnings: 18+ only. Angst, mentions of blood, hint of spice.~

Series Masterlist || Bingo Masterlist

Part 3: Nothing Left to Burn

“We should start heading back,” you say, looking up at the mid-afternoon sky. It was starting to dip toward the top of the trees in the distance. “It’s going to take a couple of hours to get back before nightfall.”

“Yep, it’s about that time.” Your dad groans as he starts to haul himself back to his feet, where you two had been taking a rest against a tree. “Jesus, I need a new pair of knees. Help your old man, would ya?”

You smirk as you help the middle-aged alpha to his feet. His joints pop and his back cracks as he stretches his arms high.

“Damn, Dad. You’re creakier than the trees,” you quip.

He tosses you a wry look. “Just you wait. In a few years, after wrangling a couple of pups, you’re gonna feel my pain.”

“A few years?” you laugh. “Did I miss the part where I actually met a decent guy, let alone one worth mating?”

“Oh, you’ll find him,” your dad nods, slinging his rifle back over his shoulder. “Or he’ll find you, like your mother did with me.”

You follow his lead with your own rifle, falling into step with him through the forest clearing. It’s a beautiful day in late November. Already you can see the edge of frost on the shrubs and half-barren trees. The ground is littered with dead leaves painted in browns, oranges, and dappled with reds.

“You met her in college. It’s not like you guys defied fate,” you say.

“Yeah, but if she hadn’t walked into my psychology class by mistake, and stolen my latte at the campus café, maybe you wouldn’t be here,” he teases. 

You huff and roll your eyes. Yes, your parents are a walking cliché. And by far, your dad’s the bigger sap.

“I’m telling you. Sometimes, the universe does us a solid,” he says, reinforcing his point with a literal pointed finger your way. You push it away from your face in exasperation.

“You might wanna watch where you’re going,” you say, “before you roll your ankle on another pebble.”

“You kidding me?” he exclaims. “That thing was the size of my fist! You’re lucky I didn’t break an ankle. Make you carry me all the way back to the car.”

You snort. “Right. Think I’ll just leave you for the bears…”

You trail off when a sound reaches you and your father. The sound of leaves crunching in the underbrush, quick and light. Your father’s shoulders straighten with alertness, the alpha’s head cocking toward the sound.

“Maybe I spoke too soon about the bears,” you whisper. He shakes his head.

“Nah, too light. It’s probably an elk.” He tosses you a smile. “We’ll have one hell of a haul to bring home, plus a good story to tell your mom.”

Your mother, the vegan veterinarian?

“Yeah, because she loves elk meat.”

“Would you quit being a smartass for two minutes? You go a little west. I’ll see where it’s at,” he says.

He quietly wracks his rifle and steps away from the clearing, farther into the woods. You do what he says, veering west. You don’t see the elk, and soon enough, you don’t see your dad either. You do hear a whistling on the wind, and the cold of it cuts right through your coat.

Unease prickles down your spine, though you don’t know why.

“Dad?” you whisper-yell, trying not to spook whatever animal might be out there.

A gunshot rings out, along with your dad’s voice in a shout. Your eyes widen in alarm, and you call his name, taking off in a run to find him.

You end up rising over a hill you hadn’t crossed before, but you see your dad below; you recognize his bright blue puffer jacket that Mom got him for his birthday. You call his name, and he looks up at you with fear in his eyes.

Not for himself, but for you.

“Go, get out of here!” he shouts and waves you off.

“What? What is it?!” you yell.

He shakes his head, like he’s unable to answer your question. “Run! Run and don’t stop!”

He moves further into the denser trees until you can no longer make him out. With a frustrated huff, you sprint down the hill and try to follow his tracks with your gun at the ready. On the wind, in the distance, you still hear his voice.

Until it cuts off abruptly, along with the terrible cracking of bone.

You gasp and halt in your steps. What the fuck was that?

Tears fill your eyes and blur your vision. Despite what you heard, you realize just how very alone you are in the clearing. Fear and adrenaline make your breath tremulous and shallow, but you can’t just give up. You search for a while longer, making yourself hoarse calling out to your father.

No matter what direction you take, you never find him.

“I ran back to town to get the rangers,” you say, brushing a couple of stray tears from your cheeks. You sniff, licking your lips and swallowing a hard lump of emotion in your throat.

Dean continues to listen intently with his brows furrowed.

“It was too late,” you sigh. “He disappeared. They explained it away, thought a grizzly bear got him, but I know it wasn’t a damn bear.” 

You shake your head as the tears come harder and faster, all over again. Dean’s jaw clenches in sympathy.

“No one believed me about what I heard, not even my mom,” you confess. Your mother had been too distraught to entertain “anything else.” No matter how strongly you’d felt about your suspicions, you understood that she just wanted to put your father’s death behind her after his funeral. Part of you had stopped believing yourself. 

A stronger part of you hadn’t been able to let it go, however. So you had to come back here and try to find any trace of your father. 

When you finally run out of words, you see the proverbial gears turning in Dean’s eyes. 

“What’re you thinking?” you hazard to ask. You can’t help but reach out and grab at his wrist. “Do you…do you believe me?”

Dean’s gaze softens a fraction. He lays his larger hand over yours.

“Yeah, I do,” he says. “I’m willing to bet on what took him too.”

He squeezes your hand before he lets you go and gets up from his seat. He soon returns with his father’s journal in hand. He reclaims his spot across from you, sitting close to your thigh on the end of the chaise. His gaze falls away from your face to the journal in hand, and he flips it open to a page he knows from memory. You suck in a subtle breath to steel yourself when he turns it toward you—to the very page that had given you nightmares the first night you read it. 

Wendigo. 

“Nasty son of a bitch,” he says. “It hibernates for decades at a time, but when it surfaces, it knows how to get through long winters like this. It takes a handful of people at a time, feeding on its victims slow.”

You feel sick at that, but still, his words elicit a sliver of hope.

“So there’s a chance he could still be alive,” you say, in a brighter voice. Dean gives you a measured look, dragging a hand over his mouth.

“Look, I’m gonna be straight with you,” he says. “It’s been months, right?”

You nod, though you realize what he’s saying. Don’t get your hopes up.

“But there’s a chance,” you insist, with tears in your eyes. Dean holds your gaze for a moment, and he nods. He squeezes your knee this time, then shuts the journal with one hand as he moves to stand.

You follow him on your crutches over to the kitchen. He pulls out a drawer and retrieves a folded-up map. Tossing the journal on the kitchen counter, he opens up the map and lays it out flat next to the sink. It’s a map of the mountain, and the entire forest surrounding the mountain of Big Sky. Dean’s eyes flick up to yours.

“Where did it happen?”

Dean has packed up his supplies and put on his winter gear. You watch him from the living room sofa, trying to hide your unease. You know he’s doing this for you, but there’s part of you that doesn’t want to see him leave, for his own sake, and selfishly for yours.

“Try not to go outside again unless you absolutely friggin’ have to,” he warns. “And if you do, don’t go too far. Make sure you take a weapon, preferably a gun and a knife.”

“Dean, I know,” you reply. You get up and hover by the couch while he finishes lacing his snowshoes and hooks his backpack on. You’re unable to hide your concern.

“You shouldn’t be going out there alone,” you say. 

Dean tosses you a grin. It has the shade of how he was with you before the “journal” incident—self-assured, a hint teasing.

“Don’t worry. This isn’t exactly my first solo mission,” he says, though his devil-may-care attitude soon subsides into something more serious. “If I’m not back inside a week, you need to ration out the supplies here as best you can. That new meat in the fridge should last you a while.”

By new meat, you have to assume he means the bear.

“When you’re healed up, you can make your way down the mountain and back to town with that map I left for you. Kitchen counter,” he says.

Your frown worsens. You step closer to him with the pretense of closing and locking the front door for him after he leaves.

“Dean,” you say, stopping him at the door. He turns to look at you over his shoulder. You hesitate, fidgeting slightly, but you gain your courage.

“If you don’t come back, I’m going to find you,” you warn him.

Dean frowns. He turns to you fully and tilts his head as if to say, come again?

“No, you’re not, Omega. You understand me?”

His terseness doesn’t scare you anymore. You glare up at him, quite literally standing your ground.

“You didn’t leave me out there when you didn’t even know me. You think I’d do that to you?” you counter.

At that, Dean has to pause, tilting his head slightly. He almost smiles at your stubbornness, and just like that, his annoyance dissipates. It softens him, making him reach for your arm in an assuring squeeze.

“I appreciate the thought, but trust me. I’d rather you look out for you,” he says.

Right now, you don’t really give a shit about what he’d rather, but you don’t say so. It’s written across your face anyway. Dean’s mouth tugs at a smile.

“All right, I’m out,” he says. “Save me some of Yogi in there.”

You huff, but you shut the door behind him after he steps out onto the porch, down the steps, and beyond. You move to the living room window and watch him get farther and farther away from the cabin. 

Despite the crackling fireplace, you begin to feel cold inside. 

After the first three days, you’ve managed to clean the entire cabin, top to bottom. With the “new meat,” you make a large batch of soup to last you throughout the week. You freeze a couple of servings for Dean.

For when he gets back. 

You try to fill up your time in other ways, like attempting, and failing, and trying again more successfully to make bread from scratch. You haven’t binge-watched every season of The Great British Bake-Off for nothing.

Then you organize all of the alpha’s books by author. You wash all the laundry you can find and fold everything neatly on his bed, and you put away the couple of sweaters you’ve borrowed from him into your own dresser. 

On Day Four, you create a nest of pillows and blankets in the middle of the living room floor. In your anxiety, it’s a reflex you can’t help. Your initial instinct was to nest in his room, but you thought that was too invasive of his privacy, so the living room was your next best option. At least his scent is still somewhat imbued into his favorite chair, and around his records. (You do steal another shirt of his to sleep with though.)

On Day 8, your worry becomes a living thing. You pace the living room and the kitchen on your crutches, probably wearing down the wooden ends of them while you debate what to do. Despite what Dean told you to do if he didn’t get back, you know you’re not just going to leave him out there. But the reality is, you have a problem of mobility.

With a frustrated huff, you decide to try setting your problem foot down normally. Your ankle hurts, a sharp pain shooting up your calf and nearly sending you to the floor.

“Fuck!” you gasp, both in shock and aggravation.

You know this isn’t just a sprain. At best it could be a fracture, since no bone is protruding under the skin. It still means you shouldn’t go after him either. 

But you’ll have to try. 

After you manage to clamber back onto your feet using the crutches, you put together some supplies, including the extra med kit in case he’s hurt. (Or in case something happens to you while you’re out there.) This is a bad idea, you think, even as you heave on your jacket.

Then, you hear the sound of a lock turning, before the front door shoves open. 

A yelp of surprise escapes you, though you soon realize that it’s Dean, looking worn down and ragged, but alive. 

“Home, sweet home,” he says wryly, but he looks relieved to see you too.

You help him sink down onto the chaise, where he stretches out with a groan. He tips his head back on the cushion. His jacket is torn in a few places. Blood has dried on his cheek, his neck, and near his hairline, and you worry about where else he might be hurt. 

You quickly go to the kitchen and pour a bowl of warm water and grab a hand towel. You bring it all back to Dean, where you set your supplies on the floor and sit down beside him on the cushion.

“Are you okay?” You try to calm down your racing heart (and the nauseous feeling in your stomach) as you help him work open his jacket, followed by his shirt. Discreetly, your eyes take in the expanse of his tanned skin and pebbling nipples exposed to the cool air, even with the fire roaring nearby.

“Yeah, just peachy,” he says. 

You smile a little. You take the towel, dampen it, and begin to clear the blood from his cheek, his neck, and the upper part of his torso—even his scuffed hands. Then you squeegee out the blood in the bowl and continue your task. Dean subtly watches you, his gaze a bit softer than usual.

He eventually looks you over with a frown as he takes in the way you’re dressed, and then the backpack by the door. 

“What, about to go for a little afternoon stroll?” His sarcasm turns to annoyance. “Didn’t I tell you to stay put until you can actually walk?”

Your mouth flattens into a line, but any anger you might’ve felt is waylaid by your relief. It brings tears to your eyes. 

“I thought something happened to you,” you say.

Dean hesitates. Your hand has stilled on his chest. He softens a little more, grasping your hand in his larger one. 

“I’m fine,” he says. “The job’s done.”

Your eyes widen. “You found the…thing? The wendigo?”

His mouth pulls at a cocky grin, tempered only by his tiredness, and the way he’s looking at you. “Sure did. Tried to take a chunk outta my ass, but a little aerosol deodorant and a lighter’s all you need to barbecue that ugly son of a bitch.”

You smile in amusement, but all too soon, it fades.

“Did you find my dad?” you ask.

Dean’s expression sobers as well.

“Yeah, I think so.” His face gentles. “Was he wearing a blue puffer jacket?”

Your lips tremble. As that horrible realization dawns, you break down into tears. You already know from his tone that your father was dead when he found him. 

Dean guides you down to him by your shoulder and wraps his arms around you. You bury your face into his neck, and your body shakes with quiet sobs.

“I’m sorry, sweetheart,” he murmurs into your hair. “Believe me, I am.”

He holds you close, warm and secure. He allows you to stay there as long as you need, where you feel safe, even if this world has become a colder, darker place. 

After a few minutes longer, your intense sobs begin to subside. You don’t mean to, but you turn your nose into Dean’s neck, scenting him on reflex. It calms you down, but it has the unintended effect of arousing him. The alpha rumbles in pleasure. 

You blink in surprise and lean back enough to see his face. Dean’s lips press together as he looks down on you; he seems embarrassed, but you also see the heat reflected in his gaze, so intense in those forest greens. Your face begins to warm in a blush.

He brushes your cheek with his thumb, collecting your tears there. You glance down at his plush lips again, your own parting with a breath. His hand moves to cup your cheek, framing the side of your face. Please…

He finally drags you to him in a kiss. 

It’s heady and passionate, and also comforting. Your fingers wind into his hair, your nails scraping along his scalp. He growls as his arm tightens around your waist. You shiver in delight.

You press a hand to the center of his chest, giving you leverage to rise up and slide your thigh over his legs. There you sink into his lap. Your breasts pillow against his chest when you lay on top of him, your elbows digging into the cushion on either side of his head. His hands move down your body, feeling down your sides, squeezing your hips, and then your ass. You hum into his mouth and roll your hips into his. Already you feel him hardening through his jeans.  

But somehow he breaks away from your kiss, even though your hands are still in his hair. 

“Sorry…we can’t do this,” he says, with difficulty.

He sits upright and nearly makes you fall over in the process. He grabs your arm before you tip over, but he keeps himself at arm’s length from you after you’re forced to slide off his lap, sitting on the end of the chaise instead. Your eyes glisten with hurt and confusion. 

“Why?” is all you can ask.

He doesn’t want to answer. 

“Dean?” you ask, inching towards him. He raises a hand to keep you at bay.

“Just…it’s not a good idea, okay?” he says, with the clenching of his jaw.

That cuts into you even more. Your heart pulses with pain.

“Do you know what your scent is to me?” you ask, in a voice slightly trembling. You glance at the fireplace that has dimmed to embers. “It’s better than that fire at full blaze. Every time I went camping with my dad, that’s what I loved the most. Sitting by that fire, talking, laughing, and for the millionth time, telling the story of when I gave my sister micro bangs in her sleep when I was ten.”

You wipe a stray tear from your eye, but you respect the distance he’s put between you two.

“The second I met you, I knew what this was,” you say. “I think you know it too.”

Dean shakes his head. His face betrays his wariness, his desire, and his obstinance. 

“Look…even if that’s true, you don’t want this with me,” he says. His handsome face becomes marred by a frown, his brows knitting together. “I don’t even own this place. Besides my car, I ain’t got much of anything to give.”

You shake your head in dismay. “I know that’s not true.”

“I’m not bullshitting,” he says. “Listen…I’ve never had much. And what I did have, I found a way to lose. I’ve let my people down. Just about everyone I’ve ever…”

You can’t help but reach out a hand for him, your heart hurting, but he leans away, pressing himself back against the seat. It cuts even deeper into you; now though, you wonder if it’s because he feels the same gut feeling you do when he’s this close—close enough to touch, but almost afraid of the burn.

“They’ve been hurt, almost always because of me.” His voice shakes imperceptibly, with a wry, humorless turn of his lips. “So take it from me, sweetheart. You’ll wanna steer clear.”  

“Dean,” you say. You expel a breath, digesting his words, while thinking of what you want to say.

“I’ve never not felt safe with you,” you confess. “Even when I screwed up and drove you crazy, I’m sure, I knew you’d never hurt me. The same way I know…”

You reach out a tentative hand to lay in the center of his chest, over his heart. Your thumb brushes the edge of his strange tattoo, over the dark ink in his skin. 

“You’re my mate. My one, true mate in this world,” you say, meeting his eyes. “And I want to know you.”

You see inner conflict in the depths of Dean’s eyes, dark green and troubled. You take a chance and lean in, brushing your cheek against his, nuzzling, laying a soft kiss to his cheek. 

“Omega,” he warns, but the grit in his voice has little heat.

Or at least, it’s heat of a different kind, as his strong hands once again find your waist. They hold you still, but also hold you to him. Your gentle affection is making him ache, deep in the shadowy cavern of his chest. He’d never admit it, but loneliness had set in there, burrowed deep with a stronghold on his heart. Without knowing, you’ve been carving it out with those gentle hands. 

You now slide your hands up his chest and over his shoulders, warm palms on his skin. 

“Alpha, I want to know you,” you insist. Quiet, but steady, your voice is a mere brush of words near his ear, against his cheek. “Please.” 

Dean’s brows furrow as he briefly shuts his eyes tight. With your whispered plea, the brittle chain of his restraint finally snaps free. 

He cradles the back of your head and guides you back into a feverish kiss.

AN: Sorry to cut it off there lol, but the big (steamy) finale is coming up next week! Perhaps a little earlier than Friday. 😘

Next Time:

“Were you nesting, Omega?” he teases, between the sinful meetings of his lips with yours. You hum your affirmation before his tongue swipes across your lower lip, seeking entrance.

You open yourself to him in more ways than one; you slip your hands across his naked shoulders and explore the smooth planes of muscle, the dips and softness in between. You encourage him to lower down, to cover you with the length and broadness of his frame. His weight is a welcome one between your thighs and against the softness of your body.

“Was worried about you,” you whisper a confession against his lips. Dean briefly pauses, meeting your eyes.

“Thanks for waiting up,” he says, with a hint of a smile.

Your lips curve upwards in return.

▶️ Keep reading: Part 4 (Finale!)

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[dyke-will-graham]

Oh! I love that one ship...

You know the one with the repressed bisexual 80's leather wearing charmer with daddy issues and a million dollar smile and the autistic repressed gay twink who wears vaguely vintage clothing with sassy mannerisms and avoidance issues!

(the game here is guess what ship im talking about)

[shadystranger]

the actual reason Mary couldn't wait to get out of that bunker so fast

[whimsyfinny]

He's a Winchester

Chapter 2

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader

Summary: It's been a long time since (Y/n) and Dean's paths have crossed. Last time they saw each other it was ‘98 and they were young and living in the moment. Nine years down the Line, their paths cross again, but (Y/n)s longest kept secret is about to become Deans reality.

Slow burn (ish), mom!reader

Warnings: language, mention of toxic parenting/custody battle, angst, alcohol,

Chapter Word Count: 3471

MDNI 18+

A/N: here it is! I’m not gonna lie, this is going to be very slow burn at first, but don’t worry, you know me and you know how much juicy content I write so it’s definitely coming hahaha. I’m also trying to figure out a schedule for posting this, so hopefully I can upload two chapters a week.

A/N2: GUYS IT GOES WITHOUT SAYING but PLEEEEASE provide your age if you want to be added to the taglist and it isn’t in your blog. This story is tame now but it’s gonna get spicy, and my blog is strictly 18+. So pleeeeease save be a very long job and help a gal out. 

Photos from Pinterest

Previous Chapter: Chapter 1

Chapter 2

I reached for the bottle of wine for the third time in the last hour and a half. I was sitting with Kat, pyjamas adorned, in the living room of mine and Levi's modest two bedroom house. For financial (and personal) reasons, our little house didn't follow current trends and looked more like something out of a popular 90s sitcom. The couch was comfy, the blankets were fuzzy, and a fresh pot of coffee was always brewing. Pictures embellished the walls of every milestone Levi had achieved; every birthday party, every new dirt bike, every new hairstyle. There were a few of Kat and I from over the years, going way back to when we first met back in ‘99 and both decided to rock platform heels on at the turn of the millennium - having tiny babies at the time didn't seem to stop us. Every single moment on these walls was a happy memory - something that I would treasure forever, yet there was something missing. There were no photos - or perhaps a scarce few - of my own parents, or of them with Levi, or of any extended family for that matter. The price I paid when I decided to have my son out of wedlock, at barely twenty years old, with a man who my family saw as a total stranger, is a price I'd pay every time in a heartbeat. Kat and Toby were our family now, and that was more than I could ever ask for. That was why the sheer possibility of Levi getting to meet his dad for the first time in, well, ever… it had my mind spinning. It was a scenario I'd dreamt of, late at night when I couldn't sleep and the burdens of life weighed me down. I conjured false memories in my minds eye of the pair of them fixing his bike on the drive or driving to school in the impala. I pictured us having breakfast together as a family and taking trips to the movies. Being together. Because no matter how many dates I went on, or how many frogs I’d kissed over the years, none of them were Levi's father.

None of them were Dean Winchester.

“Girl you have to reach out to him,” Kat walked in from the adjacent kitchen before slumping on the couch next to me, wine glass elevated to reduce spillage.

“Kat I could barely look at him today without feeling like I was going to have a heart attack - how the fuck am I supposed to talk to him?” I glanced at her with wide eyes, every nerve in my body on edge despite the wine and scented candles. Kat sighed. 

“You might never get this opportunity again, and we both know that if you don’t give Levi the opportunity to meet his father then you’re going to regret it for the rest of your life.” I held my breath, urging the raging storm in my mind to quiet down before letting the air gush from my lungs.

“Yeah I know. I just…I just never thought that this would actually happen, you know? I never thought that Dean would show up here. I figured Levi would eventually track him down when he was old enough to make that decision on his own. I have no idea how to even approach this.”

“Sure you do!” Kat beamed, a wicked glint in her eye, “you sit him down and say, ‘Hey Dean! Remember when we had sex in the back of that amazing car of yours nine years ago? Well, actions have consequences, and yours in eight years old and sitting in his science class right now.’”

I couldn't stop the grin from spreading across my face and I cackled when the bit of popcorn I threw landed in her wine glass.

“Bitch.”

I blew her a kiss in response to her insult. It didn’t take long though for the distraction to run its course and for my mind to return to its state of panic.

“But seriously, what am I going to say to him? What if I tell him, and he rejects us too, like my family did?”

Her smile softened.

“From everything that you’ve told me about that man, I highly doubt he’s going to reject you. Sure, he might not stick around permanently, but he sounds like the kind of guy that would stay in touch,” her softened smile turned to a stern stare, “but he’s only going to do that if he knows. He deserves to know he has a son.”

I took a long gulp of my wine. 

“Yeah, I’m going to tell him…” I paused, gnawing my bottom lip as I drew my knees to my chest, “it’s Saturday tomorrow so I’m not at work and Levi has two hours at the track. I can try to do it tomorrow, but I’m not sure if I’ll even be able to track Dean down in that time - I have no idea where he could be.”

“Hey, I’ll pick up Levi from Motocross - it’s been a few days since him and Toby have spent any proper time together anyway, just them two. Tobes’ has been dying to show him those brand new boots of his.”

We shared a smile. That’s the thing about Kat; she always had my back, no matter the situation.

“Thanks babes, I owe you one.”

She shook her head.

“No way - this is me returning the favour from when Toby’s dad decided to show an interest in his own child. I’m pretty sure my kid thought you were adopting him at one point from how much he stayed here,” I laughed, remembering the camp bed I bought especially for Toby, along with all the extra duvet sets and boxes of cereal I’d had to purchase for the best part of half a year.

“He’s a good kid, and honestly he and Levi entertained themselves for most of it.”

There was another pause in the conversation as I recounted how difficult it had been for Kat when David had shown up, insisting on being a part of Tobys life despite zero contact since his son was born. They’d argued over custody, over which school he went to, the clubs he attended. Even his hobbies were on the line, with David wanting him to play football despite Toby already being involved down at the track with the bikes. The stress caused Kat to lose weight and sleep, and she nearly lost her job over it all when she kept falling asleep at her desk. I’d lost count of how many times she’d cried in my arms. Cried over a man who thought that practically owning his son was his God given right despite being an absent father, and I think that is what scared me the most. That I would feel the same wretched things that she felt, and the waves of disappointment that crashed over her time and time again when false promises were made. It took her months to settle on an agreement due to David's behaviour, and Toby finally sees his father, albeit only for one weekend a month. It's better than nothing, but certainly not worth the fight that was fought with blood, sweat and tears. 

I hope from the bottom of my heart that Dean takes the news well, and doesn't leave us in the dust like he does in my worst nightmares.

It had taken me around thirty minutes to track down Dean. Well, to at least find the impala. It's common knowledge that if you find that car, Dean isn't far away. I’d parked my truck two spaces down, and luckily we were within walking distance of my favourite café, Jolenes’. It was my safe space. The place that I would finally tell him about Levi.

I pulled the sleeves of my soft cardigan down over my hands to stop myself from chewing nervously on my nails. Leaving the safety of my truck, I paced over to the black Chevy and stood by it, determined to speak to Dean as soon as possible. I knew that if I had stayed sitting behind my own wheel, there was a huge chance that I'd chicken out and just drive away. As I waited I checked over the car in front of me, admiring how he still kept it spotless after all these years. Unable to stop myself, I let my gaze drift over to the backseat, the events that unfurled on the soft leather racing to mind. I pulled my lip between my teeth, unable to resist the replay of memories.

“You have good taste in cars.”

I practically launched out my skin as the voice came from behind me. I could hear the amusement in his voice from a few feet away. I spun on my heel and our eyes locked, the charming grin slipping slightly from Deans’ lips when he realised it was me. The playfulness in his features quickly softened, a true, genuine smile now gracing his lips.

“Dean…” I suddenly felt breathless, but despite my nerves I returned his smile in kind.

“It's good to see you (Y/n),” he stepped forward and pulled me into his arms, enveloping me in his entirety. I closed my eyes as I hugged him back, wrapping my arms around his neck and taking a deep breath, my brain tingling at his familiar scent.

“You too, Dean. It's been too long.”

After a moment we released each other and Dean stood up straight, smiling at me again with a soft twinkle in his eye. We both flinched slightly when someone cleared their throat and he took a step back. 

“Oh, uh, (Y/n), this is Sam, my younger brother,” he patted the shoulder of the young man standing beside him, and I instantly recognised him from the dessert parlour. He was tall, taller than Dean even, which was one hell of an accomplishment, and his face held a similar boyish charm to Deans. Yet he looked softer around the edges, like he hadn't been hardened by life too much yet.

