#supernatural slow burn

[godmadeaterribleerror]

Chapter 1 - In My Brain and In My Blood

Series Masterlist - Main Masterlist

Author's Note: This story is non-canon compliant rewrite, but primarily plot wise. Think of it as we're cooking with all the same ingredients (i.e lore, characters, setting, and backstory) but with one change (you) that gets us to a drastically different ending.

What the means is that there will be a lot of similar plot points to the real Supernatural, but the further we go through the story the more it will diverge. I've also take some creative labor with the reader, adding lore that's defiantly not a part of canon, but crucial to this story.

If you have any questions about this, feel free to ask! If not, I hope you enjoy the story!

Chapter title is from The End by Halsey

Word Count: 16.3k

Chapter Summary/Warnings: See the Masterlist for a Summary. Contains usual tags.

Tags: Dean Winchester/Female Reader, enemies to friends to lovers, canon divergence, slow burn, smut, angst, fluff

Chapter 2

Read on A03!

You know a few things about the dark.

It’s alive inside you. It has been your whole life. It makes your words too harsh and your brain too sharp and your love too big. It’s makes you too fragile, but still too sharp, and raises everything to a dangerous height you don’t know how to come down from. It makes everyone move away because they can see it. You can see it, always.

It covers every corner of your body, and grows roots in something white in your chest. Something no one but you can see. You’d asked your dad once—does he feel it too, feel the strange glow and pull of everything beautiful around you—and he’d looked at you like you were insane.

You might be.

But it’s hard not to be, in this line of work. 

Hunting. Monsters and ghosts and nightmares, all around you and calling to you in your sleep. It’s where most of the darkness lives, in the way that few monsters lay hands on you, no matter how much of their blood you shed. Ghosts will treat you like any other, but the monsters look at you like they recognize you. 

Like you’re one of them.

And that’s something you’ve never told your dad. You never will. He already hates that you do this, and not a month goes by where he doesn’t glare at you from across the table, beer bottle in hand, and ask you to stop.

“Kiddo,” he’d grunted the last time, narrowing his eyes at you over dinner. “That was the last one.”

“You say that every time-“

“And you ain’t listenin’ to me every time!” He’d snapped. “You don’t have to do this shit, not with your-“ He’d made a face, giving you a pointed look. “Ya’ know. Thing.”

“Witch.” You’d sighed. “You’re allowed to say it. I’m a witch.”

“You ain’t a witch-“

“I’m not a normal witch.” You’d corrected with a frown, picking at the wood of the table. “But I’m still not human.”

“You’re human,” he’d muttered your name, and when you’d looked up, he’d been staring at you with an exhausted expression and you’d felt something eat at your tongue. “But you’re right. You ain’t normal, kiddo, and it’s gonna get you fuckin’ killed-“

“It hasn’t yet-“

“It will. It always does.” He’d stood, giving you one last, tired look. “And I’m not tryin’ to lose you too.”

You’d given him a close-lipped smile. “You won’t lose me. I’m being careful.”

He’d rolled his eyes—you were being careful, and he knew it, but it still pissed him off—and nodded. And that had been it.

It’s like that every time. He tells you to quit, because you don’t need to do this, and you tell him you have to. You’re good at it. You’re more resourceful than half the hunters he knows, smarter than all of them, and better by a mile. He’d trained you. He hadn’t wanted to, but he’d realized it was either him teaching you or you learning through trial and error, and he’d decided you being a pain in his freakin’ ass was better than you being dead.

Because—in the end—all he really cares about is that you’re safe. It’s why you know to be careful, why you know what hunts to call for backup on, and why you know that—if you need to—you can crawl back home with your guts in your hand and he won’t yell at you until you’re better. Keeping you safe is his job, more than hunting, more than research, more than cars. He’d chosen to do it when he’d found you—eight years old and starving on the side of a highway—and it had stayed that way ever since. It didn’t matter what you were, what seemed to be inside of you, or how you were certainly more trouble that you were worth. He always made sure you were safe.

Safe from your real family, for what you know and refuse to be. Safe from the worst of the monsters and ghosts, who don’t seem to care for that horrible kinship you don’t know how to stop. Safe from hunters, and how they’ll hate you for what you know how to do.

Safe from John Winchester, and how he’ll put a bullet in your brain without question for what you don’t know how to change.

It’s the top rule. Stay away from the Winchesters. When John comes around for a hunt, hide in your room. When he drops his boys off before vanishing for weeks at a time, sneak out and call your uncle. He’ll pick you up, keep you safe, and drop you back home when the brothers leave. They can’t see you, because they’re loyal to their father and will tell him about the witch-girl who made the wind howl louder than it should’ve. John can’t know about you, because he’s a complicated man with a good heart, but he’ll hurt you worse than any ghost or monster could. 

But you have to say—at least from this distance—he doesn’t look that dangerous.

You know it’s him. You recognize his car in the parking lot from seeing it in your dad’s yard, and recognize his voice from the living room of your house. It’s clearer now—no longer muffled through a door you’d keep an ear pressed to—and you’re certain it’s him. 

And he’s just a man. A broad-shouldered, tired man with a face that doesn’t seem like it’s ever smiledand dark hair that’s streaked with slight silver. He even sounds exhausted, his voice laced with a thin irritation he either doesn’t know how to hide, or doesn’t care to.

“Dean,” he grunts, and you can’t see who he’s talking to, the bookshelves of the library only revealing John’s cold, set face. “Go back to the morgue and look at the bodies again. See if you can get a blood type on the vics.”

“A blood type?” A second voice, this one so clearly younger, a little defiant and bright, asks. “Dad, why do we care about their blood type-“

“Because this bitch is spilling it left and right, and we need to work out what skin she’s got in that game.” John’s words are short, impatient. “And you’re not here to ask me questions, Sam, you’re here to get through these damn books. Dean, go to the morgue.”

“Yes, sir.” That’s a third voice. It’s pretty. Deeper than the second—Sam’s—but not as tired as John’s. Mostly just cautious. “Can I, uh, can I take Sammy-“

“No.” John snaps. “I need him here for the readin’. Take the car and go.”

There’s a soft sound of metal ringing through the air, a scrape of wood on the floor, and you almost don’t move fast enough. You almost don’t duck behind the shelf in time for the third voice—the pretty one, Dean—to pass you, humming something you’d recognize if you weren’t lost in your panic.

Dean doesn’t see you.

But you see him.

And it’s not just his voice that’s pretty. 

You don’t know a lot about the Winchester brothers. Only what your dad has told you. Dean’s three years older than you, Sam’s a year younger. Dean likes music, Sam likes books. They’re both good boys—better than your dad seems to think John deserves, although he’ll never say that out loud—but Sam can be defiant and Dean can be trouble.

You hope Dean’s trouble. He has to be, when he looks like that. 

Because in only a split second of his side profile, you’re sure Dean Winchester is the prettiest man you’ve ever seen. Will ever see. It’s almost ethereal, and a little unfair. All of his features are clean and strong, like someone carved him from marble, but there’s a scar you could see on his jaw and a cut on his lower lip that made him seem human. Made his seem tangible. 

Touchable.

You’d like to touch him. You’ve seen him once, but everything in your body seems to think the world will collapse if you don’t touch him now. If you don’t at least talk to him. Hear his deep, charming voice directed at you. See at his face up close, see it’s clear resemble to John that feels pointless, because Dean looks like he smiles. He looks like he’s meant to smile, and you’d really like to find out if he’d smile at you. 

And that white thing—the one you feel all the time—seems to really like him. Even the darkness is trying to reach out to him, move into him, and you’re not really sure what the fuck is happening. He’d just walked past you, and your body is suddenly trapped by something overwhelming and dizzying in your lungs, your every nerve prickling the longer your brain circles him. The longer it spirals around his beautiful face, and full lips, and the way his voice sounded like something even bigger than the darkness in your body-

“Hey, Dad?” That same voice cuts through your thoughts, a little raised as Dean calls between the shelves. “Are you feeling anything from the beer earlier?”

“No.” John’s voice is clipped as he responds, and you can hear the frown in his voice. “You feelin’ alright, son?”

“Yeah, uh-“ There’s a heavy pause, and you can hear Dean shuffling slightly just out of your sight. “I dunno. Must’ve stood up too fast.”

“Dad, if he feels light headed he might not be safe to drive-“

“I’m alright, Sammy.” Dean’s words are fast. Not frantic, but rapid. “Nothing’s gonna happen to the car, Dad, I promise.”

John grunts. “Better not. Get moving, Dean, we don’t got all night.”

“Yes, sir.” 

You hear Dean shuffle away, sounds of flipping paper and scratching pencils re-filling the air, and you’re trapped in your spot. You shouldn’t follow Dean. Following Dean will almost certainly end in meeting John, and that’s the one thing you’re never supposed to do. Your dad doesn’t fight you when you leave for months at a time, or cross paths with other hunters, or run dangerous scams to keep yourself afloat. He’s okay with more than he probably should be, and he never tells you that you can’t do something. 

But you can’t talk to John Winchester. 

He can’t know who you are. What you are.

So you can’t follow Dean. Your brain is deeply aware that following Dean would be a truly horrible idea, and your body seems to be on board. There’s iron around your lungs when John mutters something to Sam, and a sore shot of electrically whenever one of them stands up to move books around. You’re really good at running. You know exactly when to call it and go. You can sense danger so easily—it’s the same chill of needles ice running up your spine, every single time—and John is dangerous. And you really shouldn’t follow Dean.

But the White thing keeps bucking around inside you. You can almost see it rush and roar in the air, feel it thrash deep down—past your heart chamber and embedded a little to the right—to try and follow Dean Winchester. And it feeds the darkness. It starts to twinge and pulse, seeping and infecting your muscles and blood, locking around your skull and making everything far too big. You can feel it all. The books on the shelves that all read Dean, and the squeak of the floors that say his name, and the lights start to flicker as the air turns humid and cool.

“Dad-“

“I’m seein’ it, Sammy, grab the gun-“

You raise the back of your hand to your mouth and bite. Hard. Grounding yourself before the flood can burst out of your body, before John Winchester could find out who you are in the worst way possible.

And when you run—out the back and to your stolen Lexus—you don’t even realize where you’re going until you’re halfway there.

To the morgue.

After Dean.

It’s a terrible idea. You have ten, long minutes of driving to figure out every way in which this is a terrible idea. You don’t know him. This will distract you from the case. John Winchester will try to kill you. Your dad will kill you. And there’s a high chance it will all be for nothing, because everything in you that’s calling to Dean belongs to that white thing. And that’s a part of you, and no one else. There’s a chance that this—whatever the fuck this is—is something driven by what you are, what’s wrong with you, so Dean won’t feel it at all.

You know all of that. And you still make it the whole drive without turning around. You park and rifle through your glove compartment for a fake ID, pull on your stiff, too-itchy well officer, would a fraud wear this? Jacket, and still don’t turn the engine back on and book it out of town. You even manage to justify it. You’re working this case too. You were here first. You’d noticed the blood thing from the start—it’s why you took the case—but you just hadn’t gotten to the morgue yet. You’d already been planning on it, and Dean just happens to be here at the same time. 

No matter what, you’ll get through it. You always get through it. And this might be a horrible idea, but that knowledge won’t stop you from stepping out of the car and making your way to the morgue. Know something has never really stopped you, and no amount of twisting bile in your gut—telling you to run, because you don’t love life, but you’d really rather not be murdered today—is going to prevent you from doing this. Nothing is stronger than the White in your chest, and it wants to talk to Dean Winchester. 

So that’s exactly what you’re going to do.

It is, as always, worryingly easy to get into the morgue. Half of the work is flashing the badge and saying the right words—Agent Smith, from the insurance company, I need to take a look at the autopsies for the claims—but most of it is the confidence. You carry yourself like a haughty, too-good-for-this-morgue insurance agent. Your chin is raised when you stop at the desk, and your words to the receptionist are impatient and clipped, and God, it makes you feel like the scum of the earth how she’s nervous and apologetic, but you get in the door. You always get in the door, because this is the simple part. The smiles with teeth, and the lies you spit through them are so fucking simple.

The hard part is always different. Sometimes it’s the ghosts that follow you after a failure, the ones that can’t be killed with salt and fire. Sometimes it’s long nights that you don’t have time tp sleep, and the tug and rot of that darkness in your chest tries to push to the surface. Sometimes it’s a puzzle you barely manage to solve, and it costs a little bit more of your flesh and soul each time.

But today, it’s Dean Winchester. Or, as the receptionist calls him, Officer Costello.

“Officer?” You raise your brows. “So the cops are looking into a serial killer.”

“I, um-“ The receptionist flushes, her eyes widening slightly. “I don’t know, he just said he was from a town over, and our Chief asked him to take a look, I’m not-“

“I’ll just ask him while I’m in there.” You shrug, the receptionist’s mouth opens in likely protest, and you call over your shoulder as you walk away. “I need to know for the report!”

You push through the doors—nobody chasing after you a sign of success—turn into the mortuary’s office, and freeze at the sight before you. 

Dean’s hunched over the mortuary’s desk, frowning at the largest stack of papers you’ve ever seen, and shit, he’s even prettier up close. Spiky hair and slightly tanned, freckled skin, rough looking hands sorting through the files and full lips in a frown and what the fuck is happening to you-

His head shoots up, eyes widening—green eyes, deep and vibrant and you need to get a goddamn grip—and you stare at each other for a long, confusing second before he finally speaks.

“Ma’am, if you could wait for the doctor outside please, this is, uh, official police business-“

You scoff, even as your whole body hums from the deep, smooth sound of his voice. “Is that really the excuse you’re going to use?”

Dean tenses, dropping the papers on the desk and rising to his full height, glaring down at you. He’s really tall, and broad, and probably warm-

“Excuse me? If you don’t exit this office right now, I’ll have reason to put you under arrest-“

“What reason?”

He blinks at you. “Interfering in police business-“

“Fake police business?”

“I’m not, this isn’t-“ Dean shakes his head, eyes narrowing on yours. “Who the hell are you?”

“I’m a fake insurance agent.” You lift your badge up from him to see, giving a sweet, fake smile. “And you’re a hunter.”

“Lady, I don’t know what the hell you’re talkin’ about-“

“I think you do.” You step forward, dropping into a seat across the desk. “To start, you’re definitely not a cop. Cops don’t drive muscle cars and raid morgue documents.”

He frowns, still watching you wearily. “How’d you know that’s my car?”

You’d slipped a little. You shouldn’t know that’s the Winchester’s car. But you’re quick on your feet, and by the time you say the lie it might as well be the truth. “Only three cars in the lot. Mine, the black one, and a minivan. And you don’t really seem like a minivan guy.”

Dean grunts, his body still braced and words tense. “I could be allowed to drive whatever car I want on duty-“

You give him an amused expression, tucking your knees into your chest as you lean back in your seat.  “You’re like, twenty. There’s no way they’d let you drive your own car. Or,” you raise your brows. “Ask you investigate a bunch of weird murders by yourself.”

Dean frowns, but drops in the swivel chair behind the desk. “I’m twenty-one,” he mutters, and you snort. 

“Congratulations-“

“And you,” his eyes shoot to yours, voice dropping into a low drawl that felt like it could be dangerous, but mostly made you feel a little fuzzy. “Haven’t answered my question. Who are you?”

You say your full name—the real one, that you’d been given at birth and he’d never connect to your dad—and drop your feet back to the floor, extending your hand across the desk. “I’m a hunter too.”

Dean chuckles, but meets your hand with a grin. “Yeah, I figured that part out myself, Princess. Dean Winchester.”

You shake his hand, and your smile must make you look like an idiot. It’s far too wide just from him telling you his name and touching your skin—he is warm, and his hands are calloused and big and still so soft—but there’s something like lightning sparking and shooting over your skin, and the White inside you is shining like a star. Pulsing and glowing and molding with the darkness. Making nothing really seem that bad at all. 

Dean’s smiling back. And you’d been right. His face is meant to smile. It’s meant to have this broad, cocky grin that’s full of teasing joy and a bright-eyed delight in something you can’t quite place. You really can’t tell if he can feel it. There’s a glint in his eyes that’s full of promises, but you can’t figure out if he can feel this. This raging tug in your body that keeps your hand in his longer than it needs to be, that makes his skin feel like a furnace and your heart feel right in your body.

He might. He really might feel it. His hand stays in yours as well, his grip a little tighter than it needs to be, and when you manage to pull away, he clears his throat—a small, adorable blush covering his pretty face—and stares at you like you’ve fallen from the sky, and you’re still covered in stardust.

“So, uh,” Dean glances down at the papers, then back to you. “You here for the autopsy reports?”

You nod, crossing your legs under your body. “Yep. You gonna share?”

“That depends.” Dean shrugs, shooting you another, very mind-numbing smirk. “You gonna help us out?”

“Us?” You tilt your head at him, twisting a ring on your finger. “You’ve got a partner?”

“Partners.” Dean corrects you with a grin. “My dad and brother. We always hunt together, it’s safer and Sammy’s still a kid, so-“ He cuts himself off, his face falling into a small frown. “Do you, are you hunting alone?”

“Mostly, yeah.” You shrug. “But I can help you out-“

“You, you shouldn’t be hunting alone.” Dean cuts you off with a shake of his head, his voice almost disbelieving. “It’s not safe. Gonna get you killed.”

“Uh huh.” You narrow your eyes, your voice becoming dry and bored. “Do you want my help, Dean Winchester?”

“Sure, but-“

“Then drop it, give me the papers, and let me help.”

He frowns. “You’re kinda bossy.”

“Yeah, well, you’re kinda-“

“It’s not bad.” He pushes some of the files across the desk, shooting you a wink. “Just making sure you know.”

“Oh.” You stare at him. He’s so pretty, and his smile does weird things to your gut and ribs and the White inside of you. “Uh-“

“I’ll take these.” Dean taps the files still in front of him, watching you with a strange expression. “You got those?”

“Sure.” You mumble, pulling the papers into your lap. “Um, thanks.”

“Don’t worry about it.” He shrugs. “More hands, we’ll be done faster. You, uh, you know what you’re lookin’ for-“

“Blood.” You flip open the first file, playing with the corner of a page as you speak. “Every vic’s been covered in it. It’s uh,” you grimace slightly, an image of a corpse painted red flashing in your head. “It’s been really gross.”

Dean hums in agreement, giving you a curious look. “You’ve seen all the bodies?”

“Most of them,” you look down to the file, flipping through it until you find the blood report “I’ve been here for like, five days.”

“Huh.” He frowns, looking down to his own paper. “We’ve been here four. Only seen two of them.”

“Well, maybe I’m just better at my job.”

He laughs, and when you glance back up, he’s grinning. “Sure, Princess.”

You kick him under the desk, and he makes a fake sound of pain.

“What was that for?!“

“Making fun of me,” you stick your tongue out at him, not looking up from your papers. “Not very nice, Winchester.”

“You made fun of me-“

“And if you wanna kick me, I won’t stop you-“

“I’m not gonna kick a lady-“

“Well then.” You shrug, unable to fight the smile on your face. “That’s not my fault, is it?”

He huffs, his voice dropping to a low mutter you can still defiantly hear. “Bossy.”

“That’s not being bossy, it’s-“ You cut yourself off, leaning down to re-read the file in front of you. “Shit.”

“It is shit,” Dean complains, and you can hear the pout in his voice as you grab the next file in your stack, rushing through the report to find what you’re looking for. “You’re lucky I-“

“No, that’s not-” you look up at him, your brain moving too fast to fully linger on why you might be lucky. “Give me your file.”

Dean frowns, but slides the paper over the desk. “What-“

You raise your hand, scanning over the file and grinning as you find what you’re looking for. “I’ve got it.” 

“Got what-“

“That blood wasn’t only the vics. It was their’s, plus,” you turn the page for Dean to read, pointing to the words. “All the previous vics. Mixed together. That’s why there’s been more and more every time.”

“Oh.” Dean leans forward, scanning over the page. “Kinda like a really gross blood cocktail?”

“Exactly.” You grin at him. “I know what we’re looking for.”

He looks back up at you, raising his brows. “You gonna tell me, or-“

“It’s a moroi.” You drop the files, leaning back and pushing your feet back up on the desk. “It explains the messiness perfectly.”

“No,” Dean shakes his head. “My dad says it’s just a normal ghost with a weird thing for blood-“

“Your dad is wrong. It’s a moroi.”

Dean’s eyes narrow. “My dad’s never wrong. And he’s more experienced than both of us combined, he’d know if it was a moray-“

“Mo-roi-“

“And look,” Dean leans across the desk, pointing to the files. “All of them had the same blood type. That’s what Dad said to look for.”

“They have the same blood type because it’s a moroi.” You hold his gaze, because every single part of you might want this man in a way you can’t possibly begin to understand, but you’re also fucking right. “They’re Romanian vampire babies.’

“Vampire babies-“

“Evil infant spirits that didn’t get baptized. They’re really rare, but this-“ You tap the files with a smug grin. “Is their exact MO. Specific blood type that they’ve probably got a taste for, mixing it with their previous victims, incredibly sloppy.”

“Because they’re babies.” Dean mutters, frowning into the air. “And babies, uh, don’t know how to clean.”

You nod. “Because babies don’t know how to clean.”

“And you’re sure?” Dean looks down to the files, his tone cautious. “I mean, you said they’re kinda rare-“

“They are.” You shrug. “And that’s why I’m sure.”

Rare things are your specialty. Things that even the most experienced hunters don’t understand, that were hard to track and harder to kill. Things that were stranger than strange, darker than dark, worse than evil. Things that wouldn’t hurt you, and you’ve taught yourself every way kill. It’s why you’d taken this case in the first place.  It’s why you’re fucking right.

“You, uh,” Dean’s words are slow, like he’s picking them carefully. “You know how to kill these things?”

“Yep.”

“You wanna come with me? To explain it to Dad and Sammy?”

“I, um-“ You start to pick at the skin around your nails, your skin suddenly itching and a weight forming in your lungs. “I mean, I can just tell you how, and you can deal with it, and I can go-“

“Go?” Dean frowns, his brow drawn. “Where are you going?”

“Out of town.” You keep your voice strong and even, because no matter how much the White inside you seems to be trying to move into Dean—no matter how much you’d really like to stay in this office and talk to him for a million years—you have to go. You cannot meet John Winchester. “If your Dad’s as good as you say-“

“He is-“

“Then you’ll be able to handle this. You don’t need me.”

“Well,” Dean leans over the desk, his voice dropping to a charming drawl. “If I ask you nicely, will you consider staying? Giving us a hand?”

You hold his gaze, unable to find enough willpower to shut him down immediately. “How nicely?” 

“Please,” Dean says your name, giving you a taunting, boyish grin, and the White inside you ignites. You’ve heard your name said a million ways, but never like that. Never in Dean’s voice, never like it’s some sort of curse and prayer all at once, never like it’s bigger than just a name. “Please stay in town and help me out. Please explain this moroi shit to my dad, and help us kill the son of a bitch. I’ll buy you a beer, and be in your debt for a million freakin’ years. Please.”

He’s already got you. If the way he said your name didn’t make you fold, the shit-eating smirk on his face and gleam in his eyes that tells you exactly how he plans to repay that debt made you cave. 

“I don’t drink.” You mumble, your face heated and eyes a little wide. “But I’ll take two million years and a promise that you’ll listen to me.”

Dean chuckles. “Awesome.” He grins, his eyes never leaving yours as he stands. “Let’s get outta here, I’ll drive you to our motel.”

That’s where you manage to draw a line. You’ll bow to Dean’s charming words and handsome face, you’ll follow him out of the office and into the parking lot, and you’ll agree to come meet John and Sam Winchester—no matter how stupid and deadly an idea it will certainly prove to be—but you’ll drive yourself. You didn’t steal that Lexus not to drive it, and when things inevitably go sideways, you’ll need a car to escape in. 

“You sure?” Dean walks you to the Lexus, standing right at your side and watching you in a way the White seems to feel. “I mean, it’s not a problem-“

“I’m sure.” You grab your keys out of your pocket, stopping in front of the car. “All my shit is in here, and I can just follow you. It’ll be fine.”

“Well, how am I gonna know you won’t just drive off?” Dean doesn’t budge, barely sparing your car a glance. “Leave me to deal with the vampire babies alone?”

You give him a flat. “I won’t just drive off, Winchester-“

“You might.” He shrugs. “I don’t know you that well, you could be playing me-“

“I’m not- Fine.” You roll your eyes, shoving your badge into his hands. “You can hold onto that, and I’ll have to follow you to get it back. Happy?”

“Very.” Dean winks at you, flipping your badge open to read. “Agent Smith- Who’s Smith?”

“Nobody. Smith is the most common last name in United States.” You shrug, and Dean looks at you like you’re insane. “What?”

“Nothin’, I just-“ He shakes his head, huffing a low laugh. “It’s practical. Smart.”

You narrow your eyes. “But?”

“No but,” He says your name with a bright, cocky grin, and tucks your badge into his pocket. “Can I not call you smart?”

“Not when you don’t really mean it-“

“I mean it. You’re smart.” His grin grows, and it feels like it’s burning its way right into your heart. Kicking it up to a higher speed, warming it until your whole body feels lost in a misting haze. It’s so fucking weird. “Are all your badges Smith?”

“No.” You mutter, crossing your arms to try and stop your heart beating right out of your chest. “Smith is just insurance. Johnson does wildlife, Brown is a cop, and Miller’s FBI.”

“Huh,” Dean looks at you like he’s never seen anything more amusing in his life. It’s not really helpful. “Sammy’s gonna like you.”

“Sammy?”

“My brother.” Dean shrugs. “He’s smart too. Not half as pretty, but smart.”

You flush, leaning back to ground yourself against the cool metal of the car. “You don’t know me, Winchester. I might be a dumbass.”

Dean chuckles, shaking his head. “I don’t think so, sweetheart. Dumb people don’t know about vampire babies.”

“I’d argue vampire babies are the exact thing a dumb person would know about-“

“And I’d argue dumb people don’t say I’d argue.”

You scowl. “Touché.”

Dean laughs again. He needs to stop doing that. “Dumb people don’t say touché-“

“Shut up.” You kick him again, and this time his grin just becomes teasing and smug and a little fucking dizzying.

“That’s not nice, Princess-“

“I said shut up.” You mutter, turning to open your car door. “Go get in your car so we can actually do our jobs.” 

“Yes, ma’am.” Dean’s still grinning at you, his eyes widening as they finally flick to the Lexus. “Holy shit, you drive this?”

“Yeah.” You shrug, dropping into your seat and pointing across the lot to his car. “Go.”

Dean raises his hands in surrender. “Bossy.”

You glare at him. “Winchester-“

He gives you one last wink you feel deep in your core, closes your door, and walks away without another word. But—right after he climbs into the driver seat—he pulls out your badge, holds it up to the window, and mouths Follow me, or this is mine.

You roll your eyes, flip him off, and watch him laugh as he pulls out of the lot. And you could leave. Badges are easy to make, you’re not emotional attached to Agent Smith, and this is your last chance to keep yourself away from John Winchester. To listen to your every instinct, to your dad’s stern voice in your head, and run. It would be so fucking easy to run. To turn around and never look back, never allow yourself to indulge Dean Winchester further than one conversation.

But you don’t want to run. You want to follow this odd pull to him, follow him to the motel, follow him wherever else he seems to be going. Which is fucking insane, because you don’t know him, he doesn’t know you, and he’s almost certainly better off without you. Most people are. Hell, you’d be better off without you, if you could figure out how to do that.

And you know all that. But you still don’t want to run.

So you follow Dean out of the parking lot, through the winding backstreets of the town, and to a backwater motel. You park your car right next to his, close your eyes to take a long, steadying breath, and try to rationalize to yourself how this could possibly end up not blowing up in your face. You’ll keep a hold on yourself. John won’t know who you are, or what you are, or who you know, or what you know, or-

“Shit!” You jump as something raps on your window, and hear a loud laugh from outside your car.

You’ll get through this. You always do.

“You yelped.” Dean tells you as you climb out of the car, a wide, teasing grin on his face. “Real tough of you, Princess-“

“Suck my dick, Winchester.” You glare at him, and his grin only grows wider. “And stop calling me princess.”

“Nah,” Dean places his hand on your back, steering you towards the motel. “Suits you too well.”

“I don’t know what that means-“

“You don’t have to.” He smirks at you, and it does something impossible good to your brain. Makes it calm. A little fuzzy, a little smooth, but so fucking calm. “C’mon, I texted Dad that I found you, he and Sammy’ll be in our room.”

Dean Winchester is dangerous. You should be scratching and clawing and fighting like a feral animal to go, to get back in your car and as far away from here—from John Winchester—as possible. But he says I found you with a proud grin and puff of his chest like he’s bragging, and all that your stupid body knows how to do is lean slightly into his chest and follow him wherever he takes you. Somewhere dark, or somewhere horrible, or somewhere gray or somewhere safe.

Or just a shabby, paint-peeling motel room, where John Winchester and a shaggy haired kid are sitting around a table, looking at you—standing awkwardly in the doorway, watching them wearily, your back straight but arms crossed in defense—like you’re the strangest thing they’ve ever seen.

“This is, um,” Dean glances at you as he says your full name, and you realize he’s more tense than he’d been before. Standing a little taller, his eyes a little more guarded, his expression impossibly neutral. “She’s the hunter I mentioned.” Dean says your name again, pointing to the table as he continues. “That’s my dad, John, and my brother, Sammy.”

“Hi.” The kid—he’s taller than you, and barely younger, but there’s something about him that still says kid—offers you a small smile. “Do you, uh, do you hunt alone?”

“Yeah,” you give Sam a smile back, trying to force your tone to be casual, your body to relax, and your eyes not to wander to where John is tall in his seat, just watching you. “He tell you that?”

You jerk your head at Dean, who frowns. “So what if I did-“

“So, you’re being a real dramatic bitch about that. You’re not my dad, Winchester, let’s calm down.” You give him a small grin, and feel something odd and bright inflate in your chest when his mouth tugs up for the first time since you’ve walked into the room.

Dean looks like he’s going to say something back, but John clears his throat, and something curls and rots in your stomach at how quickly Dean goes rigid, how fast his mouth snaps shut. 

“You got a father, girl?”

You look at John, and he looks even more tired up close, in the dim light of the motel. More threatening as well, watching you like you’re prey, or a parasite, or a disease. Like you’re going to go feral and destroy everything in the room. It would sting less if he wasn’t right. If his attention wasn’t making your skin crawl and the White in you start to twist and pound to escape your body, the darkness rushing out as everything becomes big again. If you weren’t digging your nails into your palm to stop yourself from proving him right, and if you weren’t raising your chin in a weak attempt to be a little taller than you are. 

“I do.” You hold his gaze, and wonder if he can see the darkness. If he already knows what you are, and is trying to work out how to kill you. “We’re really close, actually.”

“He know you hunt?”

“He does.” You shrug. “He’s fine with it.”

That’s a lie. Your dad hates that you hunt. You’re certain the only reason he doesn’t lock you in his panic room to keep you away from the monsters and ghosts is because he knows you’d escape, and he’d never see you again. But John doesn’t know that, and you’re a fantastic liar, so if he doesn’t believe you it’s not because you don’t sell the words, it’s because he just doesn’t trust you. Because whatever you say, he’s going to keep looking at you like he can see right into your horrible center.

John’s face twitches, and as he leans slightly forward, you’re not sure Dean’s breathing at your side. “Your old man a hunter too?”

You nod, realize this is getting a little away from you, and start to run your thumb over your palm as John narrows his eyes.

“What’s his name?”

You use your real father’s name—your biological father, who you’ll never see again if you can help it—and it stings on your tongue. You hate that you have to say it. You hate that you have to repeat it, adding your real last name, but it works. John grunts, and looks away.

“Dean.”

“Yes, sir?”

“How old is she?”

“I, uh-“ Dean looks at you with wide eyes. “How old are you?”

You raise your brows. “How old do you think I am?”

“Twenty…” Dean scratches his head slightly, looking a little afraid. It would be adorable if this wasn’t such an oddly volatile situation. “Twenty-teen?”

“Twenty-teen?”

“I dunno, I mean you gotta be old than Sammy, and you sound like you’re old, but-“

“I sound like I’m old?”

“Just cause of the words you use! You look like you can’t be old than me, but I don’t know-“

“Jesus Christ, dude.” You take pity on Dean—who looks like he’s about to have a panic attack—and pat his shoulder as you speak. “I’m eighteen. And,” you look back to John, cooling your voice and narrowing your eyes. “I can speak for myself.”

John doesn’t waver. You can’t really imagine a world where he would. “I don’t doubt that, girl. But I ain’t lookin’ for help on this case, and you’re barely votin’ age-“

“I’m aware of my age.” You interrupt, crossing your arms over your chest. “But I’ve also been hunting, alone, since I was fifteen, and this,” you gesture through the air, holding John’s cold gaze. “Is my type of case. So you need my help.”

John scoffs. “It’s a ghost, sweetheart, me and my boys will be fine without you-“

“She says it’s not a ghost.” Dean mumbles, paling as John’s gaze shoots to him. “It’s, uh, a moroi?”

You hum in agreement, offering Dean a small grin that John doesn’t seem to miss.  

Sam raises his hand at the table, his expression open and curious. “What’s a moroi?”

“Romanian vampire baby.” Dean says, shooting Sam the first real, full grin you’ve seen on his face since you entered the motel room. “They never got a chance to learn who Mr. Clean is, which is why there’s been so much freakin’ blood everywhere. Right?”

Dean looks at you with a hopeful, bright expression, and it makes the White glow and sing as you nod.

“It’s a ghost.” John grunts, and when you look back to the table, he’s glaring at you. “We got freezin’ temperatures, EMF, and no break ins-“

“Because they’re death monsters. And they can shape-shift, into a guy, or a bug, or a cat.” You shrug. “Wouldn’t be that hard to get into a house.”

John scowls. “And you’d bet all our lives on this-“

“Yes.” You say, the words simple. You’re good at your fucking job, and there’s no doubt in your mind. “It is a moroi. I’ve hunted them before.”

“You have?” Sam’s eyes widen, his tone filled with something that might be admiration. “That’s so-“

John cuts Sam off with a raised hand, his attention never wavering from you. “Well,” he drawls your name, and it’s mocking and cruel and awful. The opposite of how Dean says it, in a way you hope to never hear again. “If you’re such an expert, how the hell do we kill the asshole.”

“Easy.” You shrug, as if there’s not something wired and painful in your muscles that’s trying to force you to run, run, run, far away from John Winchester and his cold voice. “You stab it in the heart with a nail.”

“With a nail.” John repeats, his voice flat, and you scowl. 

“Well, that, or,” you stand a little taller, making your voice cool and bored. “We throw a Romanian funeral for it, and find a living relative to walk around its grave three times with a candle.”

Dean makes a choked sound from off to the side, and when you look, he’s staring at you like you’d fallen from space again. John doesn’t look half as awestruck. He mostly looks pissed.

“This ain’t the time for jokes-“

“That’s not a joke.” You snap. “There are multiple ways to kill something, and that’s one of the ways you can deal with a moroi. It’s that, the nail, or burning resin on a Tuesday, then a Saturday.”

John laughs, no amusement or joy in the sound. “You might think your smart, kid, but how about I see a plan. Stabbin’ something in the heart ain’t gonna be easy, and hell, girl, you said they shape shift. How the fuck are you thinkin’ we find them-“

“There will be blood in its nails and eyes.” You hold your ground, but your palm grows red as you break skin. “And there is a pattern to the tarbets, we’ve just all been looking in the wrong place.”

“A pattern?” Sam’s eyes are still wide, his voice a little eager. “But none of the vics have been the same age, gender, ethnicity, occupation-“

“Have they all been parents? Lived near graveyards?”

All three Winchesters gape at you for a second, and Dean looks at John with wide eyes.

“Shit, Dad, she’s right.” He mutters, running a hand over his face. “The one we looked at yesterday, the house had one of those baby gates-“

“And we’ve driven past a graveyard every time.” Sam adds, looking between you and John with a nervous expression. “So, uh, it could be-“

“I know what it could be, Sam.” John grunts, his glare fully focused on Dean. “You willing to bet on her, son?” 

Dean looks at you, and he shouldn’t be—you’re a stranger, you’re a liar, you’re a monster that’s attracted to him like a magnet—but he nods. He stares at you like he doesn’t really understand what’s going on either, like he’s looking for a reason to not trust you and side with his father, but can’t find one. And—right before he looks back to his father—you see a flash in his eyes that makes you think he feels it. That whatever the fuck is happening to you, it’s happening to Dean too, and he’s just as helpless as you are to fight it.

“I am, sir.” He says, hands flexing at his side. “Sammy and I can do door duty, figure out who’s next on this things hit list-“

Sam frowns. “I don’t wanna do door duty-“

“Blame Dean,” John shrugs, giving Dean a curt nod. “Take my car and be back in two hours-“

You raise your hand, and John cuts himself off with a glower.

“What.”

“They don’t need to do door duty,” you say, your fingers running over your palm. “The moroi will only target parents of infants, so you can look for baby seats in cars. And it’ll all be near same cemetery. Five miles radius.” You catch Dean raising his brows at you, and shrug. “They don’t like to stray far from home.”

“And by home,” Sam jumps in, words slow as he connects the dots. “You’re talking about their grave.”

“Or their coffin.” You offer him a close-lipped smile. “But yeah. It’s already dusk, our best bet would be splitting up and patrolling a few streets until we see the thing. It’ll probably be in its regular form, at least until it spots a house.”

Dean frowns at you. “What’s that gonna look like?”

You wrinkle your nose. “Hairy. Bloody and hairy. It’ll be gross, you’ll see it.”

“And how,” John grunts. “Are you thinkin’ we split up.”

“We’ve got two cars.” You shrug. “Three if you have a second one-“

“We don’t.” John snaps. “And I took a fuckin’ taxi back here, ain’t no way I’m not driving my car, or lettin’ a little girl go off to hunt this on her own-“

“How honorable,” you mutter under your breath—careful to make sure Dean doesn’t hear you—and raise your voice back to a bored, flat tone.  “Then you’ll take your car, and I’ll take one of them,” you nod between Sam and Dean. “So we’re off in pairs.”

