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huntertales · 6 years ago

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Part Three: Knight In Shining Armor. (LARP and the Real Girl S08E11)

Episode Summary: Sam, Dean and the reader investigate the mysterious deaths of two LARPers who were engaged in a game involving an actual fairy. While digging deeper into the game, the boys discover the queen of Moondoor is a familiar face they met just a few short years ago, an I.T. woman named Charlie Bradbury. Word Count: 6,381. Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader

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You were the type of person who didn’t like to talk about themselves too much or spill your guts to a complete stranger. You enjoyed your privacy and even kept a few secrets from the boys. It was just the nature of being a hunter. But there was something about Charlie and her personality that had you feel comfortable around her, like you’ve known her for your entire life. She felt like one of those people you could instantly bond with. It also helped with the fact that she wasn’t someone with the last name Winchester or a hunter. She was just a normal person who happened to know about the supernatural. And of the same gender as you, which was a bonus. You didn't know how long it'd been since you got to hang out with someone that wasn't a man. Charlie reminded you a lot of Josh, your best friend from back home. You and her started talking the second Dean turned his back and started to make his way out of the tent. You were getting out of your fed clothes while you talked to Charlie about how excited she was to meet you, prompting you to start chuckling. To you, meeting the very woman who had been the reason why the boys managed to help take down Dick Roman, the monster you were fortunate enough to have never met, was a chance for you to say thank you. You swore you could hear Charlie blushing when you did so. She didn’t linger too much on her glory, she wanted to know more about you and how you tricked the boys into thinking you were dead. The story required a bit of backstory; you told her about the gory details she willingly asked for that landed you in the hospital, beaten to a near inch of your life with one less finger. You could have made a full recovery and got almost full mobility of your finger, but you didn’t want that. You wanted to crawl out of your own skin and be someone else for a change. When you said it out loud, you felt a little weird telling it to an outsider who didn't live like you. Who grew up with a parent who controlled every aspect of your life, whose life was planned out for them before they were even born. There was so much to the story, but you just met Charlie and you didn't want to scare her with the bitter details of your life. The redhead seemed to understand the feeling. She ran off and was trying to live as someone else, after all.

"Let me recap so I can wrap my head around this. Sam and Dean thought your body double, which was just a shapeshifter possessed by a demon, that you killed—with a broken arm and missing finger. Even more of a reason why you're my idol." Charlie tried to summarize the story you had been telling her over the past few minutes. You smiled to yourself at her remark as you stepped out to finish getting ready. "Anyway, they thought this double was really you this entire time? But a friend of yours put some kind of spell on you that made you temporarily someone else? Like some kind of supernatural witness protection program?"

"Sort of. After Dean took down Dick Roman, it got messier than anyone thought. He was sent to purgatory for a year. It’s an afterlife for all the creepy and crawly. Sam was left...well, alone. All of his family was gone." You said. You felt yourself momentary overcome with the guilt that always kept creeping out of nowhere when you started to think about the decisions you made. And if things might have been different if you stuck around. "Well, not completely. He found a woman he fell in love with and settled down for that year with her in Texas. Everything seemed to be going well for him...until Dean came back.”

You told Charlie about how the boys were tracking down a lead from a past situation that happened while you were still presumed dead. While the boys were in Michigan trying to track down Kevin on his girlfriend's college campus, Dean found himself accidentally bumping into a woman who wasn't looking where they were going. The woman happened to be you. A dead neighbor and a possessed husband you were pretending to pose as for those two years ended up making you remember who you were. But that wasn't the end of the story. It was just the beginning, and you had still so much to tell her.

You continued on by telling her about how Dean found a friend in Purgatory named Benny Lafitte, a vampire who helped him get out of the place. And how this friendship put a real damper in the brothers relationship. You were stuck in the middle of what the right thing to was. The boys spent weeks going back and forth about the situation. While you stood in front of the mirror and adjusting your outfit to make sure it look decent, you went on about how a hunter and Sam was ready to kill Benny. And then the part where Dean hit below the belt, and you willingly went along with it.

"You let Dean send Sam a phantom text from his ex?” Charlie repeated the infamous move that you were regretting to this very day. Your expression faltered slightly as you stare at yourself with a frown in the mirror. “Dick move, ma'am."

“Yeah. Not my finest hour of being his best friend. I'm still kicking myself for doing that. To be fair, Sam was really getting under my skin that day.” You made a half attempt at defending yourself while you started to smooth out the burgundy top that was similar to hers after you complained the first one was too tight. As your hand slid down your stomach, that’s when you nonchalantly spoke of a secret you’ve been guarding from anyone. “And my hormones have been all of the place lately because of the baby."

You went on for a few seconds without realizing the exact words slipped out of your mouth until you caught Charlie’s expression in the mirror. An eerie silence fell between the both of you, giving you red flags that was making you start to panic. “I’m sorry, did you just say—”

“Do you have any shoes to go with this? Heels aren’t probably the most logical option.” You cut off the woman before she could try and linger on a topic that accidentally slipped out from your mouth. You turned your attention over to Charlie with a blank expression as you waited for her to offer you up something. But she just sat there with a sort of smile on her face. You swallowed slightly, knowing damn well you weren’t going to get out of this one. “Yes. I did say baby. As in...you know. Pregnancy.”

"Oh. Wow. You are. Really? Well, then a congratulations is an order. That's amazing! You...don't look so happy. Oh, no. Not good?" Charlie found her excitement slowly starting to change when she saw your not so much of one. Suddenly she wondered if this was one of those situations she'd luckily never have to worry about. "I'm guessing this isn't good. Which is okay. Not everyone wants to be a mom. Totally understandable. Screw what society tells us women what to do—”

"What? No. No, I am excited. I'm over the moon about this. It's just..." You found yourself trailing off when you realize that maybe you were oversharing just a tad bit too much information about your personal life. You gave the redhead a small smile. "Here I am going on about my problems like I've known you forever. Even though we just met today. You probably think I’m a weirdo. And I would have no problem if you did. Obviously."

"I think a lot of things about you. But weirdo? Far from it. I mean, yeah, we just met...but this is gonna sound totally strange, I know. But you ever meet those people where you just feel super comfortable around them? You're one of those people." Charlie admitted her own feelings to her, causing her to feel the same embarrassment you had just once before. You felt your smile grow a little bit wider, giving her reassurance the feeling was very much mutual to her. "I mean, I understand if you don't want to tell me anything else. I'm sure you and the boys want to keep this a secret—"

“Dean doesn’t know yet.” You suddenly felt yourself blurting out even more information about the secret you really should have done a better job at keeping it, instead you were telling everyone you came across. Except the baby's father. Charlie's eyes grew wider. "Sam does. I told him after he was trying to figure out what to do. It was the reason why I couldn't support him being with Amelia. And I'm kinda afraid that's the reason why he stayed. To make sure I'm okay. And the baby. I haven't told Dean yet because he's not good with...this kind of thing."

"What kind of thing?" Charlie asked. "Babies?"

"No. I guess...normalcy. Family. It's sort of the reason why he didn't want Sam to be with Amelia. I'm sure he would say, 'In this life, you can't afford attachments. You just got to let go.' Which is complete crap. I mean, him and I have had our fair share of downs. But we're still together." You said. You looked down at the ground for a second before back at Charlie. "I think Dean always thought it was just gonna be the three of us. Now...there's one more. And I'm not sure why the hell I'm so scared at breaking the news to him. But I can't tell him. Not yet."

Everything normal and good that Dean Winchester ever got crashed and burned in his face miserably. His happy life was ruined at the age of four by his father when John decided to uproot the boys and forced them into this lifestyle. Dean was mentally brainwashed into taking the bare minimum of what he deserved for the sake of looking out for Sam and saving people by the monsters he was taught to hunt. Much as this lifestyle turned him into the perfect little hunter his father would be proud of, there was still a human being, a little boy who was forced to grow up too fast that still needed to be loved. To be cared for. And you tried your hardest to give everything he ever missed out on. Even on the things you couldn’t when he wanted it.

Part of the reason why you were afraid to tell Dean he was about to become a father was because of more than just his harsh upbringing. It was also because he tried to be a father figure just a few short years ago. He was great at being a figure to Ben Braden to look up to, but it proved complicated when the lifestyle of hunting came back to drag the poor kid and his mother in danger. The exact thing Dean tried his hardest to make sure it didn't happen. While Ben was unharmed, it was Lisa who suffered the consequences and nearly lost her life.

Even during your time hunting together while Dean was playing house and you were back from the cage, there was a fraction of time where you thought you were going to be a mother to a shapeshifter baby. While it was short, you didn’t know it was going to end in misery, you thought about the future and the baby you would be raising today. Not to mention Emma, the daughter that came out of a mindless hookup, who turned out to be a monster that died from a bullet to the chest.

Dean's track record with kids wasn't exactly the best. His own insecurities would probably eat him from the inside out from all the things that might go wrong. What kind of terrible fate his child would suffer years down the line because of him. He might even fear about the idea of raising a child on his own if something happened to you. What if he ended up being like his own father and forced your child into being the way he was? You had to remind yourself that these thoughts were just fictional, theories that your brain come up with from its own anxiety. For all you knew Dean would be over the moon, exacted as you were at the idea of having a family. But the possibility to see how his reaction might be would just have to wait for another day.

After you spilled your guts and the truth she had been anticipating over, you finished getting ready and putting on the final details of your outfit. You had to admit going into this you were a little bit skeptical, but looking at yourself in the mirror, you were sort of digging it now. Sometimes hunts and cases required you to dress in costumes that were painful and stupid, but this was something you could get apart of. You didn't think you ever had this much fun on a hunt before. And Charlie seemed like a friend in the making who was a good listener. The both of you filled the silence with random conversation to pass the time before you heard footsteps approaching the curtains to the tent, along with a familiar voice coming from behind the fabric.

“Permission to enter, your majesty?"

You found yourself growing a smile as you shook your head at how Dean was really committing himself to this whole going undercover for the hunt. You knew he intrigued by all of this from the very beginning, but you weren't going to make fun of him. He needed a bit of fun. Charlie played along and granted him access. A few seconds later the curtain was pushed aside and stepped in Dean, who was out of his fed clothes and into some that were more suitable for the time period. If there was one thing you took away from his outfit, it was how good he looked. No matter what he wore, Dean always managed to pull it off.

“Oh look.” You said with a playful tone of voice as you dropped your hands back to your side after you finally stopped fidgeting with your outfit after it felt more comfortable on you. “It’s my knight in shining armor.”

Dean fussed around with his own clothes the accessories that paired with it to get it more used to them. When he found himself looking forward in your direction to see what you had gotten into, he momentarily froze in his actions, seeming taken back at your own transformation. “Wow. Y/N,” He muttered underneath his breath as he approached you. You rolled your eyes as his began to move up and down your body. “I gotta say. You look...” “If you say ridiculous I’m gonna punch you in the face.” You warmed the man when you thought his silence was his attempt at trying not to laugh. “This was all Charlie’s idea. Don’t make fun of me because I can’t pull off this look. I was gonna wear something else, but it didn’t fit me.” “That's not exactly what I was gonna open with. I was gonna say you look extremely hot.” Dean said, freely making a compliment they would have felt awkward of Charlie was still lingering around. However it seemed the redhead has already made her way out of the tent to speak to her people. Dean approached you as he gave you a smile that could always make it feel like it was going to leap out of your chest. He grabbed your hand into his own and lifted it up, and ever so gently, placed a kiss on the back of the skin. "I could never disrespect a woman so beautiful and sophisticated as yourself. After all, it’s not very noble to treat the queen whose heart I'm after."

“Is that so, my dear knight?” You raised your brow as you played along with the little game that was going on between the both of you. "Well, in order to even consider the possibility of courting me, you'll have to prove yourself of how brave and strong you are. And even then I'll have to consider spending my time with someone beneath me in status. Think of the scandal it’d cause. Daughters of royalty weren't married off to knights.”

“I didn’t think rules applied to you. It’s one of the reasons why I’ve loved you from afar for so long.” Dean said. “But I swear my loyalty to you and only you.”

“You, my love, are a huge dork. And I can’t picture anyone else I want to spend the rest of my days with.” You mumbled to the older a man as you felt your lips stretch into a smile. "Let's get out of here before the real queen has our heads."

The both of you headed out of the tent and back to the grounds to see if you could find the redhead among the crowd of people passing by. Dean lingered behind you so he could switch out the sword covered in memory foam for a real feeling one, wanting to get more into character. And you had a feeling he couldn't pass up the opportunity to walk around with a sword to pretend it was the real thing. You declined one for yourself when he offered, causing him to mutter underneath his breath that it was your loss. You furrowed your brow slightly, wondering how much he was going to deny being into this role playing game until he gave up. Much as you wanted to tease him, you were having a bit of fun yourself.

While you waited for him to slip the wooden sword into his belt for safekeeping, you found your gaze lingering off the man and to a stranger when you heard a voice coming from in front of you. There was a man, who had to be your age, or even a little older, greeted you with a friendly smile. It was hard to make out some of his features due to the hood drawn up. You returned the gesture out of politeness. However you could feel it growing when you noticed his outfit looked like he spent his time stealing from the rich to give to the poor. He took it as something far different from the way he approached the conversation.

“Good day, my lady. I don't believe I've seen you around these parts in Moondoor before." He said. You knew damn well what he was trying to do, and while it would have been easier to turn him down, you were too amused to stop him from making a complete fool of himself. "And I would remember a face fresh and sweet like a picked red rose."

"Hey, Robin Hood. She's with me." Dean jumped into the short lived conversation before you could politely excuse yourself. He stepped forward so he was next to you, placing a hand on your lower back and rested the other one on his waist, close to the wooden sword. As if it was a subtle threat that might have been used in this century. "Why don't you do us a favor and use that Shakespeare line on someone else?"

The man ignored Dean's rude behavior as he kept his focus on you. "Is this fopdoodle bothering you, madame?"

"On the contrary, this gentleman is courting me. I’m afraid my heart belongs to only him." You declared. You saw the look on the man's face slowly beginning to fall when he realized that you were in fact in a relationship with the person who he just called stupid in more modern terms. He wished you a good day as he walked off, not wanting to cause any trouble before he could end up with a black eye. You rolled your eyes as you turned your attention over to Dean, who looked nothing short of pissed off as he watched the man disappear into the crowds. "Please don't tell me you're jealous, my surly knight."

"That douche just called me...whatever the hell it was." Dean grumbled. You reached out and wrapped your arms wrapped your arms around his before leaning yourself against him as the both of you started walking again. You saw another man dressed in similar colors as yourself flash you a familiar smile, you returned the gesture before focusing your attention forward.

"These losers mistake friendliness as flirting. Out in the real world they would never have the guts to talk to someone of the opposite gender. But here, they're different." You said, trying to cut some slack for the folks who didn't leave very exciting lives. Their anxiety and lack of social skills confined them to this fantasy world where they could be free and someone else. "They're confident. They can fight battles and save the damsel."

"Yeah, well, I'm warning you now." Dean muttered underneath his breath. "If one of them tries anything besides a pick up line, I'll knock them out."

You let out a quiet laugh at his aggressive behavior and squeezed his arm, reassuring him there was nothing to worry about. You were very much capable of protecting yourself against a couple of nerds in their costumes. The both of you finally caught up to Charlie, who had been momentarily speaking to someone before they walked off. You waved your arm in the air to catch her attention, Charlie smile as she returned the gesture. However the redhead found herself going back to her royal duties when a subject passed by and gave her respectful greeting and bow to the queen before going on her way.

"Sorry for falling behind. Someone was busy trying to find Excalibur and then nearly ready to flog someone to death." You said. Your excuse made Charlie give you a slightly confused look at what happened while she was gone. You shook your head, not really wanting to get into details as the three of you started making your way across the grounds. "So, I've been meaning to ask, have you always been into LARPing?"

“Nah. For role-play, I prefer a tabletop. D&D, Gamma World, Car Wars. That’s why Cthulhu invented multi-sided dice, right? But a buddy of mine was into LARPing. Went for him, stayed for the chucks." Charlie said. You laughed quietly as she followed behind for a moment. The smile that crossed her fast last long as it appeared before it slowly faded. "It's not just that, though. It's an escape. I mean, here, I'm a queen, a hero. Out there in the real world, I'm just hacking out code and chugging coffee all day long."

"Now, wait a second." You said. You stopped in your tracks as you reached out an arm to grab a hold of Charlie, making her do the same. "If it wasn't for you, the boys would have never been able to take down Dick Roman. Out there in the real world, you are hero."

Charlie couldn't help herself but start to grow the slightest smile at your compliment, feeling as if it was an honor to hear such a thing from you. You returned the gesture before your attention was drawn away from her when a female spoke up, addressing the woman by her royal title. Along with yet another flirty smile with the proper bow. Charlie found herself momentarily distracted by the pretty face before she returned her attention back to you. You raised your brow slightly and gave her a curious look at how much attention she was getting from her fellow followers.

“I’m noticing a lot of these maidens are checking you out.” Dean muttered. He gave the young woman a slightly suggestive look at the options she might be able to choose from, and what her secret was to attract so much attention without even trying.

“How come you get the cute girls making flirty eyes with you and all I get is dudes in tights and this one being my guard dog?” You asked her, pointing over your shoulder to the man standing behind you from his behavior just a little earlier.

“What? I can’t shut this down.” Charlie said, smirking to herself. You narrowed your eyes slightly as you felt yourself smiling at her excuse. “It’s good to be queen.”

You couldn't help yourself but let out a chuckle at her proud attitude as she headed off. Charlie was beginning to become quite the fun person to hang out with while the three of you went around talking to people dressed as all sorts of fantasy beings. You didn’t have very much luck with people figuring out what the symbol was you found on both of the victims arms. But when you approached an elf to see if she might know anything, unfortunately she didn’t. All though someone wouldn't have call it a complete loss. Charlie worked her magic when she grabbed the photograph from the elf and started to subtly flirt with the woman.

“Well, if you think of anything, come see me in my tent. Anytime.” Charlie said to the elf with a smile that you've seen so many times before. The elf gave the queen a flirtatious wink before heading off back into her travels. When she was gone, you shook your head at Charlie's fun she was having. "Scratch the elves off the list."

All of you continued on your quest to talking to the different groups around here to see if you might be able to know anything. So far nobody had a clue what it was, but there wasn't hope to be lost. You still had one more group of species to talk to, but they were the queen's enemy. And a needle in a haystack to track down in this place. They might have been your only chance at figuring out what was going on here if Sam wasn't going anywhere with the leads, but you weren't going to lose hope just yet.

"Shadow orcs." Charlie mumbled. "Last group on the list, impossible to find."

“Wait, I know where we can find one.” Dean said, remembering the one he spotted in the stocks. "Y/N and I met him on the way in."

“Perfect. Maybe he can tell us what the fack this thing is.” She said, gesturing a hand to the picture of the symbol that was causing all of you a hell of a lot of trouble more than it was worth.

It wasn't too hard to find the shadow orc, he was still in the stocks where you last saw him after you arrived. While you had seen nothing but admiration and affection for Charlie, but it seemed not everyone would bow down to the queen. Because something in this little game wanted to have the throne. But you could still feel your emotions being tested at the not so nice things the orc was shouting out when he saw Charlie approaching.

"Death to the queen! Death to the usurper! Death to her manservant!" The orc went on with his threats that were meaningless as he was dangerous in the real world. In the game he was an opponent who wanted to take down the queen for her throne. Dean responded to the not so kind words by taking out his wooden sword and smacking the orc right against the head to make him grow quiet, the orc ever so quietly growled before your dirty look caused him to grow silent.

"What?" Dean found himself being scrutinized by Charlie from his actions that weren't exactly nice. "Well, there's no laptops in Moondoor. There's no geneva convention, either."

"Hey." You said, grabbing the man’s attention. You reached out and pulled the photograph from the pouch that was looped around Dean's belt to show the orc. "Have you seen this?"

"Yeah, of course." The orc answered. Your response of a look of surprise at how easy you got him to crack caused him to realize that he had accidentally spilled important information that you and the queen might find useful. "No. No, I haven't seen it." He tried to backtrack, but there was no use. Dean placed the dull wooden blade up to the orc's throat, pretending to threaten him if he didn't spill the rest of his answer. "Okay, it's the shadow king's family crest. You'll never find him in the Black Hills."

"Black Hills?" You repeated the fictional location as you looked over at Charlie to specifically find out where it was.

“The forest behind the playground.” She said. “Come on.”

You and Dean wasted no time in following behind Charlie to see if you might be able to find the group who might have been the source to everything of what was going on. While the three of you traveled farther away from the park and started walking on a path that lead you deeper into the woods, you found a familiar face approaching you. You could feel a sigh building up in your throat at the dweeb who wasn’t much help to you and the boys when you arrived. You hoped the costume change to fit better into the setting would make him think you were playing along with the rules. He didn't seem to pay much attention to you, his focus was solely on the redhead, the queen he was fictionally sworn to protect and respect.

"My queen. There you are. I've been searching everywhere for you. Has this...oaf attempted to harm you with his blasphemous metalworks?" The knight’s attention was drawn to Dean and his outfit that seemed like a perfect target to make fun of, considering his own was much better. You forced yourself to give him a smile when he looked in your direction, all you were fighting the urge to roll your eyes. "And my lady, I see you've found a more suitable attire."

"Boltar, they're with me. This is Dame Y/N. My most faithful and well trusted knight from many lands over. She's come to join the honor guard. And this is my new..." Charlie felt it was easy to come up with a lie for you that was perfect enough to fool her fellow knight, but she struggling to come up with a decent one for the older Winchester standing next to her. "handmaiden."

"Pleasure to be acquainted with you once more, sir." You greeted the knight, returning the slight bow when he did the same to you after learning of your title. You pretended to play the part to fool him into thinking you were here to have a little fun. "I must apologize for earlier. My travels have made me and the queen's...handmaiden weary. I came here fast as I could after hearing of the terrible tragedies that have been plaguing the kingdom. Like yourself, good sir, we're here to serve and honor the queen during these troubling times.”

"We seek an audience with the shadow king." Charlie said, stating the reason why all of you were here

"Uh, these hills are not safe. I beseech you, my queen,” Boltar spoke up in a cautious and slow voice, knowing he was overstepping his power as a knight to dare so tell what the queen to do. But it was her best interest for her safety. “You should return to camp."