“It's a pleasure, I'm (Y/n). I've known you're brother for a while,” I smiled as I shook his hand, taking note of the rough calluses beginning to form on his palms. “He used to talk about you all the time, apparently you're the smart one of the family,” with a grin and a quick glance at Dean, I tested the waters with humour. If he laughed or took the blow like a champ, now was a good time to talk to him. Sam chuckled, squeezing my hand slightly in his before letting it go. 

“Ouch… (Y/n), sweetheart, aren't you supposed to be on my side here? Y’know, with our history and all…?” he feigned hurt with a hand on his chest before his lips twitched up and he shot me a wink.

“I mean… she's not wrong,” Sam laughed, dropping his hands lazily into his pockets.

“Hey, I'm just going on what you told me, Dean. Don't hold that against me,” I grinned at them both, unsure of what to do with my hands so I crossed them across my chest.

A small breath of silence passed between us, Deans’ gaze holding mine with an intensity that made me want to look away. I didn't. Sam cleared his throat again, clapping his hand to Deans’ shoulder before taking a step back.

“I'll, uh, give you guys a few minutes,” and with an appreciative nod from Dean, Sam gave us some space. With his younger brother gone, my heart began to flutter in my chest. The time to break the news was getting closer, and my nerves were on edge. On fire.

“So,” he started, taking a step closer with a deep breath, “how's it going? How long has it been?”

“Nine years,” I was almost too hot on the mark, my words coming out faster than I'd intended and Dean blinked slightly. I sighed, looking down. “There's been a lot going on, and honestly, I've really needed you at times. You're a hard man to find Dean Winchester.” 

“I'm sorry, sweetheart,” his brows pinched apologetically and he reached for my hand, tracing my knuckles with his thumb. I took a deep breath and met his gaze again.

“Do you… do you have some time? I need to talk to you. It's important, and if I don't do it now, I don't know if I'll get another chance.” 

He nodded slowly, giving my hand a squeeze, releasing it hesitantly with a slight wince to his features.

“Uh oh,” he said, “am I in trouble?”

I laughed, the sound light off my chest.

“Oh Dean,” I reached up to touch his face, and his instinctive reaction was to lean into my palm, “you don't know the half of it.” 

The walk to the café had been pleasant. We chatted about what we'd been up to since we last met - Dean revealing he was still in the same line of work and had travelled around a lot, never really settling down. There was something about that nugget of information that made my stomach twist in knots. He learnt I was still a receptionist, this time at the local garage  instead of the large dealership I had scored before. He asked why I'd changed, to go to something smaller, lesser, and my silence urged him to wait until we were at our destination. He knew I was anxious, and he did his best to keep conversation light and breezy until the time was right. To an untrained eye he was unphased, yet I could tell from the lip nibbling and flitting gaze that he was nervous too.

Do you think he's already guessed it?

The bell jingled as we walked in, the two baristas looking up and instantly greeting me with a wave and a smile.

“Hey (Y/n)! Your couch is free,” the first barista, a young man around my age with soft blond curls waved to me across the counter, his brilliant grin making me smile with a comforting familiarity. “Your usual?”

“Yes please! Thanks, Jake,” I returned the friendliness, stepping around the tables until we arrived at my favourite spot.

“And for your… date?” He gestured to Dean, who was now shrugging off his leather jacket, “what can I get for you pal?” 

Dean hesitated, before just holding his hands up.

“Uhhh, I don't know, I guess I'll have what she's having.”

With our hot beverages on their way, I sat down in my usual nook in the corner whilst Dean sat down opposite, in that same plush armchair that Kat had sat in yesterday. Where Kat had been swallowed by the chair and its all-consuming cushions, Dean had the opposite effect. He made the chair look small under his broad form, like it was made for a child. There were a few moments of silence, neither of us really knowing where to start. So I bit the bullet.

“Dean… before I tell you anything, just know that I've been trying to get hold of you on and off for years. Your number always seemed to go to voicemail and I never got a call back. So please just… know I tried.” 

I looked up and he was totally engaged, already hanging off every word I said as he leant forward, his elbows on his knees. Our attention pulled away from each other briefly as our coffees arrived, hand delivered by the second barista - a woman a few years older than myself with a jet black pixie cut.

“Thanks Emily, you're an angel,” I grasped the mug before she even had a chance to put it on the table and clutched it in my lap, letting the warmth seep through my palms to help soothe my nerves. 

“No worries babes, you two have fun,” she looked between Dean and me with a playful smirk, throwing me a wink before she turned around. 

Great, the gossip starts now.

I turned back to Dean who was now sitting on the edge of his seat. I took a deep breath.

Do it now.

“Dean, I have a son.”

I watched his face twitch slightly, almost like it dropped in disappointment, however it was so fleeting across his features that it was hard to tell. He pulled a strained smile onto his lips.

“(Y/n) that's great, I'm happy for you,” he looked down at his boots briefly, choosing his next words, “I guess this is you telling me to stay away, huh? Now that you have a family and all. It's ok, I get it.”

I shook my head, placing my cup on the table so I could pull myself to sit on the edge of the couch, almost mirroring Dean.

“No, no Dean, that's not- look, what I'm saying is…” another deep breath, “you, have a son.”

I watched his eyes go wide, unsure if he heard me correctly.

“What?” His voice was breathy.

I looked down into my mug for a second, choosing my words. 

“I have a little boy; he's eight, his name is Levi…and he's yours, Dean. He's your son.”

I dared to look up at him, watching his eyes go wider and his mind empty of thoughts. Either that, or his mind is racing so fast that it's left his body on standby. I gave him a few minutes to process the news. Or at least process it the best he could as it would likely be days or weeks before this fully sunk in. Nervousness prickled at my own skin, my worst fears of rejection bubbling to the surface again at his silence. I sighed.

“It’s ok, Dean, I’m not expecting you to-”

He stood abruptly, stepped over the coffee table and pulled me to my feet, wrapping his strong arms around me in a crushing grip. His arms were so tight that it almost winded me, yet I returned his embrace. The feeling of his lips on the top of my head surprised me as he kissed my hair, the sensation warm and comforting. He placed one, two more kisses before he cupped my face in his large hands, his rough palms gentle against my cheeks as I locked eyes with him. The sight was beautiful. The annoyance and exasperation that I expected to be met with was nowhere to be seen, and I saw no shadow of negativity within those evergreen eyes. All I saw was love. Pride. Joy. Excitement. The relief washing over me felt the same as climbing into your nice, warm comfy bed when on the brink of exhaustion. 

“I’m a dad?” his voice cracked slightly whilst his eyes shimmered.

I nodded as a grin erupted across his face, followed by an airy, almost unbelieving chuckle.

“Holy fuck, (Y/n)-”

“You’re not mad?” my voice was quiet.

“What?” Dean looked at me as though I’d grown a second head, “of course not. Why would I be mad?”

“Because it’s been nine years since we last saw each other, and suddenly this woman who you’ve not spoken to in nearly a decade drops the biggest truth bomb on you. A truth bomb  that I know you definitely weren’t expecting,” I try to step back but he pulls me in for another hug, squeezing the air out of me a second time.

“(Y/n), sweetheart, this is the best bit of news I’ve had in a long, long time.”

I smiled into his chest, freeing my arms to wrap them around his neck and pull him down into a hug of my own. We stood for a moment in our embrace as the coffee shop busied around us. I knew this shop and I knew this town and people would soon start to talk, start to try and figure out Dean: like who is he? How does he know (Y/n)? Why are they acting so familiar? Is he trouble? But that was all unimportant rubbish that I would deal with later. Right now, Levis father was here, and he knew. For the first time in my adult life I felt like I wasn’t keeping some devastating secret from an incredible man, and it was like I could breathe again. 

Pulling away from Deans’ bear hug, I tucked the wisps of hair away that had come loose from my claw grip and grinned up at him, reaching for his hand. I held it in mine as I swayed slightly on the spot, like an excited schoolgirl who’d just been asked on her first date. Dean smiled down at me, the sort of smile that shone on top of the world.

“So…” I started, biting my lip slightly.

“Do you want to meet your son?”

Next Chapter: Chapter 3

Taglist: @suckitands33 @jackles010378 @megara0224 @libby99hb @roseblue373 @hobby27 @calibootsgirl @lyarr24 @autistic-gothic @wattpaduser200 @spndeanwinchesterlvr @mxtansy @magssteenkamp @redmaro86 @slut-for-evans-stan @spookyysinsanity @localjisung @king-of-milf-lovers @xshortputax @jerksbitch @multifandoms-saidwhat @deans-baby-momma @writersxxx @rox2008 @jeysbae @ladykitana90 @proudbisexual @ladysparkles78 @elenasalvatore1 @bxtchboy69 @saemiau @lilithlunastark @kazsrm67 @chriszgirl92 @riah1606 @impala67rollingthroughtown

[godmadeaterribleerror]

Chapter 1 - In My Brain and In My Blood

Series Masterlist - Main Masterlist

Author's Note: This story is non-canon compliant rewrite, but primarily plot wise. Think of it as we're cooking with all the same ingredients (i.e lore, characters, setting, and backstory) but with one change (you) that gets us to a drastically different ending.

What the means is that there will be a lot of similar plot points to the real Supernatural, but the further we go through the story the more it will diverge. I've also take some creative labor with the reader, adding lore that's defiantly not a part of canon, but crucial to this story.

If you have any questions about this, feel free to ask! If not, I hope you enjoy the story!

Chapter title is from The End by Halsey

Word Count: 16.3k

Chapter Summary/Warnings: See the Masterlist for a Summary. Contains usual tags.

Tags: Dean Winchester/Female Reader, enemies to friends to lovers, canon divergence, slow burn, smut, angst, fluff

Chapter 2

Read on A03!

You know a few things about the dark.

It’s alive inside you. It has been your whole life. It makes your words too harsh and your brain too sharp and your love too big. It’s makes you too fragile, but still too sharp, and raises everything to a dangerous height you don’t know how to come down from. It makes everyone move away because they can see it. You can see it, always.

It covers every corner of your body, and grows roots in something white in your chest. Something no one but you can see. You’d asked your dad once—does he feel it too, feel the strange glow and pull of everything beautiful around you—and he’d looked at you like you were insane.

You might be.

But it’s hard not to be, in this line of work. 

Hunting. Monsters and ghosts and nightmares, all around you and calling to you in your sleep. It’s where most of the darkness lives, in the way that few monsters lay hands on you, no matter how much of their blood you shed. Ghosts will treat you like any other, but the monsters look at you like they recognize you. 

Like you’re one of them.

And that’s something you’ve never told your dad. You never will. He already hates that you do this, and not a month goes by where he doesn’t glare at you from across the table, beer bottle in hand, and ask you to stop.

“Kiddo,” he’d grunted the last time, narrowing his eyes at you over dinner. “That was the last one.”

“You say that every time-“

“And you ain’t listenin’ to me every time!” He’d snapped. “You don’t have to do this shit, not with your-“ He’d made a face, giving you a pointed look. “Ya’ know. Thing.”

“Witch.” You’d sighed. “You’re allowed to say it. I’m a witch.”

“You ain’t a witch-“

“I’m not a normal witch.” You’d corrected with a frown, picking at the wood of the table. “But I’m still not human.”

“You’re human,” he’d muttered your name, and when you’d looked up, he’d been staring at you with an exhausted expression and you’d felt something eat at your tongue. “But you’re right. You ain’t normal, kiddo, and it’s gonna get you fuckin’ killed-“

“It hasn’t yet-“

“It will. It always does.” He’d stood, giving you one last, tired look. “And I’m not tryin’ to lose you too.”

You’d given him a close-lipped smile. “You won’t lose me. I’m being careful.”

He’d rolled his eyes—you were being careful, and he knew it, but it still pissed him off—and nodded. And that had been it.

It’s like that every time. He tells you to quit, because you don’t need to do this, and you tell him you have to. You’re good at it. You’re more resourceful than half the hunters he knows, smarter than all of them, and better by a mile. He’d trained you. He hadn’t wanted to, but he’d realized it was either him teaching you or you learning through trial and error, and he’d decided you being a pain in his freakin’ ass was better than you being dead.

Because—in the end—all he really cares about is that you’re safe. It’s why you know to be careful, why you know what hunts to call for backup on, and why you know that—if you need to—you can crawl back home with your guts in your hand and he won’t yell at you until you’re better. Keeping you safe is his job, more than hunting, more than research, more than cars. He’d chosen to do it when he’d found you—eight years old and starving on the side of a highway—and it had stayed that way ever since. It didn’t matter what you were, what seemed to be inside of you, or how you were certainly more trouble that you were worth. He always made sure you were safe.

Safe from your real family, for what you know and refuse to be. Safe from the worst of the monsters and ghosts, who don’t seem to care for that horrible kinship you don’t know how to stop. Safe from hunters, and how they’ll hate you for what you know how to do.

Safe from John Winchester, and how he’ll put a bullet in your brain without question for what you don’t know how to change.

It’s the top rule. Stay away from the Winchesters. When John comes around for a hunt, hide in your room. When he drops his boys off before vanishing for weeks at a time, sneak out and call your uncle. He’ll pick you up, keep you safe, and drop you back home when the brothers leave. They can’t see you, because they’re loyal to their father and will tell him about the witch-girl who made the wind howl louder than it should’ve. John can’t know about you, because he’s a complicated man with a good heart, but he’ll hurt you worse than any ghost or monster could. 

But you have to say—at least from this distance—he doesn’t look that dangerous.

You know it’s him. You recognize his car in the parking lot from seeing it in your dad’s yard, and recognize his voice from the living room of your house. It’s clearer now—no longer muffled through a door you’d keep an ear pressed to—and you’re certain it’s him. 

And he’s just a man. A broad-shouldered, tired man with a face that doesn’t seem like it’s ever smiledand dark hair that’s streaked with slight silver. He even sounds exhausted, his voice laced with a thin irritation he either doesn’t know how to hide, or doesn’t care to.

“Dean,” he grunts, and you can’t see who he’s talking to, the bookshelves of the library only revealing John’s cold, set face. “Go back to the morgue and look at the bodies again. See if you can get a blood type on the vics.”

“A blood type?” A second voice, this one so clearly younger, a little defiant and bright, asks. “Dad, why do we care about their blood type-“

“Because this bitch is spilling it left and right, and we need to work out what skin she’s got in that game.” John’s words are short, impatient. “And you’re not here to ask me questions, Sam, you’re here to get through these damn books. Dean, go to the morgue.”

“Yes, sir.” That’s a third voice. It’s pretty. Deeper than the second—Sam’s—but not as tired as John’s. Mostly just cautious. “Can I, uh, can I take Sammy-“

“No.” John snaps. “I need him here for the readin’. Take the car and go.”

There’s a soft sound of metal ringing through the air, a scrape of wood on the floor, and you almost don’t move fast enough. You almost don’t duck behind the shelf in time for the third voice—the pretty one, Dean—to pass you, humming something you’d recognize if you weren’t lost in your panic.

Dean doesn’t see you.

But you see him.

And it’s not just his voice that’s pretty. 

You don’t know a lot about the Winchester brothers. Only what your dad has told you. Dean’s three years older than you, Sam’s a year younger. Dean likes music, Sam likes books. They’re both good boys—better than your dad seems to think John deserves, although he’ll never say that out loud—but Sam can be defiant and Dean can be trouble.

You hope Dean’s trouble. He has to be, when he looks like that. 

Because in only a split second of his side profile, you’re sure Dean Winchester is the prettiest man you’ve ever seen. Will ever see. It’s almost ethereal, and a little unfair. All of his features are clean and strong, like someone carved him from marble, but there’s a scar you could see on his jaw and a cut on his lower lip that made him seem human. Made his seem tangible. 

Touchable.

You’d like to touch him. You’ve seen him once, but everything in your body seems to think the world will collapse if you don’t touch him now. If you don’t at least talk to him. Hear his deep, charming voice directed at you. See at his face up close, see it’s clear resemble to John that feels pointless, because Dean looks like he smiles. He looks like he’s meant to smile, and you’d really like to find out if he’d smile at you. 

And that white thing—the one you feel all the time—seems to really like him. Even the darkness is trying to reach out to him, move into him, and you’re not really sure what the fuck is happening. He’d just walked past you, and your body is suddenly trapped by something overwhelming and dizzying in your lungs, your every nerve prickling the longer your brain circles him. The longer it spirals around his beautiful face, and full lips, and the way his voice sounded like something even bigger than the darkness in your body-

“Hey, Dad?” That same voice cuts through your thoughts, a little raised as Dean calls between the shelves. “Are you feeling anything from the beer earlier?”

“No.” John’s voice is clipped as he responds, and you can hear the frown in his voice. “You feelin’ alright, son?”

“Yeah, uh-“ There’s a heavy pause, and you can hear Dean shuffling slightly just out of your sight. “I dunno. Must’ve stood up too fast.”

“Dad, if he feels light headed he might not be safe to drive-“

“I’m alright, Sammy.” Dean’s words are fast. Not frantic, but rapid. “Nothing’s gonna happen to the car, Dad, I promise.”

John grunts. “Better not. Get moving, Dean, we don’t got all night.”

“Yes, sir.” 

You hear Dean shuffle away, sounds of flipping paper and scratching pencils re-filling the air, and you’re trapped in your spot. You shouldn’t follow Dean. Following Dean will almost certainly end in meeting John, and that’s the one thing you’re never supposed to do. Your dad doesn’t fight you when you leave for months at a time, or cross paths with other hunters, or run dangerous scams to keep yourself afloat. He’s okay with more than he probably should be, and he never tells you that you can’t do something. 

But you can’t talk to John Winchester. 

He can’t know who you are. What you are.

So you can’t follow Dean. Your brain is deeply aware that following Dean would be a truly horrible idea, and your body seems to be on board. There’s iron around your lungs when John mutters something to Sam, and a sore shot of electrically whenever one of them stands up to move books around. You’re really good at running. You know exactly when to call it and go. You can sense danger so easily—it’s the same chill of needles ice running up your spine, every single time—and John is dangerous. And you really shouldn’t follow Dean.

But the White thing keeps bucking around inside you. You can almost see it rush and roar in the air, feel it thrash deep down—past your heart chamber and embedded a little to the right—to try and follow Dean Winchester. And it feeds the darkness. It starts to twinge and pulse, seeping and infecting your muscles and blood, locking around your skull and making everything far too big. You can feel it all. The books on the shelves that all read Dean, and the squeak of the floors that say his name, and the lights start to flicker as the air turns humid and cool.

“Dad-“

“I’m seein’ it, Sammy, grab the gun-“

You raise the back of your hand to your mouth and bite. Hard. Grounding yourself before the flood can burst out of your body, before John Winchester could find out who you are in the worst way possible.

And when you run—out the back and to your stolen Lexus—you don’t even realize where you’re going until you’re halfway there.

To the morgue.

After Dean.

It’s a terrible idea. You have ten, long minutes of driving to figure out every way in which this is a terrible idea. You don’t know him. This will distract you from the case. John Winchester will try to kill you. Your dad will kill you. And there’s a high chance it will all be for nothing, because everything in you that’s calling to Dean belongs to that white thing. And that’s a part of you, and no one else. There’s a chance that this—whatever the fuck this is—is something driven by what you are, what’s wrong with you, so Dean won’t feel it at all.

You know all of that. And you still make it the whole drive without turning around. You park and rifle through your glove compartment for a fake ID, pull on your stiff, too-itchy well officer, would a fraud wear this? Jacket, and still don’t turn the engine back on and book it out of town. You even manage to justify it. You’re working this case too. You were here first. You’d noticed the blood thing from the start—it’s why you took the case—but you just hadn’t gotten to the morgue yet. You’d already been planning on it, and Dean just happens to be here at the same time. 

No matter what, you’ll get through it. You always get through it. And this might be a horrible idea, but that knowledge won’t stop you from stepping out of the car and making your way to the morgue. Know something has never really stopped you, and no amount of twisting bile in your gut—telling you to run, because you don’t love life, but you’d really rather not be murdered today—is going to prevent you from doing this. Nothing is stronger than the White in your chest, and it wants to talk to Dean Winchester. 

So that’s exactly what you’re going to do.

It is, as always, worryingly easy to get into the morgue. Half of the work is flashing the badge and saying the right words—Agent Smith, from the insurance company, I need to take a look at the autopsies for the claims—but most of it is the confidence. You carry yourself like a haughty, too-good-for-this-morgue insurance agent. Your chin is raised when you stop at the desk, and your words to the receptionist are impatient and clipped, and God, it makes you feel like the scum of the earth how she’s nervous and apologetic, but you get in the door. You always get in the door, because this is the simple part. The smiles with teeth, and the lies you spit through them are so fucking simple.

The hard part is always different. Sometimes it’s the ghosts that follow you after a failure, the ones that can’t be killed with salt and fire. Sometimes it’s long nights that you don’t have time tp sleep, and the tug and rot of that darkness in your chest tries to push to the surface. Sometimes it’s a puzzle you barely manage to solve, and it costs a little bit more of your flesh and soul each time.

But today, it’s Dean Winchester. Or, as the receptionist calls him, Officer Costello.

“Officer?” You raise your brows. “So the cops are looking into a serial killer.”

“I, um-“ The receptionist flushes, her eyes widening slightly. “I don’t know, he just said he was from a town over, and our Chief asked him to take a look, I’m not-“

“I’ll just ask him while I’m in there.” You shrug, the receptionist’s mouth opens in likely protest, and you call over your shoulder as you walk away. “I need to know for the report!”

You push through the doors—nobody chasing after you a sign of success—turn into the mortuary’s office, and freeze at the sight before you. 

Dean’s hunched over the mortuary’s desk, frowning at the largest stack of papers you’ve ever seen, and shit, he’s even prettier up close. Spiky hair and slightly tanned, freckled skin, rough looking hands sorting through the files and full lips in a frown and what the fuck is happening to you-

His head shoots up, eyes widening—green eyes, deep and vibrant and you need to get a goddamn grip—and you stare at each other for a long, confusing second before he finally speaks.

“Ma’am, if you could wait for the doctor outside please, this is, uh, official police business-“

You scoff, even as your whole body hums from the deep, smooth sound of his voice. “Is that really the excuse you’re going to use?”

Dean tenses, dropping the papers on the desk and rising to his full height, glaring down at you. He’s really tall, and broad, and probably warm-

“Excuse me? If you don’t exit this office right now, I’ll have reason to put you under arrest-“

“What reason?”

He blinks at you. “Interfering in police business-“

“Fake police business?”

“I’m not, this isn’t-“ Dean shakes his head, eyes narrowing on yours. “Who the hell are you?”

“I’m a fake insurance agent.” You lift your badge up from him to see, giving a sweet, fake smile. “And you’re a hunter.”

“Lady, I don’t know what the hell you’re talkin’ about-“

“I think you do.” You step forward, dropping into a seat across the desk. “To start, you’re definitely not a cop. Cops don’t drive muscle cars and raid morgue documents.”

He frowns, still watching you wearily. “How’d you know that’s my car?”

You’d slipped a little. You shouldn’t know that’s the Winchester’s car. But you’re quick on your feet, and by the time you say the lie it might as well be the truth. “Only three cars in the lot. Mine, the black one, and a minivan. And you don’t really seem like a minivan guy.”

Dean grunts, his body still braced and words tense. “I could be allowed to drive whatever car I want on duty-“

You give him an amused expression, tucking your knees into your chest as you lean back in your seat.  “You’re like, twenty. There’s no way they’d let you drive your own car. Or,” you raise your brows. “Ask you investigate a bunch of weird murders by yourself.”

Dean frowns, but drops in the swivel chair behind the desk. “I’m twenty-one,” he mutters, and you snort. 

“Congratulations-“

“And you,” his eyes shoot to yours, voice dropping into a low drawl that felt like it could be dangerous, but mostly made you feel a little fuzzy. “Haven’t answered my question. Who are you?”

You say your full name—the real one, that you’d been given at birth and he’d never connect to your dad—and drop your feet back to the floor, extending your hand across the desk. “I’m a hunter too.”

Dean chuckles, but meets your hand with a grin. “Yeah, I figured that part out myself, Princess. Dean Winchester.”

You shake his hand, and your smile must make you look like an idiot. It’s far too wide just from him telling you his name and touching your skin—he is warm, and his hands are calloused and big and still so soft—but there’s something like lightning sparking and shooting over your skin, and the White inside you is shining like a star. Pulsing and glowing and molding with the darkness. Making nothing really seem that bad at all. 

Dean’s smiling back. And you’d been right. His face is meant to smile. It’s meant to have this broad, cocky grin that’s full of teasing joy and a bright-eyed delight in something you can’t quite place. You really can’t tell if he can feel it. There’s a glint in his eyes that’s full of promises, but you can’t figure out if he can feel this. This raging tug in your body that keeps your hand in his longer than it needs to be, that makes his skin feel like a furnace and your heart feel right in your body.

He might. He really might feel it. His hand stays in yours as well, his grip a little tighter than it needs to be, and when you manage to pull away, he clears his throat—a small, adorable blush covering his pretty face—and stares at you like you’ve fallen from the sky, and you’re still covered in stardust.

“So, uh,” Dean glances down at the papers, then back to you. “You here for the autopsy reports?”

You nod, crossing your legs under your body. “Yep. You gonna share?”

“That depends.” Dean shrugs, shooting you another, very mind-numbing smirk. “You gonna help us out?”

“Us?” You tilt your head at him, twisting a ring on your finger. “You’ve got a partner?”

“Partners.” Dean corrects you with a grin. “My dad and brother. We always hunt together, it’s safer and Sammy’s still a kid, so-“ He cuts himself off, his face falling into a small frown. “Do you, are you hunting alone?”

“Mostly, yeah.” You shrug. “But I can help you out-“

“You, you shouldn’t be hunting alone.” Dean cuts you off with a shake of his head, his voice almost disbelieving. “It’s not safe. Gonna get you killed.”

“Uh huh.” You narrow your eyes, your voice becoming dry and bored. “Do you want my help, Dean Winchester?”

“Sure, but-“

“Then drop it, give me the papers, and let me help.”

He frowns. “You’re kinda bossy.”

“Yeah, well, you’re kinda-“

“It’s not bad.” He pushes some of the files across the desk, shooting you a wink. “Just making sure you know.”

“Oh.” You stare at him. He’s so pretty, and his smile does weird things to your gut and ribs and the White inside of you. “Uh-“

“I’ll take these.” Dean taps the files still in front of him, watching you with a strange expression. “You got those?”

“Sure.” You mumble, pulling the papers into your lap. “Um, thanks.”

“Don’t worry about it.” He shrugs. “More hands, we’ll be done faster. You, uh, you know what you’re lookin’ for-“

“Blood.” You flip open the first file, playing with the corner of a page as you speak. “Every vic’s been covered in it. It’s uh,” you grimace slightly, an image of a corpse painted red flashing in your head. “It’s been really gross.”

Dean hums in agreement, giving you a curious look. “You’ve seen all the bodies?”

“Most of them,” you look down to the file, flipping through it until you find the blood report “I’ve been here for like, five days.”

“Huh.” He frowns, looking down to his own paper. “We’ve been here four. Only seen two of them.”

“Well, maybe I’m just better at my job.”

He laughs, and when you glance back up, he’s grinning. “Sure, Princess.”

