#that's right. you CAN blast away the virus. idjits.

[chutzpahhooplah]

look, i may just be a simple country bumpkin, a hayseed living right in the middle of banjo country and the bible belt’s punch holes,

i forgot where i was going with that, anyway wear your gd masks out in public there are so many old people out here tempting god and fate like a bunch of assholes :/

[queen-of-deans-booty]

The Curious Case of Dean Winchester: Part One

Pairing: Dean x Reader

Word Count: 2,005

Warnings: typical supernatural violence, language, angst, blood, you know the usual

Author’s Note: I do not own anything from Supernatural. All credit goes to their respective owners. Any and all comments on these are appreciated. I really want to hear what you guys think about this one!

Feedback is the glue that holds my writing together.

Tags at the bottom

“He’s out isn’t he?” Amara asked as she observed the city below.

As soon as you closed your eyes, you were on top of a hill, sitting on Baby’s hood, and watching the city life pass you by. Amara appeared next to you, but that wasn’t surprising. Dreaming about her wasn’t that surprising. What was surprising was the memories you got from 2014 of Dean telling you how evil Amara actually was.

“What?” you asked absentmindedly.

“I know what you’re thinking.”

“What am I thinking?”

“I’m not as bad as you might think. What Zachariah showed you wasn’t the real me. He wanted to scare you into saying no—into Dean saying yes to my nephew.”

“You’re evil. I saw the look on my own damn face as you held my throat tightly. I saw the fear in people’s eyes when they realized I was in their camp. You’re not good. You inflict fear and pain. You’re nothing better than the things I hunt. Get the hell out of my head.”

“You’re wrong. That’s what they wanted you to see. I’m not bad, and deep down, you know it. I can’t do this without you, and you can’t do this without me.”

“Do what? I’ve been on my own for my whole life without knowing you even existed. So, what, Amara, do I need you for that I can’t provide for myself?”

“Protection. Notice how your magic protects you against things? The Croatoan virus? One of the Horsemen’s powers? I take that protection away and you’re just like them, but I won’t. Lucifer is out of his cage, I can feel it. Don’t let him find you because if he does he will sense that I am within you and he will kill you. I can’t protect you from that from where I am. Don’t let that happen.”

Your head throbbed from the latest dream you had about Amara. It seems as of late you haven’t been getting them so it came as a shock to you that you got one last night. Maybe she wanted to remind you that she was still there and that she wasn’t going anywhere. Maybe she wanted to control the way you thought and acted just by the mere thought of her. Whatever it is, your head was throbbing because of it.

“You okay?”

“Yeah, I’m fine,” you whispered to your boyfriend as you entered the hospital where a potential case might be.

Your father tipped you off of people disappearing from this town and when they turned up dead, their deaths were anything but natural. As soon as you met up with the doctor, you took out a badge that claimed you were with the CDC, something the hospital takes very seriously.

“You expect me to believe you're CDC?” the doctor scoffed.

“Excuse me?”

“It's just that you're a day early. First time in history I haven't sat on my ass waiting for you people.”

“New administration. A change you can believe in,” Dean chuckled humorlessly.

“Right,” the doctor scoffed as she led you three to the morgue to show you the body.

She pulled the corpse of a man named Mr. Xavier who looked to be about eighty years of age.

“Meet Xavier. Date of birth, April third, nineteen eighty-four,” the doctor read from the chart. Frowning, you looked at the brothers before making eye contact with the doctor. She sensed your confusion and discomfort because all she did was nod. “I know. I ran the DNA twice. That's definitely him.”

“Well, he wasn't big on the sunscreen, huh?” Dean joked.

“What’s your theory?” you asked.

“All I know is that the decedent's male, twenty-five years old, and he died of old age,” she said before walking away.

“How the hell is he twenty-five, and he looks like this?” you wondered as you pulled out your cell phone and dialed a number you knew by heart.

“Who are you calling?” Sam asked.

“My dad,” you answered as you left the morgue.

Sam and Dean finished up before following you out of the place.

“You were right about this one. It's definitely a job,” you said as soon as he answered the phone.

“Thought so. Any other stiffs in town?”

“Just the one body.”

“Anything else?” he urged. He seemed anxious, but you didn’t press the issue.

“Couple missing persons, but usual for a town this size.”

“Well, check 'em out.”

“You think they’re connected?”

“Call it a hunch,” he sighed.

“Okay. How are you doing, by the way?”

“Doing?”

“Yeah, you know… how are you?” you chuckled nervously.

“Oh, you mean my legs. Well, I'm just weepin' in my Haagen-Dazs. Idjit,” your father scoffed before hanging up the phone. Shaking your head, you looked at the brothers with a shake of your head.

“Come on, there are other families we need to check out,” you sighed before getting into the car.

A woman named Mrs. Whitlow recently reported her husband missing. Dean sat on her ottoman, looking at a frame photo of her husband, Cliff. Sam sat in an armchair and Mrs. Whitlow sat on her sofa. Everyone was seated except for you who stood by the door and watched the woman’s behavior from a distance.

“That’s the most recent picture,” she said with a sigh.

Dean handed the photo of Cliff to Sam who studied it. The picture was of Cliff as a gold tournament champion, Miami Palms June 2009, holding a golf club and trophy. A USMC tattoo is visible on his right arm.

