#they could never make me like you john winchester
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┆ 𐂂 Yandere Sam Winchester 𐂂┆
Save me once, shame on me.
Save me twice, shame on you.
Save me thrice, and I'll fall in love.
You're always a savior, a guardian angel—but human. A delightful oxymoron. You're someone he can't get out of his head. He's tried. Maybe it's some trauma attachment he's formed because you have saved him so many times, or perhaps it's his hormones... or loneliness.
He sighs, looking at the flower.
Each petal on the rose represents an idea so childish that Sam should surely be scolded. 'You love me. You love me not.' Continuously. Even after the stem is bare, he still envisions the petals. His fingers plucking at air as his voice quietly murmurs. His heart beats in sync with his movements—as if such a silly little thing would reveal any feelings you have for him.
If it was magic, maybe.
No. He shouldn't think like that. Magic is incredibly dangerous. Things that use magic are things that get hunted. He's better than that. It's also unethical.
But Dean does plenty of unethical things and still gets… sex. He gets love and affection from a variety of entities: human and otherwise. What does Sam get? Leftovers. He gets everyone that can't get with his brother. And if they truly like him, they don't. They're either means to someone else's end or making him a means to an end.
Doesn't he deserve just one nice thing in his life?
Dean got to know their mother far longer than he did. He's partially the reason for his mother's death, which John never forgave him for. And Dean always got Dad's approval. He's just the family fuck-up. An abomination (even an angel admitted it). Whether it's the demon blood coursing through his veins or some cosmic ineptitude, he's at fault—somehow.
"Yes. You deserve it, Sammy," the voice in the back of his mind urges him. "No one understands you but them. They haven't betrayed you like everyone else has, even Dean. Just this once, be selfish. Take them as your own. Own them."
It's like a siren's call, but somehow sweeter, not just in tone but in… mhm. He can almost taste it in his mouth. It tastes distinctly—you.
He slaps himself.
"Get it together!"
And as if being tempted by the devil himself, you open his hotel door and rush in.
"There's," you pant, sweaty and attractive as ever.
You abandon the sentence on your tongue and rummage through his bag. He doesn't move. It's almost as if he's stuck now. The rose stem and petals have disappeared. How, but more importantly what would you have thought if you had seen them? Would you think it's cute?
You pull out a deteriorating, most definitely ancient coin and shoot it to bits.
"Witch curse thing."
"Ah."
His body feels better. His heart doesn't.
He feels like an idiot. How could he have allowed the witch to slip it into his bag? Did the witch get a key to his room? Surely all of these feelings were just from some hex, right?
"You saved me again. thanks." An embarrassed chuckle escapes his lips.
Save me quarce, and I'll be inclined to kidnap you to keep you as mine.
#spn#supernatural#spn x reader#supernatural x reader#yandere supernatural#yandere spn#yandere spn x reader#sam winchester#spn sam winchester#sam x reader#sam winchester x reader#yandere#yandere x reader#yandere sam winchester#yandere sam winchester x reader#yandere sam#yandere sam x reader
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Dean meeting Adam is something I think about very often. Because up until then, he knew Sam was the favorite, but that was okay because Dean loved Sam more too. He understood.
Then, he meets Adam and learns that John loved him more than Dean, too. He took him to a Baseball game on his birthday. And that was the moment he realized it was never about Sam, It was Dean.
Dean was only good as a soldier, not a son.
#the saddest part is that sam winchester would say the same thing#not the soldier part but that he was the least favorite#at least in the earlier seasons#john winchester they could never make me like you#dean winchester#the soldier not the son#supernatural#adam milligan#john winchester being allergic to being nice to dean
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it's wild to me that dean is always so shocked at children of monsters, especially relatively well-adjusted adjusted ones à la garth and the werewolf family in 9x12... like the concept of a second generation werewolf baffled him. but is he not a direct mirror of that?? are he and sam not the second generation of a way of life that ostracizes one from society and often results in premature death (dare i say... see: 15x20)? like hunters and monsters are at odds, sure, but in a way that just makes them interesting foils to each other, meaning that he's a mirror to the very thing he can hardly believe exists. very... dean.