“Dad, I could go with her.” Dean takes a small step forward, his tone slightly nervous. “I mean, it would be safer for you to take Sammy. And you know I’d be careful.“

John grunts, jaw ticking, and you can see he’s considering it. That, somehow, you’ve convinced him to go with this, and he hasn’t put a bullet in your brain. There’s a frantic, wired part of you along your skin that’s certain he’s just waiting for an excuse, but for now you’ll take it. You’ll take Dean volunteering to go with you, John not killing you, and everyone winning when you’re right, because you will be. You’re not good for much, but you’re good for this. 

“I want you to drive.” John tells Dean, and you’ll allow it. If it keeps Dean near you—as you so confusingly and desperately crave—you’ll let him drive your stupid, fancy car. Fuck, you’ll let him run it into a ditch if he wants, as long as you’re there with him, and what the fuck is happening to you- 

Dean says your name, and you blink at him as he continues. “I, uh, if you’re good with it-“

“Sure, I don’t give a fuck.” You toss Dean your keys, and he frowns. “I mean, try not to total it, or do donuts-“

Dean gasps, his face full of mock offense that pulls a smile onto your face. “Do I look like a hooligan to you-“

You raise your brows. “Did you just say hooligan?”

“Yeah,” he grins at you, and nothing else seems that real. “It’s a fun word, don’t bash it-“

“I am not bashing it-“

“Kinda sounds like you’re bashin’ it-“

“Well, it kinda sounds like you’re going to try and do donuts in my car-“

“Princess, I would never-“

“Winchester, I don’t believe you-“

John coughs, loudly, and you and Dean fall silent. That keeps happening. You talk to Dean, and everything fades until you’re just smiling like an idiot and watching him like he’s the sun, and you’re just existing in his orbit. And he does the same thing. Dean’s face is red, and he’s staring at the floor as John glowers at him, but you keep catching his eyes darting to you, a small furrow on his brow that you wish you could ask him about. You wish you could ask him a million things. About his life, about his likes and dislikes, why his whole family hunts and what he thinks of your dad—the one he’d know, the one that’s going to murder you when he finds out what you’re doing right now—and if he can feel this too. He must. It’s like a drug, and it’s flashing and loud in the White, and making the darkness blur into something you think would be better. Into something you wouldn’t hate, molding with something that feels foreign but right, strange but just as powerful and certain as gravity. Something secret, that you think you should be fighting but can’t bring yourself to raise a weapon against. 

Something bigger than you. Bigger than him. Bigger than the White inside your chest and the darkness that’s pushed down, down, down as you force yourself to stay in place, and not either grab Dean’s face and scream—shout at him in a begging question of do you feel this, or am I going fucking insane—or run. Flee as John Winchester gives you one last look like he’s imaging your blood on the floor, and you climb into the passenger’s seat of the Lexus.

But you manage to keep it together, and you’ll have to settle for this. For talking to Dean as you patrol up and down a darkened suburban street with white-picket fences, your knees up on the dash and your fingers growing bloody as you pick at them to keep the darkness down. 

“So, uh,” Dean taps his hands on the wheel, staring out at the road. “Hunting.“

You blink at him, raising your brows. “What?”

“I just, mean how’d you end up doing it? You’re young-“

“You’re literally only three years old than me-“

“But I got Dad and Sammy.” He scowls. “You’re alone.”

“Yeah, we’ve establish that.” You cross your arms, curling slightly into your seat. “I’m really good at my job, Winchester, I’m not that worried.”

Dean chuckles, glancing at your half-pout with an amused expression. “Still Winchester? When am I gonna get the honor of her majesty using my first name?”

You glare at him, and it just makes his grin wider. “Shut up.”

He clicks his tongue. “Bossy.”

And he’s so confusingly adorable and handsome—in the soft, shimmering light of the streetlamps and fog—that you speak without even thinking. “You have to earn first names, Deano.”

He freezes for a second, and his grin becomes his whole face. Wide and charming, sweeping you off your feet and knocking the breath from your lungs without even touching you. 

“So,” he drawls, still smirking like an idiot. “Nicknames you’ll pass out like party favors, but I need to work to just be Dean.”

“Seems that way, doesn’t it?”

“Well, can I at least shoot down Deano?”

“Maybe,” you hum. “On what grounds?”

“I dunno,” he shrugs, eyes flashing in the low light. “It kinda makes me sound like a birthday clown?”

You giggle. A small, soft giggle that he pulls out of you with barely any effort, that you want to hate but can’t figure out how to. “Maybe you are a clown-“

“Birthday clown.” He corrects, drumming his fingers on the steering wheel. “Don’t drop the birthday part, that means I’ve got a job. And I can’t be a clown, Sammy’ll never speak to me again.” Dean glances at you, his voice dropping slightly. “He freakin’ hates clowns. Might shoot me before I explain that a pretty lady turned me into one against my will.”

You raise your brows, trying to push down the flush on your face from pretty lady. How he’d said the words like they were teasing, but still so serious, and looked at you with a small smirk when they had his intended effect. You can barely remember how to clear your throat and use words, let alone tease and spar with him when the White is blinding in your body.

“Unfortunately,” you manage to speak, nudging his shoulder with your own. “All sales are final. You’re Deano now.”

Dean rolls his eyes, but his grin doesn’t falter for a second. “Until I earn Dean, though, right?”

“If you earn Dean.”

He hums, shooting you another, oddly heated glance. “And what do I need to do for that?”

You only shrug, running your fingers over your palm to sooth the darkness. It’s starting to eat over your nerves and heart, trying reach out and touch Dean in a way you can’t allow, in a way that will end whatever this is before it begins. Dean only gives you a strange look, his smile still wide on his face.

“Well,” Dean says your whole name, over-pronouncing each syllable. “Am I allowed to return the favor?”

“What favor.”

“Callin’ you a nickname.” He winks at you, and it settles—warm and soft and strong—in your core. “It’s only fair.”

You shake your head. “No. I don’t even have a nickname.”

“Bet I could fix that.”

“Would be a losing bet. I wouldn’t take it.”

“Whatever you say, Princess.”

And just like that, you’ve lost. You’d seen it coming, too. It was too easy a solution for him to have, to easy a path to allow him to take, too easy to let the small part of you—that had wanted to hear him call you Princess again, because it soothed something that was always feral inside of you and blurred the darkness into the White until nothing hurt inside you—allow Dean to coax you where he’d clearly wanted you, and follow with a smile on your face. But all of this was too easy. Talking to Dean was too easy, because the conversation seems to flow and ebb without effort, and you’re almost always in danger of saying too much. He seems to know how to—without any obvious intention—get you to tell him anything he asks, leaving you biting your tongue to keep down bits of the truth that could prove deadly. But he doesn’t push you to speak—which is perfect and terrifying all within itself—and when you fall into silence it’s easy too. It’s easy to control the darkness, calmed only by your thumb and long breathes, and easy to keep everything small. Just you and Dean in the soft silence of the car, just you and Dean in the whole world.

“My mom died.” Dean says suddenly, frowning out the window. “It’s why I’m hunting. And,” he adds, his voice growing a little firmer, a little more defensive. “It’s why my dad’s so careful. I know he can be tough, but we’ve only got each other, and he’s just tryin’ to-“

“I get it.” You whisper, something deep in your chest aching for him. For this pretty, impossible man who might be bigger than the whole word, and how his brow is knit in a confusing kind of hollow pain as he defends his father. Goes to arms for him without prompting, like it’s a reflex. And you really do get it, but even if you didn’t, you somehow care too much about him to force him to rage and spit fire in John’s defense. It looks like it might rip him apart, and you never really want to see him go. So you just offer him a gentle, full lipped but toothless smile, and place your hand on his arm. “And that really fucking sucks.”

He lets out a dry chuckle, and doesn’t try to move his arm away. “It does really fucking suck. Thanks.”

“My dad’s wife died.” You offer, as if that would somehow make this better, and Dean gives you an odd look.

“Dad’s wife? Not your mom?”

You swallow. You did it again. You slipped when you’re usually so fucking careful. “It’s complicated.”

“Ah.” Dean has a little furrow between his brow that you’d like to run your thumb over, but he drops it. “Are you, you gonna tell me why you hunt? If it’s not your Dad’s wife?”

You sigh, a feral instinct of survive shoving the truth just a little further down. “That’s complicated too. I mean it’s not,” you glance up at him, his eyes fixed onto the road. “It’s not like yours. I didn’t lose anyone.”

“Is it a family thing? Like, your dad brought you in?” Dean’s every word is careful, like he’s afraid he might spook you. But that’s another thing that’s too easy. Staying next to Dean and not bristling or fleeing is far too fucking easy. 

“No,” you say, watching the light and shadows shift over his face in a strange, perfect dance. “He tries to stop me from doing it all the time. Shit, he called me last night and asked me to come home.”

Dean frowns. “You-“

“Dean!” You cut him off with a hand over his mouth, and he slams the breaks with a screech. You can see his staring at you from the corner of your eye, but you barely spare him a glance, your eyes locked over his shoulder, out the window, at a shifting figure in the dark. “Look.”

He turns his head, prying your hand from his mouth as he glares out the window. “I don’t-“

“There,” you hiss, leaning a little further forward. “See the-“

“That might just be a shadow,” Dean mutters, his voice dropping to a whisper as he scans over the dark. “Or a fox-“

You turn your head, giving him a flat look. “Do foxes look like babies covered in blood?”

“No.” He grins at you. “But I’ve seen weirder shit, Princess.”

You’re suddenly aware of how close you are. How you’d leaned over the console and started to practically hang off of Dean’s body, how your faces are barely a breath apart and you can see every deep color and fleck of gold in his eyes. He really only gets prettier, and he’s so warm, and there’s molten silver in your chest trying to tangle into him. He smells like fresh grass and spice, his eyes are dilating—but maybe just from the dark—and everything seems to be slowing down as the silver looks for other places to leak out. Places that wouldn’t hurt anyone, like the mist of the night that seems to glow and the wind that seems to bend and creak the trees in your direction, and the golden streetlamps-

Dean’s eyes shoot to the road as the lights start to flicker, his body tensing against yours. “Shit. We should, uh-“

You nod, push yourself away, and try to pretend your body doesn’t grieve the loss of his touch.

John and Sam are taking too long to arrive. You’re tense and bouncing on the sidewalk as you wait, turning a sharp nail between your fingers, and Dean keeps a hand around your wrist as he frowns down the street. You think he can sense that, if he looks away for only a second, you’ll dart into the house and deal with this yourself. You could. This nail has killed three moroi before, and you’d been completely alone then. 

“Winchester.” 

Dean looks at you with a frown, and you tug your arm slightly.

“Let me go.”

“No,” he grunts, his grip tightening. “Dad said to wait.”

“He’s not my dad-“

“Doesn’t matter.” Dean mutters, his gaze moving back to the empty, dark fog. “We’re waiting.”

You scowl. “Fine. Can you let go-“

“No.”

“I swear to god, Dean Winchester-“

“If I let you go,” he snaps, his glare shooting back to you. “You’re going to run in there. So no.”

You narrow your eyes. “You don’t know me-“

He chuckles, shaking his head slightly. “Look me in the eyes,” he drawls your name, holding your gaze. “And say you won’t run.”

It should be an easy lie, but it gets caught in your throat and you can only gape at him. Dean raises his brows as you continue to stare, and the White inside you starts to thrash as you clear your throat, forcing the words out.

“I’d handle it.”

He scoffs. “There is no way you’re gonna be able to handle it alone-“

“So, come with me,” You hiss, leaning forward until your face is only an inch from his. “And I won’t be alone.”

You don’t know why it breaks him. But something flashes in his eyes, he groans—running his free hand over his face and giving you a look of disbelief—and he caves. 

And from there it’s mostly a blur. It’s always a blur. The darkness inside of you latches onto something primal, and it’s all only a blur. 

Usually it’s all but a blackout. Like something overtakes you and you become just as monstrous as what you’re hunting, your brain only holding onto what you’ll need in order to survive next time, and a sticky smell of blood to haunt your sleep. But Dean’s here now, and things come into focus. Time is still a rush, and you’re still moving on pure instinct, but you remember Dean’s body being pressed to yours as you crept through the suburban house. You remember to set look on his face as you swept the rooms, figuring out what the moroi could be, where it might be hiding. You remember seeing it first, and the sound of flesh tearing as it launched at Dean—over you—and you swatted it with your arm like a baseball. 

You remember Dean shouting your name as you raced forward with the nail in your hand, and how it sounded like his chest was being ripped open. You remember finding that small patch of soft flesh on the moroi’s chest, driving the nail home, and tasting bile when it vomited blood up into your face. 

You remember Dean passing you his shirt on the curb a few blocks down, because the very ungrateful almost-victims threatened to call the cops, and you were covered in blood. He’d faced away as your changed—zipping up his own jacket and humming while he waited—and you could’ve sworn he was blushing when he turned back around.

Then John Winchester had arrived—looking at Dean like he’d just sprouted a second, hideous head and you like he was imaging how amazing you’d look in a casket—and everything grew sharp as they drove away. 

More of it comes together as you drive yourself back to the motel. Dean had dumped the body in the gutter, and you had given him your motel address. John had snapped at you to meet them tomorrow for a debrief, and told Dean that they’d talk back at the room. Sam had smiled at you, and it was a nice smile. There hadn’t seemed to be anything beneath it—just a kind smile for the woman sitting on the curb next to his shirtless brother, her hair matted in blood and fingers covered in monster hair—and you’d liked that. 

When you enter your room, it suddenly feels too small. Nothing is big enough for how strange this is, how you might need all the world and a little more to figure out what the fuck just happened. You miss Dean. You’d met him today, and you miss him more than you’ve missed anything before. You keep looking to the side to see if he’s there, when you know he won’t be. The White is bucking and keening inside of you, the darkness falling out of your body—you can feel the pain of the water as it becomes steam in the shower, and you’re almost knocked to your knees by the ache of the phone to be closer to the lamp—and you need to find out if he could meld them together again. If it had been a fluke, or an accident, or if you were simply losing your fucking mind.

You have to be. You must be going mad. It’s the only explanation for why you take a long shower and change into your own clothing, but you still smell grass and leather and spice. It’s purgatorial. You go through your whole routine—scrubbing all the blood off your body with rough sugar that bites into your skin, running your hands under white-hot water that leaves your skin raw but the darkness pushed down, tending to your hair until it frame your features easily, and you don’t look like a bruised and battered animal—but you still smell him. You toss his shirt off to the side, but he’s clinging to the sheets. You change into sleepwear, but your body can still feel a strong, warm touch. You turn your empty flask in your hands, watching light catch off the steel, and someone’s knocking on your fucking door-

Dean hisses your name through the wood, and you freeze.

“I know you’re in there!” He’s half-shouting, and the whole world feels more colorful, and what is wrong with you. “C’mon, Princess, open the door. It’s me!” He pauses, the knocking faltering. “Uh, Dean Winchester.”

He sounds a little defeated, and you can’t stop the smile on your face as you toss the flask back into your bag, cross the room, and open the door. 

Dean gives you an adorable, almost nervous grin and scans over you. Slow and deep and appreciative—taking in your sleep clothes, how your whole body is more relaxed than it had been all day—and his smile grows as his eyes find yours once more.

“You look pretty wearing normal stuff.” He leans a little on the door frame, and it’s so effortlessly and perfectly rouge-cowboy-white-knight-and-knave that he has to have practiced. “Better than that old-lady jacket you hand on before.”

You roll your eyes. “That’s my professional jacket, Winchester. What do you want?”

The words are harsher than you mean them to be, and his grin falters slightly. “I was, uh, I was wondering,” he rubs the back of his neck, clearing his throat. “I got my dad’s car. I was gonna ask if you wanted to go for a drive or something, but you’re obviously ready to turn in, so-“

“Do you want to come in?” 

You’re not sure how he’s doing this. Making you speak without thought, making your words reckless when they’re usually so carefully chosen. You have to be careful with your words, because you’ve spent years weaving a web that shows everyone everything, but not from every angle. And he’s fucking unraveling it. Dean just looks at you, and you pull at a thread so he can see whatever he wants, and you can’t understand how the fuck he’s doing it.

It must be on purpose, but he looks just as shocked as you are—gaping at you slightly, his features open and uncertain—and you don’t think it’s an act. Especially not as his voice becomes slightly hoarse, his feet restlessly shifting his weight as he speaks.

“Yeah, if you want, but I’m good to just head out if you-“

“Do you want to head out?”

Dean’s grin becomes bright once more, and the shake of his head sends a spark of lightning through your body.

“So,” you step to the side, offering him a small smile. “Come in.”

He shuffles inside, scanning over your scattered possessions and stopping at the side of the bed. 

“I can,” he looks back to you, his eyes a little wide. “I can sit on the floor, or we can go outside-“

You shake your head, moving to his side. “There are bugs outside. Sit on the bed.”

Dean glances at the mattress like the sheets might leap up and strangle him. “Floor looks good-“

“Winchester.” You point at the bed, giving him a stern glare. “Sit.”

“I am not a freakin’ dog-“

You place a hand on his chest and push him—just enough for him to get the message—and he sit on the bed with a wide happy? gesture. 

You drop at his side, watching him carefully as you try to work out what is happening. Why he’s here. If he’s looking at you like that—like you’re more than a human, but that’s hypnotizing, and he’d love to find what you actually are—because he can feel this too. 

But Dean beats you to it.

“Can I ask you something?”

You tilt your head at him, pulling your knees into your chest. “Can I ask you something?”

“Huh.” Dean hums, the smile creeping back onto his face. “How about we trade? I ask you a question, you gimme an answer, then we switch.”

You give him an amused look. “That’s just a conversation.”

“Nah, because if I ask you something and you answer, now I owe you a question. You can turn down a question, but you’ll still owe an answer.”

You frown. “What happens if you owe an answer?”

He shrugs, flopping onto his back. “Then the other person keeps asking questions.”

Dean looks so real. He’s grinning up at you, light dancing as his eyes as he obviously baits you into whatever he’s trying to do. 

And you fall for it. Despite your best judgement, you fall.

“I’m going first.” 

He chuckles, but raises his hand for you to shake. “Deal, Princess.”

The moment your hand folds into Dean’s he pulls you down, leaving your smushed slightly against him and his face only inches from yours once more. And your yelp was undignified, and he’s such an asshole—laughing and grinning as you shove his chest—and you’re smiling too. 

Because this is easy. And you have a feeling that, if this strange man—who’s too pretty, and that’s making you feel like you’ve never really been alive before this—dragged you right down to hell, you’d still be laughing and smiling at him. And that’s so fucking dangerous. And you know that, but you still can’t stop looking at him, and you can’t roll away. And you decide that, just for tonight, you’re going to indulge this. You’ll dedicate hours when he’s gone to figuring out what the fuck this is. Right now you get to laugh and smile and act like nothing in the world has ever—could ever—hurt you.

“So,” Dean says your name, and it still sounds too good. “You have a question to go first with? Or were you just bein’ bossy-“

“Shut up.” You swing your leg to kick his shin, he laughs, and it’s like music. Making you high and dizzy as you watch him, running your thumb over your palm. “I’ve got it, Winchester. You ready?”

“Born it, sweetheart,” he winks at you, and that’s dizzying too. “Hit me.”

“Why are you here?”

“I told you already, I wanted to talk to you-“

You hum, holding his gaze with a small frown. “Why?”

Dean chuckles, shaking his head. “That’s two questions-“

“It’s a ride off of the first question-“

“Well, I still gotta ask my first question before you get a second one.” He raises his brows at you, bump your knee with his. “We shook on this, Princess, you don’t get to change it now.”

You glare at him, but you think he knows it’s fake, because his grin becomes almost blinding. “Fine. Go.”

Dean rolls onto his side, holding your gaze as he speaks. “How’d you get that car?”

You frown. “The Lexus?”

He nods, and you sigh. 

“I borrowed it.” It’s not a lie, but it’s a half-truth. It’s a half-truth that will keep him here, at your side, for a little longer than you might deserve. “For the hunt.”

“Well, it’s freakin’ awesome.” He grins at you, and your face might burst into flame. “Your move.”

“Why are you really here?”

Dean lets out a dry chuckle. “Will you let it go if I say to talk again?”

“Nope. Answer me.”

“It’s, uh,” he rolls flat on his back once more, running a hand over his face. “Tomorrow’s gonna be Dad telling us about safety and Sammy asking you a bunch of questions.” He shoots you a small, amused grin. “I think he’s been writing them down. He’s into all that geek-shit too-“

“I am not a geek-“

“Yeah, you are.” He shrugs. “Don’t worry, I think it’s adorable. But Sammy thinks you’re the coolest person we’ve ever met. So after Dad finishes, he’ll try to use you like a freakin’ library, and I just figured I’m the one who found you, so I should get a night of you all to myself.”

You gape at him for a second, and you’ve defiantly burst into flames. He wants you all himself, and he thinks you’re adorable, and he doesn’t know you, but he doesn’t seem like the type to say all that just to get in your pants, and if he was, he’d be there already. He’d just have to roll on top of you, but he’s only looking at you like you’re something sacred instead of a disease or trophy. 

He must feel this too. He has too. And you want to ask him, but you don’t know how, because you don’t even know what this is. It’s magnetic and infinite and bigger than anything, forging something you don’t know how to name between where the White and darkness live in your body. And Dean might not even have the White and darkness. Nobody else does—that’s something that’s wrong with only you—so if you phrase it like that he’ll think you’re insane-

“My turn.” Dean says, and you’re dragged back down to earth, grounded in his smooth voice. “What’s up with your hand?”

You blink at him. “What?”

“That one.” he reaches over, tapping the back your hand. “You’ve been touching it all day, and I kinda, uh,” he gives you an apologetic look. “I saw the scar. If you wanna pass on this one, I’ll drop it, but-“

“No, it’s,” you take a long breath, because this would be an easy one to refuse to answer, but his fingers are lingering on your knuckles and setting off little sparks over your skin, and you want to tell him. It takes a moment of just staring at him to you find the words, and his eyes never leave yours, and everything about him seems to drug you into a loose-lipped, trusting ease. “I’ve have it since I was really young. There was, um, an incident.”

Dean still doesn’t look away, his voice slightly lower. “Hunting incident, or-“

“No.” You swallow, turning your hand for him to see the long, clean scar on your palm. Running through it in a neat, raised line. “Just an incident.”

He looks like he’s going to say something. Not push, but say something, and you blurt out your next question before he can get the chance. It’s not what you wanted to ask—you hadn’t offered yourself enough time to find the right words for something really fucking weird is happening to me, and I need to know if it’s happening to you too—but it’s dragged out of you in desperation to learn a little more about him. In a plea for him to only know that you’re marred where he can see, and never discover that you’re twisted where he can’t.

“What’s it like?” You watch him carefully, your fingers starting to trace over the scar. “Hunting with your family?”

“It’s fine.” He shrugs. “I mean, Dad’s a freakin’ genius at it, and it’s awesome to watch him work. Plus I get to keep an eye on Sammy like this. Know he’s safe.” He frowns. “I mean, it’s better than sending him off alone. Letting him be in danger.”

You hum, scanning over the wrinkle in his brow, your thumb starts to itch to press on it, sooth his whole face into a relaxed smile. “You guys are close?”

Dean nods eagerly. “Yeah, I mean, He’s a freakin’ loser, but he’s all I got. He’s a weird little geek-“

You laugh. “He’s taller than you are, De. I wouldn’t call that little.”

“He’s little in spirit-“ Dean cuts himself off, and his grin looks almost manic. “Did you just call me De?”

“No.” You hold his gaze, even as your face warms. “Shut up.”

“I heard you, Princess, you can’t lie to me-“

“Well, is that your question?” You grin at him, your body leaning a little further without you moving it, and Dean eyes flash.

“You gonna tell me the truth if it is?”

You nod, and he smirks.

“Then yeah, it was.”

“Okay. I did call you De.” Before he can gloat, you push on. “Why do you call me Princess?”

“I told you already, it suits you-“

You narrow your eyes. “Try again, Winchester. Real answer this time.”

He sighs, shaking his head at the ceiling. “You just,” Dean waves his hand through the air. “You’ve got a thing going. You don’t look like a hunter.”

“What’s that supposed to mean-“ 

“It means,” He gives you a strange look you can feel flash through your blood, melding the White back into the darkness, turning every simple and bright as he continues. “That if you asked me what I thought you were, I’d have said something fancy.”

You open your mouth, but he’s not done, and he won’t look away from you.

“I dunno, you just seem too pretty to be down here in the mud with us. You should eating caviar and wearing those poofy dresses-“

You snort. “Poofy dresses?”

“Yeah, like in movies, when they dance around like douchebags-“

“So you’re saying I seem like a douchebag-“

“No, I’m saying you should be somewhere that’s not here.” Dean’s attention is washing over you like a rising tide—slow and natural and deep—and you still can’t read that expression on his handsome face. “The mud.”

He’s so close. And if he thinks you’re pretty, he’s a work of art. You’ve never see someone look like him. Like he was created, and not born. Every freckle on his face is more like a star than a flaw, and there a slight crook to his nose that tells you he’s been punched there before, but it only makes you want to run your finger over the bump and see if his pretty eyes flutter or flash. His lips are chapped but they’d still be soft. His hands look rough, but that just means he uses them.

You think it would be nice to let him use you.

“I like it in the mud,” you whisper, daring to inch a little closer, until you’re sharing a breath. “It feels real. And,” you grin at him, everything blurring around you but pretty green eyes and shining silver in your chest. “I’ve got good company down here.”

There it is. The flash in his eyes as they darken slightly, a warm breath fanning over your face, and he looks golden. In the warm light of the lamp, glowing soft on his tan skin, Dean looks like something more than human. You feel like something more than human, and for the first time in your life, that’s not a curse. And he’s still so fucking close, and this is a terrible idea, but you can’t bring yourself to move away.

You should. He’s John Winchester’s son, and you’re not sure how you forgot that. It’s past midnight, and you have a feeling he wasn’t supposed to be here at all, and this is the worst idea you’ve ever had. 

But you still can’t move.

“You should, um,” you swallow, and your lips might have brushed over his. “You should get back. It’s late, and your dad-“ 

“Shit,” Dean mutters, but still doesn’t try to move away. “Yeah.” 

Your eyes dart down to his lips—full and pink, just a small movement away from yours—and you decide you don’t care what’s happening to you. This is—Dean is—too good to care. You don’t need to know why this is happening, or what it means, or if you should be trying to run from it. You just need Dean. You think that—if the world ended and time began to move slowly—you might plant roots in the motel floor and grow into Dean until the world flooded and you were both washed away. 

“I have one last question,” he mutters, breath ghosting over your lips. “If I leave you my number, will you use it?”

You nod without thinking, he grins, and you’re so fucked. You can’t kiss him. You might fall from a million feet if you kiss him. Down, down, down, clinging to him as you both try to find an end to whatever this is and likely fail to. But Dean sits up slowly—like the movement is painful—and when he helps you to your feet you think you might ascend from just his hand in yours. Touching him feels like it’s making you pure and worthy of something, and you have to know what kissing him will do.

Not on the lips. You still have enough of your willpower and caution to not crash all the way down, at least not right now. But you kiss his cheek, and that’s tragedy enough. It snaps something into place inside you, soft stubble and warm skin too much for your entire existence to handle. It’s all too much to handle, and if he hadn’t mumbled a low promise of seeing you tomorrow and left when he did, you would’ve jumped on him to chase whatever this feeling is. How it’s the only thing you’ve ever felt that might belong inside you, and the only easy thing that the darkness has ever bended for.

And when you sleep, that’s easy too. It’s dreamless and deep, no nightmares, no waking up in a cold sweat, no darkness wrapping around you and leaving the sheets only ash when you wake up.

But when you do wake up, something is wrong. You feel it first, gnawing at your nails and blood. And when you roll over to check the time, your phone is gone. 

It had been on the bedside table, a scrap of paper with Dean’s number under it, and it’s gone.

The paper is gone too.

You shoot out of bed, and Dean’s shirt is still in the corner, because he’d told you to give it to him in the morning, to trade it for your Agent Smith badge. But your phone is gone.Your window is open—cool breeze rushing through the room—and your phone is fucking gone.

You’d been smart to pack the night before. You’d been smart to keep your keys in your jacket, and park right outside your room. You can shove everything in the passenger’s seat and screech out of the motel lot in a second. You don’t know why, but you’re heading to Dean first. Something is wrong, and you don’t know what, but the White is trying to strangle your heart and the darkness is already eating up your spine and over your skull.

John Winchester’s sleek, black muscle car—Dean told you it was an Impala, and he’d said it with a pride in his voice that had dragged a smile onto your face—isn’t parked in the lot. And when you knock on the door nobody answers. All the lights in the room are off, there’s no shadows moving through the window, and the door is locked.

You move to the front desk and ask if the men in that room had checked out. And when the clerk gives you a weary look and says that they’d paid for another two nights, but dropped the keys off that morning, your gut twists. 

They were gone. Dean was gone. And something fragile and new shattered inside you, leaving small pieces lodged through your whole body. You stumble back to your car, the darkness moving out of your body and the whole world too fucking big, and you don’t know what’s wrong with you. You’d known him a day. He’d known you a day. Nothing was owed, but you can still feel it. How the White seems to be howling from the loss of him, and the darkness can’t stop growing as it sinks in. 

He left. You don’t know why, but Dean left. He’d probably taken your phone, taken his number, and just fucking left you. Maybe he’d seen you last night, really seen you, and realized what you were. Maybe he’d just been playing you the whole time for some sort of scam. Maybe you hadn’t kissed him, and he’d decided you weren’t worth the chase. And that would mean you had been going crazy, and he hadn’t felt anything at all.

The thought lets the darkness move over you, and you can feel everything everywhere. The electricity in the wires over your head, the wear of painted lines in the parking lot, the hope of the grass peeking through the concrete under your feet. 

The grass that smells like Dean.

It breaks through you before you can stop it. Reaching past your body and down into the pavement, cracking it open with all the force of how much this hurts. How it shouldn’t hurt, it doesn’t make any sense that it hurts, but you’re still breaking and bowing and bending to the way you feel like you’ve been fucking shot. You fall down to the curb, curling into yourself as the ground shakes under your feet, and the wind picks up until—in the forest across the parking lot—a branch falls to the ground.

Then a second one. 

You manage to bring your hand to your mouth, to bite down hard and force all the darkness back into your body, and you still don’t know what to do. 

This hurts so much, and you’re alone in the middle of nowhere, and Dean’s gone.

You still have your burner phone. Your dad makes you keep it in your jacket, just in case something happens, and it only has his number. You dial him with shaking hands, the darkness still trying to climb back out of you, take a deep breath as you raise it to your ear.

He picks up on the second ring.

“Hey,” He says your name, his voice already edged with worry. “I didn’t think I’d be hearin’ from you until after that blood hunt thing-“

“Hunt’s over.” You mumble, staring at the cracked pavement. “Got it last night.”

“Was it a vamp like I told ya’-“

“Moroi.”

“I’d call that vamp enough. Good work, kiddo, Rufus owes us a dinner-“

“Bobby?”

Your voice is soft, and he hears it. Bobby always hears it. 

“What happened,” he says your name, and you can hear the frown in his voice. It makes everything worse, because you can’t tell him. Not now, maybe not ever if you can avoid it. You can’t handle how he’ll help you fix this and let you rest, then spend a week lecturing you and telling you everything you already know. Because you really do know. You fucked up, and you know that.

But Bobby doesn’t have to.

“Nothing, I just-“ you swallow, your nails digging into your calf. “Can I come home?”

There’s a long moment of static through the phone, and when Bobby speaks again his voice is low. “You can always come home,” he says your name, and you choke on the clean air around you. “But you get a week of mopin’ before we’re grabbin’ that dinner from Rufus. Alright?”

You nod, even though he can’t see it. “I’ll be there by tomorrow.”

“Should be two days, if you drive carefully like you’re supposed to.” Bobby grunts. “And ditch that fancy car you’ve been usin’, I don’t need the cops askin’ questions about it.”

You feel a smile tug at your lips. “You never let me have anything nice, Bobby-“

“You never let me have goddamn peace, kid.” Bobby snaps, and your smile grows. “Your bed will be ready for you. And I better not see that bells and whistles hunk of shit in my yard-“

“Aye, aye captain. No fancy cars.” You make a mock salute he can’t see, and Bobby huffs.

“Stolen fancy cars.” He grumbles. “Stop bein’ a smartass and get on the road.”

When the call ends, your smile feels real. The strange, fractured feeling in the White is still there, and the darkness might be trying to fly out of you, but you’re better than before. You’ll go home, Bobby will never know what happened, and none of this will last. You’ll be fine. Dean Winchester might haunt you like a phantom or cancer for the rest of your fucking life—or at least until you figure out what he did to you, and how to fix it—but you’ll get through this. 

You always do.

—————————

Dean’s grip was tight on Her phone. It was just a fucking block of metal—it would be useless when they tossed it off a bridge in a few miles—but he couldn’t let go of it. It felt wrong to let go of it. 

He’d be letting go of Her.

He hadn’t wanted to take it, but Dad said he needed to—Don’t want to let an angry woman have a line to you, son. Especially not a crazy one—and Dad knew what he was talking about, so Dean had done it. He’d snuck back into Her room through the window, grabbed Her phone and the paper with his number, and felt like the lowest piece of trash in the goddamn garbage can. The maggot-ridden chunk of food that nobody had wanted, but was still figuring out a way to fuck everything else up in twisted retribution. 

Because there was guilt eating at Dean’s stomach. He shouldn’t have taken Her phone, not when She wasn’t that much older than Sammy. Not when She’d said her dad would be waiting for her to call, and Dean might have stolen Her only line to safety just because-

Because She’d been using him. And he’d been falling for it. She’d given him that smile like he’d fallen out of the sun and into Her hands, She’d crafted some sort of perfect mask that had felt so real—felt like this strange, mouthy, clever woman had just appeared to him, and he could’ve had something nice for once in his goddamn life—and moved Dean like a fucking pawn. 

Dad had been waiting for him when he got back, and whatever weird spell She’d put Dean under—making him feel a little drunk on nothing, making him act like a fucking idiot—had been ripped away under his glare. 

But Dean hadn’t gotten yelled at. He’d just been sat down—Dad’s gaze filled with disappointment that Dean’s bones didn’t know how to handle—and had papers pushed across the table in his direction. 

“What are these?” He’d asked, and Dad had sighed, because Dean was too much of an idiot to just know, and Dad knew it. 

“Read them.” Dad had grumbled, watching Dean through narrowed eyes. “And tell me if you want to see that girl again.”

He’d frowned but scanned over the papers. Printed out website pages about… Her. Her family. How She was missing, how She’d stolen from them, and how they were rich. Normal, alive, and rich, looking for Her and whatever she’d taken. Warning that She was crazy, a chronic liar, and should be turned over to the police if seen. There was no picture, but there was a description that matched Her perfectly, right down to a scar on her palm.

“Dad.” He’d looked up with wide eyes, something strange bucking around inside of him, insisting that this was a lie. Dean didn’t know Her—they’d had three conversations for fuck’s sake—but this didn’t seem like Her. None of this seemed like the clever, beautiful, almost ethereal woman he’d been lying on the bed with. Dean didn’t know howor why, but this couldn’t be the truth. “I don’t-“

“She’s just usin’ you, Dean.” Dad had muttered, his eyes softening just enough for Dean to know he was sorry. He might not really like Her, but he was trying to protect Dean. He always was. “Chasing a high that her daddy can’t give her, lookin’ for a way to pull somethin’ on us. Probably huntin’ just for some sort of fucked up thrill. This,” Dad tapped the papers, his face twisting in disgust. “Isn’t someone who deserves our time, and I don’t know what her game is, but I ain’t just gonna let my boy fall for it.”

Something in Dean had still been fighting. Insisting that Dad was wrong, he had to be wrong, because Dean might not really know Her but he’d throw his life down at her feet. He’d plummet to the bottom of the ocean to follow Her down, if She called him with that siren-like voice and asked him to.

And that was how he knew Dad was right. Dean had no idea who She really was, and he’d already been ready to become a sword for her to wield. So he’d nodded, asked Dad what to do, and fallen back into the line She’d forced him out of. And it wouldn’t matter that Dean had been an idiot and almost fallen for Her—Her tricks, or just Her—because Dad had saved him. He’d protected him. And it didn’t matter.

Now, as they drove—Dad’s grip tight on the wheel, Sammy sleeping in the backseat—Dean repeated it over and over. That hadn’t mattered. It had been a mistake that Dad caught, so no harm, and it didn’t matter. It didn’t matter that She’d looked at Dean like she could see him, or that Her voice sounded like an angel in a dream. It didn’t matter that Her lips had felt right on his cheek, and that his annoying brain kept trying to move the ghost of Her touch to his own mouth. It didn’t matter that he could still smell the sugar and fruit that had invaded his every sense when She’d been pressed against him. It didn’t matter that She’d fit perfectly at his side, like she was just another part of him he hadn’t known he was missing. It didn’t matter that something felt like it had been ignited in Dean’s chest. Golden and light and washing him over with a sense of calm he’d never known, making him feel like—if he had been stupid enough to fall further—the worst that could happen was She didn’t fall with him. And even that would be worth the way this feeling was like lightning over his bones, making him strong and fucking alive. 

But it didn’t matter. He’d fallen for a pretty, spoiled little bitch—his heart almost withered at that idea, still being a freaking dumbass and trying to justify why She’d done this—and he’d never even see Her again, so it didn’t matter.

And it defiantly didn’t fucking matter that he’d taken Her flask, because he was fucking pathetic. Because he’d been sneaking around her room, and the flash of silver had caught his eyes, and he’d stolen it like some sort of street urchin. He’d burn it, just to rid himself of the way She was becoming plague-like on his mind. It wasn’t like she needed a flask, anyway. She didn’t even drink.

But that might have just been another strange lie. So Dean would burn it. He wouldn’t tell Dad or Sammy that he’d taken it—they didn’t really need to know how weak and useless Dean really was—so he’d burn it and everyone would forget this had ever happened. He’d burn it, and never think of Her again.

Dean felt like he was being ripped in half for reasons he couldn’t even start to understand, but it had been nothing, and it didn’t matter.

Dean dreamt of Her when he finally drifted off. And his heart kept trying to beat him back down—back to Her—but he held strong. He could dream of Her and not go back. He’d never see Her again, and dreams weren’t real. 

None of that had been real, and Dean could dream of Her.

So he would.

End Note: I know we’re off to a rough start, and we’ve got a long road ahead of us, but just remember this. What’s about to come could’ve been entirely avoided if John Winchester wasn’t the actual worst.

