#dean x alastair

[alaynestone]

-the incest diary, anonymous.

[horrorshow]

Dean/Alastair Russian Big Bang - 2011 Series of arts to fic xxamlaxx "In This Hollow Valley" [link] , translation - alexandra bronte [link]

By EGOROWNA @ deviantart

[schrodingers-dove]

carpenter's plane

alastair knows that to truly carve a soul into a brand new animal, you have to be willing to carve with more than just pain. because there's carving,

but there's also shaping.

lovingly. with soft kind hands and praising whispers pressed to the shell of a mutilated ear.

so good. so good for him.

a gentle hand sweeping over blooded flesh, shaping him like smoothed curving wood under a carpenter's plane. and the praise wasn't untrue -- he let the honesty creep into his voice -- but there was a purpose to it.

under his hands, a new being was taking shape.

Also on AO3

[winchestergifs]

STACKEDNATURAL ⇉ 103.5/327

4.9 I Know What You Did Last Summer Written by Sera Gamble Directed by Charles Beeson Original Air Date: November 13, 2008

[lovealwayssay]

I hate 4.16 On the Head of a Pin. Uriel and Cas forcing Dean to torture Alastair, something Dean feels so guilty about, is disgusting. I hate watching the torture, its just too much for me. But at the same time, its such an interesting episode. We learn so much about Cas and how his relationship with Dean is making him question his faith, we learn about the dynamics between the angels, we learn more about Sam and Ruby’s relationship, we learn about John and Dean’s times in Hell, and we learn that Dean broke the first seal and that he is a righteous man. “I guess I’m not the man either of our dad’s wanted me to be.” Its such a good episode but I feel physically ill watching it.

[retromotherfuckers]

When the Sun Sets - Part 3

In-Between

Characters:

morgan winchester (OC), sam winchester, dean winchester, alastair

Summary:

the winchesters after the death of the middle child. oh, and hell.

Warnings (for entire story):

SPN typical violence, so so much suppressing of emotions, vague mention of SA, depiction of torture, a very pro-torture main character, vague mention of not eating for a while, slightly suicidal ideation, SPN typical alcohol abuse, spoiler warning up to the end of season 8, following canon stops after the end of season 2, but things are definitely going to be mentioned.

Word Count:

2.1k ~ roughly

A/N:

ahhh this one, i love this one. trigger warning for torture. POV switches a few times.

italics = flashback.

dean: 28, morgan: 27, sam: 24

It was all too much.

"I'm not gonna let you go to Hell, Mo!" Sam, the middle Winchester, said as his tears betrayed him.

Morgan wouldn't let them save her. She didn't even let them try. After what felt like a lifetime of them protecting her, she wouldn't accept any more of it. Sam and Dean Winchester used every outlet, read every book they could find twice and called every hunter they knew to find some way to get her out of this with no luck. Their last ditch effort, was doomed to end just end the way they dreaded the most; with the middle child being scratched and ripped to shreds by hellhounds.

She made a deal with the devil. Now her fate was sealed.

“Yes, you are.”

One shot.

The old grandfather clock struck midnight and marked the close of a year, bringing the siblings to silence. It was an earthquake confined to the small room and Dean wasn't positive, but he thought he could see the sound waves as they pulsed and thumped. He could feel them in his bones, leaving them shattered in their wake. He felt his stomach rise up to his throat at the pang. He couldn't control the way his heart started to pound, like it would explode out of his chest.

The demon was next to his sister, and expressed her sympathies, but Morgan couldn't peel her eyelids up to look at her. Eyes the color of the sky had filled with tears, sticking to her lashes. He knew that if she blinked, they'd fall, and the fallacy she'd created - that this case was just a run-of-the-mill salt and burn - would be destroyed.

Then, when she flinched without warning, he knew she was hearing them. Fatal and hungry. Her voice broke through the tauntingly ominous quiet, and somehow it's worse than the damn clock.

“Hellhounds.”

Another one.

Morgan's voice was familiar to her brothers, but it was deeper than usual. Full of gravel, and it lacked the authority it usually held. It was hollow and horse and full of fear, something Sam and Dean didn't want to hear from their sister again. Sam's face was nearly a replica when he spoke, asking how she could hear it, and where it was coming from.

Then they were running. Doing everything they could to get her away from the dogs that wanted to pull her soul from her body piece by piece, atom by atom, back to Hell with them for eternal damnation. They made it into a small office, Sam, Ruby and Morgan holding the door shut, keeping the hounds out while Dean put a barrier line on the floor and windows so they couldn't get in right away. It was a futile effort, maybe it would buy them a few seconds, but it wasn't fucking enough.

The bourbon slid down his throat, smooth and warm, a burn that matched the sting in his eyes. The tears threatened to fall as he let out a shaky exhale and tried to breathe past the tightening in his throat. No matter what he did, no matter how much he drank, nothing would free him from the memory. He knew it wasn't going away, but he was determined to keep at it until he couldn't remember his sister's name anymore.

Morgan's screams echoed through their ears, pulsing and tearing at them again and again until it hurts their own vocal cords. They stared, not making a sound, just watching their sister get torn apart until she couldn't breathe. Until they couldn't breathe. Dean thought that, maybe in some corner of reality, Sam was saying something but his pleas continue to go ignored. Dean could only sit with his knees to the floor - and not just because Lilith wasn't letting him move.

Her blood was everywhere; the floor, the walls, some on his legs. The clatter of a knife hitting the floor went unnoticed. The youngest Winchester's cries as he held the motionless body didn't exist.

There was nothing except the ringing in Dean's ears.

There was nothing but a body that was getting cold and he couldn't tell if it was Morgan's or his.

Who the hell cares how long ago it was? There were some things time couldn't heal. And even Dean couldn’t deny that the past was harder to deal with when the sun sets.

The bartender gave him an incredulous gaze as he motioned for more, it was a look that told him he was probably close to finishing the bottle. A look he had been getting a lot lately. He wanted to retort rudely but even the alcohol couldn't weaken his exceptional ability to keep his mouth shut.

A brush of red hair suddenly entered his peripheral vision. He turned to see a woman, probably twenty-nine or thirty, definitely not much older or younger than him. She wore a sleeveless red flannel tied up at her ribs, denim shorts with the pockets sticking out at the front that barely left anything to the imagination, a light brown cowboy hat with matching boots and a belt. Practically every other redneck chick ever, Dean thought, but I'm not complaining.

Dean sat a bit confused for a moment when the girl didn't say anything. She just stood there, right next to him, too close - in an under-crowded bar no less - to pretend she didn't have any intentions. He guessed that the blonde was trying to put together a coherent pick-up line before she spoke. When she finally decided to talk, her words were kind of slurred together and very accented, but not too much where the eldest Winchester was worried about taking advantage. If anything, he rationalized, I'm drunker. He practically grew up drinking, given his family, and learned how to handle booze early on.

"What's a guy like you doin' in a place like this?"

"It took you two 'n a half minutes to come up with that? What are you? A guy?"

"Hey," She chuckled. "Gimme a break, been drinkin' a bit."

Dean eyed her up and down a second time, making it blatantly obvious he was checking her out. He hummed and nodded, silently giving the girl his approval. "Clearly."

The woman wasn't really clean, with dirt under her chipped finger nails that suggested she didn't ever wash her hands. There was a sheen of soot all over her exposed skin. Which there was a lot of, but again, he was not complaining. She kind of looked gross if Dean had anything to say about it. But she had a nice enough face and she was his type on paper: skinny with an ass, curly hair.

Plus, it wasn't like he hadn't gone a week without showering before. And come to think of it, that had become way less rare over the past few months.

So who was he to judge?

Sam Winchester used to give his siblings a hard time for how much they drank. But honestly? He got it now. As he had his mouth to Ruby's wrist, guzzling down her blood for the fourth time that night, he wondered why he didn't try it sooner. Well, he knew why. Because the thought of ingesting demon blood was foreign to just about everyone. It made him feel alive, helped him forget. Or it at least distracted him enough to the point where couldn't even begin to think about it. Kept his ass from bouncing off the walls when thinking about his sister or the last time he saw Dean became too much. 

He hadn't seen Dean in months, and he almost didn't want to. The two of them were so far removed from each other that by that point, he didn't know how to break the ice. He didn't know if Dean even wanted him to.

He was stuck, picturing Morgan tied up, being tortured, because of him. Because she just had to go and save him. There was nothing he could do about it anymore. There was no getting her out of Hell. He had already tried to make a deal, and he didn't even have to wonder if Dean did too. There was nothing the Winchester brothers wouldn't do for their sister. But the sheer fact that there wasn't anything left for them to try was enough to keep him locked in that fucked up cycle with Ruby.

Hook up with her, drink her blood, kill some demons, increase his skill, repeat.

What else could he do?

Morgan Winchester was dead. She didn't know exactly for how many Earth years, but in Hell time, it'd been six thousand.

The first forty years were doable, being strung up on the rack was doable. The whips, her fingernail's being torn off, the knives slowly cutting away at her. She could handle it. She could even handle the psychological torture, having her hallucinate her siblings and parents, coming in and telling her what they truly thought of her. All things she had already known, and had already believed. But it was when they upped the anti, that she started to crack. It was when demons started doing all of that and more as her family. When they stopped using tools and started using their hands, she had truly begun to break. There was another fifteen years of that.

And when she finally gave up, it had become her job to do it to someone else.

Alastair was a damn good teacher, she had to give it to him. He had been the one to torture her, and he basked in the glory of turning a Winchester into a demon. It took about three thousand more Hell years, but she finally finished the program. Two thousand tortured souls under her belt to her teacher's satisfaction.

Demons started torturing to avoid being tortured themselves. They were the result of going to Hell and having all humanity burned out of their human soul. They were dark, malicious spirits that reveled in pain, chaos and death. Ruby had told Morgan that most demons forgot what it meant to be human. Some even forget that they were humans in the first place. She had learned some demons were true believers, though, in Hell's purpose. To cleanse. And they truly believed themselves morally superior to humans.

But after another thousand years, she started having fun.

She had only wished that by the time she was down there and playing her latest game on the next soul, she could've gotten the chance to torture her father. Get her grimy hands on his skin and tear it off of him cell by cell. Then she heard Sam was down there, too, and she would've been upset, had she not known he was locked up in the cage with Lucifer. She knew she was good at her job, but compared Lucifer and Michael? Even as a demon, her ego hadn't grown that big.

And then she got to pick her own name, and all bets were off.

On Earth, Adriadne had never seen a demon's true form. Now down in the pit, where they roamed freely and carelessly, she didn't flinch at the sight of them. When her soul had started changing, becoming stickier, malleable, and black, she almost second guessed her decision to get off the rack. But at the same time, her memories of her time on Earth were starting to fade. They started twisting into her memories of being tortured - becoming one in the same.

Recently, she had heard a few more things. One; that Dean Winchester, someone she couldn't quite put her finger on, was in purgatory with an angel. Two; that Crowley was not only the king of Hell, but he was granting certain demons passage to Earth for a little joyride upstairs. Three; that he was restoring their old bodies, if in decent enough shape.

Eventually, Adriadne, no longer remembered her real name. Adriadne was who she is, was and what she would always be, for the rest of time. Where there used to be normal human eyes there was only darkness. No pupil, no cornea, no whites of the eyes; everything was just black.

She did remember there were people on Earth that used to love her, and she remembered the physical aspects to being human. Having to eat and sleep and breathe, but not much else. There was something about needing connection with another human that meant something to them, but it was lost on her.

But as she tried to remember the smallest bit about who she used to be, she realized it was pointless. Why would she try to remember when she was powerless? When she had no purpose, no duty?

She figured that maybe a trip upstairs in her original meat suit might be fun. She couldn’t find a reason not to.

Why wouldn’t she take the chance to feel the sun on her skin?

[ladylushton]

SPN! Não sonhe com o sangue

Sempre que Castiel acordava desse jeito, ele permanecia com os olhos fechados.

Se abrisse os olhos, Dean ficaria inquieto e se sentiria culpado por acordá-lo. Desde que Castiel perdeu sua graça e passou a viver como humano junto de Dean, começou a perceber coisas que nunca notaria sobre ele, como sua paixão por torta, os estalos constantes no joelho e o seu jeito repentinamente carinhoso depois de tomar banho. Também percebeu que a mente do caçador nunca relaxava, e os pesadelos de Dean eram preocupantemente frequentes, por mais que ele negasse.

Castiel sentiu o cobertor arrastando-se por sua pele, mas fingiu continuar dormindo para esperar o outro se deitar como sempre fazia; mas mesmo depois de um tempo considerável sentado no escuro, Dean não voltou para seu travesseiro. Ele se moveu um pouco e Castiel conseguiu escutar um grunhido engasgado.

— Dean…?

Dean se assustou, virando a cabeça rapidamente na direção da voz. Seus olhos mostravam um brilho aguado.

— Me perdoa, Cass, eu… — Ele não completou a frase, apertando os olhos e se afastando de Castiel no colchão.

Castiel ergueu-se, podendo olhar bem para o outro na luz fraca vazada da janela. Na ponta da cama, Dean apertava os braços contra o corpo e se mantinha de costas para ele.

— Querido, só…

— Volte a dormir, Castiel.

Apesar de se manter na defensiva, estava claro que Dean lutava contra as próprias lágrimas. Outro dos fatos sobre Dean que Castiel demorou para descobrir é o costume de mentir, de fugir e de esconder tudo que havia dentro dele, deixando o medo e o ressentimento se acumularem. Se pudesse tocar a alma do caçador, sentiria ela cansada e áspera.

Em silêncio, Castiel aproximou-se de Dean, sem saber exatamente o que fazer; desajeitadamente, pôs a mão em seu ombro, movimentando devagar. Dean não recolheu-se, mas olhou para Castiel com um olhar desesperadoramente melancólico.