#idk. just a strange look into how he thinks of himself and the things he hunts maybe#having thoughts about the winchester bros' childhood(s). yeah.#it feels like a look into the fact that he really did internalize the things john taught him. good writing. my favorite ghost in the show i#john winchester haunting the narrative#like it feels like a continuation of the whole 'i could never have anything in common with a monster' thing that he had going on during#sam's demon blood addiction arc#mmmm. dean you have changed so much but you never change. god#spn#the brothers winchester#dean#theo.txt#and im sure im not the first one to have thought of this but god these characters make me insane
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dean winchester they could never ever not ever make me hate you i’m so sorry you had to go through what you did.
#i found the edit side of supernatural#supernatural#don’t mind me i’m sobbing#my lovely boy#had to be both parents#at the age of like 6#and had to deal with his sadistic and just absolutely disgusting ass father#john winchester they could never not ever make me like you#john winchester hate club#i like that that’s a pre-established tag#i’m so sad#it’s the day before my birthday and i’m crying over dean winchester’s life story
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DEAN LEFT SO HE COULD BE A KID FOR A SECOND!!!
..the way Dean got parentified..like Sam got to experience going to college, meeting a girl and Dean was always following his dad cuz he felt like he had too :(( Dean is everything to me..
#j.p speaks#dean winchester#JOHN THEY COULD NEVER MAKE ME LIKE YOU!!!#Supernatural#i need more stuff talking abt dean and how he works..#i dont care abt him x cas bullshit
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Picking Sides
Sam and Dean Winchester & little sister!reader, Cas & Winchester sister, Jody & Winchester sister, Mary & Winchester sister (all obviously platonic)
Synopsis: you get in a fight with Mary, and when Sam and Dean take sides you go to find someone to be on your side.
Warnings: feelings of abandonment, angst with a happy ending
You were hiding again. These days, it felt like you were always hiding. The bunker used to feel like home, but that home got smaller and smaller until the only place that truly felt like a sanctuary was your bedroom.
It didn’t feel fair to think that the arrival of your brothers’ mom took away your home, but that’s how you felt nonetheless. You wanted to be happy for them more than anything—your big brothers were everything to you, and they got back someone they had lost, someone they loved.
But that someone just so happened to look at you and see only the result of her husband with another woman. You knew it had to hurt—from her memory, it must feel like she’d last seen John only months ago, even though it had been over twenty years. So seeing his daughter—the one he had with another woman—being treated like family by her boys…that had to hurt. You understood that hurt, and you felt sorry for Mary because of it. But what you didn’t understand was why she had to make you hurt with her. Maybe she didn’t mean to—you couldn’t believe the worst about Sam and Dean’s mom, you just couldn’t—but it felt like she never wanted you there. And that disdain was starting to affect Sam and Dean. They could tell when their mom wasn’t happy, and it put them on edge. Because of that, tensions just kept rising until finally you decided that hiding out away from the common areas was best for everyone when Mary was around.
This strategy worked out well back when Mary wasn’t around much, but she’d been hanging around the bunker a lot more now, and it just wasn’t working. You couldn’t be in your room all the time, but any time you bumped into Mary the two of you seemed to get into a fight about something. Today was no different.
You only ventured out to get some food from the kitchen—but of course Mary had to be there.
“Where have you been?” She questioned, though she kept her voice low.
“Just my room,” you mumbled as you started to assemble a sandwich.
“The boys could’ve used your help, you know. They’re doing a lot of research.”
“I’ve got a laptop, I’m doing my own research.” You tried not to sound too snarky, but you’d be lying if you didn’t admit that it came out that way…just a little.
“Well it would make things a lot easier if you’d join the group,” Mary chided. At this, you scoffed—you couldn’t help it.
“Like you even want me as part of the family,” you challenged.