You kick him under the desk, and he makes a fake sound of pain.

“What was that for?!“

“Making fun of me,” you stick your tongue out at him, not looking up from your papers. “Not very nice, Winchester.”

“You made fun of me-“

“And if you wanna kick me, I won’t stop you-“

“I’m not gonna kick a lady-“

“Well then.” You shrug, unable to fight the smile on your face. “That’s not my fault, is it?”

He huffs, his voice dropping to a low mutter you can still defiantly hear. “Bossy.”

“That’s not being bossy, it’s-“ You cut yourself off, leaning down to re-read the file in front of you. “Shit.”

“It is shit,” Dean complains, and you can hear the pout in his voice as you grab the next file in your stack, rushing through the report to find what you’re looking for. “You’re lucky I-“

“No, that’s not-” you look up at him, your brain moving too fast to fully linger on why you might be lucky. “Give me your file.”

Dean frowns, but slides the paper over the desk. “What-“

You raise your hand, scanning over the file and grinning as you find what you’re looking for. “I’ve got it.” 

“Got what-“

“That blood wasn’t only the vics. It was their’s, plus,” you turn the page for Dean to read, pointing to the words. “All the previous vics. Mixed together. That’s why there’s been more and more every time.”

“Oh.” Dean leans forward, scanning over the page. “Kinda like a really gross blood cocktail?”

“Exactly.” You grin at him. “I know what we’re looking for.”

He looks back up at you, raising his brows. “You gonna tell me, or-“

“It’s a moroi.” You drop the files, leaning back and pushing your feet back up on the desk. “It explains the messiness perfectly.”

“No,” Dean shakes his head. “My dad says it’s just a normal ghost with a weird thing for blood-“

“Your dad is wrong. It’s a moroi.”

Dean’s eyes narrow. “My dad’s never wrong. And he’s more experienced than both of us combined, he’d know if it was a moray-“

“Mo-roi-“

“And look,” Dean leans across the desk, pointing to the files. “All of them had the same blood type. That’s what Dad said to look for.”

“They have the same blood type because it’s a moroi.” You hold his gaze, because every single part of you might want this man in a way you can’t possibly begin to understand, but you’re also fucking right. “They’re Romanian vampire babies.’

“Vampire babies-“

“Evil infant spirits that didn’t get baptized. They’re really rare, but this-“ You tap the files with a smug grin. “Is their exact MO. Specific blood type that they’ve probably got a taste for, mixing it with their previous victims, incredibly sloppy.”

“Because they’re babies.” Dean mutters, frowning into the air. “And babies, uh, don’t know how to clean.”

You nod. “Because babies don’t know how to clean.”

“And you’re sure?” Dean looks down to the files, his tone cautious. “I mean, you said they’re kinda rare-“

“They are.” You shrug. “And that’s why I’m sure.”

Rare things are your specialty. Things that even the most experienced hunters don’t understand, that were hard to track and harder to kill. Things that were stranger than strange, darker than dark, worse than evil. Things that wouldn’t hurt you, and you’ve taught yourself every way kill. It’s why you’d taken this case in the first place.  It’s why you’re fucking right.

“You, uh,” Dean’s words are slow, like he’s picking them carefully. “You know how to kill these things?”

“Yep.”

“You wanna come with me? To explain it to Dad and Sammy?”

“I, um-“ You start to pick at the skin around your nails, your skin suddenly itching and a weight forming in your lungs. “I mean, I can just tell you how, and you can deal with it, and I can go-“

“Go?” Dean frowns, his brow drawn. “Where are you going?”

“Out of town.” You keep your voice strong and even, because no matter how much the White inside you seems to be trying to move into Dean—no matter how much you’d really like to stay in this office and talk to him for a million years—you have to go. You cannot meet John Winchester. “If your Dad’s as good as you say-“

“He is-“

“Then you’ll be able to handle this. You don’t need me.”

“Well,” Dean leans over the desk, his voice dropping to a charming drawl. “If I ask you nicely, will you consider staying? Giving us a hand?”

You hold his gaze, unable to find enough willpower to shut him down immediately. “How nicely?” 

“Please,” Dean says your name, giving you a taunting, boyish grin, and the White inside you ignites. You’ve heard your name said a million ways, but never like that. Never in Dean’s voice, never like it’s some sort of curse and prayer all at once, never like it’s bigger than just a name. “Please stay in town and help me out. Please explain this moroi shit to my dad, and help us kill the son of a bitch. I’ll buy you a beer, and be in your debt for a million freakin’ years. Please.”

He’s already got you. If the way he said your name didn’t make you fold, the shit-eating smirk on his face and gleam in his eyes that tells you exactly how he plans to repay that debt made you cave. 

“I don’t drink.” You mumble, your face heated and eyes a little wide. “But I’ll take two million years and a promise that you’ll listen to me.”

Dean chuckles. “Awesome.” He grins, his eyes never leaving yours as he stands. “Let’s get outta here, I’ll drive you to our motel.”

That’s where you manage to draw a line. You’ll bow to Dean’s charming words and handsome face, you’ll follow him out of the office and into the parking lot, and you’ll agree to come meet John and Sam Winchester—no matter how stupid and deadly an idea it will certainly prove to be—but you’ll drive yourself. You didn’t steal that Lexus not to drive it, and when things inevitably go sideways, you’ll need a car to escape in. 

“You sure?” Dean walks you to the Lexus, standing right at your side and watching you in a way the White seems to feel. “I mean, it’s not a problem-“

“I’m sure.” You grab your keys out of your pocket, stopping in front of the car. “All my shit is in here, and I can just follow you. It’ll be fine.”

“Well, how am I gonna know you won’t just drive off?” Dean doesn’t budge, barely sparing your car a glance. “Leave me to deal with the vampire babies alone?”

You give him a flat. “I won’t just drive off, Winchester-“

“You might.” He shrugs. “I don’t know you that well, you could be playing me-“

“I’m not- Fine.” You roll your eyes, shoving your badge into his hands. “You can hold onto that, and I’ll have to follow you to get it back. Happy?”

“Very.” Dean winks at you, flipping your badge open to read. “Agent Smith- Who’s Smith?”

“Nobody. Smith is the most common last name in United States.” You shrug, and Dean looks at you like you’re insane. “What?”

“Nothin’, I just-“ He shakes his head, huffing a low laugh. “It’s practical. Smart.”

You narrow your eyes. “But?”

“No but,” He says your name with a bright, cocky grin, and tucks your badge into his pocket. “Can I not call you smart?”

“Not when you don’t really mean it-“

“I mean it. You’re smart.” His grin grows, and it feels like it’s burning its way right into your heart. Kicking it up to a higher speed, warming it until your whole body feels lost in a misting haze. It’s so fucking weird. “Are all your badges Smith?”

“No.” You mutter, crossing your arms to try and stop your heart beating right out of your chest. “Smith is just insurance. Johnson does wildlife, Brown is a cop, and Miller’s FBI.”

“Huh,” Dean looks at you like he’s never seen anything more amusing in his life. It’s not really helpful. “Sammy’s gonna like you.”

“Sammy?”

“My brother.” Dean shrugs. “He’s smart too. Not half as pretty, but smart.”

You flush, leaning back to ground yourself against the cool metal of the car. “You don’t know me, Winchester. I might be a dumbass.”

Dean chuckles, shaking his head. “I don’t think so, sweetheart. Dumb people don’t know about vampire babies.”

“I’d argue vampire babies are the exact thing a dumb person would know about-“

“And I’d argue dumb people don’t say I’d argue.”

You scowl. “Touché.”

Dean laughs again. He needs to stop doing that. “Dumb people don’t say touché-“

“Shut up.” You kick him again, and this time his grin just becomes teasing and smug and a little fucking dizzying.

“That’s not nice, Princess-“

“I said shut up.” You mutter, turning to open your car door. “Go get in your car so we can actually do our jobs.” 

“Yes, ma’am.” Dean’s still grinning at you, his eyes widening as they finally flick to the Lexus. “Holy shit, you drive this?”

“Yeah.” You shrug, dropping into your seat and pointing across the lot to his car. “Go.”

Dean raises his hands in surrender. “Bossy.”

You glare at him. “Winchester-“

He gives you one last wink you feel deep in your core, closes your door, and walks away without another word. But—right after he climbs into the driver seat—he pulls out your badge, holds it up to the window, and mouths Follow me, or this is mine.

You roll your eyes, flip him off, and watch him laugh as he pulls out of the lot. And you could leave. Badges are easy to make, you’re not emotional attached to Agent Smith, and this is your last chance to keep yourself away from John Winchester. To listen to your every instinct, to your dad’s stern voice in your head, and run. It would be so fucking easy to run. To turn around and never look back, never allow yourself to indulge Dean Winchester further than one conversation.

But you don’t want to run. You want to follow this odd pull to him, follow him to the motel, follow him wherever else he seems to be going. Which is fucking insane, because you don’t know him, he doesn’t know you, and he’s almost certainly better off without you. Most people are. Hell, you’d be better off without you, if you could figure out how to do that.

And you know all that. But you still don’t want to run.

So you follow Dean out of the parking lot, through the winding backstreets of the town, and to a backwater motel. You park your car right next to his, close your eyes to take a long, steadying breath, and try to rationalize to yourself how this could possibly end up not blowing up in your face. You’ll keep a hold on yourself. John won’t know who you are, or what you are, or who you know, or what you know, or-

“Shit!” You jump as something raps on your window, and hear a loud laugh from outside your car.

You’ll get through this. You always do.

“You yelped.” Dean tells you as you climb out of the car, a wide, teasing grin on his face. “Real tough of you, Princess-“

“Suck my dick, Winchester.” You glare at him, and his grin only grows wider. “And stop calling me princess.”

“Nah,” Dean places his hand on your back, steering you towards the motel. “Suits you too well.”

“I don’t know what that means-“

“You don’t have to.” He smirks at you, and it does something impossible good to your brain. Makes it calm. A little fuzzy, a little smooth, but so fucking calm. “C’mon, I texted Dad that I found you, he and Sammy’ll be in our room.”

Dean Winchester is dangerous. You should be scratching and clawing and fighting like a feral animal to go, to get back in your car and as far away from here—from John Winchester—as possible. But he says I found you with a proud grin and puff of his chest like he’s bragging, and all that your stupid body knows how to do is lean slightly into his chest and follow him wherever he takes you. Somewhere dark, or somewhere horrible, or somewhere gray or somewhere safe.

Or just a shabby, paint-peeling motel room, where John Winchester and a shaggy haired kid are sitting around a table, looking at you—standing awkwardly in the doorway, watching them wearily, your back straight but arms crossed in defense—like you’re the strangest thing they’ve ever seen.

“This is, um,” Dean glances at you as he says your full name, and you realize he’s more tense than he’d been before. Standing a little taller, his eyes a little more guarded, his expression impossibly neutral. “She’s the hunter I mentioned.” Dean says your name again, pointing to the table as he continues. “That’s my dad, John, and my brother, Sammy.”

“Hi.” The kid—he’s taller than you, and barely younger, but there’s something about him that still says kid—offers you a small smile. “Do you, uh, do you hunt alone?”

“Yeah,” you give Sam a smile back, trying to force your tone to be casual, your body to relax, and your eyes not to wander to where John is tall in his seat, just watching you. “He tell you that?”

You jerk your head at Dean, who frowns. “So what if I did-“

“So, you’re being a real dramatic bitch about that. You’re not my dad, Winchester, let’s calm down.” You give him a small grin, and feel something odd and bright inflate in your chest when his mouth tugs up for the first time since you’ve walked into the room.

Dean looks like he’s going to say something back, but John clears his throat, and something curls and rots in your stomach at how quickly Dean goes rigid, how fast his mouth snaps shut. 

“You got a father, girl?”

You look at John, and he looks even more tired up close, in the dim light of the motel. More threatening as well, watching you like you’re prey, or a parasite, or a disease. Like you’re going to go feral and destroy everything in the room. It would sting less if he wasn’t right. If his attention wasn’t making your skin crawl and the White in you start to twist and pound to escape your body, the darkness rushing out as everything becomes big again. If you weren’t digging your nails into your palm to stop yourself from proving him right, and if you weren’t raising your chin in a weak attempt to be a little taller than you are. 

“I do.” You hold his gaze, and wonder if he can see the darkness. If he already knows what you are, and is trying to work out how to kill you. “We’re really close, actually.”

“He know you hunt?”

“He does.” You shrug. “He’s fine with it.”

That’s a lie. Your dad hates that you hunt. You’re certain the only reason he doesn’t lock you in his panic room to keep you away from the monsters and ghosts is because he knows you’d escape, and he’d never see you again. But John doesn’t know that, and you’re a fantastic liar, so if he doesn’t believe you it’s not because you don’t sell the words, it’s because he just doesn’t trust you. Because whatever you say, he’s going to keep looking at you like he can see right into your horrible center.

John’s face twitches, and as he leans slightly forward, you’re not sure Dean’s breathing at your side. “Your old man a hunter too?”

You nod, realize this is getting a little away from you, and start to run your thumb over your palm as John narrows his eyes.

“What’s his name?”

You use your real father’s name—your biological father, who you’ll never see again if you can help it—and it stings on your tongue. You hate that you have to say it. You hate that you have to repeat it, adding your real last name, but it works. John grunts, and looks away.

“Dean.”

“Yes, sir?”

“How old is she?”

“I, uh-“ Dean looks at you with wide eyes. “How old are you?”

You raise your brows. “How old do you think I am?”

“Twenty…” Dean scratches his head slightly, looking a little afraid. It would be adorable if this wasn’t such an oddly volatile situation. “Twenty-teen?”

“Twenty-teen?”

“I dunno, I mean you gotta be old than Sammy, and you sound like you’re old, but-“

“I sound like I’m old?”

“Just cause of the words you use! You look like you can’t be old than me, but I don’t know-“

“Jesus Christ, dude.” You take pity on Dean—who looks like he’s about to have a panic attack—and pat his shoulder as you speak. “I’m eighteen. And,” you look back to John, cooling your voice and narrowing your eyes. “I can speak for myself.”

John doesn’t waver. You can’t really imagine a world where he would. “I don’t doubt that, girl. But I ain’t lookin’ for help on this case, and you’re barely votin’ age-“

“I’m aware of my age.” You interrupt, crossing your arms over your chest. “But I’ve also been hunting, alone, since I was fifteen, and this,” you gesture through the air, holding John’s cold gaze. “Is my type of case. So you need my help.”

John scoffs. “It’s a ghost, sweetheart, me and my boys will be fine without you-“

“She says it’s not a ghost.” Dean mumbles, paling as John’s gaze shoots to him. “It’s, uh, a moroi?”

You hum in agreement, offering Dean a small grin that John doesn’t seem to miss.  

Sam raises his hand at the table, his expression open and curious. “What’s a moroi?”

“Romanian vampire baby.” Dean says, shooting Sam the first real, full grin you’ve seen on his face since you entered the motel room. “They never got a chance to learn who Mr. Clean is, which is why there’s been so much freakin’ blood everywhere. Right?”

Dean looks at you with a hopeful, bright expression, and it makes the White glow and sing as you nod.

“It’s a ghost.” John grunts, and when you look back to the table, he’s glaring at you. “We got freezin’ temperatures, EMF, and no break ins-“

“Because they’re death monsters. And they can shape-shift, into a guy, or a bug, or a cat.” You shrug. “Wouldn’t be that hard to get into a house.”

John scowls. “And you’d bet all our lives on this-“

“Yes.” You say, the words simple. You’re good at your fucking job, and there’s no doubt in your mind. “It is a moroi. I’ve hunted them before.”

“You have?” Sam’s eyes widen, his tone filled with something that might be admiration. “That’s so-“

John cuts Sam off with a raised hand, his attention never wavering from you. “Well,” he drawls your name, and it’s mocking and cruel and awful. The opposite of how Dean says it, in a way you hope to never hear again. “If you’re such an expert, how the hell do we kill the asshole.”

“Easy.” You shrug, as if there’s not something wired and painful in your muscles that’s trying to force you to run, run, run, far away from John Winchester and his cold voice. “You stab it in the heart with a nail.”

“With a nail.” John repeats, his voice flat, and you scowl. 

“Well, that, or,” you stand a little taller, making your voice cool and bored. “We throw a Romanian funeral for it, and find a living relative to walk around its grave three times with a candle.”

Dean makes a choked sound from off to the side, and when you look, he’s staring at you like you’d fallen from space again. John doesn’t look half as awestruck. He mostly looks pissed.

“This ain’t the time for jokes-“

“That’s not a joke.” You snap. “There are multiple ways to kill something, and that’s one of the ways you can deal with a moroi. It’s that, the nail, or burning resin on a Tuesday, then a Saturday.”

John laughs, no amusement or joy in the sound. “You might think your smart, kid, but how about I see a plan. Stabbin’ something in the heart ain’t gonna be easy, and hell, girl, you said they shape shift. How the fuck are you thinkin’ we find them-“

“There will be blood in its nails and eyes.” You hold your ground, but your palm grows red as you break skin. “And there is a pattern to the tarbets, we’ve just all been looking in the wrong place.”

“A pattern?” Sam’s eyes are still wide, his voice a little eager. “But none of the vics have been the same age, gender, ethnicity, occupation-“

“Have they all been parents? Lived near graveyards?”

All three Winchesters gape at you for a second, and Dean looks at John with wide eyes.

“Shit, Dad, she’s right.” He mutters, running a hand over his face. “The one we looked at yesterday, the house had one of those baby gates-“

“And we’ve driven past a graveyard every time.” Sam adds, looking between you and John with a nervous expression. “So, uh, it could be-“

“I know what it could be, Sam.” John grunts, his glare fully focused on Dean. “You willing to bet on her, son?” 

Dean looks at you, and he shouldn’t be—you’re a stranger, you’re a liar, you’re a monster that’s attracted to him like a magnet—but he nods. He stares at you like he doesn’t really understand what’s going on either, like he’s looking for a reason to not trust you and side with his father, but can’t find one. And—right before he looks back to his father—you see a flash in his eyes that makes you think he feels it. That whatever the fuck is happening to you, it’s happening to Dean too, and he’s just as helpless as you are to fight it.

“I am, sir.” He says, hands flexing at his side. “Sammy and I can do door duty, figure out who’s next on this things hit list-“

Sam frowns. “I don’t wanna do door duty-“

“Blame Dean,” John shrugs, giving Dean a curt nod. “Take my car and be back in two hours-“

You raise your hand, and John cuts himself off with a glower.

“What.”

“They don’t need to do door duty,” you say, your fingers running over your palm. “The moroi will only target parents of infants, so you can look for baby seats in cars. And it’ll all be near same cemetery. Five miles radius.” You catch Dean raising his brows at you, and shrug. “They don’t like to stray far from home.”

“And by home,” Sam jumps in, words slow as he connects the dots. “You’re talking about their grave.”

“Or their coffin.” You offer him a close-lipped smile. “But yeah. It’s already dusk, our best bet would be splitting up and patrolling a few streets until we see the thing. It’ll probably be in its regular form, at least until it spots a house.”

Dean frowns at you. “What’s that gonna look like?”

You wrinkle your nose. “Hairy. Bloody and hairy. It’ll be gross, you’ll see it.”

“And how,” John grunts. “Are you thinkin’ we split up.”

“We’ve got two cars.” You shrug. “Three if you have a second one-“

“We don’t.” John snaps. “And I took a fuckin’ taxi back here, ain’t no way I’m not driving my car, or lettin’ a little girl go off to hunt this on her own-“

“How honorable,” you mutter under your breath—careful to make sure Dean doesn’t hear you—and raise your voice back to a bored, flat tone.  “Then you’ll take your car, and I’ll take one of them,” you nod between Sam and Dean. “So we’re off in pairs.”

“Dad, I could go with her.” Dean takes a small step forward, his tone slightly nervous. “I mean, it would be safer for you to take Sammy. And you know I’d be careful.“

John grunts, jaw ticking, and you can see he’s considering it. That, somehow, you’ve convinced him to go with this, and he hasn’t put a bullet in your brain. There’s a frantic, wired part of you along your skin that’s certain he’s just waiting for an excuse, but for now you’ll take it. You’ll take Dean volunteering to go with you, John not killing you, and everyone winning when you’re right, because you will be. You’re not good for much, but you’re good for this. 

“I want you to drive.” John tells Dean, and you’ll allow it. If it keeps Dean near you—as you so confusingly and desperately crave—you’ll let him drive your stupid, fancy car. Fuck, you’ll let him run it into a ditch if he wants, as long as you’re there with him, and what the fuck is happening to you- 

Dean says your name, and you blink at him as he continues. “I, uh, if you’re good with it-“

“Sure, I don’t give a fuck.” You toss Dean your keys, and he frowns. “I mean, try not to total it, or do donuts-“

Dean gasps, his face full of mock offense that pulls a smile onto your face. “Do I look like a hooligan to you-“

You raise your brows. “Did you just say hooligan?”

“Yeah,” he grins at you, and nothing else seems that real. “It’s a fun word, don’t bash it-“

“I am not bashing it-“

“Kinda sounds like you’re bashin’ it-“

“Well, it kinda sounds like you’re going to try and do donuts in my car-“

“Princess, I would never-“

“Winchester, I don’t believe you-“

John coughs, loudly, and you and Dean fall silent. That keeps happening. You talk to Dean, and everything fades until you’re just smiling like an idiot and watching him like he’s the sun, and you’re just existing in his orbit. And he does the same thing. Dean’s face is red, and he’s staring at the floor as John glowers at him, but you keep catching his eyes darting to you, a small furrow on his brow that you wish you could ask him about. You wish you could ask him a million things. About his life, about his likes and dislikes, why his whole family hunts and what he thinks of your dad—the one he’d know, the one that’s going to murder you when he finds out what you’re doing right now—and if he can feel this too. He must. It’s like a drug, and it’s flashing and loud in the White, and making the darkness blur into something you think would be better. Into something you wouldn’t hate, molding with something that feels foreign but right, strange but just as powerful and certain as gravity. Something secret, that you think you should be fighting but can’t bring yourself to raise a weapon against. 

Something bigger than you. Bigger than him. Bigger than the White inside your chest and the darkness that’s pushed down, down, down as you force yourself to stay in place, and not either grab Dean’s face and scream—shout at him in a begging question of do you feel this, or am I going fucking insane—or run. Flee as John Winchester gives you one last look like he’s imaging your blood on the floor, and you climb into the passenger’s seat of the Lexus.

But you manage to keep it together, and you’ll have to settle for this. For talking to Dean as you patrol up and down a darkened suburban street with white-picket fences, your knees up on the dash and your fingers growing bloody as you pick at them to keep the darkness down. 

“So, uh,” Dean taps his hands on the wheel, staring out at the road. “Hunting.“

You blink at him, raising your brows. “What?”

“I just, mean how’d you end up doing it? You’re young-“

“You’re literally only three years old than me-“

“But I got Dad and Sammy.” He scowls. “You’re alone.”

“Yeah, we’ve establish that.” You cross your arms, curling slightly into your seat. “I’m really good at my job, Winchester, I’m not that worried.”

Dean chuckles, glancing at your half-pout with an amused expression. “Still Winchester? When am I gonna get the honor of her majesty using my first name?”

You glare at him, and it just makes his grin wider. “Shut up.”

He clicks his tongue. “Bossy.”

And he’s so confusingly adorable and handsome—in the soft, shimmering light of the streetlamps and fog—that you speak without even thinking. “You have to earn first names, Deano.”

He freezes for a second, and his grin becomes his whole face. Wide and charming, sweeping you off your feet and knocking the breath from your lungs without even touching you. 

“So,” he drawls, still smirking like an idiot. “Nicknames you’ll pass out like party favors, but I need to work to just be Dean.”

“Seems that way, doesn’t it?”

“Well, can I at least shoot down Deano?”

“Maybe,” you hum. “On what grounds?”

“I dunno,” he shrugs, eyes flashing in the low light. “It kinda makes me sound like a birthday clown?”

You giggle. A small, soft giggle that he pulls out of you with barely any effort, that you want to hate but can’t figure out how to. “Maybe you are a clown-“

“Birthday clown.” He corrects, drumming his fingers on the steering wheel. “Don’t drop the birthday part, that means I’ve got a job. And I can’t be a clown, Sammy’ll never speak to me again.” Dean glances at you, his voice dropping slightly. “He freakin’ hates clowns. Might shoot me before I explain that a pretty lady turned me into one against my will.”

You raise your brows, trying to push down the flush on your face from pretty lady. How he’d said the words like they were teasing, but still so serious, and looked at you with a small smirk when they had his intended effect. You can barely remember how to clear your throat and use words, let alone tease and spar with him when the White is blinding in your body.

“Unfortunately,” you manage to speak, nudging his shoulder with your own. “All sales are final. You’re Deano now.”

Dean rolls his eyes, but his grin doesn’t falter for a second. “Until I earn Dean, though, right?”

“If you earn Dean.”

He hums, shooting you another, oddly heated glance. “And what do I need to do for that?”

You only shrug, running your fingers over your palm to sooth the darkness. It’s starting to eat over your nerves and heart, trying reach out and touch Dean in a way you can’t allow, in a way that will end whatever this is before it begins. Dean only gives you a strange look, his smile still wide on his face.

“Well,” Dean says your whole name, over-pronouncing each syllable. “Am I allowed to return the favor?”

“What favor.”

“Callin’ you a nickname.” He winks at you, and it settles—warm and soft and strong—in your core. “It’s only fair.”

You shake your head. “No. I don’t even have a nickname.”

“Bet I could fix that.”

“Would be a losing bet. I wouldn’t take it.”

“Whatever you say, Princess.”

And just like that, you’ve lost. You’d seen it coming, too. It was too easy a solution for him to have, to easy a path to allow him to take, too easy to let the small part of you—that had wanted to hear him call you Princess again, because it soothed something that was always feral inside of you and blurred the darkness into the White until nothing hurt inside you—allow Dean to coax you where he’d clearly wanted you, and follow with a smile on your face. But all of this was too easy. Talking to Dean was too easy, because the conversation seems to flow and ebb without effort, and you’re almost always in danger of saying too much. He seems to know how to—without any obvious intention—get you to tell him anything he asks, leaving you biting your tongue to keep down bits of the truth that could prove deadly. But he doesn’t push you to speak—which is perfect and terrifying all within itself—and when you fall into silence it’s easy too. It’s easy to control the darkness, calmed only by your thumb and long breathes, and easy to keep everything small. Just you and Dean in the soft silence of the car, just you and Dean in the whole world.

“My mom died.” Dean says suddenly, frowning out the window. “It’s why I’m hunting. And,” he adds, his voice growing a little firmer, a little more defensive. “It’s why my dad’s so careful. I know he can be tough, but we’ve only got each other, and he’s just tryin’ to-“

“I get it.” You whisper, something deep in your chest aching for him. For this pretty, impossible man who might be bigger than the whole word, and how his brow is knit in a confusing kind of hollow pain as he defends his father. Goes to arms for him without prompting, like it’s a reflex. And you really do get it, but even if you didn’t, you somehow care too much about him to force him to rage and spit fire in John’s defense. It looks like it might rip him apart, and you never really want to see him go. So you just offer him a gentle, full lipped but toothless smile, and place your hand on his arm. “And that really fucking sucks.”