— Desculpa, Cass…

— Não, Dean, pare de se culpar. Só… Deite comigo e diga o que está acontecendo — Pediu.

Em silêncio, Dean obedeceu.

— Amor, eu estou bem, juro, eu já me acostumei com os pesadelos e tudo mais. Só vamos voltar a dormir.

— Dean, por favor, me ajude a te ajudar. Você acha mesmo que eu acredito nisso? Eu sei que não está tudo bem, e muito provavelmente nunca estará, mas me corrói por dentro ver a única pessoa que me importa desse jeito.

Castiel não sabia exatamente o motivo para ter dito tudo aquilo, mas se sentiu subitamente aliviado, como se um peso saísse de si. Dean suspirou, como se entendesse.

— Eu… eu estava de volta ao Inferno, Castiel, torturando mais uma vez. Faz muito tempo, mas eu consigo lembrar dos gritos e do selo quebrado…

— Dean, são só as lembranças que Alastair deixou. E Alastair foi morto.

— Esse é o problema, Castiel! — Os olhos de Dean voltaram a marejar como antes — Eu torturava você, arrancava a sua pele, cortava cada pedaço do seu corpo, costurava, e cortava outra vez. Você gritava meu nome, pedia misericórdia e eu sorria… — Sem perceber, deixou-se ser envolvido pelos braços de Castiel, que apenas escutava o sonho perturbador em silêncio — Isso não é algo que eu me lembro, Cass, sou eu pensando em torturar friamente a pessoa que eu mais amo na minha vida. Sinceramente, eu mereço ser jogado de volta para a danação.

Castiel estremeceu com a mísera ideia de ver Dean retornar ao Inferno, instintivamente abraçando-o com mais força.

— Não diga isso, Dean. Tudo o que você fez foi sempre por alguém, para proteger quem você ama… Deixe eu te proteger agora, Dean, eu sei como você é um homem bom, valioso, que luta por tudo o que acredita e age pelo que quer. E é por isso e por muito mais que eu te amo, você sabe?

Soltando-se do aperto que o envolvia, Dean admirou o olhar triste, mas inegavelmente apaixonado que Castiel tinha em seu rosto. Um anjo, um deus, um monstro, um salvador, tudo isso pode descrever quem agora é apenas um homem apaixonado como tantos outros nesse mundo.

Dean o beijou vagarosamente, mais emocionado do que gostaria de admitir, segurando o rosto de Castiel como se fosse a única coisa no mundo, as vezes murmurando que também o amava, ou que o amava até mais. Eles voltaram a se deitar, trocando carícias e murmurando declarações sonolentas um para o outro, até adormecerem mais uma vez.

.......

Curtinho, escrevi depois de ver um trecho da quinta temporada pelo twitter <3

[zepskies]

Smoke Eater - Part 19

Pairing: Firefighter!Dean Winchester x F. Reader 

Summary: Dean Winchester is the cocky, but well-respected Lieutenant at Firehouse 25. He leads by example, but he’s also known to break a few hearts. He’s starting to crave something he’s never had, though. Something stable. Something real. 

That’s when he meets you, on a truly terrible day, trapped in a rickety old elevator.

🔥 Series Masterlist

AN: Deep breaths, my friends. We’re almost to the end. ❤️

Word Count: 5,800 Tags/Warnings: Violence, peril, blood and guns, character death…

Part 19: “Sacrifice”

“Hey, sweetheart,” he greeted…but you didn’t answer.

“You there?” he asked. There was a pit forming in his stomach when he glanced up at John. His father met his gaze with furrowed brows that betrayed concern.

The line was silent for one more painful moment. Dean opened his mouth to call out to you again, but a smooth voice interrupted.

“Dean, Dean, Dean,” a man replied. “Forgetting something?”

Dean’s heart began to pound. His mouth parted, but for a moment, the words wouldn’t escape.

“Who is this?” he said. His voice was a hint unsteady.

“I think you know, son,” the man replied.

Dean’s wide eyes flicked up to John’s, and the other man sprang into action. He shot a look and a whispered order at Cas, who went running for some IP tracking equipment back in the police car.

Meanwhile, John guided Dean to sit down on the couch. Sam followed them on his brother’s right, while John sat on Dean’s left.

Dean put the phone on speaker between the three of them.

“You’re Daniel Savage, huh?” Dean said. He tried to inject some more control into his tone, like he wasn’t freaking the fuck out. “Man, do I feel special.”

“Oh, don’t flatter yourself, Dean-o. I’m doing the same thing your dad’s doing. Hooking the bigger fish.”

Dean’s lips pursed. He glanced at his father, but his attention on the phone turned steely.

“What the hell do you want?” he asked. “Your lackey’s on lockdown. So’s your bastard son. If you want to help him, I’d suggest you turn your ass over to the cops.”

“Yes, Nick’s an idiot. But family, right?” said Daniel. He breathed out a sigh.

But then his voice was firm and calculating. It made Dean’s skin crawl.

“Cards on the table, son. Your daddy’s got something of mine. I’ve got something of yours.”

Dean’s face hardened, but John raised a placating hand; a warning to keep calm. Dean tried to take a breath.

His heart clenched at the mere thought of you being in the same room with that man. Having been taken and hauled to God knows where. He couldn’t imagine how scared you were. And if you were hurt…

Fuck. There was a roiling pit forming in his stomach, his head starting to pound in time with his heartbeat.

Already Cas was back with a laptop and program designed to track the caller’s phone. He connected a USB-like cord to Dean's phone and began fiddling with the settings, trying to get a read. Dean knew he had to keep this fucker talking.

“You have her with you?” he asked.

“Sure do. She’s a pretty little thing.”

Dean’s jaw clenched in a furious glare. “Don’t you fucking touch her, you son of a bitch.”

“Quid pro quo, Dean. What can you do for me?”

“What do you mean?” he asked, as desperation began to escape him. “There’s no way they’re letting Nick go before the trial. It’s out of my dad’s hands.”

“Your dad has no real evidence that my son is anything more than a successful businessman,” said Daniel. “If you really need someone to pin these unfortunate murders on, you had your man in custody…but, oh wait. You gave him immunity.”

Dean’s eyes were desperate when they met Sam’s worried ones, then their father’s. It didn’t matter that John and Cas did have evidence besides Alastair’s testimony. All Dean cared about was you.

He swallowed. “What do you want me to do?”

“Nothing. It’s what I want John to do.”

Dean took a moment to close his eyes, pull himself together. His hands squeezed his knees to brace himself. When he next opened his eyes, he let out a sharp breath.

“What do you want then? Aside from Nick somehow breaking loose,” he asked.

“I want your dad to back the fuck off, once and for all,” Daniel said. His voice was more edged, with both warning and a hint of frustration. “Or I’ll make his son live the same pathetic existence he does.”

Dean’s next breath came out harsher, as both John and Sam sharpened at the threat.

“That’s right, Dean. These are my terms of engagement, else I’m gonna have a bonfire with your girl here.” 

It all gripped Dean at once.

Panic, anger, and desperation.

He grabbed the phone and spoke harshly into the speaker.

“Put her on the damn line," he said. "I wanna hear her and know this isn’t a trick.”

Daniel sighed, like he was getting bored. “Oh, all right.”

There was some shuffling, the sound of Daniel’s steps echoing in what sounded like a large room. Dean’s brows furrowed as he heard sounds of your struggle, then your labored breaths, as if a gag had been removed from your mouth.

“It’s okay, sweetheart. Go ahead and talk to him,” said Daniel.

Soon enough, your tremulous voice reached him.

“Dean?” you said. You sounded like you were fighting tears; maybe even losing. Dean’s heart broke all the more for it.

“Yeah, it’s me. Are you okay?” he asked.

“Yeah…yeah, I’m okay,” you said, though your voice shook. He hoped you weren’t lying for his sake.

“I’m so sorry, sweetheart.” He raised a fist to his mouth, ignoring how it shook. “You’re gonna be okay. I’m going to find you—”

All too soon, the phone was taken away from you.

“Rule number one of negotiations, kid. Don’t make promises you can’t keep.”

Dean’s eyes widened. The next thing he heard was a hard slap. It echoed into the speaker, along with your shout of both surprise and pain, a chair toppling over.

“You fucking bastard!” Dean seethed. “When I find you—”

John interrupted this time, taking the cell phone from Dean. He shot his son a look that was meant to be reassuring, but Dean was too incensed. Sam gripped his shoulder and earned his brother’s gaze. Dean’s chest heaved with the effort of calming his breathing.

“What do you want?” John said into the phone. His voice was clipped and direct.

While he continued to speak, Cas was frowning in frustration over his laptop.

“Anything?” Sam asked.

“I can’t get a lock on his signal. He must have something throwing off the scanner,” Cas replied.

Dean growled in frustration and pushed off the couch. He began to pace the living room, all while he tried to keep an ear on what John was saying lowly into the phone.

By the time he hung up, Dean was raging.

“Fuck this, I’m gonna find her,” he said. John tried to stop him from going anywhere with a hand on his shoulder. Dean knocked him off angrily. Sam also stood, for once on the same page as his father, no matter how much he sympathized.

“Dean, you need to calm down,” John tried.

It was the wrong thing to say.

“I didn’t ask for this!” Dean shouted. The force of it echoed on the apartment walls. “Matter of fact, I’ve never asked you for a damn thing until now. Only that you’d keep me in the loop on Azazel, and keep her out of this. But you couldn’t even do that, could you?”

Sam was at a loss, looking between his father and brother. Cas was also caught in between, watching the scene with concern, and bated breath.

John’s broad shoulders sunk a bit, along with the deep breath he expelled.

“You’re right,” John said. "You're right, son. And I'm sorry."

His eyes held the weight of his words. Of sincerity. And by degrees, Dean’s anger lessened.

Again, not by much.

“Let’s fix it,” said John. “Once and for all.”

Dean wasn’t fully recovered from his TBI. He’d been cleared for driving, but not yet for full physical exercise, let alone going back to work. The stress of all this was giving him a powerful headache, but there was no way he was going to be sidelined now, on any part of it.

Sam was forced to withdraw the case against Nick Savage, citing lack of evidence to support a trial at this time. The judge gave Sam permission to refile when he was able to build a better case.

John was then tasked with escorting Nick out of prison. Cas, meanwhile, was sitting in his personal car outside the county jail with Dean in the passenger seat. Cas didn’t trust what his friend would do behind the wheel once he saw Nick.

“What happens after Nick gets out?” Dean asked. “Dad’s been cagey about the whole deal.”

“We’re escorting him to the airport,” Cas said. “There we’ll wait for Daniel and make the exchange.”

Nick, for you. That was the deal.

“And then?” Dean asked, his teeth already clenching.

Cas blew out a sigh. “We’ll have a unit waiting on standby. We’re going to try and get ahold of whoever has her, though I doubt Daniel will come himself.”

“What if you can’t catch him?” Dean pressed.

Cas didn’t want to have to tell his friend something he didn’t want to hear, but he didn’t make a habit of lying to Dean. He wasn’t about to start now.

“Then it’s over, for now,” he replied. “We each go back to our corners and regroup.”

“Dad’ll never stop hunting this guy,” Dean said.

“That may be,” Cas nodded. “But he does have a line.”  

“My father’s an obsessed bastard,” Dean groused. “He doesn’t have a damn line.”

Cas looked over at him then. He was calm and sympathetic, and yet, still disagreeing in his silence. Dean knew he was probably wrong, but in the moment, he didn’t care. He was still angry.

He perked up, however, when the prison doors slid open. Out came John escorting Nick and his lawyer, Amelia. Nick looked as smug as ever now that his cuffs were off. He was given the clothes he was arrested in—a blue silk shirt, pants, Italian leather shoes, and a silver Rolex watch.

Screw this, Dean thought. He unlocked the car from his side and climbed out. He didn’t care that he could hear Cas mutter a curse behind him and follow suit.

Nick saw Dean coming and couldn’t help but smirk, even as John grasped his arm and led him to his police car.

“Hey, fireman,” Nick taunted with his waggling brows. “Where’s our girl?”

Dean’s lips edged at a dangerous smile. Cas came up just behind him, ready to restrain him if need be.

“You can finesse your way out of this, but remember our little chat,” Dean said. His eyes burned with a thinly veiled threat. “Not a dime in this world can protect you from me.”

Nick pretended to shiver.

“Ooh, I’m so fucking scared,” he snarked. He resisted John’s manhandling and ripped his arm out of the other man’s grasp to step further into the open, leaving just a few yards between him and Dean.

“You can’t touch me,” Nick taunted. “You won’t dare. Not unless you want—”

Three shots rang out in the open clearing.

All heads ducked, but Dean’s eyes widened. He watched Nick crumple to the ground as scarlet red plumed in the man’s silk shirt. The shock etched on his face drained along with his life, leaving blue eyes staring up at a clear sky.

Forensics at the scene found traces of a sniper on the rooftop of a building directly across from the county jail.

John and Cas already were mounting an entire unit search in locating Alastair Rolston, but he had apparently moved out of his apartment as soon as he was released from prison with his immunity deal. (The police officers escorting him into witness protection had been found dead at the scene of his designated safe house.)

The detectives were later called into the medical examiner’s office on the case of Nick Savage—not to examine the body, but the bullets that had carved into his heart, right lung, and throat.

One of the bullets had a special casing. Inside was a rolled-up note, not unlike a carrier pigeon. It had a simple message:

JOHN — STULL STORAGE. COME ALONE.

Once again, Dean refused to sit idly. He’d pushed back hard enough that John had eventually relented. This time, however, Sam stepped in to make sure his brother was reigned in. Dean’s knee was already bouncing with anticipation and nervousness.