“I said group, not family. You’re not family,” she insisted, her tone still neutral and her voice still low. Something about her trying to keep this horrible conversation nice and quiet just made you want to scream it all the louder. Unfortunately, you did it at the wrong moment.
“Says the one who hasn’t been here for twenty years! Don’t pretend you’re more of a family to Sam and Dean than I am!”
“Hey now!” Dean’s voice snapped you out of your anger for a split second, and turned it to shock—you didn’t know he was so nearby. “That’s enough!” He directed his anger towards you—of course he hadn’t heard Mary’s words.
“But I was just—“ you began, but Dean didn’t let you get far.
“I don’t care what you were doing, I heard enough! Now I think you should go to your room.”
You took a deep breath, desperate to tell your side.
“But you didn’t hear—“
“I heard enough!” Dean was yelling now, and his sudden rise in anger had you taking a surprised step back. “Now go to your room! You’ve done enough damage.”
“B-but De—“
“I said go! And don’t you come out. I’ll come get you when I think you’ve had enough time to think about what kind of consequence your words have. Go!”
It wasn’t often that Dean looked so tall—he was always the “short one” compared to Sam. But now—looming over you like the shadow of a mountain, nothing but anger written on his features—no one had ever looked bigger, and you had never felt smaller. Just when you thought you couldn’t feel more pathetic, you felt tears start to prick behind your eyes. You twisted around and ran for your room before Dean could see them.
You made sure you were well behind your door with the lock in place before you felt safe enough to let the tears fall.
…
Mary was silent as she watched you run. There was a cacophony of thoughts banging around in her head, and it was so distracting that it took a moment for her to hear Dean talking to her.
“Mom? Mom?” Dean was right in front of her when she finally snapped out of it. “I’m sorry about that. I don’t know what’s been going on with her lately, but she shouldn’t have said that to you. I’ll talk to her.”
But Mary didn’t want that. In fact, she felt sick to her stomach. Ever since she had learned about your existence, she had felt almost in competition with you. Somehow, you being the result of John’s relationship with another woman made Mary feel as though you were somehow responsible for it, or complacent with it. Deep down she knew that that was wrong, but she couldn’t help the feelings. So instead, she had been justifying them, and using those feelings as an excuse for how she was trying to win the boys’ affection over you.
But just now, she had seen you for what you really were—not competition for her sons’ affections, not some sick reminder of John’s love being given to someone else taunting her; no. She had seen a scared little girl being rejected and reprimanded by her big brother and father figure, and it had been Mary’s fault.
“No, Dean…” Mary sighed. “I wish you hadn’t done that. She didn’t deserve it.”
Dean was confused. “But she—“
“I said some things to her that…well, let’s just say I deserved what she said. I mean it Dean, I screwed up, not her.”
Dean looked torn for a moment—after all, the only part he had heard were some awful words on your part—but then the scene replayed in his mind, and he saw you; your hands were shaking, your lip was quivering, and Dean had just kept on yelling.
“Oh man,” Dean sighed. “I need to talk to her.”
…
You didn’t let the tears fall long before you made a decision; you couldn’t stay here. You could deal with Mary not wanting you here, but you couldn’t deal with your brothers choosing her over you. That was the last straw.
You had a bag packed far too quickly, and you found yourself lingering in your room, trying to find an excuse not to go. This was your home—you didn’t want to leave.
Then an image of Dean screaming at you flashed in your mind—
“I said go! And don’t you come out.”
This wouldn’t be a one-time thing—it couldn’t. Dean had picked Mary over you, and it would only get worse. You had to go.
You slung your bag over your shoulder and went straight for the door.
“Hey.” Sam’s voice broke your stride for a moment, but you didn’t stop. “Hey, where are you going?”
“Out for a walk,” you huffed.
“I thought Dean told you to stay in your room,” Sam challenged. You froze for a moment.
“You heard?” You asked, hope sparking in the back of your mind. Maybe Sam would be on your side!