Thank you so so so much for reading!! If you like this story, please reblog, share, or leave a comment! <3

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[mari-lair]

drawing 'your clock is ticking' scenes that plague my mind to motivate myself to get back to writing

[dyke-will-graham]

Oh! I love that one ship...

You know the one with the repressed bisexual 80's leather wearing charmer with daddy issues and a million dollar smile and the autistic repressed gay twink who wears vaguely vintage clothing with sassy mannerisms and avoidance issues!

(the game here is guess what ship im talking about)

[kajaono]

What fans call „slow burn“ today is so wild

„Omg they are so slow burn! I can not stand the pining any longer!“ The couple in question kisses after one season containing 8 episodes

Honey….

[whimsyfinny]

He's a Winchester

Chapter 2

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader

Summary: It's been a long time since (Y/n) and Dean's paths have crossed. Last time they saw each other it was ‘98 and they were young and living in the moment. Nine years down the Line, their paths cross again, but (Y/n)s longest kept secret is about to become Deans reality.

Slow burn (ish), mom!reader

Warnings: language, mention of toxic parenting/custody battle, angst, alcohol,

Chapter Word Count: 3471

MDNI 18+

A/N: here it is! I’m not gonna lie, this is going to be very slow burn at first, but don’t worry, you know me and you know how much juicy content I write so it’s definitely coming hahaha. I’m also trying to figure out a schedule for posting this, so hopefully I can upload two chapters a week.

A/N2: GUYS IT GOES WITHOUT SAYING but PLEEEEASE provide your age if you want to be added to the taglist and it isn’t in your blog. This story is tame now but it’s gonna get spicy, and my blog is strictly 18+. So pleeeeease save be a very long job and help a gal out. 

Photos from Pinterest

Previous Chapter: Chapter 1

Chapter 2

I reached for the bottle of wine for the third time in the last hour and a half. I was sitting with Kat, pyjamas adorned, in the living room of mine and Levi's modest two bedroom house. For financial (and personal) reasons, our little house didn't follow current trends and looked more like something out of a popular 90s sitcom. The couch was comfy, the blankets were fuzzy, and a fresh pot of coffee was always brewing. Pictures embellished the walls of every milestone Levi had achieved; every birthday party, every new dirt bike, every new hairstyle. There were a few of Kat and I from over the years, going way back to when we first met back in ‘99 and both decided to rock platform heels on at the turn of the millennium - having tiny babies at the time didn't seem to stop us. Every single moment on these walls was a happy memory - something that I would treasure forever, yet there was something missing. There were no photos - or perhaps a scarce few - of my own parents, or of them with Levi, or of any extended family for that matter. The price I paid when I decided to have my son out of wedlock, at barely twenty years old, with a man who my family saw as a total stranger, is a price I'd pay every time in a heartbeat. Kat and Toby were our family now, and that was more than I could ever ask for. That was why the sheer possibility of Levi getting to meet his dad for the first time in, well, ever… it had my mind spinning. It was a scenario I'd dreamt of, late at night when I couldn't sleep and the burdens of life weighed me down. I conjured false memories in my minds eye of the pair of them fixing his bike on the drive or driving to school in the impala. I pictured us having breakfast together as a family and taking trips to the movies. Being together. Because no matter how many dates I went on, or how many frogs I’d kissed over the years, none of them were Levi's father.

None of them were Dean Winchester.

“Girl you have to reach out to him,” Kat walked in from the adjacent kitchen before slumping on the couch next to me, wine glass elevated to reduce spillage.

“Kat I could barely look at him today without feeling like I was going to have a heart attack - how the fuck am I supposed to talk to him?” I glanced at her with wide eyes, every nerve in my body on edge despite the wine and scented candles. Kat sighed. 

“You might never get this opportunity again, and we both know that if you don’t give Levi the opportunity to meet his father then you’re going to regret it for the rest of your life.” I held my breath, urging the raging storm in my mind to quiet down before letting the air gush from my lungs.

“Yeah I know. I just…I just never thought that this would actually happen, you know? I never thought that Dean would show up here. I figured Levi would eventually track him down when he was old enough to make that decision on his own. I have no idea how to even approach this.”

“Sure you do!” Kat beamed, a wicked glint in her eye, “you sit him down and say, ‘Hey Dean! Remember when we had sex in the back of that amazing car of yours nine years ago? Well, actions have consequences, and yours in eight years old and sitting in his science class right now.’”

I couldn't stop the grin from spreading across my face and I cackled when the bit of popcorn I threw landed in her wine glass.

“Bitch.”

I blew her a kiss in response to her insult. It didn’t take long though for the distraction to run its course and for my mind to return to its state of panic.

“But seriously, what am I going to say to him? What if I tell him, and he rejects us too, like my family did?”

Her smile softened.

“From everything that you’ve told me about that man, I highly doubt he’s going to reject you. Sure, he might not stick around permanently, but he sounds like the kind of guy that would stay in touch,” her softened smile turned to a stern stare, “but he’s only going to do that if he knows. He deserves to know he has a son.”

I took a long gulp of my wine. 

“Yeah, I’m going to tell him…” I paused, gnawing my bottom lip as I drew my knees to my chest, “it’s Saturday tomorrow so I’m not at work and Levi has two hours at the track. I can try to do it tomorrow, but I’m not sure if I’ll even be able to track Dean down in that time - I have no idea where he could be.”

“Hey, I’ll pick up Levi from Motocross - it’s been a few days since him and Toby have spent any proper time together anyway, just them two. Tobes’ has been dying to show him those brand new boots of his.”

We shared a smile. That’s the thing about Kat; she always had my back, no matter the situation.

“Thanks babes, I owe you one.”

She shook her head.

“No way - this is me returning the favour from when Toby’s dad decided to show an interest in his own child. I’m pretty sure my kid thought you were adopting him at one point from how much he stayed here,” I laughed, remembering the camp bed I bought especially for Toby, along with all the extra duvet sets and boxes of cereal I’d had to purchase for the best part of half a year.

“He’s a good kid, and honestly he and Levi entertained themselves for most of it.”

There was another pause in the conversation as I recounted how difficult it had been for Kat when David had shown up, insisting on being a part of Tobys life despite zero contact since his son was born. They’d argued over custody, over which school he went to, the clubs he attended. Even his hobbies were on the line, with David wanting him to play football despite Toby already being involved down at the track with the bikes. The stress caused Kat to lose weight and sleep, and she nearly lost her job over it all when she kept falling asleep at her desk. I’d lost count of how many times she’d cried in my arms. Cried over a man who thought that practically owning his son was his God given right despite being an absent father, and I think that is what scared me the most. That I would feel the same wretched things that she felt, and the waves of disappointment that crashed over her time and time again when false promises were made. It took her months to settle on an agreement due to David's behaviour, and Toby finally sees his father, albeit only for one weekend a month. It's better than nothing, but certainly not worth the fight that was fought with blood, sweat and tears. 

I hope from the bottom of my heart that Dean takes the news well, and doesn't leave us in the dust like he does in my worst nightmares.

It had taken me around thirty minutes to track down Dean. Well, to at least find the impala. It's common knowledge that if you find that car, Dean isn't far away. I’d parked my truck two spaces down, and luckily we were within walking distance of my favourite café, Jolenes’. It was my safe space. The place that I would finally tell him about Levi.

I pulled the sleeves of my soft cardigan down over my hands to stop myself from chewing nervously on my nails. Leaving the safety of my truck, I paced over to the black Chevy and stood by it, determined to speak to Dean as soon as possible. I knew that if I had stayed sitting behind my own wheel, there was a huge chance that I'd chicken out and just drive away. As I waited I checked over the car in front of me, admiring how he still kept it spotless after all these years. Unable to stop myself, I let my gaze drift over to the backseat, the events that unfurled on the soft leather racing to mind. I pulled my lip between my teeth, unable to resist the replay of memories.

“You have good taste in cars.”

I practically launched out my skin as the voice came from behind me. I could hear the amusement in his voice from a few feet away. I spun on my heel and our eyes locked, the charming grin slipping slightly from Deans’ lips when he realised it was me. The playfulness in his features quickly softened, a true, genuine smile now gracing his lips.

“Dean…” I suddenly felt breathless, but despite my nerves I returned his smile in kind.

“It's good to see you (Y/n),” he stepped forward and pulled me into his arms, enveloping me in his entirety. I closed my eyes as I hugged him back, wrapping my arms around his neck and taking a deep breath, my brain tingling at his familiar scent.

“You too, Dean. It's been too long.”

After a moment we released each other and Dean stood up straight, smiling at me again with a soft twinkle in his eye. We both flinched slightly when someone cleared their throat and he took a step back. 

“Oh, uh, (Y/n), this is Sam, my younger brother,” he patted the shoulder of the young man standing beside him, and I instantly recognised him from the dessert parlour. He was tall, taller than Dean even, which was one hell of an accomplishment, and his face held a similar boyish charm to Deans. Yet he looked softer around the edges, like he hadn't been hardened by life too much yet.

“It's a pleasure, I'm (Y/n). I've known you're brother for a while,” I smiled as I shook his hand, taking note of the rough calluses beginning to form on his palms. “He used to talk about you all the time, apparently you're the smart one of the family,” with a grin and a quick glance at Dean, I tested the waters with humour. If he laughed or took the blow like a champ, now was a good time to talk to him. Sam chuckled, squeezing my hand slightly in his before letting it go. 

“Ouch… (Y/n), sweetheart, aren't you supposed to be on my side here? Y’know, with our history and all…?” he feigned hurt with a hand on his chest before his lips twitched up and he shot me a wink.

“I mean… she's not wrong,” Sam laughed, dropping his hands lazily into his pockets.

“Hey, I'm just going on what you told me, Dean. Don't hold that against me,” I grinned at them both, unsure of what to do with my hands so I crossed them across my chest.

A small breath of silence passed between us, Deans’ gaze holding mine with an intensity that made me want to look away. I didn't. Sam cleared his throat again, clapping his hand to Deans’ shoulder before taking a step back.

“I'll, uh, give you guys a few minutes,” and with an appreciative nod from Dean, Sam gave us some space. With his younger brother gone, my heart began to flutter in my chest. The time to break the news was getting closer, and my nerves were on edge. On fire.

“So,” he started, taking a step closer with a deep breath, “how's it going? How long has it been?”

“Nine years,” I was almost too hot on the mark, my words coming out faster than I'd intended and Dean blinked slightly. I sighed, looking down. “There's been a lot going on, and honestly, I've really needed you at times. You're a hard man to find Dean Winchester.” 

“I'm sorry, sweetheart,” his brows pinched apologetically and he reached for my hand, tracing my knuckles with his thumb. I took a deep breath and met his gaze again.

“Do you… do you have some time? I need to talk to you. It's important, and if I don't do it now, I don't know if I'll get another chance.” 

He nodded slowly, giving my hand a squeeze, releasing it hesitantly with a slight wince to his features.

“Uh oh,” he said, “am I in trouble?”

I laughed, the sound light off my chest.

“Oh Dean,” I reached up to touch his face, and his instinctive reaction was to lean into my palm, “you don't know the half of it.” 

The walk to the café had been pleasant. We chatted about what we'd been up to since we last met - Dean revealing he was still in the same line of work and had travelled around a lot, never really settling down. There was something about that nugget of information that made my stomach twist in knots. He learnt I was still a receptionist, this time at the local garage  instead of the large dealership I had scored before. He asked why I'd changed, to go to something smaller, lesser, and my silence urged him to wait until we were at our destination. He knew I was anxious, and he did his best to keep conversation light and breezy until the time was right. To an untrained eye he was unphased, yet I could tell from the lip nibbling and flitting gaze that he was nervous too.

Do you think he's already guessed it?

The bell jingled as we walked in, the two baristas looking up and instantly greeting me with a wave and a smile.

“Hey (Y/n)! Your couch is free,” the first barista, a young man around my age with soft blond curls waved to me across the counter, his brilliant grin making me smile with a comforting familiarity. “Your usual?”

“Yes please! Thanks, Jake,” I returned the friendliness, stepping around the tables until we arrived at my favourite spot.

“And for your… date?” He gestured to Dean, who was now shrugging off his leather jacket, “what can I get for you pal?” 

Dean hesitated, before just holding his hands up.

“Uhhh, I don't know, I guess I'll have what she's having.”

With our hot beverages on their way, I sat down in my usual nook in the corner whilst Dean sat down opposite, in that same plush armchair that Kat had sat in yesterday. Where Kat had been swallowed by the chair and its all-consuming cushions, Dean had the opposite effect. He made the chair look small under his broad form, like it was made for a child. There were a few moments of silence, neither of us really knowing where to start. So I bit the bullet.

“Dean… before I tell you anything, just know that I've been trying to get hold of you on and off for years. Your number always seemed to go to voicemail and I never got a call back. So please just… know I tried.” 

I looked up and he was totally engaged, already hanging off every word I said as he leant forward, his elbows on his knees. Our attention pulled away from each other briefly as our coffees arrived, hand delivered by the second barista - a woman a few years older than myself with a jet black pixie cut.

“Thanks Emily, you're an angel,” I grasped the mug before she even had a chance to put it on the table and clutched it in my lap, letting the warmth seep through my palms to help soothe my nerves. 

“No worries babes, you two have fun,” she looked between Dean and me with a playful smirk, throwing me a wink before she turned around. 

Great, the gossip starts now.

I turned back to Dean who was now sitting on the edge of his seat. I took a deep breath.

Do it now.

“Dean, I have a son.”

I watched his face twitch slightly, almost like it dropped in disappointment, however it was so fleeting across his features that it was hard to tell. He pulled a strained smile onto his lips.

“(Y/n) that's great, I'm happy for you,” he looked down at his boots briefly, choosing his next words, “I guess this is you telling me to stay away, huh? Now that you have a family and all. It's ok, I get it.”

I shook my head, placing my cup on the table so I could pull myself to sit on the edge of the couch, almost mirroring Dean.

“No, no Dean, that's not- look, what I'm saying is…” another deep breath, “you, have a son.”

I watched his eyes go wide, unsure if he heard me correctly.

“What?” His voice was breathy.

I looked down into my mug for a second, choosing my words. 

“I have a little boy; he's eight, his name is Levi…and he's yours, Dean. He's your son.”

I dared to look up at him, watching his eyes go wider and his mind empty of thoughts. Either that, or his mind is racing so fast that it's left his body on standby. I gave him a few minutes to process the news. Or at least process it the best he could as it would likely be days or weeks before this fully sunk in. Nervousness prickled at my own skin, my worst fears of rejection bubbling to the surface again at his silence. I sighed.

“It’s ok, Dean, I’m not expecting you to-”

He stood abruptly, stepped over the coffee table and pulled me to my feet, wrapping his strong arms around me in a crushing grip. His arms were so tight that it almost winded me, yet I returned his embrace. The feeling of his lips on the top of my head surprised me as he kissed my hair, the sensation warm and comforting. He placed one, two more kisses before he cupped my face in his large hands, his rough palms gentle against my cheeks as I locked eyes with him. The sight was beautiful. The annoyance and exasperation that I expected to be met with was nowhere to be seen, and I saw no shadow of negativity within those evergreen eyes. All I saw was love. Pride. Joy. Excitement. The relief washing over me felt the same as climbing into your nice, warm comfy bed when on the brink of exhaustion. 

“I’m a dad?” his voice cracked slightly whilst his eyes shimmered.

I nodded as a grin erupted across his face, followed by an airy, almost unbelieving chuckle.

“Holy fuck, (Y/n)-”

“You’re not mad?” my voice was quiet.

“What?” Dean looked at me as though I’d grown a second head, “of course not. Why would I be mad?”

“Because it’s been nine years since we last saw each other, and suddenly this woman who you’ve not spoken to in nearly a decade drops the biggest truth bomb on you. A truth bomb  that I know you definitely weren’t expecting,” I try to step back but he pulls me in for another hug, squeezing the air out of me a second time.

“(Y/n), sweetheart, this is the best bit of news I’ve had in a long, long time.”

I smiled into his chest, freeing my arms to wrap them around his neck and pull him down into a hug of my own. We stood for a moment in our embrace as the coffee shop busied around us. I knew this shop and I knew this town and people would soon start to talk, start to try and figure out Dean: like who is he? How does he know (Y/n)? Why are they acting so familiar? Is he trouble? But that was all unimportant rubbish that I would deal with later. Right now, Levis father was here, and he knew. For the first time in my adult life I felt like I wasn’t keeping some devastating secret from an incredible man, and it was like I could breathe again. 

Pulling away from Deans’ bear hug, I tucked the wisps of hair away that had come loose from my claw grip and grinned up at him, reaching for his hand. I held it in mine as I swayed slightly on the spot, like an excited schoolgirl who’d just been asked on her first date. Dean smiled down at me, the sort of smile that shone on top of the world.

“So…” I started, biting my lip slightly.

“Do you want to meet your son?”

Next Chapter: Chapter 3

Taglist: @suckitands33 @jackles010378 @megara0224 @libby99hb @roseblue373 @hobby27 @calibootsgirl @lyarr24 @autistic-gothic @wattpaduser200 @spndeanwinchesterlvr @mxtansy @magssteenkamp @redmaro86 @slut-for-evans-stan @spookyysinsanity @localjisung @king-of-milf-lovers @xshortputax @jerksbitch @multifandoms-saidwhat @deans-baby-momma @writersxxx @rox2008 @jeysbae @ladykitana90 @proudbisexual @ladysparkles78 @elenasalvatore1 @bxtchboy69 @saemiau @lilithlunastark @kazsrm67 @chriszgirl92 @riah1606 @impala67rollingthroughtown

[watermelongirl01]

The Tattoo

Aaron Hotchner x fem!reader

Criminal Minds x Supernatural

Summary: Your first humankind case reveals a new Hotchner´s side you didn´t know.

Content Warning: Flirty Hotch, Homicide description, Abuse, Rape, Violence, Triggering situations. (Please let me know if I let something out.)

Note: This is my version of the episode "Jones" in the early seasons, I changed a lot of the things but not all of them, It is just how I would've liked the case to be in my opinion, and obviously added a bunch of other things to fit the thread of my story, like Jason Gideon not being there. I hope you like it.

“Short stuff, are you ready?” 

“Nope”

“Come on, you’re going to be just fine.” Morgan gifted you a reassuring smile.

This was your first time filling in for a member of the group. Normally it wasn’t necessary, but the team was reduced to four. Emily was on mandatory vacation and JJ stayed at home to take care of a sick Henry, so now your presence was requested.

“It’s not what I’m used to.”

“No it’s not, but you are a great agent and will do just fine.” He said gently squeezing your arm. “You will charm them all.” 

“Of course I will, there is no doubt.” You smiled back.

“Let’s go then.” 

You both walked to the briefing room where the rest of the team was waiting, Morgan quickly walked to the empty chair In front of you, slightly pushing you to the side, leaving you with no option but to sit next to Hotch, not that you minded but lately all the members of the team have been acting a little weird.

You looked at Morgan with a questioning look but he completely ignored you and lowered his gaze to read the case files.

“We have a serial killer in New Orleans. Two men’s dead bodies were found over the last month, and a third body was found last night, the same MO, male, throat slashed, they were all found in semi-public places in the French Quarter.” You heard Penelope explain.  “The local police have no leads and no suspects so far, Mike Weller, the head detective is waiting for you.”

Hotch nodded and looked at everyone in the room. “Wheels up in thirty.” He said before disappearing out the door. 

—

When arriving, Hotch sent you and Reid to the forensic lab to examine the body.

“No hesitation marks.” You said pointing to the terrible wounds.

Spencer nodded. “Cuts are methodical and almost procedural.”

The forensic doctor looked at both of you. “The person who did this definitely had medical training, there’s no other way he could have done this.”

“He?” You glaze up to the doctor.

“No defensive wounds and took out pretty big men.” You frowned. “Although all the toxicology tests showed signs of alcohol.” 

“Any relatives came to claim the body?” Spencer asked.

The doctor nodded. “His wife came with his former colleague.” Both of you looked at him with a confused expression. “He was a retired officer.”

“The lead detective didn’t say anything about that.”

“I’m not surprised, he wasn’t popular at all, he had a reputation for being a dirty cop.” 

“I’ll call Garcia.” You said getting your phone out.

But suddenly Spencer’s phone began to ring and he immediately answered. “Where? Okay, we’ll be there.”  He looked at you as he got off the phone. “Another body was found, call her on the way there.” 

—

“Same MO.” Morgan informed. “Some people saw him leave the bar down the street.” 

“So, he was drunk just like the other victim.” You said while eyeing the Weller. “Do we know his profession?”

“Does it matter?” He asked with a hint of annoyance in his voice.

You step aside standing closer to him and shrugging your shoulders. “Humor me, detective.”

Detective Weller side-eyed you but nodded. “He was a well-known lawyer.”

“I see.” You crossed your arms while raising an eyebrow. “You forgot to mention that the fourth victim was a cop who used to work at your police station.”

“I don’t think it is relevant to the case.” Weller huffed.

“Well, we don’t know that yet.” You insisted. “Do we?”

The BAU men were looking at your disagreement with confusion, and suddenly a strong back wearing a gray and elegant suit got in between, blocking your vision. It took only a few seconds to recognize that it belonged to Hotchner.

“We would like to have access to all of the information available, it’s vital to be able to get the unsub’s profile.“ You heard Aaron talking to the detective.

“Sure, Agent Hotchner.” After Weller left the crime scene, Hotch turned around to see you.

“You are riding with me.” Hotch left the place hurriedly making you roll your eyes and toss your keys at Spencer.

You manage to keep up with Hotch’s pace and climb up on the SUV, some minutes passed and neither of you talked, but you got tired of the unbearable silence.

“If you’re going to scold me, just do it now.”

“I’m not.”

“Hotch he was in the wrong, you know that, right?”

“I’m aware.” You shot him a puzzled look.

“Then why get in the middle of my conversation?”

”Because that wasn’t a conversation, he was starting to raise his voice.”

“I can take it, Hotchner.”

“I know you can, doesn’t mean I want you to.” You felt how your facial expression softened at his comment. “Listen, some of these detectives think we are here to make them look bad, they feel threatened.”

You rolled your eyes. “How are their insecurities my fault?”

Hotch chuckled a bit. “They are not, just go easy on them so we can keep the case.”

—

You, Hotch, and Spencer stayed at the precinct to read all the new information about the victims while Rossi and Morgan left to talk with the new possible witnesses. Currently, you are on your third cup of coffee and your fifth case file.

“I can’t believe we were missing all this information.” You hissed.

“Simmer down.” Hotch murmured.

You looked at the evidence board leaning against the table, focusing on the victim's photos, and frowning when looking closer.

“Oh.”

“You found something new?” Spencer asked.

“Hmm, have you seen that all the victims have tattoos?” Both men got closer to look at the photos. 

“Well actually, in some religions tattoos are forbidden because they think of the body as a temple.” Spencer babbled and immediately stood up from his chair. “Some other religions even think that if you get a tattoo, you’re not allowed in heaven.”

“Really?” A look of confusion crossed your face.

Spencer quickly nodded while pointing up with his finger. “You shall not make any cuttings in your flesh for the dead, nor tattoo any marks on you: I am the Lord. Leviticus 19:28.” He added.

“So, we think this is a religious matter?” You asked.

“It could be a coincidence. Let’s ask Garcia if she can find something about it.” Spencer took his phone and left the room, leaving you and Hotch alone, looking at the board side to side.

“Well, that’s concerning. You know, some tattoos are meant to protect you.”

Hotch turned his head towards you. “What do you mean?”

“There’s this kind of tattoos that are protection symbols, usually hunters get them.”

“You have one?” Hotch’s upright posture was visibly shaken.

“I'm no hunter.” You said before walking back to the table, Hotch following you. “But yes, I do have one.”

“I’ve never seen a tattoo on you.” Hotch frowns

“That´s because it’s not in a visible spot.” You giggled while turning your back on Hotch to take out another stack of files.

Hotch’s eyes were found unconsciously roaming over your body. He had seen you in the summer, in short skirts and tiny tops, or with risky cleavages, hell he even had seen you in your pajamas when you shared a hotel room once or twice, but he never noticed any tattoos. That can only mean one last place. 

Hotch knew you were busy getting the files so his eyes ended up going down your back to your ass, He was positive your tattoo was on your hip or ass. 

You could feel Hotch’s eyes going down and up your body, You even turned your back on him longer than needed, so he could linger his sight on you even longer. Anyone could’ve said it was just Hotch’s curiosity but you saw that tiny shade of lust, sparkle in his eyes for a brief moment when you mentioned you having a tattoo.

You turned your body in a slow move and caught him still hypnotized by your body. “Looking for something Hotch?”

“Hips or ass, agent?” He asked with a straight face but his voice showed a hint of playfulness. He was teasing you.

The question made you smirk. “You’re not gonna hear it from me, you’re going to need to find out in another way, Sir.”

But before he could open his mouth to speak, Spencer came back to the room with bad news.

“Another body appeared, no tattoo.”

–

“Body number five, we can barely keep up with this guy.” you heard in the distance.

“Do we know who he is?” Hotch asked.

“Since it matters so much, His friend says he is a salesman.” Weller said, sending a nasty look at you. “No connection.”

“Detective Weller, I would appreciate it if your answer were directed at me. When I ask a question.” Hotch replied.

Weller huffed with irritation and you thought you heard him grumble something, but you’re not sure if he was agreeing with Hotch or cursing you under his breath. “We have five bodies, Agent Hotchner, and no correlation.”

“Okay, all victims were partying late at night with their friends and killed in the alley with no one noticing, how did the unsub manage to get them alone?” Hotch looked at his team, they were all lost in thoughts.

“A woman.” Detective Weller's mocking laughter echoed in the room.

“Let her finish.” It only took the look on Hotch’s eyes to harden, to force Weller to shut up.

“What is the only temptation for a straight man that’s going to lure him away from his friends and make him leave the bar?” Your expecting eyes were moving around glancing at your team’s faces.

“A woman.” Rossi repeated while nodding his head.

Hotch turned on his heels and looked at the detective. “Gather your men, we are ready to give a profile.” 

—

“Ready?” Hotch whispered in your ear, making the baby hairs on the back of your neck stand at the sound of his voice.

“What?” You whispered back feeling numb by his closeness.

“Ready to give the profile?” 

“Hotch, I’ve never gi-.” Your voice trails off. “I don’t think it is a good idea.”

“It is.” He assured you pushing you to the side and walking to the room full of cops.

Lost in your thoughts you barely felt two hands holding your arms from behind, giving you a light squeeze. “You got this, Kid.” Rossi left your side and followed Hotch in the other precinct's room.

You sighed and took a deep breath. This was your first time profiling a human case, not covering up supernatural events or rehearsing made-up stories. This felt different, good different.

You walked confidently and stood in the middle of the room surrounded by your team.

“We are looking for a woman between 30 and 35, she’s friendly, she’ll lure with charm but kill with rage.” You began your speech, feeling every pair of eyes looking at you with attention. “We believe she kills men to reclaim her power.” 

“She probably suffers from low self-esteem but covers it well.” You heard Morgan's voice.

“We believe this woman went through a catastrophic event, that’s when the killing started.” Rossi pointed.

“She has medical training, you should consider EMTs, doctors, or veterinarians.” 

“It’s more likely we are dealing with the Aileen Wournos archetype, motivated by paranoia and fear, luring men with sex.” Spencer added.

“She certainly knows the terrain, so be careful out there.” Hotch remarked.

A couple of hours later after the profile, Detective Weller came in a hurry with a piece of paper in an evidence bag.

“Forensics found a letter on the victim's body.” He said handing it over to Hotch. “She’s mocking us.”

“Dear boss, he wanted it. With that sharp tongue and vulgar hand. I thought you’d like to know that another will soon get what he deserves.

Yours truly.”  

“That 's weird.” All eyes searched Spencer’s voice. “Typically offenders write letters to be heard. Jack the Ripper bragged about not being caught yet this Unsub isn’t using correspondence to flaunt her latest kill. Only to explain why she did it.” He explained while moving his hands around.

“It’s possible that she considers herself a vigilante. That the man she’s killing deserves to die.” Rossi blurted.

“Then, every kill she’s acting out is a fantasy of revenge or a real revenge?” Everyone in the room returned to their thoughts wondering at Morgan’s question.

You shifted in your place with uncertainty. “Maybe she is contacting us not because we are on the case, but because she believes we understand.” With fingers tapping against the wood, you began to unravel the tiny hints in the letter. “The Unsub wrote, He wanted it as she couldn’t help herself. What if she’s mirroring the man who raped her?”

”Where are the files stored from your Sex Crimes Division?” Hotch looked at Weller’s direction.

The detective stepped out of the room momentarily and returned with a medium-sized carton box with a few files that barely stuck out of the box. “Here they are.”

“That 's it?” You let out with a surprised tone of voice.

After several hours of trying to match your profile with any file in the box, you were exhausted. You decided to take a quick break and enter the bathroom, You locked yourself inside one of the bathroom booths and sighed while your hands held your head.

The sound of the door being opened ripped you out of your pessimistic thoughts. Suddenly a hand left a piece of paper report at your feet, leaving you uncertain on what to do. You tried to thank the person but, you were answered with fast footsteps leaving the place.

You took the paper and read in a whispered voice, Disturbance at Jones.

~~

“Care to tell us what happened then, detective?” Hotch asked.

Detective Weller shifted in his seat with discomfort. “How did you know about this incident?”

“It was in the box you gave us, Weller.” Morgan said while leaning against the wall, looking directly at Weller.

“I don’t think so.”

“Maybe you misplaced it, who cares?” You argued. 

He looked at you with disdain. Aaron couldn’t help himself and stepped closer to you showing protection. “This happened when the head detective before me was in charge, I took some of the declarations but that’s it.”

You smirked with satisfaction Knowing you were right all along. “The detective before you as our third victim?” He nodded.

“What happened there, detective?” 

“One of the boys asked her if she wanted to play pool. Witnesses claim she was up for anything. His friend, not far behind.“ All the eyes were on him. “He claims she knew he was there, She said she claimed for help but not a single person claimed that they heard her.”

You shook your head in disbelief. 

He continued, “That’s why it was registered as a disturbance. She wanted to press charges. But the head detective back then told her it was a waste of time.”

“How is this just a disturbance?” Rossi asked, frowning at Weller.

“As far as I was concerned, no such rape ever took place, and the boy was a colleague’s son, he is a good boy.”

Something in your stomach twisted and anger started to build up.

“We are trying to know her name; she could be our Unsub.” Morgan pointed out. Weller sighed when this realization dawned on him, but he slightly shook his head as he was ashamed of not knowing the answer. 

But you were sure shame wasn’t a feeling men like that could understand.

“You don’t remember her name?“ Morgan asked with incredulity.

“It was nine years ago.” 

“What about the name of the good kid that raped her?” You bickered.

~~

“Mr. Tibideaux, we need you to answer a few questions about a disturbance you were involved with.“ Hotch’s voice resonated inside the four walls of the interrogation room.

“I don’t know what you are talking about.”

Disgust appeared in your face, but you hid it by biting your tongue. You didn’t know why Hotch asked you to be there, but you hated every minute of it.

“At a bar called Jones, It was Mardi Gras.” Hotch reminded him.

“You know, then I must’ve been drinking or something. Cause I don’t remember a thing.”

With your feet tapping the floor, you were counting the seconds to be able to leave the room and be away from the so-called good boy.

“We just need to know the name of your accuser.” Hotch demanded. If he was annoyed there was no way to know.

“Look, I told you. I don’t know what you are talking about”

You roughly massaged your right temple, fuming.

”The statute of limitations is up, we just need a name.” He added calmly.

“Someone accuses me of rape, I’m gonna remember her name.” You taunted.

“Well, what can I tell you, Cher? I guess she didn’t make that good of an impression.“

Your eyes narrowed dismissively.

”Unlike yourself right now.” You retorted.

“You know. I’m guessing if someone did do something to that girl that night then she was probably asking for it. Maybe even liked it.”

You controlled the urge to smash his head against the table and abruptly took the file out of Hotch’s hands, you opened it and began to display all the victim's photos in front of him.

“You know Hotch, maybe we are not too late, she murdered these men and I’m guessing it’s only a matter of time before she works her way back to the one she really wants to kill.” You tilted your head to look at him but he was busy looking at the pictures with a horrified look. “Is she making an impression now?

Your words suggested you were talking to Hotch but your sight was set on the other man in the room.

“You don’t want to tell us, fine.” You snickered. “Cause Daddy can’t make this go away, and I have no problem waiting for your dead body to give me a new hint.”  

You leaned closer, you didn’t have to talk anymore, you knew your eyes were saying enough. But you continued.

“In fact, I wouldn’t like anything else, so I’m gonna go ahead and set my alarm for tomorrow morning when I get the call from the police.” You ranted.  “Cause, believe me, I’m going to sleep better knowing there is one less offender out of the streets.”

After hearing the name you needed, you stormed out of the room leaving everyone behind without looking back until you heard a voice calling for you.

“That was out of line, agent.” You abruptly stopped and turned on your heels to look at Weller. 

“The only thing out of line is how pathetic you are at doing your job, Weller.” You turned back at him one more time and kept waking till reaching a quiet corner to make a phone call.

“Work me.” You hear Penelope’s voice on your phone.

“We have a name. Sarah Danlin. I need an address.”

“1141 Sherman Avenue. It looks like she was a med student at Tulane but she dropped out.”

“Let me guess, February nine years ago.”

“Yeah.”

“Thanks.” 

~~

You returned to the hotel room by Hotchner’s request, and you knew he was in the right to send you back, you got carried away by your emotions. 

You were a mess. Closing your room door, you let your emotions overpower you once more. Tears were falling down your face. You weren’t sure what you were feeling. No one ever prepared you for this kind of case, you felt powerless, empty, and lost. And finally, rage possessed your emotions.

You tossed glasses and trails of empty dishes, and your luggage and clothes flew around the room until your energy and strength gave up and tiredness reached you.

You are sure the hotel staff let Hotch know, cause he kept checking with you constantly. He let you know when they arrested her and how she told them she killed every man who helped cover up her abuse.

You heard your door being open and looked at Hotchner with a questioning look when you saw him standing there.

“How did you open my door?” 

He showed you his key. “We are sharing.”

You frowned. “Since when?”

“Since now, there has been an unexpected cut in the budget.” You nodded knowing it was a lie and he probably wanted to check on you. But you said nothing.

“Some things fall by themselves, I think there’s a ghost.” You said when you caught him looking at the mess on the floor.

“I think you can manage that.” 

He left his duffel bag on the floor and sat next to you on the bed. 

“Are you okay?” He asked.

That simple question was enough to break your strong façade. It was a question you normally have no problem answering with a lie, and you didn’t know if it was the situation or just because Hotch was the one asking. But it brought you down to tears. 

He took you in his arms and hugged you tight.

“I’m sorry.” 

“It 's okay.” He softly mumbled on your head reassuring you. “You said what you needed to say.”

You quickly shook your head.

“I meant it.” You sniffled. “I was willing to wait.”

“I know.” He said while caressing your back with soothing movements. 

“So, normally you have to deal with these detectives making your job impossible?”

“Yeah, all the time.” He chuckled. 

“God, it’s exhausting.” You laugh a little 

“You don’t?”

“No, they basically beg me to take the case out of their hands.” 

Hotch sighed. “You need to learn new methods for the interrogation.” He searched for your eyes. “I mean, only if you want to keep coming to these cases with us, you want to?”

“Yeah.” You smiled at him.

“You are a profiler now, welcome to the team.”

~~

Back in Quantico, you were getting ready to leave your office when you got a call from an unknown number. You hesitated but finally answered after letting it ring for a couple of seconds.

“Hello?”

“Hey, sweetheart.”

“Dean?” You frowned looking back at the number.

“We need a little bit of help.” Reality sank on you.

“Tell me you are not calling from where I think you are calling.” 

“Agent Henriksen got to us.”

“Damn it, Dean, How the heck did he manage to do that?”

“Bella Talbot.”

“That bitch again?” You sighed. “Where are you?”

“Colorado.”

“I’m on my way.”

[dianawinchester03]

Season 2, Episode 21 - All Hell Breaks Loose: Part 1

Series Masterlist

Author's Note: Ahhhh yes, the dreaded episode is finally here😭Just so y’all know, this was not easy for me to write LMAO.

So the song I listened to while rereading and editing this chapter is Dynasty by Miia sooooo, do what you want with that;) listen to it while reading if that’s your thing.

Lmao, GOOD LUCK MY BEAUTIES!!

____________________________________________

Third Person POV

Boston’s ‘Foreplay/Longtime’ boomed through the Impala’s speakers, the quartet was headed to a local diner. The screech of Baby’s wheels dug into the gravel in front of the dingy diner. “Hey, don’t forget the extra onions this time, huh?” Dean said to Sam, handing him some cash between his fingers for the food.

“Dude-” Sam scoffed, rolling his eyes as he snatched the money from his fingers. “-we’re the ones who’re gonna have to ride in the car with your extra onions” Sam sassed, making Jo snicker in the backseat, while Y/N groaned heavily, resting her head on Jo’s shoulder. “Times like this, I miss my girl” She groaned, referring to her bike.

“There, there, darling.” Jo pat Y/N’s head playfully. Dean just smiled widely as Sam and Y/N hopped out of their respective seats. “Hey, see if they got any pie!” Dean called out to them, Sam and Y/N shot him annoyed looks as they harshly shut their doors. “Bring me some pie!” He called out again.

“We won’t forget your cake!” Y/N shouted back with a roll of her eyes, slightly offended that Dean really thought she would forget the pie. Forgetting the pie was more Sam’s thing. “PIE!!!” Dean shouted again. “I love me some pie” He muttered to himself, turning up the radio.

Y/N pushed the door open to the diner, allowing Sam in first, the bell above the door jingling as they entered inside. The lighting was soft and dim, the atmosphere of the diner gave the diner an intimate feel. The place was a typical small town diner, booths with vinyl seats, checkered floor, and counters. A couple of customers sat scattered about, talking amongst themselves between bites.

Jo watched Y/N and Sam walk into the diner through the windshield, her attention turned back to Dean. “I’m starving,” She spoke, rubbing her empty stomach. “All this hunting makes a girl hungry.”

“I hear ya” He chuckled a little in agreement, his eyes still glued to the door where Y/N and Sam had disappeared into. “I swear, if they forget the pie, I’m gonna lose it.” He muttered under his breath, running his hand through his hair. Jo snorted in amusement, “Like she’d forget your pie” She told him, shaking her head.