He lets out a dry chuckle, and doesn’t try to move his arm away. “It does really fucking suck. Thanks.”

“My dad’s wife died.” You offer, as if that would somehow make this better, and Dean gives you an odd look.

“Dad’s wife? Not your mom?”

You swallow. You did it again. You slipped when you’re usually so fucking careful. “It’s complicated.”

“Ah.” Dean has a little furrow between his brow that you’d like to run your thumb over, but he drops it. “Are you, you gonna tell me why you hunt? If it’s not your Dad’s wife?”

You sigh, a feral instinct of survive shoving the truth just a little further down. “That’s complicated too. I mean it’s not,” you glance up at him, his eyes fixed onto the road. “It’s not like yours. I didn’t lose anyone.”

“Is it a family thing? Like, your dad brought you in?” Dean’s every word is careful, like he’s afraid he might spook you. But that’s another thing that’s too easy. Staying next to Dean and not bristling or fleeing is far too fucking easy. 

“No,” you say, watching the light and shadows shift over his face in a strange, perfect dance. “He tries to stop me from doing it all the time. Shit, he called me last night and asked me to come home.”

Dean frowns. “You-“

“Dean!” You cut him off with a hand over his mouth, and he slams the breaks with a screech. You can see his staring at you from the corner of your eye, but you barely spare him a glance, your eyes locked over his shoulder, out the window, at a shifting figure in the dark. “Look.”

He turns his head, prying your hand from his mouth as he glares out the window. “I don’t-“

“There,” you hiss, leaning a little further forward. “See the-“

“That might just be a shadow,” Dean mutters, his voice dropping to a whisper as he scans over the dark. “Or a fox-“

You turn your head, giving him a flat look. “Do foxes look like babies covered in blood?”

“No.” He grins at you. “But I’ve seen weirder shit, Princess.”

You’re suddenly aware of how close you are. How you’d leaned over the console and started to practically hang off of Dean’s body, how your faces are barely a breath apart and you can see every deep color and fleck of gold in his eyes. He really only gets prettier, and he’s so warm, and there’s molten silver in your chest trying to tangle into him. He smells like fresh grass and spice, his eyes are dilating—but maybe just from the dark—and everything seems to be slowing down as the silver looks for other places to leak out. Places that wouldn’t hurt anyone, like the mist of the night that seems to glow and the wind that seems to bend and creak the trees in your direction, and the golden streetlamps-

Dean’s eyes shoot to the road as the lights start to flicker, his body tensing against yours. “Shit. We should, uh-“

You nod, push yourself away, and try to pretend your body doesn’t grieve the loss of his touch.

John and Sam are taking too long to arrive. You’re tense and bouncing on the sidewalk as you wait, turning a sharp nail between your fingers, and Dean keeps a hand around your wrist as he frowns down the street. You think he can sense that, if he looks away for only a second, you’ll dart into the house and deal with this yourself. You could. This nail has killed three moroi before, and you’d been completely alone then. 

“Winchester.” 

Dean looks at you with a frown, and you tug your arm slightly.

“Let me go.”

“No,” he grunts, his grip tightening. “Dad said to wait.”

“He’s not my dad-“

“Doesn’t matter.” Dean mutters, his gaze moving back to the empty, dark fog. “We’re waiting.”

You scowl. “Fine. Can you let go-“

“No.”

“I swear to god, Dean Winchester-“

“If I let you go,” he snaps, his glare shooting back to you. “You’re going to run in there. So no.”

You narrow your eyes. “You don’t know me-“

He chuckles, shaking his head slightly. “Look me in the eyes,” he drawls your name, holding your gaze. “And say you won’t run.”

It should be an easy lie, but it gets caught in your throat and you can only gape at him. Dean raises his brows as you continue to stare, and the White inside you starts to thrash as you clear your throat, forcing the words out.

“I’d handle it.”

He scoffs. “There is no way you’re gonna be able to handle it alone-“

“So, come with me,” You hiss, leaning forward until your face is only an inch from his. “And I won’t be alone.”

You don’t know why it breaks him. But something flashes in his eyes, he groans—running his free hand over his face and giving you a look of disbelief—and he caves. 

And from there it’s mostly a blur. It’s always a blur. The darkness inside of you latches onto something primal, and it’s all only a blur. 

Usually it’s all but a blackout. Like something overtakes you and you become just as monstrous as what you’re hunting, your brain only holding onto what you’ll need in order to survive next time, and a sticky smell of blood to haunt your sleep. But Dean’s here now, and things come into focus. Time is still a rush, and you’re still moving on pure instinct, but you remember Dean’s body being pressed to yours as you crept through the suburban house. You remember to set look on his face as you swept the rooms, figuring out what the moroi could be, where it might be hiding. You remember seeing it first, and the sound of flesh tearing as it launched at Dean—over you—and you swatted it with your arm like a baseball. 

You remember Dean shouting your name as you raced forward with the nail in your hand, and how it sounded like his chest was being ripped open. You remember finding that small patch of soft flesh on the moroi’s chest, driving the nail home, and tasting bile when it vomited blood up into your face. 

You remember Dean passing you his shirt on the curb a few blocks down, because the very ungrateful almost-victims threatened to call the cops, and you were covered in blood. He’d faced away as your changed—zipping up his own jacket and humming while he waited—and you could’ve sworn he was blushing when he turned back around.

Then John Winchester had arrived—looking at Dean like he’d just sprouted a second, hideous head and you like he was imaging how amazing you’d look in a casket—and everything grew sharp as they drove away. 

More of it comes together as you drive yourself back to the motel. Dean had dumped the body in the gutter, and you had given him your motel address. John had snapped at you to meet them tomorrow for a debrief, and told Dean that they’d talk back at the room. Sam had smiled at you, and it was a nice smile. There hadn’t seemed to be anything beneath it—just a kind smile for the woman sitting on the curb next to his shirtless brother, her hair matted in blood and fingers covered in monster hair—and you’d liked that. 

When you enter your room, it suddenly feels too small. Nothing is big enough for how strange this is, how you might need all the world and a little more to figure out what the fuck just happened. You miss Dean. You’d met him today, and you miss him more than you’ve missed anything before. You keep looking to the side to see if he’s there, when you know he won’t be. The White is bucking and keening inside of you, the darkness falling out of your body—you can feel the pain of the water as it becomes steam in the shower, and you’re almost knocked to your knees by the ache of the phone to be closer to the lamp—and you need to find out if he could meld them together again. If it had been a fluke, or an accident, or if you were simply losing your fucking mind.

You have to be. You must be going mad. It’s the only explanation for why you take a long shower and change into your own clothing, but you still smell grass and leather and spice. It’s purgatorial. You go through your whole routine—scrubbing all the blood off your body with rough sugar that bites into your skin, running your hands under white-hot water that leaves your skin raw but the darkness pushed down, tending to your hair until it frame your features easily, and you don’t look like a bruised and battered animal—but you still smell him. You toss his shirt off to the side, but he’s clinging to the sheets. You change into sleepwear, but your body can still feel a strong, warm touch. You turn your empty flask in your hands, watching light catch off the steel, and someone’s knocking on your fucking door-

Dean hisses your name through the wood, and you freeze.

“I know you’re in there!” He’s half-shouting, and the whole world feels more colorful, and what is wrong with you. “C’mon, Princess, open the door. It’s me!” He pauses, the knocking faltering. “Uh, Dean Winchester.”

He sounds a little defeated, and you can’t stop the smile on your face as you toss the flask back into your bag, cross the room, and open the door. 

Dean gives you an adorable, almost nervous grin and scans over you. Slow and deep and appreciative—taking in your sleep clothes, how your whole body is more relaxed than it had been all day—and his smile grows as his eyes find yours once more.

“You look pretty wearing normal stuff.” He leans a little on the door frame, and it’s so effortlessly and perfectly rouge-cowboy-white-knight-and-knave that he has to have practiced. “Better than that old-lady jacket you hand on before.”

You roll your eyes. “That’s my professional jacket, Winchester. What do you want?”

The words are harsher than you mean them to be, and his grin falters slightly. “I was, uh, I was wondering,” he rubs the back of his neck, clearing his throat. “I got my dad’s car. I was gonna ask if you wanted to go for a drive or something, but you’re obviously ready to turn in, so-“

“Do you want to come in?” 

You’re not sure how he’s doing this. Making you speak without thought, making your words reckless when they’re usually so carefully chosen. You have to be careful with your words, because you’ve spent years weaving a web that shows everyone everything, but not from every angle. And he’s fucking unraveling it. Dean just looks at you, and you pull at a thread so he can see whatever he wants, and you can’t understand how the fuck he’s doing it.

It must be on purpose, but he looks just as shocked as you are—gaping at you slightly, his features open and uncertain—and you don’t think it’s an act. Especially not as his voice becomes slightly hoarse, his feet restlessly shifting his weight as he speaks.

“Yeah, if you want, but I’m good to just head out if you-“

“Do you want to head out?”

Dean’s grin becomes bright once more, and the shake of his head sends a spark of lightning through your body.

“So,” you step to the side, offering him a small smile. “Come in.”

He shuffles inside, scanning over your scattered possessions and stopping at the side of the bed. 

“I can,” he looks back to you, his eyes a little wide. “I can sit on the floor, or we can go outside-“

You shake your head, moving to his side. “There are bugs outside. Sit on the bed.”

Dean glances at the mattress like the sheets might leap up and strangle him. “Floor looks good-“

“Winchester.” You point at the bed, giving him a stern glare. “Sit.”

“I am not a freakin’ dog-“

You place a hand on his chest and push him—just enough for him to get the message—and he sit on the bed with a wide happy? gesture. 

You drop at his side, watching him carefully as you try to work out what is happening. Why he’s here. If he’s looking at you like that—like you’re more than a human, but that’s hypnotizing, and he’d love to find what you actually are—because he can feel this too. 

But Dean beats you to it.

“Can I ask you something?”

You tilt your head at him, pulling your knees into your chest. “Can I ask you something?”

“Huh.” Dean hums, the smile creeping back onto his face. “How about we trade? I ask you a question, you gimme an answer, then we switch.”

You give him an amused look. “That’s just a conversation.”

“Nah, because if I ask you something and you answer, now I owe you a question. You can turn down a question, but you’ll still owe an answer.”

You frown. “What happens if you owe an answer?”

He shrugs, flopping onto his back. “Then the other person keeps asking questions.”

Dean looks so real. He’s grinning up at you, light dancing as his eyes as he obviously baits you into whatever he’s trying to do. 

And you fall for it. Despite your best judgement, you fall.

“I’m going first.” 

He chuckles, but raises his hand for you to shake. “Deal, Princess.”

The moment your hand folds into Dean’s he pulls you down, leaving your smushed slightly against him and his face only inches from yours once more. And your yelp was undignified, and he’s such an asshole—laughing and grinning as you shove his chest—and you’re smiling too. 

Because this is easy. And you have a feeling that, if this strange man—who’s too pretty, and that’s making you feel like you’ve never really been alive before this—dragged you right down to hell, you’d still be laughing and smiling at him. And that’s so fucking dangerous. And you know that, but you still can’t stop looking at him, and you can’t roll away. And you decide that, just for tonight, you’re going to indulge this. You’ll dedicate hours when he’s gone to figuring out what the fuck this is. Right now you get to laugh and smile and act like nothing in the world has ever—could ever—hurt you.

“So,” Dean says your name, and it still sounds too good. “You have a question to go first with? Or were you just bein’ bossy-“

“Shut up.” You swing your leg to kick his shin, he laughs, and it’s like music. Making you high and dizzy as you watch him, running your thumb over your palm. “I’ve got it, Winchester. You ready?”

“Born it, sweetheart,” he winks at you, and that’s dizzying too. “Hit me.”

“Why are you here?”

“I told you already, I wanted to talk to you-“

You hum, holding his gaze with a small frown. “Why?”

Dean chuckles, shaking his head. “That’s two questions-“

“It’s a ride off of the first question-“

“Well, I still gotta ask my first question before you get a second one.” He raises his brows at you, bump your knee with his. “We shook on this, Princess, you don’t get to change it now.”

You glare at him, but you think he knows it’s fake, because his grin becomes almost blinding. “Fine. Go.”

Dean rolls onto his side, holding your gaze as he speaks. “How’d you get that car?”

You frown. “The Lexus?”

He nods, and you sigh. 

“I borrowed it.” It’s not a lie, but it’s a half-truth. It’s a half-truth that will keep him here, at your side, for a little longer than you might deserve. “For the hunt.”

“Well, it’s freakin’ awesome.” He grins at you, and your face might burst into flame. “Your move.”

“Why are you really here?”

Dean lets out a dry chuckle. “Will you let it go if I say to talk again?”

“Nope. Answer me.”

“It’s, uh,” he rolls flat on his back once more, running a hand over his face. “Tomorrow’s gonna be Dad telling us about safety and Sammy asking you a bunch of questions.” He shoots you a small, amused grin. “I think he’s been writing them down. He’s into all that geek-shit too-“

“I am not a geek-“

“Yeah, you are.” He shrugs. “Don’t worry, I think it’s adorable. But Sammy thinks you’re the coolest person we’ve ever met. So after Dad finishes, he’ll try to use you like a freakin’ library, and I just figured I’m the one who found you, so I should get a night of you all to myself.”

You gape at him for a second, and you’ve defiantly burst into flames. He wants you all himself, and he thinks you’re adorable, and he doesn’t know you, but he doesn’t seem like the type to say all that just to get in your pants, and if he was, he’d be there already. He’d just have to roll on top of you, but he’s only looking at you like you’re something sacred instead of a disease or trophy. 

He must feel this too. He has too. And you want to ask him, but you don’t know how, because you don’t even know what this is. It’s magnetic and infinite and bigger than anything, forging something you don’t know how to name between where the White and darkness live in your body. And Dean might not even have the White and darkness. Nobody else does—that’s something that’s wrong with only you—so if you phrase it like that he’ll think you’re insane-

“My turn.” Dean says, and you’re dragged back down to earth, grounded in his smooth voice. “What’s up with your hand?”

You blink at him. “What?”

“That one.” he reaches over, tapping the back your hand. “You’ve been touching it all day, and I kinda, uh,” he gives you an apologetic look. “I saw the scar. If you wanna pass on this one, I’ll drop it, but-“

“No, it’s,” you take a long breath, because this would be an easy one to refuse to answer, but his fingers are lingering on your knuckles and setting off little sparks over your skin, and you want to tell him. It takes a moment of just staring at him to you find the words, and his eyes never leave yours, and everything about him seems to drug you into a loose-lipped, trusting ease. “I’ve have it since I was really young. There was, um, an incident.”

Dean still doesn’t look away, his voice slightly lower. “Hunting incident, or-“

“No.” You swallow, turning your hand for him to see the long, clean scar on your palm. Running through it in a neat, raised line. “Just an incident.”

He looks like he’s going to say something. Not push, but say something, and you blurt out your next question before he can get the chance. It’s not what you wanted to ask—you hadn’t offered yourself enough time to find the right words for something really fucking weird is happening to me, and I need to know if it’s happening to you too—but it’s dragged out of you in desperation to learn a little more about him. In a plea for him to only know that you’re marred where he can see, and never discover that you’re twisted where he can’t.

“What’s it like?” You watch him carefully, your fingers starting to trace over the scar. “Hunting with your family?”

“It’s fine.” He shrugs. “I mean, Dad’s a freakin’ genius at it, and it’s awesome to watch him work. Plus I get to keep an eye on Sammy like this. Know he’s safe.” He frowns. “I mean, it’s better than sending him off alone. Letting him be in danger.”

You hum, scanning over the wrinkle in his brow, your thumb starts to itch to press on it, sooth his whole face into a relaxed smile. “You guys are close?”

Dean nods eagerly. “Yeah, I mean, He’s a freakin’ loser, but he’s all I got. He’s a weird little geek-“

You laugh. “He’s taller than you are, De. I wouldn’t call that little.”

“He’s little in spirit-“ Dean cuts himself off, and his grin looks almost manic. “Did you just call me De?”

“No.” You hold his gaze, even as your face warms. “Shut up.”

“I heard you, Princess, you can’t lie to me-“

“Well, is that your question?” You grin at him, your body leaning a little further without you moving it, and Dean eyes flash.

“You gonna tell me the truth if it is?”

You nod, and he smirks.

“Then yeah, it was.”

“Okay. I did call you De.” Before he can gloat, you push on. “Why do you call me Princess?”

“I told you already, it suits you-“

You narrow your eyes. “Try again, Winchester. Real answer this time.”

He sighs, shaking his head at the ceiling. “You just,” Dean waves his hand through the air. “You’ve got a thing going. You don’t look like a hunter.”

“What’s that supposed to mean-“ 

“It means,” He gives you a strange look you can feel flash through your blood, melding the White back into the darkness, turning every simple and bright as he continues. “That if you asked me what I thought you were, I’d have said something fancy.”

You open your mouth, but he’s not done, and he won’t look away from you.

“I dunno, you just seem too pretty to be down here in the mud with us. You should eating caviar and wearing those poofy dresses-“

You snort. “Poofy dresses?”

“Yeah, like in movies, when they dance around like douchebags-“

“So you’re saying I seem like a douchebag-“

“No, I’m saying you should be somewhere that’s not here.” Dean’s attention is washing over you like a rising tide—slow and natural and deep—and you still can’t read that expression on his handsome face. “The mud.”

He’s so close. And if he thinks you’re pretty, he’s a work of art. You’ve never see someone look like him. Like he was created, and not born. Every freckle on his face is more like a star than a flaw, and there a slight crook to his nose that tells you he’s been punched there before, but it only makes you want to run your finger over the bump and see if his pretty eyes flutter or flash. His lips are chapped but they’d still be soft. His hands look rough, but that just means he uses them.

You think it would be nice to let him use you.

“I like it in the mud,” you whisper, daring to inch a little closer, until you’re sharing a breath. “It feels real. And,” you grin at him, everything blurring around you but pretty green eyes and shining silver in your chest. “I’ve got good company down here.”

There it is. The flash in his eyes as they darken slightly, a warm breath fanning over your face, and he looks golden. In the warm light of the lamp, glowing soft on his tan skin, Dean looks like something more than human. You feel like something more than human, and for the first time in your life, that’s not a curse. And he’s still so fucking close, and this is a terrible idea, but you can’t bring yourself to move away.

You should. He’s John Winchester’s son, and you’re not sure how you forgot that. It’s past midnight, and you have a feeling he wasn’t supposed to be here at all, and this is the worst idea you’ve ever had. 

But you still can’t move.

“You should, um,” you swallow, and your lips might have brushed over his. “You should get back. It’s late, and your dad-“ 

“Shit,” Dean mutters, but still doesn’t try to move away. “Yeah.” 

Your eyes dart down to his lips—full and pink, just a small movement away from yours—and you decide you don’t care what’s happening to you. This is—Dean is—too good to care. You don’t need to know why this is happening, or what it means, or if you should be trying to run from it. You just need Dean. You think that—if the world ended and time began to move slowly—you might plant roots in the motel floor and grow into Dean until the world flooded and you were both washed away. 

“I have one last question,” he mutters, breath ghosting over your lips. “If I leave you my number, will you use it?”

You nod without thinking, he grins, and you’re so fucked. You can’t kiss him. You might fall from a million feet if you kiss him. Down, down, down, clinging to him as you both try to find an end to whatever this is and likely fail to. But Dean sits up slowly—like the movement is painful—and when he helps you to your feet you think you might ascend from just his hand in yours. Touching him feels like it’s making you pure and worthy of something, and you have to know what kissing him will do.

Not on the lips. You still have enough of your willpower and caution to not crash all the way down, at least not right now. But you kiss his cheek, and that’s tragedy enough. It snaps something into place inside you, soft stubble and warm skin too much for your entire existence to handle. It’s all too much to handle, and if he hadn’t mumbled a low promise of seeing you tomorrow and left when he did, you would’ve jumped on him to chase whatever this feeling is. How it’s the only thing you’ve ever felt that might belong inside you, and the only easy thing that the darkness has ever bended for.

And when you sleep, that’s easy too. It’s dreamless and deep, no nightmares, no waking up in a cold sweat, no darkness wrapping around you and leaving the sheets only ash when you wake up.

But when you do wake up, something is wrong. You feel it first, gnawing at your nails and blood. And when you roll over to check the time, your phone is gone. 

It had been on the bedside table, a scrap of paper with Dean’s number under it, and it’s gone.

The paper is gone too.

You shoot out of bed, and Dean’s shirt is still in the corner, because he’d told you to give it to him in the morning, to trade it for your Agent Smith badge. But your phone is gone.Your window is open—cool breeze rushing through the room—and your phone is fucking gone.

You’d been smart to pack the night before. You’d been smart to keep your keys in your jacket, and park right outside your room. You can shove everything in the passenger’s seat and screech out of the motel lot in a second. You don’t know why, but you’re heading to Dean first. Something is wrong, and you don’t know what, but the White is trying to strangle your heart and the darkness is already eating up your spine and over your skull.

John Winchester’s sleek, black muscle car—Dean told you it was an Impala, and he’d said it with a pride in his voice that had dragged a smile onto your face—isn’t parked in the lot. And when you knock on the door nobody answers. All the lights in the room are off, there’s no shadows moving through the window, and the door is locked.

You move to the front desk and ask if the men in that room had checked out. And when the clerk gives you a weary look and says that they’d paid for another two nights, but dropped the keys off that morning, your gut twists. 

They were gone. Dean was gone. And something fragile and new shattered inside you, leaving small pieces lodged through your whole body. You stumble back to your car, the darkness moving out of your body and the whole world too fucking big, and you don’t know what’s wrong with you. You’d known him a day. He’d known you a day. Nothing was owed, but you can still feel it. How the White seems to be howling from the loss of him, and the darkness can’t stop growing as it sinks in. 

He left. You don’t know why, but Dean left. He’d probably taken your phone, taken his number, and just fucking left you. Maybe he’d seen you last night, really seen you, and realized what you were. Maybe he’d just been playing you the whole time for some sort of scam. Maybe you hadn’t kissed him, and he’d decided you weren’t worth the chase. And that would mean you had been going crazy, and he hadn’t felt anything at all.

The thought lets the darkness move over you, and you can feel everything everywhere. The electricity in the wires over your head, the wear of painted lines in the parking lot, the hope of the grass peeking through the concrete under your feet. 

The grass that smells like Dean.

It breaks through you before you can stop it. Reaching past your body and down into the pavement, cracking it open with all the force of how much this hurts. How it shouldn’t hurt, it doesn’t make any sense that it hurts, but you’re still breaking and bowing and bending to the way you feel like you’ve been fucking shot. You fall down to the curb, curling into yourself as the ground shakes under your feet, and the wind picks up until—in the forest across the parking lot—a branch falls to the ground.

Then a second one. 

You manage to bring your hand to your mouth, to bite down hard and force all the darkness back into your body, and you still don’t know what to do. 

This hurts so much, and you’re alone in the middle of nowhere, and Dean’s gone.

You still have your burner phone. Your dad makes you keep it in your jacket, just in case something happens, and it only has his number. You dial him with shaking hands, the darkness still trying to climb back out of you, take a deep breath as you raise it to your ear.

He picks up on the second ring.

“Hey,” He says your name, his voice already edged with worry. “I didn’t think I’d be hearin’ from you until after that blood hunt thing-“

“Hunt’s over.” You mumble, staring at the cracked pavement. “Got it last night.”

“Was it a vamp like I told ya’-“

“Moroi.”

“I’d call that vamp enough. Good work, kiddo, Rufus owes us a dinner-“

“Bobby?”

Your voice is soft, and he hears it. Bobby always hears it. 

“What happened,” he says your name, and you can hear the frown in his voice. It makes everything worse, because you can’t tell him. Not now, maybe not ever if you can avoid it. You can’t handle how he’ll help you fix this and let you rest, then spend a week lecturing you and telling you everything you already know. Because you really do know. You fucked up, and you know that.

But Bobby doesn’t have to.

“Nothing, I just-“ you swallow, your nails digging into your calf. “Can I come home?”

There’s a long moment of static through the phone, and when Bobby speaks again his voice is low. “You can always come home,” he says your name, and you choke on the clean air around you. “But you get a week of mopin’ before we’re grabbin’ that dinner from Rufus. Alright?”

You nod, even though he can’t see it. “I’ll be there by tomorrow.”

“Should be two days, if you drive carefully like you’re supposed to.” Bobby grunts. “And ditch that fancy car you’ve been usin’, I don’t need the cops askin’ questions about it.”

You feel a smile tug at your lips. “You never let me have anything nice, Bobby-“

“You never let me have goddamn peace, kid.” Bobby snaps, and your smile grows. “Your bed will be ready for you. And I better not see that bells and whistles hunk of shit in my yard-“

“Aye, aye captain. No fancy cars.” You make a mock salute he can’t see, and Bobby huffs.

“Stolen fancy cars.” He grumbles. “Stop bein’ a smartass and get on the road.”

When the call ends, your smile feels real. The strange, fractured feeling in the White is still there, and the darkness might be trying to fly out of you, but you’re better than before. You’ll go home, Bobby will never know what happened, and none of this will last. You’ll be fine. Dean Winchester might haunt you like a phantom or cancer for the rest of your fucking life—or at least until you figure out what he did to you, and how to fix it—but you’ll get through this. 

You always do.

—————————

Dean’s grip was tight on Her phone. It was just a fucking block of metal—it would be useless when they tossed it off a bridge in a few miles—but he couldn’t let go of it. It felt wrong to let go of it. 

He’d be letting go of Her.

He hadn’t wanted to take it, but Dad said he needed to—Don’t want to let an angry woman have a line to you, son. Especially not a crazy one—and Dad knew what he was talking about, so Dean had done it. He’d snuck back into Her room through the window, grabbed Her phone and the paper with his number, and felt like the lowest piece of trash in the goddamn garbage can. The maggot-ridden chunk of food that nobody had wanted, but was still figuring out a way to fuck everything else up in twisted retribution. 

Because there was guilt eating at Dean’s stomach. He shouldn’t have taken Her phone, not when She wasn’t that much older than Sammy. Not when She’d said her dad would be waiting for her to call, and Dean might have stolen Her only line to safety just because-

Because She’d been using him. And he’d been falling for it. She’d given him that smile like he’d fallen out of the sun and into Her hands, She’d crafted some sort of perfect mask that had felt so real—felt like this strange, mouthy, clever woman had just appeared to him, and he could’ve had something nice for once in his goddamn life—and moved Dean like a fucking pawn. 

Dad had been waiting for him when he got back, and whatever weird spell She’d put Dean under—making him feel a little drunk on nothing, making him act like a fucking idiot—had been ripped away under his glare. 

But Dean hadn’t gotten yelled at. He’d just been sat down—Dad’s gaze filled with disappointment that Dean’s bones didn’t know how to handle—and had papers pushed across the table in his direction. 

“What are these?” He’d asked, and Dad had sighed, because Dean was too much of an idiot to just know, and Dad knew it. 

“Read them.” Dad had grumbled, watching Dean through narrowed eyes. “And tell me if you want to see that girl again.”

