#dean watches frozen

[figthoughts]

dean winchester and his sweet little angel girlfriend 18+ ⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪

— smut, shy/inexperienced reader, est. relationship

⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

dean's large leather boots clunked down the hallway of the bunker as he headed towards his room, fresh off a hunt and eager to see his little angel after almost a week of being apart. despite texting and praying everyday, he had missed his girl like crazy.

the loud footsteps didn't even register in your brain as you desperately rocked your hips, riding dean's pillow. your eyes were squeezed shut and you bit at your bottom lip, trying to stifle your pathetic little moans from echoing beyond dean's room, feeling embarrassed and shameful about pleasing yourself.

dean's brow quirked as he heard the soft noises coming from his bedroom. he sped up his footsteps and arrived at the door, slowly pushing it further open to peek inside.

his lips grew into a smirk and he leaned against the doorframe, watching you grind your bare little cunt into his pillow. he watched as your chest rose and fell with every little pant. he felt himself begin to harden under his jeans.

“damn, baby,” he began after silently watching you for a few moments, “is this what you do when i'm out on a hunt? ride my pillow like that?” he tilted his head, the smirk remaining on his lips.

you looked at him with wide eyes, blush slowly rising to your cheeks as the embarrassment clenched at your chest, a feeling you were still trying to get used to in your human vessel.

“dean!” you gasped, “you’re home! i— i didn't know you’d be back tonight,” you muttered sheepishly, embarrassed you'd been caught riding his pillow. you were frozen on top of it as you stared at him.

“hey, it’s okay. i just wanted to surprise you,” he responded softly, stepping into the room and closing his door, “but i guess my little angel's gone and done that for me already,” he let out a quiet huff of a laugh, “s'okay, baby. it was hot, so hot, i promise. keep going for me, yeah? i wanna see my girl cum on my pillow.”

your cheeks heated up even more at the idea of continuing to please yourself in front of him. you'd only just gotten comfortable with having sex with dean in these past few months, the idea of doing this felt almost sinful.

dean sat down on the edge of the bed, a gentle smile on his face. he brushed his hand over your cheek, noticing the apprehension on face, “go on, angel. please?” he asked, his voice a low murmur. he searched your eyes, almost pleadingly.

you let a small shy smile spread across your lips, enjoying the warmth and familiarity of his touch. you looked into his green eyes. you couldn’t help but see his love for you. you felt that funny feeling in your chest again, pulling at your heartstrings. you knew you could trust him to watch, to see you this vulnerable.

with a nervous little sigh, you settled your legs and hips back into the pillow, “mmph, fine. just don't— don't say anything. i feel silly, dean.”

he chuckled and let his eyes trace over you, almost reverently. “don't. don't feel silly. you look incredible, baby. it's hot to see my girl making herself feel good... especially on my pillow in my zeppelin shirt,” he smiled and tugged at the shirt you had mindlessly thrown on earlier that evening.

“mmm, okay…” you looked down, trying to hide your sheepish smile, and began rolling your hips over the pillow again. you let out a soft hum of pleasure and avoided his gaze, looking down at your hands as they squeezed the end of the pillow.

“baby, look at me. i wanna see your pretty face... please?” dean asked, his voice just above a whisper. he watched as you slowly lifted your head, your eyes finally meeting his gaze. he smiled softly, watching your cheeks flush again. “you look so beautiful, angel. my pretty baby,” he cooed, his eyes watching you in awe as you rode his pillow, your bare pussy drooling at the friction.

you let out soft little whimpers as you dug your heat further into the fabric, drenching it with your arousal. dean's jeans grew tighter and tighter and he shifted uncomfortably on the bed, keeping his gaze on you, taking in the sight of his angel looking so pretty and pathetic.

it was a side of you that you didn’t allow him to see very often. he was infatuated with you, his angel letting her guard down and being so vulnerable in front of him. he was used to your firm demeanour and sometimes odd, but endearing little comments you’d make about the world as you learnt more, seeing it all through your angel eyes.

as he watched you hump his pillow and let out sweet little whimpers, his heart thudded in his chest. he was watching you become more human. become more like him. and it made his heart swell, knowing it was all from watching and learning from him. and maybe his brother.

he grinned as your soft noises became louder and louder, enjoying the way you were becoming so shameless and wanton as you rode the pillow. he leaned back on the bed, trying to find relief for his aching cock, trapped by the denim of his jeans.

“that’s it, sweet girl. let me hear those pretty little whimpers. you’re so damn beautiful.” dean said, his words making your head spin a little as you mindlessly humped his pillow.

dean chuckled, watching your legs shake and muscles tense as you neared your orgasm. you felt the tightness in your stomach grow, obscene words and grunts flying out of your mouth, dean's name leaving your lips like a prayer.

dean couldn't get enough of this. of you. you looked so little and beautiful, his own little angel pleasuring herself on his pillow. he considered himself the luckiest man in the world, blessed even. blessed that a heavenly little thing like you would want an old, damaged hunter like himself. in moments like this, he really felt his heart was going to burst out of his chest.

you were heaven sent. you were his girl. his angel. and he was so damn proud about it.

his eyes stayed locked on you as you drove your pussy into the pillow harder, leaving a little wet patch just below you. dean smiled even wider and his tongue shot out, wetting his lips as he noticed it, a soft groan escaping his mouth.

your face scrunched and a loud whimper left your mouth as your hips jerked on the pillow. “gonna-- mmm, dean... gonna cum... please, can i?” you asked innocently through breathy little groans. the sight of your soft, innocent eyes almost made dean melt right there on the bed.

dean nodded, his voice a gentle tone, “yeah, baby. let go. show me how good it feels.”

you cried out and bit your lip as your release washed over you, your soaked little cunt clenching around nothing and drooling onto the pillow even more. your eyes were squeezed shut as little moans and sighs left your mouth. you sounded like a pathetic whiny mess, gushing all over your boyfriend's pillow.

dean's cock strained against his jeans, aching to be freed. his words were deep and rumbled straight out of his chest, “that's it, pretty baby. cum for me. you’re such a good little girl. my perfect angel,” the praises left his lips like a soft hymn, buzzing through your empty little head as you rode the high of your climax.

as you tried to catch your breath, you blinked slowly up at dean. your eyes met and his smile widened, noticing the flushed look on your face, “did so well. sounded like heaven, baby. you're so beautiful.”

you let out a satisfied sigh and rolled your eyes tiredly, “heaven doesn’t have much of a sound, dean,” you commented, sincerity in your voice.

dean laughed as he sat up, adjusting the bulge in his pants, “it's an expression, angel. it's a good thing. means you sounded incredible.”

you smile grew softer at his words, the feelings of shame and embarrassment leaving your chest as he looked at you with such loving eyes. you could feel the adoration in his stare.

“felt incredible,” you mumbled in response. you tilted your head and studied him for a moment, “dean, i— i think i liked you watching me. made it feel better. harder... maybe,” you commented again, the regular factual tone of your voice returning.

dean smirked and tilted his head in return, “oh, yeah? felt better with me watching?” he tutted his tongue against his teeth playfully, “my angel's secretly a dirty little girl. god, what have i done to you?” he said teasingly and chuckled.

you rolled your eyes with a sheepish grin as you sunk down tiredly into the pillow, “i am not filthy... or unpure, dean. and please, refrain from speaking about my father when i’m naked and coming down from an orgasm.”

dean chucked, shaking his head in amusement as he scooted closer, wrapping his arms around your frame and pulling you against him.

he was always entertained by your literal interpretations and how seriously you took things, though he couldn’t deny you were getting better at recognising his jokes and phrases. and he was proud of that.

he squeezed you against his chest, soaking up the feeling of you in his arms again after so many days, “sorry, baby, accident. no more god-talk… but you are filthy. my dirty little angel,” he grinned and kissed the top of your head.

dean looked down at you for a few moments, his green eyes sparkled as they travelled over your features, appreciating your beauty post-orgasm. he carefully laid you back against the mattress, “i'm gonna ruin you to filth, baby. you won't remember a damn thing, but my name when i’m done with you.”

A/N: part two?!!! maybe?? send ideas for part two if u want!!i lowkey like the dynamic between these two. might make a series maybe idk lmk <3 also thank you for 500 followers??? that’s crazy!!!

feedback and reqs are open and encouraged! thanks for reading! reblogs support me and my writing!

[wildwestdean]

transposition

summary: a spell goes wrong and ends up with you and sam switching bodies. neither of you tell dean, which ends up being the greatest decision you ever made

pairing: dean winchester x witch!reader; best friend!sam winchester x witch!reader (platonic, obvs)

word count: 6.3k+

warnings: swearing, mentions of magic use, misunderstandings, miscommunication, angst, secrets, accidental love confessions, awkward idiots, mutual pining, friends to lovers, fluff, cliches, minor use of [y/n], (female pronouns/descriptors used)

“I can’t believe we’re doing this,” Sam grunted under his breath, continuing to powder the contents of your mortar with more force than necessary. “If Dean finds out about this-”

“Dean asked me to do this,” you defended, eyes skimming over the page in front of you before looking up at him. “Okay, maybe not verbatim, but he asked!” you added upon seeing the look on Sam’s face. 

“Oh, yeah. Yeah, I’m sure he did,” he replied sarcastically, slamming the pestle down with enough force to make you flinch. 

“Would you be fucking careful!” you hissed, glaring at him. “That thing isn’t indestructible and it’s important to me, it was a gift-” 

“From Dean,” he finished for you. “I know. Sorry,” he added, and even though his tone was sincere, you just knew he rolled his eyes anyway; and you chucked the closest thing you could grab at his back in retaliation. 

“Dick,” you muttered, going back to reading the passage before you. 

It wasn’t often that you used your powers - more so when it came down to a last resort option - and when Dean first discovered that you had magic, it wasn’t intentional. The two of you were on a hunt together, and it was - of course - not going to plan. You were on the brink of consciousness, having no choice but to watch defenselessly as Dean became outnumbered by Vamps. The spell came out of nowhere, nothing more than a primal instinct to protect him, and before anyone knew what was happening, the two of you were left alone with nothing but piles of ash where the monsters once stood. Dean first thought that Rowena had somehow stumbled upon them to save the day once more, though once he realized the spell came from you, he damn near lost his mind. You would have rather he yelled at you, smashed things around, anything compared to what he did. Once he made sure you were okay and had you checked out, he simply acted as if you didn’t exist; you were completely frozen out of his life. He never needed to say anything, you could see it in his eyes every time he glanced at you: How could you be a witch? He hated witches, and you knew that- it’s half the reason you never told him in the first place. He only started coming around with Sam’s convincing- and even then, it took an incredibly long time for him to trust you again. Then, one day, he came to realize that no matter what happened, he could never hate you. So, he came to you with an open mind and a peace offering- the exact mortar and pestle you had once told Sam that you wanted, because it reminded you of your mother’s- and the two of you worked on putting the pieces of your friendship back together. 

“Ass,” Sam retorted, turning and walking over to you with the freshly crushed ingredients. 

“You know,” you started, taking it from his hands. “You can’t really be against this all that much, otherwise you wouldn’t be here helping.”

“I’m only here so you don’t get yourself killed.”

“Oh, come on,” you urged with a chuckle. “You love doing this, and you know it.”

He gave you a sarcastic smile before taking the book from you. “Let’s just get this over with.”

“Fine,” you huffed, snatching the book right back. 

With one final glare at each other, you started the spell. Everything was going well… until it wasn’t. 

You aren’t exactly sure where it went wrong. You don’t know if it was the ingredients, the way you said the spell, or just a mixture of everything, but before you even knew what was happening the bowl before you exploded in a cloud of yellow and sent both you and Sam flying. 

“Oh, god,” you groaned, holding a hand to your head as your ears rang. “What the fuck?” you wondered aloud, feeling strange beyond comprehension. 

“What the hell happened?” Sam croaked out.

“I don’t know,” you admitted quietly. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” he said through a fit of coughs. “You?”

“I don’t know. Something feels wrong,” you declared, sitting up. It was at that exact moment you realized why you felt so different. “Sam?” you asked meekly.

“Yeah?” he questioned, sitting up. “Wait-” 

“I’m-” you began, unable to finish as you stared at your hands; were they even your hands? 

“You’re….” Sam tried, staring at you then down at his body; your body? 

“You’re me!” you exclaimed, gesturing between the two of you. 

“You’re me!” he echoed, scrambling to stand.

You followed suit, using the wall behind you to help you stand. “God, how do you live like this?”

“Me? What about you? I won’t even be able to reach the upper cabinets in the kitchen!” he countered, flailing his arms around. 

“At least you’ll be able to fit on your bed! My feet are gonna dangle!” you huffed, folding your arms over yourself. 

“You need to fix this,” Sam declared, stepping towards you. You couldn’t help but take a few steps away- this was way too weird. You’ve seen shifters take your image before, but this was actually you. Only it wasn’t you. You felt like your head was about to explode. 

“Gee, you think, Sam?” you snapped, narrowing your eyes at him. “I thought we’d just stay like this forever!” 

He opened his mouth to reply, but was interrupted by the door swinging open. You both flinched, turning to see Dean peering into the room. 

“What the fuck’s with all the yelling?” he asked, glancing around. “The hell is going on?” 

“I- uh-” you tried to answer, but nothing came to mind. 

“Just, uh…. experimenting,” Sam supplied, and you sent him a glare. 

“Experimenting?” Dean repeated, raising his eyebrows at you- or rather, at whom he thought was you. 

“Yeah,” Sam said with a shrug, not sure what else to say. The two of you shared a look, silently agreeing not to breathe a word of what was really going on. 

Dean’s face softened, and he sighed. “Don’t tell me you’re actually doing that spell. Sweetheart, we can get by without it.” 

“We don’t-” you started to argue, before Sam interrupted you with a clearing of his throat. 

Right. Dean wasn’t exactly talking to you right now. 

“Thought it was a good opportunity to practice,” Sam replied, sounding more like he was asking than telling. 

“Right,” Dean said, eyeing your body wearily. 

Oh, god. He was gonna pick up on something being wrong, it was only a matter of time. 

“You can leave any time now,” you spoke up, more irritated than you meant to sound, but you were severely on edge.

Dean turned to you with a look of surprise. “‘Scuse me?”

“I just- you know, we’re in the middle of something,” you continued, doing your best to stand your ground. 

“Yeah, I can see that,” he quipped, taking a step towards you. “What the hell were you thinking? Why are you letting her mess around with this stuff? Better yet, why are you helping her mess around with this stuff?” 

“It’s just a simple spell,” you argued, your head swirling with the fact that you were looking down on him, instead of being dwarfed by his frame like you normally would be. 

“A simple spell?” he repeated, fury and irritation dancing in his eyes. “Do you even hear yourself right now?”  

“Last I checked we could make our own decisions, Dean!” you exclaimed, glaring at him. 

“Sure,” he placated with a nod. “So long as they’re not stupid ass decisions!” 

“Can we go ten minutes in this place without a fight happening?” Sam pitched in, already exasperated with the situation. 

“Yeah, sure,” Dean grumbled, glaring at you. “Food’s ready.”

“We’ll be there in a few minutes,” Sam announced, earning a glare from you in return. 

“Don’t you think we should finish-” you tried to ask, but were quickly cut off by Dean. 

“No, you guys are done in here,” he declared, shaking his head. “Let’s go.”

“Dean-” you tried once more, only to be cut off again. 

“Sam,” Dean warned. “I’m not kidding. Whatever you two were doing, it’s done.”

“Fine. We’ll be out in a few minutes,” you relented, resisting the urge to roll your eyes. “We need to clean up!” you added upon seeing the look on Dean’s face. 

“Five minutes,” Dean agreed pointedly. “Or I swear, I’ll drag both your asses out of this room.” 

“Yeah, five minutes, got it,” you huffed, watching him as he hesitantly left the room. 

You waited a few moments before hastily making your way over and all but slamming the door, turning to look at Sam with wide eyes. 

“We are so screwed,” he declared, matching your expression. 

“What are we supposed to do? He’s gonna figure out something’s wrong!” you exclaimed, slumping against the door behind you. 

“We just…. I don’t know, pretend?” Sam suggested with a shrug. 

“Pretend?” you repeated incredulously. “Sam, this is insane! We can’t just pretend to be each other!” 

“It’s not like I meant permanently!” he defended, holding out his hands in surrender. “But until we can find a way to fix this, we have to at least play the part in front of Dean.” 

“Fine,” you agreed with a huff. “But I am not going on your crack of dawn jogs.” 

“Oh, come on-” he started to argue, though quickly stopped when met with your glare. “Yeah, okay, that- that’s fine.” 

“Great. Now let’s go before Dean gets even more pissy,” you declared, opening the door with a flourish. 

With a quick nod, he followed you down the hall, the two of you lowly bickering about the situation all the way to the kitchen. 

“I feel like a baby giraffe with this fucking body.”

“You look like a baby giraffe, do you not know how to walk?” 

“Yeah, I know how to walk! I know how to walk with normal legs!”

“Normal? You’re short enough to get in anywhere with a child’s pass!” 

“Keep up with the attitude, Sam. Maybe I’ll go have a really nice salon visit and cut all this hair!” 

“Fine, then maybe I’ll call up that guy from your ‘worst date ever’ and ask to catch up!”

“Fine by me. You’ll be the one he’ll be groping and hitting on the whole time.” 

“Yeah- well-... look, just don’t cut my hair!” 

“What are you two all hush hush about?” Dean asked curiously, eyeing you both as you entered the kitchen. 

“Nothing,” you both quickly replied, taking a seat at the table. 

Dean stared at you both for a moment before nodding curtly. “If you say so.” 

Choosing not to reply, you both quietly watched as he joined the table, taking his regular seat next to you. Which, of course, meant he was currently next to Sam, and you watched in amusement as he shifted nervously while Dean got too close for his comfort. 

Attempting to stifle a laugh, you took a bite of the burger that was placed in front of you, only to grimace in response. “What is this?” you asked through a mouthful, meeting Dean’s confused gaze. 

“It’s… the same veggie burger you force me to make you every time I make burgers?” he replied, looking at you as though you lost your head. 

Fucking Sam, you thought bitterly. “Oh, right. Right, it just- it tastes different, I don’t know,” you stammered, sparing a quick glance across at Sam as you hurriedly took another bite. 

“You two are weirder than usual tonight,” Dean muttered to himself before eating his own food. 

The three of you ate in stifling silence, you and Sam both internally trying to find a way out of this mess, before Dean spoke up again and pulled you from your revere. 

“[Y/N], do you want just the usual from the store? I was gonna make a run before our movie night,” he said, turning to look beside him with a soft grin. 

You felt your stomach drop as Sam cleared his throat, looking between you and Dean for a moment. “Movie night?” 

“Yeah,” Dean said, his eyebrows furrowing in even more confusion. “Like we have every Friday?” 

“Oh, right!” Sam exclaimed, chuckling nervously. “I didn’t realize what day it is, I, uh- I’m actually not… feeling too hot, do you mind if we skip it tonight?” 

“You wanna skip it?” Dean asked quietly, making your heart shatter as you watched the hurt and disappointment flash across his face.

After the two of you made up from your falling out, you started a tradition of spending extra quality time together at least once a week. This resulted in having a movie night every Friday, no matter what. Whether that meant catching a random movie on a motel tv or settling into the Dean Cave, you both always found a way to make it. Knowing you had no choice but to skip out this time almost made you want to tell him what happened right then and there; but you didn’t. 

“Yeah, I just… I think it’s best if I just head to bed, you know? I’d hate for it to get worse,” Sam said sheepishly, playing with the glass in front of him as he met Dean’s gaze halfheartedly. 

You were glad that if you had to mistakenly swap bodies with someone, it was Sam. Given that he became your best friend from just about the moment you met, he had your behaviour down pat; you just hoped you could do the same and make this all a little easier. 

“Well what do you mean, what’s wrong?” Dean asked worriedly.

“I’m just feeling run down is all,” Sam said, shrugging lightly as he stood up, taking his dishes to the sink. “Maybe we can watch something tomorrow,” he added, turning back to Dean with a shy smile. 

“Yeah. Yeah, sure,” Dean agreed softly, averting his gaze to the beer in his hands. “Don’t worry about it, just get some rest.” 

“Sure. Uh, goodnight, guys,” Sam replied awkwardly, shooting you a pointed look before leaving. 

You stayed in uncomfortable silence for a moment, studying Dean as he pouted at his bottle. 

“You alright?” you asked tentatively. 

“Yeah, just… first time she’s bailed on me,” he replied indifferently, downing the rest of his beer before heading to get another one. 

“She didn’t bail on you,” you argued firmly. “It’s not like she chose to go bar hopping or something, she’s sick.” 

“Didn’t seem so sick when she was huddled up with you,” Dean said curtly, leaning against the counter as he sent you a cold stare. 

“What’s that supposed to mean?” you asked confusedly, shifting in your seat to look at him better. 

He remained silent, lips pursed as he studied you for what felt like hours, before he finally shrugged. “Doesn’t mean anything.” 

“Then why say it?” you asked in irritation. 

He remained silent once more, simply raising the beer bottle to his lips and taking a long sip before standing upright. “Night, Sammy.” 

“Dean-” you tried to press, but he only ignored you as he continued across the floor, leaving the kitchen without saying another word. 

You sighed in exasperation, quickly cleaning everything up before heading to your room, catching almost no sleep as you dove deep into researching for a reversal to your mistake.

“You need to shave,” Sam said, staring at you from across the table. 

“What?” you asked, caught off guard by the declaration. 

“Your beard - my beard. You need to shave it,” he clarified. “It’s been over a week.”

“And?” you asked, arching an eyebrow at him. “I doubt you’re taking care of all my housekeeping.” 

“That’s because I’m doing everything possible to not look at you! Like you asked!” he hissed in return. 

You rolled your eyes in response, returning your attention to the book in front of you. “I have more important things on my mind than shaving your stupid facial hair - which looks fine, by the way.” 

Sam huffed, shifting in his seat. “Yeah, well you can at least take five minutes for me!”

“I don’t even know how to shave a beard, Sam!” you argued, closing the book in exasperation. 

“Then just let me shave it for you!” he begged, leaning over the table. “I’m serious, [Y/N], you can’t just leave me all unkempt.” 

You met his gaze and sighed softly. “Damn, you can even pull off the puppy dog eyes with my face. That’s a talent, Sammy.” 

He couldn’t help but laugh, for what felt like the first time since this whole thing happened. “You can do it better than I can,” he chuckled. “At least when it comes to Dean,” he added with a smirk. 

“What does that mean?” you asked curiously. 

“Nothing,” he said, shrugging dismissively. “C’mon, let’s get you- me- whatever, all taken care of before Dean gets back with dinner.” 

“Fine,” you begrudgingly agreed, getting up to follow him.

Before you knew it, you were standing in front of him as he sat on the bathroom counter, because: “How else are we supposed to do this? These arms aren’t gonna reach that face comfortably without some help.”

You fell into a comfortable silence as he did what he needed to do, the only words spoken being his occasional nagging for you to quit moving, as you were both lost in your own thoughts about the last few days.

“I’m really sorry, Sammy,” you said suddenly. You weren’t sure whether your voice was so quiet due to the shame you felt, or for the fear of breaking the silence that surrounded you. 

“It’s not your fault,” he said simply, reflexively. 

You sighed, gently shaking your head; which earned another scolding glare from him as he steadied you. “It’s entirely my fault. I fucked up big time, and we both know it.” 

“Look, it was an accident,” he urged, wiping away the remnants of the shave one last time. “Assigning blame isn’t going to change anything.” 

“Why aren’t you mad at me? You should be furious! I practically ruined your life,” you pressed on frantically. 

“Okay, that’s being dramatic,” he chided. “Yeah, this isn't an ideal situation. Though weirdly, it’s also not the weirdest situation I’ve been in. And you know what? It’s not even the first time I’ve been in this situation! Remember when that kid switched bodies with me? Trust me, you’re a much better person to be switched with.” 

“Yeah, I remember,” you said, chuckling softly. “Still, I’m really sorry.” 

“I know you are,” he said softly. “I also know you’ll find a way to fix this.” 

“You really believe that?” you asked hesitantly. 

“Yeah,” he said with a nod. “‘Cause it’s you, and I’ll always have faith in you. You didn’t mean for this to happen, [Y/N]. It’s okay.” 

“No, it-” you started to argue, but he cut you off. 

“Stop,” he urged softly. “I’m not mad at you, okay? Maybe I was at first, but I’m not anymore.” 

“Promise?” you asked meekly. 

“I promise,” he said firmly.

“Okay,” you relented, not fully believing him but not wanting to push the topic any further. 

“Okay,” he repeated, gently wiping away one of your stray tears. 

“Maybe we should just tell Dean,” you suggested hesitantly. 

“Tell me what?” Dean’s voice suddenly cut through the room.

The two of you jumped, and you moved away from the counter as calmly as you could, knowing how the predicament you were in must look to him.

You turned to the doorway and came face to face with Dean staring intently at the two of you, his mind working into an overdrive as he tried to make sense of the scene he just walked in on. 

“Dean, I- when did you get back?” you asked nervously. 

“Tell me what?” he asked again, ignoring your question. 

You and Sam were both at a loss. You spent so much time trying to figure this whole thing out, yet neither of you thought to come up with some kind of story should you be cornered like this. 

“[Y/N]?” Dean asked softly, looking over to where he thought you sat on the counter. 

The look of hurt and confusion that flashed over his face and the waver in his voice all but sent a fresh wave of tears washing over you. 

Dean waited impatiently a few moments before shaking his head with a scoff. “Whatever, food’s in the kitchen.”

Before anyone could say anything else, he turned on his heel and left, leaving you and Sam stunned in his wake. 

The dynamic between the three of you began shifting even more ever since that night, and you could feel Dean slipping further and further away from you with each passing day. 

You noticed it every time Dean would catch you and Sam huddled up and whispering low; when he would stand and stare before leaving with a quiet grumble of forgetting why he was there. 

You noticed it when he started spending more time in his room or tinkering with Baby in the garage; finding any and every excuse possible to spend time outside of the bunker and away from you and Sam. 

You and Sam tried to ignore it, promised yourselves that you’d explain everything once you managed to set things right - or, if you discovered you were over your heads and couldn’t fix everything. 

The thing you hated most about this whole thing was that it was becoming easier and easier to lie to Dean; and the worst part about that was not knowing whether you and Sam really became more convincing, or if Dean just didn’t care enough to question you anymore. 

Which is exactly why you found yourself sitting in the war room, waiting for Dean to make his way through to the kitchen, in order to try and talk things out. 

You weren’t expecting him to appear with one duffle bag over his shoulder and another by his side - and he wasn’t expecting to see you, either. 

“Didn’t think you’d be up,” he declared after a moment of hesitation, continuing on his path to the stairs. 

“Where the hell are you going?” you asked hotly, standing from your seat. 

Dean sighed, throwing his head back in frustration as he considered his response. “Donna’s cabin.” 

“What? Why?” you asked, eyebrows drawing together with confusion. 

“I can’t do it anymore,” he said tiredly. “I just can’t, okay?” 

“Do what?” you asked wearily, taking a tentative step towards him. “What are you talking about, Dean?” you pressed, feeling your chest tighten with the rising nerves and fear.

“Don’t do that,” he demanded, shaking his head. “Don’t play coy. You think I don’t know what’s been going on around here?” 

“What-... what’s been going on?” you asked curiously. “The hell are you talking about?”

You weren’t sure if or when he figured out what happened, and you also weren’t sure why it would make him feel the need to leave. 

“I’m talking about you and [Y/N]!” he shouted, throwing his bags down and stepping towards you. 

“Me and [Y/N]?” you wondered, taking a nervous step backwards. 

“I’m not an idiot, okay?” he spat, his jaw ticking. “You think I haven’t noticed? Think I couldn’t figure it out?” 

“Okay, look,” you began, holding out your hands defensively. “I can explain.” 

Dean let out a humourless laugh, running a hand over his mouth before glaring at you once more. “Explain,” he echoed with a chuckle of disbelief. “Don’t waste your breath.”

“Why are you so pissed off about this?” you asked in bewilderment. “I mean, I know we kept it from you, but we figure it’d be easier for you.” 

“Easier for me?” he repeated, voice raising. “What about this entire situation makes you think it’d be easy for me?”

“Well because it-... I mean it doesn’t really affect you, Dean,” you replied, unsure of your own words. 

“It doesn’t affect me?” he repeated with perplexion. “Of course it affects me! You know how I feel about her!” he exclaimed, taking yet another step forward. 

“What?” you questioned, thrown off by his response. 

“Don’t “what” me,” he snapped. “I want to be happy for you, Sammy. I really do, but I just-... I don’t think I ever can be.” 

“Okay, I-... I am so lost,” you admitted.

“You stole my girl, Sam!” Dean all but screamed. “You know that I love her. You know I was gonna tell her, and you know how much I want to spend whatever’s left of my god forsaken life with her! You swore you didn’t feel that way about her. You- I mean how to hell could you do this to me, Sammy? I can’t even stand to look at you anymore.” 

You remained silent, staring at him in shock and confusion for what felt like hours. Your mouth opened and closed a few times as you tried to formulate a response, but all that came out was a broken whisper of his name. 

“Don’t sweat it, Sammy. Not like I can blame you for falling for her, right? I mean hey, I sure did,” he sassed, smiling sarcastically. “Not surprised she chose you, either. She deserves someone better than me. But I’m not sticking around anymore to see it first hand.” 

You watched in stunned silence as he turned to gather his bags, trying and failing to think of anything to say. What the hell were you supposed to do? The man of your dreams just admitted he felt the exact same way, and you were trapped in his brother's body. Even if you told him the truth right now, would he even believe you? 

“Do me one favour, though,” Dean said from the foot of the stairs, effectively pulling you from your thoughts. “Don’t tell [Y/N]. Don’t tell her anything. I’ll think of something to tell her during the drive and call her tomorrow.” 

“Dean-” you finally began to protest, only to go unheard by him as he started up the steps. 

“Later, Sammy,” he announced with finality, disappearing out of the bunker. 

“You have got to be kidding me. I mean honestly woman, how stupid can you be?” Rowena’s voice rang through the war room as she made her arrival known to you and Sam.

“Did you not get in enough insults over the phone?” you asked in exasperation, not bothering to move from your spot in the library as you watched her approach.  

“I don’t think there are enough insults for this situation, dear,” she said sweetly, smiling innocently. 

“Either be helpful or leave, Rowena,” you replied solemnly. 

It had been three days since Dean left, and over two weeks since the whole debacle happened. You had never been more determined to find a solution, nor had you ever felt more defeated. 

“Alright, fine. No need to be cranky,” Rowena tsked, taking a seat across from you. “Go on, then. Walk me through everything.” 

“Fine,” you sighed, steadying yourself before recounting the situation. 

“Let me get this straight,” Rowena declared, holding a hand up. “You actually let him leave? After what he said?” 

“Is that seriously your only take away from this?” you asked angrily, glaring at her. 

“It’s not my only take away, but it’s certainly a big one,” she said calmly, accompanied by a half shrug. “This is the spell you used?” she asked, looking over the book you gave her during your explanation. 

“Yeah, that’s the one,” you confirmed sheepishly. 

“Well, don’t you worry. We’ll have you and Samuel right as rain in no time, dear,” she comforted, eyes never leaving the pages in front of her.

It took another four days, but ‘No time’ finally came. You were practically itching to get this all over and done with as the three of you finished setting everything up. You didn’t even care about being in your own skin again, all you cared about at this point was getting Dean back in your life. He did everything possible to avoid talking to you or Sam each time either of you tried contacting him, and you were missing him more and more with each passing hour.

“That should do it,” Rowena declared, snapping you back to attention. “You know what you need to do?” 

“Yes,” you said quickly, urging her out of the room; the last thing you needed was for her to be around and have the spell go wrong again, resulting in all three of you being scrambled around. 

“Don’t rush it!” she cautioned. “I know you want him back, but you need to take this slowly. You can’t afford another screw up!” 

Her statement made you pause, and you knew she was right. “Go slow, I got it,” you confirmed, shutting her out of the room. 

“Ready?” Sam asked, looking at you eagerly; albeit nervous beyond belief. 

“More than ever,” you declared, taking your place at the altar. 

You began the spell, doing everything slowly and precisely so there was no room for error. Once you had finished, however, nothing had happened. You were just about ready to scream with all the emotions boiling inside of you when suddenly the bowl before you exploded in a cloud of yellow, sending both you and Sam flying. 