“True, but Sam can be a little brain-dead sometimes.” He added with a crooked smirk. “Dude forgets the pie every time we stop at a diner. It’s a good thing Y/N always reminds him.” Jo nodded in agreement, “I swear that girl keeps you guys alive.”

Before Dean could respond to that, the music that was sounding through the Impala began going static. The light in the radio deck started blinking as if something was interfering with the frequency. Dean and Jo furrowed their brows, the elder Winchester reaching over to tap the deck but the music shut off.

The two shared a bewildered look upon noticing the surroundings were eerily silent and the once filled diner with patrons and staff was now empty, no sign of Sam or Y/N whatsoever. They instantly bursted into action without a word, Dean exiting the drivers side with Jo climbing out of the backseat.

Both rushed over to the diner door, the jingling of the bell and the sound of country music filled their ears, their eyes widening at the scene in front of them, one of the patrons was now laying facedown in a booth, a bullet wound to the back of his head, his cap laying near the puddle of blood.

Their senses heightened in alert as they stepped in, their eyes scanning the diner for any sort of threat. The atmosphere was eerily quiet, all noise cut to a halt, except for the faint sound of the country music playing on the old radio behind the counter. Dean and Jo cautiously moved further inside, weapons drawn, prepared for danger.

Dean as he gripped his holstered gun at the back of his jeans and Jo retrieved hers from her jean jacket. “Sam?!” Dean shouted for his brother. “Y/N?!” Jo called out for her sister, slowly padding into the diner, Jo’s eyes were trapped on the blood leaking down the edge of the table where the innocent man laid in the pool of his own bodily fluids.

“Y/N?! Sammy?!” Dean and Jo called out for them but no response was given. Jo slightly jumped back when her eyes landed on the two dead cooks of the diner behind the counter, both with their throats slit. Their calls echoed through the silent diner, only returned with silence.

Jo’s heart was racing a million beats per minute, a cold sweat breaking out on her skin. She was filled with panic, fear and anxiety bubbling in the pit of her stomach as she followed Dean through the diner. The sight of the two dead cooks made her blood run cold and she fought the urge to gag at the sight.

Dean’s jaw tightened, his heart pounding as he tried to keep his cool, his hand tightening around his silver revolver. He’d been in tense situations way worse than this, and yet…he couldn’t shake the feeling of pure dread crawling up his spine. “Sam!” He yelled again, his voice hoarse and tense. “Y/N?! Where the hell are you?!”

Dean and Jo walked around the back, stumbling upon the back door. The elder Winchester pushed it open, the rain had come down since they entered the diner, there were no tracks out the back, nothing. As if they had just vanished. Upon taking his hand off the door, Dean felt a weirdly familiar dust coat the side of his hand. His eyes widened as he dusted the yellow sand between his fingers.

His heart rate increased rapidly. Jo turned to him in surprise, her eyes locking on to the dust between his fingers. “Sulfur” They both said in unison. The two rushed out of the diner, screaming the names of their loved ones.

“Sam?!”

“Y/N?!”

“Sammy?!”

“Y/N/N?!”

Their footsteps were heavy through the wet gravel of the parking lot. Their voices echoed through the empty parking lot. Dean and Jo’s breaths were coming out in panicked gasps as they tore through the rain, calling for Sam and Y/N over and over.

“SAM!!! Y/N!!!!”

____________________________________________

Cold Oak, South Dakota

Meanwhile, Sam and Y/N were both passed out on an old board next to each other in a ghost town. Sam’s hand twitched on top of Y/N’s face, accidentally clocking her one in her cheek. Y/N’s eyes shot open, a soft gasp leaving her lips when she found herself woken up to a world rocking punch from Sam and a blinding headache.

"Ow!" She groaned, bringing a hand to her sensitive cheek where Sam's hand had made contact. Her head was spinning and her cheek throbbed with pain from the accidental punch. She shot a glare over to Sam, who was slowly regaining consciousness as well, groaning heavily. "Sam, you stupid fucking idiot." She mumbled, punching him back in his ribcage.

Sam grunted heavily as eyes shot open, his senses slowly coming back to him. His head was pounding, and his vision was blurry with exhaustion. He groaned loudly, rubbing his head before looking down, finding Y/N on the floor next to him, cradling her cheek. "Jesus" He croaked out, wincing, clutching his side. "What...happened?"

“I don’t know” Y/N said in confusion, still gripping her bruised cheek with one hand and her throbbing hand with the other as Sam pushed himself up, struggling to steady himself. Sam took a minute to steady himself, his feet stumbling to keep himself upright. Once he'd stabilized, he turned to Y/N, concern etched on his face as he noticed her holding her hand and bruised cheek.

"You okay?" He asked, his voice gruff yet genuine. Y/N glared at him slightly, clutching her cheek. “Just peachy” She huffed, putting her hand out for him to help her up. Sam looked guilty as he grabbed Y/N's offered hand and aided her up. "Sorry about that." He apologized genuinely, gesturing to her bruised cheek.

Y/N rubbed the tender area of her cheek, wincing slightly as her fingers grazed over the bruise. "It’s fine, I got you back. But I do feel bad for Jo" Y/N teased with a hint of humor in her voice despite the pain. Sam scoffed, rolling his eyes in playful annoyance as they both scanned the deserted town they had woken up in with their eyes. Not a soul in sight.

Panic began to set in for them both as Sam quickly reached into his pocket to fish his phone out. His phone just beeped, indicating there’s no signal. Sam’s fingers trembled as he tried calling for a signal on his phone, but it just continued to display no signal. “Goddammit” He muttered under his breath as he shoved his phone back into his pocket.

“Y/N, where’s your phone?” He asked, his voice growing more desperate in tone. “I left it in the Impala before we went into the diner” She groaned, holding her throbbing forehead. Sam's jaw clenched in frustration and worry. "Dammit!" He exhaled as he began to pace back and forth on the old worn-down board. He tried to think rationally, but panic was taking over.

"We have to find a phone, we need to call Jo and Dean." He spoke, a sense of desperation in his words. Y/N narrowed her eyes at him, “I don’t know if you’ve noticed Sammy but-” She flailed her arms around. “We’re in the middle of NOWHERE!”

"Oh, I'm so glad you just gave me that update, genius." He retorted sarcastically, his words a bit sharper than he intended. He paused, taking a moment to try and center himself before continuing.

"We can’t just stand here waiting," he grumbled under his breath, his eyes scanning the surroundings. “We need to find some way to contact them, even if we have to walk twenty miles on foot." He said determined, marching off to investigate.

Y/N’s eyes widened at his words. “Twenty miles in these boots?? Come on!” She exclaimed, begrudgingly following behind her best friend.

-

An hour later, the two still hadn’t found anyone or anything in the town. Going up to old buildings, but most of the doors were locked or barred. That was until they heard the floorboards creaking while outside of an old house.

Sam froze in place as they approached another seemingly abandoned house, their ears perked up as they heard the creaking of the floorboards coming from within. He turned to Y/N and held up a hand, signaling her to stay behind him.

Y/N’s eyes landed on two large wooden ply at the front of the door, she reached down slowly and picked them both up, handing one to Sam. Sam took the board from Y/N, and held it in a defensive position, ready in case they had to fight off an unknown danger.

Sam stood for a moment, listening intently to the sounds coming from within. The footsteps grew louder coming towards them and Y/N instantly aimed to hit the person but pulled back upon recognizing them.

“AHHH!!” Andy screamed, backing up into the old wall, holding up his hands. Sam’s eyes widened, “Andy?!” He spoke, lowering the 2x4 in his hand. “Sam. Y/N.” Andy gasped. “What are you two doing here?!” He exclaimed, fully panicked. “We don’t know!” Y/N said back in equal panic and confusion, lowering her wood. “What am I doing here?!” Andy exclaimed again.

“We don’t know. Just-” Sam tried to tell him to calm down but Andy cut him off. “Where are we?!” Andy panicked, Sam and Y/N shared an exasperated look before both tossing their woods aside. “Andy, honey, look. Calm down” Y/N tried to say soothingly but it didn’t seem to help him whatsoever.

“I-I can’t calm down. I have just woke up in fucking Frontierland” Andy’s voice went up an octave as he hyperventilated. “Okay, okay. What’s the last thing you remember?” Sam asked him calmly. Andy panted as he placed his hand to his forehead, “Honestly. My fourth bong-load” Andy panted.

Y/N let out a little snort of amusement, earning a side eye and a nudge to the ribs by Sam. She winced slightly, shooting him a glare as she rubbed her rib while Andy explained. “It was weird. All of a sudden, there was this really intense smell, like, uh-” Sam and Y/N shared a knowing look at this.

“Like sulfur?” She cut him Off. “How did you know that?” Andy gasped. “Dean.” Sam said as he gulped. “Your brother, is he here?” Andy asked hopefully. Y/N’s heart dropped as Sam shook his head. “We don’t know where he is” Y/N’s tone dropped as she toyed with her charm bracelet. “We don’t know if he’s-” Sam’s heart panged at the thought of something happening to Dean or Jo.

A woman screaming in the distance made their heads snap in the direction of the sound. The three instantly began rushing towards the sound of a woman screaming and banging on a wooden crate. “Help me, please!! I’m locked in here!!” The woman’s cries echoed. “Hello?!” Y/N shouted. They stumbled upon the crate, which was locked from the outside.

“Help!! Help me!!!” The woman cried, banging on the door. “Okay, okay. We’re here. We’re gonna get you out, alright?! Just hold on a second!” Sam assured the woman as y/n picked up a stone from the ground and began hitting the lock. After a few strikes, the lock broke. Y/N quickly discarded the rock as Sam took the lock off.

“Alright, one second!” Sam shouted, pulling the door open to reveal Ava. Sam and Y/N’s mouths dropped, “Ava?!” Y/N gasped, “Oh my god, Sam! Y/N!!” Ava sobbed exasperatedly, her tone going up an octave, rushing into Y/N’s arms. The psychic instantly wrapped her arms around her, burying her face in her hair.

Sam let out a breath of relief upon seeing Ava alive and well. Her disappearance haunted him and y/n for months. Andy stood there awkwardly as the two women embraced. “I guess you know each other” He said awkwardly as Ava pulled away from y/n. “Yeah” Sam nodded, only to let out a low, “Oof” as Ava threw herself into his arm.

“How did you-? I mean- how did you-” Ava stuttered, trying to talk. “Ava, have you been here this whole time?” Sam asked her, bewildered. “What whole time? I just woke up in there like half an hour ago!” Ava exclaimed. “Well, you’ve been gone for months. Sam, Dean and I have been looking everywhere for you” Y/N told her, Ava shook her head.

“Okay, that's impossible, because I saw you guys two days ago” Ava scoffed, Sam and Y/N looked at her as if she had grown two heads. “You didn’t, I’m sorry” Sam shook his head. Ava’s face dropped, “But that makes no sense. It’s-” She began sobbing again. “Oh, my God!” She gasped. “My fiancé, Brady, if I’ve been missing for that long, he must be freaking out!”

Sam and Y/N shared a sideways look as Ava sobbed hysterically, a lump growing in Y/N’s throat. “Well-” Sam’s words got caught in his throat. “Oh-” Ava’s face contorted to confusion when her eyes landed on Andy. “Hey. Andy. Also freaking out” Andy awkwardly introduced himself. “Okay. What’s happening?!” Ava screamed.

Y/N ran a hand over her face, sighing heavily. “I don’t know. I don’t really know yet” Sam sighed. A thought popped up in Y/N’s head. “But I know one thing” Y/N began, putting a finger up. “I know what the four of us have in common.” She stated, Sam nodded in agreement. “Hello? Is anybody there?” The sound of an unfamiliar voice of a man in the distance made all their heads snap in the same direction.

“Maybe more than four” Sam muttered, he and y/n nodded in unison before following the sound of the man’s voice.

-

The four of them walked through the abandoned town, looking for the source of the voice. They rounded a corner and heard the banging of something, they picked up their pace towards the sound.

They stood in front of a small shop, the sound of something banging against wood echoed from inside. “Help! Somebody, anybody” The man’s voice called out desperately.

“Hello?! Hey!” Sam shouted, stumbling upon an African American man in an army uniform and a blonde woman, all seemingly around their age. “Hey, you guys alright?” Y/N asked. “I think so.” The man responded. “I’m Y/N. This is Sam” Y/N introduced them both, gesturing to Sam.

“I’m Jake.” Jake introduced himself. “Lily” Lily, the blonde woman who looked scared, introduced herself. “Are there any more of you?” Sam asked, looking behind them. “No” Jake shook his head. “How did we even get here? A minute ago I was in San Diego” Lily said. “Well, if it makes you feel any better, I went to sleep last night in Afghanistan” Jake countered, making everyone’s jaws drop.

“Let me take a wild guess. You two are both 23?” Y/N asked them. Their eyes widened in disbelief, “Well, we all are. And we all have abilities” Sam added. “What?” Jake asked, clenching his jaw. “It started a little over a year ago, when you found out you can do things. Things you didn’t think were possible” Sam continued. Everyone fell silent.

“Me and Sam have visions. We see things before they happen.” Y/N told them. “Yeah, me too,” Ava muttered. “And I’m telekinetic. I can move things with my mind, like-” Y/N put her right hand out, focusing her energy on the dried dead leaves on the ground. Her eyes flashed white as her veins on her hand ignited to a light shade of aqua blue.

The leaves and small twigs started trembling and floated up a few inches from the ground. The four looked on in awe as Y/N made the sticks fly through the air. Y/N gritted her teeth as she concentrated, causing the dry leaves to fly into the air into a swirling tornado before dropping back down with a heavy thud.

“Okay. That’s cool” Jake muttered, his tone laced with shock. “Yeah, shit took a lot of practice.” Y/N snorted. “Well, that makes my ability to put thoughts into people's heads and make them do stuff seem pretty lame” Andy huffed, Y/N chuckled and patted his shoulder. “Oh, but don’t worry. I don’t think it works on you guys.” Andy added as he walked up the porch.

Y/N’s eyes scanned Jake as Andy spoke, a nagging thought at the back of her head was telling her that she knew him from somewhere but she couldn’t place exactly where. “Oh, but get this, um, I’ve been practicing. Training my brain, like meditation, right? So now, it’s not just thought I can beam out but images too. Like anything I want. It’s like, bam! People, they see it” Andy exclaimed enthusiastically.

Y/N smiled, shaking her head at him. Sam did the same thing, “This one guy I know, total dick. I- i used it on him” Andy laughed as he explained, pointing to his head. “Gay porn, all hours of the day” Andy told them, everyone looked horrified while Y/N bursted out laughing. “It’s just like- you should’ve seen the look on his face” Andy cackled.

Y/N struggled to catch her breath, her sides were aching from laughing so hard. Even Sam cracked a smile at the story, shaking his head, holding back a snort. Meanwhile everyone else was silent, looking at Andy unamused. “Oh, okay…tough crowd” Andy muttered. “So you go, ‘Simon says give me your wallet’ and they do?” Lily asked bitterly, crossing her arms over her chest.

“You two have visions? And you can make fucking tornados out of leaves with your mind? That’s great! I’d kill for something like that!” Y/N’s smile faded at the tone of Lily’s voice, sensing the resentment. “Hey. Watch the tone” She warned, an edge to her voice. Everyone fell silent, the air was tense.

Sam stepped in, not wanting Y/N to shank the chick before they could figure out what’s going on. “Lily, listen. It’s okay” Sam tried to calm her down. “No, it’s not! I touch people, their hearts stop” Lily growled. Everyone’s faces dropped and Y/N now felt bad for getting defensive. “I can barely leave my house. My life’s not exactly improved. So fuck you. I just wanna go home” The bitterness in Lily’s tone was evident.

“And what, we don’t?” Jake chimed in. “You know what, don’t talk to me like that-” Lily turned back to give Jake a piece of her mind. “Hey, guys. Come on, whether we like it or not, we’re all here. And so we all have to deal with this” Sam cut her off. “Who brought us here?” Andy asked. Sam and Y/N shared a horrified look, “It’s less of a who. It’s more of a what” Y/N said lowly.

“What does that mean?” Ava asked, crossing her arms over her chest. “It’s- uh-” Sam gulped, y/n was still fiddling with her charm bracelet on her wrist. “It’s a demon,” Sam finally revealed. Lily rolled her eyes, scoffing in disbelief as the place fell silent again.

____________________________________________

Sioux Falls, South Dakota

Dean and Jo found themselves back in South Dakota after Sam and Y/N’s sudden disappearance. Upon knowing it’s somehow connected to a demon, they instantly went to Bobby for help. Now in the salvage yard, Bobby had a map pressed against Baby’s hood as Dean and Jo leaned down to get a look of the map. “This is it. All demonic signs and omens over the past month” Bobby told them.

The duo shot Bobby a questioning look, “You’re joking right? There’s nothing here” Dean scoffed. “Exactly” Bobby shrugged. Their blood pressure skyrocketed. “Come on. There’s gotta be something. I mean, what about the normal, low level stuff?!” Jo exclaimed, “You know, exorcisms, that kind of thing”

“That’s what I’m telling you, idjits. There’s nothing. It’s completely quiet” Bobby pointed out. “Well how are we supposed to look for Sam and Y/N?! What do we just close our eyes and point?!” Dean’s frustration boiled over as he ran a hand over his face. Jo’s phone rang, she eagerly took it out of her pocket, hoping it was Sam or Y/N. Disappointment washed over her when it was just Ash.

“Ash, what do you got?” Jo asked after pressing the answer button, putting the phone on speaker. “Okay, listen, it’s a big negatory on Sam and Cupcake” Ash answered, Dean tried to ignore the burning feeling of agony when Ash called Y/N ‘cupcake’. “Come on, man. You gotta give us something! We’re looking at a 3000-mile haystack here!” Dean bellowed through the speaker.

“Listen, guys, I did find something,” Ash whispered into the phone. “Well, what?” Jo urged him to say, but Ash sounded nervous. “I can’t talk over this line, Jojo.” Ash’s voice cracked. Dean was close to punching a hole in Bobby’s windshield while Jo rolled her eyes. “Come on, we don’t have time for this!” Jo yelled, running a hand through her hair.

“Make time! Okay, because this-…What’s up? What’s going on?” Ash’s words stopped when he saw a Hunter near him. When the hunter walked away, “Not only does this almost definitely help you find Sam and Cupcake, this is…no…It’s huge. So, get here. Now” With the last deathly serious words from Ash, the line went dead.

Jo stared wide eyed at the phone as Dean ran his hand over his face, wiping away the stress sweat beading his forehead. “He can’t be serious,” Dean grumbled. “He is, he definitely is. Ash wouldn’t just fuck around, especially not like this” Jo murmured. Dean sighed heavily, nodding begrudgingly. “I guess we’re going to the Roadhouse. Come on” Dean urged them, hopping into the Impala.

Jo went to follow behind Dean but Bobby stopped her, “Jo” She spun around to face Bobby, “Yeah?” She looked at him in confusion. Bobby reached into his pocket, pulling out a set of keys. The keys to Quinn. “Take Quinn, I’ll take my truck. Y/N’s gonna want her bike when we get her back”

Jo gave him a smile, “Thanks” Jo took the keys and hopped into Y/N’s beloved bike, snapping her helmet on. The engine roared to life as it started in the salvage yard, followed shortly by Baby’s engine revving and then the rumbling of Bobby’s truck engine. The three took off down the road, heading for the Roadhouse.

____________________________________________

Cold Oak, South Dakota

“So we’re soldiers in a demon war to bring on the Apocalypse?!” Jake shouted in disbelief at Sam and Y/N, they gave them the rundown of everything and now everyone was freaking out while Lily was a nervous wreck, biting her nails. “When you put it like that-“

“And- and we’ve been picked?” Jake cut Sam off again. “Yes.” Y/N groaned, playing with her lighter in her thumb. Flicking the flame on and off, it was the only way to stop her from twiddling with her bracelet. Jake was getting on her nerves for some reason and she couldn’t really stand the dude, yet, she couldn’t figure out why, or where she knew him from.

“Why us?” Jake asked again. “We’re not sure. Okay, but look, I just know-” Sam tried to reason with everyone. “Sam. I’m sorry, psychos and spoon bending is one thing. But demons?” Ava interrupted him. Her tone seemed overly croaked, Y/N took note of that. “Look, we know it sounds crazy!” Y/N tried to aid Sam's defense, stuffing her lighter in her pocket. “It doesn’t just sound it” Jake cut her off.

“I don’t really care what you think, okay?!” Y/N snapped. “If we’re all gathered here that means something is starting and that we gotta-!” Jake interrupted her again, “The only thing I gotta do is stay away from wack jobs, okay? I’ve heard enough. I’m better off on my own.” Jake shot back, getting up in her face. Sam’s eye twitched, using his left arm to shield Y/N.

“Hey, hey, hey, hey, hey, hey! Whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa! Cool it, man” Sam warned, putting his hand up on Jake’s chest to hold him back as he moved between the two. Jake’s eyes flicked from Y/N to Sam before he took a step back, clenching his jaw before walking away. “Jake. Hold on. Jake!” Sam called out for him but he kept walking.

The thunder in the sky rumbled as the place felt heavy, Y/N’s chest felt heavy as a burning feeling at the back of her neck raised. She gasped, a wince leaving her mouth as she clutched the back of her neck. The last time she felt this, it was nothing good. It only meant one thing.

"Y/N?" Sam's worried tone filled her ears but she was too focused on the burning feeling behind her neck. It felt like thousands of needles stabbing through her skin. “Demon” Everyone’s eyes widened at Y/N’s indication, especially Ava’s. “Jake” Sam muttered before rushing behind Jake. The entire group followed behind him.

Sam eventually made it to a house he saw Jake go into to see a demon in the form of a little girl getting ready to maul Jake. He instantly burst into action, grabbing an iron poker near the door, driving it straight through the demon. It disapparated into a cloud of black smoke, causing everyone to gasp and duck as the cloud bellowed through the door and away.

Jake looked absolutely terrified at what he had just witnessed, “Just so you know. That was a demon” Y/N sassed a wide eyed Jake who was struggling to catch his breath.

-

“Now that thing, I’m not sure, but I think it was an Acheri. A demon that disguises itself as a little girl” Sam explained, the group of five six now outside the house Jake was nearly killed in. “Still doesn’t tell us where we are,” Y/N muttered. “Andy, you with us or what?” Sam asked. “Give me a minute. I’m still working through ‘demons are real’” Andy said, his voice going up an octave.

-

A few hours later, the group were standing near a large bell in town square. Y/N immediately recognized the bell, nudging Sam gently, “Look familiar?” She whispered, Sam’s eyes snapped over to the bell. His mouth slightly hanging open, “I think I know where we are now. Cold Oak, South Dakota. A town so haunted, every single resident fled” Sam told the group.

“Swell. Good to know we’re somewhere so historical” Ava said sarcastically. “Why in the world would that demon or whatever put us here?” Lily asked, terrified. “We’re wondering the same thing” Y/N answered. Lily scoffed, biting her nails. “You know what? It doesn’t matter.” She shook her head before turning away.

“Clearly, the only sane thing to do here is get the hell out of Dodge” She began walking away. “Wait, hold on, Lily. The only way out is through miles of woods” Y/N stopped her. “Beats hanging out with demons!” Lily bit back. Y/N clenched her jaw, internally rolled her eyes. “Lily, look, we don’t know what’s going on yet. I mean, we don’t even know how many of them are out there right now” Sam tried to reason.

“Yeah he’s right. We should just-” Jake added in but Lily snapped. “Don’t say we! I’m not part of we. I have nothing in common with any of you!” She screamed. “Okay, look, look. I know that-” Y/N attempted to be tender with her. “You don’t know anything! I-” Lily shouted, her words dying in her throat, the look of despair and grief etched on her face. “I accidentally touched my girlfriend”

Sympathy filled Sam and Y/N, the younger Winchester felt a bit of relation to what Lily experienced due to the events two years prior. The place fell silent again, the only sound audible was the rumbling of thunder. “I’m sorry” Sam apologized, “Whatever. I feel like I’m in a nightmare and it just keeps getting worse and worse” Lily’s face remained stoic but her voice was filled with pain.

“I’ve lost people too. I have a brother out there right now and my gir- um- friend. They could be dead for all we know” Sam’s voice dropped as he spoke. Y/N’s heart sank as Sam mentioned Dean and the thought of him potentially being dead. Especially Jo, she felt like bursting into tears on the spot at the image in her head.

She tried to push the thought out of her head but she was struggling, they’d already lost so much and she couldn’t imagine losing any more. Clearing her throat, she looked at Sam. “We’re all in bad shape.” She spoke softly, “But I’m telling you. We’re telling you, the best way out of this is to stick together” She said gently, offering Lily her hand.

Lily and Y/N locked eyes, neither breaking contact as everyone waited to see if Lily would take Y/N’s hand. After what felt like a century, Lily sighed heavily before reluctantly, taking Y/N’s hand and squeezing it. “Fine.” Lily agreed.

-

“We’re looking for iron, silver, salt, any kind of weapon” Sam instructed the four. “Salt is a weapon?” Jake gaped. “It’s a brave new world” Y/N snorted. “Well, hopefully there’s food in your world because I’m fucking starving.” Andy grumbled as they all walked up the porch to an old house, preparing to loot it.

“Amen brother.” Y/N snorted in agreement.

____________________________________________

CE, Nebraska

The Impala, Harley and Bobby’s truck pulled into the Roadhouse’s parking lot to see the once standing hunters bar, now in rubble, burnt to the ground. “What the hell?” Dean muttered, his expression turning to a frown. Quinn’s engine came to a halt when Jo saw her former home in rubble, she immediately took the bike off, practically ripping the helmet off of her head.

“No. No. No. No. No!” Jo yelled out in disbelief, she ran over to the crumbled building as Dean and Bobby hopped out of the Impala. “Jo, no!” Dean tried to stop her from going closer. But it was too late.

Jo pushed past the wooden barrier and began sifting through the rubble. She found scraps of leather and torn flannel, her mother’s flannel. Her heart dropped and she felt nauseous. “Oh my God” Bobby muttered, he felt sick to his stomach as he stared down at the charred bodies of fellow hunters.

The worst came to Jo’s mind, the possibility that her mother and Ash were inhere with all of the dead hunters. Jo fell to her knees in the middle of the rubble, her head grew fuzzy as her world began to spin. “Mom?! Ash!? MOMMY?!” Painful sobs tore from her throat, the huntress clutched her stomach, the grief overwhelming her.

First Sam and Y/N disappear, and now the Roadhouse, the only place she had ever called home, was burnt to a crisp with so many loved ones inside. Dean and Bobby exchanged a look, they were at a loss for what to do or even how to make this situation any better. Jo was breaking to pieces in front of them.

“Jo-“ Dean started to speak only to get interrupted by Jo’s sharp tone. “Don’t.” She snapped, “Just- don’t.” Jo looked up at him through tear-filled eyes, hurt etched across her face. “Just help me look f-“ Her words died in her throat as she began digging through the rubble, hoping beyond hope that there was a possibility her mother and Ash survived.

With heavy hearts and without a word, the two men obliged and began searching the pile of wood and rubble with Jo. It only made the whole situation more dire for both of them as each time they moved a piece, the bodies of a hunter or two became exposed. They could only imagine how Jo felt at that moment.

Upon digging up the rubble, Dean’s eyes landed on the charred arm with a familiar watch on. It was Ash. Jo’s head snapped over to Dean when she heard him say. “Oh, Ash. dammit it.” Her tear stricken eyes wide. “No” Jo whispered, her heart clenching in his chest. Bobby was looking at Ash’s watch, his breath hitched. “Fuck” Bobby muttered quietly.

Jo looked back down at the ground, her body numb as Bobby and Dean dug up Ash’s motionless body. It was a sickening sight. She covered her mouth with her hand, tears streaming down her face again. The fact that the last conversation that had over the phone was them yelling at each other tore into her heart.

She pushed herself up from her knees and slowly padded over to them, sinking back onto her knees in-front of one of her last remaining pieces of family. Now deceased. Bobby put a large calloused hand on her shoulder as Dean and Jo looked down at Ash’s body, no one was exactly sure what to say.

There was no consolation for losing someone. It was a feeling they all could relate to. “Jo, I’m so sorry” Bobby’s voice was gruff, the older man’s grief was evident in his voice. “This isn’t fair” She sobbed out, her chin quivering.

“I know. I know” Bobby was at a loss for words again, he had never seen Jo cry like this, not even after her father died, she was more distant when Bill died. It’s as if everything that was trapped in her was now coming out. It was absolutely heart-wrenching.

Dean placed his hand on Jo’s shoulder, rubbing it slowly. He didn’t say anything. Nothing was going to make anything better than it was in that moment so he didn’t even bother. “Mom. We have to find my mom” Jo croaked out, her head still bowed as she clutched onto Ash’s warm charred hand. “She’s not here, kiddo,” Bobby stated.

Jo’s head lifted up, her eyes wide, “What?” It was a quiet sound but it was so loud and filled with hope.

____________________________________________

Cold Oak, South Dakota

Sam and Y/N were in one room, rummaging through the cabinets for any weapons. “You got your butterfly knife?” Sam asked Y/N. She smirked, reaching into her boot. “You know it” She chuckled, flicking the knife open. “No bastard is taking it away from me this time”

Sam nodded in approval, admiring the knife that Y/N had a death grip on. He wasn’t surprised, she’d always liked knives, hell, he’s pretty sure the only reason she loved it so much is because Dean got it for her.

Ava’s groaning behind them caught their attention, “Hey. You alright, hun?” Y/N asked her softly as the fellow female psychic clutched her forehead. “Yeah. I’m just-…I don’t know. A little dizzy” Ava croaked, holding her head, she seemed to be in pain but to Y/N it looked like she was concentrating on something. Similar to the way Y/N was whenever she manifested her telekinetic abilities.

Sam’s brows furrowed in concern, “Are you sure it’s not some kind of-” Ava cut him off. “What? Some kind of freaky vision thing?” Ava scoffed. “No. More like, I’d kill for a sandwich. I haven’t eaten since-…Well, who knows” She sighed, this made the duo feel sympathetic towards her. “No, it’s- don’t worry. I’m fine, except for every single thing that’s happening” She assured them with a faux smile of enthusiasm.

Y/N and Sam chuckled awkwardly at her tone., “Hey guys, I found something!” Andy called out to them from downstairs. The three made their way down the dirty steps to see Andy next to Jake, holding up two bags with a wide grin. “Salt” Andy almost giggled proudly. “That’s great, Andy. Now we all can s-” Sam’s words died in his throat when he realized someone was missing.

“Where’s Lily?” He asked urgently. Everyone’s faces dropped. “Lily?!” Y/N called out for her in the house but there was no response. “LILY?!” Sam bellowed, his throat rasping, sounding quite similar to Dean. It surprised Y/N and made her flinch slightly along with Ava. Y/N hissed as the heat behind her neck raised and pricked at her skin, this alerted Sam.

The sound of a little girl giggling and Y/N’s sensory going off indicated that there were demons around. The group rushed outside to see Lily hanging from the windmill across the house, dead. “Oh my, God” Ava gasped theratically, placing a hand over her mouth in faux disgust. Y/N’s heart sank at the sight of the broken girl hanging off of the windmill like an animal.

“Okay, that’s officially- Sam! Y/N! She’s dead, she’s dead!” Ava sobbed. “You two said we were chosen for a reason. That is not chosen. That’s…killed!” She continued to ramble as everyone had their eyes locked on Lily’s corpse. “Okay, no. We have to get out of here” Ava insisted, trying to push past Sam. “Stop” He held her back. “Yeah, I second that emotion” Andy murmured.

“Not sure that’s an option” Jake said, shaking his head. “What?!” Ava exclaimed. “Lily was trying to leave. The demon’s not gonna let us get away that easy.” Y/N explained. “We gotta gear up for the next attack” Sam said determinedly. “Oh, gear up?” Ava scoffed. “Yeah,” Sam nodded. “Okay, well, I’m not a soldier. I can’t do that!”

Y/N rolled her eyes at Ava’s words, “Look, if you wanna stay alive, you’re gonna have to!” She snapped at Ava who had tears welling up in her eyes, but Ava didn’t look genuinely terrified. “Let’s go,” Sam pointed to the house, instructing everyone to go inside. Ava was first to run in, whimpering as she entered. “I’ll get her down,” Jake said.

Y/N sighed heavily, her mind running on Dean and Jo. “You know, I’m just thinking about how much Dean and Jo would help right now” Y/N said to Sam and Andy, stuffing her hands in her leather jacket’s pocket. “Yeah, I’d give my arm for a working phone” Sam agreed, “You know, you make not need one” Andy suddenly said, this made their heads snap over to him.

“I, uh, I’ve never tried it long distance before. But, do you have anything of Dean’s on you? Like something he touched?” Andy asked them, Sam frowned, shaking his head. Y/N patted her pockets down, frowning and she came up with nothing. “No, nothing” Y/N sighed. A flicker of frustration passed behind Sam’s eyes, he rubbed his palm against his face.

A thought popped into Y/N’s head, “I’m wearing some of his shirts, would that work?” She asked Andy. Andy nodded, “Yeah, that might work” He murmured. Y/N swiftly pulled off her leather jacket, revealing one of Dean’s flannels that he’d let her borrow a few nights prior paired with his Led Zeppelin shirt she claimed as her own weeks ago.

Y/N shoved the leather jacket in Sam’s hands, “Hold this” She told him. He took it without a word, his eyes locked on the flannel that was draped across her arms. Y/N handed it to Andy, who took it and held the sleeve in his hands, closing his eyes to concentrate.

____________________________________________

CE, Nebraska

“This is-” Bobby murmured as he, Jo and Dean walked off of the burnt to crisp Roadhouse’s rubble. “What the hell did Ash know? We got know clue what Ash was gonna tell us. Now how the fuck are we gonna find Sam and Y/N!?” Dean shouted in frustration as they headed back to their vehicles.

“And we got no way of knowing where my mom is or if-” Jo’s voice cracked, her nostrils flaring as fresh tears spilled from her eyes and down her cheeks. Her mascara smudged from earlier. “Jo, hey. I know it’s scary-” Bobby started. “Scared?” Jo’s voice was strained and hoarse, she was barely speaking above a whisper.

“Yeah. I’m scared, you know why? Cause I don’t know if my mom’s dead or alive. And if Sam and Y/N are okay?” She snapped. Dean stopped and looked back at her, his eyes locking on hers, which were now bloodshot. “Hey, we will find them. And your mom” He tried to comfort her.

Dean suddenly buckled over, clutching his head as a splitting migraine shot through his head. “Dean?” Bobby and Jo called out for him in unison as he grunted, “Fuck!” Dean groaned, clutching into Baby’s hood. “You alright, dude?” Jo asked, rushing over to his side, placing a hand on his shoulder. Dean groaned again against the throbbing pain shooting through his head.

“Yeah” He hissed, pushing himself to a standing position, he pushed his hair back away from his forehead. The migraine intensified. Then suddenly he saw an image of a bell appear in his head. “What was that?” Jo asked, confused. “I don’t know. Headache” Dean gritted his teeth in pain as Jo placed the back of his hand to his forehead.

“You get headaches like that a lot?” Bobby asked, crossing his arms over his chest. “No.” Dean gasped out as Jo took her hand off of his forehead, his chest was heaving as he struggled for breath. “Must be the stress” He said breathlessly with a weak chuckle and wiping his forehead. “I could’ve sworn I saw something”

Bobby and Jo’s brows skyrocketed, a look of recognition took over Bobby’s face. “What do you mean, like- like a vision? Like what Sam and Y/N get?” Bobby asked. “What?! No!” Dean exclaimed. “I’m just saying” Bobby put his hands up in surrender. “Come on, I’m not some psychic. I don’t have that ESP shit” Right after those words left Dean’s mouth, he buckled over in pain again.

Clutching his forehead. “Dean!” Bobby and Jo exclaimed as Dean almost fell to the ground. Bobby rushed over to his side of the Impala, helping Jo in keeping him on his feet. The image of the bell again with Sam and Y/N flashed through his head again, Dean was practically clutching his pearls as he grunted from the shooting migraine.

Dean Winchester never felt pain like that in his life, and to be quite Frank, if this is what y/n and Sam felt when they had visions. He felt sorry for them for having to go through this pain. Now he gets why y/n was always so snappy whenever she had her own migraines. They must’ve been worse than Sam’s.

“Are you okay?! What was that, you see something again?” Jo exclaimed as he stood back up after a few moments, panting as he tried to catch his breath. “You with us?” Bobby exclaimed in worry. “Yeah, I think so,” Dean groaned. “I saw Y/N and Sam. I saw them, guys” Dean tried to explain, the migraine still pounding in his head. “It was a vision” Jo murmured in shock.

“Yeah. I don’t know how. But, yeah. Ugh” Dean huffed, breathing heavily as he steadied himself. “That was about as fun as getting kicked in the jewels” Dean weakly chuckled. “What else did you see?” Bobby asked urgently. “Uh….There was a bell” Dean answered. “What kind of bell?” Jo asked, narrowing her eyes. “Uh, like a b-big bell with…uh…some kind of engraving on it, I don’t know,” Dean told them.

Bobby and Jo shared an alarmed look, “Engraving? Was it a tree? Like an oak tree” Bobby asked. Dean’s brows furrowed at them, “Yeah, exactly.” He confirmed. Jo and Bobby exchanged a knowing and alarmed look. “I know where they are”

____________________________________________

Cold Oak, South Dakota

Sam, Y/N and Jake were now chipping away at a steel tank with rocks, trying to break away any bars from it to use as weapons. Jake got tired and suddenly ripped out one of the bars, shocking both Sam and Y/N. “Awesome” Y/N muttered in awe, now wishing she had that ability. Sam’s brows raised in Jake's direction.

The army vet cleared his throat, “I’m- I’m not Superman or anything. It’s no big deal” He chuckled, shooting Y/N a sly wink. “You were in Afghanistan when this started?” Y/N asked curiously, a coy smile playing on her face. Her vibe with Jake was still off, but she figured you catch more flies with honey rather than vinegar.

So being sweet was her go to in order to find out how and where she knew Jake from. “Yeah, I started getting headaches. And then, uh…there was this accident. This guy flipped his vehicle on a bad road. He got pinned underneath. I lifted it off him like it was nothing” Jake explained as Sam and Y/N listened. “Everybody said it was a fluke adrenaline thing-”

“But then you did it again, right?” Sam asked knowingly, “Bench press 800 pounds stone-cold calm” Jake snorted. Sam and Y/N chuckled at this, “I never told anymore of course. It’s just too crazy” Jake admitted, cracking a smile. “Yeah, but crazy’s relative” Sam mused, nudging Y/N in her arm. “I’m starting to get that,” Jake said.

