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katehuntington · 4 years

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Title: All I Want - part three Fandom: Supernatural Characters: Reader, Dean Winchester, Sam Winchester (Bobby Singer, Castiel Mary Winchester and many more mentioned) Pairing: Dean x Reader Series summary: Sam and Dean come across an object that could be the solution to Michael. The Pearl of Baozhu grants the beholder’s deepest desire. Once Dean focuses on his wish, the archangel remains caged in his mind however. Instead his former girlfriend Y/N shows up, who was killed in 2010 in Detroit, by no other than Lucifer himself. Summary part three: Still in shock after Y/N’s unexpected return, the Winchesters fill her in on what has happened in the past ten years. Learning about all the ones they have lost, is a little too much for her to take in. Warnings part three: NSFW, 18+ only. Spoilers season 14 episode 13. Angst, fluff. Swearing, alcoholism. Descriptions of flashbacks and memories. Mentions of character death, time in Hell, torture and nightmares. Anxiety, grieving over lost loved one. Confusion that comes with time travel. Word Count: 5377 words Author’s note: Part three of a multi part miniseries, based on the 300th episode “Lebanon”. Beta’d by the lovely @kittenofdoomage, @winchest09, @girl-with-a-fandom-fettish, and @thinkwritexpress-official. Thank you all so much for your feedback!

All I Want Masterlist

“So, long story short,” Y/N summarizes, “Sam jumped into the pit with Lucifer riding piggyback, Cas pulled him out but forgot his soul. There was a civil war in Heaven. Cas declared himself God and released the Leviathan and when those ugly suckers were defeated, our angel buddy and you--” she nods at Dean, “- got sucked into Purgatory, which is a place that actually exists, apparently.”

They are in the kitchen, seated at the four-person table. The hunters raided the liquor cabinet, all in need of a drink after the rather unexpected and staggering turn of events. Y/N takes a shot of whiskey and puts the tumbler down on the varnished wood with a bang, shoving it across and motioning the older Winchester for a refill.

“Meanwhile, Sam hit a dog and you escaped Purgatory, but Cas didn’t. Then there was this whole deal with the tablets and the trials, which almost killed your brother. You let an angel - who actually turned out to be a different angel - possess Sam in order to save him. There’s a second civil war upstairs…” She knocks back her head, downing the glass in one go. “I mean, what is it with those halo idiots? Haven’t they learned anything from watching humanity slaughter each other for centuries?” “Y/N, I know this is a lot, but you need to slow down a bit,” Dean advises, but she snatches the bottle from his hand and pours herself another. “I’m nowhere near done. Where was I?” She looks up at the ceiling of the kitchen for a second while thinking, until it comes to her. “Oh, right! The angels fell, you took on the Mark of Cain, beat that Knight of Hell chick Abaddon, then got yourself killed. Again. But, oh wait, it gets better! You woke up a demon and had a fun summer with Crowley.” Her voice pitches a little higher, a hint of panic audible now. Dean watches her process the information which is so clearly overwhelming her and eyes Sam, who is fixing her something quick to eat behind the kitchen counter. Their gazes lock on each other, both men wondering in silence if telling her the whole truth was a good idea.

“Sam cured you, but you still carried the Mark. You killed Death.” She laughs, cynically. “I mean, c’mon! Death! It’s ironic to say the least. Anyway, the Darkness was released, which - I kid you not - is God’s sister. Oh, and God? Turns out that horrible tween girl novel writer Chuck is actually the almighty creator! Ha!” “Why don’t you eat something? You’re probably hungry,” Sam suggests, putting down a plate in front of her. But Y/N isn’t interested in the sandwich and instead picks up her crystal glass again, having another royal amount of the brown liquor. Holding the tumbler to her lips while letting the whiskey linger in her mouth, she points her index finger at the younger Winchester now, who sits down opposite of the woman from their past.

“Your mom is back from the dead, the British Men of Letters turned out to be stuck up dicks. Lucifer was sprung from the cage, became President of the United States, and knocked up an intern. He had a son, his name is Jack. How am I doing so far?” she rants, setting down the empty glass in front of her. Dean looks at her, a worried frown drawing lines on his forehead. He knows her well enough to sense she needs to blow off steam. Interrupting her might not be his best move, but that doesn’t stop him from growing concerned about her current state of mind.

“There was a rift between our world and this - this Apocalypse world, you called it? And Mary and Lucifer ended up on the wrong side before it closed. Luci killed Cas, Dean was sad, Cas came back. You guys went on a rescue mission, Sam got killed. Again!” She sighs deeply, burying her face in her crossed arms on the table. “Seriously, the amount of times you two have died is giving me a fucking headache.” “Yeah, sorry about that,” Sam says, shooting her a sheepish smile before she continues.

“So Apocalypse!Michael possessed you in order to kill the Devil once and for all.” She looks up again, focusing on Dean. “But he didn’t check out like he promised - shocker, by the way. He wreaked havoc here, then out of the blue let you go. And now you guys live here in this Men of Letters bunker with a Nephilim, an angel and your undead mother.” “That’s about right,” Dean confirms. Y/N lets a breath slip from her lips and stares past him absently, the gears in her head still on overdrive. “I need another drink,” she eventually mutters, not even bothering filling up her tumbler, but taking a swig directly from the bottle. When she sets it back on the table top and lets her fingers slip from the glass, Sam is quick to get up and take the bottle back to the kitchen, putting it away in one of the cabinets; she has had enough for one day. “And I died…”

The younger Winchester turns around and leans over the counter while observing his friend, his knuckles white on the surface. He studies the breadcrumbs that litter the stainless steel surface after he cut her sandwich in two, having difficulty addressing that topic. When Lucifer flung her into that wall with such magnitude that it killed her instantly, Dean lost the woman he loved, but Sam lost his best friend. He didn’t realize how he felt about her demise until after he got his soul back, which somehow made it even worse. Like he didn’t do her justice, didn’t mourn like he should have. He doesn’t have to reply to her words, though, because Dean beats him to it. “On May 10, 2010,” he states, averting his gaze and focusing on his folded hands in front of him, still wrapped around his own whiskey glass. The date is forever etched in his memory. Her mirage haunts him on a regular basis, but on the 10th of May she’s all he can think about, like a fog that refuses to lift at daybreak. It’s one of the hardest days to get through, the day that he misses her the most. Dean’s jaw flexes and he tries to swallow down the pressure that’s gradually building in his chest.

“That’s - that’s in a year and a half,” Y/N stammers, after quick calculation. “At least in whatever time I’m from.” “Yeah, just before the big title fight between the Archangels,” Sam confirms. Y/N glances up at him, then back at Dean, who still can’t force himself to look at her. “Who killed me?” “Lucifer,” Dean recalls, venom in his voice. Her brow lifts up at the reveal. She was killed by the Devil himself? Well, at least that would make a cool inscription on her tombstone. “You guys salted and burned me, right?” she double checks, even though she cannot imagine the Winchesters giving her anything but a hunter’s farewell. Dean pulls at his lip with his teeth, the memory of the burning pyre flashing before his eyes. He remembers it as if it was yesterday. The funeral that made sure her death would be irreversible, permanent. The sight of her body set alight. In order to stop the Apocalypse from happening, he lost his brother and his girl. Sam was suffering endless and horrific torture in the pits of Hell while she was going up in flames before his eyes. God, he was a mess. His brother came home, but looking back now, deep down Dean knows he never really recovered from losing the woman who will forever have his heart. “I did,” he confirms. I did, he said. All of a sudden, Y/N realizes Sam was gone too at this point; Dean didn’t even have his brother to lean on. Pitiful she watches the hunter, who has endured so much already. He lost the two most important people in his life in a day’s time. “Then… how am I back?” she wonders. “You said something about summoning me?” “We found a magical artifact called the Pearl of Baozhu. It grants your biggest wish, basically,” Sam begins to explain. “Apparently, it’s so powerful it doesn’t need remains to resurrect someone.” “And I am your biggest wish?” She chuckles. “What? Not winning the lottery? Peace on Earth?” A small smirk pulls at the corner of Dean’s mouth; oh, he missed her wit. “No, it’s you,” he states after a moment of quiet, finally meeting her gaze.

Astonishment silences her as she stares at him, the pain of having to go through life without her still evident in his eyes. He looks so much wearier than she remembers the tough hunter, the soldier who always marched on and kept grinding. Even after he came back from Hell, the experience that tore open wounds which bled even worse than those inflicted the night the hellhounds took him. Honestly, there were plenty of times she thought he would never recover, whenever he woke up screaming from another nightmare and she had to hold him until he calmed. And yet, he didn’t seem as burdened as he does now, and that is saying something. It’s as if time broke him down bit by bit as he grew older, until there was nothing left but a ruin.

Dean said it’s 2019, which means he’s forty years old now. His frown lines lay deeper, so do the crow’s feet by the corner of his eyes. There’s a scar on his chin that wasn’t there before, covered by his stubble. His hair is a little longer, but only by a quarter of an inch. Age has not done a number on him, because he’s still handsome, but trauma and loss surely have. Knowing that her own death had a substantial part in the neverending sorrow and guilt she knows the hunter carries breaks her heart, because if anything, she would never want to cause him such agony.

“We were together,” she says, ending the silence.

It’s more a realization than it is a question, but Dean nods either way. Her jaw lowers slightly, her mouth opening, but she has no idea what to say. She was frightened when she heard she was on a collision course with death. But now she’s made aware that her future self and Dean are going to face evil as one hell of a power couple, that fear diminishes. She was a teenager when she first started developing feelings for the oldest Winchester brother. She never acted on it, the hunter’s life always getting in the way of their romance. But somehow, despite destiny, despite the horror show that is their reality, they found their way to each other.

Seeing just how much her departure wrecked him, she reaches out, moving her hand across the table to take his. She squeezes softly, running her thumb over his skin, rough from the many fights he’s faced. He visibly relaxes, cherishing the moment he never thought he’d have again. Y/N forces herself to avert her eyes, aware they aren’t alone. She glances at Sam, who watches the two, smiling, but his content expression dissolves when she inadvertently turns the conversation in a harrowing direction. “What about the others? How’s Bobby?” she wonders, oblivious to the painful reply that is to come.

Dean’s face falls, closing his eyes in apprehension. Shit, he wishes he didn’t have to break the bad news to her. Bobby Singer was like a father to all of them, but Y/N spent the majority of her childhood under his wing. After her parents died, he took her in and raised her as his own, made sure she could go to school, that she could be a kid. Hell, he was her father, maybe not genetically, but he was the wise man who taught them that family doesn’t end in blood.

Sam stares back at her, then swallows thickly, letting his head hang. Analyzing his stance, the smile on her lips dies down, frantically searching for an indication that says it isn’t so. When the tall hunter is unable to return her gaze, she fixates on Dean, tears already glazing over her eyes. “Y/N...” He takes her hand in his now, trying to sooth her and cushion the blow, but he knows there’s nothing he can do that would take the pain away that is about to hit her like a freight train. “No...” She shakes her head, unable to accept it. “No no no no...” “I’m so sorry,” he says softly, his heart breaking as he breaks hers.

Her bottom lip begins to tremble, her face contorting as she fights the emotions that quickly overpower her. Shimmering pathways of anguish find their way down her cheeks, eventually falling to land on the wooden surface. Y/N wipes her cheeks dry, but it’s no use, new tears forming faster than she can erase. And so she brings her free hand up to cover her mouth, holding back a sob. “W-when?” she stammers, her voice shaking. “How?” “In 2012. He... he was shot,” Dean explains, trying to get the words across as gingerly as possible.

She shuts her eyes now, her throat closing up and she bites her bottom lip, trying her hardest not to break down in front of the boys. She has so many questions of which the answers terrify her. “Did he die alone?” She barely dares to look up again, meeting Sam’s gaze this time. He shakes his head, offering her a comforting smile. “No, we were right there with him,” he assures. “He’s in Heaven,” Dean consoles, rubbing the pad of his thumb over the back of her hand. “Cas double checked.”

Y/N nods slightly, sniffling as she digests the news. Knowing that he’s in a good place right now doesn’t stop the grief from tearing her apart, because she has no idea how to go through life without her mentor to council her, but at least he’s not suffering anymore. A shuddering breath escapes from her lungs as she collects herself. “What killed him, is it--” “- dead. Yeah, we made sure of that,” Dean guarantees. “Good,” she says, her voice having gained some strength. “What about Rufus? Ellen & Jo?” Sam sighs and looks down, painfully confronted with how many people they’ve lost over the years. “They’re all gone,” he states, still leaning heavily on the countertop. Shocked, Y/N stares at him, unable to believe how many have perished. “So, of the original crew, you two are really the last ones standing, huh?” “Yeah, I guess we are,” the younger brother confirms. “But we met some great people along the way, I’m sure they’ll be excited to meet you. We’re not fighting the good fight alone, by any means.” “Glad to hear that. Just, not today? I’m not sure how much more I can take,” she almost pleads, her voice raspy from crying.

Dean watches her closely, guilt constricting in his gut. Unknowingly, he has pulled her from a time where things weren’t all that bad. If she’s from October 2008, he has just returned from Hell. Bobby was alive, Sam was okay, so were the other people she considered family. They were growing closer, on the verge of giving in to the attraction they felt for each other. But now it’s just the three of them and a ten year gap between her lifetime and theirs. She must be feeling completely out of place, disorientated, exhausted. “Why don’t we go pick out a room for you, so you can lay down for a bit?” Dean offers, squeezing her hand gently to get her attention. She agrees and gets up from her seat without another word, mentally too tired to argue. The alcohol is coursing through her system, and although she doesn’t feel highly intoxicated, combined with the range of emotions she just went through, it’s doing a number on her. Honestly, she’s down for a nap, preferably one that lasts a day or two. Dean lets her go up the two steps first, ready to catch her might her coordination fail her after all. He glances over his shoulder at his brother, who picks up the untouched sandwich and carries the plate to the sink. “Go ahead, I’ll clean up,” Sam offers. Thankful, the older Winchester forces a small smile before he leaves the kitchen.

Quietly, Y/N follows the broad shouldered hunter who leads the way, her arms crossed in front of her chest, the coolness from the stone walls chasing chills up and down her spine. It’s not just the cold, though, it’s everything. Too much information to process, too much heartbreak to endure. Her brain is overloaded, fatigue hitting her like a ton of bricks. She watches Dean turn the corner and stroll into a long hallway with doors on either side, gold plated numbers below the Men Of Letters emblem. They stop in front of room 12. “You can take this one,” he suggests, opening the door for her and flicking on the lights. “I’m right next door if you need anything. Sam’s in room 21.”

Y/N steps inside, taking in her new accommodation. Despite the use of mostly brick and concrete and the lack of windows, the glow coming from the ceiling light and the lamp on the nightstand feels warm and welcoming. A large mahogany bed is situated against the far end, a matching desk on the left with an old typewriter and a radio sitting on top. Directly behind the door there’s a sink and a medicine cabinet with a mirror on the lid, and a wardrobe next to it. “We can put a rug on the floor, if you want. I remember how you always had cold feet,” Dean suggests. She turns in the middle of the room, a small smile on her lips; he’s not wrong. “I’d like that,” she says, grateful.

A little uneasy she lets her gaze linger over the still empty cabinets and bookshelves again, feeling foreign in this future that didn’t include her, before Dean wished she was. She realizes there’s nothing to fill them with, no clothes, no books, no picture frames. “Could I maybe borrow a shirt and some sweats from you? I’m gonna have to buy some new clothes later today,” she asks, a little flustered. “Sure, but actually, uh…” He rubs the back of his neck, the way he always does when he’s nervous. “I never threw away your stuff. It’s been in boxes in the storage room, so your clothes are probably gonna need to be washed--” “- Wait, you… you saved my stuff?”