“Oh, god,” you groaned, holding a hand to your head as your ears rang. “This again?” you wondered aloud.

“Did it even work?” Sam croaked out.

“I don’t know,” you admitted quietly. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” he said through a fit of coughs. “You?”

“I think so,” you declared, sitting up. It was at that exact moment you realized what happened. “Sam?” you asked breathlessly. 

“Yeah?” he questioned, sitting up himself. “Wait-” 

“I’m-” you began, unable to finish as you stared at your hands; your own hands.

“You’re….” Sam tried, staring at you then down at his body; his very own body.

“You’re you!” you exclaimed in glee, pointing at him.

“You’re you!” he echoed, scrambling to stand.

You followed suit, taking a moment to steady yourself on your own feet. “I need to go,” you announced, not giving him time to reply before you ran out of the room. 

“You’re welcome!” Rowena called after you, watching you run by. 

“Thank you!” you called back absently, hurrying out to your car. 

The drive took longer than ever before; at least, it felt like it did. You spent the whole time trying to think of what to say, of how to explain, but nothing seemed right. Nothing seemed like enough. All you could hope for was that everything would magically come to you once you stood before him. 

If he ever decided to open the goddamn door. 

“Dammit, Dean! Open the fucking door before I break it down!” you yelled, banging your hand against the wood for the upteenth time. 

You opened your mouth to yell once more, but before you could even make a sound a voice boomed out from behind you. “What are you doing here?” 

You turned with a start, coming face to face with Dean as he stood at the bottom of the steps. “I came to talk to you,” you said simply, taking a few steps forward. 

He quickly averted his gaze, focusing on wiping the grease from his hands with the rag he held. “Coulda just called,” he countered gruffly. 

“Why?” you asked, laughing dryly. “You’d just ignore my calls.” 

He stilled his ministrations for a moment before shrugging, glancing back up at you. “Maybe ‘cause we got nothing to talk about.” 

“Dean-” you tried to argue, though you stopped short when he rolled his eyes and turned away from you. 

“Look, I know all about you and Sam, okay?” he huffed, storming across the drive and to where Baby was parked, hood still open for Dean to continue working on her.  

“Oh, for god’s sake, Dean. There is no me and Sam!” you exclaimed with a groan, quickly following behind him. 

“Whatever you say, sweetheart,” he placated, picking up his previously abandoned ratchet. 

“Just listen to me,” you pleaded, watching his face scrunch with a mix of frustration and concentration as he dove back into his work. 

“You don’t need to explain,” he said distractedly. “I get it. He’s good for you. I just-... you didn’t need to hide it, [Y/N/N]. I thought we were closer than that.” 

“We are! That’s not what we were hiding, just let me explain!” you said desperately, stepping closer to him. 

“You can quit the act, okay?” he snapped, stopping what he was doing as he stood up, finally turning to look at you. “I have eyes, I saw what-” 

“Sam and I fucking switched bodies!” you yelled over him, effectively rendering him speechless. “Alright? When you walked in on us doing that spell the other week… it went wrong, Dean. Sam and I, we just-... we switched!”

“You… switched bodies?” he asked slowly, scepticism starting to present itself on his face as he processed what you said.

“Yes,” you confirmed softly. ”I was Sam, Sam was me.”

He nodded, shifting uncomfortably as he anxiously tapped his fingers on Baby’s exterior. “Well, isn’t that just a great story,” he muttered, leaning under the hood once more. 

“It’s not a story,” you argued desperately. “It’s what happened.” 

“Then why not tell me?” he challenged, not missing a beat. 

“Because,” you began lamely. “You always have so much on your plate, Dean. We didn’t want to shove this stupid thing on you and add to your worries.” 

“So you lied to me for my own good?” he asked harshly, gaze not straying from his hands as he worked. 

“We didn’t lie, we just-”

“Avoided the truth,” he finished for you. “Same thing, if you ask me.”

“We thought it was for the best,” you admitted quietly. 

“Oh, yeah,” he agreed sarcastically, throwing his tools down. “Sneaking around, icing me out. Definitely for my best interest, huh?” 

“Dean, please,” you pleaded. “I didn’t come here to fight with you.” 

“Then why did you come, [Y/N]?” he shouted, shutting Baby’s hood. “What did you think was gonna happen here?” 

“Well, I thought-... I just-... I wanted to clear the air,” you stammered. “I wanted to explain.” 

“Well, you explained,” he muttered, busying himself with tidying his mess. 

You watched him silently for a few moments, trying to think of your next move. You decided to ask the question that’s been on your mind since he left: “Were you really planning on actually telling me one day?” 

He let out an irritated sigh, picking up his belongings and moving around to the trunk. “What are you talking about?” 

“Were you really gonna tell me?” you repeated, quickly taking a few steps to meet him at the trunk.  

“Tell you what?” he huffed, irritation oozing off of him as he slammed the toolbox down. 

“How you feel!” you blurted out, taking yet another step towards him. 

“The hell are you talking about?” he questioned, feigning cluelessness. Though the way his body stiffened as he idly messed with the stuff in the trunk betrayed him; he knew what you meant.  

“You know exactly what I’m talking about,” you replied softly. “Were you?” 

“I don’t know!” he huffed, shutting the trunk. “Maybe,” he added, walking away from you once more. 

“You said-” 

“I know what I said!” he interrupted, clearly irritated. “Can we not relive it? I don’t want to talk about this.” 

“Well I do!” you argued, exasperated. “Why the fuck else do you think I’m here, Dean?”

“To clear the air,” he sneered, repeating your earlier words as he made his way back to the cabin. 

“To tell you I love you!” you shouted after him, stopping him in his tracks. “I didn’t choose Sam. How can I choose him when I’ve loved you for years? How can I choose him when my entire world stopped spinning the day you shut me out of your life all those years ago? How can I choose him when I didn’t feel like I could breathe until you finally spoke to me again? How can I choose him, when having to watch you walk away the other day was the most terrifying thing I had to do, because I didn’t know if I’d ever get you back this time? You can put us in any timeline, in any universe, or in any realm, and I will always choose you. I love you.”

You were met with silence for entirely too long, and you watched the unsteady rise and fall of his shoulders as he kept his back to you, standing tense as ever with his head down low. 

“Will you just look at me, please?” you pleaded shakily.

As soon as the words left your mouth he spun on his heel and marched towards you, closing the distance between you two in seconds. He grabbed your face in his hands, letting a moment of hesitation pass by before crashing his lips against yours. It was harsh yet delicate, slow but needy. It was gentle and all consuming. His hands strayed from your face, one sweeping to the back of your head to hold you steady while the other slipped to your waist and pulled you close. Your hands found themselves gliding up his arms, resting on the base of his neck for a moment before settling on his cheeks. 

When the two of you finally pulled away to catch your breath, it seemed like neither of you wanted to go too far; foreheads pressed together and noses brushing as you both giggled quietly, shy smiles on your swollen lips. 

You stood like that for a few minutes, basking in each other's presence in ways you never could before, until your gentle whisper cut through the silence: “Please come home, Dean.” 

“My sweet girl,” he said quietly, planting a delicate kiss to your forehead before completely wrapping you up in his arms, holding you closer than ever. “I am home.”

tagging: @winharry

dividers by @firefly-graphics and @saradika

[colorlessjay]

Here's a Destiel prompt based on a doodle I did but also Chappell Roan:

Dean Winchester is your average picture perfect American boy. Tall, blonde, football team quarterback, Kansas sweetheart with a little brother he's way too over protective of, and a southern drawl he swears he doesn't exaggerate. He's brash and rude, his confidence making him an easy target for over excited crowds and the occasion fights. The girls at school want him when he gives them a wink and a smile, and most guys envy him. Wish they were him.

But Dean had his eyes set on the unattainable

Castiel Novak. the Student body vice president who seems to fly through school like he was above it all. But not in the obnoxious 'I'm better than you' way in most teen movies. No, Castiel radiates an energy. One of pure intent, kindness, and joy that makes people fall for his hypnotic blue eyes

People like Dean, Castiel's best friend, and the guy he confides in more often than not

And Dean hates that he does. Because Castiel,for all his intelligence, was as clueless as they come

So whenever Castiel asks him to wingman for him

It's months worth of heartache and fake smiles as he watches Castiel pull every trick Dean taught him

Because Dean Winchester? He's the practice boy

-----

Castiel, wanting to the full college experience, asks his best friend Dean to help on how to date/seduce girls (Since Dean is really good at it and has been in relationships before. But only to distract from his massive crush on Cas)

And Dean, being a good friend, walks Cas through every step regardless of how much it hurts to flirt with Cas, only for Cas to use those same words and actions on girls

And one day, Cas asks Dean how to kiss. If he'll be a good kisser. Castiel's self conscious about it. Self deprecating and confused cause his lips are always chapped and his hair always a mess. And he's scared he won't close his eyes

And Dean just goes on about how those can be good things. How they're attractive. Blurting out stuff he personally feels about kissing Cas

"Your hair's perfect for kissing, short and soft and perfect to hold"

"If she doesn't like your eyes when you kiss, then she's blind as a bat!"

"Your lips look chapped but I'll bet my Baby they're as soft as the look you get when you see a bee"

"hell! Given the chance, I'd kiss you and I'd be the one left breathless"

And of course, they practice kissing

And Dean was right. It leaves him breathless

Leaves him heartbroken too when he finds Cas kissing Meg the same way a week later

-------

"I can't take it anymore, Cas! I'm so fucking tired of being your goddamn practice dummy!" Dean turns around, finally facing Castiel after he storming off "Yeah, I asked for it. It was fucking stupid to even suggest it, but you can't be so goddamn blind to not see that everything I've said, everything I've taught you, was more then just a shitty flirting lesson to me!"

Castiel stops in his chase, staring at Dean wide eyed as the rain picks up

Dean powers on, pacing and flailing "Fuck me for thinking the way you kissed me meant something then just practice" he laughs humorlessly then lets out a sob

"Fuck, Cas…" Dean looks up. his hand coming down to clutch at his wet shirt. Tears and rain running down his face "It meant something to me… you saying it otherwise doesn't change that… it just makes it hurt"

Castiel stared wide eyed and frozen. His mind flashes back to every interaction, every little touch, every word said between them

And all he could muster up was

"Dean…"

[wendichester]

₊˚⊹ ᰔ happier²,

summary. sam's been in love with you for far too long for it to still be a secret!

pairing. sam winchester x reader ft. dean winchester ; angsty!

wordcount. 1051

notes. @hauntedrose555 @mostlymarvelgirl @daryls-luvrr ya'll encouraged this nonsense. don't come after me for writing this 😳

⋆.˚ ★— read part 1

Dean isn't looking for trouble. Really. And he doesn't mean to snoop. He just wants the damn book. It’s gotta be somewhere in the bunker.

The three of you had been going through lore all week for this case, and Dean swears he saw Sam with it last. So, when he finds himself in front of Sam’s half-open bedroom door, he doesn’t think twice before stepping inside.

His eyes skim over the desk first, scanning through the mess of papers and thick books. No luck. Huffing, he crouches to check the floor. Nothing. Then he spots it, half-buried under a stack of old notes—faded leather binding, gold lettering along the spine.

Bingo.

But as Dean grabs the book, his fingers brush against something else. A journal. Sam’s journal.

He doesn’t mean to look. He shouldn’t. He knows that. But the damn thing is open, and his name—your name—catches his eye.

Dean tells himself it’s just for a second. Just one glance. But the words jump out at him like a punch to the gut.

"She would be so much happier with me."

His stomach drops.

“What the hell?” he mutters under his breath, flipping back a page, then another. It’s all there. The lingering looks. The inside jokes. The little moments that Sam thinks mean something more. Pages filled with words Dean doesn’t want to read, because they confirm what his gut has been telling him for a while now.

Sam’s in love with you.

A sharp exhale sounds from the doorway.

“The hell are you doing?”

Dean looks up to find Sam standing there, shoulders tense, expression instantly guarded as he sees his journal in Dean’s hands.

“Oh, I don’t know,” Dean drawls, flipping the book shut. His jaw clenches. “Maybe just finding out my brother’s been in love with my girlfriend behind my back.”

Sam’s face darkens. “Give me that.”

Dean tosses the journal onto the desk, standing up. “I don’t need to read more, Sammy. That one sentence told me everything.” He lets out a humorless chuckle, shaking his head. “Jesus Christ. How long?”

Sam’s lips press into a thin line. “Dean—”

“How. Long.”

Sam’s nostrils flare as he exhales. “It doesn’t matter.”

Dean scoffs, stepping closer. “Doesn’t matter? Doesn’t matter? You don’t think it matters that my own brother’s been sneaking around behind my back, watching my girl like—”

“I haven’t done anything,” Sam cuts in, his voice sharp. “You’re acting like I betrayed you, but I haven’t.”

Dean lets out a bitter laugh. “Oh, so I should be grateful? You’ve just been sitting on this, what, for months? Years? Jesus, Sam.”

Sam’s jaw tightens, a flicker of something unreadable in his eyes. “You had no right to read my journal.”

Dean lets out a dry, humorless chuckle. “Oh, that’s rich. That’s what you’re focusing on? I invaded your privacy? I had all rights!” He shakes his head, stepping closer. “You know what, maybe if you weren’t writing about how my girlfriend should be with you, I wouldn’t have had to find out this way.”

“You shouldn’t have found out at all,” Sam snaps, voice low, dangerous.

Dean freezes.

And then it clicks.

“You weren’t gonna say a damn thing, were you?” Dean’s voice drops, something cold settling in his chest. “You were just gonna sit on this forever. Hope one day she woke up and realized she was in the wrong bed?”

Sam doesn’t answer.

That’s all the confirmation Dean needs.

Something ugly twists in his chest. He’s so caught up in it that he doesn’t hear the footsteps in the hall. Doesn’t realize you’re there until—

“What’s going on?”

Both of them snap their heads toward you.

You stand frozen in the doorway, brows furrowed in confusion. The tension in the room is thick enough to choke on.

Dean glances at Sam, expecting him to fold, to back off now that you’re here. But Sam doesn’t. His hands are clenched into fists at his sides, his jaw tight, his eyes—

His eyes are already on you.

Something inside Dean cracks.

“Dean?” you try again, stepping forward slightly. “What’s happening?”

Dean lets out a slow breath, eyes flicking between you and his brother. He should lie. Brush it off. Keep the peace.

But he can’t.

“Ask Sam,” he says flatly. “Seems like he’s got a lot on his mind.”

Your brows pull together in confusion, gaze shifting to Sam. He hesitates, but then Dean sees it—the moment he decides to just go for it.

“I love you,” Sam blurts out.

The silence is deafening.

Your lips part slightly, eyes going wide. “What?”

Dean stares at Sam like he’s lost his mind. “Jesus Christ, dude.”

“I love you,” Sam says again, firmer this time, gaze locked on you. “I have for a long time.”

Dean runs a hand down his face, letting out a sharp breath. “Son of a bitch.”

You’re still frozen, staring at Sam like he’s just shattered the ground beneath you. “Sam, I—”

“I wasn’t going to say anything,” Sam continues, his voice raw, desperate. “But Dean found out, and now—” He swallows hard. “Now I can’t just keep pretending.”

Dean steps forward, his voice low and heated. “You can’t?” His lips curl in something that isn’t quite a smirk. “Let me get this straight, Sammy. You’ve been in love with my girl—my girl—for who knows how long, and now that you got caught, you think you get to lay it all out there? What, you think she’s just gonna drop everything and run into your arms?”

Sam’s expression hardens. “That’s not—”

“Because she’s with me,” Dean bites out. “She chose me.”

Sam’s breathing is heavy, his hands curled into fists at his sides. He doesn’t look at Dean. He only looks at you.

“Yeah,” he says quietly. “She did.”

And then he walks out.

You’re left standing there, stunned into silence.

Dean’s chest rises and falls, adrenaline still coursing through his veins. He glances at you, his heart hammering against his ribs.

“Are you—” He exhales sharply. “Are you in love with him?”

Your lips part, but no sound comes out.

Dean swallows hard. “Jesus,” he mutters, raking a hand through his hair. He shakes his head, lets out a bitter chuckle, and then turns to leave.

And just like that, you’re alone.

⋆.˚ ★— read sam’s ending or dean's ending

want be part of the taglist.ᐣ ⋆.˚ ★— @iloveeveryoneyoureamazing ⋆ @deans-daydream ⋆ @ariasong11 ⋆ @ambiguous-avery ⋆ @krabog ⋆ @itsdearapril ⋆ @whereiwakewarm ⋆ @nymphet-quenn ⋆ @bluemerakis ⋆ @titsout4jackles ⋆ @lyarr24 ⋆ @hauntedrose555 ⋆ @chevroletdean ⋆ @dulcescorderitas ⋆ @blackmarketfruitrollups ⋆ @impala67rollingthroughtown ⋆ @rulesareshadesofgrey ⋆ @nervoussystemss ⋆ @daryls-luvrr ⋆ @defnot-svnshine ⋆ @sunnyteume ⋆ @drakelover78 ⋆ @angelblqde ⋆ @mostlymarvelgirl ⋆ @whisperingdaze ⋆ @bossyblondie ⋆ @lieutenantchaos ⋆ @iluvnewtie ⋆ @dyhsversion ⋆ @funkenniffler

[super-clearlysaltybouquet]

The One With the Blouse (1/2)

Part 1/2

Wolfstar x reader      Sirius Black x reader      Remus Lupin x reader      Sirius Black x Remus Lupin      Sirius Black x reader x Remus Lupin 

Established couple (throuple)

Summary: Reader cares about how people see her, tensions boil over when the group get ready for a Gryffindor party

Warnings:

Angst (argument)

Hurt (and minimal comfort…)

Lots of insecurity, feeling disposable in a relationship

my first fic ever so please be kind…will potentially write a part 2 if people like this one (feedback is welcomed)

word count: 1.8k

Sirius looks so pretty in his white blouse. The silk brings out his dark hair perfectly, and the fabrics warm undertones complimented his pale skin. “Is all the fuss really necessary?” Sirius asked, bothering with the bow neckline of the blouse.

“You want to look good, don’t you?” You respond stiffly, tying, and re-tying the bow, unsatisfied with how it sits around his neck. 

“You forgot to Iron it.”, you say, Tying, untying, re-tying. Completely zeroed in.

“Does it really matter?” Sirius responds, completely exasperated.

Remus watches on from the armchair by his bed. It’s standard routine at this point. Before every common room party, Remus is ready by dinner - always a plain top and trousers, today a white T-shirt with blue jeans. “Very James Dean”, Sirius had said. He's been sitting there entirely patient on the same armchair for the past two hours, reading only half attentively as you and Sirius get ready.

“Sweetheart, the bow is fine”, Remus advises gently. He’s not in a rush, but he can tell that as much as you usually enjoy it, today the up-doing process is stressing you out. 

“No..no, not yet”, you respond absentmindedly, still fixated on Sirius’s blouse. 

Tying, untying, re-tying the bow. Sirius huffs out a humourless laugh and takes a quick step back turning completely away from you. Your hands are still held up, frozen where his neck would be. Your eyebrows furrow, and Remus looks up from his book.

“It’s the same every bloody time!”, Sirius suddenly cries out, you’re completely taken aback. 

“Sirius”, Remus warns.

“Godric, Forgive me! I didn’t iron my fucking blouse!”, he feigns, “You’re suffocated me” he finishes, coldly, glaring daggers straight through you. He’s still so beautiful, with his ebony hair hanging long and dark over his face, but the pit in your stomach is somehow darker. 

Remus is stood to his full height now, book abandoned. “You’re out of line”, his anger still somehow contained. And Sirius has the gall to let out a laugh. The party in the common room seems to have started. You can hear music and laughing below the bluestone floors. You try and divert your focus to that lively sound and take it off the painful bob in your throat. 

“I’m out of line? You’re kidding Moony”, Sirius laughs. his lack of sincerity is incredibly unnerving. “The bitch is vapid”, and your heart nearly stops, you can feel the sick climbing up your throat. Remus is seething, but you’re not sure he knows exactly what to say anyway. 

“What?”, is all you can muster hopelessly. 

Sirius takes a step towards you, and you all seem to move at once. You take one step back at the same time Remus steps between you and the shorter boy.

“Cut it out Sirius”, Remus warns, towering above the both of you with his height, and his domineering demeanour. But Sirius is undeterred.

“You. are. entirely. vapid”, he repeats, now looking over at you past Remus’s shoulder. “you’re just like my mother” he whispers to himself, like some sort of secret revelation, and you just want it all to end. “Completely superficial, shallow, and entirely vapid” he seethes, before turning back away from you again, taking in a slow deep breath. You think you can hear his heart beating nearly just as quick as yours.

Sirius’s accusation sits inside you. You can’t deny that you do like nice things. Your jewellery was all made custom, you shopped at the best boutiques on Diagon Alley, and you kept up appearances. 

Your parents have always been devastatingly high-achieving. You were no stranger to the odd charity gala, or pureblood ball. So, for you that meant endless expectations to live up to. Making sure clothes were ironed, hair was done right and shoes were all polished was just second nature. You pay attention to these things because you have to. Your label as a “washed-up-witch” in Witch Weekly’s coverage of the Macmillan ball in 72 serves as a reminder. Filtered through pre-teen public humiliation, these things stick. As deflated as you felt regarding Sirius’s outburst, you could feel an equal anger bubbling just below the surface. 

“You did not just compare me to your draconian fanatic of a mother”, is the first thing that leaves your lips. Your eyes are wide, and that anger is bubbling over. Yet, your voice is so level that you think you just might have the upper hand. You can tell that Sirius was expecting you to respond with equal fervour, he wanted a fight, and your composure has caught him off guard. You think for a second, maybe he didn’t even mean to hurt you. 

Remus would back you up if you needed him to, but he knows you really don’t need him to. You’d like to say your piece, and he gives your hand a gentle squeeze in support.

“Just because you can afford to reject tradition and expectation doesn’t mean we all have that luxury” you seethe.

Sirius has always had the reputation of a Black Sheep, but it made him shine nevertheless. Every act of rebellion on his part was praised and admired by your peers. But as a woman in the 70s, and the only child in a pureblood family - you were often subject to incomparable scrutiny.

“Maybe I’m too much sometimes” your voice breaks, and the tears have started to flow of their own accord now. Rushing like silent broken faucets, or shower heads. Sirius’s eyes flash with regret. You look up at the ceiling to blink them back, and Remus gives your hand another squeeze, silently shaking his head and biting his tongue. He’s glaring at Sirius with a healthy mixture of disappointment, and something akin to fury.

“I can’t help but care about how I look”, you whisper to no one in particular, “This is usually fun, getting dressed up together”, and Sirius looks completely in despair. That almost cocky, goading aura that surrounded him has been evaporated by your undeniable heartbreak. He’s fidgeting with the hem of the blouse now, and his fingers move hesitantly up to his neckline, where your hands sat only moments ago. He’s palming at the skin there, as it slowly turns pink from the pressure.

“I’m only fussy because I care, Sirius”, you say wavering, lip quivering as your crying takes both your eyes, and your voice. He can’t look you in the eye.

The subtext isn’t missed by either of the boys, you care because you love them. You enjoy dressing them up because you want them to look good and enjoy themselves. To protect them from any anxiety associated with landing on a worst dressed list, even informally among the Gryffindor party-goers three flood below.

You look down at your disco boots, perfect stockings and shift dress. It all feels so silly now, wearing the outfit you picked out three days in advance. You want to crawl out of your skin, and you really don’t feel like dancing. Sirius is still palming at his collarbones, staring with dazed and shallow eyes at his feet and the floor below them. You can’t see his face properly behind his hair, but you know him well enough to think he might be crying too. “I hope you’re proud of yourself Black” Remus chimes in, and you wince at the use of that last name. Remus’s hand rubs small circles around the back of your neck, you can't help but want his hot skin off you.

“I-I didn’t-”, Sirius starts, but you walk from the room with Remus quick at your heels before he can finish. 

The stairway down to the common room is empty, with the party building up below. It’s just you and Remus standing still on the stairs. “You know he didn’t mean that”, Remus says kindly, more for your sake than Sirius’s. He’s brushing the tears from your cheeks with his thumbs, and gently pushing the hair back from around your face. “He gets like this when he’s stressed, it’s not your fault”, he reassures, kissing the top of your head. 

“I stressed him, I should have just let him be”, you whisper, and Remus is silent. This is the first big fight you've had as a couple. You’re a slightly more recent addition to their pairing. Quips and little disagreements have never been an issue. Even when you were all just friends these things were always resolved in a matter of minutes - or a few hours at most, but this is the first time a spat has ended in tears. 

You wonder if this was a mistake. You hope to Godric that Remus isn’t thinking it too. “I think I’ll go to bed”, you say finally, and you can feel him frown. 

“But you were so excited for tonight” he says sadly, more of an acknowledgment, you know he doesn’t mean to change your mind. You’re all hardly in the mood for a party.

“Maybe you and Sirius can still have some fun”, and you hope it doesn’t come across as bitter, but Remus’s solemn expression suggests otherwise, he lets it go.

“I’ll talk to him”, Remus assures, as he molds his body around yours in a much-needed embrace. Having him so close stirs a vulnerability within you, and you’re sure that if you could see his face, you wouldn't have the courage to open your mouth. 

“Maybe we were wrong”, you whisper into his chest, scared. 

Remus is burning 20 degrees hotter.

“What makes you say that?”, he responds measured, but the unease in his voice is palpable. He’s pulled back to look at your face now, and you fidget under his gaze. You give him a look to say without words, ‘are you kidding?’.

“But you know we love you”, Remus says desperately, more of a question than a statement, gripping the sides of your head firmly, so as to say, ‘please believe me’. You just shake your head between his hands. “You heard him, didn’t you?”, you start, “Completely superficial, shallow, and entirely vapid” you quote, and Remus cringes. 

“I’ll talk to him”, he repeats.

“No, no its okay, I’m going to bed”, you say, almost completely defeated by the tidal wave of self-doubt flooding through you.

“Dove-”

“How about you talk to him, and you two can decide what we do from here”, Remus looks heartbroken at the implication.

“Surely you don’t think we don’t want to see you anymore?”, There seems to be something sparkly welling in his eyes too, Godric, what a horrible evening.

You’re so in your head you hardly register Remus’s question. When he goes to pull you close again you take a small step back, your fingers still interlinked. The moonlight shines in through the stained glass, and the sparkle of salt in Remus’s eyes begins to fall. You can hear Diana Ross’s smooth voice echoing off the stone from downstairs, tonight could have gone so differently. You can’t help but feel you’ve caused all this. Whatever animosity Sirius seems to have been harbouring towards you, you’re sure it lives inside Remus too, even if you can’t see it yet. You turn around before you have the chance to look back.

“I’m going to bed”.

[wolvietxt]

ᰔ open arms !

↳ sam winchester x reader

it wasn’t that you didn’t feel things - you did. you just had years of practice keeping everything under control. life as a hunter didn’t exactly leave much room for emotional outbursts. when monsters were tearing through towns and lives were on the line, feelings had to take a back seat. the job came first, always.

sam had noticed it about you from the moment you joined him and dean. you were quiet, methodical, and calm in a way that bordered on eerie. even when you got hurt - a gash on your arm, a dislocated shoulder, or a nasty bruise - your reaction was always the same: a small wince followed by a flat, almost dismissive ouch before you patched yourself up and moved on. it wasn’t that you were unfriendly, just… hard to read. sam wasn’t used to people who didn’t wear their emotions on their sleeve, especially after spending his whole life with dean.

but that didn’t stop him from caring about you. in fact, it made him care more. he wanted to understand you, to know what went on behind your exterior. he could tell there was more to you, even if you didn’t let it show.

this week, though, sam could see the cracks starting to form. it had been a string of bad hunts, one after another, with barely enough time to breathe in between. you’d been thrown into a wall during the first one, narrowly avoiding a worse injury. then there was the nest of vamps that almost got the drop on you before sam stepped in. the worst, though, had been the spirit - a vengeful one that got under your skin in ways none of the others had. it had dragged up something personal, something you hadn’t shared with anyone. sam didn’t know what it was, but he’d seen the haunted look in your eyes when it taunted you, and it hadn’t gone away since.

“you okay?” sam asked for what felt like the tenth time that week. he was standing in the doorway to your room in the bunker, watching as you packed up your gear for the next hunt.

“i’m fine,” you said, your tone as flat as ever.

sam frowned. he leaned against the doorframe, crossing his arms. “you sure? you’ve been kind of quiet lately. more than usual, i mean.”

you paused for a fraction of a second before zipping your duffel shut. “i said i’m fine, sam.”

he didn’t push, but he didn’t leave, either. “all right,” he said finally, his voice soft. “but if you ever want to talk… you know i’m here, right?”

you didn’t answer, just slung your bag over your shoulder and walked past him.

it all came to a head three days later. the hunt had gone sideways, as they so often did. the werewolf you’d been tracking turned out to have a partner, and things had gotten messy. dean had taken a nasty hit to the ribs, and you’d ended up pinned under the second werewolf before sam managed to kill it. by the time you made it back to the bunker, everyone was bruised, battered, and dead on their feet.

sam was the first to notice something was wrong. while dean grumbled his way to the kitchen for a beer, you stood frozen in the middle of the war room, your hands clenched into fists at your sides. sam’s brow furrowed as he stepped closer, his voice gentle.

“hey. you okay?”

that was all it took. the question, so simple and so sincere, broke something inside you. your shoulders sagged, and before you could stop them, tears started streaming down your face. you turned away, trying to hide it, but sam was already there, his hand resting lightly on your arm.

“y/n,” he said softly, his voice filled with concern. “what’s wrong?”

“i’m fine,” you said automatically, but the words cracked and faltered as more tears fell. you shook your head, biting your lip to try and keep yourself together, but it was no use.

sam didn’t say anything, just guided you to the couch and sat you down. he crouched in front of you, his hands resting gently on your knees as he looked up at you, his hazel eyes warm and steady.

“it’s okay,” he said quietly. “whatever it is, it’s okay. you don’t have to hold it all in.”

that was when it all came spilling out. the frustration, the exhaustion, the guilt - everything you’d been bottling up for weeks, maybe months. you told him about how the hunts were starting to weigh on you, how you felt like you were always one step away from failing, from losing someone you cared about. you told him about the spirit and the things it had said, how it had dredged up memories you’d spent years trying to bury.

sam listened to it all without interrupting, his expression soft and understanding. when you finally ran out of words, he reached up and gently wiped a tear from your cheek with his thumb.

“you’ve been carrying all of that by yourself?” he asked, his voice filled with quiet disbelief.

you shrugged, looking down at your hands. “it’s my job. it’s what we do.”

“you don’t have to do it alone,” sam said firmly. “you’ve got me. you’ve got dean. we’re a team, y/n. you don’t have to keep everything bottled up.”

his words hit you harder than you expected, and fresh tears welled up in your eyes. before you could stop yourself, you reached out, gripping the front of his shirt like it was the only thing keeping you grounded. sam didn’t hesitate. he wrapped his arms around you, pulling you into a tight, comforting hug. his chin rested lightly on top of your head, and he murmured soothing words into your hair.

“you’re not alone, sweetheart,” he said again, his voice steady and reassuring. “i’ve got you.”

for the first time in a long time, you let yourself believe it. you let yourself sink into sam’s embrace, his warmth and strength a balm to your frayed nerves. his hands moved in slow, comforting patterns across your back, and you felt the tension in your body start to ease, bit by bit.

“thanks, sam,” you whispered, your voice muffled against his chest.

“anytime,” he replied, holding you a little tighter. “i mean it, y/n. anytime you need me, i’ll be here.”

and for the first time in what felt like forever, you let yourself believe that, too.

ᰔ sam winchester : @person-005, @iloveeveryoneyoureamazing

taglist form linked in pinned post :3

[jamevaa]

I love how the full brunt of Sam's rage runs completely frozen, as opposed to how Dean flares up. Everything is obsessively even and symmetrical. He practically made art out of his weapon storage, ffs. His guns are ordered by size, in addition to being mirrored.

Just look at that wall. He used the wall tiles as guides. The map is occupying equal sections of squares; papers are all level, with even margins. And it's over the bed, of all places, hard to access and where normally you'd hang artwork or something.

The books on the table are squared and aligned with the binder edges. The hand towel in the bathroom is folded in precise thirds and hung exactly in the middle. No housekeeping will have stepped into this room either, not with that wall, so we know that's all Sam.

