#spn mini-series

[maddie0101]

about damn time pt.3

— based off of THIS request. I hope you like it @anbernen ! ❤︎

summary: as dean cares for your injury, tension builds, unspoken but undeniable. when you’re finally healed, there’s nothing left to stop what’s been inevitable all along.

warnings: soft!dean, smut (mdni) , sexual tension, cute little moments, fluff, teasing, injury recovery, p in v, oral (fem receiving), unprotected sex (wrap it b4 you tap it), dirty talk, praising, pet names, lmk if I've missed anything.

word count: 6.1k

series masterlist

The hunt had ended days ago, but its effects still stuck to you like a shadow. Your side ached but It was healing.

That didn’t stop Dean from hovering though. You didn’t mind it. Not really. Not when it meant his hands were always on you, always brushing against your skin, always stealing kisses when Sam wasn’t looking.

Dean shut the door behind him, tossing his duffel onto the table before his gaze flickered to you. His expression softened, but there was something else there too, something protective. He hadn’t let you out of his sight since the hunt, like he still wasn’t convinced you were okay.

“You need to sit down, sweetheart,” he said, already stepping toward you.

“I can walk, you know,” you shot back, rolling your eyes.

Dean ignored you completely, his hands already curling around your waist, gently, so careful not to touch your injury as he guided you toward your shared bedroom. Sam sighed behind you, muttering something about grabbing a beer, clearly used to Dean’s newfound obsession with taking care of you.

Dean helped you sit on the bed before crouching in front of you, his hands warm against your thighs. His green eyes scanned your face, searching, checking. “How’s the pain?”

“Manageable,” you said.

Dean narrowed his eyes slightly, not buying it. “Lemme see.”

You huffed but lifted your shirt slightly, revealing the bandage over your stitches. Dean’s jaw tensed as his fingers brushed lightly over your skin, peeling the tape back with careful precision.

He had been checking your stitches constantly since you got back—changing your bandages, making sure there was no sign of infection, and hovering like a mother hen. Except mother hens didn’t usually murmur, "That’s my beautiful girl", every time they looked at you.

Dean inspected the wound, his thumb ghosting just below the stitches. His touch was gentle but his eyes darkened. “S’looking better,” he muttered, carefully smoothing a fresh bandage over your skin. “Healing up real nice, sweetheart.”

His voice had dipped lower, and when you glanced up at him, his gaze was already on your lips.

You smirked. “Y’know, I think I liked it better when you were just bossing me around.”

Dean grinned, leaning in. “Nah. You love it when I take care of you.” His lips brushed over yours in a teasing ghost of a kiss. “And you really love it when I call you sweetheart.”

Heat curled in your stomach. He was right, damn him.

But before you could come up with a witty retort, his mouth was on yours, slow and gentle. His hands slid up your thighs, his thumbs tracing soft circles over your skin. You sighed into him, melting against his touch, your fingers curling into his flannel.

Dean smirked against your lips. “Told you.”

You huffed, but your pout didn’t last long because he kissed it right off your face. His hand skimmed up your waist, featherlight over the bandage before sliding higher, fingers brushing under your shirt. His kisses turned slower, deeper, and God, you could drown in this.

Dean’s hands roamed, fingers tracing the curve of your waist, ghosting up your ribs. His touch was careful—but the way he kissed you? That was anything but. His tongue slid against yours, coaxing soft, breathless sounds from your lips. His body was so warm, pressing against you, his grip tightening like he never wanted to let go.

But you wanted more. Needed more.

A soft whimper slipped past your lips as your fingers tangled in his hair, pulling him impossibly closer. Dean groaned at the sound, his hands flexing against your hips, and then suddenly, you were on your back. He had shifted you both, careful not to bump your injury, but the weight of him over you sent heat pooling in your stomach. You could feel the tension in his muscles, the way his breath hitched as you tugged him down, rolling your hips just enough—

Dean swore under his breath, suddenly breaking away. His forehead dropped to yours, his chest heaving. “Shit,” he muttered, his voice tight.

Your stomach clenched at the way he sounded, at the way his fingers still gripped your waist like he was barely holding himself back.

“Dean,” you murmured, reaching for him again.

But he exhaled sharply and pulled away, sitting back on his heels. His hands ran over his face before gripping your hips again, but this time, it was to steady you as he shifted you upright.

“Sweetheart,” he started, his voice softer now, more controlled. “We gotta stop.”

You blinked, still a little dazed, your body buzzing from the heat of his touch. “What?”

Dean huffed a laugh, shaking his head. “Don’t look at me like that,” he muttered, eyes flickering to your lips before quickly darting away. “You know why.”

Your injury. You frowned. “It’s been a few days—”

“And it’s still healing,” Dean cut in, giving you a pointed look. “I’m not gonna let you push yourself just because we finally figured our shit out.”

You pouted, crossing your arms over your chest. “I feel fine.”

Dean’s lips twitched. “Yeah? Then why’d you wince when I touched your side?”

Your mouth opened, then shut. You had winced. You just hadn’t thought he’d noticed. Damn it.

Dean smirked. “Exactly.”

You huffed, but your irritation faded when his hands smoothed over your thighs again, his thumbs stroking slow, lazy circles. He looked at you then and something in his expression softened. “You have no idea how much I want you,” he murmured, his voice low, rough, like he was admitting something dangerous. “But not like this. Not when you’re still hurting.”

Your breath hitched at the raw honesty in his gaze.

“We’ve got time,” he said, his fingers brushing along your jaw, his touch achingly tender.

A few days passed, and true to his word, Dean was taking his time. But that didn’t mean he was making it easy on you.

No—he was relentless. It started small. Subtle. A hand on the small of your back when he passed by, his fingers lingering just a little too long. Sitting too close on the couch, his thigh pressed firmly against yours. His arm draped lazily over your shoulders whenever you walked through the bunker together.

And the pet names? He had doubled down.

“Morning, beautiful,” he’d murmur in that rough, sleepy voice when you shuffled into the kitchen, barely awake.

“There’s my girl,” he’d grin when you walked into a room, his eyes flickering over you like he was drinking you in.

“You need help with that, baby?” he’d tease, watching you struggle with something, knowing damn well he was only offering so he had an excuse to press up behind you, his chest flush against your back.

It was infuriating. But was hot as hell. And Dean knew exactly what he was doing.

But the worst part? He wasn’t even trying to hide it. He wanted to see you flustered, wanted to watch you squirm under his gaze. And God help you, it worked.

Like when he had you backed against the counter one evening, reaching past you for a glass, his body crowding into yours. His fingers skimmed your hip as he leaned in, lips ghosting just beside your ear. “Still blushing every time I touch you, sweetheart?” His voice was a low, teasing drawl.

Your breath hitched, heat crawling up your neck, and you hated how smug his smirk was when he pulled back.

“You’re unbearable,” you muttered, shoving at his chest.

Dean only laughed, eyes bright with amusement as he popped the cap off his beer. “Yeah, but you love it.”

You did. God, you did. And Dean loved it, too. He thrived off it, the way you’d turn pink under his gaze, the way your breath hitched when he got too close. He absolutely loved it.

One month later and Dean was still impossible as ever.

The man had always been a flirt, but ever since the night you’d finally confessed your feelings, he had taken it to a whole new level. He did it so effortlessly, like he had been waiting his entire life to treat you like this.

“Lemme see, sweetheart,” Dean said, kneeling in front of where you sat on the edge of the bed, his fingers brushing under your shirt before you could even protest. His hands were warm and every time he peeled back the bandage to check your stitches, his lips would quirk. “Look at that—healing up real nice. Told you I was good with my hands.”

You’d roll your eyes, but it never stopped the heat from crawling up your neck.

And then there were the kisses. They were everywhere. A kiss to your temple when he passed you in the hallway. A slow, lingering press of lips to your shoulder when he caught you making coffee. A teasing graze along your jaw before whispering in your ear, “Morning, beautiful,” in that deep, gravelly voice that left you weak in the knees.

And God, the touching. Dean found every excuse to touch you.

It was subtle at first. A small brush of his fingers against your lower back as he passed behind you in the kitchen. A casual hand on your shoulder when he leaned in to steal a bite of your food. The occasional nudge of his knee against yours under the table.

But then it got worse.

His hand gripping your hip when he pulled you in close—just to murmur some completely unnecessary comment about how damn good you looked in his shirt, his breath warm against your ear, sending shivers down your spine.

His palm, broad and warm, sliding over your thigh whenever you sat beside him on the couch, fingers absently tracing slow, lazy circles that had you squirming before you could stop yourself.

And then there was the way he watched you—his eyes dragging over you like he was committing every inch of you to memory. He didn’t even try to hide it anymore.

“Y’know, sweetheart, you really are somethin’ else,” he’d murmur out of nowhere, his voice low and rough as he leaned against the counter, twirling a beer bottle between his fingers.

You rolled your eyes, biting back a smile. “Oh yeah? And what exactly am I?”

Dean just smirked, pushing off the counter, closing the space between you in two slow steps. He hooked a finger in the hem of your sleeve, tugging you forward until your chests nearly touched. “Gorgeous. That’s what.”

You swallowed hard, heat creeping up your neck as you shoved at his chest. “You’re ridiculous.”

It was relentless. And it was driving you absolutely insane.

Because the tension between you had grown thick, stretched so tight it felt like the slightest touch could snap it in half. And if Dean was going to torture you with all his lingering touches, pet names, and that damn gravelly voice of his, then two could play at that game.

You started off small, an innocent stretch in front of him that made your shirt ride up just enough to expose a sliver of skin. The way you “accidentally” brushed your fingers against his when you passed him something, letting the touch linger just a second too long. The way you sighed his name, soft and breathy, when he handed you a fresh cup of coffee in the morning.

Dean noticed. Oh, he noticed. You caught the way his jaw tensed, the way his fingers twitched like he was seconds away from reaching for you. The way his green eyes darkened, heat flashing behind them before he forced himself to look away.

But still, he held back. So you pushed a harder.

One night, stretched out on the couch beside him, you let your head tip back, exposing your throat as you let out a dramatic sigh. “God, I feel so much better now. Fully healed. Good as new.”

Dean didn’t look away from the TV, but you saw his grip tighten on the beer bottle in his hand. “That so?”

You hummed, shifting just enough so that your leg brushed against his. “Mhm. Probably should celebrate. Maybe do something fun.”

Dean finally glanced at you, raising an eyebrow. “Fun, huh?”

You bit back a smirk. “Yeah. Maybe something hands-on.”

Dean’s nostrils flared, and his jaw clenched. You watched as he swallowed hard, his grip tightening just so on the bottle.

But instead of rising to the bait, he only smirked, leaning in until his lips barely brushed your ear. “Nice try, sweetheart.” His voice was rough, dripping with amusement—but there was something tight in it, strained, like he was hanging on by a thread.

You turned to face him fully, eyes searching his. “What?” you asked, feigning innocence. “I’m just saying, it’s been weeks, Dean.”

Dean let out a breath through his nose, setting his beer down on the table before leaning back against the couch, his arm stretching behind you. He turned his head, eyes dragging over your face, your lips, his tongue darting out to wet his own before he smirked.

“Baby, when I finally get my hands on you…” His voice dipped lower, rough with something dangerous. He reached up, fingers tracing along your jaw, his thumb ghosting over your bottom lip before he pulled away. “I wanna make sure you can handle it.”

Heat rushed through you, pooling deep in your stomach. God, he was killing you. And from the way his eyes darkened, from the way his chest rose and fell a little heavier than before, you knew—You were killing him, too.

But one day, you had enough.

It had been two months. Two whole freaking months of Dean touching you whenever he damn well pleased—his hands on your waist, his lips brushing your temple, his voice low and rough as he called you baby like it was his favorite word. Two months of him holding back, of him teasing you but never letting things go further, always stopping just short of what you both wanted.

But you were fully healed now. The stitches were long gone, replaced by a faint scar along your side. There was nothing holding you back anymore. Nothing keeping Dean from finally giving in.

Except for his own damn self-control. So, you decided to break it.

One evening, as he sat at the table polishing his gun, you casually strolled into the kitchen, wearing nothing but his shirt and the smallest pair of sleep shorts you owned. You made a show of grabbing a popsicle from the freezer, peeling the wrapper away with your teeth before sliding the icy treat between your lips.

Dean didn’t notice at first, too focused on his gun. But the second he glanced up—Jesus Christ. His fingers froze on the cloth, his whole body going still as his eyes locked onto your mouth. His gaze darkened instantly, lips parting as you took slow, deliberate licks up the length of the popsicle.

You pretended not to notice, leaning against the counter as you sucked lightly on the tip, tongue swirling just enough to make Dean shift uncomfortably in his seat. His jaw clenched. “You doin’ that on purpose?”

You blinked, feigning innocence. “Doing what?”

Dean exhaled sharply through his nose, running a hand down his face. His fingers flexed against the gun, like he was imagining gripping something else.

You bit back a smirk, tilting your head as you slowly, slowly, slid the popsicle between your lips again. A soft, pleased hum vibrated in your throat as you pulled it back out, licking a stray drop from the corner of your mouth.

Dean shot up from his chair so fast it nearly fell backward. You barely had time to react before he was in front of you, hands gripping the counter on either side of your hips, caging you in. His eyes burned into yours, his breath coming rough and uneven. “You’re playin’ a dangerous game, sweetheart,” he rasped, voice thick with restraint.

Your pulse pounded in your throat, heat curling in your stomach. But you kept your expression innocent, blinking up at him through your lashes.

“I don’t know what you mean, Dean.”

Dean let out a sharp breath, his fingers twitching against the counter like he was using every ounce of strength not to touch you. His entire body was taut, his jaw clenched so hard you thought he might crack a tooth. His green eyes burned into you, dark and hooded, flickering between your lips and the smug little smirk you were fighting to hold back.

Then, something in him snapped.

Dean's mouth crashed into yours, hot and demanding, swallowing your surprised gasp. God—his lips were hungry, rough and relentless as they moved over yours, tongue sliding deep into your mouth like he was trying to devour you whole. He kissed you like a man who had been starving for too long, like he had spent the last two months in agony, holding back, resisting, and now he wasn’t resisting anymore.

His hands roamed over your body, fingers digging into your waist, sliding up your back, fisting in the fabric of his own shirt that hung off your frame. His grip tightening like he wanted to rip the damn thing off. “Fuck, baby,” he breathed against your lips, his voice rough, ragged. His forehead dropped to yours, his breath hot and unsteady. “You really think I didn’t know what you were doin’?”

You grinned, breathless, trailing your fingers up his chest, feeling the rapid thud of his heartbeat beneath your palm. “And yet, here we are.”

Dean let out a low chuckle, shaking his head before tilting your chin up with two fingers, forcing you to look at him. His thumb dragged slowly across your lower lip, his gaze dropping to your mouth as his tongue flicked over his own. “You got no idea what you just started,” he murmured, voice thick with promise.

Then he kissed you again. Hard. Your fingers curled into his shirt as he pressed you back against the counter, his body crowding into yours, his heat swallowing you whole. His hands slid down to your ass, lifting you onto the counter like you weighed nothing, fitting himself between your thighs. The moment your legs wrapped around his waist, his hips rolled into you, slow but deliberate, and fuck—you felt just how much he had been holding back.

A broken moan slipped past your lips, and Dean felt it, his entire body shuddering against you.

“Jesus Christ,” he muttered, his lips dragging down your jaw, nipping at your throat. “You been drivin’ me crazy, baby. Every fuckin’ day.”

His teeth scraped against your pulse, and you arched into him, nails biting into his shoulders. His hands were everywhere—gripping your hips, sliding under his shirt where it hung off your frame, fingers dancing over bare skin, teasing, but never quite giving you what you needed.

The tension between you had been simmering for months, and now it was boiling over, molten and scorching. You could feel it in the way Dean touched you, in the way he kissed you like he had been waiting for this forever.

His hands slid beneath the hem of his shirt that still hung off your frame, fingertips brushing against bare skin, sending shivers racing down your spine. His body was pressed between your thighs, heat radiating off of him, his breath ragged against your lips.

And then Dean suddenly gripped your hips, his muscles tensing beneath your hands as he lifted you clean off the counter. A surprised gasp escaped you, but he swallowed it with his mouth on yours, his grip firm as he carried you effortlessly.

“Dean,” you breathed, your fingers tangling in his hair, your lips ghosting over his jaw as he moved.

“Shh, baby,” he murmured, voice thick with restraint, with promise. “Been waitin’ too damn long for this.”

The hallway blurred past you, but you barely noticed. All you could focus on was him, his strong arms around you, his steady, unrelenting steps, the way his lips never strayed far from yours. He pressed open the door to his room with his shoulder, kicking it shut behind him, the sound a final barrier between the rest of the world and the two of you.

He laid you down on the bed so gently it made your heart ache, but the moment your back hit the mattress, he was on you again. His body caged you in, his weight sinking into you, his mouth moving over yours in a way that sent fire licking down your spine.

His hands roamed, slow and deliberate, fingers teasing the bare skin of your thighs before sliding up, bunching the fabric of his shirt higher, exposing more and more of you to his touch. “Fuck, baby,” he groaned, voice rough, his forehead dropping to yours for the briefest moment, his chest rising and falling hard. “You have no idea how bad I want you.”

You gasped as his teeth scraped along your jaw, his lips trailing lower, his fingers digging into your hips.

“Then take me,” you whispered, breathless, arching into him, your nails biting into his shoulders. “I’m yours, Dean. Fuck me." You demanded.

Dean let out a low, guttural sound, his entire body going rigid above you. His fingers dug into your hips, his breathing ragged as he hovered, eyes locked onto yours with something primal, something raw.

“Fuck,” he muttered, squeezing his eyes shut like he was battling the war raging inside him. When he opened them again, they were dark, blown wide with hunger. Your nails scraped lightly down his back and you arched beneath him, pressing your body flush against his, rolling your hips just enough to feel the evidence of how much he wanted you.

Dean snapped. With a growl, he crashed his lips against yours, devouring every breath, every sound you made. His hands were everywhere—gripping, kneading, exploring the soft curves of your body like he was finally allowing himself to have what he had wanted for so long.

His shirt was yanked up and over your head, discarded somewhere in the room as his mouth trailed down your throat, nipping, sucking, leaving marks that would remind you of this moment tomorrow. His hands slid up your thighs, parting them as he settled between them, his body solid, scorching against yours.

Dean was hard, his length pressing against you, the heat of it burning, even through the thin layers between you. The moment it brushed against your aching core, a needy whimper escaped your lips, your body arching instinctively toward him.

A deep, satisfied groan rumbled in his chest as you instinctively tried to lift your hips, desperate for any friction, any relief. But his grip tightened, holding you firmly in place, dragging out the anticipation until you were nearly trembling beneath him.

“Dean—” Your voice came out breathless, needy, but before you could say another word, his grip tightened, and he leaned in, his lips just barely grazing yours.

“Go on, sweetheart,” he murmured, his voice low and taunting. “Beg for it.”

“Please, Dean—” Your voice wavered, barely more than a breathy plea, thick with desperation. Your fingers dug into his skin, your body arching instinctively, aching for him.

Dean’s lips crashed back onto yours, hot and demanding, swallowing every breathy whimper that slipped past your lips. His tongue teased yours, deepening the kiss, leaving you dizzy with need. You barely noticed the way his hand slid up your spine, his fingers trailing lightly as they found the clasp of your bra. With one smooth motion, he unhooked it, the straps slipping from your shoulders as his other hand trailed down your side, his touch scorching, leaving a trail of goosebumps in its wake.

“Fuck,” he rasped against your lips, his voice rough, almost wrecked, as his eyes dropped to your bare chest. His breath hitched, his fingers tightening on your waist like he was trying to ground himself. He’d never seen anything so damn gorgeous, so utterly intoxicating.

"I knew you had some nice tits baby, so beautiful." Dean groaned before he trailed a slow, heated path down your body, pressing open-mouthed kisses along your collarbone, each one setting your skin ablaze. When his lips finally closed around your nipple, his tongue swirling, sucking, teasing, a broken moan spilled from your lips, your back arching instinctively into his touch.

“Dean—” you gasped, your voice trembling with pleasure as waves of sensation coursed through your body, leaving you breathless and craving more. “Dean, please… I need you,” you begged, your voice dripping with desperation. But he only smirked against your skin, deliberately ignoring your plea as he took his sweet time. He wanted to savor this, to make every touch, every sound, every shiver unforgettable, burned into both your memory and his.

A deep, guttural groan rumbled from Dean’s chest as you palmed him through his his jeans. His movements stilled, his breath hitching, before his heated gaze lifted to meet yours—dark, intense, and filled with barely restrained desire.

Dean didn’t utter a single word, his focus solely on you as he trailed hot, open-mouthed kisses down your stomach, each one leaving a burning path in its wake. When he reached the lace of your panties, Dean let out a low primal sound.

His eyes raked over you with raw hunger, darkening his gaze. His eyes then dropped to your soaked core, his lips curling into a smirk. "Baby… have you been this wet for me the whole damn time?”

You only bit your lip and nodded, still trying to ignore the burning ache between your legs.

“Jesus, sweetheart,” Dean exhaled, his voice thick with hunger. His fingers traced slow, teasing circles over the damp fabric clinging to you, barely touching yet sending a shiver rippling through your body. He pressed his fingers more firmly against you, moving in slow circles, his touch teasing. His gaze stayed locked on you, dark and heated, watching as your breathing grew uneven, your lips parting to moan his name like a prayer.

Before you could even begin to regain a shred of control, Dean hooked his fingers into your lace panties and tore them away with a single, impatient motion, sliding the remnants down your legs and leaving you completely bare beneath him.

He wasted no time at all before he planted his mouth onto your pussy. A loan moan ripped through your throat as Dean started to swirl his tounge, hitting every spot that made you squirm above him. Large and warm hands quickly pressed down on your thighs to hold you in place as Dean groans at the taste of you. "God you taste even better than I imagined."

His darkened green eyes locked onto yours, intense and burning with hunger as his tongue flicked and swirled over your clit. Every teasing motion sent a fresh wave of pleasure through you, making your body arch and tremble beneath him. Your breath hitched, turning into desperate, broken whimpers of his name as the coil deep in your stomach tightened, ready to snap.

The rough graze of Dean’s stubble against your slick heat, combined with the sinful things he was doing to you with his mouth, sent you spiraling. A sharp cry tore from your throat as pleasure crashed over you, white-hot and all-consuming. Your fingers tangled in his hair, tugging him closer as he worked you through your high, his tongue relentless.

The room filled with the obscene sounds of his mouth on you, your desperate moans mixing with the wet, sinful noises. Your vision blurred, body trembling as wave after wave of pleasure wracked through you. His name tumbled from your lips in a breathless chant, the only thing you could think, the only thing you could say, as you shattered beneath him.

Dean let out a low hum, his voice dripping with satisfaction. “Such a pretty little mess for me.”

But you weren’t about to let him have all the control. Before he could even catch his breath, you pushed yourself up, fisting the fabric of his T-shirt and pulling him toward you slowly. Your lips barely brushed his, your heated breath fanning over his mouth as your fingers curled tighter in the fabric.

“You’re wearing way too much,” you murmured, your gaze dark and full of intent.

Something flickered in Dean’s eyes—hunger, challenge, pure fucking need. His jaw tensed, his control hanging by a thread, and damn if that didn’t turn him on even more.

You wasted no time, your hands eager as you helped him tug his shirt over his head, tossing it aside without a second thought. Your eyes raked over his bare chest, but impatience gnawed at you as he took his time unfastening his belt.

With a frustrated huff, you reached for the leather strap yourself, yanking it free from the loops before popping open the button of his jeans and dragging the zipper down in one swift motion. Dean let out a low chuckle at your eagerness, but you ignored him, helping him shove his jeans down his hips until he could kick them off entirely, leaving him in nothing but his boxers—and fuck, he looked good enough to devour.

As Dean’s jeans hit the floor, your breath caught in your throat. He was gorgeous. Broad, strong shoulders that tapered into a solid, well-defined chest, every muscle sculpted like he was made to be worshiped. His skin was warm and golden, a mix of faint scars and freckles scattered across his pecs and down his arms, each one telling a story, a battle won. Your fingers itched to trace every mark, to map him out like a treasured discovery.

His biceps flexed as he ran a hand through his hair, muscles shifting effortlessly beneath his skin. His abs—God, his abs—were fucking unreal, a perfect set of taut ridges that led down to his V-line, disappearing beneath the waistband of his boxers. The thin fabric did absolutely nothing to hide how painfully hard he was, and you felt your thighs clench instinctively at the sight.

Dean smirked when he caught you staring, his green eyes dark with amusement and something hungrier, deeper. “See something you like, sweetheart?” His voice was thick, teasing, but you were too busy admiring the way his lower stomach tensed, the way the muscles in his thighs flexed as he shifted his weight.

Without hesitation, you crashed your lips against his, desperate and starving for more. The kiss was all heat and urgency, a collision of need that had been building for far too long. Every other kiss you’d shared before had been intense, but this—this was different. This time, neither of you held back.

Dean groaned into your mouth, his hands gripping your waist like he never wanted to let go. His lips moved against yours with a hunger that sent a shiver down your spine, tongues tangling, breaths mingling as the heat between you ignited into something unstoppable.

You were so lost in the heat of his kiss, the way his hands explored your body, that you barely registered the moment Dean kicked off his boxers. But then—God—his tip grazed against your slick folds, sending a jolt of pleasure straight through you.

A needy moan escaped your lips as your body arched toward him, desperate for more, but Dean wasn’t giving in just yet. Instead, he dragged his length teasingly along your slick heat, his touch just enough to drive you insane but not nearly enough to satisfy.

“So fucking wet for me, baby,” he murmured, his voice thick with hunger, laced with something deeper—something possessive. His dark, lust-blown eyes locked onto yours, a smirk tugging at his lips as he watched you squirm.

“Think you can take me, sweetheart?” His fingers traced along your thigh before gripping it, holding you open for him. “Go on—beg for it. I wanna hear how bad you need me inside you.”

“Dean, please,” you panted, your voice breathless and desperate, every nerve in your body on fire with need. “I need you inside me.”

A low growl rumbled from Dean’s chest, his grip tightening on your hips. “That’s my good girl,” he murmured, his voice dripping with praise and hunger. Then, with agonizing slowness, he pushed into you, stretching you inch by inch, his eyes locked onto yours, drinking in every gasp, every shudder, every little reaction that told him just how wrecked you already were for him.

Then he started to move, his hips snapping forward with a deep intensity. A moan tore from your throat as your nails raked down his back, desperate to ground yourself in the overwhelming pleasure. His name tumbled from your lips, breathless and raw, a plea and a praise all at once.

“So fucking perfect,” Dean groaned, his voice thick with desire. “This pussy was made for me—fits me like a goddamn dream.” His hips drove into you relentlessly, each thrust deep and unyielding. His breath turned just as ragged as yours, mingling with the filthy symphony of skin meeting skin, the room thick with heat and desperation. Your body consumed by the overwhelming pleasure coursing through you.

“Dean, I—” you gasped, but he cut you off, his voice rough and commanding. “That’s it, baby. Let go for me. Wanna feel you come all over my cock.”

