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zepskies · 5 months ago

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Dream With Me - Part 2

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Plus-sized!Reader (Latina)

Summary: When your asshole ex-boyfriend calls for help on a case, you have a tough decision to make. But Dean isn’t going to let you do anything alone. AKA: The last hunt you, Sam, and Dean will ever go on together.

[Set in 15x20]

AN: Yes, that barn scene. 🫣

(In case you missed it, here's Part 1.)

Word Count: 3.4K

Tags/Warnings: Protective Dean (and angry Dean), blood and violence, angst, and a big twist…

☕ Midnight Espresso Masterlist

Part 2: “We Can Fix This”

The vampires leave you and Carter alone after a while.

You two are the convenient bait, literally chained to your chairs. You’re so irate, you can’t even look at him. His head hangs low, with his chin nearly meeting his chest.

“I’m sorry I got you into this,” he says again.

“I don’t care,” you flatly reply.

Carter grimaces. “I didn’t know any other way to get them here. I figured the three of you could hold your own.”

At that, you finally turn your head towards him.

“But you sold out your own. You sold me out,” you say. “What kind of man are you?”

Not the one you thought, is the answer.

The problem is, you still need him if you're going to get out of this.

Once you’re able to see past your anger, you two begin to brainstorm on how to escape your restraints. Carter has been working on his for much longer than yours, but his hands are still too large to slip through the thick ropes. Your ankles are tied to the chair as well.

You turn your chair backwards towards him, careful to not let the chair’s legs scrape too badly against the ground. You’re forced to touch hands with him in order to slide him the small knife you hide in the sleeve of your jacket.

It takes several minutes of quiet sawing, but after a while, he’s finally able to free his hands, then more quickly his legs. He’s about to start on you when you both hear footsteps drawing near the stairs. You and Carter lock eyes.

“Don’t leave me here,” you whisper instinctively. Carter puts the little knife back into your hand and closes your hand over it. Right about now, you wish you could reach his neck with it.

“We can’t take them all. I’ll get help,” he says.

You suck in a breath as you realize it. He really is about to leave you.

“They need you alive as bait more than they need me. You’ll be fine,” he says.

“Carter, you dick,” you hiss. Tears sting behind your eyes, but you blink to try and keep them at bay. You’ll never admit it, but your fear of fangs and the clammy, undead hands of vampires runs deep.

Carter sees your fear, and he can’t help himself; he frames your face with his hands for a quick second, despite the way you glare at him and pull your head away, trying to evade his touch. His eyes hide the depths of his regret, but he doesn’t have time to say anything more.

He leaves you, ducking out the back entrance to the barn that leads into the woods.

“What’s going on?” Jenny says, as she comes down the stairs. Her face falls when she sees Carter’s empty chair.

“What the hell?!” she shouts. Two of the men in her nest come running out to meet her. She gives one of them an order to run after Carter.

Her attention snaps to you. “I’m guessing you helped your boyfriend escape?”

You don’t answer her at first as she draws near, but inside, you’re trembling a bit. You have an idea of what’s coming. Nevertheless, you try to remain stoic. Strong.

“Not my boyfriend,” you reply. Jenny cocks her head.

“Oh, that’s right. He betrayed you, and now he's left you in the hands of monsters,” she says. She holds her hands on her hips. “You must be the most gullible woman in the world.”

Your lips thin into a line. “Or you’re just stupid enough to leave a couple of hunters alone. You better damn hope he doesn’t find Sam and Dean. Even when they don’t know what’s coming, they should be the stuff of your nightmares. But when they’re prepared?”

You lick your dry lips and give Jenny a grim smile, with more confidence than you actually feel.

“Say goodbye to your family,” you say.

After a beat, Jenny smiles tightly and grabs your face. Her nails bite into your cheeks and make you wince.

“All right, Nate. You can have a taste,” she says.

She steps to the side as one of the larger backup dancers in her little entourage draws near. Jenny wrenches your head back by your hair, so he can lean in and bite into your neck. Your scream reverberates on the barn walls.