The more I watch this scene, the more I applaud set design for nailing the details. It shows a fascinating opposition in their characters, but also how they need to be together to be human. When separated, it's like they each only have one half of the human condition, and they need to be together to be whole and functional.

[dreamlanderin]

You don't see me, Part 5 (Sam x reader)

Summary: You're in Green Hollow, Sam and Dean race to find you. Follows after part 4

Warnings: Swearing, blood, gore, horror, angst (Legit almost everything you can expect from a supernatural episode), spoilers if you squint?

Words: 10k (I got carried away)

You’d been following Bobby’s directions for hours, squinting at a hand-drawn map that seemed to make less sense the further you drove. The landmarks he’d mentioned—a crooked signpost, an old water tower—had been there, sure, but they looked… different. Faded, almost distorted, like you’d stepped into some parallel version of the real world.

Your phone was useless out here, the signal dead the moment you’d left the last highway. You’d tried restarting it, even waved it in the air in a desperate attempt to catch a bar, but nothing. Just static.

And then, after what felt like an eternity of wrong turns and second-guessing, you’d found it. The town. Green Hollow.

It didn’t look like much—a handful of buildings huddled together in the middle of nowhere, their facades weathered and crumbling like they’d been abandoned decades ago. But the lights were on in some of the windows, and you’d caught glimpses of movement behind curtains and doorframes. A general store, a diner, what might’ve been a post office—they were all there, clustered around a single stretch of road that barely qualified as Main Street.

At first, it had seemed… normal. Quiet, but normal. Until you stepped out of the bike.

That’s when you felt it. Eyes on you.

It wasn’t subtle, either. People weren’t sneaking glances from behind windows or casually looking up as they passed. No, they were staring. Full-on, unapologetic staring, like you were some kind of intruder who’d wandered where you didn’t belong. A woman sweeping the porch of the general store stopped mid-swipe, her hand frozen on the broom as her gaze locked onto you. A group of kids on bikes paused at the corner, their laughter dying as they turned in unison, their faces eerily blank. Even an old man sitting on a bench across the street was watching you, his eyes unblinking, his hands resting motionless on his cane.

You tried to shake it off, brushing past the unease with a shrug as you headed toward what looked like a diner. You’d figured maybe you could grab something to eat, ask a few questions, and figure out your next move. But when you pushed open the door, the bell jangling above your head, the low murmur of conversation inside died instantly.

Every head turned toward you. Every set of eyes.

You froze, the weight of their stares pressing against your skin like a physical thing. The room was small, just a handful of tables and booths, but it felt suffocating. The waitress behind the counter—young, with a crooked name tag that read Mary—stood frozen, the coffee pot in her hand hovering inches above a mug. The man she’d been serving, a burly guy in a flannel jacket, turned his head so slowly it was almost unnatural, his gaze pinning you in place.

You managed a tight smile, forcing your voice to stay steady. “Uh… is the kitchen still open?”

Mary didn’t answer. She just stared at you, her wide eyes flicking briefly to the other patrons before settling back on you.

“Okay,” you muttered under your breath, backing toward the door. “Guess not.”

No, just no. You left the diner without another word, the weight of their stares trailing you all the way to the sidewalk. The air outside felt colder now, heavier, and as you glanced back at the windows, you swore you saw the curtains twitch.

You tried the motel next, if you could even call it that. It was more of a rundown, single-story building with a flickering VACANCY sign hanging crooked above the office door. But when you stepped inside, the tiny reception desk was empty, the bell for service cracked and rusted. You’d called out, your voice echoing in the stillness, but no one came.

It wasn’t just the motel, either. The gas station was locked up, the lights inside dim. The general store had closed early, its door chained shut. Even the post office, which had looked abandoned at first glance, now seemed to hum faintly, like there was someone—or something—inside watching you.

You tried not to let it get to you, tried to tell yourself it was all in your head. Bobby had said there was just some strange weather or something you needed to check out, this didn’t feel like strange weather at all. Did he give you the right map?

 You’d gone back to your bike, luckily it was still there, a part of you thought it might be missing when you went back. It would have to do for now, maybe you should camp for the night? The headlights cast long, distorted shadows across the empty street, and in the rearview mirror, you thought you saw movement—a figure standing just beyond the edge of the light.

But when you turned to look, the street was empty.

By now the sun had long since dipped below the horizon, leaving the town cloaked in an uneasy twilight. The streets were deserted, silent except for the faint creak of an old weather vane spinning lazily in the cool evening breeze. You’d pulled your motorbike up to the edge of the road, flicking the kickstand down and cutting the engine. The silence that followed felt too heavy, like it had been waiting to swallow the sound whole.

Unfolding the crumpled map Bobby had given you, you tried to make sense of the faded lines and scrawled notes. The directions had been straightforward enough when you set out, but now the roads seemed to twist and blur together, leading nowhere. Your headlamp cast just enough light to make out the words, but even they felt wrong somehow, like the map was deliberately trying to confuse you. You were hungry and tired, you wish you’d taken some snackss when you’d stopped by the gas station.

You tried your phone again but nothing.

You shifted your weight on the bike, exhaling sharply to ground yourself. It was fine. You’d figure it out. You always did.

But then you noticed them.

At first, it was just a flicker of movement in the corner of your eye—quick, darting, like shadows stretching in the fading light. You brushed it off as nothing, focusing instead on the map. But the flickers kept coming, and when you finally glanced up, you saw them. The children.

They were standing in the dim glow of a streetlamp a little ways down the road, half-hidden in the shadows. Two, no, three of them. Their faces were blank, pale, and still, with eyes that seemed to glint unnaturally in the low light. You recognized them immediately—the same kids you’d seen earlier when you’d first rolled into town. They’d been playing by the fountain in the square, laughing and running circles around each other. But now? Now they weren’t laughing. They weren’t moving at all.

They were just staring at you.

You looked back down at the map, trying to shake the uneasy feeling creeping up your spine. It was fine. They were just kids. Probably curious about the stranger in town. Kids were like that, weren’t they? Still, your fingers tightened around the edge of the paper, crumpling it slightly as you forced yourself to focus.

The sound of small, deliberate footsteps broke the silence.

Your head snapped up, and you realized they were closer now. Still not speaking, still not smiling—just standing there, watching. One of them, a girl with long, stringy hair that clung to her face, tilted her head slightly, the movement unnervingly slow. Her eyes caught yours, and for a split second, you felt frozen in place, like she was daring you to look away.

You cleared your throat, gripping the handlebars of your bike. “Can I help you?” you asked, your voice steadier than you felt.

No answer. Just silence, thick and oppressive.

This wasn’t right, you thought. Your hand itched against your thigh, next to you knife.

The boy next to her—a gangly kid with a too-thin frame and a face that looked too sharp in the dim light—took a step forward. Then another. His bare feet scuffed against the pavement, the sound too loud in the stillness.

You didn’t wait for them to get closer.

Stuffing the map back into your jacket, you swung your leg over the bike and fumbled with the ignition. The engine roared to life, a comforting burst of sound that cut through the quiet. You glanced back toward the children, expecting them to scatter at the noise.

But they didn’t move.

If anything, they seemed closer now, their figures outlined by the glow of the streetlamp. The girl’s lips curved into something that might have been a smile.

Your heart thudded in your chest as you revved the engine, trying to drown out the rising panic. You weren’t scared of a few kids. You’d faced worse, far worse. This was nothing. Just your nerves playing tricks on you. Right?

You shouldn't have come here. Still, you couldn’t shake the feeling that their eyes were following you, even as you turned the bike and sped off down the road. The town blurred around you in streaks of dark shapes and flickering lights, but you couldn’t bring yourself to slow down, not until the uneasy weight pressing on your chest began to ease.

But as you glanced in the mirror, your stomach dropped.

They were still there. And their eyes, they were black now.

Demons. Where the hell did Bobby send you?

You twisted the throttle, the bike roaring beneath you as the town faded behind in a blur of dark shapes and faint streetlights. The air felt heavier with each mile, like you were dragging it with you, and the memory of those children’s unblinking stares clung to your mind like smoke. You told yourself to shake it off, to focus on the road ahead, you needed to leave, and now.

The first time you noticed them, you thought it was just your nerves. A man in a dark coat, standing under the yellow haze of a streetlamp, his head turning to follow as you passed. Then another—a woman in a pale dress, sitting on the steps of a house with her hands folded neatly in her lap. Her eyes locked onto you, they flashed black. Then another, and another. Figures standing in doorways, leaning out of windows, scattered across the streets like chess pieces on a board.

All of them were watching you.

Your chest tightened as you leaned into the bike, urging it faster, the engine growling as the wind whipped past your face. The cold bit at your cheeks, sharp and unforgiving, but it wasn’t enough to drown out the growing weight of their stares. They were everywhere now, appearing out of shadows and corners, their faces blank but their eyes piercing.

Your breath came faster, shallow and uneven, as you tried to push the bike harder, faster. The town blurred around you, the streets twisting and curling like the lines of Bobby’s map. You didn’t know where you were going—just away.

Then you saw her.

She was standing in the middle of the road, a small figure bathed in the pale glow of your headlamp. The white dress she wore was stark against the darkness, its hem brushing her bare ankles as the fabric swayed gently in the wind. Her hair, dark and loose, framed a face that was eerily calm, far too still for a child standing alone in the street at night.

You slammed the brakes, the tires screeching against the pavement as the bike skidded sideways. Your heart leapt into your throat as the handlebars jerked in your grip, and for one terrifying moment, you thought you’d lose control. The bike wobbled, then steadied, stopping just a few feet from where she stood.

The engine idled loudly, its growl the only sound breaking the eerie silence. Your chest heaved as you tried to catch your breath, your hands gripping the handlebars so tightly your knuckles ached. The girl didn’t move. She just stood there, her arms hanging loosely at her sides, her head tilted slightly to one side as she watched you.

You cut the engine, the sudden quiet almost deafening. The faint hum of the wind picked up again, carrying with it the distant creak of something—maybe a swing set or a weathered sign—moving in the darkness.

She stood, there unphased.

“Hello,” she said, her voice soft and clear, like the chime of a bell.

You swallowed hard, your throat dry as sandpaper. “Hey,” you managed, your voice rough and uncertain. “You… okay, kid?” You look at her, please be a kid.

She tilted her head further and gave a faint nod, her dark eyes glinting in the light of the bike. “I’ve been waiting, you know” she said simply.

“Waiting for what?” you asked, your pulse thundering in your ears.

She smiled then, small and faint, but it sent a chill crawling down your spine. “For you.”

The words hit you like a punch to the gut, and suddenly, the air felt colder. Heavier. You glanced around, your eyes darting to the shadows that lined the street, searching for… something. Someone. But the street was empty now, eerily so. The figures who’d been watching earlier were gone.

Just you and the girl.

Your hand instinctively moved toward the knife strapped to your thigh, your fingers brushing the hilt as your muscles tensed. “Who are you?” you asked, your voice sharper now, more demanding.

Her smile didn’t waver as her eyes flashed white.

“I’m Lilith”

✦────────────────────✦────────────────────✦

It had taken Sam and Dean almost a full day just to figure out which road to take. They’d driven through the area where Green Hollow was supposed to be—at least twice—but the town itself was nowhere to be found. The map didn’t make sense, the roads didn’t match up, and every turn seemed to lead them back to the same stretch of empty highway.

“This is ridiculous,” Dean muttered, gripping the steering wheel with frustration as the Impala rumbled down yet another unmarked road. “It’s like the damn town doesn’t exist.”

Sam, slouched in the passenger seat with a map unfolded across his lap, ran a hand through his hair and let out a sigh. “The map says it’s supposed to be right here,” he said, jabbing a finger at a point on the paper. “But it’s not. None of this lines up.”

Dean shot him a glare. “You think I don’t know that? We’ve been driving in circles for hours, Sam. Maybe Bobby gave us the wrong coordinates.”

Sam shook his head, his brow furrowed in thought. His knee bounced restlessly, his fingers gripping the edges of the map a little too tightly. “Bobby doesn’t make mistakes like that. If he says it’s here, it’s here. We’re just missing something.”

Dean scoffed. “Yeah, like a magic portal, maybe? ‘Cause I’m not seeing a single sign of this Green Hollow anywhere.”

Sam didn’t respond right away. His mind was a tangle of frustration and unease, not just from the endless backtracking but from the weight of the vial still tucked away in his duffel bag. He hadn’t touched it, not since he’d packed his bag back at the motel, but just knowing it was there was enough to keep his nerves frayed. He’d told himself it was just a precaution, but he knew better. The temptation was clawing at him, and the withdrawal only made it worse. His hands itched to fidget with something, but he forced them to stay steady, even as a cold sweat broke out at the back of his neck.

They’d eventually pulled off into a small, run-down gas station on the outskirts of a nearby town, the kind of place where time seemed to have stopped thirty years ago. The fluorescent lights flickered, and the old man behind the counter looked like he hadn’t seen a stranger in years.

“Green Hollow?” the man had repeated, squinting at them from behind the counter. “Why the hell would you wanna go there?”

Dean had leaned against the counter, his tone flat. “Long story. Can you tell us how to get there or not?”

The old man had given them a long, scrutinizing look before finally jerking his thumb toward the window. “You’ll need to take the dirt road about five miles west of here. Ain’t marked, but you’ll see it if you’re looking. Place is a mess of old trails and overgrowth, though, so good luck not getting lost.”

“Great,” Dean had muttered under his breath, already dreading the drive.

“You boys sure you wanna go poking around there?” the man had added, his voice lowering slightly. “Ain’t much left of Green Hollow. Place is washed up. Folks there don’t like strangers much.”

Sam had thanked the man and grabbed the directions, but the warning lingered in the back of his mind as they left the gas station and headed back to the Impala. Dean, of course, hadn’t cared. “Washed up or not,” he’d said, starting the car with a growl of the engine, “we’re finding this place.”

As they drove toward the dirt road, Sam leaned his head against the window, the vibration of the Impala’s engine doing little to calm the restless energy swirling inside him. His thoughts drifted—mostly to you. What was he even going to say when he saw you again? How could he explain himself, the mess he was in, and the way he’d let so much spiral out of control? Every time he thought about it, the words felt like sand slipping through his fingers.

Would you even want to hear him out? He wasn’t sure he’d deserve it, not after leaving things the way he had. But the thought of you out here, alone, in a place that didn’t even seem to want to be found—it made his chest tighten.

The dirt road wasn’t hard to spot once they knew where to look, but navigating it was another story. It was narrow, uneven, and riddled with potholes, winding through dense trees that seemed to swallow the light. The further they went, the more the air seemed to change—heavier, quieter, like the forest itself was holding its breath.

Dean had grumbled the whole way, swerving to avoid a particularly deep rut in the road. “This better be worth it,” he’d said, gripping the wheel tighter as the Impala jolted over another bump. “If we end up driving into some Deliverance situation, I’m blaming Bobby.”

Sam didn’t respond, his focus split between the map in his lap and the weight of his duffel bag at his feet. He hadn’t opened it, hadn’t even looked at it since they’d left, but the knowledge of what was inside felt like a lead weight. He’d brought the vial with him. He didn’t know why—it wasn’t like he planned on using it. But the thought of leaving it behind had felt like a risk he wasn’t ready to take. It wasn’t just the blood that haunted him, though. It was you.

His thoughts circled back to you, and he found himself gripping the map a little tighter. He couldn’t stop imagining the way your face might look when he showed up—surprised, maybe even angry. But there was also a small, selfish part of him that hoped you’d still look at him the way you used to, with that quiet trust that had always unnerved him a little because he wasn’t sure he’d ever deserved it.

Then they found it an old sign written in yellow: Green Hollow.

Dean slammed the car door shut, stepping out into the late afternoon sunlight, the Impala parked a little crooked near the curb of Green Hollow’s diner. The town, to both their surprise, had a pleasant hum to it. People walked casually along the sidewalks, chatting with neighbors or carrying groceries. A group of kids on bikes zipped past, laughing as they raced down the street.

“This doesn’t look like the kind of place someone vanishes into thin air,” Dean muttered, shielding his eyes against the sun as he scanned the square.

Sam climbed out more slowly, rolling his stiff shoulders. “Yeah,” he agreed, his voice distant. The heavy bag slung over his shoulder seemed to weigh more than just his belongings. He could feel the glass vial inside, nestled among his clothes, and it gnawed at him like an itch he couldn’t scratch.

Dean gave him a sideways glance as they started toward the diner. “You good?”

Sam nodded too quickly, his hand brushing against the strap of his bag. “I’m fine.”

Dean raised an eyebrow, his frown deepening as his gaze dropped to Sam’s hand. It was trembling slightly, the motion faint but noticeable.

“You look like crap, man,” Dean said bluntly, stopping short of the diner steps.

Sam ignored him, brushing past with a muttered, “I said I’m fine.”

Dean didn’t push, though his jaw tightened. Dean’s gaze flicked toward the people milling about the square. “Alright,” he said, grabbing his jacket and opening the door. “Let’s ask around.”

They split up, keeping the square in sight as they started talking to locals. Most of the people they approached seemed friendly enough, offering polite smiles and vague answers about the town’s quiet charm. No one acted suspicious, and no one seemed particularly interested in two strangers asking questions.

Sam spoke with a woman near a flower shop, her apron dusted with dirt and her hands holding a small pot of marigolds. “I’m looking for someone,” he explained, showing her a picture of you that Bobby had dug up. “She might’ve passed through here recently.”

The woman squinted at the photo, then shook her head with a small, apologetic smile. “Sorry, hon. Can’t say I’ve seen her. But if she’s new, she might’ve stopped by the diner. Folks there know everyone who comes through.”

Sam nodded, thanking her before heading back toward the square to meet Dean.

Dean wasn’t having much luck either. He stood near a group of men loading lumber into the back of a pickup truck, arms crossed as he asked about you. The men glanced at the photo, shook their heads, and returned to their work without much interest.

“Nothing,” Dean muttered when they regrouped.

Eventually they headed to the diner. Inside, the place was all warm lighting and polished chrome, the scent of coffee and grease hanging in the air. A waitress with a kind smile greeted them and gestured to a booth near the window.

Dean slid into the seat first, his eyes already scanning the room for anything out of the ordinary. Sam took the other side, resting his elbows on the table as he tried to focus on the menu. His fingers tapped lightly against the laminated paper, his leg bouncing under the table.

What’s that smell? Something to Sam had smelled familiar, it made his head dizzy and his hands shake. It was all over this place.

“You want coffee?” Dean asked, his voice tinged with a note of something sharper—concern disguised as nonchalance.

“Sure,” Sam said, though he barely glanced up.

When the waitress returned with two cups of coffee and Dean’s order of pie, Sam reached for his cup, but his fingers faltered, the handle slipping slightly before he steadied it. Hot liquid sloshed near the rim, and Dean didn’t miss the way Sam’s hand trembled as he lifted the cup to his lips.

Dean’s frown deepened, but he didn’t comment, choosing instead to spear a piece of pie with his fork. “You think she’s here?” he asked after a moment, his tone casual.

Sam shrugged, his gaze fixed on the steam rising from his cup. “Probably,” he said. “I mean, Bobby said this was the last place she was headed. She might just be laying low—sleeping it off at one of the motels or something.”

Dean’s eyebrow arched. “Sleeping it off? She’s not exactly the ‘kick back and relax’ type.”

“Yeah, well,” Sam muttered, taking another shaky sip of his coffee. “Neither are we, but it happens.”

Dean didn’t argue, though the skeptical look on his face spoke volumes. He leaned back in his seat, watching as Sam stared down into his coffee like it might hold the answers he was looking for.

Sam’s thoughts, however, weren’t on the coffee or even the town around them. He kept picturing the look you might give him when you saw him again—angry, maybe hurt. And he deserved that, didn’t he?

He couldn’t stop the sarcastic thought that crept into his mind: Sorry I ignored you and didn’t call for weeks—my bad. How’s the hunting going?

The corner of his mouth twitched briefly at the ridiculousness of it. But beneath the sarcasm, there was a weight—a fear that whatever he said wouldn’t be enough to bridge the gap between them.

“You’re doing that thing again,” Dean said, breaking the silence.

Sam blinked, looking up. “What thing?”

“The thing where you overthink everything and don’t say squat,” Dean said, pointing his fork at him. “If you’ve got something on your mind, spill it.”

Sam shook his head, brushing it off. “It’s nothing.”

“Yeah, sure,” Dean muttered, digging back into his pie. “And I’m the Tooth Fairy.”

They finished their meal and headed back to the Impala, deciding to drive around town to get a better sense of the place. The streets were starting to quiet as evening crept in, the earlier buzz of activity tapering off into the kind of calm that made Dean’s instincts prickle.

They saw it.

Dean slowed the car, his gaze locking onto a familiar shape propped awkwardly against the curb.

“Son of a bitch,” he muttered, throwing the car into park and jumping out.

Sam followed, his stomach sinking as they approached the bike. It was unmistakably one of Bobby’s—a sturdy machine with just enough wear to show its history.

“This is hers,” Dean said, crouching down to inspect it. “It’s one of Bobby’s. I fixed it up last time I was at the junkyard.”

Sam knelt beside him, his fingers brushing the handlebars. The grease stains were still there, faint but unmistakable.

“Why is her stuff still here?” Dean noted your duffle bag was still attached and looked up, thinking maybe you were close by and that he’d spot you comping up the sidewalk.

“Dean” Sam looked at him pointedly, Dean frowns but notices what Sam was hinting at,

Dean’s hand brushed against the handlebar, and his eyes caught on a streak of something dark near the base of the grip. His fingers hovered over it before he rubbed at it gently, then brought his hand closer to his face.

“Is that…?” Dean’s voice trailed off, his jaw tightening as he recognized the faint but undeniable smear of blood.

Sam stiffened, his chest tightening. “It’s fresh,” he said quietly, his hand gripping the strap of his bag like it might anchor him.

Dean glanced around the street, his gaze sharp. “Alright, now I’m officially not liking this”

“Don’t look at them, act normal” Sam whispered “It’s impossible for nobody to have seen her, either there is something wrong with this town, or there is something wrong with them”

Dean’s jaw tightened as he glanced at Sam, his grip on the wheel still firm. “And what exactly do you mean by ‘something wrong with them’?” he asked, his voice low but edged with unease.

Sam shifted, keeping his voice steady despite the jitteriness clawing at his insides. “I mean, they’re too normal. It’s like they’re trying too hard not to notice us—or the bike.” He gestured subtly toward the people walking down the street, all of them going about their business as though nothing was out of the ordinary. Not one of them had so much as glanced in the direction of the bike, even though it was left awkwardly propped on the sidewalk.

Dean’s eyes flicked back to the street. The people moved in a rhythm that felt… off. Perfectly timed, like they were part of some eerie choreographed routine. A woman pushing a stroller stopped at the exact same moment a man adjusted his tie, as if they were mirroring each other. A group of kids laughed too loudly as they walked past, their laughter abrupt and out of sync, cutting off too quickly.

Dean muttered under his breath, “Yeah, no, that’s not creepy at all.”

Sam leaned closer, lowering his voice even further. “Don’t stare. Just… keep it casual.”

Dean shot him a sidelong glance, one brow arched. “We’re driving a classic car through the middle of a washed-up ghost town. Casual isn’t exactly in the cards.”

Sam’s hand twitched, and he clenched it into a fist to steady the tremor. His palms felt clammy, and he rubbed them against his jeans as he tried to focus. “Look, all I’m saying is we don’t know what we’re walking into. This place isn’t right, and if they’re not going to give us anything willingly, we’ll have to figure it out another way.”

Dean sighed, his knuckles whitening as he tightened his grip on the wheel. “Great. So, what’s the plan, genius?”

Sam didn’t answer right away. His eyes stayed fixed on the street ahead, his mind racing through the possibilities. “We start with the motel,” he said finally. “If she’s not there, we’ll ask around—but carefully. If they’re hiding something, we don’t want to tip them off.”

Dean nodded, but the tension in his shoulders didn’t ease. “Fine. But if one of these Stepford rejects tries anything, I’m not playing nice.”

Sam almost smiled at that, but the weight of the situation kept his expression grim. “Let’s just hope it doesn’t come to that.”

Sam’s gaze lingered on the bike. The faint smear of blood and the ignition still on gnawed at him. You had to be somewhere close. He just hoped they weren’t already too late. Please be okay, please, please

✦────────────────────✦────────────────────✦

The cold, hard floor beneath you was a poor substitute for shelter, but it was the best you could manage under the circumstances. You didn’t know how long you’d been here—probably just a few hours—but it felt like an eternity. The first rays of sunlight began creeping through the grime-covered windows, casting faint streaks of pale gold across the room. It was almost comforting, but not enough to banish the dread clawing at your chest.

Your body ached in ways you hadn’t thought possible. You shifted slightly, wincing as a sharp pain shot through your side. You pressed your hand against the source—a gash just above your hip. It wasn’t deep enough to be fatal, but it was bleeding more than you liked, the steady trickle soaking through the makeshift bandage you’d tied around it. Your left arm wasn’t much better; a long scrape ran from your elbow to your wrist, raw and throbbing. Nothing life-threatening, but enough to make every movement a struggle.

Your thoughts replayed the chaos from hours earlier, every detail burned into your mind. When Lilith had finally revealed herself, you’d bolted, your instincts screaming at you to run. You’d leapt onto your bike, the engine roaring to life as you sped away. But the moment you turned out of the main street, you realized you weren’t alone. The townspeople—those same eerily vacant faces that had stared at you when you arrived—had started to chase you.

They came out of nowhere, spilling onto the streets like a wave, their footsteps pounding against the asphalt as they gained on you. You had pushed the bike as fast as it would go, weaving between narrow streets and tight corners, but they were relentless. One of them—a man with hollow eyes and dirt-streaked clothes—had managed to grab at your arm as you turned a corner. His grip was iron-strong, his nails clawing into your skin as he nearly dragged you off the bike. The memory of his face—too close, too wrong—sent a shiver down your spine.

In a panic, you’d reached for the knife strapped to your thigh, slashing at him with wild desperation. The blade cut deep, and he stumbled back with a guttural sound that didn’t quite seem human. Blood had splattered onto your arm, hot and sticky, but you didn’t dare look back. You’d gunned the throttle, the engine screaming as you tore down the road, your heart pounding so hard it felt like it might burst. You didn’t even notice you were hurt

But the bike was loud, and it drew attention. You could hear them behind you, their shouts echoing in the night, growing louder with every turn. You knew you couldn’t outrun them forever—not on the bike. It was too conspicuous, too easy to track. You needed to disappear. So, when you spotted the outline of the old school in the distance, you made your choice.

You’d parked the bike.. The engine clicked softly as it cooled, but you didn’t wait around. You grabbed your bag, slipped the knife back into its sheath, and ran, your boots crunching against the gravel as you darted toward the schoolyard. The building loomed ahead, its dark windows staring back at you like empty eyes. It was large enough to hide in, with plenty of rooms to keep you out of sight. You hadn’t seen anyone else as you crept inside, but you hadn’t taken any chances.

Now, in the relative stillness of the classroom you’d chosen, you took stock of what little you had. The desks and chairs scattered around the room had been pushed to one side to make space for your rudimentary fortifications. On such short notice, you’d done what you could to ward off any demons that might come sniffing around.

A quick search of the school had turned up a few supplies: an old box of chalk, a rusty pair of scissors, and some forgotten cleaning supplies tucked away in a janitor’s closet. It wasn’t much, but you’d made it work. Using the chalk, you’d drawn a devil’s trap on the floor just inside the door, ensuring that any demon who stepped into the room would be instantly immobilized. The scissors weren’t exactly iron, but they’d do in a pinch as a makeshift weapon if you had to fight your way out.

You’d also found a bottle of salt in one of the abandoned classrooms—probably left behind by a teacher who’d used it for a science experiment. It wasn’t a lot, but it was enough to line the windowsills and the threshold of the door. It wouldn’t hold up forever, especially if Lilith decided to come after you herself, but it was better than nothing.

The faint sound of footsteps outside the building sent a chill down your spine. You froze, your hand instinctively going to the scissors you’d tucked into your waistband. They weren’t close—yet—but you could hear them, the steady crunch of gravel underfoot and the occasional murmur of low voices. The townspeople. Or… whatever they were. You’d heard them last night, too, their footsteps echoing through the schoolyard as they searched for you. They’d come so close to the building that you’d barely dared to breathe, afraid they’d hear you.

The faint light of dawn creeping through the window offered little solace. You didn’t know if it was enough to keep Lilith at bay. If she wanted you badly enough, the salt wouldn’t matter. But for now, you had to hope that your makeshift defenses would hold. You pulled the scissors from your waistband, gripping them tightly as you pressed your back against the wall, listening to the sounds outside. You were going to die here, you thought. And Bobby, Oh Bobby would blame himself.

What about Sam and Dean? You hadn’t even said goodbye to them. The thought twisted in your chest like a knife, sharp and cruel. And now, here you were—hurt, bleeding, hiding in an abandoned school—about to die because you’d been too damn stubborn, too caught up in proving yourself.

No. You shook your head sharply, banishing the thought before it could take root.

I am not going to die here.

You took a shaky breath, pressing your palm harder against the wound on your side as if the pressure alone could hold you together. I will live. I’ll see Bobby again and hug him so hard he’ll call me an idjit. I’ll laugh at Dean’s stupid jokes again, and when I see Sam, I…

Your thoughts faltered. What would you do? What would you even say?

The memory of his face surfaced—those warm, haunted eyes that always seemed to carry the weight of the world. Would he even care? Would he even look at you the same way? You didn’t know. But there was no time to dwell on that now.

Movement caught your eye. You pressed your back flush against the cold wall, your breathing shallow as you stared at the stained glass window across the room. Shadows moved on the other side, their distorted silhouettes flickering against the colorful panes. They were there.

The tapping started—a slow, deliberate sound that sent shivers down your spine. Fingernails, or maybe claws, scratching at the glass, testing it. They were looking for a way in.

Your grip tightened around the scissors in your hand, the dull metal pressing against your palm. It wasn’t much, but it was all you had. Your gaze darted to the devil’s trap on the floor, the salt lines around the windows and door. You’d done everything you could to fortify this room, but was it enough?

The tapping grew louder, more insistent. Then came the whispers—low, guttural murmurs that didn’t sound quite human. They were speaking, but the words didn’t make sense, like a language that didn’t belong in this world.

Your heart pounded in your chest, the sound deafening in the otherwise silent room. You forced yourself to stay still, to stay quiet, even as every instinct screamed at you to run.

But where would you go?

The shadows grew darker, the tapping more frantic. Then, suddenly, the whispers stopped. The silence was worse. It stretched on, heavy and suffocating, pressing down on you like a weight you couldn’t escape.

And then, a voice—soft, childish, and chilling.

“Come out, come out, wherever you are.”

Your blood turned to ice. You knew that voice. It was hers.

Lilith.

You gripped the scissors tighter, your breath catching in your throat. The tapping resumed, but now it was coming from multiple windows, surrounding you.

You clenched your jaw, forcing yourself to focus. You weren’t going to panic. Not now. You had to think. There’s always a way out. Always.

Your eyes darted around the room, searching for something, anything you could use. The door was barricaded, but if they broke the windows, you wouldn’t have much time. The second they got in, it was over.

What would Bobby do? What would Sam and Dean do?

What would you do?

You took a deep breath, steadying yourself. If this was the end, you weren’t going down without a fight.

You stared at the flickering shadows, your mind racing. Panic clawed at the edges of your thoughts, but you shoved it back, locking it behind a wall of sheer determination. Think. Think. Running wasn’t an option—not yet. They’d catch you before you even reached the hallway. You needed a plan. A distraction.

Your gaze swept over the room, cataloging every detail, every possible tool. The barricaded door. The salt lines. The devil’s trap scrawled on the floor. The scavenged supplies—a few candles, some chalk, and a rusty old fire extinguisher. An air vent. It wasn’t much, but it would have to be enough. Your eyes landed on the ancient metal trash can in the corner, and an idea began to take shape—reckless and desperate, but it might just work.

Crouching low to stay out of sight, you moved quickly and quietly. The fire extinguisher was the first thing you grabbed, dragging it to the trash can. You shrugged out of your jacket, wincing as the movement pulled at the wound on your arm, and stuffed it inside. Matches from a supply closet went next, the flame sparking to life in your shaking fingers before catching on the fabric. Smoke began curling upward, thick and acrid.

