#mary winchester x reader

[zepskies]

Down to the Crust

Pairing: Dean Winchester x F. Reader

Summary: You’ve set out on a very specific mission for Dean. The problem is, you now have ulterior motives for your (formerly) pure love of baking.

Request: Since reading your imagine, "Dean Gives You an Impossible Choice," I have not been able to shake it, one point specifically. I was wondering if I could request a fic where the reader is learning to bake pies for Dean. She's best friends with the boys, but she and Dean have undisclosed feelings for each other…

AN: You guys know I love baking shenanigans lol. This one is set at a particular time during season 14…

Song Inspo: “Joy” by Blackstreet

Word Count: 2.6K

Tags/Warnings: Flangst, hurt/comfort, hint of spice~

No, no, no, no, NO!

You did your best to scoop out the salt you’d just poured into the flour.

You can’t really be this dumb, you berated yourself. How could you confuse one white powdery thing for another? Salt vs. sugar—it wasn’t that hard!

You shook your head in simmering frustration. You decided to just dump the whole contents of the bowl, salty flour and all, into the garbage. You’d have to start again…for the third time now. 

Frankly, this was getting ridiculous. You could make cookies, brownies, even cupcakes (with homemade buttercream).

How hard could a pie really be?

Maybe it was the telltale tremble of nerves in your hands.

Maybe it was because you had an ulterior motive for doing this, besides your formerly pure love of baking.

Maybe because this promised dessert was for one pie-loving glutton who was set to come upstairs from the garage any minute. Or at least, whenever Dean’s stomach finally called him back to the kitchen.

Though recently, he hadn’t been all that hungry. He’d denied your friendly offer of a snack earlier (since when did he turn down taquitos?), and he’d barely touched the pizza you guys had for dinner yesterday. (One slice? The man could eat half a pizza in one sitting. To your knowledge, there wasn’t a pie he didn’t like.)

Dean hid it well, but he wasn’t on his game. You knew why, of course, but…

You sighed and measured out the last of your flour for a fresh try. If you messed this one up, you’d literally have to wash your hands of this mission. And yes, it had become mission fucking impossible, as far as you were concerned.

Once the flour was safely mixed with a cup of sugar, you cut up some chilled butter to create the pastry dough. You followed the instructions in the recipe even more carefully this time, from your open laptop on the kitchen counter. The keyboard was dusted with flour at this point, along with your hands and arms. You even felt it under your nails and in your hair, but you didn’t care.

You were going to make this damn pie if it killed you.

You’d even bought real cherries, not the canned filling. It meant more work for you in removing all the pits inside them, but this was worth the extra labor.

However, as it just occurred to you, you’d left them simmering with some sugar, lemon juice, and cornstarch in a pan, around the time of your second attempt at pastry dough.

“No!” you gasped, hastening to open the lid and checking the saucepan.

Oh, thank God, you thought, seeing that the cherry filling wasn’t bubbling over. It actually looked like the proper thickened consistency and smelled delicious. You just needed to do some more stirring.

An hour or so later, you had successfully shaped the dough, chilled and poured in the filling, and covered it with the (embarrassingly uneven) lattice work on top.

“Whatever. The man still believes in the Five-Second Rule. He’ll eat this,” you muttered as you slid the pie in. You even remembered to do an egg wash on top. You admired it for a moment in its raw pastry form, then closed the lid to the oven with a nod of satisfaction.

You wore a wide smile, feeling accomplished, until you turned around and saw the disaster you’d made of the kitchen. Flour was dusted across the counters, a pile of dishes in the sink, cherry remnants in the pan and dripping across the stove, and so much more. You winced at the sight.

“What the hell is this?” came a gruff voice.

Your gaze drew to the doorway with a sharp intake of breath. Dean was standing in the doorway to the kitchen with a bewildered expression on his face.

The man had a thing about people in “his kitchen.” You got ready to placate him with your hands raised as you took a step towards him, but then you gasped.

“Shit!” you yelped, slipping in some egg that had dropped on the floor. Your hand accidentally banged the oven on the way down, but your head also hit the corner of the wall.   

You ended up sprawled on your side across the dirty floor, dazed and winded. Dean hurried to your side with one of those frowns that always made you want to smooth the wrinkle between his brows.

He braced your shoulder, almost but not quite touching your hip with his free hand.

“Damn. You okay? This ain’t a slip n’ slide,” he said.

Your lips twitched at a smile, but you sighed. “I’m okay.”

“You hit your head?” he asked, beginning to help you up slowly.

“A little,” you admitted. “Nothing the old bag of frozen carrots in the freezer won’t cure.”

Dean grimaced, but after he made sure you were settled on your feet, he checked the back of your head. You tried not to blush (and revel) at the feeling of his fingers slipping into your hair, even if he was trying to feel for a knot back there.

He was close enough that you could almost feel his body heat through the black shirt he wore, for once without the outer layer of plaid. He smelled like grease and sweat; likely he’d been working on Baby.

Were you weird for kind of liking that smell?

“Well, I don’t feel any goose eggs, so you’re probably fine,” he remarked.

“Thanks, House. Is that your final prognosis?” you asked, beginning to smirk.

Dean’s gaze met yours in amusement.

“Tell you what,” he said, “If you get a headache, I give you full permission to take one of the fun little pills I’ve got in my dresser.”

You laughed. “If it’s not Vicodin, I don’t want it.”

House M.D. was one of those shows you and Dean liked to watch together, along with Game of Thrones, and even Smallville, on occasion.

Dean smiled slightly. But even that was a small feat, and something you hadn’t seen from him in weeks. Not a real smile, anyway. Before today, nothing you’d tried had been working to brighten his mood.

Not pizza Fridays. Not letting him listen to the same damn Zeppelin album without complaint for that eight-hour ride on the last hunt. Not trying to gouge his level of broodiness and offering to hang out, to be a listening ear if he needed it.

He still hadn’t taken you up on the last one. While that hurt, you also understood it. You understood how Dean dealt with things he didn’t want to think about, let alone talk about, even to his own brother.  

Dean now looked down on you knowingly, gesturing at the rest of the kitchen.

“You gonna tell me what you’re doing in here?” he asked.

You crossed your arms and raised your chin, a smile playing on your lips.

“What, can’t handle somebody else in your kitchen? What’re you, Gordon Ramsey?” you teased.

Dean’s brows kicked up, his lips twitching.

“You’ve made a mess of my kitchen any number of times, but I ain’t ever smelled sweet, sweet cherry coming out of that oven,” he said. “You’re finally making me pie?”

You had to laugh. Inside, you were pleased that he now looked excited, his green eyes dancing. You clapped your hands over his arms.

“Yes, I’m making you your damn pie. Only took me fifteen tries, but it’s happening,” you said. You turned to check on it, but the second you opened the oven, black smoke billowed out.

Your eyes widened in horror and your mouth fell open on reflex, but harsh coughs tore from your throat as you waved your hand against the smoke. Dean quickly handed you the oven mitts, and you shoved them on before taking out the steaming dessert.

The entire top crust was scorched black. Cherry filling oozed out, and not in a good way. You slammed the oven shut with your hip, and you had to toss the pan onto the counter for how hot it was.

Inside that pan was a dreadful excuse for a pie.

Dean had an arm crossed under his elbow, while a hand came up to cover his mouth as he took in the state of it. He then looked over at you.

He saw the shock, settling into pursed lips and tight shoulders. You turned in slow movements.

You saw that the oven had been switched to “Broil” on the highest setting. You’d probably messed that up when you fell and hit the dial with your hand. But Christ, was that a powerful oven.

Those old white guys really didn't mess around when they built this damn bunker, you thought sourly.

Dean took another look at the steaming pie and grimaced, despite his amusement.

“Well, she won’t be entering any beauty pageants, that’s for sure,” he teased.

His playful smirk fell, however, the moment you turned around. He saw the way you were biting your lip, and the tears brimming in your eyes.

He softened, and he went to you.

“Aww, sweetheart. It’s okay,” he chuckled, and wrapped an arm around your shoulders, pulling you into his side. “‘S probably better than I could do.”

You rested your head against his chest and sniffled. You blinked to try to stem off your tears. 

“It’s not about the damn pie! I mean, not really. It’s just…” you trailed.

You quieted, realizing you were about to say things you’d rather not.

Dean noticed though. Because of course he did.

“Then what’s it about?” he asked.

You avoided his gaze at first, though he was too perceptive not to notice. He jostled you a little against his side.

“Huh? You wanna answer me?” he asked. His lips curved at the way you were fighting a smile yourself. Your tears won out though.

You turned under his arm and leaned up on your toes, so you could hug him. Your arms twined around his neck and you held him tight.

To say it surprised Dean would be an understatement, his eyes widening a fraction. He still held you back, almost on reflex.

“I couldn’t do anything else,” you said, through tears. “Not for you, or Sam…or for Mary.”

Dean’s confusion descended into grim understanding. A weight fell deep in his gut, clenching painfully the way it always did, when he thought about his mom.

The fact that Jack didn’t have his soul didn’t make a difference, no matter what Sam said. Not in Dean’s mind, anyway.

Jack had killed their mom.

She was gone, had been taken from them. And that second loss had torn a new chasm in Dean’s heart, deeper than the last one. He held you a bit tighter without realizing it.

“I’m sorry,” you said, rubbing his back. “I know you don’t want to talk about it. I just wanted to…to do something for you.”

Slowly, Dean pulled away a little. His hands moved to your waist as he looked down on you with a heaviness in his eyes. For a moment, he just took in the contours of your face, your eyes shining with tears that clung to your lashes. You were looking up at him like all you wanted to do was fix it. And fix him.

Well, you had to know that was a lost fucking cause. But it just didn’t stop you from staying here with him and Sam, living with them, hunting with them, being one of the last friends they had, after all these years.

It didn’t stop Dean from loving you for it, either.

He let out a breath, and he couldn’t help but raise a hand to get some of the flour off your cheek. He smoothed the back of his hand against your skin, along your jaw, and finally brushed his thumb across your lower lip, where you had worried it with your teeth.

“You’re too damn much, you know that?” he murmured.

You were blushing hot at his touch, but you frowned at his words. Until you noticed the fond glint in his eyes…and for the first time, something more. Something he was finally allowing you to see.

When he bent down and claimed your lips, your thoughts stuttered to a halt. You gripped the front of his shirt instinctively. He framed your face with his hands; they were calloused and smelled like motor oil, but you didn’t give a shit. Not one iota. Because it meant something, and your heart swelled with a warmer, brighter feeling.

You gripped his shirt tighter and leaned up to meet his second kiss. His hand moved to your lower back, pulling you flush against him. You grabbed onto his shoulders and let him invade your mouth with his warm tongue slipping against yours. You moaned, the sound echoing between you both and shooting right to his dick.

His brows furrowing, Dean’s fingers slipped into your hair again, but this time, to tangle in the strands. He walked you back until your ass hit the counter, where he grabbed hold of your thighs and hefted you on top of it, regardless of whatever stains covered its surface.

He moved in between your jean-clad thighs and encouraged you wordlessly to wrap them around his hips. You didn’t need much encouragement.

“Dean,” you whispered, between heated kisses, hands wandering down your body, exploring soft curves and warmth over clothing.

“Hmm?” he said, into your mouth. It was distracting, but you found the strength to slow things down, gently taking his face into your hands.

You both caught your breath for a moment. It allowed Dean to see the thread of uncertainty in your gaze, even though you caressed his stubble-covered cheeks.

“I just…do you…is this…” you tried, but your brain seemed to be on a short fuse. You blamed his sinful lips entirely.

Said lips drew into a smirk. Dean’s hands moved up your thighs and held your waist less gripping, more comforting (and claiming).

“I really do, and damn straight it is,” he said, slightly teasing. He did lean back in to press a gentler kiss to your lips.

“Trust me,” he said, as he became more serious. “If you want more from this…”

At that, your uncertainty melted into warmth. You released his face, holding onto his shoulders instead.

“Yeah, Dean,” you nodded. “More than anything, yes.”

He read your sincerity, and it warmed him too. Again, he gave into the urge to brush his thumb against your blushing cheek.

“I uh…I had a feeling it was always gonna be you,” he said.

You raised a brow at that, even though your smile threatened to unravel him further.

“Oh, yeah? How long?” you asked.

Dean pretended to think.

“Since that first batch of oatmeal cream pies,” he said, with a cheeky grin. “Pretty sure I was marked from there on out.”

And not just because he’d been imagining what you’d be like to taste, ever since.

You giggled, though you gestured with your eyes at the charred pan next to you on the counter.

“Guess I should try again on that pie. Wonder what that’ll get me,” you hedged, letting your thumb graze his neck. Dean smirked.

“All right, sure. Remind me to pick up a new fire extinguisher,” he said.

You guffawed and hit his shoulder, but he just laughed and pulled you in for another kiss.

It was sweet enough on its own.

AN: I know, I know. I'm a sap. 😂 Let me know what you thought of this pie-filled episode! 🥧 💕

Ko-Fi Me ☕

Dean Winchester One-Shots

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Dean W. Tag List:

@hobby27 @kazsrm67 @letheatheodore @agothwithheavysetmakeup @jacklesbrainworms

@foxyjwls007 @wincastifer @iamsapphine @simpforbuckyb @roseblue373

@this-is-me19 @emily-winchester @spnexploration @deans-spinster-witch @deans-baby-momma

@iprobablyshipit91 @melancholictearz @nic-kolas @sanscas @sleepyqueerenergy

@wayward-lost-and-never-found @thewritersaddictions @just-levyy @samanddeaninatrenchcoat @deanwanddamons

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@chernayawidow @mimaria420 @fics-pics-andotherthings-i-like @waywardxwords @waynes-multiverse

[marvelfanfn2187a113]

Auntie Row

Rowena & Winchester little sister!reader, team free will & Winchester!reader

Requested by anonymous

Synopsis: Rowena has a soft spot for the Winchester’s little sister, and they get into lots of trouble together (I suck at synopsis, just read the fic it’s better)

Warnings: honestly nothing, time frame makes no sense with reader’s age but 🤷‍♀️

“Rowena, what do you think you’re doing?”

The witch looked up in surprise when the Winchester brothers entered.

“Sammy!” You, the brothers’ six-year-old sister, ran straight to your big brother and giggled when he lifted you into his arms.

“Oh, you’re back,” Rowena said, cringing. “That was quick.”

“Auntie Row is teaching me how to do magic, like Hermione!” You babbled excitedly.

“Rowena…” Dean growled in warning.

“Now now, she’s a growing girl!” Rowena defended herself. ���Learning magic is a perfectly natural part of growing up.”

“Yeah, I don’t think so,” Sam scoffed.

“But Sammy!” You whined.

“Nu-uh,” Sam shook his head. “C’mon, it’s about time you had a nap.” He carried you out without another word to Rowena, who huffed dramatically and started to gather her belongings.

“When we said you could watch Y/N—“ Dean began, but Rowena cut him off.

“I know you didn’t mean this, but honestly Dean Winchester, how d’you expect the girl to defend herself if she can’t use magic?”

“She doesn’t have to,” Dean insisted. “We’ll protect her.”

“Oh honestly, you can’t be around her all the time! If she had magic, she could—“

“For the last time Rowena; no.” Dean’s tone left no room for argument.

“Uh, guys.” Sam returned to the room with a slight frown on his face. “Y/N said she wants Rowena to continue her story from last night. She’s refusing to sleep without it.”

“Well,” Rowena smirked. “Duty calls.”

“Hey.” Dean caught Rowena by the arm, and she glared at him. “Magic always comes with a price. I don’t want her to have to pay it.”

Rowena softened.

“I understand, Dean Winchester.”

His grip slackened, and Rowena left to go to you.

…

“I have a little something for you,” Rowena said as she stepped into your room.

“Can we finish the story?” You asked.

“Of course, sweet girl, of course. But first, I want to show you something. You remember that cursed necklace from the story? The one that protected the witch from the angry mob?”

“Uh-huh.” You nodded excitedly.

“Well, I think it’s time it protected someone else.” Rowena grinned, unclasping the necklace that was hidden behind her shirt and carefully putting it on you.

“Really?” Your eyes went wide as you stared up at the witch.

“Yes. That will protect you from anyone who wants to harm you. That way you don’t have to use any magic, just like your brothers said.”

“Thank you, Auntie Row,” you breathed sincerely, reverence painting your tone as you admired the glowing red jewel.

Rowena leaned forward and kissed your forehead.

“You’re very welcome, sweet thing. Now, let’s finish that story, shall we?”

…

“Kiddo, please, it’s just for a few days,” Sam tried to soothe you, but you still wouldn’t let go of his leg and continued to cry. “Mary’s gonna take good care of you, I promise.”

“I could really help you guys on this one,” Mary argued.

“She needs someone to watch her,” Dean reasoned.

“And why am I the automatic choice?” Mary countered.

“You two are not helping,” Sam said through gritted teeth as he picked you up, letting you lay your head on his shoulder. He hated Mary’s distance from you; you were John’s, but not hers. He understood her reason for not getting close to you, but you were just a little kid, and you didn’t deserve that. Sam just rubbed your back, still trying to soothe you as you continued to sniffle.

“If you boys needed help, you could’ve just asked.”

The three adults turned in surprise at the sound of Rowena’s voice.

“I mean honestly, it’s not like I haven’t babysat before.”

Dean was hesitant. “I don’t know if—“

“Sounds like a plan,” Mary said, going to grab her duffel. She tossed over her shoulder, “now I can help on the hunt!”

“Am I gonna stay with Auntie Row?” You asked Sam, your eyes wide and pleading.

“I…yeah honey, you are,” Sam sighed.

“Yay!” You grinned, wiping your tears away and squirming in Sam’s grip.

“Ok, ok,” Sam chuckled, lowering you to the ground so you could run to Rowena for a hug. “It’s probably best that you guys don’t stay in the bunker.” Sam directed his next words at the witch holding his little sister. “The bunker’s system still goes a little wonky with a witch inside, so one of your safe houses is probably a better idea.”

“That works for me.” Rowena grinned. “How would you like to go to Paris, sweet thing?” She asked you.

“This is a horrible idea,” Dean sighed. But he still grabbed his bag and headed out to Baby anyway.

…

“We’re back!” Sam called as he stepped into the bunker.

“Sammy! De!” You squealed, running to your big brothers and reaching them just as they came down the stairs. Dean scooped you into his arms and held you tight, comforted to see such a happy sight after such a grueling hunt.

“Hey, what’s this?” Sam asked, noticing your outfit.

“Auntie Row took me to shops in Paris, and we got a lot of clothes!” You babbled excitedly as Dean let Sam pull you into his arms.

“You’re spoiling her, Rowena,” Dean chuckled, no longer quite so hesitant about the witch now that he saw how happy you were.

“And she deserves every bit of it,” Rowena said.

…

“Ow!”

“I’m sorry darling, but you must sit still!”

“What’s going on in here?” Sam asked curiously as he stepped into your room to see you and Rowena sitting in front of your vanity.

“I’m trying to do her hair, but she won’t stop squirming,” Rowena explained, running a little pink brush through your hair.

“It’s all knotty!” You whined.

“Well it won’t be in a minute,” Rowena said.

Sam just smiled as he watched you, finally getting experiences that you’d never had before; motherly experiences.

The more he watched, though, the more he noticed how much you were squirming, and how much you seemed to be whining.

“Hey, you seem kinda grumpy, kid. Did you get a nap today?” He asked, coming to stand beside you and Rowena.

“Yeah,” you sniffled.

“You’re kinda pale,” he muttered under his breath, getting on one knee and reaching the back of his hand out to touch your forehead. “Jeez kid, you’re burning up.”

“She’s ill?” Rowena put the brush down and turned your chair around so you were facing her, repeating Sam’s gesture and checking your temperature. “She is quite hot.”

“Hey, let’s get you into some pjs, ok?” Sam suggested, lifting you into his arms. “You should get some sleep.”

“I already had a nap!” You insisted, squirming in Sam’s arms.

“Hey Sammy, I think I found us a case,” Dean said, stepping into your room. “Something wrong?”

“She’s got a fever,” Sam sighed. “You should go without me.”

“Oh nonsense,” Rowena spoke up. “Just leave her with me.”

“I don’t want to leave her when she’s sick,” Sam argued.

“Oh she’ll be fine,” Rowena insisted. “I’ll give her some herbs and she’ll be out like a light, she’ll sleep until you get back.”

“I don’t know…” Sam sighed.

“How about this,” Rowena said. “You put her to bed, and leave once she’s asleep. I’ll watch over her, and I’ll call you if she worsens.”

“Alright.” Sam looked at you. “Is that ok kiddo?”

You nodded sleepily, suddenly not so eager to fight another nap.

“Sammy, my tummy hurts,” you whimpered.

Sam nearly melted at this, more reluctant than ever to leave you.

“I know sweetheart, c’mon let’s get you into some pjs and then you can go to sleep, ok?”

Sam helped you get dressed while Dean packed for the hunt. It didn’t take long to have you tucked into bed, and you fell asleep almost as soon as your head hit the pillow.

Sam lingered in your doorway, unsure about leaving you like this.

“She’ll be fine,” Rowena soothed the Winchester brother. “She’s asleep, and I’ll call you if anything changes.”

“Alright,” Sam sighed, grabbing the bag that Dean had packed him. “Just…take care of her, ok?”

“Always,” Rowena responded.

And she did. When the Winchester brothers returned, your fever had broken and you were resting on the couch with Rowena, some cartoon playing on the tv.

“Hello boys,” she greeted when she saw them.

“Hey kid.” Sam went straight to you, brushing your hair away from your face. “Are you feeling any better?”

Rowena went to speak to Dean while you answered Sam with a distracted “yeah,” continuing to watch your cartoon.

“Her fever broke,” she explained to him. “I think it’s best if she rests a bit more, though.”

“Thank you, Rowena,” Dean said sincerely. “She really seems to like you.”

Rowena smiled. “She does, doesn’t she?”

…

“Did you have fun?” Sam asked you.

You nodded, finally pulling your gaze from the cartoon.

“Yeah, I like Auntie Row!”

Sam smiled softly.

“I’m glad.”

Taglist:

@nyotamalfoy @mrvlxgrl

[fanfictionalraven]

Sleep Without You

Title: Sleep Without You

Song Inspiration: Sleep Without You by Brett Young

Characters: Reader, Dean Winchester, Sam Winchester, Eileen, Mary, Jody, Donna, Charlie

Word Count: 2,082

Warnings: Reader gets drunk, fluff

Author’s Note: This story is not canon compliant because I prefer my characters alive and happy.

“Do not make us come in there and take her, Dean,” Jody says through your bedroom door. You throw your head back and laugh from where you’re standing over the bathroom sink. Dean rolls his eyes from where he’d been watching you get ready. He walks over to the door and pulls it open with a dramatic huff.

“I’m not holding her hostage,” he tells the small group of women he finds waiting. Jody looks past him and you stick your head out of the bathroom.

“I’m almost ready. Sorry,” you apologize. Donna looks between the two of you suspiciously.

“There was definitely some hanky-panky going on here,” she says. Dean rolls his eyes again and walks back over to the bed, taking a seat on the edge. You laugh but blush despite yourself. She wasn’t wrong. The second Dean had seen you in the little red dress, he couldn’t keep his hands to himself.

“Honestly, I’ll meet you at the car in five minutes,” you tell them. Eileen laughs and nudges the two other women down the hall, sending a wink back at you before she disappears herself. You quickly slip into a strappy pair of matching red heels and can feel Dean’s eyes still on you. “Stop.”

“I’m not doing anything!!” He says, defensively.

“No, but you’re thinking about it,” you laugh. Standing to your full height, you hold your arms out and turn in a slow circle. “Alright. How do I look?”

“Too damn good,” he compliments. You smile as you step over to him, his hands coming to rest on your hips. “Don’t get to see you all dolled up like this too often. Without it being for a case at least.”

“I know. This is actually so…normal,” you say, shaking your head slightly. “A bachelorette party.”

“Can’t believe they’re actually getting married,” Dean muses.

“Little Sammy’s all grown up,” you tease, giving his shoulders a squeeze.

“Mmmm,” he hums. “Least this time he got my blessing.” You laugh and shake your head. “You should go before the search party comes back.” Leaning down, you give him a quick kiss.

“Don’t wait up,” you tell him. He laughs lightly and gives your hips a gentle squeeze.

“Don’t party too hard,” he says. You can’t help but laugh again.

“The party consists of the bride-to-be, myself, your mother, two officers of the law who might as well be your mother and your aunt, and a lesbian. I make no promises,” you say as you run a hand through his hair. He gives you a smile and shakes his head.

“Sammy and I will work on the bail money,” he jokes.

“Much appreciated,” you laugh and take a step back for him to stand. He takes your face in his hands and kisses you tenderly. The two of you stand there for a moment, enjoying each other’s presence.

“Y/N!” Mary calls your name as she comes down the hallway.

“Whoops! They sent the big guns this time,” you say, stepping away from Dean. He laughs as he follows you to the door and leans against the frame, crossing his arms.

“Be careful. Have fun,” he says as Mary takes you by the elbow. You wink back at Dean and give him a wave as you stumble along behind his mother.

***

“Don’t wait up.”

Those had been your instructions to Dean. He had tried to follow them. He knew you all would be out late so he made a valiant effort to turn in for the night around 12:30. The scent of your shampoo on the pillow next to him was too much to bear.

At 12:35, he made his way back to the library and poured himself a glass of whiskey. Sitting back in one of the chairs, he pulls his phone out and smiles at the picture of you grinning back at him.

At 12:40, Sam wanders back into the library. He pauses when he sees his older brother. Dean looks up at him and chuckles.

“Couldn’t sleep either?” He asks. Sam shakes his head as he walks over and sits across from Dean who pours a second glass. “What was it for you?” Sam swirls the glass slowly and cuts his eyes up at his brother.

“She usually plays with my hair while I go to sleep,” he admits, a bit embarrassed. Dean smiles and shakes his head, taking a drink. “You?”

“Pillow smelled too damn much like her,” he says, as though it were completely obvious. Now it’s Sam’s turn to shake his head.

“What happened to us?” He laughs. Dean shrugs, glancing back at his phone screen. “I mean…I’m getting married in a couple weeks. What?”

“Nah. I always saw that for you,” Dean says, looking at his younger brother. Sam gives him a skeptical look. Dean shrugs in response. “Hoped for it at least. You deserve it.”

“Just not with Becky?” Sam asks, trying not to smile.

“Eileen is a much better choice. Hands down,” Dean laughs. Sam laughs as well.

