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gublernatural · 4 months ago

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In Another Life 𖥔 Dean Winchester

✶ SUMMARY: It's hard to regret getting captured by a Djinn when it makes your wishes come true in the real world, too.

✶ WARNINGS: angst, fluff, smut (piv), slow burn, mutual pining, she's long as fuck (6.8k words), heated make out, fingering, allusion to suicide (to end the djinn), reader is injured, supernatural-esque violence, alcohol, jess is mentioned, reader is bad at pool and likes baseball, mention of a period in passing, showering together MINORS DO NOT INTERACT

✶ NOTE: I'M BACK BABY!!! dividers from @firefly-graphics!!

˚꒰ა .𖥔 ݁ ˖𓂃 ࣪˖ ཐིཋྀ ࣪˖ 𓂃 ࣪˖ 𖥔. ໒꒱˚

Everything looked familiar. The dingy yellow paint on the motel room wall was what you thought was the last thing you'd seen before you closed your eyes. The room still smelled like nicotine and there was still a squeaky noise coming from where the gasket on the window was damaged. Things seemed normal. There was nothing that you could tell was out of place from where you’d awoken.

Except, something felt different.

There was an unfamiliar warmth. It was coming from your left side, but it was also coming from inside your chest. Something inside you felt lighter; less like the weight of the world was no longer on top of you. You raised your head slightly, just to look over to see what was pressed against your side. You tried to move with a practiced ease, as if you were trying not to alert a monster creeping in the night.

Except, it wasn’t night and there was no monster. It was just Dean. Laying beside you, fast asleep.

“What the fuck are you doing in my bed?” You gasped, scrambling as far away from him as you could get in the queen-sized bed. Dean was easily awoken by your outburst. He moved gently, bringing his hands up to rub his face, before turning to you. “What’s wrong?” He asked, eyes filled with nothing but concern. Your brows furrowed, trying to figure out what you were looking at. It was definitely Dean. Definitely your Dean. But something about his was different. He was relaxed? Calm? Peaceful? You weren’t entirely sure what the correct word was.

When you didn’t answer him, Dean moved closer to you, trapping you between his body and the wall. One of his hands moved to your face, cradling your cheek. “What happened?” He asked, again. “Nothing,” You informed, turning into putty in his hands. Dean used this hand to pull you closer to him, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead. “Guess we should hit the road, since you’re up,” Dean said. He sighed like an old man when he moved to push himself off the bed. “Sammy’s gone, wanna shower?” Definitely my Dean, you thought when you saw the shit-eating grin plastered across his face. “I’m good,” You shrugged. When his own face twisted up in confusion, you quickly came up with a lie, “Time of the month, and all that.” Dean nodded, heading towards the bathroom.

As soon as the bathroom door clicked shut, your hunter instincts took over. You moved with a desperate urgency, pulling out every dresser drawer, stifling through every item inside of them, checking under sheets and mattresses, checking the search history on the laptop on the table, flipping through each and every book.

“Woah, woah, woah,” Sam’s voice broke your focus. You quickly snapped around, immediately pausing your movements. “Looking for something?” Sam asked, raising his eyebrows at you. You were sure you looked guilty, with your hands tucked behind your back and your incredibly straight posture. “N-no,” You stuttered, trying to relax. You slowly made your way back to the bed, relaxing into it as much as possible. Sam’s questioning eyes followed you the entire time.

“What are we doing here?” You asked Sam. You remembered why you were in this town. Sam had seen disappearing girls in the local paper, something suspicious about them. You were here to kick the monster’s ass. That much you knew for sure. Sam let out a chuckle, “We’ve been on a road trip for a few weeks now.” Sam informed, pointing to the map on the table, “You don’t remember?” His voice shifted into a calmer tone, full of concern.

“No, no, I do. I was just making sure,” You tried to play it off. Luckily, Sam did not have too much time to question you, as the bathroom door opened and Dean emerged.

“Next stop, the world’s largest basket in Frazeysburg, Ohio!” Dean cheered, coming to stand next to you, and resting his hand on the base of your neck. “Definitely not the world’s largest,” Sam corrected. Dean mumbled an “oh, whatever,” before moving to throw his things in his duffel bag. His duffel bag that was usually filled with guns, knives, salt. The essentials.

“We’re going to pick up Jess,” Sam clarified, circling back to your confusion, “her graduation is in a week, and then we’re moving closer to you and Dean.”

You knew this was an attempt to clear things up for you, but it just furthered your confusion. Jess was dead. Jess was dead before you met the Winchesters. What the fuck was going on?

You turned your head back to Dean, watching him start to add your things into his duffel bag. “Hey,” you chastised, pulling a pair of slightly racy underwear from his hand, “those are mine.” Dean turned to look at you, a smirk spread across his face, “What’s yours is mine, sweetheart.” He turned back to the bag, just for a second, before throwing you a quick wink, “Plus, it’s not like I haven’t seen them before.”

You weren’t sure if you were more shocked when Dean asked if you wanted to drive, or when Sam willingly slid into the back seat. Dean’s hand was resting on your knee, his thumb rubbing sweet circles into the denim of your jeans. There was a soft rock song playing on the radio, and Dean was lightly singing along to it. The air outside was fresh, the sun was shining, and there was a slight breeze flowing through baby’s open windows. Even Sam wasn’t complaining about how loud the music was.

Everything was truly perfect. Too perfect.

As much as you wanted to lean into Dean’s touch, to allow him to hold you each night like had last night, to let him press kiss sweet kisses against your forehead and throw dirty jokes at you, you knew that you couldn’t. You knew something was wrong. Life as a hunter never worked out like that for you. If something felt right, you knew that there was something wrong.

And you’d be damned if you weren’t going to figure out what it was.

Maybe you’d let yourself enjoy Dean’s attention while you did it. Maybe.

Baby let out a soft hum as you approached the basket. It was very large, you couldn’t deny that. Dean came around to the passenger side, sliding his hand into yours. There was what should’ve been a comfortable silence that had fallen over the three of you, but something in your stomach wasn’t letting you relax. Hunter’s instinct, as you used to tell the boys. You wished you could talk to them. The real them. Not whatever these imposters were.

“You alright?” Dean asked, moving his hand to your waist. “What are we, Dean?” You asked. He stopped his steps, letting Sam trail ahead. “You’re my girlfriend.” Girlfriend. Your eyes widened before your face, once again, twisted up in confusion. “You’re my girlfriend,” Dean repeated, matching your facial expression, “You’ve been my girlfriend for about four years now. Are you okay?” He questioned, again. His hand moved up to rest against your forehead, checking for a temperature.

You pushed his hand away, trying to think this through. Four years. That has to be significant. What were you doing four years ago?

Hunting. You’d been hunting your whole life, so of course you were hunting. You tried to think of any notable hunts that occurred four years ago. It was hard to put them chronologically. They all got blurred together after a while, and you could only really see the faces of the people you’d saved, the families you’d brought back together.

Then it clicked. Four years ago, you were hunting the largest vampire nest you’d ever seen. It was located on the border of Minneapolis and Saint Paul, taking victims from both cities. You knew you were in over your head when you went in, but you were never one to back down from a challenge.

Especially when you ended up having the best backup you’d ever gotten while on a case. Not only were they two very efficient hunters, but they were also particularly easy on the eyes. You should’ve probably hesitated before letting the shorter one with a pretty smile into your motel room to see what you’d pieced together, but something in your gut told you to trust him. So you did, and you still do.

“Dean,” You sighed out, “how did we meet?” His signature smile spread across his face as he stepped closer to you, swinging a careful arm around your neck. “Need a reminder of why you fell in love with me, sweetheart?” You nodded, encouraging him to get on with it. “At some bar, just between the Twin Cities. You had some girlie drink in your hand and were dressed up all pretty, but cussing like a sailor at a baseball game on TV. Drew me right in. It didn’t take very long for you to like me back. Sam was upset we were holding up his tour of the city with Jess, but he got over it once he realized I really liked ya” Dean reminisced.

Fuck, you thought. You had always wished you met Sam and Dean differently. You’d wished you met in a bar and Dean chatted you up. That Sam took you in like a little sister. But, that’s not how it went. You knew that. In your reality, life was shitty and Dean usually slept on the shitty motel couch, not next to you, even if he wished he could. So, you also knew you had to fix it. You had to get home.

You excused yourself from the boys and the very large basket to head back to the car. You rummaged through it, hoping to find something from your reality. A knife, a gun, something you could use to end this perfect nightmare. You found a small little switchblade in the trunk. It was not going to be easy, and it was going to hurt like a bitch, but you needed to get home. You needed to be with your real Dean so you could help him kill this Djinn.

Your wrists fucking burned. It was like your whole body was tense, but your wrists were on fire. “You got her?” You heard a deep voice call towards you. There was no response but you felt your body jostle. You were pressed against something warm. Not the kind of unsettling warmth you felt when you woke up in the dingy motel room. The kind of warmth that smelled slightly of whiskey and home. The kind of warmth that only came from Dean. Your Dean. Your real Dean.

“Dean?” You mumbled softly. You felt his grip on your body get tighter, holding you closer. “I got you, sweetheart. Just hold on for me.” You tried to nod, but weren’t sure if your head actually moved.

The next time you woke up, you were once again met with the dingy, yellow motel wallpaper. Only this time, you didn’t scramble to get away from the presence next to you. In fact, you shifted your body slightly closer to it.

You curled into a fetal position next to where Dean was sitting on the side of the bed. Your head shifted so you could look at him. His eyes were wide as he turned around with a breathy release of your name, “fuck,” he mumbled once he saw how frail you looked. He didn’t say anything else. He just reached out to rest his hand on your side. It didn’t take long for him to start rubbing it along the expanse of your torso, trying to push away any pain you were feeling. There weren’t many cuts or bruises that littered your skin, but he knew how weak Djinns can make you feel.

“Can I do anything for you?” He prompted, breaking the silence after a few minutes. You shook your head no, just wanting to go back to sleep. “Sammy went to get food,” he informed, “asked him to stop and get you your favorite.” You didn’t have to say anything for Dean to understand that you weren’t going to eat it. The gesture was nice, though.

The sun was casting through the broken blinds the next time you woke up. You were surprised that you had managed to sleep through most of the night. Your body really did need to rest, you guessed.

“How you feeling?” Sam asked once he realized you were awake. You moved to sit crisscross on the end of the bed, so that you would be facing where he was sitting at the motel table. “Better than yesterday, but my head still hurts.” He didn’t respond, just nodded and turned back to whatever he was reading on his laptop. It took you a while, but eventually, you mustered up the courage to stand up and head to the shower. Dean was still asleep on the other motel bed. His hands were stuffed under his pillow, protectively placed near some kind of weapon, and his breaths were even and relaxed. You smiled at him as you grabbed clothes and headed into the bathroom.