Grabbing a piece of cardboard to control the airflow, you moved to the windows, dumping salt along the ledges and whispering a hurried exorcism ritual you’d memorized from Bobby. Would it be enough to hold? Probably not, but it was all you had.

The smoke was spreading now, seeping out through the cracks around the windows and door. It wouldn’t drive the demons off, but it might obscure their vision enough for you to get away.

Then your eyes flicked to the ceiling—a rusted air vent, partially concealed by a row of cabinets. Your heart thudded. It wasn’t ideal, but it was a way out.

The tapping at the windows grew louder. A voice followed, soft and singsong, with an edge that made your blood run cold.

“Come out, come out, wherever you are,” Lilith’s voice cooed, childlike and cruel. She was in the hallway.

You didn’t look at the windows. You didn’t have time. Moving quickly, you dragged a desk beneath the vent, ignoring the searing pain in your arm. You hauled yourself up, biting back a gasp as the motion jarred your wound, and wrenched the vent cover loose with fire extinguisher, breaking off the screws. It screeched as it gave way, and you froze, the sound cutting through the room like a siren.

Outside, the tapping stopped.

You moved faster, shoving the cover aside and scrambling into the vent. The narrow space closed around you, dark and stifling. Sweat trickled down your back as you pulled the cover into place behind you, muffling the sound as best you could.

The fire below crackled, smoke filling the room. You could hear the demons outside, their muffled voices rising in confusion. Then, with a crash, the window shattered. You heard them pour inside, heavy footsteps as they tried stomping over the salt line.

The vent was tight, your movements slow and awkward. Every shift of your body sent a metallic groan reverberating through the duct, but you kept going, forcing yourself to crawl forward. The smoke was creeping up, the acrid smell stinging your eyes and throat.

From your cramped hiding spot, you could hear them fill that room, it echoed down the metal tube. “Do you like nursery rhymes?” she said, her voice echoing in the silence.

"I think I'll sing you one"

You held your breath, the weight of her presence pressing against your chest like a physical force. The fire crackled louder, and you could hear the scrape of furniture being moved, the demons tearing apart the room in search of you.

And then, silence.

You didn’t dare move. Every muscle in your body was coiled tight, your breath coming in shallow, quiet gasps.

When she spoke again, her voice was softer, almost sweet. And she didn't speak, really, she hummed something.

You heard the scrape of her shoes against the floor, the sound growing fainter as she moved away. The demons’ voices followed, their footsteps retreating into the hallway. The smoke had done its job, disorienting them just enough to mask your escape.

You waited, counting the seconds in your head. Five. Ten. Fifteen. The air in the vent was stifling, your lungs burning with the effort of staying silent, the smoke had now entered the vent, making it hard to breath or see.

Finally, when the only sound was the distant hum of the fire below, you started moving again. Your fingers scraped against the metal, your breaths shallow as you crawled toward the faint light spilling through a vent cover ahead.

When you reached it, you pressed your face to the slats, peering out into the darkness. You took a breath; The hallway was empty. Quiet. But you knew better than to trust it.

You pushed the cover loose, sliding it aside as carefully as you could, and dropped down into the shadows. The school was a labyrinth, the hallways twisting and turning in a way that made it impossible to orient yourself.

But you had to keep moving.

You slipped into the darkness, your steps silent, your breathing steady. You didn’t know where you were going, but one thought kept you moving forward: You weren’t going to die here

✦────────────────────✦────────────────────✦

As they turned the corner, the faint tendrils of smoke curling into the sky caught Sam’s attention first. He stopped mid-stride, his brow furrowing. “Dean,” he said, pointing toward the plume. It was coming from the direction of the old school.

Dean’s head whipped around, his eyes narrowing as he followed Sam’s gesture. “That’s not good,” he muttered, already picking up the pace toward the smoke.

Sam jogged after him, his heart pounding. His mind was racing with possibilities. What if it was you? What if you were in there? The smoke wasn’t thick enough for a full-blown fire—yet—but it was enough to make his chest tighten with dread. And then he caught something else. A faint, sickly-sweet scent that made his stomach churn.

He slowed for half a second, his brow furrowing as the scent grew stronger. It was familiar, but he couldn’t quite place it. He’d smelled it earlier in the town, faint and fleeting, but now it was unmistakable. The realization hit him like a punch to the gut: demon blood.

His stomach twisted, the craving clawing its way up his throat before he could shove it back down. He clenched his jaw, forcing himself to focus on the smoke ahead instead of the nauseating pull of temptation.

As they approached the edge of the schoolyard, a figure stepped out from behind one of the houses. It was one of the older women they’d seen earlier, her neat apron and floral dress a sharp contrast to the chaos hinted at by the smoke. She waved at them, her smile bright and disarming.

“Well, hello there,” she called, her tone syrupy sweet. “You boys lost? It’s not safe to go near that old school. There's a small fire”

Dean slowed, his hand instinctively reaching for the pistol tucked into his jacket. “Thanks for the warning, ma’am,” he said, his voice clipped, but he didn’t stop walking.

“Oh, no, no, no.” The woman’s voice turned sharper, her steps quickening to block their path. “I insist. You really shouldn’t be here.” Her smile widened unnaturally, her eyes almost too bright.

Dean stopped dead, his jaw tightening as he glanced at Sam, whose face was pale, his sweat-soaked shirt sticking to his back. Dean frowned, noticing the slight tremor in Sam’s hand as he rubbed the back of his neck. The sweat, the shaking—it wasn’t just the heat or exhaustion.

Sam didn’t meet his brother’s gaze, his hand tightening on the strap of his bag as the scent hit him again, sharper this time. Demon blood. It was clinging to the woman, faint but present, like she’d bathed in it. His stomach churned again, and he forced himself to swallow the rising nausea.

Before Dean could speak, the woman’s smile faltered, and her expression twisted into something darker. Her head tilted slightly, her teeth flashing in a grin that was far too wide.

Sam tensed, his hand going for the knife tucked into his belt.

“Oh, you’re not going anywhere, boys,” she said, her voice dropping an octave, the saccharine sweetness replaced by a low, menacing tone. And then her eyes turned black.

“Demon!” Dean growled, pulling his gun in a flash. The woman lunged, unnaturally fast, her fingers clawing at him. Dean fired a salt round straight into her chest, sending her stumbling back with a shriek.

Sam rushed forward, grabbing her arm before she could recover, and slammed her into the side of a tree. He whipped out a flask of holy water, splashing it across her face. Smoke hissed and rose as she screamed, writhing against his grip.

“Where is she?” Sam snarled, his voice ragged and trembling. “Where’s the girl?”

The demon just laughed, the sound guttural and mocking. “What girl?” she hissed, her black eyes narrowing. “We have so many here”

Dean strode up, his blade gleaming in the sunlight as he pressed it to her throat. ““Speak, Grandma—use your words. Or I'm going about to go full Bundy on your ass"

But before they could get another word out of her, the demon’s eyes rolled back, and her body slumped, lifeless.

“Damn it!” Dean hissed, shoving the corpse aside. “This place is crawling with them.”

Sam wiped the back of his hand across his forehead, his fingers still trembling as he shoved the flask back into his pocket. That scent was still lingering in the air, faint but pervasive, making his skin crawl.

“We need to get to that school. Now,” he said, his voice tight.

Dean didn’t argue. They took off running toward the smoke, weaving between the rows of dilapidated houses and across the overgrown schoolyard. The closer they got, the thicker the smoke became, its acrid scent stinging their noses. Sam could barely focus on anything other than the pounding in his chest and the way the demon blood seemed to hang in the air, taunting him.

The school loomed ahead, its windows shattered and its exterior weathered with age. Smoke curled out from one of the lower floors, the faint flicker of firelight visible through the broken glass.

Dean’s grip on his gun tightened as they approached the door. “Alright, Sammy. Let’s find her and get the hell out of here.”

A horde of black eyes were headed their way.

✦────────────────────✦────────────────────✦

The fluorescent lights above flickered erratically, casting long, jittering shadows across the hallway walls. Your breathing was ragged, every inhale dragging through the sharp pain in your chest. Blood seeped through your shirt, leaving a dark trail on the scuffed tile floor behind you—a trail you knew she could follow.

Lilith’s voice echoed softly down the corridor, calm and melodic, chilling in its childish cheer. She was humming a tune, something eerily familiar but twisted, like a nursery rhyme gone wrong. Her footsteps were slow and deliberate, the sharp click of her shoes on the tile sending shivers down your spine.

You glanced over your shoulder, but the hallway stretched empty behind you, the hum growing louder, closer. Your legs felt like lead, every step a struggle, but you pushed forward, turning down another corridor, your hands brushing against the cold, peeling walls as you stumbled. You'd been bleeding, a lot.

The school was a maze. Every hallway looked the same—endless doors, broken lockers, and darkness that seemed to creep in from the edges. You couldn’t find the exit. All of the rooms were locked, Panic clawed at your throat, but you forced it down, focusing on the sound of your boots against the floor.

“Are you tired yet?” Lilith’s voice rang out, echoing in the empty space. She sounded almost amused, like a child playing hide-and-seek. Ring a ring a Rosie She began so sing again, sweetly.

You didn’t answer, biting back the scream that threatened to rise. Your hands were slick with blood, your vision blurred from exhaustion. You turned another corner, and that’s when you saw it: the door to the swimming pool. It's open.

You pushed it open with what little strength you had left, stumbling into the vast, cavernous room. The air was damp and heavy, carrying the faint scent of mildew. The pool itself was massive, its tiled depths empty and cracked, while a towering wall of glass stood on one side of the room, stretching from floor to ceiling. Through it, you could see the schoolyard outside, the faint glow of streetlights filtering in.

Your gaze darted around the space, searching for something—anything—that could help you. But the room was barren save for a few scattered chairs and broken tiles.

You needed time.

Ashes, ashes. They all fall down

Behind you, the door creaked open, and Lilith’s silhouette appeared in the frame. Her pristine white dress swayed as she stepped inside, her shoes padding softly against the tiled floor.

“Hide and seek,” she said brightly, clapping her hands together. “That’s what we’re playing, right? I’m really good at it, you know.”

You staggered back, your grip tightening around a chair you’d grabbed earlier. Your knees buckled slightly, the blood loss making your head swim, but you refused to let yourself fall. Not yet.

Lilith tilted her head, her expression innocent but her eyes glinting with something dark and monstrous. “But you’re not playing fair,” she said, her voice dipping into a childish whine. “You keep running away. Don’t you want to have fun with me?”

She took another step forward, her smile widening. “I promise, it won’t hurt for long. Just a little bit. And then we can be best friends forever!”

Your heart hammered in your chest as you backed toward the pool, your gaze flicking to the glass wall. Maybe—just maybe—you could break it and get outside.

“Stay back!” you warned, your voice hoarse, as you lifted the chair, holding it between you and her.

Lilith’s giggle echoed through the room, sweet and sinister. “Oh, look at you” she cooed, her tone dripping with mock affection.

You turned and hurled the chair at the glass with every ounce of strength you had left. The impact sent a dull thud reverberating through the room, but the glass didn’t even crack. Desperation clawed at you as you grabbed another piece of debris and swung it at the glass, again and again, each strike more frantic than the last.

Nothing. Not even a scratch.

“Uh-oh,” Lilith teased, her voice sing-song as she stepped closer.

You turned back to face her, your chest heaving, your vision growing hazier by the second. The world seemed to tilt, the edges of the room blurring as exhaustion and blood loss dragged you down.

"Exorcizamus te, omnis immundus spiritus-" You chant. Your back pressed against the glass, gripping the edge of a railing for balance as your legs threatened to give out.

Lilith stopped at the edge of the pool, Laughing. “You’re not looking so good,” she said, her tone dripping with false concern. “Maybe you should lie down”

"omnis legio, omnis congregatio et-" It's not working.

Your fingers fumbled at your belt, pulling out the scissors you had. You didn’t have the strength for much, but you weren’t going to make this easy for her. If this was your last stand, then so be it.

"Ergo, draco maledicte, ecclesiam-"

A gunshot rang in your ears. And that’s when your eyes caught movement at the window. You frown, maybe your blood loss had finally reached the level of hallucinations.

Sam. Dean?

Outside the glass, through the harsh fluorescent glare, Sam and Dean were there. They were fighting—tearing through a horde of demons with a ferocity you’d never seen before. Dean’s movements were sharp and efficient, his blade flashing in the dim light as he fought with all the reckless determination you knew so well.

But it was Sam who stopped you cold.

He was covered in blood—too much blood. You couldn’t tell how much of it was his or theirs. His face was twisted with something raw and desperate, his swings more brutal, more ruthless than you’d ever seen. He fought like a man possessed.

And then his eyes locked on yours. You couldn't help the beat of relief inside you.

The noise and chaos around you faded for a moment, drowned out by the pounding of your own heart as you stared at each other. His lips moved, shouting something, but the sound didn’t reach you through the thick pane of glass. His face twisted with frustration as he slammed his fists against the unyielding surface, trying to break through, trying to reach you.

They can't get to you.

You hand grips your makeshift weapon tighter as you heard her shoes come to a halt. You didn't look at her, only them.

You let out a soft, defeated smile, the kind that said, It's okay without words. You didn’t have the strength to shout back, didn’t have the breath to explain or reassure him. All you could do was stand there, bleeding and tired, and hope he’d understand.

Lilith tilted her head, noticing your gaze and following it to the scene outside. Her face lit up with delight, her hands clasping together like she’d been given a gift. “Oh, how sweet,” she cooed. “We have an audience.”

She stepped closer, her shoes making clicking sounds against the tile as she approached. The sound of Sam and Dean’s shouts grew louder as they slammed against the glass, desperate to break through.

You heard the creak of Bobby’s porch swing, the faint clink of his glass bottle resting on the rail, the wood groaning softly under his weight.

You could see Dean hacking at the surface with his blade, his jaw tight with frustration. Sam was yelling something, his voice hoarse and frantic, but the words were lost to you.

You smelled the faintest hint of old paper and ink, Sam’s hand resting on a dusty lore book between you. The bitter taste of coffee lingered in your throat.

The lights above you started to flicker, you could feel the heat of her presence, the suffocating weight of her power pressing down on you as she reached out, her hand stopping just shy of your face.

You felt the weight of Dean’s jacket draped over your shoulders, heavy and warm against the night’s chill. His hand had lingered for just a moment after settling it around you..

“Thank you for this” Lilith murmured, her voice dropping to a whisper. “You don't know how helpful you've been”

The glass behind you shook violently, the sound of impact reverberating through the room as Sam and Dean threw everything, they had at it. You glanced over your shoulder, your vision blurring, and saw Sam scream something, his face contorted with anguish as he pounded against the glass. You were so tired. Your grip slackened on the scissors as you started to slide down the wall. You were to weak.

You felt the sting of warmth on your cheeks, sunlight filtering through Bobby’s kitchen window as he handed you a plate of pancakes. “Eat up,” he’d grumbled, though his voice held that familiar undercurrent of care.

And then, in a flash of blinding white light, the room shifted.

You saw the soft glow of the Impala’s headlights cutting through the dark as it pulled into Bobby’s yard, Sam and Dean leaning against the hood, their laughter quiet but warm, a sound that felt like home.

The demons outside cried out as a new presence descended, their forms disintegrating into smoke and ash under the sheer force of its power. You blinked against the brilliance, barely able to process what was happening as the heavy thud of something filled the air.

Lilith’s smile faltered for the first time, her white eyes narrowing as she turned toward the source of the light. A silhouette.

Castiel? The last of your strength slipping away as the adrenaline burned out of your system. The world tilted dangerously, and you felt your knees buckle beneath you.

✦────────────────────✦────────────────────✦

AN: Yeah... Don't kill me. I feel severely disturbed at how fast I wrote this. Anyway, hope you enjoyed guys. Feedback is always welcome

Tag list:

@youdontknowe @theamuz  @mysteryenchatress @craycraycraic @craycraycraic @variant-zee @ur2moms @ambiguous-avery @steviespookie @s0urw00lf @bewr0210 @mostlymarvelgirl @dear-bambi2 @yeehawgiddyup13

[caplanbuckybarnes]

Sneaking Away (Dean Winchester)

Summary: Dean catches you just before you leave the bunker for good.

Warnings: Angst

WC: 500ish

Read on AO3

--

The creak of the bunker’s heavy door echoed faintly in the stillness of the night, followed by the soft shuffle of boots against the cold floor. You barely made it past the war room when a voice stopped you in your tracks.

“Where are you sneaking off to at this late hour?”

You froze, heart sinking at the familiar gravel in Dean’s voice. Slowly, you turned to see him leaning against the doorway, arms crossed over his chest, his green eyes shadowed with suspicion—and something deeper you couldn’t quite place.

“Dean...” you started, your voice barely above a whisper.

He stepped closer, his boots heavy on the floor, the sound unnerving in the silence. “What’s in the bag?” he asked, nodding toward the duffel slung over your shoulder.

You tightened your grip on it instinctively, your stomach churning. “It’s nothing. I just need some air, that’s all.”

“That why you’ve got your car keys, too?” His jaw clenched, his gaze burning into yours.

You bit your lip, unable to meet his eyes. You’d spent weeks working up the nerve for this moment, convincing yourself it was for the best. But standing here, with Dean looking at you like that—like you were breaking something inside him—it was almost too much to bear.

“Dean, I can’t do this anymore,” you admitted, your voice cracking.

“What?” he breathed, as if the word itself was foreign.

“This life,” you said, gesturing vaguely to the bunker around you. “The hunting, the danger, the constant fear that one of us isn’t going to make it back.” You swallowed hard, tears pricking at your eyes. “I thought I could handle it, but I can’t.”

Dean stood there, frozen, like he’d just been punched in the gut. When he finally spoke, his voice was hoarse. “So, what? You’re just leaving? No warning, no... no goodbye?”

“It’s easier this way,” you whispered.

“Easier?” He took another step closer, his voice rising. “For who, huh? You? Because it sure as hell isn’t easier for me!”

The tears you’d been holding back spilled over. “Dean, please don’t make this harder than it already is.”

He laughed bitterly, shaking his head. “You think I’m just gonna let you walk out that door? After everything? After...” He trailed off, his voice breaking. “After you made me believe I wasn’t alone in this?”

His words hit like a knife to the chest, and for a moment, you almost reconsidered. Almost.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered, your voice trembling. “But I can’t stay and watch this life destroy you. Destroy us.”

Dean’s hands clenched into fists at his sides, his knuckles white. He looked at you like he wanted to say something, anything, to make you stay. But all he could do was stare, his eyes glassy with unshed tears.

Without another word, you turned and walked toward the door, your footsteps echoing in the emptiness.

“Don’t go,” Dean finally said, his voice barely audible.

But you didn’t stop.

And as the door closed behind you, the weight of his broken voice followed, carving itself into your soul.

[thebiggerbear]

"Sleep. I'll keep you safe." - Dean Winchester Prompt Response

Summary: When Sam calls to tell you that Dean is gone, you can't accept it. Not until you visit the offline Bunker and see for yourself. ...But is he really gone?

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Female!Reader; Dean Winchester x Huntress!Female!Reader

A/N: Prompt from @thelonelyempath. I had this idea for a scene in my head that took place during 15x20 with the reader and Sam & then from there it just kind of wrote itself, including the semi-twist. Hope it's okay.

There is a song mentioned in here ("Is This Love" by Whitesnake) which is a sort of homage/dedication/thank you. I read this Dean x Reader fic a long time ago (I can't remember the name of the fic or the author right now, I'm sorry!) but they used the song for some Dean/Reader time in the Impala and I had never heard the song before so I checked it out. I have become obsessed with it. It's so perfect, not only for Dean but in general as an 80s love rock ballad. So thank you to that author whoever you are!

This is meant to take place between mid-15x20 and Dean's foray in The Winchesters (pre-series).

Unbeta'd so all mistakes are mine.

Warnings: angst; mentions of character death; mentions of implied sex

Word Count: 12k+

Taglist: @avada-kedavra-bitch-187; @rieleatiel

Dean Taglist: @heartlessdelusions; @nancymcl; @brightlilith

Jensen Taglist: @samanddeaninatrenchcoat; @deansbbyx

You can also read on AO3

"Sleep. I'll keep you safe."

Soldier Boy version ✨ Beau version ✨ Jenny version ✨ Tom version ✨ Jason version ✨ Anael version ✨ SDV Alex version

You sat on the corner of the bed in your motel room, numb, your phone next to you, having been forgotten long ago. 

It couldn’t be true. It wasn’t. You refused to believe it. How was Dean just gone? On a simple hunt? How?

Sam had called you to give you the news. You could hear the breaks in his voice as he relayed what happened, sounding as if he had been crying just a few minutes before. Vampires. Who were mute. A gang of them run by a vampire named Jenny they had faced off with years ago. On a hunt with John. She had gotten away and they thought she was gone for good. Apparently not.

You were frozen, in shock, unable to process what he was telling you. 

“Y/N?”

“I… I need to see him,” you whispered.

Sam was quiet for a moment before he forced out, “I gave him a hunter’s funeral.”

You shut your eyes in pain. “What?” You could feel your throat tightening as well as your chest.

“I’m sorry, Y/N, but I had to. I couldn’t…” You heard him take a breath. “I couldn’t make the long drive with… I just couldn’t.” You could hear those breaks again and you should have been hurting for him, that not only did he have to watch his brother die but he’d had to burn him alone. But right then you got angry and you couldn’t help snapping at him.

“Why would you burn his body, Sam? You know we need his body to bring him back!”

“Y/N, he didn’t want to be brought back.”

“You don’t know that!”

“Yeah, I do. He told me right before he died. As long as I was going to be okay,” Another break. “He was done.”

A tear rolled down your cheek and regret immediately consumed you. You knew Sam was telling you the truth. Dean making sure Sam would be okay as he was dying clinched it for you. Sam had always been his main concern. You started mentally berating yourself then. If only you hadn’t let fear stop you, you could have given him something to live for, to fight for. He would have let Sam call for help, call Jack, something. He would have made sure he somehow made it home, just like he always did. But you didn’t and now, he was gone. Truly and irrevocably gone.

Another tear slipped down your cheek and you quickly wiped it away. “I have to go, Sam.”

“Y/N, I—”

You ended the call and tossed the phone onto the bed. You weren’t trying to be heartless. Sam was obviously struggling and you should be there for him. That’s what Dean would want, you knew that. The two of you being there for each other, helping one another, you looking after his little brother while he looked out for you. But you just…couldn’t.

Why hadn’t you called Dean? After everything that went down with Chuck and Jack? Why hadn’t you reached out? You owed him that at the very least. So why hadn’t you?

You knew the answer to that. You were scared and like a coward, you’d told yourself it wouldn’t have made a difference. It wouldn’t have changed anything. But a part of you knew it would and that scared you just as much.

You thought back to the last time you’d seen him, right after he and Sam went to try to get Amara on board against Chuck. He was still reeling with the news that Cas had told him before he’d left, that Jack was going to sacrifice himself to kill Chuck. He cared about Jack, more than he let on, even though the kid had accidentally killed Mary. Jack was family to him and he was having a serious moment of doubt. If Jack’s plan would work; if he should let it happen; if he should tell Sam; if Chuck hadn’t been right, he would win in the end. He was so beyond tired of that: Chuck winning. He didn’t want to sacrifice Jack but if they could be free of Chuck and have a chance… 

He was torn up about it and he’d called you, asked you where you were, then begged you to come to the Bunker when he found out you were only an hour or so away. You hadn’t wanted to, you could hear the desperation in his voice and you knew all too well what would happen if you went. You were still hurting and you didn’t know if you could survive that. 

You didn’t bother telling him that the reason you were an hour outside of town was because you’d temporarily settled there, not sure where to go or what to do. Sure, you took on hunts here and there, but ultimately you were lost. Ever since Dean broke things off with you because he couldn’t tell what was real anymore versus what had been Chuck all along. The breakup had hurt, of course, but that caused pain in you that you weren’t really sure you would ever come back from. Him thinking everything between you might not be real? After you’d given him everything you could because you deeply loved him? In your heart, you knew it was real, but when you had said this to him, he’d simply responded with “I don’t” in his typical detached way he adopted whenever he had made up his mind that he had to do something for the greater good, no matter how hard it might be. You thought he had already broken your heart, but it shattered right then in your chest.

Since it was Dean, though, and he never begged, you went. And sure enough, what you worried would happen, happened. One minute, you’d been wiping the rare tears he let fall around you, and the next minute, he was kissing you and gently pushing you back onto his bed. You could feel the desperation in his movements, his touches, the way his lips trailed over your skin. Shockingly, he took his time with you, and it only hit you halfway through that this was his real goodbye. It wasn’t guaranteed that Billie’s plan would work but he hoped it would. And if it did, then that meant he and Sam would finally be free and they could hang it up if they wanted to, do something else with their lives and move on. And that possible future didn’t include you. 

You’d silently cried then, holding onto Dean as he moved and moaned into your ear. When he pulled back to kiss you, your cheeks were free of any tear tracks and you kissed him back. You wondered how on earth he couldn’t feel that this was very real between you as you moved your hips to meet his in a tender rhythm as he held you in his lap, his green eyes staring into yours as he held you close. Sex was sex but this right here, this right in between you right then that he refused to put a name to, it was beyond real. You knew he could feel it just as much as you could…so why was he still hellbent on throwing it (and you) away?

A little while later, you had laid there, with his head on your chest, running your fingers through his hair in soothing strokes, his body still entangled with yours, staring up at the ceiling as you both were still trying to catch your breath. Your heart spoke for you before you could stop it. “I love you,” you whispered, meaning it with every fiber of your being.

It shocked the hell out of you and made something warm and fluttery happen inside your chest when he sleepily murmured to your skin, “Love y’too. Don’go.” You ended up chalking it up to him being in a post-sex sleep daze though, not knowing what he was really saying or even really having heard you correctly. That or he only meant for the night because the very next morning, things went back to how they were.

Dean seemed surprised when he woke up to find you next to him, scrolling through the news feed on your phone for any new cases. You’d given him a warm smile. “Hey, sleepyhead,” you teased.

Instead of smiling back, though, he cleared his throat and ran a hand through his hair. “Hey.” You could see that familiar detached expression settle on his features and you knew he was regretting the night before. He had been drinking by the time you got there, sure, but he hadn’t been inebriated. He was incredibly lucid by the time he made a move on you so try as he might, this couldn’t be chalked up to a drunken mistake.

You could literally feel that wall going back up and you gave one last ditch effort to keep him from shutting you back out, even laying a hand over his. “Dean, don’t—”

He pulled away from you and got out of bed, quickly slipping on his Scooby Doo boxers and jeans that he grabbed from the floor. You might have smiled seeing the familiar underwear that you hated but secretly loved if you weren’t hurting so much. “I’m hungry. You hungry?” He asked, slipping a black t-shirt over his head. “I’ll go see if Sam’s cooking anything up. I need a serious cup of coffee. You just…” He glanced back at you, seeing you holding the sheet tightly to your chest as you watched him, compulsively swallowing when he saw your eyes glistening. “You, uh, just come out when you’re ready.” He then made his way out of the room, closing the door behind him and never looking back. 

You sat back against the headboard, dissolving into a fit of tears and quiet sobs. You knew you should have never come. Once you were able to breathe without fresh tears welling up, you got yourself cleaned up and redressed. You splashed some water on your face and you took a deep breath before leaving the room. You were near the bunker stairs when Sam called out to you.

“Hey! Y/N!” 

He was coming over to you, a big smile on his face. He was pleased to see you.

“Hey,” you greeted back just as warmly, forcing a smile.

He gave you a quick hug and you could see Jack a little ways behind him, giving you a smile and wave. “I didn’t know you were here. We were just about to have breakfast. Why don’t you join us?”       

“Oh, I…”

You were saved from having to make an excuse when Dean appeared next to Jack, his expression severe and cold all at the same time. “She’s got a hunt she’s heading out for. Possible vamp nest in Duluth. Right, Y/N?”

Just when you thought he couldn’t hurt you even more, there he went proving you wrong. “Right,” you agreed quietly. You turned a wan smile onto Sam. “I’ll take a raincheck.”

“Duluth?” Sam glanced from his brother to you. “Maybe we can give you a hand on this one.”

“We can’t,” Dean stated firmly. He gave his brother a look and Sam’s brows furrowed before realization played upon his features and his jaw tightened. He turned apologetic hazel eyes onto you. “Donna’s up that way. If she needs a hand, she can call her,” Dean added.

You felt sick to your stomach. Obviously, you weren’t heading to Duluth or anywhere near Minnesota but the way he dismissed you so casually…the pain was overwhelming. The smile you kept on Sam turned into more of a grimace. “I appreciate the offer, Sam, but I’m good. Like your brother said, I can call Donna if I need anything. Don’t worry. Thanks, though.” You squeezed his arm and then turned to make your way up the stairs.

“Best of luck,” Dean gruffed out. You turned to see pure ice staring back at you. 

You pressed your lips together to keep from falling apart right there, from demanding why Dean had obviously only called you for sex and a pick-me-up when there plenty of women in Lebanon that could do that for him, from begging him to wake up and see you were right in front of him and that what you had was very much real before it was too late. Instead, you continued climbing the stairs. 

“Keep us updated and give us a call if you need anything,” Sam called after you.

“Will do,” you forced out.

“Good luck,” Jack offered.

When you reached the top, you glanced once more at Dean. His expression hadn’t changed one bit. The green gaze staring back at you was cold, hard. You let out a huff and shook your head, turning to open the door and close it behind you. That had been the very last time you saw him.

After that, you went back to the motel you had been renting a room in, packed up, and headed across state lines. You ignored Dean’s calls but took Sam’s. 

Apparently, at some point, you had vanished when Chuck disappeared everyone. You had no idea until Donna filled you in. That explained the several missed calls from both Sam and Dean and the voicemails they left. Both had sounded desperate, especially Dean. 

“Please, Y/N. I know you’re pissed at me and I get it but please call me back. Or call Sam. I don’t care. Just as long as we know you’re still with us and that you’re okay.” His tone sounded rough around the edges but considering the context Sam gave you when you did call him (there was no way you were calling Dean, especially not now), you realized they were just desperate to get in touch with anyone, having lost Cas and being the only three forms of life left on the planet.

Dean was right, you were angry. Angry that he’d used you that night, angry that he’d broken your heart in the first place. He had pursued you before you got together, not the other way around. By the time you let your guard down enough to let him in and things kicked off between you, he was deep in. Or so he’d said. By the time he ended things, you were deep in yourself. Now…now you were in even deeper thanks to him, so deep you were pretty sure Dean would haunt you the rest of your life no matter how you tried to shut him out of your heart.

Another tear rolled down your cheek. Though, you’d never meant the word haunt literally.

You wiped your face with your sleeve and let out an aggravated breath before getting to your feet. You grabbed your coat, your emergency bag, your hunting bag, and the car keys from the table near the door. You locked up and got into the car you only used for hunts and grocery trips now, starting it and backing out of the driveway. 

It’s not that you doubted what Sam had told you or Sam himself, but you needed to see things for yourself. You turned the car in the direction that would lead you to Kansas.

You opened the door to the Bunker, seeing nothing but darkness greeting you, the clanking of the door being the only sound to echo in the large chamber. That was strange. They never shut it down when they left for hunts. You hit the lights and hearing a loud thrumming sound, you watched as they came back on, one by one. You had your own key since you were also a Legacy. You’d never been more thankful for that fact when you arrived to find the Bunker locked down, no Sam in sight.

You shut the door behind you and dropped your bags near the table. You bit your lip to keep your eyes from welling up when you noticed an unfinished chess game on the table, most likely one that Dean and Cas had been engaged in, but now neither of them would be back to complete it. Instead, you focused on the matter at hand. You pulled your gun out and an angel blade, slipping the latter into your coat pocket in case you needed it. In the other pocket, you slipped a flask of holy water and a small piece of iron bar you could wield if need be. In your gun sat silver bullets; you couldn’t be too careful nowadays. Especially if the word was out to the world of the supernatural that Dean Winchester was gone and only Sam was left now, alone. 

You slowly made your way down the stairs, listening intently for any other noises you might hear. All that you could make out besides your footsteps was the low hum of electricity that was commonplace for the old bunker. You cleared the library, the hallways, the kitchen, the shower room, the infirmary, the Dean Cave where you’d been forced to watch The Lost Boys and slasher films more times than you cared to count (you had dug your teeth into your bottom lip to keep from crying when you saw the DVD cover of Tombstone left near the TV), every single room in the place until you came to the one that made a lump form in your throat. You swallowed it back down and forced yourself to focus, raising your gun that much higher. You opened the door and hit the lights, scanning every which way. The room was clear.