“Not everything,” Sam admitted. “But enough. I think you should stay in your room.”
Disappointment didn’t begin to cover what hit you then—Sam, taking Mary’s side too, without even knowing the whole story!
“And I think you should mind your own business,” you grumbled, going out and slamming the door behind you.
…
There was a cab waiting for you—you’d called one while you were packing—so you were already being carried away from the bunker by the time Sam followed you out the door.
The cab took you as far as the bus station, and from there you got on the first bus that would take you to Sioux Falls—to Jody.
You’d been praying to Cas since you’d left, but he must’ve been busy in heaven or something, because he hadn’t come. So Jody’s it was.
…
“I was wondering if you were going to show up.” Jody’s greeting when you arrived on her doorstep was less than conventional.
“What?” You questioned as she let you into the living room.
“Your brothers have been calling me every ten minutes for the past two hours, hoping you’d find your way over here. They’re worried about you.”
“I don’t know why,” you muttered under your breath, but Jody caught it.
“What do you mean you don’t know? Those boys worry over you like mother hens, they always have.”
“Not lately,” came your dull response. “Lately Mary’s more important.”
“Hey, now that isn’t fair,” Jody argued. “They just got her back from the dead. Just because their attention is a little divided—“
“It’s not that.” You huffed. “She doesn’t want me around. And they’re starting to take her side. They used to treat me like their sister, and now they…” you cleared your throat, blinking fast suddenly. “And now they treat me like…just John’s illegitimate kid. And I know that’s what I am, I just…I never felt it before.”
“Wait, kid…” Jody sighed, her hands coming up to hold onto your shoulders. “Kid, that is not who you are. You are so much more than that, and I’m sure if we talk to Sam and Dean, they’ll—“
“No,” you insisted, starting to panic. “I don’t want to talk to them right now, I just can’t. Please, you can’t tell them I’m here.”
“They’re gonna call again,” Jody said.
“You can’t—“
“Y/N.” You were interrupted by a flutter of wings and the deep voice of your favorite angel. “I heard you, what’s wrong?”
“Cas.” Your panic ebbed as you lurched forwards and wrapped your arms around Castiel. He held you close, quick to ask again—
“What’s wrong, what happened?”
“She ran away,” Jody spoke up. “Problems with Mary.”
“Oh, little one…” Cas sighed. “You—“
“Don’t tell me to go back!” You said as you pulled away from Cas. “You haven’t been here, you don’t know what it’s been like!”
“They’re your brothers,” Cas argued.
“But they don’t want to be. They want their legitimate family, and I’m not gonna get in the way anymore.”
“Hey.” Cas bent down to better look at you. “What makes you say that?”
“They just took her side.” You found it suddenly hard to speak around the lump in your throat. “De just-just took her side without even asking me what happened. He screamed at me, I’ve never-I’ve never seen him so angry before. He wanted me to go away, so-so I went. And Sammy didn’t even know what happened either, but he took her side too!”
“What did happen?” Cas asked gently.
You shook your head, “It doesn’t matter anymore.”
Cas reached down and hooked his fingers under your chin, tilting your downturned head up to look at him.
“It matters to me.”
Your lip was quivering and your hands were shaking by the time the first tears fell.
“She said that I’m not family. I mean I-I always knew she didn’t want me around, but…” you swallowed and took a deep breath, trying to stifle your tears. “But she’s never been this mean before. She said I’m not family, Cas. And Sam and Dean took her side.”
“They agreed with her?” Cas’s face was scrunched slightly in confusion.
“N-no,” you admitted. “But when I tried to argue with her, Dean yelled at me.”
“You should talk to them,” Cas suggested. “I’m sure that’s not what he meant.”
“I don’t want to talk to them. Cas, please,” you pleaded.
“Alright, alright,” Cas relented. He was going to make you talk it out with your brothers…later. Right now you were too angry, too hurt. You just needed someone you could trust, and Cas would be that for you for as long as you needed before he could fix your relationship with your brothers.