It was nearly midnight on a Tuesday. The brothers sat in the surveillance van with Jody Mills, all wearing protective Kevlar vests as precaution. The van was removed from the immediate site of Stull Storage, which was made up of a main warehouse and several rows of storage units on the other side. 

Cas was leading another police unit on standby, but John was going into the warehouse. He wore his usual leather jacket over his rumpled shirt, pants, and boots, but also a protective vest and hidden wire under his collar.

Sam, Dean, and Jody were able to listen in as John entered alone.

He had a flashlight positioned over his raised gun as he walked into the building. He found some light switches along the wall and was able to turn on half the room’s fluorescent ceiling lights.

He heard a whimper.

Moving towards the sound cautiously, John soon found you tied to a chair. You looked a bit worse for wear; though you were dressed for an interview in black slacks and a blouse, your hair was in disarray, your cheek still sported a fading red mark, and you likely had other bumps and bruises.

Your eyes widened with hope when you saw John. You made sounds of surprise around the gag tied in your mouth, but he shushed you with a finger held to his lips.

He went over to you after lowering his gun, cocking back the safety, and re-holstering. He went to untie the gag first. You breathed deeply when it was gone.

“You okay?” he asked, touching your arm in comfort.

“Yeah,” you nodded, but your widening eyes still darted behind him.

Another safety clicked back. John immediately drew his gun again and turned. He was met with the man of the hour.

Standing mere feet away with his own gun was Daniel Savage. AKA: Azazel.

“Ooh, you’re getting old, John,” he said with a smirk. “Wasn’t expecting to get the drop on you so easily.”

John subtly moved so he was standing in front of you. He hadn't had time to untie you from the chair. Your breathing came out shallow as you tried to spy around John to your captor.

“Daniel,” John greeted. “It’s about time, wouldn’t you say?”

“You cheated though,” said Daniel, despite his cocky smirk. Like father like son. “I know you’ve got a team waiting in the wings.”

“If you wanna get technical, you cheated first,” John pointed out.

Daniel shrugged. Behind him came around ten of his own hired men, armed with their own guns. “Hate the player, hate the game, my friend.”

John’s lips pursed, but he didn’t lower his gun. He had a straight shot at Daniel’s chest.

“Even if you do get off a shot, you’ll be Swiss cheese where you stand,” Daniel said. 

“Small price to pay for ending your miserable fucking life,” John remarked.

Daniel’s brows rose. “Are you gonna make her pay for it too?”

He gestured behind John, where he glanced back at your face. Your red-rimmed eyes were shining with tears. And John knew that once his gun fired, his body would hit the ground. Yours wouldn’t be far behind.

His brows furrowed, and the hands holding his weapon wavered.

“So how you do think this is gonna play out?” John asked.

“Well, for starters, you’re going to drop that damn gun,” said Daniel. He cocked his own weapon. “Then, you’re going to get down on your knees and take this bullet, like putting down a rabid dog. Then maybe, I’ll let her go before the cops rush in.”

John’s hesitation was mere seconds. He clicked the safety back on. He set down his gun, and lowered to his knees in slow movements.

Your eyes widened further as incredulous tears slipped down your cheeks. You shook your head.

“Don’t!” you said shakily. 

John didn’t look back at you this time, but he did answer you.

“It’s all right, sweetheart,” he said.

Daniel’s grim smile made you shiver.

“What a caring father-in-law,” he said, and he slowly stalked forward. “You know, I prided myself on delegating my operations well. Oh, it was a well-oiled machine back in the day. But some things…well, some things are just better handled yourself. Know what I mean?”

He tilted his head down at John.

“For example: I really regret the way I had your wife killed,” he said. “For all the trouble you’ve given me, I wish I’d actually burned the bitch myself.”

John glared up at the man with pure fury and hatred.

Though his eyes widened when the first shot split the air, and buried a bullet in Daniel’s left arm. Daniel shouted in pain as he unconsciously dropped his gun. John dove for it, and everything started to happen at once.

Daniel kicked at John’s chest while holding his wounded arm, tossing the other man back. John rolled onto his feet, and their full out brawl began. Meanwhile, a unit of police officers swarmed into the warehouse and sparked a shootout with Daniel’s men.

And in all of this, Cas came out from behind your line of vision to untie you. He wore a protective vest over his usual white dress shirt, now rolled up to the elbows.

“Cas!” you gasped. He gave you a smile, then used a pocketknife to cut through the zip ties holding your wrists behind you and your ankles to the chair.

“Come on, let’s go.” He helped you up and guided you out the back of the warehouse.

The last coherent sound Sam and Dean heard was a bullet fired and hitting its target. They couldn’t tell if it was John or Daniel that had been hit, or even you.

Above all things, Dean was a man of action.

He just couldn’t take it anymore.

“Fuck this,” he growled. He got to his feet and went for the door of the surveillance van, but while Jody voiced her protest, it was Sam who reached him first.

“Dean, stop! You can’t go out there!” Sam said.

“The hell I can’t,” Dean said. The punch he reared back and threw was precise when it cracked Sam in the cheek. He went down hard. It was all Jody could do to keep him from knocking his head on the metal floor, but Sam was out cold, with his hair flopped over his face.

"Dean!" Jody yelled after him. She stared after the open door of the van with wide, worried eyes.

There were rows upon rows of storage units behind the warehouse. It felt like a maze in itself, one that you and Cas were forced to navigate alone in the crisp January night. Both of you saw your breath on the air as you tried to move quickly, but quietly.

Until a long arm reached out on the other side of a unit, and a hand closed on Cas’s gun, pushing it down and ripping it out of his hands. An elbow cracked into his face, making him grunt and stumble.

Your scream of surprise echoed in the night. You stared up into the familiar face of Alastair, whose mouth formed a sly grin.

“Hey there, beautiful,” he said.

Cas distracted him with a blow that Alastair blocked, but it gave Cas room to break the taller man’s stance and knock his head against the unit wall—once, twice, until the man stumbled and fell. He wasn’t knocked out, but Cas didn’t wait for Alastair to recover. He grabbed you and forced you to run.

“I thought he was in protective custody for the trial,” you said, through huffing breaths.

“Evidently he escaped,” Cas replied.

“God, Cas. You really need to hand out some pink slips,” you said, with a tremor in your voice. The police were supposed to have been watching you as well, before you were kidnapped. Cas conceded your point.

“We really shouldn’t have given him immunity,” he grumbled.

Dean knew he was being some kind of idiot.

Knew it as he carefully approached a side door of the warehouse. His vest wouldn’t protect his whole body if he entered the no man’s land shootout he could hear happening on the other side of the door.

Already he could see policemen escorting some of Azazel’s captured team around the front exit. Dean kept to the shadows, and he cracked the side door open.

There was still plenty going on inside. A few bodies were already strewn across the dusty warehouse floor. Large crates stacked up to the ceiling offered meager protection for both sides of the siege, including Dean as he kept to the wall and slid his way inside and behind a formation of wooden crates. He scanned the room until he found his dad.

John was fighting hand-to-hand with who had to be Daniel Savage. Even though the latter had blood dripping from his arm, John had his share of bruises and scrapes, including a long cut across his cheek from the knife clenched in Daniel’s non-injured right hand.

What the hell do I do? Dean assessed the situation, his eyes darting quickly between the men. He came in here without a weapon (another smart move). He went through most of the training a million years ago, but Dean wasn’t a police officer. He was a firefighter.

However, when he spotted a forgotten Glock on the floor, just a few yards away where the men were still tousling, Dean inched his way closer. He’d have to leave the relative safety of the crates and throw himself out into the open to reach the gun. At this point, Daniel was closer.

And he’d noticed the gun too, at the same time that John glanced up and saw his son. His eyes widened, and just for a moment he lost his grip on Daniel. The other man went for the gun at the same time Dean dove.

John yanked Daniel back by his collar and kneed him in the stomach. But Daniel had the longer reach. He cracked an elbow into John’s face and followed by a swift punch to the gut. John grunted and doubled over at the impact to his already battered ribs and stomach.

Daniel threw him head-first into a pile of nearby crates. He was breathing hard, but his lips twitched in satisfaction at the way John fell into a heap of broken wood. The detective was clearly waning.

Daniel stalked forward. Ignoring his still bleeding shoulder, he grabbed John by the jacket and collar of his shirt and hefted him up to his feet, prepared to deliver another blow. The cocking of a nearby gun made him pause. But in a moment, he twisted John in front him with an arm wrapped around his neck to face his next attacker.

While Daniel had been distracted, Dean had managed to dive and roll across the concrete, scooping up the gun on his way back onto his feet. Now he’d had the time to take aim and wait for his moment, which was right fucking now.

Slowly, Daniel tilted his head to look past John’s shoulder. He was met with Dean’s smirk and a gun pointed directly at his head.

“I think I’ve got something of yours,” Dean remarked. His fingers slid over the trigger.

Daniel tilted his head. A dry smile edged at the corner of his lips. “All right, Dean. Well played. But…”

He tightened his arm around John’s throat and held the knife poised at his neck.

“We’re at what you’d call an impasse, don’t you think?” Daniel asked.

“Dean,” John said. He met his eldest’s gaze as uncertainly crept into Dean’s stance. His hand was still held aloft, but there was an almost imperceptible shake.

“Just shoot him,” said John, with full conviction. “Don’t worry about me.”

Dean’s mouth pressed into a line, his brows furrowing. He wasn’t doing that.

“See, I don’t think he’s got it in ‘im,” Daniel said, speaking lowly in John’s ear. His knife tightened against John’s neck. “You’re out of your fucking depth, Dean.”

Dean flinched as a bullet zoomed past his head from across the room. He was reminded that there was still a fight going on, and the three of them were very much out in the open. John’s face turned more urgent, with thinly veiled worry.

“Dean, either shoot him or get the hell out of here,” he said tersely.

“I’m not leaving,” Dean said, with a small, stubborn shake of his head. But he was nervous. Despite how close he’d come with Nick Savage, Dean had never shot at someone, let alone taken a life. The gun was heavy in his hand.

“Running out of time, son,” Daniel taunted.

“I’m not your fucking son,” Dean gritted out. “Speaking of, did you have Alastair do your dirty work, taking out Nick, or did you pull that trigger yourself?”

Daniel’s smirk faded, his gaze tightening with resignation.

“Sacrifices, Dean,” he said. “We make ‘em to survive. To make sure our legacies survive.”

Dean’s eyes widened as he looked at this man, and he finally understood what his dad had been trying to tell him.

He ain’t a man. He’s a monster.

The gun was heavy in his hand…

“Come on, Dean!” Daniel shouted. “Make a decision—”

Dean still remembered most things he’d learned at the Police Academy. He’d lived, ate, sweat, and breathed those drills and tests for months. And yet, there was only one score he’d truly been proud of. It was the one record of his dad’s that he’d managed to beat.

You could guess which one.

Dean let his fingers squeeze the trigger on some instinct he couldn’t name. Daniel was forced to choke on his words.

Cas pulled you around the corner of a storage unit that blocked the light of the moon. It was just in time for a bullet to rip past where his head used to be.

You leaned heavily against the wall and heaved for breath, but Cas held a finger to his lips while he tried to calm his own breathing.

You held a hand over your mouth to try and stifle the sounds from getting out. Your eyes were wide and panicked, but Cas could only reassure you with a brief hand on your shoulder. He nodded and signaled with his free hand. Wait.

You gave a jerky nod in return. So he reached for his belt and brandished the only weapon he had left—the knife he’d used to cut through your bonds. The air was quiet, except for the distant shouts of police officers; it sounded like Azazel’s men were finally being rounded up.

Cas had called for backup earlier, but he didn’t think they could wait for it. Nor would he know if they were coming. He’d long since turned off the radio on his belt so that it couldn’t tip off his position with you.

He chanced looking around the wall of the storage unit. The coast looked clear, though he knew it wasn’t. Still, the best Cas could hope for was to cover you on the way back to the police barricade. He leaned back and reached for you. He guided you, both with his eyes and a hand on your back.

On the count of three, run, he mouthed. You wordlessly agreed. He saw the fear shining in your eyes.

One…two…

An arm shot out to grab Castiel’s collar the moment he stepped out from his cover, making you scream. The first punch came swift; Alastair was taller, perhaps stronger, but Cas recovered quickly.

He ducked the other man’s arm and delivered an uppercut that had his adversary careening back. With a well-placed jab to the wrist, Alastair’s gun clattered away across the ground.

Cas managed to shoot you a quick look. “Run. Now!”

You paused for a mere moment while Cas continued to grapple with Alastair. Then, in your frozen fear, you finally managed flight. And you took off running, even though Alastair tried to grab at your hair. Cas held him back and continued the fight.

You’d only managed a few yards of distance though, before you couldn’t help but look back. Something in you just couldn’t leave Cas behind.

You took cover behind another storage unit and watched Alastair slowly get the upper hand. He managed to pin Cas against the ribbed metal wall of a unit. He winced as it dug into his spine, but he had bigger problems.

He spat blood after the third blow to his jaw and tried to blink dark spots of his vision. Alastair looked down on him with the lean look of a predator. His smile betrayed the enjoyment he took in his work.

“Contrary to what you might think, I’ve never killed a cop before,” he said. “Just a cop’s wife.”

Cas’s eyes widened a fraction. Alastair’s smile deepened. He raised a bloody fist to finish his work, but he winced and weakened with a shout as a knife embedded deep in his thigh.

It was Cas’s knife that you’d found on the ground.

Alastair’s angry eyes looked down and met your scared ones. You let go of the knife and scrambled back. He backhanded you roughly. You cried out and fell hard on the pavement.

Alastair reached for the knife, but Cas grabbed it first. He twisted as he yanked it out, then jabbed it into the taller man’s neck. It choked his scream as he stumbled back. And yet, even that didn’t manage to kill him.