"I believe he's right, your majesty. May the handmaiden and I have a moment with you before you take your leaving, madame?" You asked the redhead. She nodded her head and followed your lead when you turned around so your back was to Boltar, giving you a bit of a private conversation. "Handmaiden and knight? Huh. Talk about role reversal."

"He was suspicious." Charlie whispered. "I panicked."

"All right, look. You take my phone. Find Sam. Y/N and I'll find the shadow dorks." Dean said, handing the woman his electronic device that would have been forbidden. You looked over your shoulder while the exchange was happening to give Boltar a friendly smile, hoping he wouldn't notice. Charlie thought she could be more of use, but you would rather have her back at camp and out of trouble. "Yeah, you are helping by finding Sam. Go.”

Charlie wasn't exactly pleased with the plan, but you didn't give her much of a choice when you lightly shoved her forward to start walking back. When you started to see her making her way down the trail once more, you and Dean turned back to get this plan in motion. "Lead the way to the orcs, Bolty."

"Speak when spoken to, handmaiden." Boltar said, reminding the older Winchester of his very insignificant role. "This matter is for those who are qualified to handle such dangerous matters."

Dean could feel the grip around the handle of the wooden sword tighten until his knuckles turned white. You couldn’t help but snicker to yourself when Boltar turned around to start walking in front to lead you and Dean into the hideout of these orcs. The older man felt out of his element here with a title that wasn’t powerful as he hoped for. Nevertheless, the three of you worked together in the queen's absence to track down someone in the woods and ask them about the photograph. Twenty minutes of walking through dead leaves and broken branches turned out to be a waste of time. It seemed the only souls around were just the three of you.

“Well, that was a bust.” Dean said. “You sure the shadow orcs are even out there?”

"For a handmaiden, you certainly ask many questions." Boltar said. It seemed he wasn't used to such chatter from someone that was supposed to look after the queen's personal needs. "Yes, I am positive. They're just very good at hiding."

"What if we're going about this all wrong? I mean, why are we wasting our precious time trying to track down the shadow king? Why don't we have him come to us?" You asked. “What if we take the shadow orc being held in stock and offer him as a prisoner exchange?”

“Draw him out and beat him down.” Dean said. You nodded your head when he guessed your plan, making him grow a smile at how quick you were engaging yourself in this, and how you were coming up with a plan that even he would have never thought of. "I like your style.”

"Boltar, retrieve the prisoner. Handmaiden, tend to the queen's laundry and chamber pots. Meet me back here when your tasks are completed.” You instructed both of the men. Boltar nodded his head as he walked off to begin the task while Dean gave you a look, causing you to shrug your shoulders. You took a moment to scan the campgrounds in hope you might find the redhead, however you spotted Sam, who was approaching you and his brother with a smirk of amusement. "Ah, it's Sir Samuel.”

Sam wished he had a camera right now to take a picture of you and Dean from how ridiculous you looked so he could remember this longer. "Nice outfits."

"Laugh all you want, Sasquatch. But this has been kinda fun." You said. "I know you're jealous."

"Right. Well, while you and the Handmaid's Tale were playing dress-up,” Sam said, pulling open his jacket to fetch out a piece of paper from the inside pocket. “I found out that the mark—”

“Belongs to the shadow orcs.” Dean cut off his brother.

“Yeah.” Sam said. “And they’re using fairy magic.”

You grabbed the unfolded piece of paper from Sam to see that it was a printed article with the familiar tree on the very top middle of the page along with information about it. You skimmed the paragraph to get a gist of what you were dealing with. "The tree of pain. Awesome."

"Whoever gets marked gets ganked." Sam explained. You folded the piece of paper back up and asked him how you stopped this thing before someone else fell victim. "Find whoever cast the spell, and take them out. No more whammy, no more marks. No more marks, no more dead bodies."

"Okay, well, perfect. Our pal Boltar the chatty is getting the shadow orc prisoner. We're gonna do a little prisoner exchange, try to draw the king out of hiding. It was all Y/N’s idea.” Dean said. He felt himself growing the type of smile that you saw when he thought something was impressive or funny, but it seemed Sam wasn't. You rolled your eyes as Dean peered over his brother's frame, wondering why he couldn't find the familiar redhead behind him like he thought. "Where's Charlie?"

“She’s with you.” Sam said.

"No, we sent her to you." You corrected the younger man. You ignored the younger man's look of disbelief at your idea of letting the woman out of your sights. You didn't let yourself panic just yet as you started to call out Charlie's name as you headed to her tent, pushing back the curtains and peered inside. But there was nobody there. "These damn pants don’t have any pockets. I knew I should've brought my phone. She has Dean's. Try it, Sammy.”

Sam pulled out his own phone and dialed his brother's number and waited for Charlie to answer. But he didn't get a single ring, only an automated voice telling him that the number he was trying to reach was out of service. Which wasn't a good sign. Not a good sign at all. You knew you shouldn't have let Charlie out of your sight and walked her back to the campgrounds. If you did, maybe none of this would be happening, and you didn't put the queen you swore to watch over in danger.

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winchestersnco · 8 years ago

Text

Always

***Special thanks to @marvel-ash for this beautiful graphic that I’m all heart eyes over! I’m in love with it! Thank you isn’t adequate!!! xoxo***

Pairing: Dean x Reader

Summary: Dean and the reader meet in a bar just days before he’s set to go get Sam and look for their dad. While he didn’t mean to drag her into the life, and he tried with all his might to keep her out of it, fate has other plans.

Word Count: 20k+ (I know, I know. @callmesweetheartifyoumeanit has officially dubbed me her Wordy Princess, a title I gladly accept. But really, I hope the word count does not deter you.)

Warnings: Major angst, smut (fingering, handjobs, unprotected and protected sex, etc.), language, minor canon divergence (i.e. Lisa doesn’t exist), but also the glory that is Dean through the seasons. I love this man, and this just intensified that for me.

A/N: This fic was for @lipstickandwhiskey ‘s AC/DC song challenge and the song I chose was Whiskey on the Rocks. Now, originally, this was going to be PWP, well, the closest I could get. But then, this fic had other ideas and here we are, 20k of plot. I would apologize, but well, this may or may not have quickly risen to my all time favorite fic, and I hope that y’all love it as much as I do. It’s also written in a style I’ve never written in: third person, present tense, and entirely from Dean’s POV. I happen to love it, I love the way it reads and flows, and I hope you do too. Enjoy!

Tags: At the bottom. Happy to add anyone to my tags list (I currently have an Everything, Dean, Sam, and Benny list) as long as you’re following me. Cheers!

The first time, Dean picks her up in the bar, using a cheesy half-assed pick up line, only half expecting her to be open to his advances.

But she succumbs to his smug grin in record time, pulling him into the bathroom minutes later and locking the door behind them, whispering ‘fuck me’ into his ear as he kisses down the column of her neck. He sucks a dark mark right above her pulse point, and he is more than happy and ready to obey. It's in the grimy bar bathroom, on top of the sink, just enough clothes shoved down and pulled aside to give access. It's handsy and furious, all teeth and fingernails, scratching and biting, grunts and growls of ‘more’ and ‘harder’ and ‘yes, right there,’ both chasing their release as if it were the last thing on earth they'd ever do. They still manage to meet it together, unable to keep their moans quiet, her hands clutching at his shirt, his buried in her hair.

It's all soft kisses and wandering hands after as he softens inside her, both oblivious to the pounding on the door, neither concerned that they barely even know each other's names.

“Wanna go back to my place?” she asks. And he smiles, the crinkles that are just starting to form near his eyes deepening.

“God yes.”

They face glares and grumbles as they leave the bathroom, neither giving two shits about it, racing out into the night hand in hand. Dean leads her to his car, the only possession and home he has. Before he opens the door for her, he pushes her up against the cool metal and glass, his lips once again finding hers, his hands finding the skin at the small of her back. He groans when her fingernails rake through the short hairs at the back of his neck, his hips giving an involuntary thrust forward so she can feel that he is ready again. But Dean doesn’t want this time to be quick and harried, he wants to take his time.

He pulls away, groaning as he does, and he opens the car door for her so she can slide in the front seat. He rounds the back of the car, unable to keep his eyes off the back of her head, more excited than he is willing to admit to get this girl in a more private place.

The second time is just a couple weeks later, and it’s a whole weekend in, just the two of them. It’s full of tangled sheets, long showers, breakfast with her wrapped in his overlarge t-shirts and Dean in just his jeans. It’s whispered promises between moans of pleasure and shouts of each other’s names. It’s Dean wishing more than anything that he could stay right here in her arms for the rest of his life. And it’s him wishing that he wouldn’t be wiping that smile off her face in just a couple days.

On the last night, the sky tinged grey outside, a tangle of sheets and limbs, they get to know each other better, sharing hopes and dreams and fears. She learns about his Dad traveling for work, that Dean travels for work as well, the family business he calls it. Dean is about to leave for California to meet up with his brother, Sam, then they will meet up with their Dad. He learns that she is working for an office, doing something she doesn’t love until she figures out where her passions lie.

“So, Sam, he’s your younger brother? And he’s at Stanford?” Y/N asks him.

“Yeah, he’s been there a couple years.” Dean tries not to let his annoyance show, but he’s not sure he does a good job.

“What happened? With you and Sam?”

“It’s nothing, just-”

“Doesn’t seem like nothing.”

At first he thinks she’s patronizing him but when he meets her eyes, he realizes it’s sincere. She really is curious, so he spills a little of the story; Sam deciding to leave for Stanford and the fight with their dad, how much Dean had missed him in the ensuing years, and how excited he was to see him.

They fall asleep that way, wrapped in the feeling of security and comfort, and wrapped in each other, the weekend drifting off in memories of bare skin and heated kisses, shut off from the outside world and every problem they ever faced in their young lives. Come Monday morning they both reluctantly dress and Dean packs, neither eager for whatever this was to end.

Dean kisses her, the kiss filled with longing and everything he wasn’t willing to say out loud and he knows she understands.

“Come back to me? One day?” she asks against his lips, her eyes still closed, foreheads pressed together, her hands fisting in the front of his shirt, and Dean can feel the desperation radiating off her.

His thumbs brush at the tears just making tracks down her cheeks and he pulls away so he can look in her eyes.

“Promise.”

Dean gets into his car that Halloween morning, his thoughts ahead to Sam, his heart back in her safekeeping.

But it would be two years before they saw each other again.

The third time it’s after he’s made his deal. Dean hadn’t realized how much he wanted to see her until he only has a year left to live. It’s been two years and for Dean, that is entirely too long. The first thing he does after Sam wakes up is get in his car and drive through the night and into the next day, showing up just outside her house the next afternoon.

He knocks on the door, not knowing if she is home or not, and not giving two shits if she’ll be mad at him for showing up unannounced. It had been a while since he’d seen her, too long if he’s being honest, and he’s also not sure of the reception he’ll receive.

He looks up as the lock clicks and then he meets her eyes, eyes that show shock but also pleasure at seeing him.

“Dean?” she questions, the crease between her eyebrows deepening. She’s beautiful, more beautiful than he remembers. She looks like she wants to throw herself at him, but also shut the door in his face and he can’t blame her for either feeling. But when she notices his red rimmed eyes and the week’s growth of scruff, she steps to the side. “Come in, please.”

He steps through the door, his size taking up most of the room in the small entry way, and before she can lead him into the living room, he loses his composure. He knows he has no right to, but he leans on her, his arms going around her shoulders, and he uses her for the support he feels he hasn’t had in years.

He feels her begin to sink down and he goes with her, sitting on on the stairs right inside her front door. She cradles him there, holds him and rocks him, and waits for him to be ready to tell her everything.

“It’s my brother, Sam…” he begins, but can’t get anything more out.

“Is he…”

“No, but we thought he was.” He can’t give her the full truth, can’t tell her that Sam had died and that he did what he had to and sold his soul to get him back. That he only has one year to live and he is scared as shit because he doesn’t want to die, doesn’t want to go to hell. “We just had a, uh, scare, but he’s alive, on the mend. But it fucking scared me. And I just, I had to see you.”

He turns in her arms and looks up at her, her fingers coming to his cheeks and brushing away the moisture lingering there, and his heart swells. He leans into her touch, his eyes closing for a moment. He’s desperate to be close to her, to feel her, all of her, desperate to get lost in her, but he doesn’t want to push, doesn’t want to cross an invisible line that could be there. It’s been two years and right now he’s not even sure why he came here, not even sure what he expected from her.

His eyes shoot open for a split second when he feels her lips connect with his, but then they close again as he deepens the kiss, his tongue licking along her bottom lip, her mouth opening to his silent request. His hands wander, gripping her hips and pulling her forward. She goes willingly into his arms, her legs straddling his hips, his arms encircling her waist and pulling her closer.

She breaks the kiss, but only to say the words he’s been waiting to hear since the last time they were together.

“Take me to bed,” she says against his lips, and he pulls back for a moment, the question in his eyes, a question she answers with a subtle nod. He stands with her in his arms, her legs wrapping around his waist as he takes the stairs two at a time. She kisses his cheeks, his jaw, his neck, every inch of skin her lips can find as he makes his way to the bedroom.

She works her hands under the shoulders of his jacket and he shucks it off one sleeve at a time, still supporting her weight, leaving the offending item of clothing in the hall. His hands grip her thighs as her hands find the hem of her sweater, pulling it over her head as he enters the room, dropping it to the floor. He drinks in the sight of her in just her jeans and lace bra as he lays her on the bed.

He pauses in that moment, pulling back from her a little, pauses to take in everything, pauses to make sure this is what she wants, that she’s okay with this, pauses because he’s unsure himself.

She sits up and takes a handful of his shirt, pulling him down to her. “Stop thinking, Dean, and come here.”

He’s sure those are the most beautiful words he’s ever heard, sure that for once in his life he’s done the right thing in coming here. He’s even more sure as her hands work under his henley, pulling it over his head and clearing everything else from his thoughts.

The only thing on his mind is her, here and now, and him with her. His focus sharpens, the grief from the last couple weeks fading away with the feel of her skin on his, her fingers running over his muscles, the taste of her skin under his lips, and the feeling of her all around him. It’s exactly what he didn’t know he needed, exactly what he’s needed for a long time.

Regardless of the fact that he only has a year of life left, he’s right where he belongs and right where he wishes he could stay for the rest of his short life.

There’s darkness. Cold, stifling air. And the feel of wood beneath his fingers. His throat is dry and raw as sandpaper as he coughs. That’s all that comes to mind at first when Dean wakes, and the next thought is confusion. This is not normal, not right, not what he’s used to. The fumble for a lighter, an instinctive reaction more than a conscious thought, has him realizing he’s not in hell anymore. At least, not the hell he’s used to.

“Help,” he cries, but it comes out as more of a wheeze than a word, so he tries it again without much success.

Fear sets in. Not the fear that he learned to feel over the course of his life as a hunter, the fear that made him better, stronger, more alert. But the fear inbred in him over the last who knows how many years. Except he does know how many years; there’s no way anyone would ever forget a second of what he has been through.

Dean tests the wood above him and dirt begins to fall inside on top of him and desperation sets in. He’s wondering at this point if this is a new form of torture, a new way of them getting to him. But he’d ended the torture, ended it with one little word. He can’t think about that now because he’s being suffocated by earth and he knows, despite the panic setting in, that the only way out of this is up. So he begins to dig.

His first breath of fresh air is almost intoxicating and dizzying and he looks around, shock overcoming him at the sight. Every tree in the surrounding vicinity is downed and he knows this can't be a good sign, knows this means him getting topside has grave consequences.

It’s a couple days before he sees Sam again, a couple weeks before he’s settled enough to think the unthinkable, to wonder.

“Hey, Sam,” he begins, afraid for the answer. “Did you tell…?” and he trails off, unable to even say her name.

“No, I didn’t. Just like you asked me to. She tried calling though.”

Dean ponders for a moment, stares at his hands that are clasped together on top of the grimy motel room table. Him and Sam have shit to do, angels to worry about, demons to kill, he can’t be thinking of a vacation, can’t be thinking of Y/N. The world needs him, now more than ever it seems. But Sam is two steps ahead of Dean and slides a paper across the table and under Dean’s fingers.

“Go, man. Bobby and I got this for a little bit.”

Dean looks up at Sam, the question unspoken and Sam just gives a nod, the answer he was hoping for. He doesn’t ask again, doesn’t hesitate before he has one hand full of leather and other full of keys and he’s all but sprinting out the door.

He drives through the night and into the next day, only stopping for gas when it’s absolutely necessary, managing to avoid a speeding ticket only by the grace of a god he doesn’t believe in and then he’s there. He’s just steps away from the one thing he couldn’t stop thinking about for forty years and the one thing he wished he could get off his mind. It’s within grasp.

But Dean can’t knock. He can’t work up the courage to lay eyes on her face or be able to feel her under his fingers.

He had never told her about hell, never told her what he was or what he did. It was for the better. But right before Lilith, right before that last fight to kill her and maybe just maybe be able to stay topside, he had told her he was leaving. For good. He’d said words he didn’t mean to drive the point home. He’d broken her heart and he’d regretted it far longer than any man should have to.

He’s vacillating now. Pacing. More circling really, her front stoop isn’t that large. He pauses every once in awhile, his fist held up, just inches from her door, but he never knocks. He never has to.

He can tell she’s in a hurry, she’s not even looking up as the door opens and she steps out, her hair in a flurry, arms full of books, when she runs bodily into him, a shriek on her lips. And he gets it, she didn’t expect anyone to be there, but when she looks up and her eyes land on him, she freezes.

“Um-” he says, but no other sounds come out. It’s like Dean has forgotten how to speak.

“No.” It’s a breath more than a spoken word, her shock so evident tears have started to collect in her eyes and he understands, he really does. If anyone had hurt him the way he’d hurt her that last time, he’d react the same way she’s reacting.

She fumbles with the books in her hands and he reaches to help her but she pulls away from his touch, jerks away before he can help.

“I, um-” she starts, but doesn’t finish the sentence, just steps past him without looking at him and all but tumbles down the stairs in an attempt to put distance between them. She takes a quick glance up at him, one that he almost misses, before getting in her car and driving away.

Dean slumps onto the top stair, head in his hands. That didn’t go as bad as he thought it would go, but not as good as he’d hoped for either. He ponders for a moment on what to do, stay or leave, before he lets out a soft ‘fuck it’ and stands, making his way to his car and getting in.

Before long he’s back, picking the lock and letting himself inside her home. It’s neat and clean, and smells faintly of sugar cookies and cinnamon. He sets his armload down on the table, adjusting it so the front side is facing the door, the card visible. He’s walking back out of the house when he spots it, sitting on a side table just inside the door-a photo of him and her. She’s smiling into the camera, eyes squinting against the sun, and he’s kissing her cheek. He picks it up and holds it closer, looking at her smiling face in the dim light from the street lamp, remembering that day like it was yesterday, and he smiles.

If after four months she still has this, he realizes there is more hope than he thought there was. He sets the photo down, making sure it’s back in it’s appropriate spot on the table, and locks up behind him and leaves.

It’s only a couple of hours later, Dean is sitting on the uncomfortable motel room couch watching reruns of ‘Three’s Company’ and nursing a bottle of his favorite beer, when a knock sounds on the door. Three little raps. He sets his bottle on a side table and walks to the door, checking the peephole before opening it.

She doesn’t look at him as she steps through the door, her footsteps sure, her back straight. When she turns to face him, her eyes are downcast though, and she’s holding the card he’d left.

“I didn’t expect you to-” he starts, but she interrupts.

“You remembered my favorite flower.” She looks up at him as she says it, interrupting him, and he notices the red of her eyes, mascara on the bottom lids.

“Of course I did.” And he’d never forget. He’ll never forget anything about her, not in a million years.

“But the last time-”

“I know what I said the last time, but, shit Y/N, I didn’t mean any of it.” He closes the gap between them, hands on either side of her face, and forces her to look him in the eye. “I didn’t mean a fucking word of it, and I-I’ve regretted it every day since. The last four months has felt like forty fucking years without you and I know ‘sorry’ isn’t even close to enough to-” He chokes on the words, can’t finish because there’s a lump in his throat and his eyes are burning with unshed tears of his own, mirroring the ones that are shining in her eyes.

He feels her hands grasp the fabric of his shirt, pulling him closer, their bodies pressed together. “Don’t fucking do that to me ever again, you got it?”

He doesn’t say the words that he knows she wants to hear, can’t bring himself to. It’s a promise he knows that he can’t keep, no matter how much he wants to. Instead he kisses her, kisses her deep, his fingers threading through her hair, trying to say everything he can’t put in words. He can’t promise he’ll never leave again, can’t promise to always be there, hell, he can’t even tell her what he is or what he does.

Instead he focuses on this moment right now, on the feel of her beneath his fingers, the way her hands are working under his shirt and against his skin, and the way she tastes.

And in this moment he makes one promise to himself: to keep her safe under any and all circumstances.

He inserts the key into the lock, grateful for the first time in weeks to be doing so. Not that he doesn’t legitimately unlock doors on a regular basis, opting for a key instead of a lock pick, but most of the time he is greeted with moldy showers, musty bedding, matted carpet, and decades old kitchenware. This time, however, Dean is greeted with clean floors, the smell of food cooking, homely lighting, classic rock playing softly in the background, and the knowledge that the bed will not only be comfortable, but full of her.

He sets his bag inside the front door and follows his nose to the kitchen and the sight that greets him is the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen.

She’s wearing her favorite apron, pulling a pan of something out of the oven he’s sure will taste better than anything he’s ever eaten, twisting to set it on the stovetop and then grab a pie to put in, setting the timer as she does. His stomach grumbles at the sight of a home cooked meal and he feels his jeans grow a little tighter at the sight of her. He feels his heart clench, something it’s done a lot of recently, and he’s hoping that feeling doesn’t last long this time.

Things had been harried lately, what with the apocalypse and all, and he’s terrified of how it will all turn out, terrified he won’t be able to come back to this much longer. There’s been several times where he was sure he’d never lay eyes on this scene again, several times he considered the ‘yes.’ But it never amounts to that, and now Sam is saying ‘yes’ to Lucifer throw him back in the pit, and this is the last time the two people he loves most will be on the earth at the same time.

Dean saunters over, throwing his jacket over a kitchen chair, realizing that she hasn’t heard him over the music and her buzzing around the kitchen, but he’s okay with that. As she makes her way to stand at the sink, he comes up from behind, wrapping his arms around her waist and she jumps a little at the contact.