“They’re going to keep calling,” Jody spoke up.
“Don’t answer, please,” you begged.
“Then they’ll just come here,” Jody said.
“I’ll talk to them if you don’t want to,” Cas said. “Please let me talk to them. I know we can fix this.”
You were silent for a moment, letting yourself process before you spoke.
“I don’t want to see them right now.”
“Then you won’t,” Cas promised. “Just let me talk to them.”
“Ok,” you sighed after another long moment. “But…Cas? Can you…will you…please just don’t take their side,” you pleaded. “Maybe it’s not fair to ask, I just…I just need someone on my side.”
“I’m on your side,” Cas assured you. “Always.”
…
“They’re here.” Jody’s announcement had you more nervous than you thought you’d be. The fear that Dean might yell at you again—this time for running away and disobeying him—was suddenly very real.
It was weird to be afraid of your big brother; it was unnatural for you. But you couldn’t get the image of him screaming at you out of your head, neither could you get the feelings it gave you to go away.
“Y/N?” You snapped out of your thoughts to see Cas standing in front of you. “I’m going to go talk to them, alright?”
You glanced out the window, hoping the sight of your big brothers might somehow give you a different—better—memory to focus on. Instead, you saw a third figure exiting the Impala with the boys; Mary.
“They brought Mary.” Your voice came out barely above a whisper, but still Cas heard and turned to look out the window.
“I’m going to talk to them,” he repeated, only this time his tone was devoid of comfort and filled with rage.
…
“You should wait in the car.” Cas directed his order at Mary, who looked taken aback.
“I came to—“
“If you value your immediate safety, do what I said.”
Mary retreated to the Impala without another word.
“What was that?” Dean demanded. He hadn’t heard Cas talk like that in long time—unless it was to a demon.
“Don’t question me,” Castiel barked. “Not after what you did. And especially not after you brought her—“ Castiel gestured towards the impala, where Mary was waiting— “here. Do you know what she said to your little sister?”
“I don’t—“ Dean began, but Castiel interrupted him.
“No, you don’t, because you didn’t ask. You didn’t get her side, you just yelled at her.”
“And I’m trying to fix it,” Dean said.
“Well she doesn’t want to talk to you.” Castiel crossed his arms in front of him, all but blocking the doorway. “You did that, Dean. Your own little sister is too scared to talk to you, because she thinks you’ll yell at her again. She thinks you’ll pick Mary over her—again.”
“Cas, c’mon,” Dean pleaded. “I want to tell her I’m sorry. Just let me talk to her.”
“I already told you—she doesn’t want to.” Cas left no room for argument.
“Look,” Dean sighed. “Just tell her I need to talk to her. Tell her—“
“Tell her I’m sorry.” Both Dean and Cas turned at the sound of Mary’s voice as she stepped out of the Impala. “Please Castiel. Tell her I was wrong, and that I’m sorry.”
Cas stared at Mary long and hard before seemingly coming to a decision.
“Come with me.” Cas led them into Jody’s house, but stopped them firmly in the living room. “Stay right here. I’m going to go talk to her.”
Cas’s departure brought silence into the house for several long seconds.
“Do you mean it?” Dean’s sudden question threw Mary for a moment.
“What?”
“The apology. Do you mean it? Because on the off chance that she actually lets us in there, and you get to say that apology, you’ve gotta mean it, because she’s going to know.”
Mary was silent for a moment.
“I do mean it. Look, things have been…hard for me. I know to you guys, your father had years to mourn me before your little sister happened. But for me—it feels like I just woke up, and suddenly I find out my husband had a child with another woman. It feels so wrong; but I know that it isn’t Y/N’s fault, and I know that I was wrong to blame her for it. And I see how close the two of you boys are to her—and how close she is to you; that’s going to have to be enough for me. So yes, I do mean my apology—I truly was wrong.”
“Ok.” Your voice startled mother and son, who both whirled to face you.
“Ok?” Mary asked tentatively.