That was all it took. Your vision blurred, eyes rolling back as wave after wave of pleasure crashed over you. Dean’s name spilled from your lips in a breathless chant, your body trembling beneath him, utterly consumed by the intensity of your release—so overwhelming it left you feeling weightless, dizzy, completely undone.

But that only seemed to push Dean over the edge. His thrusts grew frantic, desperate, his hips snapping against yours with reckless abandon. The sight of you falling apart beneath him, moaning his name like a prayer, was all it took. A deep groan ripped from his throat as he buried himself to the hilt, his release spilling into you in hot, pulsing waves. His forehead pressed against yours, both of you panting, bodies trembling as you rode out the aftershocks together, lost in the haze of your orgasms.

The two of you stayed tangled together, bodies still humming from the aftermath as you tried to catch your breath. A slow, satisfied smile spread across your lips before you finally managed to speak. “Wow,” you breathed, still dazed.

Dean let out a rough chuckle, rolling onto his back beside you. His chest rose and fell heavily as he turned his head to meet your gaze, a smirk tugging at his lips. “Wow is right,” he murmured, his voice still laced with exhaustion and satisfaction. Then, with a grin that was both cocky and utterly genuine, he added, “Best damn sex I’ve ever had.”

You let out a soft laugh, cheeks warming as you admitted, “Guess I was right all along… I had a feeling you’d be good in bed.”

“Just good?” Dean raised an eyebrow, a smirk tugging at his lips. “Sweetheart, I think we both know that was a hell of a lot better than just good.” He leaned in closer, his voice dropping to a husky whisper. “Need me to prove it to you again?”

“I’m just messing with you,” you said with a playful smile, shifting onto your side to face Dean. His gaze trailed over you slowly, drinking in every curve like he was committing you to memory. But when his eyes finally settled on your bare breasts, his smirk deepened, appreciation flickering in those dark green eyes.

“Jesus, you’re perfect,” Dean murmured, his voice thick with admiration. His hands cradled your face, his thumbs brushing over your cheekbones like he was memorizing every inch of you. Then, he kissed you, slow and deep, pouring everything he felt into the connection, like he never wanted to let you go.

When he pulled back, his gaze locked onto yours, intense. “I love you, Y/N,” he confessed, his voice rough with emotion.

A smile spread across your lips as you traced your fingers over his jaw. “I love you too, Dean,” you whispered against his mouth before pulling him into another kiss, this one softer, filled with the quiet promise of everything that lay ahead.

Dean sighed against you, his arms wrapping around your waist as he pulled you closer, pressing your bodies together like he needed to feel every inch of you. “Hope you know you’re stuck with me now,” he teased, a smirk tugging at his lips.

You chuckled, resting your forehead against his. “Good,” you murmured. “Because I don’t plan on letting you go.”

series masterlist

author’s note:

annnd they finally did the nasty 🤭 I honestly tried to write this smut differently from the other works I’ve done but honestly i just can’t help myself. I hope y’all enjoyed this little mini series!

— requests are open.ᐟᅟplease read request rules.ᐟᅟ

tags:

@freeluigihesbae @aylacavebear @supernotnatural2005 @bettystonewell @lieutenantchaos @bejeweledinterludes @ambiguous-avery @star-yawnznn @exansation @darkrose064 @megara0224 @saturnsooya @miss-marmalade (lmk if I’ve missed anyone or if you’d like to be taken off the list) btw I apologize for the small spam…

If you would like to be tagged please fill out THIS form and I will add you to the list! ❤︎

my works

© maddie0101 do not copy or repost my works without my permission

[imbadatwrighting]

𝐇 𝐄 𝐘 𝐉 𝐔 𝐃 𝐄

𝘩𝑒𝑦 𝑗𝑢𝑑𝑒, 𝑑𝑜𝑛𝑡 𝑓𝑒𝑒𝑙 𝑏𝑎𝑑, 𝑡𝑎𝑘𝑒 𝑎 𝑠𝑎𝑑 𝑠𝑜𝑛𝑔 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝑚𝑎𝑘𝑒 𝑖𝑡 𝑏𝑒𝑡𝑡𝑒𝑟

𝐒𝐏𝐍 𝐌𝐈𝐍𝐈 𝐒𝐄𝐑𝐈𝐄𝐒: 𝐩𝐫𝐢𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐢𝐥𝐲 𝐝𝐞𝐚𝐧 𝐰. 𝐱 𝐝𝐚𝐮𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐞𝐫!𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘 john winchester was a lot of things, stern, strict, tough, absent. but that didn’t change your view of your father, he was still good to you. so he was a little hard on dean and sam, but with you? he was different. he took care of you… or tried. and yeah, he wasn’t perfect, but he was there. though so was dean. he was the one who made sure you had food, always watching over you, always steady. but dean wasn’t your father. john was. …except he wasn’t really, now was he?

𝐏𝐑𝐎𝐋𝐎𝐆𝐔𝐄 coming soon…

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐎𝐍𝐄 coming soon…

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐓𝐖𝐎 coming soon…

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐓𝐇𝐑𝐄𝐄 coming soon…

𝐄𝐗𝐓𝐑𝐀𝐒

𝑛𝑜𝑡𝘩𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑦𝑒𝑡…

asks/requests are open for this au and do not have to revolve around the chapters. they can be standalones!

a/n: i am actually so excited about releasing this and i really hope it turns out good 😭 only thing is while i’ll be trying to post quickly, i have depression and currently going through a rough depressive episode so it might take me a little long… so sorry in advance. taglist for this series is open btw! just lmk if you’d like to be added 🫶

© 2025 imbadatwrighting. all rights reserved. original stories by goose. sharing is cool, copying not so much! if you plagiarize… sleep with one eye open.

[angelsdean]

missing spnwin hours :( i wanted to get around to meeting deanna campbell. i wanted to see what this version of mary and john would do with their free will. would they even end up staying together? wanted to see dean break out of heaven again (and again and again) eventually leading up to the reveal that Something Is Not Right With Jack (and then a plot with corrupted god!jack as the big bad that needs to be saved). wanted to see the spnwin gang cross over to the main universe for Plot Reasons and meet jody, donna, and the girls. garth. all the other characters that are still alive over there. wanted to see them work together to help tfw escape Fake Heaven / the Empty. LIKE. i'm sorry to all the ppl that couldn't get on board with AU johnmary prequel sequel (tho it was never really abt that. it was abt way more than just them) BUT. like spnwin was thee spn reboot disguised trojan horse style. i Know in my heart in a couple of seasons the show would have gotten to the point where having a tfw centric plot / destiel reunion would not have been jarring or out of place. and in the meantime we would have gotten more adventures in the spn world with fun characters. and on top of everything, i wanted to see more from showrunner robbie thompson!

[apocalypseornaw]

Real or Not (Pt 1/5)

Dean Winchester x Reader

When Dean starts mentioning his ex it makes you start doubting how stable your relationship is

@lacilou s idea

You were half asleep, curled up to Dean's chest. His fingers were slowly tracing patterns on your bare back as he sung along with whatever was playing on the radio, the light rumble of his voice was nearly lulling you back to sleep. The bed was warm and soft, his body against yours was an added warmth and comfort. You'd known the boys most of your life, the perks of hunting but you and Dean was a development that had just happened a few years before.

Him and Sam had discovered the men of letters bunker and as a byproduct had extended an invitation for you to use one of the many extra bedrooms. You weren't sure how the line between friends and lovers was crossed between you and Dean.

The first time you saw a spark of what could be was when a guy had gotten handsy with you in a bar after a hunt. You were sore after all three of you had gotten tossed around, the bruising on your side was already multiple shades of purple. You'd left the boys to go to the bathroom and hadn't noticed a guy watching you.

When you walked out the bathroom he'd grabbed you rather roughly. Any other time you would've kicked his ass with no problem but his fingertips had dug into the bruise forcing the air out of your lungs and a gasp of pain to escape your lips. "Hey asshole" You heard Dean's voice a half a second before the guy was ripped off of you.

You watched as Dean hit him and felt some sense of vindication when the guy went down but when Dean moved to hit him again you grabbed his arm, the bouncer was headed your way and not to mention you knew Dean.

He was strong enough to take down monsters on the daily, if he went off on this drunken asshole he could kill him. The anger in his eyes quickly dissolved when he realized it was your hand on him "Sweetheart he hurt you" you smiled slightly "I've had worse dee. You probably broke his jaw as is. Let the bouncer handle it, let's grab Sam and head back to the motel"

----------------

From that day on any time the three of you went out Dean would stand outside the bathroom and wait on you. You'd felt guilty for a while that his chances of hooking up was cut down extremely by every woman in the bar seeing him waiting on you but when you'd finally brought it up to him he'd simply said "You're more important to me"

The first time Dean kissed you was late one night. You and him had been dancing around feelings for each other for a while.

---------------

You'd been in your room, laid across the bed listening to music when he'd knocked on your door. "Come in!" You called out turning to sit up instead of being sprawled out. Dean walked in and a smile pulled onto his face "Were you asleep?" Your eyes widened when you realized how your hair probably looked. Not that he hadn't seen you at a worse time but nonetheless you smoothed a hand over your hair "No, was just listening to music" he nodded slowly but you could tell he hadn't just come to your door to see what you were up to. "Something wrong Dee?"

He motioned down the hall "There's a um meteor shower tonight. Sam told me about it, I know you like that kind of thing and there's a few clearings not far from here if you wanna take a little ride?"

You nodded "Yeah let me get my boots on and grab a hoodie" the smile he gave you made your heart flip "Take your time sweetheart"

----------------

About half an hour later you were laying across baby's hood next to Dean, watching the night sky. His hand found your leg, squeezing gently before he sat up "Y/N, can we talk?" You sat up too and took his offered hand to get off the impala. Once you were both standing he gave you one of those smiles that made your knees weak "Can I just kiss you and stop this dancing around? I know how I feel about you and I'm fairly certain how you feel about me"

"I'd like that" you admitted and next thing you knew his lips were on yours. Kissing Dean was better than you'd ever imagined and you'd imagined it plenty. The way he made you feel from just a kiss was dizzying. When he pulled away he slid his arms around your waist pulling you even closer "I could get used to doing that" you laughed "I could get used to you doing that"

The two of you had ended up watching the sun come up before going back to the bunker. You'd never admit under threat of torture but you were half in love with him then.

You felt his fingers hesitate just a moment before he said "I know you're awake" you cut your eyes up to see green eyes watching you closely. You smiled "I was enjoying the song" he leaned down to press a gentle kiss to your lips but when his hands moved to your hips rolling you over on top of him the kiss deepened. When you had to move away from each other to catch your breath he grinned at you "If I get that for a song what do I get for a few?" You raised an eyebrow rolling your hips down against his which made him choke out a groan "I'm sure we can come to an agreement"

Yeah you'd never admit it but you were head over heels for the eldest Winchester.

You were moving through the bunker, humming to yourself. You'd just gotten through with laundry and was headed to see if Sam needed help with research.

You were almost to the library when you heard Dean and Sam both laughing. The sound warmed your heart, they rarely genuinely laughed. "Man you remember how Mila lost the cop that was chasing her, met us back at Bobby's and cooked breakfast" Sam said and you felt yourself falter.

Sam was one of your closest friends and yeah him and Dean had hunted close with Camila for a while especially while her and Dean were a thing but as far as you knew they hadn't talked to her in a while. Why were they reminiscing about Dean's ex? Your stomach dropped to your feet when Dean's voice was the next to say "Mila has always been a force of nature"

You knew when it came to these two your poker face was shit so you stopped dead in your tracks unsure what to do next. When they started into another story starring none other than Camila Paulso you spun on your heel and headed for the garage. You hadn't realized you were crying until your vision went blurry.

--------------

This wasn't like you. You weren't the overly jealous type and getting this upset over something so trivial as them reminiscing? Because you had fallen in love with Dean and honestly had no clue if he felt the same. Every insecurity you felt from when you first got with Dean came rushing back. Every little voice that said you weren't his type, that you weren't good enough for him, that he'd never love you blared through your head.

You walked over to one of the older cars you always liked and sat down next to it, forcing yourself to calm down. They were just talking. Maybe you needed a break, you could go visit Jody and the girls. A few minutes passed before your phone went off with a text from Dean "Where are you at?"

You pushed yourself to your feet, checking your reflection in the window of the car before texting back "Garage" you needed to get a grip. Dean wasn't the type to not say what he wanted. He was with you, that counted for something right?

About the time you heard his voice ring through the garage calling your name a small whisper flashed through your head saying "What if he's passing time until he can get her back?"

Why the hell was your own brain working so hard against you?

@lacilou

[my-stories-vault]

Chapter 1 ~ Purgatory Series.

Pairing: American Dean Winchester X English Y/N L/N; American Dean Winchester X American Y/N L/N

Blurb: Purgatory suits you, to be honest. Plenty of distractions to choose from, you can kill as many as to your heart's content. And your heart is one insatiable bastard—it'll do anything to keep the memories of your ex away. Until a face much similar to his struts up into your territory, looking for you, promising you a home you lost too long ago. Your heart melted once before, do you think you would be able to risk it all again for the same criminally handsome face?

Warnings/Trigger Warnings (18+): Supernatural Wars spoilers, major and minor character deaths, mentions of previous major character deaths, voilence, gore, tons of angst, (sort of, but not really) love triangle, language, self-sacrifices (not exactly suicide), betrayals, etc.

Note: This was written four years ago and English is my second language - I've tried to edit without losing the past-me's "authenticity", but let's face it, spellings ain't my strong suit, and even Grammerly gave up, soooo all the mistakes are mine 🙂🙃.

{ Series Masterlist ; Main Masterlist }

Purgatory Series: Part 1.

Today marked the end of the seventh year since you'd been transportated here. In another Universe's Purgatory. One would think it was hard being in a monster realm, but you would like to believe you were thriving. Bloodthirsty monsters, willing to do anything to take each other's lives - and you'd quickly become one of them.

You were a survivor, and you survived against all the odds. You'd faced off with vampires, werewolves, sirens, witches, and even the leviathans, once or twice. You learned how to go about in Purgatory, you learned how to get stuff done around here. No one cared about anyone, except themselves. It was a crooked world, and to live in it, you had to bend yourself too. You had to learn to be selfish, you had to devoid yourself of any mercy you could show to these monsters here.

It was like Heaven.

You'd perfected the art of being a merciless and ruthless monster. You'd buried your emotions deep under, somewhere in your heart. You forgot what hope felt like, you forgot how to act like a normal human being. All you knew was that you lived in a world where the only way to survive was to kill others. There were plenty of distractions here to choose from, you could kill as much as to your heart's content. And your heart was an insatiable bastard—it would do anything to keep the memories of . . .

You were too dedicated to not thinking the end of the sentence. All you did throughout your day was kill other monsters, right and left, and each day, you lost a little part of yourself to your awesome animalistic instincts.

Yet, nothing can save you now from what's going to happen.

Currently, you were in the trees, on the werewolf turf. You were bored and that's why you decided to piss off the wolves by hunting a few of their members. You knew once they learnt of what you had done, they'd come after you out of sheer grief. You thought it's their own fault that they roam in packs even after they've died - it's their own fault that they stay attached. Though, that would keep you busy for at least a week, so you weren't complaining. Finding monsters to kill when they were scared and cautious of you was such an inconvenience.

Speaking of inconveniences, you'd heard that the Leviathans were back in Purgatory. They had returned here after somehow escaping to Earth a couple of months back. They were all killed by a group of hunters, you assumed.

Whoever that is, is one hell of a hunter.

You still remembered when you had annoyed a Leviathan. He had been on your ass for almost a year before you were able to throw him off by faking your death. After that, you steered away from them. Sure, it had been a rather fun year, but what's the point of a rivalry when your enemy is unkillable?

You heard a distant howl of pain; it didn't sound like a normal monster's cry. You stayed in your place in case it was a trap to draw you out. Most of the Purgatory knew you were a curious person, and because of that, you had found yourself in quite a pickle more than a handful of times.

You scooched forward until your body was pressed flat against the thick tree branch. You took out an arrow from your quiver, shifting some leaves with it. When you had the layout memorized, you let the leaves go, nocking the arrow upon your bowstring by bringing your bow to you from around the body of the branch to minimise the chances of plummetting down thirty feet.

In a few minutes, the bushes rustled. You pulled the string taut. Out came a bunch of five werewolves, already talking.

'Damn it, we lost him,' growled one of them.

You were intrigued. Who were these puppies sniffing for?

'Told you it'd be better if we killed him on sight!' snarled the second.

'Maybe we should just give up on him,' suggested the third.

'Are you kidding? I want his blood on my hands! He killed me when I was back on Earth!'

'Yeah, me too,' the second one agreed.

The fifth one said, 'Same. He's a pain in the ass. He's killed at least one-third of the monsters in here. Someone will kill him eventually, and I want to be that someone!'

Their whining amused you, now you just had to see this monster. Who was he who killed other monsters? And most importantly, what kind of a monster would he kill his own kind?

You needed a challenge. You decided you'd try and get rid of this monster yourself. Anything that keeps you entertained is worth a shot, yeah? Worst case, it'll only be a few weeks; best case, months or even a year!

You put back your arrow and remained silent as the werewolves left to find this mystery monster. You couldn't take up a rivalry with the werewolves right now, if you wanted to track this new sensation yourself. You needed no one searching for you if you wanted to find him.

And you found him all right.

A week passed by and you finally traced the Purgatory's new villain.

Word spreads fast amongst the monsters. Turns out he's the hunter who banished the Leviathans back here. He was a human, a normal human who scared half the monsters and the other half wanted him dead.

He was a challenge for you, nonetheless. If he was going to end up dead too, you might as well be the one to do the honours. At least you'd give him a relatively painless death. Living was overrated anyways. And with that in mind, you'd sought him.

You watched him now, resting against one of the trees, constantly glancing over his shoulders, paranoid as he caught his breath.

He had just slaughtered the five wolves you had overheard last week. You had followed them here, right to him, and you had watched, with how much ease he murdered them. He traded in a scratch or two himself, but he still managed to win against them, unarmed and completely alone.

You observed how he bravely extracted the werewolf claw from his shoulder. His green eyes were sharp, but lonely, confused, tired. His jaw clenched in pain, his shoulders tensing every time a twig snapped or a leave crumpled in the distance.

He was wearing a dirty leather jacket, which looked like it had seen better days. Under the jacket was flannel and then a shirt, with it a pair of bloody blue jeans and hunting boots. He was six-foot-one. His bow legs firmly planted on the ground as he tried not to grunt in pain.

And each second your eyes were on him, you couldn't help but think how indeed nothing in Purgatory could have saved you from this.

How nothing could have prepared you for Dean fucking Winchester. The love of your life, the man who left you. He's back . . .

With each passing second, you wondered if he was a form of a mirage. Did your thirst for human love drive you so crazy that you're imagining the man you once loved, with all your heart and soul, in front of you?

Never in a million years, had you even considered the possibility, that you'd see him again, in flesh. It brought unresolved emotions to the surface. Your scorched tear ducts began functioning after more than seven years, but you couldn't let them fall because you'd forgotten how to cry. You hadn't cried since . . . Nope, you don't even go there.

You remember begging God for one chance to make this right, swearing that if you got him again, you'd never let him go, you'd always protect him. Losing him was . . . No, can't go there either.

As he looked back to the blood on his shoulder, you noticed the dark shadow in the bushes nearing his face - it was no friendly beast. Without wasting a single second, you aimed and released your deadly weapon just as the thing appeared out of the bushes with it's ajar lusting maw.

It yowled in dying pain, startling the human who jumped to his feet, raising the weapon he stole from the werewolves. But the lycanthrope fell at the man's feet, your arrow sticking out from it's brain, still in his wolf form, which started to disintegrate soon.

'Who's there?' demanded the human, raising his sword in front of his face as if to protect himself, looking up at the tree you were in. But he couldn't see you past the leaves. You swung off the branch and jumped to the ground, landing on your hands and feet, forgetting to hesitate.

You rose, smirking. Your e/c eyes had an almost inhuman sheen after years of wear and tear in the Purgatory, but it was a mask over your pain. Your hair down, and cut short in jagged edges like you'd take a knife to them. The color of your clothes had faded greatly after years of washing them in the forest river. You stood tall, your bemused self assessing the hunter's reaction eagerly.

He was waiting and watching for you to attack.

Instead, you raised your hands in surrender. You should have attacked, but you didn't. You knew this attachment was dangerous but you couldn't help yourself. You couldn't kill this man.

You had to remind yourself that this man's name could be different, that everything about him could be completely different - all except his face. And no matter how much you wanted to run into his arms right now, you couldn't, because this wasn't your Dean.

But that also didn't mean that you'd be able to take his life, see his eyes stare at nothing after he meets his demise. You couldn't do that to yourself.

'Hello, darling,' the nick name rolled off your English tongue before you could weigh the pros and cons. 'You should be more careful.'

'I could say the same thing to you,' he smiled his "I-hope-you-like-my-smile-because-this-is-gonna-be-the-last-thing-you-see" smile.

He had an American accent, unlike your English one. Even your Dean had had an English accent, but you guessed since this one was from another planet, this one was different. You had seen this one give this smile to the lycanthropes he just killed, and before that numerous monsters that happened to cross his path, today itself. You had been spying on him since the morning and it didn't take you long to know that he was relentless. (It had taken you that same morning to process your shock; you actually need more time, but you'd blown your cover.)

You had seen this exact smile on your Dean too; thus, the shock; but you had to keep reminding yourself that they were different. This Winchester was from another universe altogether. If he was even a Winchester at all.

You temper your insane laugh at his audacious challenge. 'You've only killed untrained monsters till now, who used to attack innocent humans, which means they had no challenge whatsoever in their miserable lives. You really think you can harm me?'

His brows furrowed a little, but the cocksure smirk stayed. 'You all are the same—little barbaric pests I'll have no issue crushing under my foot.'

'Ah.' You understood that he thought you were a monster. 'Your feet won't be big enough to kill a monster like me.'

You placed your bow on the ground, taking but one arrow and setting the rest down. That is all the time you had before the man attacked you.

You ducked his swing, playing defensive. You blocked his punches, and dodged his dagger, waiting for him to grow impatient and make a mistake. He kept attacking you, trying to outlast your strength, chasing you around the small clearing for minutes. He even landed a kick to your shin and pulled your hair once. You leveraged your tree-climbing skills to dance away from his reaching hands, enjoying his frustration. You came close disarming him twice but let him regain his weapon. Soon, he realised he was wasting his time and energy. He stepped back, and you both started circling each other.

'Seriously, are you that scared of me that you won't even attack, sweetheart?'

'If I attack,' you grinned a Cheshire grin, 'you will no longer think of me as a "sweetheart", darling.'

'Well, I assure you, I won't be much of a "darling" either when I slide this blade through your heart and watch the life drain out of your eyes.'

'I like when you talk dirty,' you winked before you momentarily surprised him by running head-on towards him.

You feigned right which is where he blocked with his dagger. Instead, you used your momentum, to fall on your knees and used one foot to swipe his bow-legs from under him. His balance thrown, he slammed into the ground with breath-whooshing force.

He tried to hook his hand around you in a chokehold which you caught by the wrist. You twirled to straddle his thighs, locking your legs at your ankles so he couldn't move his legs, punching his nose when he tried to headbutt you. You plunged your arrow into his left hand that was nearing his weapon and he gasp-yelled in pain.

You punched him while he was distracted, in the neck, the ribs and then stomach, winding him efficiently. You took his right hand and twisted it painfully, at an awkward angle so it would go under his back, waiting till he stopped struggling and realized that he had lost.

You gritted grouchily until he gave up.

'Just make it quick, you bitch,' he panted. There wasn't a trickle of fear in him, his jaw set defiantly.

You had sort of expected that because that's what your Dean would have said and done. Maybe he is not so different.

You contemplated him from this close. The freckles on his face were like red splatters of paint on a pretty-featured canvas. The soft scrub on his angled jaw made him look adorable, yet sexy. His dirty-blond hair seemingly pulled by his fingers in all directions. You'd missed it all. But the thing that your memory disappointed you the most in were his moss-green eyes - they were more beautiful than any human mind could capture.

And all the qualities you had missed, like the fierceness he held himself with. The stubbornness that always seemed to get him within an inch of his life. The unwavering determination and the will to never give up was clear in his eyes. A man so strong, yet sweetly and sensitively empathetic.

Goose-pimples assaulted you and your heart withered.

You leaned down until your face was levelled with his. Your eyes locked with his - locking eyes felt like such a forgotten pleasure.

'I never wanted to kill you, darling.'

'Then, what do you want?' he said, staring right back.

You wondered if you had the same effect on him that you once had on your Dean, and vice versa. The only way to prove that theory would be to see if he could catch you in a lie, however small or big.

'I wanted to see who the new human was,' you lied, tracing a finger down his face, 'trying to overthrow the fear people have of me in here. See, I'm not used to competition in this God-forsaken place, hunter.'

Realization dawned on him, 'You're the terrifying L/N. The first and only human in Purgatory.'

You swallowed your sadness because he didn't notice.

'That is until you came along,' you talked past the lump in your throat, proping up the farce to hide your hurts, 'and stole my thunder. I'm getting off you now, try something funny, and you'll be dead before you hit the ground. In this case, while you're still on the ground.'

He didn't answer as you climbed off him. He grunted as he got up, groaning a little as he removed the arrow that you had pinned him into the ground with. You retrieved your bow and quiver, ready to strike him down if he tried to backstab you.

You couldn't believe that an actual human was in the Purgatory; someone other than you! Much less could you believe that he had the exact face of the only man you ever loved. Your one and only soulmate, in the flesh.

You knew other Deans in other Universes existed. But for one to show up in the Purgatory where you were the only human? For him to be human as well?

It established for you that a God was there, and he had a fucking sense of irony.

'How did you get to know about me?' you made conversation.

His eyes lingered on your face for a few seconds, as if taking you in, minus the hatred this time - there was true hope in him now. You guessed you understood. Thinking that you were alone in the world of angry and cruel monsters, only to find out there was someone like you - it was hope-worthy.

He stood up, taking the sword back in his unhurt hand. Wincing, he touched the skin around his wounded palm.

'You sell yourself short, sweetheart,' replied the tall hunter, taking out a napkin from his pocket and wrapping it around his palm. 'There are rumors about you all over the goddamn place.'

Of course, there are.

'Really?' you raised a coy brow. 'What do they say?'

'Some of them think you're dead, others are terrified of you. And the vampire nest I cleared out three days ago? The alpha said that if anyone could help me . . . it was you. Been looking for you ever since.'

Don't do it, don't do it, don't do it, was the chant in your head, but resistance was pointless.

'Follow me.'

And you've done it.

'Wait, just like that?' he scoffed, 'I don't trust you. You just pierced me with your arrow.'

You laughed, 'Oh, darling, if I wanted you dead, the arrow would have pierced your heart. I'm a very good aim.'

'And that should make me trust you?' he crossed his arms on his chest, stubbornly rooting to his spot.

'Who said anything about trust?' you mused, tilting your head to the right. 'The first rule of Purgatory: Don't trust no one. Now, come on, I need to get your hand and shoulder healed.'

He glared at you, 'I'm not going anywhere with you unless you tell me where you're taking me.'

You saw something move behind the man, your protectiveness towards him surged through. You nocked another one of your arrows and shot it, even before the man could think. But that didn't mean he didn't react. After a beat, he hurled his sword at you. And unlike your arrow which missed his face by inches, you felt the sword break your skin.