You lowered your gun and made your way inside, the lump in your throat back again. Your eyes roamed over the hastily made bed; the empty dog bowls on the floor (which made your brows furrow in confusion slightly); the messy desk; the empty beer bottles on the table; the headphones on the nightstand; the shotguns on the wall; the books scattered about; the load of laundry sitting off to the right in a corner. Memories washed over you and your eyes began to sting as tears welled up. 

You’d walked into the room to find Dean jamming out on his bed, listening to music through the headphones he’d insisted on buying on your last trip. You huffed out a laugh and dropped the laundry basket of folded clothes onto the bed, garnering his attention. 

He opened his eyes and glanced up to find you smiling at him. 

“What are you listening to?”

He held one of the phones away from his ear and you could hear some serious strumming of heavy metal guitar coming out of it. “Huh?”

“I said, what are you listening to?” You asked a little louder.

“What?” He nearly yelled.

You picked up the top item from your pile, his Scooby Doo underthings, and playfully tossed it at him. It landed squarely on his chest and he immediately jumped up as if it had burned him, his cheeks turning redder by the second as he threw the headphones onto the bed.

“You did my laundry?” He asked in horror.

Amazing. You two had explored every single inch of each other time and time again, been sort of rooming together for the past month, but he was embarrassed that you washed his dirty underwear?

You shrugged and began to place his folded clothes on the bed. “I had room in the washer so I figured I’d grab yours, too. You’re welcome.”

“You washed our clothes together?” He sounded genuinely surprised.

You gasped and gave him a mock look of horror. “Oh no, not together.” You tossed a pair of jeans over at him and he caught it in time. “I used detergent, fabric softener, dryer sheets, and everything,” you teased. “But putting it away is where I draw the line, pal. That’s on you.” You pointed to the neat pile sitting on the bed before moving over to the door to head to the room you kept your things in down the hall. 

Arms wrapped around you from behind, stopping your trek, and Dean murmured into your ear, “You washed my clothes for me?”

“And folded, too,” you pointed out. “Don’t forget that.”

“Mmm, what else can I get you to do for me?” He grabbed the basket from you and placed it down before gripping your hips and moving in to kiss your neck.

“Hey, I’m not your maid. I had room in the washer, that was it. Don’t get used to this,” you laughed before digging your teeth into your lip when you felt his tongue on a particular part of your skin. 

“What if I want to get used to this?” He moved up to your jaw line.

“I’d say you’re SOL. Unless…”

“Unless?” He hummed near your lips.

“Unless you finally let me tidy up this room a little.”

His head shot up, frowning down at you. “What? Why, what’s wrong with how it is now?”

“Well,” You wrapped your arms around his neck. “Some of these papers on the desk need organizing, the books can be put in a stack on the table over there, these empty beer bottles can be thrown out, the shotguns you have near the bed can be put away…”

“There’s nothing wrong with anything you just mentioned,” he grumbled.

“Oh, really? So the other night when you were doing that thing—”

“That thing you really like,” he interrupted, smirking cockily at you.

You had to keep from rolling your eyes and smirking yourself. “When I moved, I knocked into the shotgun and it fell. It almost went off. You remember that?”

“Nothing happened or went off, well, except you.” His smirk got even bigger. “You remember that?”

This time you gently swatted at his shoulder. “Dean.”

He heard the warning in your no-nonsense tone and laughed, leaning in to kiss you. “Alright,” he whispered to your lips. “I’ll put the shotguns up out of the way. But everything else stays.”

You huffed out an exasperated breath. One of these days when he wasn’t looking, you swore you’d do as exactly as you’d suggested. Clear out the empty bottles and stack the books at the very least. 

“Hey, it’s all about compromise, right? Speaking of that,” He turned you around in his arms and you were once again facing the laundry basket he’d left on the floor. “Find a space and keep some of ‘em in here.”

A pleasant shock ran through you. “Are you sure?” You whispered.

He slowly turned you back around and gently cupped your chin. “Yeah, sweetheart, I’m sure. You’re practically sleeping in here every night, anyway. I’d rather you not have to put back on the same clothes from the night before or walk naked down to your room. Then again, naked…”

You glared up at him, making him chuckle and brush his lips against yours. “I just didn’t want to crowd you,” you admitted after a moment. “It’s your space. If I’m in here too much, I can—”

 “I want you here.” You gazed into his green eyes, unsure, but all you saw staring back at you was softness with a glint of earnestness. He was telling you the truth; he really wanted you to stay. 

“Okay,” you agreed with a shy smile.

He beamed at you and then picked you up, making you gasp loudly and wrap your legs around his waist. “Not that you’re gonna be needing them right now.”

You shook your head and kissed him as he walked you both towards the bed. When he had you on it, you could hear the music coming from the forgotten headphones. “Is that…Whitesnake?”

Dean smirked down at you. “Uh huh. One sec.” He reached over, quickly clicked something on his phone, and the music suddenly changed. You smiled when a familiar song started up.

“Really?”

“What? It’s our song.”

You framed his face with your hands, looking up at him affectionately. “Dean Winchester, secretly sentimental and sensitive guy extraordinaire,” you teased him.

“Shut up,” he mumbled. “I’m not any of that crap. It’s the first song we made good use of Baby’s backseat to, that’s all. Now that you’re staying in here, we gotta celebrate.”

Romantic. You rolled your eyes but smiled. “Like I said, sentimental.” You pulled him down to you and kissed him sweetly. Needless to say, he had been right; you hadn’t needed your clothes for a little while.

You took in a ragged breath, your fingers gently touching over the papers on his desk. While you hated the empty beer bottles and you didn’t want to end up possibly shot with a salt round during a passionate moment of sex, you really hadn’t minded how he had things. You knew this was the first home he and Sam ever really had. He could keep things messy or disorganized if he wanted to; he had more than earned the right. It might sound silly to someone else but he deserved to experience living in a home, mess and all, like everyone did at some point in their lives. Not only did he not have a place to do that since he’d been four years old, he’d never felt comfortably settled in anywhere ever to be able to do it. You remembered him and Sam telling you how long it had taken Dean to settle into this room, to think of the Bunker as not just theirs but home. You’d kick the crap out of anyone who tried to take that away from him, and you would be the last person to try to do it yourself. You still thanked him when he hung the shotguns up on the wall; you were beyond grateful. That time, he was the one who went off and quite happily.

A sob nearly tore its way out of your chest when you saw his handwriting on one of the papers. Your fingertips traced each letter. How could he really be gone?

You ran your fingers over an open file, wondering what he had been looking at, when you heard the clicking of nails on the floor behind you. You spun, lifting your gun, to find Sam standing in the doorway, watching you with wide eyes as a dog appeared beside him. That must have been what you’d heard. You lowered the gun and let out a relieved breath. “What are you doing here?”

You winced internally at your question. He had every right to be here, this was his home. You were the intruder.

“The monitoring system we set up… I was alerted that someone was in the Bunker. I locked it down and I know only he and I had the keys, so I didn’t know if…” You watched as he compulsively swallowed.

You turned back to the desk. “I get that. Where were you, by the way? Why did you lock it down?” He didn’t answer for a moment when you glanced over your shoulder at him, seeing his gaze glued to the ground. “Sam?”

His eyes flicked up to yours and he swallowed again. “I was on my way to Austin. For a case. But then…” He gestured towards you. “I turned around and headed back to see.” You noticed he didn’t mention why he had locked the Bunker down but then again, he didn’t really need to. Who else would be coming here now that Dean, Cas, and Jack were gone? Mary was gone as well as most of the other hunters you’d worked with over the past couple of years. Apocalypse World Bobby was still up in Minnesota somewhere. Apocalypse World Charlie and Stevie had moved East, choosing to retire after what happened with Chuck temporarily disappearing everyone. Garth and Bess still lived in their home with their family. Jody and the girls had their own operation up in Sioux Falls with Donna lending a hand every now and then. And you…well, you never told Sam where you were. 

You gave him a slow nod and dropped your eyes back down to the desk, running your fingers over the pages of an open lore book Dean had been reading. It was probably ridiculous but you thought maybe you could somehow still feel him here (though you did not want him to be a ghost), that perhaps by touch or sight or smell even that you could somehow connect to what his last days had been like. You wondered if he somehow knew deep down or if he hadn’t seen it coming. Even though he had always told you that he didn’t see a good ending for himself down the road, that he was forever bound to this life, you knew he also secretly fantasized about his life going in a different direction, one he’d included you in once upon a time. You then wondered if there was a girl somewhere who was either waiting for a phone call she would never get or was crying her eyes out because Sam had given her the news like he had you. It hurt to think that maybe he had found someone that he envisioned another future with instead of you, with someone he knew without a shadow of a doubt that Chuck hadn’t inserted into his life as a manipulation or a story device. Someone that he didn’t question what he had with them, if it was real. Though at the same time, you hoped he found a little piece of happiness. You still loved him enough to want that for him.

You briefly closed your eyes in pain when you remembered that last night you spent with him, telling him you loved him. You truly meant it and even though he hurt you again and again, you still did. You forced the thought away and instead chose to focus on the open book in front of you. “What was he working on?” You choked out, quietly clearing your throat once you heard how rough your voice sounded.

You turned the page, seeing mentions of witches and vampires, when you realized Sam never answered you. You glanced back at him, arching your brows in question.

Sam’s eyes were wide and laser focused on your body, his mouth hanging open. Shit.

You should’ve known that despite the dark clothing you were wearing, the long black coat you were sporting, turning away from him, that you wouldn’t be able to hide your secret much longer. Truthfully, it wasn’t even something you’d thought about when you set out for the bunker. Had Sam been here when you arrived, he probably would have seen it then.

You turned towards the younger Winchester and Sam’s eyes flickered up to you. “Are you…?”

“Yes, Sam.”

Sam closed his mouth and swallowed, glancing back and forth between you and your protruding belly. You read the clear question in his eyes that he was burning to ask.  

“You’re going to be an uncle.”

Except the few times he’d been close to death, you’d never seen Sam look so pale.

You and Sam sat on the edge of Dean’s bed, Miracle (as you’d come to find out was the dog’s name) laid at your feet, his head on his paws.

“How?” Sam finally asked you.

You snorted in amusement. “You know how.”

“No, I mean… Why didn’t you tell Dean? Did you tell Dean? Because he didn’t tell me and I don’t think that’s something he wouldn’t have told me.”

You wet your lips with your tongue, feeling the heavy weight of guilt and sadness wrap around you once more. “No. I didn’t tell him,” you whispered. It was now the biggest regret of your life, right before the second biggest one of you walking out of the bunker the morning you’d last seen him and not fighting harder to get him to let you back in.

“Were you ever going to?”

Your eyes snapped to Sam at the judgment clear as day in his tone and they narrowed. “No, I wasn’t. He made it pretty clear he wanted nothing more to do with me or anything related to me. So, no, Sam, I wasn’t,” you snapped.

He pressed his lips into a thin line and looked down at his lap.

You turned your gaze forward again, taking a breath to tamp down the familiar anger and resentment that you’d worked so hard to try to let go of. After a moment, you rubbed at your forehead. “Yes,” you muttered. “I don’t know. I think so…”

Sam stayed quiet and let you sort through your thoughts which you were grateful for. You’d been caught completely off guard by the pregnancy yourself. When you found out, you thought back to how you unwisely didn’t take your usual precautions and since you and Dean had broken up long before that, you hadn’t been too concerned with maintaining your birth control. 

You’d thought over your options. Bringing a kid into the hunting lifestyle was the worst thing you could do to it. Dean and Sam were living proof. Their mom herself had known it which was why she tried to get out when she married their dad. Not to mention, it would make you vulnerable in your line of work and the kid would always be in danger, always have a target on its back. Plus, you were pretty sure that even if you told Dean, he’d be less than thrilled. He always told you he didn’t want kids, for the very reasons you were now facing. And did you really want to bring a kid into the world that Chuck was about to end, only to have a father who was dismissive of it, or even hated it? You didn’t think Dean would be capable, he’d been great with Jack and Ben after all, but this was different. This kid would have his blood, his genes, would look like him somewhat. Sure, he had that in Emma once and that had torn him up, but this would also be different. This was for the long haul. And that’s only if he even wanted to be in this kid’s life. Which he might opt not to. How could you do that to your child? So you considered choosing to end the pregnancy, which would have been a true mercy given everything stacked against it before it would be born, but eventually you decided otherwise. 

You’d heard the baby’s heartbeat on a checkup while you were still mulling it over, and that was it. Dean wanted to know if what you had was real or not? Here it was, its little heart thumping away deep within your body. After that visit, you’d decided the hell with it. You were someone who believed everything happened for a reason, well before things with Chuck went bad though you still operated on this age-old belief most of the time. You were having a kid, one who would be half of you and half of Dean, the love of your life for all intents and purposes. Though it had hurt when he dismissed you that morning, perhaps this had been the reason why he called you out of the blue, wanting you to come to him, and why you went despite knowing what would most likely happen and how much pain it would cause you.

So you made a decision to start pulling out of hunting. Donna rented her family cabin in Hibbing to you. Bobby hadn’t been back since Mary died so it was sitting empty and unused. You hid the pregnancy as best you could but ultimately, once the first trimester was over and you had popped, you couldn’t hide it anymore. Donna found out though she never knew who the father was. She didn’t pry which you appreciated. When she called you to warn you that Billie was making people disappear left and right, a familiar fear clawed at your chest. Not only fear for your child but also the fear of what if Dean found out about it. That was the only thing that kept you from offering to come down to Kansas to help. 

“We’re going into some place warded to protect us. You should do the same. I can send you pictures of the sigils they’re using.”

“Okay, thanks. Are you sure you’re going to be alright?”

“Yeah, don’t you worry. We’ll figure this out. You just stay safe in the cabin. You and…well, you know.”

You appreciated her staying discreet when you heard Sam’s voice in the background. “I will. Thanks, D.”

“You betcha. Talk soon.”

You hung up and Donna did indeed send you the pictures. You did your best with what you had but it didn’t matter in the end. The last thing you remembered was painting a sigil on the window and then everything went black. The next thing you knew, you were back at the window, your finger extended towards the glass, the half-finished sigil staring back at you. You noticed the sun was in a different position in the sky than it had been and you immediately grabbed your cell phone. Two days had passed. How? 

It hit you then what happened and you dropped the phone with a cry, immediately grabbing at your stomach. You ran for the machine Jody had shipped to you after Donna told her. At the time you’d been annoyed, but right now, you couldn’t be happier at the sheriff knowing about your pregnancy once your baby’s heartbeat echoed throughout the bedroom. You let out a huge sigh of relief, rubbing your belly affectionately. “We had quite a scare there, didn’t we, kiddo?”

It dawned on you then that while you had vanished, you were back, baby and all. Did that mean everyone else was back, too? You went back downstairs for your cell phone and immediately called Donna. Yep, everyone was back, they had all disappeared, and it wasn’t Billie but Chuck who had done it. You asked after Dean and Sam and that was when she told you about Cas and then Jack. You knew both brothers would be devastated, especially Dean, and you considered breaking your radio silence to call him. However, you chickened out at the last second and called Sam instead to check in.

It’s not that a part of you didn’t want to tell Dean he was going to be a father, it was that you were scared of what would happen when you did. Originally, you had feared that he would turn his back on you completely, more importantly on his kid, but now you were worried that maybe it would be the exact opposite. While you would be happy for him to be actively involved in your child’s life as its dad, you also knew Dean. He would try to resume things between you, make it work for the kid’s sake. Just look at how long he tried to make it work with Lisa for Ben’s sake. Not that he didn’t love her and he ended up leaving to protect them, but even Lisa knew his heart wasn’t in it. While that had been for different reasons involving hunting and Sam’s reappearance in his life, he still tried to make it work. But as he’d told you, the family thing didn’t work for him, and besides he already had a family with Sam, Cas, and Jack. You hadn’t missed how he didn’t include you in that group; you supposed you should’ve known then. 

You didn’t want him to fake wanting to be with you just to give your kid some semblance of a family life that Dean himself hadn’t really had. You didn’t know if you could take him forcing himself to kiss you goodnight before turning his back on you every single night. Or forcing a smile when he’d come home after a long day and you were the first thing he saw when he stepped inside. It was a ridiculous fear to have, you knew that, and you should be stronger than this — you were stronger than this. Not to mention, you knew you were being selfish and not at all fair to your baby or Dean. But the images kept replaying over and over in your mind, making you flinch, and you told yourself you’d tell him the next day. The next day turned into next week, then the next month. Before you knew it, you were in your third trimester and you were getting a call from his younger brother to inform you of his untimely death.

Maybe that’s really why you raced down here from Hibbing. Maybe that’s why you wanted to see for yourself that he was gone. Not only to confirm that the man who had your heart was gone for good, but also so you could tell him, hoping he might hear it wherever he now was. Or maybe by some act of mercy Jack could relay it to him, wherever Jack was. It was cowardly, you were a coward, and you hated yourself for it. You knew you should have told Dean months ago, after you found out that he and Sam had beaten Chuck, Jack was in charge of the universe now, and the world was not coming to an end anytime soon. Regardless, you couldn’t turn back the clock.

A tear escaped that you quickly wiped away, not caring if Sam saw or not. “You know, when you first told me about Dean, I considered a demon deal.”

Sam’s head snapped up. “No! That’s not what he would want! No!”

You held out a placating hand. “I know. I’m not going to do that.” He seemed to deflate slightly in relief. “I can’t, anyway.” You motioned to your bulging stomach. “I couldn’t do that to my kid. Only be around for 10 years and then poof, I’m gone? Even if it had Dean, if Dean wanted it that is, it’s still terrible to do that to a kid.” You winced slightly when you realized you were saying this to Sam Winchester of all people.

“Dean would’ve wanted it,” he assured you quietly.

You grimaced and dropped your gaze down to the dog who was staring up at you. “Maybe.” You reached down to pet his head. 

Sam placed a gentle hand on your shoulder. “He would’ve.”

You stayed quiet for a moment, thinking over his words, when you murmured, “Is there any way to get him back?”

Sam let you go and his hazel eyes began to shimmer. “No,” he choked out. “I, uh, checked with Jack and he said it was his time. So…no.”

“What?” You snapped, getting to your feet. “After everything you’ve done for that kid? He just—”

Sam got to his feet, tenderly cradling your shoulders. “I know. I didn’t want to hear it either but…Jack’s right.” Your jaw dropped, ready to let some f-bombs fly (which you usually tried to avoid since the baby could now hear you), when Sam’s hands moved up to your face, trying to get you to listen. “He was ready to go. Jack confirmed it. Dean’s in Heaven and he’s at peace.”

Tears were on the edge of falling when you heard that. “He’s in Heaven?”

Sam nodded, a tear making its way down his cheek. “Yeah. He is.”

If Dean was in Heaven…well, then that was some consolation at least. Just when he thought he’d never make it there thanks to his being a demon for a short stint, being killed by a Hell Hound, and everything that had occurred over the years — even some of the things he’d done. But that also meant he was gone, for good this time. It was confirmed; he wasn’t coming back. It hit you like a freight train and it punched a huge hole in your chest. You felt as if you were falling, falling, and would never stop. Dean was…gone. “Then he’s…”

“He’s gone,” Sam confirmed. “He’s not coming back.”

Your knees buckled and you nearly fell, Sam thankfully having caught you. You heard a wailing sound but you had no idea where it was coming from until you felt it ripping its way out of your body. Sam gingerly picked you up in his arms and moved you onto the bed. You were violently sobbing and you barely noticed Sam holding you, gently rocking you back and forth, his own tears falling into your hair. Miracle had jumped up and laid next to you, whining quietly and trying to shove his head under your hands, rubbing his body carefully against your belly. 

There was no way. No way that this was real. This had to be a nightmare. But when you heard Sam sniffle above you, choking out, “It’s going to be okay, Y/N. I promise, it’s going to be okay,” you knew that it wasn’t. Memories of Dean’s face, his laugh, his smiles, his touch, his scent, the way he looked at you when you’d both been happy together, his kisses, the way he felt like home in a way that no other person or place ever could, the way he made you feel safe — all of it smashed over you like a tidal wave and it didn’t let up. Dean Winchester, the man you’d loved with all of your heart, the man whose child you now carried inside of you, was gone. And there was nothing you could do to bring him back.

Dean had just pulled the Impala over at a beautiful spot, where you could see nature’s beauty for miles. He rested back against Baby and marveled at it all. There was even a double rainbow that showed up and Dean chuckled, knowing that had to be Jack’s doing considering there hadn’t been any rain. Then he wondered if it did rain at all. How did things like that work up here anyhow?

He was still enjoying the view when Jack popped in next to him. 

“There he is.” Dean grinned and went to give him a hug before he thought better of it. “Am I still allowed to…you know?”

Jack smiled. “Of course. I like hugs.”

Dean laughed and embraced him tightly. “Thanks, kid. For everything you did up here, I mean. Bobby told me.” He pulled back, clapping his shoulder in thanks. “So, where’s Cas?”

“He’ll be along shortly but first, I need to show you something.”

Dean’s brows furrowed but he shrugged. “Okay.”

Jack placed a hand on Dean’s shoulder and next thing Dean knew, he was back in his old room at the Bunker. “Whoa,” he whispered, thinking Jack and Cas had built the Bunker just for him. He would be able to wait for Sam here, in his home. He hoped the TV in the Dean Cave worked and that he still had access to his music. Baby’s radio had worked so he had high hopes. He was about to thank Jack when his eyes suddenly caught sight of someone in his bed. Well, two someones. 

He glanced towards Jack who gave him a subtle nod, silently encouraging him to get closer. Dean shot him a confused look but did move closer. When he caught sight of you, his heart dropped into his stomach. Even being dead, he felt the same exact thing he felt the last time he had seen you. You were the one who got away, or more appropriately, the one he pushed away. 

Sure, he’d been confused when he found out everything in his life was a lie when Chuck revealed himself to be a giant dick, but he did love you. He had such trouble reconciling the two: what he knew to be true and what his mind was telling him. No other romantic relationship had worked out for him, all two of them prior to you, and now he knew why. Chuck liked him better on his own, being the guy with no strings attached and rolling through town to save the girl, kill the monsters, get thanked, and move on his way. The only other person Chuck liked having in the Impala regularly was Sam. You, well, you he hadn’t seen coming and after the Big Bad Chuck reveal, he had to wonder why. 

He had never meant to hurt you, though he couldn’t seem to stop from doing it. If things weren’t real between you all of this time, he didn’t want to keep pretending like they were. That wasn’t fair to either of you and he certainly didn’t want to continue stringing you along when his heart was no longer in it like it used to be. So he let you go, as painful as it was and as wrong as it felt, he did the right thing by you. Then that night he’d called you out of the blue, he’d been torn up about Cas’ revelations about Jack’s actual role in Billie’s plan, how badly he wanted Chuck gone, and how while he didn’t want to sacrifice the kid, he wanted his and Sam’s freedom more. Without thinking, he’d picked up the phone and dialed you. He shocked himself when he asked you to come over after hearing you weren’t that far away, and you shocked him even more when you agreed. 

Dean hadn’t planned for you two to be intimate, but once you were there, right in front of him, it hit him hard how much he missed you, missed what you had together. So he made a move and you let him. He’d put everything he had, everything he felt but couldn’t tell you, into this stolen moment in time between you. And then the next morning, he thought it had all been a dream until he turned his head and saw you laying there, hair adorably disheveled, sheet covering you, doing something on your phone. It briefly reminded him of the many mornings he’d woken to find you in this exact same position, already up after a wild night, searching for cases. He wanted to bask in the comfort and familiarity for a moment longer, but when you turned and smiled at him, greeting him like you always had, he started kicking himself internally. He didn’t want you to think that this meant things would change when he knew they wouldn’t. He was being unfair to you and it wasn’t right. He’d been a selfish bastard and now he had to go into dick mode which would hurt you again. And sure enough, he knew he did when he saw your face fall as he easily dismissed you, not once but twice. He winced at the memory; he certainly didn’t blame you for not taking his calls or returning his voicemails after that.

The truth was that while he had initially been confused about his feelings for you and their validity, he knew he cared deeply about you and the most important thing was keeping you safe. He didn’t want you involved in the Chuck showdown, which is why he rudely dismissed you that morning, making up an excuse of a case in Duluth, something he knew you’d go along with. After watching you leave, as the door closed behind you, his heart fell into his stomach and he felt about three inches tall. He hated hurting you, hated pushing you away, but he knew it was for the best. You needed to be safe; not a target for Chuck.

After Chuck had been defeated and Jack took over, Dean realized in those months that he’d been a grade A idiot when it came to you. Sure, he’d been a cold dick, but he also had been a complete dumbass. He still loved you and he missed the hell out of you. What you had together had been something special that he stupidly threw away. There were quite a few nights after quite a few drinks, he’d picked up his phone and hovered over your number but he never actually called it. How could he even think of asking you to forgive him and give him another chance? After everything he’d said and done? He truly was a selfish bastard. 

When he didn’t call, he then switched over to all of the photos and videos he had taken of you and both of you together. As he heard your laughter, saw both of your smiles, watched how you looked at him and the affection you’d shown him, he continued drowning his sorrows. He wanted so much to talk to you, to apologize and explain, and ask if he could come see you, but he never let himself ask. He didn’t deserve it; he knew that. 

Now, here you were, asleep on his bed, Miracle curled up next to you. Staring down at you, he wondered how the hell he had ever let you go. And now, he’d never get to hold you again, feel your touch, or even share a conversation with you ever again. Even though Dean was at peace with his fate, regret languished within his chest the more he studied your face. He reached out to brush some hair back over your face but sadness overwhelmed him when he realized he couldn’t even do that small simple touch. Not anymore.

Dean’s eyes narrowed when he noticed an arm curled around you, almost protectively, pinning you to another body. His gaze traveled up that arm to find his younger brother, asleep right behind you. That surprised him but he quickly put two and two together. You must have gone to the Bunker when Sam called you to tell you the news and here you were, in Dean’s room, asleep on his bed with his dog. And while he didn’t begrudge you or his little brother some comfort you both might need, he didn’t like the look of that embrace or that Sam’s face was buried into the back of your neck.

Dean glanced back down at the arm, seeing Miracle staring right up at him. He couldn’t help but smile at the canine who had been his companion for months before he died. “Hey, boy,” he whispered, not sure if he would be heard or not but not wanting to startle you if he was. “How are you?”

Miracle didn’t seem to react at first, not until he got up and moved closer, wagging his tail. Dean went to try to pet the dog, hoping he could at least touch the animal, but he never got that far. His eyes zeroed in on just what Miracle’s body had been blocking.

His wide eyes flicked up to you, to Sam, back to you, and back to your fairly large and round stomach. The hell with being heard and possibly scaring you two. He glanced back to find Jack watching him. “What the hell is going on here, Jack?”

“They’re sleeping.”

“I’m aware of that,” he growled. “But what—”

Just then, Cas popped in next to Jack. When the angel saw Dean, he offered a soft smile. Dean felt himself relax slightly and a part of him wanted to go hug the angel but another part of him was nervous to. Plus, he really wanted to know what the hell was going on. He shifted his eyes towards Jack, his jaw tightening. “What the hell are you showing me?”

Cas glanced towards the bed, realization lighting his features, before he turned to Jack as well.

“The present,” Jack simply answered.

Dean cursed under his breath, not caring that both Cas and Jack could hear him. “The present of what? Because from where I’m standing, it seems like some time has passed.” He gestured towards your stomach. He tried not to be angry with you or Sammy, he really did, but dammit, his brother knew how he felt about you! Him dying didn’t change that! Besides, Sam had something going with Eileen last he knew, whatever happened to that?

“What you’re seeing is a few days after your death.”

Surprise ran through Dean at that revelation. So, this wasn’t some screwed up future scene he was witnessing? His eyes roamed over you, coming to rest once again on your stomach. You were very pregnant, looking as if you might be ready to pop any day now, he wasn’t sure. But one thing was clear; there was no way the baby was Sam’s. Sam wouldn’t have been able to keep that secret from him that long and he just didn’t see you or Sam going behind his back like that while he was alive. You were pissed at him, maybe even hated him, but you would never do that to him. Nor would Sam. The only answer was that you had found someone else and you were starting a family with them. Now he understood your radio silence even more. You might currently be sad at the news of his death, awash in memories in his room to where you’d fallen asleep on his bed and Sam had to comfort you, but you had truly moved on. That burned him even more. While he was happy if you were happy, knowing you’d found someone who wouldn’t break your heart and would treat you better than he ever could, a part of him was saddened by this knowledge. He knew you were too good for him, that you deserved better, but to see it confirmed in such a way, well, it was heartbreaking.

“So if she’s… Then she’s…” He couldn’t even put it into words; it hurt too much.

Jack clasped Dean’s shoulder. “The child is yours, Dean.”

Dean wasn’t alive anymore but if he had been, his heart would have stopped. He turned to Jack, shocked. “What?”

“You’re going to be a father,” Jack supplied, letting him go.

“But…how?” Dean’s gaze fell on you once more.

Cas suddenly appeared on his other side. “You don’t remember how you conceived the child?”

“What? No, I just…”

“Dean,” Jack called. 

When he turned to look at the new God, the latter held up a glowing finger to him that almost reminded him of that movie E.T. “What are you gonna do with that? Check my temperature?” Speaking of E.T., hadn’t that been one of the last movies picked for movie night before the Chuck showdown?

Jack smiled and touched the finger to his forehead. Within seconds, Dean was reliving every single moment between you two:

…When you’d met. 

…When he decided he’d liked you while you decided you didn’t like him too much.

…His constant flirting and trying to win you over.

…Your begrudging friendship that then grew into something more.

…Your relationship.

…Your breakup.

…All of the times you’d been in pain because of him.

…That last night.

…The next morning. 

Then the memories shifted to yours from after that morning: 

…You finding out about the pregnancy a couple of months later.

…Your hemming and hawing over calling him to tell him.

…Your fears.

…When you’d vanished with everyone else.

…Your panic upon your reappearance.

…The time you spent getting ready to retire from hunting and set up a normal life in Hibbing while preparing for the baby.

…The call from Sam with the news of his death.

…Your regret at not telling him about his child and your drive down here.

…Your conversation with Sam.

…Your collapsing in grief at finally realizing that he was gone and not coming back.

All of it that led to the scene he was witnessing now. He felt everything you felt, heard every thought, saw every tear, every smile. 

By the time Jack pulled away, Dean’s eyes were wet. He wasn’t sure how he was able to produce tears as a dead man but he did. Not only did he feel how deeply he’d hurt you, but he also felt just how deeply you loved him. He already knew he’d been an idiot when it came to you, but he really had no clue before this just how incredibly stupid he’d been. It had always been real between you. That hadn’t been Chuck. Not by a long shot.

Dean discreetly wiped his eyes. “Send me back.” His tone was firm and he wasn’t really asking.

“I’m sorry, Dean, but your time on Earth is up.”

Dean turned a menacing glare onto Jack. New God or not, he didn’t care. “She’s having my kid and she needs me. They both need me. Sam, too. After everything I’ve done for this world, you owe me.” Jack stared him down, unbothered by the taller man’s attempt to make demands. “Now I appreciate the Fixer Upper: Heaven Edition, I really do, but I should be with them. I deserve a shot at this and you know it.”

Jack mused on that for a moment before staring up at Dean sadly. “I’m afraid it doesn’t work like that.”

Dean scoffed. “Then why bother showing me any of this? Why bother telling me that it’s my kid she’s about to have? What’s the point, dammit?”

“You were afraid that you had left nothing behind of value, except Sam and your beloved car. Afraid that your life hadn’t amounted to anything in the end. No matter how many people you saved, no matter how many connections you made, no matter what good you did. ” Jack gestured towards you. “It did amount to something. You are leaving behind something, something important. A legacy,” Jack gestured to your stomach. “A family,” he waved his hand over you and Sam. 

Dean’s jaw clenched and he ignored the stinging in the corner of his eyes. “So this was just to show me what I can never have. The girl, the kid, the life…that’s just aces,” he muttered.

“No, Dean,” Cas spoke up. “What Jack is trying to explain is—”

“--your life amounted to more than you thought it had,” Jack finished.