Sam and Dean left the car parked closer to the main road. They’re prepared for anything as they trek through the woods, with silver bullets in their guns and machetes strapped to their belts, along with witch killing bullets in their pockets for good measure.

Sam has pinpointed not just an estimate of your location, but also those coordinates as a few minutes away by foot. With their long strides, they can hopefully reach you soon.

“Wait,” Dean says, stopping his brother with a hand on his arm. “I hear something coming.”

Sam hears it too. Quick footsteps running on the crunch of dead leaves.

Carter comes stumbling from between the trees, out of breath, but still on the run while another man gains on him. When Carter sees Sam and Dean, his eyes widen with recognition.

“Vampires!” he shouts at them.

The brothers immediately switch from guns to the machetes on their belts. Dean reaches the vampire first, but he ducks the initial swing of Dean’s blade. It’s a quick scuffle, in which Sam manages to behead the creature. Blood sprays across Sam’s chest as the body falls to the ground.

Dean’s angry gaze shifts to Carter, who’s catching his breath. Dean doesn’t give him a chance to recover when he grabs the man by his collar. He pins him up to the nearest tree, hard, and holds his blade up to Carter’s neck, even though the man raises his hands in surrender.

“All right, all right!” Carter exlaims.

“Where is she?” Dean demands.

“A nest of vamps, in a barn up and over the hill. They took her, they’ve got her,” Carter says.

Dean wars between processing that, and becoming fucking furious.

“You left her there?!” he growls. Sam’s face furrows as well in anger, though he watches his brother out of the corner of his eye.

“Just let me explain!” Carter says.

Dean tightens the edge of his machete against the other man’s throat.

“Talk fast,” he warns.

“They’re waiting for you and Sam,” Carter says. “They nabbed me on account of you two assholes. That’s why they took her, so you’d have to come to them.”

Dean’s jaw locks. He glances at Sam, who’s just as angry as him. He’s just better at keeping a handle on it.

“So wait, lemme get this straight,” Dean says, as he continues to put the pieces together in his mind. He tips the end of the machete towards Carter’s chest. “They grabbed you up. So you called her, brought her into this, to save your own damn skin?”

Carter sighs harshly.

“Look, I know I’m going to hell. But the longer we stand around here waiting for you to do mental math, the longer they’ve got her alone,” he says. “I managed to get free, but I didn’t have time to get her out with me. So I left to find you.”

Dean's anger burns under his skin, but he lets Carter off the tree, just to turn him around and point the machete at his back. It’s reminiscent of years past, when a far darker blade used to fit all too well in Dean's right hand.

“Walk,” he barks the order. “Any twitchy moves, and my Christmas comes early.”

You've slipped in and out of consciousness, but finally you garner the strength to blink your eyes awake. Jenny had been watching you up until a few minutes ago, giving you reprieve when she went into the back room to join her nest.

You heave a shaky sigh and wince at the pain emanating from your neck. You have a gaping bite wound that still oozes blood with every infinitesimal movement of your head.

Fuck. You really hate vampires.

You won’t bleed out, probably, but the situation isn’t good. You have no idea if Carter will come back, or if Sam and Dean even know how to find you.

You try to remember that they’re masters at the impossible, and this is certainly not the biggest challenge you three have ever faced. Hell, if you could survive getting dusted by God, then you can survive a nest of flea-bitten vamps.

Wincing with strain, you try to twist your wrists under this rope so you can start sawing at it with your little knife. All the while, your thoughts inevitably bring you back to Dean.

You regret snapping at him. Because his instincts were right, yet again. You had trusted Carter the slightest bit, and he’d proved to you, yet again, that he's an even bigger piece of shit than you took him for.

A door quietly creaks open, and you’re able to turn your head in that direction. Your eyes widen in surprise when you see Sam and Dean. Your breath escapes you.

And that’s when Dean’s eyes lock on you. He hastens over to you first, with Sam following right behind. Carter comes in after them, but all you can focus on is Dean. There’s relief written across his furrowed face when he kneels beside you and immediately starts cutting at the ropes that bind your hands with his machete.