“Hey, sweetheart,” he says, and she swivels in his arms in a rush of excitement, throwing her arms around his neck and pulling him closer.

“God, I’ve missed you.” And it’s breathy against his cheek, his heart again clenching around nothing.

Instead of returning the sentiment with words, he does what he’s been aching to do since he left her the last time. He presses his lips to hers, all but forcing her lips apart to push his tongue into her mouth. Dean pushes her up against the counter, crowds into her space and pushes one leg between hers, feeling her grind down against his thigh ever so slightly. She groans into his mouth and pulls away, leaving him aching for her.

“Dinner will get cold, Dean.”

He sheds his henley and undershirt, throwing them behind him unconcerned with where they land. “I couldn’t give two shits about dinner right now.” And he doesn’t. The only thing he cares about right now is her, hearing her scream his name, worshipping her right here on the kitchen floor. “All I want to do is fuck you, right here, right now.”

The whimper that leaves her lips and greets his ears is permission enough for him and he pulls her apron, along with her shirt, over her head, greeted with the sight of her black lace bra against the smooth expanse of skin. Dean likes to think that she did that just for him, picking out the lingerie specifically because she knew he’d be coming home tonight. She’s pulling at his belt buckle then, her nimble hands working his jeans open at the same time he gets the clasp of her bra undone, pulling the offending contraption from her body. Before he can think about his next move, she sinks her hand under the waistband of his boxers and pulls them down just enough to free him. She wraps her hand around his hardening cock, his hips thrusting into her fingers.

It’s a moment before he can think straight again, can urge his mind off the feel of her hand around him, squeezing and pumping lazily, a moment before his own fingers pop the button her jeans and sink past the lace of her panties and into her soaked cunt.

They both spend a the next few moments like teenagers in heat racing for a quickie before getting caught, jacking each other off in record time. After, Dean kisses her. It’s lazy, filled with emotion, emotion of the apocalypse and the last few days, emotion at the thought of losing Sam, emotion that he can’t share with her.

Instead of thinking too much about what he has to do in the morning, he instead focuses his attention on her, the woman he loves and has loved for years. The woman who has given him an escape from everything shitty life has handed him in the recent years. It’s all he can do.

When the kitchen is cleaned up from their escapades, his shirt now donning her frame, Dean only clad in jeans, and dinner also cleaned up, she pulls the pie over to cut and he watches her. Watches the sway of her hips as she moves, watches as his shirt snakes up a little and he catches a brief glimpse of her ass as she reaches for plates to dish the pie. Watches as she walks back over to the table and sets his serving of apple pie down in front of him.

Dean reaches for her, wraps his arms around her waist and pulls her into his lap, kissing the exposed skin of her shoulder where his shirt has slid down.

“Dean, what has gotten into you?” she asks, her hand cupping his cheek, forcing him to look at her.

“I’m thinking, uh, about quitting my job. Quit traveling. Settle down.” He waits. She stares. His heart pounds. Her eyes go wide.

“What’re you...are you...does this mean-” she can’t get full sentences out and Dean can see the confusion and distress, and dare he venture to say excitement, on her face.

“I was thinking about getting a job and an apartment here in town, be able to be closer, see you more, be with you more. Maybe have a real settled life for once...”

There’s a sparkle in her eyes and a small smile playing at her lips. “Ooooor...you could move in here?” It’s more of a question than a statement, and it’s his turn for his eyes to go wide and stare, shocked that the one thing he wanted the most, the one thing he was too afraid to ask for, she has just asked for.

“Are you sure?” he asks, waiting with bated breath for the answer.

She kisses him as her answer, her arms flinging around his neck and his heart again clenches, or swells, he’s not sure this time. Because, while this is one of the happiest moments of his life, it’s coming at an infinite loss, and that’s something he can’t forget.

“Thiiiis is K102, your home for Classic Rock and all your favorite Rock hits, it is 6:30 am on this fine Friday morning…”

Dean reaches over to silences the alarm clock and the grating voice of the morning deejay, groaning that it’s already another day.

“Let’s forget about today, cancel it all.” He smiles at her husky morning voice and buries deeper under the covers with her, determined to enjoy another few minutes of peace with the best thing that has happened to him in the last year. One year, he thinks. It’s been one year.

In a way, it had been the most peaceful year of his life. He has a steady construction job, the nine to five kind of deal. He comes home to home cooked meals and his girl every night. Spends weekends going to baseball games in the summer, and snuggled up on the couch watching Netflix in the colder months. No monsters. No hunting. No stitching up various cuts with dental floss and a sewing needle. No blood stains to get out of favorite, old, soft t-shirts. No sleeping on hard motel beds or the front seat of the Impala.

No Sam.

“Y’okay?” She asks, looking up at him, resting her chin on his chest.

“Yeah, I’m good.” He reaches for her hand and brings it to his lips, grateful for the millionth time that he has her. “And I think you have the right idea, let’s cancel today.”

She smiles and kisses the hand holding hers and they both reach for their phones, sending the appropriate ‘I’m-sick-and-won’t-be-coming-in-today’ messages to their appropriate supervisors. Dean turns off the alarm again and they settle in for a good sleep-in, content to let the day decide where it will lead them.

It’s a morning of late sleeping, a homemade breakfast, a long shower together, enjoying the lazy haze of not having to be anywhere or do anything.

Dean fingers the key ring that holds the keys to the Impala, an idea coming to mind as he does. He turns, watching her slip a summer dress on, and then he walks over to her, slipping his arms around her waist from behind.

“Let’s get out of here,” he says, planting a kiss on her cheek and then on her bare shoulder. She turns in his arms, wrapping hers around his neck and going up on her tiptoes in order to give him a kiss.

“And where would we be going?” she asks him, the look on her face bright and happy.

“Nowhere in particular.” Since Sam had gone and done the swan dive, Dean’s world is limited to this one city where he goes to a respectable job every Monday through Friday and then comes home to her. After one year of this, Dean is itching to get in Baby and drive, no destination in mind, no time table, no limits. “Pack a bag,” he tells her as he turns to do just that, “let's make a weekend of it.”

She doesn't question him anymore as they both pack a few things and, within the hour, Dean is behind the wheel of his first love with his second love by his side, the windows down and a mix tape of 80’s hair bands playing in the background. And for the first time in a long time, maybe the first time ever, Dean feels at peace.

Hours later, she’s protesting, but Dean insists it will be fine. “Sweetheart, it's not that bad. It's one night okay, and I guarantee it's cleaner than it looks.”

They have stopped at a little motel in some one horse town several hours from home, after a day of letting the road be their guide, food at a little po-dunk mom and pop diner with the best burger Dean has had in a year, and she's protesting. Dean isn't sure she doesn't have a reason to protest as they walk in the room and flip on the lights, and they both freeze.

The carpet is matted and smelly, with a stain in the middle Dean isn't sure he wants to identify, and the one bed, which the lady told him was a queen, is barely bigger than a twin, with a blanket on it he is sure hasn't been washed in over a decade.

“Nope,” she states, spinning on her heels and walking away, “I will sleep in the car, thank you very much.”

And he can't say he disagrees. He's stayed in his fair share of dusty, dingy motel rooms, but this takes the cake.

Dean slides in behind the wheel next to her where she's sitting in the front seat, her arms crossed, staring straight ahead. The situation is so beyond comical that Dean does the only thing he can do and laughs. It's a full, throaty, head-thrown-back-tears-in-his-eyes laugh and he can't help but think about how good it feels.

“What is so funny, bucko?” She asks, and he calms down enough to look at her, sees that she's on the verge of laughter herself, that she's not nearly as mad as she's letting on to be, and he slides over on the seat enough to plant a kiss on her forehead, still chuckling a little.

“I just-In all my 30 years of sleeping in gross motel rooms, that is hands down the grossest. I don't even wanna know what diseases we'd catch in there.”

“And you were so sure…”

“I know, I know. C’mon, let's find another place.”

“Or…” she begins, but never finishes as her lips find his and he feels her hand grasp the back of his neck and pull him closer. Her other hand is already working at his belt buckle and he can feel himself getting hard, his mind wiped blank, the only thing on it being the feel of her moving against him.

He has the forethought to pull away, remembering they are in the very well lit parking lot of the motel still. “We gotta um, find a better, yeah,” he stammers, because now she's gotten his jeans unbuttoned and the zipper down, and her hand is working its way under the waistband of his boxer briefs. He slides back behind the wheel and she doesn't miss a beat, sliding with him, her fingers grasping at his cock, and it takes every ounce of willpower he has in him to get the car started and in reverse.

Dean manages to get them out of the parking lot and back on the road, his concentration waning as her lips ghost over the shell of his ear, her teeth grazing the lobe, her hand pulling him free of the constraints of his clothing and stroking him lazily. He searches in the dark for a turnout, frantic to find one soon, a dark street, anything. Because now he's slowly losing control and she's kissing down his neck, her thumb brushing over the tip of his cock, collecting the pre-come and using it to her advantage.

He finally sees an opening and takes it, even though it's nothing more than a break in the trees, but it's dark, and that's all he cares about in this moment. Throwing the car in park and turning it off, he grabs her hand, the one that has him in a frenzy, and pulls it away.

“You've got me,” he begins, kissing her deeply, “so worked up,” and he moves up her jawline to her ear, “I can't even think straight.” He kisses and nips down her neck as he pushes her back onto the front seat, her moans of pleasure as his hand works under her dress and finds the hem of her panties, working his fingers inside and dipping into the wet heat of her cunt, make him ache to be inside her. He dips his fingers in and out of her a couple times, swallowing her whimpers with kisses, but then neither of them can wait any longer and it's a scramble for the back seat in a flurry of clothes and the blanket Dean takes a moment to lay down for them. There's a pregnant pause, a moment where they look at each other and Dean is again grateful for this woman in his life. Her strength, her beauty, her love, her steadiness. He's not sure he could have made it through this year without her, he knows he would have gone crazy looking for Sam and gone absolutely mad with loneliness.

He puts that out of his mind as he reaches for her, pulls her into his lap where he's sitting on the back seat, pulls her close to him, her bare chest against his, her knees framing his hips, her hands in his hair as he plants open mouthed kisses on her chest and breasts, taking one nipple into his mouth, a shudder escaping her parted lips, her hips rocking and coating his cock in her slick where it's trapped between them. She lifts up, a signal he catches and is aware of, a signal she's given him a thousand times over the years, and he gives her what she's asking for, guiding himself to her entrance, both of them moaning as she settles her hips against his again, his cock fully seated inside her.

It's a lazy chase towards their release, neither wanting this moment to end, this perfect moment of togetherness. Dean feels that he's close, closer than her, when his thumb finds her clit and he circles it, feeling her clench down on him and gasp.

“C’mon, babe, you're right there,” he grunts into her ear, fucking up into her, his thumb still circling her clit and her orgasm explodes around him, her walls clenching down on his cock. He thrusts up one, two, three more times and he's falling over the edge along with her, groaning into her shoulder, her chest heaving against his, her breath hot against his cheek as they come down.

Dean places kisses along her shoulder and neck as their breathing calms, tasting the sweat of her skin on his lips, marveling in her perfection, fingers tracing circles in the skin on her back as she strokes the short hairs on the back of his head. She pulls back and before Dean can whine about the loss of contact, she kisses him, their lips slotting together perfectly.

“I love you,” she says against his lips, not for the first time and most certainly not the last, and his heart swells. He knows that he feels the same way, but those words have always been hard for him to say.

“I’d be so lost without you,” he says instead, kissing her again. He uses the blanket he laid across the back seat to wrap around them, taking advantage of it’s size and lying down with her across it. She burrows in close to him, her head tucked under his chin, and falls asleep almost instantly.

Dean sighs, listening to her even breathing in the dark, and a new feeling settles over him. It’s a feeling he hasn’t felt in a long time but he shakes it off and wraps his arms tighter around his girl and falls asleep with the memories of the story they wrote in the foggy windows that night.

“Thank you, officer,” Dean says, taking the card from him.

“Welcome, son,” he says back, patting Dean’s shoulder. “Let us know if you need anything else.”

Dean nods to the officer and heads back inside. They had come home Sunday afternoon, a haze of happy hanging over them after a weekend of adventure, to find the front door of their condo hanging wide open. After calling the cops and checking everything out, they came to the conclusion that nothing was missing, but a report was filed nonetheless.

He walks into the living room where she’s combing through things, doing a triple check, her features drawn and concerned. He walks over to her and pulls her into his arms.

“Who would break in and not take anything?” she asks, her arms going around him, her shoulders remaining tense.

“I don’t know.” He supplies, rubbing her shoulders to relieve the tension that is there, but he does know and for the first time all year he’s worried for their safety.

He goes to bed that night, not prepared at all for the upcoming work week, but not before he checks and triple checks the doors and windows, lifts the rugs by each of the outside doors to check the devil’s traps he’d painted there when they’d moved in, and checks his supply of holy water and his salt rounds in his rifle. He knows he’s probably just being paranoid, but he can’t shake the feeling this time, can’t shake that something is after him. After them. Quite possibly after her specifically, and he’s not willing to risk that.

It’s the middle of the night, three or four a.m., when Dean is startled out of sleep by a crash. He looks over to the other side of the bed, but she’s still sleeping peacefully, her breathing deep and even, so he doesn’t bother waking her. He reaches for his shotgun just under the bed and tiptoes downstairs, his senses heightened.

The rug by the front door is askew, the door ajar, and now his heart is pounding, adrenaline pumping through his veins. He fixes the rug and shuts the door, making sure the deadbolt is locked before he continues through the living room and into the kitchen. The back door and rug are out of place there too, and now Dean is nervous he missed something on his way through the house. He peaks out into the backyard, his gun held aloft, and finds nothing, so he comes back inside, righting the rug and shutting the door, flipping the lock home.

Dean does one more sweep of the house and finds nothing more out of place, so he heads back to bed, slides under the covers next to her sleeping form and tries to go back to sleep. But it’s the sleep from years gone by, the kind of sleep he’s not used to, light and unproductive.

When he wakes up in the morning and gets ready for work, every sense is on edge, every nerve tingling, and he’s unsure of what to expect from the day. But his eyes are peeled for the entirety of it, his instincts on edge.

At the end of his work day he begins to see signs of demons everywhere and he pulls his gun out from under the seat of his truck, tucking it in the back of his pants. There’s scratches on a telephone pole in their front yard, sulfur on the edge of a window in their garage, blood on the doorframe into the house where the door is hanging wide open again, and he bolts upstairs, looking for any sign of her. There is none. Things are overturned in their bedroom and he becomes frantic looking for her.

He exits the bedroom and makes his way down the hall, his gun held up, his vision starting blur. It’s then that he sees what he thought was impossible: Alistair is stalking up the stairs towards him.

“Hiya Dean, look what the apocalypse shook loose.” And he laughs, a full maniacal laugh. “You have fun sniffing that trail? Cuz I sure had fun patting you around.

“You can’t be...” his vision blurs again, the hallway spinning.

“Oh sure I can!”

“No…”

“Yeah, kiddo. The big daddy brought your pal Cas back, right? So why not me? Add a little spice to all that...that sugar.”

Dean does the only thing he can think of, he shoots. But nothing happens, he’s still there, stalking ever closer.

Alistair looks down at the gunshot wound, then looks back up at Dean. “Really? After all we’ve been through together?” He surges forward, his hand going around Dean’s neck, lifting him up off the ground and slamming him against the nearest wall. “You know, you’ve got a great little life here, Y/N, a pretty lady, real understanding like, isn't she?” He’s laughing again and Dean is losing air, struggling to take a breath. “And how do you keep your lawn so green?” he mocks. “I mean, c’mon Dean, you’ve never been what I call brainy, but did you really think you were going to get to keep all of this? You had to know that we were coming for you sometime pal.”

Alistair pulls Dean away from the wall, just far enough so that he can slam him back into it, Dean choking from the pressure on his trachea.

“You can’t outrun your past,” Alistair says, and Dean starts to see black spots and light popping behind his eyes.

And then he sees, for a split second, the thing that is even more impossible than Alistair, the one thing he’d give his life to see again.

Sam.

Dean gasps for air, sitting up off the hard cot, and he looks around at the dingy room he’s in, a far cry from his condo.

There he is again. Sam.

“Hey, Dean,” he says, nonchalantly, like he’s not just come back from the dead, like it hasn’t been a full year. “I was expecting, uh, I don’t know, a hug, some holy water in the face, something.”

There’s only one explanation for this. “So, I’m dead?” Dean says, more to the room than to Sam specifically. “This is heaven? Yellow eyes killed me and now…”

“Yellow eyes? That’s what you saw?” Sam asks, interrupting Dean.

“Saw?”

“You were poisoned. So whatever kind of crazy crap you think you’ve been seeing,” Sam says, pushing off the table and waving his hands around, “it’s not real.”

Dean runs through everything in his head, every moment from the last couple days, every sign he’d seen of being followed or the house being broken into. But then he wonders…

“So, then, are you...real? Or am I still…”

“I’m real,” Sam tells him. “Here, let me save you the trouble.”

Sam pulls out a silver knife and puts a slice in his forearm and then takes a swig of salted holy water, and Dean knows he’s trying to prove something to him, but Dean still isn’t sure how Sam can even be alive.

“All me. That’s nasty.”

Dean stands up. “Sammy?”

“Yeah, it’s me.” He responds. And then Dean can’t stop himself, he stands and walks towards him and takes him into a hug, grateful to just have his brother back.

They commiserate on how he’s back, how long he’s been back, and although Dean is pissed Sam has been back all year, Sam explains that he wanted Dean to have a normal life for once, to have peace. Sam tells Dean he’s been hunting, that he found family.

Dean is introduced to the Campbell’s, is shocked to find out that his mother had family they didn’t know about and also that his grandfather is alive. It’s all a lot to take in when Sam doesn’t even let him recover for even a moment before telling him what was after him. A Djinn, specifically the officer that had come to file the report on the break in at his condo. It had come for Sam and now it was after Dean as well.

Dean panics, thinking of Y/N, thinking of how he hadn’t seen her when he’d gotten home from work.

Dean rushes out, Sam hot on his heels, and they race off to Dean’s condo. He runs in, searches the downstairs and doesn’t find her, and then he takes the stairs two at a time and into their bedroom, calling her name the whole time.

“Dean, honey?” she calls, her voice laced with confusion, and it’s coming from the bathroom and Dean is there in mere seconds, pulling her into a bruising hug. “Ow. Dean, what’s wron-” but her words trail off, and when he pulls away to see the look on her face, her eyes are wide and she’s staring behind him.

Dean turns to see Sam standing in the doorway, watching them intently. Dean hadn’t even heard him follow him upstairs so he’s a little surprised himself.

“Um, sweetheart, I, uh…” but he can’t find the words. Can’t think of how to tell her that Sam isn’t dead. She knows nothing of the life, nothing about what goes bump in the night, and he’s not about to tell her now.

“No,” she breathes out, pulling out of Dean’s grasp backing away, her eyes still on Sam.

“Hey, it’s fine, he’s not-” but Dean isn’t sure what Sam’s not or is or how to explain it to her. But he reaches for her, puts his hand on her shoulder, tries to pull her toward him.

Dean’s heart breaks when she turns to him, her eyes still wide and scared, and she pulls away, backs up until her back hits the wall behind her. “Sweetheart…”

“No. Out, now.”

“Let me explai-”

“Explain what?” she says, her voice laced with hurt, her eyes filling with tears. “Explain how you fucking lied to me? How your brother isn’t dead? How he’s just magically back to life?” Tears are coursing down her cheeks now. “Either you worked some magic to get him back, which is highly unlikely, or you fucking lied to me for the last year. And I can’t believe I fell for it.”

Dean tries again, tries to go for her, touch her in any way, comfort her, his mouth working open and shut, but not finding the words to explain.

“No!” she yells, lurching out of his reach, and Dean knows that his own pained face echoes hers. “Get. The hell. Out!”

So that’s what he does. He leaves, and he tells her quietly he’ll be back the next day to get his stuff while she’s at work.

When him and Sam are back in the car and he’s trying to keep it together, his heart shattering as he leaves her behind, Sam speaks for the first time.

“Hey man, maybe it’s better this way,” he says. “Hell, you’ll draw the Djinn away from her and she’ll be safe. Plus, we could really use your help. Things have really gone to shit recently.”

Dean nods, the only thing he’s capable of doing right now, and stares out the window as Sam drives away, wondering if he’ll ever see her again.

He’s sitting in a dank waiting room, the thirty year old vinyl underneath him creaking as his knee bounces up and down, his nerves on edge, his eyes burning from unshed tears.

It’s been a harrowing 24 hours, nurses and doctors bustling around him and Sam, and one asshat claiming to be from donor services asking Dean questions he doesn’t want to think about, can’t think about. Dick Roman showing up and being, well, a dick. Sam has been withdrawn, occasionally trying to get Dean to talk, get him to have the ‘chick-flick’ moment. But he’s completely incapable, and in his grief, his anger is getting the better of him.

He fidgets with his phone, opening and closing it, scrolling to his contacts and down to her name, then closing it again, unable to make the call.

Y/N had made it expressly clear the last time he’d seen her, that day he’d stopped by to pick up his things, that she didn’t want anything to do with him, didn’t want to hear from him ever again. But in this moment, as Bobby is hanging on by a thread down the hall, hooked up to every possible monitor the hospital has, she’s the only person he wants to talk to.

Dean stands, unable to sit still any longer, and begins pacing a quiet back hallway, away from the hustle and bustle of the ICU, away from the noise.

He comes to a stop, leaning his back against the wall, every remaining ounce of energy draining from him and he slumps to the floor, his head in his hands. That’s when Sam finds him, tells him to come quick, and races back to Bobby’s room.

Dean watches his surrogate father’s eyelashes flutter, watches as his hand reaches for Sam and he pulls the oxygen mask off his face and tries to talk. Dean flounders for a pen and Bobby writes some numbers on Sam’s hand. And then the inevitable happens.

“Idjits,” Bobby says, a small smile on his face, his eyes fond and fatherly. And then his eyes fall shut and the monitor lets out one long steady beep and Dean knows this is it.

Bobby is dead.

He turns and walks away, his actions on automatic as he reaches the outside of the hospital and pulls his phone out of his pocket, the tears already streaming down his face. He presses and holds the appropriate number, not expecting her to pick up, but he can’t stop himself.