He’d frowned but scanned over the papers. Printed out website pages about… Her. Her family. How She was missing, how She’d stolen from them, and how they were rich. Normal, alive, and rich, looking for Her and whatever she’d taken. Warning that She was crazy, a chronic liar, and should be turned over to the police if seen. There was no picture, but there was a description that matched Her perfectly, right down to a scar on her palm.

“Dad.” He’d looked up with wide eyes, something strange bucking around inside of him, insisting that this was a lie. Dean didn’t know Her—they’d had three conversations for fuck’s sake—but this didn’t seem like Her. None of this seemed like the clever, beautiful, almost ethereal woman he’d been lying on the bed with. Dean didn’t know howor why, but this couldn’t be the truth. “I don’t-“

“She’s just usin’ you, Dean.” Dad had muttered, his eyes softening just enough for Dean to know he was sorry. He might not really like Her, but he was trying to protect Dean. He always was. “Chasing a high that her daddy can’t give her, lookin’ for a way to pull somethin’ on us. Probably huntin’ just for some sort of fucked up thrill. This,” Dad tapped the papers, his face twisting in disgust. “Isn’t someone who deserves our time, and I don’t know what her game is, but I ain’t just gonna let my boy fall for it.”

Something in Dean had still been fighting. Insisting that Dad was wrong, he had to be wrong, because Dean might not really know Her but he’d throw his life down at her feet. He’d plummet to the bottom of the ocean to follow Her down, if She called him with that siren-like voice and asked him to.

And that was how he knew Dad was right. Dean had no idea who She really was, and he’d already been ready to become a sword for her to wield. So he’d nodded, asked Dad what to do, and fallen back into the line She’d forced him out of. And it wouldn’t matter that Dean had been an idiot and almost fallen for Her—Her tricks, or just Her—because Dad had saved him. He’d protected him. And it didn’t matter.

Now, as they drove—Dad’s grip tight on the wheel, Sammy sleeping in the backseat—Dean repeated it over and over. That hadn’t mattered. It had been a mistake that Dad caught, so no harm, and it didn’t matter. It didn’t matter that She’d looked at Dean like she could see him, or that Her voice sounded like an angel in a dream. It didn’t matter that Her lips had felt right on his cheek, and that his annoying brain kept trying to move the ghost of Her touch to his own mouth. It didn’t matter that he could still smell the sugar and fruit that had invaded his every sense when She’d been pressed against him. It didn’t matter that She’d fit perfectly at his side, like she was just another part of him he hadn’t known he was missing. It didn’t matter that something felt like it had been ignited in Dean’s chest. Golden and light and washing him over with a sense of calm he’d never known, making him feel like—if he had been stupid enough to fall further—the worst that could happen was She didn’t fall with him. And even that would be worth the way this feeling was like lightning over his bones, making him strong and fucking alive. 

But it didn’t matter. He’d fallen for a pretty, spoiled little bitch—his heart almost withered at that idea, still being a freaking dumbass and trying to justify why She’d done this—and he’d never even see Her again, so it didn’t matter.

And it defiantly didn’t fucking matter that he’d taken Her flask, because he was fucking pathetic. Because he’d been sneaking around her room, and the flash of silver had caught his eyes, and he’d stolen it like some sort of street urchin. He’d burn it, just to rid himself of the way She was becoming plague-like on his mind. It wasn’t like she needed a flask, anyway. She didn’t even drink.

But that might have just been another strange lie. So Dean would burn it. He wouldn’t tell Dad or Sammy that he’d taken it—they didn’t really need to know how weak and useless Dean really was—so he’d burn it and everyone would forget this had ever happened. He’d burn it, and never think of Her again.

Dean felt like he was being ripped in half for reasons he couldn’t even start to understand, but it had been nothing, and it didn’t matter.

Dean dreamt of Her when he finally drifted off. And his heart kept trying to beat him back down—back to Her—but he held strong. He could dream of Her and not go back. He’d never see Her again, and dreams weren’t real. 

None of that had been real, and Dean could dream of Her.

So he would.

End Note: I know we’re off to a rough start, and we’ve got a long road ahead of us, but just remember this. What’s about to come could’ve been entirely avoided if John Winchester wasn’t the actual worst.

Thank you so so so much for reading!! If you like this story, please reblog, share, or leave a comment! <3

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[vendettasfanfictioning]

oh my fucking god dean had to carry cas' body to get him onto the pyre he had to carry all of cas' dead weight while the grief still clung to his shoulders he wrapped up cas' body himself and when sam mentions the meadow, he says it's where dean spread the ashes, excluding him and jack because dean wouldn't have let anyone else handle cas so dean had to be the one to carry cas from the house table to the pyre they all lost something in cas, a friend, a protector, a father, but dean lost half of his soul that night oh i am unwell and unstable with these thoughts—

[watermelongirl01]

The Tattoo

Aaron Hotchner x fem!reader

Criminal Minds x Supernatural

Summary: Your first humankind case reveals a new Hotchner´s side you didn´t know.

Content Warning: Flirty Hotch, Homicide description, Abuse, Rape, Violence, Triggering situations. (Please let me know if I let something out.)

Note: This is my version of the episode "Jones" in the early seasons, I changed a lot of the things but not all of them, It is just how I would've liked the case to be in my opinion, and obviously added a bunch of other things to fit the thread of my story, like Jason Gideon not being there. I hope you like it.

“Short stuff, are you ready?” 

“Nope”

“Come on, you’re going to be just fine.” Morgan gifted you a reassuring smile.

This was your first time filling in for a member of the group. Normally it wasn’t necessary, but the team was reduced to four. Emily was on mandatory vacation and JJ stayed at home to take care of a sick Henry, so now your presence was requested.

“It’s not what I’m used to.”

“No it’s not, but you are a great agent and will do just fine.” He said gently squeezing your arm. “You will charm them all.” 

“Of course I will, there is no doubt.” You smiled back.

“Let’s go then.” 

You both walked to the briefing room where the rest of the team was waiting, Morgan quickly walked to the empty chair In front of you, slightly pushing you to the side, leaving you with no option but to sit next to Hotch, not that you minded but lately all the members of the team have been acting a little weird.

You looked at Morgan with a questioning look but he completely ignored you and lowered his gaze to read the case files.

“We have a serial killer in New Orleans. Two men’s dead bodies were found over the last month, and a third body was found last night, the same MO, male, throat slashed, they were all found in semi-public places in the French Quarter.” You heard Penelope explain.  “The local police have no leads and no suspects so far, Mike Weller, the head detective is waiting for you.”

Hotch nodded and looked at everyone in the room. “Wheels up in thirty.” He said before disappearing out the door. 

—

When arriving, Hotch sent you and Reid to the forensic lab to examine the body.

“No hesitation marks.” You said pointing to the terrible wounds.

Spencer nodded. “Cuts are methodical and almost procedural.”

The forensic doctor looked at both of you. “The person who did this definitely had medical training, there’s no other way he could have done this.”

“He?” You glaze up to the doctor.

“No defensive wounds and took out pretty big men.” You frowned. “Although all the toxicology tests showed signs of alcohol.” 

“Any relatives came to claim the body?” Spencer asked.

The doctor nodded. “His wife came with his former colleague.” Both of you looked at him with a confused expression. “He was a retired officer.”

“The lead detective didn’t say anything about that.”

“I’m not surprised, he wasn’t popular at all, he had a reputation for being a dirty cop.” 

“I’ll call Garcia.” You said getting your phone out.

But suddenly Spencer’s phone began to ring and he immediately answered. “Where? Okay, we’ll be there.”  He looked at you as he got off the phone. “Another body was found, call her on the way there.” 

—

“Same MO.” Morgan informed. “Some people saw him leave the bar down the street.” 

“So, he was drunk just like the other victim.” You said while eyeing the Weller. “Do we know his profession?”

“Does it matter?” He asked with a hint of annoyance in his voice.

You step aside standing closer to him and shrugging your shoulders. “Humor me, detective.”

Detective Weller side-eyed you but nodded. “He was a well-known lawyer.”

“I see.” You crossed your arms while raising an eyebrow. “You forgot to mention that the fourth victim was a cop who used to work at your police station.”

“I don’t think it is relevant to the case.” Weller huffed.

“Well, we don’t know that yet.” You insisted. “Do we?”

The BAU men were looking at your disagreement with confusion, and suddenly a strong back wearing a gray and elegant suit got in between, blocking your vision. It took only a few seconds to recognize that it belonged to Hotchner.

“We would like to have access to all of the information available, it’s vital to be able to get the unsub’s profile.“ You heard Aaron talking to the detective.

“Sure, Agent Hotchner.” After Weller left the crime scene, Hotch turned around to see you.

“You are riding with me.” Hotch left the place hurriedly making you roll your eyes and toss your keys at Spencer.

You manage to keep up with Hotch’s pace and climb up on the SUV, some minutes passed and neither of you talked, but you got tired of the unbearable silence.

“If you’re going to scold me, just do it now.”

“I’m not.”

“Hotch he was in the wrong, you know that, right?”

“I’m aware.” You shot him a puzzled look.

“Then why get in the middle of my conversation?”

”Because that wasn’t a conversation, he was starting to raise his voice.”

“I can take it, Hotchner.”

“I know you can, doesn’t mean I want you to.” You felt how your facial expression softened at his comment. “Listen, some of these detectives think we are here to make them look bad, they feel threatened.”

You rolled your eyes. “How are their insecurities my fault?”

Hotch chuckled a bit. “They are not, just go easy on them so we can keep the case.”

—

You, Hotch, and Spencer stayed at the precinct to read all the new information about the victims while Rossi and Morgan left to talk with the new possible witnesses. Currently, you are on your third cup of coffee and your fifth case file.

“I can’t believe we were missing all this information.” You hissed.

“Simmer down.” Hotch murmured.

You looked at the evidence board leaning against the table, focusing on the victim's photos, and frowning when looking closer.

“Oh.”

“You found something new?” Spencer asked.

“Hmm, have you seen that all the victims have tattoos?” Both men got closer to look at the photos. 

“Well actually, in some religions tattoos are forbidden because they think of the body as a temple.” Spencer babbled and immediately stood up from his chair. “Some other religions even think that if you get a tattoo, you’re not allowed in heaven.”

“Really?” A look of confusion crossed your face.

Spencer quickly nodded while pointing up with his finger. “You shall not make any cuttings in your flesh for the dead, nor tattoo any marks on you: I am the Lord. Leviticus 19:28.” He added.

“So, we think this is a religious matter?” You asked.

“It could be a coincidence. Let’s ask Garcia if she can find something about it.” Spencer took his phone and left the room, leaving you and Hotch alone, looking at the board side to side.

“Well, that’s concerning. You know, some tattoos are meant to protect you.”

Hotch turned his head towards you. “What do you mean?”

“There’s this kind of tattoos that are protection symbols, usually hunters get them.”

“You have one?” Hotch’s upright posture was visibly shaken.

“I'm no hunter.” You said before walking back to the table, Hotch following you. “But yes, I do have one.”

“I’ve never seen a tattoo on you.” Hotch frowns

“That´s because it’s not in a visible spot.” You giggled while turning your back on Hotch to take out another stack of files.

Hotch’s eyes were found unconsciously roaming over your body. He had seen you in the summer, in short skirts and tiny tops, or with risky cleavages, hell he even had seen you in your pajamas when you shared a hotel room once or twice, but he never noticed any tattoos. That can only mean one last place. 

Hotch knew you were busy getting the files so his eyes ended up going down your back to your ass, He was positive your tattoo was on your hip or ass. 

You could feel Hotch’s eyes going down and up your body, You even turned your back on him longer than needed, so he could linger his sight on you even longer. Anyone could’ve said it was just Hotch’s curiosity but you saw that tiny shade of lust, sparkle in his eyes for a brief moment when you mentioned you having a tattoo.

You turned your body in a slow move and caught him still hypnotized by your body. “Looking for something Hotch?”

“Hips or ass, agent?” He asked with a straight face but his voice showed a hint of playfulness. He was teasing you.

The question made you smirk. “You’re not gonna hear it from me, you’re going to need to find out in another way, Sir.”

But before he could open his mouth to speak, Spencer came back to the room with bad news.

“Another body appeared, no tattoo.”

–

“Body number five, we can barely keep up with this guy.” you heard in the distance.

“Do we know who he is?” Hotch asked.

“Since it matters so much, His friend says he is a salesman.” Weller said, sending a nasty look at you. “No connection.”

“Detective Weller, I would appreciate it if your answer were directed at me. When I ask a question.” Hotch replied.

Weller huffed with irritation and you thought you heard him grumble something, but you’re not sure if he was agreeing with Hotch or cursing you under his breath. “We have five bodies, Agent Hotchner, and no correlation.”

“Okay, all victims were partying late at night with their friends and killed in the alley with no one noticing, how did the unsub manage to get them alone?” Hotch looked at his team, they were all lost in thoughts.

“A woman.” Detective Weller's mocking laughter echoed in the room.

“Let her finish.” It only took the look on Hotch’s eyes to harden, to force Weller to shut up.

“What is the only temptation for a straight man that’s going to lure him away from his friends and make him leave the bar?” Your expecting eyes were moving around glancing at your team’s faces.

“A woman.” Rossi repeated while nodding his head.

Hotch turned on his heels and looked at the detective. “Gather your men, we are ready to give a profile.” 

—

“Ready?” Hotch whispered in your ear, making the baby hairs on the back of your neck stand at the sound of his voice.

“What?” You whispered back feeling numb by his closeness.

“Ready to give the profile?” 

“Hotch, I’ve never gi-.” Your voice trails off. “I don’t think it is a good idea.”

“It is.” He assured you pushing you to the side and walking to the room full of cops.

Lost in your thoughts you barely felt two hands holding your arms from behind, giving you a light squeeze. “You got this, Kid.” Rossi left your side and followed Hotch in the other precinct's room.

You sighed and took a deep breath. This was your first time profiling a human case, not covering up supernatural events or rehearsing made-up stories. This felt different, good different.

You walked confidently and stood in the middle of the room surrounded by your team.

“We are looking for a woman between 30 and 35, she’s friendly, she’ll lure with charm but kill with rage.” You began your speech, feeling every pair of eyes looking at you with attention. “We believe she kills men to reclaim her power.” 

“She probably suffers from low self-esteem but covers it well.” You heard Morgan's voice.

“We believe this woman went through a catastrophic event, that’s when the killing started.” Rossi pointed.

“She has medical training, you should consider EMTs, doctors, or veterinarians.” 

“It’s more likely we are dealing with the Aileen Wournos archetype, motivated by paranoia and fear, luring men with sex.” Spencer added.

“She certainly knows the terrain, so be careful out there.” Hotch remarked.

A couple of hours later after the profile, Detective Weller came in a hurry with a piece of paper in an evidence bag.

“Forensics found a letter on the victim's body.” He said handing it over to Hotch. “She’s mocking us.”

“Dear boss, he wanted it. With that sharp tongue and vulgar hand. I thought you’d like to know that another will soon get what he deserves.

Yours truly.”  

“That 's weird.” All eyes searched Spencer’s voice. “Typically offenders write letters to be heard. Jack the Ripper bragged about not being caught yet this Unsub isn’t using correspondence to flaunt her latest kill. Only to explain why she did it.” He explained while moving his hands around.

“It’s possible that she considers herself a vigilante. That the man she’s killing deserves to die.” Rossi blurted.

“Then, every kill she’s acting out is a fantasy of revenge or a real revenge?” Everyone in the room returned to their thoughts wondering at Morgan’s question.

You shifted in your place with uncertainty. “Maybe she is contacting us not because we are on the case, but because she believes we understand.” With fingers tapping against the wood, you began to unravel the tiny hints in the letter. “The Unsub wrote, He wanted it as she couldn’t help herself. What if she’s mirroring the man who raped her?”

”Where are the files stored from your Sex Crimes Division?” Hotch looked at Weller’s direction.

The detective stepped out of the room momentarily and returned with a medium-sized carton box with a few files that barely stuck out of the box. “Here they are.”

“That 's it?” You let out with a surprised tone of voice.

After several hours of trying to match your profile with any file in the box, you were exhausted. You decided to take a quick break and enter the bathroom, You locked yourself inside one of the bathroom booths and sighed while your hands held your head.

The sound of the door being opened ripped you out of your pessimistic thoughts. Suddenly a hand left a piece of paper report at your feet, leaving you uncertain on what to do. You tried to thank the person but, you were answered with fast footsteps leaving the place.

You took the paper and read in a whispered voice, Disturbance at Jones.

~~

“Care to tell us what happened then, detective?” Hotch asked.

Detective Weller shifted in his seat with discomfort. “How did you know about this incident?”

“It was in the box you gave us, Weller.” Morgan said while leaning against the wall, looking directly at Weller.

“I don’t think so.”

“Maybe you misplaced it, who cares?” You argued. 

He looked at you with disdain. Aaron couldn’t help himself and stepped closer to you showing protection. “This happened when the head detective before me was in charge, I took some of the declarations but that’s it.”

You smirked with satisfaction Knowing you were right all along. “The detective before you as our third victim?” He nodded.

“What happened there, detective?” 

“One of the boys asked her if she wanted to play pool. Witnesses claim she was up for anything. His friend, not far behind.“ All the eyes were on him. “He claims she knew he was there, She said she claimed for help but not a single person claimed that they heard her.”

You shook your head in disbelief. 

He continued, “That’s why it was registered as a disturbance. She wanted to press charges. But the head detective back then told her it was a waste of time.”

“How is this just a disturbance?” Rossi asked, frowning at Weller.

“As far as I was concerned, no such rape ever took place, and the boy was a colleague’s son, he is a good boy.”

Something in your stomach twisted and anger started to build up.

“We are trying to know her name; she could be our Unsub.” Morgan pointed out. Weller sighed when this realization dawned on him, but he slightly shook his head as he was ashamed of not knowing the answer. 

But you were sure shame wasn’t a feeling men like that could understand.

“You don’t remember her name?“ Morgan asked with incredulity.

“It was nine years ago.” 

“What about the name of the good kid that raped her?” You bickered.

~~

“Mr. Tibideaux, we need you to answer a few questions about a disturbance you were involved with.“ Hotch’s voice resonated inside the four walls of the interrogation room.

“I don’t know what you are talking about.”

Disgust appeared in your face, but you hid it by biting your tongue. You didn’t know why Hotch asked you to be there, but you hated every minute of it.

“At a bar called Jones, It was Mardi Gras.” Hotch reminded him.

“You know, then I must’ve been drinking or something. Cause I don’t remember a thing.”

With your feet tapping the floor, you were counting the seconds to be able to leave the room and be away from the so-called good boy.

“We just need to know the name of your accuser.” Hotch demanded. If he was annoyed there was no way to know.

“Look, I told you. I don’t know what you are talking about”

You roughly massaged your right temple, fuming.

”The statute of limitations is up, we just need a name.” He added calmly.

“Someone accuses me of rape, I’m gonna remember her name.” You taunted.

“Well, what can I tell you, Cher? I guess she didn’t make that good of an impression.“

Your eyes narrowed dismissively.

”Unlike yourself right now.” You retorted.

“You know. I’m guessing if someone did do something to that girl that night then she was probably asking for it. Maybe even liked it.”

You controlled the urge to smash his head against the table and abruptly took the file out of Hotch’s hands, you opened it and began to display all the victim's photos in front of him.

“You know Hotch, maybe we are not too late, she murdered these men and I’m guessing it’s only a matter of time before she works her way back to the one she really wants to kill.” You tilted your head to look at him but he was busy looking at the pictures with a horrified look. “Is she making an impression now?

Your words suggested you were talking to Hotch but your sight was set on the other man in the room.

“You don’t want to tell us, fine.” You snickered. “Cause Daddy can’t make this go away, and I have no problem waiting for your dead body to give me a new hint.”  

You leaned closer, you didn’t have to talk anymore, you knew your eyes were saying enough. But you continued.

“In fact, I wouldn’t like anything else, so I’m gonna go ahead and set my alarm for tomorrow morning when I get the call from the police.” You ranted.  “Cause, believe me, I’m going to sleep better knowing there is one less offender out of the streets.”

After hearing the name you needed, you stormed out of the room leaving everyone behind without looking back until you heard a voice calling for you.

“That was out of line, agent.” You abruptly stopped and turned on your heels to look at Weller. 

“The only thing out of line is how pathetic you are at doing your job, Weller.” You turned back at him one more time and kept waking till reaching a quiet corner to make a phone call.

“Work me.” You hear Penelope’s voice on your phone.

“We have a name. Sarah Danlin. I need an address.”

“1141 Sherman Avenue. It looks like she was a med student at Tulane but she dropped out.”

“Let me guess, February nine years ago.”

“Yeah.”

“Thanks.” 

~~

You returned to the hotel room by Hotchner’s request, and you knew he was in the right to send you back, you got carried away by your emotions. 

You were a mess. Closing your room door, you let your emotions overpower you once more. Tears were falling down your face. You weren’t sure what you were feeling. No one ever prepared you for this kind of case, you felt powerless, empty, and lost. And finally, rage possessed your emotions.

You tossed glasses and trails of empty dishes, and your luggage and clothes flew around the room until your energy and strength gave up and tiredness reached you.

You are sure the hotel staff let Hotch know, cause he kept checking with you constantly. He let you know when they arrested her and how she told them she killed every man who helped cover up her abuse.

You heard your door being open and looked at Hotchner with a questioning look when you saw him standing there.

“How did you open my door?” 

He showed you his key. “We are sharing.”

You frowned. “Since when?”

“Since now, there has been an unexpected cut in the budget.” You nodded knowing it was a lie and he probably wanted to check on you. But you said nothing.

“Some things fall by themselves, I think there’s a ghost.” You said when you caught him looking at the mess on the floor.

“I think you can manage that.” 

He left his duffel bag on the floor and sat next to you on the bed. 

“Are you okay?” He asked.

That simple question was enough to break your strong façade. It was a question you normally have no problem answering with a lie, and you didn’t know if it was the situation or just because Hotch was the one asking. But it brought you down to tears. 

He took you in his arms and hugged you tight.

“I’m sorry.” 

“It 's okay.” He softly mumbled on your head reassuring you. “You said what you needed to say.”

You quickly shook your head.

“I meant it.” You sniffled. “I was willing to wait.”

“I know.” He said while caressing your back with soothing movements. 

“So, normally you have to deal with these detectives making your job impossible?”

“Yeah, all the time.” He chuckled. 

“God, it’s exhausting.” You laugh a little 

“You don’t?”

“No, they basically beg me to take the case out of their hands.” 

Hotch sighed. “You need to learn new methods for the interrogation.” He searched for your eyes. “I mean, only if you want to keep coming to these cases with us, you want to?”

“Yeah.” You smiled at him.

“You are a profiler now, welcome to the team.”

~~

Back in Quantico, you were getting ready to leave your office when you got a call from an unknown number. You hesitated but finally answered after letting it ring for a couple of seconds.

“Hello?”

“Hey, sweetheart.”

“Dean?” You frowned looking back at the number.

“We need a little bit of help.” Reality sank on you.

“Tell me you are not calling from where I think you are calling.” 

“Agent Henriksen got to us.”

“Damn it, Dean, How the heck did he manage to do that?”

“Bella Talbot.”

“That bitch again?” You sighed. “Where are you?”

“Colorado.”

“I’m on my way.”

[dianawinchester03]

Season 2, Episode 21 - All Hell Breaks Loose: Part 1

Series Masterlist

Author's Note: Ahhhh yes, the dreaded episode is finally here😭Just so y’all know, this was not easy for me to write LMAO.

So the song I listened to while rereading and editing this chapter is Dynasty by Miia sooooo, do what you want with that;) listen to it while reading if that’s your thing.

Lmao, GOOD LUCK MY BEAUTIES!!

____________________________________________

Third Person POV

Boston’s ‘Foreplay/Longtime’ boomed through the Impala’s speakers, the quartet was headed to a local diner. The screech of Baby’s wheels dug into the gravel in front of the dingy diner. “Hey, don’t forget the extra onions this time, huh?” Dean said to Sam, handing him some cash between his fingers for the food.

“Dude-” Sam scoffed, rolling his eyes as he snatched the money from his fingers. “-we’re the ones who’re gonna have to ride in the car with your extra onions” Sam sassed, making Jo snicker in the backseat, while Y/N groaned heavily, resting her head on Jo’s shoulder. “Times like this, I miss my girl” She groaned, referring to her bike.

“There, there, darling.” Jo pat Y/N’s head playfully. Dean just smiled widely as Sam and Y/N hopped out of their respective seats. “Hey, see if they got any pie!” Dean called out to them, Sam and Y/N shot him annoyed looks as they harshly shut their doors. “Bring me some pie!” He called out again.

“We won’t forget your cake!” Y/N shouted back with a roll of her eyes, slightly offended that Dean really thought she would forget the pie. Forgetting the pie was more Sam’s thing. “PIE!!!” Dean shouted again. “I love me some pie” He muttered to himself, turning up the radio.

Y/N pushed the door open to the diner, allowing Sam in first, the bell above the door jingling as they entered inside. The lighting was soft and dim, the atmosphere of the diner gave the diner an intimate feel. The place was a typical small town diner, booths with vinyl seats, checkered floor, and counters. A couple of customers sat scattered about, talking amongst themselves between bites.

Jo watched Y/N and Sam walk into the diner through the windshield, her attention turned back to Dean. “I’m starving,” She spoke, rubbing her empty stomach. “All this hunting makes a girl hungry.”

“I hear ya” He chuckled a little in agreement, his eyes still glued to the door where Y/N and Sam had disappeared into. “I swear, if they forget the pie, I’m gonna lose it.” He muttered under his breath, running his hand through his hair. Jo snorted in amusement, “Like she’d forget your pie” She told him, shaking her head.

“True, but Sam can be a little brain-dead sometimes.” He added with a crooked smirk. “Dude forgets the pie every time we stop at a diner. It’s a good thing Y/N always reminds him.” Jo nodded in agreement, “I swear that girl keeps you guys alive.”

Before Dean could respond to that, the music that was sounding through the Impala began going static. The light in the radio deck started blinking as if something was interfering with the frequency. Dean and Jo furrowed their brows, the elder Winchester reaching over to tap the deck but the music shut off.

The two shared a bewildered look upon noticing the surroundings were eerily silent and the once filled diner with patrons and staff was now empty, no sign of Sam or Y/N whatsoever. They instantly bursted into action without a word, Dean exiting the drivers side with Jo climbing out of the backseat.

Both rushed over to the diner door, the jingling of the bell and the sound of country music filled their ears, their eyes widening at the scene in front of them, one of the patrons was now laying facedown in a booth, a bullet wound to the back of his head, his cap laying near the puddle of blood.

Their senses heightened in alert as they stepped in, their eyes scanning the diner for any sort of threat. The atmosphere was eerily quiet, all noise cut to a halt, except for the faint sound of the country music playing on the old radio behind the counter. Dean and Jo cautiously moved further inside, weapons drawn, prepared for danger.