Dean watched as Miracle went back and curled up against your belly once more, his head on his paws as he watched the scene in front of him. The corner of Dean’s lips tipped up into a smile. It was almost as if the dog knew it was his kid in there. And he was determined to protect it in Dean’s absence. His smile faded though when he thought of how he wouldn’t be able to see his kid, at all. He’d had enough of this. “That’s great. Appreciate the pep talk, fellas. Now, if you could send me back so I can actually raise my legacy and take care of my family, that’d be much appreciated.”

Jack and Cas exchanged a glance. Dean knew he wasn’t winning this one but that didn’t mean he wouldn’t keep trying. “It’s not your time yet,” Jack answered cryptically.

Dean’s head snapped in his direction. “What the hell does that mean?”

“It means that now your time is in Heaven, not Earth. And it’s best if you return to it.” Before Jack could snap his fingers, Dean held up a hand.

“Whoa, wait! That’s it? You’re not even gonna let me stick around to see what I’m gonna have?”

Jack smiled once more. “You’re going to have a son. A strong, healthy son.”

Dean reeled from that information. “A son?” He choked out.

Jack gave him a happy nod and held his fingers up again.

“Wait, wait! I’m serious, Jack. Why can’t I stick around?”

“You know what happens to ghosts, Dean. Besides, you’ve already been admitted to Heaven.”

“But you can do something about that, right? Like bring me back?” When Jack didn’t respond, Dean became desperate. “At least let me check in on them every now and then or something! You’re telling me you can’t even do that? You’re freaking God!”

Jack’s smile faded. “You’re not an angel, Dean.”

“No,” Cas interrupted. “But I am.” Cas stretched out his wings that were a lot brighter than Dean remembered. If he wasn’t dead, he was pretty sure he would at they very least be blinded from the brightness right about now. “I can take him back when he’s ready and I can escort him on any future visits.”

Dean was shocked but also beyond grateful at Cas’ offer. While they hadn’t spoken yet about how things were left between them before The Empty took away the angel, he couldn’t imagine it would be easy for Cas to watch as he pined over someone else, as he watched his kid grow, but Dean was grateful all the same. 

Jack appeared to think this over before meeting Cas’ intent gaze. “You will make sure to bring him back each time.” At Cas’ nod, Jack gave him a knowing yet affectionate smile. “I expect you to keep to the rules during these visits.”

“Of course,” Cas agreed.

Jack then glanced over at Dean. “If you’re worried about her and your child, you don’t need to be. Sam is going to watch over them.” Dean’s eyes widened slightly and his head snapped in your direction, his eyes shifting to Sam’s arm around you.

“What the hell does that mean?” He demanded.

“It means that your family is going to be safe. They’re going to stick together. Sam is going to help Y/N raise your son. He won’t allow any harm to come to them.” 

His jaw tightened, thinking it should be his arm over you, him behind you, him helping you raise your kid, you two together. He should be the one to take his son fishing, teach him about girls when he got older, show him how to keep Baby going, be the father his old man had the potential to be but minus a few things. He’d do whatever it took to keep the kid out of hunting, to give him a shot at a full happy life. He’d give up hunting himself in order to make it happen. And you…if you’d take him back, he’d never leave your side. Hell, he’d marry you if you let him. After Jack had caught him up to speed on everything you went through, everything you had felt and were feeling, he’d spend the rest of his life making it up to you, letting you know every single day just how much he loved you, if only you’d let him. If only Jack would allow him to come back. It felt beyond wrong that he wasn’t there and Sam was stepping into his place. Sam shouldn’t have to; he should be able to go and build his own family with Eileen or whoever, get married, have a couple of kids, buy a house, get out of hunting and go back to school — do whatever he wanted with his life. Not this.

“Dean.”

His eyes slowly lifted to Jack’s, who was a lot closer now than he had been before. He laid a reassuring hand on the man’s shoulder. “It’s as it should be. After you died, Sam was lost. She’s going to need help when the child is born.” He stared at Dean meaningfully. “They all need this.”

Dean’s gaze briefly roamed over the three of you on the bed before landing on Jack again. He thought back to his cryptic words from before. “Will I ever meet my kid? Get to see her again? Outside of Heaven?”

Jack’s expression didn’t change nor did he say anything but he squeezed his shoulder. That was the only response Dean was going to get apparently. 

Dean huffed a snort and shook his head.

“I told you, Dean. There would be no more meddling with the world from on high. I will not repeat Chuck’s mistakes. Everything is as it should be.”

Dean’s jaw clenched and he dropped his gaze. No, everything wasn’t as it should be. He made up his mind then to talk to Bobby when he got back. There had to be something he could do to get back to Earth, to get back to you and Sam and the baby…to get back to you all. If he couldn’t convince Jack to send him back, he’d find some other way.

Jack released him as Cas came to stand next to Dean. “I’ll see you back in Heaven.” He then looked at Cas. “Not too long.”

Cas gave him a nod and like that, Jack disappeared, leaving the angel and the hunter alone. Dean wasn’t thinking about how that might have set them up to talk about Cas’ last words to him before dying; right now, his focus was on you.

“Cas, please…can I touch her?”

“Dean…”

“Please,” he begged. “Just one last time. I’m not gonna get to be with her or raise my kid. I just want to touch her one last time. Please, Cas.”

Cas thought it over and then moved closer to the bed, leaning down to place two fingers against your forehead. Dean’s brows furrowed when he noticed a golden glow appear from the touch. “Whoa, whoa, Cas. What are you doing?”

“I’m giving you what you asked for. Y/N’s a light sleeper, like all of you hunters. If she wakes up, she could think she’s being attacked by a ghost or some other entity. I doubt you want that.” He pulled away and gave Dean a look.

“No,” Dean quietly agreed. Cas moved away to make room to let him in. Dean gingerly sat on the bed, about to touch you when he glanced up at the angel, unsure. Cas gave him a nod and Dean turned to gently run the backs of his fingers down your cheek. He felt your warm and soft skin this time when he came into contact with you and he let out a small breath of relief, sadness filling his chest. 

“I’m so sorry, Y/N. Had I known, I would’ve…” He supposed it didn’t really matter what he would’ve done. “I should’ve been there. You shouldn’t have had to go through all this alone. I should be there with you now, ready to help you take care of the kid. I…” He tenderly moved your hair behind your ear. “I’m sorry, sweetheart. I never wanted to hurt you, but I had to keep you safe. I didn’t want you to become a target for Chuck. And I never should’ve…” He could feel a familiar stinging at the corners of his eyes and he wasn’t surprised that his voice was a bit gruffer when he next spoke. “I knew what we had was real. I know I questioned it for a second there but I always knew. That’s why it was so important to me that you were safe. But it doesn’t make what I did and said okay. And I’m sorry for that.” He ran his fingers lightly over your lips, wishing he could kiss you one last time, feeling you kissing him back. “I love you,” he whispered, a single tear falling down his cheek that he hastily wiped away. He stroked the apple of your cheek tenderly with his thumb. “And I always will.”

Not really wanting to pull away from you but knowing he was on a time clock, he reluctantly moved his fingers away from your face and laid his hand on your belly. He couldn’t feel anything except the taut skin underneath his fingertips, but it was enough to make him smile. “Being that you’re my kid, you’re probably going to give your mom a run for her money. Try not to make her too crazy, huh?” He let out a watery sounding laugh. “I’m sorry I can’t be there but your Uncle Sammy is going to make sure you and your mom are taken care of. Okay? He’s going to show you how to toss a ball around, help you with your homework, all that stuff. Just do me a favor, though. Don’t let him feed you kale the whole time and don’t let him get you into his true crime podcasts. The guy is a classic nerd, don’t let him turn you into one, too.” His smile slowly faded. “Saying all that, he’s one of the best guys I've ever known and I know he’ll be good to you, be good to your mom. So cut him some slack when you get older, alright?” He rubbed his thumb in gentle circles. “Take care of your mom for me. I’ll be watching over both of you. I hope I get to meet you someday.” Unable to resist, he leaned down and pressed a kiss to your stomach before sitting up and coming face to face with Miracle. The dog quietly whined and Dean gave him one last good head scratch. “You look out for them, okay buddy?” The dog whined again and Dean patted him.

“Dean,” Cas gently called.

Dean nodded and slowly got to his feet. His eyes shifted to Sam who was sound asleep, giving him a soft smile. “Thanks for taking care of them, Sammy,” he whispered. He didn’t vocalize that it was only temporary, that he was hell bent and determined to find a way to get back. His eyes then landed on you and he reached out to you one last time, trailing a fingertip along the dried tear tracks on your cheek. “Cas, can we just stay until they wake up?”

“Dean, Jack said—”

“I know what Jack said,” Dean snapped, glancing back at the angel whose parted lips pressed into a thin line. Dean immediately felt sorry for snapping at him; it wasn’t Cas’ fault and he wasn’t angry with him. He softened his tone. “I just want to be here when she wakes up. That’s all.” Cas seemed to be wrestling with his request. “Please, Cas,” he begged. “I just want to see her like this, awake.” He was slightly embarrassed at admitting that to his best friend but he wasn’t sure when he’d be allowed to visit again (and what he might be able to figure out to get himself back or how long it would take), and he had the strongest urge to see you up and about, walking around, pregnant with his kid. Not to mention he wanted to hear your voice one last time. “Please,” he whispered in a broken plea.

Cas stared at him for a moment before giving him a nod. “But after she wakes, we go back.”

“Thank you, Cas.” He meant it. While he highly doubted Cas would get into any real trouble on his behalf, he knew how difficult it must be for the angel to unwillingly push against Jack’s rules.  Dean turned back to you, carefully sitting down next to you, caressing your face. “Sleep, sweetheart. I’ll keep you safe,” he murmured. He also made you a silent promise: he would do whatever it took to get back to you. His eyes briefly roamed to your stomach. To get back to both of you. Fate and the universe and all that crap be damned.

A/N: Please don't hate me.

Please let me know if you would like to be tagged for this character.

dividers by @firefly-graphics

banner by @cafekitsune

[samofmine]

i have this hc that if sam and dean need to part ways for some reason or if they're away from each other for too long they won't stop texting/calling each other, to the point it annoys everyone.

like, dean will be on the car with jody after just leaving the bunker and he'll call sam and tell him something he forgot to say before they left and its obviously just an excuse and jody rolls her eyes.

"you just saw him 3 minutes ago. did you think he disappeared?"

she expects a laugh but dean becomes tense and well, okay. not really something to joke about around him. she watches him grab his phone again to send a text and she wont even pretend like it's for someone else.

or sam will be at the grocery shop and call dean to ask what is the brand of frozen pizza he usually buys (they get the same every time but he has to be sure). and then he calls again to let him know he's done and will be home in a few minutes.

dean texts him stupid jokes as well, because if sam isnt there to hear them at least he can read them and not miss out on how funny he is. sam only replies to them with lol or 🙄.

sometimes when it's the middle of the night and they are each in their own rooms and sam gets too anxious about whatever crap they're currently facing and he can't fall asleep, he calls dean to hear his voice tell him something he forgot to say or to ask a question about whatever they have to do tomorrow.

sometimes dean wakes up from a bad dream and calls sam just to remember what's real. he doesnt say anything, and sam is used to it already, so he tries to comfort him "it's okay, de. it was just a bad dream. you're okay. we're safe."

when sam has his nightmares, he's always reluctant to call dean but dean always hears him waking up, even when he doesn't scream, so he calls him instead. he never addresses the nightmares, just keeps talking about random stuff until sam's heart slows down enough

they never really got used to sleeping alone, but of course they don't go knocking on each other's bedroom door and letting themselves in. that would be weird.

they fall back asleep with their phones on their ears more than once.

[deansdelicate]

we might just get away with it

dean ambrose x fem!reader

word count: [4.7k]

warnings: no use of y/n, mild cursing & sexual innuendos, in ring action (reader is a female superstar), overall two idiots being fluffy and in love <3

summary: the four times you and dean thought you were doing a good job at keeping your relationship under wraps + the one time you both ended up getting away with it.

The camera crew found themselves huddled in the narrow corridor of the arena, a likely place for them to be seeing as though The Authority loved to handle business backstage—but of course not without protection from the forces none other than The Shield.

The three men were already inside on their marks, probably talking amongst themselves with Steph and Hunter while you waited outside, preparing for your cue.

“We’re on in 30 seconds!” a stage hand announced, meticulously checking the stop watch and monitors, ensuring the cameras were in position and ready to roll once commercial break ended.

You bounced from foot to foot, getting yourself ready as time winded down. Glancing over at the crew who gave you a thumbs up, mouthing the final 10 seconds until the show was back on air.

“Action!”

Your fist came in contact with the door, pausing for a couple of seconds before hearing a voice say “come in” from the other side. The cameras followed as you twisted the handle, stepping into the ‘office’ and bringing the boys and bosses into the audience’s view.

The boys kept to themselves on the opposite end of the room, hardened gazes glued to their faces as they stared you down.

You rose your brows at the slightly, portraying your repulsion for the faction and their allegiance to the overbearing bosses. After a brief moment, you turned your attention to Stephanie and Hunter.

“Is there something we can do for you today?” Stephanie looked up from her laptop, shutting it with a sharp slap that made you flinch just a tad.

You shook it off, taking a deep breath before you spoke with the most confidence you could muster.

“I want a shot at the championship.”

Upon hearing your demand, Triple H even looked up from his own laptop, staring at you intently before turning to his wife. The two of them letting out strings of condescending laughter that had you furrowing your brows in annoyance.

“I love the confidence sweetheart, but I think you’ve forgotten how it works around here.” He smirked, bringing his clasped hands up to rest on the wooden desk.

“You can’t just barge into our office and demand a match for the title,” Steph started with a shake of her head.

“We’ve got bigger things to handle and maybe when you start acting like champion material then we can have a talk about a title opportunity.”

She wore that signature evil smirk, your jaw clenching as your rigid hands formed into fists at your sides.

“You bitc—”

Before you could swing, a set of hands wrapped around your waist and another grabbed your wrists, stopping them from crossing the distance to Steph’s cheek. You could feel them behind you, the three of them swarming in too close, making the already cramped room feel claustrophobic.

“Let’s not do anything rash, sweet thing.”

A voice spoke low, breath fanning down your neck sending shivers up your spine, leaving you frozen.

Yet you remained cool, your game face still on as Hunter stood up, shielding his shaken up wife.

“Get her out of here,” He demanded, pointing the boys to the door and scowling at you.

“I’m gonna get my match one way or another!”

You struggled and jerked in their holds, needing to be practically dragged across the room to where Roman held the door wide open.

Seth’s hold on your wrists retracted, pushing you out into the halls, but the pair of hands on your waist that belonged to none other than Dean Ambrose remained, not daring to let you go just yet.

His fingertips dug into the dough of your hips, curbing your fight and forcing you to meet his eyes.

“Next time you pull some crap like that, we won’t be so nice.” He murmured lowly, the two of you boring right through each other.

You scoffed, tongue running across your teeth before tilting your head at him, not making any move to remove his hands from your skin.

“That so? What are you gonna do about it? Power bomb me through a table? C’mon…hit me.” You dared, jutting your chin out though he retract.

Seth and Roman let out guffaws not phased at all, and Dean joined them a few seconds later, shaking their heads at how you managed to be standing in their presence without facing retaliation.

“The Authority and The Shield stand for the same thing: Justice. And whoever defies justice, man or woman, will get what’s coming to them sooner or later.” Seth declared.

You shifted your eyes up to his, “You mean The Authority made The Shield their bitch and now they do their dirty work for them?” You snapped back harshly, watching their faces fall with rage.

Roman grunted something under his breath, shooing you off. “Run along, you don’t want problems with The Shield.”

Dean laughed, squeezing your hips again, though the cameras didn’t catch it, your eyes drifting to meet his.

“What’re you gonna do? Send a little boy toy to get your justice for you?” He mocked.

You rolled your eyes before a small smirk came onto your face. Your eyes looking down between you both an innuendo that all the fans in the building laughed and hooted at.

“Trust me, you and I both know the boys I like are far from little.”

You roughly shoved his arms off of you and walked out of view while the camera panned to the boys peering down your path.

“Cut!” The stage hand called out, already getting the crew out of the tiny space in order to head to the next segment.

You waited patiently off to the side, passing each of the crew members a smile and ‘thank you’ before you skipped back over to the office where the boys stuck around.

“You idiot!” You screeched, drawing a weak fist to Dean’s chest as he snickered and wrapped his arms around your back, drawing you into him.

“I couldn’t help myself,” He shrugged, placing a chaste peck onto your lips, letting you kiss him despite some more not caring about the obvious lipstick marks left behind.

“Off script? Really, you two?” Steph crept up from behind, letting out a laugh despite trying to be serious because even she and her husband were notorious for doing the same back in the day.

Roman shook his head, light heartedly at you two. “I really thought I missed a line in the script.” He admitted, while everyone shared a laugh.

“Is that even PG?” Seth speculated, knowing Vince would have their heads on platters because you and Dean couldn’t help yourselves with a little sexual repartee.

Hunter snorted shifting his palm side to side knowing at the very least it could get flagged with a warning from the network, but it would definitely serve some entertainment from the fans and social media.

“You know one day the fans are going to catch on that this is really a thing.” He gestured between you and Dean’s bodies, the two of you still clinging to each other closely.

You rested your chin on his chest, looking up at him with a glint in your eyes that he returned just as passionately.

“We might just get away with it.”

Meet and greets were one of the more relaxing sides to the job and it was even better that you got to do it with your boyfriend sitting just a few chairs down.

Many fans, ranging of all ages took their time, greeting you with smiles, hugs, and funny stories, wishing you luck for a title match and you secretly knew was in the works.

A little girl approached you, her parents waving at you excitedly while they trailed behind her with a camera in hand making sure to document the moment their daughter got to meet her favorite wrestler. She sported your merch, alongside a title belt across her waist—the same one you were gunning after.

“You should’ve slapped Dean for not getting his hands off you!” she quipped instantly, hands on her hips, clearly disapproving of Dean’s behavior.

You bursted into a fit of laughter as did the other superstars around you, who high-fived the young gal, applauding her about the lesson Dean Ambrose needed to learn for messing with you. Being a baby face meant kids were especially protective of their favorites, and not wanting them to be tormented by ruthless heels.

“I really should have done that! I’ll remember for next time, okay?” You promised with a giggle, bending down to give her a warm hug.

She undid the belt around her waist, flipping it over so you could sign it. The two of you exchanging small talk before a familiar voice snuck in from behind you, prompting you both to shift your attention to the man himself.

“Hey! You planning on slapping me?” Dean declared, arms crossed over his chest defensively as Seth and Roman remained at his sides.

“Yeah! Don’t touch her again or else she’s going to slap you!”

The girl stood her ground, standing up straighter and glaring harshly at your boyfriend who played along, patting his cheek with a smirk.

“I don’t think she’d risk beating up a pretty face like mine,” he teased, looking over at you with a knowing smile that only you two could read into.

You grinned through the blush covering your cheeks, shaking your head, before pointing at the fan.

“I mean I couldn’t possibly ruin a pretty face like his, but maybe you could?” You suggested, watching as her jaw dropped.

“You mean I slap Dean?” She whispered in your ear, looking at you with hesitation.

You nodded assuringly, rubbing her shoulders like you were getting her pumped up for a fight.

“Yeah c’mon show him that no one messes with the future women’s champion.”

You hyped her up and soon all the superstars joined in chanting “slap him! slap him!”

Dean did his best to hold back a smile, getting down on his knees so that the girl could reach him. His arms spread wide, nodding and egging her on.

“You won’t hit me. Come on, I know you won’t—Oww!”

The slap was tame, even for a child, just a tap with a little force behind it. Instantly the girl cowered back, wrapping her arms around your frame hugging you closely as all the superstars and awaiting fans cheered her on for standing up for you.

“Way to go!” you praised, giving her a high-five and telling her how much she’d be a great wrestler in the future, maybe even the one to take the championship from you.

Eventually Dean slightly broke kayfabe, fist-bumping the girl and pinky promising that he wouldn’t put his hands on you again. All three men posed for a picture with her, frightened and panicky expressions on their faces as the girl held up a mighty fist.

She even got you and Dean to smile for a picture with her—and somehow no one noticed the dainty “D” initial that hung from the chain around your neck.

You sat in catering, joined by Naomi and Brie, the three of you catching up on life while tuning in to the match that played over the television. It was Seth versus Daniel, with Roman and Dean who got the chance to sit in on commentary for the night.

“I saw that interaction you and Dean had with that cute fan. You guys totally made her day.” Naomi grinned, noting how the little stunt you and Dean pulled was circulating around social media.

It was met with mostly positive lighthearted reactions that somehow didn’t revolve around the rumors that you were together in real life.

“Oh, she was adorable! I just wished she slapped Dean a little harder.” You shrieked, making the girls laugh thinking of how much fun this girl must have had.

Michael Cole’s voice drew your attention back to the TV.

“Dean last week you and the boys got into some stuff backstage with a certain female superstar. I suppose The Authority has you all on high alert after Steph nearly got attacked on your watch.”

The camera panned slightly to the commentators’ desk, where Dean’s fingertips tapped against his collarbones, seemingly forgetting the match in front of him at the mention of you.

“We’re used to threats of all kinds, but usually they aren’t this pretty or alluring. And she’s feisty, I’ll tell you that much, but I doubt she’ll want to mess with The Authority as long as The Shield is around,” he replied smugly, glancing over at Roman who nodded in agreement.

“She’s also got quite the smile, if you ask me! She’s drop-dead gorgeous,” The King, Jerry Lawler, jumped into the conversation, adding a whistle for good measure.

Dean’s face twisted in distaste as he shook his head at the legend, “Jeez, relax, would you, King? I’m sure she’s into the younger, more charming kinda guys—you know, piercing blue eyes, killer body, top-notch sense of humor?”

“Are you insinuating that—”

“What Dean means is that we’re not letting her distract us. In fact, she’s history from here on out.” Roman cut in.

Interrupting Cole from finishing his sentence that was sure to get Dean in hot water for making the entire match about his in real-life girlfriend whom he was irrevocably in love with.

The girls beside you whistled and giggled like middle-schoolers, knocking their elbows into your shoulders, knowing your boyfriend couldn’t help but get a little jealous even if it was just all for fun—what could you say? Your boyfriend was more than a little protective.

“Oh, he’s obsessed with you!” Brie teased, while you hung your head low, masking your blush behind your hair.

“What he is going to be is fired if he keeps it up.” You groaned half-jokingly, raising your head when you heard the bell ring and their theme song hit.

Roman and Dean slid into the ring, lifting their brother’s arm up in victory and celebrating together before retreating backstage through the crowd. But of course Dean couldn’t miss a poster with your name written across it, smirking at the fan who wore your merch and giving his nod of approval for support.

You quickly said goodbye to the girls, tossing your plate of food into the bins and heading towards the corridor where you knew they would be coming in from. When you arrived, they just so happened to get through the doors, arena security guards shaking their hands and posing for a quick picture and then heading off.

“Really? You know being on commentary means you comment on the match in front of you? Not your girlfriend.”

You crossed your arms across your chest, leaning against the walls as you gawked feigning exasperation.

Roman and Seth snickered, swinging their heads and heading off towards the carts to recuperate, letting you and Dean have your usual banter that turned into a love fest all too fast.

“Is there something going on between you and Jerry? Because I might just put him out of retirement.” He made his way towards you, lifting a speculating brow.

You let your arms fall across his waist, a cheeky smile seeping on to your features at the thought of him truly being jealous over Jerry Lawler, of all people. Yet you didn’t hesitate to iron out his worries, staring up at him fondly.

“It’s an honor to be one of his favorite female superstars, but I can assure you it’s all one sided. My sights are strictly set on a more younger, charming guy with piercing blue eyes and an impeccable sense of humor.”

You chided, poking at his cheek, watching the dimples form when he tried to hold back his smile.

“Some might even say good with the ladies?” He added with a wiggle of his brows while you threw your head back and laughed, pushing at his chest.

“Yeah, right. I’m the only lady he’s good with.”

He nodded in agreement, pulling you closer and placing a quick kiss on your forehead.

“Let’s get out of here before I do something else that gets me in trouble.”

You linked your fingers with his, the two of you strolling back towards the main area of the arena out of the public space.

As you made your way through the dimly lit corridors, a few fans who were taking bathroom and concession stand breaks caught sight of your backs. However, they didn’t recognize you out of your wrestling attire—curiously wondering who was the mystery lady was.

Dean watched the monitors intently, his knee bouncing up and down anxiously from where he was sitting in gorilla position tuning into your championship contender match against Nikki. The final minutes were winding down, and Brie had already been ejected, sent backstage after the ref caught her trying to aid her twin in the match.

“That’s my girl!” he clapped loud, standing up as you hit your finisher and got the pin—the rest of gorilla cheering for you, knowing it was a long time coming.

You hadn’t told him the outcome of the match, and no matter how hard he tried to get it out of you, it was all worth it seeing you celebrate and get one step closer to your first championship run. When you made it up the ramp and back through the curtain, you were instantly lifted off your feet, your arms clinging around his frame before being smothered in congratulatory kisses.

“I knew you were gonna win it.” He told you, setting you down and tucking strands of your hair behind your ear.

“I think I deserve a celebration tonight, don’t you?” You whispered secretly just for the two of you to hear, both of you sharing grins before he nodded, and placed a kiss on your lips.

“I say we get our segment over with, then get out of here?” He proposed, already hearing the stage hand calling out for the two of you to get into positions backstage.

“I’d like that a lot.” You agreed, taking his hand to where a stagehand was guiding you through the short segment.

Seth, Roman and Steph were already on their marks, greeting you with hugs and salutes before needing to step out of view while the cameras set up. They would be close behind Steph, acting as her personal security personnel for when she confronted you about your match on Sunday.

“Action!”

“Well, well, well,” Stephanie clapped her hands slowly, approaching you where you sat on the carts, icing your shoulder, “Congratulations on being the number one contender for the women’s championship, I guess you are champion material after all.”

You bit the inside of your cheek, grimacing at the strain in your shoulder before standing up to face her.

“Save it, Stephanie, and cut to the chase. What’s the catch? I know you wouldn’t make it this easy for me to get what I want.”

She frowned deceptively, “Do you really think I’m that cruel?” she glanced behind her, questioning the boys, “Can you guys believe that?”

They sneered at you, shaking their heads before Steph turned her attention back to you with a heavy sigh that always meant bad news.

“I’ll have you know that I always knew that you could do it, you just needed someone to light that fire underneath you. And I’m sure you’ll get the job done this Sunday. But just to be very sure, I think The Shield wouldn’t mind a front-row seat at your championship match.”

You clenched your jaw, glaring at her, “I don’t need them causing distractions.”

Dean snorted, gesturing to himself in a self-absorbed manner, “I’m flattered sweetheart, I really am, but your attention really should be on winning.”

You turned your nose up at him, looking the other way “Oh please, don’t let it get to your head Ambrose, you disgust me on many levels.”

Steph clapped her hands, looking at the faction, then back at you.

“Well, it’s settled. The Shield will be ringside for your championship match on Sunday. And I’ll be tuning in…champ.”

With that, she strutted away, leaving you and the boys behind with the camera still focused on you four.

“Stay out of my way,” you growled, eyeing each one of them down threateningly, not wanting your one championship opportunity to be at risk.

“Don’t worry about us.” Roman shook his head, walking off first.

“Wouldn’t want to let that championship slip from right under you.” Seth cackled manically, rubbing his hands together and following suit.

Only you and Dean remained, but this time instead of words being spoken aloud for everyone else to hear, his hands came up to cup around your ear, whispering words only two would ever know.

“I’ll be cheering you on. You know I always am. And you looked sexy out there, by the way.”

He backed off with a wink, leaving you flushed despite trying to play it off as hatred.

The crowd could only wonder what Dean had said to you, and it seemed like Cole and Jerry were just as curious, speaking over commentary about some ideas. Shortly after, the cameras cut, and once again, you were lifted off your feet, Dean hoisting you up a few inches off the ground to give you a proper hug after being rushed in gorilla.

“Congrats again, and don’t forget to go over the script changes!” Stephanie reminded, smiling as she waved goodbye to you and Dean, knowing you two would be pleasantly happy with creative’s turn on the storyline.

Dean raised an eyebrow, calling out to her “Script changes?”

Stephanie grinned, looking over her shoulder towards the both of you. “Just a little tweak for the next show. You’ll like it a lot.”

As she walked away, you and Dean exchanged curious glances not knowing what the script change could be on such short notice.

“Guess we better check those out,” you shrugged tossing the melted ice pack into a nearby trash bin.

He nodded, his hand finding yours again running his fingertips across your knuckles, leaning down to murmur against your lips.

“Yeah, but first, let’s get out of here and celebrate your win. And I meant what I said earlier…you look pretty damn sexy.”

“Lead the way, baby.” You leaned in, letting your lips brush his gingerly, a lingering kiss remaining until you were left to worship the rest of it in privacy.

“Get up, AJ!” you screamed, yanking her up by the hair and throwing her down into one of the corners of the ring.

Your boot met her midsection repeatedly until the ref pulled you back, giving her a moment to catch her breath while you and the official exchanged some words in the meantime.

The Shield boys kept to themselves, spread out on all three sides of the ring, keeping an eye on the entire match and most importantly, you.

To be quite honest, it was hard for Dean to hold back on his excitement, his tongue practically bruised from biting down on it, trying not to break out of character and into smiles or cheers when you got the upper hand in the match.

They were anxiously waiting for their cue; you picking AJ back up and throwing her towards the center of the ring, ready to go for your finisher. That’s when they got into positions, teetering up on the apron grabbing onto the ropes as if they were stalking their way in.

“What the hell is The Shield doing, Cole?” Jerry questioned, his voice filled with concern.

“I have no clue, but it can’t be good. We have to assume, ladies and gentleman, that Stephanie McMahon put them up to this,” Cole proposed.

You took notice of the men involving themselves in the biggest match of your life, brows pulled together in anger and frustration.

“Hey! What the hell is wrong with you guys?” You shouted, turning your attention to the boys who were now standing on the apron, sights set on you.

You walked towards Dean, and the ref headed towards Roman and Seth signaling for them to get down.

“Leave me the hell alone” You seethed, coming face to face with Dean. The only thing separating the both of you were the ring ropes.

“I know you like it.” He gloated, arms held wide, earning boos from the crowd.

You shook your head, turning away slightly only for the palm of your hand to meet his cheek with a harsh slap a few seconds later.

The crowd erupted in cheers as Dean pinched his eyes shut, shaking off the sting in his skin, putting on a cocky sneer that quickly had you angered again. You kept an eye on the titantron in front of you, aware that AJ would be coming in any second to catch you off guard, which was all a part of the finish.

Seth and Roman hopped back down onto the floor, while Dean took notice of AJ sprinting behind you. His arms shoving you out harm’s way in order to take the hit. Her legs knocking him to the floor, while she fell to the mat, unaware that you had backed into one of the corners, shocked at Dean’s sacrifice, but none the less not wasting time.

You quickly got to your feet, delivering a super-kick to her jaw before lifting her body into position for your finisher and hitting it in the center of the ring. You hurried into the pin, locking her legs and arm as the ref counted.

“1, 2, 3…ring the bell!”

Surprise and shock covered your features, your hands covering your face as you tried to hold back tears for backstage while the ref walked over to retrieve your title. AJ rolled out of the ring, giving you your moment to savor as the championship was placed in your arms and your theme song blasted through the sold-out arena.

You forced yourself off your knees, thrusting the championship high up in the air, gaining cheers and applauses from the audience who were on their feet. You swore you could jump into your boyfriend’s arms right then and there without a care in the world about scripts and keeping up the act—but you knew it’d all be worth it.

Seth, Roman, and Dean hopped back onto the apron, this time not faltering on letting themselves through the ropes, stalking their way towards you as your theme song suddenly got cut and the ref scrambled out towards safety.

“Uh oh, is The Shield going to spoil the best night of her WWE career?” Cole speculated.

“I hope not. The last thing we need is the new WWE women’s champ being put out of action all because of these three men.” Jerry added.

You swallowed thickly, clutching the championship to your chest, looking left and right for a way out that was impossible at this point. There was nowhere left for you to go, the crowd anxiously awaiting to see what was going to happen next.

Dean’s fingertips hovered over your face, clutching your skin delicately and forcing you to meet his orbs. You looked stunned, about to break in terror until suddenly a wide smile emerged across your features.

“Oh, my god! What the hell is going on?” The commentators cried out disturbingly.