“Hello?” Y/N’s voice is like music to his ears, but it also breaks the dam he’s been painstakingly holding together inside.

Through his tears he finds his voice, “H-hey, I’m sorry to call like this, I know the last time-the last time you said…” he takes a deep breath, holding back the sobs that are welling up in his chest.

“Dean, what’s wrong?”

“He’s, um, Bobby is...he’s dead.”

She’d met Bobby a few times, he’d stop by their condo on his way through town that year occasionally when he was headed to or from a job, and she’d liked the crotchety old man. But Dean is under no impression that he’s able to tug at some heart string for her to show up.

“I’m so sorry, Dean.” And the line goes dead.

It could have been worse, could have ended in yelling and screaming, or she could have not answered at all. That’s what Dean tries to tell himself, that it was enough just to hear her voice.

It’s a long drive from New Jersey to Whitefish back to Rufus’s cabin after they give Bobby his hunter’s funeral, but that’s the only place they know of to go. Once there, the grief is overwhelming and Dean just sits, staring.

A couple days later he gets a call, an unknown number, but he answers it anyway.

“Hello?” His voice is hoarse from disuse, and he clears his throat, silence on the other end. “Hello? Anyone there?”

Nobody ever answers on the other end so he hangs up after a few more seconds and doesn’t think about the call again.

Two days later, Dean is sitting on the couch, pad of paper in one hand with scribbled notes on it, tumbler of whiskey in the other, contemplating the numbers that Bobby wrote on Sam’s hand right before he died. He’s startled from his contemplation by a knock on the door and he looks to Sam, both of them shocked. Nobody was supposed to know they were here.

Dean stands, grabbing his gun from the coffee table and holding it behind his back. He opens the door only enough to see through the crack and what he sees calms the pounding of his heart.

He opens the door wider, the view of her standing on the porch the best thing he’s seen in the last month, and then stands to the side, implicating that she’s welcome to come in. She does, however hesitant, she walks through the door, bringing with her a light he hasn’t felt since he last saw her.

Sam doesn’t say anything, just grabs his coat and the keys and leaves with a nod, leaving them alone.

Dean shuffles, unsure of what to say, and she stands just inside the door looking at her feet and wringing her hands. He looks her up and down and wants nothing more than to take her in his arms and cry like a little boy, but he knows he can’t.

“How’d you-”

“Tracked your cell.”

“That call, the unknown number...was you?.”

“Yep.”

Then there’s more silence, more shuffling, Dean rubbing his face, her fiddling with her keys.

“I’m sorry to show up unannounced,” she starts, but then hesitates, chewing on her words.

“You have nothing to apologize for.” And he’s never been more earnest about anything in his life.

“I just, I had to see you, know that you were-that you are okay.” And she finally looks at him, stops fiddling and shuffling, and Dean feels his world stop.

There may still be fucking Leviathans to deal with, they may still have to figure out what the hell Bobby’s numbers mean, and there may still be the bigger issue of finding out how to get rid of Dick Roman for good, but right here, right now, everything is okay, as long as Y/N is here.

She takes one small, furtive step forward and that’s all the permission Dean needs to close the small gap between them. And then she’s there, in his arms, and he’s finally feeling whole for the first time in over a year. He’s weeping openly, and when he takes a second to try and calm himself, he realizes that she’s weeping as well, both of them shaking in each other’s arms. He can feel her hands gripping the back of his plaid shirt like a lifeline, and he knows his grip on her shoulders is tighter than is probably comfortable for her, but he can’t let go, doesn’t want to let go.

It’s a while before they are both calm enough to loosen their hold, calm enough to speak.

“How…?” she asks through her sniffles, but she doesn’t need to finish the sentence, Dean knows what she’s asking.

And he has a decision to make, a decision that he’s vacillated on more than he ever wants to admit, a decision he’s always convinced himself he doesn’t need to make. But now it’s different.

“Gunshot. To the head.” And there it is, the honesty he knows she deserves.

“Fuck.” Her shock is apparent and Dean watches her deflate, watches the confusion on her face and the wheels turning in her head. She looks up at him, questions written all over her features.

Dean knows now that there is no going back, and he takes a deep breath and guides her to the well worn couch, shuffling aside papers and books to make room for her. He watches her eyes wander around the room, watches them flit over the papers on the wall, to the take-out containers and beer bottles on various surfaces, books piled on tables and chairs. Watches the crease between her eyebrows become deeper.

“There's some things you should know, that I should have told you years ago,” he begins, and she waits, so he spills.

He spills everything; from his mom dying and his dad’s vendetta, to Sam dying and him selling his soul, from him going to hell and then coming back again, to Sam also landing himself in hell, in the pit with Lucifer no less, and coming back soulless. He spills about monsters and demons and angels and hunting. He spills about Bobby and the leviathans and everything they are doing currently. He spills about Cas and Crowley and Dick Roman.

He spills everything.

And she listens without interrupting. He watches her as she does, watches her eyes grow wide and then narrow as she studies him, watches as she curls within herself, retreating from him, and then relaxes.

He's not sure what to expect from her when he's done. Anger? Hurt? Rage? Tears? Fear? That last one he isn’t sure he’ll be able to handle.

When he’s finishes, he sits, silence descending, and he waits. Waits for her to soak it all in, waits for her to be the first to speak.

He’s staring at his feet, his hands clasped together, knuckles white when she does.

“I believe you,” she says, placing a hand over his.

He looks up in shock, his green eyes wide, relief washing over him. Whatever reaction he was expecting, it was not this.

“What?” he asks, but not because he didn’t hear her, because he needs to hear the words again.

“I believe you,” she says again, and her features are soft.

He reaches for her for the first time since they sat down, since he spilled everything, and he clings to her, noticing that she’s clinging back. He pulls away, just far enough to look into her eyes.

“But...why?”

“Dean, honey,” his heart melting at the sound of his name coming from her lips, “I have no reason not to. And while I should be mad, pissed, furious even, possibly even scared, that you practically lied to me for close to eight years, I don’t have it in me.” She stops, looks into his eyes, a hand coming up to brush against his cheek and he leans into the touch, missing the way her hands felt on his skin. “I didn’t realize until last year, until-” but he can tell she can’t say it, can’t bring herself to relive the memory, “I didn’t realize how safe you made me feel. I’ve spent the last year and a half terrified, looking over my shoulder and hoping against hope that every call I get and every knock on the door is you. And I want to help, in any way I can. I want to learn how to be the woman that can stand by your side.”

It’s more than Dean would have ever hoped for, more than he feels he deserves if he were ever to be one hundred percent honest, but he doesn’t voice those feelings, doesn’t put into words how grateful he is for this perfect creature that has never done anything but love him.

So instead of voicing that, instead of putting his doubts at the surface, he buries them. And then he does what he’s been wanting to do since she walked in the cabin door-he kisses her. He kisses her with every ounce of feeling he’s got, winds his fingers in her hair and presses as close to her as he can, and even though he doesn’t believe that God is listening, he prays that he can keep her safe and that he’ll never have to let go of her again.

Again with the darkness. Again with the unknown. Again with getting topside and not knowing where he was. This time he at least has a direction, a purpose. This time it wasn’t such a shock.

Dean walks and walks, hitches a ride or two, gets himself from Maine to Louisiana in a few days and manages to find the right spot. Manages to do the spell right and dump the soul that has been camping out in his arm into the pile of bones he’s dug up.

“Wow, that was fast,” he says to the burly man behind him that is rolling his head back and forth and shrugging his shoulders.

“No thanks to you,” he replies, his accent thick and heavy. “The hell took you s’long?”

“You’re welcome,” Dean says before hissing, grasping at the cut on his arm. “Everything working?”

“Good enough.” He opens his mouth, his fangs appearing before retracting back into their sockets. “So, what now?”

“Like we talked about, I guess,” Dean answers.

The man nods, eyes downcast. “Then, this is goodbye.”

“Keep your nose clean, Benny. Ya hear me?”

Benny nods again before stepping forward and grabbing Dean’s hand in a handshake. “We made it, brother. I can’t believe it.”

They both smile and then give each other a back pounding hug.

“You and me both,” Dean says, and he’s forever grateful that not only did he make it back from Purgatory, but that he had Benny by his side the whole time.

They pull out of the hug, smiles still plastered to their faces.

“Go find ya girl,” Benny says to Dean, giving him a pat on the shoulder.

“I’m going to.” And there’s nothing in the world Dean wants to do more than see her, hold her. It’s all he’s dreamt about for a year.

He makes his way to the cabin in Whitefish, Montana first, the last place they had holed up, had some semblance of a home. But no one is there. It’s a couple days before he not alone anymore, before Sam shows up and Dean finds out that he hasn’t been hunting anymore, hasn’t even bothered to look for him.

“So, where is Y/N?” Dean asks, and Sam waffles.

“I, uh, I don’t know. After...after Dick and you disappeared, we split up. She wanted to look for you and I-”

“You just let her go off alone?!” Dean is furious. She’d only known about what lurked in the shadows for a few months before Dean’s ass had been lurched to Purgatory, and the thought of her out there alone terrified him. Especially with the target that had been on his back the last year or two.

“We always said not to look for each other,” Sam says, as if it’s some sort of apology.

“Yeah, and we always ignored that. So not only did you ignore that, but you also let Y/N go off by herself without any protection.”

“I’m sure she’s-”

“She’s what, Sam? Fine? Safe? Yeah, I doubt that.”

Dean spends the next day or two combing through phones, listening to messages that Sam was supposed to have gotten months ago. Several from Kevin, trying to get a hold of Sam and find protection.

And then he finds one from her.

“Hey Sam, it’s me, Y/N. I, uh, I don’t know if you’ll get this, but I think I know where Dean is. And I think I’ve found a way to get him back. Call me.”

Him and Sam spend the next few weeks combing the country for Kevin, while Dean keeps trying to track Y/N down at the same time. He calls all her numbers, but they are all out of service. He tracks her last license plate number and pulls up bupkis. Calls up every hunter he can think of and still no sign of her.

It’s not until after they find Kevin and Dean is starting to lose hope, starting to think the worst, that he gets a call from Garth.

“Hey amigo, I hear you been lookin’ for someone,” he’s says, cheerful as ever, grating right on Dean’s last nerve.

“Garth, hey, we actually already found Kevin, but than-”

“Nah, man, I’m talking about your girl, Y/N.”

Dean almost drops the phone at those words, demands to know where she is, yelling more than he should. As soon as he’s written down the address he’s bolting from the motel room, forgetting that Sam is in the shower, and speeding off toward the highway. He forgets about food and sleep, only stopping for gas, desperate to get to her.

He pulls up to the old house in Kokadjo, Maryland, parks the Impala and runs up the walk and take the stairs two at a time. He takes a moment to catch his breath, to realize she was just miles from where he came topside, and then knocks. When there’s not a response after a couple seconds, he knocks again, basically pounds, his heart pounding, afraid he’s too late.

He’s gearing up for another good pounding on the door, his fist held aloft in the air, when the door flings open and he feels something wet in his face. Dean sputters on the water in his mouth, catches his breath right before more liquid is flying in his face, this time bitter and soapy tasting.

“I’m not a demon, or a Leviathan.” He swipes at his face, getting the liquid out of his eyes so he can look at her.

And his heart skips a beat. She’s the most beautiful thing he’s laid eyes on in over a year and all his daydreams about her in purgatory come flying to his mind. He realizes his memory of her didn’t even come close to her perfection.

It’s then he realizes that she’s holding out a silver knife and he laughs.

“I’m not a shifter either,” he says.

“Well, can’t be too sure, can you?”

So he takes the knife and obliges her, pulls up his sleeve and cuts into his forearm, adding to one of the many fading scars there, and the fresher healing wounds from a couple months ago.

He looks up to see the relief on her face just before she splashes a little of each liquid on her hand and then takes the knife from him and adds her own cut to her forearm. When none of them sizzle and burn, Dean covers the space between them in one large stride and takes her into his arms. He breathes in the scent of her, the fresh, clean floral scent of her shampoo, the smell of her perfume. It’s all he can do, cling to her, the desperation in his grip real. He feels her shaking in his arms and if he weren’t so desensitized, he’d probably be sobbing himself.

They stand there, holding each other for what feels like an eternity before Dean speaks. “God, Y/N, I missed you,” he says into her hair, his lips finding her forehead, the top of her head, and kissing down the trail of tears on each cheek, before landing on her lips. He feels her lean into the kiss, feels her tongue lick along his lips and he opens to her. He feels her hands wrap around his neck to pull him closer and deepen the kiss. He obliges, pulling on her hips, his hands finding the skin at the small of her back and working up under her sweater.

He pulls away long enough to pull the fabric up over her head, her own hands quickly undoing the clasp of her bra and pulling it from her body, and then she’s back in his arms and she’s working at his jacket. There’s bit of a fumble when his jacket and flannel get caught on his arms and the both laugh into the kiss as he gets unstuck, but then her hands are on his skin under his shirt, they are cool and smooth, and everything else around him disappears.

When his shirt is off, he pulls her against him, the feel of her skin on his devastating and perfect, the smooth feel of her breasts against his chest erasing every bad thing on his mind he’s experienced in the last year. Then there’s the blissed out feeling of her hands working on his belt buckle and he doesn’t waste his time lifting her in his arms, her legs going around his waist. He doesn’t bother taking his time finding the bedroom, doesn’t bother even asking, he just lays her out on the table that’s five steps away, her back arching up as he kisses down her neck and chest, sucking a dark mark onto the top of one breast before taking the nipple between his lips, his teeth grazing the pert bud, his hand finding the other, taking the nipple in between his fingers and working her into a frenzy.

He feels her hips grind down on his, feels the heat from her cunt against his hard cock that’s bulging at the front of his jeans, the friction of clothing sending waves of pleasure through him. But it’s not enough. He works his fingers under the waistband of her leggings and pulls them down her body along with her panties, laying her bare before him. He’s practically salivating, desperate to taste her, but unsure if he can make it that long.

He reaches in his back pocket and pulls out a condom before kicking his pants and boxers off, her small hand wrapping around his length and pumping a couple times. It’s enough to make his mind go blank for a second, enough that his head falls against her chest, his own chest heaving. He finds his train of thought long enough to rip the packet open with his teeth, moving her hand away from him. He rolls it on, the only thing on his mind the all consuming need to be inside her, to hear her scream his name.

He knows he’s not the only one desperate for that feeling when he feels her hand back on his cock, guiding him to her entrance. He pushes inside her, slow and agonizing, reveling in the wet, hot feel of her, giving her a chance to adjust, leaning over her and placing open mouthed kisses on her chest again.

“Dean, babe,” she says, her voice husky with need and want, and she says the words she said the first time they were together. “I need you to fuck me. Fuck me hard.”

He nearly comes undone from those words alone, feels his breath shudder before he’s inching back, torturously slow, her hips lifting as her legs wrap around his waist, giving him the leverage to pound back into her.

“God, sweetheart, you feel so good.” And he repeats the action, feeling her fingernails clawing at his back, reaching for any sort of purchase.

He stands to his full height then, his hands gripping her hips to keep her still as he continues to fuck up into her, feeling her walls flutter around his cock. One of her hands wraps around his wrist, the other finding her clit, and Dean melts at the sight of her working circles around it.

“Dean, I’m close, just a little...harder,” she says, and he answers her plea, hooking one of his arms under her knee, the new angle giving him deeper access.

That’s when he feels the first clench down of her muscles around him, and he knows that she’s just a couple more strategic thrusts away from coming. He gives it to her, feels the table slide just the slightest bit underneath her with each one, but then she’s there, falling over the edge, her orgasm sending him into his, her fingernails digging into his wrist.

“Fuck, Dean!” she cries and drowns out his own groans of pleasure as he spills inside the condom, working them both through their release.

They both come down, Dean’s head again on her chest, her arms wrapped around him, fingers running through his short hair, as he softens inside her. He feels her pepper the top of his head with kisses and he lifts his head, his lips finding hers and kissing her deeply. It’s a moment he wasn’t sure he’d ever have again, a moment that he hadn’t let himself hope for during his entire year long stint in Purgatory. But it’s more than perfect and enough to pull him out of whatever darkness that was left in him.

“Purgatory? Purgatory?!” She asks, sitting up in the bed, leaning an elbow on his chest so that she can look at him.

“You heard right,” he responds tracing circles in her bare back.

They spent the day in bed, unable to stay apart, unable to keep their hands to themselves, but Dean wouldn’t have it any other way. It was was he daydreamed about on the particularly hard days in Purgatory.

“Purgatory. God, I knew it. I searched and searched, researched every possibility, and researched some more, trying to find a way in but never could. I’m so sorry.”

“Hey, it’s not your fault, love.” Dean takes a deep breath, needing to ask the hard question but not really wanting the answer. “What, um, happened with Sam after I…”

She looks away from him and he sees her mood change, sees the anger on her features. “I tried to get him to help, I called and called and didn’t hear from him for weeks. When I finally did, little shit said he was out, that he wasn’t going to look for you. I told him he was a fucking coward, well, screamed it at him actually. And then his numbers went defunct and I wasn’t able to get a hold of him. Hell, I don’t even know what happened to him.”

“He hit a fucking dog,” Dean says, and the bewildered look on her face makes him laugh, a genuine belly laugh.

“Excuse me, what?”

“It’s a longer story than that, but not worth telling,” he says, still laughing, mainly at the look on her face, the face he had missed more than anything, the face he was determined to never let out of his sight again.

“You did fucking what?!” Y/N was standing across from him in the library, a table between them, her hands resting on the back of a chair. He follows her eyes to where they are staring at the spot, the spot where the mark now rests emblazoned on his arm.

Dean takes a deep breath, steels himself for even more anger than before. “I did what I had to do, sweetheart. I made a fucking decision. Hell, it’s one that I’d make again and again if it means I can gank that redheaded bitch and end this shit forever!”

“Oh, well, excuse me! Excuse me for being concerned about your fucking well being. Excuse me for worrying about the fact that you have the fucking Mark of Cain on your arm, the oldest symbol known to man. I may not have been a hunter for long but…”

“That’s right, you haven’t been a hunter for long, so don’t fucking patronize me.” He’s furious and he instantly regrets the words, but there they are, hanging in the silence that now hangs between them. Her eyes are wide, tears spilling over onto her cheeks, and he wants to apologize, but he’s also prideful as hell and can’t bring himself to.

He sees the change in her features, sees the anger drain and a steely resolve take its place.

“You know what,” she says, and he flinches at the ice in her voice, “call me when my boyfriend comes home.” And he watches her retreat down the stairs and toward the bedrooms, flinching again when a door slams in the distance.

He’d known she’d be upset about the Mark, known that he’d face backlash about it from both her and Sam, but he hadn’t expected this. Sam had been shocked, but they had bigger issues between them, namely Dean letting him get possessed by Gadreel and the like.

But he had hoped Y/N would react different, even though he shouldn’t have been surprised at her reaction. When him and Sam had split up, he’d forced her to go back to the bunker, had told her that he needed to do some things alone and she’d be safer at home. She’d put up a fight, that he had expected, but this...this was bigger.

Dean takes a deep breath before walking over to the table holding the decanters and tumblers and he pours himself a finger a whiskey, downing it for liquid courage, and then he makes his way down the hall after her. He comes to a stop in front of room 11, their room, and he silently tries the doorknob. His head hits the wood when he finds it locked, a small thud sounding in the silent hallway.

“I know you can hear me,” he starts, not sure where he’s going with this, “and I-I just want to say I’m sorry.”

Dean has never been good at apologizing, never been good at getting the words out. He’ll apologize with actions, but he knows right now the words are more important than anything

He sighs, a heavy, dejected sound. “I’m sorry.” This time it’s more of a whisper, one he’s not sure she heard, but he stays where he is, his hand on the doorknob, his forehead resting on the door.

It’s soft, the click of the lock, but his ears have been trained for years to hear the smallest sounds, and he hesitates before trying the knob. It gives and he opens the door, not sure if he’ll face wrath or kindness on the other side of the door. But the sight that greets him almost breaks his heart.

She’s sitting on the edge of the bed and he can see the streaks of makeup on her cheeks.

He sits next to her and gathers her close under his arm, her head tucked under his chin. “I promise you, everything will be okay,” he tells her, kissing the top of her head.

“How do you know?” Her voice is thick, a sniffle following her question.

But Dean doesn’t answer, he can’t answer, because he doesn’t know. He just tightens his arms around her and hopes that he can make everything okay.

“Dean… Dean!” He hears the voice as if he’s under water, the ringing in his ears stronger than anything else he can hear. “DEAN!” He snaps out of it at that last one, Y/N’s voice breaking through the muddle and the ringing and he looks up, the look of fear on her face making him look around.

Abaddon lay beneath him, blood everywhere, her gut ribboned open. That’s when he takes in himself, the blade in his right hand covered in her blood, same with his hand, his left hand just as drenched, blood splattered down his front. He realizes then that he may of overdone things and then he understands the fear on her face. He’s been overdoing things for a while now, ever since the first time he held the blade in his hand, ever since he’d killed Cuthbert Sinclair with it that first time.

“Dean, hey, you can stop.” She’s kneeling at Abaddon’s head, eye level with him and his face falls, knowing how this must look.

He drops the blade, hearing it clatter the floor and stares at her, the ringing finally stopping, and his heart breaks as a tear streaks down her cheek. He stands, unable to make eye contact with her and he makes his way to the bathroom to clean up the best he can, not noticing that she’s following.

He sees her lean against the door jam of the bathroom, and as he turns on the water, she folds her arms across her chest.

“What?” he snaps, and it comes out harsher than he intended.

“Well, if that’s how you’re going to speak to me...” And he sees her turn, sees that she’s about to walk away, something that is starting to become all too common lately.

“Wait, wait, I-”

“What, Dean?” she says without turning around. “Wait for fucking what? Wait for you to stop being an asshole? Wait for you to stop pushing me away?” Her voice cracks on that last question, and he again knows he needs to apologize, needs to say the words but he physically can’t.

So he does the only thing he’s capable of and walks up to where her back is turned to him, puts his now clean hands on her shoulders and turns her to him, gathering her in his arms. It takes a moment with him standing here holding her for her to relax against him, takes a moment for her arms to go around him, her hands gripping the back of his jacket, her body slumping in his arms with sobs. He knows he’s breaking her heart, knows that what the mark is doing is tearing them apart. But Dean doesn’t know how to stop it, doesn’t know how to rectify it.