The two brothers sit in silence for a little while, each taking sips from their respective glasses. Sam watches his brother pour himself another glass before finally speaking again.

“You deserve it too, ya know,” Sam says simply. Dean looks at him curiously. “Your relationship with Y/N. Being happy and…and loved.”

“I haven’t done a thing to deserve Y/N loving me the way she does,” he says. Sam frowns but Dean gives him a smile. “And yet she keeps on doing it anyways.”

“I understand that,” Sam agrees, raising his glass slightly. Another silent moment passes as Sam gathers the courage to ask his next question. “Have you thought about it?”

“Thought about what?” Dean asks, raising an eyebrow.

“Marriage,” Sam says, making some elaborate, grand gesture with his hands. Dean laughs at Sam’s awkwardness and looks into his glass again.

“I was about ready to ask Mom for her ring but, ugh…someone beat me to it,” he says, smiling at Sam now. Sam’s eyes widen quickly.

“Oh!! Dean, I’m sorry,” he rattles off quickly. Dean laughs and holds a hand up.

“It’s fine. You got to it first, fair and square,” he says, standing and walking across the library. He stops at a lockbox sitting on one of the shelves and quickly puts in a combination. Sam watches his brother, curiously, as Dean removes something from the box. “Had to hustle a hell of a lot of pool but…” He walks back to his seat and holds up a simple but beautiful diamond ring. Sam stares it for a moment before looking at his brother, wide eyed.

“How long have you had that?” He asks. Dean shrugs, examining the ring between his fingers.

“Bought it about two weeks after you asked Eileen,” Dean recounts. “I’d been thinking about it for a while. Almost asked Mom, like I said. I just wasn’t sure if Y/N would go for it. What we have now is one thing. Marriage is whole other one. Then when you asked Eileen…I could see it in her eyes.”

“That was months ago. Why haven’t you asked her yet?” Sam questions.

“Didn’t wanna feel like I was just copying you or trying to steal anyone’s thunder,” Dean explains, going back to the box. “I’ll give it a little time. Let you and Eileen have your moment. Then I’ll ask.”

“Neither of us would care. We’d be thrilled for you both,” Sam tells him. Dean smiles and shrugs, putting the ring away again. He closes the box and relocks it.

“I’ve waited this long. A few more weeks won’t hurt,” Dean says. Sam smiles a little and nods as Dean comes back to his seat. Dean stretches and looks at his phone again. “Now, the real question…is when are you two gonna make me an uncle?” Sam sputters on his drink, quickly setting the glass down. Dean roars with laughter as the door to the war room opens up.

“Cause the players gonna play, play, play, play, play…and the haters gonna hate, hate, hate, hate, hate…but I’m just gonna shake, shake, shake, shake, shake…shake it off, shake it off…” You, Eileen, and Charlie all come in singing together, arms around each other. You all three stumble through a few very uncoordinated hip shimmies.

“Dear God. They are wasted,” Dean laughs. Mary runs around in front of your small choir and heads you off at the stairs.

“A little help?” She calls down to her sons. The two brothers get up quickly and make their way up the stairs. Sam wraps an arm around Eileen’s waist and starts to help her down the stairs as she giggles. Mary assists Charlie who grips the handrail as the room starts to spin on her. You cross your arms as Dean comes over to you.

“I told you not to wait up,” you scold him. He laughs and shakes his head, hands coming to rest on your hips.

“I tried, promise. Turns out I just can’t sleep without my girl,” he says, pulling you closer quickly. You let out a squeal as you stumble and fall into him. Before you have a second to process what’s happening, Dean scoops you up into his arms and starts to carry you down the stairs.

“I could have walked,” you mumble, wrapping your arms around his neck. He rolls his eyes at your protest.

“You wouldn’t have made it two steps,” he teases. “I’ll put you down if you want.”

“No!!” You exclaim, tightening your arms slightly. He laughs and nods.

“That’s what I thought.”

“These three,” Mary says, pointing between all three of you. “Are not allowed to go out drinking again.”

“Herding cats?” Sam asks. Mary scoffs a laugh.

“Cats would have been easier,” she says. Dean looks down at you and smirks.

“Did you not behave for Mom?” He asks. Your shoulders bob up and down as you smile at him coyly.

“Why? You gonna punish me?” You ask with a wink.

“Oh my God,” Mary mutters, quickly leading a still dizzy Charlie towards the hall. Dean laughs wildly as he goes to follow.

“You’re gonna be so hungover tomorrow,” he says. He glances back at Sam and finds Eileen gently running her fingers through his hair. “Sleep tight, little brother.” Sam looks up at him and smiles.

“You too.”

Dean carries you down to your bedroom and tosses you on to the bed, eliciting another squeal from you. You kick off your heels as he goes through the dresser, finding one of his old t-shirts you’d claimed ages ago. He helps you change out of your dress and into the shirt with ease. You fall back onto the bed with a huff and close your eyes.

“Hold on,” Dean says, going into the bathroom. He comes back out a second later with a makeup wipe and sits next to you on the bed. You giggle as he gently and carefully wipes your makeup away. “What’s so funny?”

“Big, bad, monster-killing, Dean Winchester is taking my makeup off for me,” you tease. He rolls his eyes.

“You’d be pissed in the morning if you woke up with all this still on,” he says. He takes extra care around your eyes before finally finishing. “There.” He tosses the wipe into a nearby trash can.

Dean lays down on the bed next to you and you immediately roll over to face him, moving into his side. He lays an arm across your waist, pulling you even closer. Kissing your hair, he breathes in your scent and sighs. You giggle again.

“What now?” He asks.

“You love me,” you say. Dean laughs softly and nods, pushing your hair from your face.

“Yea, I do,” he agrees. You break into a wide grin as you close your eyes. “In fact, I’m gonna marry you, Y/N.” You giggle again and nod.

“I get to be the bachelorette next time,” you say. He laughs again and kisses your forehead.

“Mom’s gonna be thrilled.”

The next morning, Dean has aspirin and water ready by the bed for you when you wake up. You remember nothing from the majority of the night before, especially anything from when you all returned to the bunker. But when you catch the bouquet at Sam and Eileen’s wedding and see the look on Dean’s face, a fragment of a conversation comes back to you.

I’m gonna marry you, Y/N.

***

Forever Tags: @roseblue373

Jensen Tags: @call-me-mrs-winchester

[bajablastlover1]

[sammyluvr]

my boy deserves all of the smooches :(( where do you think are sam's weakspots to be kissed?

OOOO I LOVE THIS QUESTION... sorta wanna answer it when i'm not halfway asleep or completely brain empty but i also want to think about it now because it's cute :((( maybe i will revisit later with a reblog or short headcanons about it <333 all sfw for this post!!

i think simple cheek kisses really make him soft and blushy because there's something very very sweet and almost innocent about them. they can be casual but they can also be verryyyy very caring and soft and intimate. he loves when you linger there for a moment. it makes him want to curl his hands around your hips and tug you into his lap and kiss you for hours, but before he can do it, you're gone already. he especially loves it if you kiss his cheek while you're standing and he's sitting down :,)

maybe i'm projecting but the tip of his nose :(( the first time you do it, he's really not expecting it. it's not a sensation he's used to, and it makes his heart melt and beat a million times a minute at the same time, every time. it makes his brain go quite and still for a moment because he's not expecting it almost ever unless you're slow or obvious about it. he almost just doesn't know what to do with himself when you do it. likes to grab you by the hips and keep you there and just look at you after you do it and it's like oh. hi :)

uhhhh his back dimples.... yeah. uh he almost passed out when you did it in a non-nsfw context. he was just laying on his stomach with no shirt on and you came up to him... he was sleepy and not paying that much attention, he sorta assumed you'd either join him to cuddle or grab something by the bed. what he doesn't expect is your lips on his lower back??? he's so gone he just malfunctions probably. or makes out with you for ten hours idk man

kiss his fingers please :,) just please... anywhere... his hands anywhere it makes him wanna die a little bit in the good way. thinks his hands have done too much wrong to be kissed by you, but you seem to love it so much that he lets you do it and cries a little inside. kisses your hands back a lot

lowkey anywhere on his head. his forehead, his hairline, the top of his head through his pretty hair... he loves it :,)

uhhh literally his lips. just kiss his lips he'll do whatever you want him to probably <33

honorable mentions are literally anywhere on his body because he's obsessed with you and touch starved (thinking precage :D slash the times he's comfy with physical affection afterwards) and so madly in love with you <333333

real honorable mentions are his jaw, anywhere on his neck but definitely his adam's apple, his collarbones, his shoulders anywhere, his back especially his spine <333

[supernaturaldoll]

MENTAL HOSPITAL SAM!! 😩😩

OOO I WANT THAT COOKIE SO EFFING BAD!!

[bakugotypecrashout]

no thoughts just dean winchester to ethel cain

[ninii-winchester]

Behind Closed Doors (Part 7)

Pairing : Boss!Dean Winchester X Assistant!Reader

Word count: 1.3k

Warnings: Angst, feels, Mary Winchester. Unedited of-course.

A/n: looks who’s back from the dead.

I DO NOT GIVE PERMISSION TO COPY MY WORK, TRANSLATE IT OR POST IT TO ANY OTHER PLATFORM. REBLOGS ARE APPRECIATED.

John waited for his wife to get back home. After Dean had left, he wondered how he'd approach the topic with Mary. He knew she is way too thrilled about Dean marrying Rachel. The minute Mary entered the house he called her out in the living room. Mary who had gone to meet Sam and Jess came back in an extremely good mood. John knew this could go either way, maybe her being in a good mood be helpful for him. He loves his wife but he loves his son too, when they themselves fought for their love, how could they not support their son for the same. 

"Mary," John said her name gaining her attention, she looked up at him urging him to continue. “I need to talk to you about Dean.”

“Dean? What about him?” Mary said furrowing her brows and taking a seat in front of John.

“Look I don’t think it’s wise for us to for him to marry Rachel. He loves someone else. He’s engaged.” Mary’s eyes widened at the mention of her son being engaged without her knowledge but she tried to play it off.

“Ofcourse he is, to Rachel.” She replied with a scoff. John rubbed a hand over his forehead trying to keep his cool.

“No, he loves someone else. He is engaged to her. Why are you being like this?” John argued.

“Who is she anyway?” She asked ignoring his question.

“I didn’t ask. And even if I knew I wouldn’t tell you. You’re being extremely detrimental. I wouldn’t trust you with that information.” John said firmly. Mary was taken aback by his stern behaviour.

“I don’t care, I like Rachel and Dean is marrying her. That’s final. Whether he likes it or not.” She said with a finality in her tone.

“You out of everyone should know what it is to fight for you love.” John reminded her, after all she herself defied her parents to marry him. His words might’ve stuck a chord in her because instead of retoring back at him, her face morphed into one of understanding.

“I’ll talk to Dean.” John seemed a bit relieved at her words.

The next day Mary sauntered into Dean’s office, Y/n stood up to greet her but didn’t stop her. Dean’s told her that his parents and brother are the only ones that can walk in without an appointment, apart from her of course. Mary nodded at her in acknowledgment and went straight inside.

Dean looked up to see his mother, he wasn’t surprised knowing his father must’ve talked to her. He leaned back in his chair, looking at her.

“Mother.” He acknowledged her calmly. She didn’t sit nor did she speak for a moment. With her arms crossed against her chest she stared him down.

“You talked to your father.” It was a statement rather than a question.

“Yeah because he talks.” He sat up and stated with a scoff.

“What is that supposed to mean?” Mary glared at him.

“It means that he was willing to listen and talk to me instead of making decisions about my life without telling me.” He snapped standing up.

“Don’t raise your voice at me Dean.” The air felt heavy, charged with an almost tangible discomfort. It felt as though the tension could snap at any moment, unleashing emotions that have been tightly wound.

“Why are you here?” Dean asked in a calm tone.

“Who is it that your supposedly engaged to?”

“Y/n.” Dean replied smugly without a second thought.

“Y/n? You mean the one that’s right outside?” She asked incredulously. He nodded affirmatively. “Dean I really came here to talk to you and to try to support you but her? Really? An employee?”

“Why does it matter if she’s an employee? I love her, isn’t that enough for you?”

“It isn’t. She isn’t worthy of you. I’m not letting you marry some low life when you could get married to someone like Rachel.” Dean’s anger flared at the mention of the woman he despises and the way his mother talked about the love of his life.

“That’s enough.” Dean yelled, making her flinch back a bit. “Leave.” He ordered. Mary stomped over to the door and stopped with her hand on the knob. She turned to sneer at him.

“You will marry Rachel and I will make sure of it.” And then she left. Her eyes landed on Y/n at her desk, working diligently. Instead of confronting her right there, she smirked before leaving the building.

The phone on Y/n’s desk rang, it was Dean asking her to come inside. The minute she stepped inside the room, Dean felt his throat tighten. The silence between them isn’t comfortable anymore; it’s heavy, like he didn’t know how to talk without breaking— it’s like they’re slipping further apart, like sand through the fingers.

“Come here please.” Dean’s voice was low, barely audible and almost on the verge of breaking. Y/n wanted to protest, to tell him that they shouldn’t, that he’s not hers anymore. That they don’t belong together anymore. But her legs worked faster her mouth did and she found herself walking closer to his desk. He stood from his chair and closed the distance between them. Pulling her into his arms he made her sit onto his desk. He stood between her legs, his hands on her waist, his face hidden in the crook of her neck, inhaling her scent.

“Say the word, baby. Please, tell me to do it and I’ll leave everything.” His grip on her tightened as he mumbled in her neck.

“Dean, we talked about this.” She tried to say but he shook his head and shot her down before she could say any further.

“I don’t want anything other than you, holding you close feels like the only thing keeping me grounded. I can feel your warmth, the steady rise and fall of your breath against me. It’s the only thing that brings me solace, baby I’m nothing without you. Just wrapping my arms around you feels like home. Now I’m holding on like it’s the last time, as if this moment is all I have left. And I don’t want that. Like you said, this position wasn’t given to me, I earned it. I can earn it again. Somewhere else, with you by my side. I can do anything, sweetheart just say the word.” He begged and she could feel the tears burning behind her eyes, threatening to spill at any moment. They hovered on the edge, heavy and hot, as if the weight of everything she was holding back had finally become too much. She blinked rapidly, willing them to stay put, but the ache in her chest made it harder with every breath. It was only a matter of time before the dam broke.

“Please don’t do this, Dean. It’d make me fall from grace. I’d never be able to look you in the eyes knowing I made you give up what you’ve worked so hard for,” she replied, her voice trembling as the words escaped her. Her heart constricted painfully in her chest, each beat a reminder of the sacrifice she was asking him to make. She could feel his tears now, hot and unyielding as they dripped onto her neck, soaking into her skin like the weight of everything unsaid.

It hurt, seeing him like this, torn between his love for her and the life he was meant to live. A part of her wanted to hold on, to tell him to stay, but she knew deep down that she couldn’t be the reason he walked away from his dreams.

Tags:

@spnfamily-j2 @galway-girlatwork @deangirl96 @queensilber

@s0urw00lf @monkey-d-hoshizora98 @deans-baby-momma @fullbelieverheart

@riah1606 @xx-spooky-little-vampire-xx @hobby27

@starkleila @suckitands33 @m3ntally-unstable @kanekilovelove-blog @candy-coated-misery0731

@blackcherrywhiskey @ladysparkles78 @goest-and-fuckest-thyself-blog @graywrites5567

@thelittlelightinthedarkess @enamoredwithbella @winchesterwild78 @myuhh8

@10ava01 @n-o-p-e-never

[marie-swriting]

I'll Never Leave You - Dean Winchester

Masterlist

Summary : You thought your father, Dean Winchester, would always be by your side.

Warnings : Spoiler last episode of the show!, reader is Dean's daughter, no age mention but reader is a young adult, angst, character death, feeling of hopelessness, loss of a parent, bittersweet ending, maybe some grammatical mistakes as English isn't my first language, tell me if you see some or if I missed any warnings.

Word count : 4.6k

French version

Song inspiration : Marjorie by Taylor Swift

Laying on your bed, a book in hand and your dog Miracle at your feet, you patiently wait for your dad and your Uncle Sam to come home from the hunt. Since the apocalypses, the wars between Angels, Archangels and God have officially stopped, you took a step back from the hunting life. You still help them with the research but you don’t go on the field as much. You can finally have a normal life - as normal as it can be when your last name is Winchester - and Dean supports your decision, glad to know your future is full of possibilities. 

You’re in the middle of a chapter when you hear the bunker’s door opening. Miracle raises his head while you put your book on the bed. You trot to the entrance where you only find Sam with an emotionless look on his face however you don’t notice it. 

“Was the hunt good? Where’s dad?” you question with a smile.

“Y/N, something happened.”

“What? Did you scratch Baby?” you laugh, yet your smile disappears as soon as you see his serious face.

“No, it’s Dean.”

“What is it? Uncle Sam, what happened? Is dad hurt? Where is he?”

“Y/N, wait,” Sam holds you back as you’re about to leave the room. “You should sit down.”

“I don’t want to sit down, I want to know where my dad is.”

“We found a vampire nest so we went there to kill them but Dean got hurt.”

“Is he okay, though, right?”

Sam stays silent for a long second before speaking again.

“One of the vampires pushed them against a beam and there was a spike. He got severely injured.”

“What do you mean, Sam? Tell me my dad is okay!”

“I’m sorry, Y/N, Dean… he died during the hunt.”

Upon hearing this sentence, the floor crumbles underneath your feet. You can’t believe it. You stay speechless while Sam keeps talking.

“You dad wanted you to know he’s always been proud of you and he loves you. He also told me-”

“No…,” you interrupt him with watery eyes. “Wh-, How-, it can’t be.” you stutter, shaking your head. “He can’t die! He is Dean Winchester. He’s survived so many things. He can’t be dead!”

“Y/N/N, I’m terribly sorry.”

“No!” you scream when Sam is about to hug you. “I… I need…”

You don’t finish your sentence, too stunned to speak. You run to your room, tears rolling down your face, Miracle hot on your heels. You let the dog in the room before locking yourself in. Completely confused, you don’t know what to stare at. Your eyes look everywhere while Sam’s words are echoing in your head: ‘He died during the hunt.’ You choke while big tears stream down your cheeks. You fall to the ground as your heart bleeds. You can’t believe you’ve just lost your dad.

One could think it wouldn’t hurt as much after Dean cheated death so many times, however the pain is still unbearable - if not worse, this time. You grew up with only your dad and your Uncle as your mom died in childbirth. Your family isn’t big but your love for them knows no limit. You had to overcome a lot of loss the past years, whether it was Bobby, Charlie, Castiel or other people, though the pain you felt at their death is nothing compared to what you’re feeling right now. You’re lost, begging in the empty for your dad to come back to you. Miracle has his head on your legs, trying to comfort you; you stare at him and you hurt a bit more.

Dean never wanted a dog, no matter how many times you asked him for one. He always used to say with your way of life, you couldn’t take care of one and above all, he’d say no dog would ever get in the Impala as long as he’s alive. However, the second your life went back to normal, he rescued Miracle. You secretly suspect he’s always wanted a dog and your whim was the perfect excuse to adopt one. When he brought Miracle home, you weren’t surprised to see he was the one he got. Miracle managed to find his way to Dean’s heart since they first met, though he would never admit it… would have never admitted it. 

Dean was finally having the life he’s always wanted, far away from the repeating apocalypses and it was taken from him as quickly as it came. It isn’t fair. You dad doesn’t deserve to die this young and you still need him. You’ll always need him.

You stay with your back against the door and Miracle in your arms for several hours. Actually, you don’t know how long you stayed in this position. You’re numb, time is standing still since your discussion with Sam; maybe only two hours passed or a whole day, you have no idea and you don’t have the strength to check it on your phone. All you want is your dad. You don’t care what time it is or if you need to eat. You just want Dean and his comfort.

You think back to all the times you lost Dean and all the times he came back. There always was a solution. There must be one for this time, too. His time hasn’t come yet. You still can bring back your dad to life, no matter the sacrifice you have to make. You dry your cheeks and stand up. Determined, you leave your room and walk to the library, Miracle following you. You take several lore books you already know and others you’ve never read but could be useful. On the table, you have at least four piles of ten books, yet you’re still motivated. You could read thousands of books, as long as you find a solution, that’s all that matters. You take one and start reading it and taking notes with information that might be helpful.

You’ve just finished a whole stack when Sam’s voice snaps you out of your reading, startling you. Sam stares at you, worried while you don’t pay much attention to him before going back to your research. Sam sits in front of you yet, he stays silent. He watches you for a few minutes before speaking.

“Wanna talk about it?”

“No.”

“Alright. I’m gonna give Dean a Hunter’s funeral tomorrow. If you wanna join me.”

“Don’t burn his body!” you exclaim following his information.

“I have to and you know it.”

“No! If you do it, it’ll be even harder to save him.”

“What exactly are you researching, Y/N?” Sam questions, fearing your answer.

“A way to resuscitate dad.”

“Y/N, we can’t do that.” He firmly says and you look at him sternly.

“Why? That didn’t stop you and dad from doing it numerous times before, why would it be any different now?”

“Because everytime we wanted to cheat death, it caused major issues, you know that damn well.”

“Nothing we can’t handle. Dad can’t be dead, not like this, not now that everything is starting to get better. I’m gonna bring him back, no matter the price.” you affirm, opening a new book.

“Even if you have to die?” Sam interrogated, surprised.

“As long as he’s alive, that’s all that matters.”

“Y/N, your dad wouldn’t want you to sacrifice your life for him. He’d want you to live it.”

“It means nothing if he isn’t there.” you say, your lip quivering. “I need him, Uncle Sam. I have to bring him back.”

“We can’t.”

“We damn well can! We can find a solution.” you argue before having an idea. “I’m even sure if we asked Jack, he’d do it. After all, the current God likes us more than the last one, we’re his family.”

“Y/N, we can’t save him, not this time.” Sam insists, making you angry.

“If you don’t want to save your big brother who sacrificed everything for you, that’s your problem, as for me, I’m gonna save him, so either you help me or you leave me alone.”

“It’s time he rests in peace, especially after everything he went through.”

“Because of everything he went through, he deserves to live without worrying about Lucifer, God or another Archangel.”

You look at Sam, sure of yourself. Sam doesn’t reply right away before weighing pros and cons and admitting to you: 

“Dean specifically asked to not be brought back to life because he knew too well the consequences, so respect his wish.”

“He was dying, he didn’t know what he wanted. Now, leave me, I have lots of research to do.”

Defeated, Sam sighs before leaving the library. He sees how desperate and in denial you are. He just hopes you’ll realise very soon bringing Dean back is dangerous and useless. Though he fears you’ll realise it too late and you’ll suffer even more. Either way, he promised Dean to be there for you and that’s what he’s going to do. Whether you want it or not, Sam will stay by your side to comfort you the instant you’ll accept Dean’s death.

The following day, Sam gives Dean a Hunter’s funeral alone. He tried to convince you to come but you refused, preferring to lose yourself in your research. Sam wished he could have done the funeral later, fearing you might regret it later for missing this last goodbye to Dean, unfortunately, it had to be done as soon as possible. 

Sam worries more and more for you. You’ve completely shut yourself out. You only read books in the library and do more advanced research on the internet without sleeping or eating. He brings you food however you almost never eat and you pull all-nighter after the other, despite his disapproval. He doesn’t know what to do to help you. He knew you’d be devastated when he told you Dean’s death but he didn’t expect this reaction. 

A few weeks later, the situation hasn’t evolved, except that now you’re locked in your room and not in the library as a way to avoid Sam. You’re still mad at him for not wanting to help you save your father. You don’t understand how he can be this passive. Your father would have done everything to bring back Sam if the roles were reversed, you’re sure of it.

You finish reading the last book you took from the library when you have an idea. You think you know where to look, except you didn’t see the book when you rummage through all the shelves or you would have started with this one right away. Just in case, you go through the mess that is your room now before going to the library and checking everywhere four times. You try to remember where it might be when a memory comes into your mind. You saw it last in your dad’s bedroom a few weeks before his death. You haven’t stepped a foot there since Dean’s last hunt. You just can’t. You’d like to, though. Normally, whenever you’re feeling down, you go find your dad in his room so he can comfort you.

However, if you went to his room now, you’d face a loud silence and you can’t face it.

Reluctantly, you end up walking slowly to Dean’s bedroom. You stay in front of the door for some time, pondering if you should go in or not. You don’t know if you’re ready to enter his room but on the other hand, you need this book, it might be the solution. You take a deep breath and open the door. The corridor light penetrates the room and you can see the bed which is made, his music collection and the book you’re looking for on the desk. You turn on the light and take big steps to his desk, wanting to leave the room as soon as possible. However, you don’t do it. On the desk chair, you find one of your dad’s shirts. You get teary eyes as you take it and bring the piece of cloth to your nose. You smell the familiar scent and you burst into tears in one second. You wish Dean would come to his room and tell you not to steal one of his tapes like you usually do. Everytime he’d admonish you, he’d pretend it bothered him when in reality, he loved knowing he passed on his love for classic rock to you. His bedroom is now all that’s left of him and you don’t want to lose this place, even the most insignificant piece of scrap such as the menu from the burger place a few miles away is now of an inestimable value. Your eyes fall on a piece of paper lying in the middle of the desk. Carefully, you read it and find it’s an application to become a firefighter on which you can see his signature with his name on the bottom of the paper. You sob when you think back of the first time your dad confessed to you he would have loved to be one if he hadn’t been a hunter. 

It was a few years ago during a fall morning, Dean had woken you up early. Too early. At 4:00 A.M. to be specific. He had woken you up because he wanted to have a father-daughter day. This was how you found yourself in the Impala this early while you were still mentally sleeping and your dad was happy to spend the day with you.

“You know, a father-daughter day can start at 10:00 A.M.,” you complained, yawning.

“You’re not gonna regret waking up early, trust me. We’re almost there.”

“It better be amazing or during the next roadtrip I pick the music.”

“Hell no! You know the rules.” Dean refused.

“Yeah, driver picks the music, shotgun shuts his cakehole, whatever. I deserve some compensation!”

“I got you some donuts.” he exclaimed, showing the pink box at your feet.

“It’s a good start.”

A few minutes later, you arrived in front of a lake. Dean told you to get out of the car and to lean on the hood with the donuts in hand. Despite the morning breeze, you started eating while watching the sunrise. The sky was a beautiful amber colour and it was reflecting on the lake, making the scene even more stunning. It was peaceful, save for the birds which were waking up.