The arrow struck the beast behind, and it yelped in pain, which was what made the hunter swivel in shock. 'Oh, shit,' he muttered under his breath when the lycanthrope hit the ground with a thud, your arrow sticking out of his heart.

Dean lunged towards you just as you fell forwards. 'I'm so sorry, I thought—'

'Told you I'm good aim,' you gritted out. He lowered you to the ground, at the roots of a nearby tree. 'I have had more than enough chances to kill you. Now, fucking trust me and take the dagger out.'

'You will bleed—'

'Now,' you ordered.

He hesitated for a split second before he used his unhurt hand to firmly grip the hilt of his dagger. 'On the count of three,' he told you. 'One . . . Two—' and he ripped it out of you along with a scream, 'Son of a bitch! What, did you fail in kindergarten?! What happened to three!?'

As the guy had predicted, blood gushed out. The green-eyed man, bit his lower lip, his eyes apologetic, and fast filling with guilt. 'I'm sorry—'

'Shut up,' you rolled your eyes. 'You don't live in Purgatory for as long as I have without always carrying some kind of healing potion.'

His eyes flashed with surprise and relief, his mouth parted in shock. You rolled your eyes again at his reaction, 'Climb the tree I jumped off of. There is a duffel bag, bring that. And do it fas-fast.'

'I won't let you die,' he assured you.

That sentence struck a chord in you. I won't let you die, my love. Not while I'm still alive.

You exhaled sharply to keep the burn in your eyes from escalating. You didn't need this shit right now.

You changed the subject, wheezing, 'Just hurry! The wolves we killed are an ancient breed. They know what you did, killed five of theirs, and I, t-two. They're an old pack, extinct before you were probably born. They can tu-turn into actual wolves, and they'd maul us if you don't leave soon!'

'Right.'

The hunter climbed fast and sloppy, getting back to you in mere minutes. You rummaged through the bag quickly, taking out a flask you kept your healing potion in. You sipped from it, grimacing at the bitter-sour taste.

You glanced at the hunter by your side, slight concern in his eyes and it felt weird, out of place. No one, in a very, very long time, had shown concern for you. But at the same time, it felt natural. It was something your Dean would do.

'You're not worried, are you?' you asked, a hint of humour in your expression.

He scoffed, 'Only because you're my ticket out of here.'

You felt a little hurt by his words. For a second there, you thought that maybe he cared, but you forgot that only because he had Dean's face, it didn't mean that he'd actually care any more than the monsters. You felt disappointed and you hid it well.

'Good. Caring is overrated.'

'Ain't that the truth?' he said before his eyes fell on your wound. It was mending you shut, 'Wow.'

'I know,' you smiled a little. 'Painless and efficient. I just wish it tasted more like whiskey than sewer.'

'That bad, huh?'

'Yep,' you said, offering him your flask. 'You gotta do what you gotta do to survive. Drink up, hunter, just a sip.'

He accepted it, not hesitating anymore to take your help, taking a pull and gagging at the taste. He handed you the flask back again, his wounds filling out with fresh flesh and blood. He removed his handkerchief, now bloody, to see an unaffected palm.

'That shit was nasty,' he shivered a bit, poking his tongue out as if he wished he could wipe the taste away.

'Let's go before the howls begin,' you commanded.

'Is there a safe place we can outlast this?'

You shrugged, 'Sure is. Once they are off our backs, I'll help you.'

You had made several safe houses all over Purgatory.

Your trek with the green-eyed hunter had been a silent one, and tense for so many reasons. For one, you could feel his gaze on you multiple times, but you resisted returning the favour with every cell in your body. Secondly, monsters either avoided your scent these days, or it had mostly belnded into the decor after seven years of being all over the place, but the guy following you still had a distinct smell to him, one would assume, a glowing beacon for monsters.

You climbed up a tree near the river, way uphill. You ushered the man through the mass of leaves that were smelly enough to throw off monsters from around this area. This was one of your few treehouses that had a thick foilage of flowers and leaves to camouflage it.

He silently sat down, and you took a seat on the opposite end of the small house.

Sighing, you threw your head back, a little tired, though you knew you wouldn't be sleeping in here. It wasn't all that safe. It was still a lot closer to the werewolf turf than you'd like, but the man had been running amok for God-knows-how-long - you thought he might need a break. You wished you could give him longer than an hour but those werewolves had noses like . . . well, scary werewolves that could rip any creature into small pieces they sink their teeth in.

'You know, I don't get it,' said the green-eyed man after a few minutes.

You glanced at him in acknowledgement, nothing how large he looked for your house. In your small treehouse, there wasn't much to begin with. A small window in the corner where the fairies agreed to help you with some light, each night, wherever you needed them in Purgatory. It was a deal you had made with them, in return for saving their queen from the Leviathans. A small closet was carved from the wood of the tree where you kept your weapons, a set of clothes, an emergency healing potion, and water. That's about it.

The rest of the space is utilized to spend some days. You can sit there, lie down, and chat with the ceiling which is made of leaves. You would talk to the fairies, but they're all about business.

'What do you not get, hunter?' you asked, annoyed for some reason. It wasn't that he wasn't welcome. You liked it, and at the same time, you didn't. Did that make sense?

Now that you thought about it, maybe letting him tag along was a bad idea. After all, it had been seven years since you were having an actual conversation with an actual human being. Not to mention that this person had died several years ago.

This conversation didn't involve death threats or begging for life. This was a conversation regarding the curiosity about how to survive here. This was a conversation about something that needed brainstorming on ways to get out of here.

And that felt unreal, almost as if you had forgotten how to do it in the first place. It had been so long since you'd lived for someone else.

'Why did you agree to help me? You don't know me that well. For all you know, I could have been put here because I'm a monster.'

You stared at a patch near his feet, the fading sunlight illuminated the filmsy plastic that was used instead of the glass of your window. You didn't want to look at Dean's lookalike, or you would be reminded of how this was the most handsome man you had ever laid your eyes on. And that would mess with your emotions - big time.

You were still a little surprised with yourself that you let him live. Angel, Demon, Monster, you don't spare anyone: that's the rule; especially in Purgatory - everyone needs to die. If you find another of your breed, you leave them alone to fend for themselves, or grant a painless death out of kindness.

Attachment kills. Then why did you help him?

Why should you care?

His eyes are so beautiful, you thought to yourself. You shook your head, this isn't Dean, Y/N, this is another man with his face, who, for all you know, could be a criminal . . .

'I was put here,' you shared. 'It wasn't my fault, I think. I don't know. And I don't know your story.'

His brows furrowed. 'That's it? That's your reason to help me?'

You sighed, trying a different angle. 'I heard everyone calls you a hunter?'

'What about it?'

You leaned back, stretching. You thought back to the days when you were a hunter yourself. How you saved people, how you sacrificed your life for them. It was for the people of your planet that you made this deal with the other factions, the one that deposited you here. They promised to stop the war with your people, if, and only if, the humans sacrificed their best hunter, who also happened to be a Leader, into another universe's Purgatory. Those were their conditions and considering how you were the only one left alive from your time, you were the lamb chop.

'Sweetheart?'

'Hmm?' You blinked at the man in your room.

'You were saying?' he prompted.

'Oh!' you shook your head. 'Right, I zoned out. Well, since you are a hunter too, you know what it feels like to risk your life for others, don't you?'

'It's my job, I guess. You were a hunter?'

You were so much more than a hunter, but you can't dwell on it - bit brings bitter memories. So, you cleared your throat, 'Yes. Did I not mention that? Cream of our planet, if I say so myself.'

He scoffed, 'Aren't you a little overconfident?'

You gave him a mischievous grin, 'Beat your ass, didn't I?'

'Yeah, whatever. So, what's your game plan? I mean, assuming you even know the way out of here . . . Why haven't you left already?'

'I don't know,' you frowned; you never thought of going back. 'There's no one to go back to, I guess.' You looked meaningfully into his eyes, deciding to change the subject. 'What exactly do you want from me, hunter? Cause, if I heard correct, there have been talks about an angel. It isn't a coincidence that you and he arrive on the same day. Did he put you here?'

'You know about angels? Most hunters don't.'

'Yeah, well, I'm not among the most, darling. Where I come from, everyone knows about monsters, angels and demons. Even the non-hunters.'

That seemed to confuse him, 'Don't we come from the same place?'

You opted to avoid that question. 'I'm not a very patient person when it comes to talking or helping, human. What is it that you want from me? Cause, I won't mind exacting revenge on an angel. I used to love killing those dicks.'

'Whoa!' he nervously chuckled. 'No one's killing the angel!'

'You seem defensive,' you observed. 'He, your friend?'

'Yeah,' he told you. 'And no one lays a hand on him, okay? I need to get out of here, with him.'

'All right,' you smirked, raising your hands to show that you understood. 'It's just . . . angels friends with humans,' you snorted, 'that tale never ended well.'

'Why?' he asked. 'I mean, I know most angels are dicks, but a few of them are actually helpful, sweetheart.'

Your heart spasmed.

'Sure,' you scoffed. 'Although, I don't think the angel who killed my brother, best friend and my boyfriend got that memo.'

Remorse and empathy filled him. 'I'm sorry.'

'You didn't kill them,' you shrugged. 'You don't have to apologize, you don't know me. Or I, you.' You scoffed, 'Hell, you haven't even told me your name yet.'

He blinked in surprise, 'Oh, I'm—'

'Tsk, tsk, tsk,' you cut him off. 'I don't wanna know, darling. Name means bonding. And I'd rather not get attached to you, especially because you're gonna leave this place.'

'And you won't?' he pried.

You deadpanned, 'I have nothing, no one, on your planet.'

'You say that as if you're from another Universe,' he smiled. You just stared at him and he realized that you were serious. 'Wait, you are, aren't you?'

You gave him a small smile, 'Most hunters from other worlds don't know about alternate Universes. But you do, since you don't seem too surprised.'

'Yeah, well, sweetheart, you will find that I'm not among the most,' he repeated your words to you.

'Touché,' you smirked. 'Any more things you want to check off your bucket-list while you're here? Maybe sight-see a dead centaur or something?'

'Nope. Just need to get the angel and get the hell outta dodge.' He paused then, 'You're kidding about the centaur, right?'

You smirked, 'You were stuck in amateur hour, dude. Welcome to the big leagues.'

A smile ghosted his lips. 'How long do you think we'll be stuck here?'

'Long enough for a hefty therapy bill.'

The words settled heavily between the two of you.

'Thank you, Y/N,' sincerity occupied his tone.

Your breath hitched as your name rolled off his tongue.

Oh, this stranger went there.

You forgot how your heart used to race when he called for you. How your emotions felt like they were doing a Hollywood Musical routine each time he was near you. How you felt like you'd melt under his intense gaze which promised you that he'd devour you right there if he could.

There was no lover like Dean Winchester and no love like Dean Winchester's.

His random hand-holding, smiling into each kiss you gave him, saying "I love you" at the most random moment possible. And letting the world know that you were his. You still remembered how he'd come from behind and hug you tightly, nuzzling his face into your neck and murmuring sweet or dirty things into your ear - depending on what mood he was in that day.

'You good?' the man brought you out of your reverie.

Your heart turned cold towards him. You couldn't bear to look at him, knowing he wasn't yours. He never could be. Your Dean was dead.

'Don't,' you hissed, 'Don't call me by my name.'

Before he could ask why or point out how rude you were being, you got up. 'Stay. I need some air.'

'But—'

You ignored him altogether and walked out, thinking: I'm so screwed.

A/N: To answer your question, I don't know where all the angst in my writing comes from - I'm just so bad at happinessy stories 🫠🫣.

Tag List.

@stoneyggirl2 @hobby27 @globetrotter28 @aylacavebear

[daughterofcain-67]

𝒞𝓇𝑒𝒶𝓉𝒾𝓋𝑒 𝒟𝒾𝓈𝓉𝓇𝒶𝒸𝓉𝒾𝑜𝓃: 𝓅𝓉 1

(Dean Winchester x Artist/Bartender!Female Reader)

(𝓅𝒶𝓇𝓉 2) (𝓅𝒶𝓇𝓉 3)

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: You’re an artist that fell in love with a mysterious boy right before college. Then he left without any way to contact him. Decades later you’re an artist/bartender and you’re surprised to see who comes walking through the door.

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: none that I can think of.

𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞: I have no idea who actually did the cover art for The Prince of Thorns, King of Thorns and Emperor of Thorns by Mark Lawrence, the comic illustrations of the Maximum Ride series by James Patterson, or Cinder by Marissa Meyer. But I loved the artwork for the cover art and illustrations, so they deserve all the credit for their creativity. ((The artwork and references to the books is just to use to build Y/N’s portfolio, I do not own any of the artworks.))

It wasn’t easy being an artist. And it didn’t help that you seemed to be a starving artist at that. Everything seemed to have been done already. You supposed that your creative mind wasn’t as unique as you originally thought it would be.

You had countless sketchbooks in your home, just on one of your many bookshelves, purely dedicated to the sketchbooks you’ve had over the years. You’ve been sketching and drawing for as long as you can remember. You picked up on using water color and oil pastels sometime in high school when you were being experimental with your styles. But over the years you found that your luck expanding on your career was sort of a fifty fifty shot.

When someone hadn’t commissioned you to paint a wall of theirs, or if you weren’t working on a cover for some author - which was also another rare opportunity - You spent your time working at a bar in Wisconsin. It was some way to make some money after all, plus you did get to meet some pretty interesting people.

As for tonight, it was just another Thursday night for you and you were on your break. With that being said, you had your sketchbook out and you were sketching yet again.

Lately, in your personal sketchbook, you would draw the familiar face of a man you used to know. One that probably didn’t even remember your name, but you’d always remember his. You’d always remember his beautiful eyes that reminded you of the green forest, or the way his smile would light up any room he’d step into. You could remember the smell of his leather jacket, or the way that unusual pendant looked a little too good around his neck. You could still remember the sound of his laugh, or the flirtatious little tone and his mischievous smirk. He was a man you knew you could never forget, even after all these years.

“Drawing that mystery man of yours again, Y/N?” A work friend of yours named Danielle asked.

You glanced up at her while she adjusted her glasses and sat in front of you, “He’s no mystery.. just a memory.”

“You know, if you really can’t forget about him then maybe you should look for him.” She suggested and you shook your head.

“That’s not possible. Even when we first met during the summer before my freshman year of college, he was always traveling around with his father. It was a part of his career. And if anything, the guy’s still going it. They always traveled around the country.” You explained and Danielle pouted a little.

“You mean you can’t even track down what business it was? Not even by phone number or anything? Some company they ran.” She said and you rubbed the back of your neck.

“Did he even tell you what kind of business he was a part of?” You shook your head.

“No… he was really secretive and he always told me he didn’t want to freak me out. A part of me wonders if he didn’t trust me. Then after like two weeks together he ghosted me.” You admitted.

“And you’re still obsessing over him? Come on, you’ve really got to let it go. If he was that much of a douche to ghost you and if he didn’t even leave you a way to contact him, then you have got to move on.” Danielle told you and you knew deep down she was right.

You looked down at the picture again of your ‘mystery man’ as Danielle liked to call him. Just as you were about to put the pencil to your paper once more, Danielle’s hand got in the way and she dragged the book across the table and rotated it so she could take a look at your work.

“Okay, this guy can’t actually be real. No one is that attractive.” She said with a chuckle before she looked up at you once more.

“So what did you say his name was again?” She asked as she handed you the sketchbook again.

“Dean… Dean Winchester.”

“Dean… Not a bad name I guess. Better than like Brad or something.” She laughed.

“Any chance that he’s a reader? Maybe he’s seen your cover art on some books.” You shook your head.

“No, he’s not much of a reader. His brother is a reader though so.. maybe? Although who knows if Sam would read any of the books I’ve done the artwork for.” You shrugged, unsure if Sam read any fantasy novels or science fiction.

“His brother’s name is Sam? That’s a little anticlimactic isn’t it? Is it short for something?”

“I don’t think it’s anticlimactic. Simplistic. And no, I don’t think it’s short for anything, but I never really asked Dean about it. Never met Sam.”

“Hey! Y/N! Danielle! Y’all can’t leave me by myself, I just got here!” A second voice said and that was your other friend, Callie. She had a bit of a southern twang in her voice that was definitely different compared to your other coworkers.

You and Danielle both laughed and you got up from your seat. You closed your sketchbook and went back to the back of the bar to put your sketchbook in your backpack. Then you began to resume your shift. The sooner the night was over with, the sooner you could go home and maybe check your emails and see if anyone has reached out to you for any projects.

The next several hours went by and it was closing time at the bar. You walked out of the bar with the two coworkers.

“Have you two heard the news yet about the Nelson’s wife?” Callie asked and you glanced over at her, brow arched upward.

“No. I didn’t even know something happened.” You said.

“Well apparently when Mr. Nelson came home last night, his door was opened up and there were some kind of freaky claw marks on the door. When the boss went inside he saw that his wife’s guts were literally outside of her body. But you wanna know the weird thing of it all?”

“There’s a weird part? Just when I thought things couldn’t get any better!” You asked.

“Ha ha, very funny.” Callie replied, not finding your sarcasm amusing at the moment.

“The weirdest part was that her heart was missing. No weapon was found, no evidence of some kind of fur if it really was an animal attack. The police have searched the place top to bottom to find any clues or evidence of an animal attack. But honestly I’m surprised the bar was even opened tonight.” Callie continued.

“That explains why I hadn’t seen the boss tonight. He must be going through a lot. I couldn’t imagine losing my boyfriend in such a horrific way… and to actually see his wife like that? I can’t imagine.” Danielle said and you frowned a little.

As difficult as it was to learn about the loss of your boss’ wife, you didn’t think that your boss would be missing that much. The Mrs. didn’t exactly have a great reputation after all. She was a bit of the town harlot to put it lightly. It was common knowledge that she had been cheating on her husband for the past three years with several men.

“How is Mr. Nelson taking it?” You asked.

“Well as far as I know he’s been at the sheriff’s office all day for an interrogation. You know how it is, always suspecting the spouse first. I don’t know if he’s actually had the time to really mourn.” Callie replied.

“Well… surely it’s just some freakish accident. It couldn’t possibly happen again. The same animal wouldn’t strike the same town twice, right?” You said.

“I wouldn’t think so.” Callie said.

“Well just incase that animal is still around… make sure you get home safe! Why don’t we create a group text now just to make sure we all get home okay.” Danielle suggested.

“Honestly… that doesn’t sound like a bad idea.” You said and pulled out your phone.

Once the three of you were on the group chat, you split off into your different vehicles to go home. You made it to your apartment and shut the door behind you. You tossed your bag on the couch before you plopped on the furniture, then you reached for the remote and turned on the television.

There wasn’t anything good on TV so you changed the channel to Boomerang and watched some cartoons. They were playing the old episodes of Scooby-Doo and you smiled to yourself. You hadn’t watched this show in years and you felt nostalgic watching it. Then your mind wandered off to the old days. You started to think about the summer with Dean.

You shook your head, deciding that Danielle was right and you really should forget about Dean. It’s been years and you never saw Dean again after the best two weeks of your life. It wasn’t worth thinking about. So you grabbed your computer and checked some emails to see if anyone’s reached out.

Evidently there was an email for some author named Marissa Meyer. She was emailing you to compliment your illustrations for James Patterson’s Maximum Ride comics and for the cover art of some other books. Honestly you were surprised. She was writing to see if you’d be willing to do some cover art for one of her books. She emailed you the plot of whatever story this would be and she said the title she planned was Cinder. It seemed to be an interesting plot so you started typing out the response, letting the author know you’d be willing to make the cover art and that you just needed a deadline for it.

Shortly after you sent the email, you started looking at some inspiration photos on Google and Pinterest and that was when your phone started ringing. When you glanced down, you saw that it was a group call with Danielle and Callie. You smiled and you answered the phone before you lifted the phone to your ear.

“Hello?” You answered.

“Oh good, you answered!” Danielle exclaimed on the other line and you chuckled.

“Don’t worry, no animals have broken in to attack me yet.” You clarified and Callie laughed.

“See, I told you there was nothing for you to worry about. She’s probably getting ready to draw something and you broke her concentration.” Callie said and you hummed a little.

“Haven’t started just yet. Though about water coloring though.” You admitted since it had been a while since you’d used that medium.

“Well next time send a text! That was the whole reason why we made the group chat, remember?” Danielle continued and you grinned.

“Sorry for worrying you. I’m alright, and I’m glad both of you are alright too.” You insisted.

“Are both of you working tomorrow night?” You asked.

“I know I am.” Danielle replied with a little bit of an exasperated sigh.

“I’m not. I’ve got the rest of the week off.” Callie spoke up.

“The whole week? So we’ll see you when, Monday?” You asked.

“Yep. Needed a little me time and what perfect time would that be than having the weekend all to yourself?” She said.

“What about Dylan?” Danielle asked, referring to Callie’s boyfriend.

“He said he was… busy with something.” Callie said.

“You know, Danielle, you and Chris may like this one restaurant on South drive.” Callie said, talking about Danielle’s boyfriend and you felt like the odd one out, not having gone on a date in about three years.

“I’ll let the two of you talk about your boyfriends and your little date ideas.” You said and you were about to hang up before the both of them started talking to you to not hang up.

“Woah woah woah! Why don’t we get you hooked up with someone?” Callie asked.

“Yeah, that would be fun! I mean it’s been a while so what’s the harm in it? We can take you to the bar after work this Saturday night.”

You arched a brow before you looked at your bag that still had the sketchbook with the pictures of Dean in it. You supposed maybe going out this weekend maybe help you get over the memory. Dean was more of a phantom of that summer anyway.

“I suppose that could work. I get off at six. I can get home and get ready by seven or something.” You replied.

“Oh good! Maybe on break tomorrow you and I can go looking for some cute dresses for you to wear!” You cringed at Danielle’s words and you used your free hand to rub the back of your neck.

“Great.” You muttered with nervous laughter.

“Hang on, guys. I have to go. Dylan is calling me.” Callie groaned with some sort of annoyance in her tone and you wondered if everything was alright. However before you asked, she hung up.

“Wonder if she’s alright.” You said since Danielle was on the other line.

“Honestly I think she and Dylan have been in a bit of a rough patch recently. I wouldn’t be surprised if they break up by the end of the month.” She sighed.

“Rough patch? What’s been going on?”

“Well from what Callie’s ranted about, Dylan is developing some trust issues ever since she told him she didn’t want to live together.”

“What? They’ve only been dating for like a month and he wanted to move in?”

“Something like that…”

“Well you’re being awfully gracious for giving them the end of the month to end things. I’ll give them a week and a half if that.” You chuckled.

“You never know. Anyway, it’s getting late. See you tomorrow?” Danielle said.

“I’ll be there.”

Dean rubbed the back of his head as he walked down the stairs. Then he tied the strap of his robe around his waist as he made his way into the library just to see Sam reading a book. Not much of a surprise there. But this time it didn’t seem like it was a research book in his hands.

“Whatcha got there?” Dean asked, hearing his brother hum in response.

“It’s a fantasy series by Mark Lawrence. I’m reading the second one called King of Thorns.” Sam spoke.

“I didn’t exactly take you to be a fantasy ready. Always thought of you as more of a realist.” Dean admitted as he sat down across from his brother before he moved the laptop across the table. Then Dean opened it up so he could see if there was any new cases that sounded like his and Sam’s thing.

“Charlie recommended the book to me. Said that it was pretty good. Like it’s not Lord of the Rings good or Harry Potter good, but she thought it was worth the read nonetheless.” Sam said.

Dean hummed as he looked over at the book again and he caught a glimpse of the front cover, “Cover art’s pretty good.”

“Yeah… Charlie said the artist has done quite a little bit. She’d done the cover art of this trilogy and the illustrations for some sort of comic series based off some YA science fiction books. I think her name is.. oh hang on I think her name might be in the book.” Sam said as he flipped to the back.

“Oh here it is. Cover artist, Y/N L/N.”

Dean’s gaze shot from the book in Sam’s hand to Sam right after he read the name. That was a name he hadn’t heard in years. Felt like centuries really.

“Let me see that. I want to get a better look at the cover.” Dean said and Sam put his bookmark between the pages and handed the book to him.

As Dean looked at the cover, he admired the work. He suddenly began to recall that summer when he was a couple decades younger. Still fresh and when John was still around. He remembered meeting this beautiful girl in Wisconsin. You, in fact.

That was the best two weeks of his entire life. He remembered how great of an artist you were, how much he loved looking through the sketchbooks you showed him. He remembered you telling him way back when that you wanted to be an artist. Seems like you’ve come quite a ways if you’ve done some illustrations and some book covers.

“Has this artist done anything else?” Dean asked curiously.

“Since when were you interested in art?” Sam asked with a smirk as he leaned in, his arms folded in front of him on the table. Then the look of realization went across his face.

“Wait… Y/N. Isn’t that the girl from-“

“Wisconsin? Yeah.” Dean said and he chuckled.

“Honestly the best summer I’ve ever had.” Dean admitted.

“Why didn’t you ever go back to visit her? Is she a hunter? Maybe she could help us on some hunt sometime.” Sam said, trying to be encouraging but Dean shook his head a little.

“No, she wasn’t a hunter. In fact she was far from it. When I met her, she hadn’t even started college yet. Just graduated high school. She had no idea of the darkness in the world that we deal with and well… I wanted to spare her from it.” He said.

“Sounds like you had it bad. Dad wondered why it took you two weeks to end the case. He said it was awful long for you.” Sam smirked.

“Honestly, yeah. I did. if I wasn’t a hunter, I might have stayed. Maybe even go to summer school or work as a mechanic there to make a living just to stick around while she was on her campus. She was a sweet girl but I knew if I stayed, monsters would come and I didn’t want her exposed to that kind of shit just because I stayed around. I finished the case in a week but I stayed the extra week before I had to decide to move on.” Dean continued.

“Do you ever regret it?” Sam asked.

“Honestly, I don’t think she would even remember me.” Dean replied and handed the book to Sam yet again. Sam took it and set it down on the table beside him.

“I think she’d remember… anyway, as far as I know she’s just illustrated for that series and the covers for this series.” Sam said but he pulled out his phone to search your name.

“Here’s something… She’s painted some walls in the local elementary school building as well as a pediatrician’s office. But honestly I think that’s the only commissions she’s had. Other than that, based off her social media she’s just working in a bar.”

“A bartender? A girl of her talent should be working for some comic company. Maybe even character designing for some animation studio.” Dean said with a bit of surprise.

“Well, sometimes people aren’t always that lucky in life. But I agree with you, she is good.” Sam sighed as he closed out his phone before putting it back in his pocket. Then he turned his attention back to Dean who was looking back at the computer screen in front of him.

“Find anything worth while?” He asked his older brother.

“Well speaking of Wisconsin…. Turns out some bar owner’s wife was found dead. Police are calling it an animal attack but there wasn’t any evidence of an animal left behind. Then again there wasn’t exactly any evidence of humans either because apparently, intestines were outside the poor woman’s body and her heart was missing.” He said.

“So… werewolf maybe?” Sam suggested.

“That’s my first thought. We might as well head that way and check it out for ourselves.” Dean said and Sam nodded before Dean decided to get up so he could take a shower and get dressed before going on the hunt.