“Yeah” Y/N sighed, the two shared a lingering eye contact, a small smile gracing Y/N’s face. Jake returned the smile. There was an intimate silence between the three as they continued to chip away at the tank. The sound of rocks against metal echoed in the empty room, a sign that they were making some solid progress.

“By the way. I, uh- I appreciate what you two are doing here” Jake said honestly. “What are we doing?” Y/N asked, tilting her head in confusion. “Keeping calm. Keeping them calm.” Jake answered, referring to the other psychics. “Especially considering how freaked to hell you guys really are” Jake called them out.

Sam and Y/N shared a knowing look, knowing that they couldn't hide their growing fear from him. “Is it that obvious?” She questioned jokingly, although the question was somewhat serious. “Yeah” Jake chuckled.

“I’ve been in some deep shit before myself, sweetheart. I know the look” Jake said seriously to them. Y/N’s heart skipped a beat as his words. She shook it off and pushed her focus back on the task at hand.

But Sam opened up, “You wanna know the truth? I got this brother, right? He’s always saying how he’s gonna watch out for me, watch out for y/n. Watch out for the both of us, how everything’s gonna be okay, kind of like I’m telling them” Sam swallowed the lump in his throat.

Tears pricked the corners of Y/N’s eyes, her heart ached at the mention of Dean. Knowing that he’d be beating himself up and freaking out for her and Sam as well. “Yeah?” Jake hummed. “But the fact of the matter is, I don’t know if I believe it this time,” Sam confessed. Y/N wrapped an arm around his waist and pulled him into her side, resting her head against her his shoulder.

Jake nodded at Sam, understanding and sympathising with him. “What do you mean ‘you don’t believe it’?” The army veteran asked. A beat of silence passed as the two siblings shared a look. “I mean, the size of what’s coming…it’s bigger than anyone’s ever seen. I mean, it’s gonna get bad. And I- I don’t know if-” Sam stammered, trying not to cry as Y/N stroked his back comfortingly.

“If you’re gonna make it?” Jake cut in. “Doesn’t matter if we believe. Only matters that they do.” Jake stated firmly. Sam’s head went to the ground, “Y-yeah” He agreed. Y/N kept patting and rubbing his back in comfort, she tried to keep her tears from streaming down her face as she bit her quivering bottom lip.

The three continued to chip away at the tank in an awkward silence as the room echoed with the loud sound of rocks smacking against metal.

-

The group were lining the windows and doors with salt, Sam and Y/N were tired from all the hammering so they sat at a table in comfortable silence. “You know, my horoscope said I shouldn’t have gotten out of bed” Ava chuckled dryly as she rested the empty salt bag next to Y/N. The two hunters sighed deeply.

“How are you guys doing? Holding up?” Ava asked them softly. The two nodded, “I’m okay” Sam assured her. “Me too” Y/N responded. “What about you, hun?” She asked Ava. “Not so okay.” Ava admitted, chucking dryly. “Why us, guys? What did we do to deserve this?” Ava asked them, tears pricking at her eyes. “Just lucky I guess,” Sam scoffed.

“Wasn't for bad luck, wouldn’t have no luck at all” Ava snorted as thunder rumbled outside. “I just can’t wait for all this to be over so I can just pretend it never happened.” Ava sighed, looking up to the ceiling. “I just wanna curl up with Brady and watch bad TV” she smiled, Sam and Y/N’s hearts dropped at this. They forgot they hadn’t mentioned that Brady was dead.

Their expressions changed and Ava seemed to notice, “What is it?” She asked them. But they both shook their heads. “Sam, Y/N” Ava pressed. “Do you guys…know something that I don’t?” She asked. Their hearts ached for her, but the words were on the tip of their tongue. They wanted to break the news to her gently, but there was no easy way to say it. Sam and Y/N shared a look, neither one of them wanted to have this conversation with Ava.

“Look, Ava. I’m sorry, I wish I didn’t have to tell you this” Sam began sorrowfully. “Tell me what?” Ava’s voice dropped. Y/N sighed, taking Ava’s hand into hers. “When the demon…broke into your house to take you…your fiancé didn’t make it, I’m sorry” Y/N finally revealed. Ava’s face dropped in shock, her eyes widened in horror as she stared at them.

“No, it’s-?” She whispered, she seemed to be in a state of denial of the news. Ava threw herself into Sam and Y/N’s arms, sobbing painfully. Y/N and Sam held her as she sobbed into their shoulders, they comforted her, rubbing her back as she got it all out.

-

It was getting late, everyone was tired. Jake was standing guard while Andy was fast asleep on a table and Ava looked distant. Sam was trying to get some shut eye, his head resting on Y/N’s lap as he struggled to get to sleep. “Would you like me to sing you a lullaby, Sammy?” Y/N teased, snorting in amusement.

Sam rolled his eyes playfully and chuckled, “Shut up, Y/N/N” He grumbled in annoyance, opening his eyes to glare at her but there was no heat behind it. Sam chuckled lightly before his face turned serious, “Are you gonna get some sleep as well? You need it” He questioned. “Nah, you go ahead, I’m good” Y/N shook her head.

Sam pursed his lips and hummed, knowing that she was lying. “I’m serious, I’m alright” She told him firmly, sensing the worry in his eyes. “Come on, you’re exhausted, you should get some sleep” Sam pushed, sitting up to look at her.

Y/N rolled her eyes, shaking her head again. She wasn’t gonna admit it, but she was tired. Her head throbbed and her cheek still slightly stung from Sam’s punch to her face 24 hours earlier. “I’m fine, Sa- JAKE!” Y/N exclaimed when her eyes glanced over to see a man, his eyes glowing yellow standing behind Jake.

Sam’s head snapped in the direction. “Jake! Behind you!” He tried to warn Jake but he didn’t seem to hear him. “Howdy, Sammy. Howdy, Y/N/N” Azazel smirked, leaning against the wall. Y/N’s heart began racing, her worst nightmare was coming to life. The yellow eyed demon who killed her mother was once again in front of her, and she was scared shitless.

Sam was on the same boat as her. But they weren't gonna show it.

Their chests heaved as they put two and two together as to why no one else can hear them. “We’re dreaming” Y/N gasped as she and Sam backed into the wall, still sitting by the window still. Azazel chuckled darkly, “Why don’t you say…we all take a little walk?” He ordered, leaning off the wall to move closer to them.

Sam and Y/N shared a look, knowing that they didn’t have a choice. So they stood up, never breaking eye contact with Azazel as they did. He gestured with his hand for them to follow him outside so they did just that.

-

Sam and Y/N were practically glued to each other's side as Azazel took the lead, walking out the house with them. “You’re awfully quiet Sam and Y/N. You guys aren’t mad at me, are ya?” Azazel mused. Y/N was glaring daggers at the back of the demon's head along with Sam who was trying his best to keep it together.

“I’m gonna tear you to shreds. I swear” Sam growled. Azazel just laughed in response. Azazel continued to chuckle, which made Y/N’s blood boil. “When you wake up, tiger, take your best shot” Azazel laughed. Sam bared his teeth, gritting them together as he clenched his fists. “You find this funny, dickbreath?!” Y/N snapped.

Azazel spun on his heel, a mockingly shocked expression on his face. “Y/N, that’s no way for a lady to talk!” Azazel exclaimed in fake shock. “I’d call you a lot worse things than that, jackass” Y/N snarled through gritted teeth. “Where’s my brother and Jo?” Sam clenched his jaw. “Quit worrying about Dean and your little bimbo. I’d worry more about yourselves”

Azazel’s words sent a chill down Y/N’s spine, she didn’t like the sound of that. “What, you gonna kill us?” Sam challenged, his fear diminishing each second. “Hit us with your best shot, cunt” Y/N snarked as she and Sam opened their arms out mockingly. “That a dare?” Azazel challenged, a dark look in his eyes.

The two of them smirked, “You bet your ass” Y/N and Sam affirmed in unison. Azazel narrowed his eyes on them. “I’m trying to help you two. That's why we’re talking. Truth be told, I think it’s gonna come down to you two.” Their blood ran cold, all color from their faces drained at his words. “W-what’s that supposed to mean?” Sam’s voice shook with fear.

“Welcome to the Miss America Pageant. Why do you think you’re here? This is a competition” Azazel revealed to them, putting up a finger. “Only one of you crazy kids is gonna make it out of her alive.” His words hit them like a truck. Their eyes widened as they stared at him, their breathing quickened as they tried to wrap their heads around what he was saying. “I thought we were supposed to be-” Y/N stammered.

“Soldiers in a coming war? That’s true. You are. But here’s the thing.” Azazel confirmed, placing up a finger to lean in for only them to hear, even though there’s no one around. “I need soldier” His voice dropped, “I just need the one” Sam and Y/N’s hearts dropped in their stomachs, dread filling their eyes as their mouths went dry.

They didn’t like the sound of this one bit. “Why?” Sam croaked, his voice barely above a whisper. “Well, I couldn’t just come out and say that, could I? I had to let everyone think they had a fighting chance” Azazel smirked as Sam and Y/N stared at him horrified. “But what I need….is a leader”

“To lead who?” Y/N snapped, “Oh, I’ve already got my army. Or…I will soon, anyway” Azazels gaze darkened as he spoke. “You sick son of a bitch” Sam growled, “Honestly, I’m surprised you two hadn’t guessed. I mean, why do you think so many children flame out already?” The demon chuckled, pacing slowly in front of them.

“Max Miller and Andy’s brother, what’s his name? They weren’t strong enough. I’m looking for the best and brightest of your generation” Y/N was seeing red, she wanted to knock the smarmy look right off his face. “Our generation” Sam asked, his tone dripping with anger, Y/N���s body started to shake with equal anger.

Azazel nodded, “Well…there’s other generations. But let’s just worry about yours” he chuckled, making her blood boil. “That’s why I’m here, I wanna give you guys the inside track.” Azazel stated, walking closer to them. “You two are tough, smart, well-trained. Thanks to your daddies.”

Y/N bared her teeth, “Don’t you bring my father into this!” She seethed through gritted teeth. Azazel chuckled at her, “Touchy, touchy” he teased, making Sam and Y/N’s eyes twitch in anger. “Sam. Sammy. Y/N. Y/N/N. You’re my favorites.” Azazel’s voice dropped as he spoke. “You ruined our lives. You killed everyone I love” Sam’s nostrils flared, the words leaving his mouth with pure distaste.

“The cost of doing business I’m afraid” Azazel whispered. “I mean…sweet little Jessica. She just had to die. You were all set to marry that little blonde thing. Become a tax lawyer with two kids, a beer gut and a McMansion in the suburbs.” Sam’s eyes further darkened with each word the demon spoke, Y/N was ready to maul the son of a bitch.

“I needed you two sharp, on the road, honing your skills….your gifts. If anything, you should be thanking me. Or else, you wouldn’t have met your little bimbo, Jo” A dark smirk graced the demon's face.Y/N’s entire face went red in anger, she felt her fingers begin to burn. “Don’t you bring Jo into this either!” Y/N hissed, taking a step forward but was held back by Sam’s arm in front of her.

Azazel chuckled at her, the sick bastard was enjoying getting under Y/N and Sam’s skin. Sam was clenching his jaw so tightly, Y/N was worried he would grind his teeth to nubs. “Don’t you say a word about her” he growled in warning, the venom in his voice making Azazel chuckle darkly.

“What are you, a little defensive? A little protective?” Azazel questioned, cocking his mockingly. Sam’s eyes narrowed as he pushed Y/N behind him, taking a step forward, he was now nearly toe to toe with the demon. “You don’t get to talk about her.” He snarled, his hands curling into fists at his side.

“Not when you killed our moms!” Y/N snapped, tip toeing to shout over Sam’s shoulder. “That was bad luck,” Azazel grinned. “Bad luck?” Sam scoffed. “They walked in on me. Wrong place, wrong time” Azazel sighed. “What the fuck does that mean?” Y/N scoffed. “It wasn’t about them. It was about you and you. It's always been” Azazel pointed to them individually.

“What?” Sam and Y/N croaked in unison. “Okay. You caught me in a charitable mood. I’ll show you” Azazel smirked, snapping his fingers.

-

Y/N gasped as she opened her eyes. She was no longer next to Sam, he was out of sight and the yellow-eyed demon stood next to her. Her eyes widened as she took in the unfamiliar surroundings. It was a nursery. Her nursery. “Look familiar? It should” Azazel whispered into her ear. “Sam?! Sammy?!” Y/N panicked, looking around for him.

Y/N’s eyes were filled with panic when she couldn’t find Sam, a lump was starting to form in her throat. She gasped when her eyes landed on a baby crib with a baby in it. It was her, as a baby. Y/N couldn’t think straight as she tried to take in the surroundings.

Azazel placed a hand on her shoulder, his fingers pressing down on her shoulder as she watched her younger self in the crib. Her jaw clenched when she saw a hooded figure walk into the nursery and pad over to her crib. Y/N instantly went to attack but Azazel pulled her back.

“Relax, Y/N. This is just a hi-def instant replay. Enjoy the show” Azazel said. Y/N snatched the demon by his collar and sent his back barreling into the wall. “Where’s Sam, motherfucker?!” Y/N shouted, her eyes narrowing to slits at Azazel, pure rage fueling through her veins.

Y/N was shaking with anger as she pinned the demon to the wall, her fist curled in his collar. Azazel let out a dark chuckle as he was shoved against the wall, his hands gripped her wrist, trying to pry her off of him. “You’re feisty” he taunted, an amused smirk on his face.

Y/N bared her teeth at him, “Answer me! Where is he?! WHERE’S MY BROTHER?!” She yelled. “Relax, your precious Sammy is safe” He reassured her, although there was a hint of smugness in his tone. Azazel’s words didn’t relax her in the slightest. Instead, Y/N just got angrier. “I don’t believe a word that comes out of your lying, demonic mouth” she seethed, pressing harder into his collar.

The yellow-eyed demon chuckled, he found her anger to be adorable. “Relax, my dear. We have a surprise guest” he cooed, nodded his head in the direction behind her. Y/N’s heart was seconds away from falling out of her chest when she saw her mother’s sleepy face appear in the doorway.

She wore a black nightgown that nearly reached the floor, squinting her eyes at the figure hovering over her crib. Y/N’s breath caught in her throat as she watched a younger version of her own mother, “F/N?” Her mom’s sleepy voice croaked. “Momma?” Y/N’s grip loosened on the demon's collar, turning to face the door where M/N stood.

“Is she hungry?” M/N asked the figure, thinking it was her husband. A six-month old Y/N was crying in her crib. “Shhh” The figure shushed baby Y/N, “Okay” M/N shrugged, not realizing that it was in fact a demon standing over her babygirl’s crib. “No! Mom!” Y/N gasped, her eyes glued to the scene. She wanted to cry out to her mother to run but she found herself frozen in place.

Her mother, completely unsuspecting what was actually happening, slowly turned and padded out of the room. Y/N felt like her heart was breaking in her chest as she watched her mother turn and leave, “No…momma” she whispered, her voice cracking as tears began to sting her eyes. “What did I just tell you, Y/N, she can’t hear you. This isn’t real” Azazel scoffed.

“Watch closely” he whispered in her ear. “Shut the fuck up before I gut you” Y/N snapped, her eyes glancing back to the crib. Her mouth dropped open when she saw the demon cut his wrist open over younger self and allowed his blood to drop into her mouth. “What the fuck are you doing to me?” She gasped, her stomach beginning to churn.

“Better than mother’s milk,” Azazel chuckled. Y/N felt like she was going to be sick, her stomach did backflips as she watched as her infant self drank the demon blood. “Does this mean I have- does this mean Sam has-“ Y/N couldn’t get the words out. Azazel chuckled at her horrified expression. “Oh, it’s not so bad. Sam has it too” he smirked. “We have demon blood in us!?”

Suddenly, M/N ran back into the room. Causing Y/N’s head to snap over to her direction. “It’s you” M/N gasped at the figure, “She knew you” Y/N realized. Her mom’s eyes flashed white, she extended her arm, her veins lighting up a darker shade of blue compared to how Y/N’s would normally glow. With a tilt of her head, she sent Azazel barreling into the wall.

“Mom!” Y/N gasped, watching the scene in front of her. The pain potent in her voice. Her jaw dropped when she saw her mother’s fingertips turn blue- and then push a full-grown man into a wall as if he was nothing more than a small child. She’d never seen her mom using her powers before. It was like a dream.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa. Feisty mama” Azazel grunted, recovering from being slammed into the wall. He stood up, straightening out his suit, “Bravo” He clapped his hands together in mock applause, although Y/N could tell there was a hint of annoyance in his tone.

M/N rushed over to the crib, her eyes scanning over younger Y/N’s body, checking for any injury. “No!!” Y/N screamed when Azazel's younger self waved his hand in a swift motion and M/N’s back hit the wall. She began grunting as she slid upwards and towards the ceiling. A strangled cry left Y/N’s throat as she watched her mother hit the wall and begin to lift off the ground.

A pained gasp leaving M/N’s throat to show the amount of pressure being put on her body. “I don’t think you wanna see the rest of this” Azazel smirked before waving his hand in the air.

-

“Y/N!! Sam!!” The two gasped awake to see Andy and Jake standing in front of them. Sam shot up from his position on Y/N’s lap. “Ava’s missing” Jake told them, his tone filled with concern. Sam and Y/N were both disoriented, still trying to piece together what they saw. “What do you mean missing?” Y/N asked, her heart thudding in her chest.

Jake’s face was filled with dread as he spoke, “She’s gone. Just vanished” he explained. “Fuck!” Y/N exclaimed, pulling her knife out of her boot before rushing out the house. Sam and Jake followed behind her after telling Andy to stay at the house in case Ava came back.

Sam was still trying to piece together the fragments of his vision as he and Y/N both burst out of the house. Jake was practically on his heels behind them. “I’ll take the barn and the hotel, you guys take the houses” Jake said to them. “Alright, meet back here in 10 minutes, okay?” Sam responded. “Okay” Jake nodded before heading in the other direction.

-

Not even five minutes had gone by and the sounds of Ava’s terrified screams came from inside the house they were originally in. Their gazes both went to the house as they heard Ava’s scream coming from inside. “Ava!” Y/N yelled out, her heart thumping in her chest. Before Sam could say anything, Y/N was already rushing towards the house.

Sam cursed under his breath as he saw Y/N run into the house. He quickly ran after her, just as desperate to get to Ava. With heavy feet, the two hunters followed to the sound of her scream to see Ava sobbing over a now deceased Andy’s body. Her face smeared with his blood, the former psychic bleeding from claw marks on his chest.

A strangled gasp left Sam’s throat at the sight of Andy’s lifeless body laying on the floor. Y/N’s blood ran cold at the sight, her eyes going from Andy’s body to Ava, who was sobbing uncontrollably over his body. “Sam! Y/N! I just found him like this!”

“What happened?” Y/N asked, clutching his stomach with a hand. “I don’t know” Ava sobbed. “How the fuck did the bastard get in?” Y/N snarled as she checked every salt line, knowing a demon had done it by the burning energy she felt radiating off of Andy’s body and the room. She was able to feel it since the death was quite recent.

Y/N peeled back the window to see a salt line was perfectly broken. Her jaw clenched as the worst possible reason came to mind. She nudged Sam, pointing to the salt line. Sam swallowed the lump in his throat as he looked at the broken salt line on the window, a wave of anger washed over him as all the pieces finally clicked in his head.

“Son of a…” he swore, his hands clenched into fists at his side. They gave each other a firm nod, communicating with their eyes before turning to Ava. “Ava, where were you?” Sam snapped. “I just went to get some water from the well. I was only gone for maybe like two minutes” Ava sobbed, quite overdramatically.

Y/N narrowed her eyes at her, “Who did that?” She pointed to the broken salt line. “I don’t know! Maybe Andy-” Ava cried, her eyes filling with tears as Y/N questioned her. Sam glanced at Y/N, she clearly had doubts about Ava too. “Andy wouldn’t do that.” Sam snapped again. “Ava. That line wasn’t broken when we left” Y/N stated, crossing her arms over her chest.

“What? You don’t think I-?” Ava asked, her tone suddenly very defensive. Y/N raised her eyebrows, Ava’s tone only added to her suspicions. Sam cut her off again, “I’ll tell you what we think. Five months. You’re the only one with all that time you can’t account for” Sam stated in an accusatory tone.

“But that headache you got, when the demon got Lily” Y/N growled as she moved closer to have. “What are you trying to say?” Ava’s voice cracked. “What happened to you?” Sam narrowed his eyes at Ava. “Nothing!” Ava screamed insistently through tears. But Sam and Y/N didn’t believe her or her act.

“Bullshit!” Y/N snapped, her patience with Ava running thin. Ava’s eyes suddenly darkened, a dark laugh leaving her throat as she wiped away the faux-tear from her eye. “I had you guys going though, didn’t I?” She chuckled, as she continued to wipe away her tears. “Yeah” She confirmed, flicking away the tears from her fingers.

“I’ve been here a long time. And not alone, either. People just keep showing up. Children, like us.” Sam and Y/N’s stomachs dropped at the change in Ava’s demeanor, it was clearly a complete switch up from how she was acting only moments before. Their eyes remained glued on her, every muscle of their bodies tensed, preparing to strike if she made the first move.

“Batches of three or four at a time.” Ava smirked. “You killed them? All of them?” Sam’s tone dropped, the disbelief clear in his voice. “I’m the undefeated heavyweight champion” Ava smirked, her time braggy. “Oh my god” Y/N scoffed in disbelief, shaking her head. “Don’t think God has much to do with that, Y/N” Ava whispered.

“How could you?” Sam gaped, “I had no choice. It was me or them. After a while, it was easy” Ava shrugged as if it was nothing. “It was even kind of fun.” Y/N narrowed her eyes as Ava’s words, allowing her arms to drop to her sides. “You wanna know what’s gonna be fun, bitch? When I rip you limb from limb”

Ava chuckled, her eyes narrowing, “You think you can take me?” She asked, smirking. “I’ll bet I can,” Y/N growled. Sam shot Y/N a quick look, silently begging her to be smart. As skilled as Y/N was, he didn’t want her to get hurt.

“It’ll only be a fair fight when you stop fighting it” Ava whispered with a cocky grin. “Fighting what?” Sam asked as he swallowed harshly. “Who we are, Sam. If you just quit your hand-wringing and open yourself up, you have no idea what you can do” Ava exclaimed, her eyes flickering back over to Y/N.

“I can see you’re almost there” She smirked at her. Sam’s mind was racing at Ava’s words, what did she mean by ‘open up, who they are’? And what could Y/N be almost to? These questions were racing through his mind as he clenched and unclenched his fists with nervousness. Y/N was thinking all the same things.

“The learning curve is so fast, it’s crazy. The switches that just flip in your brain” Ava explained, snapping her fingers before bursting into laughter. “I can’t believe I started out just having dreams” She laughed. “Do you know what I can do now?” Y/N felt a splitting migraine form in her head again, but she ignored it, clenching her jaw.

“Control demons” Y/N snapped, clutching her head. “Ah…you guys are quick on the draw” Ava snorted before placing her fingers to her temples, silently concentrating. Both Sam and Y/N were both still reeling at all the things Ava had told them when suddenly, a black cloud came through the window and through the salt like.

Y/N felt not only the migraine attack her but behind her neck was burning, causing her to stumble back a few steps. Her hand instantly went to her temple as she groaned softly. “I’m sorry guys but, it’s over” Ava smirked. Sam and Y/N glared at her, Sam held up his iron poker and Y/N held up her iron butterfly knife, still clutching her head.

Jake then appeared behind Ava, the army vet pulled her into his chest before swiftly snapping her neck. Y/N’s head was spinning at Ava’s words as her vision began to blur. But she was snapped out of it when she heard the sound of Ava’s neck being snapped. She stumbled slightly backwards, a wave of relief washing over her at the sight of Jake holding Ava.

But her relief was short-lived when her vision suddenly began to blur. “What the-“ Y/N whispered as her knees began to buckle. Sam noticed her sudden stumble backwards, his eyes going wide at the sight of her legs starting to buckle. “Y/N!” He called out, rushing over to her.

He caught her before she completely lost her balance, wrapping an arm around her waist tightly while his other hand came up to her face, gently shaking her face. “Hey, hey, hey. It’s over. I’ve got you” Y/N let out a small groan in response as she blinked her eyes open. But the pain in her head wasn’t going away, it was pounding so hard against her skull she felt like passing out.

“God, my head…” she mumbled softly while weakly grasping Sam’s hand against her face.

-

The Impala, Harley and Bobby’s truck pulled up the town of Cold Oak. All hunters got out of their respective vehicles and headed to the trunk of Baby. “Looks like the rest of the way is on foot.” Bobby stated as Dean opened the trunk and everyone took out their needed weapons. “Let’s go” Dean said, determined as he cocked his gun.

-

Sam was helping a very delirious Y/N out of the house as Jake followed behind them. “I’m fine, Sam. You can let go now” She assured Sam who was still holding her up. “Yeah, no chance in hell. You look like shit, dude” Sam grunted as he continued to hold her. He knew she was a stubborn woman so she was going to say that she’s fine when in reality, she’s actually not.

So he ignored her and continued to hold her up, he knew she needed it. Y/N didn’t even bother trying to argue with Sam, she knew he wouldn’t let up. She felt like if he wasn’t currently supporting her weight, she would probably be on the ground. Her headache from hell wasn’t going away, she now had a sore ass headache, and was on the verge of collapsing from fatigue.

“I think we can make it out of here now” Sam told Jake. “But the Acheri demon-“ Jake started. “No, no, no. Ava was summoning it, controlling it. It shouldn’t come back now that she’s dead, we gotta go” Y/N told him as they walked down the porch, “Not we, Y/N” Jake suddenly said in a dark tone. Sam and Y/N stopped in their tracks, turning to face Jake.

“Only one of us is getting out of here. I’m sorry” Jake shook his head. Y/N and Sam stared at him in surprise, neither of them were expecting him to say that. “Excuse me?” Y/N asked, raising an eyebrow at him. “What?” Sam gaped. “I-I had a vision. That Yellow-Eyes demon or whatever it was. He talked to me. He told me how it was”

“No, no, no, no, no, Jake. You can’t listen to him” Sam pleaded with him, “Sam, Y/N, he’s not letting us go! Only one. Now, if we don’t play along here, he’ll kill us all.” Jake pointed out. Y/N peeled herself from Sam and forcefully stood on both her feet. “Now, I like you guys, I do. And y/n, you’re very easy on the eyes. But do the math here. What good’s it gonna do for all of us to die?”

Sam and Y/N shared an unease look, the female psychic swaying on her feet. “Now, I can get out of her. I get close to the demon. I can kill the bastard” Jake offered an ultimatum. “You come with us, we can kill him together” Y/N countered his offer, “How do I know you guys won’t turn on me?” Jake narrowed his eyes on them. “We won’t!” Sam insisted.

“I don’t know that” Jake shook his head, unsure. Sam and Y/N became uneasy. “Okay, look” Y/N held her hands up, taking out her butterfly knife from her jacket. Sam shot her a nervous look as she flicked up open, raised it to the air and placed it on the ground. Showing Jake that they meant no harm.

Jake watched how Y/N dropped her weapon, eyeing it on the ground for a moment before slowly glancing back up at her and Sam. Y/N locked eyes with him, trying to communicate that they wouldn’t do anything to him. “Just come with us, Jake. Don’t do this. Don’t play into what it wants.” Sam pleaded softly, still watching him closely.

Jake nodded before slowly bending down to place his wrench. Sam and Y/N let out sighs of relief before cheapshotting them both, uppercutting Sam and Y/N simultaneously. The hunters grunted harshly as they flew a few feet up into the air and into a wooden fence.

The breath was knocked out of Y/N as she slammed into the fence, she laid there for several moments as she gasped for air. Her chest was burning as she inhaled sharp breaths, her ears ringing. She slowly sat up, blinking slowly as another wave of dizziness came over her, she gripped the wooden fence for support and tried to see where Sam was.

She finally spotted him, he laid a few feet away. He was moving around, letting her know that he was still awake. She slowly started making her way over to him, her vision was a little hazy but she was able to crawl over to him and put a shaking hand on him.

Jake stalked towards them, his feet heavy. Y/N’s breath caught in her throat as he walked towards them, she quickly pulled Sam closer to her trying to shield him from injury. Her head was still spinning from the hit, causing her to struggle to stay alert as her vision blurred around the edges.

Jake tried to kick Sam but Y/N swiftly waved her hand outwards, sending Jake barreling into a rusted old car. Y/N winced slightly as her eyes reverted back to its original color and her veins diminished it’s glowing blue. A pain shot through her temples from the use of her powers, but it was worth it to give Sam time to recover. Sam was finally coming to and sat up, blinking repeatedly trying to focus his vision.

Y/N grasped Sam’s shoulder gently, getting his attention. “You okay? Can you get up?” She asked quietly, keeping an eye on Jake who was slowly starting to recover. Jake almost instantly recovered, charging towards Sam and Y/N.

Sam got to his feet quickly and helped Y/N to hers, pulling her behind him. They prepared themselves for Jake's incoming attack, both of them still a little disoriented from being thrown against the fence. The two got into fighting stances, it was two against one. Sam swung first but Jake quickly dodged.

Y/N let out an almost battle cry scream as she raised her foot to kick Jake across the face, her hands glowed blue as she put all her strength into it. The kick successfully landed against Jake’s face, his head snapping back from the force. Y/N exhaled in relief, watching how Jake staggered backwards a bit.

Sam lunged at Jake, tackling him to the ground. Sam and Jake were now rolling on the ground, throwing punches and trying to overpower each other. Y/N stumbled away from the two as they fought, looking for the weapons they discarded, her head pounding and her eyesight slowly swimming. She blinked, trying to clear her eyesight as she leaned against a wooden railing on a porch.

Her eyes scanned the area, finally landing on a wrench Jake discarded a few feet away. She pushed herself off the railing and stumbled over to the tool, her hand grabbed it tightly as she turned around with it in an offensive position. She looked back over at Sam and Jake’s fight, her vision still blurry.

She rushed over to the fighting men and raised the tool above her head. It came down, landing against Jake’s head with a loud ‘thud’ sound. He instantly slumped onto the ground with a groan, leaving Sam to breathe for a moment in relief.

The world was spinning for Y/N after that blow, her head pounding even harder as her vision continued to swim. She stumbled backwards slightly, her legs feeling like they were going to give out. Sam held her up, taking the wrench from her.

He raised it up to finish the job with Jake but he couldn’t. He took a few breaths before dropping the wrench to the ground with a thud. He held Y/N up as she leaned against him, her entire body shaking. Sam quickly looked her over, noticing how she was basically holding onto him for dear life.

“AHHH!!!” Y/N screamed as the migraine returned, her eyes flashing white, her head was splitting open as the vision that was nagging her for hours finally reached its peak, revealing itself to her. Sam jumped in surprise as she yelled, wrapping his arms around her as her body went tense.

“Y/N/N! Hey, are you okay?!” Sam panicked, watching in horror as the familiar sight of her eyes and hands turning white and blue. He knew she was having a vision, judging by the sheer amount of agony she was in. “SAM!!! Y/N!!!” Sam heard the voices of his brother and Jo calling out to them.

“Dean" Sam and Y/N sighed in relief, clutching their shoulders. Dean's heart dropped when he noticed Jake behind his brother. "SAM LOOK OUT!" Dean shouted warningly when he approached Sam and Y/N, wielding a knife.

Sam didn't have a chance to respond before he was stabbed in the back by Jake. Dean ran towards his brother in the field, "NOOOOOOO!!!" Dean screamed painfully.

Jake twisted the knife buried in his spinal cord before Sam fell to his knees, his face contorted with agony.

This was the last thing Y/N saw when she came to, in the middle of the field, gripping her head from the migraine that struck. Her face was contorted with horror as eyes flickered up to Sam as her vision that she forced herself to believe was a dream was seconds away from happening. “Y/N/N, are you okay?” Sam asked, worry etched on his face, still clinging onto her.

“SAM LOOKOUT!!” Dean shouted warningly when Jake came up behind Sam, wielding the knife. “NOOO!” Left her lips. It was as if everything was in slow motion as Y/N acted out of instinct, her hand shining that familiar aqua blue light as she waved her hand, sending her best friend tumbling out of the way with a force, only to be stabbed by Jake instead, sacrificing her life for his.

The knife slid deep into Y/N's spinal cord as Sam fell to the ground, witnessing her demise firsthand, clutching his dislodged shoulder from the blast of power Y/N sent hurling towards him, and Dean's eyes widened in terror.

"NOOOOO!" Dean screamed in despair, his heart shattered as he watched her get stabbed. An ear piercing scream left Jo’s lungs upon seeing Y/N get stabbed. Bobby, Jo and Dean hurriedly approached Y/N as Bobby and Jo ran after Jake, who had already twisted and retracted the knife from Y/N’s back, was long gone.

Y/N cried out in agony, followed by an ear piercing scream from the psychic, the ground beneath them shaking as Dean caught her in time before she fell to her knees, gripping her by her jacket.

"Y/N! Woah, woah, woah, y/n, y/n, hey" Dean exclaims in a panic as he hurriedly lowered her to the ground, onto her knees as Sam rushed over, forgetting his wounded shoulder.

“Hey, come here, come here, let me look at you” Sam sobbed, his hands immediately going to her back, trying desperately to press his hand against the gushing wound as Y/N’s head wobbled into Dean’s shoulder.

Dean's heart broke when he saw the tremendous amount of blood on his brother's hand, holding up y/n to face him. “Hey, hey, hey. Look princess, it’s not even that bad. It’s not even that bad alright?” Dean tried to convince himself, his voice cracking with emotion as he and Sam held her up.

"It’s bad, it’s... it’s bad" Sam choked out, struggling to keep his composure as he held his hand firmly against her bleeding wound, putting as much pressure as he could against the injury.

Dean's heart sank as he held her close, desperately trying to convince himself that it was not that bad, but the sight of so much blood on his brother's hand told a different story. "Just... just look at me, ok? Y/N just look at me."

“Y/N?? Y/N! HEY!” Dean shouted, shaking her, “Hey, you gotta listen to me for once, okay sweetheart? We’re gonna patch you up, okay? You’re gon’ be as good as new? Huh?” But y/n’s head wobbled again, blood leaking from her mouth as a pained smile took her face.

Sam's face contorted with pain as he helped his brother to hold up Y/N's limp body in his arms, the blood from her wound staining his hands and clothes. "It’s alright, you're gonna be okay, you're gonna be okay" Sam repeated over and over again like a mantra, trying to convince himself as much as his brother but Y/N was limp. "She's fading, she's... she's fading!" Sam cried out helplessly. "We gotta... we gotta do something!"

Dean's heart pounded in his chest and he felt a sense of desperation wash over him. He shook her again, trying to get her to stay awake and listen to him. "No, no, no, no, no. Y/N/N, come on, open your eyes! You have to stay with me, alright??"

“I’m gonna take care of you. I’m gonna take care of both of you. I’ve got you. It’s my job right? Watch out for my pain in the ass little brother and his even bigger pain in the ass, sarcastic, ray of sunshine best friend” Dean forcefully chuckled as he pushed her hair aside.

Sam chuckled through his tears, his hands trembling as he tried to do all he could to stop the bleeding, but it seemed like it was futile. "Who’s gonna mouth off Dean when he’s being a dick, huh?” Sam croaked, attempting to help Dean hold her up.

Dean tried to put on a brave face, but his own eyes were filled with tears. He kept his hands on her face, his thumbs gently caressing her cheeks as he tried to keep her awake. "Just... just stay with me, alright?" He pleaded, his voice cracking with emotion.

"Come on, stay awake" Dean pleaded as he held her in his arms, his heart breaking as he saw how pale and lifeless she looked. "You have to fight. Please. I can't lose you. I can't lose you too."

But Y/N didn’t respond. Her eyes were closing and her breathing was becoming labored. "Y/N/N, baby please don’t do this to me," Dean begged, his voice cracking with emotion. "You can’t leave me. You can’t do this to me."

Suddenly, a strangled gasp escaped her lips, sending a pang of hope through Dean. "That's it, that's it" he urged her, his voice shaking with emotion. "Just keep breathing, princess. Just keep breathing."

“A-and you two…call m-me…the d-drama queen” Y/N breathed out, a weak chuckle leaving her through, coughing up blood. Dean and Sam let out a small laugh, but there was no joy in it. They both just wanted her to hold on, to fight.

Dean felt a slight pang of relief as Y/N spoke, her voice weak and struggling, but there was a hint of her usual sass that gave him a glimmer of hope. "That's right, there she is, there's my girl," he said, his voice thick with emotion.

Sam's face was etched with worry as he tried to keep pressure on the wound. "Just hold on Y/N, please," Sam begged, tears streaming down his face. Y/N's voice was strained as she struggled to speak, her words laced with pain and sadness. "Listen... listen to me. I need to... I need to say something."

“No, no, no, no. You don’t need to say anything because you’re gonna be alright. Okay?!” Dean sobbed, gripping her tightly as she shook her head again. A weak tearful smile on her face,

"Dean... please, just... just let me say this" she whispered, her voice weakening with each word. Sam's tears fell silently as he continued to try to stop the bleeding, but it was clear that time was running out. He could see the determination in her eyes.

Dean looked at her, his expression a mixture of fear and desperation. He knew that she was running out of time, but the thought of hearing her final words was unbearable.

"No, no, no, no, no. You're not... you're not dying. You can't do this to me. You can't leave me." Y/N's hand lifted to touch his face, her touch weak and trembling before forcefully lifting her other hand to rest against Sam’s face.

Y/N took a shaky breath as she looked at them both, knowing that this might be the last time they ever saw her alive. "I... I just want to say... that I'm grateful. For everything" she began, her voice shaky and soft. “You two have been m-my rocks our whole lives, the only reasons I kept going. So t-thank you. I’ll always l-love you fellas.”

Dean and Sam's tears fell freely now, their hearts breaking as they listened to her words. The words cut through Dean's heart like a knife, the realization that this might be farewell sinking in. He couldn’t bear the thought of losing her. He couldn’t imagine his life without her in it.