“So, wasn’t it worth it?” Dean asked with a smirk. 

“Ok, you were right and besides, the donuts are delicious. I didn’t think of you as a fan of watching the sunrise.”

“I can be interested in nature!”

“Stop it or next thing you know, you’re only gonna eat salad like Uncle Sam.” you answered with a fake fear expression on your face to which Dean rolled his eyes.

“The fact is we’re having a great time as a father and daughter, away from all the supernatural threats.” Dean said, holding you close to him.

“True.”

“And like this, I can make it up a little bit for the father I am.”

“You don’t have to make it up. You’re a great dad.”

“No children should grow up like you did, like I did. I always promised myself I wouldn't make the same mistakes as my father and here you are in the middle of all this crap between two High School periods.” He grumbled, avoiding your gaze.

“Do I have to remind you I started hunting because I followed you, not because you forced me to?”

“I’m still mad at you for that. You shouldn’t have followed us when you didn’t even know what you were fighting, it could have ended badly!”

“The fact is I saved your ass from some werewolves.” you retorted with a proud smile.

“You especially got lucky. I didn’t know what I would have done if you had gotten hurt.”

“I learned from the best, nothing could happen to me.”

“That doesn’t mean anything. With Sam, we always got ourselves out of those messes just on time. I don’t like knowing you’re part of the hunting life.” Dean confessed with sad eyes.

“I chose it. You always give me a way out and I never take it because I like to hunt.”

“Maybe, but I wish you had the opportunity to lead a normal life, you deserve it.”

“I might not hunt my whole life, I don’t know for sure. For now, it’s what I want to do, though. To be honest, I don’t even know what I’d do if I weren’t a hunter. Besides, you deserve a normal life, too, you know.” you affirmed, firmly.

“It’s too late for me. And I’m not made for the apple pie life but it can be different for you.”

Your heart broke in your chest upon hearing your dad saying this. You wish his life had been different, that his dad had given him the choice when he was younger. Dean might have kept everything buried inside yet, you could read him like an open book. No matter what he affirmed you, you knew your dad wished for a calmer life.

“What would you have done, if you hadn’t been a hunter?” you randomly asked.

“What do you mean?”

“If you had the apple pie life, what would be your job?”

“I don’t know.” he replied but you didn’t believe him.

“You’re telling me you never thought about it ? You’re lying. I can totally see you in a job where you help others.”

“I would have loved to be a firefighter.” Dean confessed after marking a pause.

“You would have been a good firefighter, I’m sure of it. Who knows, maybe one day you’ll have your chance?”

“I don’t think so. I made up my mind I’ll always be a hunter and besides without hunting, I would have never met your mother and you wouldn’t be here so I’m grateful for this life.” he affirmed with a genuine smile.

“You’ll always be here, right?”

“Always.” he promised.

You kept watching the sunrise while talking about more random topics, you particularly complained about some teachers and Dean shared his High School experiences - while leaving behind some details as to not be a bad influence. 

The rest of the day, Dean taught you how to drive Baby, something that didn’t happen often. You were so happy to see your dad trusting you this much. You carefully listened to Dean to avoid making any mistakes. Dean, as for him, loved sharing this knowledge with you, despite having some anxiety over Baby potentially being injured at any given moment. After that day, this place by the lake quickly became your father-daughter spot.

In hindsight, you realise to what extent Dean could have lived the life he wanted. He was probably going to go less and less on hunts so he could do the job he always loved and his chance at a normal life has been ripped away from him. After everything he went through, he deserved this chance. 

Furthermore, you become aware you’ll never have a father-daughter day again where Dean wakes you before the sun so you could enjoy every instant. Had you known, you would have made sure to memorise every second of your last day. All of these memories are part of the past and you can’t bear the idea of it. You can’t stay another day away from your dad, you’re desperate and you must save him. You keep the shirt in your hand while you close the door then, you pray to Jack, looking up.

“Please, Jack, if you can hear me, you have to help me. I’ll bother you only this one time, I promise. I won’t ask for anything else. I just need my father, you have to bring him back. Please, help me.”

You keep begging as you close your eyes as if it gave more strength to your prayers. After a few minutes, Jack’s voice saying your name resonates in the room. You open your eyes and throw yourself in his arms. You missed him so much. You quickly considered Jack as your little brother after he was born so the second he took over Chuck, you heart broke. You’re glad to see Jack replied to your call, despite his responsibilities.

“I’m happy to see you, Y/N.”

“Me too, you have no idea.”

“You prayed so we could talk about Dean. Let me tell you, he is in Heaven. He deserves it after everything he’s done.” he informs you with a genuine smile.

“He particularly deserves to live. Jack, I know I’m asking for a lot but he can’t stay in Heaven, he has a life here, he has to live it.”

“I can’t do that and you know it.”

“You’re God now, of course you can!” you exclaim, appalled.

“After everything he’s sacrificed, he can finally rest.”

“No, he can finally live! Jack, you have to save him.” you beg, tears in your eyes.

“I can’t break the new balance we just made and also, he doesn’t want to, Y/N, he knows the price to pay and he doesn’t want you and Sam to pay it, you in particular.” Jack says, calmly.

“You’re lying! My dad would never leave me. Please, Jack, I’m begging you to help me. Whether you do it or not, I’ll find a way but with your help, I’ll cause less damage.”

“My answer stays the same. I’m sorry.” he insists, making you mad.

“Leave. I’ll do it alone. I don’t need you! Leave!”

Disappointed, Jack disappears, leaving you alone in Dean’s room. You can’t understand why no one wants to help you. You’re not asking to bring back a monster, just your father so why is everyone letting you down? Your tears that had stopped rolling down earlier find their way back on your cheeks again in a second. You’re sick of everything. You’re sick of crying. You’re sick of no one helping you. And more specifically, you’re sick of not having your father.

Mentally tired, you end up laying down on Dean’s bed and you hold the shirt close to you, hoping it’ll bring you some sense of comfort. You keep crying until you finally fall asleep for the first time in weeks.

A light breeze going over your body wakes you up. You open your eyes, not understanding where it comes from and you find yourself on the backseat of Dean’s car. You just have the time to look up when you see the car door opened and your dad telling you to get out of the car. Surprised, you need a second before jumping into his arms. Dean hugs you back and strokes your back while you pay attention to his shoulders moving at the rhythm of his breath to make sure he’s alive. After a few minutes, you break the embrace and Dean drags you so you can lean against the hood of the Impala which is parked in front of the lake. Dean puts his arm around your shoulder while you put your head against his.

“Dad, is this a dream or real? I’m confused, I haven’t found a solution yet so how can you be here? And how did I get in the Impala?”

“Jack must have found a way for us to meet again.” Dean answers, giving you hope, in spite of himself. 

“So, is it all good? You’re safe?”

“No, sweetheart. Jack and Sam were right when they said I didn’t want to be brought back to life.”

“Why, though? You finally had everything you wanted!” you anger, taking a step back from Dean.

“I can’t keep on dying and coming back to life, I had to die for good one day.”

“Yeah, when you’d be old, very old, not now!”

“I wish it could have been later, too, but it is what it is, there’s nothing we can’t do. Y/N/N, I don’t want you to spend your life trying to find a way to bring me back, it always ends badly. I promise you, I regret nothing, I’m fine and I can finally rest. You have to keep living without worrying about me.” he tells you, calmly.

“But I need you, dad.” you retort, shaking your head. “There’s so much I don’t know, there are so many questions I should have asked you about the supernatural, what I’m supposed to do, on how to be and even more questions I haven’t thought about yet. It’s too hard without you.” you say, your voice breaking.

“You’ll be okay, I know you will. You’re a fighter, a Winchester. I’m proud of you and the woman you became, I hope you know that.”

“Uncle Sam told me, yeah.”

“Don’t push him away. He tries his best to support you while respecting what I asked him.” Dean tenderly states.

“You told me you’d never leave me. You promised you’d always be here.”

“And I meant it. I’ll always be by your side even if you don’t see me. I’ll never leave you and when the moment comes, we’ll meet again.”

“I want us to meet again now.” you cry and Dean takes you in his arms.

“I wish we could but we can’t. I’m sorry we didn’t have much time together. I love you, sweetheart, never forget it.”

“I love you, too, dad.” you say before breaking the embrace. “I’ll apologise to Uncle Sam, I shouldn’t have yelled at him.”

“He isn’t mad at you, I’m sure of it. It’ll be okay, don’t worry.” he says, kissing your temple. “Come on, let’s enjoy this moment. Donuts?”

A small smile finds its way to your face as soon as he hands you a donut. You take it and eat it, enjoying this precious moment. Mentally, you thank Jack and apologise to him before focusing back on the lake illuminated by the sunrise until you slowly fall back asleep.

The second you wake up, you’re in Dean’s room again, his shirt next to yours. A single tear streams down your face yet, this time, this tear isn’t only for the pain of losing your dad. This tear is full of sadness, yes, but also of joy as you got one last goodbye. This tear rolls down because you know Dean’s death is still affecting you notwithstanding, he’s right, he can’t be brought back to life and you have to accept it. You know that despite everything, he’s still all around you.

You look at the clock on the nightstand and discover it’s still early and the sun is still rising in the sky. You take one of your dad’s jackets in his closet and leave the bunker with Miracle who woke up when he heard you. Outside, you admire the dawn, your heart pinching in your chest a little. No matter how many sunrises you’ll have to live without Dean, you promise yourself to have at least a day during the week where you’ll wake up early and think about your dad. You want to keep him alive in your head and for this, you want to keep the traditions you had when he was still there.

The day officially started, you grab Baby’s keys and drive downtown, more specifically to the Fire Academy. You enter the building and wait for your turn at the reception. As soon as it’s your turn, the woman tells you to come closer and asks what you need.

“I’d like to apply to be a firefighter, please.”

The woman gives you some information and papers to fill and when she’s done, you thank her and go back to the Impala. Sat on the driver seat, you look at the papers with a bittersweet smile. Though you don’t see Dean, you know he’s here, right next to you, happy to see you officially quit the hunting life and realise your dreams and his.

Masterlist

[mxltifxnd0m]

🧸 bear hugs event !

౨ৎ

just friends? -> for my love mari hehe @sammyluvr

౨ৎ

-> come and join the sleepover!

[abox-of-rocks]

Anniversary cake

synopsis: Dean and Annie make a cake for your anniversary!

a/n: this is the longest fic I’ve written! I got kinda lazy at the end…

wc: 1128

Dean decided to surprise you with a cake and gifts for your anniversary. This morning, he’d taken Annie to the store right after you left for brunch with your friends, he’d gotten all the supplies needed; boxed cake mix, frosting and sprinkles, and roses. Annie picked out a pink bunch specifically, since she was going through a pink phase, and wanted to help get gifts for her mama.

When they’d gotten home, Dean started making the cake, which caused Annie to want to join. He couldn’t say no, knowing how badly she wanted to help, plus he loved bonding with his baby girl.

He helped her pour the cake mix into the bowl, and let her crack the eggs into a separate bowl- sneakily picking the shells out whilst she was distracted.

Annie stood on her step stool, bouncing and grinning up at Dean excitedly, her wavy pigtails bouncing as she moved, watching Dean mix the ingredients together.

“Now, don’t tell mommy, but you can lick the spatula once I finish mixing it together, okay?” Dean offered, looking over his shoulder to her, seeing Annies eyes widened with excitement.

“Okay!” her adorably high pitched voice spoke, basically yelling since she didn’t quite understand “inside voices” yet.

Dean chuckled, mixing the batter around until the clumps of batter were gone, the delicious aroma of cake batter filling the kitchen. After he finished mixing, Dean turned to Annie, purposefully licking a large stripe of the batter covered spatula, just to tease her. Giving him a gasp, followed by a complaining “Daddy!”, and her little hands lightly patted at his bicep.

Dean chuckled, a wide grin on his lips, as he handed her the spatula. “Sorry sweetheart, couldn’t help myself.” His voice came out lightly teasing, as he watched his mini me, speedily licking the remaining batter from the spatula.

Turning away to the stove, preheating the oven to 350° as the box instructed. Hearing some sort of shuffling, he turned around, seeing what Annie was doing.

“Alright- woah, woah, woah!” Dean exclaimed nervously, quickly rushing to help Annie pour the cake batter. Baking with a four year old was…eventful, to say the least. His large hands dwarfed her tiny soft ones, as he held the bowl with her, pouring the batter into the greased pan.

He chuckled as they finished pouring the batter, leaning down to kiss the top of her head, placing the bowl in the sink. “Good job honey, maybe wait for daddy next time, alright?”

Annie giggled, letting out a small “uh-huh!” sound, before sticking her finger into the batter and stealing a lick of it. “Annalise Charlotte Winchester!” Dean playfully reprimanded, grinning as he tried to hold back his laughter, his hands going to his hips. “If you keep doing that, mommy’s not going to have any cake!” He said with a small laugh, unable to resist as he shook his head, leaning down and picking her up.

Annie squealed as she was tossed across his shoulder, giggling and gripping at his shirt, kicking her little legs.

“Alright, alright-“ Dean chuckled, holding her on his shoulder. “Careful, Anniebear.” He let her down, ruffling her hair, before grabbing the cake pan and placing it in the oven. Annie, ever the little leech, was right beside him; staring into the oven as he carefully placed the pan inside.

They’d set the timer and left it for an hour, Dean chasing Annie throughout the bunker during that time, playing with dolls and whatever else her little mind could muster.

—

The timer went off, a repetitive ding, Dean and Annie running back into the kitchen. Dean gave Annie a piggyback, since they were playing horse and princess previously.

Turning the timer off, Dean placed Annie down on the counter, her little legs swinging off the edge. Watching as he pulled the cake out of the oven with potholders, the fresh cake filled the room with a delicious smell, as Dean placed it on the counter.

Annie reached over to touch the cake, filling the room with a yelp as she recoiled in pain, a small blister forming. Tears started to well in her eyes, her bottom lip quivering. Dean jumped at the yelp, concern etching his features, as he quickly pulled her into his arms.

“Oh honey,” Dean had murmured, rubbing her back. “It’s okay,” He kissed her forehead, his thumbs gently wiping the tears from her cheeks, bringing her to the sink. “Here,” He murmured. “This’ll help with the sting,” Dean turned the tap on cold, holding her pointer finger under the cold tap, Annie’s little sniffles slowly dissipating.

“You okay now?” Dean asked in a soft murmur, crouching down a bit to be at her height, looking at her with warm concern. Annie nodded, wiping her eyes once more, still holding her burnt finger out. “can we put a bandaid on it?” She asked quietly, making dean smile a bit. “of course we can, honey.”

One bluey bandaid, and a lot of boo-boo kisses later, they came back to the kitchen to decorate the cake, dean removing it from the pan. The cake was still a little too warm, crumbling and tearing a bit as they took it out of the pan. A slightly disappointed sigh left Dean's lips, trying not to beat himself up over the imperfections of the cake, he looked to Annie for her reaction. The smile he saw on her face changed his disappointed expression, smiling at how happy she was over it, realizing that it didn’t matter about looks, it was the thought that counts.

The two of them covered the cake in pink icing- once again Annie’s pick, placing sprinkles all over, and dean wrote - as neatly as he could - “happy anniversary” on the top. Annie stole swipes of the icing, trying to be sneaky, although her adorable giggles gave her away every time.

Dean got a text from you, letting him know that you were almost home. Quickly, Dean carried the plate with the cake over to the table, placing it on the little display he’d laid out. The pink roses were in a vase, the necklace he bought you was wrapped, and the cake was made. They just had to patiently wait for you to get home.

Around five minutes later, the sound of your car pulling into the Bunkers garage alerted them that you were back. Annie hid behind the chairs, waiting for you to enter.

Once you entered, she jumped out, yelling “Surprise!” Making you laugh.

A soft gasp left your lips at the arrangement, putting your things down, and quickly hugging dean.

The three of you had cake, and laughed at the frosting all over Annie’s face. It was a pretty damn good anniversary.

thank you to my sweet goober @snburntandsad for proofreading 💗

taglist: @titsout4jackles @deansbeer @ungodlydilf @snburntandsad @honeyryewhiskey

[glimmeringwinchester]

𝗛𝗢𝗠𝗘

𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘 — grace winchester never had the chance to know her mother, but twenty years later, she finds herself in her childhood home facing something evil that apparently isn't alone

𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆(𝐒) — canon typical violence, panic attacks, injury, brief description of blood, ptsd, anxiety, protective dean and sam, oc au

series: love was the law

Grace Winchester sits across from her brother at a small table beside a large window that overlooks the parking lot. Her laptop is open, pulled up onto a recent newspaper article from somewhere in Texas. She and Dean have been here for almost an hour, scouring every website they could think of to find a case to work, both of them itching to get up and moving again. They’ve never known how to be still, how to just take life as it comes instead of searching for danger, and they certainly have no interest in learning how to do that now. 

“All right. I’ve been cruising some websites. Think I found a candidate for our next gig.” Dean takes a sip of his coffee, already dressed for the day ahead of them, meanwhile Sam’s still tucked into one of the beds. Grace cranes her head to see him, smiling softly when she realizes that he must’ve just woken up, a soft flush against his cheeks insinuating that not long ago he’d been practically dead to the world tangled up in thick blankets. She’s glad that he’s seemingly able to rest without nightmares of Jessica plaguing his subconscious, but something tells her his sleep wasn’t all that terrific even without the visual of his girlfriend's burning body.  “A fishing trawler found off the coast of Cali. Its crew vanished.” 

“I’ve got some cattle mutilations in West Texas.” Grace hummed, looking over at Dean once she knew he didn’t have anymore more to add about the potential case in California. 

“Hey!” Dean called out, startling Grace who had looked away for only a second to dive back into the article she had pulled open, searching for the single line in the middle that was what led her to believe it was their kind of case to begin with. Her wide eyes found Dean’s, assuming she was the one he was raising his voice at, but she very quickly realized he was talking to Sam, who sat upright in the bed sketching frantically on a notepad. “Are we boring you with this hunting-evil stuff?” 

“No, I’m listening. Keep going.” Sam shook his head, glancing away from the notepad for only a second to prove that he was listening to Grace and Dean. The youngest Winchester rolled her eyes, reaching for her mug of hot chocolate that Dean had somehow lifted from the diner. She didn’t want to question why he’d chose to bring back two mugs instead of the take-away cups that made their lives easier, but she was more than willing to pretend like she was in some lavish hotel as she held the porcelain mug to her lips and obnoxiously slurped up what remained of her melted whipped cream.

Dean rolled his eyes at her, but he couldn’t help but shake his head laughing when she pulled the mug away and was left with a mustache of cream on her upper lip. She wiggled her eyebrows at him jestingly before she licked it away, focusing her attention back on the article in front of her. 

“And here a Sacramento man shot himself in the head..three times…” Dean held up three fingers, waving them around as if hoping to catch Sam’s attention, but his efforts were in vain. Their brother was fully engrossed in his own world, flipping through pages of the notepad despite it seeming that he was drawing the same thing over and over again. Grace frowned in contemplation, wondering what had him so tightly wound, but Dean was less concerned for Sam’s wellbeing and more aggravated that everything he was saying was going in one ear and out of the other. “Any of these things blowing up your skirt, pal?” 

Grace rolled her eyes, and if she hadn’t been sitting criss-cross applesauce on the chair, she would’ve jutted her leg out to kick his shin. She expected Sam to have a sharp response, but he remained silent, proving that he wasn’t really listening to them at all. Grace deflated, wondering what was so important that he was entirely neglecting the main focus of their entire lives, but then his eyebrows furrowed, and he grabbed a page of the notebook he’d already flipped away from, bringing it back down into view. 

“Wait, I’ve seen this.” Sam commented, his eyes narrowing in scrutiny as he tried to analyze the sketch he’d drawn still half-asleep. Grace craned her head questioningly, taking another sip of her hot chocolate despite how warm it made her feel. She shrugged her sweatshirt off, being left in only a yellow tank top that brought out the yellow in her green eyes. 

“Seen what?” Dean questioned, taking the bait that Sam dangled in front of their faces even if that wasn’t the intended purpose of his muttering. 

Sam didn’t answer him, nor did he even glance in Dean’s direction. The eldest and youngest Winchester locked eyes, both frowning in concern as they watched Sam stand from the bed and approach their bags on the other side of the room. “What are you doing, Sammy?” She questioned softly, closing her laptop to instead focus solely on her brother who was acting more than a little strange. 

He pulled John’s journal out of Dean’s duffle bag without a word, leaving both Dean and Grace in the dark as he flipped through pages until he found an old photograph tucked behind disheveled notes and coordinates. Grace knew the picture well. It was one of the only ones that had been salvaged in the fire – or at least one of the only ones she’d ever seen – and it was something that felt so foreign to look at knowing what she did now. She was being held up in John’s arms, a gummy smile on her lips as she looked straight ahead at the camera. Sam was in John’s other arm, and Mary held Dean close to them, all five of them looking like any typical and normal family outside of the house that Grace had never really known as their own. She frowned in confusion, not seeing why that picture was so important to Sam at this moment, but she didn’t outright question it, content to let him put pieces on the table at his own pace. 

“Dean, I know where we have to go next.” Sam looked up, his eyes searching Dean’s face with intent. Grace frowned, wondering what had him so rattled that he seemed to be reeling at the connection. She put her hot chocolate down, becoming uneasy as the energy in the room shifted to something heavier than it had been in a while. 

Dean inclined his head, nodding for Sam to continue. “Where?”

“Back home. Back to Kansas.” Grace’s frown deepened at that, her eyes flickering to Dean to gauge his individual reaction. She was unsurprised to find that he’d recoiled in the same surprised manor, his eyebrows raised in silent question.  

“Okay, random. Where’d that come from?” He threw back at Sam, who seemed to fumble over his thoughts trying to find a way to explain what had led him to this conclusion. 

Grace watched Sam step closer, his eyes flickering to her for only a second before he turned to address Dean entirely. Grace was no help in the matter, no matter how much easier it was to convince her than it was to convince Dean. “All right, um, this photo was taken in front of our old house, right? The house where Mom died? 

“Yeah.” Dean grabbed the picture from his outstretched hands, studying it carefully despite having almost every aspect of the print memorized. Grace leaned back in her chair, fingering pulling through her knotted locks that trapped heat at the back of her neck. 

“And it didn’t burn down completely. They rebuilt it, right?” Sam asked, voice thick with contemplation that Dean and Grace still didn’t know anything about. He was making no sense, but they’d been abused by weirder conversations. 

“I guess so, yeah. What the hell are you talking about?” Kansas was always a sensitive topic for Dean, not that he would ever admit that, but his siblings had learned to sparingly bring up Mary and the house he’d spent the first six years of his life within after one to many explosive conversations. They all had a hard time discussing the events that had led up to where they currently found themselves in life, but it was different for Dean because he could remember what it was like to only worry about monsters in a hypothetical sense. He remembers what it was like to come home from school, have an afternoon snack at the table and work on homework. He remembers what life was supposed to be for them and even if he doesn’t mind the hunter life, there’s still a little boy inside of him that yearns for what he hadn’t even had a chance to appreciate having at all. 

“Okay look, this is gonna sound crazy but the people who live in our old house, I think they might be in danger.” Sam sank into the chair next to Grace at the table, his eyes flickering to hers as he silently pleaded with her to blindly trust him on this. It never took much for Grace to do that, to put all of her trust into her brothers, but she still found herself frowning in concern as she glanced at Dean. 

“Why would you think that?” She asked hesitantly, soft eyes glancing back at her brother when it became evident that Dean wasn’t going to be the one to speak up and dig further. His eyes were glued to the picture, like he was trying to memorize every detail of Mary’s face. Grace’s heart thumped in her chest, wishing desperately that she could remember her mother in even the smallest capacity. She couldn’t. She’d never been able to. 

“Um– Just, uh– Look, just– you got to trust me on this, okay?” Sam was frantic, scrambling for anything that would turn Dean in his favor, but he didn’t say anything else, anything more. He had given them crumbs and expected them to make an entire dessert. Grace could only frown deeper, rubbing at her head as the good mood she’d woken up in began to ebb away. 

Sam stood from the table, moving toward the bags they had stacked up on top of a dresser in the far corner. Grace and Dean shared a concerned glance before the latter was rising from his spot at the table, the picture still in his grip as he addressed Sam. “Okay woah, woah, woah. Trust you?” 

“Yeah.” Sam nodded, breathless. Whatever had led him down this path had clearly shaken him, and he moved with an anxiousness that Grace hadn’t seen since he’d packed his bags for Stanford nearly three years ago. She’d been only seventeen years old, not quite prepared to lose one of her brothers, and despite how much she’d grown into herself since then, she feels that same unavoidable unease creeping up her spine as she watches Sam pack. 

“Come on man, that’s weak. You got to give me a little bit more than that.” Dean argued, standing between Sam and the door almost instinctively. He’d let him walk out the first time, there was no way in hell it was happening again when there was even less to go off of now then there was when he’d decided to follow his dream of being a lawyer. At the very least, that was practical. This was just insane. 

“I can’t really explain it is all.” Sam fired back, glancing up from his duffle bag for a second before his gaze snapped back down to what he was doing and he continued shoving clothes and weapons inside. 

Grace didn’t move from the table near the windows, but her soft voice cut through the room sharply. She’d never been the type to ask first shoot later, not when it was her brothers calling the shots at least, but something about Sam’s sudden interest in Kansas had her uneasy; like there was something far bigger going on just beneath her nose.“Sammy, you’ve gotta give us at least something to go off of.”

“Well, tough. I’m not going anywhere until you do.” Dean came back at him, both of them ignoring Grace who’d been trying to take a more level-headed approach. She rolled her eyes, wondering if they’d ever be able to settle a disagreement without raising their voices. 

For once, Sam wasn’t quick to jump on Dean, sighing beneath his breath as he strained out his posture and faced the both of them fully. “I have these nightmares.” Fell off of his lips, but there was more still forming on his tongue that Grace expected to be the main reason for his sudden interest in revisiting Lawrence. 

“I’ve noticed.” Dean nodded, though his exasperation was poorly hidden beneath his clipped tone and exaggerated hand movements. He’d been exceptionally bad at heart-to-heart moments lately, but the rekindling of old wounds had only given him a sharper edge. Grace didn’t bristle so easily, keeping ehr gaze unassuming and soft and she nodded for Sam to continue, taking a sip of her hot chocolate despite the fact that it was cooling down to a gross temperatur and she didn’t really want any more of it at all. Still she took a sip, feeling like she needed something to be doing with her hands as she waited for Sam to drop whatever bomb he’d been hiding on them. 