Seth and Roman stepped back with laugher rumbling in their chests, clapping and pointing at the both of you as if they had known the real story all along.

Meanwhile, Dean closed the space between your lips, pulling you into a fervent kiss taking everyone aback. Your lips moved together in tandem, like they always did behind the scenes where no one had a clue you were flying right under their noses.

You both pulled away, smiling widely at each other, before he gestured towards you, reaching to grab your wrists and lifting it high up in the air, your theme song hitting once more, this time the crowd torn between cheers and boos.

Dean held you close, his pride evident in his eyes letting everything around him turning into white noise.

“My girl. My champ.” he whispered, speaking to you like you were the only ones in the world in that very moment.

You looked up at him, closing your eyes in bliss, before mouthing the words.

“We got away with it.”

💌 reblogs, tags, comments, + likes are greatly appreciated! leave a comment and let me know if want to be added to my taglist!! 💌

a/n: hi everyone!!! this is my first imagine/one-shot here on tumblr and im excited to be getting back into my wwe era. it's always fun revisiting my loves (aka: dean, roman, and seth), and i can't wait to mesh some stories with my fave taylor tracks. this one is loosely based off false god hehehe.

[phoward89]

Obsessed!Coriolanus Snow x Innocent!Reader, Obsessed!Crassus Snow x Innocent!Reader

WARNING ⚠️ Coriolanus Snow is a warning in and of itself. Cussing, obsession, older man/younger woman, father & son both want the same girl, reader is just too sweet for this world and has no idea that the men in the Snow family are toxic...

There will be 2 different endings- 1 for Crassus & 1 for Coriolanus- posted after this as 2 additional chapters

Masterlist

Part 2:

Your mother was fuming as she sat next to Crassus in the large auditorium, watching your Academy graduation. Helenium couldn't help, but to give him a nasty side-eye. The way he looked at you during prom night when she was invited to the Snows’ penthouse, for pictures and to see both you and Coriolanus off, made her stomach churn. Your mother knew the only reason Crassus was lustfully looking at you was because you favored her so much when she was younger.

When your mother was your age she met a pair of Peacekeepers in her native District 12 while she worked at the apothecary as an assistant. She met Crassus Snow and Javani Halvir, friends and military brats. But, despite Crassus' endless pursuit (which was more like stalking and gaslighting) your mother fell in love with your father, Javani Halvir. And once your father passed his officer’s test he married your mother.

It was the life event that made General Crassus Snow a real cold, bitter, rat bastard. Oh, he was always cunning and overbearing with questionable morals, but his heart and soul truly began to rot once he was jilted by Helenium.

And now Crassus is pushing whatever lingering feelings he has for your mother onto you. It makes your mother sick to her stomach as she watches how happy you look sitting next to Coriolanus on the large platform set up on the auditorium stage, right behind the podium Dean Casca Highbottom was standing at in order to perform the commencement.

Your mother prays to the gods that Crassus leaves you and his son be.

Yes, your mother was never very fond of Coriolanus while you were growing up, but that was due to fear of him turning out like his father since he’s his mirror image. She wished that you would've had more friends, met another boy to fall for too. But after seeing you and Coriolanus posing for prom pictures and watching him dote on you while putting on your corsage and paying you compliment after compliment- well…your mother realizes that you're Coriolanus’ world. That he has some deep feelings for you.

And she'd rather have you with the younger Snow than the older one.

Helenium was shaken out of her thoughts by Crassus' deep, stern voice telling her, “It's such a shame your son couldn't acquire leave to attend his sister's graduation.”

Grandma'am Snow watched the commencement, completely unaware of the hushed conversation your mother was engaging in with her son. Her granddaughter, Crassus' niece named Tigris, was on the other side of her and was also too invested in the graduation ceremony then to eavesdrop on her uncle, who she was afraid of.

“Yes, well, his girl couldn't get clearance to travel so he pulled his request.” Your mother told Crassus, in a way letting him know that your brother picked his girl over your event.

“He's like his father, settling with a local district girl.” The Snow patriarch thickly scoffed.

“If I remember correctly, you were a bit star struck by a local district girl once.” Your mother reminded General Snow of how he had once loved her. That he was just as bad as Javani, as Rein, when it came to district women.

Crassus' face turned to stone and his icy blue eyes turned into frozen icicles. His voice was deep and bitter as he snarled, “Yes, well, she made me look weak and stupid by eloping with my comrade.”

Looking between you and Coriolanus sitting together, smiling while whispering happily, and the hateful General next to her, your mother pleaded, “Leave them alone, Crassus. Please, just let my daughter and your son be happy. She doesn't realize it yet, but she loves Coriolanus and it's no secret that he loves her too.”

“I've arranged for my son to be sent off to serve as a peacekeeper. He'll be getting his conscription letter in the mail soon.”

“You rotten rat bastard. Those kids don't even know, do they?” Helenium asked, even tho she was sure that you and Coryo had no clue about what his heartless father was doing to your lives. How he was meddling; for the worse.

The middle-aged man shook his platinum blonde head. “No, they don't.”

Your mother narrowed her eyes while whisper-hissing, “You're going straight to the 9th circle of hell for this, you treacherous bastard.”

“I don't believe in the hells or the gods, petal.” Of course he didn't. Anything other than his own wants and needs didn't exist. Screw energy and spiritualism; it's not real in Crassus' book.

A cruel look crossed over Crassus' handsome face as he told your mother the hard to swallow truth of, “But what I do believe in is success and being the best. You're daughter's my second chance at love and happiness; if I have to get my son out of the way then so be it.”

“I’m going to do everything I can to help those two kids be together, Crassus.”

“I advise you not to if you want to keep breathing.”

“Are you threatening me?” Your mother asked right as Coriolanus Snow took his place at the podium to give his Valedictorian speech.

“It's not a threat, but a promise.” General Snow informed your mother while trying not to roll his baby blue eyes at his son's speech.

Crassus felt his son's speech was lacking something. That it wasn't very lively despite Coriolanus being a charming young man and a very eloquent public speaker. Maybe Crassus feels his son's speech isn't too far because he doesn't like him?

“You wouldn't dare hurt me. You've been holding a flame for too long.” Your mother stated, a bit over confidently, instead of listening to the valedictorian speech. “And mark my words, I'm going to tell those kids all of your plans because the thought that you'd make your own son a miserable, heartbroken mess just so you can defile and corrupt my daughter's sick.”

Grandma'am patted Crassus' arm and proudly smiled. “Oh, Crassus, isn’t Coriolanus’ speech just marvelous.”

“If you say so, mother.” Crassus curtly tells his mother while flashing her a fake smile.

Crassus was a real cad. A cunning, calculating, cad. He knew that your mother would be an obstacle when it comes to wooing you. She proved to be too unpredictable tonight. An ally to his son, which surprised him since Helenium always hated the boy. But maybe her hatred for him ran deeper than her hatred for his sniveling brat of a son?

So, he decided to poison her while the Halvir and Snow families are out for dinner celebrating you and Coriolanus’ graduation. It was quite easy to get your mother a glass of poisoned wine. Perhaps too easy since Crassus has spies and henchmen all over Capitol City.

He even has loyal men planted right under President Ravenstill’s nose in the Presidential Mansion.

Your poor mother, bless her heart, didn't expect a thing. She was sitting in between Grandma'am and Tigris while you were sitting between Crassus and Coriolanus. Tigris was at Coriolanus side and Grandma'am was at Crassus’ side since the table was a large round one right in the middle of the dining room of a fancy Capitol restaurant.

Everything was going just fine. Everyone was eating and making small talk. Your mother was actually making an effort to be nice to Coriolanus and to talk to him, which both confused you and made you happy.

“So, do you two have any plans for the summer?” Your mother asked, reaching for her wine glass, which unknown to her was filled with a medium acting poison that would have her dropping dead before dessert was served.

“We're just going to hang out like we always do.” You told your mother, causing her to just nod.

“She'll probably stay a night or so, since it's summer.” Coriolanus added in as a sly way to announce your relationship. A relationship that you didn't even realize existed.

“I'm sure they won't be together the entire summer, Helenium.” Was Crassus' off handed remark as he ate his steak.

It was also the last remark made at your table to your mother while she was still breathing.

Yea…

Before anything else could be said, your mother dropped her wine glass, causing it to shatter and the poisonous wine to splatter and stain the white table linen, and started wheezing.

“Mother! Are you alright?” You ask, alarmed that your mother's suddenly choking, wheezing for air, and clawing at her throat.

Grandma'am and Tigris are frozen in their seats, tears beginning to fall from their eyes as their faces portray pure horror.

Coryo’s holding you while frantically screaming, “Help! We need help, she's choking!”

The other patrons of the restaurant are screaming and crying, or just staring in shock and awe. But at least a dozen people are screaming for help. And the restaurant staff are scrambling to call the authorities, doctors, etc.

Crassus on the other hand doesn't look bothered. Well…considering he's the reason you're mother's dying before your eyes of course he's not bothered by it, but you don't know that. Crassus, being a cold hearted bastard, just continues eating his filet mignon.

Cutting a piece of his steak, he looks at his son and rolls his eyes at him. How can Coriolanus be fit to have you when he's screaming his head off like he's scared out of his wits. Holding you and comforting you; making you feel safe are two different things.

Deciding that you need a real man to assure you that everything’ll be alright, Crassus puts down his fork and wraps his large hand around yours. A hand that's actually the same size as his son's.

“I've seen this before during the war. Rebels would poison Capitol loyalists.” Crassus said matter-of-factly.

“Are you saying somebody meant to poison you and accidentally poisoned my mother?!” You screeched on top of your lungs. You couldn't believe what you're hearing.

“I'm afraid so, petal.” Crassus solemnly nods while giving your hand a tight squeeze.

“It'll be okay, my darling. I'm here; you got me.” Coryo assured you, his baby blues the size of saucers, as he watched EMT-Peacekeepers rush over to the table to take your mother away.

But sadly she'd be a D.O.A at the hospital.

You went home with the Snows to their penthouse the night your mother died and you never left. Crassus gave you Tigris’ old room (she moved out a couple years ago when she opened up her own boutique) to use. But as soon as it was lights out and everyone went to bed, Coryo snuck you into his room; into his bed.

Coryo held you, kissed you, and assured you that everything would be alright. That you had him; that he'd always be by your side. The night of your mother's death, you cried yourself to sleep in Coryo's arms.

And the nights leading up to the day of her funeral were spent in Coryo's arms as well. The tears came and went sporadically, but his caresses and kisses never ceased. He freely gave you comfort.

And he promised to be with you, always.

The day of your mother's funeral was very somber. It was a large event, thanks to General Crassus Snow footing the bill and taking care of the arrangements. It was held in a large cathedral in Capitol City. One that was older than the city itself. General Snow spares no expense for your mother, claiming it was only right to send her off properly as the window of war hero Colonel Javani Halvir.

The service, performed by Dr. Gaul, the Head Gamemaker and Head of the War Department- also a close ally and mentor of General Snow, performed the service’s parting words for your mother. General Snow had given a eulogy with your mother, making her sound like a sweeter and livelier person then she was.

Your brother wasn't able to obtain leave so quickly, but he did talk to you on the phone. He also talked to Crassus on the phone and they came to an understanding about your living arrangements. That you'd stay in the Capitol under the Snows' care in order to attend the University. But once you graduated you could decide whether you wanted to stay in Capitol City or move onto PK Base-D12, where your brother lives as Officer Rein Halvir.

The ride to the gravesite to see your mother's casket get lowered into a 6ft hole was very hard. During that part of the funeral you're seated in between Crassus and Coriolanus Snow. Both father and son seemed determined to comfort you. Coriolanus held you close, not caring how it made him look, while Crassus patted your hand before resting his large and on top of yours.

Dean Casca Highbottom, who was sitting on the other side of the casket; across from you and the Snow family, saw how father and son are going for you. The morphling addict pities you. Truly he does. Because he doesn't know what Snow's worse, the father who's evil reincarnated on earth or the son who's literally the spawn of Satan. All Dean Highbottom knows is that you're going to get stuck falling for one of the Snow men due to charming smiles and lies.

Casca Highbottom always thought of you as a bright student; an amazing girl, and he wishes you nothing, but the best. Even tho deep in his bones he knows that you'll never get the best in life; will never be able to live up to your full potential.

The after funeral gather’s held in the large, luxurious Snow penthouse. People flitter about, giving you condolences and dropping off casseroles, fried chicken, and jello molds (some old superstition from the old days; the Pre-Panem days that women still honor) so that you and the Snows won't starve while in mourning.

You're sitting on the sofa, between Coryo and Grandma’am. Crassus greets everyone at the door and makes his niece, Tigris, help the cook take the food offerings into the kitchen.

You give sad smiles to everyone that approaches the sofa, preferring to let either Grandma’am Snow or Coryo do the talking for you. In fact, you feel so overwhelmed by all of these strangers offering condolences about your mother's death. People that knew your father, that know Crassus, and want to pay their respects to the wife of a late war hero: Colonel Javani Halvir. It was all so impersonal; you didn't know how to handle it. How to feel about it.

So, you left the pleasantries to the two Snow's you’re wedged between. Grandma'am was a refined lady that knew how to politely hold such conversations about condolences and Coryo was a charmer, he'd be able to say the right thing to all of these strangers acting like they're doing you a favor by telling you that they're sorry about your mother's death.

But then when Dean Casca Highbottom entered the Snow penthouse, he greeted his old friend curtly and asked him for a word- in private.

Crassus called for Tigris, the daughter of his late younger brother Cadmus, to greet the well wishers and mourners before humoring his old friend by escorting him to his private study.

Casca entered the study first and then Crassus followed behind him. Closing the door and making his way to the wingback chairs near the mahogany desk, Crassus asks, “What do you need to talk to me about, old friend?”

“Please, Crassus, you don't need to put on the fake pleasantries with me.” Casca told the tall and imposing General as they took their respective seats. “We haven't been friends since you turned in our drunken joke as our class project: resulting in the Hunger Games.” The Academy’s Dean reminded Crassus of the reason for their falling out.

“You overreacted about that back then and you're a fool for still holding a grudge against me for it. The Hunger Games got us a passing grade, didn't it.”

“But it also gave Dr. Gaul a blueprint for the Hunger Games that have been running for the past decade. Games that people lost interest in until your son made it a horse and pony show.”

“Well, Coriolanus didn't do that great of a job as a mentor in the games considering all of the tributes were killed by those rainbow snakes.” Crassus dryly remarked, reminding Casca of the failed games. Leaning his arm on his armrest and placing his chin onto his fist, Crassus asked, “I know you didn't want to speak to me about the games, Casca. So, what do you need to speak to me about?”

“I see how you seem to be infatuated with Miss Y/N, but she seems to be close to your son. I'm just worried that she'll find herself in the middle of something she can't handle and, since I truly believe she's a sweet girl, I'd hate for her to fall victim to a Snow’s cold, callous, heartless ways.”

“So, what? You want me to throw the poor girl out on the street? She's an orphan and my son's closest friend, what type of man would I be if I threw her out?”

“I know you, Crassus. You're not letting the daughter of Javani and Helenium Halvir stay with you because of Coriolanus and the goodness in your heart. You have no heart; you just want that girl all to yourself because you couldn't have her mother 20-odd years ago.”

“Don't presume to know my intentions, Casca. And if something were to come about between me and Miss Y/N then so be it- we're both adults.”

���You're an evil man, Crassus.” Casca scowled. Shaking his head, he voiced his unwanted opinion with, “I fear your son's going to end up as evil as you. That no matter who Miss Y/N ends up with, I'm afraid that sweet girl’s going to be tainted and corrupted by the beautiful, but cold Snow.”

“Casca, my old friend, my son isn't fit to polish my boots." Crassus cackled, dismissing his son's importance. A cruel smirk crosses over his full lips. "I hope some time serving in the Peacekeepers toughens him up, but he'll never be the strong man that Miss Y/N needs in her life, especially during her trying time.”

“You always were a cutthroat best friend. Stole my drunken idea, but stealing Javani’s orphan daughter for your own twisted purpose is despicable." Casca spat. Oh, how the head of the Academy hated his boyhood friend. "Thank the gods your best friend from the Peacekeepers is dead, because I'm sure he'd kill you for what you're planning to do to his only daughter.”

“Yes, well, he's been rotting in the ground with worms eating his flesh.” Crassus coldly said with a hint of mockery in his deep voice. Tipping his chin up cockily, the war hero of the dark days have his old friend and classmate a veiled threat of, “I do hope that you keep your conversation between us, Casca. I'd hate for your young daughter to lose her father- after all didn't your wife run off years ago? Be such a shame for your young daughter to get out in a government run group home.”

Casca’s not surprised that Crassus is threatening to off him and send his daughter to a deplorable group home for orphans and abandoned children.

“Don't worry, old friend, I'll keep your dirty deeds secret; under lock and key to just had to the immoral sins eating away at my soul.”

“Yes, well, I suppose you'll just have to up your daily dose of morphling to live with your bleeding heart.” Crassus scoffed. Standing up, he suggested, “I think it's time you paid your respects to Miss Y/N and leave. I'm sure you don't want your daughter in the hands of the nanny for too long.”

“Yes, I agree.” Dean Casca nodded. Standing up and making his way to the door, he told Crassus, “I'll be brief while giving my respects to Miss Y/N.”

And Dean Casca Highbottom was brief with paying his respects. He told you that your mother was such a strong woman and tried her best to raise you without the taint and cruelty of the world; that she tried to make sure the bitter frostiness of the Snow didn't give you frostbite. He also looked between you and Coriolanus only to shake his head and sigh, “Young Snow, I think when it comes to you Snow's falling.” Then he left the Snows’ penthouse.

Grandma'am wasn't around for the odd exchange between Dean Highbottom, Coriolanus, and you. Instead the old woman was talking to the neighbor Pluribus Bell about something.

“What do you think he meant by that, Coryo?” You wondered, looking at your best friend with curious eyes, as the Dean's parting words hung heavy in the air, like a toxic smog.

“I don't know, but I wouldn't pay too much attention to Dean High-as-a-kite-bottom, baby. He's never liked me much.” Coryo told you as he spotted a new group of well wishers heading towards the two of you. “We're done with the Academy and him, let's just focus on getting thru receiving well wishes from all the mourners, yea?”

“Yea.” You nod, a sad smile on your lips.

You're grateful for the Snow's, for their support during your time of need. But what you don't know is that within a few weeks you'll be parted from your best friend when his conscription letter for the Peacekeepers arrives; that you'll be around General Snow day in and day out.

That you'll have to make a choice between father and son. You can only have one Snow, but who will it be? Crassus or Coriolanus?

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[deanswhiskey]

𝐛𝐢𝐫𝐭𝐡𝐝𝐚𝐲 𝐰𝐢𝐬𝐡 - 𝐬𝐚𝐦 𝐰𝐢𝐧𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫

⛥ ⛥ ⛥

summary; its sams birthday and his wish comes true

wc; 1,113

warnings; nothing but some kisses

authors note; AAAAHHHHH IM SO SORRY I HAVENT POSTED IN AGES BUT I WANTED TO PUT OUT SOMETHING FOR SAMS BIRTHDAY AND IK ITS LATE BUT OH WELL i promise ill start writing more when i'm done with this semester :))) also this is proofread bc i rushed to put this out apologies for any mistakes

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the late, late night of may 1st was spent alone in the kitchen. you were so graciously baking your best friend sam a beautiful birthday cake.

since arriving to the bunker and having a ginormous kitchen all to yourselves, you thought it’d be a great idea to start baking and cooking again. being on the road, hunting monsters, you never got the chance to cook or bake. the only cooking you ever did was heating up some frozen dinners for everyone from the store.

not that you minded, sometimes they were good; but nothing, nothing, ever beats a home cooked meal. and to top it all off, homemade dessert.

that’s why when you all settled into the bunker, you went on a big grocery spree and bought almost everything in the store.

the very first meal you cooked was fettuccine alfredo with chicken. something your mother used to make all the time when you were younger and have loved ever since.

when sam and dean walked into the kitchen they couldn’t help but notice the divine aroma.

“‘m my god, what’s that smell,” dean asked searching around for what could be it.

you moved out of the way of the stove to show them a view of the food, “it’s fettuccine alfredo and chicken. it’s almost ready, fo you two wanna set the table?”

they both nodded with enthusiasm, getting plates and forks and knives and set them on the table nearby.

the noodles, sauce, and chicken were finally done and incorporated. you took the pan and a large spoon to scoop it with and headed over to the boys who looked like they were about to start eating from the pan. as soon as the food hit their plates they wasted no time digging in. you chuckled as you watched them almost eat it whole.

that night marked the start of some of the best food sam and dean had eaten.

so now you were baking and decorating the most extravagant looking cake for the man you were secretly in love with.

you don’t know when it happened but something changed and you no longer wanted to just be friends; you wanted more. more than just a quick side hug when celebrating, more than just high fives. you wanted whole, endearing hugs; you wanted to interlink hands and never let go.

the cake you were baking you surly knew sam would like. it’s his favorite cake flavor and a beautiful frosting color. you even added ruffled borders on the top and bottom and near perfect lettering on the top. this cake was made with love.

it was 11:49 pm when you finished and you had flour in your hair, frosting on your shirt, and excess batter on the counter. the cake was put in the fridge to chill over night and the kitchen was finally cleaned 10 minutes later. you quickly showered before hopping into bed with a small smile on your face knowing your best friend would be so happy with everything.

morning came and you and dean had to be the first ones up to set out everything. dean went out to buy balloons (that you and dean so tiresomely blew up) and banners to hand from the walls. he also set out the few presents the two of you bought, even after sam said he didn’t want anything (you both knew you were gonna buy him something anyways), and you set out the cake with the candles, lighting the fee of them up.

sam walked into the kitchen rubbing his eyes. “HAPPY BIRTHDAY!!!!” he jumped at the two of you screaming.

after his scare went away, his eyes lit up like a child at their very own birthday. he rushed over to you thanking the both of you for doing this. he glanced at the cake, “did you make this?”

“with love,” you nodded.

“make a wish, brother,” dean patted his back. sam closed his eyes thinking, he knew exactly what we was going to wish for. he bent down slightly and blew out the candles. you didn’t bother with making breakfast because you knew cake for breakfast would excite anyone.

sam was very giddy to open up his presents. he was ever so thankful for the few new flannels, nice watch, and a new belt you guys gave him.

the three of you sat in the movie room and watched a bunch of old movies. sam has grown very fond of old films. he likes western ones the most.

it was getting late and dean decided that he’d had enough of movies and was feeling sleepy.

now it was just you and sam, on the couch, in the movie room, alone.

the movie was at a slow part, just the main two characters talking in an old western barn.

“did you have a good day?” you turned to sam.

he looks over at you, he loves that smile on your face. “i had probably one of the best days ever. that cake? phenomenal, probably the best thing you’ve baked.”

you blushed and looked down. after a moment of silence you looked up again, sam still looking at you, “what’d you wish for?”

“i cant tell you that,” he chuckled.

“c’mon,” you dragged out.

“no, i can’t!”

“please, for me” queue the big puppy dog eyes.

how could he resist those eyes? “fine, but you can’t get upset.”

why would you get upset?

sams heart is racing. “i wished for you.”

“me?”

“mhm, you.”

“wh- i- why me?”

“because you’re all i’ve ever wanted.”

you were speechless. “sam, i-”

“you don’t have to say anything, it’s okay.”

the saddened look on his face broke you’re heart. “listen to me sam,” you started to smile. “i feel the same way. i mean it when i said that cake was made with love.”

a smile grew on his face. “can i kiss you now?”

it felt like you couldn’t breathe, “yeah,” it came out as a whisper.

sam gently cupped one side of your face as he drew in closer. his lips brushed yours before he fully smashed his lips to yours.

you’ve dreamed on this moment for a while. it was more than you could’ve ever imagined. his lips were soft. he tasted slightly of whiskey that the three of you sipped on earlier and it was perfect.

“my birthday wish finally came true,” sam says just above a whisper.

“good, i’m glad.” you smiled.

the two of you fell asleep on the couch with the old western movie quietly playing in the background. both you and sam fell asleep with a smile on your face in each others arms.

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[lila-lou]

✨High School Sweetheart - Pt 8✨

Summary: You come face-to-face with a ghost from your past—Dean Winchester. Five years after he vanished from your life without a word, and now he´s here. But neither you nor he are teenagers anymore.

-Listen to "Chance with you"-

Pairing: Dean x Reader

Warnings: Language, Fuff, Angst

Word Count: 7663

A/N: English isn’t my first language, please be lenient. 💙

Eight years.

It was both a lifetime and an instant, a stretch of days and nights where you had convinced yourself to move forward, one step at a time, learning how to let go of someone who had left, without letting go of the memory. And now, with your thirtieth birthday approaching, the ache you’d buried so deeply seemed to surface with each text from your ex-fiancé—the one who, mere weeks before the wedding, had shattered every vow he had promised to make. He was asking you to forgive him, to take him back, but the messages only served to reopen wounds you thought you’d managed to close.

You spent that night, as you had so many Thursdays since Dean left, at the bar with your best friend. It had become your quiet ritual, your way of remembering a part of yourself that had stayed frozen in time. For years, there had been a sliver of hope each time you walked in, a faint, persistent thought that maybe—just maybe—he’d be there, that he’d come back. But as the years passed, the hope dulled, replaced by a kind of bittersweet acceptance that this would always be your memory alone. Dean had become like a quiet ghost in your life, someone who was woven into every moment even when he was nowhere to be found. Again.

It was as if he was a part of every breath you took, his shadow cast over every milestone. The memory of him lingered, surfacing in the moments that should have felt the most whole: on first dates that left you hollow, on the day you said yes to a man you thought you could build a life with, even in the small, fluttering joy of seeing yourself in a wedding dress. He was a thread stitched into your life, his presence felt in every quiet moment, every whispered “what if?” you couldn’t quite ignore.

Your friend watched you, her gaze soft as she took in the look in your eyes. “You know, it’s okay if he’s still there”, she said gently, her voice barely audible above the bar’s din. “Some people leave marks on us that don’t fade. Doesn’t mean you’re broken”.

You took a shaky breath, the weight of your friend’s words settling over you, pressing into places you’d tried so hard to keep safe. “But I am”, you whispered, the admission slipping out, raw and unguarded. The words surprised even you, like a truth you’d been holding back for too long, finally surfacing. “I thought I’d healed, that I’d moved on. But sometimes… sometimes it feels like I’ve just learned how to live with a broken heart”.

Your friend sighed softly, her eyes filled with a gentle empathy. She reached over, giving your hand a comforting squeeze. “Someday, your person will come along”, she said, her tone both hopeful and certain, like she was trying to will it into existence for you. “Someone who will stay. Someone who’s meant for you”.

You shook your head, a sad, wistful smile touching your lips as you looked down at the rim of your glass, tracing it with your finger. “I already met him”, you murmured, your voice barely audible over the noise of the bar, as if saying it too loudly might break something inside you all over again. “I met him, and he slipped away. Two times”.

The words felt like letting go of a truth you’d carried all these years, a truth so heavy it had woven itself into your very being. You’d tried to move forward, to build a life around the empty space he’d left, but no matter how much time passed, Dean was always there, a quiet ache in your heart, a memory you couldn’t erase.

Your friend’s eyes softened, understanding settling in as she squeezed your hand once more. “Maybe he was a chapter”, she said gently, her voice thick with empathy. “A chapter that helped shape who you are. And maybe there’s another chapter waiting for you”.

But as she spoke, you knew that some chapters never truly end, no matter how many pages you turn. Some people come into your life and leave marks that can’t be erased, no matter how hard you try.

Dean was that for you—the person who taught you love in its truest form, and in losing him, you’d learned heartbreak in the deepest way possible.

You lowered your gaze, voice barely more than a whisper. “No one will ever come close”, you murmured, each word heavy with the weight of years. Saying it out loud felt strange, almost like an admission, as if by putting it into words, you were sealing off a part of your heart forever.

Your friend’s eyes softened, her expression both understanding and sorrowful. “I wish I’d met him”, she said softly, the words carrying a weight of their own, as if meeting him might have helped her understand why he still haunted you after all this time.

You gave her a faint, bittersweet smile. “I wish you had too”. Your voice wavered, and you took a steadying breath before continuing, almost as if the words themselves needed coaxing to surface. “He… he´s just… so much. More than I thought I’d ever find in someone. He saw parts of me no one else ever did. I think a part of me thought it would always be that way. And now…”. You shook your head slightly, the pain raw, open. “It’s like every person I meet is just an echo, a shadow of what we had. And it doesn’t matter how hard I try—no one will ever fill that space”.

Your friend’s hand squeezed your arm gently, her silence full of compassion. “A love like that…”, she began, her voice low, almost reverent. “It doesn’t just disappear. It doesn’t just fade. It becomes part of who you are”.

A tear escaped, and you brushed it away quickly, feeling both embarrassed and strangely grateful to say it out loud. “Sometimes I wish I could just let him go, like I’d let go of a memory, you know? But he’s… he’s not just a memory. It’s like he’s in everything. And everyone else just… falls short”.

Your friend pulled you into a quiet hug, her arms warm and steady around you as she held you close. She didn’t say anything else—she didn’t need to. Just being there, sharing the silence, grounding you, was enough. And you stayed like that for a while, your sadness finding a place to rest, comforted by the quiet presence of someone who understood that even if Dean was gone, his love had left a mark on you that would never truly fade.

A few days later, you found yourself standing in your bookstore, running your fingers over the spines of old ghost stories and folklore collections, the comforting, worn feel of the covers grounding you. You’d blocked your ex, finally severing that last fraying thread, though pity texts from friends and family still trickled in, each one a small, bittersweet reminder of the future you’d once thought was set in stone. You tried your best to let it all go, focusing on the life you had here, in the quiet refuge of your shop.

But standing there, lost in thought, you could almost swear you smelled Dean—a faint, familiar trace of his cologne that lingered like a whisper in the air, bringing with it a flood of memories. You closed your eyes, letting yourself drift into that feeling for a moment, imagining him here beside you, as though he’d just walked through the door with that half-smile that made your heart race.

The door chime rang, and you opened your eyes, your heart skipping a beat as you glanced up, half-expecting to see him standing there. But it was just a customer, nodding politely as he browsed the shelves. You let out a quiet sigh, reminding yourself that ghosts didn’t come back—no matter how deeply they lingered in your memory.

Still, as you moved through the shop, the feeling wouldn’t leave. It was as if his presence was woven into the walls, each corner of the room holding some fragment of him, some unspoken reminder of a love you’d never fully let go. And you realized that, despite everything, Dean had become more than just a memory; he was a part of you, woven into every quiet moment and lingering thought.

As the evening drifted into night, you found yourself in your old apartment, the one place that felt like a time capsule of your life before everything began to change. You hadn’t even intended to keep it; when you’d moved in with your ex-fiancé, it had seemed redundant, an echo of a life you thought you were leaving behind. But now, with the failed engagement and a lifetime of memories wrapped up in these walls, you were grateful you’d held onto it.

The quiet hum of the city night drifted through your windows as you moved around the small kitchen, where every drawer and shelf held stories and memories you couldn’t quite part with. You’d set a pot to boil, watching the bubbles rise and fall absently, your mind drifting. Your phone buzzed on the counter, another message from a friend who’d been slated to attend the wedding, a quiet expression of sympathy. You turned the screen over, trying to ignore it, instead focusing on the simple task of making pasta. Something about this ritual—the warm scent of garlic, the gentle clinking of silverware—had a grounding quality that steadied you in ways you couldn’t quite explain.

The minutes slipped by as you filled your plate, glancing up at the clock. Five minutes left. Just five more minutes, and this birthday would be behind you. Thirty. You’d imagined this moment so differently, once upon a time, picturing yourself settled and content, surrounded by love and the promise of a future. But reality had been messier, filled with sharp corners and unexpected losses. The silence of your apartment felt especially heavy tonight, every creak and hum magnified in the stillness.

As you lifted your fork, about to take that first bite, a knock at the door cut through the quiet, startling you. You froze, fork in mid-air, your gaze fixed on the door as if it held a mystery you hadn’t yet prepared yourself to solve. It was almost midnight—an odd time for visitors—and a part of you knew you should be cautious. But despite the voice in your head reminding you to leave it alone, something else, something deep and instinctive, urged you forward.

You set the fork down, slowly rising from your chair and crossing the small space to the door. Each step felt weighted, like you were moving through water, the anticipation building as you reached for the handle. Taking a breath, you turned it, bracing yourself for whatever lay on the other side.