When Dean made it into his room, he decided that’s before he’d get dressed he’d look for something.

Honestly he wasn’t even sure if he still had this amongst his memorabilia. He didn’t exactly carry ugh outside of his pictures of his parents, Bobby and Sam and himself when they were younger. But when Dean opened up the auto man at the end of his bed and started looking through old pictures and papers, he moved his father’s journal to the side and then he found a black folder.

Dean let out a breath of relief as he pulled the black folder out and he sat down on the bed. The field was made of paper and it was a bit worn with the years of being moved around since they went from motel to motel a lot. Then Dean opened up the folder and he was pleasantly surprised to find that what he was looking for was still inside.

Inside of the folder there was a sheet of sketch paper with a drawing of both you and him on it. It was an old picture, Dean’s hair was longer and he didn’t quite have bags under his yees from the years of losing sleep because of a hunt. Then there was you, and you were even more gorgeous in person. Your talented hand didn’t give you justice on paper.

In the picture, you were wrapped up in his arms while the two of you sat down on a blanket in the grass. Both of you had a peaceful expression as you looked out at the lake. Dean could still remember the way you felt in his arms, remembering the moment you had drawn in the picture. It was the second to the last night that he spent in Wisconsin.

Dean smiled at the memory, knowing that even after so many years you still had a piece of his heart. But then reality started to get to him and he wondered if you had been married after college graduation. Did you have a family of your own? Dean calculated and by this time you had to be in your mid thirties like he was, right? Most people were arrived by then if they were lucky, and any man would be lucky to have someone so special like you.

Honestly Dean couldn’t help but wonder if maybe you still thought about him once in a while. Maybe late at night when you were watching a movie drinking some wine and drawing one of those covers Sam showed him, he wondered if you thought about him.

Dean put the picture back into the folder and placed it on the night table beside his bed before he grabbed his bag and some clothes to pack up. Then he got his other pair of jeans and a shirt to wear before he headed off to the shower.

Two days had gone by and that was the night you were supposed to go out with Danielle and Callie to some sort of club or whatever. Honestly you weren’t sure if dancing was your thing. You weren’t in your twenties anymore after all but when you were texting Danielle about it all she told you was that it was something to put you out there, give you something fun to look forward to this weekend.

At the moment you weren’t really focused on your little outing that night. You were a little more concerned about the fact that you hadn’t heard from Callie in the last couple of days.

It wasn’t like Callie. She typically texted you and Danielle at least once daily whether she texted some sort of joke or sent a picture of some silly picture first thing in the morning before going about her day and living her life on her days off. But it had been two days and you found it odd that she hadn’t sent any memes, jokes, or even talked about going out that night.

When the door opened you happened to glance up and you saw Danielle running in with a frantic expression across her features. When Danielle made eye contact with you, you realized she was rushing over to the bar to meet you.

“Y/N, have you heard from Callie lately? I saw her boyfriend this morning and he was out at some diner and he acted like he was just fine while he was sitting beside some girl.” She rambled, catching you off guard with how fast she was talking.

“What? No I haven’t, wait he was with another girl?” You asked.

“Yeah and you wanna know what else? I heard Nelson was visited by two guys in suits. I think the FBI is looking into it. Maybe they caught a glimpse of something with Nelson’s wife and they’re looking into it.”

“But the cops already talked to Nelson. That was the whole point of him not stopping by the bar at all like two days ago. Why would the FBI need to talk to him again? Poor guy’s already been through enough.” You said.

“Well, honestly I don’t think Nelson minds. I bet he’s a little glad he doesn’t have to deal with the constant heartbreak of his wife bumping ugliest with different men every other night.”

“Oh come on, that’s a little bit of an exaggeration.” You tried to give the former Mrs. Nelson the benefit of the doubt.

“Would you really be surprised if it was that often though?” Danielle smirked, you rolled your eyes a little before you started putting some of the clean glasses away to prepare for customers.

“Do you think the FBI will come here to see if we know anything? You know the manager’s out of town this week. What do we tell them if they happen to come in?” Danielle asked, starting to get a little worried, not much to your surprise.

“Danielle, breathe. If they come in and you spot them, just send them to me. I’ve got it covered. Not that they’ll ask anything we have any knowledge about anyway.” You said and Danielle took a deep breath before exhaling and nodding.

“I’m still worried about Callie.” She said.

“Well think about it… if you and your boyfriend broke up, are you going to want to spend a lot of time on your phone for the first couple of days? Or are you going to want to sleep and isolate for a while before you start making public appearances again.” You reasoned.

“I don’t know…”

“I’ll tell you what. After we clock out tonight, we can go over to Callie’s house and check up on her and make sure she’s alright.” You insisted.

“Okay… yeah that sounds like a plan.”

“Now… why don’t you go ahead and clock in and we can get the show on the road. They may not even come at all, and Callie will more than definitely be alright.” You insisted and Danielle nodded.

With that being said the two of you got to work. You were busily serving different customers at the bar with different drinks. Some you were used to making but apparently there were some visitors and they wanted something fancy. Two preppy looking guys had just walked through the door and made themselves comfortable at the bar. They looked like they were the country club type of guys.

“Hey, Miss! Can I get a Boulevardier cocktail over here?” One of them said. He had waved ginger hair and he was wearing a blue golf shirt.

“Yeah and I’ll have Vieux Carre cocktail, Darlin.” The other said. He was blond, hair parted to the side and he wore an orange golf shirt with white stripes.

These people must’ve had the worst taste in clothing, and an even worse taste in drinks. You couldn’t even try and pronounce these things and you weren’t even sure if you had the right ingredients for these stupid sounding drinks.

“Sure. I’ll get right on that for you fellas.” You replied and went to the back to get the glasses. Then you pulled out the phone to see what the heck those drinks were. Luckily for you, you had some similar ingredients, but you weren’t working in a fancy bar so you had some pretty basic drinks, they’ll just have to deal with generic.

You grabbed what you needed and started to make the drinks and you thought you heard Danielle’s voice followed by two gruff sounding voices. Yay, more customers.

You were too focused on making the drinks but that was when Danielle started walking towards the bar with the two men she was talking to.

“Y/N? I’ve got a couple of agents that would like to speak with you.” Danielle called.

When you glanced over you saw a familiar green pair of eyes, the ones that you’ve drawn numerous times. They’ve changed though, like they’ve seen so much more. But seeing Dean there… it was like everything in your world stopped and you accidentally dropped the glasses you needed.

The sound of the glass shattering on the floor snapped you out of it.

You immediately started looking for a broom but Danielle started rushing over to help you, “Don’t worry about it. I’ll get it for you. What did these guys order?”

“Thank you… Some cocktails with fancy names. I’ll send you the recipes.” You said as you wiped your hands on the apron.

“You okay? You look like you’ve just seen a ghost.” She said and you nodded a little.

“Yeah, I’m okay… I’ll tell you later.” You told her, not wanting to be wrong if your suspicions are correct.

You nibbled on your bottom lip softly before letting it go and you walked over to the two federal agents.

Dean was straightening up his tie uncomfortably. All these years later and he still hated these damned monkey suits but then he felt Sam nudge his arm and when Dean looked up, he could feel his breath taken away.

No, it couldn’t be you could it?

You looked so beautiful, time seemed to have done wonders for you and Dean almost found it hard to breathe at the sight of you.

Of all the towns this case had to take place in, it just had to be the one you lived in. Have you heard anything about the case? You didn’t know about all the ugliness out there yet, did you?

“My friend said you wanted to speak with me? How can I help you?”

God your voice brought back so many memories, but Dean couldn’t dwell on them. Besides, you probably forgot about him so what was the point? Still… it was eating at his mind.

“Um… yeah… Agent Peart, could you get us a couple of drinks and maybe talk to one of the other bartenders?” Dean said.

Sam looked over and raised a brow skeptically. Dean was lucky Sam didn’t really question it and the younger Winchester walked off, giving Dean the time to be alone with you.

“So Ms… L/N, right?” Dean asked, almost hesitant.

But he watched the corner of your lips turn upward into a smile, “Yes, Agent Winchester.”

Dean couldn’t help but smile at the fact that you did remember him after all.

“I wasn’t sure if you’d recall…”

“Dean, it may have been a few years since that summer but I’m not old enough for dementia.” You joked.

Dean couldn’t help but laugh a little and the two of you found a place to sit at the bar table. It’s been so long since he’s been this close to you and it felt just like it did before.

“So how’ve you been? How’s your father and the business?” You asked, Dean remembered that he never told you the exact truth. You had a lot to catch up on he supposed.

“Dad um… well he passed several years ago. About five years after that summer, actually.” Dean said and he watched the way you began to frown.

“I’m sorry to hear that… I remember how you used to talk about him and how close you were.” You told him and he gave a bittersweet smile.

“Things well.. they changed in the five years after. A lot did actually. But my brother and I actually take care of the family business.” He told you and you lifted a brow.

“If you’re an agent now, how do you have the time for a traveling business?” You asked and he felt his palms get clammy, knowing that might be a difficult thing to answer.

“Um… well… Agents like me and Peart aren’t always in one place, so I still travel a lot anyway and when I’m off duty I handle the business as much as I can.” He tried to explain in the most believable way possible.

“You never did tell me what kind of business your dad started. I was always so curious.” You said and Dean wished he could tell you the truth.

“Actually… I need to ask you a few questions. I’m sort of on a case and I don’t really have a whole lot of time to catch up this time around.” He admitted softly.

Dean felt his heart sank at the way your shoulders seemed to slump a little before you looked down at your glass of brandy. He wished he could spend as much time with you as possible, but he couldn’t afford to lose anymore people. People have already lost their lives because of him and he couldn’t afford to do that to you too. He couldn’t handle it.

“What is it you want to know, Agent?”

The switch to the professionalism in your tone pierced Dean through the heart. Maybe he should have asked Sam to keep him some company after all, but from the looks of it he was busy interviewing someone else and writing notes down like the nerd he was.

“The owner… did you have many interactions with his wife?” He asked and he watched you shake your head.

“No. Too busy working. Plus she seldom came here anyway. She was more of a promiscuous woman than anything else. Nelson knew that better than anyone else.” You sighed.

“Nelson.. do you think he’d ever want to take revenge on his wife or pay someone to do it?” Dean asked, making this seem like routine questions - in a way they were still important for a hunter’s case. Who knows, maybe Nelson could he the werewolf he was looking for.

“And risk losing the bar because he’s in jail? No. He was hurt by his wife’s actions, yeah. But for a while they tried to work on it, but then they separated for a month. After that they started living together again before the affairs started up again. And from the looks of it he didn’t have the time to deal with his adulterous wife if she wasn’t willing to change. But there were rumors of a divorce.”

“Do you think Nelson had any enemies? Someone that wanted to get to him through the Mrs?” Dean asked.

“Look, Dean. I don’t keep tabs on my boss and his wife. I don’t care about that kind of thing. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have customers to serve and you have a murder to solve. Don’t let me keep you.” You said and abruptly stood up and walked away to get back to work.

Dean rubbed his face before pinching the bridge of his nose, “Well that looks like it was a disaster.”

Dean heard the sound of his brother’s voice and he rolled his eyes a little before he got up.

“Let’s get out of here and compare notes…”

“You okay, Man?”

“I’m fine, Sam. Let’s just go.” Dean stated and he pushed his chair in before they walked out of the door after putting some cash on the table top for the drinks.

Once the two of them got into the car, Dean started the Impala and when he was pulling out he started to drive to the hotel, then Sam started to talk again.

“So why were you so in a rush to leave? What the hell happened back there?” Sam asked, causing Dean to grimace a little but he knew his brother wouldn’t let it go until he knew what was going on.

“You remember the girl we were talking about? The cover artist?” He said and Sam nodded.

“Wait, that was Y/N? Why don’t we go back? You two can catch up! It’s just a werewolf case, a milk run. I can handle this and give you time with her.” Sam said; and as much as Dean appreciated the willingness, he knew his chances were probably gone.

“Oh no… what did you do?” Sam asked when Dean went quiet.

“Why is it always something that I did?” Dean asked and Sam scoffed.

“Because, Dean. As smooth as you are with women you’ll never see again, you always screw up with the ones that matter and you let them go. Why are you trying to let this one go?”

“Because I can’t have what happened to Jo and Lisa happen to her. Even though Jo was a hunter, she still got killed! Lisa didn’t have experience with hunting, never wanted anything to do with it, and she just got in trouble just by knowing me.” Dean said sternly, beginning to speed because he wasn’t exactly focused on the road.

“Dean! Slow down! We aren’t on a roller coaster!”

Dean heard his brother’s panicky voice and he eased on the gas and tried to focus on what he was doing and eventually they made it to the hotel. Luckily there weren’t any cops on the road so he didn’t get pulled over or anything on the way. But he turned off the car and Sam cleared his throat a little.

“Sam, I don’t want advice on this one. It’s better to just let this one go.”

“Dean, come on. I know for a fact you still have that picture she drew for you. And you said it yourself, that was the best summer of your life! You deserve to experience that kind of happiness again. Especially since things seem to be so calm right now. No angelic wars, no apocalypses, things are quiet and you deserve a break.”

Dean was still quiet.

“And you still aren’t going to tell me what down at the bar, are you?”

With a grunt, Dean stepped out of the car and started making his way up the stairs to get to their designated room.

Tag List:

@deans-spinster-witch @roseblue373 @nancymcl @jackles010378 @hobby27 @chriszgirl92 @lyarr24 @wirdbeimaufhebengebunden @blackcherrywhiskey @prettyinplaid94 @globetrotter28 @suckitands33

[herefortheships]

How possible do you think a Supernatural reboot is looking? Just wondering if something might be secretly in the talks, considering how the official Supernatural YouTube and social media stuff has sort of "reawakened" recently.

I often wonder if execs involved in Spn are grinding their teeth these days, seeing how successful shows with queer leads (like 9-1-1 for example) have become recently and even on network TV. They could have had had it all with Dean and Cas; like it could have been grand, and yet they all chickened out. If it wasn't for Misha we might have not even gotten the love confession.

[negans-lucille-tblr]

My Worthless Love || Part One

Summary: At first, Dean can’t believe his luck that he gets to date a porn star, but soon the cracks start to show, and Dean gets to see a totally different side to the industry that bursts his bubble and leaves him torn. 

Rating: 18+

Part Tags: flirting, teasing, mentions of one night stands, fluff, mentions of being uncomfortable with attention, mentions of smut, watching porn, hints of masturbation, mentions of step father/daughter roleplay Part WC: ± 2.7K

A/Ns: Hope you enjoy this flangsty mini commissioned by Tina :)

My Worthless Love Masterlist || Read Parts 2-5 when you sub to my site/Patreon!

Dean’s POV

“Holy fucking shit, dude,” Dean gasps out, as he straightens up from taking his shot at the pool table and doesn’t even notice that the white ball goes nowhere near the stripe he could’ve easily potted. 

“You okay there, boss?” But Dean ignores Justin for a moment, still too captivated by the girl he’s just laid eyes on, watching her seem to effortlessly glide from the doorway to the bar. “Seriously?” 

This snaps Dean’s attention back to his employee, frowning slightly at the look of amusement on Justin’s face. 

“What?” he pries, taking his eyes off of the blonde for a brief second to look for the girl again and make sure she hasn’t just completely disappeared into thin air; that would be just his luck. 

“I know you’re my boss, but keep dreaming, man,” Justin laughs, stepping up to the table to take advantage of Dean’s distraction. 

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Dean presses, frowning at him. “You think a girl like her wouldn’t be interested in me?” 

“I know a girl like her wouldn’t be interested in you,” Justin scoffs. “Anyway, isn’t she like, half your age?” 

“How old do you think I am, dude?” Dean asks, amused. 

“Old enough to be her dad by the looks of it,” Justin teases with a smug grin, potting another ball. Dean hasn’t been counting how many that is now. 

“Fuck you,” Dean grunts, mildly insulted but more so totally captivated by the pretty girl still standing at the bar, talking to the bar man who is clearly very shameless in his flirting. So Dean’s not the only man she’s having this affect on – that does complicate things a little. Competition is always a challenge. “I’m gonna wipe the floor with you, then go and buy her a drink and prove you wrong.” 

“Good luck with that,” Justin laughs, a smug grin lighting up his face, and as Dean’s eyes land back on the pool table, he realises Justin’s almost cleared the table himself. 

Dean rolls his shoulders back and tells himself to focus on the game – if nothing else to knock his cocky employee down a peg or two – and takes his turn, this time potting all the balls he intends to, until only the black remains, and he looks up to flash Justin a wink before potting it. Justin rolls his eyes in an over-exaggerated fashion, but doesn’t seem too put out that he’s lost. Justin always loses to Dean, but the kid is getting better the more Friday nights they spend playing. 

“You might’ve beaten me, but I can’t wait to see you fail at the next part,” Justin smirks from behind his beer bottle before finishing it. “Y’know, she looks kinda familiar, you are okay with my sloppy seconds, right, boss?” 

“If I wasn’t, there’d be no one in this state left to fuck,” Dean retorts, flashing Justin a sarcastic smile and patting his shoulder condescendingly, making Justin laugh loudly. 

“Hey, I learned from the best,” Justin tries to argue back. “Fixing a car isn’t the only thing you’ve taught me, y’know.” 

“Nah, I’m pretty sure you already had ‘manslut’ in your resume before I hired you,” Dean argues, before making his way over to the bar. 

He clears his throat and runs his fingers through his hair before he’s gotten too close, and manages to just about slide into the gap between her and the man standing with his back to her talking to a friend. He briefly glances over at her, noticing she’s just as gorgeous, if not more, up close, and clears his throat as he waits to be served. When he catches her looking his way, he gives her a sweet smile, but she doesn’t hold his gaze long enough for him to strike up a conversation, so he thinks on his approach another minute or two longer. 

His fingers begin to drum nervously on the bar top as he notices the barman approaching them, and he realises he’s running out of time. 

“What can I get you?” 

“Urm, two beers and… I’m feeling generous, so whatever this pretty lady beside me wants,” Dean forces a smile, mentally cursing himself for the terrible move. 

“Oh, I’m fine,” she insists, “but thank you.” 

Fuck. 

The barman nods, moving away to get the beers, and Dean clears his throat. “Sorry, didn’t wanna seem like a weirdo, just figured I’d be nice, buy a lonely lady a drink.” 

“No, it’s fine, it’s not weird,” she tells him softly. “I’m just still drinking this one,” she explains. 

“Alright,” Dean nods, admitting defeat. He fucked it from the moment he opened his mouth. He  let Justin get into his head. He doesn’t deserve to land someone like her now, anyway, even if it does mean he has to spend the rest of the evening listening to Justin tell him he told him so. 

“You mean that’s it?” she presses, frowning at him. 

Dean frowns back, now completely confused by what’s happening, barely thanking the barman when two bottles of beer are placed in front of him. 

“Not gonna persuade me?” 

“Do you… want me to persuade you?” Dean asks carefully, now completely lost. 

“No,” she replies simply. “Just most men would,” she shrugs. 

Dean finds his way through the confusion just enough to consider maybe he’s not completely blown it after all. 

“I’m not most men, sweetheart,” he laughs, softly. “Anyway, have a good night.” 

He smiles at her once again and grabs the beers, forcing himself not to look back at her reaction to his exit as he returns to the pool table and sees Justin has already set up the next game; clearly having no faith in Dean’s attempt to not be returning. 

“Knew you’d blow it,” Justin scoffs, taking his beer from Dean’s grasp. 

“I wouldn’t be so sure about that,” Dean replies confidently, grabbing his pool cue. “I’ll break.” 

“Dude,” Justin whispers, glancing over Dean’s shoulder. 

Dean turns his head to see the girl from the bar approaching, outstretching her hand to offer him the beer in her grasp. 

“For me?” he asks, confused. 

She shrugs, playing with the straw in whatever girly drink is in her grasp and clears her throat. “Just to say thanks for not being a creep,” she tells him softly. 

“Oh, you’re welcome,” he nods, smiling nervously. “Urm, I’m Dean, by the way.” 

“Y/N,” she replies, biting her bottom lip softly before glancing over at Justin. “I’ll leave you to your night.” 

“No, it’s okay, Justin was actually just leaving, he’s gotta open up shop tomorrow,” Dean smiles, looking over at Justin pointedly. Justin frowns deeply and grumbles under his breath, reaching for his jacket. 

“He’s old enough to be your father, by the way,” he grumpily points out to Y/N as he passes her, shooting Dean a smug grin when she’s not looking, and Dean rolls his eyes. 

“I’m not,” he insists, hoping that hasn’t scared her off. 

“I’m used to older guys,” she shrugs. “So, I’ve seen you get a few good shots on this thing tonight, mind showing me a trick or two?” she asks, biting her bottom lip again. 

“Sure,” Dean nods, suddenly a little nervous but a whole lot excited he didn’t screw up that badly. 

Three Weeks Later

“I’m not joking, Dean, it was horrible,” she stresses, even though there’s still a laugh in her voice. 

“I don’t know, it sounds pretty funny to me,” Dean insists, laughing along. She glares at him playfully, and then looks back ahead of them as they continue to walk the length of the riverside. 

“Can you believe this is our third date, already?” Y/N asks, clearly trying to change the subject. 

“I think Justin is in more disbelief than I am,” Dean smirks. “The guy was adamant I couldn’t get your attention at the bar that night.” 

“A guy like Justin couldn’t get my attention,” she corrects, scoffing. 

“He’s convinced that you two have…” Dean trails off, realising that’s a really inappropriate thing to bring up. 

“Really?” she frowns. “No, I don’t know him,” she insists, shaking her head instantly. 

“I didn’t think so,” Dean rushes to remedy. “I mean, I would believe it from someone like him, but I didn’t… I don’t want you to think I would think of you… I… I shouldn’t have said anything, I’m sorry. He just said he recognised you and, he can’t keep track of… it doesn’t matter,” Dean flusters. 

But he’s pretty sure he’s upset her, because the smile has completely gone from her face, and now she’s worrying her bottom lip with her teeth in the way Dean’s learned she does when she’s anxious. 

“I’m sorry,” he apologises again. “Forget I said that, please?” he begs. 

She clears her throat and nods her head, so Dean tries to relax again and focus on the great third date they were having, and all the hopes he’d had for this going finally somewhere remotely close to a bedroom. But now he’s pretty sure he’s blown that, at least. 

“Oh shit,” some guy drunkenly slurs as they begin to pass a bar. “I know you!” He points straight at Y/N who suddenly seems very uncomfortable with the entire situation. “Where do I know you from?” he asks, frowning in confusion. 

“That’s a really shitty way to hit on a woman on a date,” Dean calls over, laughing at the guy’s feeble attempt. 

“No, I know her,” he continues to insist. 

“You’re drunk, dude,” Dean points out the obvious, noticing Y/N getting more and more uncomfortable with the unwanted attention. He moves to stand the other side of her, between her and the drunk man, and puts his arm around her to offer her some comfort, before moving them on swiftly. “Are you okay?” he asks, as soon as they’re out of earshot. 

“Fine,” she insists, “I don’t know what that was.” 

“He’s drunk, he probably just wanted to hit on you,” Dean shrugs. 

“Yeah, probably,” she laughs awkwardly, nodding her head. “I just hate the attention,” she explains, hugging herself. 

“I don’t know if you’ve noticed, sweetheart, but you do get a lot of it from men. One even walked into a door earlier,” Dean chuckles softly at the memory. “I know you can’t help it, but us men go a little stupid over girls as attractive as you.” But Y/N seems uncomfortable with the praise, so Dean decides to drop it, and clears his throat. “Do you wanna go somewhere private? My place isn’t far from here,” he offers. 

“Urm,” she stops, not looking him in the eye as she instead looks out over the river. “I know it’s our third date and there’s certain… expectations that come with that, but I think I wanna just go home, I’m sorry,” she tells him awkwardly. 

“No, yeah of course,” Dean reassures her. “I didn’t… I didn’t mean that,” he insists. While it had been on his mind most of the evening, after what had just happened, he was genuinely offering her refuge and a drink, but he understands how she might have taken it, and now he feels like an even bigger idiot than he did when he brought up Justin. “Listen, I had a great night, regardless how it ends, I just want you to know that,” he tells her. 

“Me too, Dean,” she smiles. “Sorry, I think I’m just tired.” 

“It’s fine,” Dean insists, shaking his head because an apology isn’t necessary. “Let me get you a cab.” 

He steps out towards the road and lifts his hand to flag down a cab, and as one pulls up to them, he smiles down at her. 

“Thanks, Dean, I’d like to do this again if you’re still interested,” she tells him timidly. 

“Yeah, I’d love to. I’ll text you,” he nods with a small smile. 

He’s surprised to see her rock up onto her toes and press her lips to his, and he kisses back for a brief second before she pulls away and gets into the cab beside them. He waves her off once she’s safely inside, and exhales heavily as he watches the cab drive away. Well he didn’t completely fuck it up, which is something he supposes, but he can’t help but think how weird it is that she gets so uncomfortable by male attention, and how reserved she seems to be regarding anything physical. 

As Dean begins his walk home he wonders if maybe she’s had a bad experience in the past, or maybe she has no experience at all. She is only twenty one, so it’s not a far cry that she could still be a virgin, and it would make sense why she seems closed off about things. But Dean also can’t help but feel like there’s something she’s not told him yet, like there’s a part of her he’s yet to see, and he wonders if that has anything to do with it. 

Dean sighs as he grabs a fresh beer from his fridge and begrudgingly heads towards his bedroom alone, thinking about his high hopes earlier that evening when he was leaving his bedroom, freshly showered and dressed for his date with Y/N, excited by the prospect of her coming back to his place with him. He’d even changed the bedsheets, and sprayed a lot of air freshener around the place. He’d tidied up and made sure there were condoms in his nightstand, and he’d even been out and bought the wine she had ordered the last two times they’d been on dates before. Dean had even gone as far as to not deal with the issue that arose in the shower when thinking about Y/N and what their evening might entail. He didn’t want to waste it on the shower floor, after all. 

So now, understandably, he’s a little pent up. 

He grabs his laptop as he heads into his bedroom and slumps down onto his bed, taking a swig of beer as he opens up the computer and spurs it to life. Like muscle memory he loads the internet and types in the first few letters of his favourite site, his laptop already filling in the blanks and all he has to do is press enter to be taken there. 

Placing his beer down on the nightstand, Dean clears his throat and ensures he’s a little more comfortable in his place as he scrolls the homepage looking at the featured video thumbnails until something sticks out to him. And something finally does. Not his usual type, judging by the title of the video, but there’s something about the glimpse of the girl in the thumbnail that’s appealing to him tonight. 

Summer Swallows coerced by Step-Daddy when mother leaves town

Dean’s never really been one to choose this kind of thing, but maybe he’s getting too bored of his regular entertainment, anyway. Maybe it’s about time he spiced things up a little. He clears his throat and readjusts himself once more, clicking play and watching the titles play out. Already bored, he cuts to five or so minutes in, glad it’s the trimmed version and not the full forty minute version the site is advertising if you pay for it. It cuts to an upshot of the man’s face, twisted, his lip caught between his teeth as he groans and stares down his body, and then the camera cuts to the girl playing his step-daughter, on her knees and pleasing him with her mouth, and Dean sits up straight, his eyes widening as he blindly fumbles for his cell on the nightstand and pauses the video right there on her face. 