“And sometimes they come true.” That was not at all what either Grace or Dean expected to hear, and the book-end Winchesters had near identical reactions as they flinched away from the spoken truth, their dark eyebrows raising in confusion amidst other conflicting emotions that swirled at the forefront of their minds. 

“Come again?” Dean questioned, hoping that he’d heard Sam wrong, or at the very least had interpreted what he’d said wrong, but deep down he knew that wasn’t the case, knew he’d heard Sam correctly. 

Sam sighed, his eyes locking on Grace’s before he built up the courage to look back at Dean. Somehow, their sister was their safe person, and no matter the conflict, they looked to her for support not having to question if she’d give it. Grace managed a weak smile, nodding softly for Sam to continue. “Look, I dreamt about Jessica’s death for days before it happened.”

“Some people have weird dreams, man. I’m sure it’s just a coincidence.” Dean shook his head, desperately wanting to convince Sam that what he thought to be true was just odd timing. Grace wasn’t so sure that he wanted to convince Sam of that for his benefit, or for his own personal sake. Dean had a good grip on his external emotions, but she was sure that this was freaking him out because it was freaking her out; not that it took much to rattle her. She’d always been the jumpiest of the three. 

Sam shook his head, his voice wavering the more he spoke about these nightmares and their direct correlation to events in his life. He looked so far from the strong, confident man that Grace had come to know since running away to Stanford. They’d both found themselves there, had created lives that had nothing to do with monsters and hunting, but the more time they spent away from the normalcy of campus life, the more they were losing themselves to the shadows of who they’d always been before that. She didn’t like it, but there was only so much they could do to change the inevitable. “No. I dreamt about the blood dripping, her on the ceiling, the fire, and I didn’t do anything about it ‘cause I didn’t believe it. Now I’m dreaming about that tree, our house, and some woman inside screaming for help. I mean, that’s where it all started. This has to mean something.” 

“I don’t know.” Dean admitted weakly, sinking into the bed as he looked down at the picture in his hands again, trying hard to wrap his head around what Sam had just laid out in the open. Sure, they’d been the one to push him to open up, but neither one of them could have anticipated this being what had him so rattled and set on returning back to Kansas. 

Grace locked eyes with Sam for a second, still sat beside the window despite every nerve in her body telling her to run as far away from all of this as she could. “Even if you have these dreams, Jessica’s death isn’t on you, Sammy. It’s not your fault.” She offered weakly, and for a minute Sam’s eyes flickered with something softer, but then they hardened again and he returned his gaze to Dean. 

“What do you mean you don’t know, Dean? This woman might be in danger. I mean, this might even be the thing that killed Mom and Jessica.” His voice raised, still trembling, still vulnerable, but there was a weight beneath his words that only drove his desperation further into the thick air of the motel room. 

Dean grumbled at his younger brother's persistence, standing from where he was perched on the bed to instead pace the carpeted floors. “All right, slow down, would you?” Dean didn’t beg, but he was pretty damn close to sounding like he was as he tried to get his thoughts and the facts in order. They knew monsters existed, they’d known that for decades. They had friends and connections that were psychics, so what was to say that Sam didn’t fall into that same mysterious category. There was little to deny the possibility, but accepting the truth felt heavy, like it would change the basis of everything they’d ever known and fought for. “I mean, first you’re telling me that you’ve got The Shining…and then you tell me that I've got to go back home, especially when…” Grace looks down at her hands, squeezing her fingers into tight fists when they begin to tremble without her consent. Her chest is tightening, she’s aware of it, but she needs to keep herself together. Sam looks to be on the verge of tears, and Dean isn’t faring much better. She can’t be the one to break down, not when they need somebody to be strong, but she can’t say that this isn’t a lot for her too. Seh remembers the years when all she’d ever wanted was to know about Mary. She’d ask John about her every little detail, even when those questions got her locked in motel closets and kicked out of diners; made to wait on the curb outside until the boys were finished eating. Going to Kansas had been something she’d wanted desperately at one point in her life, but now she’s not so sure she can face what should’ve been her life. It’s not fair that she has to. 

“When what?” Sam pleads with Dean, his voice soft and breathy. His eyes are wide, desperate and vulnerable as he lays everything he has left within him out on the table for his siblings to scrutinize and unpack at their own will. 

“When I swore to myself that I would never go back there.” Dean’s voice wavers, and Grace can see the tears pooling in his eyes as he turns his back to Sam, facing the windows before his chin sinks to his chest and he draws in a shaky breath. 

“Look, Dean, we have to check this out. Just to make sure.” Sam pleads, his eyes flickering to Grace, but he doesn’t need to look at her to know that she’s with him wherever life leads. She’d follow her brothers to the ends of the earth, because they were the only people that had ever been there for her through the thick and thin of life and its hardships. 

Dean takes a second, but eventually his head nods just slightly, and he peers over his shoulder to find Sam’s eyes. His jaw is clenched, his eyebrows are furrowed, but there's determination in his features that both of his siblings can read. “I know we do.” He says, and that’s all it takes for Grace to stand from the table in the corner of the room, knowing that within the hour they’d be off and on the road toward a place she hadn’t been since she was six months old. 

-

The car is quiet, filled with adrenaline and grief. Dean’s mood hangs heavy, and Sam’s isn’t much better. They’d said little about where they were headed since bags had been packed and the keys had been pressed into the ignition, but as they pass another sign on the side of the roads where overgrown crops and bushes thrive with the turn of Springtime weather, the atmosphere shifts to something different; something that Grace can’t quite interpret. She feels a small smile tug at her lips as she reads the words ‘Welcome to Lawrence’ , unable to deny that there's a small part of her that feels healed just being in this town. Her mother had lived here. Mary Winchester had lived within these town lines, and that meant something to the youngest Winchester even if it was just another fact to her older brothers. 

“This isn’t what I expected.” Grace hums quietly, unable to take the silence any longer. She knows this is hard for both Sam and Dean, it’s hard for her, but there’s something inside of her that feels like it's been reawakened now that she’s physically seeing the streets that her mother had walked on a daily basis. Had Mary envisioned walking her down these same streets? Had she thought that at one point, she’d sign Grace up for dance class at the ballet studio they passed right beside a small pharmacy? There were endless possibilities that would never have answers, but Grace still held onto the hope of inquiring anyways. It was all she had, and so it had to mean something. 

“What did you expect?” Sam asks with a light laugh, craning his head to look into the backseat and see her fully. Her body is pressed up against the driver's side door, her eyes wide and breathtakingly bright as she takes in all of the different houses and shops along the roads. For the first time in hours, his lips curve into a soft smile, and what awaits doesn’t feel so heavy anymore. 

“I don’t know… cows, maybe? I’d always thought that there was a farm.” She hummed thoughtfully, only just realizing how stereotypically normal Lawrence, Kansas is. Grace had always thought that there would be something unordinary in the town, something that set it apart from every other midwest suburb. She didn’t know why, she’d never know what, but that assumption had made it easier to swallow the trajectory of her childhood and adolescence when she was able to grab onto it. Now, after figuring out that the only abnormal thing had been them, her family, well, her heart fell further down into her belly, something twisting up within her that she couldn’t place, but it didn’t fully dim the sparkle that twinkled beneath her green eyes. 

“Sorry to disappoint, Gracie.” Sam laughed, reaching into the backseat to pat her knee affectionately. Even if her eyes were bright with wonder, he could still recognize the traces of pain and grief etched across her expression; he could still see how hard this was for her beneath the mask of enjoyment she’d crafted near perfectly. 

As Dean slowed the car until it came to a near complete stop in front of a two-story house that was painted a welcoming shade of baby blue, her eyes narrowed with scrutiny. There was no mistaking it as their own. The tree in the front yard, though it had aged and changed with passing time, remained almost entirely the same as it had appeared in the picture John kept in the first few pages of his journal. The surrounding area had changed since 1985 when the picture had been snapped, but it wasn’t hard to establish that this is the place they were meant to be in. She was antsy to step out of the car, to firmly plant her feet on the ground where her mother had walked. She’d spent twenty years desperately longing for a maternal figure, and while there wasn’t a way to bring Mary back, this was still the closest that Grace had ever gotten to knowing who she had been at all. 

“You gonna be alright, man?” Sam braved the question that Grace didn’t have the courage to say as Dean pulled the keys out of the ignition, his eyes focused on the house he’d spent the first six years of his life in. This was hard for Grace because she’d never gotten the chance to actually know this house or her mother, but Dean fell on the complete opposite end of the spectrum. She couldn’t imagine being him in this moment. 

A beat of silence elapsed as Dean kept his eyes on the house, a million memories playing in his head, but eventually he trailed his gaze to Sam, a soft, nearly inaudible sound, falling off of his lips. “Let me get back to you on that.” He requested, and both of his younger siblings nodded curtly. They could do that, they could give him the time to figure out how he was feeling before talking about it. 

Grace waited for Dean to step out of the car first, but when it became obvious that he wasn’t going to be the one to make a move, Sam opened his door, nodding for Grace to follow him even if Dean remained in the car. He didn’t. The second Grace had her feet on the ground, he was stepping out onto the road, breathing in through his nose before he exhaled through his mouth attempting to sike himself up for whatever faced them. 

Grace shuffled toward her eldest brother somewhat desperately, wrapping an arm around his waist as she stole an awkward hug. Her soft green eyes flickered up to meet his after a moment of contemplation, and even though his lips were set into a thin expression of neutrality, he didn’t pull away from the embrace. Sam was steps ahead of them both, hardly even aware that they’d stopped at all, but Grace didn’t mind the separation between them, desperately needing this quiet minute with Dean to have any chance at finding the strength she needed to get through this, even if it didn’t turn out to be their kind of gig. His arm fell around her shoulders, pulling her tighter into his side when he finally pulled himself out of the trance-like state he’d been in before. 

“You gonna be okay, sweetheart?” He asked quietly, keeping his hushed voice away from Sam who still hadn’t realized he walked alone toward the front door. 

Grace nodded, her head resting on Dean’s shoulder as she craned her neck to meet his worried eyes. She forced a slight smile, downplaying the torrential downpour of emotions that were muddying her clarity. Regardless, she gave him an answer. “This is what I’ve always wanted, isn’t it?” 

Dean sighed when Grace pulled away from his touch before he could tell her that she didn’t have to be strong just because she’d always wanted to come back here. He followed after her silently, joining Sam on the front porch, though he stuck close to Grace’s side, able to see through her near-perfectly curated mask of indifference. He promised himself that for her sake, he could see this case out. 

The door creaked open seconds later, and all three Winchesters stared at the woman in front of them for a second too long for it to be a normal exchange before Dean was slipping into his chosen role; not that they’d discussed what alibi they’d be giving this woman to keep their tracks clean. “Sorry to bother you, ma’am, but we’re with the Federal–” He began, but was quickly interrupted by Grace, who couldn’t lie in the face of honest truth. There was truth here, and fragile honesty, and she didn’t want to be some variant of herself that was fake and sleazy. Mary wouldn’t want that for her, for any of them, even if she’d never really known the woman, somehow Grace was sure of that fact. 

“I’m Grace Winchester, and these are my brothers Sam and Dean. We used to live here. Or, they did. I was a baby. But, I mean, I guess I lived here too. Um,” Grace fumbled over her words nervously, pulling at her knuckles as she tried to keep her eyes from peering behind the woman and inside of the house. Did it look the same? Had they kept the same layout? The same wallpapers and tile? She wouldn’t know, but the questions still came to her anyway. “We were just driving by, and we were wondering if we could see the old place.” 

Grace couldn’t stand to look at her brothers, so she kept her eyes on the woman in front of her, who smiled fondly at her rambling with a tilted head. This woman was a mother, Grace knew that the second she’d started rambling and all she’d received was a fond smile of encouragement. “That is so funny.” The woman noted, opening the door wider, giving all three of the siblings a deeper glance inside the house. “I think I found some of your things the other night. A stuffed bear and some photos. You said your name was Grace, right?” 

“Yes ma’am.” Grace nodded, her eyes tearful as she tried to keep herself together, but the longer she spent outside of the house that had been the only physical home she’d ever known, the harder it got to keep her emotions underwraps. Even if this turned out to be one of their gigs, it wasn’t just any other hunt. She couldn’t lie to herself and say that it was. 

“Come on in.” The woman smiled after a brief pause, and the invitation was all that Sam needed. He stepped over the threshold without hesitation, but Grace and Dean lingered outside. After nearly twenty years, they were back home, back at the place that had simultaneously started their lives and derailed them. 

Grace flinched when Dean laid a firm hand between her shoulder blades, but stepped over the threshold with a shaky breath. Dean closed the door behind them, his eyes sweeping across every piece of decor he could find, searching for something that Grace didn’t know about. Evidently, he came up empty, because as quickly as hope had filled his eyes, it vanished. They followed the woman into the kitchen where a little boy was kept occupied in a playpen, but he didn’t seem all that interested in the toys scattered around his feet, instead, he held onto the wooden bars, bouncing on his toes and demanding juice.

“That’s Richie. He’s kind of a juice junkie but, hey, at least he won’t get scurvy.” The woman laughed as she unlocked the refrigerator and reached for a sippy cup of what Grace could only assume was apple juice. She smiled fondly as the blonde crossed the floor and held out the cup for her son, ruffling his chestnut brown hair before she turned her attention back on the siblings. 

A young girl, no older than ten-years-old, sat at the counter filling out a sheet of homework. She wore a collared shirt beneath a sweater, her hair brushed and pulled neatly into a half-up half-down style. Grace wondered if her mother had done that. If she’d taken the time out of her morning to dress her kids in expensive clothes and style their hair to perfection. John had never done that for her. The earliest memory she has of having her hair brushed was by Dean’s hands, and he’d been less than gentle as he tugged out the knots and kept her still between his knees, stressed beyond belief as she wailed and squirmed away from the pain. Their lives had never been fair, but Grace was beyond glad that at least Sari’s seemed to be. “Sari, this is Sam, Dean, and Grace. They used to live here.”  

“Hi, Sari.” Grace greeted the girl softly, her smile warm and inviting like it always was when she didn’t have a role to slip into. It was weird, being on a case but having no cover story, though she wouldn’t say she minded the freedom to just be herself. 

“So, you just moved in?” Dean questioned, his eyes sweeping across the kitchen before they found the woman. Grace wasn’t sure if she’d even told them her name yet, but she couldn’t find the strength to ask as emotions piled up in her throat. 

“Uh, yeah, from Wichita.” 

“You got family here?” The question was innocent enough, but the woman still bristled as it fell into the air and smothered her beneath its weight. 

“No, I just, uh… um, needed a fresh start. That’s all.” She explains through thick emotions that she's obviously trying to keep away from her children. When Sari looks up, she forces a smile, breaking off into a different approach to explain how they found themselves in Lawrence. “So new town, now job – I mean, as soon as I find one– new house.” 

“So, how are you liking it so far?” Sam asks quietly when she turns to the sink, and her head snaps back to glance at them as she finds an answer to the question on her tongue. 

“Well, uh, all due respect to your childhood home – I mean, I’m sure you have lots of happy memories here – but this place has its issues.” Grace bristles at the mention of happy memories. She’s honestly not sure that she has any at all – in this house or anywhere else that she’s lived –, and the realization that even some of the ‘best’ moments of her life were still twinged with worry and pain has her glancing down at her feet, tears pricking her eyes. 

“What do you mean?” Sam questions again, his eyebrows furrowed as he runs through a mental list of any abnormalities he can think of that relate to their unique specialty. Grace doesn’t even bother trying to play the role of a hunter in this moment, taking the time to just be a twenty-year-old kid with no real connection to anything real in life outside of her brothers. 

“Well, it’s just getting old, like, the wiring, you know? We’ve got flickering lights almost hourly.” She can feel Dean stiffen at her side, and instinctively her hand reaches for his. She wants to berate herself for being so quick to an emotional response, but for once she just lets herself be, not having the energy to wage a war against her instincts when her heart is hammering in her chest to the point where she’s almost certain the insides of her ribs will bare bruises in the aftermath of this encounter. 

“Well that’s too bad. What else?” Dean, ever the stoic individual allergic to showing vulnerable emotions in the presence of others, lets her hold onto him, and softly he squeezes her hand between his fingers, reminding her that despite what they face and what stains their pasts, he’s here with her in this current moment. 

“Um… sink’s backed up. There’s rats in the basement.” She prattles on, but when Dean’s lips purse, she looks away bashfully; almost apologetically. “I’m sorry. I don’t mean to complain.” 

“No.” Dean’s quick to brush off her apology, smiling brightly despite the pain that clutches his heart in an iron grip and refuses to loosen. “Have you seen the rats or just heard the scratching?” 

There’s a flicker of contemplation on her face before it clears, and she inclines her head just slightly to the left as she trails her gaze up to meet Dean’s eyes.“Just the scratching, actually.”

Dean’s eyes flicker to the floor in a moment of realization – both that there was something here, and Sam was right to be frantic about the sudden happenings in his subconscious – but before her can question anything further, Sari was craning to face her mother somewhat bashfully. “Mom?” Her voice was incredibly thin, and Grace didn’t miss the way her shoulders sank beneath the weight of something.

The woman – who Grace has still not retained the name of – approaches her daughter quickly, abandoning the dish rag on the edge of the countertop to address her eldest child. She bends down to meet Sari’s level, and immediately the little girl's voice slips out timidly,“Ask them if it was here when they lived here.” 

For a moment, the mother looked panicked, but there was evident concern etched across her brow as she knew immediately what her daughter was so worried about. Before she had the chance to reassure Sari, or at least try to get the Winceshers to silently pick up on the need for reassurance, Sam was inclining his head encouragingly. “What thing, Sari?” He coached.

“The thing in my closet.” Sari’s eyes flicker downward almost immediately, and she doesn’t look up until her mother crouches beside her again, shaking her head in unabashed concern; somethin John Winchester had never shown his children. Grace’s heart clenches with longing as she watches the encounter unfold. Even if John hadn’t been the way he was when she was growing up, she doesn’t think she ever would’ve had this. Dean and Sam; Grace thinks that they would’ve, at least in some manly ‘bro-code’ way. She doesn’t harp on what she’ll never know for long, because Sari’s defiance against the reassurance Sam tried to give was all too familiar. “I wasn’t dreaming. It came into my bedroom, and it was on fire.” Sari defends, and the hairs on the back of Grace’s neck rise. 

With the confirmation that something was definitely happening inside of the house, the Winchesters quickly excused themselves. Grace stepped out of the house ahead of her brothers, letting out a sigh of relief that she hadn’t even realized was blooming within her chest until she was no longer surrounded by what might’ve been relics of her past, but also could’ve been new things. 

“You hear that? A figure on fire!” Sam exclaims as he stomped down the stairs with passionate intent, his head craned in Dean’s direction as Grace remained steps ahead of them, needing to be in the car and surrounded by comfortable familiarity for at least a handful of minutes. 

“And Jenny was the woman in your dreams?” Dean double-checks, wanting to be sure that this hadn’t all been some odd one-off coincidence, not that he could really argue that case anymore, but desperately he tried to find grounds to believe it, not wanting to admit that their lives and their already askew definition of normal was becoming even more abnormal and eerie by the hour. 

“Yeah, and you hear what she was talking about – scratching, flickering light? Both signs of a malevolent spirit.” Sam doubled-down, and Grace could only sigh, continuing to listen to her brothers back and forth without contributing anything herself. 

“I’m just freaked out your weirdo visions are coming true.” Dean snapped, his jaw set tight as he picked up his pace, rushing toward the Impala with a desperate urge to just get the hell out of dodge and let what was apparently prophesied to happen, happen. He hated that he thought that at all, always the first one to defend the line of work they found themselves tangled into, but even he was beginning to feel indifferent about the case that brought them right back to where the worst night of their lives had occurred. 

Sam wasn’t as rattled as his siblings, and with fiery passion, he scoffed. “Forget about that – the thing in the house, do you think it’s the thing that killed Mom and Jessica?” 

“I don’t know!” Dean raised his voice, clearly frazzled from how many times Mary’s death had been dragged into conversation, but Sam still didn’t relent, if anything, his voice got more strained than it had been as he held his hands out at his sides. 

“I mean, has it come back or has it been there the whole time?”

“Or maybe it's something else entirely Sam. We don’t know yet!” Dean argued, for once coming across as the logical one of the two as Sam was fueled by raw emotion and terror, just not the same bone shattering emotion that his siblings felt. He was worried, panicked, sure, but Grace and Dean were terrified, and submerged in grief that had spanned across twenty years. 

“Those people are in danger Dean, we have to get them out of that house.” Sam threw back at his brother.

“And we will.” Dean assured, hoping that would be enough to sway Sam from doing anything irrational before they had all of the facts in line and a game plan, but all it did was spur him on more.

“No, I mean now.” The middle Winchester demanded, and had they still been inside the house, Grace knows his voice would’ve bounced off the walls with how loud it was. She couldn’t help but flinch away from the conflict, shrinking into herself as she watched her brothers squabble like children. 

“And how are you gonna do that? You got a story she’s gonna believe?” Dean threw his hands out in exasperation, his voice rising to match Sam’s. 

“Then what are we supposed to do?” Sam snapped, but there was evident worry shining through that hadn’t been so obvious before. He hadn’t done everything he could’ve to save Jessica, but now he had a chance to not let this woman die in the same way. Grace could sympathize with the grief and responsibility Sam undeniably felt, but acting rash and being quick to emotion was only going to get them all killed. Sam knew that once, he lived by that motto, but every day that passes in the wake of Jessica’s murder only drives him farther and farther away from the beaten path they’ve walked for years. 

“We wait, Sam! You know this!” Grace snapped, pushing herself off of the car door to stand between her brothers, aware of how her hands tremble and her voice wavers with emotions she has no control over. “Get your head out of your ass and think about those kids – that woman. You want to make up for how you handled Jessica, I get that, Dean gets that, but going in now is a sure fire way to get all of us killed, or worse, outed. So, would you please get in the fucking car already and stop acting like a toddler with no sense of impulse control?” She didn’t wait to see his reaction, she didn’t need to look at him to know that tears glimmered in his sad light eyes and his mouth hung open in startled shock. 

She slipped into the backseat without another word, pulling the door closed with unnecessary force. Dean shook his head, but in a moment of vulnerability, he pointed his words at Sam carefully. “I can’t have the both of you breaking down on this, man, and I can’t – we can’t – ask her to pretend like being here isn’t killing her. So for the love of god, start thinking about more people than just yourself, would you?” 

Sam nodded after a minute, looking past the reflection on the windows to see Grace. She has her nails between her lips, teeth gnawing away at scabbed over skin as she draws in deep breaths that don’t look to be having the desired effect as her shoulders remain tense and her back rigid. He hadn’t really seen her before, he’d been too far into his own head and worries, but he does now, and his heart hammers with guilt when he realizes that being here is the reason she’s so on edge. She’d wanted this moment for decades; had spent years grilling John about Mary and the first six months of her life only to be met with silence or explosive rage. She was finally here, finally getting to see what should’ve been her life – their lives –, and it was muddled by the very demon that had taken it all away from her. His heart hurt for Jessica, for himself, but it hurt even more for his little sister that only ever tried to find the good in the shitty cards life dealt her. 

-

“We just got to chill out, that’s all.” Dean said as he leaned against the trunk of the car, both him and Sam waiting by the pump as Grace ran inside to grab a handful of snacks to tide them over until they had a chance to grab a real bite to eat. She hadn’t said much since they’d pulled away from Jenny’s house, but she didn’t need to say anything at all for her brothers to know she was drowning. “If this was any other kind of job, what would we do?” 

Sam sighed, dropping his hands to the hood of the car as he looked around, racking his brain for the procedure they’d perfected and followed over years of trial and error. “We’d try to figure out what we were dealing with. We’d dig into the history of the house.” 

“Exactly, except this time we already know what happened.” Dean nodded, but Sam wasn’t too sure that he was right about that. 

“Yeah, but how much do we know? How much do you actually remember?” Sam sat on the trunk of the car, finally out of his head enough to address the bigger questions that he had. 

Dean sighed, “About that night, you mean?”

“Yeah.” Sam’s encouragement was blunt, but he knew better than to try and press Dean any harder than that. 

“Not much.” The eldest Winchester admitted after a moment of contemplation, “I remember that you had wet the bed so Mom put you down in Gracie’s room. I remember waking up to Mom screaming. I remember the fire… the heat. Then I carried you out the front door.” It wasn’t all that Dean remembered, but the more specific visuals didn’t need to be spoken. They weren’t important, but they flashed before Dean’s eyes anyways as he let himself remember the first night he’d ever tried to block out of his memory. 

Sam’s head inclines to the side, and he turns his gaze to settle on Dean’s. “You did?” 

“Yeah, well, you never knew that?” Dean frowned, but continued anyway. He’d spent decades holding onto these troubled memories, but being back where it had all happened, he just didn’t see the point in keeping them so close to his heart anymore. “Dad gave you to me. Told me to get outside as quickly as I could. Gracie was in their room… I think… I think Dad tried to get Mom first, but when he couldn’t, he went and got Gracie and met us outside. He got out there just before the explosion.”

“No.” Sam didn’t know what to make of that information. He’d never thought much about how he’d gotten out of the house, but now that he knew it was Dean, well something changed inside of him that he couldn’t quite place. 

“Well, you know Dad’s story as well as I do – Mom was… was on the ceiling, and whatever put her there was long gone by the time Dad found her.” 

Sam frowned, craning his head to glance at Dean before his eyes wandered to the scenery around them. “And he never had a theory about what did it?”

Dean shook his head, turning to sit beside Sam on the trunk.“If he did, he kept it to himself. God knows we asked him enough times. God knows Gracie asked him enough times.” 

Sam didn’t want to accept that as the truth, but it was all that they had to go off of, and so he found himself taking the information for what it was worth anyways. “Okay. So, if we’re gonna figure out what’s going on now, we have to figure out what happened back then, and see if it’s the same thing.” 

“Yeah,” Dean agreed, his eyes squinted as the sun shone brightly overhead. “Talk to Dad’s friends, neighbors, people who were there at the time.” 

“Does this feel like just another job to you?” Sam asked, his voice solemn and quiet as he peered out at the road ahead of him. 

Dean swallowed thickly, his eyes watering as his adams apple bobbed. He didn’t answer the question, couldn’t bring himself to, and quickly he excused himself, not wanting to cry in front of Sam, and desperately not wanting Grace to choose this very moment to come back outside. “I’ll be right back. I got to go to the bathroom.” He excused, even though he knew Sam could see through the weak excuse. 