“Well, no,” you amended. “It’s not ok. But I do forgive you.”
“Understood,” Mary said, a ghost of a smile playing on her lips. “And thank you.”
“Things can’t stay the same,” you continued. “I can’t be treated like an outsider in my own family anymore.”
“I understand that too,” Mary promised. “Things will change—I will change them—I promise.”
“Ok then.” You sighed, your eyes flickering over to Dean. The silence went from contemplative to awkward very quickly.
“I’m going to go wait in the car,” Mary said quietly, slipping out the front door to give you and Dean some private time.
“That went well,” Dean said awkwardly.
“Don’t make jokes,” you commanded.
“I’m sorry.”
“You hurt me.” You forced your gaze not to waver as you confronted your big brother. “Not just because you yelled at me; because you picked her side without even listening to me. It was like I didn’t even matter.”
“Y/N—“
“No. It’s my turn now. It’s not just Mary that has to make things better at the bunker. I-I can’t live with being walked over or ignored because you guys choose her. I know she’s your mom, and I would never, ever ask you to choose me over her. But she would, and she has. And you’ve picked her. And that hurts, De.” The tears in your eyes were threatening to fall, but you refused to let that stop you. “It really, really hurts.”
“Sweetheart…” you were in Dean’s arms before you could even think about protesting—not that you wanted to. It felt like it had been forever since his arms had been around you—since you had felt so truly at home. “N/N I’m so, so sorry. I’m not gonna let that happen again, ever. Even if Mary goes back on her promise, and she doesn’t change things, I will. I’m not gonna let anybody walk over you again. You’re important to me—I’m never going to let anyone tell me to choose someone over you, never. I know that doesn’t take back what I did—what I said to you—but…but can you forgive me anyway?”
Your grip tightened on Dean, and he didn’t try to pull away.
“Of course I forgive you.”
“So…” you let Dean pull away from you, but he kept hold of your hands. “So you’ll come home? Sammy’s waiting with some ice cream and another apology for you.”
You giggled, wiping the remaining tears off of your cheeks.
“Yeah. Yeah I’ll come home.”
@nyotamalfoy @mrvlxgrl @chocorade @aestheticdaisies @inlovewhithafairytale @that-wannabe-vangoghgurl @casmustdiee
#the winchesters#dean winchester#dean and sam#supernatural dean#sam winchester#winchesters x sister#dean winchester x reader#dean winchester x you#winchesters x reader#sam winchester x reader#dean winchester x little sister#dean winchester x sister!reader#dean winchester x sister#sam winchester x little sister#sam winchester x sister!reader#sam winchester x you#spn sam winchester#supernatural sam winchester#sam x sister!reader#supernatural
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What’s a girl gotta do
Pairing: S1! Sam Winchester X Reader
Word count : 1.7k
Warnings : heavily based on s1 ep3 (Dead in the water), mentions of drowning, fluff, no Jess au.
I DO NOT GIVE PERMISSION TO COPY MY WORK, TRANSLATE IT OR POST IT TO ANY OTHER PLATFORM. REBLOGS ARE APPRECIATED.
Y/n was driving to Lake Manitoc, Wisconsin. An eighteen year old girl went swimming into the lake but never came back, no body found. She figured it might be her thing. She was driving to her destination but she saw a very familiar car parked outside a diner. It was the infamous black Chevy Impala. She should've know he'd be here. She parked her car right beside it and got out of the. She watched Dean walk out of the diner with the car keys in his hands.
"As soon as I saw this beauty I knew an ugly Winchester would be around as well." She commented leaning against baby.
"Y/n/n." Dean exclaimed opening his arms for her to jump in. Y/n hugged her best friend. "What are you doing here?" He asked pulling apart.
"Same as you. You're going to Lake Monitoc too?" She replied. "Sophie Carlton I'm guessing?" he nodded.
The diner door opened again and Sam walked out. The tall boy watched Dean talking a woman, her face was hidden by Dean's broad shoulders. Sam rolled his eyes as he approached his brother but froze when he saw who he actually was talking to.