Instead, he holds her while she cries into his chest, holds her and feels her there, because he knows deep down that he’s not going to survive this fight. And as a tear of his own tracks down his cheek, he comes to the realization that they aren’t going to survive this fight either.

Light floods the room and he hears the creak of the shelves. Lifting his head, a smirk on his lips, he watches as they walk in the room. His eyes glaze over Sammy, carrying a small black pouch, rolled up and tied with a string, arm in a sling, and then over to her, carrying a biohazard cooler. His eyes don’t just glaze over her though, they land right on her and he sees the fear and heartbreak in her eyes, sees it almost radiating off her. He can also sense the sadness, the hurt, the loss of hope.

Her eyes are puffy and red, makeup free, her t-shirt wrinkled like she’s slept in it. He sees what the old Dean would have seen in her, sees what maybe he could see in her now, a fun night in the sack, a quick fuck and then he’s off. He still has the memories from before, still knows that the sex with her was good, but he’s not looking to make love and then spend the morning cuddling naked. Nope. Just a quick fuck and nothing more.

Well, once he’s not tied to this chair that is.

“Really?” he says, watching as they set their burdens down on the table that’s set up in the corner.

“For whatever it’s worth,” Sam says, his voice wry, “we got your blood type.”

“I know you guys think you’re gonna try and fix me,” Dean sneers. “But did it ever occur to you that maybe I don’t wanna be fixed? Just lemme go live my life, I won’t bother you. What you do two care?”

“What do we care?” Y/N snaps, her eyes now firey instead of forlorn and she takes a step forward. Sam rests a hand on her shoulder and gives her a look and she retreats back, doesn’t move any closer.

Dean is oddly satisfied with this situation, oddly satisfied that the woman that was once his girl has no courage to really face him, has no gumption to really tell him off. Maybe that’s because…

His train of thought is cut off as Sam begins sprinkling holy water around the room and saying an incantation in Latin, consecrating the ground inside the devil’s trap that Dean now sits in the middle of, and Dean goes back to musing about Sam attempting to cure him.

“You think I’m just gonna sit here like Crowley, getting all weepy while you shoot me up?” he questions, but it’s meant to be rhetorical. “Well, screw that. I don’t want this!”

“Yeah, we pretty much figured that out,” Sam throws over his shoulder as he prepares the first injection.

“You don’t even know if this is gonna work, do you?” Dean asks. “You know, I got a hell of a lot more running through me than just demon juice.”

“Mark of Cain, got it,” Sam shoots back, and Dean gives a half chuckle. He’s amused that Sam has taken over the brunt of the conversation, that she’s just sitting there listening, her eyes narrowed and downcast, arms crossed over her chest, leaning up against the table.

“That’s right,” Dean says.

“Buckle up.” And Sam steps forward, the first syringe in his hand, needle uncapped.

“Sammy, you know I hate shots.” Dean is hoping Sam won’t actually attempt to cure him, but he knows that hope is fragile. His eyes follow Sam, staring intently.

“I hate demons,” Sam snarks back, unflinching.

For a brief moment, Dean’s eyes go black and he yells, but Sam splashes holy water in his face to get him to back down and plunges the needle in his arm.

In the first instant there’s pain, pain from the needle being shoved into the muscle on his arm as Sam only half tries to aim for his vein, pain from it hitting too many nerves. In the second instant there’s fire hot heat that spreads from the point of impact through his whole arm as Sam injects the blood into his system.

“Look, we got a whole bunch more of these to go,” Sam tells him as he steps away. “You could make it a lot easier on yourself.” Sam is patronizing him now and beneath the fire that is spreading in his veins, he’s pissed off about it.

But the heat is spreading quicker, and before it becomes all consuming, he sees her cringe away, sees her turn her head so she can’t look at him anymore and sees her shoulders shake with a silent sob. It’s brief, but it’s there, a flash of guilt that he’s caused this, and then it’s gone and he’s in more pain than he’s ever been in his life, and that’s saying something.

He groans, grunts, and then yells, a deep, growling yell, sweat beading on his forehead, and then it subsides and he’s left sitting there, breathing heavy.

Sam turns back around and sets the needle down before looking up at Y/N, again setting a hand on her shoulder. Dean sees her shake her head and barely catches what she says before she hurries from the room.

“I can’t watch this.” It’s less of a statement then it is a lamentation, pain laced in her words.

But Dean’s focus is elsewhere, it’s on the dull fiery pain still running through his veins.

Hours later, after he’s escaped the ropes and the devil’s trap and chased Sam around the bunker with a hammer hoping to end this. And after Cas shows up and helps Sam get him tied back to the chair, his brain foggy, he thinks about how much he could use the next syringe to be filled with morphine instead of consecrated human blood.

But he sees the dark red fluid in the syringe through his haze of pain, and something inside of him is begging him to tell Sam to stop, to tell Sam he can’t take anymore, to cry and beg and weep like a little boy. But he doesn’t. He saves face, let’s Sam inject him, and the pain of this last one makes him fall into the darkness of unconsciousness and he welcomes it.

He’s not awake for the last of them, but he dreams while he’s out. Dreams of the good days…

There’s one of him and Sam as teenagers, reveling in their first real meal in weeks. Dean had snagged some money hustling pool at a bar he used a fake ID to get into, and then promptly bought them cheeseburgers, fries, and soda. The next one is of them in the car, laughing and singing along to the rare Bon Jovi song, the most serious thing on their plates being that they need to find dad.

Then it’s Y/N, the memories swirling. It starts with him showing up on her door after Sam did the swan dive into the pit, his pain and grief almost palpable, but then it turns happier. There’s the joy of them finding and buying their first place together shortly after, and how Dean had demanded that they christen the kitchen floor right then and there before they moved in any furniture. They’d spent all day chasing each other around the empty condo naked, fucking in every room, eating pizza delivery late that night, and then sleeping on their mattress on the floor of their bedroom, too tired to move in any other furniture. Then it’s more recent, their move into the bunker, finally having her know everything and being his true partner, just before he brought that all crashing down with…

He surfaces, the darkness dissipating, his eyes opening. He can feel the black fade away, sees the filter through which he’s gotten used to seeing the world vanish, and the fire along with it. And in it’s place, a heavy guilt, and a deep emotional pain.

He looks up to see Sam and Cas standing there, looks of deep concern on their faces, and he wonders for a second what the fuss is all about until he realizes he is the fuss.

“You look worried fellas,” he says, more to break the silence then to actually wonder what they are worried about.

That’s when Sam splashes him with holy water and guilt again washes over him. He’s not confused why, he remembers that he was a demon, remembers what the mark turned him into, but he doesn’t want to think about what he did when he…

“Welcome back, Dean.” And both Sam and Cas smile, a gesture that Dean can’t return, not yet.

Sam unties him and he feels the rope burns on his wrists itch and fester and he rubs at them.

“Where’s-?” but Dean pauses, unable to finish his question.

“Dean, I wouldn’t-” Sam starts, but he can’t finish either.

“I need to.”

Sam nods, understanding. “Room 20.”

There’s a sting of shock that she moved out of their room and next to Sam, but he guesses that he shouldn’t be that surprised.

Dean pats Sam on the shoulder, nods to Cas in acknowledgement, and leaves the room, making tracks for room 20, his heart pounding in his chest. Dean’s not one to get nervous, but this moment, this is definitely a moment to be nervous.

He approaches Room 20 and sees the door is ajar, soft light flooding out into the hallway, soft music playing from inside. Dean gets to a point where he can see inside the room and he sees that she’s sitting at the desk in the room, her back to him. He can’t tell if she’s writing or reading, either way, he’s grateful he can just watch her for a second.

It’s been over a month, almost two months, since the last time he’s seen Y/N, well, seen her when he’s not a demon, and the last time wasn’t pleasant. He’d made the decision to go after Metatron, very much against what she wanted, but he did it anyway. That last moment, with tears streaming down her face and her plea for him not to go hanging in the air, he’d turned without looking her in the eye, without telling her how much he loved her, without even kissing her goodbye.

As he’d walked into that homeless encampment, he’d regretted those actions, or non-actions. He regretted that he hadn’t had a chance to hold her one last time. Especially as the angel blade sunk deep into his chest, Metatron’s maniacal smile the last thing he saw before his world went black.

When he’d woken up a demon, all that regret and guilt had vanished, but now...now that he’s cured, it’s back in full force, back with a vengeance.

Dean finally reaches up and knocks softly on the door and sees her jump a little at the sound before turning in her chair to face him. He watches as her eyes go wide at first with fear, then with shock, and then her face softens a little as she realizes there’s nothing to fear anymore.

“Are you...cured?” she asks, her voice quiet, barely audible above the music.

“Uh, yeah, I guess you can call it that. I still have the uh-”

“The mark,” she sighs.

“Yeah.”

He’s not in the room yet, doesn’t want to invade her space without permission, so he’s waffling in the doorway.

Y/N gestures to the foot of the bed, inviting him to sit, so he does, his hands clasped together. It’s the only thing stopping him from grasping at her, from taking her in his arms and holding her as tight as he can. Especially when she stands, shuts the door on her way over, and sits down on the bed just a foot or two away from him, but still within touching distance. She’s so close, but he feels that she’s still so far away.

He clears his throat, stares at his feet, wrings his hands, and then finds his voice. “I’m sorry.” It’s all he can manage before he’s choking back tears and he tries his hardest to keep his emotions at bay.

“I know,” she says, and he gains the courage to look up at her and sees her swallow back her own emotions, sees the crease between her brows deepen as she studies him.

“I didn’t mean it.”

“That was the hardest thing to read from you, even though I knew you couldn’t be in your right mind when you wrote it. But given the conversation we had before you went to try and kill Metatron, and then that, it hurt more than anything else I’ve ever been through.”

He nods and thinks back to his thought process when he woke up as a demon, Crowley in his room, the blade in his hand. He’d first known that Sam would come after him, so he’d left him a simple note admonishing Sam to let him go. And then his next thought had drifted to her, and for whatever reason, he’d felt the need to go one step further.

‘I don’t need you, I never did. And I certainly don’t love you.’ he’d written, and now he regrets those words more than anything.

“God, I didn’t, I don’t...do you have any idea how much I regret that?”

“As much as I regret reading it?”

“So much more than that,” he says and he reaches for her hand, any sort of physical contact.

At first she’s stiff, almost not accepting of the gesture, but she doesn’t pull away. She relaxes eventually, gives in to the touch a little, her fingers curling around his. That’s when he feels the drop of something wet and he looks up from where their hands are connected to see tears streaking down her cheeks. He can’t resist any longer and he doesn’t care if she’ll fight him, he needs it more than anything, so he closes the distance between them and gathers her close to him. She comes unresisting, something that he doesn’t fail to notice, even though she’s shaking with sobs. He’s crying now too, clinging to the one thing he can’t live without, unable to keep his own tears from falling.

“I never meant it,” he says at one point, and he feels her nod against him, feels her fingers wind in the collar of his shirt, skin against skin, feels her body turn a little more, press a little closer to him.

And it’s all the permission he needs.

It’s furious and needy, desperate and frenzied, fierce and aching, that need to be as close as possible to each other, to feel all of each other. He pulls her into his lap and feels her arch her back, her chest pressed to his, her hips grinding down into his lap. But Dean’s mind is also racing, flying through memories of the last couple months.

“Dean,” he hears Y/N say in his ear, and he snaps back to the here and now, looking into her eyes. “I’m gonna need you to stop thinking and be here with me. Forget everything else, okay?”

Her hands are on either side of his face, her eyes wide, studying him. He clears his mind, focuses on her. He focuses on her straddling his legs, her knees framing his hips, her barely covered breasts pressing up against his chest and he feels the soft skin of her waist and back underneath his hands as they work up under her shirt.

His lips find hers again and his hands work at the buckle of her jeans before spinning on the edge of the bed and pinning her under him, from there it’s only a matter of minutes before they are both naked, both clinging to each other, both crying out in pleasure.

Dean pulls her close after, pulls the blanket up over both of them.

“Well that’s quite a way to say you’re sorry,” she says, a slight tinge of sarcasm in her voice.

“Hey, I said the words,” he says, playfully jabbing her side.

“I know, I know!” She’s squirming away from his finger and in the process she’s pressed up close to his side, skin on distracting skin. “Yes, you did say it. And you’re forgiven.” She’s looking up at him now, doe eyed and innocent, and his mind again wanders over the memories of when… “Dean, I know what you’re thinking abou-”

“No, you don’t,” he begins, but she cuts him off with a finger on his lips.

“I may not know details, but I don’t need to. You need to not dwell on it. If there’s anything I know about you Winchesters, it’s that you have a hard time forgiving yourself and moving on, even when those you’ve wronged have forgiven you. Well, I forgive you, I don’t need to know the details to do that. Consider the last couple months gone, wiped away, clean slate. Capiche?”

He falls in love with her all over again as she speaks, falls in love with this strong woman that he had the fortunate luck of running into in some run down bar ten years ago, falls in love with this woman that has become his home.

And before he knows it, the words are out of his mouth, words he doesn’t say very often, if ever. “God, I love you.”

“I love you, too, you know? And we’re gonna get through this, we will. I know we will.”

He’s not sure he believes her, but if he’s learned anything in his life, it’s that sometimes you need to rely on those around you regardless of how little faith you have in yourself. So he kisses her again, gets lost in the feel of her all over again, and tries to forget.

Dean picks up another armful of wood and carries it where he’s neatly lining them up, his anger boiling. If he would have known what was going on, he’d never have let it happen, never have let people he cares about this much put themselves in this kind of danger.

“Dean?”

He hears her voice, but chooses to ignore it, instead going for another armful of wood.

“Dean!”

This time it’s demanding, the tone she uses when she’s really pissed off, so he drops the wood next to the pyre, takes a deep breath, and then turns to face her.

She doesn’t say anything as she walks over to him, stopping directly in front of him and placing her hands on his chest. The first thing he notices is her hair is rain soaked and he wonders how long she’s been standing out here watching him. The second thing he notices is her bloodshot eyes and blotchy makeup, and his heart sinks. In his moment of furious grief, he’s forgotten about her, forgotten just how close they were, forgotten how hurt she’s going to be and he immediately regrets it.

“Dean, please, do not, I repeat, do not push me away.” Her eyes fill with tears, her chin quivering as she bites her bottom lip, trying to keep the overwhelming emotion from tipping over a cliff. “I...I n-need you.”

His anger and resolve crumble at those words and he gathers Y/N closer in his arms as she breaks down, his own emotions too close to the surface.

In the heat of the moment he’d placed some of the blame on her but as he had arranged the wood for the pyre, he’d realized there would have been no way she could have known, not with her reaction.

“I’m so sorry,” he says, half for his anger toward her, half for the loss she’s feeling.

“I’m sorry, too,” she says, and he pulls back so he can look at her too.

“What’re you sorry for?”

“Charlie was...she was like a sister to you, to me, to all of us, and I’m sorry we had to lose her like this, that you had to lose her. I can’t imagine how hard this is for you.”

He nods, because it’s the only thing he can do in this moment. That and hold onto his girl and hope that he never has to do this for her as well.

Dean sits in silence after Sam leaves, holding the Hand of God, and he thinks back over the day. He really had done nothing, just been there as a witness. And now to find out that Cas had said yes to Lucifer, that he had the chance to expel him and didn’t, that Lucifer had almost killed Sam...it’s all a lot to take in considering the circumstances.

Dean doesn’t know how to handle all of this at once. His emotions are all over the place, he’s on edge, he’s seeing a new low he’s never seen before. And he has no control over any of it, none at all.

Tears begin to make tracks down his cheeks as he hears quiet footsteps to his left. He looks up to see Y/N coming toward him. She doesn’t speak, just takes Sam’s spot next to him and lets the silence stretch on. It’s all he needs right now, though, her strength, her presence.

He let’s the despair go, lets it all out, everything about the darkness, Cas, losing the power from the Hand of God. His shoulders begin to shake and he feels her arms go around him, feels her hand on the side of his head and she gently guides his head to her shoulder. There’s a clunk on the dock as his hands let go of the Hand of God and he reaches to cling to her. He knows they must look a sight, the large man being comforted like a small child, but he doesn’t care. She is his lifeline, his anchor, his everything.

Dean is unable to find anything else to cling to, the last six months have been nothing but him feeling completely out of control, spiraling into an abyss. This Amara shit, the hold she has over him, it’s bigger than even him. And it’s not something he can just shoot, stab with a silver blade or decapitate. He’s floundering for ways to fight it and continually coming up blank.

He’s never felt this out of control, never felt this lost before in his life. He’s grateful she’s never blamed him for the connection with Amara, the connection that he wishes he could get rid of. It feels wrong, the whole thing, but she’s never once gotten angry about it. He can’t imagine what it would be like to have a less understanding partner in life.

And even though she hadn’t been particularly pleased with him traveling back in time to the Bluefin and to Delphine to rescue the Hand of God, he knew she at least trusted him, let him do this, because she knew he needed some semblance of control.

But now, he realizes he has none at all. But he has Y/N.

His breathing calms, the tears stop, and he sits up straight. She’s looking at him with concern but still doesn’t speak, and he’s okay with that since he’s not ready to talk about it himself. He leans into her hand when she reaches up to wipe away the tears from his cheeks, and he turns and kisses the palm of her hand. He nods to her silent question, the crease of her eyebrows and slight frown, the one that’s asking if he’s okay, okay enough for the moment at least.

And he is, in a way. He’s okay because of her. Without Y/N he can’t imagine how hard this would be. But he can’t let his mind go there or else grief will consume him again, so he just holds her close, tightens his arms around her, revels in the feel and comfort of her arms around him and the smell of her surrounding him.

In that moment, Dean sends up a silent prayer of gratitude for this woman, again to a God he’s not even sure is listening or cares, but he does it anyway. Does it because he’s not sure how he got to be so lucky, does it because he needs to have something to be grateful for right now, does it to remind himself there is something good in life.

A few weeks later when he almost loses Sam, almost loses his own life, he again clings to her, holds her close, let’s her act as his lifeline for the millionth time. She’s strong enough for both of them in a way that he needs more than air.

He knows that he scared her when he downed all those pills, knows that a fear of hers was very close to being realized, but she held her own and brought him back from the brink with the help of Michelle. But he sees the fear in her eyes buried under the relief, so he kisses her and holds her.

And again he says the same prayer of gratitude.

When they come up with the plan for him to be the bomb, for him to kamikaze his way to getting rid of the darkness, Y/N’s silent, not offering her two cents, just sits in the background and listens. He again sees the fear, but also steely resolve.

She sits next to him in the car and holds his hand when they drive to Lawrence so he can go to his mother’s grave.

She hugs him, kisses him, tells him she loves him, and doesn’t cry when he says goodbye.

He doesn’t see her breakdown as he walks away, sure that he won’t return, sure that this is the last time he’ll see her. Doesn’t see Cas hold her upright as her knees buckle. He can’t. He knows if he sees any of that, he’ll abandon the plan, he’ll turn his back and never defeat Amara.

And again he says a prayer, this time hoping beyond hope that somewhere, God, Chuck, is listening, that he’ll stop what’s happening. But he doubts it. This prayer is different. It’s pleading, desperate, and aching; a prayer that she’ll be able to move on, that she’ll find peace after all this, that she’ll remain strong. It’s a prayer that she’ll remember how grateful he was for her and how much he loved her. And underneath it all, it’s a prayer that he won’t die.

Dean hears the knock on the door but he doesn’t answer, just sits on the edge of his bed, tears silently streaming down his cheeks. The door opens, just enough for her to come in, but he doesn’t look up. He sees Y/N kneel on the floor in front of him so she can look him in the eye, but he shies away from looking at her.

“Dean, I’m so sorry.”

He had just watched Mary walk away. She’s just walked away from family, something he’s never even dreamed of doing. When Sam had done it a few years ago he’d never admit that it hurt, he’d just gotten pissed off and threw a few jabs Sam’s way about it every so often. But this, this is different. It’s his mother. It’s the one figure in his life he had wished more than anything to get more time with, and now that he’s gotten more time with her, she’s chosen to walk away, and he’s having a difficult time understanding why.

He looks up at Y/N, the one who has chosen time and time again to stay right by his side through thick and thin, the one he’s relied on in times when he’s had no one else. She’s there, her own pain etched on her features, but he knows it’s not for Mary, it’s for him.

Dean opens to her, cups her cheeks in each of his hands, pulls her close to kiss her, a kiss that says all the things he’s unable to say out loud most of the time.

“It’s not your fault,” he says after breaking the kiss, pressing his forehead to hers, his hands weaving in her hair.

“I know, but I’m still sorry. I haven’t seen you this happy since-I don’t know when. I know how much this meant to you-”

“Yeah, but I still have you.” He pulls back, looks in her eyes, tucking her hair behind her ears and sees nothing but love there.

“Still, I can’t replace Mary, she’s your mom.”

“We’ll get through it, Y/N, we always do. Even though I don’t understand it.”

He willingly lets her wipe the tears from his cheeks and smooth down his hair where he’s surely made a mess of it, let’s her ease him down onto the bed and pull him onto her chest, cuddling him close, comforting him. It’s not long before his arms are wrapped around her waist and his breathing and emotions are calming.

He falls asleep to her softly humming Desperado, and while he’s still angry, still sad, still blaming himself for his mom leaving, he’s got her. Even though it’s not everything, it’s enough, and he can get through this as long as she’s here.

The next time he sees Mary, he’s furious. Furious that she can drive to Canada for a fucking hunter’s funeral but not stick with her family, furious that she can barely even text her own kids, but yet here she is.

“Dean, honey, you need to calm down,” Y/N says, a hand in the middle of his chest, pushing him into an empty room.

“Well! What the hell else am I supposed to do? She’ll drive a gazillion fucking hours to get here for some unknown hunter’s funeral but can’t stick with us?!” He’s making a scene and he knows he is, but he can’t get over how fucking ridiculous this whole thing is. “I need some air.”

He steps past her, grateful that she just lets him go, and he aims for the front door, slamming it shut behind him.

Later, after he’s made his way back inside with the help of Billie, after they’ve gotten rid of the demon, after he’s made sure his family is safe, he sits against his car with Sam and watches his mom, Jody, and Y/N stand and watch the pyre, he’s grateful they all made it out.