The hot water felt heavenly cascading down your body. You deflated like a balloon, each muscle relaxing from the top down. Your shoulders, then your back, then your thighs, then your calves. You were probably in the shower for a good 45 minutes to an hour, allowing your body to release any leftover adrenaline. It was the most relaxed you’d been in a long time.

It wasn’t until about the thirty-minute mark that you started reflecting on what you had been through. You still weren’t sure how Sam and Dean had found you, but you were grateful they did. Fortunately, being unconscious allowed your body to heal up quickly. Unfortunately, living the life you’d been dreaming of had fucked you up emotionally. You tried not to allow yourself to think about it. It would be easier to bury all of the undiscussed emotions , unasked questions, and unreciprocated feelings into a deep pit with all of the other fucked up stuff that was easier to put off than it was to walk out and face it. You didn’t want to think about holding Dean’s hand as you walked to unusual landmarks or him pressing his lips against your forehead after he thought you’d had a nightmare. It would never be your reality, so there was no sense in dwelling on what could’ve been.

There were a few knocks on the door, “You alright in there? There’s no way there’s still hot water coming out.” Dean’s voiced was muffled by the door. “Coming!” You called back to him, suddenly realizing how long it’d been. The water still felt fine, though.

You hurriedly stepped out, dried yourself off, and threw on an oversized t-shirt and a pair of sweatpants. You’d get dressed for the day once you were in the main room, as the steam in the bathroom makes the clothes stick to you.

“How are you feeling?” Dean asked as you emerged from the bathroom. You missed the way his eyes sparkled once he finally got a look you standing up and healthy. “Like I wish people would stop asking me that,” You complained. After a beat of silenced passed, you added, “And hungry.” Dean let out a breathy laugh, “Yeah, Sam ran to the diner down the road real fast.” You nodded, reaching to pull out your laptop. You had to stay busy, it kept your mind off of things you didn’t want to be thinking about.

“Slow down, road runner,” Dean encouraged, moving to sit next to you. You shrugged at him. He continued to chastise you, “You need to heal up, we can take a day or two off.” If you were anyone else, he wouldn’t be telling you this. He and Sam never slowed down. They hunted, they got injured, they went on another hunt, and they got injured again. “I’m not a child, Dean. I’m not even hurt, I can hunt.” Dean didn’t respond, instead, he pressed his hand against the back of your laptop, pushing it shut.

“I know what it’s like,” He practically cooed. You tried to ignore the way your heart jumped at his gentle voice. “Your wish had come true, and then it was ripped away from you. That’s not something you heal from overnight.” You didn’t realize you’d been avoiding eye contact with him until this moment. His face had a foreign softness too it, one you didn’t see him use on anyone else. “I’m fine, Dean.” You huffed. If that was true was still out for debate.

“Tell me about it.” He pushed. When you continued to stare at him, but didn’t answer, he questioned you further. “What was your wish? What was different?” This was when you broke eye contact. Your face began to feel warm, and you looked down into your lap. Dean didn’t push. He could be an asshole, but he was an asshole that cared about you. You two sat in silence for a while, as you considered how much to reveal to him. You knew he wouldn’t let it go. Maybe he’d leave it alone for a day or so, but this conversation was inevitable. “Things were just,” you hesitated for a second, “different.” Dean nodded, subtly encouraging you to continue. “We didn’t live this,” you gestured to the room around you, “kind of life. I mean we did, we stayed in motels with each other and all, but we didn’t have to deal with everything else. We weren’t hunters.” You explained.

“That’s your wish? To stop hunting?” Dean asked with a conviction that had you convinced that if you said yes, you’d never have to go on a hunt again, and he would make sure of it. However, you shook your head, “It’s not even about hunting, I don’t think. We were on some stupid roadtrip. To see Jess. She was graduating from college.” Dean hummed at your explanation. “So your wish was to be on a roadtrip with us? Or for Jess to still be alive?” Dean questioned again, almost in awe of how selfless he thought you were. But, you shook your head again. “I wish that we were able to meet differently.”

“Differently?” Dean repeated. “Yeah,” you shrugged your shoulders, “like, normal people, I guess. In a bar or at some sporting event. Something stupid, that regular people get to experience.” Dean was quiet, contemplating what you said. He would’ve never guessed that your wish was something so simple. Your wish was so mundane, so un-earth shattering, that it was hard for him to wrap his head around it. You knew his wish, wanting his mother to still be alive. That was worth wishing for. A different kind of life with him and his brother was not. If Dean could make your wish for you, it would probably be the exact opposite. He’d wish that you never met him and never had to deal with all of the world-saving bullshit being with the Winchesters came with. Hell, even if you were still hunting, you’d at least be safe from the archangels and the king of Hell and Lillith and all of the other crap he had to deal with. You could hunt normal things, like vampires and werewolves and wendigos and maybe the occasional witch or demon.

“And if we met like normal people, what would that mean?” Dean was trying to understand the fantasy you got to live in, even if it was only for a brief moment. “I don’t know. We were on some stupid road trip and seeing the World’s Largest Basket. Sam and Jess were moving in together to live close to us.” We held hands and you kissed me on the forehead and called me your girlfriend. Dean nodded, seeing how a simple life like that could be enjoyable. “Close to us?” He questioned, picking up on the fact you two at least lived close, if not together, in your fantasy. You nodded, shrugging your shoulders.

“Food’s here!” Sam called as the door to your motel room opened. You smiled, standing up to meet him at the table. Dean hesitated, not moving from his spot on the bed for a brief second. If he could live in his fantasy world, he thinks he’d like to live with you, too.

The next hunt found you and the boys in the middle of Alabama, searching for a vengeful spirit preying on men who broke their wives heart. The night you were able to gank them, Dean had suggested “celebratory spirits, in honor of the spirit we’d put to rest”. Who were you to argue with that?

So, you three found yourselves in a local dive bar. You were nestled into a corner booth, right by the pool tables, where Sam and Dean were playing two older locals. You were pretty sure Sam was hustling the poor old man, but Dean seemed to be playing for fun. You couldn’t help but notice how handsome Dean truly was when he allowed himself to relax for a moment. He had his two favorite people in the world with him and a cold beer in his hand. He was content.

“Wanna play?” Dean asked as he chalked his pool stick. “Me?” You asked, shocked that he would extend that offer. You’d never been good at pool, which Dean was definitely aware of. There was no shot he wanted you to play, especially if there was any money involved. “Yeah, I can finally teach you the skills so you can start your own hustle,” Dean explained, gesturing to Sam and confirming your suspicions. “If you want me to,” You stated, then downed the rest of your drink, before moving to grab the other pool stick. “You wanna break?” Dean asked as he set the game up.

Dean showed you different tricks and spent a lot of time showing you how to get the right angles and power on your hits. You hoped he didn’t notice the way your thighs pressed together when he pressed his chest against your back, lowered his head to be next to your ear, and wrapped his hands around yours on the pool stick. He was a very effective teacher.

By the time Dean had finally hit in the 8-ball in, Sam had wandered away. You spotted him talking to a pretty red-head by the bar. There was no surprise when he slid his hand around her waist, guiding her out of the bar. You received a text to both you and Dean that read “not coming back to the motel tonight” a few minutes after. You knew Dean had read it when he whispered, “my man!” and slid his phone back into his pocket. “You doing the same?” You asked Dean once you both settled into the booth, seeing the way he was looking around the bar, eyeing up the patrons. He shook his head, “Nah, thinking about calling it a night.” He brought his beer bottle to his lips and took the final swig of it. “It’s only 11 o’clock,” you informed him, surprised that he was choosing to go back to the motel. “I’m not cutting you off, princess,” he teased, “I’m just ready to chill.” He emphasized his statement by dragging out the world “chill” and sliding his hands through the air.

Dean knew if he went back to the motel, you would, too. You were never one to stay out and party, especially if he or Sam wasn’t around. It was both a safety kind of thing, and a not having as much fun without them kind of thing.

Dean held the door for you as you walked out of the bar. It had cooled off, into a nice, summer night. Dean surprised you by opening the door to the impala, and closing it for you after you’d settled into your seat. “And they say chivalry is dead,” you teased when he climbed in. “Yeah, yeah, don’t get used to it, sweetheart.”

The ride back was filled with nothing but comfortable silence and a Rolling Stones cassette playing through the radio. You and Dean settled into the room, each taking a bed, assuming Sam would not be coming back at all tonight. Dean usually took the couch during hunts, as Sam was too tall for them, and he would never subject you to the muscle pain that comes with sleeping on broken springs.

You were totally absorbed into the soap opera you’d chosen from the shitty motel channels when Dean finally spoke. “I got one question for you,” he started, shifting his body from being angled at the TV to facing you. His long, jean-clad legs were stretched out in front of where he was sitting against the headboard. You were laying on your side, head resting on your arm and angled down toward the TV. You shifted your gaze to him, “shoot.”

“In your Djinn dream last week, why was Sam moving closer to us?” You weren’t sure what you were expecting, but that certainly wasn’t it. Your silence was making Dean uneasy, so he rushed to fill it, “I mean we were far from them, yes?” You let out a hum of agreement. “So, why did both of us live so far away from them that they had to move?” You got the feeling that Dean was piecing this together as he said it out-loud. “We lived together?” He asked, giving you his full attention now. Your voice was quiet when you answered, “I guess.”

Dean moved from his position, opting to sit on the edge of the bed closest to you. “What else happened?” You locked eyes from him from where you were laying, noticing a shift in the way he talked. There was more edge to his voice. “What?” you asked, shifting your position as well, sitting on the edge of your bed, directly across from him. “I know that we met in a different situation and that we were on some road trip, but what else happened? Why did we live together?” If your face was warm when he asked about how you’d met, then your face was on fire now. You hoped he couldn't sense how flustered you were getting.

“Hey,” he leaned forward, reaching an arm across to rest on your thigh, “no need to get shy on me, now. We all have our things,” He assured, assuming it was something embarrassing you were worried about. It was definitely embarrassing, but not in the way that you look back at the situation in five years and laugh, but in the way that your life may be forever changed once you’ve said it out loud. Your life may be forever changed for the worst, if you have to listen to him say that that was a crazy Djinn dream and something like that would never happen between you two.

Dean’s eyes remained on you, with an expectant look on his face. You opened your mouth to speak, but quickly shut it, trying to find a way to explain what happened without him realizing that you were totally, deeply, grossly in love with him.

“Come ‘ere,” He mumbled, moving to sit next to you, instead of across from you. The energy in the room continued to get tenser, as he got closer, invading your personal space. For the second time that night, his face was next to yours and his lips were moving by your ear. “We were close in your fantasy?” He asked, voice low and husky. You nodded, afraid that your voice would give too much away. “Closer than we are right now?”