Cas dove for the fallen gun. It was mere feet away from where he’d forced it out of Alastair’s grip. Cas felt a hand grab his shoulder. He reacted fast—he turned and shot two rounds of hot led into Alastair’s gut.

His gray eyes went wide. Blood gurgled in his mouth.

And slowly, Alastair slid to the ground.

Cas was bloody, his shirt stained and torn, but he was still standing with ragged breath. You had managed to sit up, though your shocked eyes were trained on the body you’d just seen fall into a heap. The horrific spell of it broke when Cas gently touched your shoulder.

You gasped and raised your head.

“It’s okay,” he said, reaching a hand to you. “It’s over.”

Cas escorted you back to the police barricade. There you found Sam, and the mere sight of him relieved you so much you didn’t realize you were crying when you stepped into his embrace. He hugged you tight and asked if you were all right.

You couldn’t give him an honest answer, but at least you were alive.

“I’m okay,” you said tremulously, but you pulled back at grasped his arms. “Where’s Dean?”

Sam looked anxious as his gaze flit between you and Cas.

“That goddamn idiot, he went in there! They won’t let me through—”

“What?” Cas said incredulously. “Into the warehouse?”

Your tears fell anew as a new frantic worry took hold, churning in your stomach and making you feel sick. You turned, and both Cas and Sam had to stop you from heading towards the warehouse.

“Get him out of there!” you cried. “Dean!”

You tried to push past Cas and his attempts to calm you, but you stopped the moment you saw him…

Dean was helping John limp out of the warehouse. Jody was on John’s other side, supporting him as well. John looked beat to hell, and exhausted, but there was no mistaking the calm look on his face. Like he’d finally sleep tonight.

Dean, on the other hand, looked pale, haggard, and worried. However, his head perked up as soon as he heard your voice. His eyes widened. He turned to Jody to make sure she could support John on her own, and she nodded at him.

It let Dean make his way straight for you.

Sam and Cas finally released you, like a horse waiting to bolt out of the stables. Your tears blurred your vision as you went to him.

When Dean swept you up into his arms, you were able to throw yours around his neck and cling to him for all you were worth. You buried your face into his neck and sobbed your relief.

You wouldn’t know that Dean’s eyes were shining and red, his mouth trembling slightly as he sucked in a breath and held you as tight as he dared. His hand came up to cup the back of your head, over your wild hair. His lips pressed to the side of your head as he closed his eyes for a moment.

“You okay?” he asked, when he was able to speak.

“Mhmm,” you nodded, though his question prompted you to pull back and find his face. Your heels came back to the ground, and you reached up to stroke his cheek and search his gaze.

“What about you?” you asked tremulously. “Your head?”

“’M fine,” he said. Though the truth was, he was reeling. His ears still rung from the bullet that hit Daniel between the eyes.

The weight of that decision was almost too fresh to be real, but it was heavy on Dean all the same. He could even get in legal trouble for this. He wasn’t supposed to have entered that building. Hell, he’d picked up a gun and shot a man.

Though he already knew what Sam would say.

Justification. Imminent danger. Self-defense.

Dean just didn’t know if that would fly here, especially with the Fire Department.

Right now, however, you were his lifeline. You grounded him in reality when you held his face in your hands. Just beyond you, he could see the relief on both Sam and Cas’s faces.

Dean gave them a smile, but he focused back on you. He held your hand to his cheek.

“Promise me you’re gonna stay put for a while,” he quipped. “Preferably where I can see you.”

You scoffed at him through the tears glittering in your eyes.

“Dean Winchester, if that isn’t the most hypocritical thing that’s ever come out of your mouth!” you said, punctuating your words with a slap on his chest.

“Hey!” he protested, but you ignored him. You gripped his shirt and felt the Kevlar underneath. It might’ve protected his chest, but he hadn’t had anything to protect his damn head.

“You run into fires, not bullets, you idiot,” you said, now wiping frustrated tears from your cheek.

Dean’s tension began to ease with a smile. He held you more securely, pulling you flush against him.

“You sound like Bobby,” he teased.

“Good!” you snapped. “You’re not allowed to scare me like that. Do you hear m—?”

He didn’t think he’d ever miss you giving him shit, but this time, it just made him smile until the corners of his eyes crinkled. Shortly before he cut you off with a searing kiss.

You made a sound of surprise, even as you gripped at his shirt, then his face to keep him there. You both knew this night was long from being over. An even longer way from recovering.

But for now, this was a good start.

AN: And so, we're drawing near to the end. 🥹 What did you think of the respective ends of Nick and Daniel Savage, and even Alastair? And of course, her and Dean's reunion. 💗

Soon (this weekend), we have the epilogue...

Next Time:

“So…I’ve gotta tell you something,” said Dean, after he parted from your lips for a moment, and allowed you to breathe. His tone made you tilt your head in suspicion.

“It’s nothing bad,” he said, though he looked a bit nervous.

Your brows furrowed. You led him to the couch, where he took your hands in his. It took him a moment to get started. He seemed stuck on what he wanted to say, or maybe just how he wanted to say it.

“Whatever it is, I’m sure I can handle it,” you teased.

Dean gave you a smile. His shoulders relaxed a little...

Keep Reading: THE EPILOGUE

Dean Winchester Masterlist

Main Masterlist

Series Tag List (Part 1):

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[luci-in-trenchcoats]

Imagine...Saving Dean

Pairing: Dean x reader

Warnings: language

Dean’s POV

I know I’ll be okay. I know I’ll get out of here. Y/N will come and save me. She’s smart, she’ll find me real soon. She’ll get me, I’ll be okay.

I just want her to get here quick, like open that door right now and pull my ass out of here now quick. Crap, I’m panicking. I can’t do that. I’ve got to stay arrogant and confident, that’s what I’ve got to do, show him he can’t get to me.

“Hello Dean,” he said as the door opened and I let out a whine. Why did I have to let out a whine? Now he’s laughing. Shit, where is she? I need her. “We’re going to have lots of fun, Dean. Just like old times,” he said as he leaned down over me.

That’s a tough look I just threw at him. He doesn’t know how scared I am, I can’t let him know. 

“Dean, I broke you once before, no need to be tough. Just let it out, you always felt better when you screamed,” said Alastair as he tapped a finger besides my head. I closed my eyes and felt him press his hand to my forehead, holding it down. Fuck, he knew it, there was no point in denying it. I was too scared. He was back and had me and...I just wanted to curl up next to Y/N and let her tell me it was going to be okay.

“Screw you,” I said a little too quietly as Alastair showed me the blade he had in his hand. I whimpered under him, knowing exactly what he was going to do with it.

“Let’s get started,” said Alastair as he twirled the knife in his hand.

Reader’s POV

You heard Dean whimper and you clutched the angel blade in your hand so tight your knuckles hurt. Dean did not whine or whimper. Not unless he had nightmares about...him.

You crept through the open door to see a man standing over someone strapped to a table. Then you saw red, all thought leaving you. That was Dean, your Dean and someone was trying to hurt him.

“You remember this Dean? We had so much fun-” said Alastair as you plunged your blade through his chest, the spark in him glowing before fading as the body fell to the ground. You towered over it angrily as you saw Dean titling his head back to look at you.

“Y/N?” he asked, his voice trembling so badly for a moment you didn’t believe you’d heard him correctly. Then the rage started to fade away as you took in the fear in his eyes, the little struggles of his hands and feet, the way his entire body shook.

You cut him free of his bonds with the blade as he sat up uncertain. He stayed on the table as he looked at you, rubbing his wrists. He was still afraid but from the look in his eye, he was afraid of you too. You looked down to see yourself covered in Alastair’s blood, noticing how hard you’d made your face.

“Dean,” you said quietly, putting the blade away. Dean was still shaking but you held out your hands and took his in yours anyway. “I’ve got you. You’re safe,” you said to him as he nodded. “I’m going to take you home,” you said, pulling on him gently so he’d swing his legs off the table. He nodded again and was soon standing, but you could tell he wasn’t going to be alright until you had him far away from this place. “I’ve got you,” you said, holding his arm, separating him from the body that lay on the ground as you walked past.

“Dean?” you asked when you were back at home, back in your bed. You’d gotten Dean cleaned up and into his pajamas but he was quiet. You sat next to him on your bed and he’d curled himself up into a ball besides you, moving your arm so you’d hold him. Soothingly, you ran light circles up and down his arm, over his back, through his hair. 

“Thank you,” he said, speaking for the first time since he was on the table. 

“I’ve got you baby. He’s never going to hurt you again,” you promised, feeling Dean nod against you. “It’s gonna be okay.”

[aylacavebear]

Soulmates? Yeah, right, pft. - Ch. 16

When you turn sixteen, and your soulmate's name doesn’t appear anywhere on your body that you can find, you figure you had to be the only person on the planet who didn’t have one. Most of the town shuns you, so you stick close to family. Your Aunt Ellen raised you after your parents died in a car crash when you were two, but what happens when the Winchesters return to town and buried secrets begin to come to light?

Pairing: Mechanic Dean Winchester x OC Reader/You

Word Count: 3374

Warnings: Angst, suspense, emotional situations, The Tension is Growing, Fluff. (You might need the tissues for this one.)

A/N: This is my non-Supernatural fic I'm attempting. Please let me know what you think, as I always love hearing from my readers.

----------------------------------------- Chapter - 16

The sound of heavy footsteps echoed through the hallways as Dean, Benny, and Crowley rushed towards your room; spurred on by Dean’s sudden burst of intuition, he knew you were in trouble. One moment, he had been standing in the study with the others, and the next, a sense of foreboding had taken hold of him, driving him to take off toward your room for no apparent reason.

His heart pounded in his chest, a wild, desperate rhythm that matched the flurry of his thoughts. Worry and concert sent adrenaline coursing through every nerve in his body, propelling him forward. Dean was the first to reach your door, throwing it open in a panic. 

The sight that greeted him—the empty bed and the curtains swaying slightly in the breeze from an open window—sent a chill down his spine. It was as though the world had suddenly gone cold and dark, the air thick with the absence of you.

“Damn it!” Dean cursed, running a hand through his hair in frustration. His eyes darted around the room, taking in every detail, every shadow, every flicker of movement, searching for any sign of where you might have been taken or by whom. The sheets were rumpled, and a pillow lay on the floor, but other than that, the room looked untouched.

Crowley appeared behind him, his expression grim as he surveyed the room. “They were quick,” he muttered, moving to the window and looking out at the grounds. He knew he should have anticipated something like this; the other men on the grounds had only been a distraction to keep the hounds and his security occupied while the real threat made its move. 

“Sir, you’ll want to see this,” Ketch stated, now standing in the doorway, his expression unreadable.

Dean tore his gaze away from the room and followed Ketch, a sense of dread settling in his stomach. He could feel his pulse racing, his hands trembling slightly as he walked down the hallway. Each step felt like an eternity, the air thick with tension and unspoken fears. He could still feel you, so he knew you were alive, but that wasn’t what he was worried about most.

The three followed Ketch back down to the main room, then to a side room where there were three other men, their faces illuminated by the glow of computer monitors. They were all watching the footage, their eyes glued to the screen as they went through the recordings. 

“I didn’t think he’d send his best, but I should have,” Ketch told them, pausing one of the recordings from outside your room.

On the screen, it wasn’t just one man; it was a strike team, led by Asmodeus, the Vaught family’s tactical security lead. Alastair was there too, with two others, Ramiel and Dagon. It was the best the Vaughts had. Dean’s jaw tightened as he watched the footage, his eyes narrowing with a mixture of anger and fear. The precision with which they moved, the seamless coordination of their attack—it made his blood boil. His hands clenched into fists at his side, his knuckles turning white as he struggled to keep his emotions in check.

They’d come in through the window while you had been in the study, then hid in the shadows, waiting. The alarm linked to the window had never gone off. Once you sat down on your bed, Alastair approached you silently and, with a swift, practiced motion, injected something into your neck that knocked you out instantly. They then lifted you gently, as if handling a fragile doll, and slipped back out the window.

“Olivia has already been taken into custody and is being questioned,” Ketch informed Crowley, his tone cold and efficient. “I’ve also already sent out two security teams to retrieve your guests from earlier.”

“Good. Now, to make a phone call,” Crowley replied, his voice calm but tinged with a steel-like determination. He was pleased at how quickly his security team had gotten the job done. His next focus was to get his informant to find you before the end of the following day.

Meanwhile, on the other side of town…

You woke up in a dimly lit room, your head throbbing and your body aching from where you had been roughly handled, or perhaps it was whatever you’d been injected with. You weren’t quite sure. The smell of dampness and decay filled the air, making it difficult to breathe. As you tried to get up, you realized your hands were bound tightly behind your back to the chair, and your legs were tied to the chair at your ankles, restricting your movement. Panic rose in your chest like a wave, but you fought to stay calm.

For a moment, you thought about calling out but decided to stay silent, listening instead. The sound of dripping water echoed somewhere in the distance, a steady, rhythmic plink that seemed to amplify the silence around you. Your vision was still a bit blurry from whatever had been used on you to knock you out, but you could still make out the faint outlines of the room around you. It reminded you of an old abandoned brick building. No light came in through the broken or nonexistent windows, and you let out a sigh of relief that it was still nighttime.

As you shifted a little in the chair, the ropes dug into your wrists, and you winced slightly at the burn against your skin. Your mind raced with thoughts of how you could escape your new predicament. You didn’t even have your phone on you and were still in your pajamas, which only added to your vulnerability. As your vision cleared up, you took in more details of wherever you’d been taken.