"Y/N, please don't do this. You’re going to make it. We need you. I need you," he choked out, pleading with her to stay. Sam sniffled, tears streaming silently down his face as he held her hand on his cheek. "We love you too, Y/N. We love you too. You’re gonna be fine."

But Y/N smiled through her pain, shaking her head as tears stung at her eyes. "No…I’m not. A-and that’s o-…kay. You guys... you two are the only family I ever had. You’ll always b-be...my…fellas" Her voice grew weaker with every word as she slowly faded.

Her eyes flickered over to Dean, a pained expression on her face, “And D-dean…” She sniffled, feeling her body beginning to succumb to her injury. “I lo-….” But she didn’t get to finish her sentence, finally succumbing to her injury, her head plopping for one last time on Dean’s shoulder as she took her last breath.

The brothers sat there in shocked silence for a moment, tears streaming down their faces as they held her motionless body.

Sam sat there in disbelief, staring blankly at her lifeless body. He thought they were both gonna get out of this alive, live to tell the tale. He couldn't believe that she was gone. He couldn't believe that she had just died in their arms. Sam's grip on her hand tightens, his tears falling uncontrollably as he looks at her face, frozen in a peaceful expression.

Dean's mind raced with denial and fear. He couldn't accept that she was really gone. He looked at her face, searching for a hint of life, hoping against hope that she would open her eyes and smile at him. Dean's heart was shattered, the weight of her death hitting him like a ton of bricks. "No... no, no, no, no, no, no" he repeated, his voice growing increasingly desperate.

The pain in his voice was palpable, his heart breaking as he held her lifeless body in his arms. He could barely form any coherent thoughts, his mind a jumble of despair and disbelief. All he could do was hold her tighter, as if trying to somehow keep her with him.

Sam just shook his head in disbelief, his mind trying to process what had just happened. "This can't be happening. She can't be gone" he whispered, his voice betraying his emotions. “Y/N….Y/N/N!!!” Dean yelled hoarsely as she shook her again but she was gone. Dean held her to him, his hand resting to the back of her head as Sam leaned his head on his sister’s shoulder for the last time.

“Oh, God…Oh God” Sam’s voice cracked as they held her. The brothers were both speechless as they held her close, their tears falling silently onto her lifeless body. They knew that there was nothing they could do to bring her back, and the realization hit them like a ton of bricks.

Dean was inconsolable. He held her close, his heart broken and his mind in a state of denial. He couldn't believe that she was gone, that she had given her life for his brother's. Sam was just as devastated. He had grown up with her like his own sister, and now she was gone. The woman he was proud to call his best friend, his sister. Gone, because she loved him more than she loved herself. He couldn't think straight, his thoughts consumed by grief and guilt.

Dean found himself struggling to breath, holding the woman he loved motionless in his hands, having sacrificed her life. “Y/N!!!” Dean bellowed into the empty dark night.

They held her tightly, not wanting to let go. The weight of her death felt like a lead weight in their hearts, and they knew that their lives would never be the same again. As Dean let out another heart-wrenching yell, Sam's body shuddered with his own silent sobs. They stayed like that for a long time, holding her close, begging her to come back.

____________________________________________

Author’s Note: Heyyyy, heyyyyy, how y’all doing???🌚🌚🌚 NOW BEFORE YOU YELL AT ME I- I actually have no way to defend myself😭LET ONE RIP ON ME, YELL AT ME AND CUSS ME OUT BECAUSE THIS HURT MY SOUL MAN (pun intended💀) OKAY OKAY I'M GOING!! Hope y’all enjoyed it! Tell me what you hate and what you lovee. Don’t be shy to ask questions❤️

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Xoxo

[slytherintothedms]

“what broke the connection” “i don’t know” OH REALLY CASTIEL ? YOU DONT KNOW? AND DEAN JUST GOES WITH THAT ? AFTER WHAT JUST HAPPENED ?

[loverslantern]

The Hunter and The Witch~ Dean Winchester x f!reader

Description: A dangerous spirit is bound to an old family portrait that brings misfortune and death to anyone who buys it.

Warnings: Cannon violence and gore. flirting if you can call it that

Word Count: 10,688

Provenance

(Master list, Previous Chapter, Outfit Board)

Music thrums through the dimly lit bar, mingling with the hum of conversation and clinking glasses, drawing a crowd that fills nearly every corner.

I managed to escape from Sam and his research onto the safety of the dance floor two songs ago. And while I wasn’t always privy to dancing, it’s hard to ignore a live band.

So, I let the bassline sink into my bones, guiding my steps as I start to move. My hips sway in time with the sultry beat, each sway slow and deliberate. My arms lift, hands tracing soft arcs above me as I lose myself in the music. Then, fingertips brush my waist, and if they didn’t feel so familiar, I’d pull away. But, I know these hands, I know each callous as I feel them through my dress. “‘You come to dance?” I ask, turning in his hold to face him. He wears that charming smile, eyes dropped to my hips that still move with the music. “No, uh…” his eyes move back to my face. A smile stretches itself onto my lips as I tilt my head to indicate I’m listening even if I’m dancing. “Uh,” he turns his head away, “Sam was tryin’ to wave us down, but you were, um….” his eyes meet mine, “distracted.”

“Little disappointed that wasn’t a ‘yes,’” I tease, although I know he isn’t the type to dance. I slide my hand over his where it rests on my waist, gently pulling it away and taking it in mine. “Too bad Sam needs us, huh?” I say, starting to walk backward and leading him with me. “Yeah,” he sighs, “Too bad.” Something mellows in his eyes then, something I can’t quite grasp before I turn around and guide him back to our table. 

The moment we reach Sam I collapse onto the little stool with a bright smile and a satisfied huff, taking my abandoned half-drunken soda into my hands. “Alright, I think we got something,” Sam announces, looking between us.

“Hit it!” I point at him.

“Oh yeah, me too,” Dean answers, glancing back at the bar to a girl I forgot he was talking to.

“Or not…” I mumble as he continues. “I think we need to take a little shore leave, just a little bit. What do you think, huh?” he asks, looking back at us, “I’m so in the door with this one.”

“So, what are we today, Dean?” Sam mocks. “I mean, are we rock stars, are we army rangers?”

I avert my eyes to the newspapers strewn about the table, pretending like I do not hear their conversation. “Reality TV scouts, looking for people with special skills,” Dean answers, and I can hear the grin on his face, “I mean, hey, it’s not that far off right?”

“You are being particularly icky with this one,” I comment, looking at him now as I bite on the thin black straw in my drink.

“She’s right,” Sam adds. 

“Yeah, well it’s working,” Dean counters, “By the way, she’s got a friend over there. Possibly hook you up. What do you think?”

“Dean, no thanks, I can get my own dates,” Sam answers.

“Yeah, you can but you don’t,” he argues. I hit his arm, throwing him a look. He shouldn’t be pushing his brother like this. He can’t possibly expect Sam to be ready to move on when his girlfriend died only a couple of months ago, let alone not feel guilty for moving on. “What is that supposed to mean?” Sam bites back. But, I give Dean a ‘don’t’ look, they don’t need another thing to fight over. “Nothing,” he answers, taking my warning, “What you got?”

“Mark and Ann Telesca of New Paltz, New York were both found dead in their own home, a few days ago. Throats were slit. There were no prints, no murder weapons, all…” Sam trails off, his findings coming to an abrupt end. “Dean!” he yells, gaining back the attention of his brother, “….No prints, no murder weapons, all doors and windows locked from the inside.”

“Could just be a garden variety murder you know, not our department,” Dean rationalizes, taking a sip of his beer.

“Says the guy who wasn’t paying attention,” I mumble.

“Hey!” he grumbles.

“What? It’s true!”

“Anyway,” Sam interjects, “Dad says differently.”

“What do you mean?” Dean asks, suddenly more interested. 

“Dad noted three murders in the same area of upstate New York. First one here in 1912, second one right here in 1945, and the third in 1970, the same M.O. as the Telescas. Their throats were slit, doors were locked from the inside. Now so much time had passed between murders that nobody checked the pattern, except Dad. He kept his eyes peeled for another one.”

I have to give John credit, he seemed to have a hunch for these sorts of things and was persistent enough to keep up on it. It’s admirable at the very least. “Alright, I’m with ya,” Dean replies, “It’s worth checking out. We can’t pick this up til first thing though, right?”

I roll my eyes, though, of course, I'm not surprised. Not only does he not trust the legitimacy of a case until it has the John Winchester seal of approval rather than just trusting his brother, but of course, he’s immediately trying to go back to his potential hook-up. “Yeah,” Sam sighs. 

“Good,” Dean grins, immediately going back to the bar. I don’t know whether to be disgusted or jealous. “Anywho,” I start, “I’m gonna go back to the dance floor, wanna join me?”

“No, you go,” Sam insists.

“Okay, well if you change your mind you know where to find me. Or, if you just need anything,” I offer. 

Sam and I check out the Telesca's house while Dean reaps the consequences of a hangover. Either way, the house was a bust. There’s no sign of anything supernatural, in fact, there’s no sign of anything.

We approach the Impala and in it, a sleeping Dean occupies the passenger seat. He sleeps slouched with sunglasses on, I suppose to combat the sun for when he does decide to wake up and join us. Sam walks around the car sporting a mischievous smile as he leans into the open window and honks the horn. Dean jumps awake, his sunglasses slipping down his face. I scuff, laughing a little as I get into the backseat. To be fair, it is a little funny. And Sam, who finds it infinitely more funny than I do, laughs loudly as he takes the driver's seat. “Man, that is so not cool,” Dean grumbles, adjusting his sunglasses clumsily.

“We swept the Telescas with the EMF. It’s clean,” Sam informs, “And last night, while you were…well…out.”

“Good times,” Dean smirks, a satisfied look on his face. I cringe even though something sharp stabs my heart. 

“I checked the history of the house. Nothing strange about the Telescas,” Sam elaborates. 

“Alright, so if it’s not the people and it’s not the house, then maybe it’s the contents. Cursed object or something,” Dean deduces.

“Yeah, funny story,” I start, “There’s literally nothing in that house. 

“Yeah, you said that,” he counters. 

“No, like literally empty,” I clarify, “Like empty empty, like more than just crime scene cleaners.”

“No furniture, nothing,” Sam explains. 

“Which could mean it’s either in storage somewhere, given to family…” 

“…Or at an auction,” Sam adds, finishing my sentence. 

****

Beautiful classical music plays in the auction house, where nearly every surface is covered in trinkets or furniture. Nicely dressed people flutter around in their expensive suits and dresses, holding champagne flutes as they chat. 

To say we stick out is an understatement. We aren’t dressed nearly as nice as we should be for a place like this. I mean, they have violin players here. I feel incredibly awkward as we walk around, it’s like everyone’s staring…. They might actually be staring. Maybe we should’ve gotten more entail for a place like this before coming in because it is a horrible day to be wearing shorts. 

The class difference feels apparent not only just clothing but in manners. Their prideful eyes flip onto us, seeping in as if they can read us. They can sniff out our class the same way we can see theirs. And it’s no help that Dean keeps stopping for the finger food, shoving it into his mouth without care. “Consignment auctions, estate sales. Looks like a garage sale for Wasps if you ask me,” Dean comments.

“They’re usually nicer than this,” I respond, looking around, “I mean in terms of people and environment ...not that this environment isn’t nice but it’s…”

“Disturbing?” Dean answers, popping another piece of food in his mouth. 

“I was going to say pretentious but that works too,” I nod. Thrift stores and estate sales were usually nice experiences but a place like this is more about boasting through showing your wealth than enjoying your search for items to complete your home or yourself. In other words, it’s a great way to remind you of your class and just how much you don’t fit in. 

“Can I help you?” a voice suddenly asks. An older man with grey hair and blue eyes stares at us. Dean looks him up and down before shoving more food in his mouth, “I’d like some champagne, please,” he says putting on his best posh voice. 

“No, baby, he’s not a waiter,” I cut in, putting a hand on Dean’s upper arm. 

Sam holds out his hand, “I’m Sam Conners,” he greets. But, his introduction is not met with the same friendliness. The man just looks at him, not moving. Sam gives a sharp nod, retracting his hand, “That’s my brother Dean and my sister-in-law Y/N. “We’re art dealers, with Connors Limited.” 

“You are….” the man searches for the word as he looks at us with skepticism. “Art dealers.”

“That’s right,” Sam confirms. 

“I’m Daniel Blake,” he finally introduces himself, “This is my auction house. Now gentlemen and madam this is a private showing, and I don’t remember seeing you on the guest list.”

“We’re there chuckles, you just need to take another look,” Dean answers, unamused, as he grabs a drink off a passing waiter. “Finally,” he mumbles, bringing it up to his lips.

“What I think my husband means to say,” I intervene quickly, the word sounding strange on my tongue. It’s a title seeped in irony—one I long for even though he spent last night with someone else. And yet, here I am, calling him my husband, craving a title that’s only pretend. “Names are such funny things. They just….slip on by. If you should like, I have no problem looking at the guest list with you so we can get this all cleared up.”

He raises his chin high, seeming to consider my offer. “Very well,” he answers, “Come along.” He turns around, stiff in his movements. I move away from Dean, my hand slipping off his arm as I throw back a wide-eyed glance. I follow after the man, moving further and further away from the boys. He goes to a security guy and asks him to go fetch the book because apparently, he can’t do it himself. “I don’t mean to come off as intruding but I didn’t see a ring on your finger,” he says.

He didn’t believe Sam’s lie. He’s testing me to determine our legitimacy. I put on my best smile, “You must have glossed over it,” I reason. I hold up my left hand, displaying a matching wedding band and an engagement ring. Both are aged silver bands, the engagement ring having a simple diamond at its center. It’s all I could come up with on short notice—quite literally in the seconds it took me to answer and raise my hand. “Charming,” he comments, lacking conviction. I put my hand back down, keeping the rings there even as my smile falters.

Finally, the rather thick book reaches the hands of Mr. Blake who simply wastes no time in cracking it open. He flips through the pages until he finds the names under ‘C,’ his finger skimming down the page. His face drops. He clears his throat. “Yes, there you are,” he declares, placing the book in a way I can see. His pointer finger is just below our names, newly placed by yours truly. “I apologize for the disruption,” he says, closing the book with a thump. 

“Oh, that’s okay. With all those names it’s easy to miss,” I reply. I almost feel bad for deceiving him, he must feel crazy. But, we do need to figure out what killed the Telesca's and everyone before them so it is necessary. “Now, if you’ll excuse me I’m going to go back to my boys,” I say with a nod, wanting nothing more to get away from this man….no offense to him. 

I feel his eyes burning into the back of my skull as I walk back to the Winchesters like he still suspects us and is just waiting for a slip. So, without a second thought, I move closer to Dean, slipping my hand beneath his blue jacket and resting it on his back. He doesn’t question it; his eyes flicker to mine, but he just pulls me closer, wrapping an arm around my shoulder. The warmth of him sends butterflies crashing into my stomach, and my pulse quickens until I can barely focus on anything but the solid warmth of his touch. My heart pounds so wildly that I have to force my gaze forward.

That’s when I notice the dark-haired woman standing in front of them. Her hair is pulled back with two curled strands framing either side of her face, highlighting her sharp, thin eyebrows and kind grey eyes that are fixed intently on Sam. She wears a black dress with a bit of a plunging neckline, accented by a sparkling brooch at its center. “But, Dad’s right about one thing, sensationalism brings out the crowds,” she says, adding to whatever conversation was at hand, “Even the rich ones.” 

“Is it possible to see the provenances?” Sam asks.

“I’m afraid there isn’t any chance of that,” Mr. Blake says, his voice suddenly appearing from behind us. What could he have possibly found? “Why not?” Sam asks.

“I fear we have guests complaining about your….” he looks us up and down. “Appearance. We do have a very strict dress code.” A sigh escapes my lips, no way this constitutes us being kicked out. So much for creating a whole illusion.

“Well, we don’t have to be told twice,” Dean responds putting on his horrible posh voice again. He’s probably done with this scene.

“Apparently you do,” Mr.Blake retorts cooly.

“Okay. It’s alright,” Sam intervenes. “We don’t want any trouble. We’ll go.” 

The day’s light filters in through the entryway as we step out. It’s hard to tell if guests were complaining about us or if he truly just wanted us to go. Either way, he got us to leave. We pause just a few steps away from the doorway, Sam already moving far ahead of us. 

The sun catches Dean’s eyes as he turns to look at me, a smirk playing on his lips, “I guess I’m your husband now,” he says, his voice low. My heart stutters behind my ribcage and it takes all my willpower to keep my eyes on his and not let them dip to his mouth. “That you are,” I answer, an easy smile on my face.

“Maybe I should get you a ring,” he teases.

“Apparently, you have,” I hold up my left hand for him, the rings still there. He reaches for my hand, thumb brushing over the bands, his eyes lingering on the diamond. The gentle pressure sends a rush of warmth through me, and my stomach does about ten flips consecutively. He looks at me through his lashes, that smirk only deepening, “You bad girl.”

I gasp, taking my hand from his to hit his chest. “I didn’t steal them!” I insist, but he just catches my hand again, bringing his thumb back to the rings. 

“Have to admit,” he murmurs, eyes sparkling as he meets mine, “I have good taste. Could’ve added a few more diamonds, though.” He says it so casually, with such cockiness, and it just fuels a quiet, barren dream that I now want more than anything. “Well,” I reply, feigning nonchalance. “You can keep that in mind for the next time we get married.”

I slip from his hold with a teasing smile, and he lets me go. I let the rings disappear from my finger, leaving the same way they came. At least I have control over them leaving. It hurts to give myself hope, and I don’t know why I do it. I fix my faltering smile before I spin around, walking backward as I speak to him. He hasn't moved from where we stood, something written on his face. “I really didn’t steal them. They aren’t real.” 

****

“Were you really flirting with that girl?” I ask Sam, a proud smile on my face. He rolls his eyes, no doubt knowing where I got my information from. “I wasn’t flirting. We were just talking art,” he defends.

I laugh, “I think that might count as flirting. At least in your book.” I don’t mean to tease him too harshly over this, after all, I’m proud of him. Maybe that sounds weird but just like Dean I want him to be happy, and it’s good if he’s trying to move on after Jessica. “Grant Wood, Grandma Moses?” Dean mocks, “Where’d that come from?” he asks as we approach their room, bags in hand. I’ll go to my room later, as for now, it’s easier to stick with them.

“Art history course,” he answers simply, “It’s good for meeting girls.”

I laugh again, nudging his arm with my own, “Look at you go.”

He scuffs despite the smile on his face. Dean puts the key in the lock, turning it as he says, “It’s like I don’t even know you.”

He pushes the door open to reveal a complete disco-themed room. The walk-in is lined with black and white diamond wallpaper, and a metal divider made of circles separates the walk-in from the sitting area. Very ‘70s. Meanwhile, the sitting area has granite-like floors and completely black walls that contrast with the two white seats that face a long dresser-like table where speakers and lamps rest, and right above it an abstract painting sits. More of the same dividers separate the sitting area from the back where the two queen beds reside, the diamond wallpaper makes its reappearance there as well as the red carpet. 

“Huh,” the boys hum at the same time.

“‘Huh’ might be an understatement,” I mumble, following after them into the themed room. I feel like we should be in Vegas with a room like this, that feels more appropriate. But, at least it’s fun…? They move deeper into their room, dumping their bags on their respective beds while I leave mine by the door. “What was…providence?” Dean asks.

“Prov-e-nance,” Sam corrects, “It’s a certificate of origin, like a biography. You know we can use them to check the history of the pieces, see if any of them have a freaky past.”

“See, your art history class isn’t just helpful with getting girls,” I say, taking a seat on one of the white seats. Apparently, they found a painting that belonged to the Telesca's. The painting was a family portrait with two young boys in suits on the left and a young girl in a frilly dress holding a doll with matching clothes on the right. And, at the center a woman, likely the mother, sits wearing a dress with similar frills and ribbons as her daughter, a balding man with a serious face standing behind her.

“Speaking of girls…” Dean snaps his fingers at his brother, smirking.

“Yeah, maybe you can get her to write it all down on a cocktail napkin,” Sam responds, smirking right back.

“Not me,” Dean laughs.

Sam’s face drops, “No no no, pick-ups are your thing, Dean.”

“It wasn’t my ass she was checking out,” Dean remarks, giving him a look.

“Sam, she couldn’t take her eyes off of you,” I add, “And I wasn’t even there for half the conversation.”

“In other words, you want me to use her to get information,” he responds.

“Sometimes you gotta take one for the team,” Dean reasons. “Call her.”  I’m tempted to correct him and put it in kinder words. But, I stop myself as I realize that if we frame it as a proper date, he might back down. He might not feel ready to move on or feel too guilty about it and, frankly, no one could blame him.

****

A Re-run of Scooby-Doo plays on the large TV in front of us, the take-out we ate a while ago sitting in the trash can now as we lounge on his bed. Our backs lean on the cushioned headboards, the crisp motel blanket covering both of us as we sit side by side, close enough for our thighs to touch. He chuckles at some silly joke Scooby made, the sweet sound warming my heart.

I’m glad we decided to hang around if only to see him this content. I like the familiarity of this—of him. I wish we could have endless moments like this. If only we could live in a gap between time where all is well. I’d like that. I think he’d like that too. Time seems to melt together here where responsibility is put on hold to just…breathe. I hope Sam is having a good time on his date, that’d just make this whole day as perfect as it can get.

I’m pulled out of my thoughts as a plastic spoon comes crashing into my personal space, landing right in my (flavor) ice cream. “Hey!” I exclaim, laughter immediately bubbling from my lips, “You have your own ice cream.” He gathers a big spoonful and I don’t stop him or pull the container away. “So?” he shrugs, putting it into his mouth as he puts his arm around my shoulder, bringing me closer to his side. With a hand on his chest, I pull away enough to look up at him, “You’re ridiculous,” I say though my voice lacks conviction. His eyes meet mine, his head tilted down slightly, “Yeahhh,” he smirks, “But you love me.” He says it confidently as if he knows it's true even though he means it in a teasing way.

Then his eyes dip down and I can’t quite find the right words because the right words are “I do” and I can’t afford the truth. Not now….maybe not ever. This hunting trip has been a blessing and a curse. I get to spend more time with him than we probably ever had, and yet to be this close hurts. It’s as if he’s the sun and to even get in his gravity field would burn me right up. Though, maybe being like Icarus would be worth it. “You’re lucky I do,” I tease.

The click of the door tears my eyes away from him. “Sam!” I say excitedly as he comes into the motel room. “How was your date?” I ask.

“It was…” he searches for the words as he removes his blazer, “Good. I got the provenances.”

“Great!” I leap from the bed, leaving the rest of my ice cream on the nightstand, “I want to hear every single detail,” I take a couple of the manilla folders from him. 

“There’s really not any details to share,” he answers with a tight-lipped smile.

I give him a pointed look, “Really?”

“Yeah, really.”

“That’s not gonna work on me,” I say, taking a seat on one of the chairs in the living room area. 

“Fine,” he gives in, throwing his blazer over the back of the other chair before taking a seat, “The restaurant was fancy.” I practically hang onto each word, waiting for more to come. “And?” I ask, beaming.

“And the food was good.”

I groan, laying my head against the chair, “Dude, these are hardly details!” I twist in the seat to look back at his brother, “Dean, help me out here.” He looks up from the ice cream container in his hand, “This is all you, sweetheart,” he answers, shoving more ice cream in his mouth. Wait. My ice cream in his mouth. I roll my eyes, turning back around, “You guys are being such guys right now.”

A sheepish smile rests on Sam’s face, his eyes already on an open file. “Fine!” I give up, throwing my hands up, “Keep your date a secret!” I shake my head as I pick up a file of my own. 

I get to reading as the room falls into silence that’s only broken up by the sound of turning pages. “So, she just handed the providences over to you,” Dean starts.

“Provenances,” his brother corrects.

“Provenances,” Dean repeats with a bitter tone. 

“Yes. We went back to her place, I got a copy of the papers…”

“And?” Dean asks, using the very word I had used. I look up from my papers, expecting to hear more information than he was willing to give me. “And nothing. That’s it. I left,” Sam answers.

“You didn’t have to con her or do any…special favors—” 

“Eww,” I laugh, “Why’d you have to say it like that?” 

“Dean, would you get your mind out of the gutter, please?” 

“Hey, her head is in the gutter too,” he says and I can practically feel him pointing at me. I turn in my seat again, “I didn’t say anything!” I defend.

“You sure were thinking it though,” he remarks, a slight smirk threatening the corner of his mouth.

“And you know that how?” I counter giving him a pointed look. But, Sam cuts him off before he can get a word in, “Could you both stop, please?”

“Yeah, sorry,” I mumble, returning to my reading. 

“You know when this whole things done, we could stick around for a little bit,” Dean offers, not exactly backing down like his brother wanted.

“Why?” Sam asks.

“So you could take her out again,” he answers. “It’s obvious you’re into her, even I could see that.” It’s quite a conflicting situation. On the one hand, maybe we shouldn’t push or encourage him to go on dates when he’s clearly still grieving his girlfriend. In truth, it feels wrong and inconsiderate but on the other hand, maybe encouraging him could help with the moving on and accepting process. Or, perhaps this isn’t our place at all and we should shut up. “Hey, Sam, you said the first murder was in 1912, right?” I ask, deciding to move on from the conversation of dating. “Yeah, why?” he responds.

“I have a family portrait here from 1910 with the first sale in 1912 to Peter Simms,” I explain, lifting the paper for him to see. Then, there's a familiar presence behind me, a hand resting on the back of my chair. “Peter Simms murdered in 1912,” Dean reads, holding his Dad's journal in his free hand. 

“There’s another sale in ‘45 and then in ‘70. Does that match?” I ask, looking up at him.

“Yeah,” he nods, confirming this was what we were looking for.

“Then it was stored until it was donated to a charity auction last month. Where the Telescas bought it,” Sam fills in the rest of the information. “So, what do you think, it’s haunted? Or cursed?”

Dean shifts behind me, the journal coming to a soft close, “Either way, it’s toast.”

Pitch darkness cloaks us as we break in, from climbing the ridiculously tall metal gate to the careful way Sam disarms the security alarm before Dean works at the lock with careful, gloved hands. Our flashlights guide our way into the quiet auction house. It’s so different now without all the people, more enjoyable even. 

The painting is located quickly and cut from its frame with a switchblade. And as quickly as we came we left, doing almost everything in reverse. “Four minutes,” I announce, “‘Think that’s a new record.”

****

The cut-out painting lies in the dirt of a random side road. Something that took a lot of work and talent to do left to burn in the middle of nowhere. “Ugly ass thing. If you ask me we’re doing the art world a favor,” Dean remarks, dropping the lit match onto the art piece. 

This had to be some sort of crime.

I swing my legs off the bed, shoving my laptop onto the duvet as I get up to answer the knocking at my door. Before opening it, I tug my shirt to sit properly off my shoulder.

“Hey, we have a—” he stops short, those green eyes dropping to my bare legs. The oversized shirt I’m wearing only reaches mid-thigh. A smirk tugs at his perfect lips, and whatever he is going to say goes out the window. His gaze drags up my frame slowly, my insides going all warm and my stomach flipping in a way I wish it wouldn’t. “What were you up to?” he asks, the smirk still easy and lazy on his face. A huffed laugh escapes me, and I hope he doesn’t notice the blush creeping onto my cheeks. “What happened with ‘we have a…’?” I answer instead.

“What?” His eyes snap back to mine from wherever they were looking.

I laugh again. “Dean,” I say firmly, trying to keep the conversation on track. “What were you going to tell me?”

He shrugs, something he doesn’t do often, his smirk turning into a goofier smile. “I have no idea.”

I give him a pointed look, he’s messing with me now. “Come on, Winchester, focus.” 

His eyes dip down again, his tongue running along the inside of his cheek as his gaze crawls back up. “Oh, I’m plenty focused.”

“You were saying something about ‘we have a…’” I try again, hoping to jog his memory.

“Problem,” he finishes, shuffling a little bit as he adjusts how he’s standing. “Right. A problem.”

I wait for him to elaborate, but he just stares at me. “What's the problem?” I ask, leading this conversation.

“‘Can’t find my wallet,” he answers, nodding awkwardly. I try not to let the surprise show on my face. All this because he couldn’t find his wallet? “Do you need help finding it…?” I offer.

“Yeah,” he nods, then pauses. “Wait. No. I think I dropped it at the warehouse.”

“What!?” I exclaim. “Why didn’t you say that sooner!?” Immediately I spin right back into my room. “Let me get dressed real quick,” I add over my shoulder.

He steps into the room, letting the door shut behind him as I rummage through my duffle. “Wait.” I pause, turning to face him. His eyes dart up to meet mine, eyebrows raised as if he got caught doing something he shouldn’t have. I brush his antics off as I ask, “Do you want me to just,” I raise my hands, wiggling my fingers, “magick it here.” 

A small look of surprise hits his face as if he hadn’t thought of it. “Right. So–”

****

“You could have encouraged him instead of fake losing your wallet, you know right?” I ask, looking up at him as his brother and Sarah converse across the room. 

“Where’s the fun in that?” he remarks. 

“I don’t think making us think you could get caught for last night because you dropped your wallet is very fun,” I point out, crossing my arms across my chest. His wallet was in his pocket the whole time, which of course he knew about. What he really wanted was an excuse to get Sam and Sarah together again after their date. I don’t necessarily disagree with what he intended to do but it also isn’t exactly fun to be in the warehouse again. It’s like no matter what we still can't fit in.

But, he doesn’t need to say it. We both know Sam wouldn’t have come here otherwise. 

****

“I don’t understand, we burned the damn thing,” Sam says, frustrated. 

“Yeah, thank you Captain Obvious,” Dean grumbles. 

“And we can for sure rule out it’s not a duplicate….somehow…right?” I ask even though I’m not convinced of what I’m saying either. But a girl can dream. Sam turns in the passenger seat, delivering me the nastiest pointed look to ever be received. “Okay. Okay. I get it,” I say, raising my hands in defense. “I was trying to be…hopeful.” 

Dean nudges his brother's arm, getting him to lay off of me. “Alright, we just need to figure out another way to get rid of it. Any ideas?”

“Okay, alright. We, um, in almost all the lore about haunted paintings it’s always the painting’s subject that haunts ‘em,” Sam informs.

“Yeah. So we just need to figure out everything there is to know about that creepy-ass family and that creepy-ass painting,” Dean adds.

“Who do you think would know about them?” I ask.

****

The smell of old books fills my senses as we step into the second-hand bookstore, the little bell above the door chiming softly. It’s quiet and warm in the store with books stacked in piles littering the floor, making walking almost hard. Others are neatly arranged on tightly packed shelves in an attempt to fit more. If we weren’t here on business, I’d spend so much money here. I have to force my eyes away from the alluring spines of the novels, a gentle hand on my lower back encourages me to focus. I don’t need to turn my head to know the hand belongs to Dean.

“You said the Isaiah Merchant family, right?” the old man behind the counter asks.

“Yeah, that’s right,” Sam answers. The man lays out a huge book, dust sprinkling from it as he opens it to reveal the many news clippings inside. He’s well organized, I have to give him that. But, my focus is broken by the flicking of pages beside me. I look at Dean, his free hand holding open some old magazine about guns. Naturally, the guy encouraging me to focus is unfocused himself. But, he looks so happy as he flicks through the pages it’s hard to be upset. “Want me to buy that for you?” I ask softly, the words slipping from my lips before I have time to think. I kind of want to hit myself for that one.

But then he turns that smile on me and suddenly I do not want to hit myself. “I’m a big boy,” he says, his gaze dipping lower. “I can buy my own stuff.” His eyes slowly trail back up to meet mine, but his hand doesn’t stay still. It dips slightly, taking my stomach with it. His middle finger hooks lightly through a belt loop on my jean skirt, the rest of his fingers splayed on my very lower back. “You rarely buy things for yourself,” I point out. He only buys himself the necessities.

“I dug up every scrap of local history I could find,” the owner announces, pulling my attention forward. “So are you crime buffs?”

“Mhm,” I hum. “Yeah.”

“Why do you ask?” Dean asks, and I can feel the heat of his gaze pulling away from me.

“Well…” He holds up a newspaper article. The lead story, taking up most of the front page, is about the Titanic. But, a little further down to where he points is a side article titled: ‘Father Slaughters Family, Kills Himself.’

“Murder-suicide,” I mumble to myself. It’s certainly not the first.

“Yes. Yeah, that sounds about right,” Dean says, stumbling on his words.

“The whole family was killed?” Sam asks.

“It seems this Isaiah, he slits his kids’ throats, then his wife, then himself. Now he was a barber by trade. Used a straight razor,” he explains, his voice gravelly with age.

“Does it say why he might’ve done it?” I ask.

“Let’s look,” he answers, turning the newspaper around so that he can read it. “‘People who knew him describe Isaiah as having a stern and harsh temperament. Controlled his family with an iron fist.’”

It’s certainly not surprising news considering it was the early 1900’s. “Wife, uh, two sons, adopted daughter…” he continues. “Yeah, yeah, yeah,” he mumbles as he skims the page. “‘There were whispers that the wife was gonna take the kids and leave.’ Which of course you know in that day and age, um….” he clears his throat. “So, instead, old man Isaiah…well he gave them all a shave.” He draws his hand across his throat, mimicking the motion of slitting one's throat as he laughs. 

“That’s, uh, certainly one way to put it,” I respond, my words harsh. It was hardly a laughing matter. An entire family was killed because some guy let his anger and ego get in the way when all his wife wanted was to get the kids and escape his wrath. His laugh dies down pretty quickly once he realizes no one is joining in. “Does it say what happened to the bodies?” Dean asks.

“Just that they were all cremated,” he answers.

“Anything else?” Sam asks.

“Yeah. Actually, I found a picture of the family.” He shuffles through the papers in the book, “It’s right here….somewhere. Right—here it is.” He holds up the paper for us to see. It’s the family portrait from the painting. 

“Hey, could we get a copy of this please?” Sam asks.

****

“I’m telling you, man, I’m sure of it. In the painting at the auction house, Dad is looking down. Painting here, Dad’s looking out. The painting has changed,” Sam argues for the fifth time since we’ve been sitting at the table.

“Alright,” Dean finally gives in. “So, you think that Daddy dearest is trapped in the painting and is handing out Columbian neckties like he did with his family?”

“Well yeah, it seems like it. But if his bones are already dusted then how are we gonna stop him?”

“Maybe not everything was burned,” I suggest. 

“Kind of hard to miss something when you’re cremated,” Sam counters.

“Well yeah but that doesn’t mean a keepsake doesn’t still exist,” I point out. “Or, not even a keepsake but maybe anything that’s on his person in the painting that’s still around now. If it’s personal enough.”

“Maybe,” Sam nods, seeing my point. “And if we figure out what and burn it then no more killing.”

“Yeah,” I nod with him, “We just have to figure out what…somehow.”

“And where,” he adds. 

“Well, if Isaiah’s position changed then maybe some other things in the painting changed as well,” Dean suggests. “You know it could give us some clues.”

“What, like a Da Vinci Code deal?” Sam asks. 

Dean's face goes blank, “I don’t….know..uh…I’m still waiting for the movie on that one. Anyway, we gotta get back in and see that painting.” He rises from his seat and moves across the room to his bed, he throws himself onto his back and crosses his arms across his chest. I have to stop myself from ogling him with the way the grey shirt looks on him, especially with those forearms on display…

“Which is a good thing cause you get some more time to crush on your girlfriend,” he teases.

“Dude. Enough already,” Sam says firmly.

“What?” He answers in defense.

‘“What? Ever since we got here, you’ve been trying to pimp me out to Sarah. Just back off, alright?”

“Well, you like her don’t you?” He reasons. Sam groans and rolls his eyes. “Alright, you like her, she likes you, you’re both consulting adults,” Dean adds.

“What’s the point, Dean?” Sam responds, his voice rising as his frustration rises too. “We’ll just leave. We always leave.” It’s quite a reminder. The life of a hunter isn’t a kind one for many reasons, one of them being how lonely it can get. It’s knowing a normal life can’t ever truly exist because once this is embedded into you it stays. And he had tried to get away from the hunting life and it had worked for as long as it did with his girlfriend whom he was happy with until, once more, the hunting life caught up to him and he had to lose it all unfairly. 

“Well, I’m not talking about marriage, Sam,” he defends.

“You know, I don’t get it. What do you care if I hook up?” he asks, getting more agitated. 

“Cause then maybe you wouldn’t be so cranky all the time,” he answers calmly. Sam stares at him, then huffs out a breath and looks away. Dean sits up from the bed as he continues, “You know, seriously Sam, this isn’t about just hooking up, okay? I mean, I–I think that this Sarah girl could be good for you.” But, once more he doesn’t get an answer other than a sigh.

“And…” he continues softly. “I don’t mean any disrespect but I’m sure this is about Jessica, right? Now I don’t know what it’s like to lose somebody like that…but…I would think that she would want you to be happy.”

Tears fill the younger Winchester’s eyes. But, Dean continues anyway. “God forbid have fun once in a while. Wouldn’t she?” “Yeah, I know she would,” he answers softly, a half smile managing on his lips. “Yeah, you’re right. Part of this is about Jessica. But not the main part.”

“What’s it about?” Dean asks. This time Sam doesn’t answer. And, luckily, I don’t have to give Dean a look to tell him not to push it because he lies back down. “Yeah, alright,” he says crossing his arms across his chest. “Well, we still gotta see that painting, which means you still gotta call Sarah so…” 

A little surprisingly Sam picks up his phone, clearing his throat as he does so. “Sarah, hey, it’s Sam,” he says awkwardly. “Hey, hi….Good, Good, yeah, umm. What about you?”

I have to try not to cringe at how awkward this is. It’s uncomfortable.

“Yeah good, good, really good,” he repeats himself.

“Smooth,” Dean mumbles.

“So, uh, so listen. Me and my br—we were, uh, thinking that maybe we’d like to come back in and look at the painting again. I–I think maybe we are interested in buying it.” There's a pause before his eyes widen and he exclaims, “What?!” He stands up and paces, “Who’d you sell it to?”

Oh frick.

“Sarah, I need an address right now.”

****

The Impala roars up the drive, Sam and I not waiting for it to come to a full stop before jumping out. Sarah runs down from the driveway, her eyes wide in panic, “Sam what’s happening?” I hear her ask as I move past them and up the porch.