You weren’t sure if he was talking on an emotional level, or a proximal one. Sure, the answer to both questions was yes, but you didn’t want to tell him that. He was your boyfriend, and, at multiple points in your fantasy world, you two were touching. It was in rather innocent ways, but you were touching nonetheless. You let out a sigh, before nodding again. Due to him being so close, you couldn’t see the smirk that spread across Dean’s face at your confession.

“What? We were married? Lived together in some rancher in the middle of New Mexico?” He switched back to his teasing mode. “You were my boyfriend,” you corrected, without realizing what you were confessing to. Dean’s eyes widened briefly, “So, let me get this right,” he backed away from you, just a little bit. You were still disappointed to lose the warmth his body heat was providing. “In your fantasy world, a world where you could’ve wished for anything you wanted, I was your boyfriend?” Fuck your face being on fire, it was melting into the deepest pit of Hell, where there was nothing but torches and conflagrations. “Yes, Dean,” you huffed, completely moving yourself away from him and closer to your headboard, “Now stop being mean about it and go back to your stupid soap opera.”

Dean let out a gentle ‘tsk’, moving his body closer to yours, as if he was chasing the feeling you were giving him. “Sweetheart, I’m not being mean. I’m just making sure you want this as much as I do.” With that, Dean’s lips were on yours. He swallowed the gasp you let out before you relaxed into his touch. Your hands moved into the short length of his hair, holding him as close as physically possible. “Fuck,” Dean breathed as he pulled away from you. His hands move to rub along the top of your thighs. “You okay?”

You nodded, eagerly. He let out a low chuckle, before diving back into pressing his lip against yours. Dean’s body guided your own, getting you to lay down so that he could hover over you. He supported his weight with his right hand, allowing his left to slide down your side. His lips were making you dizzy as he kissed down the side of your neck. When he reached a particularly sensitive spot, you let out a gentle moan. Dean stopped for just a second to bask in the sound, before returning to the spot with a deep suck. His tongue slid over the skin to soothe the burn once he felt you were sufficiently marked to his liking.

Dean continued this pattern, searching your body for spots that made moans fall from your lips and your body writhe against his. He was painfully hard from enjoying the friction your thigh was creating him for him, but he was enjoying your reactions too much to stop. Dean was always one to enjoy the delicious things in life.

So, it was no surprise that he kissed down your body, helping you remove every article of clothing that got in his way, before he settled himself between your legs.

He started by rubbing his calloused hands along the inside of your thighs. He followed each slide of his each with a kiss, easing the burn from his rough hands on such a sensitive area. You were sure he could see the wet spot that formed on your panties, which were the last piece of clothing you were wearing. It was hard to ignore how he was still fully clothed when you were so bare. “Dean,” you whined with a harder tug of his hair. He let out a ‘hm’, as he left another mark on the inside of your left thigh. One only he would be able to see.

Your hands slid down from their place in his hair to pull on his collar, signaling to him that you wanted it off. “Want something, sweetheart?” He asked. If you weren’t so desperate for him, you would’ve kicked that stupid grin off of his face. You shifted your gaze down to where he was waiting for you to say something. The sight of him between your legs was heavenly, and if you wanted him earlier, you needed him now. You pulled on his shirt again, with a breathy, drawn out, “Dean.” He chuckled again, before pushing himself onto his knees to pull off his shirt. He did not give you the kindness off removing anything else.

He did finally, finally, touch your soaked panties. Dean’s fingers were gentle as he slid them through your clothed slit. “God, baby,” He almost sounded as whiny as you did, “I did this all to you?” Dean’s cocked twitched in his jeans when answered with a sickly sweet, “Yes, De.”

“Guess I’ll have to do something to clean it up for ya, huh?” You didn’t have the chance to answer before he moved his fingers to circle around your clit, drawing a deep moan out of you. Your legs were starting to feel like jello as you began to go dumb from your arousal. All your mind, body, and soul could focus on at the moment was Dean Winchester. Your Dean Winchester. Your real Dean Winchester.

Dean stayed there for a while, sitting between your legs, tracing painfully slow circles on your clit. He ignored all of your attempts to get him to do something more. It was as if he didn’t hear your moans and whines, or feel the way your hands were reaching for his wrist to get him to stop, or do more, you weren’t exactly sure. He was driving you crazy, giving you enough to keep your mind focused on him, but not enough to push you any closer to the mind shattering orgasm you were chasing. You knew he could give it to, why was he being so mean?

After what could’ve been either a few minutes or a few hours, your brain was too mushy to know the difference, Dean decided to show a little mercy on you. “You’re so pretty,” he complimented, adjusting his position so he could pull your underwear down your legs. He pressed a sweet kiss above your knee as he pulled the drenched fabric over them. “I’m really enjoying this,” he informed you, as if you couldn’t tell from the tent in his pants and the way he was dragging this out. He flicked his gaze to you, waiting for a response. “Me too, Dean,” you assured him.

You saw the shade of pink on his cheeks slightly darken. He looked so good, so pretty, like this. There were beads of sweat along his forehead, his pupils were blown, and his cheeks, his fucking cheeks, were the most beautiful shade of pink you’d ever seen. You wanted nothing more than to take a picture, capture this moment, and have it to look back on whenever you wanted.

“I’m gonna make you feel good now, yeah?” He said as his fingers started to move again, finally giving the pressure you’d been craving.

Wanton moans fell from your lips as he inserted two fingers into your dripping cunt. “Oh,” you gasped, pleasantly full from his fingers. His rhythm was perfect as he tried out a few different angles before he found the spongy spot inside of you that made you see stars. It only took a few strokes from him to pull your orgasm from you. Dean knew you were cumming before you moaned, “Cumming, Dean, I’m cumming,” from the way your muscles spasmed around his fingers. God, he couldn’t wait to feel you cum on his cock.

Dean worked you through your orgasm, not stopping his movements until you were breathing heavily and holding his wrist in place by pressing your thighs together. “Doing okay?” He checked in after you let him go. You didn’t have the capacity to form words, or even coherent thoughts yet, so you simply nodded.

Dean stayed in his spot between your legs, massaging the fat of your thighs and rubbing his hands along your shins. You truly had never felt more relaxed than you were currently feeling in this moment. Everything, for once, was perfect, and there was no need for a monster to kidnap you and place you in a fantasy world while he feeds on you to feel like this. All you needed was Dean. All you’ve ever needed was Dean. All you will ever need is Dean.

“Hey, Dean,” you mumbled into the comfortable silence. He didn’t reply, but raised his eyebrows at you. You shot him a sweet smile, not feeling the need to explain what you were thinking. He matched it, sending you a gorgeous grin.

You gave yourself just a few more moments to recover before beckoning him to come closer. He quickly obliged, pressing his lips to yours again. There was no rush this time. You both knew you had all of the time in the world to enjoy each other from here on out.

You slid your hands down Dean’s chest, surprised at how soft his skin was. Your hands tugged on the button of his jeans, undoing them for him. There were no words spoken between you two as you helped him out of the remainder of his clothes. He reassumed his spot hovering above you, pressed a kiss to the side of your head, and then gently slid himself into you. You let out matching moans as he bottomed out, filling you up perfectly. Dean waited to move, allowing himself to bask in your warmth for a little bit.

His first few thrusts were gentle. They matched his demeanor as he reached up above where your head laid on the pillow to hold your hand. Dean held eye contact as he began to pick up his pace. He knew he wouldn’t last long. Not when he’d been dreaming of this moment for so long.

“Feels good, Dean,” you babbled, exhausted and content. He responded with a low groan, burying his head into the crook of your neck. His right hand moved to your thigh, hiking it up around his waist as he began to pick up his pace.

“Fuck,” he groaned as he hit a spot deep in your cervix, “fuck, baby.” He repeated. If you were cock-dumb, he was definitely pussy-drunk. Dean was lost in the feeling of you. His grip on your hand tighten as he started to pound into you. The hand that wasn’t interlocked with his moved to his back, leaving scratches that would burn the next time he took a shower.

“So fucking good,” Dean mumbled in your ear. His hips started to jerk as pressure began to build up in his abdomen. There was a fire growing in his lower stomach that would erupt into a brain numbing orgasm. He didn’t think twice as he painted the inside of your walls white, filling you to the brim with his seed.

Dean didn’t stop, he was riding out his own high, just as he had done for you and yours.

“God, baby,” he sighed out once he was done, collapsing on top of you. You welcomed the weight, finding comfort in his body. “Why did we wait so long to do that?” Dean mumbled in your ear. You giggled in response, totally enamored with this new side of him.

You tried to ignore how empty you felt when Dean finally pulled himself out of you. There was a conversation that needed to be had now, but you weren’t sure how to start it. The tension in the room could be felt again, but it was different. It was uncomfortable as you both tried to navigate whatever this was now.

Dean stood from the bed, grabbing two towels off of where they were thrown over the chair, “C’mon, let’s shower and get’cha cleaned up.” You nodded, following in his footsteps.

Dean turned on the water and stepped into the shower as you peed. Once you were done, you joined him. Despite all of things you two had done, this was the most vulnerable you’d felt all night.

“We gotta talk about it, ya know,” Dean started as he turned away from you to get soap on a rag. He rubbed it between his hands to suds it up before bringing it to your shoulder. He washed the tension away from your neck, gently traced the rag over your breasts, massaged the soap into your thighs, and got you clean. He was so gentle, so relaxed.

“I know,” you sighed, scared for what would come out of it. “So you’d want me to? To, uh, be your boyfriend or whatever?” He asked as he stood to his full height after washing your calves. “I mean, yeah, if you’d want to be.” You shrugged, trying not to let him see how hard your heart was beating in your chest.

His eyes lingered on yours as a few beats of silence passed between you two.

“Hey,” he murmured as he called your name, “Would you do me the honor of being my girlfriend?”

You let out a giggle at his chivalry, eagerly nodding. Dean’s smile matched yours as he pulled you into his chest. He held you tightly, squeezing you into him. You were pretty sure that this shower was nothing but a waste of water, as you two would find yourselves wrapped in each other between the sheets, again, before the night was over.

#dean winchester smut #dean winchester x reader #dean winchester x you #dean winchester x female!reader #dean winchester imagine #dean winchester drabble #dean winchester blurb #dean winchester one shot #dean winchester fanfiction #dean winchester fic #dean winchester fluff #dean winchester angst #supernatural x you #supernatural x reader #supernatural imagine #supernatural blurb #supernatural drabble #supernatural smut

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jasmines-library · 9 months ago

Note

Could u pls do a Winchester sister fic like (season 10 ep. 15) but instead of the parasite going into cole it goes into the sister and Dean tries to shock it out like in the episode but then she almost dies and they have to try and find another way

The Things They Carried

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Word Count: 2284 (wow look at me go)

Warnings: Uhhh not sure how to phrase it. Overall gore, kinda throwing up?