Minutes later, Grace came out of the gas station holding three bags of chips and a milkshake. The straw was pink, and on any other day she would’ve beamed at the small detail, but her eyes barely held onto their light as she sank into the trunk beside Sam, offering him the bag of doritos she’d snagged with him in mind. “I’m sorry.” She admitted quietly, glancing up to meet his eyes with nothing but sadness and regret clouding her green gaze. “I know this is a lot for both of you, not just me. I know I’ll never be able to understand how you feel about Jessica’s death. I just, I couldn’t listen to you fighting anymore. Not when– not when–” 

“Hey, hey.” Sam shook his head, cutting Grace’s tearful rambling off by throwing an arm over her shoulder, pulling her warm body into his embrace with gentle protectiveness. “I know, Gracie. It’s okay.” He pressed a kiss into the crown of her head, his eyes fluttering closed as for a minute, he let himself slip away into stillness. “Dean and I, we’re gonna canvas the area. Talk to anyone Dad might’ve had a connection to; anyone who might know more about what happened to Mom. If it’s too much, you don’t have to come. Believe me, Dean and I understand.” 

Grace shook her head, holding tighter to her milkshake that was hardly doing its job of bringing her comfort. “No. No, I need– I need to know. I want to know. You and Dean, you had Dad. Maybe he was an asshole, maybe you didn’t always see eye to eye, but he was still a guy, and in his own fucked up way he showed you he cared. I remember when he’d come back from a hunt with new hot wheels for you; when he was so fucking proud that Dean caught a bass on that fishing trip we took when he went to visit Bobby that one time. I just, Sammy, I want Mom. I’ve always just wanted a Mom. I want to know everything about her, and if this is all I’ll ever get, I have to be there to hear it myself. I just… I h-have to.” Tears fell down her cheeks, hot and salty as they pooled around the straw pinched between her teeth. 

“Okay.” Sam sighed softly, pressing another kiss into Grace’s head. “Okay. But I mean it, G. If this gets too much, if it’s not what you want to hear, or it’s too hard– Dad’s not here. You don’t have to push yourself to do this with us. Promise me… promise me that you’ll step away if you can’t do it.” 

“You know I can’t promise that.” Grace shook her head, not only because this was everything she’d ever wanted as a little girl desperately craving a maternal figure, but also because John Winchester would have a shit fit if he knew she was slacking; letting her brothers finish a hunt alone. He might not be here to see her fail, but it’s too close to home for anything she does to feel right. 

“I know.” Sam sighed, but his gaze snaps to Dean when he starts to approach the Impala, his hands in his pockets as he looks his eyes down. “She’s all ready to go.” Sam was talking about the car, about how the tank was finally filled and they could hit the road, but he was also talking about Grace. 

Dean looked his sister over, and when he didn’t find signs of unruly distress, he nodded, but not before Grace extended her arm and waved around the mint chocolate chip milkshake. “They had one of those f’real machines.” She hums quietly, silently offering him a sip. Not because she wants to share, no she’d always been territorial over her milkshakes and the boys had learned that the hard way over the years, but rather because she figured Dean could use a little pick me up, even if her offer was weak and he didn’t like milkshakes nearly as much as she did.��

The eldest Winchester managed a soft smirk, and he reached out to take the cup. He took a sip that was far too big for Grace’s liking, and the youngest Winchester pouted in disbelief. “Hey! Don’t drink it all!” She whined, reaching for the cup back before jutting her foot out to assault Dean’s shin. “Asshole.” She grumbled. 

“Get in the car, princess.” Dean knows how much his sister hates that nickname, and although Grace rolls her eyes in annoyance, she doesn’t fight it as aggressively as she would've done any other day. This isn’t any other day, and it’s definitely not any other case, and for the first time in a while she really does appreciate her brother's tendencies to annoy the living shit out of her. 

-

It was the next morning, and the Winchester siblings had an early start to the day despite none of them getting much sleep. Grace stuck close to Dean and Sam as they wandered through a mechanic garage, their eyes taking in every detail with the knowledge that once, John had not only worked here, but owned it. It feels so far-fetched to Grace. She can’t imagine a life where her father did anything but torment sorry sons of bitches (i.e., her) and hunt monsters, but apparently he’d had himself a quaint little life before everything got derailed. 

“So, you and John Winchester. You used to own this garage together?” Dean questioned, his leather jacket slung around his shoulders despite the comfortable temperature outside. Grace was in a pair of leggings and a Stanford t-shirt, one of many that she’d stolen from not only Sam, but from Jessica. She knows the one she wears currently is the womans, and it brings her just the slightest ounce of peace as she strives to keep her memory alive. 

“Yeah, we used to. A long time ago. Matter of fact, must be 20 years since John disappeared. If I’m remembering correct, his littlest one should be about your age.” The man muttered, looking at Grace, who for the time being, was playing the role of cop in training. She tried not to bristle at the mention of herself, but her fingers twitched with emotion that lucky didn’t draw eyes. “So, why are the cops interested all of a sudden?” 

“Oh, we’re reopening some of our unsolved cases, and the Winchester disappearance is one of them.” Dean nodded, looking to Sam before he trailed his eyes back to his fathers old business partner. 

“Uh-huh. Well, what do you want to know about John?” The mechanic questioned, and Grace was suddenly aware of who truly off her game she was. She knows the man introduced himself, knows that Sam and Dean both had told her who he is and what his connection to their father was, but she cannot find his name in her memory anywhere. 

“Whatever you remember. Whatever sticks out in your mind.” Dean opened the conversation up to miniscule details and major ones, knowing that they’d be able to do a lot with any information at all. 

“Well… he was a stubborn bastard. I remember that. And, uh, oh, whatever the game, he hated to lose, you know? It was that whole marine thing.” The mechanic had no idea who the three individuals in front of him really were, but somehow it wasn’t surprising for Grace to hear from an unbiased opinion that her father was a rough character and a hard man. “But, uh. Well, he sure loved Mary, and he doted on those kids.” Grace couldn’t picture a time where John had felt anything but resentment and hatred for her, but evidently there had been a small window of love because the man had no reason to be lying to them. What had changed? Sure, losing Mary had changed him, but there were still moments in the early years when he didn’t treat the boys any differently than he always had. So, it must’ve been her. There must be something so horrible about her that even her father can’t stand her simple presence. 

“But that was before the fire.” Sam noted, almost certain that he was correct, but needing verbal confirmation to fully run with whatever theories he was trying to wave together. 

“That’s right.” The man nodded, his eyes falling to the concrete floors as memories flooded his mind. 

“He ever talk about that night?” Sam continued to press, but there was an unmistakable gentleness in his tone as he flickered his eyes to Grace momentarily. 

“No, not at first. I think he was in shock.” Grace could picture that being the case. Even when John had formed a thick skin around monsters and the plethora of things that went bump in the night, there had still been cases that rattled him to a short temper and violent anger. Grace had always thought that was one of the most ironic things about the way she was raised. John allowed himself to be rattled and affected by the cases he worked and the monsters he hunted, but the second it was her that couldn’t quite carry the load of trauma and terror, she was berated and beaten until she promised to never show weakness again. 

“Right, but eventually – what did he say about it?” 

“Oh, he wasn’t thinking straight. He said, uh– he said something caused that fire and killed Mary.” The man nodded as he remembered events that happened almost twenty years ago. 

“He ever said what did it?” It was Dean’s turn to press for more, and so Grace shifted her weight, squaring her stance as she raised her chin to look at the man who had known her father before everything went downhill. 

“Nothing did it. It was an accident.” The man bristled, “An electrical short in the ceiling or walls or something. I begged him to get some help, but…” 

“But what?” Grace found herself being the one to ask, her eyes sharp and interested even though all she really wanted to do was shrink into herself and step as far away from this conversation as she could get. She wanted to know about Mary, about her mother, not listen to people try and sympathize with her lifelong abuser. 

“Oh, it just got worse and worse.” The man noted, but when Dean pressed for more, he relented easily. “Oh, he started reading these strange old books. He started going to see this palm reader in town.” 

Grace perked up at the mention of someone new for them to tail, her eyes narrowing as she inclined her head and looked up at Dean. “Palm reader? Do you have a name, sir?” 

“No.” The man chuckled, shaking his head like not having a name wasn’t the end of the world. Maybe it wasn’t to him, but Grace felt her shoulders sink in defeat. It wouldn’t be impossible to locate which one her father had visited, they’d found more with less, but still it felt like just another roadblock keeping her from the truth. 

They didn’t stick around for much longer, and when they did finally clamber into the Impala, Sam insisted that they find a phone booth and book to search for more answers about this supposed palm reader. Grace had no objections to her brother's suggestion, nodding her head quietly as she sank into the backseat and pulled her knees to her chest. Once upon a time, Dean had been adamant about a ‘no shoes on my seats’ rule, but that had lasted merely a week before he gave up and let Grace do whatever she damn well pleased. Even if the young woman didn’t realize it, she always got what she wanted when her brothers were around. 

That’s how they found themselves in a near abandoned parking lot. Sam had his nose in a phone book, and Dean and Grace leaned against the Impala, happy to take a step back for a minute to get their composure in order. “So, there are a few psychics and palm readers in town. There’s uh, there’s someone named El Divino. There’s the mysterious Mr. Fortinsky. Uh, Missouri Moseley–” Grace stood up straighter at the third name that rolled off of Sam’s lips. 

“Wait! Missouri Moseley?” She backtracked, her eyes wide as she stepped forward to read the name over Sam’s shoulder. 

“What?” Sam craned his head to look at his little sister, moving the book just slightly so that she could see the entire page, not sure what information she was after or what puzzle she was putting together in her head. 

“She’s a psychic.” The young woman breathed out in realization, immediately pulling away from Sam and stalking toward the trunk of the car, leaving her brothers to stand alone in their confusion as she unintentionally kept them in the dark. She pulled the trunk open, her movements frantic as she ripped through their duffles until she found John’s journal. “In Dad’s journal… come here, look at this!” 

She slammed the trunk closed, flipping open the worn leather cover as her eyes scanned the words scribbled in black ink. “The first page, the first sentence. I’ve always thought it was weird. Read it.” 

She pushed the book into Dean’s hands, and Sam came to stand beside their brother, his eyes scanning the page before he began to read aloud. “I went to Missouri…and I learned the truth.” 

“I always thought he meant the state.” Dean mumbled beneath his breath, but Grace had never been so blind to the intricate quirks of John’s work. The way he wrote state names and people names was different, if only just slightly. The way he’d dotted the ‘i’ like he’d been trying to signify something without outright saying it had always stumped her. Her fathers handwriting was terrible and messy, but something about Missouri had always seemed so formal and correct to her. She didn’t say anything else, just snatched the journal back and crawled into the backseat, silently telling the boys to get a move on before she melted down from anxious anticipation. 

-

The Winchester siblings sat in the foyer of Missorui Mosley’s home and practice, waiting for their turn with the psychic as they individually went over what they knew about the case. It wasn’t even a full five minutes later when they heard a woman’s voice draw near, and seconds later a black woman who Grace assumed to be the woman they were seeking a conversation with led a middle-aged man out toward the door. “All right, then. Don’t you worry about a thing. Your wife is crazy about you.” She smiles encouragingly, showing the client out, but the second she closes the door behind him her expression drops into one of pity, “Whew! Poor bastard – his woman is cold-bangin’ the gardener.” 

Grace’s lips quirk upward in tired amusement, her eyes trailing after Missouri as she steps back toward where she’d come from. “Why didn’t you tell him?” Dean questioned, a smirk splaying across his lips although Grace thinks that has more to do with the mental image rather than the actual deception at hand. 

“People don't come here for the truth. They come for good news.” The woman corrects Dean’s expectations for her service, and when it becomes clear that Grace is waiting for her brothers to make a move and neither of the Winchester men are eager to comply with the time crunch they’ve been presented with, Missouri looks back over her shoulder in exasperation. “Well? Sam and Dean, come on already. I ain’t got all day. Your sisters waiting for you.” 

Despite the emotional exhaustion that weighed Grace down, she couldn’t help but find herself smiling as she stood from the cushioned bench and followed after Missouri, looking back at her brothers with amusement as they begrudgingly followed after her, evidently not so pleased with the favoritism their sister was already being shown by the psychic. 

“Well, let me look at you.” Missouri demanded once all three Winchesters had ducked beneath her doorframe decorated in beads. Grace’s cheeks flushed bashfully as she felt the woman's eyes rake over her frame, subconsciously rubbing at the spot on her bicep where a bruise always lingered whenever John was around to drag her around like a puppet. If Missouri noticed the movement, which Grace knew that she did, she didn’t comment on it. “Oh, you boys grew up handsome. And you were one goofy looking kid, too.” She pointed to Dean specifically, and Sam’s lips quirked into a smirk as he glanced at their older brother. “And you, Miss Grace, you look just like your mother. If I didn’t know any better I’d say I was looking at her carbon copy.” 

Grace’s heart thumped heavily in her chest at the complement, her cheeks flushing pink as she glanced down at her shoes bashfully. In all of her life, she doesn’t think anyones ever compared her to Mary; not John, not her brothers. She knows Missouri’s being more kind than she is truthful – Mary had blonde hair, Grace has brown. Mary had thinner lips, Grace hates how full hers are – but it still warmed her heart and hurt her feelings nonetheless. Would Mary be proud that they looked alike? Would she float around in all of her social circles beaming about how her baby girl has the same high cheekbones and kind eyes as her? Desperately Grace hopes that would’ve been her reality. She knows that had she looked more like John, he would’ve drawn no attention to it. 

Missouri grabs onto Sam’s head, and her gaze saddens as she looks at him carefully. “Sam. Oh, honey. I’m sorry about your girlfriend, and your father…he’s missing?” All three siblings inclined their heads at the women's knowledge of their situation. Grace hadn’t doubted her abilities for a second, not when she knew John Winchester only sought out the best of the best, but it was still eerie for a supposed stranger to simply know and be aware of their hardships. 

“How’d you know all that?” Apparently Sam couldn’t blindly trust as easily as Grace, because even with the premonitions and nightmares that plagued his subconscious, he still found himself questioning Missouri’s abilities. 

“Well, you were just thinking it, just now.” Missouri fired back at him. 

Dean bristled at the mention of their father, and his eyes betrayed his composure as they bled worry and concern. “Well, where is he? Is he okay?” 

“I don’t know.” Grace knew that Dean wasn’t going to take that answer well, but before she could speak and control the nature of the conversation, Dean was narrowing his eyes, disbelief clouding his gaze. 

“Don’t know?” He questioned, shaking his head as he glanced at Sam and Grace. “You’re supposed to be a psychic, right?”

Missouri recoiled at his tone, her eyebrows furrowing. “Boy, you see me sawing some bony tramp in half? You think I’m a magician? I may be able to read thoughts and sense energies in a room, but I can’t just pull facts out of thin air. Sit. Please!” She demanded, her gaze snapping to Sam who was smirking in amusement as Dean got – rightfully – torn into. 

Grace didn’t have to be told twice, shuffling forward until she could wedge her body into the corner of the couch closest to the windows. Sam fell into the cushions beside her, his thigh brushing against hers as he adjusted his position to rest his elbows on his knees. Grace rolled her eyes, batting him away from her until a sliver of space separated their skin. She’d never understand her brother's inability to sit considerably. She was always benign squished onto someone or something. 

“Boy, you put your foot on my coffee table, I’m gonna whack you with a spoon.” Missouri interjected before Dean could even get comfortable on the couch, his weight still sinking into the well-loved cushions as her warning fell into the air. 

“I didn’t do anything.” Dean defended, his head inclined to the side as he glanced at the psychic with wide eyes and a slack jaw. 

“Well, you were thinking about it.” She clapped back at him, and once again Sam found himself laughing in amusement. Grace wasn’t so easily distracted from the case at hand, growing antsy to find any kind of answer for what they were dealing with or what Mary had been subjected to. 

Sam shifted on the couch when a beat of silence elapsed, leaning forward just slightly to address Missouri. “Okay, so. Our dad. When did you first meet him?” 

“He came for a reading a few days after the fire. I just told him what was really out there in the dark. I guess you could say I drew back the curtains for him.” Missouri explained, and conflicting emotions bombarded Grace’s heart as she looked across at the woman. She had better things to put her energy into, but still she couldn’t help but linger on the newfound knowledge that in part, this was the woman she had to blame for her life becoming what it was. It wasn’t Missouri’s fault, she couldn’t have predicted what John would do with that information once he had it, but without her helping hand, there might have been a chance at normalcy for the youngest Winchester. 

“What about the fire?” Dean questioned, evidently not phased by the deeper connections that his sister was making, but then again, he didn’t have any hard feelings about the life they lived. He’d never known anything else, and at this point, he didn’t see any way out, so there wasn’t much for him to harp on or shed tears over. “Do you know about what killed our mom?” 

“A little. Your daddy took me to your house. He was hoping I could sense the echoes, the fingerprints of this thing.” Missouri explained, but she trailed off, evidently emotional as her voice softened and ehr tone wavered just slightly. 

Sam leaned closer, eager to know what else the woman knew about Mary and that fateful night. “I don’t…” She faltered, shaking her head. 

“What was it?” Sam pressed for more, able to see that there was something Missouri was holding back from them. 

“I don’t know.” She exhaled sharply, her head shaking as she recalled the things she’d sensed all those years ago. “But it was evil.” She rose from the couch, moving her body to keep the memory from consuming her entirely. Grace knew that coping strategy well, but it wasn’t doing her a lot of good now that they’d been spending so much time trapped within the Impala. 

Eventually, Missouri collected herself, turning back to the Winchesters with concern in his dark eyes. “So, you think somethings back in that house?” 

“Definitely.” Sam nodded, speaking for both of his siblings who were more than content to let him take the lead on this. 

“I don’t understand.” Missouri mumbled, sinking back into the chair she’d been sitting at before, her eyes trailing across all three siblings. 

“What?” Sam asked, his eyebrows pinching together in confusion. 

“I haven’t been back inside, but I’ve been keeping an eye on the place, and it’s been quiet. No sudden deaths, no freak accidents. Why is it acting up now?” She asked the same question that Grace had. 

“I don’t know. But Dad going missing and Jessica dying and now this house – all happening at once – it just feels like something's starting.” Sam explained thoughtfully. Grace felt goosebumps rise on her arms as she considered that very real possibility. She was raised to face danger in the face, but she wanted absolutely nothing to do with whatever supernatural storm was undoubtedly coming their way. 

“That’s a comforting thought.” Dean hummed humorlessly. 

-

After telling Missouri more about what they thought was happening in Jenny’s home, the psychic insisted on sniffing out the supposed energy herself, which is how all three Winchesters ended up back at their old house standing on the porch with her at their side. Grace stood slightly behind her brothers, her eyes taking in every minor detail of the front door as they waited for Jenny to greet them. Missouri glances at her, but Grace pretends not to notice, keeping her eyes on the house. 

Eventually, the door is pulled open and Jenny comes into view with Richie on her hip, looking slightly panicked if her grip on the toddler's overalls was any indication. “Sam, Dean, Grace, what are you doing here?” Her eyes trail across every Winchester on her doorstep curiously, although they linger on Grace for a second longer than they’d lingered on her brothers. 

“Hey, Jenny.” Sam greets hesitantly, his eyes on Richie before they shift toward the woman just slightly behind him. “Um, this is our friend Missouri.”

“If it’s not too much trouble we were hoping to show her the house, for old times sake.” Dean cut in, pulling out one of his signature charming smiles as he looked at the single mother in front of him. 

“No, you know, this isn’t a good time. I’m kind of busy.” Jenny’s eyes flicker nervously, and instinctively she steps back into the house, preparing to leave the Winchesters out on the doorstep. Grace doesn’t miss the uncertainty that’s laced within the woman’s eyes, or the way that she holds onto Richie just a little bit tighter as she steps back. 

Dean evidently doesn’t pick up on the same telling traits as Grace, because he takes a step forward, his tone becoming harsh and intent. “Listen, Jenny, it’s important – ow!” He whines, holding the back of his head as he turns his gaze to Missouri, wondering why she’d just slapped the back of his head with no warning. 

“Give the poor girl a break. Can’t you see she’s upset?” Missouri scoffed, looking at Dean with furrowed eyebrows and a judgemental frown. “Forgive this boy. He means well. He’s just not the sharpest tool in the shed. But hear me out.” 

“About what?” Jenny frowned, but turned her body toward Missouri, giving the woman her full attention. 

“About this house.” 

Jenny frowned, but there was something beneath her eyes that told Grace she already knew where this conversation was heading. “What are you talking about?” She asked regardless, not ready to admit that all of the strange feelings she’d been having were related to the house itself. 

“I think you know what I’m talking about. You think there’s something in this house, something that wants to hurt your family. Am I mistaken?” Missouri approached the conversation softly, but there's a firmness in her tone that has Jenny staring back at her in concern. Clearly Missouri had hit the nail on the head, but without knowing who the woman was or what she was capable of doing, it only further unsettled the mother of two. 

“Who are you?” Jenny questioned, emotion laced into her tone as her eyes flickered to Grace. 

The youngest Winchester stepped around her brothers to stand beside Missouri when it became evident that Jenny wanted to hear the words come from her. She doesn’t know why the woman likes her so much, but from the very first time they’d met Jenny hadn’t looked at her the same way she’d looked at the boys. “We’re people who can help you; help your kids. We can stop this thing, but I need you to trust me for that to happen. You don’t have to trust my brothers, or Missouri, but I need you to at least trust me. Can you do that?”

Jenny sighed, and for a moment Grace thought that she was going to turn around and close the door in her face, but then she inclined her head toward the entryway and stepped out of the way, nodding softly in acceptance of Grace’s terms and conditions. The youngest Winchester smiled gracefully, but that quirk in her lips slipped away as she stepped into the house, her eyes immediately wandering to the stairs. Her nursery was up there. The room that Mary had spent time decorating and perfecting for her was just right up those steps, and maybe it wasn't exactly the same anymore, but the young woman still itched to see it. 

“We’ll need to take a look upstairs. If that’s okay with you, Jenny.” Missouri explained softly, and Grace’s heart skipped a beat when she realized that whether she could handle seeing her old bedroom or not, that’s where they were going. She didn’t realize she was holding her breath until they made it up the stairs and Missouri pushed the door open until all four of them could slip inside. 

“If there’s a dark energy here, this room should be the center of it.” Missouri commented, her eyes taking in the soft pink walls and white trimming. 

“Why?” Sam questioned, but Grace knew that he’d already figured out why this particular room was so important to Missouri. His eyes held crystal tears, but he refused to let them fall as he glanced around at everything he couldn’t remember. It was the room of a child undoubtedly, but he still couldn’t draw on the memories of it being a baby’s room, much less his sisters. 

“This used to be Grace’s nursery. This is where it all happened.” Missouri explained regardless of what the Winchesters already knew. 

“It looks the same.” Dean breathed beneath his breath, and Grace’s gaze snapped to him immediately. Her breath hitched, and immediately she drew her eyes to every miniscule detail. It was obvious that the room had been renovated, but she couldn’t help but think some of the paint was its original craftsmanship. A spot on the wall near the window was streaky, and very obviously not the work of a professional. Did Mary paint the room by herself? Had Dean and Sam helped her do it? The help of a toddler would explain why the coat was uneven, and it warmed her heart to think about a little five-year-old Dean helping paint what would be her room. 

She must’ve gotten lost in her head, because when she finally tuned into the conversations happening around her, Missouri had her full attention on Dean as she asked him about what item he held in his palm. “That an EMF?” 

“Yeah.” Dean nodded without even looking up at the woman, and Missouri scoffed, shaking her head. “Amateur.” She commented. 

The EMF detector buzzed to life, the lights flashing red, but Missouri wasn’t convinced that what she found was what the Winchester’s thought they were dealing with, her attention turning to the three siblings who stood in a nonuniform cluster. “I don’t know if you kids should be disappointed or relieved, but this ain’t the thing that took your mom.”

Grace’s gaze snapped to the woman, and Sam’s eyes grew wider. “Are you sure?” He questioned, not sure whether he was relieved to not be facing that demon head on, or disappointed that he was still far from getting justice for Jessica and Mary. “How do you know?”

“It isn’t the same energy I felt the last time I was here. It’s something different.” The woman noted, walking to another corner of the room, her gaze set firmly on the closet. 

“What is it?” Dean questioned, confusion etched across his features. 

“Not it…them. There’s more than one spirit in this place.” For a moment, Grace’s heart fluttered in her chest. Was it Mary? After all of these years, was she in the same space that her mother took up? No, Mary wouldn’t become a vengeful spirit. She didn’t know much about the woman, but what she did know was that her mother was kind, and sweet, and gentle. She wouldn't terrorize a little girl and go after a family that was so similar to her own. “They’re here because of what happened to your family. You see, all those years ago, real evil came to you. It walked this house. That kind of evil leaves wounds, and sometimes wounds get infected.” 

“I don’t understand.” Sam shook his head, but Grace couldn’t even find the words to voice her confusion, or any words at all for that matter. Her eyes were still trailing across every inch of the room, mesmerised by its simple beauty and wondering what it must’ve looked like when it was filled with toys and clothes and a crib. When she was little, she’d always told John that she wished motel rooms came in different colors. He’d always scoffed and called her an idiot, but that had never deterred her from wanting a pink room to spend just one night in. She’d had a pink room. This was her pink room. Somewhere inside of her a piece of that broken little girl healed just slightly. 

“This place is a magnet for paranormal energy. It’s attracted a poltergeist – a nasty one – and it won’t rest until Jenny and her babies are dead.” Missouri explained, shaking her head as she reaped more of the spirits' intentions off of the walls. 

“You said there was more than one spirit.” Sam brought her attention back to that simple point, and Missouri nodded with assurance that she’d gotten that right. 

“There is.” She walked back toward the closet, “I just can’t quite make out the second one.” 

“D-Do you think it’s our Mom? Sari– Sari said she saw a woman burning in her closet. Is there a chance– could it be her?” Grace hated how she stumbled over her words, hated that she even voiced that question to begin with, but it was falling off of her lips before she could really think about what she was saying. 

Her heart broke when Missouri shook her head, her eyes soft and caring, but even that couldn’t soften the blow of losing hope yet another time. “I don’t think so. This energy… it’s different. I can’t quite put my finger on it.” 