She stares at him in awe. It’s been almost ten years since she died, and he still held on to all that she owned. Sure, it wasn’t much, since they were on the road most of the time, but still. They didn’t find this bunker until a couple of years later, which means Dean had stored it in a locker somewhere, or maybe at Bobby’s, and picked it up again when they found a permanent home. He had moved her things around for almost a decade, yet never threw them out, even though he knew there was no purpose left for the items that once belonged to her. Just painful reminders of what was and what was lost. “Yeah, I - I couldn’t really bring myself to throw it out,” he claims, as if he was dodging a task that should have been done long ago. He isn’t lying. Even though he knew she was never going to return to him, that her life was lost and his love was hopeless, he kept everything she held dear. Her books, her mixtapes, her photos, her jewelry. The clothes she wore, the guitar she played. The stack of coasters she collected, picking one up at every bar they ever had a drink at, from every town they ever crossed. The old school Polaroid camera she brought everywhere, snapping pictures of everything that caught her eye along the way. Sunsets, funny road signs, captivating landscapes, interesting people. There are a few of him, of the Winchesters together, some more portraying the three of them, all squeezed into the shot. She even caught Bobby on camera, ignoring his grumpy mutters when she had fulfilled her seemingly impossible mission. There’s the music box she got from her mother when she was little, her parents’ wedding album. Lore books, weapons and crystals that Bobby gave her when she first started hunting. The enchanted good luck charm Dean gave her for her birthday. He held on to it all, because he couldn’t bear the thought of having to let her go completely.

Sympathetically, Y/N observes him. His tough exterior only lets a hint of embarrassment over something so sentimental seep through. But she knows him, she has seen the knight without his armor. She knows how badly he’s hurting. “Anyway, I’ll - uh, get you some clean clothes and dig up your stuff from storage.” He points his thumb over his shoulder a little awkwardly, excusing himself. She nods. “Thanks.”

With a faint smile on his lips he disappears, leaving the door ajar. Y/N breathes in deeply and allows the air to flow out, trying to calm herself down. It’s her first moment alone since she found herself in the year of 2019 and she cannot begin to comprehend what is happening to her. How she time-jumped a decade into the future, having history with Dean she cannot even recall. It feels like she’s in a bad daytime television show, where one of the characters has hit her head too hard and suffers from amnesia, not remembering her lover. Rubbing her forehead she turns around, trying to massage away the headache. Her eyes glide through her new bedroom again. This is going to be her home now. After moving out of Bobby’s place, she never really had that kind of stability. The closest she came to a roof over her head was her minivan, her little house on wheels.

Fingertips grace the covers of her bed, the material soft under her touch, when she hears Dean’s boots echo in the hall. She turns around as he comes through the doorway, holding two boxes with a bundle of clothes laying on top of the stack in his arms. He lowers the neatly taped carton containers to the ground, her name written on them with black marker. Dean made sure to file on the label what’s inside them. “There’s one more box, your clothes are in that one. I can put them in the washer now, so you’ll have something better to wear than my oversized stuff,” he offers. “You don’t have to do that, Dean,” she objects, but he shrugs it off. “It’s no problem.” His voice is kind, but he’s not taking ‘no’ for an answer. It’s the first time he has moved her belongings without having to fight the tears, without having to pause in order to stop himself from breaking down. He wants to make sure she has something clean and fresh to wear when she wakes up later, finally being able to take care of her again.

Dean turns the corner and heads to the storage room, his heart finally calming with the simplicity of being able to do something as domestic as washing her clothes. After picking up the last big box, he exits the storage and pulls the door shut behind him, making his way to the dorm where the washers and dryers are situated. He sets the box down in front of one of the machines, pulls his pocket knife from his belt and cuts through the duct tape. The first item he pulls out, however, steals his breath; it’s the leather jacket she wore that night in Detroit. Two days after they lost her, Dean wrapped her in linen before he laid her down on the pyre he and Bobby built, her lifeless body still in the jeans and band shirt she had on when she was killed. He took off her favorite black leather jacket, though, wanting to preserve it, even though it was a part of Y/N - or maybe because it was. Traces of faded crimson still stain the collar. Dean shakes his head, trying to ban the image from his mind. The image of the blood running from her nose and mouth as she hung from his arms, dead weight, the spark of life in her eyes long gone.

After a deep breath, the hunter collects himself and lays the leather jacket aside, then begins to carefully pick out some of her clothes. He makes a selection that fits in the drum, adds a laundry pod and turns the machine on. He hopes the old thing does a better job at washing away the memory of her death than he’s doing.

When he enters Y/N’s room again, she has changed into the black shirt and grey sweatpants he offered her. She spins when she hears him, an amused grin adorning her face. “Nice socks,” she chuckles, showing off her novelty footwear with burgers and milkshakes on them. “Shut up. Sammy gave them to me for Christmas,” he utters, a blush on his cheeks. “Your stuff’s in the washer.” “Thank you,” she returns, grateful.

A silence followers as Dean lingers in the doorway. This would be the moment to give her some space and retreat to his room, but somehow he can’t make himself step outside. He has spent too much time without her by his side already, he doesn’t want to waste a second not being with the woman he’s still unmistakingly in love with. She’s his girl, afterall. But that’s where it gets confusing, because he’s not sure how she feels about all this. Y/N was zapped from a time where they weren’t in a relationship yet, so where do they stand in this messed up mayhem? “Y/N, about that kiss earlier…” he starts off hesitant. “I, uh - I didn’t know you were from a place where we weren’t… y’know, together.”

The smile on her lips dies down as she watches the hunter, skilled in the field when fighting evil, but now stumbling over his own words. It’s only now that she realizes how surreal this must be for him. His mind probably has archives full of memories she has no clue of, simply because in her time, they didn’t happen yet. “What I’m trying to say is…” Dean takes a breath, trying to get his message across. “If I came on too strong, or made you feel uncomfortable in any way, I’m sorry.” He glances up now, watching how she slowly approaches. Gently, she takes his hand in hers, their fingers entwining. After studying their hold for a few seconds, she tilts her head and restores eye contact. The look she gives him is so warm and kind, it mends the broken man that he is. “I’m not,” she responds, her voice soft.

She leans in, tiptoeing, and presses her soft lips against his. For a good moment all his grief, the endless regret, the physical pain that became chronic, is forgotten. He closes his eyes and melts into the touch, returning the kiss without hesitation. The voices in his head are silenced, his anxiety calmed. After eight years, eight months and twenty eight days, he has found his missing piece. If her departure from his world didn’t make him realize how much he loves her, this moment surely does.

The kiss lasts a few heavenly long seconds, but then Dean parts from her, resting his forehead against hers. He sighs deeply, the air leaving him with a shudder. Still high on the ecstasy that the undeniable connection induced, she opens her eyes, but his remain closed. Wondering why, Y/N squeezes his hand. When he does look back at her, the tears bring out his green irises, like holding an emerald gem against the light. Compassionate, she cups his face, tracing the lines of his jaw. “You really missed me, didn’t you?” she perceives. He huffs; she’s putting it mildly. “You have no idea,” he breathes.

Y/N does, though. Last thing she remembers is how Dean just returned from Hell. In the four months that he was gone, she was completely at a loss. Wildflowers blossomed on his grave from her tears alone. Knowing he was enduring unimaginable torment only made it worse. But when he returned and she was able to close him in her arms again, it magnified everything she had ever felt for the man who went to Hell and back. The rollercoaster he’s riding now is one she’s been on herself, but she doesn’t tell him that; it’s not about her right now.

She kisses him again, shorter and more sweetly now, smiling at him afterwards until he returns her expression. His eyes are still shimmering, but it’s not sorrow she finds in the depth of his pupils, not anymore. It’s gratefulness, appreciation, love, for her, the girl he lost so many years ago. “You should get some sleep. You had one hell of a morning,” he says after a quiet moment, unable to look away. She scoffs. “Understatement of the week.” He nods grinning, admitting she’s probably right. “I’ll leave you to it.” Dean is about to let go of her hand, when her grip on him grows a little stronger, causing him to glance up at her, questioning. “Could you…” she pauses, not sure if she’s asking too much. “Could you lay with me, just for a while?” He reads her carefully, pained to see the hint of fear; she doesn’t want to be alone. “Sure,” he agrees, the single word soothing her.

Y/N allows his hand to slip from hers now and circles the bed, folding back the covers as Dean sits down to take off his shoes. When he leans back into the pillow, his upper body still slightly elevated against the headboard, tiredness overwhelms him. He hasn’t had a good night’s sleep in forever, Michael always waiting in the shadows when he dares to close his eyes. But when Y/N crawls into his chest, filling the vacant place that has been cold for so long, he sighs content, letting the worry fall from his shoulders. Who knows, maybe with her by his side, he might actually be able to rest.

She pulls the sheets to cover the both of them, feeling Dean’s sheltering arm wrap around her and pull her in. The kiss he presses to her hair has her bite back the tears yet again. She tries to hide it, not wanting to come across as weak or emotional. The man who has always cared for her, doesn’t fail to notice, though. “Hey…” he says, softly. “You had a lot on your plate today, huh?” She sniffles and nods, not brave enough to test her voice. “It’s gonna be okay, we’ll figure this out,” he promises. “You got me, Y/N.” “Yeah…” she whispers. “I got you.”

Dean holds her close, giving her the security and the comfort she is desperately seeking, hoping she might forget about the world she’s in now and the one she was ripped from. Absently, he rubs his fingers up and down her arm, the slow, soothing rhythm lulling her to sleep. Within minutes she’s out, the warmth she radiates slowly melting away the tension in the hunter’s stiff muscles, tired and worn from endless battles with both monsters and himself. Exhausted, he lets his cheek rest against the top of her head, allowing his own eyes to flutter shut as well. The last thing that crosses his mind before he falls asleep is a promise. Past, present, or future, Dean will always be there for the woman who makes him believe in their little slice of apple pie life. A decade of time difference will not change his word of honor.

It took me long enough, didn’t it! Stay tuned for part four, I hope I have gained some momentum now and will able to finish this series sooner than later.

Anyway, thank you for reading. I appreciate every single one of you, but if you do want to give me some extra love, you are free to like or reblog my work, shoot me a message or buy me coffee (Link to Kofi in bio at the top of the page).

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writingfromkitchenator · 4 years

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The Demon, The Hunter, and The Halfblood

Hi everyone! Welcome to my latest Crowley project (despite the fact I have several unfinished). This fic is a little experiment on my part as I’m playing with essentially two timelines told throughout the story, so I hope it works/makes sense. I’m having a blast writing it, as I always do with Crowley, but there’s just something special about the two female characters I’ve added in (I love it so much!). These will be posted every Friday. I hope you can all enjoy this too!

Masterlist

Crowley x Original Female Character

Series Warnings: A/B/O series, some Alpha/Beta/Omega dynamics, Alpha x Omega, obligatory smut warning here (as usual, no under 18′s please, specifics will be within chapter warnings as needed), violence, blood, fluff, angst, major character death, possession, swearing

Chapter 1

Words: 1,903

“No,” Crowley said hotly, glaring at the three men in front of him, his foot just before the edge of the devils trap. “You really think I’m going to give you lot anything when you’ve trapped me in this? In all the time you’ve known me, have I ever given anything so willingly?”

“We’re past the point of asking anything Crowley,” Dean snapped. “We’re telling. You’re not going anywhere until you do. You’ve put this off for far too long.”

Crowley snorted. “Is that so? And just exactly what leverage do you have to be able to even think about trying that?”

Sam was watching him though, watching the unease hidden beneath the annoyance, and he knew that something different was going on, something was making him very uncomfortable. “We can keep you here for as long as we need to.”

His assumption was correct when Crowley flinched slightly, quickly covered by a scowl. “What? Not worried about Hell falling apart while I’m not there?”

“No.” Dean and Bobby said together.

“If you just give us an answer Crowley, you can be on your way.” Sam said, ignoring the surprised looks from the other two. “You have to know something, you always know something.”

“Because I’ve actually got brains on what I do with that information Moose,” Crowley snarled, rolling his eyes. “And the last thing I’m currently going to do, is give that to you. Now, if we’re done with this little conversation, I have matters much more important-”

“We’re not done here,” Dean said. “As Sam said, we’ll leave you here for as long as we need to before you tell us what we want to know.”

The frustration was starting to show in Crowley’s expression. “Do you even realise what I have at stake here? The longer you leave me like this, the worse it gets, and frankly, I’d much rather not let it get to that point.”

“What’s that even supposed to mean?” Bobby asked. “What can be worse than running Hell?”

Crowley huffed impatiently, his eyes flashing. “That is none of your business. That is between Madelyn and I, and it’s been perfectly kept under wraps for the last four years so-”

Crowley froze and an odd silence fills the room.

“Bollocks.” He mutters under his breath, seeing their confused expressions, and he quickly straightens his suit out, brushing away some imaginary dirt. “What are the mullet expression for? I think I’ve made myself clear.”

“Madelyn?” Dean asked quietly, a quiet anger hidden in his voice. “As in our sister, my twin, Madelyn?”

“Madelyn’s dead,” Bobby said carefully, but there was pain and anger building in his expression. “Are you telling me that she’s been made a demon?”

Crowley sighed heavily, knowing that he’d messed up and there was no way out this, but still, he stayed silent, trying to hope that there was a way out of this.

“You son of a bitch!” Dean snapped, walking forward, pulling an angel blade off of his belt. “What the hell have you-”

“I haven’t,” Crowley snapped, unfazed by Dean’s approach. “And she is very much alive and well, if you really must know, still perfectly human. She is absolutely going to kill me for letting you find out.”

“Why?” Sam asked, breaking the silence from the other two, Dean and Bobby still trying to process this. “We saw her die, we burned her!”

Crowley rolled his eyes. “No, you saw and burned what I wanted you to see and burn, carefully organised by Madelyn and I. Now, if you’ll be so kind, I am well overdue to go back, or are you actually going to still ignore that?”

“You’re not going anywhere,” Dean said quickly. “Instead, you’re going to tell us where the hell she is so we can go and pick her dumb arse up.”

“I don’t think so,” Crowley clipped. “And for your information, she’s certainly smarter than any of you.”

Bobby’s eyes narrowed on him. “I feel like I’m pointing out the obvious here, but why are you willingly working with a Winchester? Especially Madelyn. You two despise each other.”

The uncomfortableness in the room grew and Crowley cleared his throat a little. “That is between Madelyn and I.”

“Oh you bastard!” Sam and Bobby quickly grab Dean to pull him back. “You son of a-”

“Is that really the best insult you have?” Crowley asked tiredly. “It does get rather old.”

Sam and Bobby dragged Dean from the room, leaving Crowley more than annoyed and agitated as the door shuts behind them, starting to pace in the trap.

“Bloody bastards,” He growled, pulling his phone out of his jacket and going to Madelyn’s name, starting to type a message. “Why is it only urgent when it’s for them? It’s not like lives aren’t at stake here.”

Dumb and Dumber have found out darling and I’m a little stuck. You may have to move soon on your own.

Crowley stared at his phone and the longer he went without a reply, the more the panic began to set in. His feet carried him back and forth in the circle and he could feel tension setting in along his neck and jaw, his teeth grinding.

Surely it couldn’t be worse than he thought?

Madelyn, some sort of response would be nice?

But his phone remained obstinately silent and a cold feeling sunk low into his stomach.

“Hey!” He called loudly, not bothering to hide the note of panic in his voice, just wanting to get this sorted and quickly. “If you idiots are done, I really need to go! Something is wrong!”

It was Sam that answered the door, eyeing Crowley with an odd suspicion. “What is wrong?”

“None of your business,” Crowley snapped. “But you need to let me go so I can go and sort it out!”

“No,” Sam said, shaking his head. “You’re going to tell us where Maddie is and we’re going to go and get her. This doesn’t need to concern you any further Crowley. This is our family and we’ll deal with it.”

Crowley was a little glad that he was trapped in circle, otherwise there wouldn’t currently be much left of Sam. “Your sister’s life is in danger, is that not enough for you? I’m the only one that can get there quick enough to intervene with whatever is going on. Be reasonable!”

Sam stared at him for a long moment, a small look of confusion coming to him as he observed him. “Then let us handle it, it may even give Dean enough time to calm down. After all you’ve done, that’s reasonable enough.”

Crowley’s phone turned over and over in his hand, still remaining silent, and he knew that he was quickly running out of options. “Look, I’ve never asked you boys for much,” He ignored Sam’s raised eyebrow. “But give me this. Please.”

“You know I can’t do that Crowley,” Sam said. “Now, we can keep going around in circles or you can give me that address.”

Crowley hated it all, hated it with every fibre of his being, and he silently swore that he’d get the three of them back for this, especially if, and his silent phone and gut was telling him so, something had happened. They just weren’t going to understand.

Angrily, he told Sam the address and then went silent, refusing to say anything else until he knew what was happening with Madelyn.