“Sammy?” he chokes out. “You won’t believe what I’ve just found.”  

Please let me know what you think of this fic! Feedback is the fuel to writers' fires! My anon is on if you'd prefer to leave feedback anonymously!

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[inkandpaperqwerty]

Both of my currently active stories, Rehearsing Tragedies and Want is a Wasting Disease, are named after songs. My cousister made a suggestion, and it led to me gathering all the stories I've posted that have song names or lyrics in the titles. Enjoy!

Rehearsing Tragedies (Supernatural) - Rehearsing Tragedies by Seventh Day Slumber

I was teetering between this song and some lines from Ready to See by Nine Lashes. My biggest goal for this story was to show a traumatized Castiel that was violent, angry, and bent on vengeance. Rehearsing Tragedies, in my opinion, captures how Castiel is determined, 100%, that if he trusts the Winchesters, everything will go bad. Ready to See would more represent his mindset in the later chapters (that haven't even been written yet oops), so it wasn't as good of an opener or an all-encompassing description of what the story is about.

You Can't Rule with a Broken Upper Hand (Supernatural) - A Broken Upper Hand by Demon Hunter

This was actually the first Supernatural fanfic I ever wrote, and I think I hadn't been listening to Demon Hunter for very long. It was the beginning of an era, apparently. In this story, Heaven is the one trying to rule with a broken upper hand, and shockingly, it doesn't work.

The Best of Kansas (Supernatural x Criminal Minds) - The Best of Kansas Album

This one is actually a whole series that started with the story Point of Know Return. I didn't initially plan a series, but when I decided to run with it, given I had already used a Kansas song title, I kept with that theme and used song titles and lyrics from The Best of Kansas album for all nine stories. Writing Spencer Reid as a monster hunter working alongside Team Free Will was so, so much fun.

My Throat is An Open Grave (Supernatural) - My Throat is an Open Grave by Demon Hunter

I picked this because I felt the chorus fit, but years later it's the most representative song for coming out of my most recent depressive episode. Every time I hear it, I think of my journey, and it's kind of weird that I've known it since I wrote this story… but it didn't mean the same thing when I wrote this that it does now.

Oh, Where is My Hairbrush? (Supernatural) - VeggieTales

…Yeah, we don't talk about this one.

Riding With Airman Novak (Supernatural) - Riding with Private Malone by David Ball

One of my favorite country songs ever. Every time it comes on, I get a happy feeling, and now I think about this story as well. It's the only Supernatural AU I ever wrote that was actually an AU. I do more universe alterations than alternate universes, but I liked the idea of Castiel being a soldier and Dean buying his car decades later, and… yeah. It's one of my favorite projects.

We As Human (Supernatural) - Whole Freaking Band

I named both parts of the story (Take the Bullets Away and Bring to Life) after We As Human songs, and I put lyrics from their songs at the start and end of both sections. They're a hard rock/metal band, so shockingly, their music was perfect for a Depressed!Sam story.

Smoke on the Water (Supernatural) - Smoke on the Water by Deep Purple

This is the song Dean hums early in the series when he's trying to calm down the baby they're taking care of trying to take care of. For a little oneshot where Jack gets de-aged and taken care of by Dean, it was perfect!

Hope For Every Fallen Man (Supernatural) - Hope For Every Fallen Man by Relient K

I love this song because it really captures the concept of betrayal not leading to abandonment. 'You may be dead to me, but that don't mean we can't be friends.' I wrote a mutual betrayal. Castiel betrays Dean (Season 6), and Castiel feels Dean, Sam, and Bobby betray him in this story… but have they? I love this song so much, and I think the imagery is spectacular.

Hello Hurricane (Supernatural) - Hello Hurricane by Switchfoot

I don't know why this song jumped out at me, but I think the clincher was, "Hello Hurricane, you're not enough. Hello Hurricane, you can't silence our love." So, I put Castiel through a Hurricane and decided to see if Sam, Dean, and Bobby's love could be silenced (here's a hint: it could not).

When the Blood Stains Dry (Supernatural) - To Know That You're Alive by Kutless

This is the least popular fic I ever wrote, but it's one of my favorites. Post-Hell, dark and psycho Dean tortures Castiel for information after On the Head of a Pin, and I think people were expecting a magical recovery, but… yeah, don't read it if that's what you want. To me, it's still a happy ending, and I think it's realistic, but it might leave a bitter taste in your mouth if you don't like morally gray areas. But I think I put the entire first verse and maybe the chorus in the opening because it just fit so perfectly.

Separate Ways (Original Work) - Separate Ways by Journey

This takes place years before my book, Cataclysm. It's literally about going separate ways (namely, someone dies), but it's also significant because Faithfully by Journey is a recurring theme for two of the main characters throughout the book. I think this might be one of my favorite, if not my favorite, companion pieces for my first book.

Awesome Mix Vol. 1 (GOTG) - Guardians of the Galaxy Album

Every chapter is named after a song from Awesome Mix Vol. 1 in the order they are on the soundtrack (according to Google), and it follows Peter Quill's life growing up with the Ravagers. I love me some found family, so it was a lot of fun to write!

Turn the Car Around (Supernatural) - Shattered (Turn the Car Around) by O.A.R.

This is the story in the Building Bridges series I felt really displays a bit of the mentality Xal (Demon OC) has, and how he will continually go back to people who use and abuse him if it means they will like or love him in return.

Lay Your Bets and Pay the Price (Supernatural) - The Things We Do For Love by 10cc

Next story in the series, and I picked it partly because it's from the 70s, and there's a hint of Xal's 70s life in this that will come back in the future, and partly because the title is The Things We Do For Love and, as mentioned above, Xal will essentially do anything for love of any kind in any form. And I really do mean anything.

Want is a Wasting Disease (Supernatural) - i knew a woman (demo version) by Molly Ofgeography

Next story in the series, and it was suggested to me by the lovely @queenofthequillandink when we were fangirling about Xal and his intense suffering and the sustenance that it is for us. It's the current, ongoing, multichapter story, and it's going to be the last installment in the series!

So, yeah... If you want to see a list of all the songs mentioned in the stories (not just story titles) let me know!

[saltcxrcle]

the feral urge to post the most wild crossovers with spn is within me but somehow i restrain myself bc ik that they would not be one shots and i do not have the time to make mini series without wanting to rip my hair out LOL

[maddie0101]

about damn time pt.1

— based off of THIS request. I hope you like it @anbernen ! ❤︎

summary: you had a normal life, up until an encounter with the impossible nearly killed you. now, your best friend, dean winchester, has pulled back the curtain on what really goes bump in the night. when you finally convince him to take you on a hunt, he gives in. what could possibly go wrong?

warnings: reader had a normal life, protective!dean, worried!dean, best friends to lovers, cute shit, cussing, underlying sexual tension, smut ish? (contains reader & dean taking care of themselves) , pinning, fluff?, nicknames bc it’s dean, lots of tension, probably way more but i suck at tags.

word count: 6.6k

note: this was supposed to be a short little oneshot but if you guys know me then you know how insane I am. yeaah…now it’s a three part mini series :) enjoy!

series masterlist next part

Dean had never been good at making friends.

Sam was always the social one, the kid who could walk into a new school and have a lunch table full of friends by the end of the week.

But Dean? He had people he joked around with, kids he’d nod to in the hallway, maybe the occasional drinking buddy once he got older, but real friends? The kind that stuck? He never let himself have those.

Until you.

He met you in some small town, one of the many places he and Sam passed through, another forgettable stop on their never-ending road trip.

But you weren’t forgettable. Not even close. You were the first girl he ever looked at and thought, Damn. And then, almost immediately thought, Don’t even think about it.

Because somehow, despite all the walls he kept up, despite knowing he’d be gone sooner rather than later, you wormed your way in. You didn’t just laugh at his jokes, you made him laugh, really laugh, the kind that made his ribs ache. You didn’t just tolerate his music, you argued about which Zeppelin song was best. And you didn’t just exist in his world, you carved out a space in it, one that felt so natural, he forgot it hadn’t always been there.

For the first time, Dean had someone who wasn’t family but felt damn close. And he wasn’t about to screw that up.

So yeah, you were drop dead gorgeous and yeah, maybe sometimes he let his eyes linger too long when you weren’t looking. Maybe sometimes his mind wandered into dangerous territory late at night when it was just him and his thoughts.

But friendship? That was something real.

Something he didn’t have to leave behind. And Dean didn’t get to have nice things, but he’d be damned if he let himself ruin this one.

Dean didn’t know how it happened, but somehow, you became his best friend.

It started off slow, stolen afternoons in diners, late-night phone calls, the kind of bond that built itself brick by brick. He couldn’t remember exactly when it had happened, when you’d become his person, but looking back, it felt inevitable. Like gravity.

Whenever he was anywhere remotely close to your small town, he made excuses to swing by. A refuel, a food stop, needing a place to crash—any reason to see you, even if it was just for a few hours.

He told himself it was nothing. Just a friendship. Just a little bit of normalcy in the middle of his chaotic life, but he knew better.

Dean didn’t do normal. And yet somehow, with you, it felt easy.

It was late nights in that little diner off Main Street, the one with the shitty coffee and the old jukebox that never worked right. You’d sit across from him, stirring too much sugar into your cup while he ate a piece of pie, and you’d talk for hours.

You’d tell him about your day, about the things you wanted out of life. Sometimes he’d tell you about his too—leaving out the monsters, of course. He told you about the road, the places he’d been, the things he’d seen. He spun half-truths, made his life sound like some endless road trip instead of the bloody war it really was.

Because you weren’t supposed to know that part of him. He wanted to keep you separate from it, untangled from the darkness that followed him. So he never told you the truth. Never let you too close.

But the thing was—You already were close.

It was the late-night phone calls when he was too wired to sleep after a hunt. He’d call just to hear your voice, just to feel something real on the other end of the line. You’d answer every time, no matter how late, your voice groggy but warm.

“Dean? You okay?”

“Yeah, sweetheart. Just… wanted to talk.”

And you would. About everything and nothing. Until his pulse settled, until the world didn’t feel so heavy. It was the way you always knew when something was off.

“Where are you?” you’d ask, suspicion laced in your voice when he was being too vague about where he’d been.

“Oh, you know. Here. There. The usual.”

“Uh-huh. That’s not an answer, Winchester.”

You were relentless, prying without even knowing it, but he loved that about you. It meant you cared. And god help him, he liked being cared about. It was the fact that, without even trying, you’d become the one person he couldn’t stay away from.

And maybe, just maybe—he didn’t want to stay away.

So he kept coming back. Kept sneaking away to see you, calling when he couldn’t. You had no idea how deep he was in it, how badly he wanted to tell you the truth—how many times he almost had. But every time he thought about it, all he saw was you getting hurt.

So he kept lying, pretending. Because with you, he didn’t have to be Dean Winchester, the hunter.

He could just be Dean.

But not all good things last forever. Especially not for Dean.

For a while, it had almost felt too easy—sneaking into your little town, slipping into your life like he belonged there. Like he wasn’t just a drifter passing through. He let himself believe, even if just for a little while, that this could last. That you were safe. That the world he lived in, the nightmares he fought, wouldn’t touch you. But monsters didn’t give a damn about what he wanted. And one night, everything changed.

It started with a phone call. His phone buzzed against the cheap motel nightstand, the sound barely cutting through the quiet hum of late-night TV. Dean almost ignored it—he was tired, had been driving for hours, and the last thing he wanted was another case dropping in his lap.

But when he saw your name flashing on the screen, something in his chest tightened.

You never called this late.

The second he answered, he knew something was wrong. There was no teasing remark, no easy “Hey, Winchester” to greet him. Just heavy breathing and the faintest shake in your voice when you said, “Dean?”

He sat up immediately, muscles tensing. “I’m here. What’s wrong?”

Then, in a panicked rush, you told him. About the thing that had broken into your apartment. How it had your face. How it moved like you, talked like you—how for a split second, you thought you were losing your damn mind.

Dean was already yanking on his boots, keys clutched tight in his fist. “It’s a shifter,” he said, forcing his voice to stay steady. He needed you calm. Needed you alive. “Listen to me. Do you have anything silver?”

A rustling noise sounded from the phone's speaker. Then, “I—I think. There’s a necklace in my dresser—”

“Not good enough. You need a weapon.”

“Dean, it’s coming.” He heard it then—a noise in the background, the sound of something moving, the faintest creak of floorboards. The hairs on the back of his neck stood up. “Get a knife, anything,” he ordered. “Aim for the heart, go for the kill shot. Don’t hesitate.”

“Dean, I—”

The line went dead and Dean's heart dropped into the pit of his stomach. “Shit.”

Dean was out the door before he could think, speeding through the dark streets, his heart hammering against his ribs. The entire drive, all he could think about was getting to you in time.

But when he got there—He was too late.

Not too late, not in the way that mattered most, but—The door to your apartment was wide open.

Dean barely registered the sound of his own boots pounding against the floor as he rushed inside, gun drawn, instincts screaming. He had played out worst-case scenarios the entire drive over—found you dead, found you gone, found whatever thing had come for you still standing over your body, smirking in the way only monsters could.

But nothing could have prepared him for this.

You stood in the middle of your living room, drenched in blood.

It was everywhere—splattered across your face, streaked down your arms, soaking into the fabric of your shirt. The knife in your trembling grip dripped with something dark and wet, forming a thick pool on the hardwood floor beneath you.

And at your feet was the body—the fucking body.

It was wrong. Twisted. A half-shifted mockery of you. Your own face, but not. The features warped and melting, frozen mid-transition as if the thing had died trying to wear you like a second skin.

Dean’s stomach dropped.

You weren’t just shaking. You were trembling. Your breath came in short, erratic gasps—eyes blown wide, wild, as if you couldn’t quite process what you were looking at. Or maybe, more terrifyingly, that you could.

You swallowed thickly, eyes locking onto his. Your voice was barely above a whisper, hoarse and broken “What the fuck was that thing?”

Dean’s grip on his gun tightened. He had been too late. Not too late, not in the way that mattered most, but—fuck. You weren’t supposed to see this. You weren’t supposed to live this.

Your hands curled into fists, nails digging into your palms as you stared down at the body like if you looked long enough, maybe it would make sense. Like if you blinked, it would disappear, and you could wake up from this nightmare.

But it didn’t. And you wouldn’t.

Dean took a careful step closer. “Hey, sweetheart,” he murmured, voice low, steady, the way he would talk someone off a ledge. Because that’s where you were right now, teetering at the edge of something dark and sharp and permanent. “You with me?”

You let out a shuddering breath, barely nodding.

But you weren’t, not really. He could see it now—the thousand-yard stare, the way your fingers clenched and unclenched around the knife like you still weren’t sure if you needed to fight for your life. The way you stood, knees locked, barely breathing, as if one wrong move might break you.

It had been self-defense. It had to be.

But that didn’t mean it hadn’t fucked you up. Killing something was one thing. Killing something that wore your face? That was a whole different kind of horror.

You inhaled sharply, trying to steady yourself, but when you lifted your hands, your gaze snagged on the blood. Not the shifter’s. Your own.

A jagged gash ran along your forearm—shallow, but deep enough that the crimson dripped in slow, fat droplets down to your fingertips. You flexed your fingers, watching them move like they weren’t even yours. Like you weren’t sure if you were still real.

Then, barely above a whisper, your voice cracked “It said something about how I’m connected to the Winchesters now.” You swallowed hard. “What does that mean?” Your voice wavered, still raw, still shell-shocked. “And how did you know how to kill it?”

Dean froze. The words settled like lead in his chest, heavier than they should’ve been. He didn’t let things get personal. He didn’t let people get close.

But you? You had slipped past every wall he had without even trying. And now, something had noticed.

His jaw clenched, a slow, creeping anger coiling under his skin like something toxic. Not at you. Never at you.

At them. At whatever son of a bitch had set its sights on you. He couldn’t do this. He wouldn’t do this. He wouldn't let you become another name to carve into his ribs, another ghost to carry.

Which meant you only had one option. Dean exhaled, voice tight. “Pack a bag.”

You blinked. “What?”

“You’re coming with me.”

Your brows furrowed. “Dean—”

“No arguments.” The words came sharper than he intended, but he needed you to listen. Needed you to understand that this wasn’t up for debate. “If something out there knows your name—knows me—you’re not staying here.”

You hesitated, glancing around—at the blood, the wreckage, the body still caught between stolen faces. The realization settled in your expression, something raw and shaken but understanding.

Your life, as you knew it, was over.

There was no going back.

And when you finally nodded, Dean let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. Because from this moment on, whether you liked it or not—You were in this life.

And he wasn’t about to let anything take you from it.

The bunker was a freaking labyrinth.

From the moment Dean led you inside, duffel slung over his shoulder, exhaustion written all over his face, you felt like you’d stepped into another world. The place was massive—high-arched ceilings, endless hallways, dim overhead lighting that flickered just enough to make the shadows stretch long. It smelled like old books and gun oil, metal and dust.

And it was quiet. Unnervingly so.

Dean tossed his bag onto a table in what he called the war room—a massive space with an old map of the world lit up across the table, covered in notes, scribbles, and markings you didn’t understand.

“Sit,” he said, pulling out a chair for you. He didn’t sound tired anymore. If anything, his voice had that clipped, serious edge you weren’t used to, like he was preparing to lay something heavy on you. Which, as you were quickly learning, was exactly what was about to happen.

And so, for the next two hours, you got the crash course on what the hell Dean Winchester really did for a living. He didn’t sugarcoat it at all. He told you everything. The good, the bad, the ugly.

That monsters were real, actually, fucking real. That the thing you killed in your apartment? A shapeshifter. That there were demons, ghosts, werewolves, vampires, witches, things that went bump in the night that you weren’t supposed to know about. And angels. That was the one that almost made you laugh. “You’re shitting me.”

Dean leaned back in his chair, rubbing a hand over his jaw. “Wish I was.”

Your head spun. You wanted to call bullshit, wanted to believe that this was some sick prank or a fever dream or something that would make sense in the morning.

But it wasn’t. Because you had already seen it. You had watched a creature with your your face shift try to kill you. You had stabbed a fucking thing in the heart with a silver knife and watched it die, twitching at your feet like a broken machine.

And now, you were sitting in a secret underground bunker, hearing about how this was Dean’s life.

It took a while for it to sink in, honestly. But once it did, you realized something else—this was your life now, too.

At first, you kept busy. You had to, or your own thoughts would eat you alive.

Sam was more than happy to dump research on you, burying you in lore books, faded manuscripts, and half-legible scribbles from old hunters long dead. He taught you how to read Latin, how to dig through old archives for the weirdest shit imaginable, how to trace supernatural patterns in a way you never would’ve noticed before.

But Dean? Dean was different. He had other plans.

“You’re not just gonna sit around playing librarian all day,” he told you one afternoon, his voice casual, but his expression anything but. Before you could ask what he meant, something came flying toward you.

Your hands shot up on instinct, fingers fumbling around the object before you finally got a grip on it. A second passed before you looked down, realization settling in.

A wooden practice knife. You raised an eyebrow, glancing up at him. “Seriously?”

“Seriously,” he echoed, arms crossed over his chest. “If something comes after you again, I want you to be able to defend yourself properly.”

There was no arguing with that look—the one that told you he had already made up his mind.

And so, Dean trained you. You hated him for it at first because he didn’t go easy on you. Not even for a damn second.

The first time you squared up with him, he didn’t even hesitate. One moment, you were gripping the knife, determined to prove yourself, and the next—you were flat on your back, the wind knocked clean out of you.

Dean towered over you, shaking his head. “You’re lucky I’m not a real monster. You’d be dead already.”

You groaned, staring up at the ceiling. “Maybe just kill me now.”

But he didn’t let you quit. He made you throw punches until your knuckles ached, made you dodge and block until your muscles burned, made you repeat the same damn moves over and over again until you got them right.

“You’re thinking too much,” he told you after you failed to land a hit for the third time in a row.

“No shit, Sherlock,” you snapped, breathing hard, sweat sticking to your skin.

Dean smirked. “Cute.”

God, that look he gave you—the cocky, infuriating, hot as hell smirk that made you want to punch him in the face just to wipe it off. He was all rough hands and sharp words, pushing you harder every day.

You weren’t the worst student he’d ever had, but still, he had no idea how the hell you’d managed to take down that shifter on your own. Luck? Instinct?

Either way, it wasn’t good enough.

And you could feel it—the tension thickening between you both with every training session. The way your bodies moved around each other, the way your breath mixed as you dodged each blow, the way he would grab your wrist, pulling you flush against him when you got too sloppy.

One afternoon, he had you pinned against the wall, his forearm pressed against your collarbone, holding you still. Your chest rose and fell against his, breathless, your skin burning where he touched you. “You keep dropping your left side,” he murmured, voice low, rough.

You swallowed hard, staring up at him. “I know.”

His eyes flickered to your lips—so fast you almost missed it, almost. But then, just as quickly, he was gone, stepping back, that damn smirk back in place. “Then stop doing it.”

That night, you spent an embarrassing amount of time lying awake, thinking about the way he had looked at you.

The boredom was killing you. And at first, it wasn’t so bad.

The bunker was massive, filled with books older than your grandparents, weapons you weren’t even allowed to touch without supervision, and endless hallways that you swore led to nowhere. You had training to focus on, bruises to ice, whiskey to steal from Dean’s stash when he wasn’t looking.

But ready or not, boredom came creeping in like a goddamn sickness. Because every time Sam and Dean left for a hunt, you were stuck. Alone.

The first few times, you didn’t mind. It was kind of nice, actually. Peaceful. You could sprawl out on the war room table, pick up one of those dusty old lore books, and pretend you weren’t completely out of your depth in this life. You started teaching yourself different languages, then flipping through pages of exorcisms just to pass the time. You memorized sigils and symbols, even started picking up bits and pieces of other languages such as Enochian, ancient Sumerian, shit you’d probably never even use.

But after a while, the silence got to you. The bunker was too big, too still. With no goddamn windows, no way to tell if it was day or night without checking the old clock on the wall. You used to love having all this space to yourself, but now? Now it felt like the walls were closing in. Like you were rotting down here, waiting for something to happen.

So you cleaned-- And cleaned--And cleaned some more. Until every single room in the bunker was spotless. Until you’d done all the laundry—yours, Sam’s, and Dean’s, just for something to do. You even took the time to fold their clothes because, let’s be honest, those two were a freaking mess.

You weren’t looking for them, honestly.

It wasn’t like you set out to dig through Dean’s stuff with the intent of uncovering his most embarrassing secrets. You were just trying to be nice—helpful even. Laundry was one of the only things keeping you sane while the guys were gone. It gave you a purpose, something to do.

But this? This was a fucking goldmine.

You held up the offending fabric, eyes widening in absolute horror before the laughter burst out of you, uncontrollable and borderline manic.

Dean Winchester, the badass hunter, feared by demons, monsters, and even some angels—owned underwear covered with hot dogs.

Your stomach hurt from how hard you were laughing, tears actually pricking at your eyes. And just when you thought you could breathe again, you reached back into the laundry pile and—Oh, oh, it got better.

Bright red socks, obnoxious and ridiculous, with the words 'SEND NOODS' printed across them in bold white letters. And the kicker? They had little cartoon ramen noodles on them.

You actually had to sit down on Dean’s bed to take a second and regain your breath.

Because of course this was Dean. Tough, rugged, walks-like-he-owns-the-room Dean, the man who could kill a monster without breaking a sweat, but who also shoved extra packets of hot sauce into his pockets every time you got takeout because he might need them later.

The same Dean who grumbled about bad movie plots but still secretly loved them, the same Dean who would throw a flirty wink at a waitress and then turn around and give his leftovers to a stray dog outside.

He was a contradiction. A mess of sharp edges and soft spots, of cocky grins and stupid jokes mixed with genuine, heart-wrenching moments of kindness.

And you loved him for it.

The realization had hit you like a truck. Dean wasn’t just your best friend. He wasn’t just the guy who had saved you, who had trained you, who had made sure you weren’t alone in this life.

He was the man you wanted.

And not just in the sweet, romantic, oh, let’s go on a date and hold hands kind of way.

No. It was the kind of want that made your skin burn, that kept you up at night with images of him pressed against you, mouth hot and claiming, hands gripping your waist like he needed you.

And it wasn’t just a one-time thing either.

It was constant.

Like when he walked around in nothing but a towel, fresh from the shower, water still dripping down his broad shoulders, the scent of his soap—god, that soap, clinging to the air.

Or when he leaned over you at the library table, arm brushing yours, voice low and gruff in your ear as he pointed something out in the lore book, and you had to physically stop yourself from turning your head just to get a whiff of his damn cologne.

And then there were the moments that really tested your willpower.

Like when Dean was working on the Impala. God help you, when Dean was working on Baby.

It shouldn’t have been so mesmerizing, shouldn’t have made your mouth go dry or your stomach twist into knots. But damn if it didn’t.

There he was, under the hood, sleeves pushed up, exposing those strong forearms—the ones you’d stared at countless times and never got tired of. The muscles in his back flexed beneath his Henley as he leaned over, hands expertly twisting a wrench, brows furrowed in concentration.

And then there was the grease. Smudged across his forearm, streaked along his jaw, a little bit on his cheek. It shouldn’t have been hot, but it was.

You swallowed hard, heat creeping up your neck as you watched him, completely entranced. You tried to be subtle about it, really, you did. But your thighs pressed together on instinct, trying, failing to find some kind of relief.

Dean had always been a gorgeous man. That was just a fact. His sharp jawline, the freckles dusting his nose, the way his eyes crinkled when he smiled. And that voice—gravelly and rough, especially in the mornings or when he was pissed off.

You’d always been attracted to him, but it had been manageable. A quiet, buried thing. At least, it had been. Because lately? Lately, it was getting bad. Like the time he caught you blushing—really blushing.

It was nothing, just a stupid little moment in the kitchen. You were making coffee, minding your own business, when Dean strolled in, half-awake, wearing nothing but his boxers. He yawned, stretched his arms above his head, his abs tightening, that faint happy trail disappearing beneath the waistband.

Your eyes snapped away, cheeks on fire, and you could feel his smirk before he even said a word.

“Somethin’ wrong, sweetheart?” His voice was still thick with sleep, rougher than usual.

“Nope.” You turned your attention back to the coffee pot, praying to whoever that he wouldn’t press it.

But of course, this was Dean. He stepped up beside you, close enough that his body heat was noticeable, close enough that his scent—leather, whiskey, and oil wrapped around you like a goddamn trap.

“You sure? ‘Cause you’re lookin’ a little pink there.”

You scowled, keeping your eyes firmly on the coffee. “It’s warm in here.”

“Mm-hmm.”

Stupid smug bastard. You rolled your eyes.

But that was nothing compared to the other time. The time he really, really pushed you over the edge.

It was late. You were both in the library, going over lore books. Nothing exciting, just another normal night. And then—he did it. Completely unintentional, completely innocent.

He was leaning back in his chair, flipping through a book, and at some point, he rolled his shoulders, stretching his arms behind his head, muscles shifting beneath his Henley. And then he let out this low, satisfied groan.