“Hey, sweetheart,” he says, rushed, but purposeful when he meets your gaze.

“Hey,” you whisper back, with a hint of a smile, despite your eyes that shine with both relief and unshed tears.

“You okay?” he asks gruffly.

“Yeah,” you reply, even if you don’t entirely mean it.

Dean touches your cheek and wipes a tear there. He then tilts his head to take a better look at the glaring bite on your neck. He grimaces and lets out an angry exhale, his jaw clenching, but he finishes cutting through the ropes.

When your hands are finally free, you hiss in relief, rubbing some of the sting out of them. It allows you to reach for his face and bring him in for a quick, but hard kiss. And then another for good measure.

Dean accepts them, briefly savoring them with his eyes closed, but he has to shift his attention as he starts on the ropes around your ankles next.

Neither of you notice the way Carter looks away from the scene. He feels out of place, and even hides a thread of jealousy deep down.

Meanwhile, Sam keeps watch with his machete at the ready. He gestures at Carter to keep an eye on the stairs leading to the second floor while he watches the door to the back room.

When you’re completely free, Dean helps you stand. He steadies you with an arm around your waist when you sway a bit on your feet. You’ve lost enough blood that it’s a problem, but you assure him wordlessly that you just need a moment. Then, you give him a nod, and he starts to move with you towards the door.

But danger comes—just not from upstairs or the back room.

The vampires swarm in from both entrances to the barn.

A fight ensues, in which Dean’s top priority is keeping you safe, and yours is making sure his blind spots are covered. Your main problem is that you don’t have a weapon, and neither does Carter. He eventually gets beat down, while Sam and Dean are also overpowered, and you’re all but thrown to the ground.

Jenny comes in right as Carter and Dean are pinned down beside one another by three vampires.

“Wait…I know you,” Dean realizes. It takes him another moment, but soon he’s able to connect the familiar face with a name.

“Jenny.” The name falls from his lips in wonder. It’s been fifteen years, but he almost never forgets a face. He smirks, giving a cocky look to the vampires holding him down.

“We tried to kill each other back in the day. Ain’t that a bitch?”

“That’s all you remember?” Jenny asks, raising a brow. “Do you remember Luther and Kate?”

Dean has to wrack his brain, but it does trigger a memory of how his dad shot Luther, a centuries’ old vampire, with the Colt.

“Well, if I remember right, we left Kate alive,” he says, maintaining a cocky quirk of his brow. “Eh, bit sloppy, but we were young. What’re ya gonna do?”

He notices you on the ground behind Kate. You’re inching towards a scythe from the collection of rusty farming equipment that spans each corner of the barn. Slowly, your hand wraps around the farming tool.

Jenny’s face becomes grim, and even colored with pain.

“Yeah, well, Kate got reckless. It wasn’t long before another hunter found us. She saved me,” she says. “But because of you, she lost the only man she ever loved. And I lost my sister.”

Jenny smiles, and it’s all fangs.

“So today, I get dibs.”

With a short yell of strain, you heft the heavy scythe and behead Jenny.

The distraction gives Sam an opening to get ahold of his own dropped machete. He beheads one of the vampires that’s holding Dean. He and Carter are then able to break free of the other two in order to keep fighting.

However, Nate, the vampire that bit you, is drawn to your scent—to the blood from your open wound. He sniffs the air, and his gaze finds you with a smirk.

He grabs your scythe, and with a force that stuns you, he twists it out of your grip and backhands you hard. You cry out and stumble to the ground. Before he can take advantage of it, Dean grabs the vampire’s arm and punches him.

Nate grapples with him, his larger frame and enhanced strength allowing him to push Dean back. The two are headed for a large wooden support beam. As you pick yourself up from the floor, you think you see something protruding from the beam. It sends up a flare in your subconscious.

So when Nate starts bulldozing Dean back like a linebacker, you use what strength you have to charge at the vampire. Your body collides with his side, and the two of you crash onto the dusty ground.