“I told you, you shouldn’t have come,” Sam says from behind me. I knock as loudly as I can against the door, “Hello?” I call loudly. Dean appears at my side, banging on the door and shouting, “Anyone home?” From what I can see the lights look off.

“You said Evelyn might be in danger, what sort of danger?” Sarah asks. But, unfortunately, she has to be ignored for now as we try and get in. Sam goes to the windows and starts banging on them as best as he can with the metal gates in the way. “I can’t knock this sucker down. I gotta pick it,” Dean announces.

“No time,” I intervene, shaking my head. If Sarah wasn’t there I’d blast it open but she doesn’t deserve to be brought into this life any more than she’s being exposed to it. So, instead, I cover my hand with my sleeve and put it on the doorknob. I apply a little magick, a stream of purple mist going into the locks. I turn the knob and push the door open, revealing the darkness that cloaks the house. “What are you guys, burglars?” Sarah remarks. I don’t wait for their conversation to pan out as I nod towards inside, quietly asking Dean if he’s going to follow. Unsurprisingly, he follows after me as I step into the house before he quickly takes the lead. 

“Evelyn,” I call as we venture in deeper. I can hear the insistent steps that follow behind us, one set familiar the other not. 

A soft glow of light stretches into the hallway just enough to lead our way. We turn into what looks to be a lounge. A blonde lady sits half-turned on the sofa. I take in the room swiftly from the burning candles to the painting that sits above the mantle. The father in the painting isn’t looking straight or down, instead, he looks at the daughter. “Evelyn?” Sarah says softly, appearing beside us. But, based on the lack of reaction or even recognition it’s likely that we’re too late. “It’s Sarah Blake…” She carefully walks into the room and closer to the woman. “Are you alright?” She slowly reaches a hand out to Evelyn’s shoulder.

“Wait! That’s not a—

“Sarah don’t. Sarah!”

Our warnings don't stop her. Evelyn’s head tips back, exposing the long cut on her throat. Sarah screams, the noise seeming to reverberate. Her head is barely attached to her neck, blood spewing from the cut rapidly.  “Oh my God. Oh My God!” 

Sam quickly intervenes, putting an arm around her as he leads her out of the room.

We’re forced to watch Sam pace back and forth even though we’re supposed to be researching. He’s been doing it all morning. He’s very distracting. 

He finally stops with a knock on the door. The person behind it is the reason he was pacing in the first place. He opens the door and in storms Sarah. ”Hey. ‘You alright?” Sam asks.

“No, actually, I just lied to the cops and told them I went to Evelyn’s, alone, and found her like that,” she spews.  Her hands are balled in fists at her side, a fire of determination burning in her eyes. And even though she’s angry, Sam’s face relaxes. “Thank you,” he says sincerely.

“Don’t thank me, I’m about to call them right back if you don’t tell me what the hell’s going on,” she demands. “Who’s killing these people?” 

Sam looks at us for help, and the question is clear in his eyes. I shrug, I don’t feel comfortable enough to give a solid ‘yes’ but she won’t take no for an answer. She deserves an answer. He looks back at Sarah, “What,” he corrects.

“What?”

“It’s not ‘who.’ It’s ‘what’ is killing those people,” he elaborates. Expectantly, she looks at him like he’s crazy. He sighs, “Sarah, you saw that painting move.”

“No,” she says firmly. “No…I was…I was seeing things. It’s impossible.”

“Yeah well, welcome to our world,” Dean and I say in unison. I look at him a little shocked, “Jinx.”

“Sarah, I know this sounds crazy,” Sam continues. “But we think that painting is haunted.”

She bursts into laughter, tears filling her eyes. “You’re joking.” But, of course, we aren’t. She looks between Sam and Dean and I. “You’re not joking.”

“God, the guys I go out with,” she mumbles. And for Sam’s sake, I hold back my laughter.

“Sarah, think about it. Evelyn, the Telescas, they both had the painting. And there have been others before that,” Sam explains. “Wherever this thing goes people die. And we’re just trying to stop it. And that’s the truth.”

She takes a deep breath, “Then I guess you’d better show me. I’m coming with you.”

“What? No. Sarah no, you should just go home. This stuff can get dangerous and…and I don’t want you to get hurt.”

“Look, you guys are probably crazy,” she says bluntly. “But, if you’re right about this? Well, my Dad and I sold that painting that might’ve gotten these people killed. Look I’m not saying I’m not scared because I am scared as hell but…I’m not going to run and hide either.” She strides over to the door before pausing and turning back, “So are we going or what?” Then, she walks out. 

She’s cool. “Sam?” Dean says. Once he has his attention he points to the door after Sarah, “Marry that girl.”

****

“Uhh…isn’t this a crime scene?” Sarah asks as I open the door again. We didn’t have to rush inside this time but it’s easier than waiting for a lock to be picked. I probably should’ve done it when we broke into the warehouse….

“It is,” I answer as we walk in. “If it makes you feel better your prints are already inside…and on the victim and because you found her they’ve already been cataloged or considered. So a couple more won’t make a difference seeing as they likely don’t suspect you. I mean, they let you go after getting your statement so that’s good.”

She looks at me a little strangely, a tight-lipped smile on her lips. I’m probably not helping the crazy allegations. “I used to do the whole crime investigation thing….sort of,” I try to explain. The writing job I had was a weird one because I wasn’t really doing any crime investigation, I’m not certified like that. But I did need and use skills that investigators might have. It was kind of an excuse to be a nerd and write. Also, it paid well. She nods. I don’t think I’ve been convincing…maybe I should stop speaking. “You’ve already lied to the cops. What’s another infraction?” Dean remarks as Sam lifts the painting down from the wall. 

“Aren’t you worried that it’s…gonna kill us?” Sarah asks.

“Nah, it seems to do its thing at night,” Sam answers. “I think we’re alright in the daylight.”

Dean takes the photocopy of the original painting out of his pocket and holds it up in comparison. “Check it out. The razor, it’s closed in this one but it’s open in that one,” he points out.

“What are you guys looking for?” she butts in.

“Well, if the spirit’s changing aspects of the painting then it’s doing so for a reason,” Dean explains.

“What’s that thing in the painting,” I ask, squinting and pointing behind the family. “I mean the painting that’s in the painting.”

“Looks like a mausoleum,” Sam answers with a tilted head. Dean looks around before grabbing a glass ashtray from an end table. He holds it up to the mausoleum. “Merchant,” he confirms.

****

Carefully I step around the gravestones, no need to upset any more dead people. “This is the third boneyard we’ve checked,” Dean complains. “I think this ghost is jerking us around.”

“At least we’re looking for a whole building rather than a lonely gravestone,” I point out. This way we can beeline to the building area instead of searching each line of graves. “So this is what you guys do for a living?” Sarah asks.

“Not exactly. We don’t get paid,” Sam answers.

“Well, Mazel tov,” she remarks. 

After venturing deeper into the graveyard we found the mausoleum, the ‘Merchant’ name carved right into it. Dean breaks the lock, revealing the mass of cobwebs and dust. Various nameplates fill one wall while the other side holds the urns all lined up with glass-fronted boxes built into the walls. But the number of urns is weird.

“Okay, that right there,” she points at a doll in one of the boxes. “Is the creepiest thing I've ever seen.” 

“I think it’s cute,” I shrug. The doll isn’t creepy, it’s quite normal with its brown hair and white dress. There isn’t an eye missing or a smudge on it. “Well, it was a sort of tradition at the time,” Sam explains. “Whenever a child died sometimes they’d preserve the kid’s favorite toy in a glass case, put it next to the headstone or crypt.”

“Notice anything strange here,” Dean asks.

“Yeah, there’s only four urns,” I answer. “And unless I suck at counting there should be five.”

“Daddy dearest isn’t here,” he confirms.

“So where is he?” Sam asks.

****

An office building, a lot of lying, paydirt, and possibly interrupting an almost kiss between Sam and Sarah later leads us to another graveyard, a grave, and some shovels. According to what Dean and I had found, the surviving relatives of the Merchant family were ashamed of Isaiah enough to not want him to be kept with the rest of the family. So, he was given over to the county who gave him a simple burial. Not a cremation. Therefore, a body to burn. Which again, leads to the shovel in my hand. Bad day to wear a white shirt because now I have to keep my zip-up on and digging up a grave is already a workout. Yay, sweat.

Sam lifts himself out of the grave to stand with Sarah and her flashlight. Even with 2-3 people digging it’s a lot of work. I don’t even want to know how long we’ve been at this for. “You guys seem to be uncomfortably comfortable with this,” she comments. 

“Well, uh, this isn’t exactly the first grave we’ve dug,” Sam responds. “Still think I’m a catch?”

She laughs and God they need to kiss already. 

Finally, Dean’s shovel hits something hard. “Think I’ve got something,” he announces.

“Oh thank God,” I sigh, leaning on the handle of my shovel as I wipe some sweat from my forehead. “This so sucked.”

“Now you can stop worrying about your pretty little shirt gettin’ all dirty,” Dean remarks. I roll my eyes, of course, he picked up on that. “I’m gonna hit you with my shovel,” I threaten, my smile ruining the seriousness of my words. 

“Are they always like this?”

“Yup.”

“I’d like to see you try,” he counters as he looks me up and down.

“And I’ll hit both of you,” Sam threatens, peering into the grave. 

“Okay Obi-Wan Kenobi,” I mumble as I help Dean clear up more of the dirt to open it. 

“Nerd,” Dean remarks.

“Dude! You saw the movie too!” I defend.

“Shut up,” he grumbles. “Move back so I can open this.”

****

Lighter fluid and salt in place, Dean strikes his match. “You’ve been a real pain in the ass Isaiah. Good riddance.” He tosses the match in, everything going up in flames.

****

The Impala pulls in front of Evelyn’s house, hopefully, for the last time. “Keep the motor running,” Sam directs, opening the car door.

“I thought the painting was harmless now,” Sarah says beside me.

“Better safe than sorry. We’re gonna bury the sucker,” Sam explains.

Sarah gets out of the car, declaring, “I’m going with you.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah,” she answers, something shining in her eyes. Okay, now they really need to kiss. Sam tries to get out of the car again before Dean stops him, “We’ll stay here, you go make your move.” 

He scoffs and rolls his eyes as he gets out of the car. “Sam. I’m serious!” But, he’s ignored as they round the car and move up the stairs. Dean turns on the radio, a silly love song playing. I have to shake my head with how obvious it is, the upbeat tune paired with lyrics like “I’m in love with a girl that I’m talking about…I’m in love with a girl I can’t live without…” Sam practically whips around to give his brother a dirty look. But, Dean being Dean shrugs, seeing no problem with his intervention. Sam motions for him to cut it off, his eyes wide. Surprisingly, Dean shuts it off but not without sighing. “I’m fairly sure they’ll kiss even without your ridiculous music,” I say as I watch them enter the house.

“It’s not ridiculous,” he counters. 

“I love a good love song but that was painfully obvious, Dean. Plus, can you really kiss to that one?”

“One way to find out.”

“Yeah, you’re gonna try that on your next hookup?” I ask. He shakes his head but I can’t see his face from where I sit in the backseat and with his head downturned I can’t use the rearview mirror either. But, I don’t have time to dwell on it and he has no time to vocalize an answer when our attention is taken away by the front door slamming. 

He’s out of the Impala and up half the stairs before I can open my door. “Sammy, you alright?” he calls out, shoving himself against the door. His phone rings a half second later and I don’t think I’ve seen him pick up his phone quicker. “Tell me you slammed the front door,” he says. And I try to connect the pieces of the conversation with only half of it. Something with a girl. “Wasn’t the Dad looking at her?” Dean asks. “Maybe he was trying to warn us.” Well, that answers what girl.

“Hey, sweetheart?” He suddenly directs at me. “Could you—” I nod before he can finish. I know what he wants. “Move back,” he tells them. I know this time simply unlocking it won’t work with a spirit being the one to keep it closed. I guess Sarah gets to see a door exploding anyway. “Wait! What do you mean no time?!” But my hand is already raised, a blast of energy going right through the door. Shards of wood explode inward. 

“Where’d they go?” I ask, the entryway clear of people and spirits. When he told them to move I thought they’d remain close by, not disappear. “Damn things on ‘em,” Dean answers, moving past me to go in headfirst. “Sammy!” he yells. But there’s no response. “What could be left behind?” I ask, following after him, “We saw her urn!”

“I don’t know,” he throws back. Something crashes and slides fast behind me. I spin around, a large wooden cupboard now blocking the remains of the front door. Closing us in. “Really?” I get it doesn’t want us to leave but I just broke the door. “Sammy!” Dean yells. Something else slams and this time Dean’s gone too. “Dean! Sam!” I call, moving further down the hall. How big is this house? My phone buzzes in my pocket. I fumble for it, flipping it open before I can catch more than the first letter of the name. “Where did you go? I looked away for two seconds and you were gone. Are you with Sam?”

“I’m a little stuck right now,” he answers, his voice sounding a little gruffer.

“Where are you?” I repeat, spinning around slowly for any sign of where he went.

“That doesn’t matter I–”

“It kind of does,” I cut him off.

“Listen,” he says firmly. “I need you to do something for me, sweetheart,” he groans.

“Dea—”

“Think you can do somethin’ for me?”

“Yeah, Dean jus—”

“You gotta get back to the mausoleum and burn the doll, it might have her real hair,” he directs. ”The keys are in Baby, g—”

“I can get there quicker than that,” I cut him off. “Just…be safe and find Sam.” I hang up before he can say anything more. I roll my shoulders back, I can do this. I’ve teleported before. Hell, I managed to teleport to a place I’d never seen before back with the asylum hunt. This may be further but I’ve been there once so that’s going to have to be close enough. Also, I have no time for this. I exhale, summoning my powers forward. I don’t have time to focus on what I want as I did at the asylum. So, I put all my hope into it working as simply as I can. I flick my wrist and envision the inside of the mausoleum. Then…I’m there.

Man, I’m getting good at this. 

I waste no time in sending a small blast of energy at the glass covering. It shatters in the box, covering the doll in glass. Carefully, I lift the doll out of the box and hold it in one hand as I hold my pointer finger up. A little flame ignites from the tip of my finger, not hurting me in the slightest. “Sorry doll,” I mumble, holding her hair over the flame. Quickly, it ignites. Her brown hair goes up in flames and with it, I hope, the spirit of the ghost girl. I shake off my finger flame, not needing it anymore with how flammable the hair is. I put the doll down on the stone floor, letting it go up in flames as I take out my phone. I click on Sam’s contact, bouncing on the balls of my feet, nervously, as it rings. Please be okay. “Sam! Oh my god, are you guys okay? Did it work?” 

“We’re not bad.”

At the auction house, workers buzz around packing various things up in crates. The spirit is dead for good this time and no one else got hurt. “This was archived in the county records,” Dean announces, walking over with some papers. “The Merchant’s adopted daughter Melanie. Know why she was up for adoption? ‘Cause her real family was murdered in their beds.”

“She killed them?” Sarah asks.

“Yeah,” Dean answers. “Who’d suspect her? ‘Sweet little girl. So when she kills Isaiah and his family. The old man takes the blame. His spirit’s been trying to warn people ever since.”

“Guess she figured she couldn’t get away with it twice,” I say, thinking out loud. Yet, through death, she was able to get away with it continuously. 

“So where’s this one go?” One of the workers asks, holding up the Merchant family portrait.

“Take it out back and burn it,” Sarah directs. Both workers seem to pause at once, looking at her strangely as if she might be joking despite her serious tone. “I’m serious guys. Thanks,” she insists. She looks back at us, the workers walking off with the painting. “So why’d the girl do it?”

“Killing others? Killing herself? Some people are just born tortured. So when they die, their spirits are just as dark,” Sam answers.

“Maybe,” Dean adds and I agree with that far more than the idea that people are born evil when it’s more complicated than that. “I don’t really care,” he continues, “It’s over, we move on.”

“Ahh,” Sarah sighs. “I guess this means you’re leaving.”

I nudge Dean as he looks between the two. This is our cue to leave. “We’ll go wait in the car,” Dean says. “See you, Sarah.”

“It was nice meeting you,” I add, giving a little wave before we head out. “Now I can give you your thing,” I tell Dean.

“What ‘thing’?” he asks, looking confused.

“You’ll find out in just a second,” I laugh, skipping in front of him. I get to the car first and open the back door. I bend down as I open my duffle, taking what I left on top in my hands. I zip up my bag and turn to him holding it behind my bag before the big reveal. “Okay, it’s stupid,” I warn. “But here.” I hold out the magazine he had been reading at the old bookstore the other day. His eyebrows rise, and his mouth parts as if he wants to say something, except nothing comes out of his mouth he just smiles and takes it from my hands. “Sweetheart…” he trails off, looking down at the magazine. I smile brightly as he looks at it, practically beaming where I stand.

Then, a knock swifts both of our attentions. I look up at the auction house door, Dean turning to do the same. And right there in the doorway, Sam kisses Sarah, his head bent down to her level and his hands on her waist. “That’s my boy,” Dean smiles.

(Next Chapter)

Tag List: @jesllianaquilesrolonsworld @okayiamkassandra @fablesrose @ada--44 @bonkydarnes @star-yawnznn @crazyunsexycool @onlyangel-444 @seninjakitey @mystic-mara @mxltifxndom @stilesxreid @chaotic-luvrs @tiggytaylor @deanwasscaredbyacat @imaginexred @daisychaingirl

[nanamineedstherapy]

His Chrysanthemums

Widower!Toji x GN!Reader

Summary: Grief lingers like a shadow, following even the strongest hearts. Toji’s world was shattered, and though time moved forward, he remained anchored to the memory of what he’d lost. A new presence offers a chance to heal, but unseen and unheard, someone fights to return to him, defying the laws of life & death. This ones for all those who wanted the mysterious hunk to be Toji, hope you guys are satisfied with this in the meantime I finish that story and cook up something for him. First time writing Toji in lead hehe.

Chrysanthemums, often referred to as "mums," with their vibrant blooms, carry a heavy weight of sorrow, frequently symbolizing grief and mourning in many cultures. Associated with death, they serve as poignant reminders of lost loved ones, evoking a deep sense of nostalgia and regret for moments that can never be reclaimed. Their presence speaks to the transience of life, a bittersweet acknowledgement of beauty that fades too quickly, leaving behind aching memories of separation and unrequited love. As the petals fall, they whisper of heartache and longing, setting the stage for a story steeped in loss and the haunting echoes of what once was. Song Rec. WC: 2,061

The cold wind sliced through the night like a dagger, sharp and unrelenting, carrying with it the faint scent of damp earth and dying flowers. Toji Zenin roamed the streets like a ghost of the man he used to be. His broad shoulders, once a symbol of his unyielding strength, now sagged under the weight of an emptiness that seemed infinite. His hands, scarred and calloused from a lifetime of battles, trembled as they clutched a bouquet of pale chrysanthemums.

The flowers weren’t for you.

The streets were quieter now, the hum of life dulled as the world prepared for sleep. Toji’s boots crunched against the gravel, his gait slow and deliberate. He hadn’t planned this walk. His feet simply carried him forward, driven by an unspoken need to escape the walls that seemed to close in tighter with every passing night.

The first year after you died was chaos—a storm of anger, grief, and regret that left him reeling. He’d lost himself in whiskey and violence, trying to drown the sound of your laughter that echoed endlessly in his mind. The second year was no easier. He numbed himself with work, burying every ounce of himself into missions, pushing his body to the brink just to feel something—anything—besides the ache of your absence.

But grief has a way of changing shape, of dulling its sharp edges into something heavier, more insidious. By the third year, Toji found himself hollow. The pain no longer roared; it whispered, constant and cruel. That was when he met her.

She wasn’t like you. She wasn’t trying to be.

Her kindness was quiet, unassuming. She didn’t pry or push. She simply sat beside him when he needed silence and spoke when the silence grew too loud. For the first time in years, Toji felt the faint stirrings of something he couldn’t quite name. It wasn’t joy—he wasn’t sure he’d ever feel that again—but it was a spark, a flicker of warmth in the cold expanse of his heart.

She didn’t try to fix him. She didn’t pretend she could. And for that, he was grateful.

Still, guilt clawed at him every time he caught himself smiling at something she said or leaning into her gentle touch. The weight of your memory was ever-present, a specter that loomed over every quiet moment, every tentative step forward.

Tonight, as he walked with the bouquet in hand, his chest felt tighter with every breath. The chrysanthemums, pale and fragile, seemed to mock him with their delicate beauty. He’d bought them without thinking, a reflex from a life he no longer lived.

He wasn’t sure when he decided he would confess his feelings to her. The thought had come unbidden, growing stronger with each passing day. It felt wrong, like a betrayal of everything you had shared, but it also felt necessary.

Yet, as he approached the park where they often met, the memories surged like a tidal wave, threatening to drown him. He saw flashes of you—your laughter, the way your eyes crinkled at the corners when you smiled, the warmth of your hand in his. He clenched his jaw, trying to shake the images loose, but they only grew stronger.

The park was nearly empty, the streetlamps casting pools of golden light on the cobblestone path. Toji hesitated at the entrance, his heart pounding in his chest. The bouquet felt heavy in his hands, as if it carried the weight of every unspoken word, every unfinished moment.

He hadn’t even seen her yet, but already he felt like he was making a mistake.

His mind raced with doubts. Would she even want this? Would she understand the shadows that clung to him, the parts of himself he could never share? Would she see him for what he truly was—a man broken beyond repair, trying desperately to piece himself back together?

He took a deep breath, steeling himself as he stepped forward. The sound of his boots echoed in the stillness, each step heavier than the last.

What Toji didn’t know—what he couldn’t possibly know—was that someone was watching him.

---

The afterlife was a void—silent, endless, and suffocating. It wasn’t the peace you’d been promised, nor the oblivion you might have welcomed. Instead, it was a cruel limbo where every moment stretched into eternity, and all you could feel was the unbearable ache of his absence.

The gods had taken you too soon, tearing you away from Toji with no warning, no time to say goodbye. You had begged for another chance, pleaded for mercy, but the heavens were indifferent to your suffering. Fate is immutable, they told you. The dead cannot return.

But you weren’t one to accept fate.

Your love for him was a force stronger than death itself. It fueled you, driving you to claw your way through the afterlife. You bartered with ancient spirits, battled celestial beings, and endured trials that shredded your soul piece by piece. You became a warrior in death, a ghost consumed by purpose. Every moment, every sacrifice, was for him.

The gods warned you. He has moved on. You will not find what you seek.

You didn’t care to listen.

Your resolve burned brighter than the stars, a flame that refused to be extinguished. You tore through the veil between life and death with sheer determination, leaving behind fragments of yourself in the process. When you finally returned, the world felt alien, like stepping into a life that no longer belonged to you.

What Toji didn’t know—what he couldn’t possibly know—was that you were watching him now.

Your spectral form lingered in the shadows as he walked through the park, his steps deliberate. You had dreamed of this moment for three long years, imagined his face lighting up with joy when he saw you again. But as you followed him, the truth began to sink in.

The chrysanthemums in his hands were not for you. The softness in his eyes was not for you.

You watched as he approached a woman sitting on a bench, her smile warm and inviting. Your heart clenched as he handed her the flowers, his voice low and hesitant as he spoke words you couldn’t hear.

This wasn’t how it was supposed to be.

You had imagined this moment a thousand times. You had dreamed of the look on his face when he saw you again, the way he would pull you into his arms and swear never to let you go. But this? This wasn’t the reunion you had fought for.

You stepped closer, your ghostly form trembling with the effort. The world around you felt heavy, the air thick with the weight of your grief. You reached out, your fingers brushing against his shoulder, but he didn’t flinch. He didn’t see you.

He couldn’t.

You stumbled back, the realization crashing over you like a tidal wave. You had fought gods and torn apart the fabric of your soul to return to him, only to find that you were nothing more than a shadow—a forgotten memory lingering in a world that no longer needed you.

You ran.

The forest loomed ahead, dark and endless, but you didn’t care. Your sobs echoed through the trees, raw and heart-wrenching, a symphony of pain that seemed to reverberate through the very earth.

You found yourself in the graveyard.

The air was cold, the silence broken only by the rustling of leaves and the distant chirping of crickets. You stood before your own tombstone, the sight of it stealing the breath you no longer had.

Beloved Wife. Forever Missed.

The words carved into the stone felt like a mockery.

You weren’t missed.

You were forgotten.

You collapsed to your knees, clutching at the earth above your grave. The soil was damp, a cruel reminder of the finality you had fought so hard to defy. Your sobs tore through the quiet night, raw and unrestrained. You had given up everything to return to him, only to find that the world had moved on without you.

You clutched at your chest as if you could rip the anguish out of yourself.

“Why?!” You wailed, your voice breaking. “Why did I come back? Why did I fight for this?!”

The heavens remained silent.

---

You didn’t notice Toji at first, too consumed by the overwhelming weight of your despair. The forest around your grave blurred into an endless haze of muted greens and grays, your wails swallowed by the indifferent silence of the world.

Then you heard it—the crunch of gravel beneath heavy boots.

You looked up, your ghostly form trembling. Toji stood there, his figure clear against the hazy backdrop. He held chrysanthemums in his hands, the same ones you’d seen him give to her.

Why were they here?!

Your heartbeat—or what remained of it—sank in your chest.

He approached slowly, his movements cautious, as though stepping into sacred ground. His face was a canvas—grief, regret, and something you couldn’t quite place.

He sat by your grave, his head bowed. For a long moment, he didn’t speak, the silence between you both as suffocating as the chasm that separated you.

When he finally did, his voice was barely a whisper. “I tried,” he said, the words cracking under their own weight. “I tried to move on. But it’s not the same. It’ll never be the same.”

You felt your chest tighten, the ache in your soul almost unbearable.

“She’s with someone else,” he continued, his tone laced with bitter amusement. “Gojo, of all people. Should’ve seen that coming.”

Relief flooded through you, unbidden and unwelcome, a bitter reminder of your own selfishness. You hated yourself for it, for the small part of you that found comfort in knowing he hadn’t truly moved on.

He didn’t deserve this; your baby didn’t deserve this. Wasn’t his family’s torment enough misery to last a lifetime? He deserved peace, love, and happiness—things you could no longer provide. The weight of your absence pressed heavily on your heart, a constant ache that reminded you of all the moments you would never share again.

You wished for him to find solace, yet the thought of him moving forward without you felt like a betrayal. It was a cruel twist of fate that left you longing for his happiness while knowing you could never be a part of it.

“I keep seeing your face,” he said, breaking you out of your own spiral, his voice trembling. “Hearing your voice. Every time I try to forget, it’s like you’re right there, haunting me.”

Your heart shattered all over again. You wanted to scream, to cry out, I am here! I fought for you! I came back for you!

But no sound escaped your lips.

Toji placed the flowers on your grave, his hand lingering on the cold stone. “I’m sorry,” he murmured. “For not being enough when you were here. For even thinking I could replace you now that you’re gone.”

You reached out, your ghostly hand trembling as it hovered inches from his cheek. Then, with every ounce of will you had left, you brushed your fingers against his hand.

He froze.

For a moment, it felt as though he could feel you, as though the distance between you had finally closed. His breath hitched, his head snapping up to look around.

“Who’s there?” He whispered, his eyes scanning the empty clearing.

You stayed silent, your ghostly form sagging in defeat as he stood. He shook his head, a bitter laugh escaping his lips. “Guess I’m losing my mind now, too.”

He walked away, his shoulders heavy with the weight of his grief. You stayed behind.

You collapsed onto your grave, your wails swallowed by the indifferent silence of the world. Your screams echoed through the cemetery, unheard by the living but reverberating through the void.

“I’m sorry,” you cried, your voice breaking. “I’m so sorry. I should’ve stayed. I should’ve fought harder. I should’ve—”

The words died in your throat. You realized, with a painful clarity, that it didn’t matter anymore. You were gone. And he was alive.

All you could do now was let him go.

As dawn broke over the cemetery, you faded back into the ether, leaving behind nothing but the faint scent of chrysanthemums.

A/N: Thank you for reading this story—I poured my soul into writing it, and I hope it broke your heart just a little (or a lot). Let me know your thoughts in the comments! Your takes mean the world to me.

All Works Masterlist

[crazyinluvfix]

FATAL ATTRACTION MASTERLIST

summary: Sera Salvatore moved to Beacon Hills for a break from the supernatural. But her life was once again turned upside down when she and her two best friends get thrown head first into a world of werewolves and mystery. But it’s hard for her to protect her friends when a single werewolf bite is what could kill her for good…

( you can also read this on my ao3 or my wattpad )

CHAPTERS:

PROLOGUE

1:1 WOLF MOON ( pt. 1 )

1:1 WOLF MOON ( pt. 2 )

└──────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ────────┘

[godmadeaterribleerror]

Babylon The Great Series Masterlist

Read on A03!

Rating/Warnings: 18+ for canon-typical violence, swearing, severe mental health issues, self-harm and suicidal ideation, mentions of rape/non-con, and sexual content.

Tags: Dean Winchester/Female Reader, enemies to friends to lovers, canon divergence, slow burn, smut, angst, fluff, eventual happy ending.

Series Summary

There's something wrong with you that's not wrong with other people. You're a hunter, and a damn good one, but you might be a monster.

There might be something in you that needs to be put down. Something broken that can't be fixed.

It's why you've had one rule your whole life. The only thing your father has ever made clear is that, no matter what, you need to stay away from John Winchester. He can't even know you exist, or he'll kill you and never blink.

And when your paths cross a hunt, you should've run, but you didn't. You couldn't. Because you looked at Dean Winchester, and something changed inside of you. Something called you to him, and you can't figure out what it was, but you know it's strong. And you know that, whatever Dean's doing to you, you don't really care to fight it. Things are broken in you, just as much is broken in him, and you fit perfectly together in a way you'll never be able to describe.

But it's more complicated than that, though. The world pulls you and Dean apart again and again.

And you find your way back, again and again.

Author's Note

This story is non-canon compliant rewrite, but primarily plot wise. Think of it as we're cooking with all the same ingredients (i.e lore, characters, setting, and backstory) but with one change (you) that gets us to a drastically different ending.

What the means is that there will be a lot of similar plot points to Supernatural, but the further we go through the story the more it will diverge. I've also take some creative labor with the reader, adding lore that's defiantly not a part of canon, but crucial to this story.

If you have any questions about this, feel free to ask! If not, I hope you enjoy the story!

Chapter List

Chapter 1 - In My Brain and In My Blood Chapter 2 - Under My Skin Chapter 3 - I Get A Little Dizzy Chapter 4 - You Bleed Like Me Chapter 5 - If You Let Me Chapter 6 - All The Noise Chapter 7 - Something I Can See (2/6)

[cas-poisoning]

no hate but I will never understand “Dean loved Cas first” truthers 😭 Dean had some big picture shit to worry about in season 4 like I don’t think Cas was like. his main focus. Maybe there was some tension, but I’ve never read Dean’s actions in season 4 as really having anything to do with actually being in love with Cas.

Meanwhile I canot imagine an interpretation of Castiel’s arc in season 4 that does not fundamentally revolve around him falling in love with Dean.

[emotionallyunstabl]

forcing my eyes to stay open to read fanfiction like its a mandatory assignment due tonight

[stusbunker]

Spotless: Portato

Chapter Thirty Seven

Featuring: Dean Winchester/Reader

Other characters: Pamela, Charlie, Jesse, Benny, Kevin and Sam

Word Count: ~3250 with other media

Warnings, etc: Mutual pining, still unbeta'd, Tricia did read through the first scene, but all mistakes are still on me, Dean goes to confession, our reader's self esteem overrides all logic and prodding.

Series Masterlist

There have always been certain women in your life that you just didn’t click with. Some you wanted to, badly. Others you admired from afar, too shy or self conscious to really try to form any kind of bond, be it professional, educational or friendly. There were some you wanted nothing to do with. 

And then there was Pamela.

She was someone you had always admired, still slightly feared, but had resigned yourself to maintaining a simple and mildly judgemental, professional relationship. So when she woke you up, hungover and definitely disheveled as you were, on the bus to Phoenix, you were wary.

“Hey, sorry, but uh— could you come with me? Please?” She looked a little spooked and not exactly as apologetic as she sounded, but you nodded and tried to rub the sleep out of your eyes.

“What’s going on?” You said quietly, aware of all the other people around you as you shuffled after her to the actual bunk room in the back of the bus. Except no one back there was even asleep.

“Tell her what you told me. Or everything. Whatever comes last.” Pamela seemed pissed as she snapped at Dean and a sudden dread flooded your senses.

He sat on a bottom bunk, fingers rubbing over his lips in consideration as he glared at Pamela’s demands.

You knew something was up with the buddy system after the last show, but neither you nor Charlie had found anything substantial online. Which left in person or direct phone call threats. You’d been with the band long enough to have seen some shit, from overzealous fans to crazy ex’s and even a few stalkers. Benny’s team didn’t mess around when something had weight behind it. Outside of Vegas, you thought it was over.

By the look in Dean’s eyes, it was worse than you had guessed.

“Who died?” Was possibly the worst thing you could have said to Dean, by the journey his face went through.

He just gaped at you before Pamela dove back in.

“Wait— did someone actually die?”

“Will you let me speak for my damn self?! Christ, Pammy. Sorry, Trouble, this is not how I wanted you to find any of this out. Sit down.”

“Oh boy.”

There wasn’t any furniture back there and it felt oddly intimate to sit next to Dean on a borrowed bed like that. Every other bed was too far away. Instead, you slinked down to the floor and popped your knees up in front of you, like a child during circle time, but with something to hold onto.

“What’s going on? Is this about that guy outside of Wednesday’s show?”

“Kind of.”

Pamela exhaled and uncrossed her arms. “I’m gonna go– I don’t think I’m needed and it’s just gonna rile me up if I hear it all over again. But I’ll be up front if either of you need me, got it?”

“Good call— and, uh, thanks.” Dean looked up at her. Pamela nodded and left you and Dean alone.

The air grew thick and you had to get something off your chest before Dean got into whatever had Pamela so on edge. “Are you okay?”

Dean sighed and picked at the seam of his jeans. “I thought I was, you know? I’ve been putting in the work, but being back there, and then seeing Alastair— Having Cain at the fucking show. Really messed with my head.”

“Who are they?”

“Well, you’ve heard about Cain, Cain Charles. I used to box at his gyms all the time.”

You nodded into the pretzel of your arms.

“Well, I wasn’t really boxing— not most of the time. I was fighting in underground MMA type bouts. And Alastair, the slimy looking dude outside the first show? He was my trainer.”

Dean let that sit, but it didn’t take long for the pieces to start to fall together.

“The bruises— I remember how you were always hurt or stiff all the time.”

“Yeah, don’t miss that one bit either.” Dean rested his elbows on his knees and looked down at you, hunched as if he’s expected to get yelled at.

“So, what do they want? Why’s Benny got the guys on high alert?”

“Me.”

It was almost comical the way your mind looped around that simple word. Lots of people wanted Dean. And you couldn’t blame them, but those connotations didn’t quite fit the conversation so far.

“For what?”

“Back in the ring, at their beck and call, probably licking their boots while I’m at it.”

You straightened up, urgency starting to get the better of you. “Dean, I need more information here. Were you, like, an indentured servant? Do you owe them money? Why are they after you for real?”

“No, I, uh— I was there willingly. Started off with a fight at a club and when one of the goons came over to break it up, the guy didn’t kick me out. Instead he gave me a card, told me I had ‘promise’.”

“So you just decided one day to be a cage fighter? Being a rockstar wasn’t enough or something?” You balked, trying to figure out what drove Dean to that place. 

“Look, I’m not perfect, okay? And neither are you, so please, let me explain myself a little?”

You folded back in on yourself. “Yeah, of course, sorry.”

“No, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it like that— just give me the benefit of the doubt here, at least in the beginning.”

You twisted your fingers in front of your lips and tossed an imaginary key behind your back. Dean huffed out a laugh and cleared his throat.

“So, uh, do you remember before the fourth album we were kind of burnt out and Pamela and Lee were going through the last divorce and Bobby was kind of still AWOL because he’d just gotten married himself and Sam was fine by then and Adam was getting all those scholarships and shit?”

“You’re talking, like, almost back to the summer before the shit with Cas, right?”

  “There abouts, yeah.”

“Okay, vaguely. I remember being busy, Zacarriah had just been promoted and he was doing a lot of poking around. So I wasn’t doing much with you guys in person— since it was between tours.”

“Yeah, makes sense. Charlie and I played a lot of Call of Duty that break.”

“Okay?”

“I just— I was low. And then, finally, we got back into the studio and I could do something, be useful. I was able to sort of bury the darkness.”

“But it didn’t go away?”

Dean shook his head.

“Fast forward and I get this mafia-looking dude telling me I was worth more than just what my dad wanted me to be.”

“Dean—”

“It’s okay. I’ve been over that with Missouri too, just sayin’ why it was such a compliment.”

 Dean rubbed his palms against each other and kind of looked behind you as he kept talking. “So I checked it out, the fights were underground but not, like, dirty. I mean, they fought dirty as hell, but I didn’t feel like I was getting an STD just by walking in.”

“Okay, so you’re no Tyler Durden. What made you stay?”

Dean rolled his eyes.

“The rush of a fight. And you know— I’m hard up for praise— it’s why I love the spotlight and the fans. But it wasn’t like it is with the band. I didn’t even have to work as hard at it as I do with the music— it was only me up there. I didn’t have to answer to anybody else. It was just my hands and the other guys’ that I had to worry about. No harmonies, no compromises. It was easy. And I thought it made me free.”

Dean didn’t meet your eyes, he looked at the wall behind you or the floor. You had never seen him so ashamed, or so outright confessional.

 You inched forward, the need to comfort him tingled along your arms and into your useless hands. “What made you stop? Besides the last tour, obviously, you couldn’t be in two places at once.”

“Uh, so, Cas must have been following me because there was one night where it got really bad. I got really bad— just pummeled a guy to the mat. They— there’s not really refs, more like bouncers to hold back the crowds. But it took three of them to haul my ass to the showers. Cain has doctors on retainer, nobody was gonna call an ambulance and rat the place out. But, he wasn’t moving the last time I got a look at him.”

Dean looked up and into your eyes.

“I still don’t know if that guy is okay or anything. That was my last fight before we hit the road. And Cas called me out, eventually. Let me stew with the unknown and the guilt for a good month first. I didn’t know he needed me. He had his own shit with the kid and stuff then. I just thought— I don’t know. Anyway, you probably got a good handle on what happened after that.”