"Sammy?" Y/n questioned as he appeared behind Dean. She pulled him in for a hug and he blushed slightly. "I thought you were at Stanford?" She exclaimed.
"Yeah i was but we're looking for dad, now." He replied with a tight smile. "And it's Sam." He added remembering she called him, 'Sammy.'
"Is it now, Sammy?" She teased making Dean laugh out loud and he blushed furiously.
Y/n had been Dean's best friend since they were thirteen. They met each other when Dean was hunting with John and Y/n was with her father but she got separated from him. The Winchesters found her, helped her reunite with her father. Dean and Y/n clicked immediately, finding friends your age as a hunter was a difficult task, so the two of them jumped at the opportunity to become friends.
They visited each other frequently, Y/n played with nine year old Sam and was always friendly with him. As they grew up, Sam quickly developed a crush on the older girl. He was blush immensely when she would ruffle his hair or tell him he looked cute. It wasn't often a pretty nineteen year old girl noticed fifteen year old boy, even if she didn't mean it romantically, Sam basked in her attention.
Every time he watched his older brother drag her away for a hunt or even to show her something cool, he felt disappointed, he thought that someday his older brother will sweep her off her feet and she'd be much more interested in him rather than a little boy like Sam.
For years Sam thought he never stood a chance with his older brother in the picture, he thought his brother might feel something for her and he didn't want to break his brother's heart. But his doubts were cleared when Dean once kissed Y/n to get rid of his latest hook up, but he pulled away yelling,
"Never let me do that again. Ew you're like my sister."
Sam thought Y/n might feel something for Dean, thinking he's older and probably a better choice. But after watching her beat his brother into a pulp for the stunt he pulled, Sam felt relieved that it was all platonic. Even then he didn't think he'd ever get the chance to be with her. He thought he'd always be four years behind.
Then, Sam left for Stanford, cutting off ties with his father and brother. He never thought he'd get to see her again. Seeing her again made him feel giddy, the butterflies in his stomach were doing summersaults.
"Alright folks, you can catch up later we have a case to work." Dean said walking towards the drivers side.
"Let me drive." Y/n said to her best friend before he could deny she shot her best puppy dog eyes.
"Good try but no." Dean said getting in the car.
"Fine. SHOTGUN!!!" She stuck her tongue out at Sam before opening the passenger's side door and getting. Sam shook his head with a smile gracing his lips. He wouldn't have fought with her to sit in the front seat, hell he would've fought Dean to let her drive if she'd asked him to. She's got him wrapped around her finger and doesn't even know it.
Sam got into the confined backseat, struggling a bit to fit his long legs in the small space. Y/n placed her get over the dashboard as Dean drove to their destination.
"Hey feet off the dash." Dean remarked tapped her calf, shooting her a glare, one she was immune to. "Y/n/n I will cut your hair in your sleep." He threatened knowing how much loved and cared for her hair. Sam thought she had really pretty hair. And it smelled so good all the time.
Y/n rolled her eyes before pulling her feet off the dashboard, letting out a huge sigh.
"Oh man, what's a girl gotta do to be loved around here." She spoke dramatically. She grinned at Sam in view mirror, "what do you think, Sammy?" She asked him and his face turned red.
She enjoyed watching him get all flustered and squirmy when she teased him. She thought Sam was cute, not in a chubby little boy kind way, but cute in a charming way. She like his smile, and that messy mop of hair on his head. She wondered how it would feel to run her hands through them.
"How about shutting up, sweetheart?" Dean quipped watching the interaction between his best friend and his little brother.
Dean knows his brother is whipped for Y/n and she has talked his ear off, gushing over his brother. He's all for them being together, in fact he's rooting for them. But if he has to sit through their miserable attempts at flirting or giving each other sickeningly irritating heart eyes when the other isn't looking. He will throw up.