It was clear that it had been planned. To your left, you saw a desk with a small lamp on it, casting a dim, flickering light across several pieces of paper strewn across it. The immediate area around the chair you were tied to had been completely cleared of any and all debris—not even a tiny shard of glass or metal could be seen on the floor. The door on the wall on the far side of the room was closed, but you couldn't tell if it was locked.

The nightmare you’d had back at the bunker taunted your thoughts, only making your heart pound harder in your chest. Now you were worried about Dean and whether or not he was safe or if the Vaughts had gotten him too. You forced yourself to take slow, deep breaths, reminding yourself that you were more level-headed than this and could figure it out, slowly calming yourself down.

Back at Crowley’s Mansion…

In one of Crolwey’s lavish sitting rooms, Ellen, Sam, John, Mary, Bobby, and Jody were gathered. Each of them was tense; Ellen paced the room, her fists clenched, while Sam leaned against the wall, arms folded tightly. John stood beside Mary, their faces a mix of worry and annoyance. Bobby and Jody sat on the edge of their seats, their eyes darting toward the door each time someone passed by.

When Crowley, Dean, Benny, and Ketch entered, the atmosphere became even more charged. Ellen immediately moved and confronted Crowley, her eyes blazing with anger. “You were supposed to keep her safe!” she exclaimed, her voice shaking with fury.

Crowley met her gaze, unperturbed. “Relax, I’m handling it,” he replied cooly, his tone dismissive.

Ellen’s face flushed with anger. “Handling it? She’s been kidnapped, and you’re telling us to relax?” She took another step toward Crowley, her voice rising. “If anything happens to her—”

“Ellen,” Dean interjected, his voice strained but gentle, trying to calm her down. “Crowley made some calls. We have to be patient, even if it’s killing me too.” 

Sam pushed off the wall, his voice firm but tinged with frustration. “Patience? We’re supposed to sit here and wait while she’s out there with the Vaughts?”

Jody nodded in agreement, her eyes dark with worry. “We can’t just sit around and do nothing. We need to take action.” Crowley raised his hands, a gesture meant to placate them. “I assure you, we’re doing everything we can. The police and FBI have been notified, and my contacts are on the lookout.”

Ketch moved to the window, his gaze fixed on the grounds outside, watching as the shadows danced in the moonlight. He berated himself silently for not being more prepared for something like this. He wasn’t happy at the fact that Crowley had left finding you to someone he wasn’t too keen on trusting.

Unable to shake his worry, Dean walked over to the whiskey and poured himself a glass, his hand shaking slightly as he lifted it to his lips. Even with the distance between you, he could feel you—feel your fear and confusion, and it tore at him. He took a deep drink, hoping the alcohol would settle his nerves and dull the connection he felt with you. But nothing could ease the sense of dread gnawing at his heart.

Mary, noticing Dean’s distress as only a mother could, moved closer to him and placed a gentle hand on his arm. “We’ll find her, Dean,” she said softly, her voice filled with conviction. “We won’t stop until she’s back with us.” Dean nodded, his jaw clenched as he struggled to maintain his composure. “I know, Mom. I just… I should have told her a month ago, and maybe things would be different.” His voice broke slightly, and he took another deep drink of the whiskey, his eyes glistening with unshed tears he refused to let fall.

“We’ll find her, son. We’re not gonna let the Vaughts get away with this.” John added, his voice gruff but supportive.

Crowley glanced down at his phone, seeing a text come in. A pleased smile found its way to his lips—It was subtle, a mere twitch of his mouth—but it was enough to give away his satisfaction. He stayed quiet, though, knowing that the news was not yet conclusive, but it was a lead nonetheless.

Back in the Abandoned Warehouse…

You had continued to struggle against the ropes, binding your hands behind the chair. Each movement tore at the skin of your wrists, but the sting of pain was a small price to pay for the hope of freedom. The fear that had initially gripped you was slowly draining away, replaced by a fierce sense of determination.

You gritted your teeth and pulled harder against the binding, your frustration and annoyance fueling your efforts.

I can’t just sit here and wait to be rescued. I have to find a way out of this.

With each tug and twist of your wrists, you swore you felt the ropes loosening, ever so slightly. The room around you was silent except for the distant sound of the dripping water, a reminder of the isolation and danger you were in. But you refused to let despair take hold. Instead, you focused on the task at hand, using your anger and frustration as a source of strength.

Suddenly, the sound of muffled footsteps pulled your attention toward the door on the far side of the room. Your heart raced as fear and anticipation flooded back in a rush. You glanced at the door, then quickly returned your focus to the ropes, working frantically to loosen them.

What if it’s them coming back? I have to get out of here.

The footsteps grew louder, then stopped just outside the door. You held your breath, your eyes fixed on the door, but it didn’t just open. Whoever was on the other side was picking the lock, and you furrowed your brow with confusion for a moment. Then, the door began to creak slowly open as a figure stepped into the room.

“Hey, princess,” a female voice drawled from the shadows. The figure stepped forward, revealing a woman with dark, wild hair and a mischievous grin. She wore a leather jacket and black boots, her eyes sparkling with a mix of amusement and determination.

You had no idea who she was or even why she was there, and all you could do was stare at her, confused. She quickly approached you and pulled a dagger from her boot. “You got yourself in quite the mess,” she commented sarcastically as she cut the ropes holding you to that chair.

You barely had time to process what was happening. The moment she had the ropes cut, she grabbed your hand and began leading you quickly to the door. Your mind was racing with questions, but there was clearly no time to ask them. She seemed very insistent on getting both of you out of there, quickly.

“Who—” you started to say, but she cut you off with a sharp look.

“Not now. We need to move,” she said, her voice low and urgent. 

You quickly went to the desk and scanned the papers sitting there. There has to be something useful, or it wouldn’t be here. The woman followed you, only giving you enough time to grab one piece of paper before she grabbed your hand and led you out of the room. You did manage to shove it into your pocket as the dimly lit hallway came into view. Her grip on your hand was firm, guiding you through the dimly lit corridors of the abandoned building.

Being barefoot wasn’t helping, and you winced as you stepped on the debris scattered across the floor. The pain of small cuts and bruises on the bottoms of your feet was a reminder of the urgency of the situation.  As you made your way through the building, you could hear distant voices and the sound of footsteps approaching.

We have to hurry, you thought, fear and adrenaline driving you forward.

She practically dragged you over to a sleek black car parked nearby. “Get in, we don’t have much time,” she told you quickly, worry laced in her words as she slid into the driver’s seat.

You scrambled into the passenger seat, your heart pounding in your chest. She had the car started before you even got the door closed behind you. “Buckled up,” she said, her tone leaving no room for argument.

As you fumbled with the seatbelt, she pulled the car out of the empty parking lot, the tires screeching as she accelerated down the street. You glanced back at the warehouse, half-expecting to see your captors chasing after you. The city lights blurred past the windows as the woman navigated the streets with practiced ease, her eyes focused on the road.

“Who are you?” you finally managed to ask, your voice still trembling slightly from the adrenaline coursing through your veins.

She glanced at you, a hint of a smile playing on her lips. “Name’s Meg. Crowley called in a favor. You must be pretty important.” Meg replied, her tone laced with a touch of amusement. “He doesn’t cash in a favor for just anyone.” She returned her attention to the road, her grip on the steering wheel tight, her demeanor calm and composed.

You nodded, still trying to process everything that had happened. “Thank you. Do you know if Dean is safe?” you said softly, your voice filled with genuine gratitude but also laced with worry.

Meg’s expression turned serious, her eyes flicking toward you briefly. “I was only told about you. Crowley didn’t give me any other details,” she answered plainly, her focus returning to the road and the cars around her.

Your mark burned, not realizing it was your connection to Dean, but you didn’t press the topic further. You looked out the side window, watching the city lights flicker and fade into the distance. She’d gotten you out of that place, and for that, you truly were grateful. But now, your thoughts kept drifting back to Dean and the nightmare from the bunker.

What else is he keeping from me? The question lingered in your mind, gnawing at you like an unsolved mystery.

Meg stayed silent during the drive, the car filled with the soft hum of the engine and the distant sounds of the city. She didn’t even turn on the radio. Your gaze was fixed on the passing scenery, but your thoughts were focused elsewhere, trying to piece together the missing parts of the puzzle. It was like a car just waiting for the battery to be connected—the answers were so close, but you couldn’t seem to grasp them.

The sudden stop of the car jolted you from your thoughts, bringing your focus back to the present. You found yourself at the familiar wrought iron gates of Crowley’s estate. Four guards were posted at the gate, their eyes scanning the area as Meg approached.

They recognized the car and quickly waved it through once the gates opened. As the car passed through, you couldn’t help but feel a sense of relief wash over you. You were safe, at least for the moment.

Meg parked near the steps and killed the engine. “Let’s go, princess,” she said, her tone light but urgent, as if there was more going on than you were aware of.

You nodded, your movements still a bit stiff from the ordeal, and slipped out of her car. Meg joined you only moments later, her posture relaxed yet alert as she scanned the area one last time. The sky was just starting to lighten with the early hints of dawn, casting a soft glow over the estate as the two of you ascended the steps. 

Before you could reach the doors, they burst open, and Dean rushed out, taking the steps two at a time. Relief and worry were etched across his face, his eyes searching for any sign of injury or distress. Without a word, he pulled you into a tight embrace, holding you close as if he were afraid to let go.

“I thought I lost you,” he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. The relief in his voice was palpable, and at that moment, he decided he was going to tell you everything: no more secrets and no more waiting.

You wrapped your arms around him, resting your head against his chest. His heartbeat was steady and strong, a reassuring rhythm that helped ground you. “I’m okay,” you murmured, your voice muffled against his shirt. “Meg saved me.”

Dean glanced over at the woman, recognizing the name but not her, before pulling back slightly. His hands rested on your shoulders as he looked into your eyes, searching for any signs of distress. “I’m sorry,” he said, his voice rough with emotion. “I should have told you everything from the start. No more secrets, I promise.”

You let out a sigh of relief, thankful he’d finally fill in the missing pieces of the puzzle that had been your life. Meg had already headed inside, leaving the two of you alone on the steps. The early morning light cast a soft glow around you, and the quiet of the moment felt almost sacred. 

As Dean reached down to take your hand, you winced slightly, which caused him to frown with concern. He gently lifted your hands, inspecting the cuts and irritated skin from where you had struggled against the ropes. “Let’s get these cleaned up,” he told you softly, his voice filled with a tenderness that made your heart ache.

Without warning, Dean scooped you up into his arms, cradling you against his chest. You let out a surprised squeal, followed by a chuckle. “You could have warned me,” you teased, already feeling far more relaxed, knowing that he was safe and that they hadn’t gotten him too.

Your squeal had brought a small, relieved smile to Dean’s lips. Having you in his arms finally soothed the storm that had been raging through him since you’d been taken. “I’ve got you,” he whispered, his eyes softening as he looked at you. “I’m not letting anything happen to you.” Dean didn’t care if you chose to reject him after, but first, he was going to tend to your wounds—wounds he felt he could have prevented if he’d been upfront from the beginning.

----------------------------------------- Chapter 17

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[rubyvhs]

stay, sam winchester

demon!reader x sam

summary: 4 x 10, demon!reader can’t have what she wants, not at the expense of sam’s happiness.

warnings; dean hating you, angst angst angst.

"i remember what it feels like, you know." ruby and i are waiting outside the demon proof panic room while the boys figure out a plan. she holds up a book and starts examining it. 

"remember what?" i found ruby three months ago, you know, with the hit list from hell and all that, but instead of turning her in, i wanted to help them. 

sam wasn't too keen at first, that much was apparent as he tried to exorcise me before i could say hi. he's powerful, it was one hell of a spell and it knocked me out for a few minutes. sam and dean aren't what hell keep whispering they are, they're not otherworldly creatures, they're human. they're the purest parts of humans we demons envy; hope, faith, and a little bit of lust. 

dean, although made me his enemy, is nothing but kind and sweet. he thinks of others before himself, and throws his own body into the line of fire before thinking of letting the other get scraped. it's noble, incredibly stupid, but noble nonetheless. that didn't matter when he saw me though, with him fresh out of hell, his presence triggered me and my eyes darkened. it didn't take him all of three seconds to press the demon blade into my throat. the damn winchesters and their 'kill now, ask later' attitude.

i like helping them, it makes me feel like i'm doing something worth it, like they're worth fighting for. they're certainly worth more than lucifer, why would i follow him?

i take a deep breath and let out the words i've been holding inside, maybe this will calm me down, "i remember when i was human." it catches her attention too quickly that she almost strains herself putting down her book to focus with my words.

"you do? what do you remember?" sam told me ruby started helping them from the good of her own heart, remembering right from wrong and that killing innocent people like alastair had taught us, was in fact not right. 

i wasn't like that, though. at first i just wanted to know why ruby was doing what she was doing, then it turned into a mind game. i couldn't tell whether what i was doing was right. i am a demon, i am evil and i'm supposed to be this violent creature yet here i am, sitting next to another demon so we could help the biggest known fugitives in hell, the winchesters.

she calls my name softly and i take a breath looking up at her, "what do you remember?"

"i'm not sure. it's just this overwhelming feeling of guilt. i feel like helping the boys has brought out more of my human memories than i thought possible, i remember the ache i felt when i didn't know right from wrong, and when i didn't believe or have faith, and i remember all the confusion and anxiety in my life. it's like my life is playing out in a movie in the back of my head and all i can do is let it while i drink up the negative emotions."

i don't think ruby expected that, because she's sitting there stunned and i think i may have just freaked her out. i'm a demon, i know that, but this whole 'nice' thing is new to me and she's been my only guide along with sam, i don't want to make her hate me. 

letting it all out wasn't as gratifying as i thought it would be, i am still the evil i thought i was before, it didn't change anything except that now one other person knows the hell i'm being dragged through, as if i didn't see it enough times.

she mutters my name but we're quickly interrupted by the winchesters and anna's entrance, "i have a plan." when do you not, sam winchester.