Dean as he gripped his holstered gun at the back of his jeans and Jo retrieved hers from her jean jacket. “Sam?!” Dean shouted for his brother. “Y/N?!” Jo called out for her sister, slowly padding into the diner, Jo’s eyes were trapped on the blood leaking down the edge of the table where the innocent man laid in the pool of his own bodily fluids.

“Y/N?! Sammy?!” Dean and Jo called out for them but no response was given. Jo slightly jumped back when her eyes landed on the two dead cooks of the diner behind the counter, both with their throats slit. Their calls echoed through the silent diner, only returned with silence.

Jo’s heart was racing a million beats per minute, a cold sweat breaking out on her skin. She was filled with panic, fear and anxiety bubbling in the pit of her stomach as she followed Dean through the diner. The sight of the two dead cooks made her blood run cold and she fought the urge to gag at the sight.

Dean’s jaw tightened, his heart pounding as he tried to keep his cool, his hand tightening around his silver revolver. He’d been in tense situations way worse than this, and yet…he couldn’t shake the feeling of pure dread crawling up his spine. “Sam!” He yelled again, his voice hoarse and tense. “Y/N?! Where the hell are you?!”

Dean and Jo walked around the back, stumbling upon the back door. The elder Winchester pushed it open, the rain had come down since they entered the diner, there were no tracks out the back, nothing. As if they had just vanished. Upon taking his hand off the door, Dean felt a weirdly familiar dust coat the side of his hand. His eyes widened as he dusted the yellow sand between his fingers.

His heart rate increased rapidly. Jo turned to him in surprise, her eyes locking on to the dust between his fingers. “Sulfur” They both said in unison. The two rushed out of the diner, screaming the names of their loved ones.

“Sam?!”

“Y/N?!”

“Sammy?!”

“Y/N/N?!”

Their footsteps were heavy through the wet gravel of the parking lot. Their voices echoed through the empty parking lot. Dean and Jo’s breaths were coming out in panicked gasps as they tore through the rain, calling for Sam and Y/N over and over.

“SAM!!! Y/N!!!!”

____________________________________________

Cold Oak, South Dakota

Meanwhile, Sam and Y/N were both passed out on an old board next to each other in a ghost town. Sam’s hand twitched on top of Y/N’s face, accidentally clocking her one in her cheek. Y/N’s eyes shot open, a soft gasp leaving her lips when she found herself woken up to a world rocking punch from Sam and a blinding headache.

"Ow!" She groaned, bringing a hand to her sensitive cheek where Sam's hand had made contact. Her head was spinning and her cheek throbbed with pain from the accidental punch. She shot a glare over to Sam, who was slowly regaining consciousness as well, groaning heavily. "Sam, you stupid fucking idiot." She mumbled, punching him back in his ribcage.

Sam grunted heavily as eyes shot open, his senses slowly coming back to him. His head was pounding, and his vision was blurry with exhaustion. He groaned loudly, rubbing his head before looking down, finding Y/N on the floor next to him, cradling her cheek. "Jesus" He croaked out, wincing, clutching his side. "What...happened?"

“I don’t know” Y/N said in confusion, still gripping her bruised cheek with one hand and her throbbing hand with the other as Sam pushed himself up, struggling to steady himself. Sam took a minute to steady himself, his feet stumbling to keep himself upright. Once he'd stabilized, he turned to Y/N, concern etched on his face as he noticed her holding her hand and bruised cheek.

"You okay?" He asked, his voice gruff yet genuine. Y/N glared at him slightly, clutching her cheek. “Just peachy” She huffed, putting her hand out for him to help her up. Sam looked guilty as he grabbed Y/N's offered hand and aided her up. "Sorry about that." He apologized genuinely, gesturing to her bruised cheek.

Y/N rubbed the tender area of her cheek, wincing slightly as her fingers grazed over the bruise. "It’s fine, I got you back. But I do feel bad for Jo" Y/N teased with a hint of humor in her voice despite the pain. Sam scoffed, rolling his eyes in playful annoyance as they both scanned the deserted town they had woken up in with their eyes. Not a soul in sight.

Panic began to set in for them both as Sam quickly reached into his pocket to fish his phone out. His phone just beeped, indicating there’s no signal. Sam’s fingers trembled as he tried calling for a signal on his phone, but it just continued to display no signal. “Goddammit” He muttered under his breath as he shoved his phone back into his pocket.

“Y/N, where’s your phone?” He asked, his voice growing more desperate in tone. “I left it in the Impala before we went into the diner” She groaned, holding her throbbing forehead. Sam's jaw clenched in frustration and worry. "Dammit!" He exhaled as he began to pace back and forth on the old worn-down board. He tried to think rationally, but panic was taking over.

"We have to find a phone, we need to call Jo and Dean." He spoke, a sense of desperation in his words. Y/N narrowed her eyes at him, “I don’t know if you’ve noticed Sammy but-” She flailed her arms around. “We’re in the middle of NOWHERE!”

"Oh, I'm so glad you just gave me that update, genius." He retorted sarcastically, his words a bit sharper than he intended. He paused, taking a moment to try and center himself before continuing.

"We can’t just stand here waiting," he grumbled under his breath, his eyes scanning the surroundings. “We need to find some way to contact them, even if we have to walk twenty miles on foot." He said determined, marching off to investigate.

Y/N’s eyes widened at his words. “Twenty miles in these boots?? Come on!” She exclaimed, begrudgingly following behind her best friend.

-

An hour later, the two still hadn’t found anyone or anything in the town. Going up to old buildings, but most of the doors were locked or barred. That was until they heard the floorboards creaking while outside of an old house.

Sam froze in place as they approached another seemingly abandoned house, their ears perked up as they heard the creaking of the floorboards coming from within. He turned to Y/N and held up a hand, signaling her to stay behind him.

Y/N’s eyes landed on two large wooden ply at the front of the door, she reached down slowly and picked them both up, handing one to Sam. Sam took the board from Y/N, and held it in a defensive position, ready in case they had to fight off an unknown danger.

Sam stood for a moment, listening intently to the sounds coming from within. The footsteps grew louder coming towards them and Y/N instantly aimed to hit the person but pulled back upon recognizing them.

“AHHH!!” Andy screamed, backing up into the old wall, holding up his hands. Sam’s eyes widened, “Andy?!” He spoke, lowering the 2x4 in his hand. “Sam. Y/N.” Andy gasped. “What are you two doing here?!” He exclaimed, fully panicked. “We don’t know!” Y/N said back in equal panic and confusion, lowering her wood. “What am I doing here?!” Andy exclaimed again.

“We don’t know. Just-” Sam tried to tell him to calm down but Andy cut him off. “Where are we?!” Andy panicked, Sam and Y/N shared an exasperated look before both tossing their woods aside. “Andy, honey, look. Calm down” Y/N tried to say soothingly but it didn’t seem to help him whatsoever.

“I-I can’t calm down. I have just woke up in fucking Frontierland” Andy’s voice went up an octave as he hyperventilated. “Okay, okay. What’s the last thing you remember?” Sam asked him calmly. Andy panted as he placed his hand to his forehead, “Honestly. My fourth bong-load” Andy panted.

Y/N let out a little snort of amusement, earning a side eye and a nudge to the ribs by Sam. She winced slightly, shooting him a glare as she rubbed her rib while Andy explained. “It was weird. All of a sudden, there was this really intense smell, like, uh-” Sam and Y/N shared a knowing look at this.

“Like sulfur?” She cut him Off. “How did you know that?” Andy gasped. “Dean.” Sam said as he gulped. “Your brother, is he here?” Andy asked hopefully. Y/N’s heart dropped as Sam shook his head. “We don’t know where he is” Y/N’s tone dropped as she toyed with her charm bracelet. “We don’t know if he’s-” Sam’s heart panged at the thought of something happening to Dean or Jo.

A woman screaming in the distance made their heads snap in the direction of the sound. The three instantly began rushing towards the sound of a woman screaming and banging on a wooden crate. “Help me, please!! I’m locked in here!!” The woman’s cries echoed. “Hello?!” Y/N shouted. They stumbled upon the crate, which was locked from the outside.

“Help!! Help me!!!” The woman cried, banging on the door. “Okay, okay. We’re here. We’re gonna get you out, alright?! Just hold on a second!” Sam assured the woman as y/n picked up a stone from the ground and began hitting the lock. After a few strikes, the lock broke. Y/N quickly discarded the rock as Sam took the lock off.

“Alright, one second!” Sam shouted, pulling the door open to reveal Ava. Sam and Y/N’s mouths dropped, “Ava?!” Y/N gasped, “Oh my god, Sam! Y/N!!” Ava sobbed exasperatedly, her tone going up an octave, rushing into Y/N’s arms. The psychic instantly wrapped her arms around her, burying her face in her hair.

Sam let out a breath of relief upon seeing Ava alive and well. Her disappearance haunted him and y/n for months. Andy stood there awkwardly as the two women embraced. “I guess you know each other” He said awkwardly as Ava pulled away from y/n. “Yeah” Sam nodded, only to let out a low, “Oof” as Ava threw herself into his arm.

“How did you-? I mean- how did you-” Ava stuttered, trying to talk. “Ava, have you been here this whole time?” Sam asked her, bewildered. “What whole time? I just woke up in there like half an hour ago!” Ava exclaimed. “Well, you’ve been gone for months. Sam, Dean and I have been looking everywhere for you” Y/N told her, Ava shook her head.

“Okay, that's impossible, because I saw you guys two days ago” Ava scoffed, Sam and Y/N looked at her as if she had grown two heads. “You didn’t, I’m sorry” Sam shook his head. Ava’s face dropped, “But that makes no sense. It’s-” She began sobbing again. “Oh, my God!” She gasped. “My fiancé, Brady, if I’ve been missing for that long, he must be freaking out!”

Sam and Y/N shared a sideways look as Ava sobbed hysterically, a lump growing in Y/N’s throat. “Well-” Sam’s words got caught in his throat. “Oh-” Ava’s face contorted to confusion when her eyes landed on Andy. “Hey. Andy. Also freaking out” Andy awkwardly introduced himself. “Okay. What’s happening?!” Ava screamed.

Y/N ran a hand over her face, sighing heavily. “I don’t know. I don’t really know yet” Sam sighed. A thought popped up in Y/N’s head. “But I know one thing” Y/N began, putting a finger up. “I know what the four of us have in common.” She stated, Sam nodded in agreement. “Hello? Is anybody there?” The sound of an unfamiliar voice of a man in the distance made all their heads snap in the same direction.

“Maybe more than four” Sam muttered, he and y/n nodded in unison before following the sound of the man’s voice.

-

The four of them walked through the abandoned town, looking for the source of the voice. They rounded a corner and heard the banging of something, they picked up their pace towards the sound.

They stood in front of a small shop, the sound of something banging against wood echoed from inside. “Help! Somebody, anybody” The man’s voice called out desperately.

“Hello?! Hey!” Sam shouted, stumbling upon an African American man in an army uniform and a blonde woman, all seemingly around their age. “Hey, you guys alright?” Y/N asked. “I think so.” The man responded. “I’m Y/N. This is Sam” Y/N introduced them both, gesturing to Sam.

“I’m Jake.” Jake introduced himself. “Lily” Lily, the blonde woman who looked scared, introduced herself. “Are there any more of you?” Sam asked, looking behind them. “No” Jake shook his head. “How did we even get here? A minute ago I was in San Diego” Lily said. “Well, if it makes you feel any better, I went to sleep last night in Afghanistan” Jake countered, making everyone’s jaws drop.

“Let me take a wild guess. You two are both 23?” Y/N asked them. Their eyes widened in disbelief, “Well, we all are. And we all have abilities” Sam added. “What?” Jake asked, clenching his jaw. “It started a little over a year ago, when you found out you can do things. Things you didn’t think were possible” Sam continued. Everyone fell silent.

“Me and Sam have visions. We see things before they happen.” Y/N told them. “Yeah, me too,” Ava muttered. “And I’m telekinetic. I can move things with my mind, like-” Y/N put her right hand out, focusing her energy on the dried dead leaves on the ground. Her eyes flashed white as her veins on her hand ignited to a light shade of aqua blue.

The leaves and small twigs started trembling and floated up a few inches from the ground. The four looked on in awe as Y/N made the sticks fly through the air. Y/N gritted her teeth as she concentrated, causing the dry leaves to fly into the air into a swirling tornado before dropping back down with a heavy thud.

“Okay. That’s cool” Jake muttered, his tone laced with shock. “Yeah, shit took a lot of practice.” Y/N snorted. “Well, that makes my ability to put thoughts into people's heads and make them do stuff seem pretty lame” Andy huffed, Y/N chuckled and patted his shoulder. “Oh, but don’t worry. I don’t think it works on you guys.” Andy added as he walked up the porch.

Y/N’s eyes scanned Jake as Andy spoke, a nagging thought at the back of her head was telling her that she knew him from somewhere but she couldn’t place exactly where. “Oh, but get this, um, I’ve been practicing. Training my brain, like meditation, right? So now, it’s not just thought I can beam out but images too. Like anything I want. It’s like, bam! People, they see it” Andy exclaimed enthusiastically.

Y/N smiled, shaking her head at him. Sam did the same thing, “This one guy I know, total dick. I- i used it on him” Andy laughed as he explained, pointing to his head. “Gay porn, all hours of the day” Andy told them, everyone looked horrified while Y/N bursted out laughing. “It’s just like- you should’ve seen the look on his face” Andy cackled.

Y/N struggled to catch her breath, her sides were aching from laughing so hard. Even Sam cracked a smile at the story, shaking his head, holding back a snort. Meanwhile everyone else was silent, looking at Andy unamused. “Oh, okay…tough crowd” Andy muttered. “So you go, ‘Simon says give me your wallet’ and they do?” Lily asked bitterly, crossing her arms over her chest.

“You two have visions? And you can make fucking tornados out of leaves with your mind? That’s great! I’d kill for something like that!” Y/N’s smile faded at the tone of Lily’s voice, sensing the resentment. “Hey. Watch the tone” She warned, an edge to her voice. Everyone fell silent, the air was tense.

Sam stepped in, not wanting Y/N to shank the chick before they could figure out what’s going on. “Lily, listen. It’s okay” Sam tried to calm her down. “No, it’s not! I touch people, their hearts stop” Lily growled. Everyone’s faces dropped and Y/N now felt bad for getting defensive. “I can barely leave my house. My life’s not exactly improved. So fuck you. I just wanna go home” The bitterness in Lily’s tone was evident.

“And what, we don’t?” Jake chimed in. “You know what, don’t talk to me like that-” Lily turned back to give Jake a piece of her mind. “Hey, guys. Come on, whether we like it or not, we’re all here. And so we all have to deal with this” Sam cut her off. “Who brought us here?” Andy asked. Sam and Y/N shared a horrified look, “It’s less of a who. It’s more of a what” Y/N said lowly.

“What does that mean?” Ava asked, crossing her arms over her chest. “It’s- uh-” Sam gulped, y/n was still fiddling with her charm bracelet on her wrist. “It’s a demon,” Sam finally revealed. Lily rolled her eyes, scoffing in disbelief as the place fell silent again.

____________________________________________

Sioux Falls, South Dakota

Dean and Jo found themselves back in South Dakota after Sam and Y/N’s sudden disappearance. Upon knowing it’s somehow connected to a demon, they instantly went to Bobby for help. Now in the salvage yard, Bobby had a map pressed against Baby’s hood as Dean and Jo leaned down to get a look of the map. “This is it. All demonic signs and omens over the past month” Bobby told them.

The duo shot Bobby a questioning look, “You’re joking right? There’s nothing here” Dean scoffed. “Exactly” Bobby shrugged. Their blood pressure skyrocketed. “Come on. There’s gotta be something. I mean, what about the normal, low level stuff?!” Jo exclaimed, “You know, exorcisms, that kind of thing”

“That’s what I’m telling you, idjits. There’s nothing. It’s completely quiet” Bobby pointed out. “Well how are we supposed to look for Sam and Y/N?! What do we just close our eyes and point?!” Dean’s frustration boiled over as he ran a hand over his face. Jo’s phone rang, she eagerly took it out of her pocket, hoping it was Sam or Y/N. Disappointment washed over her when it was just Ash.

“Ash, what do you got?” Jo asked after pressing the answer button, putting the phone on speaker. “Okay, listen, it’s a big negatory on Sam and Cupcake” Ash answered, Dean tried to ignore the burning feeling of agony when Ash called Y/N ‘cupcake’. “Come on, man. You gotta give us something! We’re looking at a 3000-mile haystack here!” Dean bellowed through the speaker.

“Listen, guys, I did find something,” Ash whispered into the phone. “Well, what?” Jo urged him to say, but Ash sounded nervous. “I can’t talk over this line, Jojo.” Ash’s voice cracked. Dean was close to punching a hole in Bobby’s windshield while Jo rolled her eyes. “Come on, we don’t have time for this!” Jo yelled, running a hand through her hair.

“Make time! Okay, because this-…What’s up? What’s going on?” Ash’s words stopped when he saw a Hunter near him. When the hunter walked away, “Not only does this almost definitely help you find Sam and Cupcake, this is…no…It’s huge. So, get here. Now” With the last deathly serious words from Ash, the line went dead.

Jo stared wide eyed at the phone as Dean ran his hand over his face, wiping away the stress sweat beading his forehead. “He can’t be serious,” Dean grumbled. “He is, he definitely is. Ash wouldn’t just fuck around, especially not like this” Jo murmured. Dean sighed heavily, nodding begrudgingly. “I guess we’re going to the Roadhouse. Come on” Dean urged them, hopping into the Impala.

Jo went to follow behind Dean but Bobby stopped her, “Jo” She spun around to face Bobby, “Yeah?” She looked at him in confusion. Bobby reached into his pocket, pulling out a set of keys. The keys to Quinn. “Take Quinn, I’ll take my truck. Y/N’s gonna want her bike when we get her back”

Jo gave him a smile, “Thanks” Jo took the keys and hopped into Y/N’s beloved bike, snapping her helmet on. The engine roared to life as it started in the salvage yard, followed shortly by Baby’s engine revving and then the rumbling of Bobby’s truck engine. The three took off down the road, heading for the Roadhouse.

____________________________________________

Cold Oak, South Dakota

“So we’re soldiers in a demon war to bring on the Apocalypse?!” Jake shouted in disbelief at Sam and Y/N, they gave them the rundown of everything and now everyone was freaking out while Lily was a nervous wreck, biting her nails. “When you put it like that-“

“And- and we’ve been picked?” Jake cut Sam off again. “Yes.” Y/N groaned, playing with her lighter in her thumb. Flicking the flame on and off, it was the only way to stop her from twiddling with her bracelet. Jake was getting on her nerves for some reason and she couldn’t really stand the dude, yet, she couldn’t figure out why, or where she knew him from.

“Why us?” Jake asked again. “We’re not sure. Okay, but look, I just know-” Sam tried to reason with everyone. “Sam. I’m sorry, psychos and spoon bending is one thing. But demons?” Ava interrupted him. Her tone seemed overly croaked, Y/N took note of that. “Look, we know it sounds crazy!” Y/N tried to aid Sam's defense, stuffing her lighter in her pocket. “It doesn’t just sound it” Jake cut her off.

“I don’t really care what you think, okay?!” Y/N snapped. “If we’re all gathered here that means something is starting and that we gotta-!” Jake interrupted her again, “The only thing I gotta do is stay away from wack jobs, okay? I’ve heard enough. I’m better off on my own.” Jake shot back, getting up in her face. Sam’s eye twitched, using his left arm to shield Y/N.

“Hey, hey, hey, hey, hey, hey! Whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa! Cool it, man” Sam warned, putting his hand up on Jake’s chest to hold him back as he moved between the two. Jake’s eyes flicked from Y/N to Sam before he took a step back, clenching his jaw before walking away. “Jake. Hold on. Jake!” Sam called out for him but he kept walking.

The thunder in the sky rumbled as the place felt heavy, Y/N’s chest felt heavy as a burning feeling at the back of her neck raised. She gasped, a wince leaving her mouth as she clutched the back of her neck. The last time she felt this, it was nothing good. It only meant one thing.

"Y/N?" Sam's worried tone filled her ears but she was too focused on the burning feeling behind her neck. It felt like thousands of needles stabbing through her skin. “Demon” Everyone’s eyes widened at Y/N’s indication, especially Ava’s. “Jake” Sam muttered before rushing behind Jake. The entire group followed behind him.

Sam eventually made it to a house he saw Jake go into to see a demon in the form of a little girl getting ready to maul Jake. He instantly burst into action, grabbing an iron poker near the door, driving it straight through the demon. It disapparated into a cloud of black smoke, causing everyone to gasp and duck as the cloud bellowed through the door and away.

Jake looked absolutely terrified at what he had just witnessed, “Just so you know. That was a demon” Y/N sassed a wide eyed Jake who was struggling to catch his breath.

-

“Now that thing, I’m not sure, but I think it was an Acheri. A demon that disguises itself as a little girl” Sam explained, the group of five six now outside the house Jake was nearly killed in. “Still doesn’t tell us where we are,” Y/N muttered. “Andy, you with us or what?” Sam asked. “Give me a minute. I’m still working through ‘demons are real’” Andy said, his voice going up an octave.

-

A few hours later, the group were standing near a large bell in town square. Y/N immediately recognized the bell, nudging Sam gently, “Look familiar?” She whispered, Sam’s eyes snapped over to the bell. His mouth slightly hanging open, “I think I know where we are now. Cold Oak, South Dakota. A town so haunted, every single resident fled” Sam told the group.

“Swell. Good to know we’re somewhere so historical” Ava said sarcastically. “Why in the world would that demon or whatever put us here?” Lily asked, terrified. “We’re wondering the same thing” Y/N answered. Lily scoffed, biting her nails. “You know what? It doesn’t matter.” She shook her head before turning away.

“Clearly, the only sane thing to do here is get the hell out of Dodge” She began walking away. “Wait, hold on, Lily. The only way out is through miles of woods” Y/N stopped her. “Beats hanging out with demons!” Lily bit back. Y/N clenched her jaw, internally rolled her eyes. “Lily, look, we don’t know what’s going on yet. I mean, we don’t even know how many of them are out there right now” Sam tried to reason.

“Yeah he’s right. We should just-” Jake added in but Lily snapped. “Don’t say we! I’m not part of we. I have nothing in common with any of you!” She screamed. “Okay, look, look. I know that-” Y/N attempted to be tender with her. “You don’t know anything! I-” Lily shouted, her words dying in her throat, the look of despair and grief etched on her face. “I accidentally touched my girlfriend”

Sympathy filled Sam and Y/N, the younger Winchester felt a bit of relation to what Lily experienced due to the events two years prior. The place fell silent again, the only sound audible was the rumbling of thunder. “I’m sorry” Sam apologized, “Whatever. I feel like I’m in a nightmare and it just keeps getting worse and worse” Lily’s face remained stoic but her voice was filled with pain.

“I’ve lost people too. I have a brother out there right now and my gir- um- friend. They could be dead for all we know” Sam’s voice dropped as he spoke. Y/N’s heart sank as Sam mentioned Dean and the thought of him potentially being dead. Especially Jo, she felt like bursting into tears on the spot at the image in her head.

She tried to push the thought out of her head but she was struggling, they’d already lost so much and she couldn’t imagine losing any more. Clearing her throat, she looked at Sam. “We’re all in bad shape.” She spoke softly, “But I’m telling you. We’re telling you, the best way out of this is to stick together” She said gently, offering Lily her hand.

Lily and Y/N locked eyes, neither breaking contact as everyone waited to see if Lily would take Y/N’s hand. After what felt like a century, Lily sighed heavily before reluctantly, taking Y/N’s hand and squeezing it. “Fine.” Lily agreed.

-

“We’re looking for iron, silver, salt, any kind of weapon” Sam instructed the four. “Salt is a weapon?” Jake gaped. “It’s a brave new world” Y/N snorted. “Well, hopefully there’s food in your world because I’m fucking starving.” Andy grumbled as they all walked up the porch to an old house, preparing to loot it.

“Amen brother.” Y/N snorted in agreement.

____________________________________________

CE, Nebraska

The Impala, Harley and Bobby’s truck pulled into the Roadhouse’s parking lot to see the once standing hunters bar, now in rubble, burnt to the ground. “What the hell?” Dean muttered, his expression turning to a frown. Quinn’s engine came to a halt when Jo saw her former home in rubble, she immediately took the bike off, practically ripping the helmet off of her head.

“No. No. No. No. No!” Jo yelled out in disbelief, she ran over to the crumbled building as Dean and Bobby hopped out of the Impala. “Jo, no!” Dean tried to stop her from going closer. But it was too late.

Jo pushed past the wooden barrier and began sifting through the rubble. She found scraps of leather and torn flannel, her mother’s flannel. Her heart dropped and she felt nauseous. “Oh my God” Bobby muttered, he felt sick to his stomach as he stared down at the charred bodies of fellow hunters.

The worst came to Jo’s mind, the possibility that her mother and Ash were inhere with all of the dead hunters. Jo fell to her knees in the middle of the rubble, her head grew fuzzy as her world began to spin. “Mom?! Ash!? MOMMY?!” Painful sobs tore from her throat, the huntress clutched her stomach, the grief overwhelming her.

First Sam and Y/N disappear, and now the Roadhouse, the only place she had ever called home, was burnt to a crisp with so many loved ones inside. Dean and Bobby exchanged a look, they were at a loss for what to do or even how to make this situation any better. Jo was breaking to pieces in front of them.

“Jo-“ Dean started to speak only to get interrupted by Jo’s sharp tone. “Don’t.” She snapped, “Just- don’t.” Jo looked up at him through tear-filled eyes, hurt etched across her face. “Just help me look f-“ Her words died in her throat as she began digging through the rubble, hoping beyond hope that there was a possibility her mother and Ash survived.

With heavy hearts and without a word, the two men obliged and began searching the pile of wood and rubble with Jo. It only made the whole situation more dire for both of them as each time they moved a piece, the bodies of a hunter or two became exposed. They could only imagine how Jo felt at that moment.

Upon digging up the rubble, Dean’s eyes landed on the charred arm with a familiar watch on. It was Ash. Jo’s head snapped over to Dean when she heard him say. “Oh, Ash. dammit it.” Her tear stricken eyes wide. “No” Jo whispered, her heart clenching in his chest. Bobby was looking at Ash’s watch, his breath hitched. “Fuck” Bobby muttered quietly.

Jo looked back down at the ground, her body numb as Bobby and Dean dug up Ash’s motionless body. It was a sickening sight. She covered her mouth with her hand, tears streaming down her face again. The fact that the last conversation that had over the phone was them yelling at each other tore into her heart.

She pushed herself up from her knees and slowly padded over to them, sinking back onto her knees in-front of one of her last remaining pieces of family. Now deceased. Bobby put a large calloused hand on her shoulder as Dean and Jo looked down at Ash’s body, no one was exactly sure what to say.

There was no consolation for losing someone. It was a feeling they all could relate to. “Jo, I’m so sorry” Bobby’s voice was gruff, the older man’s grief was evident in his voice. “This isn’t fair” She sobbed out, her chin quivering.

��I know. I know” Bobby was at a loss for words again, he had never seen Jo cry like this, not even after her father died, she was more distant when Bill died. It’s as if everything that was trapped in her was now coming out. It was absolutely heart-wrenching.