“Well, one thing’s for damn sure – nobody’s dying in this house ever again. So, whatever is here, how do we stop it?” Dean stepped toward Missouri, standing in front of Grace who looked like she’d just been crushed from the very core of her soul. Her green eyes glittered with tears, her lips quivered with emotions she couldn’t suppress, and no matter how many times she tried to draw in a deep breath, her shoulders shook with sobs she was desperately trying to swallow. 

“I’ll be back.” The young woman whispered to nobody in particular, stepping out of the room before either of her brothers could decide to follow her out to the car. She needed a minute. She couldn’t be the strong, unafraid hunter her father expected her to be right now. She doesn’t think she’s been that girl since before she left in the middle of the night to join Sam at Stanford when she was nineteen.

The second she was out of the house, everything that she’d been trying to keep underwraps came tumbling out of her. She stumbled to the Impala, a hand over her mouth to catch the sobs that fell off of her tongue and drew attention to her presence in the quaint little town. Her chest ached, her throat burned, and when she finally reached the Impala, she threw a weak punch at the trunk, but that didn’t quell the agonizing pain anymore than sobbing like a child did. Her mind flashed white for a second, consumed by not only the stinging pain in her knuckles, but the emotional anguish that tore her up from the very core of her body. She had a million questions: How was this happening again? Why was this happening again? Was this something bigger than what she could see?, but there weren’t any answers for her to find, not right now at least. The simple truth was that sometimes, shit happens, but that felt weak and like only half of the truth as she reminded herself of all the terrible things that had accumulated over the course of her life. Why could she never catch a break? Anytime she tried to distance herself from the life her father had built without even consulting his children, something dragged her right back into the chaos of it all. Anytime she tried to accept the life of a hunter as her own, something terrible came for them; whether that be a tough case or her fathers very own fists. Nothing she did was right. She has no sense of herself. She thought she did for a while, thought she’d finally figured out what her life could be like if she just had the chance to work for it, but even the simple dream of normalcy felt like it didn’t fit her anymore. 

The woman, who was really only a twenty-year-old kid who’d never even really had a chance at life, finally manages to collect herself, and with trembling hands she brushes the tears from her cheeks and squares her shoulders. She might not be ready to face the music and go back into the house where her mother was murdered in her bedroom, but she doesn’t have a choice. She’s never had a choice. She doesn’t let the reality of her life keep her paralyzed in pain, if there’s one consistent thing about Grace Winchester, it’s that she doesn’t back down from a fight, and especially not one that her brothers are intertwined with. 

She’s about to walk inside, face her fears, when her brothers come out with Missouri on their heels. Jenny stands in the doorway, and when her eyes meet Grace’s, she smiles a soft smile that can only be described as something entirely maternal. It nearly chokes Grace up again, but she manages to keep her composure as she smiles back, hiding her fist behind her back as she’s acutely aware of the blood running down her fingers and dripping onto the concrete beneath her feet. 

“Where are we going now?” She asks when the boys are within earshot, and she tries to ignore how Dean’s eyes soften as they memorize the pain etched across her face. Her eyes are swollen and rimmed red, and she knows her cheeks are flush with emotion that she can’t even find a name for. She’s sad, scared, filled with grief, but there’s something else that plagues her too. Maybe it’s exhaustion, or maybe it’s something different; something that she’d never been able to understand when her father expressed it, but recognizes in herself now. She’s pissed. Pissed that yet another spirit is disrupting what’s left of their childhood home. Pissed that no matter how far they run, something always pulls them right back to the start of it all. Pissed that her mothers final resting place can’t even see peace. Whatever the feeling is, it fuels her rage, and she’s learned that rage can be a powerful and helpful tool in cases like this. 

“Back to Missouri’s.” Sam tells her softly, gently pulling her hand out from behind her back. He frowns when he notices split knuckles and sticky blood caked between her fingers. Grace is a lot of things, but she’s not violent or quick to anger. He can’t even begin to know how she’s feeling, but he guesses it's overwhelming enough to come away with split knuckles.

“Did you punch my car?” Dean questions, concern laced within his green eyes. Grace doesn’t know if it’s concern for her, or concern for Baby, but it's not hard to assume that he’s more worried about the state of his precious car than her nondominant hand. 

“She’s fine.” The youngest Winchester huffs, looking back at the Impala where the only indication that she’d even touched it at all is the smear of blood along the silver trim that dries down to something copper toned the longer it’s exposed to the fresh Spring air. “And it wasn’t even a punch. Dad would make me do it again just so that I did it right.” 

Dean shakes his head sadly, evidently not so concerned about the car in this moment. Grace averts her attention at the realization that it's her he’s concerned for, and she looks down at her shoes as she begins to feel like a child that everyone needs to keep an eye on. “I’m fine, Dean.” 

“Yeah, I know.” The eldest Winchester doesn’t believe her in the slightest, but she learned that response from him, so he doesn’t fight it. Instead, he just grabs her wrist, leading her over to the trunk where he has a first aid kit buried beneath their duffle bags. 

Sam leads Missouri back to her own car, evidently talking about what the next step should be. Grace thinks he just wants to give her another minute to collect herself without an audience, and she can’t say that she’s not thankful for his thoughtfulness as she flinches away from Dean’s soft touches to her wounded skin. “It's really the same?” She asks softly, looking up at him with so much untouched innocence in her eyes that his own heart stutters in his chest. 

“Yeah, Gracie.” He sighs, taking an antiseptic wipe and bringing it over her knuckles, trying not to react to the way she takes in a sharp breath of air when the sting registers in her head. He wipes the blood from her fingers before he tosses the wipe into the trunk to be dealt with at a later date, reaching for bandages that he knows she’ll rip off in only a matter of hours, but still puts the effort into finding regardless. “Dad wanted to hire painters, but Mom wanted to do it herself. When he was at work one day, she took Sammy and I out to the store to get the paint. She had it all figured out; she always did. I remember… I remember painting with her when Sam was taking a nap. You would’ve loved her, Gracie. She was… you are… God, you’re just like her. From what I remember anyways. She never backed down from a fight, never let anything stop her. She and Dad would go at it, and then she’d just start laughing because she couldn’t take him seriously when his face got all red. She was– she was the only person that could make him laugh in the middle of a fight. But, um, yeah, the paint is the same.” 

“I always wanted a pink room. When I was little, when we first started going to different motels, and Dad started working longer cases. I always told him that I wanted to stay in a pink room, and he always got so pissed off and told me to shut up and be grateful I got to sleep anywhere at all.” She hums, and Dean remembers that vividly. He’d always laughed and ruffled her hair, always tried his best to distract her from the fact that none of the walls were ever pink. He doesn’t say anything though, he doesn’t know what to say. Nothing will make those memories go away, and nothing will give her what she never had. Grace doesn’t bristle at his chosen silence, instead, she lets it fall over her until something else crosses her mind. “Dean?” She hums as she looks down at the bandages he’s wrapping around her knuckles. 

“Yeah, Gracie?” He sighs his attentiveness, letting his eyes flicker to hers for only a moment before he’s looking back down at her hand, pinching her fingertips and ensuring that nothing is broken or sprained. 

“Do you think I look like her? Missouri said I do but…” She trails off, biting at her lip as she waits for her older brother to find the right words to answer her question. 

“When you were little, you looked just like her.” He said eventually, and Grace’s heart dropped at the implication that she didn’t look like Mary anymore. That life had aged her beyond the point of recognizable similarities. “You have her smile, her laugh. That’s how I can tell when you're bullshitting me. You don’t laugh like her when you’re just putting on this act that everything’s fine.” 

“Oh.” Grace mumbles, tears pricking her eyes as she glances down at her feet. “I wish I got to know her.”

“Me too, Gracie. Me too.” Dean sighs, pulling her into his chest for a second. He kisses the top of her head before he pulls away and closes the trunk. “Get in the car. We have work to do.” 

-

Grace and Dean are at the dining room table at Missouri’s. Sam is leaning against a chair, not much help to them, but neither sibling calls him out for simply wandering around aimlessly. Dean doesn’t have the energy to fight, and Grace is just thankful that she has something to keep herself busy with. 

“So, what is all this stuff anyway?” Dean questioned as he filled another black cloth. Grace had already filled seven, steps ahead of her older brother who had never been good at following directions. The first three he made weren’t right in the slightest, and Missouri hadn’t been afraid to make him start over while mentioning that Grace was better at this than he was. It wasn’t often the youngest Winchester was singled out for something positive, and so she’d found herself grinning bashfully before sticking her tongue out at Dean. 

“Angelica root, van van oil, crossroad dirt, a few other odds and ends.” Missouri highlighted, nodding toward the individual bowls of herbs on the table before she diverted her attention again. 

“What are we supposed to do with it?” Dean bumped Grace’s arms, nodding toward one of the farthest bowls. She honestly couldn’t decipher what was what, but that didn’t really matter when it was all going in anyways. She moved it between them, reaching for another pinch of it and spreading it inside of her unwound black cloth. 

“We’re gonna put them inside the walls in the North, South, East, West corners on each floor of the house.” Missouri explained as she grabbed a seat at the table on the opposite side from where the Winchesters sat. 

“Punching holes in the drywall – Jenny’s gonna love that.” The sarcasm dripped from Dean’s lips like honey, and Grace rolled her eyes at his takeaway. She’d get over a few holes in the wall if it meant she and her children got to keep their lives. 

“She’ll live.” Missouri pursed her lips, looking directly at Dean who very quickly diverted his attention to the task at hand. 

“And this will destroy the spirits?” Sam questioned, still leaning his weight against the back of the chair, offering his siblings no help. Grace huffed at the bandages around her hand, the bulky padding was making it hard for her to tie off the bags, and so she began to pull it off without much care for how easily wounds could become infected. Both of her brothers rolled their eyes as she peeled the bandages away and discarded them on the table in a heap, but neither commented, knowing they would’ve done the same thing a hell of a lot sooner. 

“It should.” Missouri nods. Grace is about to tie off her eight bundle when Dean taps her bicep, sprinkling a pinch of something into the palm of her hand. He raises his own fingers to his lips, tasting whatever herb he’d dipped his fingers into, and immediately pulls away when he realizes that it tastes horrible. Grace can only roll her eyes at his idiocy, dusting her hand off on her pants as she goes back to the task at hand. “It should purify the house completely. We’ll each take a floor, but we work fast. Once the spirits realize what we’re up to, things are gonna get bad.” 

“Were they ever good?” Grace chuckles dryly, shaking her head as she ties off her final bundle. She huffs when she realizes that Dean still has two left, and he’s not moving any faster despite the finish line being in sight. She nudges his arm out of the way, pulling both black rags closer to her body, and by the time she finishes them, he’s only just finished the one he’d already been working on. 

-

Nighttime falls over Lawrence like a thick blanket, and Grace has taken it upon herself to see Jenny and her kids out of the house for a couple of hours while they do what they need. The single mother of two still only had blind faith in her, and that’s not something the youngest Winchester takes lightly as she softly caresses Richie’s back. She has one hand in Sari’s, guiding her down the steps, but Richie seemed insistent that she paid him the same amount of attention too. 

“Careful.” She warns the little girl who holds onto her tightly, her tone soft and incredibly maternal as she ensures that the little girl doesn’t slip beneath the cover of darkness that blurs the stairs together. 

“You’ve asked me to trust you, and I do, but– I’m not sure I’m comfortable leaving all of you alone in the house.” Jenny stumbles over her words, stopping to stand at the bottom of the stairs as Grace fixes the jacket around Sari’s shoulders. She zips it up, hoping that the thin layer is enough to keep the little girl warm. 

“Jenny,” Grace puts a comforting hand on the top of Sari’s head, wanting to keep the little girl calm though she undoubtedly has picked up on the tension that strains her mothers shoulders and had filled her house when they’d first arrived minutes ago. “I lost my mother to something evil in this house, and it still haunts me to this day. Let me make sure that your kids don’t lose you too, okay? This is my job. It’s the only thing I’m good at. Take the kids to see a movie or something, and it’ll all be over by the time you get back. Okay? Can you do that for me?” 

Jenny stalls for a minute, but eventually she nods, shifting Richie’s diaper bag higher on her shoulder as it begins to slip off. “Okay.” She relents. 

Grace gives Sari’s head once last caress, and she brushes her fingers against Richie’s cheek before she nods, turning to walk up the stairs and back into the house once she’s certain that the family of three had gotten into their car okay. 

She sighs softly, desperately hoping that she can keep her word on this. She walks into the kitchen where Dean is already searching for a weak spot in the drywall. She doesn’t linger, knowing that time is running out and if she waits any longer, her job is going to get a whole lot harder. She knows where she has to go, and there’s something bittersweet about the fact that she’s the one that'll be putting the bundles into the walls of her childhood bedroom. She might not have been able to help when bad things were happening the first time around, but there’s something liberating in the knowledge that she’ll be able to end it all now. 

She climbs the stairs two at a time, looking into the master bedroom where Sam is supposed to be depositing one of the bundles. He looks over his shoulder when the hardwood creaks beneath her weight, and he nods encouragingly before his eyes go back to the wall. Grace takes a deep breath, continuing down the hallway until she reaches the bedroom that was once a nursery. She lingers in the doorway for a minute before she’s pushing through the fear that grips her and walking into the closet. She shoves one of Sari’s rainbow dresses out of the way and gets to work at finding a weak spot in the drywall. For a minute, everything is fine, but then a hammer is hurtling her way and the only indication of its presence is the sound of the air around her whipping around. She turns just in time for the back of the hammer to break through the skin of her shoulder, penetrating her deep and painfully. She bellows out a loud cry of pain, sinking to the floor as she doesn’t know whether to rip the tool out of her shoulder or desperately cradle the area around it. For a minute, she remembers that she’s wearing Jessica’s shirt, and the pain only amplifies when she realizes that it's ruined; blood soaked and torn beneath her hands. The only things that gets her moving again is the stubbornness to not let it be in vein, and with all the effort that she can muster up, she breaks through the drywall and shoves the bag in just as the closet doors slam shut and something slides across the floor. 

Panic grips at the young woman instantly. Memories of crappy motel room closets flash before her eyes. She hates this. Hates confined spaces. Hates being trapped. She pounds at the doors with little energy, suddenly aware of all the blood she’s losing as it drips down her chest and to her belly, leaving a crimson trail on the front of the shirt as if the circular ring around her shoulder isn’t enough. Her head feels heavy as she panics, her breathing coming out short and labored as she cries out weakly. “Let me out! Please! Please let me out!” She cries, but it's futile, because if these spirits have gotten to her, they’ve definitely gotten to Missouri and her brothers. She can’t breathe, her throat feels like it's closing in and every minuscule twitch of her muscles has her shoulder aching in brutal protest. 

It’s been years since she’s seen the inside of a closet like this, years since she’s been close enough to John Winchester to even be tormented with the thought of being locked away, but no matter how much she’s healed since the last time she found herself thrown into a motel closet and locked in there for hours, it all comes rushing back to her now that she’s faced with the same fate once again. 

Grace sinks to the floor, curling herself up as much as she could manage with the literal hammer sticking out from her shoulder. She knows that you never pull something like this out, especially not by yourself, but she’s panicking as she puts her head on her knees and tries to ignore the agonizing ache and inability to breathe. She doesn’t know when she started sobbing, but she’s acutely aware of how her shoulders tremble and it only further aggravates the open wound on her body. She doesn’t hear the footsteps getting closer, or even notice the closet doors opening until Sam and Dean are both kneeling in front of her, concern filling their eyes as they take in the sight of her sobbing into her knees and rocking back and forth. Her knuckles are white from how tightly she’s holding into the fabric of her pants. When Dean’s hands frame both sides of her cheeks, guiding her face up to meet their soft and concerned eyes, she flinches back, and only then does Sam notice the hammer lodged deep within his baby sister's shoulder. 

“Fuck, Gracie.” He cusses lowly, scrambling closer to assess the physical damage while Dean tries to coax her through the emotional. He’s cradling her to his chest, reminding her to breathe with him, desperately trying to bring her back down to reality as she claws at her throat and weeps. “Hey, I need to get it out, okay? It’s gonna hurt like a bitch, but you’re gonna be fine. I need you to answer me, Gracie. You’ve lost a lot of blood, I need to hear your voice.” If it was any other circumstance, he wouldn’t have been so persistent to gain her attention, but he needs to make sure that she’s okay enough for him to do this. He reaches for one of the shirts hanging in Sari’s closet while he watches her, ripping it in half like it’s the easiest thing in the world, preparing to use it as a tourniquet of sorts until they can get her back to the motel to patch her up for real. 

“Gracie girl, I need to hear you.” Dean mumbles softly, his fingers tapping at the side of her face when her eyes flutter closed. “Come on, sweetheart. Tell Sammy you’re okay.” 

“G-Get it out.” Grace pleads with as much strength as she can muster, finally feeling like she can breathe again as the panic attack slips away into something of the past. “Please Sammy, it hurts.” 

“Okay, okay. I’m gonna count to three, okay? And you’re gonna squeeze Dean’s hand as hard as you want.” Sam grips the hammer tightly, nodding at Dean that he’s ready whenever he is. He doesn't’ consult Grace, it doesn’t matter whether she’s ready or not, because he knows it's going to hurt like a bitch with or without the mental preparation. “One,” He doesn’t even get to two before he’s ripping the hammer out of her shoulder and tying the tourniquet around her. The young woman bellows in pain, her head thrown back on Dean’s shoulder while she squeezes his hand tightly. “I need you to move your arm. We need to make sure it didn’t tear a muscle.” He coaches roughly, knowing that if he was any softer with Grace she wouldn't actually register what he was saying. 

Grace does as asked, wincing and whimpering through the entire ordeal, but eventually Sam’s content, and tells her she can put her arm down. She slumps against Dean’s chest, sobbing into him as she grips at his flannel tightly. Neither of her brothers have to ask to know that she’s not crying because of the pain, but because she’d been trapped in a closet with no escape, and this time she hadn’t even done something to deserve the punishment; not that any of the times John threw her in the closet was deserved, but point still stands that this was the last thing she’d expected to be subjected to today. 

“Where’s Missouri?” Grace asked eventually, pulling herself away from Dean when she felt capable to move on and forward. She wiped at her cheeks with the hand that wasn’t connected to an injured shoulder, clearing away the tears that had fallen. 

“Downstairs.” Dean informs, clambering to his feet when he realizes that Grace wasn’t willing to take another minute to collect herself. He offers her his hand and pulls her up to her feet when she grabs it. She rolls out her shoulder, groaning in pain, but she doesn’t let it slow her down. Believe it or not, she thinks she’s finished a hunt with worse injuries not inflicted upon her by monsters and spirits. 

Grace grimaces when she sees the state of the kitchen, knowing there was no way that Jenny wouldn’t notice the damage to her kitchen table. The walls were one thing, but adding damage elsewhere was breaching unforgiving territory. She stalks over to one of the kitchen chairs, taking a seat as she feels woozy for a second. It hadn’t occurred to her how much blood she’d lost until she glanced down and found a trail of blood leading down to her fingers and even more staining the front of the shirt. Again she feels herself getting worked up, running the tip of her finger along the stark white lettering that still says Stanford, though now the letters are noticeably discolored. 

“This was Jessica’s shirt.” She frowns more to herself than anyone else but Sam hears her as he approaches with a glass of apple juice, and sadly his lips quiver into a comforting smile. “Thanks.” She mutters tiredly, reaching out for the juice that she knows will replenish her blood. Learning that little hack had saved them from too many trips to the emergency room, but it wasn’t an immediate cure, and so even after she’d chugged the contents and shoved the glass into Sam’s waiting hands, she still found it hard to keep her head up and her vision clear. 

“Are you sure this is over?” Sam questions after he’d placed the glass in the sink, coming back toward Grace with a bottle of water that he’d already cracked open. She sips it slowly, savoring the cold feeling washing across her tongue and throat. 

Missouri nodded, “I’m sure.” 

“It better be over.” Grace slurs from the kitchen chair, her head lulling to the side as her eyes become heavy. She fights to keep herself awake, taking another sip of the water and setting her eyes firmly on Sam. 

“Why? Why do you ask?” Missouri turned to face Sam, concern flooding her features. 

“No, never mind.” Sam sighs, shaking his head. “It’s nothing, I guess.” 

Missouri didn’t have a chance to press Sam any further because the lights in the hallway were flickering to life the second he’d finished speaking, and soon Jenny’s voice trailed in from the front door. “Hello? We're home.” She announced, coming into the kitchen with Sari’s hand holding hers and Richie on her hip. Grace grimaced as she looked around, taking in the absolute destruction sight that had been made out of her kitchen. “What– What happened?”

“Hi. Sorry, um, we’ll pay for all of this.” Sam insisted out of instinct, despite the fact that they did not possess the funds to pay for everything they had damaged or entirely ruined. Their credit cards may be endless with the scams that John and Dean run, but their limits were well… limited. 

“Don’t you worry. Dean’s gonna clean up this mess.” Missouri better amended the situation, and if Grace weren’t so lightheaded she would’ve laughed about how for once in his life he wasn’t being shown favoritism. “Well, what are you waiting for, boy? Get the mop. And don’t cuss at me.” 

Dean did as asked – or demanded – and cleaned up the kitchen to the best of his abilities while Sam made sure Grace didn’t pass out. By the time Dean was helping Missouri hobble down the stairs, she felt better if only the slightest amount, but she knew that a long night of sleep would be the best remedy she could find. She was looking forward to passing out in the backseat of the Impala, already longing to feel the chilled leather beneath her skin. 

She said goodbye to Missouri quickly, rushing toward the Impala once there was nothing else in her way. Grace Winchester was asleep before her brothers even got in the car. 

-

“Dean!” Grace woke up with a jolt, groaning in pain when the tension of her muscles aggravated the wound on her arm that had yet to be correctly patched up. She looked around frantically before she realized that her brothers were clambering out of the car and rushing toward the house. She didn’t think twice about following after them, sheer adrenaline fueling her body as she somehow managed to catch up with them just as Sam passed through the threshold of the house. 

“I’ll get Sari! You get Richie!” Sam yelled over the thumping of his heart, looking back at Grace who only nodded at the order. Her own heart was racing, but she pushed through the pain, taking the steps three at a time as she raced toward the little boys room. 

She found the toddler standing up in his crib, sobbing with his arms reaching out in her direction, evidently reaching for his mother if his babbled cries of ‘Mama’ were any indication of who he wanted most. Grace’s heart sank in her chest, but she pushed through the feeling, reaching out to pick the little boy up and cradle him close to her chest. 

“Shh, you’re okay, sweet boy. Everything’s okay. Nobody’s gonna hurt a hair on your little head, I promise.” She soothed the toddler to the best of her abilities, nearly crashing into Sam as he came flying out of Sari’s room. The little girl was in no better shape than her brother, but before Grace could call for her, try to be a person of clarity in the chaos, something was wrapping around her waist. “Sam! Richie! Get Richie!” She screamed as she was pulled backward, her arms letting go of the toddler with blind hope that her brother could move quick enough to catch him before he fell completely. 

Her head must’ve hit the wall as she was dragged backwards, because the next thing she knew was that she was pinned against the cupboards in the kitchen by an invisible force and Sam was right beside her in the same predicament. Before she could do anything, she was flung against the opposite wall, her body crashing to the ground before that same force lifted her up again and flung her over to where Sam was pinned. 

“Gracie! Sam!” She can hear Dean yelling, but at this point, she has no idea where the sound is coming from. Her head is throbbing, her shoulder is killing her, and every other inch of her body aches from being slammed against walls and the floor. 

She whimpers in pain when a figure walks into the room, and just like Sari had mentioned on their first day in town, it was on fire. Her eyes widened, Missouri’s doubts about her mothers spirit being in the house coming back to her. “Gracie! Sam!” Dean’s voice is getting closer, and then he’s right in front of her and Sam with his shotgun raised. Grace’s eyes widen in panic, but no words come as she stares ahead at the figure she’s entirely certain is Mary Winchester. 

“No, don’t! Don’t!” Sam, however, is able to find his voice, and he calls out to Dean frantically. 

“Why?!” Their older brother calls, evidently not connecting the pieces that Grace and Sam can see plain as day. A tear falls down Grace’s face as she squints her eyes, trying to see through the constantly burning flames. 

“Because I know who it is. I can see her now.” The flames around the figure burn brightly until they don’t burn at all, and perfectly clear can all three siblings see the spirit clearly. 

“M-Mommy?” Grace cries softly, and Dean’s hand quivers as he slowly lowers the gun, staring straight at the woman he’d made peace with never being able to see again in this lifetime. 

“Mom.” It’s not a question. He knows that this is Mary, and his heart stutters in his chest as she walks toward him with a soft smile. 

“Dean.” She hums simply, taking in all of his features. She doesn’t linger long, she doesn’t have the time to linger at all, but she can’t pass up the fleeting seconds she has to truly take in the sight of her children. “Gracie, my girl. My sweet sweet girl. Oh, my baby.” She reaches out, like she wants to caress Grace’s face and feel her skin one last time, but she pulls away before she makes contact, looking to Sam whose lips quiver as he memorizes Mary. “Sam.” She hums, “I’m sorry.” 

“F-For what?” Sam stutters, and Grace’s eyes plead with Mary to stay with them, come back to them, but the woman avoids her gaze and instead of answering, turns on her heels and walks toward the center of the room. 

“You, get out of my house. And let go of my kids.” Grace shakes her head, knowing where this is headed, but her protests are futile. Mary is engulfed by a bright flame again, but this time, the flames evaporate into the ceiling.

“Mom! Mommy!” She cries out, fighting against the invisible restraints until she falls to the floor, the force of the spirit no longer around to keep her pinned to the cabinet. She clambers to her feet, rushing to Dean. She digs her face into his chest, sobbing without constraint for the umpteenth time since driving over Kansas state lines. His hand comes to hold the back of her head while the other holds the center of her back. Her fingers curl into his jacket, holding tightly to it as she weeps. After twenty years, she can finally say she met her mother. But, she can also say she watched her mother die after she’d already been gone. Somehow, Grace thinks this hurts worse than not remembering Mary at all. 

“Now it's over.”

-

The very next morning, the Winchesters are getting ready to head out. Dean and Grace stand on the front lawn of their childhood home, finally getting a hold of those items Jenny mentioned finding when they’d first introduced themselves. Dean holds onto a stack of pictures that none of them had ever seen, but Grace holds onto a small teddy bear. Her name is embroidered on the bottom of the right foot in the sweetest pink thread, and her heart stutters as she realizes that Mary had been the one to personalize this bear for her. She hasn’t taken her eyes off of it since Jenny had come out of the house holding him by his belly, and she doesn’t think it’ll ever leave her possession. The only other thing she had from those first six months of her life was the blanket she’d been wrapped up in when John carried her out of the house. Twenty years later, it still lives in her duffle bag, though it has acquired a couple of blood stains and rips since its prime. 