"let's hear it!" i say, smiling. he looks at me for a second and smiles back before we both notice his brother, moving towards me. "listen, dean," his glare ever so prominent and his hand on the demon knife in his pocket, "i only let you tackle me the first time because sammy matters to me, i've heard the stories about the great dean winchester, and i gotta say, not impressed."

he raises an eyebrow, quickly looking over at sam, "'sammy' huh?" the younger hunter shrugs. i don't get the big deal, i like the nickname, he doesn't mind being called it. 

"i've killed enough demons to know that i can kill you, no problem at all, no matter how much sam likes you." i laugh, takes a step back, two, three and just before i'm about to launch at that smug face of his, sam holds me in place, in the air. 

"sam let me go! he literally just said he'd kill me." i struggle for a few seconds before deciding it's futile to get out of his grip without magic so i just lean on him, my head down. 

this is so fucking humiliating, i'm a damn demon, i can kill him no problem. "i'm sorry." my eyes roll, my arms are crossed and i am so far from being sorry and he knows it.

"aren't you the ever so obedient bitch." sam's arms are on my shoulders again and he growls a low 'dean'.

one of sam's hands is on my hair, stroking it slowly, the other falling on my shoulder and he's closer than he's ever been. it makes me feel so fucking trusted, unlike what dean just did, that it calms me enough to not give a fuck what he says.

dean falls into the couch next to ruby, a hand on her shoulder he explains the plan. he is so fucking joking. so i'm a bitch but she's the love of his life?

"one of you will summon alastair, get him here. we'll bring the angels and let them fight it out. anna can snatch her grace from uriel while he's occupied. questions? concerns? awesome." i roll my eyes and face sam, slightly disappointed his hands leave my hair and fall back to his side.

"what makes you think they'll let us live after that?"

it seems like they didn't think this part through because all i get is a weak, "they care about dean, they won't kill us."

ruby snorts and voices the words stuck in my throat, "wont kill you."

i half sit on the table and sam takes it as an opportunity to move closer to me, forcing me to part my legs so he's slightly between them and i look up at him, "nothing will happen to you." i can feel dean squirming all the way across the room so, for his sake, i step back and all 6' 4 of sam falters slightly. its almost like he can't control his own movement but it only happens for a moment before he looks over at ruby, "both of you. we'll protect you, like we always have."

i don't mention that just a few seconds ago i was threatened by the very same man's hands i'm supposed to put my life in. ruby shakes her head and leaves, announcing she'll be back at midnight to do her part while glaring at me as if challenging me to fight. 

i don't want to. i'm tired of fighting. in her absence, dean's hand in lays on the couch's back and it makes me look at him in a way i never have before. him being so layed out reminds me of everything i did back in hell, the torture. i could find sixty ways to turn his body into a cloth and make it hurt. i could kill him so slowly, but this time without any hope of a deal. i could do so much damage. 

"hey!" i finally snap back when sam yells my name and i stumble back. i've never thought like that, not since i started helping them. "hey, why'd your eyes turn? what's wrong?" i shake my head and excuse myself hastily walking out. 

it doesn't take a few minutes in my '95 ford before sam runs out calling my name. "get out, now." i sigh and get out of the car, leaning on my side. "what was that? you've never done that before, neither has ruby."

i scoff at the mention of her. she's a great person, don't get me wrong, but she's is definitely not a demon. i ignore him, opting for lighting a cigarette since we'll be here a while. that idea is quickly shut down when he snatches the packet from me and i roll my eyes at his expectant ones. 

"what do you want me to say, sam? ruby's not like me, she's been in a human body more than she's been in hell, she hardly qualifies as demon."

"what? and you do?" his desperate words, his blue-green eyes staring at mine, him moving closer to me, it all feels too warm. so so so warm.

"yes, sam."

"no! you're not—"

"i'm not what? a demon? i'm not evil? i'm not here to instil fear and violence into your heart? because i am! you can't keep pretending i'm not, you can't say otherwise." one step closer and i'm pinned against my car, his hands on my waist. 

"you're a demon, sure, but you're not evil, sweetheart. unlike every damn demon i've ever met, you're trying." he's right. and wrong. and he's everything else between hot and cold, like my skin is with his bare hands on it since he lifted the hem of my shirt up to place his hands there. 

his head dips down ever so slightly but it's enough for me to look down, breaking his gaze and the spell he was under. "damn it," he mutters, head falling onto mine. "why do you do this?"

he moves away, hands still holding me and i shake my head in question, still feeling too warm to talk, "why do you keep pushing me away? i'm not scared or mad at you, what are you so afraid of that we can never have a conversation before you look or walk the other way?"

"it's just..." deans face, every single time i think about kissing sam, about exploring what this is, dean's face makes an appearance in my mind. demon blade to my neck, his disappointed gaze to his brother, the fight he'll pick with sam. 

all those things are too fucking scary for me to ever let anything happen. i can't die yet, i want to help them first, i need to feel like i did something or else this was all for nothing. 

"what? what is it?" 

"sam, it's wrong..." i put my flat palm onto his chest, pushing away slightly so i can make an escape for it. "i won't do something that'll come between you and your brother, or something that'll cost you your fair thinking or," worst of fucking all, "something that you'll regret and chalk up as lust in the end. i can't do that to you." 

i don't give him time to respond, though i don't think he would have. i step into my car and drive off. for now, the winchesters don't need me, they have ruby, i'll be there when they need me next.

if i'm not dragged into the pit, i will come back.

[witha-boxofscraps]

I think people get lost in fantasy worlds a lot to the point where they lose sense of what is capable of a normal human being??

Like in Supernatural, Dean was in Hell for 40 years and “only” lasted 30 years before saying yes to Alastair and torturing for 10 years. But JOHN managed to last 100 years! And ‘x’, ‘y’ and ‘z’ managed to withstand this or that.

Okay???

Dean is still a HUMAN being. 30 years is an INSANE amount of time. That’s 10,957 days. That’s how many times Dean said no to Alastair.

10,957 days.

262,980 hours.

15,778,800 minutes.

Of constant torture.

And, again, once the numbers get this high, the viewer becomes desensitised to them and all they have to fathom that amount of time is to compare it to other examples of that time passing within the same content and circumstances. Which is John’s “over a century”.

You can have whatever opinions you want on Dean torturing in Hell and eventually saying yes but please, let’s not forget the amount of time that actually passed down there, regardless of how long anyone else withstood. It’s Hell.

[authorstellarainbow]

I don't think I gave early seasons Dean x Cas interactions all that weight, but now that I'm re-watching, I can see how close they've been from the get go.

Dean defended Cas when they set the angels vs devils up to save Anna. And Dean and Cas's conversation when Uriel 'asks' Dean to torture Alastair? Pure gold.

[schrodingers-dove]

pulse

possible warnings for implied torture and (imo) extremely mild body horror due to inflation and light asphyxiation from a magic cock?

dean wakes up, cold sweat and nightmares. but not every nightmare is a nightmare. sometimes it's a dream. sometimes it's flesh rended from bone, demonic claws sinking into him.

sometimes it's a hand across his throat, soft and pressing down gently, asphyxiation irrelevant in death as he surrenders himself. his body supple under alastair's hands as he pulls him into position. putting pressure on his throat until his back arches and alastair fills him to his limit, stretching him wide and then wider still. kissing away tears and whispering encouragements into his ear.

he can feel the pulse of alastair's cock pressing the weak and un-protesting muscle of his hole, filling his insides almost to the back of his throat.

dean knows that if he strains against alastair's hand to look he'll see the swell of his own stomach, distended and pulsing almost imperceptibly as alastair expands into him.

he's impossibly, uncomfortably, full and with another hot shuddering pulse, he can taste alastair's essence -- sulfur and wet ash -- in his mouth. and leans up, breathing and un-breathing, to watch as alastair's many faces contort in pleasure and his stomach pulses.

he's awake and it's not a nightmare, but a dream.

also on AO3

[layce2015]

Supernatural (Dean Winchester x Female!Reader)

On The Head Of A Pin

Masterlist

*(y/n)'s POV*

"Ruby will meet us outside Cheyenne. She's been tracking some leads. I know she's not exactly on either of your Christmas lists, but if she can help us get to Lilith—" Sam said as he drives while Dean was in the passenger seat and I in the back. "Hey, man, work with Ruby, don't. I don't really give a rat's ass." Dean said.

"What's your problem?" Sam asked. "Pamela didn't want anything to do with this and we dragged her back into it, Sam." Dean grumbles. "She knew what was at stake." Sam said. "Oh yeah. Saving the world. And we're doing such a damn good job of it." I said with sarcasm and Sam looks over at me through the rear view mirror.

"(y/n)—" he said and I sigh and shake my head. "Sorry, Sam, I'm just...I'm tired of burying friends." I said. "Me too." Dean said. "Look, we catch a fresh trail—" Sam starts to explain but Dean talks over him. "And we follow it, I know. Like (y/n) said, I'm just—I'm just getting tired." he said. "Well, get angry." Sam spat and we pull up to the motel room.

"Ah, home crappy home." Dean said as we enter the room and Sam flips on the lights. "Winchester and Winchester and (l/n)." A voice said and we see Uriel and Castiel waiting inside the room.

"Oh come on." Dean said in annoyed exasperation. "You are needed." Uriel said to him. "Needed? We just got back from needed." I said, my temper rising, and Uriel turns to me. "Now, you mind your tone with me." He said in a low tone. "No, you mind your damn tone with us." Dean growls as he goes to stand in front of me.

"We just got back from Pamela's funeral." Sam said as the angels look between us. "Pamela. You know, psychic Pamela? You remember her." I said, annoyed, and Dean looks at Castiel. "Cas, you remember her. You burned her eyes out. Remember that? Good times. Yeah, then she died saving one of your precious seals. So maybe you can stop pushing us around like chess pieces for five freaking minutes!"​​ Dean yells, angrily.

"We raised you out of hell for our purposes." Uriel said. "Yeah, what were those again? What exactly did you want from me?" Dean asked. "Start with gratitude." Uriel said, firmly, and Dean scoffs.

"Dean, we know this is difficult to understand." Castiel said, in a bit calmer voice. "And we—" Uriel started to say and he gives Castiel a look. "—don't care. Now, seven angels have been murdered, all of them from our garrison. The last one was killed tonight." he finished as he looks back at us.

"Demons? How they doing it?" I asked him. "We don't know." Uriel said. "I'm sorry, but what do you want us to do about it? I mean, a demon with the juice to ice angels has to be out of our league, right?" Sam asked. "We can handle the demons, thank you very much." Uriel said.

"Once we find whoever it is." Castiel said. "So you need our help hunting a demon?" Dean asked. "Not quite. We have Alastair." Castiel said. "Great. He should be able to name your trigger man." Dean said. "But he won't talk. Alastair's will is very strong. We've arrived at an impasse." said Castiel. "Yeah, well, he's like a black belt in torture. I mean, you guys are out of your league." Dean said.

"That's why we've come to his student. You happen to be the most qualified interrogator we've got." Uriel said to Dean, who looks down. "Dean, you are our best hope." Castiel said and my eyes widen a bit at this. "No! No way! You can't ask me to do this, Cas. Not this." Dean said to Castiel then Uriel walks up to Dean. "Who said anything about asking?" He asked and he grabs Dean's arm and the three of them disappear, leaving me and Sam alone.

"Damn it!" Sam growls. "I'm really starting to hate the angels." I said, angrily.

*3rd Person POV*

Alastair is visible through a window in a door, chained to a hexacle standing in the middle of a devil's trap. "This devil's trap is old Enochian. He's bound completely." Castiel explains to Dean as they stand on the other side of the door. "Fascinating." Dean mutters and he turns away from the door.

"Where's the door?" Dean asked as Castiel gives him a confused look. "Where are you going?" he asked Dean. "Hitch back to Cheyenne, thank you very much." Dean said and he walks past Uriel but stops as Uriel blocks his path.

"Angels are dying, boy." Uriel growls. "Everybody's dying these days. And hey, I get it. You're all-powerful. You can make me do whatever you want. But you can't make me do this." Dean said. "This is too much to ask, I know. But we have to ask it." Castiel said, a bit of desperation in his voice.

Dean watches Castiel for a moment then turns back to Uriel. "I want to talk to Cas alone." He demands and Uriel looks him over. "I think I'll go seek revelation. We might have some further orders." Uriel said. "Well, get some donuts while you're out." Dean sneered and Uriel laughs. "Ah, this one just won't quit, will he? I think I'm starting to like you, boy." Uriel said then he vanishes.

"You guys don't walk enough. You're gonna get flabby." Dean jokes but Castiel doesn't react. "You know, I'm starting to think junkless has a better sense of humor than you do." Dean said to him. "Uriel's the funniest angel in the garrison. Ask anyone." Castiel said and Dean walks up to him.

"What's going on, Cas? Since when does Uriel put a leash on you?" Dean asked him. "My superiors have begun to question my sympathies." Castiel replied. "Your sympathies?" Dean said, questioning. "I was getting too close to the humans in my charge. You. They feel I've begun to express emotions. The doorways to doubt. This can impair my judgment." Castiel said.

"Well, tell Uriel, or whoever...you do not want me doing this, trust me." Dean said, shaking his head. "Want it, no. But I have been told we need it." Castiel said. "You ask me to open that door and walk through it, you will not like what walks back out." Dean said. "For what it's worth, I would give anything not to have you do this." Castiel said, sincerely, and Dean closes his eyes.