Dean placed his hand on Jo’s shoulder, rubbing it slowly. He didn’t say anything. Nothing was going to make anything better than it was in that moment so he didn’t even bother. “Mom. We have to find my mom” Jo croaked out, her head still bowed as she clutched onto Ash’s warm charred hand. “She’s not here, kiddo,” Bobby stated.

Jo’s head lifted up, her eyes wide, “What?” It was a quiet sound but it was so loud and filled with hope.

____________________________________________

Cold Oak, South Dakota

Sam and Y/N were in one room, rummaging through the cabinets for any weapons. “You got your butterfly knife?” Sam asked Y/N. She smirked, reaching into her boot. “You know it” She chuckled, flicking the knife open. “No bastard is taking it away from me this time”

Sam nodded in approval, admiring the knife that Y/N had a death grip on. He wasn’t surprised, she’d always liked knives, hell, he’s pretty sure the only reason she loved it so much is because Dean got it for her.

Ava’s groaning behind them caught their attention, “Hey. You alright, hun?” Y/N asked her softly as the fellow female psychic clutched her forehead. “Yeah. I’m just-…I don’t know. A little dizzy” Ava croaked, holding her head, she seemed to be in pain but to Y/N it looked like she was concentrating on something. Similar to the way Y/N was whenever she manifested her telekinetic abilities.

Sam’s brows furrowed in concern, “Are you sure it’s not some kind of-” Ava cut him off. “What? Some kind of freaky vision thing?” Ava scoffed. “No. More like, I’d kill for a sandwich. I haven’t eaten since-…Well, who knows” She sighed, this made the duo feel sympathetic towards her. “No, it’s- don’t worry. I’m fine, except for every single thing that’s happening” She assured them with a faux smile of enthusiasm.

Y/N and Sam chuckled awkwardly at her tone., “Hey guys, I found something!” Andy called out to them from downstairs. The three made their way down the dirty steps to see Andy next to Jake, holding up two bags with a wide grin. “Salt” Andy almost giggled proudly. “That’s great, Andy. Now we all can s-” Sam’s words died in his throat when he realized someone was missing.

“Where’s Lily?” He asked urgently. Everyone’s faces dropped. “Lily?!” Y/N called out for her in the house but there was no response. “LILY?!” Sam bellowed, his throat rasping, sounding quite similar to Dean. It surprised Y/N and made her flinch slightly along with Ava. Y/N hissed as the heat behind her neck raised and pricked at her skin, this alerted Sam.

The sound of a little girl giggling and Y/N’s sensory going off indicated that there were demons around. The group rushed outside to see Lily hanging from the windmill across the house, dead. “Oh my, God” Ava gasped theratically, placing a hand over her mouth in faux disgust. Y/N’s heart sank at the sight of the broken girl hanging off of the windmill like an animal.

“Okay, that’s officially- Sam! Y/N! She’s dead, she’s dead!” Ava sobbed. “You two said we were chosen for a reason. That is not chosen. That’s…killed!” She continued to ramble as everyone had their eyes locked on Lily’s corpse. “Okay, no. We have to get out of here” Ava insisted, trying to push past Sam. “Stop” He held her back. “Yeah, I second that emotion” Andy murmured.

“Not sure that’s an option” Jake said, shaking his head. “What?!” Ava exclaimed. “Lily was trying to leave. The demon’s not gonna let us get away that easy.” Y/N explained. “We gotta gear up for the next attack” Sam said determinedly. “Oh, gear up?” Ava scoffed. “Yeah,” Sam nodded. “Okay, well, I’m not a soldier. I can’t do that!”

Y/N rolled her eyes at Ava’s words, “Look, if you wanna stay alive, you’re gonna have to!” She snapped at Ava who had tears welling up in her eyes, but Ava didn’t look genuinely terrified. “Let’s go,” Sam pointed to the house, instructing everyone to go inside. Ava was first to run in, whimpering as she entered. “I’ll get her down,” Jake said.

Y/N sighed heavily, her mind running on Dean and Jo. “You know, I’m just thinking about how much Dean and Jo would help right now” Y/N said to Sam and Andy, stuffing her hands in her leather jacket’s pocket. “Yeah, I’d give my arm for a working phone” Sam agreed, “You know, you make not need one” Andy suddenly said, this made their heads snap over to him.

“I, uh, I’ve never tried it long distance before. But, do you have anything of Dean’s on you? Like something he touched?” Andy asked them, Sam frowned, shaking his head. Y/N patted her pockets down, frowning and she came up with nothing. “No, nothing” Y/N sighed. A flicker of frustration passed behind Sam’s eyes, he rubbed his palm against his face.

A thought popped into Y/N’s head, “I’m wearing some of his shirts, would that work?” She asked Andy. Andy nodded, “Yeah, that might work” He murmured. Y/N swiftly pulled off her leather jacket, revealing one of Dean’s flannels that he’d let her borrow a few nights prior paired with his Led Zeppelin shirt she claimed as her own weeks ago.

Y/N shoved the leather jacket in Sam’s hands, “Hold this” She told him. He took it without a word, his eyes locked on the flannel that was draped across her arms. Y/N handed it to Andy, who took it and held the sleeve in his hands, closing his eyes to concentrate.

____________________________________________

CE, Nebraska

“This is-” Bobby murmured as he, Jo and Dean walked off of the burnt to crisp Roadhouse’s rubble. “What the hell did Ash know? We got know clue what Ash was gonna tell us. Now how the fuck are we gonna find Sam and Y/N!?” Dean shouted in frustration as they headed back to their vehicles.

“And we got no way of knowing where my mom is or if-” Jo’s voice cracked, her nostrils flaring as fresh tears spilled from her eyes and down her cheeks. Her mascara smudged from earlier. “Jo, hey. I know it’s scary-” Bobby started. “Scared?” Jo’s voice was strained and hoarse, she was barely speaking above a whisper.

“Yeah. I’m scared, you know why? Cause I don’t know if my mom’s dead or alive. And if Sam and Y/N are okay?” She snapped. Dean stopped and looked back at her, his eyes locking on hers, which were now bloodshot. “Hey, we will find them. And your mom” He tried to comfort her.

Dean suddenly buckled over, clutching his head as a splitting migraine shot through his head. “Dean?” Bobby and Jo called out for him in unison as he grunted, “Fuck!” Dean groaned, clutching into Baby’s hood. “You alright, dude?” Jo asked, rushing over to his side, placing a hand on his shoulder. Dean groaned again against the throbbing pain shooting through his head.

“Yeah” He hissed, pushing himself to a standing position, he pushed his hair back away from his forehead. The migraine intensified. Then suddenly he saw an image of a bell appear in his head. “What was that?” Jo asked, confused. “I don’t know. Headache” Dean gritted his teeth in pain as Jo placed the back of his hand to his forehead.

“You get headaches like that a lot?” Bobby asked, crossing his arms over his chest. “No.” Dean gasped out as Jo took her hand off of his forehead, his chest was heaving as he struggled for breath. “Must be the stress” He said breathlessly with a weak chuckle and wiping his forehead. “I could’ve sworn I saw something”

Bobby and Jo’s brows skyrocketed, a look of recognition took over Bobby’s face. “What do you mean, like- like a vision? Like what Sam and Y/N get?” Bobby asked. “What?! No!” Dean exclaimed. “I’m just saying” Bobby put his hands up in surrender. “Come on, I’m not some psychic. I don’t have that ESP shit” Right after those words left Dean’s mouth, he buckled over in pain again.

Clutching his forehead. “Dean!” Bobby and Jo exclaimed as Dean almost fell to the ground. Bobby rushed over to his side of the Impala, helping Jo in keeping him on his feet. The image of the bell again with Sam and Y/N flashed through his head again, Dean was practically clutching his pearls as he grunted from the shooting migraine.

Dean Winchester never felt pain like that in his life, and to be quite Frank, if this is what y/n and Sam felt when they had visions. He felt sorry for them for having to go through this pain. Now he gets why y/n was always so snappy whenever she had her own migraines. They must’ve been worse than Sam’s.

“Are you okay?! What was that, you see something again?” Jo exclaimed as he stood back up after a few moments, panting as he tried to catch his breath. “You with us?” Bobby exclaimed in worry. “Yeah, I think so,” Dean groaned. “I saw Y/N and Sam. I saw them, guys” Dean tried to explain, the migraine still pounding in his head. “It was a vision” Jo murmured in shock.

“Yeah. I don’t know how. But, yeah. Ugh” Dean huffed, breathing heavily as he steadied himself. “That was about as fun as getting kicked in the jewels” Dean weakly chuckled. “What else did you see?” Bobby asked urgently. “Uh….There was a bell” Dean answered. “What kind of bell?” Jo asked, narrowing her eyes. “Uh, like a b-big bell with…uh…some kind of engraving on it, I don’t know,” Dean told them.

Bobby and Jo shared an alarmed look, “Engraving? Was it a tree? Like an oak tree” Bobby asked. Dean’s brows furrowed at them, “Yeah, exactly.” He confirmed. Jo and Bobby exchanged a knowing and alarmed look. “I know where they are”

____________________________________________

Cold Oak, South Dakota

Sam, Y/N and Jake were now chipping away at a steel tank with rocks, trying to break away any bars from it to use as weapons. Jake got tired and suddenly ripped out one of the bars, shocking both Sam and Y/N. “Awesome” Y/N muttered in awe, now wishing she had that ability. Sam’s brows raised in Jake's direction.

The army vet cleared his throat, “I’m- I’m not Superman or anything. It’s no big deal” He chuckled, shooting Y/N a sly wink. “You were in Afghanistan when this started?” Y/N asked curiously, a coy smile playing on her face. Her vibe with Jake was still off, but she figured you catch more flies with honey rather than vinegar.

So being sweet was her go to in order to find out how and where she knew Jake from. “Yeah, I started getting headaches. And then, uh…there was this accident. This guy flipped his vehicle on a bad road. He got pinned underneath. I lifted it off him like it was nothing” Jake explained as Sam and Y/N listened. “Everybody said it was a fluke adrenaline thing-”

“But then you did it again, right?” Sam asked knowingly, “Bench press 800 pounds stone-cold calm” Jake snorted. Sam and Y/N chuckled at this, “I never told anymore of course. It’s just too crazy” Jake admitted, cracking a smile. “Yeah, but crazy’s relative” Sam mused, nudging Y/N in her arm. “I’m starting to get that,” Jake said.

“Yeah” Y/N sighed, the two shared a lingering eye contact, a small smile gracing Y/N’s face. Jake returned the smile. There was an intimate silence between the three as they continued to chip away at the tank. The sound of rocks against metal echoed in the empty room, a sign that they were making some solid progress.

“By the way. I, uh- I appreciate what you two are doing here” Jake said honestly. “What are we doing?” Y/N asked, tilting her head in confusion. “Keeping calm. Keeping them calm.” Jake answered, referring to the other psychics. “Especially considering how freaked to hell you guys really are” Jake called them out.

Sam and Y/N shared a knowing look, knowing that they couldn't hide their growing fear from him. “Is it that obvious?” She questioned jokingly, although the question was somewhat serious. “Yeah” Jake chuckled.

“I’ve been in some deep shit before myself, sweetheart. I know the look” Jake said seriously to them. Y/N’s heart skipped a beat as his words. She shook it off and pushed her focus back on the task at hand.

But Sam opened up, “You wanna know the truth? I got this brother, right? He’s always saying how he’s gonna watch out for me, watch out for y/n. Watch out for the both of us, how everything’s gonna be okay, kind of like I’m telling them” Sam swallowed the lump in his throat.

Tears pricked the corners of Y/N’s eyes, her heart ached at the mention of Dean. Knowing that he’d be beating himself up and freaking out for her and Sam as well. “Yeah?” Jake hummed. “But the fact of the matter is, I don’t know if I believe it this time,” Sam confessed. Y/N wrapped an arm around his waist and pulled him into her side, resting her head against her his shoulder.

Jake nodded at Sam, understanding and sympathising with him. “What do you mean ‘you don’t believe it’?” The army veteran asked. A beat of silence passed as the two siblings shared a look. “I mean, the size of what’s coming…it’s bigger than anyone’s ever seen. I mean, it’s gonna get bad. And I- I don’t know if-” Sam stammered, trying not to cry as Y/N stroked his back comfortingly.

“If you’re gonna make it?” Jake cut in. “Doesn’t matter if we believe. Only matters that they do.” Jake stated firmly. Sam’s head went to the ground, “Y-yeah” He agreed. Y/N kept patting and rubbing his back in comfort, she tried to keep her tears from streaming down her face as she bit her quivering bottom lip.

The three continued to chip away at the tank in an awkward silence as the room echoed with the loud sound of rocks smacking against metal.

-

The group were lining the windows and doors with salt, Sam and Y/N were tired from all the hammering so they sat at a table in comfortable silence. “You know, my horoscope said I shouldn’t have gotten out of bed” Ava chuckled dryly as she rested the empty salt bag next to Y/N. The two hunters sighed deeply.

“How are you guys doing? Holding up?” Ava asked them softly. The two nodded, “I’m okay” Sam assured her. “Me too” Y/N responded. “What about you, hun?” She asked Ava. “Not so okay.” Ava admitted, chucking dryly. “Why us, guys? What did we do to deserve this?” Ava asked them, tears pricking at her eyes. “Just lucky I guess,” Sam scoffed.

“Wasn't for bad luck, wouldn’t have no luck at all” Ava snorted as thunder rumbled outside. “I just can’t wait for all this to be over so I can just pretend it never happened.” Ava sighed, looking up to the ceiling. “I just wanna curl up with Brady and watch bad TV” she smiled, Sam and Y/N’s hearts dropped at this. They forgot they hadn’t mentioned that Brady was dead.

Their expressions changed and Ava seemed to notice, “What is it?” She asked them. But they both shook their heads. “Sam, Y/N” Ava pressed. “Do you guys…know something that I don’t?” She asked. Their hearts ached for her, but the words were on the tip of their tongue. They wanted to break the news to her gently, but there was no easy way to say it. Sam and Y/N shared a look, neither one of them wanted to have this conversation with Ava.

“Look, Ava. I’m sorry, I wish I didn’t have to tell you this” Sam began sorrowfully. “Tell me what?” Ava’s voice dropped. Y/N sighed, taking Ava’s hand into hers. “When the demon…broke into your house to take you…your fiancé didn’t make it, I’m sorry” Y/N finally revealed. Ava’s face dropped in shock, her eyes widened in horror as she stared at them.

“No, it’s-?” She whispered, she seemed to be in a state of denial of the news. Ava threw herself into Sam and Y/N’s arms, sobbing painfully. Y/N and Sam held her as she sobbed into their shoulders, they comforted her, rubbing her back as she got it all out.

-

It was getting late, everyone was tired. Jake was standing guard while Andy was fast asleep on a table and Ava looked distant. Sam was trying to get some shut eye, his head resting on Y/N’s lap as he struggled to get to sleep. “Would you like me to sing you a lullaby, Sammy?” Y/N teased, snorting in amusement.

Sam rolled his eyes playfully and chuckled, “Shut up, Y/N/N” He grumbled in annoyance, opening his eyes to glare at her but there was no heat behind it. Sam chuckled lightly before his face turned serious, “Are you gonna get some sleep as well? You need it” He questioned. “Nah, you go ahead, I’m good” Y/N shook her head.

Sam pursed his lips and hummed, knowing that she was lying. “I’m serious, I’m alright” She told him firmly, sensing the worry in his eyes. “Come on, you’re exhausted, you should get some sleep” Sam pushed, sitting up to look at her.

Y/N rolled her eyes, shaking her head again. She wasn’t gonna admit it, but she was tired. Her head throbbed and her cheek still slightly stung from Sam’s punch to her face 24 hours earlier. “I’m fine, Sa- JAKE!” Y/N exclaimed when her eyes glanced over to see a man, his eyes glowing yellow standing behind Jake.

Sam’s head snapped in the direction. “Jake! Behind you!” He tried to warn Jake but he didn’t seem to hear him. “Howdy, Sammy. Howdy, Y/N/N” Azazel smirked, leaning against the wall. Y/N’s heart began racing, her worst nightmare was coming to life. The yellow eyed demon who killed her mother was once again in front of her, and she was scared shitless.

Sam was on the same boat as her. But they weren't gonna show it.

Their chests heaved as they put two and two together as to why no one else can hear them. “We’re dreaming” Y/N gasped as she and Sam backed into the wall, still sitting by the window still. Azazel chuckled darkly, “Why don’t you say…we all take a little walk?” He ordered, leaning off the wall to move closer to them.

Sam and Y/N shared a look, knowing that they didn’t have a choice. So they stood up, never breaking eye contact with Azazel as they did. He gestured with his hand for them to follow him outside so they did just that.

-

Sam and Y/N were practically glued to each other's side as Azazel took the lead, walking out the house with them. “You’re awfully quiet Sam and Y/N. You guys aren’t mad at me, are ya?” Azazel mused. Y/N was glaring daggers at the back of the demon's head along with Sam who was trying his best to keep it together.

“I’m gonna tear you to shreds. I swear” Sam growled. Azazel just laughed in response. Azazel continued to chuckle, which made Y/N’s blood boil. “When you wake up, tiger, take your best shot” Azazel laughed. Sam bared his teeth, gritting them together as he clenched his fists. “You find this funny, dickbreath?!” Y/N snapped.

Azazel spun on his heel, a mockingly shocked expression on his face. “Y/N, that’s no way for a lady to talk!” Azazel exclaimed in fake shock. “I’d call you a lot worse things than that, jackass” Y/N snarled through gritted teeth. “Where’s my brother and Jo?” Sam clenched his jaw. “Quit worrying about Dean and your little bimbo. I’d worry more about yourselves”

Azazel’s words sent a chill down Y/N’s spine, she didn’t like the sound of that. “What, you gonna kill us?” Sam challenged, his fear diminishing each second. “Hit us with your best shot, cunt” Y/N snarked as she and Sam opened their arms out mockingly. “That a dare?” Azazel challenged, a dark look in his eyes.

The two of them smirked, “You bet your ass” Y/N and Sam affirmed in unison. Azazel narrowed his eyes on them. “I’m trying to help you two. That's why we’re talking. Truth be told, I think it’s gonna come down to you two.” Their blood ran cold, all color from their faces drained at his words. “W-what’s that supposed to mean?” Sam’s voice shook with fear.

“Welcome to the Miss America Pageant. Why do you think you’re here? This is a competition” Azazel revealed to them, putting up a finger. “Only one of you crazy kids is gonna make it out of her alive.” His words hit them like a truck. Their eyes widened as they stared at him, their breathing quickened as they tried to wrap their heads around what he was saying. “I thought we were supposed to be-” Y/N stammered.

“Soldiers in a coming war? That’s true. You are. But here’s the thing.” Azazel confirmed, placing up a finger to lean in for only them to hear, even though there’s no one around. “I need soldier” His voice dropped, “I just need the one” Sam and Y/N’s hearts dropped in their stomachs, dread filling their eyes as their mouths went dry.

They didn’t like the sound of this one bit. “Why?” Sam croaked, his voice barely above a whisper. “Well, I couldn’t just come out and say that, could I? I had to let everyone think they had a fighting chance” Azazel smirked as Sam and Y/N stared at him horrified. “But what I need….is a leader”

“To lead who?” Y/N snapped, “Oh, I’ve already got my army. Or…I will soon, anyway” Azazels gaze darkened as he spoke. “You sick son of a bitch” Sam growled, “Honestly, I’m surprised you two hadn’t guessed. I mean, why do you think so many children flame out already?” The demon chuckled, pacing slowly in front of them.

“Max Miller and Andy’s brother, what’s his name? They weren’t strong enough. I’m looking for the best and brightest of your generation” Y/N was seeing red, she wanted to knock the smarmy look right off his face. “Our generation” Sam asked, his tone dripping with anger, Y/N’s body started to shake with equal anger.

Azazel nodded, “Well…there’s other generations. But let’s just worry about yours” he chuckled, making her blood boil. “That’s why I’m here, I wanna give you guys the inside track.” Azazel stated, walking closer to them. “You two are tough, smart, well-trained. Thanks to your daddies.”

Y/N bared her teeth, “Don’t you bring my father into this!” She seethed through gritted teeth. Azazel chuckled at her, “Touchy, touchy” he teased, making Sam and Y/N’s eyes twitch in anger. “Sam. Sammy. Y/N. Y/N/N. You’re my favorites.” Azazel’s voice dropped as he spoke. “You ruined our lives. You killed everyone I love” Sam’s nostrils flared, the words leaving his mouth with pure distaste.

“The cost of doing business I’m afraid” Azazel whispered. “I mean…sweet little Jessica. She just had to die. You were all set to marry that little blonde thing. Become a tax lawyer with two kids, a beer gut and a McMansion in the suburbs.” Sam’s eyes further darkened with each word the demon spoke, Y/N was ready to maul the son of a bitch.

“I needed you two sharp, on the road, honing your skills….your gifts. If anything, you should be thanking me. Or else, you wouldn’t have met your little bimbo, Jo” A dark smirk graced the demon's face.Y/N’s entire face went red in anger, she felt her fingers begin to burn. “Don’t you bring Jo into this either!” Y/N hissed, taking a step forward but was held back by Sam’s arm in front of her.

Azazel chuckled at her, the sick bastard was enjoying getting under Y/N and Sam’s skin. Sam was clenching his jaw so tightly, Y/N was worried he would grind his teeth to nubs. “Don’t you say a word about her” he growled in warning, the venom in his voice making Azazel chuckle darkly.

“What are you, a little defensive? A little protective?” Azazel questioned, cocking his mockingly. Sam’s eyes narrowed as he pushed Y/N behind him, taking a step forward, he was now nearly toe to toe with the demon. “You don’t get to talk about her.” He snarled, his hands curling into fists at his side.

“Not when you killed our moms!” Y/N snapped, tip toeing to shout over Sam’s shoulder. “That was bad luck,” Azazel grinned. “Bad luck?” Sam scoffed. “They walked in on me. Wrong place, wrong time” Azazel sighed. “What the fuck does that mean?” Y/N scoffed. “It wasn’t about them. It was about you and you. It's always been” Azazel pointed to them individually.

“What?” Sam and Y/N croaked in unison. “Okay. You caught me in a charitable mood. I’ll show you” Azazel smirked, snapping his fingers.

-

Y/N gasped as she opened her eyes. She was no longer next to Sam, he was out of sight and the yellow-eyed demon stood next to her. Her eyes widened as she took in the unfamiliar surroundings. It was a nursery. Her nursery. “Look familiar? It should” Azazel whispered into her ear. “Sam?! Sammy?!” Y/N panicked, looking around for him.

Y/N’s eyes were filled with panic when she couldn’t find Sam, a lump was starting to form in her throat. She gasped when her eyes landed on a baby crib with a baby in it. It was her, as a baby. Y/N couldn’t think straight as she tried to take in the surroundings.

Azazel placed a hand on her shoulder, his fingers pressing down on her shoulder as she watched her younger self in the crib. Her jaw clenched when she saw a hooded figure walk into the nursery and pad over to her crib. Y/N instantly went to attack but Azazel pulled her back.

“Relax, Y/N. This is just a hi-def instant replay. Enjoy the show” Azazel said. Y/N snatched the demon by his collar and sent his back barreling into the wall. “Where’s Sam, motherfucker?!” Y/N shouted, her eyes narrowing to slits at Azazel, pure rage fueling through her veins.

Y/N was shaking with anger as she pinned the demon to the wall, her fist curled in his collar. Azazel let out a dark chuckle as he was shoved against the wall, his hands gripped her wrist, trying to pry her off of him. “You’re feisty” he taunted, an amused smirk on his face.

Y/N bared her teeth at him, “Answer me! Where is he?! WHERE’S MY BROTHER?!” She yelled. “Relax, your precious Sammy is safe” He reassured her, although there was a hint of smugness in his tone. Azazel’s words didn’t relax her in the slightest. Instead, Y/N just got angrier. “I don’t believe a word that comes out of your lying, demonic mouth” she seethed, pressing harder into his collar.

The yellow-eyed demon chuckled, he found her anger to be adorable. “Relax, my dear. We have a surprise guest” he cooed, nodded his head in the direction behind her. Y/N’s heart was seconds away from falling out of her chest when she saw her mother’s sleepy face appear in the doorway.

She wore a black nightgown that nearly reached the floor, squinting her eyes at the figure hovering over her crib. Y/N’s breath caught in her throat as she watched a younger version of her own mother, “F/N?” Her mom’s sleepy voice croaked. “Momma?” Y/N’s grip loosened on the demon's collar, turning to face the door where M/N stood.

“Is she hungry?” M/N asked the figure, thinking it was her husband. A six-month old Y/N was crying in her crib. “Shhh” The figure shushed baby Y/N, “Okay” M/N shrugged, not realizing that it was in fact a demon standing over her babygirl’s crib. “No! Mom!” Y/N gasped, her eyes glued to the scene. She wanted to cry out to her mother to run but she found herself frozen in place.

Her mother, completely unsuspecting what was actually happening, slowly turned and padded out of the room. Y/N felt like her heart was breaking in her chest as she watched her mother turn and leave, “No…momma” she whispered, her voice cracking as tears began to sting her eyes. “What did I just tell you, Y/N, she can’t hear you. This isn’t real” Azazel scoffed.

“Watch closely” he whispered in her ear. “Shut the fuck up before I gut you” Y/N snapped, her eyes glancing back to the crib. Her mouth dropped open when she saw the demon cut his wrist open over younger self and allowed his blood to drop into her mouth. “What the fuck are you doing to me?” She gasped, her stomach beginning to churn.

“Better than mother’s milk,” Azazel chuckled. Y/N felt like she was going to be sick, her stomach did backflips as she watched as her infant self drank the demon blood. “Does this mean I have- does this mean Sam has-“ Y/N couldn’t get the words out. Azazel chuckled at her horrified expression. “Oh, it’s not so bad. Sam has it too” he smirked. “We have demon blood in us!?”

Suddenly, M/N ran back into the room. Causing Y/N’s head to snap over to her direction. “It’s you” M/N gasped at the figure, “She knew you” Y/N realized. Her mom’s eyes flashed white, she extended her arm, her veins lighting up a darker shade of blue compared to how Y/N’s would normally glow. With a tilt of her head, she sent Azazel barreling into the wall.

“Mom!” Y/N gasped, watching the scene in front of her. The pain potent in her voice. Her jaw dropped when she saw her mother’s fingertips turn blue- and then push a full-grown man into a wall as if he was nothing more than a small child. She’d never seen her mom using her powers before. It was like a dream.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa. Feisty mama” Azazel grunted, recovering from being slammed into the wall. He stood up, straightening out his suit, “Bravo” He clapped his hands together in mock applause, although Y/N could tell there was a hint of annoyance in his tone.

M/N rushed over to the crib, her eyes scanning over younger Y/N’s body, checking for any injury. “No!!” Y/N screamed when Azazel's younger self waved his hand in a swift motion and M/N’s back hit the wall. She began grunting as she slid upwards and towards the ceiling. A strangled cry left Y/N’s throat as she watched her mother hit the wall and begin to lift off the ground.