⛧ SPN MASTERLIST ⛧

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The woman had vanished without a trace. Well, at least at first. Her body was found strung upside down in the storage room of a remote part of the city Feyetteville, North Carolina. Perhaps one of the most perplexing parts of the victims disappearance, was that not only was she an Army Private, trained in Krav Maga and Jiu-Jitsu, but her organs had been drained, along with the bone marrow sucked out of her body. This is what had caught Dean’s attention. He now sat in front of you and Sam, the article pulled up on his ipad.

Sam raised his eyebrows, his forehead wrinkling as he studied the article once more before handing it off to you. “So…cannibalism. You thinking a Rugaru?”

“Or a God. Maybe.” Dean agreed. A second later he was up on his feet, ready to go. Sam tried to protest. Ever since Dean got the mark of Cain Sam has been solely focused on trying to find a way to remove it. He was constantly on edge and you had to admit you were too. It seemed that no amount of research seemed to give enough answers on the mark. Eventually, with a look from his older brother and a defeated sigh, Sam let up and not even 10 minutes later, the three of you were speeding down the road.

Much to your disappointment, when you arrived in the city the first thing the three of you were told was that the local police had closed the case. However, they had given you a name, and the incriminating evidence. The sheriff; an elderly man, perhaps late 60s with white, thinning hair, had also told you that the offender had also committed suicide before the feds could lock him up. He also told you that this was the third suicide the city had seen in the last 6 months. A pattern. This was definitely something supernatural, if that wasn’t already clear. However, when Sam asked about the body, the sheriff informed the three of you that there were no bite marks, and that the victim had been killed with a bowie knife. That ruled out a Rugaru, leaving your trail dry.

The next step of the hunt was to speak to Beth, the offender's widow. She was rather distraught as she bounced her baby softly in her arms. When she glanced away from it, you could see the pain in her eyes; the dark circles that rim them.

“Rick was a kind soul.” She insisted sadly, glancing down at the floor. The way she spoke of her late husband was filled with awe, but woven thick was pain that choked up her voice. You could tell that she still hadn’t processed her husband’s recent change in personality.

“Did you ever notice anything strange?” Sam asked gently, his fingers clasped together as he leaned against the countertop. “Violent mood swings?”

“Weird smells?” You added.

“No….” The woman frowned. “But Rick was- he was-” she stuttered, unable to word what she wanted to say correctly, almost as if she didn’t really believe it or understand it herself. “He was thirsty.”

You tilted your head at her, her words catching your interest. “Thirsty for what?”

Her answer surprised you. “Water. He’d spend half the day drinking from the garden hose. And then, when I told him to stop it was like he couldn’t even hear me. And his skin; it got so dry it bled.”

Your older brothers watched intently. “Did he see a doctor?” Dean questioned gruffly.

The poor woman shook her head. There were now soft tears rolling down her face, mingling with the ghosts of the ones there before. “He just got put on a list to be put on a list. And then he stopped talking. He just wasn't himself–” she sniffled, shifting her baby in her arms. “I thought….maybe it was just PTSD.”

No one said anything for a moment before you broke the silence tenderly. “We’re very sorry.”

“You said that Rick had been recently deployed.” Dean said. “Do you have any idea where?”

“No.” She answered rather bluntly. “That stuff’s classified. They don’t even let the wives in on it.”

And the trail runs cold again.

But then, just as you were about to leave and Sam left your number, Beth stopped you again.

“There’s one other thing.” she added. “I ran into my friend Jemma at the supermarket. She’s married to Kit Verson. A guy from Rick’s team. She thinks Kit came back different this time. Kind of felt like we were dealing with the same thing.”

The trail picks up again.

After a little while running around after Kit Verson, discovering that he murdered someone else the same way that his friend did, the three of you ended up in an old shack that his wife believed he might have fled to. It was dark. Eerily so. However not as eerie as the trail of dead mice on the floor. Machetties in hand and guns in holsters, the three of your crept through the darkness of the hut. You found him hunched over in the back room of the house. His breathing was rough and ragged as though he might have run a mile at top speed. When you reached out to touch his shoulder, his head whipped around, bloodshot eyes boring into you. His mouth and face was splattered with blood and dirt, and his movements were erratic as he stood up to face you. He gripped you tight, cold fingers like icicles against your skin as he pushed you back against the wall. And then his eyes were pleading with you. The harsh crease between his eyebrows softened for just a moment as he used his body weight to keep you pinned up against the wood panelling.

“I’m sorry,” he grunted out, wrestling with you to keep you in his grasp. “I can’t stop.”

And then, you were on the floor, dirty ground rising to meet you fast as he made you lose your footing. And then, as you struggled beneath him he made this awful gagging noise as the creature slithered out of his throat and forced its way into you. You coughed, gagging yourself as your brothers rushed into the room. They were on Kit in seconds, but he was strong, throwing your brothers around before dashing out of the door. Quick on his feet, Dean followed, leaving you staggering for breath on the floor with Sam.

“Are you alright?!” Sam asked, alarmed as he rushed to your side, helping you up off the floor.

You coughed. “Some-something’s inside of me–” a grimace spread across your face as you felt it move. “It’s alive–”

“It what?” Sam blinked. “What did it look like? Do you know what it was?”

“Khan worm.” Dean answered, catching on to the end of the conversation. “At Least i think it is. Why? Did you see it?”

You groaned in pain, so Sam answered for you. “It crawled inside her.”

Dean froze, his eyes going wide. “What?”

Sam nodded grimly.

“Did you see what it was? Dean asked worriedly.

You coughed, hands flying to your mouth. “Khan worm.”

“Shit.” Dean cursed aloud, running his hands through his hair.

“We have two options.” You said, trying to hide the grimace on your face as you felt the worm moving, ,crawling under your skin. Neither of the two options were very pleasant at all. You and your brothers had worked a case with Khan worms a few years ago and there were two ways that you discovered the worms could be killed. And while these worms seemed slightly different to the first ones you discovered, you figured that they were similar enough that the same rules would apply. The first option was probably the most forward one, but it also involved certain death; a headshot to the infected person that would cause the worm to flee the body where it would then be crushed by Sam or Dean. Option one was very clearly off the table. The second was far more painful, but it also harboured greater chances of survival.

Dean began to protest immediately. “No. No no. there’s got to be another way.”

“You know we dont-”

“Kid….” Sam started.

“Just do it. We have no other choice.”

Dean sighed, turning away and pinching the bridge of his nose. “Alright.”

Dean had managed to find two batteries hidden in the small cabin. He placed them grimly on the table with a thud before connecting two of the jump wires that Sam had gone and collected from Baby’s trunk. You were sitting in the armchair, fingers gripping the leather as you waited anxiously. Sam tried to give you some comforting words, but you weren’t sure who he was trying to comfort more; you or himself.

“Alright.” Dean said, his voice laced thick with an anxiousness and guilt he was yet to shake. He brought the cables over to you as you took a deep breath, placing a wooden spoon between your mouth to keep you from biting through your tongue.

Settling back in the chair, you took a moment to collect yourself. To prepare for the agony you were about to put yourself through. And then, you gave him a brief nod

The sudden pain when Dean pressed the jump cables to your skin was overwhelming. Unbearable. A million agonies all combined to one as the electricity raced through your veins. You screamed, crying out as your teeth bit down on the wood of the spoon, which helped to muffle the sound. Both of your brothers winced at the sound of your agony as you twisted and writhed. Sam had to look away and Dean had to force himself to keep the cables against your skin though he yearned to take away your pain. But nothing happened. As soon as your brother removed the cables, you were panting for breath, trying to recover quickly from the pain. You couldn’t help but notice the looks on your brother’s faces.

“Anything?”

Sam shook his head dismally. The parasite was still in you.

“Go again.”

Dean startled. “What? Are you crazy?”

“Go again.” You strained.

Dean collected himself, and then; the same pain. But still as you writhed. Fists clenching and nails digging into your palms the worm remained inside you. And your brothers were growing increasingly concerned. Your movements began to slow as you grew quieter and your eyes fluttered, drooping with a sudden heaviness. Dean pulled the cables away immediately and you slumped back against the chair. Your head lolled forwards against your chest and your breathing was concerningly slow and laboured.

“Okay….okay…” Sam said gently, slipping an arm behind your back to help support you.You whimpered slightly at the movement. “ Shh. You’re alright sweetheart.” he glanced up at Dean, fear and worry evident in the creases on his forehead. They would have to find a different way to get the worm out.

You were sweating. Gods….you’d never been hotter. Your body still ached as you sat in the armchair of the cabin. The old leather was flaking off and was practically covered in a sheen of your own sweat. Sam and Dean had pushed it towards the fire, leaving you to sweat against the heat. They had figured that as the parasite needed water, if they could make you sweat it all out…then the creature would leave. But now you were practically slumped in a chair, dark veins crawling up your neck as you tried to rid the worm from your body. You coughed a little, your throat dry, with no way to soothe it. Thirst…..that was the only thing that consumed your mind…you were so. damn. thirsty. Your body craved it. Anything you could get you would take….even your own brothers’ blood. The parasite yearned for something. You could feel it, squirming around inside you. Uncomfortable, you whined before coughing a little, doubling over on yourself.

Sam placed a hand on your shoulder. “Hang in there, Sweetheart. You have to sweat it out.”

“Can’t–” You coughed.

“Yes you can.” Dean shut you down quickly. “You can’t give up. Winchesters don’t quit.”

Reluctantly, you nodded. Your head spun. You felt sick. But you knew you couldn’t give up. You were in for a long waiting game.

It wasn’t until a few hours later, when you were on the verge of breaking down that you began to feel it slithering up your throat. You gagged, coughing as you tried to expel the creature from your body.

Sam and Dean were by your side in seconds, both trying to coax you through it, ready to stomp on the worm as soon as it made an appearance. Sure enough you managed to cough it up uncomfortably. It splattered on the floor, squealing as it writhed and trying to slither off to infect someone else. It didn’t make it far before Dean slammed a heavy boot over it. And once more for good measure. It squelched under his shoe, peeling off from it as it stuck to the floor. He grimaced at the sight before moving to crouch beside you, checking on you.

You wiped the string of saliva from your mouth with a grimace before gratefully taking the water bottle Sam offered you and wasting no time before drinking it to quench your impossible thirst.

“That's it. Easy, Sweetheart.” Dean cooed. “It’s over now.”

“You did it, kiddo.” Sam said, guiding you to lean back in the chair more. “We knew you could do it. We’re proud of you.”