“Are you going to be right here Bobby?” Sam asked as he and Dean jumped into the Impala.

“Did you forget who built that?” Bobby asked. “You boys just go and make sure that your sister is okay. I can deal with whatever Crowley has planned, if anything.”

It was clear as they drove that Dean was still furious, Sam often casting him a glance but it was some time before he was game enough to break the silence.

“So, who are you angry at more?” Sam asked as calmly as he could.

Dean let out a huff. “Honestly, both of them.” Sam waited and Dean eventually snapped again. “Madelyn had no right to fake her death and Crowley certainly had no bloody right to keep it from us, no matter what the hell was going on. If he’s so much as laid any sort of finger on her then I’m going to be back here sooner than he make any sort of annoying arse comment and beat his arse in!”

Sam grimaced, having a growing, sinking feeling that he knew what was going on, but deciding it was better to lie to Dean when he was like this. “I’m sure it’s nothing like that.”

There was no missing the side long glance from Dean. “Don’t pull that Beta shit on me Sam, Madelyn’s crossed the line now. We may have done some stupid shit to each other, but this takes the cake man, it really does.”

Sighing, Sam shakes his head. “All I’m saying Dean, is that there’s no point in going Alpha until we know what’s going on. Madelyn’s never been the simple Omega type, we’ve known that all her life, and she’s hardly going to take any shit from Crowley, whatever he’s got over her.”

Dean growled. “Right.”

“Dean-”

“Just drop it Sam,” Dean said. “Let’s get there and find out what’s going on from her.”

Sam sighs and gives a small laugh. “Right. She’s always the talkative type.”

When they pulled up outside a house several hours later, Dean’s mood worsened, getting out of the Impala and slamming the door, uncaring of what attention he drew. “Maddie!”

Silence greeted the two of them and Sam just rolled his eyes at Dean as he hurried up the front steps ahead of him, banging on the door. “Madelyn!”

As Sam walked up the steps as well, Dean peaked through the glass on the side of the door. Almost instantly his gun was in his hand.

“What is it?” Sam asked, drawing his own gun.

“The house has been ransacked,” Dean said. “Do you wanna see if you can get in the back?”

They both managed to pick the locks and walk in, guns raised, but apart from the ticking of a clock and their own footsteps, the house was empty and quiet.

“Shit,” Dean said. “What the hell is going on?”

“Let’s check upstairs,” Sam said, taking the lead, glass crunching under his feet, trying to ignore the mass of broken items and furniture, his heart racing a little. “Maybe whoever was here left something behind?”

“Or hopefully Maddie did.” Dean said following. “Something is not right here Sam.”

“I hate to say Crowley warned us,” Sam said. “But-”

“Don’t finish that sentence man,” Dean said, pushing past Sam to check the other end of the hallway. “I’m already dreading telling him that Maddie is-”

Dean goes silent for a moment as he opens the last door, whatever he was seeing sinking in. Sam’s about to ask what was going on when-

“Son of bitch!” Dean spat, fury in voice. “I’m going to kill both of them!”

Sam frowns, reaching Dean and looking over his shoulder to see what was getting him so angry. His stomach sunk when he saw the pinks, purples and blues that filled the room, a pile of soft toys in the corner, and a bed that had all but been torn apart.

“Ah.”

#supernatural #the demon the hunter and the halfblood #crowley #crowley x original female character #long fic #fic series #crowley fridays #sister winchester #alpha x omega #a/b/o

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fixated-dark-king · 5 years

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People may be sick of this type of discourse already, but I’m honestly just trying to logically and calmly process (for my own sake) why I found SnowBaz’s relationship arc to feel a little unfulfilling at the end of Wayward Son. I figure that if I can be at peace with it, I can move on and try to enjoy the rest of the book for what it was.

I think it comes down to this for me: the relationship arc that was set up early in the book was not fulfilled by the end, which left an unfortunate aftertaste of confusion, disappointment, and the surreal sense that nothing had really progressed in the book.

I’m not talking about expecting all of SnowBaz’s problems to be fixed within one book because obviously that is too simplistic and not how life tends to work; it would be a disservice to the complexity of their trauma if everything was solved in one book. (And Crowley do I love angst!)

But SnowBaz have arcs within arcs, and the smaller one set up specifically in this sequel (our lads needing to verbally communicate their unchanged feelings to alleviate misunderstandings) is what was left unfulfilled within the larger arc (them dealing with the trauma that in turn influences their behaviour within their relationship).

For me, it didn’t make much sense for them to not solve that mini arc, especially when looking at how they’ve dealt with things in the past (at the end of Carry On).

Okay so let’s back up to the start of the arc. Wayward Son started with a further development of Simon's depression arc: his trauma had become so pervasive and entrenched over time that it altered the way his brain processes things, until even physical affection feels like too much most days. These symptoms are clearly a long-term problem but we are set up with the hope that an extreme change of scenery (the road trip) will help get him off the couch, force a break in some of his unhelpful thinking cycles, and help him reconnect with Baz, step by step.

Simon doesn't live in a bubble though and his depression had ramifications for Baz as well: Baz was slowly and subtly held at arm's length by Simon until it felt like a natural disintegration of Simons feelings for him over time. Understandably, Baz misinterpreted that breakdown in communication (physically and emotionally) as Simon getting over him and just not able to make a clean break. This has always been Baz's insecurity even in Carry On -- that Simon doesn't like him.

All of this resulted in both boys scared to initiate a Couple Conversation. They were terrified that the other didn't like them anymore and were dreading the other person initiating a break up.

So we had a clear mini arc set up to anticipate throughout the novel: Simon and Baz slowly coming to understand each other again and alleviate this one misunderstanding. And that is what we waited for: the Couple Conversation; the reassurances the other needed to hear; the affirmation of their enduring love for each other.

And it was a goal that was achievable for them within the book's time frame -- fear of a break-up was what held them back from initiating a Couple Conversation, not an innate incapability of being able to express their feelings to one another. We've seen them achieve Couple Talks at the end of Carry On: Simon tried to break up with Baz because he wasn't The Chosen One anymore, but Baz had a Conversation with him right then and there to talk through Simon's insecurities and to balance them with his own perspective and promises. These lads are capable of Talking to each other.

And thus, as anticipated, certain moments in Wayward Son started to break the ice of what their relationship had become, and we could see and feel them getting closer to that goal of Talking to each other. And sure enough, when the time felt right, bloody brilliant Baz broke through their stalemate of fear to finnnnnally initiate a Conversation and be upfront about his feelings for Simon! And Simon was affected by what he heard! He had a strong non-verbal reaction so we could see that Baz's words had cut through and weren't outright dismissed. It was exactly the start of the communication that was needed to fulfill the emotional arc threaded throughout the whole book.

But that conversation was cut short before it truly began -- for cliffhanger purposes! And that is what left me feeling very frustrated and ripped off. It was not only an unnecessarily unfulfilled arc (which made it feel like the characters had made little progression), but one that does not carry enough weight to drag into another book. Our boys can talk! Carry On managed to get that Couple Talk 1.0 done in one chapter at the very end. It really doesn't take two books to have one conversation...

I was left wondering why that particular tension (a Conversation) was chosen to drag into a third installment. A Conversation was never going to solve everything; SnowBaz have a lot of other stuff to work through which is strong enough to be carry over. For example. affirming they still love each other doesn't automatically resolve the unhealthy habits they have in their relationship, or reestablish boundaries, or remove all the awkwardness between them.

So in the end, that ending just ended up feeling like a rather cheap trick to panic fans into needing a third book, instead of trusting us to naturally crave a third installment since SnowBaz's relationship obviously wouldn't be completely healed yet.

And that's just my take. Where do I (and anyone else in the same boat) go from here? I guess allow ourselves to feel disappointed if we are (it is important to validate and acknowledge our feelings) and then we can find room to enjoy the parts of the book that did work well. :)

#Wayward Son spoilers #waywardsonspoilers #Wayward Son #don't mind me #just trying to process things

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throw-away-world · 5 years

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Beyond Healing

Title: Beyond Healing

Pairing: Crowley x Aziraphale

Genre: Romance/Angst/Comfort

Summary: “Listen, Aziraphale,” He pauses because Crowley would only ever use his name when it is really serious, “You can’t keep running away from your feelings. I know that we used to consider a lot of things. But those days are over. Over, Aziraphale. What we have to do now is to be fucking honest. Because honestly, honestly, honestly, I love you so much. So much. If you think I regretted choosing you then you’re bloody wrong. Because I’ll choose you again and again even if you stop choosing yourself. I’ll choose you for the both of us.”

Note: Or the time Aziraphale almost gets eaten by his anxiety and paranoia. And they’re just a mess of emotions.

oOo

There is nothing in the world that Crowley could ever love besides Aziraphale. Perhaps, it is a caving ache within his chest, feelings not meant for a demon oozing out from every crevice of his whole being, bleeding for even a drop of the angel’s love. Perhaps, it is an undeniable truth plastered in every news if he could, just for Aziraphale to look at and end up thinking something entirely else. Perhaps, it is a miserable punishment, to love with every fiber of his soul, only to end up being denied.

Crowley could not count on his hands anymore how many times he has offered himself for Aziraphale—how many times he would choose the angel over the very essence of his redesigned existence just to keep his gaze, to stay by his side.

It is laughably wretched how for many a short moment he would see Aziraphale almost becomes unravel with his affections, only to see him take a hundred steps back—afraid, always frightened by things he gets himself ruffled inside his head.

“Angel,” He utters quietly, stepping obediently back when Aziraphale flinches under his fingertips. Soft blue eyes closing sadly, anxiously, before darting open, left and right—almost in a panic. He took another step away, “Aziraphale.”

“I got to go.”

He watches him leave as he does so many times. He had gotten so familiar seeing Aziraphale’s back that it is downright wrenching—the empty popping space that surrounds him surreptitiously consumes him inside, a perfect mirror of the caving gravity his soul only ever experiences when his angel would turn away.

“What are you so afraid of?”

“Is it so disgusting realizing you love a demon?”

oOo

Aziraphale, perhaps, is an open book for anyone willing enough to read him. He is indeed a rather expressive being, always wearing his emotions on his sleeves when it is inappropriate. He wondered if Crowley could see.

There are not enough words in the vocabulary of humans to describe the depth of his love for the demon. He knew that once he truly accepted his feelings, he would be all over the place.

Perhaps, he would even suffocate Crowley with the amount of affections he harbors for him. Perhaps, once Crowley realizes how disgustingly in love he is, he would end up chasing him away. Perhaps, he, himself, would be suffocated by his bottomless affection for the demon—how heavily grounded he feels whenever he felt his eyes on him, how his stare would scorch his skin, mar it red with just his gaze, how he has to constantly refrain himself from glowing whenever Crowley is around lest he gave it all away, how his heart would just explode whenever the demon utters his name.

He imagines a lot of things with Crowley.

A soft atmosphere. A homey cottage. Hot teas. Candlelit dinners. Midnight picnics. Quiet murmurs. Hot touches. Genuine promises. Warm cuddles. An unravelling of existences under unadulterated love.

“Aziraphale.”

He turns and meets the glares of the Archangels he left behind.

“What are you doing here again, Gabriel? Perhaps, you are not done threatening me the other day?” He puts his bravado, disguising the churning in his stomach to the best of his ability. Gabriel huffs, crossing his arms, “We saw you again with that thing.”

“That thing has a name. He is Crowley.” He pauses before adding, “Anthony J. Crowley.”

“I don’t care.” Gabriel has always been an insufferable big man, always trying to direct things his way, “I warn you, Aziraphale, know that I’ll find ways to make your life miserable—take the most precious thing away from you and vanish it in front of your eyes. This is divine punishment.”

“Nothing about it is divine, Gabriel.” He counters, “Stop being a child. You keep telling me that for over two years already.”

“And I’ll keep reminding you, you disgrace.” With a whirl, they were gone and he is left alone once more.

He imagines a lot of things with Crowley.

One of which is Gabriel’s threat coming into fruition.

“I’m sorry, Crowley.”

oOo

The empty book shop was a dawning answer to Crowley.

Aziraphale left. No farewell. No letter. No warning. He left. He left. He left. The thought races continuously inside his head, a hollow echo mocking his shriveled disposition. He sees black, lips tightening, and he thumps and thumps away on his chest because it felt like he needed to breathe—he needed something inside his chest besides an erratic beating exploding inside him, choking him.

Hands finding their way to long red hair, yanking and yanking—the physical pain is nothing compared to the chaos he is feeling.

Suddenly, he wishes he burns down with the book shop. Maybe Aziraphale would come back to him then. If he knew that he is on the brink of death, probably, he could hear him say his confession—he needed to hear it just once if he could.

But Aziraphale left.

He left him.

That’s his answer.

“OI! A FUCKING BOTTLE HERE.”

“Sir, please. You have enough.”

“Enough? Enough?” He is near madness, hysterical, “I ought to be enough, ‘s what I am. But the bastard left. Left. Just like that. Enough, my arse. Fuck. Fuck. JUST FUCKING GREAT, AIN’T IT?”

oOo

Skittish.

That’s what he is. His silhouette would even startle him. It’s laughable. Truly. He couldn’t even be relaxed in his own home, his thoughts are quite frightening. He had to get away for a bit to clear his mind.

“Please, pray tell, why you seem to be coming over quite a lot, Mr. Fell?” Madame Tracy is a nice woman by all means. A little odd around the edges but she always means well. Their little friendship after the Armagedon’t has been flourishing splendidly to the point that visiting has become a norm.

Yet, he knows that visiting seven times a week is a bit quite too much. Performing a miracle just to transport himself in his hiding place and her house is exhausting but takes his mind off things.

“I’m sorry to disturb you on a fine afternoon, Madame Tracy,” Aziraphale started, wringing his hands in worry, “It seems that I am quite all over the place lately.”

“Oh my, whatever do you mean? Is this about Mr. Crowley?” The flinch gave him away and he sees the frown lightly marring Madame Tracy’s lips. He shrugs, “It’s not that… It’s just… I mean…”

“Does Mr. Crowley know?”

“Know what?”

“How you are feeling overwhelmed?” Her eyes were kind but stern, a sense of a motherly figure. He looks away in shame, hands altogether stopping from its tick. She walks towards him, hand gently caressing his hair in a reassuring manner.

“What is there to be overwhelmed, Mr. Fell?”

There are a lot of things, he thought. There are a lot of things he kept on stressing about. Many of them, if not all, involve Crowley. From a point to another point, he would round up to thinking about the demon. And about the fear that is keeping him grounded. Fear. What a monstrous thing to feel. Especially when it’s about losing someone.

“Everything.” He replied, “Oh, everything, Madame Tracy. I’m so very afraid. I don’t know what I’ll do if I lose him. Or if the angels harm him. Just thinking about it makes me lose myself.”

“You told me that you’re not on Heaven’s side anymore nor Mr. Crowley is on Hell’s. What is causing this fear?” She queried, her eyebrows shooting up in confusion. He shook his head, “I may be not on either side but the threats kept on coming. I can’t. I just can’t risk it.”

“What do you have to risk, Mr. Fell?”

“Crowley!” He frets, “I can’t risk him. He is everything to me. And Gabriel warned me—he warned me that he would take everything that is important to me. What if they already knew? They’re just waiting to strike. I just—oh, Madame Tracy, I can’t lose Crowley. I really can’t.”

“Dear boy,” She uttered, voice a lull in the afternoon rain, “do you love Mr. Crowley?”

“Yes.” He doesn’t hesitate in the face of a kind woman, awfully docile under her gaze, “Yes, I do.”

“Then why are you running away by yourself?”

“I—”

oOo

It’s been a week—a tiresome week.

Crowley lifts another glass to his lips, tongue darting to taste the alcohol. He could get alcohol poisoning—that will discorporate him probably. It will send him right down to Hell. And the demons could feast on his soul.

He doesn’t need to live anyway.

He got his answers.

After six thousand years, he finally had gotten his answer. Quite fetching, really. How creatively painful must an angel be to break a demon’s questionable heart. Aren’t they supposed to be creatures of love? Shouldn’t they be more open to it? Be delighted that they made a demon fall?

“Huh.” He chuckles drunkenly, “Fall. All heavenly creatures on Your side are just so adept in making creatures like me fall. Amusing, ain’t it?”