And that was it. Game over. A pulse of heat shot straight to your core so fast it actually took your breath away. You squeezed your thighs together hard, trying to curb the ache, trying to breathe, but it didn’t help. It didn’t do anything.

Thankfully, Dean didn't notice. He just kept reading, oblivious to the fact that he had just wrecked you.

You barely made it to your room before you lost it.

The second the door shut behind you, you pressed your back against it, heart hammering, breath shallow. The heat pooling in your belly was impossible to ignore, the ache between your thighs maddening.

Jesus Christ. Dean Winchester was going to ruin you.

You swallowed, chest rising and falling as you tried to steady yourself. But it was useless. The second you closed your eyes, all you saw was him from that time you watched him work on Baby.

The grease smudged across his fingers, the way his biceps flexed as he worked on Baby, the sweat rolling down his neck in the heat of the garage. That sharp, smug smirk when he caught you staring too long. The way his voice roughened when he was exhausted, dropping into a low, gravelly drawl that sent a shiver down your spine.

If he ever figured it out, he’d destroy you.

A quiet, frustrated sigh left your lips as you squeezed your thighs together, but it wasn’t enough. The pressure only made it worse.

Your fingers moved before you could think, slipping beneath the waistband of your sweats. The first touch sent a shudder through you, an exhale leaving your lips as your body immediately reacted. But it wasn’t your own hand you were imagining.

It was his.

Calloused fingers skimming over your skin, teasing you, dragging over your sensitive flesh like he had all the time in the world. “Look at you,” his voice rasped in your head, the deep, husky tone laced with something dark, something possessive. “Knew you’d be sweet for me.”

Your breath hitched as your fingers moved faster, chasing the phantom sensation of his touch.

Dean, pressing you up against the Impala, his hands gripping your hips, pinning you there. His breath ghosting against your neck before his teeth scraped against your pulse. Your other hand clutched the fabric of your shirt, nails digging in as the pleasure built.

“Tell me how bad you want it, sweetheart.”

A quiet whimper slipped from your lips as you imagined him, imagined those same rough hands holding you down, spreading you open, teasing you until you were trembling, begging—And God, you would beg.

Your back arched, the pleasure coiling tighter, your body wound so tight you thought you might snap—

“Dean—” His name left your lips in a ragged gasp as you unraveled, waves of heat crashing over you. Your muscles tensed, thighs shaking, your own hand barely enough, because fuck, you knew nothing would ever compare to the real thing.

You stood there for a moment, skin flushed, heart still pounding. But as the high faded, another thought settled heavily in your chest.

This wasn’t just lust. Wasn’t just some reckless attraction. You didn’t just want Dean Winchester.

You were in love with him. Hopelessly, dangerously, in love with him. And if you weren’t careful? You were going to get burned.

But even that wasn’t enough to keep the boredom away. After all the cleaning, the laundry, the books, the languages—you had nothing left.

And it wasn’t just boredom anymore. It was loneliness. The bunker was too damn quiet without them. No sarcastic remarks from Dean, no long-winded research rants from Sam, no arguments over what food to order.

Just you. You wanted out. Wanted more.

And so, one night, as Dean was packing up his duffel, getting ready for another job, you finally snapped “I’m coming with you.”

Dean didn’t even look up. “No, you’re not.”

Your hands curled into fists. “Dean.”

He sighed, zipping his bag before finally turning to face you. “Look, I get it. You’re sick of being cooped up. You want to do something. But hunting isn’t a goddamn road trip, sweetheart.”

“I know that,” you shot back. “You think I haven’t been paying attention? I’ve trained. I know how to handle myself.”

Dean’s jaw tightened. “It’s not the same.”

You scoffed, crossing your arms. “How the hell would you know? You never let me come.”

His eyes snapped to yours, and for a second, something flickered across his face, annoyance, maybe? or something deeper, something more hesitant. “Because it’s dangerous.”

“So is staying in the bunker and losing my mind,” you shot back. “I’ve been stuck down here for months, Dean. I research, I train, I do everything you ask—but I have no idea what it’s actually like out there. I want to see what you do. I want to understand it. And I want to understand you.”

That made him freeze.

It wasn’t the argument he was expecting. He was used to hearing, I can handle myself, or I just want to be useful, but this? You weren’t just asking to hunt. You were asking to know him.

And that scared the shit out of him.

Dean swallowed hard, running a hand over his jaw as he turned away, pretending to busy himself with his duffel bag. He needed to shut this down, fast. You had no idea what you were asking for.

“Look, I get it,” he muttered. “The bunker’s boring. But this life? It’s not what you think it is.”

You shook your head. “I don’t think it’s glamorous, Dean. I know it’s brutal. I’ve seen the aftermath, I’ve seen you come back with bruises and stitches and that dead look in your eyes. But that’s exactly why I want to go. Because I feel like I only know part of you. I see the guy who fixes cars and drinks shitty beer and argues with Sam about movie references—but I don’t know the hunter. And if I’m going to be part of this world now, I want to understand all of you.”

His stomach twisted. Because you already did know him. You knew him better than almost anyone. And maybe that was the real problem.

Dean had spent years forcing himself to keep his distance, making sure he never let anything slip.

But it was getting harder.

Every damn day, it got harder. Because the real truth? He didn’t just love you. He was in love with you.

It had started as something small—just admiration, just attraction. But then it grew, creeping into every part of him, sinking its claws deep. You were the only person, besides Sam, who made him feel like he wasn’t just some soldier marching toward an inevitable end.

And the worst part? You had no fucking clue.

Dean couldn’t risk telling you. Couldn’t risk ruining what you had. So instead, he locked it down, buried it beneath sarcasm and forced nonchalance, kept his hands to himself even when he ached to pull you close.

Sure, hunting was hell. Dean had been through it all—bloody fights with creatures that could tear him apart, near-death experiences more times than he could count, nights spent in shitty motel rooms with nothing but whiskey and nightmares for company.

But the bunker? Christ, it was torture now.

There was nowhere to hide from you. No distance to put between himself and the way you unknowingly drove him out of his goddamn mind. You had no clue. No fucking idea what you did to him.

It was the little things, the casual, effortless way you existed in his space, like you belonged there. Like you’d always belonged there.

The way you walked around in his shirts sometimes—shit you probably didn’t even think twice about. But Dean did, he thought about it constantly.

Because his shirts swallowed you up, the fabric hanging loose off your shoulders, barely covering your ass, and it took every ounce of willpower he had not to stare. Not to imagine what it would be like if you were wearing nothing underneath, if he could just slide his hands up those bare thighs and fuck you senseless.

Fuck.

And then there was the stretching. It wasn’t even intentional, wasn’t like you were trying to kill him, but fuck if it didn’t wreck him. Like when you’d wander into the kitchen first thing in the morning, hair a mess, still sleepy-eyed, and reach your arms over your head in a slow, lazy stretch that had your back arching just right.

And that wasn’t even the worst of it. The worst was when you’d yawn, soft and content, lips parted slightly, making these little noises that sent Dean’s brain straight into the gutter. Because all he could think about was how you’d sound if he had you underneath him—if he was pulling those sounds from your lips himself.

And if that weren't enough, thats when the heat would settle low in his stomach, spreading like wildfire, and before he could even think about stopping it—bam. Instant boner.

But then came the real problem, hiding it. Which was a hell of a lot harder than it should’ve been.

Like the time you flopped down next to him at the kitchen table, stretching with a soft groan, and he nearly choked on his coffee because holy shit, that sound went straight to his dick. He’d had to shift in his seat, subtly adjust himself under the table, and pray to every goddamn angel in existence that you didn’t notice.

Or the time you asked him to pass you something from the top shelf, and when you reached up to grab it, your body brushed against his, just barely, but fuck—he had to back up so fast he nearly knocked over a chair.

And then there was the absolute worst moment.

The time you hugged him. You’d been in a good mood about something, probably after kicking his ass at poker and you just threw your arms around him, squeezing tight, your body pressed right up against his.

And Dean? He fucking froze. Because all he could think about was how warm you were, how you fit against him perfectly, how easy it would be to slide his hands down, grip your hips, pull you in even closer—

And then it happened again. Another traitorous, fucking boner. Dean had never panicked so hard in his life. He patted your back stiffly, pulled away before you could notice, and immediately sat down at the nearest table, praying you wouldn’t ask why he suddenly had to stay seated.

Jesus Christ, he was a mess.

And it wasn’t just the physical frustration—it was you. It was the way you felt like home. The way you didn’t even realize you’d completely wrecked him.

And the worst part? He didn’t think he’d ever stop wanting you. He’d have to force himself to look away, think about something else, anything else, but it never worked.

And that’s how he found himself here. In the shower, water scalding hot, one hand braced against the tile while the other wrapped around his painfully hard cock. He bit down on his lip, squeezed his eyes shut, and let the images take over.

You, sprawled out on his bed, looking up at him with those wide, teasing eyes. You, wearing his damn shirt, nothing underneath, your skin soft and warm as he slid his hands underneath the fabric.

You, gasping his name as he finally got his mouth on you, kissing, licking, tasting—

A deep, guttural groan ripped from his throat as he came, pleasure crashing through him so hard his knees nearly buckled. He stood there for a moment, chest heaving, forehead pressed against the cool tile.

And then, like always, came the guilt. Because you weren’t his and you had no idea how fucking badly he wanted you to be.

But then there was Sam. And Sam, Dean's annoying little brother? He saw everything.

“Dude,” he’d said once, shaking his head as they packed up for a hunt. “You’re pathetic.”

Dean scowled. “Excuse me?”

Sam just grinned, tossing a knife into his bag. “You gonna tell her, or you just gonna keep sighing longingly every time she walks by?”

“Shut up.”

But Sam didn’t shut up. Ever. Especially not when Dean constantly checked his phone on hunts. The moment he and Sam rolled into a new town, Dean was texting you, calling you, making sure you were okay.

Sam would tease him relentlessly. “You just talked to her an hour ago.”

“Yeah, and?”

“You’re like a clingy boyfriend.”

“Eat a dick, Sammy.”

But Sam wasn’t wrong. And now you were standing in front of him, looking at him like he was some goddamn puzzle you were trying to solve, and it was taking everything in him not to crack.

Because you wouldn’t let this go. You were relentless, you'd bring it up every damn day, and the more you would push, the weaker his resolve would get.

But the worst part about it all? You were right. You should see all aspects of him. If you were really going to be part of this life, you needed to understand it.

That didn’t make it any easier but Dean let out a long breath, rubbing the back of his neck. “Fine.”

You blinked. “What?”

“One hunt,” he said, meeting your gaze. “Just one. No arguments.”

A triumphant grin spread across your face as Dean groaned. “I already regret this.” But so did his gut because something about this felt wrong, and it was too late now.

series masterlist next part

author’s note:

let’s say it in unison now, maddie is fucking insane! lmfaooooo. I honestly just kept thinking of more stuff to write and before I knew it I had an 11k fic sitting right infront of my face. I didn’t want to make the ‘oneshot’ too long so I decided to split it up into three parts, hence the ‘mini series’ :)

also, special thanks to @aylacavebear for helping me with this little mini series. I don’t know what I’d do without you!

I really hope you like it @anbernen ! if you don’t like smut you can always skip the third part :) I just felt like this story needed a little smut so I went ahead and wrote it lmfao. hehe, enjoy! ❤︎

— requests are open.ᐟᅟ please read request rules.ᐟᅟ

tags:

@freeluigihesbae @aylacavebear @supernotnatural2005 @bettystonewell @lieutenantchaos @bejeweledinterludes @ambiguous-avery @star-yawnznn @exansation @darkrose064 @megara0224 @saturnsooya @miss-marmalade (lmk if I’ve missed anyone or if you’d like to be taken off the list) btw I apologize for the small spam..

If you would like to be tagged please fill out THIS form and I will add you to the list! ❤︎

my works

© maddie0101 do not copy or repost my works without my permission

[imbadatwrighting]

It would definitely be interesting John raising his granddaughter as if it were his daughter 👀, but the real question is: would John be more present to her in her childhood and teenage years than he was for Dean and Sam, OR would it be the same and Dean would be the one practically raising his daughter like his sister as he did for Sam? 🤔

oh anon you don’t know what your getting yourself into mwahaha 😈

i don’t want to spoil too much (but let’s be honest, i’m horrible at keeping things to myself) so i’ll just say… yes? john is still john so dean is definitely doing the heavy lifting of taking care of her but john’s present enough to sink his claws in and have her turn into sort of a daddy’s girl so she won’t feel the need to do that with dean

[angelsdean]

oof they canceled gotham knights too? the cw really never wants to make money ever again huh

[apocalypseornaw]

Love You Better (Pt 2/5)

Dean Winchester x Reader

After a successful Djinn hunt Dean starts to pull away from you but you have no idea why and he won't tell you either

Sam had ended up taking the backseat of the impala so you were curled up in the passenger seat, Dean's jacket over you like a blanket as you pretended to sleep so he would continue singing lightly along with the radio. When Dean wasn't being goofy he had an amazing singing voice even if he rarely showed it.

You'd probably been on the road a few hours when you felt the car slow and Dean reached over to tap your leg "Y/N you wanna quit pretending to sleep and walk in the gas station with me?" You opened one eye and grinned "I wasn't pretending" he shook his head but laughed "Next time? Don't smile when I sing along with your favorite songs" you pushed his jacket off then shrugged "Sing more often for me and I wouldn't have to pretend" he rolled his eyes then raised his voice slightly to say "Sammy! Want anything?"

Sam stirred from his sleep and rubbed his eyes "Bottle of water?" You turned to look back at him and laughed, his hair was a little wild "My brush is in the top of my go bag Sam. Feel free to use it"

-----------

Dean watched you as you looked over the water bottles, talking to yourself about the different prices versus the taste of the water. How the hell could you doing something so damn mundane make his heart flip?

He was so damn in love with you but hadn't said those words yet. He hoped you knew, hoped his actions spoke loud enough but knew he needed to tell you he just didn't know how. You stopped mid rant and glanced over at him, a small smile working its way onto your face "Like what ya see Winchester?"

He let his eyes flick across your body appreciatively before smiling himself "Very much sweetheart" you laughed and motioned to the water on the top shelf "Good, so that means you won't pick on me cause I can't reach the top shelf" he laughed and grabbed two of the bottles you pointed to "There ya go beautiful" you smiled "Thank you"

-----------

Once the three of you got back on the road you felt a small knot in your stomach grow. Dean and Jax had always gotten along before so you shouldn't have nothing to worry about but if the roles were reversed and Lisa was a hunter and you were helping her? It'd be awkward as hell.

You shook the nerves off when Sam drew you into talking about a book you'd both read. It would be fine, right?

Normally when the three of you would be meeting another hunter it would be at some cheap motel but instead you were meeting Jax at his garage.

He'd opened the garage a couple years back in Austin and had a small place nearby. He had managed to find a balance not a lot of hunters had, an actual means of income and a normal house while still hunting.

------------

Dean cut his eyes at you as he pulled into the parking lot of the garage. You'd dozed off a few miles back and him nor Sam had wanted to wake you up but now they didn't have a choice. He glanced back at Sam who shrugged so he leaned over and gently shook your arm "Wake up sleeping beauty we're here"

You slowly opened your eyes at smiled at him "How long was I asleep?" He shrugged "An hour or so" you nodded and ran a hand over your hair to smoothe it down. "Ok then. Let's see what Jax has and then get to work"

He watched as you climbed out the impala and stretched. He wasn't jealous, not at all.

----------

Sam walked in first then Dean held the door open for you and walked in behind you. You glanced around at the office area you were in. There was a small desk that had a desktop computer sitting on it and a few filing cabinets. It was a simple area but decorated just enough to make it have personality. It fit Jax well.

You felt Dean's arm slip around your waist about the time you heard Jax's voice. He walked around the corner with his phone to his ear and smiled when he saw the three of you. He was about Dean's height, dark hair that he'd always kept cut short and blue eyes. From the looks of it he hadn't shaved in a few days because the stubble along his jaw was leaning closer to a beard.

He finished the phone call and nodded towards you "Thanks for coming" you smiled "Of course. So what's the case Barlowe?" He motioned towards the door "Let me flip the sign and close for the day then if you want yall can follow me to my place and i can catch ya up" "Sounds good" Dean spoke from behind you and Jax nodded "Give me five"

------------

Dean stood between you and Sam as the three of you looked over the files Jax had on the case at hand. There was about half a dozen missing in Brushy Creek, a town about twenty miles from Austin and Jax had narrowed down the possible locations to about three warehouses.

"Seems simple enough" You spoke glancing from Dean to Jax. Both of them nodded before saying damn near in unison "Yeah but when is hunting ever simple" you cut your eyes at Sam who raised an eyebrow before saying "Should we get the lamb's blood here or there?" Jax tapped a place on the map "Here, there's a Butcher halfway we can get it from"

The plan was that Sam would go with Jax to clear one warehouse, you'd go with Dean then if both proved to be a bust the four of you would check the last one together.

You reached your left hand out to touch Dean's side as the two of you checked the warehouse. So far it had been empty. A part of you had hoped the first two warehouses would be it, kill the damn thing then grab a motel room and rest then head home come morning.

So far Dean hadn't said anything about Jax. You weren't expecting much but a part of you was wondering why. If roles were reversed.. no you couldn't be distracted.

A noise creaked somewhere in the warehouse and you spun towards it only to see a possum run across the floor. You let out a laugh "A freakin possum"

Dean reached out and pulled you closer to him "I think we caught a bust, there's one office left. We'll check it then call Sam and Jax to see how their end is" you nodded, falling in step with him.

---------------

You and Dean had just got there to meet Sam and Jax at the last warehouse. Good news was having four competent hunters, bad news was the last warehouse was absolutely fucking huge. The damn thing had three floors.

You looked over at Dean before getting out of the car. He smiled "Kiss for luck?" You leaned over and when your lips met you damn near melted against him. He always had that damn ability to make you forget your worries. When you pulled back he smiled "Let's get two rooms instead of one" you shook your head with a laugh "Save people first, take me to bed later"

----------

Somehow the four of you had gotten separated. You were on the same floor with Sam while Dean was one floor up and Jax was on the highest floor. Sam cut his eyes at you "You good?" You nodded "Yeah every woman's dream is to be hunting monsters with her boyfriend and her ex" Sam laughed and started to say something but then you heard Jax holler "DEAN LOOK OUT"

You and Sam looked at each other then took off running. By the time you two made it up to the second floor you were met with Dean down with one Djinn touching his face and Jax soon to follow since the other Djinns hand was going towards his face "HEY UGLY!" You hollered and both Djinn looked at you "Fuck, Sam some help?"

------------

Sam ran to stab the Djinn over Jax so you ran towards Dean. The Djinn spun on you and you flipped your knife up "He's mine asshole" You threw the knife and caught him dead in the throat. When he went down you ran over and snatched it out then slammed it down into his heart.

Once he was dead you slid to Dean's side "Come on baby. Please wake up. WAKE UP!" Jax and Sam ran over and Jax handed you a vial "It's smelling salts. It'll bring him around"

You snapped the small vial and held it under Dean's nose. Once he inhaled his eyes flew open. "What the hell?" You let out a sigh of relief and let your head fall over onto his chest "You're ok. Thank God, you're ok" he touched your head gently "They dead?" Jax chuckled behind you "They're dead man"

Sam had gone with Jax to a local bar after the four of you made sure the vics had been taken to the hospital so that left only you and Dean at the motel. You'd been expecting him to want to finish what he started earlier but so far he'd damn near been avoiding touch.

He hadn't gotten in the shower with you and when he got out the shower himself he was awful quiet. You were sitting cross legged in the center of the bed watching him as he messed around in his duffle.

"Dean, are you ok?" You finally asked and he glanced up but his eyes still had that far away look "Yeah sweetheart. I'm just tired" you patted the bed next to you "Come on then"

---------

Dean wanted to talk to you, wanted to tell you the fucking world he'd been thrown into when that Djinn had poisoned him. All in all it was only about twenty minutes real world but with Djinn the timeline was always skewed. The way you looked at him as he climbed into bed next to you, he couldn't start that conversation. He loved you, he really did but fuck did he deserve you?

When you curled up next to him placing a gentle kiss on his chest he smiled despite himself. He wanted you, wanted a future with you but that damn dream world had confirmed what he'd already known. You made a mistake choosing him.

@marimarvelfan @suckitands33 @sushiumex @janineb86 @nix-rose @ladysparkles78 @globetrotter28 @holdingontil-may @freewastelandstrawberry @jackles010378

[my-stories-vault]

Chapter 4 ~ Purgatory Series.

Pairing: American Dean Winchester X English Y/N L/N; American Dean Winchester X American Y/N L/N.

Blurb: Purgatory suits you, to be honest. Plenty of distractions to choose from, you can kill as many as to your heart's content. And your heart is one insatiable bastard—it'll do anything to keep the memories of your ex away. Until a face much similar to his struts up into your territory, looking for you, promising you a home you lost too long ago. Your heart melted once before, do you think you would be able to risk it all again for the same criminally handsome face?

Warnings/Trigger Warnings (18+): Supernatural Wars spoilers, major and minor character deaths, mentions of previous major character deaths, violence, gore, tons of angst, (sort of, but not really) love triangle, language, self-sacrifices (not exactly suicide), betrayals, etc.

Note: This was written four years ago and English is my second language - I've tried to edit without losing the past-me's "authenticity", but let's face it, spellings ain't my strong suit, and even Grammerly gave up, soooo all the mistakes are mine 🙂🙃.

{ Series Masterlist ; Main Masterlist }

Purgatory Series: Part 4.

Softly in the background, played Dean's rock music. Your head rested against the cool window pane of the shotgun side. You were nearly dozing, but still alert; the adrenaline was taking its sweet time to leave your system after the three months you'd mostly spent on the sea.

The fast-passing lights from the lamp posts between the trees of the vast forest illuminated your face now and again. The lull of the Impala's engine purred and revved, far more relaxing than you ever thought it would be. You were curled up into a ball, knees drawn to your chest, and your arms held them for warmth.

You were wearing short white shorts, a sky-blue tank top, a black denim jacket, and Dean's leather jacket that he had perched on you when he thought you had been asleep and cold; you adored him for it.

You had known Dean as an acquaintance and an ally, but with the New Law, things had changed drastically. The turbulence in your relationship faded during this three-month retreat, you were starting to see him as a loyal, permanent friend.

You glanced at the said man. He was softly humming to his music, head bobbing up and down, fingers drumming the wheel, the muscles flexing under the rolled-up sleeves of his red flannel, his black undershirt dancing with his playful aura, atop his blue-washed jeans. The light that struck off the surface of the moon was reflected in his green orbs probbing the specks in them throb like liquid gold. His dirty blond strands were tussled in a way that generated a need to run your hand through his hair.

What an ensnaring visual!

Watching Dean drive in his beloved fascinated you - his concentration, his care, his dedication. It did all sorts of things to you, his kindness. You wondered how Dean driving this sleek beauty made you feel all fluffy inside.

A smirk curled up on Dean's lips and you couldn't even care to think if he knew you were staring or not.

This went on for a while: silence, gazing, dozing off, waking up again, and then staring at him again—until Dean steered the vehicle wrong.

'Wrong turn, Mr. Winchester,' you politely informed, voice raspy from sleep.

He huffed in annoyance. 'How many times do I have to tell you that you can call me by my name, darlin'?'

You smiled apologetically, 'Force of habit. I'm not used to taking your name.' The three months in public had caused you to revert to calling him "Mr Winchester" - a title he loathed, only when it came from you.

'Well, if that's the case, then I took the right turn.'

'How so?'

'I kidnapped you and now we are going on a date,' he said, tongue-in-cheek.

You opened and closed your mouth, taking a few moments to process that. You glanced in the sideview mirrors of the car, and sure enough, none of your security was tailing you. Neither was Dean's.

This sly man.

'A date?'

'Yep,' he popped his "p" as mischief took over his face, and a cute happy smirk stitched itself onto his lips.But he was nervous, it could be seen in the way his pearly whites worried his lower lip.

'About time,' you said, pretending to be annoyed, yet barely sustaining your poker face: a smile was about to expose you.

'You . . . won't protest?' Dean checked.

'I get what I want, Mr. Winchester,' you said with a challenging gleam in your eye. 'Some things I get fast, like the monsters I am hunting. And some things I have to wait for, like the only guy I ever liked - you.'

You were relieved when he chuckled. 'You're awesome.'

You whimpered, dreaming of your first date. You'd been reliving all your memories, as life often passes before your eyes before the end. Castiel's struggle was to keep you from the cold fingers of death, but you kept pushing him out of your head, believing you didn't deserve the help.

He would just have to keep trying:

'What are you doing?' Dean asked when you went to your drawers to retrieve a blue gift-wrapped box with golden ribbons.

'I'm putting this under the tree,' you said, doing exactly that.

He chuckled under his breath. 'You know that the parents only do that so the children think Santa left them presents, right?'

'Oh. They never overtly said that in the movies.' You glanced to the main door of your room. 'Do you want me to don a Santa hat and say "ho ho ho"?'

His amusement triplefolded.

'No, darling,' he happily brushed his lips on your forehead. 'It's so that children think Santa is magic that they aren't allowed to see Santa Claus. Never take part in any trivia,' he teased you. 'You'd lose terribly.'

You scowled. 'It's the children you should worry about—allowing them to believe there's good magic.'

'Aw, well—maybe there is,' he grinned smoothly, 'Would make sense why I found you.'

'Good. Lay on the cheesy. Makes my present more practical.'

He rolled his eyes, smacking your butt in retaliation. You gasp-scoffed; any other person would be picking their fingers off the floor but Dean had done this before . . . And you'd kinda liked it.

It was your first Christmas together, and also the night of your first sexual congress - which is why Castiel shuddered out. He waited for your minutes before diving in again to safer memories.

'The coffee's gone,' Dean groaned, pouting as he rattled his flask. He glanced to see you hiding your laugh. Eyes narrowing, 'It's not funny. I might die of caffeine withdrawal.'

'You had a cup half an hour ago!' you freed your laughter. 'You're like a Basset Hound, you cleaned us out in five hours!'

'What's your point?'

'It was supposed to last us a day,' you mused.

'You don't have to be so mean,' he turned his nose up, frowning at your attitude. 'You know what you signed up for.'

You giggled, 'Okay, princess.'

'What are you doing?'

For you had leaned back to rummage through your duffel bag where you stashed reinforcements. You pulled out an extra flask of coffee you had brought specially for Dean, and a pie you had made yourself.

'Becoming your damsel in shining armor,' you said. 'But that's all I have, so can't whine after you've licked your fingers clean.'

He gleefully took the pie in his hands, 'You're the best thing that ever happened to me!'

You laughed, 'Are you talking to me or the pie?'

He pulled you closer by your neck and slotted his lips against yours, in a quick soft kiss, you could feel his smirk on your lips.

'The pie' he whispered against your lips, kissing you again even though you slapped his chest. When he pulled away, his eyes were raw with emotions.

'But I love you, darlin'.'

Your first "I love you"s sifted through your mind. You were moving chronologically, and Castiel didn't want to find out what happens when you reach the end.

Castiel slightly cursed how the green-eyed hunter taught him to. Roaming your memories cost both of you; you, your life force, and Castiel, his grace. He knew if he didn't manage to successfully meet you in one of your trips down the memory lane, he'd lose you forever.