(A bit of a rubbish ending! I'm sorry i wasn't sure what to do)

⛤⋅•⋅∙∘☽⛧☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅⛤

SPN TAGS:

@xxrougefangxx @hell-o-kittys @inlovewhithafairytale @harleycao @that-wannabe-vangoghgurl @rosecentury

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#supernatural x reader #spn #spn x reader #supernatural #supernatural x sister reader #spn x sister reader #dean winchester #sam winchester #dean winchester x reader #dean winchester x sister reader #sam winchester x reader #sam winchester x sister reader #supernatural fanfiction

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actuallybean · 1 month ago

Text

Holy Virgin* | Part Two

You've shared everything with Sam but one thing—your faith. It’s never been a problem… until Heaven turns its gaze on you, and suddenly, devotion takes on a darker meaning. *Contains sexual material, pregnancy, thoughts of suicide/attempted suicide, virginity and has some religious themes: Minors DNI Pairing: Sam Winchester x Reader, Dean Winchester x Reader (Platonic), Castiel x Reader (Platonic) Tag list: @mostlymarvelgirl @iloveeveryoneyoureamazing Part Three Supernatural Masterlist | Main Masterlist

The Bunker felt warmer on Sundays.

Maybe it was the smell of eggs sizzling in Dean’s old cast-iron pan, the one he swore made them crispier, greasier, “more American.” Maybe it was the way Sam moved slower in the mornings, long limbs draped lazily over the arms of chairs, like his body finally trusted that—for one sacred morning—no one needed saving. Or maybe it was just the way sunlight slipped through the narrow slats of the kitchen window, catching on motes of dust like falling grace. Warm gold on steel and stone. A gentle defiance against how cold the world usually was.

You sat curled at the round table, barefoot, one of Sam’s flannels swallowing you whole, the hem brushing your thighs. You were flipping through a battered old cookbook you found wedged behind some takeout menus in the Bunker’s pantry. The pages smelled like bacon grease and faint mildew, with handwritten notes in the margins—“add more cayenne” or “Dean liked this one”—and cracked eggshells preserved in the spine from some long-ago spill.

“You know,” Dean said, cracking an egg with theatrical precision, “if you two are gonna keep playing house like this, we’re gonna have to get you matching aprons.”

You didn’t even glance up. “Yours would say ‘Kiss the Hunter.’ With a little heart stitched in blood.”

Sam snorted into his coffee.

Dean raised a brow. “Mine would say ‘World’s Greatest Brother,’ thank you very much.”

“You’re just mad she doesn’t cook for you,” Sam said without looking up, nursing his mug like it was the last good thing left in the world.

“She’s never offered,” Dean shot back.

“She’s not your girlfriend.”

Dean turned dramatically, wiping his hands on a dish towel and leaning his hip against the counter. “Not yet.”

You blinked. Sam’s brow twitched.

Dean smirked, eyes glinting. “I’m just saying, man—she already wears your clothes, hogs your coffee, steals your books. How far off are we, really, from a full-on Winchester wedding? You want me to start looking for rings? Or maybe I can officiate it myself—‘Dearly beloved, we are gathered here today in this haunted-ass bunker—’”

“Dean,” Sam cut in, but there was no heat behind it.

Dean held up his hands in mock surrender. “Hey, hey, I’m just teasing. Mostly. But let’s not pretend this isn’t the closest thing to domestic bliss any of us are ever gonna get.”

You finally looked up, lips twitching into a reluctant smile. “You really know how to make a girl feel romantic.”

Dean grinned and pointed his spatula at you. “Don’t I?”

Then, more quietly, more honestly, he added, “I mean it, though. You’re family. You know that, right?”

The humor softened in the space between you, fading like steam off a skillet. The kind of quiet that holds weight.

Your gaze met his, gentler now. “I know.”

Dean’s eyes flicked to Sam and back. “It’s just… this feels good. Normal. And God knows we don’t get a lot of that. So, yeah. I wouldn’t mind a sister-in-law who prays before eating and makes Sam stop brooding.”

“I do not brood,” Sam muttered, deadpan.

Dean ignored him. “Plus, you’re like… the only one who can get him to watch something other than documentaries and sad indie dramas.”

“He cried during Little Women,” you said with a teasing glance toward Sam.

“I did not,” Sam protested, cheeks faintly flushed. “That scene with Beth was—objectively emotional.”

You leaned your head on his shoulder, smiling into the fabric of his shirt. “Sure, baby. Whatever helps you sleep at night.”

Dean cackled from the stove.

You stayed like that for a beat longer, your hand sneaking across the table under the clutter of old napkins and Dean’s half-finished crossword puzzle. Sam’s fingers found yours easily, warm and callused, lacing with familiar confidence.

“You two make me sick,” Dean announced, scooping eggs onto plates. “If I’d known letting her live here would result in public displays of affection, I would’ve stuck to solo missions.”

“Yeah, but then who would’ve kept you from eating expired Hot Pockets and drinking gas station whiskey on an empty stomach?” you shot back.

Dean raised his hands. “Point taken. Now eat this before I decide to throw it at you out of sheer bitterness.”

He set down a plate in front of you with a flourish. Eggs, toast, bacon, and what looked like an attempt at hash browns—crispy on one side, still raw on the other.

You made sure the boys dug in first.

Dean was halfway through cutting his toast when you folded your hands in your lap, lowered your head, and closed your eyes.

“Bless us, O Lord, and these Thy gifts which we are about to receive from Thy bounty…” you murmured, the prayer so familiar it came like breathing. You always prayed before eating—especially here. Especially with them.

Dean noticed this time. You could feel his eyes on you. Not mocking. Not confused. Just… quietly watching.

When you lifted your head again, Dean hadn’t touched his fork. He was still staring, brow furrowed like he was trying to figure out a puzzle he hadn’t realized he cared about until now.

“What do you feel when you pray?” he asked suddenly, cutting through the comfortable clatter of breakfast.

You blinked, surprised. “Peace,” you said softly, leaning back in your chair. “Mostly peace. Or hope. Sometimes fear. But never alone.”

Dean tilted his head, chewing on the edge of your words. “Fear?” he echoed, voice lower now.

You nodded. “Not of God. Of everything else. Of what’s out there. Of what we fight. There are days where it feels like the world is held together with duct tape and a wish. But when I pray… it feels like it doesn’t all fall on me. Like someone else is carrying it, too. Someone stronger. Someone good.”

Sam’s thumb moved against your hand again, slower this time.

Dean stared at you for a long moment. Then he looked down at his plate. Picked up his fork. “I get that,” he said quietly. “I really do.”

You watched him take a bite and chew slowly, eyes distant. For all his swagger and sarcasm, there were oceans under Dean Winchester’s surface. You’d known that for years. But moments like this? When he let the water show? They were rare. And precious.

Sam turned to you, his voice a whisper meant only for your ears. “He doesn’t say things like that to just anyone.”

You smiled, lifting his hand to your lips and pressing a soft kiss to his knuckles. “Neither do I.”

The three of you ate in a peaceful silence after that. The kind that didn’t need filling. The kind that only came with real love.

✦

The day passed slow. Lazy. Beautiful in the way only rare peace can be.

The Bunker held warmth in its bones that Sunday, humming softly beneath your bare feet as you padded down the hall, drawn by the scent of coffee and the quiet rustle of pages turning. Hours slipped by like melted honey, and none of you rushed them. Sam had pulled you into the couch sometime after breakfast, and neither of you had moved much since. One of his thick theology books lay open across his lap while you leaned against him, your legs tangled lazily with his, your head resting comfortably against the curve of his shoulder. He smelled faintly of cedarwood and paper, and every so often, he’d reach over to tuck a stray strand of your hair behind your ear.

Dean sat at the war room table, field-stripping one of his favorite guns, the parts arranged in perfect little rows like silver bones. He had a Western playing on low volume, something dusty and dramatic from the seventies that featured more scowls than dialogue. Every time a horse neighed or a revolver clicked, Dean mimicked the sound under his breath, even as his hands moved with methodical grace over oiled metal. You caught him glancing over a few times—at you, at Sam—and though he said nothing, the softness in his expression was louder than words.

Eventually, when the book had grown heavy in Sam’s lap and the Western ended with a poorly executed duel, the three of you agreed on a better option.

“The Princess Bride,” Dean suggested, casual.

You raised an eyebrow. “Seriously?”

He shrugged. “What? It’s got fencing. Fighting. Revenge. True love. All the essentials.”

Sam grinned. “He’s not wrong.”

And so it played.

You curled tighter against Sam, nestled beneath one of the patchwork quilts Dean had claimed from an old case in Wyoming. Your cheek pressed to Sam’s chest, and you could hear the steady beat of his heart beneath the fabric of his henley, feel the way it slowed in rhythm with his breath as the familiar scenes unfolded. The glow of the television bathed the room in flickering light—Inigo Montoya’s blade flashing silver, Westley’s voice thick with devotion.

“As you wish…”

You smiled into Sam’s shirt, lips barely moving.

Safe. Whole. Loved.

The moment felt suspended in amber—timeless, untouchable.

Until the flicker.

It was small, at first. A brief hiccup in the screen, like the film strip had caught. Then another. Then the lights.

They didn’t go out. Not completely. But they dimmed all at once, shadows lengthening in the corners of the room, the overheads lowering to a deep gold like candlelight. You sat up slowly, eyes scanning the space. Sam’s arm came instinctively around your waist. Dean rose before the sound even finished.

The wings.

That unmistakable rush of air that was neither wind nor sound—but both. Felt more than heard. A hush fell so suddenly over the Bunker that even the old pipes seemed to still.

And then—he was there.

Castiel.

He stood near the archway of the room, his coat rumpled as always, blue tie slightly askew. But his expression was different. Tight. Troubled. His eyes, usually the color of stormy sky, were darker now—clouded with something deeper than worry.

Flanking him were two angels you had never seen before.

They were... beautiful. But not in any way you could call comforting. Their presence carried a weight that made your bones ache, as though gravity itself bowed around them. The one to Castiel’s left had silver hair that shone like polished steel, his face angular, sharp, ageless. The other was bald, his skin smooth and pale as moonlight, but his eyes—his eyes were suns. Too bright. Too much. You looked away instinctively, heart kicking up in your chest.

You tried to stand. Sam rose beside you, his hand lingering on your back.

Castiel’s gaze found you immediately. “We need to speak with you.”

His voice was calm. Low. But there was no mistaking the urgency.

Dean narrowed his eyes, stepping forward. “Cas, what the hell’s going on?”

The silver-haired angel took a single step into the room, and though he moved with grace, the air around him seemed to chill. “We have a message.”

Dean’s hand drifted toward his waistband.

“It’s not a threat,” Castiel said quickly, holding up a hand. “But it is… from God.”