The silence fouls his mood even more. He doesn’t expect for anyone to give him a response. But it still pricks his overly sensitive senses. He stretches his hand and laughs loudly as the sound of glass hits the wall.

He paces towards it, picks up the shards with bare hands and crunches them.

“Aren’t I a miserable one, Angel? Maybe, ‘s why you left.”

“Couldn’t accept loving a failed existence, huh?”

OoO

The concept of love is—it’s always a beautiful thing. It is soft and warm. Something like a cotton candy, sweet. Or maybe like crepes! He always loves crepes. It is just too savory—tempting, really.

But love is not a sinful concept at all, it isn’t supposed to tempt people. But humans’ way of feeling things is rather complicated. They just don’t feel a single thing of pure goodness. They are warped strings of emotions that got jumbled altogether, blurred into grayness that you can’t see where they start or end—there’s no clear demarcation for it. It’s an absolute mess!

Not that immortal celestial beings could say otherwise. Especially, immortal celestial beings that had been on Earth for far too long. Crowley and him had always been a special case. He supposed that it’s been a long time coming. Perhaps, it has always been part of the Ineffable Plan. God has always been mysterious that way but he dares not question Her. Not that it stops him from questioning the Archangels, but still.

God is different, he likes to believe that She understands.

He likes to. Really.

After the almost Apocalypse, things were rather hectic. He was always trying to get away from Crowley. Their lovely night at the Ritz was so memorable that it had triggered emotions, opened dams that should not be opened. How could an angel be so in love with a demon? This incredible, cunning, amazing demon he had for company for many millennia, who could possibly not fall in love with him? But oh! If this is written in the Ineffable Plan then She had something in store for them. And he really never liked the surprises She would come up with.

Sometimes, they’re just so cruel.

And he doesn’t—

He really doesn’t—

What would he do if falling in love with Crowley is just a stepping stone for a bigger Plan? And what if that Plan means someday hurting him so it could be achieved? What if they would be so in love but then it gets torn to pieces? He doesn’t want to be involved in the Plan anymore. He knows he’s not on Heaven’s side anymore nor Crowley is on Hell’s.

But one can never be too careful. The angels like to remind him that quite warningly.

He admits that he had done things that should be punished. Maybe. Just maybe She is just waiting for the right time to punish him because now he has something he really does fear losing.

And if he lost Crowley—

If he does lose him—

If one day, he woke up and suddenly Crowley was taken away from him—

If Crowley gets hurt because of him—

He would, absolutely would, just die.

He’d rather keep him alive. And if it means constantly deflecting, then so be it. He’d rather be unhappy if it means keeping Crowley alive.

Right?

“Then why are you running away by yourself?”

“Because I—”

“Do you love Mr. Crowley?”

“I do.”

“Then why are you running away by yourself?”

“Do you love Mr. Crowley?”

“Why am I running away?”

OoO

“Crowley?”

It must have been his imagination, his fantasy seeping out into the shadows of his confinement. How hard did he wish to hear Aziraphale call his name again?

“Crowley, where are yo—oh, dear!” He felt warm arms, hands gingerly picking the shards that imbedded themselves into his skin. He winces as dried blood surrounding the wounds make the cleaning more painful.

“What have you done to yourself?!” Aziraphale’s frantic voice beckons him a little closer to consciousness. See? See? If he hurt himself, Aziraphale might appear. “Oh, stop chuckling, you wily fool.”

“You came back.” Whatever this is, it felt too real. It’s an amazing imagination—the only thing other demons don’t have. He croaked, letting all his feelings out, “You came back. I’m glad.”

His imaginary Aziraphale pauses, wet droplets hitting his cheeks.

“Oh, Crowley, you fool.”

Another morning graces his eyes and he flinches, eyes opening.

“Angel?”

OoO

When Crowley wakes up, he is besides him. Aziraphale is a shivering mess, eyes red. He had thought he would lose Crowley then and there. The poor demon was covered in glasses from head to toe, bottles of alcohol rolling left and right. He thought Gabriel has finally made his warning a reality—but there are no traces of holy presence in the vicinity, just an extra-large amount of indescribable pain.

“Angel, where did you go?” Crowley asks, eyes almost glaring. Azirphale averts his eyes, “I’m sorry, my dear. I was…”

“Why’d you left?” Why’d you left me?

It breaks him to see Crowley like this. He never thought he would cause him such pain. A surge of guilt creeps in. He bits his lips, eyes down-casted in shame. Crowley looks so fragile, so hurt that he is afraid that if he touched him, he would crumble.

“I was…” He starts again, “I was just overwhelmed.”

“Overwhelmed.” Always quick with his wit, Crowley snaps, “Overwhelmed is when I run to you, begging you to come with me to Alpha Centauri because I thought we would not be able to stop the bloody apocalypse. Overwhelmed is when I sat down at a bar, crying myself into a drunken stupor because I thought I lost you. Overwhelmed is when you told me you’re never going to talk to me again if I don’t come up with a plan. But I never truly ever left you, didn’t I?”

“My dear—”

“No. No.” Crowley puts a hand up, “Let me speak, Angel. I waited and waited and waited. When I kissed you and you told me you had to go, I let you—trustingly so. It always pains me but I hope! I hope even under such severing misery, even when you constantly deny me of the feelings I deserve from you to have, even when you constantly pretend you don’t feel the same way. I hope! But, maybe, you thought of me too disgusting? Too wretched? How would a pure creature such as you love a fallen like me?”

Every word he spoke were little knives carving at his soul. He had hurt Crowley deeply this time, more than the last time that he did when he threw his request away to the pond. Looking at the crumbling state of Crowley was stabbing him.

“I did not leave, per say.” He intervenes mistakenly but Crowley only hisses at him before spatting, “I went to your book shop! And they’re empty. Not a single trace of your beloved books nor your things are there. I confessed to you and the next thing I knew is you’re gone!”

“I just kept it away somewhere.”

“Somewhere you did not tell me!”

“Crowley, let me explain!”

“NO!” Crowley explodes, eyes starting to sting, “NO! What you need is to sort yourself out! Let’s stop this dance because it’s killing me. I don’t want it anymore.”

Aziraphale scrambles, arms hugging Crowley tightly, “I’m so sorry, my dearest boy. I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry for hurting you. I’m so sorry for being so cowardly. I just don’t want you to die.”

“Die?”

“For the past two years, Heaven kept threatening me.” Aziraphale mutters, “They told me that they would destroy everything that I love. Crowley, that’s you! Everything that I love is you. I don’t want you to get destroyed for my punishment. I’d rather die myself a million times in place of you. I never intended to truly leave but if that’s all it takes to save you I—”

“I don’t want it!” Crowley shrieks, arms finally responding to the embrace, “If you leave me, I will just discorporate myself and send myself to Hell. Be tortured for all eternity than live without you. Because I finally have you. Just to lose you because you left willingly, that’s too much. I don’t want it.”

“But if I ever do, it’s because I want you to be happy—” He sobs.

“Listen, Aziraphale,” He pauses because Crowley would only ever use his name when it is really serious, “You can’t keep running away from your feelings. I know that we used to consider a lot of things. But those days are over. Over, Aziraphale. What we have to do now is to be fucking honest. Because honestly, honestly, honestly, I love you so much. So much. If you think I regretted choosing you then you’re bloody wrong. Because I’ll choose you again and again even if you stop choosing yourself. I’ll choose you for the both of us.”

Crowley knows a lot about him. He pretends that Crowley doesn’t. But truthfully, the demon does. And it’s overwhelming how much he would hold on to someone as imperfect as he—as insecure and painfully oblivious as he. He always knows what to say and when to say them, always reading between the lines of what he speaks. Perhaps, he never really had a chance in ever hiding something from Crowley. Perhaps, he naturally couldn’t.

Because he always comes around to a point where Crowley is waiting. Always patiently waiting for him.

“I’m sorry, Crowley.”

“No,” Crowley starts, “It’s I love you, Crowley. You got to compensate me double for making me miserable, Angel. I almost poisoned myself. Yuck.”

He couldn’t help the watery smile, couldn’t help but notice how normal they could chat around after a dramatic outburst—as if it’s always meant to be like this, with him by Crowley’s side.

“Aziraphale?”

He hummed in response.

“You’ll not suddenly disappear, right?”

He doesn’t.

#good omens #aziraphale x crowley #crowley #ineffable husbands #aziraphale #ineffable spouses #otp: ineffable #ineffable partners #it's ineffable #Crowley knows Aziraphale loves him but doesn't want to push #Aziraphale comes around eventually #Please leave a review for switmikan74

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bamby0304 · 6 years

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With Wolves- Ch.29

Series Masterlist

Bamby’s Masterlist

Summary: Known as The Omen, your reputation puts fear in some of the most dangerous and deadly Alphas. So when you’re caught and sent to the worst maximum security facility unknown to man, no one expected an unclaimed Omega to walk through the gates in shackles and an orange jumpsuit. Word circulates, and before long there’s a price on your head. Who will claim the untamed Omega?

A/N: Thank you @sculptorofbeginnings, @kittenofdoomage and @crispychrissy for looking the chapter over :):) xx

Warnings: Explicit language. A/B/O dynamics. Heat. Violence. Angst. Death. Bit of a time jump. Medical stuff. Fluff.

Bamby

“Now, is that anyway to talk to a lady?”

Both you and Ketch turned to the doorway and froze.

Standing there, in the usual long, dark coat that covered their equally black suit, was your boss. What was a little unusual about the sight of him, was seeing the gun in his hand as he kept it pointed at Ketch.

“Who the fuck are you?” Ketch snarled.

Your boss shrugged. “I wouldn’t worry about that if I were you… more pressing issues at hand and all.” His head tilted in your direction, to remind Ketch that he had bigger fish to fry at the moment.

Ketch shifted on the spot, suddenly unsure. If he tried to attack you, would the new comer shoot? If he tried to run, would they shoot? What could he do that wouldn’t get him shot?

Sighing, your boss checked his watch impatiently. “Y/N, darling, times ticking. Do you need me to deal with this wanker?”

“No.” You shook your head, moving across the room. “He’s mine,” you stated as you reached for Ketch’s gun as it lay on the ground, abandoned.

Ignoring your boss as he shrugged and let you do your thing- while keeping watch to have your back- you started towards Ketch again. His eyes darted from you, to your boss, and then back, clear uncertainty in his eyes. Still, despite the fact his options were dwindling by the second, he was trying to weigh his chances and figure out his next move.

There was only one more move for him.

“On your knees,” you ordered, lifting the gun to aim it at Ketch’s face.

He scoffed and refused to move, but a flicker in his gaze let you know it was all bravado. He was scared.

You cocked the gun. “Get on your fucking knees, before I shoot you in each and make you kneel.”

Swallowing hard, eyes going wide, Ketch did as he was told and dropped to his knees, one at a time. Once he was on the ground, you moved closer to him. Despite the rage burning inside you, your simmering heat, and all the chaos, you remained cool, calm and collected as you stared him down.

“I hate you,” you started. “Do you know how rare that is? I feel nothing for Alphas. Every fucker I’ve killed was out of self-defence, for a job, or because they were a walking knot with no brain. But I didn’t hate any of them. Maybe their species, but never an individual. I never bothered feeling anything for them. But you? I hate you.

“You killed Mick because he helped me. Kevin is dead because you threw me in with Alphas, knowing they wouldn’t be able to resist the temptation. You killed Bobby and Rufus. Then you tossed the rest of us into the Pit, which is where Benny was killed. You hunted us, and killed Gabriel. Dean…” Your eyes darted to your Alpha’s unmoving body. “I swear to fucking Jesus fucking Christ, if he’s dead…” Your voice shook.

Ketch remained on his knees, eyes trained on the gun that was trained on his face. It was a staring match he would not win.

“You ruined everything. You almost killed me, gutted me, humiliated me, tried to rape me.” Tears stung your eyes. “You walk around that place like you’re some kind of god, but you’re nothing more than a weak man. You’re no better than the fuckers I’ve killed. You’re just another one to add to the list.”

As he opened his mouth, no doubt ready to try his hand at begging, you pulled the trigger.

Shooting someone in the face wasn’t something you’d done many times before, but Ketch wasn’t your first. This time was different, however. There was this satisfied feeling that didn’t quite feel like every other kill. This wasn’t just a job, or an Alpha… this was an enemy, a threat, a monster.

Now he was nothing but a corpse on the floor, with a gaping hole in his head.

“Dean!” Sam’s voice boomed outside of the cabin. “Y/N!”

Instead of waiting for him, however, you dropped the gun and rushed to Dean. But as you dropped to your knees by his side, and reached for him, you knew the truth.

“No, no, no, no, no, no, no.” Your throat began to ache as you felt your eyes fill with tears. “Dean.” Grabbing his shoulder, you shook him gently. “Dean, please wake up.”

Sam came rushing into the cabin then, passing your boss without a glance. His eyes were glued on you and his brother, as you began to cry, realising you were too late… you were all too late.

“Y/N?” Sam stumbled a little, dropping to his knees beside you.

Choking on a sob, you turned to him. “He’s… he’s…”

“Fine,” your boss cut in. “Or he will be if you let my people help.”

Both you and Sam looked to the cabin entrance then as more people walked in. People you recognised. People you’d missed. People you could almost call friends.

There was Garth, a scrawny guy that was all smiles. Most people assumed he’s Beta because of his seemingly timid attitude, but the guy could be ruthless if the time was right… or the price. You’d seen him do things that left your jaw hanging open.

Meg was there, too, grinning at you like a vulture. Oddly, though, you didn’t mind. The Beta girl was a menace to society, but had saved your ass more times than you cared to admit. In between all the madness and death in your lives the two of you had formed an understanding that resembled something of a friendship.

Charlie was an actual friend, and you were honestly surprised to see her out in the field. She was a computer girl, preferring to stick behind the desk. In earlier years she’d begged to be out there, working like the rest of you. Her first kill had been her last, and had changed her forever. To this day, she reminded you that if it wasn’t for your acceptance and patience, your willingness to be there for her, then she never would have survived the aftermath.

As you looked to the new people your attention was caught by one last person as they stepped through the doors. Cas. His eyes scanned the room, taking in the scene, before they landed on you. There was concern and relief in his gaze… he’d been scared for your safety and was glad you were okay.

Sam’s attention quickly turned away from the newcomers as he instead focused on your boss. “Crowley?”

You weren’t expecting that.

Crowley grinned. “Hello, Moose.”

Looking form one man to the other, you frowned, confused. “Wait… you know each other? How?”

“It’s a long story, darling. Why don’t we wait for explanations once we get your Squirrel fixed up?” Crowley nodded to the other people. “Get him in the chopper, I want him to get the best care. And she needs to be looked over, too.”

Not having a say or choice, you let the people pull you away from Dean as they got to work. Standing there, you watched as Garth and Cas took Dean. At the same time, Meg moved to help Sam while Charlie offered you a hand, but something came over you, and suddenly you snapped.

“Touch him and I’ll gouge your eyes out,” you warned on a snarl as Meg reached out towards Sam.

She paused, hand hovering. It was clear she was tempted to take the chance, to see if you would go through with it. But then the other part of her- the part that was holding her back- didn’t feel like doubting the crazy Omega who was in heat and could possible lose her other Alpha that night.

“Meg,” Crowley called form where he still stood in the same spot, watching. “Help the others.”

With an order given, Meg walked off with a huff.

The second she was gone, you were reaching for Sam. His arms enveloped you, holding you to his chest as he buried his face into your neck to breathe in your scent.

“As beautiful as this moment is… we should all be getting a move on. The guards aren’t finished looking for you three, and Dean really does need proper medical help.”

Reminded of the danger you were in, you and Sam separated enough to follow Crowley out, while remaining hand in hand. No words were spoken as you all hurried through the woods, following your boss as he led you to his chopper, and to your freedom.

***

You sat by his bed, where you’d been for the last two days. An echo rang in your mind, the sound that came when Dean flatlined… when he died, with your hand in his. Dean had died.

But he was back now. Crowley had money, power, influence, it really wasn’t a surprise that he had everything you might need to save someone’s life. The second the chopper landed in the yard of Crowley’s mansion, people were bustling about to save your Alpha.

Sam stuck by your side until he was dragged away. Being Alpha and family, he had genetic material that could held save Dean’s life. So, he was taken away to give blood in the hopes it would save Dean’s life. When that did very little everyone turned to you.