He hears Jody tell Mary that him and Sam and are good men, the best men, and he sees Mary’s reaction towards that, her small smile up at a woman she’s come to admire in such a short time. Jody gives Mary a hug and then waves to him and Sam and walks to the cab that’s waiting for her. And then it’s just Y/N and Mary.

Even though Dean is far enough away, he can still hear every word, even though he pretends like he can’t.

“Mary, I want you to know, they love you, more than you know.”

“I don’t-I know they do, but-”

“But what?”

He laughs to himself at Y/N’s forwardness, always the one to call anyone on their bullshit.

“I don’t know.”

“Just spend time with them, they need you.”

“But Dean has you, and Sam has...well, they don’t need me that much.”

“You know, you left and they both holed up in their rooms for almost a week. Neither of them would come out for anything but food. I’ve never seen them act like such sulky little boys before. And while it was adorable, it was also heartbreaking. Just think about coming around more, think about spending time with them. I think if you do, you’ll realize they are still your little boys, still your babies.”

Dean hears her entire appeal to Mary and then watches as she walks over to him and Sam, her arms going around him when she gets close and he kisses her. She’s safe and alive and his, and god, that’s more than he deserves, but he’ll take it.

Mary is walking over to them when he looks back up and he pushes off the Impala to meet her in the middle.

“Breakfast?” he asks.

“Will there be bacon?” she fires back, a smile on her face.

“Fuck yes there will be,” Dean says, enjoying Mary’s eye roll at his language and hearing his girl laugh at the playful banter.

He walks into the bathroom in the hotel room they’d gotten for the night, grateful Y/N had decided to splurge on something a little nicer for the two of them for once. She’s brushing her hair, clad in just a t-shirt and panties, makeup free, and he leans up against the door to watch her.

She turns to face him, taking in his bare chest and flannel pajama bottoms, her eyes going a darker shade with lust. “How are you doing?” she asks, curiosity written all over her face.

“I’m good now.” It’s the truth, the honest to God truth. He sees her sweet smile and his heart about explodes.

Six weeks.

It had been six weeks and a couple days, and they’d been the longest of his life. Six weeks of thinking of Y/N every second and wondering if he’d ever get to see her, hold her, love her again.

He wasn’t sure he was going to survive that place, the silence, the solitary confinement, the complete helplessness. It was worse than anything he’d ever been through. And having Sam right next door but unable to communicate. He wasn’t sure how he’d come up with the idea, making that stupid deal, but him and Sam got out, no one he cared about or loved died, which was the biggest blessing of them all. It was so close to going south and he wishes he could forget the image of his mother willing to sacrifice her life for her boys all over again. But it all worked out. Everyone is safe for the night and he’s right where he needs and wants to be.

He doesn’t ever think he’ll forget that moment of coming out of the forest and seeing Y/N, the worry etched on her features falling away to relief at the sight of him. Each time he’s been separated from her and then reunited, he’s always amazed at her beauty and perfection, and this time was no different.

“I think I’ll keep you,” He says and he walks towards her, crowds her up against the bathroom counter and begins teasing her with soft brushes of his lips on hers, not fully going for a kiss, enjoying her chasing his lips.

“Whoever said I was yours to keep?” She teases back, but her voice is breathy and thick and he can tell she’s eager.

“I did,” he says and he feels her hands grazing up his biceps, leaving goosebumps in their wake, a small moan escaping her lips as his own seal over the spot behind her ear he knows drives her crazy.

That moan is all it takes for him to lose his mind with lust, lifting her up onto the bathroom counter, pulling her shirt off, her bare skin greeting him. All other worries are pushed from Dean’s mind and it’s just the two of them, the here and now, and he focuses on that feeling. The feeling of her soft curves under his fingers, the feel and heat of her as she wraps her legs around his waist and pulls him forward against her. He can feel the wetness of her arousal through her panties, can feel how ready she is for him in just a short amount of time.

Her hands working under the waistband of his pajama bottoms is distracting almost to the point of oblivion, pushing his bottoms over the curve of his ass and freeing his cock. Her hands grip his ass and pull him impossibly closer, grinding her hips down against his cock that is now trapped between them. It’s almost more than he can bear.

“Dean, babe, I need you. Now,” she says right against his ear, taking the lobe between her teeth as his fingers drag under the seam of her panties and through her slick folds. He finds her entrance and pushes inside her with ease, her shuddering breath in his ear sending chills down his spine.

“You’re so wet and ready,” breaths out his own voice thick and husky, his fingers pumping in and out of her slowly, torturing her.

“Dean, please, stop teasing, I can’t take it anymore.”

Her hands find his cock and she runs her fist up and down him a couple times before he feels her grab his wrist, trying and failing to pull his hand away from her cunt. He chuckles at her frustration as she desperately tries to fight for more friction against his fingers and not finding it.

“Dean, please, I beg you, fuck me.”

That’s all he had wanted from her, those words, words she’s said a thousand times throughout the 12 years they’d been together. “Why didn’t you just say so?” He teases, removing his fingers from inside her, swallowing her whimper at the loss of his touch with a deep kiss, his tongue chasing hers.

Dean grabs her by the hips and pulls her to the edge of the counter she’s on, rips her panties from her body and pulls her forward enough so that he can easily guide himself to her entrance, pushing inside of her, leaving her gasping at the feeling. As Dean pulls back a little and thrusts up into her, he thinks back on the years and all the times he’s had her as his own. It never ceases to amaze him how perfect she is, how perfect they fit together, how perfect she makes him feel, despite his shortcomings and faults.

His thrusts become stronger, deeper, her hips meeting his, Y/N’s fingers scratching the back of his head, combing through the short hairs there as he kisses down her neck, sucking dark marks there, marking her as his. He can feel that she’s close, can feel that he’s right there with her.

She cries out as her walls begins to flutter around his cock and it’s only a couple of thrusts later that he feels her fall over the edge, crying his name, her fingernails digging deep into his neck, and then he’s following, his own orgasm strong, his thrusts shuddering.

He kisses her in the afterglow, long and slow, his fingers wound in her hair, her arms wrapped around his neck. He pulls away to look at her, her eyes so full of love and admiration, something he at times doesn’t feel he deserves, but he’ll take it anyway. And as he lies in bed with her that night, the smell of her surrounding him, his arms tight around her. He realizes no matter what life throws at him; British Men of Letters, the United States Government, vampires, werewolves, zombies, ghosts, or ghouls, he’s got her. It’s more than he will ever deserve.

And, as always, it’s more than enough.

Feedback welcome and appreciated, as always! xoxo

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howaboutarainbowcaravan · 6 years ago

Text

A crossover fanfic!

It’s the 13th of October 2027, exactly 9 years from now. We’ve been dating for almost ten years. You wake up from your afternoon nap and you are surprised to see that I am not lying beside you. You must have been in a deep sleep to not notice me leaving.

“Where are you?” you text me, after walking around our flat and failing to find me.

“Sorry!” I text back. “I’ll be home soon. Was just preparing something to show you.”

“Not another tattoo, I hope,” you reply.

I don’t answer, which causes you some concern and you begin to wonder what new tattoo I could have.

You water the pots of flowers on the window sill while you wait for me to get back. There are flowers of every colour of the rainbow (except orange).

Our dog, Sauerkraut, races to the door as she hears me walking up the front steps. I enter and bend down to pat her. You are surprised to notice sawdust coating my clothing.

“What’s on your flannel?” you ask.

I look down and start brushing the dust off. “Ah, it’s just from work.”

“Work? You’re Our Gracious Leader’s personal bodyguard. What did she make you do, roll in the dirt?” You try to hide the fact that the idea of rolling in dirt excites you.

“No, not that work. You know I don’t work on Wednesdays. I’m talking about… another kind of work.”

You raise your eyebrows, puzzled.

“It’s a surprise I’ve been working on,” I elaborate. “I was aiming to have it finished by next month… but I guess I finished early.”

“What kind of surprise?”

I smile. “I’ll show you.”

I take your hand and lead you to the car. I drive us far away until we reach a dock.

“Ready for a boat ride?” I ask.

You look unsure, but follow me into the boat. My huge biceps bulge as I row us across the water to an island. Every time a fish approaches the boat, I gently knock it with the paddle so it swims away and doesn’t get too close to you.

You get out of the boat and look up to see a house- but not a normal house. This one has turrets. It’s like an aesthetically-pleasing cross between a house and a castle.

“I’ve been spending some time each week building it,” I explain. I give you a tour. I am particularly excited to show you the room I’ve built especially for our twelve dogs.

“But we only have one dog,” you point out.

“...Not anymore,” I reveal. I whistle and suddenly we are surrounded by eleven dogs of many shapes and sizes. They are all super friendly.

Finally, we reach the dining room. It is lit by candles and has a stained glass window feature.

“I made Mac’n’cheese for dinner,” I admit. “Take a seat and I’ll grab it.”

You wait at the table while I disappear into the kitchen. You take a few moments to look at the stained glass window properly. There are colourful shapes of flowers, and you realise they match the colours of our potted flowers at home.

Then, all of a sudden, the window is shattered as something - someone - smashes through. You leap to your feet and step away from the window.

The intruder straightens up, and with horror you notice that their eyes are completely black.

I reappear a moment later and observe the scene.

“Babe, get back!” I yell, as the black-eyed figure steps forward. “It’s a demon!”

I run to stand between you and the demon.

“Will, no!” you cry.

I turn to you and hold your face in my hands. “You need to get out of here.” I pull off my flannel to reveal the white singlet underneath- and the tattoo on my shoulder. “I can’t get possessed by demons, but you can. If they possess you, they could hurt you... or worse. Leave this to me.”

You back away to the doorway, but don’t go any further. I reach under the dining table and pull out a sword from a secret drawer.

I face the demon. “What do you want?”

“There is a dog in this house that my master desires,” answers the demon in a husky voice.

“Who is your master?” I demand. “And what does he want with a dog?”

“My master is the King of Hell. He seeks a dog that was the offspring of a hellhound and a common dog, as he wishes to reclaim it as his own for his kingdom.”

“All of those dogs were rescue dogs,” I retort. “Whatever owners they had before have given them up, and I have offered them a better life. I will never let anything bad happen to them ever again.”

“If you stand in my way, I will kill you,” threatens the demon, drawing a knife.

There is the sound of raised voices from outside, which momentarily distracts the demon.

I step towards the demon with my sword at the ready. “Then kill me. I’d like to see you try.”

The demon lunges towards me, but I block its blows with my sword.

“You fool!” hisses the demon. “Your blade cannot hurt me.”

I laugh, and then knock its knife out of its hand. Then I kick it in the stomach and it staggers backwards. Moments later, my sword is resting against its throat.

“This isn’t any normal sword,” I say. “It’s forged from melted-down angel blades. Perfect for killing demons.”

The demon’s expression turns to one of shock. Then, instead of killing it, I ram the hilt of the sword into its head and the demon falls to the ground, unconscious.

“Have you got your phone on you?” I ask you.

“Uhh… yeah.”

“Can you look up the words for an exorcism please? It’ll be in Latin.”

You’re a little overwhelmed by everything that has happened, but you take out your phone.

Suddenly, something hammers on the front door. You recall the sound of raised voices from moments before.

“Wait here,” I instruct, heading for the door.

“No, I’m coming with you,” you say, reaching my side.

However, neither of us reach the door. It is kicked down very loudly and two men rush inside, pointing guns at us.

I reach one arm out to protect you, and hold out the sword with the other.

“What the-...” exclaims Sam Winchester.

“Don’t shoot!” I say. “We’re not demons.”

“You’ll have to prove that,” growls Dean, taking a flask from his duffel back and tossing it to you. “Drink up.”

“I’m not drinking this,” you protest.

“It’s fine,” I assure you. “It’s just water. Here, I’ll go first.” I take a swig of the holy water, and you follow suit. I turn to Sam and Dean. “Happy?”

Dean smiles. “Cool sword, man.”

“Thanks. By the way, I’m Will and this is Bronte.”

“Dean and Sam,” responds Dean. “You realise there is a pack of demons about to storm this place?”

“We just dealt with one,” I explain. “We were gonna exorcise it.”

Sam and Dean exchange worried glances.

Sam says, “This place is going to be overrun soon. I’m afraid there won’t be time for exorcisms. We picked up on demon activity in this area and came as soon as we could. Had to borrow a motorboat. The question is, what do they want?”

“They want one of our dogs,” you say.

“Your dog?” frowns Dean. Why?”

“Apparently it’s part-hellhound, and the King of Hell wants it back,” I answer.

Dean raises his arms in a confused gesture. “Well… it’s just a dog, right? Maybe you should hand it over? That’s probably the safest option.”

“No way,” I argue. “It’s my duty to look after my dogs. If the King of Hell takes one, who knows what kind of mistreatment it could suffer? And who knows how it could be manipulated and used for evil?”

“He’s got a point,” admits Sam. “The dog could become a weapon if used by the demons. Giving it up would be giving them an advantage.”

“I promised all of my dogs a safe home,” I continue. Then I turn to you. “I also promised you a safe home. And at the moment, the safest option is probably giving up the dog. At least then the demons might leave us alone. What do you think?”

Knowing that I would never willingly abandon a dog in need, you tell me we should at least try and save the dog.

“That’s decided then,” I say. “We’re defending our home and all of our dogs, hellhound or not.”

I go off with Sam to check on the dogs while you and Dean keep an eye out for demons.

“Have you got any salt?” asks Dean. “If we make a salt line at all the doors and windows, it should help keep the demons out.”

“I don’t know,” you confess. “I don’t actually live here. But I’ll take a look in the kitchen.”

You open up a kitchen cupboard and find a huge sack of salt. I was obviously prepared for all kinds of disasters.

“If you don’t live here, what are you doing here?” questions Dean, helping you pour salt over all the entrances.

“Will just finished building this place,” you explain. “But we haven’t moved in yet. He was just showing it to me for the first time tonight.”

“He built it? That’s real sweet. I wish my husband would build me a mini castle. Instead he spends all his time keeping bees and contemplating the meaning of justice.”

“Oh, Will isn’t my husband,” you tell Dean.

“Really? But you two are together, right?”

“Yes, we’ve been together almost ten years.”

Dean whistles in admiration. “Nice one. Me and Cas are nearing ten as well, but we’ve known each other for twenty. Hold up.” He raises a hand in warning.

You follow his gaze and see what he has spotted: a shadow gliding down the hallway.

Dean readies his rifle.

“Are there any more entrances?” he whispers to you.

“I honestly have no idea!” you whisper back.

Seconds later, another demon springs into the room. Dean shoots it with rock-salt.

“That won’t stop it for long,” says Dean. “We should find the others. Which way to the dog room?”

In the dog room, Sam and I are gathering the dogs together and trying to keep them calm. Unfortunately, the presence of a new person is making them very excited, and the addition of you and Dean to the group doesn’t help. There are dogs everywhere, licking, wagging their tails, demanding attention.

“Quick, we’d better make another salt line,” instructs Dean, beginning to pour salt around the perimeter of the room.

You look at each of the dogs, trying to perceive which one of them might be part “hellhound”. They all look pretty normal to you. None of them seem like the spawn of evil.

All of a sudden, you get the strong feeling that you are being watched. You look up and see multiple demons, standing in the two doorways on the other side of the salt line. They are all pouting, displeased at their inability to cross into the room.

“Ah, the Winchesters,” muses one. “You have to show up everywhere uninvited, don’t you?”

“I don’t remember sending you an invitation, either,” I rebuke, staring at the demon pointedly.

“Hello, boys.” A crisp, English accent pierces the air.

You turn to face the other doorway and see a somewhat short man wearing a suit and long black coat.

His eyes scan the room and then fix on you. “And girl,” he corrects himself. His gaze makes you shiver.

“C-Crowley?” murmurs Dean. “But… you’re dead.”

The man - Crowley - shrugs. “That hasn’t stopped you before. And you’re just a human. I, however, am the King of Hell.”

“It’s been over ten years since we last saw you alive,” says Sam.

“And, if I remember correctly, I do believe I sacrificed myself to save you both from Lucifer,” says Crowley with a smirk. “You might even go so far as to say… you owe me one.”

Dean and Sam exchange hesitant glances.

I shake my head. “If you want the dog, Crowley, you can’t have it. Sam and Dean might owe you, or they might not… but it’s not their dog.”

Crowley turns his attention to me. “Will, isn’t it? And I take it the beautiful woman is your girlfriend. Tell me, are you really valuing the life of one mutt over hers?”

I brandish my sword. “Come near her and I’ll kill you.”

Crowley chuckles. “You know I don’t have to be near her. All it takes is a snap of my fingers.” He begins the snapping gesture, but stops. We all know it won’t work while the salt line is protecting us.

“So what’s it going to be?” asks Crowley. “You can hand over the dog and we’ll all go home and you can continue living your lives in this lovely castle. Or you can refuse, and I will take the dog by force and possibly obliterate a few of you in the process.”

“We’ve already told you no,” grunts Sam.

Crowley shakes his head in disbelief. “So be it.” He takes a small metal tube from his jacket pocket.

“What’s that?” asks Dean with a frown.

“Demonic dog-whistle,” replies Crowley. “Only works on hellhounds.” He raises the whistle to his lips.

Sam glances around urgently, trying to formulate a solution… “Don’t let any of the dogs out of the salt circle!”

But it’s too late - Crowley blows into the metal tube, and one of the dogs - a small fluffy one, to your surprise - bolts across the room. In the process, its paws scatter the salt line - leaving a slight opening.

Crowley picks up the dog and then steps past the broken salt line. Sam begins to fire his gun, but Crowley uses his demonic power to toss Sam through the air and across the room.

The other demons begin to enter the room as well. They are smirking with evil glee.

You notice that I am looking very worried. But then you remember that I am the personal bodyguard of the most powerful woman in the country, so I can probably handle this situation easily. Plus, I have a sword.

But your confidence in me begins to fail as a demon uses their power to send me flying through the air. You rush to my side as Dean fires several rounds of rock-salt at the approaching enemies.

“Are you okay?” you check, as I slowly sit up.

“Yeah,” I respond. “I’m sorry. I should have just let them take the dog. Then none of this would have happened. Bronte, I’m so sorry…”

You shake your head. “It’s okay. It’s all gonna be…” You are interrupted by the sound of Dean choking and gasping for air. A demon’s hand is clasped around his throat.

Sam leaps up and tackles the demon off him.

You notice that the demon I knocked out earlier has recovered and is now entering the fray. Seeing it again triggers an idea.

“Will, can you help make a salt circle around me?” you ask.

“Of course,” I say, pulling the sack of salt towards us. I start pouring it out. I suddenly feel a great force lifting me up, and I realise a demon is using its powers to toss me around again. Thankfully, I have enough sense to drop the salt bag before I go hurtling into a wall.

You complete the salt circle around you and take out your phone. Yes - the tab is still open from when you looked up the exorcism incantation. You attempt to pronounce the Latin words.

After a few moments, the demons notice what you are doing. Sam and Dean take advantage of the distraction to gain the upper hand and defeat a couple.

I get to my feet and see that Crowley is weighing up whether to stay and fight or vanish away. Just as he makes the decision to leave, I grab him from behind and hold my sword up to his throat.

“Not so fast.”

“Ah! Will. Thanks for your hospitality, it really is a lovely home you’ve built here,” he says casually, pretending he isn’t scared.

“Yes, it is lovely,” I affirm. “Especially because I live here with my girlfriend and twelve dogs.”

Crowley gets the message and begins to lower the dog onto the ground.

Sam and Dean take out another demon, while a couple more flee as you have almost finished reading out the exorcism.

“You, uh, will let me go now, right?” Crowley asks me, glancing over at you nervously.

“Maybe. If you promise to leave us and our dogs alone. Forever.”

“Now, uh, I don’t know that…” he stammers.

I press the blade closer to his throat. You are up to the final sentence of the exorcism. He begins to tremor.

“Okay! Okay.” He gives in. I step back and he vanishes into thin air.

You finish the exorcism, and the few remaining demons in the room are purged from their vessels.

“We did it!” I cheer. Everyone lets out a sigh of relief.

“We can help you ward this place against demons properly,” offers Sam later.

“That would be great, thanks,” I reply.

Dean is lying on the floor, rolling around with the dogs. “I am so glad you didn’t give any of these up for Crowley. What’s… what’s this little guy’s name?”

“They don’t actually have names yet,” you explain.

“Is that so?” asks Dean, cradling a puppy in his arms. “Maybe you could name this one ‘Dean’.”

“Sorry,” I apologise. “That name’s banned.” I look just as sad about it as he does.

#happy 11 months babe #i love you infinitely and you are everything i could possibly want #sorry that i am bad at writing you into the fics :/#i don't want it to seem like i'm putting words in your mouth or making a judgment about how you might act or anything #it's all fiction and i really hope i never insult you with my poorly written depictions!#i can't wait to see you again and kiss you and tell you i love you

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lucison-blog · 7 years ago

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I’m going to do aesthetics of jack’s powers because boy there is a lot according to his wikia. And also headcanons of mine

Healing - From the womb, Jack was able to heal Kelly Kline's slit wrists and massive blood loss. While empowering Castiel, he also healed the angel's injuries from the fight with Dagon in a matter of seconds.

Resurrection - At the same time he healed his mother's injuries, he resurrected her. However, Miriamindicated that, despite his vast power, Jack is not powerful enough to resurrect Castiel as he is "all the way dead".

Precognition - Jack, from the womb, was able to see a vision of the confrontation between Castiel and Dagon at Heavenly Portal which he was able to share with Kelly.

Power Granting - From the womb, Jack was able to temporarily empower Castiel to the point that he was able to overpower and kill the Prince of Hell Dagon.

Advanced Reality Warping - Under the influence of a disguised Asmodeus, Jack was able to open a Hell Gate to release the Shedim. However, this required Jack's full concentration and when his concentration broke, the Hell Gate closed.

Electrokinesis - Jack's labor caused a power outage. In his normal state, he also able to effect the works of machinery and electricity, such as lamps and a vending machine. When scared, he also can cause electricity to go haywire.

Terrakinesis - When Jack becomes enraged at Asmodeus harming the Winchesters and Donatello, his anger causes the ground to shake.

Rapid Aging - Soon after birth, Jack willingly accelerated the natural aging process of his body to quickly become a young adult.