Your breath hitched so hard it felt like something fractured inside your lungs.

You stared at him, then at the others. “Me?”

The bald one nodded once. “You have been chosen.”

The words were like cold water dumped over your spine.

“I—I don’t understand.”

“We don’t either,” Castiel admitted. “The message was delivered by the new Scribe of Heaven. It bore the highest seal. And it spoke your name.”

You shook your head. “There’s a mistake. I’m no one.”

“You are known,” said the silver-haired angel. “You are named. You are prepared.”

Sam stepped in front of you without hesitation, towering between you and them. “What does that mean?”

The silver-haired angel extended a hand, palm upward. “If she allows, we will show her.”

Dean moved now, standing to Sam’s right, voice cold. “She’s not doing anything unless she agrees. And if this is some kind of possession—”

“It isn’t,” Castiel said firmly, cutting across the tension. “No control. No invasion. It’s… more like revelation. A divine vision.”

You stared at Castiel. “Will it hurt?”

“No,” he said. Then softer, “But it will change everything.”

Your pulse thudded in your ears.

You turned to Sam.

He looked at you like you were a world he didn’t want to lose. His eyes locked on yours, hands gently finding your arms. He didn’t say no. He wouldn’t hold you back. But his jaw was tight, and he looked like he was already grieving.

Then, finally, he nodded.

You turned back to the angels. Your voice was barely above a whisper. “Okay.”

The bald angel moved forward. Slowly. Carefully. He lifted his hand and pressed two fingers to your forehead.

And the world disappeared.

No sound. No breath. No body.

Only white.

Endless, echoing white—so bright it was neither color nor light, just... presence. A silence that pulsed. A stillness so pure it hurt.

And then—

A voice.

Not in your ears. In you. Through you.

It wasn’t loud. It didn’t boom. But it was. Vast. Timeless. Made of wind and thunder and lullabies and galaxies folding in on themselves.

My daughter. You have been chosen. You will carry My son. As Mary once did, so shall you. This is My will.

Your soul quaked.

You wanted to scream. Wanted to cry out that you were not worthy, not ready, not enough.

But there was no mouth. No voice. No flesh. Only your essence—and it bent beneath the weight of His decree.

You didn’t understand.

You didn’t want this.

You hadn’t chosen this.

And then—

The Bunker.

The world rushed back all at once, color and sound crashing into your senses.

You were falling.

Arms caught you. Strong. Familiar. Sam.

Your body trembled violently, your knees unable to bear your weight. Dean grabbed your legs, lowering you gently to the floor, while Castiel caught the back of your head with both hands, keeping you steady.

You were shaking so hard you could barely breathe.

Sam’s voice was frantic. Desperate.

“Hey—hey, look at me. It’s okay. I’ve got you. I’ve got you. Talk to me.”

You clung to him like a lifeline, fists curled in the fabric of his shirt, nails digging into his chest.

When your voice finally came, it cracked in half.

“Sam…” Your lip trembled. Your eyes burned. “I didn’t choose this…”

He pulled you closer, cradling you against his chest like something fragile. Like something sacred.

And in the silence that followed, no one spoke.

Because what could they say?

God had spoken.

And everything was about to change.

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crydart · 3 months ago

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The Empty Heart - Art Masterpost

STORY AVAILABLE ON AO3

https://archiveofourown.org/works/63709144

Dean is not okay and doesn’t try to hide it anymore. He wants to bring Cas back and won’t let anything stop him. He’s willing to threaten, to hurt others or himself. He pushes away the people who care about him, convinced his toxic presence will ruin their new, free lives. But they refuse to let him go.

Meanwhile, Castiel is awake in the Empty. Something is keeping him from rest. The last remnants of his angelic grace reach for the only piece of him left on Earth — a piece that is broken, shattered, but still longing for him.

This is a story of second chances, fighting your demons, and finally allowing yourself to be free. The brothers set out on one last hunt, ready to claim the life they never thought possible.

The story is completed and has a happy ending. New chapters are posted each weekend.

#Post-Canon #Fix-It #Happy Ending #Angst with a Happy Ending #Fluff #Touch-Starved #Found Family #Castiel is Saved from the Empty (Supernatural) #Alternate Ending #Everyone Is Alive #The Last Hunt #Castiel and Dean Winchester Have a Profound Bond #Castiel/Dean Winchester First Kiss #Top Castiel/Bottom Dean Wincheste #rDean Winchester Has Anger Issues #Canon-Typical Violence #Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism #Suicidal Thoughts #Anxiety Attacks #Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD #Healing #Panic Attacks #Additional Warnings In Author's Note #Sexual Tension #fuck the finale #Emotions #Protective Sam Winchester #Human Castiel (Supernatural) #Dean Winchester Loves Castiel #Slow Burn #Sharing a Bed

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witchy-worm · 8 months ago

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It's posting day for my first @deancashorrorfest collab! This year was a reverse bang, @shineforthee claimed my art piece and wrote a truly incredible fic for it. Please go check it out here: Link to Fic

I wanted to do something a bit different with this one, so I started off by drawing Cas, Dean, and the basic background in Illustrator. Then I imported it into photoshop and painted in most of the details.

Special thanks to our @deancashorrorfest mod for running such a smooth and fun event! This was my first time doing horrorfest but I'll definitely be back for more.

Banner and fic info behind the cut

Author: @shineforthee | Artist: @witchy-worm

Rating: Mature

Tags/Warnings: Major Character Death, Grief & Loss, Ambiguous Ending, Derealization, Apocalypse, Suicidal Ideation

Summary: Dean has always known it was ending. The world, that is. He knew it when he was three, awake and screaming in the middle of the night with the image of fire leaving an afterburn behind his eyelids. He knew it while he learned to ride a bike, while he went to his first school dance, had his first kiss, tipped back his first beer with his dad. He knew it when dad left, too. When Sammy died. When it all began to crumble.

He has always known it was ending. Now he's alone in a cabin somewhere so far north and so far west that he thinks half the continent never knew it existed in the first place, and he's got the same damn nightmares, the same burn behind his eyes, and the sense that ending is a verb that goes on and on into eternity and outside of time.

#spn fanart #destiel fanart #supernatural fanart #destiel #supernatural #spn #dean fanart #dean winchester #fanart #castiel #castiel fanart #deancas horrorfest #bang art #deancashorrorfest #deancas #deancas fanart #giant cas

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mostlymarvelgirl · 3 months ago

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⋆.˚ ᡣ𐭩 .𖥔˚

H3X3S&H3ARTB3ATS

⋆.˚ ᡣ𐭩 .𖥔˚

Pairing: Sam Winchester x Chaos Witch! Reader

Warnings: 18+, mentions of child abuse and neglect, suicidal thoughts, needles, mentions of pornography, kidnapping, mentions of death, mentions of blood and gore, mental illness, mentions of PTSD, corpses, gaslighting, guns, knives, slurs, weapns, alcohol use, violence, smut, angst, blurring of realities, heartbreak, loss of close persons, ritual uses, religious controversies.

୨ৎ────────୨ৎ────────୨ৎ

SUMMARY: In a world where celestial beings roam untamed, their presence woven into the fabric of fate, one more should hardly make a difference. And yet, wherever Sam Winchester went, the supernatural followed—drawn to him like moths to a flame, relentless and inescapable. But for all the forces that gravitated toward him, the real question lingered in the air like an unspoken spell—did he ever truly gravitate toward them?

sneak peek...

The flickering candlelight cast eerie shadows across the room as you hovered over the worn, leather-bound grimoire. The scent of lavender and rosemary curled in the air, mingling with the faint trace of ozone that always followed your spellwork. Tonight, you were attempting something... experimental.

A love spell. On Sam Winchester.

Have you got color in your cheeks?

You weren’t in love with him, per se. Not really. You just wanted to see if it would work. If someone as relentlessly logical, as frustratingly skeptical as Sam could actually be ensnared by magic. It was, in essence, a test of your own abilities—a harmless little experiment.

With a smirk, you let a single drop of your blood drip into the concoction. The potion shimmered, turned an iridescent shade of violet, and thickened like molten amethyst. The candles around you flickered violently, their flames stretching unnaturally toward the ceiling. A gust of unseen wind coiled around your body, chilling your skin as you whispered the incantation. The words dripped from your lips, ancient syllables curling in the air like smoke. The room trembled, the air charged with raw energy, and you knew—knew—that the spell had taken hold.

And yet… nothing.

'Cause there's this tune I found that makes me think of you somehow and I play it on repeat

No sudden adoring gaze from across the bunker’s library. No dreamy sighs or poetic confessions. In fact, Sam walked in not ten minutes later, completely unaffected, utterly normal, and annoyingly unaware that you had just attempted to bend the very fabric of fate in your favor.

At first, you chalked it up to bad luck. But then strange things started happening over the next few days.

It was subtle at first—Sam waking up groggier than usual, rubbing his temples like he had a headache he couldn’t shake. He kept pausing mid-sentence, frowning as if he had forgotten what he was about to say. And then there was the way he looked at you—not with love-struck admiration, but with something like suspicion. Like he could feel the edges of something off but couldn’t quite put his finger on it.

He blinked at you one evening, frowning slightly. “Did you—uh—did you do something in here?”

Your stomach dropped. “What do you mean?”

“There’s a weird energy. Feels like… I dunno. Like something’s buzzing, but not quite.” His brows furrowed as he surveyed the candles, the bowl of shimmering liquid, and the open book at your feet. “Wait, is that Latin? What were you casting?”

Do I wanna know if this feeling flows both ways?

You huffed, quickly slamming the book shut. “Nothing important.”

But over the week, the clues stacked up. The way Dean kept side-eyeing Sam like he was waiting for his brother to say something. The way Sam’s fingers twitched when he was near you, like he was trying to reach for something but stopping himself. The way he started watching you—not in a soft, affectionate way, but with the sharp gaze of a hunter piecing together a case.

Then, on the fifth night, he found your spell remnants tucked away under your bed. The half-melted candle, the parchment stained with your own blood, the last shimmering drops of the failed potion. When you walked into your room, he was already sitting on the edge of your bed, the evidence laid out in front of him like a crime scene.

Sam gave you that look—the one that said he wasn’t buying your crap for a second. He crossed his arms, looming over you in a way that made your heart do something it absolutely shouldn’t be doing. “Tell me you weren’t messing with love magic.”

You scoffed, feigning offense. “Pfft. Please. Like I would waste my time on that.”

His eyes narrowed. “Y/N.”

“…Fine. Maybe.”

“On who?”

Your silence was damning. Sam’s expression shifted, something unreadable flickering across his face. “Wait. On me?”

Sad to see you go, was sorta hoping that you'd stay

“Look,” you said quickly, “I wasn’t trying to force anything, okay? I just wanted to see if it would work on you. Scientific curiosity.”