Having been claimed by Dean, your DNA had changed, mutated to match his.

With both your blood and Sam’s, Crowley’s personal nurses and doctor managed to save Dean and bring him back. But even after you were reassured that he would be okay, given time and rest, you still couldn’t get forget that moment where he’d died.

The flatlining machine, the panic in the room, your scream as Sam held you, trying not to break down himself. God, you were crumbling, a mess, practically dying right with Dean, and Sam was still strong, still there for you. He was… he was everything you needed in that moment, despite losing his brother and possibly his Omega, and you were just screaming, falling apart at the seams.

You were still a mess, still distraught. Sitting by Dean’s bed, with his hand in yours as you rested your head on the mattress he lay on. You were half asleep, determined to stay awake until his eyes flutter open. Two days had past and he hadn’t woken, while you’d refused to sleep.

“’Mega…” Sam walked into the room. Lifting your head from the bed, you turned to him as he stood in the doorway. “You should eat something.”

“No.” You shook your head and looked back to Dean. “Not until he wakes.”

Sighing, Sam walked further into the room to stand by your side and grab your free hand. “What would Dean say if he knew you hadn’t eaten? Or rested? You haven’t even changed out of the robe they gave you days ago.”

Eyes wandering back to Sam, you took in his jeans, his buttoned up white and blue faded flannel… his so very mundane look. Sam suited life on the this side of the bars.

“And you’re still in heat, don’t even try to deny it.”

“Wasn’t going to,” you huffed.

“I can feel you fighting your biology. It’s just going to make you sick. The doctors will have to focus on you and leave Dean until you're better,” he noted, playing on your guilt. It worked, too. “Come on.” He tugged on your hand gently. “Let me make you some food.”

With one last glance at Dean, you let your hand slip from his grasp as Sam led you out of the room.

***

You were seated on a leather lounge in one of Crowley’s many sitting rooms. Sam sat behind you, his legs spread, one leaning against the back of the lounge, while you rested between his thighs with your head on his chest. He two of you were nibbling on the sandwiches that had been made for you by the chefs in the kitchen- when Sam had tried to make you food himself, they ushered you back out.

In all honesty, you did feel a little better now that you had food in your stomach. But the worry in your head and heart was still weighing you down. It wasn’t just about Dean, there was so much going on, so much to do…

“Now this is a surprise.” Your head snapped up to look over at the room’s entrance as Crowley walked in. “Y/N and the Winchesters… and here I thought you would be a spinster forever, dear.” He grinned.

Eyeing him carefully, you saw the tell-tale signs of a lie. “Did you set this up?”

“What ever do you mean?”

“Did you send me in there knowing what would happen?”

“Do you mean, did I send you into that hell hole knowing the Winchesters and Castiel would be there? Knowing that you, my most loyal employee, would meet two of my other… friends? And that a bond would grow between the three of you, because honestly no one else in the world could possibly be built for three head strong and violent people?” Crowley smiled slyly. “Of course not.”

You glared at him. “My life isn’t some toy for you to play with.”

“No, but you are valuable, and so are the Winchesters. I needed the Morningstar dead, and I wanted you back out in the world to help me run business like usual.” Crowley shrugged as he walked further into the room. “The only way you were getting out is with help. I knew the brothers would be some kind of assistance, but I can honestly tell you I didn’t expect to see those for at least a few months.” His gaze dropped to your neck.

Bringing your hand up to where his eyes were staring, you brushed one of your marks.

“Did you kill Nick… or Lucifer… or whatever the kids are calling him these days? Did you kill him?”

Attention drawn back to Crowley, you nodded. “He’s dead, but I didn’t kill him, so I don’t deserve the payout. Sam does.”

Crowley looked surprised. “You shared a job? The only person you’ve ever done that with is Castiel, and even then, you always take the kill.”

“Let’s just say… Sam had some unfinished business.” You shrugged.

“Fair enough. I’ll have Garth gather the money for Sam, and get Meg to go out and get you supplies.”

“Supplies? What kind of supplies?”

“Clothes, Y/N. You need clothes.”

You raised an eyebrow at him. “And you’re sending Meg?” You scoffed, “No. Send Charlie. I trust her. She won’t come back with everything leather.”

“What’s so bad about leather. You, my dear, look exceptional in-” a low growl from Sam had Crowley cut himself short. “Fine. As you wish. No leather,” he sighed as he started to leave. “Oh, and one last thing.” He turned back to you. “I’m giving you one of my safehouses.”

“A safehouse?” Sam asked.

“Yes, Moose, a safehouse. You’ve claimed an Omega and you’re all fugitives, you do realise you’ll need some form of security,” Crowley noted. “As soon as Dean is well, I’ll have you all escorted to your new home. You’ll be safe there. It can be a place to retire in, or a place to go to between jobs. I don’t expect anything more from any of you, despite hoping you’ll continue to help me and my associates.” His eyes landed on you then. “But I promised you one last job, and a deal is a deal.”

“We’re… we’re done?” You couldn’t believe it… after years of being one of Crowley’s lackeys, you were finally free to live the way you wanted. It felt too good to be true.

“You’re done,” he assured you. This time, when he turned to walk away, Crowley didn’t come back.

Sam’s arms wrapped around you as he buried his face in your neck. “We’re free.”

Bamby

#alpha!dean fanfiction #alpha!dean fic #alpha!dean x omega!reader #alpha!dean x omega!you #alpha!dean x omega!y/n #alpha!sam fanfiction #alpha!sam fic #alpha!sam x omega!reader #alpha!sam x omega!you #abo #abo dynamics #a/b/o #a/b/o dynamics #with wolves

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boogiewrites · 6 years

Text

Don’t Call Her Annie 8: Dusk & Dawn

Characters: Jim Hopper x Reader (OFC)

Word Count: 2000

Summary: Annette Horowitz is Joyce’s younger sister. She hasn’t been the perfect sibling or aunt but after she finds out Will is missing, she finds herself crashing back into Hawkins to do everything in her power to help, driven by a need to prove herself. She’s been through the worst with her new mismatched family, so surely the best is around the corner?

Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 9

You can check out my other work on My Masterlist.

Warnings/Tags: Angst. Fluff. Intense Situations. Violence. Slight Gore. Language. Feelings (insert Crowley gif here). Slow burn.

Tagged folks are at the bottom, if you’d like to be added or removed, just leave a reply and I’ll see it! Any positive feedback or messages are appreciated. Thanks!

OCTOBER

The metaphorical smoke had cleared, everyone was settled down and safe. The sun was coming up, the roadway illuminated enough now for the street lamps to turn off in town.

Jim was driving back to the cabin alone, he needed to be for a little while after all of this. At least long enough to shower and eat something so his body could have a chance at functioning. He wasn't sure when the crying would try to sneak it's way out. He's rounding a curve on the way to the cabin. He thinks he sees someone walking on the side of the road, he assumes it's a jogger, it's dawn after all. The closer he gets, the more his heartbeat races. The thought crosses his mind that it was a hallucination. He remembered doing that after Sarah died, so he didn't trust himself after losing you too. Not after the hellish night he'd just survived. His heart drops when he sees dark hair, but he knows it's not a jogger when he sees the blood-soaked clothes.

His heart chokes him in his throat. The sun hits your hair, he sees it shine red. Your hair was so covered in blood it looked as dark as Joyce's. His eyes are wide as the gravel sprays and he pulls the Blazer up behind your bent form. He barrels out of the vehicle, screaming out your name.

You barely register the sound. You aren't sure if it's dawn or dusk or where you are. You had pieced together your brain enough to know you should find and follow a road for help. You need a hospital but you can't think about that, you're still in shock. You see the gash in your thigh and arm, puncture wounds in clusters across the rest of your body, you know there's blood soaked into your clothes, not all of it yours. If what those things even had in them would be considered blood. You use a branch to help you walk, you're worried you're cut too deeply on your leg. Your hair is damp to the touch from any number of wet mucus sources drying in the cool air. You hear the gravel crunch behind you and try to turn to whatever was waiting for you there.

"Annie?" your ears pick up. You watch as he gets slightly fuzzy as he shakes you in a panic by your arms, screaming your name. "Jesus, sweetheart, what'd they do to you?" he asks, his hands looking over your injuries, he winces at the sight of you and goes to pick you up and carry you to the vehicle.

Your tired body lashes out at him as you flashback to what you'd just been through as his big arms trap your body. You drop the crutch in the process and fall into his arms, not being able to support yourself. You try to focus on him, he's holding your face in his big, warm hand, not even registering your blows. "Annie, it's me." his voice is a welcome sound, even if it does come out scratchy and desperate. You lock eyes and he finally registers in your brain.

"Jim?" you choke out, tears starting to fall from your eyes. Your lips hurt very badly as you spoke. "Are you real?" you ask him, it was a genuine question. Your hand weakly reaches up to his face, you fall short and land on his collarbone. You wanted to touch him, make sure you weren't hallucinating from blood loss or already dead. You moan at the warmth radiating off his bare skin as you touched it. He seemed real.

He chokes back a sob of happiness and you know he is real by the sound. A dopey smile spreads across his face.

"Are you?" he laughs at you madly, not holding in the euphoric relief he felt at the sight of you. He readjusts you, holding you gently. "Come on I've got to get you to the hospital, baby." he says soothingly. "I'm going to pick you up, okay?" he asks, your eyes close and you nod, you go limp in his arms. You know he sits you in his car, you hear him start it. You flutter your eyes open and groan as the heat from the vents warms your cold, drained body.

"I didn't die." you muse weakly, your voice sounding amazed. You want to laugh but you cry out at the pain in your ribs.

"Somehow." You feel his warm hand touch you, you whimper at the feeling of warm again, you thought you'd never feel it again. You moan and lay against the door.

"Fuck. Everything hurts." you say in a breathy voice, using the arm that you can move best to across your ribs. It's hard for him to watch the road, he can't believe you're real.

"I've got you, Annie, I'll fix it, just a little while longer." he rushes out in a hushed tone, trying to keep you calm. He's wondering if he died too somehow, because how could you have survived? "How in the hell did you do it, kid?" he mumbles to himself, seeing you passed out, wrapped in his coat.

NOVEMBER

You wake up in the hospital. You're grateful the blindingly bright lights weren't the afterlife you thought they might have been an indication of at first. You see you're covered in bandages and a cast on one arm. You find you can wiggle your fingers and toes and you relax, the beeping on the monitors slowing. You're surprised you're not in worse shape and more pain than you were. You groan at the hum of the lights and machines in your ears. You look around the room, you see Joyce on a love seat on the opposite of the room. You wonder how long you'd both been here. "Joy." you croak out. Your voice is weak, your throat feels crushed. You close your eyes and lay your head back, you can try again later. You have that option again.

JANUARY

You'd been so overwhelmed with recovery and the amount of love you felt coming at you from all sides from your family and friends. It gave you another crash course in dealing with compliments and intimacy. You'd needed this honestly, you just wish it hadn't been happening in the middle of healing and the holidays. It made everything whirl by so quickly you felt like you were going to miss something. You hadn't been able to help much at Thanksgiving and Christmas. You and Will shared too many long, empathetic looks over the Holidays as you both were now the target of attention you didn't really want or felt like you needed. Everyone treated you like you were fragile and incapable of anything. You'd both stared death in the face and come back so you'd think people would act more impressed instead of more worried than ever before.

So here you were, now just one arm out of commission, for the time being, trying to make snacks for tonight. You'd worked in kitchens before, you were perfectly capable of cooking a decent meal, but with one arm down and being out of practice it was proving harder than you anticipated. Joyce was winding down her shift soon, Jonathan had taken out Will to give you the space you'd requested as you wanted to surprise them when they got home. ---------- You're sitting in the living room, everyone is full of food and chattering on about the past year, bad memories are passed over as you focus on the good ones. Lots of sighs and watery eyes from you and your sister. Jonathan as stoic as usual, sharing glances with his brother, they would nudge each other with their hands and elbows often as they sassed each other after embarrassing stories were shared. The phone rings, it's very close to midnight and it makes all of you jump at the unexpectedness of it. Jonathan puts a hand on Joyce's knee out of instinct to calm her anxieties over the sound.

"I got it." he says, narrowing his eyes at the second ring. You can't make out the words from his quiet voice as he was out of sight. You smile over at Joyce, her eyes darting from the tv to you, an uneasy smile on her face.

"Probably a drunken wrong number." you scrunch your nose at her to ease her worried eyes. You see Jonathan appear around the wall and shake the phone your way.

"It's for you Ann." you tilt your head, the confused expression on your face clear. You shrug to Joyce who has a similar look on her face.

You walk to the phone and take it in the kitchen. You hold your hand over the receiver and with your upturned lip, you ask Jonathan who it is.

"It's Hopper." he says quietly, his eyebrows raise slightly at the suggestion of the intention of the call before he turns back into the living room.

"Jim?" you almost whisper, not wanting to worry Joyce with what news must be coming next.

"Happy New Year, Ann." he says quietly. Your mouth opens and your voice stutters.

"H-Happy New Year, Jim." you say in a suspicious voice, taken back by the smooth tone of his voice. "It's not New Years yet, you're gonna make me miss it." you say sassily, leaning against the kitchen wall with your shoulder, peaking into the living room at the tv.

"I won't keep you long." he clears his throat. "I...I know I've not been around much since you've been out of the hospital." he sighs and trails off. "Well, I'm," A smile spreads across your face as you mindlessly wrap your finger in the long cord of the phone, your heart pumping faster as you hear the tone of his voice. "I'm sorry I couldn't be there tonight." he says, his voice low and sweet.

You let out a small feminine sound of amusement. "No apology necessary." you smirk and look up at the ceiling, "But without you here, my options for who to kiss at midnight are absolutely awful." you say in a hushed laugh, wanting to ease his worry about you. You'd missed the half-assed flirting, the goofiness you'd been working so hard to bring back into your lives until the Upside Down tore it all away again. You hear his laugh, the smacking of his lips against the receiver.

"I give you one kiss and now you're getting greedy?" he teases, his voice blooms into a laugh.

"If I recall correctly it was more than one, Jim." you tease back, your hand over your mouth as you quietly laugh into it so the others can't hear.

"And there might be more." he says, his voice full of grit and tease. The vagueness would usually annoy you but you were too relieved to know he was thinking about you to be annoyed.

"More?" you ask intrigued. You felt so much lighter knowing he'd entertained the possibility.

"I'd like to think so." he smartly answers. You peek around the wall again to look at your family, their faces illuminated by the tv light, huddled together. Your heart warms, making your chest feels heavy with gratitude.

"Promise?" you whisper, rolling back into the kitchen, fingers turning red and purple from the tight twist you'd unintentionally created around them with the phone cord.

"Promise." he answers, his voice hitting you hard, making you swoon despite yourself.

Chapter 9: Valentine & Variation

The marked through ones I could not tag. Sorry!

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winsister91 · 7 years

Text

Breaking A Promise

Part Ten, Finale - Fight

Summary: Y/N and Dean talk.

Characters: Dean x Reader, Sam

Warnings: Language, angst, themes of addiction, guilt, fluff thrown in here an there...

Word Count: 4809 (I did warn you)

A/N: Here we are. Please. PLEASE. Tell me what you think. I’m bricking it. I'm nervous. I’m terrified. @sofreddie continues to be my guardian angel watching over me and spreading encouragement. If it weren’t for you I'd have probs abandoned this series and Tumblr all together no doubt!

Many thanks and love to everyone who has read and shared and joined this reader’s crazy ass journey!

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~ All series and forever tags are open! ~

(Italics are flashbacks)

“Okay…” you mumble hesitantly, lining your finger around the rim of your glass, “H-how are you?”

Dean’s eyes rolled slightly, “Swell. You?”

“About the same I guess,” you sip at the liquor, gritting your teeth at the burning trail it leaves down your throat, “Dean...I...I’m so sor-”

“I’m gonna cut to the chase,” Dean interrupts you, “I’ll play nice. Civil. But don’t you for one second think this is all forgotten about. I can barely stand to look at you.”

“What, so we just pretend everything’s okay?” you protest, his words cutting into you like sharp daggers, “‘cause that always goes well for you doesn’t it Dean?”

“I’m not doing this,” Dean mumbles and gets to his feet, “I can’t.”

“No Dean,” you stand in front of him, squaring up to him, “I’m not lying to Sammy. We’ve both put him through hell. We’ve got to talk our shit out for his sake.”