Dean falls hard against the beam, but he trips back at a lower angle. He cracks his head against the wood and slides down to the ground onto his seat. He’s winded, probably half-concussed, but when he looks up and over his shoulder, he sees a long piece of rebar sticking out of the beam. He just barely missed it.

Well, fuck me, he thinks.

Nate elbows you off of him and knocks you onto the ground, where he grabs your hair and yanks your head to the side. You wince in pain as you struggle and push against his chest, but it’s no use. He’s got you pinned. His fangs descend.

Until Dean takes hold of him by the shoulders and bodily hefts him off of you. It gives you a chance to breathe and scramble to your feet. Nate punches Dean solidly across his face, keeping him occupied.

You look around for any weapon you can use. You see a flash of silver on the ground a few feet away, and you realize it’s Dean’s forgotten machete. You attempt to get by the vampire to grab it, but Nate catches you with the edge of his backhand.

You stumble, though you don’t entirely go down as you try to catch your breath. While Dean is trying to hold him back by his arm, Nate kicks you in the side, sending you crashing toward what looks like an old weedwhacker. Except, it’s mostly made of metal.

You fall onto it hard.

Meanwhile, Dean finally sees the machete he dropped. He picks it up and gives an instinctive, powerful swing. It decapitates Nate, and the large body falls to the ground with a heavy thump.

Dean heaves for breath afterward. He looks over and sees that Sam and Carter have finished up with the others.

Dean turns back to find you, and he notices that you’re still sprawled out against some farming tools.

“Hey, you okay?” he asks. He goes to you and grabs your arm to help you up, but you stop him with a hiss.

“Wait, wait, Dean,” you raise a hand at him.

You look up at him with panic in your eyes. You have a white-knuckle grip on an iron handle.

When you try to push your body up, Dean realizes, with no small amount of horror, that you’re stuck.

You’ve fallen straight onto a rusty, circular blade.

Dean immediately lowers to his knees beside you. His hand grips your shoulder.

“Oh, God,” you utter. “I can’t move.”

Dean takes maybe half a beat, before his brain kicks into high gear.

“Sam!” he barks.

Hearing the urgency in his brother’s voice, Sam rushes over on your other side. His eyes are wide when he realizes what’s happening, but he meets Dean’s steely gaze.

Together they maneuver the saw in such a way that it allows you to raise up to your knees, despite your whimpers of pain. Already small streams of blood fall from your body and down the side of the blade.

Sam and Dean share a knowing look. They really shouldn’t take out the blade until they get you to a hospital, but this tool is too damn big. There’s no way to stabilize you.

“Okay, it’s okay��we’re gonna have to take this out so we can get you to the car,” Dean says, rubbing a hand over his mouth. It’s a nervous tick you know well. You nod in agreement, even though you know this is about to hurt like fucking hell.

Sam braces you from behind, while Dean takes the saw by the handle and carefully takes the blade out of your side. Your scream echoes horribly in the barn, making his jaw lock and his body tense up even more, but he carries through with his task. Once the blade is free, Dean tosses it away.

Sam lays you down and takes off his jacket and his outer layer of plaid, as does Dean. One of the shirts is bundled like packing, to press against your gaping wound, while the other flannel is used to keep it all tied tightly around your waist. It’s white-hot agony all throughout the process, and you definitely black out for a few moments, your eyelids fluttering shut.

When you do come to, you try your best to contain your pain—and work through the way your head is swimming toward falling into shock.

“It’s okay, sweetheart. We gotcha,” Dean murmurs. His hands work as quickly as possible while trying not to do more damage to your body.

All the while, Carter watches in worry.

Once you’re as wrapped up and stabilized as you can be, you, Sam, and Dean realize that both flannels are slowly being soaked with your blood. Dean wastes no time in positioning you in his arms. Sam helps him raise you off the ground, but Dean takes you fully and starts to carry you out of the barn. Sam opens the door for him and follows Dean’s lead, with Carter in tow.

You manage to raise your head enough to look up at Dean. He looks down on you, noting that your normally tan face is already far too pale. And still, the right side of your neck is bloody and raw.