“Uh-huh,” Sam said dryly, rubbing a hand down his face. “And?”

You exhaled dramatically. “Nothing. Zilch. Nada. You’re apparently immune to my magic. Which is honestly kind of insulting.”

A slow, almost amused smile played on Sam’s lips. He took a step closer, tilting his head ever so slightly. “Huh.”

“Huh, what?”

“Just… interesting that you’d even try.” His voice had taken on a lower, softer timbre, and damn him, he knew exactly what he was doing. “You really think you need magic for that?”

Ever thought of calling when you've had a few? 'Cause I always do

Your breath caught. The air between you shifted, suddenly charged with something far more potent than any spell you could cast. Sam, still frustratingly unaffected, leaned in just enough to make your pulse spike.

“I—” you started, but the words tangled in your throat.

He smirked. “Didn’t think so.”

And just like that, Sam turned on his heel and walked out, leaving you alone with your useless spell and the mortifying realization that you hadn’t needed it in the first place.

Do you want me crawling back to you?

... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ...

coming soon.....

TAG LIST: @plasticflowersinahistorycemetery @losers-clvb @dianawinchester03 @cheynovak @mahi-wayy @myceliumsunshine @star-maker-rain-dancer @youdontknowe

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pollsnatural · 1 year ago

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*I love it when he fails and messes things up, but sometimes it's too much.

Cas haters will be eaten alive (i.e. blocked) if they leave negative comments about Cas.

Dean poll, Sam poll

#polls #spn #supernatural #castiel

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supernotnatural2005 · 2 months ago

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In The End Masterlist

Pairing: Endverse!Dean x Reader + Dean x Reader

Summary: The world has ended, and holding onto the people he loves has proven impossible.

Over time, Dean has hardened from grief and loss, but what happens when a familiar face is thrust 5 years into the future. Can he convince them to do things right, or has his destiny already been set.

Warnings/tags: implied smut (18+), Angst!! Major character deaths. Possible Triggers: suicide!! Swearing, fluff.

AN: A little two part series set in the endverse timeline, as well as canon to Season 5, episode 4 The End. It was something that just struck me and i guess this is what came of it 😅. This one is heller angst, so i am sorry for that, 👀 but i’m a stickler for a happy ending, so i hope it gives you some hope 🙌🏻

Main Masterlist

Part One

Part Two - coming soon...

Dean Winchester Tag List:

@bettystonewell , @nancymcl , @happyfxckinghorrors , @ambiguous-avery @jollyhunter

@tbgfvfdcb @crooked-haven @chevroletdean @paganvamp @stoneyggirl2

@deans-baby-momma @spnaquakindgdom @ladykitana90 @lyarr24 , @impala67rollingthroughtown

@jackles010378 @riteofpassage77 @spnaquakindgdom @shadysoulangel @my-stories-vault

@piptoost @star-yawnznn @deansimpalababy @megara0224 @hobby27

@idontwannabehere78 @maddie0101 @kr804573 @shadysoulangel @mrs-nesmith

@zepskies @ohheyguyss @suckitands33 @ultimatecin73 @mishkatelwarriorgoddess

@arcannaa @aylacavebear @bobbdylann @jaredpadonlyyyy @waynes-multiverse

@impala67stellawinchester @youroldfashioned @bonbonnie88 @iloveeveryoneyoureamazing @bejeweledinterludes

@rach5ive @ladysparkles78 @globetrotter28 @amberlthomas @illicithallways

#in the end series #supernatural #dean winchester #dean winchester x reader #dean x reader #dean winchester x you #spn #spn fanfic #endverse!dean #endverse!dean x reader #jensen ackles #spnfamily #sam winchester

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ninii-winchester · 10 months ago

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Lie to me

Pairing : Dean Winchester X reader

Word count : 4k

Warnings : angst, hurt/no comfort, Major character death, depressing thoughts, canon violence.

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

Dean was tossing and turning in his bed in the motel room. Sam was soundly asleep on the other bed. The two of them had just burn the bones of an old lady who was haunting her old house after she'd committed suicide. Dean was tired but he couldn't fall asleep. He quietly left the room and made his way towards Baby. He knew he shouldn't disturb Y/n this late but he knew she barely slept herself. It was two in the morning and he texted her asking if she's awake and she called him instead of answering.

"Why aren't you asleep?" Was the first thing she asked as he picked up.

"I could ask you the same thing." He retorted settling in the front seat of the Impala.

"I'm not the one who came from a hunt." She replied and he chuckled. He loved how she reprimanded him for the exact same thing she does herself. He knew she wouldn't let it go unless he turned the conversation around, so he filled her in all about the hunt and how she should've joined them for this one.

"It was literally just a ghost. Salt and burn. It didn't even need two people and you're saying I should've came along too." She replied sassily. They talked for a while when she suddenly asked, "why didn't you find someone to entertain you for the night?" Dean shrugged even though she couldn't see him.

"Why would I need to find someone else when I could easily call my sweetheart." He replied with a smirk and she could hear it in his voice. This was something she hated about Dean. He constantly flirted with her and called her nicknames but never went further. She knew she had a small crush on him, who wouldn't. But he never showed any interest in her other than his incessant flirting. He hooked up with women left and right. He never even bothered to react when she was approached by guys or even if she left with one, once in a blue moon. She wasn't the type to sleep around but a girl has here needs, and finding a partner in this type of lifestyle can be a hassle. She knew Dean wouldn't turn her down if she made a move but she didn't want to be just another woman in Dean Winchester's bed so she never acted on her feelings. But his behaviour made it harder for her to keep her feelings at bay.

"I think you should've." She replied try to keep the bitterness out of her tone but it didn't go unnoticed by Dean.

"Why should I have?" He questioned curiously. He couldn't quite understand why she became so dismissive when the two were having a great conversation.

"I'm going to sleep, Dean. You should too." She faked a yawn and he could tell something was off. She was his best friend and he could tell she was hiding something. But at the same time he knew she wouldn't tell him no matter how hard he tried to get it out of her. That's just how she was. He let out a sigh and said goodbye hanging up. Dean wondered what made her cut the call short. He recalled the whole conversation hoping he could remember if he said something to upset her. But nothing came to mind. He let out another sigh before getting out the car and going back to his motel room.

Y/n dropped onto the mattress of the motel room she was staying at. She herself had finished a salt and burn two days ago in a town in Michigan, but she didn't leave because she liked this place. The motel room wasn't as bad as the others she'd been to and the people were nice. And there were no other hunts that she knew of. She didn't like the research work to find hunts so she mostly relied on Bobby to send cases her way. Or any other hunter who needed backup.

She laid on her back and stared up at the ceiling. She wasn't aware of the supernatural and she lived a normal life. John Winchester once saved her from a Wendigo in the woods and she'd been grateful to him. When she had another run in with a supernatural creature, a ghost in her apartment, she called John but he didn't answer and she found his son's number from his voicemail. And that's how she met Dean. He was a flirt, she gathered the minute he walked inside her apartment and confirmed it when she cheekily asked her if she wanted to thank him some other way. She remembered the way she rolled her eyes at him and told him off and how he chuckled, sending a wink her way, telling her to call him if she changed her mind. But she also remembers how she found him extremely attractive.

Knowing about the supernatural and running into trouble twice she decided to learn to defend herself. She called Dean and asked if he could teach her. Luckily for her, he agreed saying how he didn't have anything better to do since his brother went to college and his father left him on his own. She learnt stuff quickly and after a hunt with Dean, she knew she wanted to help save people for the rest of her life. He introduced her to Bobby and Sam, when he came back and the rest was history.

Her phone rang and she groaned not wanting to deal with anyone at the moment. Calls with Dean often mess with her and she had a hard time convincing herself that it's just how he is and it's nothing serious. She looked at the caller ID and furrowed her brows.

"Do you ever check the time before calling?." She spoke into her phone.

"Good morning your highness, my apologies. Did you have your tea yet?" Bobby sassed from the other side of the phone and she rolled her eyes.

"I drink coffee. Keep up old man." The man grunted in response and she chuckled. He told her he found a case and its a huge vampire nest, with probably fifteen vampires and they're causing trouble in Rockford, Illinois. "Are you really so tired of me that you're sending me there by myself?" She joked making Bobby roll his eyes to the back of his head.

"I've called Sam and Dean too. They'll meet you there." He replied. She affirmed that she heard him. Saying their goodbyes she hung the phone.

Just what I need.

She met up with the Winchesters the next day. Dean tried to get her to talk to him but she brushed him off, not bothering with him unless it was hunt related. Sam furrowed his brows at the interaction clearly baffled as she's never dismissed Dean before. The hunt went pretty well and Y/n finally let loose. She went to her friendly self as they hit the nearest bar for celebratory drinks. Her mood instantly dampened when a pretty brunette walked up to Dean and he flashed her his ever so charming smile. Y/n frowned as Dean let the woman whisk him away for the night. She'd expected him to stay but it was just wishful thinking. She knew he would never refuse a good time.

"Why don't you just tell him?" Sam quipped from beside her as she peeled at the label of her beer bottle, fingers picking at the edges absentmindedly. She sent him a glare but he didn't waver, and shot her a look.

"It's Dean. The chances of him cutting me off are far greater than him wanting anything real with me." She replied taking a swig of her drink.

"That's not..." Sam tried to defend his brother but then he stopped himself mid sentence. He knows Dean wouldn't want to risk getting close to anyone, even if it's Y/n.

Y/n patted Sam on his arm, reassuring him that she's fine and he doesn't have to make excuses for his brother. Surprisingly enough, Dean left the Impala to Sam so he left early and since she had her own car, she took her time going back. She arrived at the motel but she didn't want to go inside their room, not yet atleast. She noticed a swing set right outside the motel which was unlikely for places like these. She made her way to the swings and sat down on one. Self deprecating thoughts thoughts swarmed inside her head as she looked up at the sky.

It's her own fault she fell for the hunter anyways. She should've known she wasn't someone he'd want to be with. She's not the ideal woman one would want. At least not someone like Dean would want. She doesn't have the perfect curvy figure or any specific features that make her stand out. Her hair's unkept most of the time and she's got scars all over her body. She's not desirable.

She didn't know how much time had passed but she could see the darkness fade around her. The sun wasn't up yet it wasn't dark anymore. With a loud sigh she continued to stare ahead to figure out a way she could get out of this mess without a heartbreak. She heard the familiar thump of boots against the pavement and looked up to see Dean walking towards the motel. He had his jacket in his hand and he was whistling as he walked.

At least someone had a good night.

Dean noticed a figure perched on a swing and recognised the silhouette. With hurried steps he approached her and took a seat beside her on the swing. She turned to look at him and immediately regretted seeing the red and purple hickies that lingered on his neck.