Dean brings a hand to his temple and sighs harshly, “I’ve wanted to. I have. The first day I was back I wanted to find you. But I couldn’t.”

“Why?”

He looks deeply into your eyes, and his narrow slightly, “Because when I look at you now. I don’t see you. I just see that damned purple light. That monster that killed innocent people.”

You clench your eyes as they start to burn, “I’m sorry, Dean.”

“For what?” he shrugs, “Burning half a street down? Attacking my brother? The motel guy? The numerous people you’ve hurt, injured and killed?”

“I don’t have an excuse,” you shake your head, “I don’t, I thought I was doing the right thing…”

“The right thing?” Dean cries in exasperation, “Taking that damn poison?”

“I already said I don’t have an excuse,” your jaw trembles, “I don’t know where my head was at. I don’t know if it was the addiction winning over at an opportunity o-or me legitimately thinking it was a good idea! I. Don’t. Know. Dean. You were gone. We couldn’t find you. I felt like I had no other option. I needed to find you.”

“That’s what stings the most you know,” he seethes, slamming his now empty glass on the table, “You did all that crap in my name.”

You had no reply for that. A heavy silence loomed over you both. Dean pouring himself another glass of whiskey whilst you sipped at yours. Neither of you looking at each other.

“You know…” you eventually sigh, then take a sharp breath, “I’m gonna have to live with what I did for the rest of my life… I honestly don’t know if I can carry that forever, but I’m fighting. Because I have too.

“It doesn’t change anything though,” Dean huffs, “I’m supposed to trust that you’re not going to fly off the rails like that again one day?”

“I know it doesn’t change anything!” you yell, “Nothing does! What happened, happened. The coven is burnt to the ground, along with the damned recipe for Harper’s bottles of piss. You and Crowley burnt my stash!”

Dean scratches his head in silence as you gasp mid-rant.

“You’re back and not a fucking demon anymore and I’m clean,” you continue, “Now here we are, drinking cheap ass whiskey with nothing to do but bitch at each other.”

“Huh, what’s new then really?” Dean scoffs.

You smirk, unable to resist a nog of agreement. You share a glance, a brief smile. A short glance of...before.

The conversation’s topic swiftly dawns back on you both, expressions slowly drifting back to ones of pain. Dean averts his eyes, but yours linger on him, watching his fingers nervously tap on the whiskey glass as he brings it to his lips again, closing his eyes as he drinks.

“You want to know what I see when I look at you?” you ask, getting his attention, “I see a black-eyed son of a bitch who choreographed me into a car crash, toyed with me, tortured me and tried to kill me.”

He doesn’t say anything. Still avoiding eye contact but evidently listening with his jaw clenched tight.

“I had demon blood in my veins Dean,” you continue, “It does things. Made me make...the wrong decisions. Changed me into something I can’t stand. But there was no pain after a while. No guilt. The deeper I fell in the less I cared.”

“Is there an eventual point to this speech?” Dean butts in.

You scowl at him, clenching your teeth, “The stuff I was taking was some steep level of crap. When I tasted your blood though? That was… a whole new level of shit. It fucking scared me. I’m terrified of what that mark is doing to you.”

“You’re not alone there…” he sighs, thumb instinctively brushing over the arm of his shirt where the Mark of Cain was scarred into his skin.

“I’ve got to fight so I can help you work out how to get rid of it.”

You reach forward and grab one of his hands between yours. He clenches his eyes, dropping his forehead to meet yours. After a while he eventually opens them and those pools of emerald looked deep into yours.

“No, I-I can’t,” he shakes his head and pushes you and your hands away. Getting back to his feet, he paces frantically rubbing his forehead, “I didn’t know half of this shit could happen when I got the mark. But you? You went back to that damn coven and you knew what you were doing! You could have avoided all of it! You chose it after everything we said!”

“Well you chose to go after Metatron alone!! After everything we said!”

°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。

“No way,” you said bluntly, dropping onto the mattress where one of Dean’s flannels and shorts, “Not happening. Nope. Shut your face.”

“I’m serious Y/N,” Dean pushed.

“No. Fucking. Way!” you pressed the point, “With Metatron, it’s going to be all hands on deck, fully armed, guns blazing, like always.”

“This is too big though,” he bit his tongue and shook his head, “I’m not risking you in this.”

“And I’m supposed to just sit back and wait for you huh? Let you get yourself killed?”

“I won’t. You know I’ll always come back to you.”

“Damn right, or I’ll hunt you down and kill you myself.”

You grabbed one of the pillows and chucked it at him. He hastily caught it with a slight fumble. He threw it right back at you before diving and pulling you down with him. You barrage each other with soft pecks on the lips, resting your foreheads on one another’s.

“Seriously Dean,” you mumbled and look into his eyes honestly, “Don’t go alone. Let's all fight this together. I don’t even want to think about you potentially not coming back.”

He exhaled slowly, stroking his finger down your cheek as he drunk in the sight of you.

“Okay,” he relented, “I thought it was only Sammy who could pull off the puppy eyes.”

“Where do you think I learnt it?” you giggled, pulling his arms around your waist as you leant into him.

He pulled you tighter, planting a long kiss on your forehead before turning off the lamp.

“Night Sweetheart,” he breathed.

°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。

“I wake up the next morning and you’re gone!” you wail, tears flowing as memories of that morning haunt you. The panic, anxiety, helplessness, “And you didn’t come back!”

“What so this is all my fault now?” Dean barks, “I was trying to protect you Y/N!”

“I’m not saying this your fault Dean!” you groan in exasperation, “I’m saying you didn’t come back! I was broken! I saw your damn corpse! Begged you to come back and nothing. You were gone. Then we found your god damn note and it was like you losing you all over again.”

“Y/N…” Dean took a step forward to stop you as your voice got shaky.

“Sam went out to try and track you down, kept me cooped in here,” you rake a hand through your hair, “I was going crazy Dean. He kept saying you might come back and you...you didn’t. I couldn’t just sit there…I’m...I’m so sorry Dean.”

You dare to let your blotchy reddened eyes make contact with his. He looked conflicted and hurt. Betrayed and disappointed. His shoulders slumped, eyes partially narrow and jaw clenched tight.

“Y/N I…” he trailed off, “Me and Sammy, we have killed things for less than what you’ve done…”

You’re stunned. Frozen as the words sink into you. A combination of heartbreak and terror.

“I-Is that a threat?” you stutter, mouth agape and staring back at him in shock.

“No, of course it’s not a damn threat,” Dean mumbles in frustration, “I’m just saying-”

You watch him stutter at the realization of what he just said. It was officially unfixable. You’d broken ‘you and Dean’. He can’t trust you anymore and you’d cemented yourself as a monster. A sickening pain wrenches at your heart. Never had you felt this level of regret. Looking at the Winchester you feel something new, fear. What if they did decide to kill you? A bubble of anger creeps up your throat and bursts.

“Say whatever you damn want Dean,” you scowl, “You can’t trust me or look at me, fine. I get that. But the last time I checked, you guys kill demons too.”

You turn and storm down into the corridor. Making a beeline for your room.

“God dammit…” Dean kicks at a nearby chair and it flies back with a thud.

Torn between going after you, he kicks another chair, before turning to march down the opposite corridor. To Sam’s room.

“The hell d’ya think you’re doing?” Dean barks as he crashes the door, “Playing Dr Phil!?”

“Yeah and didn’t you do just great back there Dean,” Sam argues, “Great talk!” “Oh and you were listening too?”

“Kinda hard not to when you’re both shouting like that.”

“God sake Sammy…” Dean sighs in frustration, “The hell am I supposed to do? Just forget everything she did?”

“We’ve all done things, Dean,” Sam stresses, “All of us. What makes us better than the monsters out there is that we can change, learn and do better. That’s why you gave me a chance right?”

“Sammy you know this is different-”

“It’s not Dean. Not at all. You keep coming and telling me you miss her, but I’m telling you right now, you carry on down this path and she’ll be gone forever. You need to fight through this if you want her to stay part of your life.”

A loud crash echoed from the Bunker’s entry door as it closed. Dean and Sam jumped with a start, alerted.

°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。

“...But the last time I checked, you guys kill demons too.”

You turn and storm down into the corridor. Making a beeline for your room.

Hastily grabbing a bag, you start throwing randomly grabbed items of clothing inside. You grab your new phone, the wallet full of fake cards, all the essentials. You stop after grabbing your hairbrush, eyes falling onto the three photos that laid beside it. The ones you took from Dean’s room at the start of all this. Sam had grabbed from the motel disaster you’d left behind. He brought them back to you after Dean had healed. They were still blood-spattered and smeared, intensifying the ache in your heart. You pick up the one of you and Dean, eyes burning.

°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。

“Yeah baby!” you cheered after knocking back your fifth shot of...whatever it was, “Woo!”

“Someone needs to calm her down,” Sam chuckled shaking his head as you throw your arms in the air.

“Team free will!!” you shouted at the top of your lungs.

“Ah relax,” Dean tittered at his brother, “We got a win! Let her enjoy it.”

“A most spectacular win might I add,” you giggled, lazily leaning into Dean sat next to you, “Because we’re fucking awesome!”

“That, we are,” he grinned throwing his arm around your shoulder and pulling you in tight.

“Some of us try to be dignified,” Sam laughed at the couple of idiots in front of him.

“C’mon Sammy!” Dean ordered, “Get another beer! Relax! Hey, maybe we can find you a little somebody eh?”

“Yesssss!” you squeaked in delight, “Let’s find Sammy a girlfriend!”

“I’m fine thanks,” Sam sighed with a small eye roll, “Another beer I can do. You two setting me up? No way.”

You gasp in horror as Sam got to his feet to go the bar, “Are you suggesting we have bad taste?” you asked mortified, “Sammy!? Hey!?”

The younger Winchester ignored you on his journey for more beer. Making you growl in mock rage as you turned your attention back to Dean.

“Your brother is so rude!” you joked.

“Was he rude when he ganked that Vamp that was about to get the drop on you?” Dean teased.

“Excuse me?” you giggled, “That’s because I was busy seeing to the one that had you pinned down on your ass!”

“And that was ‘after’ I downed the ‘two’ that got you stuck in a corner.”

You narrowed your eyes trying to think back to the chronology of that evening’s hunt events.

“Yeah well…” you struggled to think of a response, “Whatever!”

“Ooooh that stings,” Dean grinned sarcastically.

“Hey!” you elbowed him, “We all saved each other's asses! It was perfect, despite the odd complication, it was so quick and clean! One after another, boom, boom, boom!”

Dean laughed and hastily pulled your arms down as you made gunshot sounds and pointed your finger around the room. Sam raised his brow at you both when he returned at this moment, beer and shot of whiskey in hand.

“Oh!” you squeaked in shock, “Is that a ‘shot’ Sam Winchester?”

“And?” Sam smiles with a shrug, knocking the shot back and not so much as flinching.

“Ooooh!”” you clap your hands, “It’s on! Yes! I love drunk Sammy!”

A lot of the night is a blur of alcohol and laughter. You and Dean occasionally sharing glances and pecks on the lips. Sam groaning every time. Dean did try to get Sam a girlfriend for the evening. Going as far as to pester the bar staff. You only know that numbers were exchanged, whether there was ever anything more, Sam refused to say.

“I’m just putting it out there,” you slurred later into the evening, “I’m telling you. We’re like….ultimate.”

“What?” Dean raised an eyebrow at you.

“Like ‘the ultimate’!” you emphasized.

“Hunters?” Sam chuckled in disbelief.

“C’mon now,” you started your case, “Think of all the crap you guys and Cas have fought through. It’s fucking ridiculous frankly.”

“Well, I’m sorry you feel that way?” Dean shrugged laughing under his breath.

“Listen!!” you elbowed him, “It’s all like in a complete and total other league to what other hunters have done! You have saved the world how many times?”

“Well I don’t like to brag…” Dean smirked, leaning back in his chair cockily.

“And now you got your trusty faithful padawan,” you point at yourself, “and we’re walking into vamp nests and barely getting a scratch. Ultimate hunters. There’ll be documentaries about this shit one day I'm telling you!”

“You’re an idiot,” Dean shakes his head and pulls you back under his arm again.

“And wasted,” Sam interjected.

“Both those points,” you stop in thought for a moment, “I cannot deny… But, I’m sticking by what I say! Samantha! We need pictorial documentation of the whole team! The things they’ll use in textbooks!”

The brothers laughed as you threw your phone in Sam’s direction and get into position, throwing your arm around Dean’s neck.

“Starting with the most badass and hot couple of the millennium!” you announce proudly, “C’mon Sammy hop to it! I need your ridiculous height to give it a beautiful selfie-esque angle. This one’s getting my best duck face.”

Sam gets to his feet, shakily holding the camera as he laughs and aims it at the angle you request. Dean laughs too, shaking his head before resting his forehead on your cheek as the camera flashes.

°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。

You sigh heavily, clutching at the bloodstained memory. Slipping into your jeans pocket, you decide to take it with you. A reminder of the biggest mistake you’d ever made. A souvenir of what you destroyed.

Throwing the bag over your shoulder you begin your march back to the main area. Readying yourself for a final confrontation before you disappeared. You had to go. You can’t go on after that. The boys can move on without you. They fought many battles without you. They’ll find a way to get rid of the mark and continue fighting. You didn’t want to potentially break that. Be the forever elephant in the room. Constant tension as you and Dean tiptoe and avoid each other. Then one day it all exploding and you end up dead for being a monster.

You felt cowardly. Running instead of facing that fate. You deserved it, but you were scared. You know you can do good and try and redeem yourself. Maybe set up home in a new state and hunt on your own. Try the normal life, possibly teach self defense? Go back to a diner? Hell, you could even go international, find a sunny beach to sit and drink yourself to death on.

First though, you had to get out.

Striding into the main room, you brace yourself. But it’s empty. Dean’s whiskey bottle and half full glass still on the table, some chairs randomly tipped over, but no Dean. You slowly step through, looking around cautiously, but there was no sign of him. You consider shouting for him, but the moment your eyes rest on the exit upstairs, you decide to just leave.

Heart thumping crazily in your throat, you scramble up and out, heading for the garage. The chill of the night air was present in the dark engine oil scented space. You flick on the lights and pick the first car that you see out of the vast Men of Letters collection. You grab the matching set of keys from the key box and throw your bags onto the back seat.

Climbing into the driver’s seat, you take a moment to acclimatize to the new unfamiliar dash. Finding the ignition and adjusting your seat, you turn the key and tentatively rev the engine. You can see Baby. Sat in the corner watching you. Your heart clenches again painfully. A damn car was making you emotional. You maneuver the car around to the garage entrance. Your head felt heavier than your heart, breaths coming in and out anxiously fast.

Time to go.

The passenger side door suddenly opens, making you jump with a gasp.

Your eyes are wide as Dean climbs inside and shuts the door behind him.

“Dean!” you hiss, “What are you doing!?”

“What are you doing?” he asks sincerely, eyes reddened and glistening.

“I-I’m…” you stutter, a sharp sting hitting your chest at the sight of him, “Just going for a drive…”

“With packed bags I see, “ he gestures over his shoulder, “And a stomach with a glass of whiskey and no food in it…”

You groan, rubbing your forehead and down to your mouth, “Dean I can’t stay here, I have to go.”

“Why?”

“Because I can’t take it any more okay? How can I carry on with this hanging in the air? It’s better for you and Sammy if I just go.”

“I was harsh back there, and I’m sorry,” he says seriously, “But it’s genuinely how I feel, and I gotta work through that.”

You shake your head, biting your bottom lip to fight back any more tears.

“But,” he gently holds a hand to your cheek to stop your shaking, “You know what I also see when I look at you?… It’s that beautiful, badass...crazy ass chick who I love so much. I don’t want you to go.”

You grab the hand on your cheek, clenching your eyes shut so damn tightly.

“I don’t want to go,” you whisper shakily, “But Dean you’re right. I was a god damn monster. How are we all supposed to just carry on after that?”

“Yeah and I was a monster too,” he clenches his jaw and scrunches his eyes, “But I’m gonna carry on. We’ve got to make amends right? Fight through it?”

You throw your head back onto the headrest, conflicted. How can Dean say what he said before and then say this now? You couldn’t find words.