Minutes later, Dean wheels a loaded cart covered with a cloth into the room where Alastair is imprisoned. He watches Dean enter, grins, and starts to sing, moving within the chains almost as though he is dancing. "Heaven, I'm in heaven, and my heart beats so that I can hardly speak. I seem to find the happiness I seek, when we're out together dancing cheek to cheek..." he sings as Dean pulls the cloth off the cart, revealing an assortment of torture implements.

Alastair laughs at this but Dean ignores him. "I'm sorry. This is a very serious, very emotional situation for you. I shouldn't laugh, it's just that—I mean, are they serious? They sent you to torture me?" he asked, disbelieving. "You got one chance. One. Tell me who's killing the angels. I want a name." Dean demanded.

"You think I'll see all your scary toys and spill my guts?" Alastair asked. "Oh, you'll spill your guts, one way or another. I just didn't wanna ruin my shoes." Dean said. "Oh, yeah." Alastair laughs. "Now answer the question." Dean demanded. "Or what? You'll work me over? But then, maybe you don't want to. Maybe you're, ah, scared to." Alastair said.

"I'm here, aren't I?" Dean asked him. "Not entirely. You left part of yourself back in the Pit. Let's see if we can get the two of you back together again, shall we?" Alastair said as Dean glares at him. "You're gonna be disappointed." He said and he walks over to the cart.

"You have not disappointed me so far. Come on. You gotta want a little payback for everything I did to you. For all the pokes and prods. Hm?" Alastair asked but Dean doesn't respond. "No? Um...how about for all the things I did to your daddy?" Alastair asked and Dean's head raises up at this.

*(y/n)'s POV*

I was sitting on one of the beds, my right leg bouncing up and down from anticipation and nerves, as Sam opens the door for Ruby. "I can still smell them. Seriously, Sam, I'm not exactly dying to tangle with angels again." Ruby said as she enters and I stand up and walk up to her.

"We need you to find out where they took Dean." I said and she looks at me, surprised. "Not sure I see the problem. You know they have Alastair strung up six ways from Sunday. Dean cuts himself a slice, Al's reduced to a quivering heap, and the good guys get the goods. What's wrong with that?" she asked me. "He can't do it." I said and she looks me over then at Sam before she turns back to me.

"Look, I get it. You don't want him going all torture master again." she said to me. "No. She means, he can't do it. He can't get the job done. Something happened to him downstairs, Ruby. He's not what he used to be. He's not strong enough." Sam said. "And you are?" Ruby asked him. 

“Look, we’re not exactly making friendships bracelets for each other and I feel dirty just thinking of asking you for help. But those assholes took Dean and we have to find him. Please, Ruby. Help us.” I said and Ruby glances at me with annoyance but also sympathy.

*3rd Person POV*

"I had your pop on my rack for close to a century." Alastair said, smiling, know that he was getting to Dean. "You can't stall forever." Dean warns him. "John Winchester. Made a good name for himself. A hundred years. After each session, I'd make him the same offer I made you. I'd put down my blade if he picked one up." he said.

"Just give me the demon's name, Alastair." Dean said in a low voice. "But he said nein each and every time. Oh, damned if I couldn't break him." Alastair said and Dean takes off his leather jacket. "Pulled out all the stops, but John, he was, well, made of something unique. The stuff of heroes. And then came Dean. Dean Winchester. I thought I was up against it again." Alastair said and Dean drinks from a bottle as Alastair continues with his taunts. 

"But daddy's little girl, he broke. He broke in thirty. Oh, just not the man your daddy wanted you to be, huh, Dean?" He asked as Dean puts down the bottle. "Now." Alastair said while Dean picks up a jigger and fills it from a large bottle of water that has a rosary in it. "Now we're getting somewhere. Holy water? Come on. Grasshopper, you're gonna have to get creative to impress me." Alastair said and Dean looks up at him, finally.

"You know something, Alastair? I could still dream. Even in hell. And over and over and over, you know what I dreamt? I dreamt of this moment." Dean said and Alastair begins to look nervous as Dean picks up a needle.

"And believe me, I got a few ideas." Dean said and he fills the needle from the jigger, sprays a little water from it, and goes over to Alastair. "Let's get started." He said.

A moment later, Castiel could hear Alastair screaming and he looks down at the ground, a look of confliction on his face.

"Oh, man. Ooh." Alastair groans as Dean puts the needle back on the cart with his other tools. "Let me know if you want some more. There's plenty left." Dean said. "Go directly to hell. Do not pass go, do not collect two hundred dollars." Alastair said and Dean smiles.

*(y/n)'s POV*

Ruby chants as she holds a lit candle to the corner of a map. Sam and I watch the fire spread around the edges. "Relax. The fire is our friend. Besides, the only part of the map we need is the where's Dean? part. Out." Ruby said and the flames vanish. The map was charred to unreadability; except for a small circle in the middle that is untouched.

"There. Dean's there. It's a good thing angels aren't concerned with hiding their dirty business. Not used to being spied on. I mean, who'd be stupid enough to try?" Ruby said as I walk away, grab my jacket, grab the spare keys for the Impala and start to walk out of the room.

“(Y/n)…wait! Just wait a minute…” Sam started to say but I turn to him, sharply. “I can’t!” I yelled at Sam, who jumps at this and I take a few deep breathes before I continue.

“You know, Dean still dreams about Hell. I hear him groaning and twitching, tossing in his sleep right next to me, almost every night. I try to calm him down, sometimes it works and he calms down but most of the time he pushes me away, like I’m trying to hurt him. Then when morning comes, I have to act like it never happen. Like I’m not responsible for him having these nightmares in the first place!” I explained, feeling tears building up in my eyes, and Sam gives me a sympathetic look. I blink them away before I continue.

“I couldn’t stop him from going to Hell, and I can’t stop him from having those nightmares. But the least I can do is get him away from that monster!” I shout and I head to the door, open it, walk through it and shut it behind me. I go over to the Impala and go to the trunk, I open it and look for my gun.

Once I found it, I grab it, shut the trunk door then head to the driver seat when Sam finally comes out of the room, and I could've sworn I seen a bit of blood around his mouth as he wipes it away with the back of his hand. "I'm coming with you." Sam said and he comes up to me and holds his hand out. "I'll drive." He said and I look at him then hand him the keys and both of us get into the car.

*3rd Person POV*

Dean holds up Ruby's knife and Alastair takes notice of it and laughs. "There's that little pig-poker. I wondered where it went." he said as Dean dips a ladle into a bowl of holy water and pours it over the blade. "Do you really think this is gonna fix you? Give you closure? That is sad. That's really sad. Sad, sad." Alastair said.

Dean approaches him, watches for a moment, and stabs him with it. Once the blade made contact with his skin there was a sizzling sound and Alastair does his best to keep back the scream. "I carved you into a new animal, Dean. There is no going back." he growls. "Maybe you're right. But now it's my turn to carve." Dean said. "No!" Alastair shouts.

Castiel listens to Alastair's groans whenhthe light flickers, catching his attention. The bulb explodes and Ann appears behind him. "Anna." Castiel said, not looking at her. "Hello, Castiel." She greets and he turns to look at her. "Your human body—" he takes notice and she nods and looks down at it. "It was destroyed, I know. But I guess I'm sentimental. Called in some old favors and..." she said just as Alastair screams again.

"You shouldn't be here. We still have orders to kill you." Castiel tells her. "Somehow I don't think you'll try. Where's Uriel?" Anna asked. "He went to receive revelation." Castiel said her. "Right." Anna said, nodding.

Meanwhile, Dean pulls the knife out of Alastqir, whose head falls forward. Dean tilts it back up, ignoring the blood, and Alastair laughs. "Now it's your professionalism that I respect." He said and Dean turns away, disgusted. Alastair spits blood.

"Why are you letting Dean do this?" Anna asked Castiel. "He's doing God's work." he replies. "Torturing? That's God's work? Stop him, Cas, please. Before you ruin the one real weapon you have." Anna said. "Who are we to question the will of God?" Castiel asked. "Unless this isn't his will." She suggested. "Then where do the orders come from?" Castiel asked. "I don't know. One of our superiors, maybe, but not him." Anna said.

Dean then splashes Alastair in the face with holy water; it steams and sizzles, as he gargles. "Who's murdering the angels?" Dean asked him, again, as Alastair chokes.

"The father you love. You think he wants this? You think he'd ask this of you? You think this is righteous?" Anna asked Castiel, who can't meet her eyes. "What you're feeling? It's called doubt." Anna said. They hear Alastair screaming and choking because Dean pours out more holy water then splashes Alastair in the face, and watches him sizzle.

Anna touches Castiel's hand. "These orders are wrong and you know it. But you can do the right thing. You're afraid, Cas. I was too. But together, and with some help from—" Anna started to say but Castiel furrows his eyebrows at her.

"Together?" He said, confused, then he yanks his hand away. "I am nothing like you. You fell. Go." Castiel said. "Cas." Anna said, sympathetically. "Go." Castiel said, firmly, and Anna frowns at him before she disappears.

"You're just not getting deep enough." Alastair said after he spits out blood and Holy Water. "Well, you lack the resources. Reality is just, I don't know, too concrete up here. Honestly, Dean..." he said as Dean pours salt into another container. "You have no idea how bad it really was, and what you really did for us." Alastair said. "Shut up." Dean whispers.

"The whole bloody thing, Dean. The reason Lilith wanted you there in the first place." Alastair said as Dean walks back up to him. "Well, then I'll just make you shut up." Dean growls and he grabs Alastair's chin. "Lilith really—" Alastair started to say but Dean pours salt into his mouth and Alastair tries to scream.

Moments later, Alastair spits out blood and tries to breathe. "Something caught in my throat. I think it's my throat." He said. "Well, strap in, 'cause I'm just starting to have fun." Dean said as he goes back to his cart. "You know, it was supposed to be your father." Alastair said as Dean pours out more holy water.

"He was supposed to bring it on. But, in the end, it was you." said Alastair. "Bring what on?" Dean asked him. "Oh, every night, the same offer, remember? Same as your father." Alastair said as Dean shakes salt onto the blade of Ruby's knife. "And finally you said, Sign me up. Oh, the first time you picked up my razor, the first time you sliced into that weeping bitch..." Alastair said and Dean turns to face him.

"That was the first seal." Alastair said but Dean does not visibly react as he walks closer. "You're lying." Dean said and Alastair smirks a bit. "And it is written that the first seal shall be broken when a righteous man sheds blood in hell. As he breaks, so shall it break." He recites and Dean turns away. "We had to break the first seal before any others. Only way to get the dominoes to fall, right? Topple the one at the front of the line." Alastair said as Dean starts to feel shock and fear.

"When we win, when we bring on the apocalypse and burn this earth down, we'll owe it all to you, Dean Winchester." Alastair said and Dean closes his eyes, trying not to react. "Believe me, son, I wouldn't lie about this. It's kind of a religious sort of thing with me." Alastair said then he notices a dripping faucet and the broken edge of the devil's trap.

"No. I don't think you are lying. But even if the demons do win..." Dean said as he looks at Ruby's knife. "You won't be there to see it." He said and he turns around only to see that Alastair is right behind him, out of the chains. "You should talk to your plumber about the pipes." He said and he punches Dean, who does down. Alastair grins at this.

Alastair holds Dean up by his shirt collar and punches him repeatedly, then drops him and picks him up by the throat and shoves him up against the hexacle, lifting his feet off the floor. "You got a lot to learn, boy. So I'll see you back in class bright and early Monday morning." Alastair said but he turns around to see Castiel holding Ruby's knife.

Alastair drops Dean, who doesn't move, to focus on Castiel before he stabs Alastair in the shoulder. The injury sparks gold light, but not as much as when it kills. "Well, almost. Looks like God is on my side today." Alastair said and Castiel lifts a hand, making the knife twists itself. Alastair grunts in pain and pulls out the knife, then tosses it away and charges Castiel.

They throw blows at each other for a few moments before Alastair slams Castiel against the wall, choking him. "Well, like roaches, you celestials. Now, I really wish I knew how to kill you. But all I can do is send you back to heaven." Alastair said then he chants in Latin, blue light appears in Castiel's eyes and mouth.

Suddenly, Alastair stops as he is thrown off to the side, letting Castiel go. (Y/n) walks in as she glares at Alastair while Castiel slumps to the ground. Alastair starts to get up on his knees then laughs once he looks over at (y/n). "Getting better there, girlie. But you really think you can fight me, alone?" He asked but then he, abruptly, chokes then is slammed against the wall.

"She's not alone." Sam growls as he walks up beside her, one hand raised. "Stupid pet tricks." Alastair said and (y/n) looks over and sees Dean laying on the ground. Fear and concern wash over her as she runs over to Dean then kneels down to him.

"Who's murdering the angels? How are they doing it?" Sam asked Alastair. "You think I'm gonna tell you?" Alastair asked. "Yeah, I do." Sam mutters then he twists his hand and Alastair's eyes roll white and he chokes.

"How are the demons killing angels?" Sam asked him. "I don't know." Alastair said. "Right." Sam scoffs and (y/n) looks up at this as she craddles Dean in her arms. "It's not us. We're not doing it." Alastair replied. "I don't believe you." Sam growls.

"Lilith is not behind this. She wouldn't kill seven angels. Oh, she'd kill a hundred, a thousand." Alastair admits and Sam stops. "Oh, go ahead. Send me back, if you can." Alastair said and Sam glares at him. "I'm stronger than that now. Now I can kill." Sam said and he holds out his hand. Gold light flares inside Alastair as he screams, (y/n) gasps at this and is shock when Alastair's host collapses, dead.

Sam glares at the body then he and (y/n) share a look. (Y/n) had no idea how to feel about the horrible act committed before her. It utterly terrified her, that Sam has become so powerful that he can kill a demon by a wave of his hand. No one should have that kind of power. 