“You’re really gonna carry me all the way to the car?” you ask weakly.

“You got a problem with that?” Dean retorts, with an attempt at a smile.

His voice is steady, but you see everything in his eyes. You see the depths of his worry, and his fear. For once, you don’t know how to soothe him. You grab onto the front of his black undershirt and rest your head against his chest, just trying to keep your eyes open.

“You’re gonna be fine, baby,” he says. “We can fix this. Just stay with me, okay?”

You feel his lips press a quick kiss to your forehead.

You try your best to believe him.

AN: ...Well, sort of "fixed" it?

I know, I know, I'm sorry. 🫣 But trust me, we're not done yet...

Next Time:

Dean’s heartbeat pounds in his ears.

By the time the four of you reach the Impala, you’re in a cold sweat, pale, and barely conscious. Dean unlocks the car and carefully seats you on one side of the backseat, while Sam hurries to the other side. He then helps guide you in as Dean maneuvers you into laying across the backseat. Sam’s going to stay with you for the ride to the hospital.

“Watch her head,” Dean warns, his tone sharp.

“I got her,” Sam assures. He holds you securely against his chest, with your head tucked under his chin.

Dean lets out an unsteady breath. When he turns around, Carter’s standing too close, peering at you anxiously.

“Get her to a hospital—” he starts to say, but Dean’s blood-stained fist cuts off his words, cracking against his jaw.

Dean put all his strength into that one.

▶️ Keep Reading: PART 3 (Finale!)

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hells-plaid-angel · 10 months ago

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Dean had the lung capacity of a deep-sea diver. After years of holding his breath as he drove through tunnels, he'd honed the skill, only gasping for breath when the Impala's windshield broke through the darkness and into the light. The habit had formed as a child but lingered into adulthood as most childhood fantasies did.

As a boy, his father raised him on superstition. If you made a wish when the world was swallowed by blackness and you could hold your breath until the end of a tunnel, that wish would come true. Over the years he'd wished for a hundred stupid things. He'd wished his mother was still alive, that he lived a normal life or that a pretty girl would look his way. He'd wished his father had been the one who'd died in the fire. He wished he didn't feel that way.

Once Dean had blacked out in the backseat of the Impala when driving the I-90 through Boston. He'd come to with Sammy squealing like a stuck pig and John Winchester cursing like a sailor. For the next year, being in Massachusetts made him feel light-headed.

Kids and old men are similar in their love of rituals. Dean was no longer a child, but he wasn't ready to call himself an old man. The ritual had changed over the years, but at its heart, it was always the same.

Dean found his new ritual each night he woke from a nightmare. That night, he found himself in the bunker. The image of his hands covered in blood lingered in the darkness of the room. He held his breath wishing for the dream not to be true. He only breathed when he switched on the lights and found his hands clean. In his dreams, Cas was always dying.

The nightmares weren't helped by the fact that the angel had died, numerous times. His sleep-addled mind took time to sort fact from fiction. Had Cas come back this time?

Dean Winchester knew better than anybody that death didn't always stick. Dean Winchester knew better than anybody that the universe liked to make him suffer. Both statements were equally true.

In the nightmare, Cas had died in his arms. He'd awoken, held his breath, switched on the lights and choked out a breath, which sounded suspiciously like a sob. When the drowning feeling reseeded he found himself exiting his bedroom, searching for the object of his nightmares as a drowning man searches for land.

Dean would never admit to himself he was looking for Cas, but the knowledge was there. There were many things Dean knew but wasn't ready to admit.

Dean found the angel in the library of the bunker, absentmindedly flicking through ancient texts and Sam's collection of trashy fitness and lifestyle magazines indiscriminately. A heavy weight on his chest dissipated. Cas looked up at Dean's sharp inhale. He could breathe again.

"Hello, Dean," the angel greeted, as though he were late to some prearranged meeting.

"Morning, Cas," Dean spoke, for lack of a better topic of conversation. He collapsed into the seat beside Cas.