“Thanks for these.” Dean looks up at Jenny once he’d gone through all of the pictures, his smile and tone sincere as he curls his fingers around the stack possessively. 

“Don’t thank me. They’re yours.” Jenny shakes her head, smiling fondly back at Dean and Grace. “Thank you.”

“I told you I wasn’t going to let anymore kids lose their mom in that house. I meant it.” Grace forced a smile, still not feeling entirely herself or even close to functioning, but that had never stopped her from completing a hunt before. She had to see this through, and the finish line was finally in sight. 

“Take care of yourselves.” Jenny patted Dean on the shoulder, giving Grace one last maternal smile before she was walking back toward the house where Sari and Richie were inside eating breakfast at the table – that still sported holes from various utensils being plunged into it. 

Grace held onto the handle of the Impala as she watched Sam get closer, having said his final goodbyes to Missouri. She doesn’t want to talk about everything that happened, and neither do the boys. She doesn’t know if she’ll ever be ready to talk about what happened here. 

“Don’t you kids be strangers!” Missouri calls from the front yard, and Grace’s lips wrinkle into a weak smile. 

“We won’t.” Dean assures before they’re slipping into the Impala. She has a tight grip on her teddy bear, holding it close to her chest as she slumps against the side of the car, her eyes closing out of instinct. It’s not five minutes later that she’s sound asleep, hoping to god the next hunt doesn’t tear her apart completely.

[marvelfanfn2187a113]

What do you think a relationship between Mary and Sister Winchester would really be like?

In the event that Sister Winchester is clearly not Mary's daughter

John had an affair with a normal woman and although we know that he never forgot Mary, he really came to care about the Winchester sister's mother, until she died or left. How would Mary take finding out that John was with someone else? Or I think the question is whether I could come to terms with it even though Sister Winchester is a constant reminder that John was with someone else.

How would Dean and Sam tell this to Mary?

Dean and Sam try not to talk about Sister Winchester's mother in front of Mary or talk about her as if she was nobody in John's life (never in a cruel way) so as not to hurt Mary's feelings, in the same way that Sam and Dean tried not to talk in front of Mary about what a bad father John was and that bothers Sister Winchester because she's like "she's my mom, if you don't want her Mary knows about her, that's fine, but don't talk about her as if she were nobody."

And which brings me to my last question.

If somehow Sister Winchester's mother were alive, do you think Sister Winchester would spend more time with her mother than with the boys when Mary returns?

What would the relationship between Mary and Sister Winchester's mother be like?

How would Dean and Sam take it if the Winchester sister wanted to go live with her mother after Mary returns (and before she leaves) so as not to make things awkward?

I think the boys would be a little heartbroken when their sister tells them "I want to stay with mom."

(I’m gonna write this like a reader insert so that I don’t have to keep writing sister Winchester 😅)

Ok, so first I don’t really think John could get super close to another woman, he was too obsessed with Mary, but for the sake of argument let’s say he did.

I don’t think she would still be around—if you could’ve had a safe life, John/Dean wouldn’t let you live with them, they’d want you to stay with your mother. Unless of course your mother didn’t want you, and left you with John.

This is how I think it would go down—you got kidnapped with Sam, so Mary doesn’t meet you right away. Dean, ever the avoidant one, doesn’t tell Mary about his little sister, so her meeting you is quite a shock. When Dean and Mary bust in to save Sam, she sees you tied up right next to him. After an awkward yet excited greeting with Sam, Mary starts to wonder about you.

“I wonder how many other hunters they have stuck in here,” she says. “I mean, this is just a kid! What could they want from her?”

“They don’t have anyone else,” Sam says. “They wanted information on other hunters.”

“Well, then how did they get her?” Mary asks.

“She…she was in the bunker with me,” Sam says. You haven’t said anything—you know who this is, you’ve seen her in pictures, and you’re too shy and shocked to say anything.

“Mom,” Dean cuts in. “She’s our sister.”

The ride back to the bunker is super awkward. Once they get there, Dean tells you to go back to your room for a bit so he can talk to Mary.

Dean explains about your mother, but he makes it sound like she wasn’t anyone important. He’s trying to dampen the blow for Mary, but in doing so he makes your mom seem like a nobody. Little does he know that you didn’t actually go to your room.

“Hey!” You speak up for the first time since Mary showed up. “You don’t have to talk about her like that, Dean. If you don’t want Mary to know about her that’s fine, but don’t talk about her like she was nobody!”

“Hey,” Sam would interrupt, trying to sooth you. “Let’s take a look at you in the bathroom, ok? I know they hurt you, we should clean up some of those injuries.”

You’d let Sam take you away now that you’d said what you wanted to.

“I’m sorry,” you said to Sam while he fixed up your wounds. “I’m not trying to mess anything up with your mom, I’m glad you got her back, I just…Dean was talking about my mom like she didn’t matter.”

“It’s ok,” Sam said. “I know you didn’t want to ruin anything. And I know it must’ve hurt hearing Dean talk like that. Dean…he’s always been in a bit of denial about your mom. You know, dad was always so obsessed with getting revenge for mom, that Dean thinks that that means he couldn’t care about anyone else. But he did, he did care about your mom kiddo.”

Mary would stay away from you for the most part. She doesn’t like you, and deep down everyone knows it. I mean, she came from the past, so as far as she remembers, she was married to John like yesterday. So the idea that she died and he moved on and got with someone else, and right in front of her is John’s child with some other woman?—that has to hurt. (I’m playing devil’s advocate here but in reality I really don’t like Mary).

I think Mary would probably belittle your ideas, like—

“Well she’s a child. She doesn’t understand how this works.”

And Sam would very gently remind her, “Mom, she’s been hunting for a while.”

“Not nearly as long as I have.”

Because of this, you’d speak up less and less before hunts. In fact, you talk less in the bunker in general, because whenever you do Mary gives you this side eye, like she’d forgotten you were still there.

It doesn’t become too much of a problem at first, because pretty soon Mary leaves to “get some space” (one of the main reasons I hate her) and “adjust” or whatever. As soon as she’s gone, the boys notice the difference in you. Your more confident in the bunker, and you talk a lot more. You always shut up, though, whenever Mary comes to visit.

You never talk about this with the brothers, because you’d never try to hurt their relationship with Mary.

So back to your mom—let’s say she’s alive, but she left you with John. You never wanted to find her before, because she left you with John because she didn’t want to put herself or her family (she has a lot of siblings and friends that she’s super close to) in danger. John told you all about it so that you would know that it wasn’t about you—your mom wanted you, but it was too complicated with the possibility that demons knew about you. You wanted to leave her be, but with Mary around you got desperate. You finally tell the boys—

“I want to go find my mom.”

They’re heartbroken that you want to leave, but they won’t make you stay. They know why you’re leaving, after all, and they can’t do anything about it—Mary’s their mom, and you’re their little sister, and they can’t pick between you.

So you go after your mom and find her—she’s happy to see you and know you’re ok, and she lets you stay with her, but after a while you start to feel unwelcome there, too. You know you’re probably putting her in danger, but you just don’t know what to do.

Just when you’re at the end of your rope, the brothers come and find you. They ask you to come back.

“Mary isn’t around much anymore,” Dean says, and you notice he sounds bitter. “She…she was working with the British Men of Letters.”

This comes as a shock to you, but you can’t deny that it feels great to come back to the bunker with just your big brothers. Of course they kind of-ish reconcile with Mary after a while, but since she betrayed them like that they stand up for you now—after all, you’ve never betrayed them like that. So the first time Mary tries to shut you down, Dean snaps at her—

“She has more right to be at this table than you, so let her speak.”

And Mary doesn’t do it again.

When John comes back, you don’t know what to do. This day is about the Winchesters, and as much as you wanted to see your dad again, you didn’t want to wreck anything. Your hiding out in your room for a while when John notices.

“Where’d your little sister go?”

“I think she’s in her room,” Sam says, and tells John where it is.

John’s the one who goes to find you. You’re expecting Sam or Dean when you hear a knock, so when John comes in you’re surprised.

“Hey baby.” John smiles at you. “What are you doing in here?”

“I-I didn’t want to mess up your family day,” you say.

“You’re my family, too,” John says, coming over and sitting on your bed. “I…I know things are probably a little strange with Mary back, but…but I want to see you, too. You’re my baby girl, always. Ok?”

You hug John, and he laughs.

“Ok.”

[fanfictionalraven]

Right Where You Left Me

Title: Right Where You Left Me

Summary: The reader, a waitress at the local diner, has become good friends with Dean. What happens when he disappears without a trace?

Characters: Reader, Dean Winchester, Sam Winchester, Mary Winchester, Castiel

Word Count: 7,309

Warnings: Canon typical violence and peril

Author's Note: This story takes place through the events of the second half of season 12, starting with episode 9 "First Blood". It's also the first story I've actually written and published in nearly 6 years, so grant me a little grace please. Enjoy!!

“Ma’am? Ma’am?” A voice says. You snap from your thoughts and look at the people sitting at the table in front of you. You’d gotten distracted by the bell at the door, a new customer coming in. Not the one you were looking for though. Putting on your best smile, you shake your head slightly. 

“I’m so sorry. Where were we?” You ask, glancing at the notepad in your hand.

“We were trying to ask you about the pie of the day,” the woman says. You nod and try not to sigh.

“Cherry,” you tell her. Dean’s favorite. They order two slices which you deliver to them quickly before going into the kitchen. “Stew, I’m taking a 10,” you announce to the cook. He waves a hand at you and glances at the clock.

“Make it 5,” he shouts as you slip out the back door. Leaning against the wall with a sigh, you slip the brace off of your wrist and roll the sore joint slowly, wincing. 

“This job,” you mumble before pulling your phone from your apron. Going into your recent calls, you hit the name at the top. Dean. He wasn’t going to answer. He hadn’t in weeks after all, calls or texts. It rings…and rings…and rings. Just as you’re about to give up, the final ring is cut off.

“Hello?” A woman’s voice asks, curiously. Confusion and a million unpleasant thoughts sweep over you in an instant.

“I’m sorry. I was trying to reach Dean,” you say.

“This is his phone. At least, I think it is…who is this?” She asks. You sigh and run a hand over your face.

“My name’s Y/N. I…I work at a diner and Dean’s one of my regulars. I haven’t seen him in a while and…I was worried,” you tell her. You can hear the confusion in her voice when she responds.

“A waitress who has her customer’s numbers and calls to check up on them?” She asks.

“No. Well…yes, but…Dean’s more than just a customer,” you say.

“What exactly is Dean then?” She asks, a slight edge to her voice. What is Dean? That was the very question you’d spent countless nights asking yourself.

When Dean had first wandered into the diner and sat in your section, he was just another tip. Sure, the two of you had flirted but, to be honest, you flirted with most of your customers. You had bills to pay after all. He came back the very next night, claiming the pie had just been too good. On his fifth visit to the diner, he wandered in just as you clocked out and invited you to join him. You sat in that booth across from him for hours, laughing and talking. At the end of his seventh trip, you slipped your phone number to him on the back of his bill. He’d called you before his car was even out of the parking lot.

That was nearly a year ago and the two of you talked and texted regularly ever since. Sure, he’d go silent for a little while but then he’d saunter into the diner, give you a crooked smile, and ask for the pie of the day. Throughout that year, the two of you flirted, laughed, and teased each other.  There had been a few occasions when he’d catch you as you were leaving, place a to-go order, and then you’d ride in his car out to some deserted spot to talk and eat. You’d gotten to know each other intimately. In an emotional sense that is. Dean always kept you at arm’s length. He’d never asked you on a real date. Your coworkers insisted he was probably married and just stringing you along. And now some strange woman was answering his phone and…

“Y/N?” The woman on the line says.

“Sorry. A friend. Dean’s…a really good friend,” you tell her. “Can I ask who you are?”

“I’m Mary,” she starts and you immediately let out a heavy sigh.

“His mother. Of course,” you breathe with relief.

“Yes,” she says, slightly surprised.

“He’s talked about you a lot. Where is Dean?” You ask. Now, it was Mary’s turn to sigh.

“We don’t know,” she tells you.

“What?” You ask. “It’s his job, isn’t it?” You didn’t know exactly what Dean did but he’d come into the diner beaten and bruised on a few occasions.

“Well…yes,” she says.

“Have you called the police?”

“Y/N, break’s over,” Stew calls from the back door.

“Give me a minute!!” You yell to him. He grumbles and slams the door shut. “You have called the police, right, Mary?”

“That’s not exactly an option,” she says, slowly.

“Well…what about Sam? Or…or Cas?” You ask. There’s the briefest of pauses.

“I’m…I’m here with Mary,” a second voice says.

“And Sam was with Dean,” Mary adds. Cas was there as well, listening to your conversation. You frown and pinch the bridge of your nose, trying to think.

“I want to help,” you tell them.

“I’m sorry, Y/N but…we don’t even know you,” she says.

“Well, then, come meet me. I get off at 8:00,” you say before giving her the address for the diner. “If you don’t show up, I’ll call the police and report them missing myself.”

“We’ll be there,” Mary says before disconnecting the line. You slip the phone back into your apron pocket and run your hands over your face. Sliding the brace back onto your wrist, you head back into the diner.

The rest of your shift drags on slowly. You don’t make nearly as much as you could have on tips, your normal perky personality absent. At 8:15, you finally manage to clock out, throwing your apron into the dirty linens bag. You rush out the front door and look around, phone in hand. The front doors of an unfamiliar car open at the same time. Mary, you recognize her from the old pictures Dean had shown you, gets out of the driver’s side, and the man you assume to be Cas gets out as well.

“Y/N?” Mary asks, watching you. You nod and rush over to the two of them.

“While I wish it was under different circumstances, it’s nice to finally meet you both,” you tell them, holding a hand out. Mary gives you a quick once over before placing her hand in yours.

“I wish I could say the same but…”

“Dean never mentioned me,” you say. It wasn’t a question but a statement of fact. You’d often wondered and now you knew for sure. You were a secret.

“So, what exactly do you know about their work?” Mary asks. You frown and shrug.

“Not much. I figure…best case, CIA…worst case, I dunno…the mafia,” you say, more than a little embarrassed. Mary smiles a little and looks down at the ground.

“Not exactly. It’s a bit more freelance than that,” she says.

“Like a bounty hunter?” You ask. Mary shakes her head, looking around.

“I’d rather not discuss it here. Would you be willing to go back to the bun…where the boys live and talk there?” She asks. 

“Of course,” you agree, immediately.

***

Never get in the car with strangers. The age old advice rang through your ears as you rode in the back seat to wherever Mary and Cas were taking you. Of course, these two weren’t exactly strangers. They were at least Dean’s mother and best friend. You truly felt like you actually knew them with how much he’d talked about them.

Mary continues to drive as you watch the cityscape disappear. It isn’t too long before she’s pulling onto a desolate looking road. The road leads into a dark tunnel, only lit by the headlights of Mary’s car. Your eyes have to readjust when she pulls into a much more brightly lit area. Looking around, you find a room that appears to be a garage holding several very old cars. This much at least screamed Dean, relaxing you a little.

“You said they live here?” You ask, trying to wrap your mind around that statement.

“Yes. It’s an old bunker. Used to be home to a secret society, the Men of Letters,” she tells you. You nod and try to keep your face in check. You can feel her watching you in the rearview mirror.

“Are they in this secret society then? You ask as she parks the car.

“No,” she answers. “It died out in America decades ago. There is still an active branch in London though.”

“Douchebags,” Cas mutters. You both look at him and he glances between the two of you. “That’s what Dean calls them.” You let out a small laugh as the three of you get out of the car. Mary leads the way through the bunker quietly. You follow, looking around and trying to take in as much as you can. She leads the two of you into what you assume is a library given the shelves of books all along the walls.

“You drink?” She asks, holding up a bottle of brown liquid. You nod as you take a seat at the table. Admittedly, you were more of a wine drinker but you felt the impending conversation would require something stronger. Mary pours two glasses and sets one in front of you before walking around to the other side of the table. She takes the seat opposite you and looks at the glass, swirling it slightly. “You sure about this, Y/N? Once you know the truth, leaving it behind can be pretty difficult.”

“Please,” is all you manage to say. She nods and throws her drink back quickly.

“Alright,” she starts. “I come from a long line of hunters. Not the kind you’re thinking of. My family hunted monsters. Ghosts, demons, witches, vampires.” You strive to keep your face in check as you take a slow drink. This was not what you were expecting at all.  “When I was 19, dating John, the boys’ father, a demon killed him and my parents. He offered me a deal. He would bring John back and we could live a normal life, as long as I gave him permission to enter my home in 10 years. I was suddenly alone and holding the dead body of the love of my life. I agreed. Ten years later, he entered my home and killed me. John took the boys on the road and they became hunters as well.”

Mary stops as you stand slowly and make your way over to the bottle she had used earlier. With shaking hands, you refill your glass before downing it quickly. This was insane. Mary was insane. There was no way this was real.

“Mary…I…you really expect me to believe all this?” You ask, looking back at her now. She shrugs slightly and looks at Cas. You’d forgotten he was even there. He’d been leaning against a bookshelf behind her, watching you. You look at him as he starts to make his way around the table towards you.

Panic quickly rises in your throat and you have to remind yourself that these are Dean’s people. At least…you’re fairly certain they are. You’d never seen pictures of Cas and the only ones you had seen of Mary were from when Dean was just a child. Now, this strange woman was trying to convince you that monsters were real and your friend hunted them for a living. Cas stops next to you and looks down at your hand.

“Why are you wearing that brace?” He asks. You blink, surprised. You’d half expected him to knock you unconscious.

“I, ummm…” You hold it up and shake your head. “Carpal Tunnel from work.” Cas nods and briefly touches two fingers to your forehead before you can even register the movement.

“You won’t need it anymore,” he says. You stare at him in disbelief before taking the brace off. For the first time in a long time, you don’t feel any pain as you roll your wrist in every direction. You look back up at Cas and then at Mary. She smiles and shrugs.

“Angel,” she says. You know the shock is clear all over your face as Cas helps you back to your seat. The three of you sit in silence for a little while as you process all of this information. You’re grateful for the time they give you.

“You, ummm…” You stop and look at Mary. “You said you died.” She runs a hand across her forehead and looks at you, debating on if you’re prepared for more information. You give her the best reassuring smile you can manage at the moment.

“God’s sister brought me back as a thank you gift to Dean and Sam for helping her reunite with her brother,” she says. You’re absolutely certain your jaw hits the table. 

“Well…that was…nice,” you manage. “And they were on a…a hunt when they disappeared?”

“Lucifer had possessed the president of the United States,” Cas starts. “We were going to exorcise him and return him to his cage in hell.”

“Oh my god,” you mumble, immediately beginning to massage your temples. “This is…this is a lot.”

“Now you know why Dean never told you,” Mary says. You nod, still attempting to rub away the migraine threatening to explode behind your eyes.

“I, ummm…can I take a walk?” You ask. Mary nods, smiling a little. You hoped you were handling this better than she expected. You’re still shaking as you rise from your seat again and make your way down one of the hallways. Your mind thinks back over things Dean had mentioned about his work and, frankly, it lined up. He’d never given you a lot of details but now it was starting to make sense.

You stop in the middle of the hallway and glance around. Your curiosity gets the better of you causing you to push open the door in front of you. It was a bedroom, modestly decorated. You make your way into the room and find a familiar picture sitting on the bedside table. It was the photo Dean had shown you of him and his mother. Glancing around the room, you surmise that it must be his room.

You pull open the drawer of the bedside table and gasp. Inside you find several things, another gun, a handful of credit cards, and fake ID’s. But the most surprising thing was sitting right on top. You gingerly pick up the picture and can’t help but smile. It’s of you, sitting in the front seat of Dean’s car, laughing. You remembered when he’d taken it, one of the many nights you’d spent talking. You didn’t realize he’d had it printed and kept it so close. Maybe you were more than just a secret.

“Y/N?” Mary asks from the doorway. You look up at her and she smiles. “I was getting ready to head out when you called, a vampire thing in Missouri. Cas said he’d take you back.”

“Thank you for being honest with me,” you tell her. She nods once and leaves you alone.

The next few days pass relatively uneventfully. You call Stew and make up a story about a death in the family out of state, telling him you’ll need a week or two off. He reluctantly agrees. You stay at the bunker with Cas after that. Your days are spent diving into the lore books in the old bunker, learning anything and everything you can. Cas teaches you how to do “research”, showing you how to tell the difference between normal weird and supernatural weird. He shows you one of the spare bedrooms but you end up sleeping in Dean’s room instead. 

The two of you are making your way to the library when you hear Cas’s phone ringing. He rushes ahead to answer it and you go over to a new shelf to find something else to study.

“What?” He answers the phone. “Dean?” The book you’d picked out slips from your hand and you rush to his side. “What, what happened? Wh-where are you?” You stare at him, tears stinging your eyes. He grabs a pen and pad off the table and quickly jots down a note. Rocky Mountain National Park. State Route 34. “Yes. – Wait, where? – Wait, what does that…” Cas sighs and sets the phone down, frowning.

“What did he say?? Are they okay??” You ask. He glances at you and shrugs.

“He sounded rushed. Like they were being chased,” he says. You nod and pick up the notepad, trying to hide the rush of emotions you were feeling.

“We’ve got to call Mary. Meet up with her and get to Colorado,” you tell him. He looks at you quickly and frowns.

“No, Y/N. It’s too dangerous for you to come along,” he says, taking the notepad. You shake your head, tears falling freely as you look up at the angel.

“Cas, please,” you beg. His resolve breaks instantly and he sighs, picking his phone back up.

“Dean would not approve,” he mumbles before calling Mary.

The two of you pull into a parking lot several hours later. Mary’s car is already sitting, waiting. She gets out and clenches her jaw when she sees you rise from the passenger side of Cas’s car.

“You got here quickly,” Cas remarks. Mary nods, eyes fixed on you.

“Yep. What the hell is she doing here??” She asks. Cas sighs and looks over at you.

“Mary, please. I won’t get in the way, I swear,” you tell her. Frowning, she shakes her head, her hands coming to rest on your shoulders.

“Y/N, it’s not about you being in the way. We have no idea what we’re walking into. I’m more worried about you getting hurt and what that would do to Dean,” she says. Swallowing hard, you set your jaw. Mary wasn’t going to see you cry too.

“Please. I have to be there. I need to see him with my own eyes,” you plead. She watches you for a moment, debating internally.

“Dean’s gonna kill us,” she says before turning to Cas. “We may want backup.”

“Crowley and Rowena?” He asks. She scoffs and you glance between them.

“The King of Hell and his mother, the witch?” She asks. You frown and shake your head.

“I don’t like the sound of that,” you comment. Mary smiles a little and looks at Cas.

“I hope we can do better than them.”

“I may have an idea,” he says. Mary nods and makes for the driver’s side of her own car.

“Good. Seat belts on. I drive fast,” she tells the two of you as you load into the car as well.

The British Men of Letters. That was Cas’s idea. Mary almost immediately pulls out, supposing “the demon and his mommy” don’t sound so bad anymore. You hang back, watching the situation unfold. The two Brits, Mick and Ketch from what you gather, offer their services seemingly free of charge. They make a few phone calls, getting access to a satellite of the area Dean had mentioned. Mary and Cas are able to deduce the direction they’re headed and a good spot to meet them.

The two cars move to the new location and you all unload once again. You look up at the night sky and think about the last night you’d spend with Dean. He’d picked you up from the diner at closing time and drove you out of town to a remote location. You’d both laid on the hood of the car, splitting the last of the pie of the day.

“Y/N,” Mary says, pulling you from your thoughts. You turn to face her and immediately launch into pleading again.

“Mary, please. I don’t want to wait here while you two go on…”

“Stop,” she says, holding her hand up. “That’s not what I was going to say. Dean’s already gonna be pissed we brought you. He’d kill us both if we left you with those two. Just stay close to us and if something goes wrong, run back here.” You manage a relieved smile and follow her and Cas further up into the woods.

The three of you come into a small clearing and it isn’t long before there’s a rustling in the brush. Cas and Mary both move into a defensive stance in front of you. You wring your hands as you wait. Cas takes a few steps closer to the noise just as Dean and Sam fall through the bushes. Your heart jumps into your throat at the sight of Dean and you almost break down crying right then.

“Sam, Dean,” Cas says, relieved. You can see the tension immediately leave Mary’s shoulders as she takes in the sight of her boys. Sam rises first and pulls Cas into a tight hug. His eyes land on Mary and he smiles.

“Mom,” he says, letting Cas go. He starts to make his way across the clearing towards her when you register the confusion on his face. Dean finally stands and hugs Cas as well. Sam pulls Mary into a tight embrace that she immediately returns. “Who’s this?” He asks.

“Y/N??” Dean’s voice rings across the clearing. You smile, swallowing back tears, and wave slightly. “The hell is she doing here??” His voice is thick with anger as he makes his way over to Mary. The venom in his words takes you by surprise. Mary raises her hands slightly.

“She was worried about you. Called your phone. I answered and she wanted to help,” she explains. You and Dean stand there, staring at each other. Dean’s eyes are full of a rage you can’t even begin to comprehend.

“How much do you know?” He asks.

“A lot more than I did a week ago,” you tell him. He shakes his head and looks to the sky before looking at his mother.

“Hey, Mom,” he mumbles, pulling her into a hug. She lets out a gasp of surprise and returns the embrace. Dean’s eyes never leave your face. “Let’s get out of here,” he says before walking straight past you.

You take a shaky breath and run your hands over your face. You had anticipated he’d be angry, of course. But you had hoped the joy of being together again would cancel that anger out at some point. Mary pats your shoulder before she starts to follow Dean. You debate on staying right there in the woods for a moment before falling in step behind them. Sam clears his throat slightly as you all walk.

“Mom, how did yall even find us?” He asks, attempting to break the tension.

“They helped,” she says, pointing to Mick and Ketch as they come into view.

“Dammit!! They know about her now too??” He groans, running a hand through his hair. “Y/N, get in the car.” You stare at him in disbelief for a moment. “Car. Now,” he demands. You wipe at your eyes furiously as you storm back to Mary’s car. Sliding into the middle of the back seat, you realize for the first time that the Dean you knew and this Dean, the real Dean, may not be the same person.