"What're you doing out here?" Dean asked staring at her face.

"Just thinking. Did you have a good night?" Y/n replied, she wondered if she's some sort a masochist who finds pleasure in inflicting pain upon oneself.

"Yeah it was good. What're you thinking about?" Dean was curious, she'd been acting distant and he wanted to know why. She's even sitting out here in the early hours of the day when she should've been sleeping. "You're distant." He added like a child who lost his toy. He missed his best friend if he was being honest.

"Really Dean? I wasn't the who one left my friends for sex." She didn't intend to snap but his words struck a nerve and she felt the need to defend herself.

"You say as if you've never done that before!" Dean replied sharply. "Something is going on with you that you're clearly not telling me." He was getting frustrated with her behaviour and he needed to know.

"Well maybe I don't like watching you go off with women all the time." She answered harshly and he flinched at her tone. He could only managed to choke out a 'What?' not getting what she meant. She stared ahead keeping quiet.

"What's the supposed to mean?" Dean asked again.

"You're really gonna make me say it, won't you?" She scoffed and he shook his head in confusion. "I like you Dean, more than a friend." She said quietly, hoping he didn't hear her but the silence enveloping them made it left no doubt that he heard her loud and clear. She had prepared herself for his rejection but she didn't think his silence would hurt this bad.

"Y/n I, I've never-..." he stuttered not knowing how to get his point through without breaking her heart. "I've always thought of you as my best friend, is all." She looked down at her lap, nodding her head in understanding. There we no tears however her heart was being ripped apart inside.

"Why'd you always make me feel special? Constant flirt with me and gave me those nicknames. Why'd you act like you cared?" Dean rubbed a hand over his head. "Why'd you lead me on?" Her voice was small and accusing.

"It wasn't an act. I do care about you. I didn't mean to. I thought..." he trailed off not wanting to hurt her any more than he already did.

"I get it." She cleared her throat. What else was she supposed to say or do? Throw a fit? The option she had was to accept the fact that he wouldn't love her ever.

"I do love you, Y/n/n. Just not the way you-" He started but she interrupted him.

"I said I get it, Dean." She nodded again. "I think we should go inside." She said standing up from her place and heading towards the room. Sam was fast asleep when she entered the room. She sat on the pullout couch when Dean entered the room and settled on the other bed. They would usually share the bed since they'd been best friends for years but now it all seemed too awkward. Even being in the same room as him was suffocating her.

After hours of tossing and turning Dean finally slipped into a deep slumber and Y/n took it as a chance to grab her stuff and slip out of the room, and their lives. For good.

When Sam woke up he noticed Y/n was gone. Her was not in the parking lot and her bag was gone too. He shook his brother awake notifying him of her departure. Dean knew she would want to have some time apart but he didn't expect her to leave without as much as a goodbye.

"Why'd did she leave without saying goodbye?" Sam wondered out loud and Dean looked at his feet. He knew the reason she left, he was the reason she left. He shouldn't have been so careless with his gestures that gave her the wrong idea. Sam recognised the look on his brother's face as guilt. "What did you do?" He asked and Dean looked up.

"What makes you think I did something?" Dean felt offended at his brother's accusation.

"Because it's written all over your face so fucking spill." Sam glared at his brother folding his arms across his chest.

"I just told her the truth." Sam raised his brow, gesturing him to continue. "She told me she liked me and I told her I don't feel the same. It's not my fault she couldn't be an adult about it." Dean snapped, his anger flaring up as he felt unfairly portrayed as the villain.

"You told you her you don't reciprocate her feelings?" Sam asked incredulously. "Dean are you insanse why would you say that?"

"Because that's the truth!! I told her I loved her as a friend, not in the way she wants me to." Dean snapped back. Sam shook his head at his brother's stupidity. Sam knew deep down Dean loved Y/n more than anyone. She was his best friend but most of she was that one person had made a special place in his brother's heart.

Sam didn't say anything instead he went out to call Y/n. She didn't any of his calls and it went straight to voicemail. She didn't want to talk to anyone. All she wants is to deal with her heartbreak once and for all. And then she'll go back to her friends, to Dean. And they can pretend it never happened.

Four months passed without any contact with the boys and Y/n was nowhere near getting over Dean. She'd assumed hearing him reject her would get her the closure she needed to get over her crush it seemed to be more than a crush. Over the four months Sam continued to call her and leave messages for her and she would always just send him a little text telling him alive. Nothing other than that. He was atleast greatful that was alive.

Y/n had found a ghoul case in Ohio and as much as she hated those awful creatures she decided to go. The ghoul had been digging up graves to feed on the dead, so she made her way to the cemetery, a molotov cocktail and lighter safely tucked in her jacket and a machete in case something goes southways.

With a flashlight tightly gripped in her hand she entered the cemetery. It was late and she could she a silhouette a few feet away from where she stood. It was hunched over something and she could tell he was feeding off of a dead body. She grimaced as she neared the creature. The crunch of leaves beneath her boot resounded in the otherwise quiet cemetery making the ghoul turn to look at her. The ghoul hissed at her and jumped at her before she could react. With a swift motion she dodged it and moved aside kicking it away. The creature seem to grow angry and lurched towards her, it managed to hold her arm and bit her forearm. She screamed in agony as it’s sharp teeth dug into her flesh. She took a deep breath before she pushed at his chest, the ghoul taking it as an opening to dig its claw in the side and rip a patch of flesh from her body. Y/n headbutted it and the ghoul went barreling straight into a tombstone. She fell to the ground and quickly took out the Molotov cocktail and lit it up before throwing it at it, burning it alive.

Now that the ghoul was taken care of she moved backwards until her back hit one of the tombstones and cradled her side. She was bleeding profusely and she knew she couldn’t make it out of here on her own. She could call for help but she wasn’t sure who to call. She was too prideful to call the boys. She dug out her phone from her jacket and called Bobby. He grumbled as he answered the call.

“This better be good.” The old man said over the phone. Y/n let out a chuckle at his words.

“Heya Bobby. Ran into a bit of trouble.” She said sheepishly.

“What happened? Are you hurt?”

“Ghoul ripped my side if that’s your definition of trouble. And he bit my arm.” She scoffed followed by a chuckled.

“Where are you damnit?”

“Ohio.” She breathed out feeling herself getting tired. Bobby cursed under his breath. Ohio was a good hundred miles away. It would take him hours to reach her.

"Ohio? Damn, y/n, that’s a long way. How you even end up all the way out there?" She didn’t answer, instead she coughed, spitting the blood beside her. Bobby sighed knowing he couldn’t get to her in time. “Hey keep talking. Describe your surroundings to me.” He put her on speaker as he called Sam from his other phone. He didn’t answer so he left him a voicemail.

“Its a dark cemetery, trees are pretty though.” He heard her voice becoming quiet. “Not bad for a last view huh?” She chuckled and Bobby took in a sharp breath. He really wanted to reprimand her not to say things like that but at this point he wasn’t even sure if she’d make it. “Hey, can I call you back?” She asked randomly. The old man frowned asking her why but she didn’t respond. Instead she hung up on him. With her vision blurred she managed to call Dean. The phone rang for a few seconds and to her surprise he answered.

“Y/n?”

“Dean.” She mumbled. “I didn’t wake you up did I?” breathing was shallow and irregular, each breath coming in ragged gasps as if the air itself was slipping away.

“Y/n? What’s wrong? You sound-” She interrupted him.

“You have pretty eyes. They’d make good for a last view.” She chuckled. Dean's heart skipped a beat at her words. There was something in your tone, something that made his stomach twist uncomfortably.

“What are you talking about? What do you mean, ‘last view’?" Dean clenched his jaw, a sense of dread building in his gut. Something was wrong, very wrong. He quickly woke Sam and filled him in on the situation.

“I’m sorry I walked out.” She coughed up more blood and sputtered, choking on it. “I’m sorry for ruining….our friendship.” Dean shook his head already making his way towards his car. Sam following behind.

“Where are you? What happened?” Dean was now getting anxious. She sounded so fragile, as if she was on the verge of her end. God—he didn’t even want to think about it.

“Ohio Cemetery, Ghoul.” She heard him open his car door and slamming it shut. “I just wanted to….. I love you Dean. Tell Sam I’m sorry.” She could feel her tears builidng up as hot white pain surged through her body.

“No…no no, don’t you dare die on me.” He growled stepping on the gas. “I’m coming to get you.” She smiled wistfully, knowing it’s futile. She’s not going to make it.

“Hey Dean.” Her breaths came in faint, uneven whispers, barely rising above the sound of the surrounding silence. “Do me a favour?” Tears sprung to Dean’s eyes and he nodded his head even though she couldn’t see him.

“Anything. Just please hold on. I’m on my way.” He begged, his heart felt like it was being crushed under a weight of helplessness.

“Lie to me.” She whispered and Dean’s foot stepped on the brakes making the Impala swerve a bit. Sam looked at his brother as the car came to a halt. “Lie to me once please.” Dean knew what she meant, he knew what she wanted him to say. But he couldn’t lie to her. Not when she’s taking her last breath. And because it wouldn’t be a lie.

“I can’t.” He whispered and she sucked in a sharp breath. “I can’t lie to you. But I can tell you I love you. It’s the truth.” Tears streamed down his face, mingling with the overwhelming sense of grief, sorrow and regret. “I love you so much it hurts.” He cried. Sam patted his brother on the back, unable to hold onto his own tears.

“You sound pretty convincing.” Y/n chuckled feeling the strength in her limbs drain with every passing moment, and her once-strong grip had become weak and feeble.

“It’s the truth, I just didn’t want you to be in danger because of me. I wanted to protect you. I pushed you away. When all I wanted was to hold you close to me. I do fucking love you.” Dean said angrily. Not angry at her but with himself for being a fool, for letting her go. For not being there to protect her.

“It’s okay.” She whispered. The atmosphere around her felt heavy and somber, marking the approach of an inevitable end. “I love you.” She felt the phone slip from her grasp as she took in her final breath. The phone fell to ground with a thud, and Dean panicked.

Dean’s desperate pleas through the phone fell into a haunting void, the line now carrying only the echoes of his sorrow. The sudden, silence left a heavy, unspoken grief that seemed to linger, a stark reminder of a love that was cut short by the cruel hand of fate.

“Y/n? Sweetheart? C’mon please talk to me.” He begged through the phone but all he got was silence from the other end. “Baby please.” Dean was overwhelmed by a crushing sense of guilt, his chest tightening with every recollection of what had transpired. He was the reason it ended like it, she left him twice, all because of his own cowardice. He was scared to love her and she left him forever. His every thought was consumed by the desire to undo the harm he believed he had caused. But it was too late now and he’s left behind to bare the consequences of his own actions.

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