Super Strength - While empowering Castiel, he granted him enough levels of superior strength to effortlessly overpower the Prince of Hell Dagon, who had easily beaten Castiel while he was only using his seraphim powers.

Advanced Power Negation - While empowering Castiel, he granted him the power to render Dagon completely powerless.

Advanced Pyrokinesis - While empowering Castiel, he granted him the power to burn Dagon, the Prince of Hell, to ashes, a feat previously unseen with any other character.

Advanced Portal Creation - Jack's birth was able to open a rift into an alternate reality. Jack later experimented in attempting to open a door to rescue Mary from the alternate reality, but determined that while he could feel around, he needed a dreamwalker in order to be able to see the realm. When combining his powers with Kaia like this, due to her flashing between Mary and the Bad Place, Jack transported everyone to three different locations: Kaia to a roadside, himself to Mary and the Winchesters to the Bad Place. This effort also opened a rift to the Bad Place though not to Apocalypse World. Zachariah said Jack is strong enough to open a portal big enough to march an army through.

Advanced Telekinesis - Jack was able to send out powerful blasts of telekinetic energy strong enough to knock two people unconscious at once. When Jack did this, visible waves of energy emanated out of him. In a moment of pain, Jack accidentally threw a tattoo artist across a room. This happened without the visible waves of energy, indicating that Jack can use both forms of telekinesis. In order to save Sam's life, Jack blasted Buddy across a room with a telekinetic blast emanating from his hand while deflecting a bullet just by looking at it. Following this, Jack gained control of his telekinesis, using it to levitate a pencil and creating a small shock wave to knock Sam, Dean and Castiel out. However, when Jack attempted to use it to help against Dave Mather, he accidentally caught a security guard in the blast as well and killed him. When Jack uses his ability to produce a blast or shock wave his eyes glow gold but not when he used it in a more controlled manner like when he lifted the pencil. When confronted by two hostile angels, Jack was able to hit one with a telekinetic blast so hard she went flying through a glass window and then a brick wall. He was also able to force another angel to stab himself with his own angel blade.

Teleportation - Jack displayed the ability to teleport after being upset by a conversation and wanting to be away from it. He was later able to use this ability leave the Men of Letters bunker on purpose. When he teleports, Jack is shown to have the sound of wings flapping like an angels.

Highly Advanced Telepathy - Jack showed the ability to telepathically call out to Castiel who could hear Jack even in the Empty. Even the Cosmic Entity was surprised how could something wake Castiel in his domain. Later, by touching his hands to Derek Swan's head, Jack was able to see everything that Derek saw with his powers. However, using this power on Derek caused the veins in his face to glow. Jack later used this ability in the same way to show the Winchesters and Kaia Nieves what Derek had seen of the alternate universe and their mother.

Enhanced Stamina - Jack once stated that he does not sleep a lot, but unlike an Angel still requires sleep.

Supernatural Concealment - When Jack does not want to be found, his powers are subconsciously concealing him from other supernatural beings. This was shown by the fact that Asmodeus was incapable of tracking his whereabouts.

Invulnerability - Unlike other Nephilim, Jack is completely invulnerable against an angel blade. Jack had stabbed himself in the chest several times with a butcher knife and not die as such damage would kill any ordinary human. However, Jack can still feel pain, as shown when he flinched and reflexively threw a tattoo artist because of the pain from the needle. He can also be knocked out and injured by blunt force trauma to the head as any ordinary human.

Sedation - Like an angel, Jack can put a person to sleep with just a touch.

Super Strength - Jack possesses inhuman strength sufficient to rip off the doorknob of a door that was triple-locked without even realizing.

Molecular Combustion - When Jack and Kaia combined powers to open a door to an alternate reality, Kaia's screams caused them to emit a glow that caused six nearby angels to turn to dust. After lifting Zachariah into the air with telekinesis, Jack was able to cause Zachariah to explode simply by clenching his fist. By sending energy pulses similar to his telekinesis into the air, Jack caused three more angels to explode in mid-air.

Thermokinesis - Jack was able to heat up the bars in the window of Michael's fortress to the point that they melted.

Illusion - To entertain some kids, Jack was able to alter the shadow puppet shapes he was making to look like whatever he wanted.

Immunity - Despite his angelic heritage, Jack is immune to angel banishing sigils when not even his father Lucifer is immune to the sigils. He is also immune to angel warding.

Regeneration - He was able to easily remove an angel blade from his chest and quickly healed the wound in seconds. After getting two tattoos, both healed in seconds to the point that there was no sign that they had ever existed. After Jack stabbed himself several times in the chest with a butcher knife, his wounds healed in mere moments.

#i like nougat || out of character #a ticking time bomb tho he does a lot

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verobatto · 4 years ago

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Destiel Chronicles

Vol. LXVII

It was a love story from the very beginning.

You are the one in my heart (Part III)

(11x14)

Hello! Third part of this topic here! Very romantic!

I want to say thank you to @destielle , my beta fixing all this mess and making it readable! Thank you girl! 😘💕

We gonna talk about 'The Vessel', episode 11x14, it’s the one in which Dean discovers that Cas is possessed by Lucifer which leads to a huge change in his priorities.

Casifer takes advantage

When Dean and Sam call Castiel for his assistance with time travel, the cunning Archangel sees an opportunity in it.

Gif credit @mostly10

Dean has plenty of trust in his friend Castiel, but this will drive him into a series of events that won’t end good. So the whole point of the scene where they outline the plan of getting a specific weapon together is to get one point across: Dean’s trust in Castiel. Which also occurs to Casifer as he will take advantage of it.

But not just Dean trusts him, Sam, too.

When Casifer is not able to get inside the submarine, Sam thinks he’s sharing the same concerns with his friend Cas, reading wrongly from Casifers reaction. Lucifer gets so disgusted and done with all the corny love, worries and "sincere brotherhood" between Sam and Cas that he gets mad, maybe kind of jealous even, and reacts by openly showing himself and hurting Sam by reaching for his soul.

That's when Castiel fights his way back to control, blocking Lucifer and speaking to Sam for a brief moment. And that’s when we find out what was raging inside Castiel's hurt heart to make him say yes to Lucifer…

Gif set credit @subcas

SAM: Cas? Why?

CASTIEL: I wanted to be of service to the fight. And only Lucifer can beat her.

SAM: You chose this? You have to fight, Cas! Eject him now!

CASTIEL: I can't! It's taking all my strength to keep him from killing you. And besides, we need him!

SAM: No Cas, we don't. We'll find another way to stop Amara!

CASTIEL: We need him to save Dean.

SAM: You can't time travel.

CASTIEL: Only Lucifer can.

Castiel wanted this. Castiel was feeling so useless and therefore desperate that it led him to do this.

And now Lucifer has the As. Sam and Cas need him to get Dean back from the time travel.

The Vessel

There's a scene in the submarine, where Delphine asks Dean to kill her. That’s a nod to the title of the episode, because we are representatively talking about Castiel here. Because Cas is the vessel.

This is a Berens episode, so we should keep in mind that he likes to parallel cut scenes to make us see something, opening up new perspectives, connections… and he chose to parallel Daphne asking Dean to kill her with American Marines fighting a war against Germans. Why? Because to kill the vessel for the greater good is a war decision. BECAUSE LETTING LUCIFER FIGHT USING CASTIEL'S VESSEL EVEN IF IT MEANS CASTIEL DYING FOR THE GREATER GOOD IS A WAR DECISION.

Pay attention to this…

DELPHINE (whispering) Kill me.

DEAN I don't have to kill you. Okay, I can just cut it, it will work.

Dean doesn't want to kill her, even if that's the wiser thing to do.

DELPHINE Not with this. It's spell-bound to my blood, my heart. It’s power lives and dies with me. Do it!

This is a reflection of Castiel's vessel being possessed by Lucifer.

Lucifer knows

One of my favorite scenes is Lucifer mocking Sam while mocking Dean's feelings for Castiel…

LUCIFER: I will touch your soul. Just because you asked so nicely, and I'll use your spell to blast through the warding and retrieve Dean and the uh, Hand of God, and then when Dean comes back and he finds this place decorated with your guts, I will tell him the truth, Sam. I'll just say, 'Dean - '

[LUCIFER pauses and smiles, before putting on his CASTIEL voice.]

Gif credit @danistiel 👇

- 'Dean… he knew the risks. He wouldn't take no for an answer.'

SAM: Lucifer.

LUCIFER: In the flesh.

Lucifer not just imitates Castiel's voice, but Castiel's puppy eyes as if he was looking at Dean. He is mocking the eye fucking, the feelings Dean has for his angel. He is mocking it because he knows about their relationship, every angel and demon knows about them, and now Lucifer knows it too, because he is inside of Cas. Because he senses Dean's longing for Castiel and vice versa. And he mocks them.

So… Lucifer knows… Sammy knows… and Amara noticing Castiel's beautiful blue eyes, calling him "blue eyes" is noticing his charm, too.

"I was just a witness"

Before I continue talking here I want to clarify something: Dean felt sorry for the submarine crew, but he was MORE WORRIED AND SADDER ABOUT LOSING CASTIEL IN FRONT OF HIS EYES.

With that being said, I want you to recall the way Delphine dies while using the Hand of God. She literally exploded because her body (her vessel) couldn't handle such a power. Dean saw that with his own two eyes.

After this he witnesses Casifer handling the Hand of God, of course he didn't know the weapon couldn't be used twice then. That's why Dean screams NO!!!! desperately, with horror in his eyes, because he thought right there Castiel's vessel could be destroyed in front of him just like Daphne was.

Then… at the end of the episode, we have this dialogue between Sam and Dean.

SAM: So.

DEAN So. Cas.

SAM: Yeah. What do we do?

DEAN: What else? We hunt Lucifer, trap the bastard, and save Cas.

SAM: Like I said. Lucifer may be in control now, but Cas may not come back willingly. I mean he chose it.

Gif credit @pinkman

DEAN: No. No, not possible.

Dean brings up the Cas topic, sitting alone, brooding, sad, worried. Sam sees him and approaches him like a good brother, to comfort him.

Sam tries to explain that it was Castiel's choice, but Dean doesn't want to believe him, he says: ‘NO. NO, NOT IMPOSSIBLE.’ He denies it three times, with such a broken heart, you can tell from the look in his eyes.

So… what does Sammy? He changes the subject…

SAM: So how'd you get through today? I mean what did you do?

DEAN: Nothing. Sam, they…

[DEAN stares out over the water as he shakes his head. He looks close to tears.]

Gif credit @spacedudeee

DEAN: I was just a witness.

But Dean keeps talking about Cas here. He is sad, and mad at himself because he didn't see the signs. He didn't see Castiel's depression, he didn't want to hear his own voice saying Cas was acting weird. He wasn't there for Cas. And now he is in great danger. He could lose Castiel forever. And that's the one thing in his head, in his heart. That's the only topic he can think about. The following episodes will show us DEAN IS DESPERATE, DEAN ONLY WANTS TO GET CASTIEL BACK AT ANY COST. AMARA IS NOT THE CENTER OF HIS ATTENTION ANYMORE. ALL HIS THOUGHTS AND WORRIES ARE FOCUSED ON CASTIEL.

SAM: Do you wanna talk about it?

DEAN: No. No, story for another day.

Gif credit @hallowedbecastiel 👇

Gif credit @sammyhale

Sam also knows why his brother is so down. He knows it, but as always he respects the time Dean's needs to take first.

The camera zooms out, leaving behind a devastated Dean. Is he sad for the crew and Delphine? Of course, yes. But he only got to know them because he couldn’t see what was happening with Cas. And now it’s lost forever. Just like Cas could be.

We already know from previous episodes that Castiel is the one Dean is pining for, the one he is in love with, the one he desires. The only one in his heart. Writers enlightened us about that and now they're showing us unshed tears in Dean's eyes… because he could lose the love of his life... forever.

To Conclude:

This episode talked about CASTIEL. And how Dean regrets not noticing his friend wasn't his friend anymore. This feelings are so strong and sad in Dean's heart that he even was about to cry.

Losing Castiel because he didn't see it coming, will be a heavy weight on his shoulders.

And we saw the foreshadow of the war decision we will meet again in episode 11x18. War decision vs Heart decision.

Hope you liked this! See you in the next one!

Tagging @metafest @magnificent-winged-beast @emblue-sparks @weirddorkylittlediana @michyribeiro @whyjm @legendary-destiel @a-bit-of-influence @thatwitchydestielfan @misha-moose-dean-burger-lover @lykanyouko @evvvissticante @savannadarkbaby @dea-stiel @poorreputation @bre95611 @thewolfathedoor @charlottemanchmal @neii3n @deathswaywardson @followyourenergy @dean-is-bi-till-i-die @hekatelilith-blog @avidbkwrm @anarchiana @dickpuncher365 @vampyrosa @foxyroxe-art @authorsararayne @anonymoustitans @mybonsai1976 @love-neve-dies @wildligia @dustythewind @wayward-winchester67 @angelwithashotgunandtrenchcoat @trashblackrainbow @deeutdutdutdoh @destiel-is--endgame @destiel-shipper-11 @larrem88 @charmedbycastiel @ran-savant @little-crazy-misha-minion @samoosetheshipper

@shadows-and-padlocked-hearts @mishtho @dancingtuesdaymorning @nerditoutwithbooks @mikennacac73 @justmeand-myinsight @idontwantpeopletoknowmyname @tenshilover20 @teddybeardoctor @pepevons @helevetica @isthisdestiel @dizzypinwheel @jawnlockwinchester @horsez2 @qanelyytha

@imjustkipping @destielle @agusvedder @spnsmile @shippsblog @robot-feels

If you want to be added or removed from this list, just let me know.

If you want to read the previous metas From s11, here you have the links: LXII, LXIII, LXIV, LXV, LXVI

Buenos Aires, June 23 2020 6:37 PM

#destiel #destiel chronicles #destiel meta #supernatural meta #season 11 meta #vol. LXVII

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mittensmorgul · 6 years ago

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5.01, Sympathy For The Devil (pffft no thank you >.>)

aka that one episode that always reminds me I could've seen the light beam of Lucifer escaping the cage from the chair I'm sitting in at this moment... heck, I was literally sitting in this spot on the day this supposedly happened. Thank HECK I don't live in the SPN universe, I guess? Because I probably would've ruined my favorite chair... >.>

(also I'll be annoying and mention that if they were actually going in to land at BWI, they would've flown over Elicott City AND THEN Ilchester, and this would likely be the FINAL descent because Ilchester is only like 6 miles from BWI as the airplane flies... whatever)

Let's talk about how, after s4 led Sam and Dean around by the nose having them running toward the Exact Opposite Thing they intended to do, the shoe is now firmly on the other foot... i.e., Fuck Zachariah.

ZACHARIAH: You're upset. DEAN: Yeah. A little. You sons of bitches jump-started judgment day! ZACHARIAH: Maybe we let it happen. We didn't start anything. Right, Sammy? [ZACHARIAH winks.] You had a chance to stop your brother, and you couldn't. So let's not quibble over who started what. Let's just say it was all our faults and move on. 'Cause like it or not it's Apocalypse Now. And we're back on the same team again. DEAN: Is that so? ZACHARIAH: You want to kill the devil. We want you to kill the devil. It's...synergy. DEAN: And I'm just supposed to trust you? Cram it with walnuts, ugly. ZACHARIAH: This isn't a game, son. Lucifer is powerful in ways that defy description. We need to strike now, hard and fast—before he finds his vessel. SAM: His vessel? Lucifer needs a meat suit? ZACHARIAH: He is an angel. Them's the rules. And when he touches down, we're talking Four Horsemen, red oceans, fiery skies—the greatest hits. You can stop him, Dean, but you need our help. DEAN: You listen to me, you two-faced douche. After what you did, I don't want jack squat from you! ZACHARIAH: You listen to me, boy! You think you can rebel against us? As Lucifer did? [Blood drips from DEAN's hand.] ZACHARIAH: You're bleeding. DEAN: Oh, yeah—a little insurance policy in case you dicks showed up. [DEAN slaps his bloody hand on an Angel Banishing Sigil drawn behind a door.] ZACHARIAH: No! [SAM and CHUCK flinch. ZACHARIAH vanishes in white light. When DEAN looks, the other ANGELS are gone as well.] DEAN: Learned that from my friend Cas, you son of a bitch.

Aside from the revelation that Dean is the "Michael Sword," the fated vessel of Michael supposedly destined to kill Lucifer in the battle to end all battles (and to end the world...), and discovering that Castiel has been resurrected by God, THIS is the most important exchange in the entire episode.

Dean's act of defiance, his PLANNED act of defiance, is banishing Zachariah the same way Cas had in 4.22. The same symbolic act of defiance becomes Dean's statement on what he believed at the time was Cas's sacrifice. (and thank HECK Cas is actually alive, but this still sets the baseline on ALL of TFW's season-long struggle to defeat Lucifer and stop the apocalypse).

Zachariah smugly things he's got everyone right where he wants them, that now that the Apocalypse is officially started, Dean will just willingly comply with his plan-- which of course Zachariah believes is now the only way to finish what he's so carefully arranged to this point.

But Team Free Will has other plans, and having been dicked around for an entire season into breaking the world... well, they're even less likely to just capitulate to the jerks who manipulated them into this horrific situation.

But of course, Dean doesn't feel like he can really trust Sam anymore. Demon-possessed Bobby says some horrible things to Sam, too, because the demons still have their own agenda now that Lucifer is free, and they still want that divide between Sam and Dean going strong. Bobby overcomes the demon possessing him, because he refuses to be used to kill Dean, and gravely injures himself instead. :(

In contrast to s4, this time around they know what the angels really want for them. They can see a lot more of the cards on the table, but they still can't see the light at the end of this ugly-ass tunnel. The setup from this episode going forward is finally making them feel like they might just be getting out in front of the cosmic catastrophes, though... let's see how long that last before Chuck decides they need some good hard shoves into the narrative he's laying down.

#spn 5.01 #s14 hellatus rewatch #spiders georg of the tnt loop #that's what free will is #all my tags for zachariah somehow involve the fact that dean stabbed him in the face pffft

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huntertales · 6 years ago

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Part One: If Only I Had a Heart. (Heartache S08E03)

Episode Summary: While trying to track down Kevin, the Winchesters and the reader get sidetracked by a series of murders where the victims have gotten their hearts ripped out. One killer is captured, but things become even more complicated for the trio when they find their killer in a trance, mumbling an ancient prayer they can’t decipher. Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader Word Count: 6,103.

Previous Part | Supernatural Rewrite Masterlist

“You’ve been back for how long and now you finally decide to call me?”

You could tell by the tone of Josh Carver’s voice that he was pulling your leg in his infamous sarcasm you didn’t find the least bit funny today. You felt the need to give him an apologetic smile at how bad your timing was on these sort of things. You’d been trying to get back into the swing of things after regaining your own memories and getting up to speed with what you had missed out on, including the demon tablet business that had been weighing on your mind.

But right as you were about to take some time out of your day to call up your old friend, that's when Crowley decided to steal the tablet and Kevin ran off with his mother. The three of you tried looking for the Tran family, yet you had no luck. So you decided to kill two birds with one stone and ask some help from your best friend.

You thought he’d be a bit spooked to see an incoming call from a new number, let alone the face of a person who was supposed to be dead for the past two years when you decided to video chat with him on the phone. (Which thing that apparently you could do, thanks for the help from Sam.) He seemed overjoyed at the sight of you when he picked up on this early afternoon. It was you who was taken back at his calm and casual attitude you weren't expecting. Which you then learned about the small detail about how Dean called up the man after he bumped into you back at the college in Michigan to see if he knew anything about this. Now you felt like you were the one left with egg on your face.

"You look good." You complimented the man as you took a moment to examine him for the first time. Josh still looked about the same since the last time you saw him. A little older around the eyes and his beard a bit more bushier than you remembered, but he seemed happier than he had been in a while. "I'm sorry about your grandparents, by the way. The boys told me about what happened."

“Thanks, Y/N. I’ll admit, it still hurts. But I’ve had time over the past few years to process. I keep telling myself they’re in a better place together.” Josh said. His way of thinking made you smile, this time, with genuine happiness. You’d known his grandparents since you were four years old and moved to Y/H/S. Losing them was like losing a pat of your own family. Josh leaned forward into the camera slightly as he examined the scenery around you. "Where the hell are you?"

“Farmer’s market.” You explained to the man. You were trailing behind the brothers while Sam shopped around for some local produce while Dean was engrossed in his phone, reading some article he found. You passed by people while keeping your attention to the man you were talking to. “How have things been for you?”

“Oh, you know. Boring. Nobody calling me up and asking me to do a favor about the creepy and crawly. Or a demon asking to make a deal with me." Josh jokingly said. You still found yourself rolling your eyes as your smile grew even wider. "Speaking of which, how have you been? Feels like it’s been two years since I heard from you. Oh wait...it has!”

"I hate you so much. You know that, right?" You told the man, Josh shrugged his shoulders. "I'm good. Honestly. Feels nice to be back in the swing of things. Be myself for a change. But I've been busy. And there was another reason why I called. Which wasn’t the main reason why. It's nothing of serious matter...well, it kind of is. Kind of dealing with demons and missing prophets."

"Another lovely adventure for our hunters, Y/N YL/N and the Winchesters. What's going on?" Josh asked with curiosity. He broke into a smile, already wanting to know what kind of help you were going to ask from him. You suddenly grew hesitant about asking him for help after all the trouble you had caused the man not too long ago. Josh seemed to sense why you had grown all quiet. "Y/N, I owe you my life for what I did to you. Ask and you shall receive, my friend."

"Well let's just say I've got a prophet and his mother in the wind and Crowley has something that we spent forever trying to track down. If he gets his hands on the kid then who knows what will happen." You explained to the man best as you could without admitting details out to the public. Josh seemed rather curious at the details alone. "Do you mind helping me out by keeping an eye on things? We just spent a week chasing our tails.”

"Helping my best friend out with all things supernatural and sticking it to the king of hell? Let me think about that." Josh pretended to do just that, making you give him a look from how annoying he could be. "Send me an email of all the details. I’ll get back to you soon as I can once I got a system set up. Because, unlike some people, I still have a full-time job.”

You smiled in appreciation and mumbled a goodbye to Josh after thanking him for the hard work he willingly was about to do. You ended the call and shoved the phone back into your pocket to try and catch up with the brothers who were farther up ahead than you realized. Sam was eating an apple and examining some fresh vegetables while Dean was reading an article that he found. Everything was as you left them after you took a few minutes to see how Josh was doing. You squeezed yourself in between the boys to make your presence known.