“How long has he been missing?” Sam asked.

“Oh, I knew right away when he didn't come home Tuesday night.”

“Is there someplace he likes to go after work, maybe? A favorite bar?”

“No. Tuesdays, he always works a bit late, but he always comes straight home.”

“May I use your restroom, ma’am?” you suddenly asked.

“Sure, down the hall and to your right,” she smiled.

Nodding at the brothers, you took off before heading left into the office that was right across from the bathroom. The brothers would keep her busy as you looked through the husband’s things to give you a clue as to where he was or is if he’s still alive. There is a big pile of papers on the desk, and after shuffling through them, you come to find no dirt on the missing man. Looking to the right, you spotted the man’s coat hanging on the hook by the door, and you searched through the pockets to see if there was anything valuable inside. There was a receipt in one of the pockets to a Madame Liu's Golden Palace and totals over $250.

“Working late my ass,” you muttered before shoving the receipt into your pocket.

Exiting the room, you made eye contact with the brothers before nodding to let them know that you had found something and you could leave.

“Thank you for your time, ma’am. We’ll do everything we can to locate your husband,” Dean smiled as he and his brother got up.

The woman escorted you three out of her home, and you explained to the brothers what you found.

“The motel isn’t far from here,” Dean declared as he raced over there to catch the guy red handed—if he was alive.

“Well, at least he's consistent. Same room every Tuesday, hourly rates,” Sam observed as he walked with you and Dean to room 44 which is the room that Cliff rented out every Tuesday.

“Hope I got that kind of kick when I'm his age,” Dean chuckled.

“Yeah, like any of us will live that long,” Sam scoffed.

“What do you think is in there?” you asked as you stopped outside of it.

“A wrinkly, gooey corpse,” Dean shrugged as Sam took out his lock pick kit to open the door. He barely got the second tool out when a man’s voice shouted from within the room.

“Oh, God! Oh, God! Oh! Oh, God!”

“Move!” you yelled as you blasted the door with your magic.

The door slammed opened, but what was inside wasn’t a crinkly old man but a young one with not one but two women in his bed. The shouts weren’t of pain but pleasure. The women jumped out of the bed and raced to the bathroom to get changed into something more decent than what they were wearing.

“Oh,” you gasped.

“Sorry. Uh, got the wrong room,” Dean chuckled nervously.

“Close the door!” the man shouted.

Sam is about to shut the door when he noticed a tattoo on the man’s arm that looked exactly like Cliff’s.

“Nice tattoo,” Sam noted as he walked over to the counter with the man’s clothes on it. “Happen to know anybody named Cliff Whitlow?”

“Never heard of him,” he stranger gulped.

“Well, that's weird,” Sam pulled out an ID from the wallet in the man’s pants, “’Cause you're carrying his wallet.��

Dean crossed the room and lifted up the man’s covers to look what was underneath, and you assumed that Cliff’s wife told the brothers something that would cause Dean to look underneath the covers.

“Huh,” he dropped the sheets once he found what he was looking for. “Your wife told us about your, uh, birthmark there. That's nice. Well, you look great, Cliff. Did you get some work done?”

“Could you give us some privacy?” Cliff asked the two women who hovered by the bathroom.

Handing a robe to Cliff, he put it on before leaving the bed. He met the women by the door and handed them some money. Once they left and the door was closed, he turned to you three with a worried expression.

“Please don't tell my wife. I'm begging you. As far as she knows, I'm dead. For the love of God, let's keep it that way.”

“How can you possibly be Cliff Whitlow?” you asked.

“I can't tell you.”

“You better start talking or we will,” you glared.

“Okay! Okay! It was a game.”

“Like... XBox?” Sam asked.

“What's XBox? No. Poker. High stakes. Instead of cash, you play for years.”

“What does that mean?”

“Look, I know it sounds crazy. Guy comes up to me at a bar and invites me to play. He gives me twenty-five of these weirdo poker chips, right? Chants some mumbo jumbo over them and says now they're twenty-five years. I'm laughing, but then I come out up. Now look at me.”

“What was he chanting?” Sam asked.

“How should I know? All I know is, my bad hip's good, and I threw away my glasses. One of those ladies was here for free! Man's some kind of miracle worker.”

“What does this miracle worker look like?”

“Just a guy. Maybe thirty-five, brown hair. Irish accent. His name was Patrick.”

“Okay, where is this game at?” you asked.

“He said he likes to keep moving. Never stays in one bar long, and he finds you.”

“Great, thanks,” you sighed before leaving the room. The brothers followed you to the street where you dialed your dad quickly. As soon as he answered, you laid down the line about what exactly was going on in this town. “It sounds crazy, right?”

“No, there's lore on it,” your father spoke. “Goes back centuries. Traveling card player pops into town. You beat him, you get your best years back. 'Course, most folks lose.”

“Well, that would explain the crunchy corpse.”

“Supposedly, this player's a hell of a card shark. Got a lot of years in the bank. You find the bar he's working in yet?”

“There's a lot of dives in this town. We're gonna have to split up.”

“Well, why you still talking to me?” he asked before hanging up.

“Man, my dad is cranky,” you shrugged. “Alright, Dean and I will take half and you will take the other. Work fast and work hard.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Dean nodded.

Usually you were a bit more laid back than usual, but Amara is really messing with your head today.

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