“So, they’re blackmailing you? Cain and Allistair?”

“Alastair.”

“Him.”

“No, but they’re watching you. They know— they know everyone I care about. Cain thinks I’m letting you guys save me from my true nature. He’s big on instinct and fight or flight crap. But he’s very logical about it all. Alastair—,” Dean blew out the breath he had been holding and dropped onto the floor in front of you, back against the drawers beneath the beds. “He’s a fucking sadist. He wants people to hurt, it’s not just about power—- it’s torture.”

You swallowed. “Don’t you think we need to go to the authorities? They sound dangerous. Really dangerous.”

Dean shook his head. “That’s not an option. Cain is too good, his business is airtight. Nobody talks or walks away. That’s why he’s so insistent. He thinks he can bring me back.”

You didn’t want to know, but you needed to know, so you asked, “do you— would you?”

“No. Not anymore. I’ve come too far. There’s days when I think about it. When it would be easier to just be the beast again. But I’ve got too much to lose. I have the band family, Charlie, Gibson, you—- So no, Trouble, I ain’t going back.”

You smiled at him, softly, not really letting him see how that sent your face burning with all the worry still hanging in the air.

“How can I help? Do I need to enlist Charlie and get our devices better hidden? Change reservations to keep people off our trail? The tour is set, we can’t cancel any dates—- but we can be more careful.”

“Uh, wow, I guess check in with Bobby and Benny? They’re already on top of things, but more eyes on it couldn’t hurt. I— is there anything you want to know? I feel like you’re taking this really well. Like instant problem solving mode. Not even flinching over what— the things I did.”

Dean leveled you with an unimpressed glare and cleared his throat. “Hit me. I can take it.”

It was your turn to roll your eyes as you resituated your legs and propped yourself up on your right hand. “It’s a lot, you know? We knew you were struggling. And we all had been on the receiving end of your temper enough to know not to poke the bear.---- But, I guess, it’s nice knowing, for sure. Like there was something there—- Someones there holding you back, keeping you from us. I’m sorry you had to go through that all alone.”

Dean bumped your knee with his. “Don’t need your pity. But, maybe, your forgiveness. Because I was fucking rotten to you—- more than once.”

“You sure were.” You looked him dead on.

“You’re a part of this band. Whether we say it or not. Even Kevin knows you’re in charge.”

“Pam’s in charge, she just lets everyone run things,” you quipped, an old Bobby line.

Dean chuckled. “Fine. But I am sorry for the things I called you. And how much I leaned on you after Sam and Bobby pulled my head out of my ass.”

“Don’t be.” Dean gave you a face. “Okay, the first part, yes. Be. But the after– that was— it meant a lot. It gave me something to look forward to. Made me feel like I was doing actual friend things instead of work things. Kind of miss the calls— the check-ins. It was a good part of my routine.”

“Yeah, me too.” He sounded so soft, like a favorite blanket waiting for you on the back of the couch. He was right there spilling his guts out and all you wanted to do was crawl into his lap and tell him it was going to be alright. 

You stayed put.

“Thank you— you’ve been— Christ, I couldn’t have done this without you, you know? You pulled me through— in so many ways.”

“Of course. You’d do the same for any one of us. Hell, you did it for Sam more times than I can count.”

“Yeah, but he’s my kid brother. It’s not the same.”

You hummed. “Yeah, but still. Anytime.”

“Hopefully not too soon.”

You huffed a laugh. “Agreed.”

You stretched and sat up on your knees, groaning at being on the floor for so long. “Okay— well, we’ve got like an hour before we get to the hotel. Do you need anything from me before we get to our rooms?”

Dean shook his head and stood up, quickly leaning down to help you the rest of the way. “I should be good, but yeah, check with Benny for the details. And, please, just watch out for Donna and the girls? They’ll be guarded, but I don’t want them thinking we’re neglecting them while we circle the wagons for our own.”

“On it.”

Dean put his hand on the ball of your shoulder and squeezed. You cupped his forearm and caught his weighted stare. It was like he was looking for something behind your eyes, or something there confused him, but either way he didn’t mention it. Instead, he just squeezed your arm again, gave you a guilty smile, and headed back to the front of the bus.

Charlie was invested in Operation Anti-Fight Club, her words not yours. Once you explained, very briefly, what had been going on, she immediately fell into a rabbit hole online. You even had to drag her out of her hotel room to get her to the venue in time for rehearsal the next morning in preparation for the Phoenix show. 

Somehow, she got sound and lights set up with a new venue in what felt like a flash, but was really two hours of back and forth with the band setting up cues and verifying the setlist. 

So when she started texting you during SPS’ set that night, about your conversation with Dean, you were a little worried she was distracted again.

You didn’t reply. From the moment you told her about Dean’s little heart-to-heart she had been asking leading questions and giving you knowing looks. Too worried she was either teasing you or getting your hopes up over nothing, you tried not to overthink it. Sure, Dean had broken things off with Bela with someone in mind. And it maybe, kinda, sorta seemed like he was waiting for you to do something before he left the bunkroom yesterday. But you could have been reading it all wrong. 

It was an emotional conversation.

It didn’t mean he wanted to kiss you.

Right?

Right.

Except now all you could think about was New Year’s. And how you wished you were sober enough to really remember what Dean’s lips felt like against yours.

You had never let yourself want him, not truly. You couldn’t help loving him, you were only human. But admitting to yourself that you wanted him and wanted him to want you back was a death sentence. There was no hope after that. There was not a chance Dean Winchester could be with you, or even someone like you. 

So why were you letting yourself think about it now?

You weren’t, you decided, and made small talk with Jesse instead. 

“You excited to get some days off at home next week?”

“You know it. I miss ridin’, miss sleepin’ somewhere far enough out, the city lights don’t keep me up.”

You smiled and nodded, you grew up somewhere close enough to the country to know what he meant. “Well, one of these days you’ll have to let us swing by. I’d love to see your land.”

The hulking man looked so fond as he reasoned out an uncertain invitation, “well, Matty keeps the place running while we’re on the road, so I’ll have to ask him how’s it all looking for the whole band to swing by for an afternoon. If not this trip, definitely after the tour.”

“Fine! But I won’t forget you said that.”

He chuckled. “Of course you wouldn’t.”

You turned back to the stage as Jodi wailed on their cover of ‘Crazy on You’. Donna was front and center giving it her all. You were once again mesmerized by their talent. Some people were just unreal, having both beauty and brains, strength and kindness. That old, familiar hollowness inched up your throat and twinged the corners of your eyes. You were surrounded by amazing people and all you could do was hover in their shadows. You were a supporting character, you could never exist at that level.

You were a fool to think you ever could.

SPS was phenomenal and they finished their set to whistles and cheers from both the fans and those of you in the wings. They beamed as they marched off stage, heading back to the dressing rooms for a breather before the main event. You cheered them on, knowing you were doing a bad job of masking the way your thoughts had plummeted. Luckily for you, Jesse was a professional and he said nothing as he ducked away to help with PT’s set up.

You rolled your eyes and punched out an annoyed ‘fine’ in the chat. You didn’t want to think about Dean singing about somebody at that moment. What you wanted was a stiff drink and maybe a foot massage. You thought about pulling up your hotel’s amenities, but were caught off guard by Sam and Kevin bellowing your name like a pair of foghorns.

“TROUBBBBBLLLLLLEEEEEE.”

“TRRRRRRRRRRROUBLLE!”

You turned while still looking down at your phone. “Uh, what’s up?” 

But as you glanced up, you got silly string-ed straight to the face. 

“MOTHER FUCKERS!” That had you spitting out air because the foamy substance had grazed your lips. Yuck! With one eye open you charged the overgrown idiots, forcing them to run behind the closest obstacles, gear cases and Benny, respectively.

Benny muttered over his shoulder to a crouching Kevin, “it’s your funeral, cher.”

“Thanks, Benny,” you huffed out as you dodged around the head of security and almost had a hand on Kevin’s collar. “You little shit!”

Kevin cackled as he ran away, too worried about busting your shit in your concert heels, you watched him go. Sam was smart enough to leave quietly amongst the fray, but you promised yourself some revenge down the line. You even knew who you could enlist for help, the last person they would ever expect…

Tagging:

@deans-spinster-witch

@mrswhozeewhatsis

@cosicas-cuquis

@fics-pics-andotherthings-i-like

@suckitands33

@ladysparkles78

@deans-baby-momma

@stoneyggirl2

@sassy-pelican

@leigh70

@globetrotter28

@winharry

@lastactiontricia

@rockhoochie

@brightlilith

@coldhearted93

@djs8891

@beautiful-places-blog

@n-o-p-e-never

@spxideyver

@tldix

Chapter 38: Patetico

[whimsyfinny]

He’s a Winchester

Chapter 4

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader

Summary: It's been a long time since (Y/n) and Dean's paths have crossed. Last time they saw each other it was ‘98 and they were young and living in the moment. Nine years down the Line, their paths cross again, but (Y/n)s longest kept secret is about to become Deans reality.

Slow burn (ish), mom!reader

Warnings: language, alcohol, lots of feelings, Dean becoming a DILF

Chapter Word Count: 6338

MDNI 18+

A/N: annnnd I feel like we can get that ball rolling! Sorry guys, this should have been posted last night but my kid is sick again (germy little fuckers) so I'll post it now! Let me know if you like Deans POV and if you want more of it! Also do we prefer longer or shorter chapters? Lemme know. As always, it's only proof read by moi and my currently highly cold&flu medicated brain, so let me know of any errors. Also feedback is greatly appreciated!

A/N2: GUYS IT GOES WITHOUT SAYING but PLEEEEASE provide your age if you want to be added to the taglist and it isn’t in your blog. This story is tame now but it’s gonna get spicy, and my blog is strictly 18+. So pleeeeease save be a very long job and help a gal out.

Photos from Pinterest

New Readers Start Here: Chapter 1

Previous Chapter: Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Ice-cream went down a treat and the boys were loving every minute spent in each others presence. We were currently sitting in the window booth at the dessert parlour, my second coffee now clutched between my palms as both Levi and I listened to Dean intently. He was telling us some crazy story from his travels, and I couldn't help but smile as Levi hung off every word, urging Dean to become more animated in his narration. The crisp ring of a phone suddenly cut through the air between us and it took Dean a moment to realise it was his. After retrieving it from his jacket pocket, his eyes widened when he saw the caller ID. He mouthed ‘sorry’ to both of us as he answered the phone.

“Sammy!” he exclaimed before chewing his lip. He turned away and toward the window slightly so he didn't speak over us. Whilst Dean was preoccupied, I took the time to turn to Levi, warmth blooming across my chest at the smile that hadn't left his face.

“Hey there trouble, how are you doing?” I reached over to place my hand over his, tracing my thumb over his knuckles.

“This is the best day ever!” he said,  his voice practically bouncing with joy and excitement as he glanced at his Dean, still on the phone. “Mom, I have a dad!”

I laughed softly, giving his hand a final squeeze before letting go.

“Yes you do!”

“And he’s cool!”

I laughed again. “Very cool!”

We chatted for a few minutes whilst Dean wrapped up his conversation with his brother - Levi trying desperately to contain his enthusiasm every time his dad was mentioned. It didn’t take long for Dean to hang up the phone and turn back to face us, giving Levis’ hair a ruffle as he looked down at him.

“Hey kiddo, that was your uncle Sammy on the phone,” he shifted his gaze to mine for a moment before turning back to his son, “I’ve sorta left him hanging all afternoon, so I’m going to need to spend a few hours with him, ok?” Levi pouted, which triggered Deans’ expression to soften. He looked back at me with almost pleading eyes. “If it’s ok with your mom, I could come around later? Bring a movie and popcorn?”

Dean had barely finished speaking when Levi beamed at me and I laughed at his electric excitement. If he smiled any wider I feared he’d actually hurt himself.

“Of course, that’s fine with me.”

The boys high-fived before I gave Dean a light hearted warning look.

“But the film has to be age appropriate. Absolutely no slasher films.”

Dean held his hands up in mock defence.

“I wouldn’t dream of it,” he said with a slight smirk on his lips

With that, he said his goodbyes with a pat on Levis’ shoulder and the squeeze of my hand before slipping out of the booth and out of the parlour.

Deans POV

“You have a son?!”

Sam looked just as shocked as I had felt less than twelve hours ago, his eyes wide and mouth agape.

“Yeah,” I grinned at him, “crazy, huh?”

Sam opened and closed his mouth a few times, almost getting words out before changing his mind at the last minute in favour of a different sentence. 

“Dean… You’re a dad,” he smiled in disbelief, looking over at me.

“Yeah,” I said again, feeling that goofy-ass grin reappear on my face, “it’s awesome. He’s awesome. I can’t wait for you to meet him, Sammy. He's so fucking cool.” 

“I bet he is.”

We sat in a comfortable silence for a moment, my mind creating and then recreating hundreds of new scenarios I’d never thought I’d ever imagine. That I never thought I’d even get the chance to experience. I’m a hunter. I live a wild, dangerous, unpredictable life. But I have a son. A reason to live; to take care and caution for. 

“Hey Dean…” Sams’ soft voice derailed my train of thought.

“Hmm?”

“How do you know (Y/n) is telling the truth? That this kid is definitely yours, and she’s not just messing with your head? I don’t mean to sound horrible Dean, but your taste in women can be-”

“(Y/n) can be trusted,” I cut him off, his words souring my mood slightly. I know he’s only looking out for me, but he’s always the first to question when something seems too good to be true. “You sure?”

“Yeah…” I held his gaze for a few seconds before sighing, deciding to explain further when his stare didn't let up. “We were together for almost a year. She was different. She never judged, or got angry when I was a mess after a hunt. She knows what I - what we - do for a living, and she never freaked out over it, or tried to break things off. She would just say, ‘ok, just stay safe out there’, and carry on,” I paused, the memories of our time together replaying in my mind like an old movie. I could see Sam nodding at my words, listening. So I continued. “(Y/n) had just turned eighteen when we met. I took her to prom,” I smiled at the memory, remembering the tremble in my hands as I’d driven to her parents house to pick her up. I’d never felt so nervous around a girl before, desperately trying to get a grip on my nerves the whole drive there.

“Prom?” Sam smirked, a twinkle in his eye, “You took her to prom?”

“Yeah, I did.”

“How have I never heard about this? Did dad know?”

I chewed my bottom lip, feeling the embarrassment heat my skin a little.

“Yeah, dad knew. He never met her, but he still teased me for weeks. You never knew because I never brought her ‘round, and you were determined to get into Stanford. I stayed away a lot back then, trying to work some cases on my own, to get some more experience. But… (Y/n) turned out to be a huge distraction,” we both laughed, the sound light and easy as it filled the car. I reached into my jacket and pulled out my wallet, flicking through the various cards and slips of paper until I pulled out an old, folded photograph. I passed it to Sam and he eyed it before taking it carefully and unfolded it, smoothing out the creases before studying the image. The slight furrow between his brows quickly disappeared as he looked down, a small smile tugging at his lips.

“Well I’ll be damned, you really did go to prom.”

He looked it over for a few more moments, taking in every detail before passing it back to me. It had been a while since I’d looked at the image, finding it hard in the past to look at (Y/n)s face and remember that I’d left her behind. But now… now I could stare at this photo all day and feel nothing but warmth. I looked down at the decade old picture, seeing the candid moment captured in time. She had her arms draped over my shoulders, her face in a contented smile as I leant in for a kiss. Her lipstick was slightly smudged and my jacket was nowhere to be seen - small signs of a night enjoyed. I remember her friend snapping the picture before running off with a giggle, passing the developed image to (Y/n) a few weeks later. It was only a few days after that I told her I was leaving, and she’d gifted it to me with a sad smile and lingering kiss. I never normally found goodbyes difficult as they were part of the job. I'd gotten used to them. But saying goodbye to her had been one of the hardest things I'd ever had to do. The promise of staying in touch didn't last as long as we’d both hoped - dad somehow commondering my phone and returning it to factory settings without telling me. I guess it was around that time she found out she was pregnant. 

The wince struck my face like a bolt of lightning, guilt and regret hitting like ice in my chest. The years she'd spent raising our kid on her own, working at the local garage in between school runs, Motocross trips and simple survival - it had me feeling nauseous. I should have been there. I've missed so much of Levi's life - of a life I could've had with (Y/n), as a family. My family. I mean fuck, I missed the birth of my son - I never got to hold him as a baby. I made him wait eight years for a hug. I made (Y/n) wait even longer, leaving her with the weight of the world on her shoulders.

Crossing my arms over the steering wheel, I buried my head between them, praying that the tight knot in the pit of my stomach would disappear.

“You ok man?” Sam asked, twisting further in his seat to face me, the well-maintained leather creaking under his weight. I raised my head.

“Yeah… and no. I feel so, so good, like I'm on top of the fucking world, but…”

“But?”

“Do you think she hates me? Resents me? For falling off the face of the earth and making her do all of this alone?”

Sam smiled, a small laugh on his breath as he leant back against the passenger side door.

“Are you serious?”

I shot him an incredulous look.

“Dude…” he started, “(Y/n) doesn't hate you. She will obviously have feelings on the matter, but I think what she's feeling right now is relief, knowing that you're here now.”

I took a deep breath.

“Do you really think so?”

“Dean, I don't think things would have gone as smoothly as you described if she held any animosity towards you. She let you take Levi for ice-cream straight after meeting him. I think that's a good sign.”

I smiled, remembering my afternoon.

“Yeah, she's letting me go over to theirs tonight for a movie.”

“I don't think she'd be letting you into her house if she hated you. I mean, in the thirty seconds I'd met her earlier, she was all kind smiles and soft edges. Definitely not giving off ‘mean vibes’. Plus…” Sam smirked slightly, drumming his fingers on the back of the seat.

“Plus?” I raised an eyebrow, turning towards him.

“There's a chance she feels the same way you feel about her. That hug you shared said a lot.”

I scoffed slightly, finding his words ludicrous.

“What's that supposed to mean?”

“Dude, you've kept her picture in your wallet for nearly a decade. She was the only long relationship that I've ever known you to have, and you're worried if she hates you.”

“And?”

“When have you ever given a shit about anyone's opinion but mine and dad's?” 

His words stopped my racing mind in its tracks, making me think for a moment. My heart suddenly picked up speed, finding it hard to ignore the truth in Sam's words.

“I mean, we were great back then, but she's a totally different person now. She had to grow up fast - there's no way she's gonna put up with my shit now,” I gnawed on my bottom lip, turning to look out of the front windscreen at all of the other parked cars. “I mean, what about hunting? We have jobs to do, I can't just bail on people - bail on you. (Y/n) Doesn't need that sort of chaos in her life, not now that she's got Levi. And I won't bring the hunters life anywhere near him. Fuck, Sammy, what am I going to do? I can't stick around, but I can't leave. FUCK.”

“Dean.”

“Why does this have to be so complicated?” 

“Dean.”

“I'm going to end up ruining their lives and-”

“DEAN.”

“What?!”

“Just shut up. Do you hear yourself? You're overthinking shit that doesn't matter right now.”

His abrupt words ceased the hurricane in my brain, slowing both my thoughts and my rapid pulse. I even released the steering wheel from my white-knuckled grip. I replied to him, my voice slower and less panicked.

“But it's important, I need to figure it out.”

“It is. And you can - with (Y/n). You don't have to figure all of this out by yourself, Dean. You can make those decisions together. You guys are a team now, so you can't go off and decide these things on your own.”

I found myself nodding slowly, letting his words sink in. Taking a deep breath I leant back in my seat and ran my hands through my hair before dragging them over my face. I thought for a moment; calmer, quieter thoughts this time as I mulled over what Sam had said. He was right. I needed to talk to (Y/n) before making any decisions. Any stupid decisions that I know she would prevent me from making - like she used to. I huffed out a long held breath, twisting in my seat to face my younger - wiser - brother.

“Yeah, you're right. Look, I'm sorry for freakin’ out, I don't mean to… it's just- this is crazy. I mean Sam, I have a kid. ME. Of all people.”

Sam's eyes softened, his puppy-dog glimmer returning with a small smile. 

“It's so crazy. I mean I never thought I'd get to be an uncle! But Dean… this is something good. All the shit we've seen, that we've dealt with and put up with - you especially - you deserve this. Embrace the shit out of this.”

I returned his smile in kind, a warm, fuzzy feeling I wasn't used to filling every fibre in my body.

“Yeah, I will.”

(Y/n)’s POV

Evening was drawing in, the sun starting to set as it neared 6:30 pm. Levi was busy tidying his room as I cleaned the kitchen, the small room bathed in a pink and orange glow. The sunset was calming as night slowly crept closer, the feeling of fall crisp in the air as the sun started to lower in the sky. As I dried the final dish from dinner and returned it to the cupboard I heard a rap at the door. I'd barely acknowledged it when Levi's footsteps came thundering down the stairs.

“Dad's here!” his giddy exclamation bouncing off the walls and bringing a smile to my lips.

“Well, go and let him in then!”

He practically leapt over to the door and unlocked it, swinging it open just as I stepped around the corner. There Dean stood with a happy smile and clean shirt, leaning lazily on the doorframe. His eyes lit up as soon as he spotted Levi.

“Hey there kiddo!” Dean ruffled his sons hair.

“Hey dad! What movie are we watching?”

Dean laughed.

“Why don't you let me come in first, huh? I need to say ‘hi’ to your mom.” 

At the mention of me his eyes flicked up to meet mine, the sudden connection catching me off guard as his grin twitched upwards slightly.

Levi stepped back and let Dean in. It was a very rare occurrence for us to have a man in the house, and I couldn't stop the small flutter in my chest at the sight of Dean standing in my small living room. He dominated the space, his rugged exterior a little out of place in our domestic setting. Levi shuffled off to sit on the couch whilst Dean took a few slow steps over to me, his long legs swallowing the distance. 

“Hey,” his voice was low and soft, his smile not leaving his lips.

“Hey,” I smiled back, pulling my soft cardigan around me. I took a step back into the kitchen, Dean following suit. “Coffee?”

“Coffee sounds great,” the grocery bag he'd been carrying was placed on the kitchen counter as I filled the coffee machine with water. Watching out of the corner of my eye, Dean observed his surroundings, looking at where we lived - where his son grew up.

“Nice house,” the low softness of his voice was still present.

“Thanks - I'll give you the grand tour later if you like?” I turned the machine on and spun to face him, and I watched as he leant comfortably against the counter with his arms crossed over his chest.

“Yeah,” he said, “I'd like that.”

There was a pause in the conversation as we took a moment to look at each other. Really look, as it felt like the whirlwind afternoon we’d had took away our ability to really see each other. I'd been aware of his unchanging fashion and his handsome face, yet I'd forgotten about the soft sun-kissed freckles that dotted his nose, now fading as fall dawned and the sun weakened. I let myself reminisce over those forest-green eyes, how the swirls of jade and golden hazel had entranced me all those years ago. Given the chance, they'd succeed again. His hair was the same soft brown, memories of combing my fingers through those short strands as he slept quickly resurfacing. And those lips. I daren't look at them for the fear of staring too long and getting caught, yet the thought of that plushness against my own mouth had my own lips tingling. I tried my best to hold his gaze and when my eyes slipped to his mouth for a split second, I knew he'd seen it. 

He reached out and took my hand, his rough palms gliding gently over my soft skin and squeezing gently.

“I know I said it earlier, but it's really good to see you, (Y/n).” Deans voice stayed low, but it harboured a gravelly undertone that told me that maybe, just maybe he wanted to say something else - something more. When he didn't, I squeezed his hand back, fighting the instinct to lace my fingers with his like I used to. Like when we used to lay under the stars in the field behind my parents house and talk for hours about everything and nothing all at once. Like when he'd lay me down in the backseat of his car and make love to me in the ethereal glow of the moonlight.

“You too Dean,” I said, my voice barely above a whisper. With a final smile I released his hand, my own instantly feeling cold. The bubble of warmth and familiarity surrounding us slowly dissolved, Dean eventually clearing his throat and standing up straight. He looked at me again, this time without the nostalgia in his eyes.

“Hey uh… I don't suppose you'd be ok with Sammy coming by? It's just he really wants to meet Levi and I feel bad for ditching him earlier for hours. Plus he-”

“Dean it's more than ok,” I chuckled at his pleading and his desperation for justification. “Sam is more than welcome to join us tonight.”

A tension that I hadn't noticed before was quickly released from his shoulders.

“Are you really sure? I feel like-”

“Dean?”

“Yeah?”

“Be quiet. I would love for Sam to meet Levi.”

He grinned a little at my quiet assertiveness, looking down at his boots.

“Ok, well thanks again though sweetheart. He would've suffered a fun packed night of research and cheap beer in the motel room otherwise,” his teeth flashed with his humorous grin. I returned it before a thought crossed my mind, my eyebrows knitting together.

“Wait, are you guys staying in that seedy motel across town? The one where the janitor looks like a serial killer?”

“Yeah, to be honest it's not the worst place we've stayed in. The Dahmer look-alike creeps me the hell out though.” 

I pondered for a moment, taking a lot less time than I should've before opening my mouth.

“Do you… do you guys want to stay here? I mean I have a couch and a spare camp bed. It's not much but at least you won't get murdered in your sleep. Plus I have unlimited coffee and bacon for breakfast.” 

I almost cringed as the words left my mouth, kicking myself for practically trying to convince him to stay. Dean looked a little stunned at the proposal, taking slightly longer than I would've hoped to make a decision. I could've smacked myself. “I'm sorry, that's probably the last thing you want, being surrounded by boring domestic life when you have a job to do. Don't worry about it, forget I said any-”

“That would be nice.”

“Wait, what?” 

“It would be nice to stay here. With both of you. I'd like that.” 

The relief exited my body in a poorly concealed exhale.

“Do you need to run it past Sam first?”

He shook his head.

“Nah, to be honest I think Dahmer 2.0 freaked him out the most, he'll be happy to get away.”

It took all of about half an hour for Dean to jump back in the car, drive across town to the motel, pack their things and drive back home. When he knocked on the door a second time, he had Sam on his heels looking a mixture of elated to be here and really don't want to intrude. Levi was ecstatic to discover he had an uncle as well as a dad, and I was almost grateful for the attention to be directed away from myself for once. It's always been me and him against the world, but being a single mom to a pocket tornado was hard fucking work, and it was a breath of fresh air to be able to sit down on my own couch and drink my coffee in peace. 

Dean had insisted on watching Mothra Vs Godzilla despite Levi's hesitation to watch such an old film. Dean won him over eventually with promises of ‘pop culture enlightenment’ and he now sat sandwiched between his two new favourite people - dad and uncle Sammy. The amber glow from the sunset slowly faded to indigo shadows, the only light now in the living room was from the TV and a few scented candles dotted around us. Around an hour into the film I looked over and saw Levi's head resting on Deans shoulder, eyes closed and chest rising and falling with slow, steady breaths. Dean happened to glance up and our eyes locked, an adoring smile on Deans’ face as he looked between me and his soundly sleeping son. So as not to wake him, I pointed to Levi then pointed to the stairs, gesturing to Dean to carry him up to his room. He caught on to what I was asking of him and he manoeuvred his large arms under Levis shoulders and legs, lifting him with an ease I was slightly envious of. Levi was tall, much like his father and uncle, and with being tall came the title ‘big for his age’. He’d reached that point now where I was unable to lift him more than a few centimetres off the floor, and the thought sent an unusual pang of emotion through my chest. Which emotion, I wasn’t sure… Perhaps it was longing? Longing for the clock to rewind back to when he was just a few years old and I could still carry him everywhere on my hip. Maybe it was dread, knowing that he’s growing up so fast and I feel as though the last nine years have passed by in a blur, despite the fact that I’ve barely been able to keep my head above water. Or maybe, just maybe, it was simply the sight of a man such as Dean Winchester looking down at his own child in his arms with such a look of total, unfaltering adoration that my heart was swelling beyond its usual capacity for such affection.

I stood with Dean and headed up the stairs in front of him, leading the way. There were only three doors to choose from once you reached the top of the stairs; my room, the bathroom, and Levis room. And Levis room wasn’t hard to miss, with its poster of ‘types of classic cars’ pinned to his door along with a makeshift name sign that we made together when he was around five. I pushed the handle and opened the door, slipping in first so I could throw the covers back on his bed. It was a swift ordeal after Dean laid him on the soft mattress and I tucked the covers around him. We both left the room and I closed the door quietly behind me, both of us heading back downstairs quickly so as to not risk waking the sleeping kid. 

“Well, that is much easier with two people,” I said with a chuckle on my breath as I descended the last few stairs. Before I gave Dean a chance to say anything in response, I stepped into the kitchen, not wanting his reply to make that heavy pang appear in my chest again. “Beer?” I asked, opening the fridge and retrieving a cold bottle.

“Absolutely,” he stepped over to me with his hands buried in the pockets of his jeans, a lazy smile on his lips. I handed him two bottles, knowing he’d give one to Sam. Who, of which, was still sitting on the couch watching the movie. 

“So,” I started, looking up at Dean as we slowly made our way back to the living room, “how do you boys normally spend your evenings?” I tried my best to hide my almost playful smirk behind a swig of my beer. 

“Now ain’t that a question,” his expression mirrored mine as we both slumped down onto the couch again, much closer together this time now that Levi was counting sheep. Dean handed his brother a beer, barely looking at him as his eyes never left mine. “Oh, you know, the usual,” he started, leaning back against the plush cushions, one arm slung over the back rest and tauntingly close to my shoulders. 

“Oh? Feel free to enlighten me.”

“Well, it’s normally spent working on a case, so… researching lore, or on the road, or burning shit that I really hate having to burn. Maybe we’ll go out for drinks, but uh, that’s a rare occurrence.”

I laughed a dry laugh, raising my bottle.

“Amen to that, I’ve not been out for drinks in ages.  Not proper ones, at least.”

Dean looked away from me and down at his bottle.

“Huh...”

“What?” I raised an eyebrow at him.

“Nothing, just… I would’ve thought you’d be going on dates and getting taken out for a good time. Like, a lot. ”

I couldn’t help but scoff at his comment.

“Dates these days are few and far between. And good dates are practically non-existent,” I paused, debating giving Dean the gory details before my mouth started working of its own accord. “I got taken out the other day by a guy who drinks kale smoothies and lives in boat shoes… tried to convince me that the church he belongs to is totally not a cult. I mean, he paid membership fees. And signed an NDA. Who does that?” 

Dean held my gaze, as though searching for something that he didn’t even know he was searching for.

“You chose to see a guy like that? Dear God, your taste has changed,” his words were meant to be humorous but there was a subtle bite to them. Or maybe I'd imagined it?

I shook my head.

“No way, he was definitely not my type. It was a blind date, and if it wasn’t a blind date, it wouldn’t have happened.”

We both took a swig of our beer.

“I’m surprised,” he said suddenly, “I would’ve thought a girl like you would’ve been swept off her feet by now.”

“Oh, I was,” my words spilled out before I could stop them, “but that was nine years ago and I’m pretty sure he’s moved on.”

It took a breath of silence between us and a pitiful smile from me for Dean to catch on to what I’d said, his eyes widening slightly. He didn’t get much opportunity to reply, however, as Sam stood quickly. I’d almost forgotten he was there, but I'm glad he was as it drew Deans attention away from the red heat rising to my cheeks.

“Hey, uhhh, I’m just going to run to the car and grab our stuff,” he said, jabbing his thumb towards the front door. “(Y/n), when I come back in would it be ok if I used your dinner table to do some research?”

I nodded before speaking again.

“Yeah of course, be my guest. But isn’t it a little late to start doing all that work?”

He flashed a small, almost knowing smile to both myself and Dean.

“Not for us it isn’t. Plus I just… I just really like lore.”

Dean practically spat his beer back into his bottle.

“Really?” he asked his brother with a quizzical expression, “that’s the excuse you’re going for?”

Sam shrugged.

“No excuse. I’m just dedicated to uhhhh, to learning about… ghosts. It’s a real passion.”

“Aw geez,” Dean shook his head.

“Am I missing something here?” I spoke up finally, shooting them both questioning looks.

“Nope, just my little brother is being an idiot.”

Sam just shrugged, oozing with amusement before leaving out the front door to the car.

I blinked away the confusion, however my face must've given away the fact that I still had no clue what had just occurred between the two brothers, because Dean came to my rescue.

“Don't overthink it sweetheart, Sam's just being a pain in my ass.” 

“I don't think I'm ever going to understand the secret handshake language you guys have. I feel like you have to be part of the ‘Winchester Boy Scouts’ to get the handbook for that one.” 

Dean laughed, the sound pleasant and carefree as he drained the last few drops of beer from his bottle.

“Sam's definitely more of a boy scout than I am.”

“Whatever you say, Winchester.” 

He leant forward and placed his empty bottle on the coffee table before turning in his seat so he faced me more.

“So, apart from childcare and Scientology weirdos, what else have you been up to?” 

I couldn't stop the amusement from taking over my face at Dean's question.

“You know, you seem very interested in my life for someone who probably forgot I even existed until this morning.”

 Deans expression fell slightly and he looked away, like I’d struck a nerve. When he looked up again, there was something simmering in his gaze, and I wasn't sure if it was pain, regret, guilt, or something else entirely. When he spoke, his voice was thick and low.

“I never forgot about you. Not once.” 

My breath caught in my throat and my heart stumbled. When I opened my mouth to say, me neither, he carried on before I could get the words out.

“I tried calling in on you once.”

“You- you did?”

He nodded, slowly.

“I was near your parents' place about three years ago and I stopped by, hoping to see you again. Get your phone number and maybe stay in touch - properly this time. But when I got there, your parents didn't look happy to see me,” an almost pained laugh spilled from his throat. “Now I get why.” 

I reached out, placing my hand reassuringly on his arm. My own emotions started to spiral. Slowly at first, a combination of pure relief that Dean never forgot. He even remembered where my parents lived, which coloured me very impressed. The other emotion, which was now growing in the pit of my stomach, bubbling and burning was anger. Rage. My parents knew that Dean was Levi's father the moment I fell pregnant, and it was no secret that they held a strong dislike for him, yet I never pinned them petty enough to let their animosity towards him interfere with the chance to set things right. For their grandson to know his father, and maybe, just maybe, act like the family they so desperately wanted their daughter to have. The saddest part was that, even though I was undeniably furious with them, I wasn't surprised.

“Dean, I'm so sorry, they never told-” 

“Don't apologise for them, (Y/n). I knew from the moment I saw you today that they never passed on the message.” 

My reply was quiet, the hot fury quickly simmering down to cold disbelief towards my own family.

“You're right, they didn't.”

“They told me that you'd moved on. That you had a good job and a husband, and that… and that you resented me for leaving.”

“Fuck. Dean, none of that is true. I have a mediocre job at best, I'm certainly not married - never have been and probably never will. And Dean,” I moved my hand from his arm and slipped it into his warm palm, “I do not resent you.” I offered him a reassuring smile which he returned, tension quickly leaving his shoulders. Squeezing his hand, I continued, “If anything, I should say thank you.”

“Why would you thank me?” He looked puzzled.

“Because you've taken this surprisingly well for a man of your… calibre.”

He looked as though he didn't know whether insulted or flattered.

“Of my calibre?” He repeated, learning back slightly.

“Well, yeah. In just shy of twelve hours you found out you had a son with someone you've not spoken to in almost a decade, you met your son, took him from Motocross straight to get ice-cream, then brought a movie and popcorn around that very same evening. For someone with an entire armoury in the trunk of their car, I didn't expect… I didn't expect this… I didn't expect you.”

“Didn't expect me?”

I smiled, that warmth appearing in my chest again.

“You're a natural father, Dean. You've made everything easy today, and I'm grateful. So fucking grateful, because over the years I've spent near enough every night laying awake, imaging Levi finally meeting you. And I braced myself for every reaction - every scenario - that you could've thrown our way. So, thank you. I mean it. And thank you for believing me.”

“Believing you?” 

“Yeah, for believing me when I said he was yours. I think most guys would've demanded a paternity test, especially after all this time,” I couldn't stop myself from picking the sleeve of my cardigan, anxiety creeping in at the thought that he still might ask for one. However, Dean simply shook his head. 

“I trust you, (Y/n). I know you're not the sort of person to lie about things like that, so I believe you. Plus…” his eyes shone with something akin to pride, “ you can't tell me that he's not mine. That's a Winchester attitude through and through.” 

We shared a laugh. A light, easy laugh that had me looking at him in that overly familiar way. In the same way that would make my heart skip beats in my chest. I simultaneously felt like I knew him like I used to - that we still had that connection, that bond that made it so easy to be around each other. To feel for each other. On the other hand, we’d spent so much time apart, living completely different lives and getting by in such different ways. He'd had adventures, experiences that I would probably never be able to comprehend, and through all of that I'd been here; living in a two bedroom house in a quiet cul-de-sac in a town far too similar to Stars Hollow than I'd like to admit. I went to work, did school runs, went grocery shopping and grabbed coffee with my best friend in the same fucking café practically every day. And last I remembered, Dean was balls deep in credit card fraud. I wanted to make this work so fucking desperately that it almost hurt. I wanted Levi to have his dad around, to have those experiences boys thrive off with their fathers. I don't expect Dean and I will ever live under the same roof or even be together again, but I'm pretty damn sure that we can be friends, and that is something that would rock Levi's world.

The sound of the door opening and closing startled me from my thoughts as Sam let himself back into the house, sliding the locks and chains into place before turning to face us. He carried two duffle bags, dropping one beside the couch and taking one with him to the table, placing it down carefully so as not to make too much noise. He unzipped it and pulled out a laptop and a small stack of books, holding them up for us to see, like a prize.

“I just… fucking love ghosts,” his tone was unconvincing yet he grinned like he knew something we didn't before taking a seat and getting to work. Dean and I shared a look before erupting into laughter, trying painstakingly hard to keep quiet.

“Is your brother from a different planet? Wait no, scratch that, you're both equally as strange as each other. Earthlings or not, you're certainly cut from the same cloth.”

Dean feigned hurt with a hand on his chest yet the grin never left his lips. He muttered a few things about Sam picking his moments before standing from the couch, jabbing his thumb towards the kitchen green eyes on mine.

“Another beer?”

I felt my grin stretch further across my face, my heart doing a little dance at the way he looked down at me, like he just wanted to sit and talk about everything and nothing all at once - just like we used to. I nodded, trying not to let the way the soft glow from the candles in the room made him look like ‘a night well spent’. 

“Yeah, I'd love another beer.”

Next Chapter: Chapter 5

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