You were already hyperventilating, writhing and gasping out Dean's name over and over again, because your tortured subconscious somehow knew this wasn't real, and it was starting to really miss Dean. Your Dean.

Castiel was starting to feel your agitation as his own, his empathy grudging his mind but your heart might seize by how overworked it was.

He needed to tread carefully now, perhaps, alter his tactics and go to a memory you and his other self were present in together - a place where he could replace the other Castiel comfortably and breach your nightmarish haze.

Unluckily, he couldn't have chosen the worst possible memory for that.

Dean had sneaked into your room to spend a blissful evening together, falling asleep in each other's arms.If the media knew that you two were canoodling before marriage, they would have your heads. People were usually open-minded, but they weren't being constantly watched by the paparazzi - it was different for you Leaders.

'Good morning,' you rasped, leaning up and kissing the corner of his lips. 'I hate you for waking me up.'

He chuckled. 'I love you, too.'

He took your hand and kissed your knuckles, a smile engraved on his face. A blanket was pulled around the two of you. You were wearing his shirt and underpants, while he was in his boxers. His green eyes twinkled as he played with your fingers, his eyes catching on the soulmate ring he gave you during your engagement.

'What?'

'Hmm?'

'Why'd you seem so happy?'

'Oh, your mom called.'

You grimaced, 'I'm sorry. I told her not to do that. What'd she have to say?'

His grin widened: 'The date for our wedding.'

You gasped, 'Really?' You practically squealed, shooting upright. 'This is awesome! When?'

'Next week,' he smirked, sitting up too.

'Oh, my God!' you shriek-laughed. 'This is great! We will never have to pretend to be formal again!'You threw your arms around him, curling into his lap, and he caught you, laughing at your enthusiasm.

You crushed your lips to his for a long minute until he pulled away, your hearts fluttering in tandem.

'I love you so much!' you exclaimed, unable to stop beaming.

He kissed your forehead, 'I love you more.'

'Impossible,' you teased.

'I'll let you think that because I love you more,' Dean said slyly.

'You're so cheeky.'

'But imagine, this day next week, we'll be husband and wife.'

'I know,' you whispered, and you laced your fingers with his.

You hugged him tightly, your hips straddling his, and he buried his face into your hair, letting all his problems fade, and simply feeling unadulterated happiness for a second.

Your moment was encroached when the door to your room burst open. 'Help—Siege! Attacked! Lady Y/N—Sir-Sir, is—'

'Breathe,' you ordered.

Immediately, you and Dean slipped into your roles. You two untangled, sliding off of your bed; confidence radiated off the two of you, irrespective of the fact that you two were severely underdressed for anyone else to see.

The servant didn't even care that Dean was in your room, shit-scared and pale like a ghost. He was panting, hands on knees, and whimpering in short bursts.

'We've been breached. Lord L/N - he initiated Code Red. Request for all hands on deck.'

You exchanged a glance with your fiancée. 'Request approved,' you and Dean said in unison, eyes still locked, but voices professional.

'Where?' you questioned. 'Who?'

'Uh, the courtyard, swordsmen's training area. It's Castiel.'

Your back snapped straight in shock, jaw clenched with anger and betrayal. Guilt and fear tried to overthrow your other emotions; you wondered what kind of consequences you would face for this . . .

'Noted,' Dean answered for the two of you. 'Go. We'll be there.'

Soon, armored up and armed, you and Dean ran as fast as you could to the makeshift battleground. On your way over, it was impossible not to notice the numerous dead bodies littered about, severed limbs and blood decorating the once beautiful palace like gruesome graffiti.

It depressed you when you recognized most of the faces, and it burdened your heart to know that you were to blame for this somewhat directly or indirectly. Only when, on occasion, you stumbled across a body with a stab wound and burnt-out eyes, did you feel slightly better; even the angels were dying.

Within record time, you had climbed down fleets of stairs, Dean in tow, and were running into the open battle.

'Five o'clock!' you yelled, jumping forward, and Dean blindly followed your command as a huge angel bomb slammed into the ground where you were standing not a second ago.

You both rolled back to your feet, continuing to run. After dodging several more flying magical arsenals like that, you two finally sought shelter behind a tree line, just as a rogue group of fighters passed along the way. But you decided not to help them just yet - you had bigger fish to fry - from what you could see, your aim was the center of the mayhem.

Dressed in a severely abused trench coat, and a suit now painted in God knows how many people's blood - stood the cruel traitor. What shocked you was how much agility he was moving forward with, and he wasn't only killing your people: it was clear that he wasn't below throwing the other angels in the line of fire to protect himself.

Your blood boiled, and rage flooded you. This bastard should not have fucked with your brother's kingdom, he was going to pay . . .

'Y/N?'

You turned to reply when Dean's lips crashed against yours in a firm, devouring kiss. One of his hands made its way into your hair, pulling you closer, and the other stroked your cheek softly, all his actions full of desperate worry, demanding promises of your safety.When he pulled back, concern for you clouded his eyes, and you were sure you mirrored his expression.

'Be careful.'

'Yeah, of cou—'

'Not just of the angels,' he warned. 'Our faction knows he was a friend.'

You hesitated, already knowing the answer before you asked. 'Do you think our people will turn on me? I mean, I didn't know he would betray—'

'I know,' he cut you off in understanding, kissing your forehead. 'But I don't know. Just . . . Just be safe. We will figure this out later.'

'I love you,' you clung to his hand.

'I love you, too, darlin'.'

You releasing him, even though you never wanted to leave. A pit of dread bloomed in your gut, the words to stop Dean from stepping into the battle on the tip of your tongue, but, even though you knew you should have, you couldn't stop him as he ran head first into what would be his demise . . .

Shaking off the bad feeling, you followed suit, your war reflexes kicking in, allowing you to start dropping bodies left and right.You were very much surprised to find hundreds of monsters in here too; it was a combined effort of the three factions of angels, demons, and monsters. How they managed to power down the sigils and the magical borders was ponderable.

Your memory is quite distorted. Parts of the war are fading in and out of your vision.

You chopped the heads of two vampires simultaneously. You'd managed to gank this nest of eight who had ambushed you.

Dean was way ahead of you; he'd already taken down five ghouls, six Djinns, and three werewolves. You both were heading in consistently straight - toward the remnant Leaders and Governors. Your hunters had formed a rough battle circle and were maintaining that position at all costs. Medics were coming and going to save as many lives as they could.

In about twenty minutes, you had been able to join the center circle. The surge of the monster attacks there was more concentrated than anywhere on the whole field. The circle tried to keep shifting, but the monsters wouldn't ease up around them.

Dean was here, pushing back a line of feral rugarus with a little assistance from Joana. Jody, Bobby, Rufus, and B/F were here - all up against different creatures. You couldn't see your brother or Jack on the field. Come to think of it, you hadn't seen Jack in a long while.

But you didn't have much time to yourself when a group of demons set their eyes on you, while you were three-quarters of your way into finishing a group of shapeshifters, dumping them in a heap at your feet.Before you could set the last heart down, they were onto you; you yelped as one slashed for your throat, and you moved back, causing it to scratch your shoulder.

'Dean, fire! B/F, demon blade!' came a shout.

B/F and Dean responded to the call. You only heard it when your name was screamed into the fray of commands.

'Bobby, machette!' You shouted, ducking out of the reach of the demons, and moving onto the angels you'd been assigned. 'Jody, angel gun!'

Your group worked as if parts of a single organism. More commands were screamed, warning the other Leaders in the circle of the weapons they were going to receive and what they had to give, said in this exact order.

You aired your weapon Bobby's way, in return, receiving a gun from Jody's general direction. Reflexively everyone got what they had to. This change was usually made to relieve a pair of Leaders - you think it was Rufus' and Joanna's time for lunch. This also allowed the Leaders to reevaluate if everyone had all the correct weapons for the correct monsters.

Over your head, other weapons were thrown as well, and places were quickly switched. Your impeccable aim slaughtered the bunch of angels. Next to you, Dean unleashed an inferno of fire upon the six wendigos who had wanted to attack you earlier.

And so the war went on, switching back and forth - ruthless killing consumed your little group. The swell of the monsters never ceased.

Sometime later, Sebastian yelled that hellhounds had rampaged the palace - Jo and Rufus were lost, and so were most doctors and civilians. You lost Bobby when he took a blade to his neck for Seth who showed up after a while with back-ups and replenishments in the form of weapons, witches, and more human force.

Still, you were losing.

The grieving soulmates like Jody could only fight so much, she had tears streaming down her face and rage fueled her - but for how long?

Even the youth was struggling to keep up, what of the elderly on the field who might soon start dropping like flies on the ground - but they had no choice. Humans were outmanned.

Castiel was appearing and disappearing. But he was gone more than he was here - sometimes for a couple of minutes, sometimes for hours. Every time looking refreshed and rejuvenated. But he never tangled too much with your group of extremely talented hunters, that bastard.You even cursed him at one instance and challenged him to fight you. He simply ignored your taunts, doing his thing - the seemingly endless supply of his warriors shifting strategies, per his instructions.

You all tried to imply new strategies too, but he was making sure to keep you all occupied so that you couldn't help your subjects. Every human on the field was cornered.

Your concentration first wavered when they killed your brother.

'NO!' you screeched at the top of your lungs, a white ball of energy exploding from your heart and rippling from you in circles - successfully killing all monsters in a five-mile radius. It was your residual archangel powers.

Unfortunately, although the powers managed to kill all the evil - it also managed to weaken your forces by throwing them into the air.

This was bad because no one had known how you'd killed Micheal. People disapproved of using powers to defeat the other factions, they would rather you sacrificed yourself to kill Michael instead of leveling the playing field. Now everyone knew.

Tears welled up and you fell to your knees from dizziness. Your insides were cold and numb from shock. Your brother's eyes glazed over and some more blood gurgled from his mouth as he finally fell limp on the ground, a knife sticking out from his back. A demon backstabbed him in the form of . . . Jody, who now stood over him with a ghastly grin. Before you could even process it, she alleviated her gun, shooting B/F, the last Leader except you and Dean, and most of the humans nearest to you - some die, some take cover. She levied her gun on you and Dean, but never pulled the trigger, tilting her head to one side as if listening to something, and then her neck twisted one-eighty degrees. Black smoke funneled into the air, and her body fell to the ground, unmoving.

Dean's arm slung around you, and you both glanced at each other, equally broken, trying equally hard to not sob in the middle of this bloodbath.

'Tsk, tsk, tsk,' tsked Benny. He was the vampire Alpha's second-in-command and the Captain of the Bloody Princess. 'I really thought that you wouldn't last longer than an hour, let alone days. But, hey, this was more fun, wasn't it?'

'I'm gonna kill you,' you whispered, emotionally wrecked.

'Y/N, no—'

But you leaped out of Dean's reach, practically flying towards Benny. Unexpectedly, someone threw their body weight on you, making you reflexively stab backward.

The gasp was too familiar.

Your entire body froze, and your whole world stopped moving.

Something was terribly wrong, all your instincts screamed: Do not turn . . .

But you recognized it! You recognized him . . .

Your unwilling glance cast to your right, just as Dean's head came to lean down on your shoulder, breath shuddery.

Suddenly, he was on the ground and your memory had progressed. Nothing made sense, including your gibberish words.

'I won't let you die, my love. N-Not while I'm still alive.' A small smile formed on his lips and he locked his green orbs with yours as if he was proud of himself for this little act.

'Why would you throw yourself at me?!'

'Oh, how sweet,' laughed Castiel. He had been standing behind you, and you hadn't noticed him before. 'I didn't think he'd sacrifice himself for you.'

And the heart-breaking understanding dawned on you . . . Dean had seen Castiel while all you'd seen was revenge . . .

A sob tore from your chest, 'You shouldn't have done this—'

He shook his head, a ghost of a smile dancing at his lips. 'That's what fiancés are for, darlin'.'

Incoherent yelling brought you out of your reverie. You looked up in utmost confusion to see Castiel killing . . . himself?

'—fight them,' Dean continued. As if he didn't see this at all.

You gaped at the new guy, a worried look on his face.

You shook your head, tilting it to the side, certain that this shouldn't be happening. 'I-I-I was supposed to duel Benny and Castiel—'

'We need to leave, Y/N,' the lookalike of Castiel said. 'I've been looking everywhere for you. I come from your reality. We should go. Your mind and memories make me very uneasy.'

'Who are you?' you shook your head. 'I need to-to save Dean!' you exclaimed. 'I was . . . this isn't supposed to happen! I don't remember this!'

Castiel's brows furrowed in confusion. 'If you don't leave, you die.'

'B-B-But, if I leave, he'll die,' you said in a low tone, 'he'll die anyway. I'll get him killed. I-I-I don't know . . . he doesn't deserve me, this! I-I get him killed. I deserved to die—I—' Your voice cracked, breaking down then and there.

'Calm down,' he said softly, coming to gather you in a hug. 'I need you to listen to my voice, and you need to breathe.'

You wanted to fight it, you knew you should have. But for some reason, you resisted that urge. You didn't want to hurt this new trench-coated guy, you felt as if, if you hurt him, you'd also indirectly hurt someone you cared about - you just couldn't remember who.

'I don't understand,' you whispered, watching as Dean lay on his side, not even acknowledging the fact that Castiel was hugging you. His eyes were stuck at where you should have battled your planet's Castiel, and it was as if Dean was watching the duel unfold . . .

It should've happened. Why was it not happening?

You should have promised Dean that you'll save him, and then dueled Ben and Cas. And Jack - where was Jack?

'This is a memory,' informed Castiel - something that you had already begun to grasp on.

'Who are you?' you questioned, falling against his chest. 'Please go away. I should've died.'

'Dean wouldn't appreciate that,' he told you. His blue eyes were full of sympathy and pain for you. Why did he even care? You would have killed him if a nagging voice in your head didn't stop you.

The voice was continuously telling you to go with him. To save yourself.

'Come with me,' mumbled Castiel. 'Please. Dean is waiting.'

'He's gone,' your voice wobbled. 'He's dead,' you said it, for the first time in more than seven years . . .

Castiel shook his head, 'Please. He's waiting.'

You glanced at the man in front of you. Two knives sticking out of him - both of them, the price of saving you. He'd insisted that you gain powers to fight Micheal which was when Castiel had become your "friend", and now, he insisted on saving you again . . .

Out of seemingly nowhere, a gold necklace appeared on Dean's neck. You remember putting it there. That and the soulmate ring had been the symbols of your love with Dean - both of which you'd let burn along with the battleground.

As the love of your life bled on the battleground - among the rest of your family, the rest of the Leaders - you felt a part of yourself dying, all over again.

It was over. It was all over.

You let yourself fall back against your savior, stemming the flow of your memories but unbearable crying took over you, as you let the magnitude of what had happened hit you all over again, yet, seemingly for the first time.

You gasped awake in the real world, shooting forward on the forest floor.

Sweat beaded your skin, and you were chilled to your bones but your mind was blank. With an unimaginable effort, you blinked away your tears, toning down your devastating cries to slight whimpers.

Not yet - you can't cry yet. It's not safe.

Your e/c orbs fell on the figure kneeling next to you.

'Castiel,' you said, frigidly. You knew you couldn't attack him. You shouldn't.

He gave you a small smile. 'I'm glad you're okay. Save him, please. Goodbye, Y/N.' A sound of a flutter, a breeze gushed around you, and he was gone.

You tightened your arms around yourself, not caring in the slightest if his company on you was reduced. You mustered your strength and stood up on your jelly legs, but something was missing.

Your mind raced to recollect what had happened before you were forced into an unwilling submission to your past.

You understood slowly that your injuries were missing. You looked down to your stomach and then checked your thigh, giving a once-over to your whole body - if your clothes hadn't been ripped and stained, you would have never known that you had been hurt in the first place.

Then you realized that your bow was missing. You felt vulnerable instantly as if you'd gone out in public without clothes.

You would've thanked Castiel but you didn't because, first, you didn't want to, and second, he left defenseless even if he did heal you.

You decided to ignore his existence until he was needed again as a compromise.

You put yourself on the Purgatory map pretty quickly. You were in the land of Djinns - you had a safe house in here somewhere, this one underground, you believe. They were as good as nothing in here, so technically, they didn't pose you much threat.

You did contemplate freeing yourself from the torture of watching Dean: the stupid American-accented Dean Winchester who you can't have. Technically, he was safe. You sent him to the safest area in Purgatory, rumor for the portal had been spread so a capable monster would come looking for him, and he could this hellhole in his rearview mirror. All he had to do was blame you for how you aggravated the tryst between the Leviathans and the Dwarves, and they would hunt you, and permit him to stay.

Even as you thought it, you knew your goal was too idealistic. Dean came to save you, you doubted he would throw you under the bus - despite your excellent skills.

He really pissed you off sometimes. You honestly can't deal with another man who has a fucking hero complex! That reckless, beautiful fool thought you were important enough to risk his own life and enter an area you clearly told him not to.

To top it all off, he seemed to care about you! Why else would he kiss you?

He obviously cares, and he protects what he loves. Inevitably, he will die like—

No! came an inward scream. Don't go there, your mind warned.

You had to take a second to compose yourself - the state of mental health was extremely fragile.

Out of the mayhem of your thoughts, a broken voice came through, Promise?

Your self-preservation was ravaged by your soft corner for Dean's namesake and lookalike. You did tell him you would find him . . .

For a distraction, you decided to run for the rest of the day.

No monster bothered your jog as you cut down six miles. Within the next hour, you had touched your safe house. You stitched your clothes more or less and constructed a new bow and a hefty set of quivers; you tested them on three stray Djinns. Before evening, you had jogged over to the edge of the Borax forest again.

The army of Leviathans was doubled, parading around the perimeters of the forest. A small camp had also been set up. These monsters whispered around in harsh voices, and tensed at the slightest noises; you even caught a wisp or two of your and Dean's names. You had seen and planned enough wartimes during your lifetime to recognize one; your little stunt yesterday may as well have been a trigger.

Maybe Dean would need you to keep him safe after all. You doubted he had war experience. You know he'd faced apocalypses before, but war and the end of the world are majorly different things. The latter is quick but wars elongate the pain of an apocalypse until you die a little every day.

You shrugged those thoughts off. Eyes on the goal.

Stealthy as a cat, you scaled a tree, tiptoed to the edge, and swung into the Borax forest, absolutely unobserved.

As you trudged further within the forest, now on the ground while the silence deafened you. Not even crickets. You kept an eye out for traps; if you weren't cautious, you might end up hanging upside down from a rope like a lousy Tarzan.

Just because you can swing your own weight now, doesn't make you Tarzan.

Who's Tarzan?

He had scoffed, Don't tell me you haven't watched fucking Disney - what loveless world did you grow up in?

Just because I don't like television or music, doesn't make me an outcast.

Maybe you should look up the word, you bookworm.

'Shut up, shut up, shut up!' you growled.

Your attention diverted when the air whizzed, your ears perked up and you ducked, letting it slash thin air over your head.

You raised your hands in surrender. 'I come in peace!' you yelled. 'Please. I need to find my . . . friend. I mean no harm.'

You stood rooted to your spot, aware that you could spook them. You strained your ears until you caught the rising decibels as someone approached you.

You bit your lip, giving yourself up. 'I'm a human. Y/N L/N. And, my friend, Dean Winchester, is still in this territory if the stories of you guys capturing prisoners are correct. I just need shelter, and for you to release him. We'll be no harm, I swear. Please, let me talk.'

'Is it right? You slaughtered the fairies!' came an accusing, squeaky voice.

You nodded. 'They betrayed me. Gave my location to the Leviathans.'

The Dwarves gasped and snarled altogether.

'We had to . . . let go of the fairy population because betrayal is one thing I don't tolerate,' you raised your chin in defiance. 'It was my idea if you still want revenge - I hear you were close to them. But kindly release the other human, he is innocent, just trying to get back home. You know how homesickness feels better than anyone, don't you?'

A pregnant pause.

You closed your eyes just in case they wanted to take you up on the revenge, your reflexes would only get in the way.

'Hand low.'

The Dwarf King emerged from the shadows. He was wearing a magnificent crown of bird feathers, befitting his royalty.

You had to hide your mystery disappointment upon not being attacked.

You gave him a small tentative smile, greeting him with a curtsy.

He scowled, deepening the frown lines on his grimy, old, scarred face. If he stayed very still and closed his eyes, you could've mistaken him for the bark of a tree, his skin color matched it, and his battle scars were appropriately carved on all the visible parts of his skin. Even his clothes were made of leaves - without his crown, he would be undetectable to a person who didn't what to look for. More small people peeled away from the trees. They were even smaller than their king, which would have been amusing if you didn't know how deadly they were when they wanted to be; all just as unkillable as the Leviathans in Purgatory.

'They us shoo - the bad Leviathans,' the King sneered, voice as rustly as a dead leaf in the graveyard. 'We you not welcome, just capture-kill. Why? Why us seek shelter?'

You kneeled to shorten the distance and appear less threatening.

'We don't want you to exclusively protect us, we can do that on our own. We just need shelter, there is a house I built here—'

'It stand still,' he huffed. 'Dwarf no-no land.'

'I see,' you said. 'We can keep that arrangement. If you could just lend us a couple days, you won't even know we are—'

'We want hurt Leviathans,' he cut you off yet again. 'You want hurt Leviathans?'

'Those sons of bitches who want to kill my friend? Fuck, yeah!' you scoffed. 'I want them deader than my will to fucking live!'

His eyebrows knitted together. 'Say again?'

You pursed your lips in amusement. It had been ages since you switched languages to connect with a person - otherwise, you know half the European languages for smoother conversations with your Governors.

'Yes. Y/N and Dean want to hurt Leviathans. Very bad.'

He assessed you for a moment. 'You good fighter?'

The smug, self-assured smirk on your lips was your experience's fault. 'The best. Me the reason for security more, uh, beyond your forest,' you accidentally ended in correct English.

He approved you with a grin. 'Pick her.'

'Pick what now!?'

The dwarves came like an all-consuming wave, their tiny hands floated you in the air. One of them blindfolded you with an evergreen leaf so lithely that you were a smidge scared, the miniature creatures forwarded you hand-to-hand, to what you can only assume is their secret lair. You "accidentally" bumped into trees constantly, at that point you could only protect your head with your hands. They were chatting in a foreign language you knew nothing about.

Then all too abruptly, you were dropped on the ground; to be fair, they weren't taller than two feet.

You knew better than to make a sound or move unless they directly addressed you to do so. Anxious minutes stretched on until finally, the blindfold was loosened.

All of the dwarves had already made themselves scarce, leaving you on the edge of the small lake, between the tall trees and your house just in the middle of the lake.

You were wrong, they weren't ready to share their lair just yet. Instead, they'd bought you to your safe house, the gazebo you'd built in memory of Dean's garden . . .

'Your Dean come,' a squeaky voice made you jump. You hadn't even noticed the small Dwarf, the size of a tennis fucking ball, near your elbow. She grinned at your fright. 'You stay. Behave.'

Did a tennis ball just ask you to fucking behave? If you didn't want peace, you would've thrown her into the lake like a pebble.

She trotted away behind the rest of her population and you wondered how many were watching you from the trees.

All you could do was wait, you supposed. And if Dean wasn't handed to you by nightfall, you would attack them.

The Dwarves surprised you by keeping their word. You were expecting them to be as unworthy and dishonest as the Leviathans, but they gave you Dean, relatively unharmed - if you don't count his unconsciousness and the bumps on his head from being lugged around like you been, as harm. They carelessly thumped the man at your feet.

The Dwarf King was frowning. 'We no like him, know? He try and kill.'

'He stupid,' you were quick to retort. 'He don't know how great you be. I'll make him understand. I hope this no ruin our new friendship?' you extended your hand for an alliance.

He hesitated, before giving in and shaking his knotty hand with yours. 'Friend. But because you promise to hurt sons of bitches.'

'Aw, you learned how to curse,' you laughed, making the Dwarf King blush grumpily.

He waved his hand in dismissal, 'One favor more!' he demanded.

'Okay?' you quirked a brow.

'Teach English!' he forcefully said. 'Leviathans speak good, we rub good English in face!'

'I think I like you,' you chuckled. 'You got style, buddy. Teach English, got it.'

He blinked both his eyes at you and raised his thumbs. You think he was winking.

He and his entourage left the clearing, telling you that they would be by the next day for their first lesson. One of the Dwarf ladies also told you that she was the healer around there, and if you needed anything, she would be able to conjure it for you within a day or so . . . She reminded you of Selina, but then you slammed the door on those memories as well.

Or, well, you tried too. You had this grim feeling that it was too late to ignore your past anymore. Your breakdown was coming, you just hoped you'd be alone for it.

A/N: Welp, the trauma's out of the bag! What did you think of the glimpses from the Supernatural Wars?

Tag List.

@hobby27 @stoneyggirl2 @globetrotter28 @aylacavebear @emma1998sblog

@stanzie

[daughterofcain-67]

𝒞𝓇𝑒𝒶𝓉𝒾𝓋𝑒 𝒟𝒾𝓈𝓉𝓇𝒶𝒸𝓉𝒾𝑜𝓃 (𝒻𝒾𝓃𝒶𝓁)

(Dean Winchester x Artist/Bartender! Female Reader)

(𝓅𝒶𝓇𝓉 1) (𝓅𝒶𝓇𝓉 2)

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: An argument leads Dean into finally confessing the truth of his career but before you can make the choice on whether or not you believe Dean you find out some disturbing news which awakens you to a harsh reality.

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: character death (oc) i think that’s it

Things were about as tense as you thought they would be,. You had never felt this uncomfortable in your own home until this very moment as you stood here with Dean. But you supposed for the sake of your own sanity, you knew you would have to break the ice somehow.

“Make yourself at home I guess, agent.” You spoke and motioned for him to have a seat on the couch.

Dean walked further into your home and he straightened up the jacket from his suit, uncertain if he should bother with taking it off or not. But then something caught his eye. Dean started walking towards wine of your bookshelves, the one that had several sketchbooks you had from over the years.

���You mind if I have a look at one of these?” Dean asked.

You glanced over and saw he was looked it through your bookshelves. “Sure, have at it.”

Then you sat down on your windowsill and picked up your current sketchbook once more so you could get back to work on the cover art you were asked to do. Meanwhile, Dean pulled out a random book and he was slowly going through the pages.

As Dean looked at your work, he was amazed at the detail you put into it. You’ve definitely improved your skills over the years, though back in the day he didn’t know how you could have possibly gotten better. Obviously he was wrong.He continued to look through different sketchbooks but then there was one that he hadn’t expected to find.

This one had a photograph of the two of you glued to the first page. Then as Dean flipped through the pages he realized you had drawn pictures of him, each of them were dated and from what he could tell you often wondered what he would look like over the years or even what he did for a living, judging from the different uniforms you drew him in.

“I didn’t think you’re talents could get any better. You were already really good back then.” Dean finally spoke, but you ignored him.

Dean looked up at you and saw you were focused on your artwork. He closed the book he had in his palm before he put it back on the bookshelf and he walked over.

“What are you working on now?” He asked and started looking over your shoulder. He watched as you were drawing some sort of steampunk looking piece, as if it were some sort of Cinderella alternate reality.

“Cover ideas.” Your shortness didn’t surprise him but it still stung nonetheless. He let out a sigh before he tried to speak again.