The five of them talk for only a moment before coming to the car. Cas takes the passenger seat quickly and Dean doesn’t hide the dirty look he gives him. You shake your head, unable to believe that having to sit by you in the car was that unsettling. Had you misinterpreted your entire relationship? Sam gets in on your other side and smiles at you, awkwardly.

“Y/N, wasn’t it?” He asks. You look at him and smile bitterly.

“Yes. It’s nice to finally meet you Sam. I’ve heard so much about you. And don’t worry. I know the feeling can’t be mutual. You’ve never heard of me before, have you?” You ask, letting your anger burst out for a moment. Dean’s hand tightens into a fist on his leg as he stares out the window. Sam’s awkward smile becomes apologetic before Mary changes the subject, filling them in on everything they’d missed.

Mary continues to drive on into the night. You catch Sam and Dean both nervously glancing at the clock at the front of the car. They seem to only be getting more anxious as the minutes tick by.

“So wait, you're hunting?” Dean asks his mother. She glances back at him in the mirror and shrugs.

“A little bit,” she says. Sam smiles and shakes his head.

“Yea, I knew you couldn’t stay away,” he teases.

The exact second the clock switches over to 12:00, midnight, the car dies. Mary eases it onto a bridge as she tries the key again.

“It’s time,” Sam says, getting out of the car. You look at him then over at Dean.

“Stay in the car,” Dean tells you. Rolling your eyes, you slide out right behind him, tired of being ordered around tonight. The others all get out as well and look around, taking in their surroundings.

“What’s happening?” Mary asks.

“Yea, Dean. Sup?” A new voice says. You all look over to find a woman standing in the middle of the bridge. You look around, trying to figure out where she could have possibly come from. Dean takes an immediate step in front of you, shielding your entire body. Instinctively, you step closer to him, your hand coming to rest on his back, assuring him you were there and okay.

“Billie?” Mary asks, recognition and confusion mixed on her face.

“The reaper?” Cas asks. You close your eyes, trying to think back over your studies. It wasn’t one of things you’d become familiar with but gauging everyone’s reactions, this wasn’t a good thing.

“I don’t understand,” Mary says, shaking her head. Dean sighs and hangs his head.

“Mom, that place…there was only one way we were getting out of there, and that wasn’t breathing,” he starts to explain. You glance around at everyone and notice the horrified look on Cas’s face. “So I made a call.”

“Dean talked to her and then Billie came to talk to me,” Sam continues the story. “And we made a deal. We’d get to die and come back one more time, but in exchange…”

“Come midnight, a Winchester goes bye-bye. Like, permanently,” Billie says, smiling. “And that is something  I’ve been looking forward to for a long time.”

“No,” you whisper from behind Dean.

“Why would you –,” Mary starts.

“We were already dead,” Dean tells her. “Being locked in that cell with nothing…I’ve been to Hell. This was worse.”

“At least this way, one of us gets to keep fighting,” Sam finishes. You shake your head, taking a step away from Dean.

“No,” you say again. He looks over his shoulder at you and his anger has completely dissolved. “Dean, no.”

“Hi, Y/N,” Billie says, waving. You look at her in utter shock but Dean steps between the two of you again.

“Leave her out of this,” he growls.

“You don’t have to do this,” Cas says, shaking his head.

“Yea, they do,” Billie says. “We made a pact bound in blood, You break that, there’s consequences on a cosmic scale. So, who’s it gonna be?” She asks, looking between the brothers. Sam looks at Dean, then at you, and back to Dean who shakes his head.

“Me,” Mary says before either of them can answer. She turns to face Billie, pulling her handgun from her waistband. Sam and Dean both immediately object, stepping forward to stop her. Billie flings both of them away with a wave of her hand. You rush to Dean’s side and fall next to him, immediately checking him for injuries. He shakes his head and fights to rise to his feet again.

“You said come midnight, a Winchester dies?” Mary asks. “I’m a Winchester.”

“Works for me,” Billie says with a smile. Mary cocks the gun and raises it toward her head. Sam and Dean both object loudly again, fighting to get to her.

“I love you,” Mary sniffs. Just as she’s about to pull the trigger, a sharp pointed blade pierces through Billie’s chest from behind and she immediately falls dead. You stare in shock at the dead body lying before you. Cas stands over her, the blade in his hand dripping blood. Mary lowers her gun as Dean and Sam are finally able to get to their feet. Dean takes your hand, pulling you up as well. You begin to pale as you stare at the body.

“Cas, what have you done?” Dean asks, looking at his best friend in shock.

“What had to be done,” he says. “You know this world – this sad, doomed little world – it needs you…” Your ears begin to ring and you take a shaky step closer to Dean. His arm comes around your waist, eyes never leaving Cas as he continues to talk. Something about keeping all the Winchesters alive.

“Dean,” Mary says, pointing to you. “First dead body.” Dean looks down at you just as you go completely limp in his arms.

**

Dean runs his hands over his face before taking a long swig off his beer. A lot had happened in the last day; dying, coming back again, running, fighting for their lives, getting back to their family, you, Billie, you, Cas killing a reaper…you. That was really the only thing on his mind…you. He had so carefully built a relationship with you. A relationship based on half truths and secrets but a relationship nevertheless. Now, you knew the whole nasty truth. It was going to be Lisa all over again…

“Dean?” Mary asks, sticking her head into the kitchen. He glances over his shoulder and smiles a little. “Can I join you?” Nodding, he points to the empty seat across from him. She walks over, taking the seat quietly. He stares at the bottle in his hands. “Dean…”

“You shouldn’t have told her,” he tells her firmly. “It wasn’t your place. I didn’t want her to know. She was safer not knowing. Now…I’ll never see her again.”

“What? Why?” Mary asks, confused. Dean stands and throws his empty bottle into the trash.

“To keep her safe!!” He snaps, spinning on her angrily. “People around me don’t hang around too long. They either run or they die. It’s as simple as that. Especially the ones who mean the most to me. And she means…” He stops abruptly, emotion closing up his throat. Mary frowns as she stands and walks over to him.

“It only seems that way, Dean. Y/N, she’s…she’s strong. She took everything I told her in stride and she stayed. She stayed here with Cas and she’s been learning how to do the job,” she tells him.

“That’s even worse!! I don’t want her anywhere near this,” he says, fighting back tears. “If it was just normal hunter stuff then maybe but the stuff we deal with…Lucifer and Amara and God…I want her as far away from all of this as possible.”

“Don’t you think she should get a say in this?” Mary asks. He shakes his head, stubbornly.

“No. Soon as she wakes up, I’m taking her back home. I’ll never go back to that diner.. She’ll never see or hear from me again,” he says.

“What?” You whisper to yourself, standing just outside the kitchen door. You turn on your heels and rush down the hall towards the garage. Your car was there and you’d spent enough time at the bunker to know how to get out. You hadn’t heard much but you heard enough. Dean didn’t want to see you anymore, plain and simple.

***

Three months, five days.

That’s how long it had been since you last saw Dean. You’d left the bunker, rejected and heartbroken, and Dean had kept his word. He hadn’t called. He hadn’t come in for any pie. Life was back to normal. Boring, regular, normal. You found yourself reading into everything you saw on the news, wondering if it was a case Dean could be working at that very moment. 

You’d volunteered to close down the diner for yet another night. Floors were mopped. Counters and tables wiped down. All you had left to do was lock up. Flipping off the lights, you step outside into the cool night air. You turn to lock the door when you hear footsteps coming up behind you. Damn it. You’d been so lost in thoughts about what you had believed was a werewolf in Michigan you hadn’t checked the parking lot first.

“Hello, love,” a heavy British accent says. There’s nothing familiar and certainly nothing friendly about the greeting. You stand frozen for a moment, weighing your options. You didn’t have many.

“We’re closed,” you say, not turning to face him yet.

“Not here for the pie,” he jokes. He’s closer than he had been.

“Look. My manager has already taken the deposit to the bank. I’ve got a few bucks in my purse and that’s it. I haven’t seen your face yet. You can turn around and leave, no consequences,” you tell him.

“Afraid not. Got a job to do. A message for your little hunter boyfriend,” he says. You let out a short laugh.

“You’re definitely barking up the wrong tree,” you say. His reflection is in the glass of the door now, standing right behind you. You take a deep breath and turn to face him finally. “Dean Winchester doesn’t care about me. Hurting me, won’t hurt him in any way.”

“We’ll see about that,” he says, brandishing a knife. You bring your knee up, hitting him in the groin. He grunts and doubles over, giving you enough time to run towards your car. Unfortunately, the blow doesn’t slow him down enough. Before you can make it to the car, he’s grabbed you by your waist, knife at your throat. “Any last words I can pass on to the Winchesters?” He breathes in your ear.

“Go to hell,” you spit at him. You feel the knife press harder against your skin as angry tears slide down your cheeks. What a way to go. Dying for a man who couldn’t care less.

Before the Brit can finish you off, a car whips into the dark parking lot, lights shining bright on the two of you. It takes your attacker by surprise and you feel his grip relax just enough. A sharp elbow to his abdomen has him letting you go. You fall to your knees as you attempt to run away. The car skids to a stop and you hear the voice you’d only dreamt of hearing again.

“Y/N!!” Dean yells as he runs at your attacker. He tackles him, knocking the knife from his hand as the two men hit the ground. Mary runs to your side as Sam runs to help Dean. You weren’t sure why. Dean had the upper hand, sitting atop the man, punching him in the face. Repeatedly. That’s when you realize, Sam wasn’t helping Dean. He was pulling him off.

“Dean, it’s over,” he tells his brother. “He’s dead.” Mary helps you to your feet, examining you as Dean makes his way over, wiping his bloodied hand off on his shirt.

“Are you okay? Did he hurt you?” Dean asks, taking your face in his hands. He looks you over and frowns at the knick on your neck. Running his thumb over it gently, he wipes the blood away. 

“I’m fine,” you mutter, taken aback by his gentleness and concern. Before you can say anything else, he pulls you into a crushing hug. You gasp and freeze before slowly returning the embrace. Mary touches Sam’s shoulder and nods back towards the dead body. They slip away to deal with that and give you two some privacy. “Dean…”

“I’m so sorry, Y/N. I put you in so much danger,” he says, letting you go. “I didn’t know we were being watched. I didn’t know.”

“Dean, what’s going on?” You ask.

“The British Men of Letters. Turns out it was a join or die type of situation. They’ve been watching all of us for a while now. They knew about you before you ever knew anything,” he explains. “They had brainwashed Mom but we just got her back. Sam and Jody led a raid of the Brits’ headquarters. Saw the pictures of you, of us here. We got here as quick as we could.” He winces now and you finally register how badly beaten he looks.

“What happened to you?” You ask, knowing your attacker hadn’t even gotten one good swing in. He limps over to his car and leans back against the hood.

“Grenade launcher,” he says, pointing to his leg. “Bad fight with Ketch.” He points to the rest of himself.

“Gre...huh??”

“They locked us in the bunker. Shut off the air supply. It was our only way out. And it was freaking awesome,” he says, smirking now. You roll your eyes at him and try not to smile, fighting back that familiar feeling he always gave you.

“Well, thank you. I’ll be more careful. Try not to close up by myself anymore,” you tell him, crossing your arms. He nods slightly, watching you.

“Or you could come with me,” he says. You scoff a laugh and shake your head.

“You don’t have to babysit me, Dean. I’ll be fine,” you say.

“What?” He asks. You shrug, trying to give him a confident smile.

“I’m officially relieving you of the burden of my safety. Whatever happens to me, happens. Don’t let it get to your conscious,” you tell him, looking around for your purse.

“Y/N,” Dean says. He watches you walk over and pick up the discarded item. You throw it over your shoulder and look back at him. “Come here,” he says gently, holding a hand out.

“You don’t want me. I know that. Please stop this,” you say, looking down at the gravel under your feet. You hear him sigh and look up as he starts to limp towards you. “No. Stop. You’re hurt.” He rolls his eyes now before taking your face in his hands for the second time tonight. This time his eyes aren’t searching for injuries. They’re searching for answers.

“Why would you think I don’t want you?” He asks, his voice softer than you’d ever heard it before. You get lost in the green of his eyes for a moment before the memory of that night comes back.

“I heard you with Mary. You said I wouldn’t see or hear from you again. And I haven’t since I left the bunker that day,” you tell him, hating to relive those harsh words. He nods, his hands leaving your face. They don’t go far though, immediately coming to rest on your hips.

“Is that all you heard?” He asks. You nod, wishing he’d just let you go home instead of dragging this out. “I didn’t leave you alone because I didn’t want you. I left you alone because I needed to keep you safe, because I want you too much, because I care about you too much.” Your eyes fill with tears as you stare up at him. You had to have died and gone to heaven for him to be saying these things, the things you wanted him to say so desperately.

“You were so mad when you saw me…”

“Because I didn’t want you anywhere near this life. Hunting, especially the things we end up hunting, it’s dangerous,” he pauses and closes his eyes. “I had just made a deal with a reaper to die. Again. I’d already resolved myself to the fact I wasn’t going to get to say a proper goodbye to you, tell you how I felt, how happy you’ve made me over the past year…and then you were there, right smack in the middle of everything. I was furious, yea, but not at you. I was mad at myself. I never shoulda came back here to begin with.”

“I don’t understand,” you say, shaking your head. Nothing was making sense. Nothing but the feel of his hands on your waist. That was good. That was right.

“I fell for you so hard that first night I came in for dinner. I was just supposed to come in, pick up something for me and Sam, and head back to the bunker. But when I walked in and saw you…I had to know you,” he recalls. “I thought a couple of visits couldn’t hurt. I could just be a customer, see you, talk to you. Maybe you’d eventually learn my name. That third time I came in and saw you getting ready to leave I was devastated. So I asked you to join me, thinking there wasn’t a chance in hell. You’d just gotten off work. Surely you wanted to get out of there and get home. But you stayed and you sat with me and…I knew I was in trouble.” You’re crying now. You don’t know exactly when the tears started but they were falling quickly. Dean brings one hand up and wipes at each of your cheeks gently. “And then you gave me your number…man, I almost called you from the booth,” he laughs. You do as well, reaching up and taking his hand. You press a kiss into his palm.

“I never knew what we were. I was so confused,” you tell him.

“I’m sorry. I kept going back and forth. I told myself it was too dangerous, you were safer as my friend. But then I’d get you alone, in my car and…” His hand tightens slightly on your hip and he pulls you impossibly closer. “I wanted you so desperately.” His voice dropped lower and his eyes bore into your own.

“I wanted you too,” you just manage to whisper. His forehead is touching yours now. Your eyes flutter close as his breath washes over your face.

“No more secrets,” he says before finally bringing his lips in to meet yours. This isn’t a gentle, chaste first kiss. Your lips move desperately against his as your arms wrap around his neck. It was everything you’d imagined and nothing like you could have dreamed all at the same time. His lips were chapped but gentle. He tasted of mint and whiskey. The way his hands moved over your back, one sliding just beneath your shirt to caress the skin at the small of your back, was intoxicating. You force yourself to pull away, remembering that his family was in the near vicinity.

“I have one secret,” you admit. He looks down at you expectantly. “I freaking hate this job.” He laughs and shakes his head, kissing you once more quickly.

“Sweetheart, I got bad news. That ain’t a secret,” he teases. You laugh too as Dean looks over your shoulder at the diner. “This place is gonna go under without your pie. It’s the only reason anyone comes back.”

“Including you?” You ask. His smile turns into a smirk as he looks back down at you.

“Why do you think I’m keeping you at the bunker?” He asks. Laughing again, you try to step out of his arms but they only tighten around you. His face is suddenly serious again as he watches you. “But only if you’re absolutely sure. I can’t stress enough how dangerous this life is.” You smile as you take his face in your hands.

“Dean,” you start. “I’ve never been more sure of anything in my life.”

With that, Dean kisses you once again.

You leave your diner key in the door and a note taped to the glass.

I quit. -Y/N

****

Tags: @roseblue373

[pixel-percy]

🍎 A Locally Sourced AU: Hunter!Dean x Orchardist!Reader — You've known Dean Winchester since you were kids and, despite everything, you're still in love with him. But can he ever allow himself to reciprocate? 🍎

PART 1 | PART 2

🍎 Word Count: 2.1k 🍎 Music Vibes: Sweet Nothing by Taylor Swift 🍎 Warning(s): Child abuse (heavily implied) & hunting (mentions of dead animals) 🍎 A/N: Happy 2025! I've been sitting on this AU for a while & decided, instead of finishing it & dropping it all at once, I'm going to do it in parts that reflect the eras of Reader/Dean's life. I'm such an advocate for soft Dean, the boy that just wants to be loved & give love in return, despite all the bad in his life. This song makes me think of him. I hope I can do him justice on the page ❤️

Winchester was a well-known name in Lawrence, Kansas.

“Not the same as the rifle, but we do like ‘em,” you’d heard a man say as he shook the hand of a blue-collared individual with similarly calloused hands who’d been admiring his booth. It was an assortment of meats, meticulously wrapped and on display for all to see. Deer, boar, anything you could legally hunt, kill, and make a living off of in the state. Anyone could see that this business was the pride and joy of one John Winchester, the man who loved shaking hands and giving samples of freshly cut game. He didn’t have a beard back then, just some stubble growing in that he’d opted not to take a razor to before the festival. 

Now and again you’d see Mary, his wife, give his cheek an affectionate scratch, a quick sentiment, before she’d move on to adjust the display. She was elegant, intimidating, and just looked plain tired sometimes despite her enormous effort to hide the latter.

They were the best hunters in the state as far as you understood it. A compliment bestowed by your father, a friend and longtime admirer of the Winchester family’s success. You never understood why he cared so much –or maybe envied was the better word– when he had the most successful orchard this side of the state. Unparalleled even. At least that’s another thing you were told.

Truthfully, at the age of 11, your favorite thing to do was to pick apples and help your mother make sweets, not listen to your father shake hands and attempt to impress like John. You spent most of your time tuning out the conversation, perched on a stool beneath the tent, and playing with an apple.

The last wave of summer heat had settled over the fairgrounds early that morning, sticky and heavy, but it didn’t deter Lawrence’s population from indulging in questionably sound fair rides, petting zoos from the local farmers, and the market where you spent most of your time. 

Passerbys would attempt to have conversations with you when your father and mother were both caught in talks about investments and admiration. So you’d smile, albeit tight-lipped and shy, and give soft-spoken answers when you knew them, though thankfully most of them were sentiments about your ‘pretty braid’ and how cute the flowers you’d stuck into it were.

Kids of all ages ran past you in search of the rides and cotton candy, their boisterous laughter carrying through the stalls. A new school year had started and, while you weren’t opposed to making friends, you had none. The transition from elementary to middle was surprisingly difficult and being on the quieter side of the social spectrum meant it was harder. So instead, you sat on your stool and played with an apple and remained respectful of the adults who tried to converse with you.

Then you saw him, one of the Winchester boys. Dean.

You’d never interacted with them further than a shy hello behind your mother’s legs and spotting them in the booth across from you every year. If John ever stopped by the orchard, the boys usually stayed in the car, but on occasion, a begrudging Dean would trail behind his father, holding his baby brother’s hand, silent while John talked about things he also couldn’t have cared less about. Sam would always return your shy wave and you’d duck your head behind your Mom when you felt Dean’s harsh gaze find you. 

It shouldn’t have been that way at his age. His shoulders were weighed down with responsibility and the duty of being a shield for his brother. Although he was only a year older than you, he felt like he was decades gone already.

That’s why on one of those days you saw John’s work truck —Impala left home in the safety of their garage you’d imagined— pull into the orchard, you ducked out of your room and into the kitchen. There was no call for you today, mother napping on the loveseat in front of the television, romance novel tucked in her lap, and your father instantly sauntering out of the house to greet John with a handshake, palms smacking together obnoxiously. 

So you quickly wrapped your fingers around a dish towel decorated in drawings of baked goods, fabric slightly damp from use, and grabbed the nearby step stool to reach the counter. You plucked two freshly picked apples from the basket you’d filled that morning and quickly tied the material around them with a bow.

The boys stayed in the truck that day, the engine softly rumbling, and the windows rolled down enough for you to see them playing with a set of green toy soldiers on the dashboard. They’re missing pieces, a little melted from being left in the car sometimes, but well-loved all the same. 

Neither of them spotted you as you dashed along the untrimmed hedges, head low, and approached the passenger side. Some Metallica poured out of the windows over the blast of the AC and idle engine. Dean bobbed his head along to the rhythm, playfully knocking Sam’s soldier over with exaggerated sound effects.

You used the grab handle on the door with your free hand to pull yourself up, bare feet on the warm plastic of the step bar, until your eyes could peek over the edge of the window. Too immersed in their make-believe battle, you sneakily pulled the bow-tied dish towel up over the remaining glass and unceremoniously dropped the items into the seat next to Sam before scurrying away. You couldn’t hear what they had said, obviously startled, and you only spared a glance back at the car when you reached the hedges again.

Even from far away, you could feel the pressure of Dean’s gaze, but this time it didn’t feel so bad. You saw Sam fiddle with your quickly tied bow, a big smile on his lips as he excitedly pulled the fruit out for Dean to see. You held his gaze for a moment, the first time of what you didn’t know would be many, and then darted off like a little startled coyote.

That day at the festival, however, he hadn’t seen you—but Sam did.

A collection of apples teetered in the crook of your tiny arm as you tried to restock the wooden boxes at the front of the stall. It was something to do instead of listening to your parents prattle on—your Mom was now invested in a conversation with Mrs. Johnson, your Math teacher from your, now old, elementary school. You’d placed a shiny red apple at the top of the stack just as you felt something touch your arm. The sensation made you jump, a couple of apples tumbling from your grasp, and you turned wide-eyed to face the culprit.

To your surprise, a matching wide-eyed Sam Winchester, gaze upturned and a bit fearful. Dean appeared beside him, barely looking at you, hands shoved in his pockets. You couldn’t make out his expression, some level of apathy and sourness 

“S-Sorry,” Sam muttered. “My brother wanted to know—” Dean nudged Sam’s shoulder a little roughly with his elbow. Sam muttered an ‘ow’ before he turned back to you. “Do you wanna go with us on the big swings?” He gestured to the ride in the distance, metal taut with the weight of its passengers as it spun in a circle. It was your favorite.

You looked back to your parents and said, “Mommy can I go with them on the swings?” You didn’t bother asking your father, but you noticed John’s eyes flick over to the three of you for a moment, smile lines big with that charisma-dipped smile. Your mother turned to you and slight surprise danced across her face when she saw the two boys.

“Sure honey, just stay together, okay?”

With a smile you turned to drop the apples in your arms in the tub behind the display and returned to the front to grab the couple that you’d dropped. You were met with Dean’s outstretched hands, fruit seated in his palms, and gaze averted. They were almost as red as his cheeks.

“Thank you,” you said softly, a bit of shyness returning as you took the fruit from him. There was this funny feeling in your chest, an unfamiliar sensation, but you pushed it aside and quickly tossed the apples into the same tub as before.

The three of you had made it half a step away from the booth when a booming voice cut through the steady noise of the fairgrounds, “Boys.”

All of your heads snapped to John, who’d abruptly stopped the conversation with your father to turn his attention to you. You watched as both boys’ posture straightened, shoulders square, eyes on their father. Your eyebrows furrowed at them and you couldn’t help but look at John too. From beside him, almost held in place by the hand John held out to halt their conversation, was your father whose gaze had moved to the three of you, obedient. You’d eventually add that to the list of things you despised him for. A piece of tall grass for a backbone—letting anything with more power bend him every which way.

“Stay together. Two cycles on the ride.”

“But Mom said—” Sam tried.

“Two. Cycles. Then right back here,” he said. Dean’s jaw clenched, but all the emotion was on Sam’s face. It looked like he wanted to talk back, to cause a fuss, but Dean just held a hand out in front of him, like he’d done this many times before.

“Yes, sir,” Dean said before he grabbed Sam’s hand to lead him away. You followed suit, eyes lingering on John who watched his boys for a long moment before catching your gaze. You held it for a moment, but your head tipped downward at the weight of the control seeping from his stature.

“You too, missy!” your father called out, but you ignored him and ran to catch up to the boys. They said nothing for a few moments, tension apparent in the way Dean clenched his fists as he walked beside Sam.

“My daddy is mean sometimes too,” you offered softly.

A quiet understanding blossomed between the three of you as you traversed the fairgrounds, gentle comradery that none of you knew you’d needed. Neither of them seemed to want to talk about it and you decided it best not to press it further than that. John seemed like a nice man, but an unsettling feeling sat heavy in the pit of your stomach any time you found yourself under his scrutiny—though he’d never said anything but nice things to you.

When you’d made it to the swings, Sam and Dean took the first ride together, leaving you on your own behind them. You remembered Sam occasionally turning his head to wave or make a silly expression, which you’d return, and Dean rolling his eyes at you both. The wind whipped your braid around and hot summer air transformed into a cool breeze as you spun. Oranges and lavenders danced across the sky as evening crept in. Eventually, the ride slowed to a stop and the three of you dashed into line again, excited for another go.

“Can I go alone this time? Please, Dean?” Sam asked as he jumped into the swing in front of you again—which you’d promptly claimed and fastened yourself into. “You can sit next to her!” You fiddled with your nail beds nervously. Dean halted his claim on the seat beside his brother, almost as if he contemplated turning him down, but eventually conceded.

“Fine,” he said.

Before he left the swing he made sure Sam was secure with a tug on his seat belt, and once satisfied, turned to you. You held up the bar for him to slide under next to you, the knee of his ripped jeans nudging yours as he got comfortable and strapped himself in. There was a small delay with a couple of the other riders, just long enough for you to recognize that weird feeling building in your chest. 

“I like your flowers,” he muttered suddenly, only gazing at you from the corner of his eyes. Your shoulders shifted slightly, one of your hands moving to your braid instinctively to caress it. You returned the side-eye gaze.

“Thank you,” you replied. “I-I like your necklace.” The amulet hung from a black string, a brass-colored face with what appeared to be horns poking out the sides.

The ride attendants loosely checked your seat belts, halting further conversation as the ride started up soon after they passed. A child-like infatuation blossomed in that moment, something you couldn’t even explain to yourself at the time, but despite everything Dean did to keep people at arm's length, there was a comfort you felt being around him. You wanted to know more about this boy and his brother who he loved so much.

Sometimes you wonder if that moment, flying through the sunset sky, was when you truly fell in love with Dean Winchester—the boy with the bleeding heart.

[bajablastlover1]

I NEED DEAN WINCHESTER SO SO SO BAD RN