"It's currently 3:15 a.m. and the sun isn't scheduled to rise until 5:25."

"Thanks for the weather report, buddy," Dean griped. His tone lacked the usual exasperated edge he used when Cas said something that struck him as particularly alien, which was often.

"How are you, Dean? You seem... unmoored."

People in the twenty-first century didn't use words like 'unmoored'. Dean knew exactly what Cas wasn't saying. Dean seemed upset. If there was one thing Dean didn't cope well with, it was being anything less than 'fine'. They were experts in each other's pathology, which would always feel strange. Dean wasn't used to being known.

"Can we talk about something else?" Dean had been working on the concept of denial. However, avoidance was fair game.

"If I'm going to be staying here long term, I want to buy better magazines," Cas stated, tossing the magazine haphazardly. He'd been staying for longer than usual. Dean kept feeling like he was holding his breath, waiting for the angel to disappear.

"We can drive into town come morning. Need to clear my head anyway."

"You haven't been sleeping well," Cas observed, his eyes shifting their attention to Dean. The blue-grey eyes said more than his words. His eyes were an ocean to an inexperienced swimmer. Not everyone could read them. Dean could. There was something more to them. A strong rip beneath steady water. There was a storm raging beneath the surface.

"It's creepy that you've noticed that," Dean remarked.

"You haven't been very quiet."

Dean wondered how much Cas heard. Did he talk in his sleep? Did he call out Cas' name in the night? Had the angel heard the moments of weakness where Dean had let himself muffle sobs behind his hand?

"This isn't changing the subject."

"I've been changing the subject all week. Evidently, it's not working," Cas' voice was resolute.

He and Dean shared their stubbornness, which always led to unproductive stalemates. They were two bucks with their antlers interlocked, starving and trapped in their own idiocy.

"The thing about being human, Cas, is that things don't magically just get fixed because you want them to." Dean rebuked.

"I'm aware, but have you actually tried to fix it?"

They were fighting. Why were they fighting?

"Talking never really solved much in my line of work. You know that."

"Is this about work?" Cas questioned.

They hadn't had any difficult hunts in weeks. Cas knew it wasn't about the job. He wanted Dean to know he knew.

"It doesn't matter what it's about. That's not the point. You don't get it." Dean felt the truth pushing its way up to the surface.

"Then help me understand."

"The problem —." Dean began before he felt anger or frustration choke the words from him.

"The problem is you keep dying."

He'd expected Cas to baulk at the confession. Dean wasn't one for sharing fears or feelings. What he hadn't expected was the look of horror that settled on the angel's face.

Dean scowled and scrubbed at his cheek, quietly cursing himself when his palm pulled back wet. Over the years, he'd gotten good at crying quietly. He hated that he was able to hide it from himself. Men didn't cry. Dean didn't cry. It was a lie, not so much a superstition, but a fable. A story he told himself.

"Dean I — I didn't realise my death... affected you so much. I apologise for the oversight," Cas spoke slowly, as though deliberately choosing each word with care.

How the hell could Cas not know his death, every goddamn one, hurt Dean? Cas was family.

"Yeah, well, I pegged you for a lot of things, Cas. Stupid wasn't one of 'em. So just... Be careful. I'm going to bed," Dean mumbled, praying for a quick exit.

Cas grabbed Dean's arm as he passed, stilling him. Dean felt the restriction return to his throat. He held his breath. He wished Cas knew what he meant without having to say it out loud.

Neither man spoke. The silence stretched long and loud between them. Cas clung to Dean's arm like a dying man to a life raft. For his part, Dean was just trying to stay afloat. Slowly, almost imperceptibly so, Cas' palm slid down to hold Dean's hand. Dean let him, which was as good as a confession.

There would be no confessions. A confession implied guilt, something that Dean had in droves, but not about Cas. It wasn't a lie so much as it was a fable. If a story was told long enough it became history.

He and Cas were still in the dark, biding time between apocalypses. He wished that when they finally found themselves in brighter times, there would be no need for confessions.

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