“Look, at the bar I didn’t mean for you to misunderstand anything. I was really happy to see you there.”

“Dean, what was there to misunderstand? You’re an agent here to do a job and walk right out of my life all over again, leaving me with no clue as to where you’re going or if you even care to see me ever again. Danielle was right. And I should have forgotten about you decades ago.”

“It’s not as heartless as it sounds. I can’t afford to just catch up with anyone i want to, I can’t afford any kind of closeness with anybody. You have no idea how many enemies I’ve made with this job, how many innocent lives have been ruined, how many people have gotten hurt or worse just because they knew me.” Dean tried to explain but you scoffed and tossed your sketchbook to the side.

“That’s a coward’s answer. Lots of FBI agents have families. That means they’re brave enough to take the risk. But I get it, a simple conversation that isn’t work related isn’t worth the risk. I’m not worth the risk, I get it.”

“Y/N, that’s not what I’m saying!”

“Isn’t it though? It may not be your exact words but that’s the implication.” You got up from your spot and started walking to the kitchen.

Dean’s jaw tightened and his brows narrowed before he started to follow you into the kitchen.

“Alright, you want the truth?! This job sucks and I’ve gotten attached to people like you and the moment I let my guard down, ninety percent of the time those people die. Knowing me is a death sentence. My brother and I have lost too many people because of it. I can’t let you die like that because some monster takes it upon itself to break in and gut you up just because you know me.”

You, under the impression Dean was using the word ‘monster’ as some term for a serial killer or some sick sort of human being, scoffed. “Please, I’m plenty capable of protecting myself against some killer. You make it sound like the Boogyman’s after you.”

“The thing that killed your friend could easily kill you too and you can’t protect yourself from any of them, Y/N! You don’t know the kind of shit that’s out there. I didn’t expect you to be a part of this job and trust me if you weren’t involved I wouldn’t even be here.”

“Thanks, Dean. That makes me feel a thousand times better. And what kind of thing do you think will come after me, huh? Nothing could be that bad. Bad people do eventually get caught.” You said and you opened the refrigerator door to grab something to drink.

Dean rubbed a hand over the lower half of his face, wondering if he really needed to risk telling you the truth after all. You were being so difficult but you didn’t even understand the shit he’s ever seen.

“The think that’s killing your coworkers and your boss’ wife isn’t just any bad guy. You have no idea what we’re going up against.” Dean’s voice was a little calmer, yet still deadly serious. You turned around to see if he’d elaborate or if he’d keep you in the dark just as he always has.

“The business that I told you I was in with my brother and my dad… it’s sort of um.. a traveling extermination business. Sam isn’t my partner in the FBI. Neither of us are agents. He’s my brother, and we hunt monsters. Vampires, werewolves, demons, doppelgängers… every ugly ass creature you can think of, we’ve probably killed before.” Dean finally confessed.

Your brows arched upward with shock. This was the excuse Dean decided to give you? This was why he avoided you all these years and he really expected you to believe he was hunting monsters like Van Helsing? Yeah right.

“Monsters? Really? Dean if you aren’t going to tell me the truth I think you should just leave. I don’t want to see you around here anymore.” You said, growing angrier the more you saw him, hurting even more knowing he would lie to your face like this.

“Y/N, name someone in this town that would gut innocent people and steal their hearts. That’s something a werewolf has been known to do in my field and they are stronger than you can handle.” He was still insisting you believe these lies?!

“Dean, I’m serious. I’m not buying this story of yours, okay? Why don’t you just go with Sam to make sure Danielle and her boyfriend are alright.” You said and when you went to brush past him, you felt his strong grip on your upper arm and you looked up at him.

“This isn’t just a story, Y/N. It’s the ugly reality.” He told you and you searched his eyes.

What the hell had Dean seen over the years that made him so sincere about this? You swore he had to be crazy if he expected you to believe this whole monster thing like he believed it. But before you could ask any questions about it, Dean’s phone started ringing.

Dean sighed a little before he let go of your arm just to answer the phone, figuring it must’ve been Sam.

“Sam? What’s happening?”

“Dean, it was Danielle’s boyfriend. He was one of them. Danielle and I were safe and I took care of Chris but maybe one of his guys broke in and knocked me out or something. I can’t find Danielle anywhere. They took her belongings too. I don’t know where they could have taken her.” Sam said on the other line.

You must’ve heard bits and pieces of what Sam was saying because when Dean looked at you, he saw the stunned expression on your face and he watched as you started looking around to find your shoes to put on.

“Are you sure they took her? What if she had something to do with it? Did you do the test on her?” Dean asked.

“Test? What test? Dean what the hell is going on?!” You asked, wanting to know if your friend was alright. What test could they have possibly been talking about? None of this made any sense.

“I’ll explain in a second just hang on, alright? Sam, how fast can you get here?” Dan asked, turning his attention back to his brother.

“I couldn’t tell you. You and I may have to meet somewhere on foot. They took the car.” Sam said and Dean’s eyes went wide.

“You let them take the car?! What happened to you being the responsible brother, huh?” Dean asked and he ran a hand through his hair.

“Wait wait.. I found something. Dean it’s a notebook with all the workers’ addresses on them. Y/N’s name is circled. She’s bound to be next and I don’t see Danielle’s name anywhere on this list.” Sam explained and that was when Dean heard the familiar roar of the impala from outside.

“I think she’s here. Sam, You need to find Nelson and find out what the hell happened on that hunt.” Dean said sternly and your brows narrowed with confusion.

“Nelson? How can he be a part of this? What hunt are you talking about? He’s not a hunting kind of guy.” You said, thinking Dean meant hunting wildlife and you still refused to believe this whole monster killing story.

Dean hung up the phone before he looked over at you while shoving the phone in his pocket, “You need to go in your room. Lock the door and don’t you dare come out until I tell you it’s safe.”

“Not until you tell me what the fuck is going on, Winchester! What happened to my friend?”

Dean shook his head, “She stopped being your friend a long time ago. I need you to just trust me and stay out of the way until I tell you it’s safe. I promise I’ll explain everything when this is over.”

As much as you desperately wanted to argue with Dean, you could tell from the look on his face that he wasn’t going to argue because this was no longer up for any debate, let alone discussion. You bit your tongue to keep from saying anything else and you walked towards your bedroom and shut the door behind you. But you didn’t lock the door as Dean advised. If what Dean was saying was really true, then you had to see it for yourself.

Dean took the gun he had from behind his back and he made sure there was plenty of ammunition. Once he found he had plenty of silver bullets on him, he made sure to keep it on him so he’d be prepared for when Danielle would come in. No wonder she seemed hesitant to leave with Sam. She had a job to do and he was willing to bet she was the one that killed Callie. Some actress.

Before Dean could even think about anything else, the door was suddenly kicked down and not only was it Danielle that walked through the door but there were two guys that were about Sam’s height dressed in leather like they were a couple of bikers from the bar or something. Sort of matched the charisma, or lack of, that Callie’s former boyfriend was talking about.

“Well well… You were just gonna spend the night with your friend and when she least expected it, you’d kill her like you killed Callie, huh?” Dean said as he lifted the gun to aim at their direction.

“Oh what would you know. Nelson deserves what he’s got coming. But it serves him right to watch everything he worked for fall apart, just like he did with my father’s pack.” Danielle seethed.

You could faintly hear the conversation from behind your bedroom door and your heart sank. Danielle was going to kill you? That was why she asked if she could spend the night? Why would she do that? She was one of your good friends, or at least that’s what you hoped. Clearly you were wrong, but what was this talk about a pack?

You reached up and carefully turned the knob, doing your best to keep quiet and you slowly started to open the door so you could hear things a little bit better. You simply cracked it open, not wanting to give your location away completely.

“Come on, you know Y/N better than anyone and you knew Callie better than anyone. You know damned well neither of them deserve what you’re doing to them. They’re good people and you know it.” You could hear Dean say but Danielle scoffed.

“My father was a good man before your kind took it upon yourselves to massacre my family! We never hunted anyone, strictly animals because my father wanted to be civilized. Live under the radar and stay clear of hunters. But Nelson… Nelson decided all of us are the same ugly things that keep you up at night. When he killed my family there was anarchy. I took the lead and said to Hell with it, we’re going after Nelson in the most.. traditional.. way possible. Show him the monsters he wanted us to be.” You could hear Danielle say, but your heart sank down to your feet.

Dean was right, she must’ve never been your friend if this was her plan all along. You felt so naive, gullible and stupid.

“Come on, Danielle, don’t make me pull this trigger on you and your friends. You think this is what your family would have wanted you to become?” Dean retorted.

“Who cares how I avenge them. This is how I’m getting my payback against Nelson and I’m not letting you, Sam, or any other hunter stand in my way.” Danielle said and from what you heard a fight broke out after that.

You heard furniture get moved around, you flinched at the sound of a vase shattering to the floor. Slowly, you moved to where you could look through the crack in the door. You finally saw the truth of what was out there. Your friend and her two companions had fangs, their fingernails turned to claws, their eyes changed color. You couldn’t believe what you saw, and you didn’t think werewolves could possibly be real. All of it felt so unbelievable.

Your eyes widened when you saw Dean get knocked to the ground. You didn’t know what to do but you could tell that Dean was starting to lose the fight. Everything in your was screaming to help him but you didn’t know how to fight these things. What if you did something wrong and Dean died because of you?

Still, as Dean was wrestling with one of the werewolves on the floor you saw him drop the gun and the weapon slid on the ground towards your door. This was your chance to do something. You just hoped that things wouldn’t go wrong.

You took in a deep breath before you opened the door wider and stepped out of the room.

Dean heard the door creaking open and he saw you standing there. Were you nuts?! What the hell were you doing?!

“Y/N! Get back inside!” He called out but he watched as you ignored him and rushed to get to the gun and you picked it up.

You could feel your heart beating fast and before you could think, you realized one of the wolves was coming after you and you aired the gun and you closed your eyes before you took a shot. When you opened one of your eyes, you saw that the werewolf was on the ground with a gunshot wound to the chest.

The werewolf above Dean was distracted by the gunshot and when the creature looked over at you, Dean took the opportunity take a shot and kick the werewolf off of him. Then, Dean rushed over to you while you were stunned about what you’ve done.

“It’s okay, Y/N. You did what you needed to, now go back to the room and I’ll finish up.” Dean said and you hesitantly nodded as you backed away and stayed in your room but you couldn’t help but to keep watching everything unfold in front of you.

You watched as Dean was fighting both Danielle and the other man she came with and Dean managed to shoot the man Danielle was with and she knocked out your former friend. The next thing you knew, Dean stood over the unconscious creature and shot her in the heart so she’d never wake up again.

You didn’t know what you should be feeling in that moment. Should you be angry that Danielle was never your friend, but a monster? Should you be angry that Dean had knocked out the person you thought was your ally?

When you slowly walked out of your bedroom again you walked over to your friend. You saw the claws on her fingers and her fangs still showed. You wondered if this was just some sort of never-ending nightmare. You didn’t know what you were supposed to do and it felt like you had been blind to so many things your entire life. Your world was turning upside down.

Dean saw the look on your face as you looked down at the corpse. He could tell you were questioning so many things right now and he never wanted things to be this way. He never wanted you to get wrapped up in this horrific bullshit of a hunting life and he never wanted you to know what was out there.

“Do you believe me now?” He asked softly, but you gave him no response.

“Y/N… I never wanted you to find out about any of this. That’s why I never told you much about my family or what we did.” He said in a gentler tone and you ran your fingers though your hair.

“Well now I know, Dean. I can’t just unsee everything that just happened.” You said softly and you felt a soft hand on your shoulder. You looked up and saw Dean looking up at you.

“Is it at least over now?” You asked.

“I’m not sure. It should be over if Danielle was the leader of this new pack, but I have to check with Sam if there were any indications of any other members of the pack and if he got in contact with Nelson again.” Dean replied and you looked back down at the body.

“She was the sweet one out of the three of us. She seemed so concerned about Callie when we hadn’t heard from her for several days… I never would’ve seen the attack coming.”

Dean frowned a little when you spoke, knowing all of this had to be a lot to take in for you.

“Let me call Sam and see if he’s got everything squared away on his end, if he was able to talk to Nelson and everything.” He said and you nodded as you walked away from the bodies and went to your bedroom again.

Dean watched you walking away, knowing your life was forever altered at this point. He pulled out his phone again and he dialed up Sam’s number. Luckily he didn’t need to wait long for an answer.

“Dean? Are you guys okay?”

“Yeah… turns out Danielle wasn’t as innocent as she lead on. She and two other wolves are dead.”

“How did Y/N take all of it? She alright?”

“Honestly I don’t know, Sammy… It might take her a little time with Danielle specifically. You get in contact with Nelson?”

“Well… yes and no.” Sam replied and Dean lifted a brow.

“What do you mean?”

“Well when I tried calling him there was no answer. So I took a taxi to his house and when I walked in, it looked like another attack. I guess someone caught word that you were facing the new leader and they wanted to make sure the main goal was accomplished so it looks like they killed Nelson before I had the chance to talk to him.”

“Shit… so what does that mean? Do you think they’ll still go after people working in the bar?” Dean asked.

“I’m not so sure… I think we may need to stay a few days and lie low to see what happens. It’s better to be safe than sorry.” Sam insisted and Dean looked over at your bedroom and saw you sitting on the corner of your bed, disassociating because of everything that transpired.

“Yeah… That might the best option. You think you can swing by to help me take care of these bodies and get Y/N somewhere safe? You said the werewolves had addresses in that notebook right? I think she may need to stay with us for a few days just incase anyone tries to go after her again.” Dean insisted.

“Yeah, just give me about fifteen minutes and I’ll be there.”

When Sam and Dean hung up, Dean walked over to the bedroom and towards you. He knelt in front of you and saw you were just spacing out and thinking of so many different things, he could practically see it on your face how lost you were.

“Hey, you’re gonna be okay. I promise.” He said and he placed a hand on one of your knees, which broke your trance and you looked down at his hand then back at him.

“Dean… I’ve never even shot a gun at a person before… I just killed someone.” You said in such a timid little tone.

“Y/N, you’ve got to realize that wasn’t a person. None of them were. Not anymore. They would have killed you, your coworkers, and who knows who else they would have killed if you hadn’t helped stop them.”

“Danielle… was a person to me. I can’t believe she lied to me like that. Then again what the hell do I know about anything anymore. You must think I’m so stupid for not listening to you before.” You scoffed and your eyes started welling up with tears, one slipping from your face and you swiftly wiped it away.

“It’s natural to have doubts. I know what I was telling you is hard for a lot of people to believe. I wasn’t expecting you to believe me instantly. Stuff like this isn’t easy to take in.” he continued and you looked back at Dean again.

“What am I supposed to do now? Where do I go from here? Am I going to get in trouble with the police? Surely my neighbors heard the gunshots.” You started to ramble.

“The cops are bound to show, but they still think Sammy and I are FBI agents. We claim self defense which unfortunately ended in fatalities.” Dean answered.

“You make it sound so simple.”

“This isn’t my first rodeo, Sweetheart.” Dean said before he moved his hand from your knee and he held one of your hands.

“But as far as beyond the police are concerned… We don’t know if there are more werewolves. So after Sam and I handle the police when they come, I think it would be better if you stayed with me and Sam. Just for a few days until we know there won’t be anymore attacks against you or any of your other coworkers. They have your address so we don’t think you’ll be safe here right now.” He continued.

You bit down on your bottom lip before you nodded a little, deciding to go with Dean after all. You didn’t exactly want to be alone after tonight, but maybe you’d be alright after a few days.

“Okay… Let me pack some clothes before I go with you.”

A few days went by and things seemed to settle down. You had found out Nelson passed away and the cops connected Danielle to the murders so they believed Dean’s claim of self defense. Not that you were really surprised. Dean seemed to be a pretty good liar when it came to the cops.

There weren’t anymore threats against you at least that you knew of, and now that it’s been a week of silence, Dean said it was safe for you to go back home and now you were riding with him in the impala.

The car ride was quiet, as if the both of you knew this week long journey was coming to a close and you weren’t sure if you would ever see him again. You wouldn’t be surprised if you didn’t see him again, knowing he’d more than likely say the same things as he did in the argument before the attack. It was disheartening to know that Dean didn’t want to take a chance.

When the two of you made it to your apartment, it was like nothing had ever happened. Only because Sam and Dean went out of their way to clean up the bodies. Naturally some things did need some replacing like the vase, or the living room couch that had been splattered with blood, but you would get those things on your own since you had been looking into buying a new couch anyway. But it was sweet that Sam and Dean took it upon themselves to help as much as they could.

“Well… I guess this is the part where I take off.” Dean said and you looked over at him.

“Why don’t you stay for dinner? I’m a crummy cook but I can order something. My treat. It’s really the least I can do after you saved me and helped clean the place up after everything.” You insisted.

Lucky for you, Dean didn’t really put up much of a fight so he followed you into your home. Dean sat at one of the love seats since you no longer had a couch at the moment and you sat down on the recliner as you pulled out your laptop to see what you should order.

“Chinese sound alright to you?” You asked and Dean smiled a little.

“Whatever you want to order’s fine.” He replied and you pouted a little.

“Dean, this is supposed to be for you as a thank you. I need a little help here since I’m not exactly a mind reader.” You said and Dean let out a little chuckle before he tried to think.

“What about a burger and some fries?” He said then it was your turn to smirk.

“Diner food again? Sure.” You snickered, “Want anything else with that?”

“Maybe some pie.” Dean said and somehow you knew that was a must, considering he just went through a whole pie in three days during the week you stayed with them.

“Sure thing.” You insisted and you started placing the order online for delivery and a couple of minutes later, the order was completed.

“It should be here in thirty minutes or so.” You said, shutting your computer and you set it down on the coffee table.

“You know you didn’t have to order anything.” Dean replied and you smiled.

“Again, it’s the least I could do.” You insisted

You and Dean were watching a show just to think of how to kill some time but the two of you settled on some sort of cartoon. You and Dean couldn’t find anything decent so the Boomerang channel seemed to be a better option at least for the time being.

“Dean?”

“Hmm?”

“You don’t… have to hit the road after today, do you?” You asked and Dean looked at you.

“Well… I mean that’s what I normally do with cases. I never really stay in the same place for a long time. There’s a lot more than just werewolves to worry about and… and well it’s better if Sam and I kept on moving.” He said, looking away from you even though he could still feel your gaze on him.

“Don’t you ever just slow down? Catch a break? Surely there are other hunters out there that can handle the stuff you do.” You said and Dean shook his head.

“Not really… the stuff Sam and I see… they’re pretty much apocalyptic and we can’t put that on anyone else. It’s our responsibility, our burden to bare and it’s a death sentence to bring anyone else into it.” He said and you scoffed a little, causing him to look at you again.

“What?”

“You and your liking for the coward’s way out.” You said, recalling the argument again when he gave a shitty excuse as to why he didn’t get close to people.

“It’s not a coward’s way, Y/N. It’s reality. You saw yourself what’s out there. And I’m risking a lot just being here right now.” He said and you rolled your eyes before you got up and went to your room.

Dean lifted a brow before he got up and followed you. When he did he noticed you were looking for something and he couldn’t help but tilt his head as he leaned against the doorframe.

“What are you doing?” He asked.

“Looking for something.”

“I can see that.” He said and watched you pull out a box. He didn’t see a whole lot inside until you pushed it towards the end of the bed. That’s when he saw a few shirts and cassettes, mementos of that summer.

“You don’t realize how many lives you affect when you travel, Dean. I know I can’t possibly be the only girl you’ve come across just to leave behind. And from what I can tell, I’m not the only one that could have died but survived. But when you just leave people behind you take a piece of them with you and it’s like you don’t even realize it. You’re too blind with the whole idea of keeping your distance that you don’t realize the people you hurt along the way by not giving them a chance.”You began and Dean lifted a brow.

“Y/N, I’ve gave people chances and they still lose their lives. You’re right, you aren’t the only woman I’ve come across. But once I get too close they get killed. The last one got hurt severely so I had a friend erase her memory to forget everything about me. It’s to keep her safe and I can’t lose anyone else.” He told you.

“Do you realize how you’re making yourself sound, Dean?”

“What do you mean?”

“As far as hunting, you’re bound to be one of the strongest men that I know. Not that I know many- obviously. But what makes you a coward and what makes you selfish is the fact that you can’t allow yourself to be close to someone long enough to know if they’re willing to stay with you even if this life is tough. Hunting is scary shit, I know that now. But you don’t deserve to go through it alone. It’s unfair to you.” You said.

“I don’t deserve that sort of fairness. If you knew half the things I’ve done-“

“Do you think any of that matters to me, Dean?” You set the box down on the floor again before you walked towards him.

“I don’t know much of what you’ve done all these years, and I don’t know the pain you’ve gone through. But I know that no one should ever have to be alone like that. I can tell just by looking at you that you’ve been through a lot. You deserve to have someone by your side to at least give you some sort of relief from this life every once in a while, give you a break from your ‘apocalyptic’ stressors.” You said and took a bold move by taking one of his hands.

Dean looked down at your hand with his before lifting his gaze to meet your own.

“But what happens if you get hurt, or worse? I can’t stand that risk, not with someone like you.” He said gently and you sighed a little before you gave his hand a little squeeze.

“Didn’t you ever think about me accepting that risk? You can teach me a lot and I’m willing to learn. Obviously I won’t have as much experience as you and I never will, but you can teach me enough to defend myself so you won’t have to worry about me so much.” You were trying so hard to compromise and Dean could tell.

What seemed to surprise Dean the most was that you were actually willing to learn how to hunt. You were actually willing to be a part of this much shittier side of life. It was amazing that out of the choices you had, this was the one you were willing to make.

“What about your art? Or the bar?” He asked and you shrugged.

“I can still work on art. The bar was just to keep my lights on. And now that both my friends are dead… I don’t really have anything keeping me bartending.” You explained.

“But what if-“

“Stop with the what ifs and the hypotheticals. Please?” You said, practically begging him to stop trying to make excuses for you to not join him. You didn’t have anything left going for you here.

Dean looked down at the floor between both of you as he tried to think of his best options. So many things swirling through his head about how things could go wrong. How would be able to protect you? How quickly would you be able to learn everything he’d have to teach you? If anything they could always use the help with research while he and Sam were on the field. But what happens if you were researching while he and Sam were out on the field working and something happened to you while he wasn’t there?

You could practically see the gears turning in his mind with how so many things could go wrong and you reached up, touching his face gently.

“This is the kind of thing I’m talking about. You’re thinking about so much already. You have so much on your shoulders, I can see it.” You said softly and he started looking at you, gaze softening as he started to relax against your touch.

“You don’t deserve to carry that stress…” You whispered and leaned up and placed a kiss on his cheek, close to his mouth.

“Let me be at least some sort of distraction.” He listened to your voice barely above a whisper and he could barely feel your lips against his cheek.

Dean carefully moved his head and your faces were so close to each other. One small movement and he’d have his lips over yours if either of you simply leaned forward.

“Do you think you could handle everything you’d distract me from?” He asked, his mind slowly starting to open up to the idea of you coming along even if he still had an overwhelming reluctance within himself. Still, he felt your thumb lightly graze his cheekbone.

“I wouldn’t be asking to go with you if I wasn’t willing to try. I could never fathom everything. You’ve been through, but I can try to make it easier even if it’s for a moment.”

Dean tucked his bottom lip between his teeth as if he were still thinking about it before he lifted a hand and brought it to the back of your neck. He felt the way you seemed to melt into him but all he could think of was how he let Jo and Lisa down.

“Please… just give me a chance.” Your voice broke him from his thoughts, or at least a strand of them. Only to start a new strand.

Dean started to think of the two weeks he spent with you. Those two weeks he had never felt so normal, even happy because of you. It was like the hunting world hadn’t even existed for that amount of time when he was with you even if he was supposed to be working on a job. Seeing you happy and realizing he could make the world safe, make sure you were safe, that’s what gave him the reason to hunt that summer. He thought back to the drawing you had given him, knowing he had never forgotten you over the years and knew he never could. He remembered the way you made him feel and a part of him now was screaming not to let you go like that again. John wasn’t in the picture anymore to lecture him like a child about who he told about hunting. He was a grown man and you were a grown woman, and you were begging him to take you along. He knew you were capable after watching you kill one of the werewolves when you were attacked. So why shouldn’t you come along?

He remembered just how Jo passed, how so many others have passed and who he’s lost and his jaw tightened for a moment.

“You have to promise me that you’ll listen to everything I tell you on a hunt, swear that you’ll listen to every precaution Sam and I tell you. When there is a plan, you stick to the plan so you don’t get hurt.” He said, tone stern with a certain gentleness about it.

You softened, realizing that he’d likely be so cautious with you and you wondered just how many people he’s lost with this life. But you knew that’s something you might never know. You could tell it was taking a lot for him to even think about you coming along.

“Promise.” You swore.

Dean then leaned down and he was so close to pressing his lips on yours. Your noses barely brushed against each other with how close he was and eat somehow he was already at ease. He didn’t know exactly what made it so easy, but it had felt like ages since he was able to feel this calm, decades since his mind finally slowed down just because of a small action like this.

The abrupt sound of someone knocking on the door interrupted the moment and the both of you pulled away before you had the chance to kiss. The voice on the other side of the door alerted you that it was just the delivery guy. He heard the way you sighed with a little irritation and he cracked a small smile at the reaction.

He let go of you so you could tend to the guy at the door. After you paid the guy you set the food on the coffee table just as he was walking out of your bedroom. You were in the process of pulling everything out of the plastic bags but Dean kept his gaze on you.

“I’m not kidding, though.” Dean said, his mind going back to the roller coaster it always was, but you gazed up at him.

“I know you’re serious. I’m not a child, Dean. I’ll be careful, but you and Sam will still need to teach me a few things. Plans have to change sometimes and we have to adapt. Nothing in life is cut and dry so you’ll have to trust me to take care of myself too.” You said, and that was the part Dean may have the issue with at least for a while.

“That… may take me a little time to do.” He warned and you walked over and handed him the bag with his burger in it.

“Naturally.” You replied and he was surprised you were taking this so well.

“I’m not expecting things to be smooth right away and for you to be so nonchalant with me on a hunt. So long as you’ll eventually be able to trust me on these things, then it’ll be fine. I’m a bit of a fast learner so we’ll get there eventually.” You promised before you sat down.

Dean listened and smiled slightly. He knew you’d need that determination. It’d be a good thing to have especially when he and Sam were both so close to having enough when it came to facing demons and angels. But trust.. he knew that would be the biggest thing he’d need to work on.

Dean knew he could trust you with certain things. He could trust your willingness to learn, trust your ability to adapt to a changed plan quickly, but he didn’t trust other factors of a case and when things would inevitably go wrong. Maybe the more you���d be around, the more he’d get better at that.

Either way… it would be nice to have you around, at least to let him forget about his own personal hell once in a while.

“You gonna join me or am I going to have to eat and watch Scooby Doo by myself?” You asked, breaking Dean away again. He smiled before he walked over to join you in the living room where you moved the seats closer to the coffee table.

One day it will be easier to let his worries go, easier to let the weight on his shoulders get a little lighter, and Dean hoped that maybe, just maybe, you’d be the one that could help him along that journey.

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