A pained gasp leaving M/N’s throat to show the amount of pressure being put on her body. “I don’t think you wanna see the rest of this” Azazel smirked before waving his hand in the air.

-

“Y/N!! Sam!!” The two gasped awake to see Andy and Jake standing in front of them. Sam shot up from his position on Y/N’s lap. “Ava’s missing” Jake told them, his tone filled with concern. Sam and Y/N were both disoriented, still trying to piece together what they saw. “What do you mean missing?” Y/N asked, her heart thudding in her chest.

Jake’s face was filled with dread as he spoke, “She’s gone. Just vanished” he explained. “Fuck!” Y/N exclaimed, pulling her knife out of her boot before rushing out the house. Sam and Jake followed behind her after telling Andy to stay at the house in case Ava came back.

Sam was still trying to piece together the fragments of his vision as he and Y/N both burst out of the house. Jake was practically on his heels behind them. “I’ll take the barn and the hotel, you guys take the houses” Jake said to them. “Alright, meet back here in 10 minutes, okay?” Sam responded. “Okay” Jake nodded before heading in the other direction.

-

Not even five minutes had gone by and the sounds of Ava’s terrified screams came from inside the house they were originally in. Their gazes both went to the house as they heard Ava’s scream coming from inside. “Ava!” Y/N yelled out, her heart thumping in her chest. Before Sam could say anything, Y/N was already rushing towards the house.

Sam cursed under his breath as he saw Y/N run into the house. He quickly ran after her, just as desperate to get to Ava. With heavy feet, the two hunters followed to the sound of her scream to see Ava sobbing over a now deceased Andy’s body. Her face smeared with his blood, the former psychic bleeding from claw marks on his chest.

A strangled gasp left Sam’s throat at the sight of Andy’s lifeless body laying on the floor. Y/N’s blood ran cold at the sight, her eyes going from Andy’s body to Ava, who was sobbing uncontrollably over his body. “Sam! Y/N! I just found him like this!”

“What happened?” Y/N asked, clutching his stomach with a hand. “I don’t know” Ava sobbed. “How the fuck did the bastard get in?” Y/N snarled as she checked every salt line, knowing a demon had done it by the burning energy she felt radiating off of Andy’s body and the room. She was able to feel it since the death was quite recent.

Y/N peeled back the window to see a salt line was perfectly broken. Her jaw clenched as the worst possible reason came to mind. She nudged Sam, pointing to the salt line. Sam swallowed the lump in his throat as he looked at the broken salt line on the window, a wave of anger washed over him as all the pieces finally clicked in his head.

“Son of a…” he swore, his hands clenched into fists at his side. They gave each other a firm nod, communicating with their eyes before turning to Ava. “Ava, where were you?” Sam snapped. “I just went to get some water from the well. I was only gone for maybe like two minutes” Ava sobbed, quite overdramatically.

Y/N narrowed her eyes at her, “Who did that?” She pointed to the broken salt line. “I don’t know! Maybe Andy-” Ava cried, her eyes filling with tears as Y/N questioned her. Sam glanced at Y/N, she clearly had doubts about Ava too. “Andy wouldn’t do that.” Sam snapped again. “Ava. That line wasn’t broken when we left” Y/N stated, crossing her arms over her chest.

“What? You don’t think I-?” Ava asked, her tone suddenly very defensive. Y/N raised her eyebrows, Ava’s tone only added to her suspicions. Sam cut her off again, “I’ll tell you what we think. Five months. You’re the only one with all that time you can’t account for” Sam stated in an accusatory tone.

“But that headache you got, when the demon got Lily” Y/N growled as she moved closer to have. “What are you trying to say?” Ava’s voice cracked. “What happened to you?” Sam narrowed his eyes at Ava. “Nothing!” Ava screamed insistently through tears. But Sam and Y/N didn’t believe her or her act.

“Bullshit!” Y/N snapped, her patience with Ava running thin. Ava’s eyes suddenly darkened, a dark laugh leaving her throat as she wiped away the faux-tear from her eye. “I had you guys going though, didn’t I?” She chuckled, as she continued to wipe away her tears. “Yeah” She confirmed, flicking away the tears from her fingers.

“I’ve been here a long time. And not alone, either. People just keep showing up. Children, like us.” Sam and Y/N’s stomachs dropped at the change in Ava’s demeanor, it was clearly a complete switch up from how she was acting only moments before. Their eyes remained glued on her, every muscle of their bodies tensed, preparing to strike if she made the first move.

“Batches of three or four at a time.” Ava smirked. “You killed them? All of them?” Sam’s tone dropped, the disbelief clear in his voice. “I’m the undefeated heavyweight champion” Ava smirked, her time braggy. “Oh my god” Y/N scoffed in disbelief, shaking her head. “Don’t think God has much to do with that, Y/N” Ava whispered.

“How could you?” Sam gaped, “I had no choice. It was me or them. After a while, it was easy” Ava shrugged as if it was nothing. “It was even kind of fun.” Y/N narrowed her eyes as Ava’s words, allowing her arms to drop to her sides. “You wanna know what’s gonna be fun, bitch? When I rip you limb from limb”

Ava chuckled, her eyes narrowing, “You think you can take me?” She asked, smirking. “I’ll bet I can,” Y/N growled. Sam shot Y/N a quick look, silently begging her to be smart. As skilled as Y/N was, he didn’t want her to get hurt.

“It’ll only be a fair fight when you stop fighting it” Ava whispered with a cocky grin. “Fighting what?” Sam asked as he swallowed harshly. “Who we are, Sam. If you just quit your hand-wringing and open yourself up, you have no idea what you can do” Ava exclaimed, her eyes flickering back over to Y/N.

“I can see you’re almost there” She smirked at her. Sam’s mind was racing at Ava’s words, what did she mean by ‘open up, who they are’? And what could Y/N be almost to? These questions were racing through his mind as he clenched and unclenched his fists with nervousness. Y/N was thinking all the same things.

“The learning curve is so fast, it’s crazy. The switches that just flip in your brain” Ava explained, snapping her fingers before bursting into laughter. “I can’t believe I started out just having dreams” She laughed. “Do you know what I can do now?” Y/N felt a splitting migraine form in her head again, but she ignored it, clenching her jaw.

“Control demons” Y/N snapped, clutching her head. “Ah…you guys are quick on the draw” Ava snorted before placing her fingers to her temples, silently concentrating. Both Sam and Y/N were both still reeling at all the things Ava had told them when suddenly, a black cloud came through the window and through the salt like.

Y/N felt not only the migraine attack her but behind her neck was burning, causing her to stumble back a few steps. Her hand instantly went to her temple as she groaned softly. “I’m sorry guys but, it’s over” Ava smirked. Sam and Y/N glared at her, Sam held up his iron poker and Y/N held up her iron butterfly knife, still clutching her head.

Jake then appeared behind Ava, the army vet pulled her into his chest before swiftly snapping her neck. Y/N’s head was spinning at Ava’s words as her vision began to blur. But she was snapped out of it when she heard the sound of Ava’s neck being snapped. She stumbled slightly backwards, a wave of relief washing over her at the sight of Jake holding Ava.

But her relief was short-lived when her vision suddenly began to blur. “What the-“ Y/N whispered as her knees began to buckle. Sam noticed her sudden stumble backwards, his eyes going wide at the sight of her legs starting to buckle. “Y/N!” He called out, rushing over to her.

He caught her before she completely lost her balance, wrapping an arm around her waist tightly while his other hand came up to her face, gently shaking her face. “Hey, hey, hey. It’s over. I’ve got you” Y/N let out a small groan in response as she blinked her eyes open. But the pain in her head wasn’t going away, it was pounding so hard against her skull she felt like passing out.

“God, my head…” she mumbled softly while weakly grasping Sam’s hand against her face.

-

The Impala, Harley and Bobby’s truck pulled up the town of Cold Oak. All hunters got out of their respective vehicles and headed to the trunk of Baby. “Looks like the rest of the way is on foot.” Bobby stated as Dean opened the trunk and everyone took out their needed weapons. “Let’s go” Dean said, determined as he cocked his gun.

-

Sam was helping a very delirious Y/N out of the house as Jake followed behind them. “I’m fine, Sam. You can let go now” She assured Sam who was still holding her up. “Yeah, no chance in hell. You look like shit, dude” Sam grunted as he continued to hold her. He knew she was a stubborn woman so she was going to say that she’s fine when in reality, she’s actually not.

So he ignored her and continued to hold her up, he knew she needed it. Y/N didn’t even bother trying to argue with Sam, she knew he wouldn’t let up. She felt like if he wasn’t currently supporting her weight, she would probably be on the ground. Her headache from hell wasn’t going away, she now had a sore ass headache, and was on the verge of collapsing from fatigue.

“I think we can make it out of here now” Sam told Jake. “But the Acheri demon-“ Jake started. “No, no, no. Ava was summoning it, controlling it. It shouldn’t come back now that she’s dead, we gotta go” Y/N told him as they walked down the porch, “Not we, Y/N” Jake suddenly said in a dark tone. Sam and Y/N stopped in their tracks, turning to face Jake.

“Only one of us is getting out of here. I’m sorry” Jake shook his head. Y/N and Sam stared at him in surprise, neither of them were expecting him to say that. “Excuse me?” Y/N asked, raising an eyebrow at him. “What?” Sam gaped. “I-I had a vision. That Yellow-Eyes demon or whatever it was. He talked to me. He told me how it was”

“No, no, no, no, no, Jake. You can’t listen to him” Sam pleaded with him, “Sam, Y/N, he’s not letting us go! Only one. Now, if we don’t play along here, he’ll kill us all.” Jake pointed out. Y/N peeled herself from Sam and forcefully stood on both her feet. “Now, I like you guys, I do. And y/n, you’re very easy on the eyes. But do the math here. What good’s it gonna do for all of us to die?”

Sam and Y/N shared an unease look, the female psychic swaying on her feet. “Now, I can get out of her. I get close to the demon. I can kill the bastard” Jake offered an ultimatum. “You come with us, we can kill him together” Y/N countered his offer, “How do I know you guys won’t turn on me?” Jake narrowed his eyes on them. “We won’t!” Sam insisted.

“I don’t know that” Jake shook his head, unsure. Sam and Y/N became uneasy. “Okay, look” Y/N held her hands up, taking out her butterfly knife from her jacket. Sam shot her a nervous look as she flicked up open, raised it to the air and placed it on the ground. Showing Jake that they meant no harm.

Jake watched how Y/N dropped her weapon, eyeing it on the ground for a moment before slowly glancing back up at her and Sam. Y/N locked eyes with him, trying to communicate that they wouldn’t do anything to him. “Just come with us, Jake. Don’t do this. Don’t play into what it wants.” Sam pleaded softly, still watching him closely.

Jake nodded before slowly bending down to place his wrench. Sam and Y/N let out sighs of relief before cheapshotting them both, uppercutting Sam and Y/N simultaneously. The hunters grunted harshly as they flew a few feet up into the air and into a wooden fence.

The breath was knocked out of Y/N as she slammed into the fence, she laid there for several moments as she gasped for air. Her chest was burning as she inhaled sharp breaths, her ears ringing. She slowly sat up, blinking slowly as another wave of dizziness came over her, she gripped the wooden fence for support and tried to see where Sam was.

She finally spotted him, he laid a few feet away. He was moving around, letting her know that he was still awake. She slowly started making her way over to him, her vision was a little hazy but she was able to crawl over to him and put a shaking hand on him.

Jake stalked towards them, his feet heavy. Y/N’s breath caught in her throat as he walked towards them, she quickly pulled Sam closer to her trying to shield him from injury. Her head was still spinning from the hit, causing her to struggle to stay alert as her vision blurred around the edges.

Jake tried to kick Sam but Y/N swiftly waved her hand outwards, sending Jake barreling into a rusted old car. Y/N winced slightly as her eyes reverted back to its original color and her veins diminished it’s glowing blue. A pain shot through her temples from the use of her powers, but it was worth it to give Sam time to recover. Sam was finally coming to and sat up, blinking repeatedly trying to focus his vision.

Y/N grasped Sam’s shoulder gently, getting his attention. “You okay? Can you get up?” She asked quietly, keeping an eye on Jake who was slowly starting to recover. Jake almost instantly recovered, charging towards Sam and Y/N.

Sam got to his feet quickly and helped Y/N to hers, pulling her behind him. They prepared themselves for Jake's incoming attack, both of them still a little disoriented from being thrown against the fence. The two got into fighting stances, it was two against one. Sam swung first but Jake quickly dodged.

Y/N let out an almost battle cry scream as she raised her foot to kick Jake across the face, her hands glowed blue as she put all her strength into it. The kick successfully landed against Jake’s face, his head snapping back from the force. Y/N exhaled in relief, watching how Jake staggered backwards a bit.

Sam lunged at Jake, tackling him to the ground. Sam and Jake were now rolling on the ground, throwing punches and trying to overpower each other. Y/N stumbled away from the two as they fought, looking for the weapons they discarded, her head pounding and her eyesight slowly swimming. She blinked, trying to clear her eyesight as she leaned against a wooden railing on a porch.

Her eyes scanned the area, finally landing on a wrench Jake discarded a few feet away. She pushed herself off the railing and stumbled over to the tool, her hand grabbed it tightly as she turned around with it in an offensive position. She looked back over at Sam and Jake’s fight, her vision still blurry.

She rushed over to the fighting men and raised the tool above her head. It came down, landing against Jake’s head with a loud ‘thud’ sound. He instantly slumped onto the ground with a groan, leaving Sam to breathe for a moment in relief.

The world was spinning for Y/N after that blow, her head pounding even harder as her vision continued to swim. She stumbled backwards slightly, her legs feeling like they were going to give out. Sam held her up, taking the wrench from her.

He raised it up to finish the job with Jake but he couldn’t. He took a few breaths before dropping the wrench to the ground with a thud. He held Y/N up as she leaned against him, her entire body shaking. Sam quickly looked her over, noticing how she was basically holding onto him for dear life.

“AHHH!!!” Y/N screamed as the migraine returned, her eyes flashing white, her head was splitting open as the vision that was nagging her for hours finally reached its peak, revealing itself to her. Sam jumped in surprise as she yelled, wrapping his arms around her as her body went tense.

“Y/N/N! Hey, are you okay?!” Sam panicked, watching in horror as the familiar sight of her eyes and hands turning white and blue. He knew she was having a vision, judging by the sheer amount of agony she was in. “SAM!!! Y/N!!!” Sam heard the voices of his brother and Jo calling out to them.

“Dean" Sam and Y/N sighed in relief, clutching their shoulders. Dean's heart dropped when he noticed Jake behind his brother. "SAM LOOK OUT!" Dean shouted warningly when he approached Sam and Y/N, wielding a knife.

Sam didn't have a chance to respond before he was stabbed in the back by Jake. Dean ran towards his brother in the field, "NOOOOOOO!!!" Dean screamed painfully.

Jake twisted the knife buried in his spinal cord before Sam fell to his knees, his face contorted with agony.

This was the last thing Y/N saw when she came to, in the middle of the field, gripping her head from the migraine that struck. Her face was contorted with horror as eyes flickered up to Sam as her vision that she forced herself to believe was a dream was seconds away from happening. “Y/N/N, are you okay?” Sam asked, worry etched on his face, still clinging onto her.

“SAM LOOKOUT!!” Dean shouted warningly when Jake came up behind Sam, wielding the knife. “NOOO!” Left her lips. It was as if everything was in slow motion as Y/N acted out of instinct, her hand shining that familiar aqua blue light as she waved her hand, sending her best friend tumbling out of the way with a force, only to be stabbed by Jake instead, sacrificing her life for his.

The knife slid deep into Y/N's spinal cord as Sam fell to the ground, witnessing her demise firsthand, clutching his dislodged shoulder from the blast of power Y/N sent hurling towards him, and Dean's eyes widened in terror.

"NOOOOO!" Dean screamed in despair, his heart shattered as he watched her get stabbed. An ear piercing scream left Jo’s lungs upon seeing Y/N get stabbed. Bobby, Jo and Dean hurriedly approached Y/N as Bobby and Jo ran after Jake, who had already twisted and retracted the knife from Y/N’s back, was long gone.

Y/N cried out in agony, followed by an ear piercing scream from the psychic, the ground beneath them shaking as Dean caught her in time before she fell to her knees, gripping her by her jacket.

"Y/N! Woah, woah, woah, y/n, y/n, hey" Dean exclaims in a panic as he hurriedly lowered her to the ground, onto her knees as Sam rushed over, forgetting his wounded shoulder.

“Hey, come here, come here, let me look at you” Sam sobbed, his hands immediately going to her back, trying desperately to press his hand against the gushing wound as Y/N’s head wobbled into Dean’s shoulder.

Dean's heart broke when he saw the tremendous amount of blood on his brother's hand, holding up y/n to face him. “Hey, hey, hey. Look princess, it’s not even that bad. It’s not even that bad alright?” Dean tried to convince himself, his voice cracking with emotion as he and Sam held her up.

"It’s bad, it’s... it’s bad" Sam choked out, struggling to keep his composure as he held his hand firmly against her bleeding wound, putting as much pressure as he could against the injury.

Dean's heart sank as he held her close, desperately trying to convince himself that it was not that bad, but the sight of so much blood on his brother's hand told a different story. "Just... just look at me, ok? Y/N just look at me."

“Y/N?? Y/N! HEY!” Dean shouted, shaking her, “Hey, you gotta listen to me for once, okay sweetheart? We’re gonna patch you up, okay? You’re gon’ be as good as new? Huh?” But y/n’s head wobbled again, blood leaking from her mouth as a pained smile took her face.

Sam's face contorted with pain as he helped his brother to hold up Y/N's limp body in his arms, the blood from her wound staining his hands and clothes. "It’s alright, you're gonna be okay, you're gonna be okay" Sam repeated over and over again like a mantra, trying to convince himself as much as his brother but Y/N was limp. "She's fading, she's... she's fading!" Sam cried out helplessly. "We gotta... we gotta do something!"

Dean's heart pounded in his chest and he felt a sense of desperation wash over him. He shook her again, trying to get her to stay awake and listen to him. "No, no, no, no, no. Y/N/N, come on, open your eyes! You have to stay with me, alright??"

“I’m gonna take care of you. I’m gonna take care of both of you. I’ve got you. It’s my job right? Watch out for my pain in the ass little brother and his even bigger pain in the ass, sarcastic, ray of sunshine best friend” Dean forcefully chuckled as he pushed her hair aside.

Sam chuckled through his tears, his hands trembling as he tried to do all he could to stop the bleeding, but it seemed like it was futile. "Who’s gonna mouth off Dean when he’s being a dick, huh?” Sam croaked, attempting to help Dean hold her up.

Dean tried to put on a brave face, but his own eyes were filled with tears. He kept his hands on her face, his thumbs gently caressing her cheeks as he tried to keep her awake. "Just... just stay with me, alright?" He pleaded, his voice cracking with emotion.

"Come on, stay awake" Dean pleaded as he held her in his arms, his heart breaking as he saw how pale and lifeless she looked. "You have to fight. Please. I can't lose you. I can't lose you too."

But Y/N didn’t respond. Her eyes were closing and her breathing was becoming labored. "Y/N/N, baby please don’t do this to me," Dean begged, his voice cracking with emotion. "You can’t leave me. You can’t do this to me."

Suddenly, a strangled gasp escaped her lips, sending a pang of hope through Dean. "That's it, that's it" he urged her, his voice shaking with emotion. "Just keep breathing, princess. Just keep breathing."

“A-and you two…call m-me…the d-drama queen” Y/N breathed out, a weak chuckle leaving her through, coughing up blood. Dean and Sam let out a small laugh, but there was no joy in it. They both just wanted her to hold on, to fight.

Dean felt a slight pang of relief as Y/N spoke, her voice weak and struggling, but there was a hint of her usual sass that gave him a glimmer of hope. "That's right, there she is, there's my girl," he said, his voice thick with emotion.

Sam's face was etched with worry as he tried to keep pressure on the wound. "Just hold on Y/N, please," Sam begged, tears streaming down his face. Y/N's voice was strained as she struggled to speak, her words laced with pain and sadness. "Listen... listen to me. I need to... I need to say something."

“No, no, no, no. You don’t need to say anything because you’re gonna be alright. Okay?!” Dean sobbed, gripping her tightly as she shook her head again. A weak tearful smile on her face,

"Dean... please, just... just let me say this" she whispered, her voice weakening with each word. Sam's tears fell silently as he continued to try to stop the bleeding, but it was clear that time was running out. He could see the determination in her eyes.

Dean looked at her, his expression a mixture of fear and desperation. He knew that she was running out of time, but the thought of hearing her final words was unbearable.

"No, no, no, no, no. You're not... you're not dying. You can't do this to me. You can't leave me." Y/N's hand lifted to touch his face, her touch weak and trembling before forcefully lifting her other hand to rest against Sam’s face.

Y/N took a shaky breath as she looked at them both, knowing that this might be the last time they ever saw her alive. "I... I just want to say... that I'm grateful. For everything" she began, her voice shaky and soft. “You two have been m-my rocks our whole lives, the only reasons I kept going. So t-thank you. I’ll always l-love you fellas.”

Dean and Sam's tears fell freely now, their hearts breaking as they listened to her words. The words cut through Dean's heart like a knife, the realization that this might be farewell sinking in. He couldn’t bear the thought of losing her. He couldn’t imagine his life without her in it.

"Y/N, please don't do this. You’re going to make it. We need you. I need you," he choked out, pleading with her to stay. Sam sniffled, tears streaming silently down his face as he held her hand on his cheek. "We love you too, Y/N. We love you too. You’re gonna be fine."

But Y/N smiled through her pain, shaking her head as tears stung at her eyes. "No…I’m not. A-and that’s o-…kay. You guys... you two are the only family I ever had. You’ll always b-be...my…fellas" Her voice grew weaker with every word as she slowly faded.

Her eyes flickered over to Dean, a pained expression on her face, “And D-dean…” She sniffled, feeling her body beginning to succumb to her injury. “I lo-….” But she didn’t get to finish her sentence, finally succumbing to her injury, her head plopping for one last time on Dean’s shoulder as she took her last breath.

The brothers sat there in shocked silence for a moment, tears streaming down their faces as they held her motionless body.

Sam sat there in disbelief, staring blankly at her lifeless body. He thought they were both gonna get out of this alive, live to tell the tale. He couldn't believe that she was gone. He couldn't believe that she had just died in their arms. Sam's grip on her hand tightens, his tears falling uncontrollably as he looks at her face, frozen in a peaceful expression.

Dean's mind raced with denial and fear. He couldn't accept that she was really gone. He looked at her face, searching for a hint of life, hoping against hope that she would open her eyes and smile at him. Dean's heart was shattered, the weight of her death hitting him like a ton of bricks. "No... no, no, no, no, no, no" he repeated, his voice growing increasingly desperate.

The pain in his voice was palpable, his heart breaking as he held her lifeless body in his arms. He could barely form any coherent thoughts, his mind a jumble of despair and disbelief. All he could do was hold her tighter, as if trying to somehow keep her with him.

Sam just shook his head in disbelief, his mind trying to process what had just happened. "This can't be happening. She can't be gone" he whispered, his voice betraying his emotions. “Y/N….Y/N/N!!!” Dean yelled hoarsely as she shook her again but she was gone. Dean held her to him, his hand resting to the back of her head as Sam leaned his head on his sister’s shoulder for the last time.

“Oh, God…Oh God” Sam’s voice cracked as they held her. The brothers were both speechless as they held her close, their tears falling silently onto her lifeless body. They knew that there was nothing they could do to bring her back, and the realization hit them like a ton of bricks.

Dean was inconsolable. He held her close, his heart broken and his mind in a state of denial. He couldn't believe that she was gone, that she had given her life for his brother's. Sam was just as devastated. He had grown up with her like his own sister, and now she was gone. The woman he was proud to call his best friend, his sister. Gone, because she loved him more than she loved herself. He couldn't think straight, his thoughts consumed by grief and guilt.

Dean found himself struggling to breath, holding the woman he loved motionless in his hands, having sacrificed her life. “Y/N!!!” Dean bellowed into the empty dark night.

They held her tightly, not wanting to let go. The weight of her death felt like a lead weight in their hearts, and they knew that their lives would never be the same again. As Dean let out another heart-wrenching yell, Sam's body shuddered with his own silent sobs. They stayed like that for a long time, holding her close, begging her to come back.

____________________________________________

Author’s Note: Heyyyy, heyyyyy, how y’all doing???🌚🌚🌚 NOW BEFORE YOU YELL AT ME I- I actually have no way to defend myself😭LET ONE RIP ON ME, YELL AT ME AND CUSS ME OUT BECAUSE THIS HURT MY SOUL MAN (pun intended💀) OKAY OKAY I'M GOING!! Hope y’all enjoyed it! Tell me what you hate and what you lovee. Don’t be shy to ask questions❤️

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

@deangirl96 @bitchykittenconnoisseur @globetrotter28 @hobby27 @mrsjjkwinchester

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

@iloveyou2mia @thelittlelightinthedarkness @lmhf1 @littletomboy2 @zigzoggy

@hey-its-zoe @modiddys-blog @thvxr @tommysaxes @cookiemonstermusic258 @elite4cekalyma

Xoxo

[slytherintothedms]

“what broke the connection” “i don’t know” OH REALLY CASTIEL ? YOU DONT KNOW? AND DEAN JUST GOES WITH THAT ? AFTER WHAT JUST HAPPENED ?

[wigglebox]

Comfy & cozy are we ✨🎄

[autisticandroids]

CASTIEL: Stop. What's the point if you don't mean it? You fear me - not love, not respect, just fear.

[youtube with closed captions]

a godstiel pity party. i'd like to thank an anon i got way back in february of 2021.

[loverslantern]

The Hunter and the Witch ~ Dean Winchester x fem! reader

Description: y/n l/n (aka reader) has known the Winchesters ever since they helped her family start anew, away from a town that hated them for being witches. Or more specifically for y/n being a witch and accidentally causing mayhem. So when Dean comes knocking at her door asking for help she obviously complies, even if it means being stuck on the road with the man she’s secretly in love with.

Or it’s basically just y/n following the adventures of Supernatural

warnings: cannon violence, everything written is fiction and should not be taken seriously

Prologue

Playlist

Outfits

Season 1

Chapter 1: The Woman in White

Special: Halloween Drive

Chapter 1~ Continuation

Chapter 2: Wendigo

Chapter 3: Dead In the Water

Chapter 4: Phantom Traveler

Chapter 4.5: Can you Promise Me?

Chapter 5: Bloody Mary

Chapter 6: Skin

Chapter 6.5: You’re not him

Chapter 7: Hook Man

Chapter 7.5: A fool in love

Chapter 8: Home

Chapter 8.5: Reunion

Chapter 9: Asylum

Chapter 10: Scarecrow

Chapter 10.5: Rest

Chapter 11: Faith

Chapter 12: Route 666

Chapter 13: Nightmare

Chapter 13.5: Words mean more at night

Chapter 14: The Benders

Chapter 15: Shadow

Chapter 16: Hell House

Chapter 17: Something Wicked

Chapter 18: Provenance