“Wow. Guy goes to purgatory for a year, all hell breaks loose. Check this out.” Dean said. You leaned over slightly try and read some of the article he was reading that engrossed his attention so much. "A jogger in Minneapolis gets his heart ripped out."

“I’m guessing literally?” You presumed the direction of where this was going.

“Only way that interests me.” Dean said. You scoffed quietly at his strange sense of humor while listening him continue on with the story that even got weirder. "And then, there's another article from six months ago. Same things happens, also in Minneapolis. What does that tell us?”

"Stay out of Minneapolis." Sam guessed. He was distracted to what his brother was saying. He didn’t think too much about the coincidences as he picked out a vine of tomatoes and handed over a few dollars to the friendly woman working the stand.

"Two hearts ganked, same city, six months apart. I mean, that's got to be a ritual, man. Or at least some sort of a heart-sucking, possessed, satanic, crack-whore bat." Dean went off, listing all sorts of presumptions that made you and his brother look at him with a funny expression. "It's a case. Look, I say we hang out the shingle again and ride."

“We’re on a case, Dean.” Sam told his brother with a mouth full of his chewed apple. “Kevin and the demon tablet need to be found, so heart guy takes a number.”

“Uh, we just spent a week chasing our asses trying to lock Devin down, okay? And look at us. We’re--” Dean finally looked up from his phone screen after stepping out of the Impala. He felt his face scrunch up in confusion at the sight of several stand tso many different stands around him with people walking around, examining fresh produce. "Where the hell are we?"

"Farmers' market. Organic stuff. I know you haven't touched a vegetable in your lifetime, but i'm pretty sure you could identify one." You sarcastically implied as you gestured around the place all of you had been at for quite some time now. "Honestly, it wouldn't hurt for us to actually include some healthier stuff in our diet. We’re not exactly getting any younger.”

Now it was Dean's turn to look at you and his brother with a baffled expression. You weren't sure if it was because of your suggestion to change up his diet, or the fact that his brother was spending the afternoon at such a hippie environment Dean would never be caught dead in. Either way, you rolled your eyes and shook your head. "What? I had a year off." Sam defended himself against his brother's judgmental stare. "I took the time to enjoy the good things."

“While avoiding doing what we actually do.” Dean muttered, holding up his phone to subtly hint at the case his brother had nonchalantly dismissed just a minute ago.

“Wow, Dean, does it make you feel that much better every time you say it?” Sam asked. You could tell this conversation wasn’t heading in any direction helpful to Kevin or the victims. It was always about unresolved emotions between the two brothers they subtly fought back and forth about.

“All right, man, look, I get it. You took a year off to do yoga and play the lute, whatever. But I’m back. Okay, we’re back, which means that we walk and kill monsters at the same time. We’ll find Kevin. But in the meantime, do we ignore stuff like this?” Dean asked his brother as he held up his phone to the article he was reading. “Or are innocent people supposed to die while you shop for produce?”

You could tell by Sam’s expression that he was a bit hesitant to jump on board with the idea. But lucky for you and the boys, you already had a plan to keep him from backing out. “Actually, I had a pretty successful talk with Josh.” You spoke up. “I told him about Kevin. He’d be willing to keep an eye out on things while we hunt. Can’t hurt to have an extra set on this, right?”

Dean seemed on board with the idea when he shrugged his shoulders at the mention of a name that made him once cringe at the mere thought. However you noticed it was Sam who appeared apprehensive, even a little bit defeated. You gave him a small smile, knowing deep down this wasn't what he wanted to do. Much as you would have loved to see Sam enjoying his life he lived just a year before again, shopping for organic fruit with this Amelia, enjoying his quiet life, it was only possible with one outcome. Once all of you found the demon tablet and Kevin, Sam could get his normal life back on track. But he would have to realize it was going to come anytime soon. You needed him too much right now for him to disappear.

+ + +

You stood with one arm crossed over your chest and the other with your fingers wrapped around the chain of a locket that was once your mother's you thought was lost forever. You accidentally put it in a box marked for charity when you were cleaning out all of her belongings a few months after she passed. While you were devastated and thought it was lost forever, it was found years later by Dean. He gifted it to you as a Christmas present the same year the both of you presumed it was going to be his last one because of the demon deal he made. It was one of your most favorite things you owned. You'd gotten in the habit of wearing it constantly since you got it. Right when you got out of hell for the first time to the first day you remembered who you were.

However you found it a little ironic when you realized the shape of the locket was exactly what the jogger was missing. You stared down at the glossy crime scene photographs of the victim lying face down on the grass. You let go of the heart shaped locket, feeling it fall back down to your chest as you reached out a hand to flip through the case file to find the autopsy report to try and see what else you could discover about this case. You read through the articles Dean found out about these murders and came to the conclusion this was your kind of weird. Nobody had the strength to rip out someone’s chest. Unless they had a little supernatural help.

“Here’s what’s odd about this thing--the guy wasn’t chopped or cut into, no incision.” You looked up from the case file and to the older Minneapolis detective assigned to working this case. “But his heart was ripped out of him like a peach pit.”

"Was he robbed?" Sam asked the detective as he grabbed a photograph to view for himself.

“Phone, watch, money all still on him.” The detective said. Your guess for this type of murder was possible werewolf, they liked the heart of the victims. But they were more messy about their killings. There wasn’t any traces of sulfur found in the chest cavity which ruled out a demon for now. It only left an infinite amount of possibilities for you. You asked the man if the victim had any enemies, wondering if the killer was working a little black magic, an angry ex-lover who dabbles in witchcraft to get back at their boyfriend. “He was in town for a conference. No local connections.”

“You guys had another one of these about six months ago.” Dean said, bringing up the other case while all of you were here discussing the first one that caught his attention.

“Yeah, and we hit a brick wall. We had nothing to go on, really. Thought maybe we got lucky here. A park surveillance camera picked up something.” The detective began walking over to the TV to show you and the boys the security camera footage of the park of your victim. You followed behind as he pulled up the video for all of you to review.

You watched as you saw the victim went on his way jogging at a steady pace, however you noticed right away that he wasn't alone. You narrowed your eyes on the figure that went past him, it looked to be another runner. The detective stopped the footage to show the other runner wasn't who you expected to be when he passed the victim. He was a little more on the heavier side, not exactly the type you would expect to go faster than the victim from his psychique alone.

“That chubby guy the last person to see the vic alive?” Dean asked.

“Other than the killer. Name’s Paul Hayes.” The detective told all of you. “We pulled him in for questioning.”

“What makes you think he’s so clean?” Sam wondered, knowing looks could be deceiving in these kind of situations. The detective might see a chubby runner trying to get his work out in, you and the boys wondered if you found your killer.

“Well, so far, no reason not to. I mean, he said he briefly saw the victim, he ran ahead, that was it.” The detective said.

“Wait, you mean he didn’t fall to his knees and confess to gutting the guy?” Dean asked, taking it upon himself to believe the guy was guilty from the footage alone.

"No. I mean we did a thorough check on the guy, not so much as a parking ticket came up. I mean, look at him. Sure, he can run a little bit, but Thor he ain't. You think he's gonna grab Freddy fitness here and throw him down and rip his heart out? I don't think so." The detective said. You could tell this conversation was going in a bad direction from how you noticed the man was becoming a little bit heated. "Forgive me if I didn't take him out back and shoot him."

"Okay uh, so..." You cleared your throat as you smiled at the detective. You quickly snuck a hand up and grabbed a fistful of Dean's suit jacket to yank him back into reality. You could tell he wasn't exactly pleased at how the detective was speaking to him, but this wasn't the place or the time. "Any idea where we can find the guy?"

+ + +

You enjoyed eating healthy foods and running a few times a week in the morning as a way to help stay in shape and clear your head. But you would never down an opportunity to unbutton your jeans and devour something covered in grease and cheese. It was all about balance. But you would rather starve than drink whatever sort of concoction Paul Hayes threw in his blender. You smiled at the man standing behind the counter when he noticed you and the younger Winchester watch as the contents inside were turning into a dull green color that reminded you a little bit of vomit, if you had to be honest.

"Sorry. I kind of try to stick to a nutrition and workout schedule." Paul explained to you and Sam. You watched as he poured himself a drink into a tall glass to enjoy, but not before offering you some out of politeness. "Do you want a hit?"

“I’m good. Thank you.” You mumbled, turning down the offer. Paul didn't seem bothered. More for him to enjoy later. He circled around the counter so he was now leaning against it while the three of you discussed the night your victim died. "So, Paul, you passed a runner who was later killed. Did you speak with him at all?"

“Yeah, I went over this with the cops.” Paul said. You positioned your pen on the small notebook you pulled out to make it appear you were ready to jot down any sort of new information that would help you more than the cops. But you had a feeling he wasn't going to be of much use. "I didn't know him. I had never spoken to him. I ran past him. I never saw him again. The end.” You smiled slightly and wrote down the information as he took a sip of his drink, right as Dean stepped out of the bathroom. “Mm, oh. It’s disgusting. It tastes like crap, but it keeps you young.”

"Thanks, uh..." Dean chuckled to himself as he pointed to the bathroom that he snuck off to. You looked over your shoulder to catch a glimpse of his toothy smile as he rubbed his stomach. "Too much fiber."

“No such thing.” Paul said, pointing a finger at the man with a smile.

"Thank you." Sam agreed with the man. You quietly scoffed when the younger Winchester gave his brother a smug look at who agreed with the healthy lifestyle choice. "See?"

"Funny. All the fiber in the world and you two would still be full of crap." You muttered the insult to your notepad as you stared down at the notes you had written down. It was obvious you’d gotten the brothers' attention, but you didn't really care. You looked up at Paul and continued on with the conversation. "Now, Paul, we couldn't help but notice that the jogger you outraced was a good deal much younger than you.”

“Yeah, and less, uh…” Dean didn’t want to be rude as he tried to mention the other factor about how a man like him outran the victim. He gestured with his hand to the stomach region where Paul was carrying a few extra pounds that would have slowed anyone down at his weight alone.

“Uh, full-figured? You should’ve seen me before. Yeah, hugging the desk all day and watching TV all night, eating fried everything was killing me. I had a health scare about a year ago.” Paul admitted. You gave the man a sympathetic look as Sam apologized for hearing such a thing. But Paul seemed like it was a blessing in disguise. “No, it changed my life. I mean, I started taking care of myself.”

“Now your body’s a temple, huh?” Dean said, taking a wild guess at the man’s new philosophy.

“Where I worship every day.” Paul agreed as he chuckled to himself. He raised his glass to his lips to take another sip of his juice. Your nose scrunched up slightly at the look of discomfort alone that crossed over the man's face as he forced himself to drink the smoothie he prepared for himself. You shut the small notebook and clicked the pen to let the tip go back. You had a feeling this conversation was over. But it didn’t mean Paul was off your radar just yet.

+ + +

You and the boys found a little face not too far from Paul’s house where you could sit down and gather all the information you knew so far about the case. You took a seat in the back where you wouldn’t be disturbed. While Sam was off for the moment and Dean was doing some research on the laptop, you busied yourself for the past few minutes up the email you meant to send to Josh earlier before all of you picked up this case. You were typing out the last paragraph when you saw Sam appear in your peripheral vision. You turned away from your phone screen to look up the man, greeting him with a small smile at his return.

“All right, so, what’s the word?” Sam asked his brother as he took his seat back down next to you so he could review the case file again. “What did you find poking around at Paul’s?”

“Ah, just the usual--condoms, hair gel.” Dean said while he scrolled through a few news articles in curiosity if he could find another similar cases like this. “No hex bags, nothing satanic, nothing spooky.”

"So, he didn't seem like a guy who would be voted most likely to be disembowel?" You curiously wondered as you sent the email off to the world wide wide. You let out a sigh and placed your phone down on the table for safekeeping. "The freaks always gotta blend in with the normal folk. Always gotta make our jobs a hell of a lot harder."

"Hate to be the bearer of bad news, Nancy Drew, but it did. I just found another one." Dean said. You furrowed your brow as you turned your attention over to the laptop screen to see what he was talking about. You asked him if it was another murder. "And a do-it-yourself heart bypass. Two days after this one."

“What part of Minneapolis?” You asked.

"The Iowa part." Dean said. "Ames."

“Well, Paul was here being questioned. There’s no way that could have been him.” You said in disbelief. You grabbed your phone and pulled up the location app and put in the city of the most recent victim. It would have only taken three hours to drive to Ames and another three to come back. But Paul would have had no time to make that commute while the police were all over him trying to get his statement.

"This guy was a cop. This is exactly what happened six months ago. Minneapolis, then Ames. Guess you missed that one, Sammy." Dean said. You rolled your eyes when he looked over at his little brother to make another jab at something you heard years before. Sam didn't seem so amused himself. "I'm just saying."

You loved these boys with every fiber of your being, you really did. But sometimes they tested your patience. This was the exact same argument you remembered them having over and over again way back when you first started hunting with them, eight years ago. Sam wanted to have his normal and Dean tried to keep him hunting. You didn’t care what the boys wanted to do, long as they were happy doing it. That’s all that mattered to you. But neither one of them liked to do things like you. It was always about their big picture. So you kept your opinion to yourself.

You merely packed up the case file and slammed the laptop shut, gathering them together in your arms before turning around to head out the front door. You headed for the Impala, leaving the brothers to wonder what was making you so upset. They'd get it eventually. For now you'd let Dean's pettiness and Sam's constant need for a normal life continue on. You just wanted to figure out who the hell was ripping out people’s hearts.

+ + +

“Arthur Swenson. Real top-shelf officer. Twenty years on the force.” Deputy Levitt told you about your murderer the next morning in the Ames police station. You and the boys were sitting at the deputy’s desk while you listened to him retell the gruesome night. “He’d ordered a pizza, which the vic delivered. The vic didn’t make his next drop-off. His body was found on the walk in front of Swenson’s.”

“And he wasn’t hearing a heart?” Dean asked for clarification.

“No.” Deputy Levitt answered the man. “Heartless.”

"And, uh," Sam ignored his brother's smirk when he looked over at him when he doubted if this was the same kind of thing. It turned out that it very much was. "What about Swenson?"

"Crumpled up on the front stoop. Covered in blood, crying like a baby." The deputy told all of you, giving you a picture of what unfolded that night. Nobody just rips someone’s heart out and then starts feeling remorse for it. Unless they were forced to. "Ironically, he had been in court all week, testifying."

Deputy Levitt was pulled away from the conversation when one of the offices mentioned about a call waiting for him. You leaned over slightly in your seat when you noticed the deputy took the call, giving you a moment of privacy with the boys to speak about what you just heard. “So that couldn’t have been him in Minneapolis.” You whispered, your brow raising up at what this meant for all of you.

“I hate when this happens.” Dean muttered. The call lasted another moment before the deputy hung up, giving his full attention back to the three of you. “So, this Arthur guy, what does he have to say?”

"Uh...it's not real helpful." Deputy Levitt warned you for what you were about to see.

Arthur Swenson waited for all of you in the interrogation room after you asked to speak with the man to see what he had to say. You weren't sure what you were expecting, but what you walked into was up there in the strange department. You sat across from the man as Sam attempted to record the muttered words Arthur kept repeating. You watched as his fingers kept twitching while he had them folded on the table. He kept saying something underneath his breath with such intense and complete concentration. You narrowed your eyes on him in curiosity from what could have possibly made him this way.

“So, you getting his statement?” Dean asked his brother. He stood next to the iron bars to have a more clear and wider focus on the prisoner. But there wasn't much to see while Arthur kept repeating the same words and rocking back and forth slightly for the past few minutes

"Uh, yeah, kind of." Sam mumbled. "Probably not."

“It’s too bad I dropped out of Lunatic 101.” Dean said, knowing all of you weren't getting much help from the gibberish Arthur was repeating to himself over and over again.

“Whatever it is, it sounds like he’s repeating it.” You noticed. Arthur moved his gaze up slightly from the table so he was now looking up, but nowhere in particular. You furrowed your brow when you noticed something oddly strange about his appearance you didn't see very often in people. He had one blue eye, the other brown. "Guys, look at his eyes."

“Hey, Arthur…” Dean spoke up to the older man as he walked over to the table. He leaned over and placed his hands on the table to get at some eye level with him. “Did you do this alone?”

Arthur responded with the same muttered words. You decided to see if you might be luck at getting an actual answer out of him. “Arthur, did some invisible voice tell you you had to kill?”

You flinched slightly when Arthur slammed his fist on the table, rousing an emotion out of him for a split second before he went back to his whispered chanting. “Oh, now you pissed him off.” Dean said. You gave him a dirty look from his remark. He sat himself down on the edge of the table to try and do a little experiment on the man. “Hey, Art. Can I call you Art? Listen, I’m gonna sprinkle your arm with holy water, and it’s gonna steam and burn if you’re possessed by a demon.” Dean told the man, Arthur didn’t seem to protest as he kept chanting. “He’s a mushroom.”

Dean twisted off the cap to the flask of holy water he kept on him for situations like this. He poured out a small amount on Arthur, expecting a reaction out of him, but nothing. His skin didn't burn as he kept on chanting. You let out a sigh. "Okay, not possessed."

“Arthur, you want to tell us why you did this?” Dean questioned the man. Arthur sat up straight in his seat as he repeated his words in a bit of a louder tone before quieting down. The older Winchester nodded his head as he appeared to be listening intently, only he was growing angry at the lack of change in behavior. “Okay.”

You found yourself quietly chuckling in amusement when Dean pushed himself off the table and back on to his feet in defeat at the lack of any real answers. You looked back over at Arthur as he kept on repeating the words over and over again. Whatever they were, they seemed to be important to him. If only you could understand what the hell he was saying.

+ + +

Later that night you and the boys booked yourselves a motel room in town, thinking you might be here for a while. Your heels were abandoned by the door along with your blazer that was lying across a small desk not too far from there. You sat next to Sam on his bed while he played the recording of Arthur's soft mummers that you still couldn't stand. You still listened, in hopes that something like a word or the phrase might spark something to you.

"So, what do you think?" Sam asked the both of you, turning off the recorder.

"Personally, I prefer the Keith Richards version." Dean said. You quietly chuckled at his lame joke as he unpacked some of his clothing he was about to slip into before calling it a night.

"Can you actually understand any of the words?" You asked the older Winchester.

"If they are words. Sounds like babble to me." Dean said. The older man suddenly was struck with an idea when he pulled out his cell phone, thinking it might be of use for all of you. "Wait a second. I bought a translation app."

“You bought an app.” You had to repeat what you just heard, a smile spreading across your lips from how sort of comical it was “Says the guy who still uses cassette tapes in his car. Surprised you even know how to work that thing."

“Says the girl who couldn’t even figure out video chat. Here, play it.” Dean put his phone to the recorder as his brother hit the play button again, letting Arthur's incoherent rambles fill the room again. It went on for a few moments before Dean looked at his phone to see what the verdict was. "And babble wins. 'Language unknown.'"

“I’ll be damned.” You muttered, not all that shocked at the findings. You heard your very own cell phone go off, making you shove a hand inside the pocket of your black slacks to see who it was. You carried on the conversation with the person the other line. The boys noticed that your expression fell into a serious one as your brow furrowed, a few moments later you wrapped up the call. "You're not gonna believe this, but Arthur's in the hospital."

“What?” Sam asked. You could hear the surprise in his voice. “What happened.”

"Apparently our man of many words tried taking out his own eye. They want us down there." You said. You pushed yourself up to your feet and shoved your phone back into your pocket for safekeeping. Dean followed right behind you. But before he could waste the time in getting himself all done up again, you stopped him. "You know, I can do this on my own. It's late. I’m sure you two want to call it a night. Enjoy some brotherly time.”

Before either one of them could offer up the chance to take this opportunity to do this one on your own, you were up on your feet, snatching your blazer and slipping your heels back on. You grabbed the keys to the Impala and reassured Dean his precious Baby would be just fine. You left the two brothers alone for the next few hours, giving you a break for once from them. You kept reminding yourself you loved the boys, you really did. But sometimes they were too much for you to even handle. And for the first time since hearing about his death, you wished Bobby was here to help.

+ + +

The last time you saw Arthur Swenson he was at the police station, in a complete trance mumbling words you couldn’t quite understand, but he was alive. Now you stood in the hallway of the hospital, staring at him strapped down to a bed with bandages wrapped around his head, sedated for the moment. You crossed your arms over your chest from what could have possibly caused this. Arthur’s doctor, Dr. Kashi, stood by your side as the both of you discussed the matter of what made Arthur pluck his own eye out. “So, Dr Kashi, what are we looking at here,” You asked the doctor. “Some kind of psychotic break?” “Oh, definitely.” She agreed. “He was very thorough. Severed the optic nerve. He was determined to remove the eye.” “And he used, uh, what to cut with?” You wondered. Cells were frequently checked thoroughly by police for any sort of weapons that might hurt themselves or other. Arthur would have known this being a cop. But he also would know what to do to harm himself if he desperately wanted to. “He doesn't look strong enough, but he broke off part of the bed frame and used it as a knife.” Dr. Kashi said. You raised your brow in surprise as a nurse passed the both of you by, handing over a few files to the doctor before disappearing. “Wow. They should put warning labels on those beds.” You muttered. You winced at the thought alone of someone shoving something sharp into your eye. Let alone gathering the strength to rip off a metal piece of the bed frame with your bare hands. Either Arthur was the Incredible Hulk, or something possessed him to do it. “I noticed that he had two different-colored eyes.” “Yes. Apparently, he was in an accident where much of one eye was shattered. His vision was saved with a transplant.” Dr. Kashi said. You looked back over at the man and asked her when this was. She opened up the file on him and skimmed through a few pages before finding the bit of information. “A year ago, almost to the date. And, interestingly, it's the transplanted eye he chose to cut out.” “Really?” You muttered, finding this a bit interesting. And helpful for you. “Hey, let me ask you something, doc. Is it possible to trace the donor of a transplanted organ?” “Difficult.” Dr. Kashi said. “But possible?” You wondered.

The doctor smiled, answering your question. You returned the gesture before looking over at the sedated patient again. It’d been a while since you got to do research for a case. And what better way to start than hunting down Arthur Swenson’s doner after he carved out their lovely gift.

[Next Part]

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