But at the same time she was conflicted. She also felt joy in seeing Alastair suffer excruciating pain before dropping dead. He deserve it after all. He was a demon, but not just any demon.

He was the bastard that tortured Dean in hell for 30 years before he couldn’t take it any long and picked up the torturing for him. He cause Dean so much pain that he’ll never be himself again. Now that he’s dead, he can at least rest a little easier.

Alastair deserved a painful death. But at the same time, does anyone, even a demon, deserved a death as horrible as that?

Hours later, Dean was in a hospital bed, heavily bandaged with a breathing tube and an IV drip, with Sam and (y/n) sitting next to him. Castiel appears at the doorway, pauses, and continues down the hallway. (y/n) follows him out of the room.

"(Y/n)—" Castiel starts to say but (y/n) stands in front of him. "Get in there and heal him. Miracle. Now." She demanded, angrily. "I can't." Castiel said. "You and Uriel put him in there—" (y/n) yelled at him. "No." Castiel said, shaking his head, but (y/n) continues to yell. "—because you can't keep a simple devil's trap together."

"I don't know what happened. That trap...it shouldn't have broken. I am sorry." Castiel said and (y/n) shakes with anger. "Screw you!" (Y/n) spat, angrily, and she turns away from him as Sam comes up to Castiel. "This whole thing was pointless. You understand that? The demons aren't doing the hits. Something else is killing your soldiers." Sam growls as (y/n) heads back into Dean's room.

"Perhaps Alastair was lying." Castiel suggested. "No, he wasn't." Sam said then he goes back into Dean's room while Castiel stands there looking as though he has been slugged in the face.

Uriel sits on a bench, eyes closed, until Castiel appears. "Castiel, I received revelation from our superiors. Our brothers and sisters are dying and they...they want us to stop hunting the demon responsible." Uriel said as Castiel goes to sit down next to him.

"Something is wrong up there. I mean, can you feel it?" Uriel asked. "The murders. Maybe they aren't demonic. Sam Winchester said the demons had nothing to do with it." Castiel said. "If not the demons, what could it be?" Uriel asked him. "The will of heaven. We are failing, Uriel. We are losing the war. Perhaps the garrison is being punished." Castiel said.

"You think our father would—"

"I think maybe our father isn't giving the orders anymore. Maybe there is something wrong." Castiel said, interrupting Uriel. Then Uriel stands up. "Well, I won't wait to be gutted." he said and he vanishes.

That night, Castiel stands out in the snowy street and looks around. "Anna. Anna, please." He calls out then the streetlight above him flickers. "Hello, Castiel." A voice, that was not Anna's, said and he turns around to see a woman with short bright orange hair, a soft round face with big blue eyes standing behind him. She was wearing jeans, black knee-high boots, a purple t-shirt and a black vest, her arms were folded across her chest.

"Ariel? I thought you were dead." Castiel said to her, confused. "No, just stood by the sidelines...watching." She replied. "Then why are you here?" Castiel asked her. "Because if someone's breaking the seals to start what I think they are starting, then I need to be a part of this and stop it. Those seven angels that died were the ones that were gonna help me...." Ariel said and Castiel stares at her.

"And Anna is so far the only Angel that is on my side and I don't need you to come kill her." Ariel adds. "I promise, I'm alone." Castiel said, holding his arms out. "Then what did you want from her, Castiel?" Ariel asked him. "I'm considering disobedience." He said and Ariel continues to look him over then nods.

"Good." She said. "No, it isn't. For the first time, I feel..." Castiel said until he was lost for words. "It gets worse. Choosing your own course of action is confusing, terrifying." Ariel said, sounding like she had been through this before. “I don’t know what to do. Please tell me what to do.” Castiel pleads to her and she looks him in the eyes. “I’m sorry, but no one can tell you what to do. No one but yourself.” She said.

“But I…” Castiel tried to say, but he is cut off by Ariel. “It’s time for you to think for yourself, Castiel.” She said to him, sympathetically. Castiel looks down, seemingly at a loss. “I…I can’t.” He said, his voice trembling. 

Ariel steps closer, placing her hand on his cheek and raises his head to meet her gaze. She smiled at him, in a very motherly manner. “Of course you can.” She assured him. Castiel stares back, then she vanishes.

Back in the room they held Alastair in, Castiel examines the devil's trap. Then he notices the dripping faucet and shuts it off without touching it. "You called?" Uriel asked as he enters the room. "What do you say, Castiel? Will you join me? Will you fight with me?" Uriel asked as Castiel still looks at the devil's trap.

"Strange. Strange how a leaky pipe can undo the work of angels when we ourselves are supposed to be the agents of fate." Castiel said. "Alastair was much more powerful than we had imagined." Uriel said. "No. No demon can overpower that trap. I made it myself." Castiel said then he looks over at Uriel. "We've been friends for a long time, Uriel. Fought by each other's sides, served together away from home, for what seems like forever. We're brothers, Uriel. Pay me that respect. Tell me the truth." Castiel said and the two stare into each other's eyes.

"The truth is, the only thing that can kill an angel..." Uriel said as a blade slides out of his sleeve into his grasp. "...is another angel." He said and Castiel's eyes widen. "You." Castiel said, shocked. "I'm afraid so." Uriel said. "And you broke the devil's trap, set Alastair on Dean." Castiel said. "Alastair should never have been taken alive. Really inconvenient, Cas. Yes, I did turn the screw a little. Alastair should have killed Dean and escaped, and you should have gone on happily scapegoating the demons." Uriel explained.

"For the murders of our kin?" Castiel asked. "Not murders, Castiel. No. My work is conversion. How long have we waited here? How long have we played this game by rules that make no sense?" Uriel asked him. "It is our father's world, Uriel." Castiel said, firmly. "Our father? He stopped being that, if he ever was, the moment he created them. Humanity, his favorites. This whining, puking larva." Uriel sneers.

"Are you trying to convert me?" Castiel asked him. "I wanted you to join me. And I still do. With you, we can be powerful enough to—" Uriel said. "To..." Castiel said, questioning. "To raise our brother." Uriel replied. "Lucifer." Castiel said and Uriel nods. "You do remember him? How strong he was? How beautiful? And he didn't bow to humanity. He was punished for defending us. Now, if you want to believe in something, Cas, believe in him." Uriel said.

"Lucifer is not God." Castiel said, firmly. "God isn't God anymore. He doesn't care what we do. I am proof of that." Uriel yelled. "But this? What were you gonna do, Uriel? Were you gonna kill the whole garrison?" Castiel asked him. "I only killed the ones who said no. Others have joined me, Cas. Now, please, brother, don't fight me. Help me. Help me spread the word. Help me bring on the apocalypse. All you have to do is be unafraid." Uriel said and Castiel paces a bit as he thinks.

"For the first time in a long time, I am." Castiel said and Uriel smiles. Then Castiel punches him through the wall several feet away. Uriel gets up and they began to fight. Until Uriel clobbers Castiel with a metal bar.

"You can't win, Uriel. I still serve God." Castiel said after he falls down. "You haven't even met the man. There is no will. No wrath. No God." Uriel said as he punches Castiel in between each phrase. 

The last time, he raises his fist but then he was stabbed through the neck from behind. "Maybe. Or maybe not. But there's still me." Anna said and she pulls out Uriel's blade. Uriel collapses as Ariel comes up and looks down at him. "Should've figured it was you, Uriel." She growled, disappointed, as Anna goes over to Castiel to check on him.

Uriel's eyes widen as he sees Ariel then he screams, white light flares in his eyes and mouth. The light explodes out of him and out of the building. Castiel stands up and then he, Ariel and Anna look down at Uriel's corpse, his wings are seared into the floor across the devil's trap.

Back in the hospital, Dean is still in bed, though the breathing tube is gone, and (y/n) was sitting in chair next to his bed, holding his hand. Sam wasn't there as he was out getting some food and (y/n) wanted to stay behind to make sure Dean was fine.

"I'm gonna go get some coffee, okay?" She said as she stands up, still holding his hand. "You want me to bring you anything?" She asked him. "No...I'm fine." Dean mutters as he shakes his head. "Okay..." (y/n) said, softly, then she bends down, kisses his forehead and, reluctantly, takes her hand out of his. 

"I'll be right back." She said and she walks out of the room, Dean watches her leave until he heard something to his left. He turns his head to see that Castiel had appeared in a chair on the other side of his bed.

"Are you all right?" Castiel asked Dean, who turns to him and glares at him. "No thanks to you." Dean grumbles. "You need to be more careful." Castiel tells him. "You need to learn how to manage a damn devil's trap." Dean spat back at him. "That's not what I mean." Castiel said then he lets out a sigh.

"Uriel is dead." He said and Dean turns to him. "Was it the demons?" Dean asked him. "It was disobedience. He was working against us." Castiel said and the room goes quiet for a few moments.

"Is it true? Did I break the first seal? Did I start all this?" Dean asked Castiel as he thinks over his words. "Yes." Castiel replied and Dean looks down then closes his eyes, in shame.

"When we discovered Lilith's plan for you, we laid siege to hell and we fought our way to get to you before you—" Castiel started to explain but then Dean finished his sentence. "Jump-started the apocalypse." He said and Castiel nods. "And we were too late." Castiel said.

"Why didn't you just leave me there, then?" Dean asked him, upset. "It's not blame that falls on you, Dean, it's fate." Castiel assures him but Dean didn't looked convinced. "The righteous man who begins it is the only one who can finish it. You have to stop it." He said. "Lucifer? The apocalypse? What does that mean?" Dean asked and Castiel thinks and starts to act like he was about to leave.

"Hey! Don't you go disappearing on me, you son of a bitch. What does that mean!" Dean yells, angrily. "I don't know." Castiel said, honestly. "Bull." Dean growled. "I don't. Dean, they don't tell me much. I know our fate rests with you." said Castiel and Dean frowns.

"Well, then you guys are screwed. I can't do it, Cas. It's too big. Alastair was right. I'm not all here. I'm not—I'm not strong enough. Well, I guess I'm not the man either of our dads wanted me to be. Find someone else. It's not me." Dean said, sadly, before he begins to cry.

@rach5ive @kitsun369 @itzabbyxx @cevans-winchester @ellie-andthemachine

[dean-winchester-is-a-warrior]

Use Me

Gif from this post by @dunderklumpen

Summary: You'll do anything to make Dean's nightmares go away.

Warnings/Explicit 18+: Bit of smut, mostly angst, so - smangst. Nothing too crazy. Implied, future smut, nakedness, featuring Dean's mouth.

Pairings: Dean Winchester x Y/N

Word Count: 650

A/N: I saw this post, and immediately wanted to make my baby feel better. This is what floated through my head. Enjoy! 😊

The beautiful divider below and at the bottom was created by @talesmaniac89

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"Dean?" You call softly from the side of his bed. 

You know not to get too close when he's having nightmares like these, head twisting from side to side, limbs thrashing, muscles clenched tight and rigid.

"Dean?" You call again, but he's not responding; he's too lost in the horrors in his mind, and the way his beautiful face contorts in pain makes tears shimmer in your eyes.

It's been such a horrific few days for him. He finally got out of the hospital earlier that afternoon, barely healed from the physical wounds Alastair had heaped upon him.

You weren't sure he'd ever fully recover from the emotional evisceration the devil spawn had doled out to him.

Sam had been the one to tell you, Dean wouldn't even talk about it. But you knew he was blaming himself, telling himself that he was weak and pathetic for caving beneath the torture of Alastair's blade.

You'd tried to talk to him about it, but he'd silenced you with a couple harsh words and then a gentle squeeze of your hand to try and soften them.

But now he's obviously drowning in his pain, and you're desperate to end it. Or to ease it, at least.

So, with that in mind, you venture closer to the bed and reach out your hand to shake his shoulder. It takes ages of shaking him and calling his name to finally pull him out of hell again, and back to your side.

When he wakes, his bright green eyes fly open, a small dark spot marring the white part near his iris - blood vessels broken and bleeding from Alastair's fists the day before. 

But it's healing, getting smaller. His true wounds lie in the terror and hopelessness you can read easily in his verdant gaze. 

You push your fingers through the sweaty hair at his temple, trying to soothe him.

"You're okay. You're safe."

You move to sit beside him, but before you can, Dean sits up, swinging his legs over the side of the bed. 

He drops his head into his hands and you can hear the way his throat catches, as though he's choking back tears. You stand in front of him and rub your hands across his wide, bent, and burdened shoulders.

"Dean." It's all you can say as tears clog your own throat.

Suddenly and feverishly, Dean wraps his arms tightly around your hips, burying his face in your belly as his shoulders shake silently.

Tears fall freely for you now as you wrap your arms around his head. "Shh." You soothe quietly. "It's okay, we're okay." You say, trying to reassure both of you. 

Dean's arms tighten even further around your hips till the embrace is almost painful.

Then he abruptly pulls away, yanking at your nightgown, pulling it up and off of you in one fluid motion. You gasp, suddenly naked - you weren't expecting this response. But when he looks up at you, his expression is desperate and pleading. 

"Please, Y/N, make me forget?" He closes his eyes tightly. "I can't forget; their faces are all piling up in my head. Give me something beautiful."

He presses his lips softly in kisses across your stomach and your breath starts coming in ragged puffs.

His fingers reach up and trail ever so gently over the rise and fall of your breasts. 

"You're so beautiful, Y/N." His right hand falls your core and he slips one finger into your damp folds, raising you onto your tiptoes with a moan. "Please, let me sink into your beautiful."

His voice is muffled against your hip as he skims his mouth over your rounded flesh.

He looks up at you from under his thick lashes and his eyes are begging.

"Please?"

Your answer is immediate and unhindered by any doubts. "Yes, I'm here for you, Dean, for whatever you need. Use me."

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