“Y/N,” his hand holds your arm gently, “I can’t stop you, I can’t. It’s your decision.”

He opens the car door again and climbs out, leaning down to see you again.

“I’m just telling you, that I don’t want you to go,” he says with a deep breath, before shutting the door and walking away.

°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。

Dean awoke the next morning. He was shocked he managed any sleep at all. He’d been up most of the night before riding the rollercoaster of thought his brain had in store with him. He’d strained his damn ears trying to listen out for any sign of Y/N being back in the bunker, or even a car revving to confirm she had gone, but he hadn’t heard a damn thing.

It was knocking at the door that woke him.

“What’s up?” his croaky morning voice called out, but there was no answer.

Grabbing his robe and throwing his arms to it, Dean groggily got to his feet and shifted his way towards the door.

He opens the door, narrowing his eyes at the lack of anyone present, he leans out to look up and down the empty hallway. He feels his toe tap on something. Looking down he sees a cup of coffee at the foot of the doorframe, fresh and steaming.

Taking another quick glance around him, he leans down to pick it up and the strong bitter smell emanating from it hit his nostrils. Just how she makes it. Taking a sip and relishing the caffeine, Dean shuts the door behind him and heads out to the main room.

There you were, sat at the table with your own matching cup of jo. Still dressed in your clothes from the night before, eyes red and bloodshot as they focused on whatever you were working on in front of you.

The sight of you sent a huge wash of relief over Dean. He stood for a moment and just watched you. The hole that had formed at the very thought of losing you, instantly healed.

“Hey,” he said making his way over.

You quickly spin around to see him, a small smile spreading across your lips when you see him holding the coffee you made.

“Hey,” you say sleepily, before turning your attention back in front of you.

“What are you doing?” Dean questions, reaching you and looking over your shoulder.

He sees the three photos that had gone missing from the mirror in his bedroom. Sam had shown them to him while you were in recovery, but he couldn’t look at them in that bloodied awful state. Now however, he saw what you had been doing, cloths surrounding you and other more odd tools like toothbrushes and rubbing alcohol.

“I cleaned them up…” you say, lifting the one of Dean, Sammy and Bobby sat on the impala hood up into the light, “Not exactly a professional job I know...there’s a couple of scratches...but...they look better now.”

Dean takes the photo from your grasp, admiring it himself and then glancing at the two photos still on the table, also cleaned up and clear again. His eyes lingering longer on the one of you and him.

“Yeah they do,” he smiled, placing the other photo back down on the table and turning to you, “You did good. Thank you.”

You freeze as he leans down and briefly kisses the top of your head. A small sigh escapes you as he leaves for the kitchen.

“No sleep I take it?” he calls out to you.

“Uh...no…” you admit sheepishly.

“Well, I suggest you get a nap then while I fix breakfast. Me and Sammy are hitting the road a little later on a case, you want in?”

“Uh…” you’re shocked at the invite, “Yeah, okay.”

“Go grab a nap then!” Dean steps into the kitchen door with a frying pan in his hand and a towel thrown his shoulder, “Once this bacon starts cooking I can’t slow it down.”

He shrugs, stepping back out view and you can’t help but chuckle to yourself.

“Hey I can’t sleep knowing bacon is imminent,” you joke, “Coffee will do just fine.”

“Your funeral!” Dean shouts back out to you and you hear him clattering about in the kitchen. You smile to yourself again, looking down at the photos. Your night’s work. You were both trying. Fighting.

°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。

You went on the hunt with the boys. It was just like old times. A ghost haunting. Simple. Find the bones and burn them. Until it obviously transpires to be a memento keeping the spirit around and you got to go back and hastily scramble to find the damn thing before it kills someone else. The usual really.

You went on more hunts with them after that. A sense of normality finally dawning. You could all laugh and joke together in the Impala again after a while. Even go out for a few beers after a win. It felt nice. Almost comfortable.

There was that one thing still looming though, you thought to yourself one morning as you walked down the hall with Dean’s morning coffee. You and Dean, the old lingering glances were beginning to creep back into daily life. A thick tension threateningly hovering in the background of any interaction between you both. Every morning you left a coffee by his bedroom door with a knock, and he would come find you shortly afterwwards and say “Good Morning Sweetheart,” with a kiss on the head. It was like a half echo of the past every recurring day. It hurt as much as it felt comforting. Not many words were really shared between you both in alone situations, it was only when Sam was present really.

Reaching Dean’s door, you sigh as you knock and motion to place the mug on the floor. Things were good. Better than you could have ever hoped. You were happy you hadn’t left.

Before you could even start leaning down, the door opens, and a set of green eyes fall on you.

He doesn’t say anything, he just looks at you. His bed hair scruffy and messed up, rough stubble coating his chin sinfully. You drink him in, unable to stop your smirk.

“Good morning,” you mumble with a bite of your lip, “Your coffee sir.”

Dean smirks, tilting his head slightly, his eyes still slightly glazed from sleep.

“You coming in or what?” he says gruffly, rubbing his eyes as he takes his cup and heads back inside, leaving the door open for you.

You gulp a little, wondering if this was a dream as you stepped in and closed the door behind you. Placing your cup on what was the table at your side of the bed, you tentatively sit on the edge of the bed, not entirely sure what to do with yourself.

You squeal as an arm reaches around you and drags you down onto the mattress next to him.

“Dean!” you giggle, tapping him playfully.

You see his tongue slightly poke through his teeth as he smiles, his eyes turning soft, “I can’t do it anymore Y/N.”

“What?” you ask in uncertainty.

“This little morning ritual,” he says, “The awkward alone moments, the fricking tension of it all.”

“Oh-” you go to apologize.

“It’s got to stop,” he cuts you off, “I can’t take it anymore. There just ain't no me if there ain't no you.”

You sit up slightly, looking down at him, narrowing your eyes, “So what exactly are you saying Dean Winchester?”

He laughs momentarily, dropping his head before looking back up at you with a smile.

“I love you Y/N,” he says without hesitation, “I want you to come back to me.”

Everything around melted into nothing as you leant into each other in a long deep kiss. Blood rushed to your head as you hummed. His lips perfect just like you remembered, the taste of strong coffee lingering. You felt his arm grip around you tight, holding you there like he was never going to let go.

When your lips parted, your foreheads touched as you both breathed shakily, eyes locked and eventual sharing smiles.

“I love you too Dean.”

Tags! Forever Posse: @sofreddie @chelsea072498 @ria132love @untitled39887 @chicagolove88 @akshi8278 @sis-tafics @younoeatcheeseyounobefat @mandilion76 @teamfreewill92 @supernaturalmagicfolk @emoryhemsworth @musicistobeheard-blog @pheonyxstorm @mrswhozeewhatsis @turnttover @itspronouncedsatanbitch @the--real-wombat @xagateophobiax @samisimportant @jensen-gal @castiel11235 @waiting-to-find-myshadows @19agbrown @mogaruke

Breaking A Promise Squad: @arikas5744 @lessons-of-red @spnaddict11283 @lemonchapstick @rosethesupernaturalhunter @disneychic8

#supernatural #spn #fanfic #spn fanfic #dean series #final part #dean x reader #dean angst #dean fluff #shitting myself that i finished something

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damonsbitchx · 7 years

Text

Haunted

Characters/pairings: Sam Winchester, Dean Winchester, Reader, Rowena, brief Crowley and Castiel, Charlie

Warnings: Mentions of blood, violence, A LOT of angst, a shit ton of angst, a few curse words, it’s just pure angst and sadness

Word Count: 3420

A/N: I would just like to apologize profusely, first off. This fic has been in the works for a maybe two or three months now. I went searching for some Imagine gifs and found the one below which lead to the idea for this fic. It’s been through several layers of revision and was looked over like 5 layers ago by my Soulmate, Esther. So, all mistakes are mine. I’m honestly very sorry, but holy hell, I really like how it turned out. I am planning on writing a second part if y’all like this, but I’m not completely sure yet.

Italics is context, just to add to the emotional kick in the teeth.

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Eleven years ago, Sam and Dean rolled into a small town in Wisconsin on account of a murderous clown. By the time they found and killed it, four sets of parents had already been murdered, yours being the last. Your parents became those victims in the movies that would’ve had a chance if the heroes had just gotten their shit together five minutes earlier.

You stood frozen in the middle of the living room while the two very tall men dodged the lamps and kitchen knives being flung at them. In between each object thrown, one would lunge at the clown in desperate attempts to grab him.

The clown finally hit the floor ten feet away from you with a thump. You stood there paralyzed, staring up with wide eyes at the men who had finally emerged from the hallway. The shorter one frowned, glancing at the taller one, but he was just staring back at you with a pitiful look in his eyes.

A huge smirk grew on Rowena’s face as she read.

“What are you smiling for?” you barked at the witch.

“Oh, no reason,” she breathed, her thick accent coating the air.

Sam pushed his shoulders back, lunging towards her, but you quickly cut him off with your arm. He huffed in frustration at the look you shot him. You whipped your head back around to her.

“What did you find?” you demanded through gritted teeth. She smiled her wicked little smirk and you could practically feel the anger steaming off of Sam. Rowena frowned at him.

“A spell,” she squeaked.

You stared at her flatly, cocking your eyebrow after a few moments. She sighed and rolled her eyes.

“I found a spell to help your brother, but,” she paused, dragging it on much longer than needed. You were beginning to lose patience and she could tell when you shifted your weight, your expression full of annoyance.

“I’ll need someone to translate it,” she beamed.

“Okay, how do we do that?” Sam huffed.

“I believe your friend can assist there,” she gestured to Charlie whose eyes met yours. You nodded at her.

“Let me see it,” Charlie approached Rowena, reaching out to take the book.

She looked over the page for a few moments, the air thick with anticipation.

“Yeah, this is simple,” she nodded. You felt a wave of relief wash over you. Maybe you guys would finally catch a break.

“But what about the demons who are after that book?” Sam cut in.

“Crowley, are you sure you can’t call these guys off?” you asked him.

“They won’t listen to me,” Crowley shrugged. You rolled your eyes but didn’t pursue him any further.

“Y/N, it’s okay, I got this,” Charlie smiled at you. You couldn’t convince yourself to smile back though.

“I can do it,” you blurted out very suddenly. Everyone whipped their heads around, staring at you.

“What?” Sam and Charlie barked in unison.

“Before you say anything, just hear me out,” you pleaded. “Charlie said it herself, it’s an easy decode, but it won’t take the demons very long to find us and figure out what we’re up to. Once they do that, they’ll be gunning for her and it’s not like she can decode it here because she doesn’t have the right equipment-”

“Plus, Rowena needs me to translate a much more advanced list of ingredients, so you’re going to sacrifice yourself. A typical Winchester move,” Charlie huffed, rolling her eyes. Your stomach twister slightly at her words.

“Look, they need you here more than they need me and I owe it to Dean after all he’s done for me. I’m the only one who can do this. I know I can do it, please, just let me go,” you pleaded.

They all exchanged glances, considering the situation before turning back towards you.

“There’s no other way, Sam, you and I both know it,” you said.

“No, Y/N, you can’t,” Charlie insisted.

“Charlie, I want to, please. I’m not a little kid anymore and I owe this to Dean,” I pleaded.

Charlie, Sam, and Cass all shared looks.

“Okay,” Sam decided out loud.

“Sam,” Castiel cut in. “Dean will be furious if you let her go,” he spoke in his usual low voice. Sam sighed gently.

“I know Cass, I do, but we don’t have any other choice.” Castiel frowned, but he didn’t argue.

Charlie sighed. “I can slow the demons and give Y/N a fighting chance. We know where they’ll be, I can set a trap,” Charlie added.

And that was it. Charlie set the trap before attempting the difficult decoding of the ingredients for the spell, Castiel stayed to keep an eye on Crowley and Rowena, and Sam stayed so Dean had someone to yell at when he found out what they had done. All Sam could do was pray that you’d be okay.

You never found out exactly why they took you in. They gave you many different reasons. Sympathy, too much knowledge, guilt, but they never decided on one sole reason and you never pressed them.

You never pressed them because it didn’t matter to you why they took you anymore. All that mattered was they saved you from a life that could’ve messed you up even worse than you had already been and they loved you with all their hearts.

There was an incident when you were a teenager and it took an Angel manipulating one of your dreams and showing you just how bad of a life could’ve been if they hadn’t taken you. All your anger with them cleared up for the most part after that.

How could you argue with it anyway? They didn’t have to take you in, they took you out of their own free will. These two, huge men who fought monsters for a living and had both been to hell at least once in their lives, found it in their hearts to love and care for you. They were so gentle with you.

You were safe with them and they made you feel apart of the family. You were a Winchester and leaving that name and everything that came with it behind was the hardest part.

You were fiercely determined to get this spell decoded for Rowena before the demons finally caught up to you. You knew, going in, that you weren’t going to make it out, but Dean was counting on this spell. He wasn’t going to be happy when he found out about your stupidity, but it was alright, he’d get over it. At least, that’s what you tried to convince yourself of.

You drove like mad for seven hours before finally reaching Aurora, Colorado and finding a dingy motel to shack up in. You quickly painted some sigils and symbols on the walls to ward against everything you could think of, hoping nothing would find you until you had sent the translation, at least. Then, you got to work.

Three hours later you were so close to translating the spell, you could almost feel the relief. Your eyes burned and your heart was still racing, but you kept typing until you finished the last of it. Now, all you had to do was wait for the program to spit out the end results. Your phone buzzed for the tenth time that hour. It was Charlie, checking up on you.

Hey Y/N, how’s it going?

Good, I’m almost there. Should have the spell within the hour.

Awesome, stay safe. Love you.

You too.

Suddenly, the window above the table shattered, spitting shards of glass at you. You ducked down with a gasp, throwing your arms in front of your face to protect it. Then, almost like it was timed, your program dinged, indicating that the translating was finally finished and you locked eyes with a demon. Your stomach twisted violently as you stood up and grabbed your chair, then flung it at the demon who was about to launch himself at you. You frantically grabbed the laptop and dashed across the room.

Your back slammed into the white divider on the opposite side of the room and you immediately ripped the lamp from the wall and hurled it at him before doing anything else. Next, you frantically fumbled to attach the translation to an email while the demon stumbled around in shards of pale green ceramic. Your stomach felt lodged in your throat as you waited for the e-mail to send, but it was sending at an agonizingly slow rate. Your wide eyes flicked from the screen to the demon and back as he turned around in search of you.

“C’mon, c’mon,” you mumbled to your computer, shaking it slightly in frustration.

The file was almost done sending and you couldn’t find anything else to throw nor could you move from your spot. He shot you an evil smirk and pulled a large knife from his jacket, making your heart stop. He launched himself at you with all his strength, causing you to panic and reflexively stick your leg out to stop him. You faintly heard the swipe sound of the e-mail sending and felt a red hot pain searing shoot through your leg. The demon was a few feet away from you clutching at his stomach, so you kicked his chin for good measure, sending him flying backward.

“Thank God, the email sent,” you mused.

You winced at the pain blossoming in your left thigh, realizing there was a huge gash in your leg now, but the shock couldn’t last long because the demon would come for the computer next.

You limped over to the small table where the lamp had once been and raised the computer high over your head. With all your strength, you sent it hurtling at the corner of the table and

CRASH.

You dropped the remains of the smashed device to the floor, stumbling back against the wall and noticing your vision turning slightly fuzzy. You glanced across the room, catching a glimpse of the demons furious expression.

“Take that… you sunuva bitch,” you mumbled, smiling weakly.

He growled, running at you with his fist raised, but you were still alert enough to respond. You grabbed the telephone from the stand and caught his wrist in the cord, effectively diffusing his attack and kicking him in the stomach. He stumbled backward again, his wrist still caught in the wire, causing him to rip the phone from the wall. You were reminded of the gash in your leg when you began to feel nauseous and fuzzy, but you had to keep moving.

You dashed as quickly across the room as you could, slipping into the bathroom and locking the door. You frantically searched the bathroom for something that could help you, only to find that there was nothing. You leaned against the wall, praying that maybe your brothers would swoop in now and save the day.

“Y/N, I’m home!” Dean called, letting it ring down the hallway, but there was no answer.

“Y/N/N, I got your favorite, curly fries and burgers, put down the books for a while and come eat!” he hollered again, but there was no answer.