Dean stood outside your door, his heart pounding in a way that felt foreign, unsettling. It had been eight years—a stretch of time he had spent moving from town to town, living in motels, the Impala his one constant. But here he was, back in a place he never thought he’d see again, staring at your door like it held the answer to every question he hadn’t dared to ask himself.

It was the wedding invitation that had done it.

He’d found it a few days ago, tucked in with some other things at Bobby’s place, the only adress you had from Dean, as if fate had decided to throw one last curveball his way. He remembered the flood of emotions that hit him as he held it in his hands, reading your name alongside someone else’s. The thought of you in a white dress, a life planned with another man—it made his chest ache in a way that went beyond regret.

It was loss, pure and simple, an emptiness he hadn’t wanted to confront.

He’d spent the next few days trying to talk himself out of coming, but no matter where he went, no matter how much he tried to push it aside, the idea gnawed at him. He couldn’t bear the thought of you walking down the aisle without at least telling you… something. He wasn’t even sure what he wanted to say, but he knew he couldn’t let you slip away without one last goodbye. It felt selfish, maybe even foolish, but he needed to see you.

As he raised his hand to knock, every insecurity he had ever buried bubbled to the surface. He imagined you opening the door and slamming it shut in his face, telling him that his time had passed, that he was nothing more than a distant memory, a ghost of a life you’d left behind. And maybe he deserved that. He’d left, after all, made choices that took him far away from any semblance of normalcy, from any chance of a life with you.

When he finally knocked, his hand was trembling, a vulnerability he hadn’t felt in years laid bare in that one, simple action. He told himself he’d leave if you didn’t answer right away, but as he heard faint footsteps approaching from the other side, he felt rooted in place, a strange mix of hope and dread tying him there.

The door opened, and the light from your apartment spilled onto him, illuminating every unspoken feeling that had lingered between you. The moment your eyes met, a torrent of memories flooded back—nights spent in whispered conversations, the feel of your laughter filling the air, the warmth of holding you close. He could see the surprise, the shock, and then something else he couldn’t quite name in your gaze as you took him in.

Eight years had passed, and yet standing there in front of Dean, it felt like only days.

He looked older, more worn, the lines on his face deeper, like the years had left their mark in ways you couldn’t imagine. His hair was a little shorter, the familiar scruff darker, and his eyes held a weight you hadn’t seen before, a quiet burden that made your chest tighten. You could feel your heart beating faster, your throat dry, and as you held onto the door for support, your hand trembled, the gravity of the moment pressing in around you.

Dean’s gaze flickered as he took in your reaction, a slight hesitation in his movements, like he wasn’t sure if he should turn and leave or stay. His mouth opened, then closed, and finally, he forced a quiet, almost hesitant smile, his hands shoved deep into his pockets.

“It’s… it’s late”, he started, his voice barely above a whisper. “I shouldn’t be here, I know that. I… I tried to talk myself out of it a dozen times”. He shifted his weight, his gaze dropping to the floor for a moment before he forced himself to look back up at you. “But I got the invitation. Saw your name on it… and I just—”. He paused, his voice breaking slightly. “I just wanted to wish you the best”.

The words fell heavy between you, and you could feel his heart breaking with each one, as though each syllable was a piece of him he was giving up, a part of himself he was laying bare. Dean had always been the strong one, the one who carried the weight of the world on his shoulders without a second thought. But standing here, you could see the cracks, the vulnerability he was trying so hard to hide.

Your throat tightened further, and you swallowed, struggling to find your voice. But all you could do was stare, caught between the overwhelming emotions of seeing him again and the reality of what he was saying. The thought of him simply wishing you well, like a distant memory, cut deeper than you’d anticipated.

The silence stretched between you, thick and unbearable, as Dean stood there, waiting for anything—a word, a glance, some sign that this wasn’t the end he feared it might be. But your voice was caught in your throat, the shock and surge of emotions rendering you speechless. He could see the struggle in your eyes, the unspoken words you couldn’t manage to say, but after a long moment, the light in his eyes dimmed, a look of quiet defeat settling into his face.

He cleared his throat, looking down as if to gather the last shreds of his strength. “I just… I just hope you’re happy”, he whispered, his voice breaking with an ache so deep it was almost palpable. “I hope tomorrow goes exactly the way you’ve always dreamed it would”. He hesitated, searching your face one last time as though he were trying to memorize every detail. “You deserve that life you always wanted”.

There was a bitter smile, barely a shadow of his usual smirk, but it held a vulnerability he couldn’t hide. He turned, each step toward the hall feeling like he was walking away from the last piece of himself. But as he began to leave, something inside you broke, the words finally escaping, not in sounds but in movement.

Before he could take another step, you reached out, your hand wrapping around his wrist, tugging him back to you. He turned, eyes wide, surprise mingling with a glimmer of hope that he tried so hard to bury. But you didn’t need words—you didn’t have any. Instead, you closed the distance between you, wrapping your arms around him, pulling him close in a way that held everything you couldn’t say.

The hug was fierce, desperate, as though you were holding onto him to keep the last eight years from slipping away. Your fingers dug into his back, your face pressed against his shoulder, and the tears you’d held in for so long finally broke free, trailing silently down your cheeks. The scent of him—the familiar mix of leather, whiskey, and that faint, lingering cologne—wrapped around you, grounding you in a way that felt more real than anything you’d known.

Dean stood frozen for a moment, as though he couldn’t quite believe you were really there, holding him. But then his arms wrapped around you just as tightly, his chin resting on the top of your head as he closed his eyes, letting the moment sink into him. His hand traced gentle circles on your back, a silent apology, a quiet promise, and as he pulled you closer, you felt the subtle shudder of his own unspoken grief.

You clung to him as if letting go would mean losing him all over again. In his arms, every year, every quiet ache and memory, every whispered wish that you’d both buried so deeply came rushing back, filling the silence between you with the weight of all the words left unsaid. His hand ran up and down your back in a comforting, steady rhythm, grounding you as your tears soaked into his shirt.

Neither of you spoke; words would have shattered the fragile beauty of the moment, made everything feel too real, too final. The silence carried everything—an understanding that went deeper than any explanation ever could, the kind that grows only from loss and longing, from the ache of wanting someone in the spaces life wouldn’t allow.

Dean held you as if you were the last thing tethering him to this world, his own breaths uneven, his hand clutching the back of your shirt in a desperate bid to keep this moment alive. His chin rested atop your head, and you could feel him take in deep, unsteady breaths, as though he were trying to commit your scent, your warmth, to memory. You knew he was hurting just as much, and that knowledge both broke and healed you, stitching together the pieces of your heart in the quiet intimacy of his embrace.

The embrace seemed to suspend time, the two of you wrapped in a cocoon of shared grief and unsaid words, until finally, something in you snapped. You pulled back, eyes brimming with unshed tears as a new wave of anger surged up inside you—a fury at all the years lost, at the pain of him leaving, at the emptiness you’d carried for so long. Without thinking, you shoved him hard against his chest, not knowing the bruises and barely-healed ribs hidden beneath his shirt.

Dean winced, a brief flicker of pain crossing his face, but he didn’t stop you, just let you push him back, his expression open and remorseful. Your fists came down again, landing on his chest, small but relentless. More tears broke free, streaming down your face as you struck him.

Dean stood there, taking each hit, his face twisted with regret and a pain that mirrored your own. He didn’t try to defend himself, didn’t even flinch; he just held his ground, letting you release every ounce of hurt and anger that you’d bottled up over the years. Your fists slowed, the strength leaving you and finally, you stopped, your hands falling to your sides, trembling.

You looked up at him through wet lashes, your lip trembling, anger and heartbreak mingling in your gaze. The silence between you was deafening, filled with the weight of every year he’d been gone, every moment you’d thought of him, every word left unsaid. And before you could even begin to process it, he reached out, his arms wrapping around you, pulling you back tightly against his chest.

You resisted, tried to push him away, your hands pressing against him as you struggled to break free. But despite the bruises and pain he felt with every movement, Dean held you tighter, his grip unyielding, almost desperate. He seemed willing to bear the physical hurt just to keep you there, close enough that he could feel your heartbeat against his own. His touch was a plea, silent and raw, as if holding you could somehow make up for the years lost.

Finally, your strength waned, the fight slipping from you as you surrendered to the comfort of his arms. The anger softened into sorrow, and you let yourself collapse into him, your tears soaking into his shirt once more as you clung to him. The weight of every heartache and every unanswered question pressed down on you, but in his embrace, there was something almost soothing, as if he were absorbing the pain alongside you.

After a while, Dean’s voice broke the silence, a slight tremor running through it, whether from the physical pain of your head pressing against his bruised chest or the emotional weight of everything you’d both just shared. “You done?”, he mumbled softly, a hint of teasing in his tone, though it was laced with raw vulnerability. “That little tantrum of yours… you got it all out?”.

You let out a shaky breath. “Maybe”. The word came out quietly, almost sheepish, but there was a warmth beneath it.

The two of you chuckled softly, the sound barely more than a whisper but enough to lighten the air between you, if only for a moment. The laughter was fragile, shared with a sense of relief and a touch of self-awareness—an acknowledgment of the absurdity of it all, of how even now, in the midst of all this pain and longing, you could still find comfort in each other.

Dean looked down at you, his own eyes shimmering with unshed tears, his thumb brushing a gentle, reassuring line across your shoulder. “Good”, he murmured, his voice warm but still thick with emotion. “’Cause I don’t think I could take much more of that”. His hand lingered, his touch soft, grounding, as if anchoring himself in this moment with you.

You looked up at him, feeling the last remnants of anger and hurt begin to fade, replaced by a sense of peace that felt both unfamiliar and deeply needed.

As you slowly pulled back, giving him a little space, Dean instinctively brought his hand up to his chest, wincing slightly as he rubbed the spot where your fists had landed. He gave you a wry smile, muttering, “You’re still good at punching, you know that?”.

You laughed, the sound soft and light, though it carried an edge of vulnerability. “Well, you deserved it”, you replied, crossing your arms, though a small, lingering smile tugged at the corner of your mouth.

Dean’s face softened, his gaze meeting yours with a mixture of regret and quiet understanding. “Yeah… yeah, I know”. He took a slow breath, his eyes never leaving yours, as if he were grounding himself in the moment, in the reality that you were here, still standing before him despite everything.

The weight of his words hung between you, and for a few moments, there was only silence. But it wasn’t the painful silence of years past; instead, it was one of healing, of finally letting go of all the anger, all the missed chances and lost time. In that space, there was a gentle warmth, a comfort you hadn’t felt in so long.

Finally, he reached out, tentatively brushing a hand over your arm, his fingers lingering as if he were trying to reassure himself that you were real. “Thank you… for not slamming the door in my face”, he said with a hint of his old humor, though his voice held a vulnerability that made you realize how much he’d truly feared you would.

You looked at him, that familiar face etched with a little more wear, a few more scars, but still undeniably Dean. “I thought about it”, you teased softly, though your voice shook slightly with emotion. Then, more seriously, you added, “But I’m glad I didn’t”.

A smile ghosted across his lips, a rare, genuine expression that held both relief and gratitude. For the first time in years, it felt like the past didn’t weigh quite so heavily between you.

"Come in, Winchester”, you mumbled, your voice still trembling slightly, but there was a softness in it that felt like a bridge back to everything that had once been between you. Dean hesitated for just a moment, his hand slipping into his jeans pocket, a familiar gesture of nervousness. He stepped inside, his eyes sweeping over the room, and you saw a glint of something unspoken in his expression as he took in the space.

It was as if time had barely touched it. The furniture, the little trinkets you’d collected, the books lining the shelves—it all looked like he’d left it, like the ghost of his presence still lingered in every corner. He took a slow breath, letting it all sink in, his gaze lingering on the small details as though they were fragments of a memory he couldn’t quite piece together.

His eyes flickered to the table where a single plate of pasta sat next to a glass of wine, the setting as quiet and solitary as the night itself. Dean’s expression softened, a faint shadow of concern crossing his face as he turned to you, his voice barely more than a whisper. “Your… fiancée around?”.

Your heart clenched at his question, and for a moment, the weight of the years settled heavily between you. The word “fiancé” seemed to hang in the air, a reminder of the life you’d almost built with someone else, of all the ways you’d tried to move on and build a future that Dean had no part of. You took a shaky breath, meeting his eyes with a mixture of sadness and something else—a faint glimmer of hope you hadn’t dared to feel in years.

“No”, you said softly, your voice barely above a whisper. “There is no fiancé, Dean. Not anymore”.

Dean’s eyes widened, the surprise clear on his face as he took in what you’d said. The realization seemed to hit him slowly, the pieces coming together in his mind, and you could see the disbelief written in every line of his expression. He had spent days trying to make peace with the idea of you marrying someone else, had convinced himself that you’d found a love worth holding on to—something solid, something he thought he could never give you. But now, standing here in the quiet of your apartment, hearing those words from your lips, the shock was almost palpable.

“But… the wedding was supposed to be tomorrow”, he murmured, his voice filled with disbelief. He looked at you, searching your face, as if waiting for you to tell him this was some kind of mistake. You could see the mixture of confusion and a hint of regret in his eyes as he tried to process what you were saying.

You let out a bitter, almost humorless laugh, the sound raw and filled with the sting of betrayal. “Yeah, well… that was the plan”. You looked down, wrapping your arms around yourself as if to shield from the ache that still lingered. “But… he cheated on me”. The words felt heavy, laced with anger, but underneath it all, there was a sadness, a weariness that had become all too familiar.

Dean’s face darkened, his entire body tensing as he absorbed what you’d said. His fists clenched at his sides, his jaw tightening with a barely-contained fury. He looked away for a moment, as if trying to stop himself from exploding right there. When he finally spoke, his voice was low, almost a growl. “He did what?”. His words came out clipped, his eyes flashing with a fierce, protective anger.

Without thinking, he took a step closer to you, one hand raking through his hair as he muttered to himself, “I swear, if I ever get my hands on that son of a—”. He cut himself off, taking a shaky breath, but you could see it in his posture, the tension rolling off him in waves, his body vibrating with the urge to protect you—even if it was too late.

He turned back to you, his gaze softening when he saw the hurt in your eyes, the heartbreak that you were trying to mask with bitterness. His hand reached out instinctively, his fingers brushing your arm, as though he needed to ground himself in you, to remind himself that you were here, safe, even if you were carrying a hurt he couldn’t erase.

At your slight flinch, Dean immediately withdrew his hand, his eyes clouding with regret as he mumbled, “I’m… sorry”. There was a gentleness in his voice that was almost heartbreaking, an awareness of the pain you were carrying, the weight of a betrayal he couldn’t fix. “You didn’t deserve something like that”, he said, his voice low, filled with a quiet determination as though he wished he could undo it for you.

You nodded absently, biting your lip, eyes tracing a path to the floor as the words tumbled out before you could stop them. “He wasn’t… you, anyway”. It was a quiet confession, barely above a whisper, but the truth of it had lingered in your heart for so long that even saying it felt like letting go of a part of yourself you’d hidden away.

Dean’s gaze softened, and for a moment, silence filled the room, thick and charged. He looked at you with something between hope and disbelief, as if he hadn’t dared to imagine you’d feel the same way after all these years. He swallowed, his hand hovering between you, unsure, before finally finding his voice.

“I… didn’t think you’d still feel like that”, he murmured, his tone raw and vulnerable. “Not after everything I put you through”. His eyes searched yours, as if looking for an answer, his own emotions barely concealed. “I thought… I thought you’d moved on”.

You glanced up, meeting his eyes, the years of unspoken words and unhealed scars between you suddenly laid bare. “I tried”, you admitted, your voice thick with emotion.

You felt yourself sink into the couch, wrapping your arms around yourself, feeling small and exposed as the weight of everything settled over you. The years, the attempts to move on, the heartbreak—it all felt raw and fresh again, leaving you questioning every decision, every feeling you’d held onto for so long. You were almost afraid to meet his eyes, worried he’d see the vulnerability you’d worked so hard to bury.

Dean moved forward, his expression softened by a mixture of tenderness and regret. He crouched down in front of you, the faintest hint of a bittersweet smile touching his lips as he reached out, tilting your chin up gently, coaxing your gaze to meet his. His thumb brushed softly along your jaw, grounding you in the moment.

“Hey”, he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper, steady but filled with so much he couldn’t quite say. “Don’t… don’t do that”, Dean said softly, his thumb still tracing soothing circles on your cheek. He held your gaze, his eyes filled with an intensity that made you feel like the only person in the world. You knew he meant the way you were pulling back, withdrawing into yourself, as if building a wall around the rawness you’d just exposed.

He took a breath, a flicker of awkwardness passing over his face as he fumbled for the right words. “You know, I’m not exactly good at… well, talking about my feelings and all that”. He let out a nervous chuckle, looking down for a moment. “But I do know one thing: I hate seeing you retreat into that little bubble. I mean… I know I’m pretty great to be around, so come on. Don’t leave me hanging”. He cracked a smile, his attempt at lightening the mood endearingly clumsy.

You couldn’t help the small laugh that escaped, and he relaxed, clearly relieved that his attempt to cheer you up had worked, even just a little. “There she is”, he said with a warmth that seemed to soften the distance between you.

"Eight years, Dean”, you mumbled, shoving him lightly against the chest, a mix of hurt and frustration in your tone. But instead of reacting with that familiar guilty expression, Dean let out a strained laugh, wincing as he clutched his side. “I swear, if you shove me one more time…”. His voice trailed off, and though he tried to sound lighthearted, there was a tightness to his words.

You froze, your mouth falling open in sudden realization. “Are you… hurt?”, you asked, your voice laced with guilt as you looked down at the spot he was holding. The thought that you’d been pushing against a bruise or something made your stomach twist.

Dean gave a half-shrug, his smile soft but his voice still a little strained. “Just… a couple of fresh stitches”, he admitted, trying to play it off as no big deal. “Came straight here from… well, let’s just say it’s been a hell of a few days”.

Your hand flew to your mouth, eyes widening as the guilt settled deep in your chest. “Oh my god, Dean, I’m so sorry”, you whispered, your face flushed with worry. “Why didn’t you say anything?”.

Dean shrugged, trying to keep that casual air despite the discomfort etched into his face. “Didn’t seem important, you know?”, he muttered, his eyes softening as he took in your reaction. “Besides, it’s not exactly the kind of thing you lead with after eight years”. He managed a lopsided grin, but you could see through it—see the pain and the exhaustion he was trying so hard to hide.

“Not important?”, you repeated, shaking your head. You took a careful step forward, your hands hovering uncertainly near his side. “Dean, you’ve been hurt, and I… I’ve just been shoving you around”.

Dean’s grin softened, the faintest hint of vulnerability breaking through as he met your gaze. “Hey, it’s alright”, he said, his voice gentle. “Besides”, he murmured, a faint smile curving his lips, “if it means I get to feel your hand on my chest again, I’ll gladly take the pain”.

You felt your heart skip, a rush of emotions filling the quiet space between you. There was a tenderness in his words that made the room feel smaller, like the world had narrowed down to just the two of you. He looked at you with that familiar gaze, equal parts vulnerability and strength, and for a moment, the past didn’t seem so distant. It was as if every memory, every shared laugh, and every ache lingered in the air, bringing you back to the way things used to be.

You reached up, your hand hovering just above his chest, still unsure but drawn by the need to reassure yourself that he was here, real and solid. “But I don’t want to hurt you”, you whispered, your fingers finally settling over his heart, feeling the steady beat beneath.

His hand covered yours, pressing it gently against him. “You’re not”, he said, his voice thick with something unspoken. “Trust me, you’re doing the opposite”.

You let your gaze linger on him, taking in every detail—the lines that had deepened around his eyes, the slight roughness of stubble along his jaw, the way his shoulders carried both strength and weariness. It was a face that had seen too much, been through too much, but still held that familiar, rugged warmth that had once made you feel so at home.

A wry smile tugged at your lips as you lifted your hand, gently brushing it along his jaw. “You’re getting old, Winchester”, you teased, your tone dry but softened by the affection in your eyes.

Dean chuckled, a low, genuine sound that reverberated through the room. “Yeah, well, can’t all be twenty forever, can we?”. He tilted his head into your hand slightly, his expression becoming a mix of playful and tender. “But you’re one to talk”, he shot back, though his voice was laced with something gentle, something deeper. “I don’t think you’ve changed a bit”.

Your smile softened, his words sending a warmth through you that you hadn’t felt in a long time. “Guess I held up a little better than you”, you murmured, trying to keep up the playful tone, but the emotion in his eyes made it hard to joke.

He met your gaze, his hand reaching up to brush a loose strand of hair from your face, his fingers lingering just a little too long. “Maybe”, he whispered, his voice barely audible, “but some things… they only get better with time”.

The words hung between you, fragile and unspoken for years. You felt yourself drawn closer to him, the space between you disappearing as every unresolved feeling, every shared memory, seemed to converge in this one quiet moment.

You let your hand fall slowly from his face, the question slipping out before you could stop yourself, a hint of something unguarded in your tone. “Any girl waiting down in the Impala?”.

Dean straightened, a faint smirk tugging at his lips as he reached out his hand to you. “Nah”, he said, his tone light but his eyes warm. “Dropped her off at the motel and told her not to wait up for me”.

You could tell he was messing with you, but you just raised an eyebrow, playing along as though you were genuinely unimpressed by his antics.

Dean rolled his eyes, chuckling as he gave you a playful pinch at your waist. “I’m talking about Sammy”, he said, his grin widening. “Dropped him off at the motel. Figured he’d be asleep by now, but knowing him, he’s probably got the whole place wired with EMF detectors”.

You couldn’t help but laugh, the image of Sam trying to get comfortable in a strange motel room with his equipment surrounding him vividly clear in your mind. “Poor guy”, you said, shaking your head with a smirk. “Always the third wheel”.

Dean shrugged, still holding your hand, and his expression softened. “He’ll survive”, he murmured, his voice dipping low. “For now, it’s just you and me”.

The words hung in the air, settling warmly between you both. The playfulness faded into something deeper. His gaze held yours, unspoken questions and hopes reflected in his eyes, a softness that reminded you of all the years and all the memories that lingered just beneath the surface.

Your words came out barely above a whisper, but they hung heavy in the space between you, raw and unfiltered. “Dean, I… I can’t do this again”. Your voice cracked, the weight of every night you’d spent wondering about him, waiting, hoping he’d come back, pressing down on you. “Spending a few nights with you, having the most beautiful time of my life… just for you to disappear again. Ten years, maybe, this time? I can’t, Dean”.

The vulnerability in your voice shattered the playful air between you, the truth of your words making the moment feel achingly real. Dean’s face fell, his fingers instinctively tightening around yours as if holding you in that instant could somehow anchor you both. He looked away for a moment, his jaw tight, his own voice barely steady when he finally found the courage to speak.

“I know”, he said softly, his voice thick with the weight of his own regrets. “I know I’ve messed this up more times than I can count. And I can’t stand the thought of hurting you again… I don’t want to be the reason you’re left waiting, wondering”. His gaze returned to yours, his eyes raw and filled with a sincerity that made your heart ache. “I never wanted to leave you like that".

The tension between you seemed to thicken as Dean’s words hung in the air. He held your gaze, his expression twisted with regret, his posture tense as if ready to turn and walk away if that’s what you wanted. “Maybe… maybe I should just go”, he mumbled, voice barely steady. “You could forget I was even here”.

A bitter, humorless laugh escaped your lips, and you shook your head, grabbing your wine glass to steady yourself. “As if that would be possible”. You could feel the weight of everything you’d tried to bury—every ache, every question, every lingering memory—boiling up inside of you, but instead of lashing out, you took a calming breath, forcing yourself to keep your voice even.

“Sit down, Winchester”, you said after a long moment, nodding toward the untouched plate of pasta on the table. “At least give me the courtesy of filling me in on the last damn eight years of yours”.

Dean hesitated, glancing from you to the table and back again, before letting out a sigh. He took a step forward, shoulders relaxing just a bit, as he slipped into the seat across from you. You could see the flicker of a reluctant smile as he looked at the pasta, as though the simple sight of a home-cooked meal felt foreign yet comforting.

“Still know me well enough to know I’m always hungry”, he muttered, picking up the fork and twirling it between his fingers before finally taking a bite. A faint smile tugged at his lips, and he gave a soft, appreciative groan before rolling his eyes in a way that was both exasperated and amused. “Damn”, he muttered, gesturing at the plate. “I swear, no matter where I’ve been or what I’ve had, your cooking’s still the best”.

There was a sincerity in his voice that made your chest tighten, and despite yourself, a small smile broke through. You couldn’t remember the last time you’d felt so close to him, as if the years had dissolved, leaving only the familiarity of shared meals and quiet conversations.

Dean’s eyes flickered up to meet yours, a bit of that old spark coming back. “So, what, you cook like this every night now?”. He smirked, a teasing glint in his gaze.

You shrugged, trying to keep your tone casual even as the weight of your words settled between you. “Not much to do with a broken heart, you know? Besides work, hitting the gym… and, well, eating”. You managed a small, wry smile, but the truth of it lingered, the quiet ache of the years you’d spent trying to piece yourself back together.

Dean’s smirk softened, the teasing light in his eyes replaced by something deeper, something that seemed to mirror your own hurt. He looked down at his plate, his fork stilled mid-air, as if he needed a moment to absorb the weight of what you’d just said. “Yeah”, he murmured, almost to himself, “I get that”.

———————————

A/N: Please let me know what you think.🥰 

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Part 9

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[stargazedwinchester]

Last Night's Mascara ♡ Dean

Summary: You lose your boyfriend, Dean, to a demonic possession that has replaced his soul.

Word Count: 1,433

Warnings: Physical abuse, some counts of swearing

If that's not something you want to read, please keep scrolling!

This one took a little longer, I had just under 2 weeks off of work and enjoyed it a bit too much and I procrastinated a bit too much, therefore I'm posting this late bc I wanted to stay on schedule xoxox

Inspo by last night's mascara - Griff

Sunday morning. You lay your head on your pillow, staring up at the ceiling. Thirteen nights you had slept alone.

Thirteen nights without Dean.

Thirteen nights you had prayed to God by your bedside, begging him to bring Dean back. Nothing worked.

You force yourself up and out of bed, padding down toward the bathroom. Flicking the light on, you glance at yourself in the mirror whilst reaching over to turn the shower on. You peel off your pyjamas, leaving them in a puddle on the floor. While the shower was warming up, you squeeze some toothpaste onto your toothbrush and brush your teeth. Staring at yourself in the mirror, you notice your usually bright, youthful features are now dull and lifeless.

Dean was your happiness. His silly, guileless demeanour was what made him your perfect match. You had faced challenges together before and believed you could overcome this one, too.

How naïve you were!

Spitting the toothpaste out, you rinse your mouth out and run the water so the remnants go down the drain. You turn the tap off and hop into the shower.

“You’re never around anymore, Dean! How do you think that makes me feel?” You spat, an amused look forms on his face. He runs his hand through his gelled hair, looking at you with dead eyes. “I don’t know what the fuck you find funny-”

“Don’t speak to me like that.” He hushes, and your eyebrows furrow in rage. “Don’t speak to you like that? Like what? Like I don’t want to try and sort things out between us? Like none of this actually matters?” you row, throwing your hands up in defeat. Dean sighs. Every second he wasted not talking to you made you more irate. At this point, you assumed it would be impossible to feel this upset with the man you’re supposed to love.

You knew Dean hadn’t been right within himself for quite a while; he had been out a lot more, belligerent in helping you and his brother on hunts, coming across way less affectionate than usual. This left you bewildered and lost. It wasn’t like Dean to be so… cold. He abandoned everything he loved for… nothing. You always felt like it wasn’t completely his fault, but seeing the way he is, it’s hard to think otherwise.

“Talk to me, Dean! Say fucking something!” You walk toward him, who’s facing away from you. Confidence runs through your blood as you stride across the cold floorboards. “Please, Dean,” you exasperate, your throat closing in. You place your hand on his shoulder. He aggressively shoves your hand off, he twists around and fires you across the room. You yelp as your back whips around the bottom of the metal staircase. You’re winded, but that didn’t stop you from getting right back up. “I told you,” Dean snaps, keeping his stalwart, defunct stare on you. He takes a deep breath.

“I told you,” he repeats. “Don’t fucking talk to me like that.” He raises his voice, booming across the bunker. It feels like the walls vibrated with fear. You storm up to him and he pushes you away, knocking you back onto the floor. “I don’t love you!” He bellows, and you scurry toward the closest wall to stick yourself too. You’re terrified, terrified of what Dean is capable of doing. You’re frozen in place watching him bluster toward you.

He pulls you up so you’re practically glued to the wall behind you, your glare never left his as his pupils dilate. The perfect shade of green that once resides was no longer there.

“I don’t fucking love you, Y/N. I never have. The fact that you feel like you have to try and fix everything? It doesn’t work. It’ll never work. You will never, ever find someone that’ll love you. Purely and effortlessly. This,” he pauses and motions between you both. “This was nothing but for show. You’re a beautiful girl, but I fucking hate you. Quite frankly, you’re worthless. Pathetic.” He smiles intentionally, and those words puncture at your heart like a million shards of glass. You’re unsure of what to do as his awfully strong grasp lets go of you. Your feet touch the ground and you’re still staring at him. He presses his lips together and clenches his jaw.

“Get out of my face.” He brushes you off, turning away from you. Dean pauses. He turns and slaps you across the face. You inhale sharply, your bottom lip wobbling but holding in tears. Even though you’re hurting right now, your body and heart have a rush of adrenaline. As Dean turns away, you force him to turn back around to you. You punch him in the cheekbone, causing him to stagger. He attempts to alter himself and reach for you, but you shove him backwards. “Don’t you fucking DARE do that again, Winchester! Who the fuck do you think you are?!” you scream, and he just looks at you. He looks at you as if you’re crazy. “Put your fucking hands on me again and watch what happens, you stupid bastard! Get the fuck out of here! Now!” You shriek, now your voice echoes throughout the bunker. Dean looks surprised as he steps away from you. That same, sinister smirk appears on his face again as he walks toward the stairway.

“I’m not done with you.” He voices just above a whisper. He leaves the bunker and you in silence. You take a shaky breath as you evaluate what has just happened.

Tears roll down your face. A weird comfort from the light, but scorching taps from the waterfall cascading down your back. The water trickles down the drain, mocking you by telling you that you can wash your worries away. A bubble arises in your throat that you can’t control. Your bottled up emotions have finally decided to spill out. You let out a sob, your hands reaching up to your mouth. You don’t want Sam to hear you. Your whole body shakes. You turn around and face the water, letting it fall down your face, hoping that it drowns out the sound of your cries. Desperate and vulnerable cries.

As you step out of the shower, you reach for a towel to wrap around yourself and walk out the door. You make your way to your bedroom and get dressed.

The bright Texan sun beams down, and you pull your sunglasses down over your eyes. You have finally arrived at the church, 46 miles out from the bunker. Despite deserted roads, the entire trip still took almost two hours. Walking down the broken cobblestone path, you push the wooden door open. It squeaks weakly as you step inside onto the floorboards.

There’s no one here, and the door slams behind you. You flinch. You walk toward the altar that’s standing in the centre of the church. Warm colors from the stained glass windows behind the altar reflect onto the rickety floorboards, showing images of the Sacred Heart of Jesus. You kneel down in front of the altar, fixating on the floor. For days, you prayed for the return of the old Dean. You’re stuck on what to say, so you sit for a minute. You assumed Cas would be able to hear your prayers every night, but it felt as if no one could help you. Cas was MIA and Sam’s out of town. You’re completely and utterly alone.

You concentrate as you pray to the shrine in front of you.

“God, if you can hear me, I pray for your divine intervention. To free Dean from the demon’s control and bring back the man we all miss dearly. Please bring my Dean home. I’m begging for something, anything. Please. Amen.”

You sit there for a little while, hoping that the message had actually been heard. You reminisce on how you and Dean used to be, how joyous life felt before he decided to practically give his own life away for the Mark of Cain. You take a deep breath before standing up. You turn around and you’re met with a tall man in a beige trench coat.

“I heard your prayer, Y/N.” He says, gazing down at you with care. Your eyes meet Cas’ and you can’t help but burst into tears. He pulls you into a hug, his arms wrapping around you attentively and he allows you to feel every emotion you’ve needed to let out. You feel very grateful for Cas’s help, even if it is as minimal as a hug. God knows you've needed it.