He spent a few minutes looking for you, making sure to check all your favorite hiding places, but came up dry. So, he went to look for Sam, Charlie, and Cass who were probably still down with Rowena and Crowley. Maybe you went with them.

He found them exactly where he knew he would, but you were nowhere in sight. He didn’t like the whole Rowena and Crowley situation at all but wished Sam would at least keep him in the loop.

And obviously, it was for a good reason.

“Sam, where’s Y/N? I can’t find her anywhere.”

Sam’s expression fell and his hopeful eyes fell on Charlie who shook her head. He swallowed hard, his heart sinking deep into his chest and gestured for Dean to follow him outside. Dean frowned at Sam but followed him anyways.

“Well?” he demanded once they were outside.

“Dean..” he began.

“Sam, where is she?!” he growled at his brother.

Sam ran his fingers through his hair, guilt taking over his features.

“She’s in Colorado, we--”

“Colorado?! What the hell is she doing there?!”

“If you would be quiet and listen, I could tell you,” Sam snapped him.

Dean raised his eyebrows in disbelief, but he shut up.

“Rowena needed the spell translated, Charlie wanted to, but Y/N wouldn’t let her. She said she owed it to you, Charlie said she would try to hold off the Demons as best as she--”

“Demons?” Dean fumed, “you let her go off by herself and you knew there were demons after her, what the hell is wrong with you Sam?”

Anger overtook Dean as he dropped the bag of food on the ground.

“If any of you try to follow me, I swear, I’ll kill you,” he hissed, taking off as fast as he could to Baby.

He fumbled with his keys, desperately trying to grab the one to his car while he ran and all he could think about was how much of this was his fault.

Dean remembered every moment of the day he saved you. He even remembered what he had for breakfast that morning. He remembered taking just a little bit too long securing a proper weapon to kill the bastard. He remembered breaking the door down just before your mother screamed one last time. He had no idea how many times she’d screamed, but he winced just thinking about it. He remembered dashing down the hallway, past the living room and catching a glimpse of your horrified face.

His heart broke and he could barely even look at you after they’d finished killing the clown. He knew if he’d just been a little bit faster getting the weapon or showed up in town a day earlier, then your parents would still be alive and you wouldn’t be risking your life for him. You probably would’ve gone to college, and gotten married, and had kids. Instead, you were twenty-two years old and on the verge of being murdered, just so he could get a stupid mark off his arm.

It wasn’t worth losing your life. He had to get to you before it was too late.

Just under six and a half hours of failed attempts at convincing himself that you were okay while his tires raced raw to get to you, Dean frantically pulled into the parking lot belonging to the motel he tracked you to. He jumped out, sprinting up to the door, still muttering to himself that you were fine, that you’d be here and you’d be okay.

He knocked on the door, his breath catching in his throat while he said one last silent prayer.

Dean couldn’t wait too long before he just kicked the door in. He quickly took in the state of the motel room. His eyes were met by a broken chair, a smashed lamp, and the telephone ripped from the wall first. With each step further into the room, he felt his stomach constrict tighter and tighter. Panic turned into fear when his eyes caught the red streaks on the edge of the door frame across the room that leads to the bathroom. Dean walked further, his eyes finally finding the dark red stain that lay just on the other side of the white divider.

He swallowed hard before turning to follow the trail of red spots that lead from the stain on the floor to the narrow bathroom door frame. His heart sunk faster than his brain could register, he was no longer consciously willing his legs to move, they just did.

For the first few years, you had some trouble, but they worked as hard as they could to help you feel like you had a family. It took you a while, but you found enough strength let them in and accept them as best as you knew how. You grew especially close to Dean, he became your safe spot.

Dean remembered all the phases you went through. He thought about your very first phase he’d ever experienced, your princess phase. It startled him at first, he and Sam had no clue what to do. So, they gave in and had tea parties with you every now and then when they would visit Bobby’s house. He remembered sitting in Bobby’s kitchen and laughing mockingly at Sam who had decided to let you attempt to braid his hair.

He reminisced about all the times they’d go back to Bobby’s house to see you while you were growing up before they trusted you enough to let you hunt with them. When the boys returned from hunts you’d run up to Dean and hug his hips, squealing his name and then do the same to Sam.

Dean would read you bedtime stories with commentary about how stupid the characters were whenever he was there. Then, after he was done reading (and spouting sarcastic criticisms like no one’s business) he would kiss you goodnight and tell you he loved you, as would Sam. As you grew up, you insisted that they read lore books instead, which Dean did not agree with at all, but he complied anyway.

Often times they would come to stay at Bobby’s for a few days at a time and take a small break from hunting to be with you. Even when they were out on hunts, they would always make sure to calculate what time they’d have to call Bobby’s depending on their time-zone to make sure to tell you they loved you before you fell asleep. Sometimes Dean would even stick around longer to hear about your day at school or tell you about something funny that happened to him.

God, he loved you.

In a matter of seconds, he was standing in the door frame of the bathroom holding his breath. The curtain was pulled closed, but a bloody hand stuck out and draped limply over the edge of the tub.

And Dean knew.

He knew who the hand belonged to. He knew it was your lifeless, twenty-two-year-old hand hanging off the edge of that tub. The hand that balled up his t-shirts until your knuckles turned white when you’d had nightmares those first few months after coming back from Hell. The hand that stitched him and his brother up with the utmost care when they’d been injured. The hand he’d held in his own when you fell asleep curled up in his lap during a movie. He knew it, deep down he knew, but the rest of him refused to believe that he would go home and you wouldn’t be there to greet him. He refused to believe this was anything other than a bad dream. He wouldn’t believe it, not until he saw your face. Not until he made absolutely sure. Then again, he found he couldn’t force himself to pull back the curtain either. He couldn’t move, he stood in the door frame, paralyzed.

The taller man held you tightly in his arms in the back seat of that black car, squeezing your small, trembling hand while repeatedly telling you that you were safe. The other one drove as fast as he could in the opposite direction of the town that used to be yours. You couldn’t hold back your silent tears, but you knew you felt safer in that car than you did anywhere else. Images of your parents lying lifeless on the floor of your house haunting you now and for years to come.

And just like theirs to you, it would be yours to Dean, from now until the day he could no longer find the strength to breathe.

He was yanked back to reality when his phone rang in his pocket. He drew the phone numbly, glancing down at the lit up screen. It was Sam.

“Sam,” his angry voice broke when he answered.

“Dean, it’s Charlie,” Sam mumbled.

Dean closed his eyes, sighing sharply as he struggled to react. The line was silent for a few long moments before he drew in a sharp breath and spun around, flinging the phone as hard as he could across the room. It hit the wall and shattered, pieces of plastic flying back across the room.

Then, Dean fell to his knees, praying it was only a nightmare.

Forever Tags: @assbutt-still-in-hell, @shotgunintheimpala, @wishedworld, @aquabrie, @pie-not-cake-you-assbutt, @cas-loves-dean-and-i-love-him, @imaginesforthose-wholovefandoms, @weasleywinchester

#ANGST #so much angst #I'm sorry #fanfiction #fan fiction #fanfic #spn fic #sam winchester #dean winchester #charlie bradbury #castiel #reader insert #dean fic #sam fic #cas fic #charlie fic #crowley #rowena

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superfluffysupernatural · 7 years

Text

How Could You

Part 8: Peter

Word Count: 1955

Warnings: angst, mild smut

Summary: The brothers discover many new things about you, although they thought they had known everything there was to know. Sam makes you more upset than you thought even possible.

A/N: Hope you guys like this one! Please like, reblog, send asks!!!

~Rae

Sam pushed himself up onto his elbows, alert. “Wait, what? [Y/N], why would you let me do that? God, I'm so stupid!” Sam said. You placed your hand on his cheek. “Sam… can we save this conversation for another time? You don't need to worry about me getting pregnant, okay? I just don't like talking about it.” As soon as you told him, Sam knew. You couldn't have kids. Sam nodded sadly, and you knew he wanted to talk about it. “Look, I'm sorry I didn't say anything about protection at all, but I honestly just wasn't even thinking and I-” Sam interrupted you. “It's okay. I just want you to know that whenever you're ready to talk about it with me, I'm here for you.” You nodded and wrapped your arms around Sam, pulling him against you in a tight hug. “I'm sorry,” you whimpered into his neck. “Shhh, it's okay,” he murmured back to you, kissing your collarbone. “Let's take a shower and go to bed.” You nodded. “Can I stay in here with you?” you asked. “Well, I didn't think you'd be sleeping by yourself,” he teased. You snickered and shoved his chest. “Okay, fine, stupid question,” you said. ~~~ “So who do you guys want to send to Heaven?” you asked as the three of you stood in Kevin’s safeboat. The second trial had been translated, and Dean had to deliver an innocent soul in Hell unto Heaven. Dean and Sam looked at each other. “We already took Bobby. Everyone else we could would be impossible to get to. Dad, Adam…” Sam trailed off. Dean spoke up, “It has to be someone I could find, some random sucker that sold their soul, someone they wouldn't expect me to pick up. I've already been there once, I have to be careful this time. For all we know, Crowley’s got Hell on full lockdown.” “But how do we know they're innocent if they're just some random sucker that sold their soul?” Sam asked. “[Y/N],” Kevin said. You hadn't been paying much attention, and when you looked up, the boys were all staring at you. “What?” you asked. “You've gotta know someone innocent downstairs,” Kevin replied. You froze, and a wave of memory crashed against you, making you collapse onto your knees. All you heard was ringing and you couldn't see what was going on around you, sunspots blocking your vision. To Sam, Dean, and Kevin, you just kept mumbling, “Peter, Pete, P...Peter…. Peter, Pete…” The men all rushed over to you, Sam crouching down on your level to hold you up. He looked up at Kevin. “Who's Peter?” he asked. “Her son,” Kevin murmured. ~~~ You held your two year old against your chest as you sat on the floor of your closet, hidden behind coats and piles of shoes and old holiday wrapping paper. But you were sure there was no hiding from this invisible monster, whatever the hell it was. Peter began to whimper. “Shhh, honey it's okay. Shhh,” you whispered to him, running your fingers through his thin hair. You could hear the snarling outside, and the sound of an animal’s footsteps ceased. You braced yourself, wrapping your arms tightly around Peter and squeezing your eyes shut. Then it all happened so quickly. The invisible monster busting through the door, ripping baby Peter from your grip and throwing him behind itself. When it had quieted you thought it had gotten what it wanted- until you felt it tear through your abdomen. You cried out in pain and lost all feeling below the belt. Right before blacking out, you heard Peter’s screams until finally they faded away. The invisible monster had silenced him, and left you alone to die. ~~~ You woke up in your bed in the bunker. When you turned your head, you saw Dean sitting at your desk. “What happened?” you asked, catching his attention. “[Y/N]... you… you had a panic attack… presumably from PTSD you developed after your son died,” he told you. Your heartbeat picked up. “How do you know about my son? Does Sam know?” “You kept mumbling his name when you blacked out, [Y/N],” Dean said. “Kevin told us he was your son. He got a vision of what happened to you… [Y/N] I'm so sorry… I wish I had known…” “Don't. We don't talk about it. Not now, not ever. Do you understand?” you said sternly, trying to purge the memory. Dean nodded. “Okay. I'll go get Sam.” He stood weakly and left, Sam returning in his place a few minutes later. Sam stood near the doorway, daring not come any closer. It looked like he was about to cry, like he had lost a son too. “Was it Dean’s?” he asked. You paused. How dare he. “What?” you spat. “After what just happened… all you have to ask me is if he was Dean’s?” “Kevin couldn't tell us when it happened, only that it did,” Sam replied. “Dean wants to know, too. I take it you didn't use protection with him, either.” But as soon as he said it, he knew he fucked up. “Fuck you, Sam!” you yelled. “I thought I could trust you! I fucking thought I was in love with you! And all you have to fucking say to me is some snapback about me sleeping with Dean three years ago when we were both drunk?!” By the end of your rant, tears were streaming down your face. All of the guilt immediately hit Sam at once, and he ran to your bedside. “Baby, I-” “Don't you ‘baby’ me! Get out!” you cried. Sam gently placed a hand on your cheek. “I didn't mean it that way, love. Please, please don't cry,” he murmured. You swatted his hand away. “I said get out!” you screamed. You saw Sam’s heart break. He recoiled, physically hurt. He slowly stood up and trudged out. You cried for about another twenty minutes before you heard a knock on the doorframe and Dean came in. “He wasn't mine,” he said as he sat on the bed next to you. “He happened long before I came along, didn't he?” Dean looked over at you and brushed your hair out of your face. You turned your head to face him and nodded. “I had him when I was 21. The Hellhound came for us when I was 23. I met you when I was 25. My uterus was too damaged for even the angel that found me to heal. At least, mostly. That's why I don't have any scars. And it's why I can't have kids.” Dean nodded. After a few minutes of silence, he said, “I'll save Peter.” You leaned over and kissed Dean, placing your hand on the nape of his neck. Every single one of Dean’s instincts told him not to kiss you back, but he couldn't help himself. He wrapped his arm around your waist and rolled on top of you, grinding himself against you. You felt his hard dick pressing into you through your clothes, and god it felt good. But not as good as Sam. You pushed Dean off of you. “I can't, Dean. Not again. I can't do this to you and I can't do this to Sam. He may have pissed me off like hell just now, but I… I still don't want to lose him. And I can't keep giving you these signals that I want you when I don't. Not the way I want Sam.” You got up out of bed and jogged to Sam’s room, leaving Dean frustrated and self-loathing in your bed. He hated himself for being attracted to you the way he was. You banged on Sam’s door. “Sam, it's me,” you said. You didn't even have to ask him to open up, as you'd anticipated. The door immediately opened and you threw yourself into Sam’s arms. “I'm sorry,” you whined into his neck. “I love you. I love you even though you have royally pissed me off, I love you,” you rambled. “The hellhound attacked us two years before I ever even met Dean, and it's why I can't have kids, okay? That's everything, I swear. I just want you and only you and I'll never ever give you any more reasons to think otherwise.” Sam hesitantly hugged you back. “It's okay. I messed up and I said some things I shouldn't have said.” You looked up at him and saw his worrisome eyes. “I'm in love with you,” he said. “And I'm not letting you go just because I said some stupid shit when I let my brother get into my head….” You knew there was a but coming. “But?” you asked. Sam sighed. “But I think it's best that you stay away from here. At least until Dean is done with the trials. I don't think you should be around both of us, not with this kind of shit going on. It's just too much. Go hunt something, stay with Kevin, anything. Just don't be here. Don't watch Dean kill himself. Don't watch me fall apart. I want you, all to myself, no distractions. The only way that can be is when this is all over.” “Sam, please don't push me away like this…” you argued. “I'm a hunter too, I can handle this. I've been doing this shit almost as long as you. And I'm not leaving.” “[Y/N], I'm not letting you stay,” he said firmly. “Please don't argue with me.” And after six hours of arguing about it, and you not caving in one bit, Sam and Dean had called for the help of an angel friend, Castiel. You'd heard things about him, and briefly encountered him at the bunker from time to time, but weren't very acquainted with him. All it took for him to sedate you while the Winchesters packed your belongings was two fingers to the forehead and you were out. The next thing you knew, you were in a brand new house in a brand new neighborhood. Thank god you hadn't lost your memories of the brothers- you knew what angels were capable of with just a tap on the head. You sat up on a couch in the living room of the house, and turned your head to see Castiel watching over you. “So I'm just trapped here now until Sam comes to get me, is that it?” you spat. “This is more for Sam and Dean’s sakes, than yours, [Y/N]. Don't take it personal. This is something that they must do on their own. They don't want any risk of distraction ruining their chance at closing the gates of Hell,” Castiel told you in that gravelly voice of his. You suddenly realized that none of this had to do with how stubborn you were or how much you wanted to help. You had come into their lives at a bad time. Although the Winchesters wanted to help you and take care of you, they really didn't have the time or attention or proper safety net. “So are you going to be babysitting me for the next few weeks?” you asked, submitting to the fact that you couldn't go back to them. “No need. I've erased the location of the bunker from your memory and engraved enochian symbols into your rib cage to hide you from any angel, demon, or witch that may come looking for you. So don't go looking for trouble,” Castiel said. “So no hunting?” you asked. “Hunt anything you want other than the supernatural beings I've just mentioned. Don't call Sam or Dean.” You nodded and bit your tongue in your mouth. “Okay Castiel.”

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