The trio soon arrived at the victim's house. They talked to the vics brother finding out that his sister was a varsity swimmer and it was impossible for her to drown. They asked Will a few more questions before heading to the police station.
After talking to the Sherrif they found out that they didn't find anything in the water, which could've done that, dam is falling apart so the lake won't be here any longer, since they're not getting any money to fix it.
After Will Carlton was found dead, the trio did alot more digging around for a while and found out, that Sherrif and Bill Carlton had a friend named Peter Sweeney who disappeared years back. It become clear that Jake and Bill had a hand in his disappearance. They found Peter's bike buried in Jake's backyard.
It took a while before Jake confessed, that he and Bill accidentally pushed Peter in the lake and they let him drown, so there's no body to salt and burn to put the vengeful spirit to rest.
It all happened too fast when Lucas was being pulled into to the lake, it was Peter. He wanted Jake to suffer, watch all his loved ones die, just like he did to Bill. Just like, how Peter's mother felt when he disappeared.
They heard Andrea call out for her son, it only took Y/n and Dean a second to jump in the water to save him. The two kept looking for Lucas but he was nowhere to be found. Sam held Andrea back from jumping into the water.
Jake walked into the lake willingly, hoping Peter would take him instead of his grandson and in hopes that after getting his revenge he'd leave his family alone. Y/n felt something pulling her under the water and she felt herself drowning. She could make out a shadow, which looked like a pale little boy. But then suddenly, it let her go.
Dean came above surface with Lucas in his arms. Sam helped the two up and Andrea hugged her son close to her chest. The brothers looked at lake, Y/n should've come up by now. Peter took Jake, it should've been over. But Y/n fell unconscious under the water, intaking too much water in her body and unable to swim back up. Sam immediately jumped in the water to search for her.
"SAM." Dean yelled as he watched his brother jump into the water.
A few minutes later Sam surfaced ashore with Y/n in his arms. He laid her on the wooden dock and knelt beside her, his heart pounding. She was unconscious and not breathing. He quickly tilted her head back, pinched her nose, and covered her mouth with his, giving two rescue breaths. Then, he placed his hands on the center of her chest and began chest compressions. A few seconds later Y/n shot up with a loud gasp, coughing out water as she sat up.
"Oh god." She wheezed holding her head. "Is Lucas okay?" She asked looking at the little boy. His mother nodded in acknowledgement.
"You okay, Y/n/n?" Dean asked kneeling beside her.
Before she could reply Sam grabbed her by her neck and pulled her in for a harsh kiss. He kissed her like his life depended on it. His lips moved against her with fervour, his heart was hammering against his ribcage. She kissed him with equal force, her hands grasping at his damp hair. He rested his forehead on hers as he pulled away.
"Don't you dare scare me like that, ever again." He breathed heavily, his chest puffing with each breath.
"Drown!!" She chirped with a grin on her face. Sam looked at her, confusing lacing his handsome face. "A girl's gotta drown to be loved around here." She added with a giggle. Dean barked out a laugh at her stupid comment.
"I hate you so much." Sam rolled his eyes but had a huge smile on his face. Sam gently brushed a strand of hair from Y/n's face, and she smiled up at him, eyes sparkling with happiness. They leaned in for another soft, lingering kiss, sealing their new beginning.
#sam winchester x y/n#sam winchester x reader fluff#sam winchester x you#sam winchester fluff#sam winchester x reader#sam winchester#spn x reader#spn fanfiction#spn fanfic#supernatural x reader#dean winchester#dean winchester x reader#dean winchester x you#dean x reader#early seasons#supernatural fanfiction#supernatural#supernatural fluff#nini writes
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When dad shows it YOU KNOW something bad is following…
𝓢𝗨𝗣𝗘𝗥𝗡𝗔𝗧𝗨𝗥𝗔𝗟 ✶ 𝗗𝗥
ꪆৎ : me just living my life with emi then dean & sam show up saying we gotta go find their dumbass dad.
2025 ⓒ LAYLASVERSE
#he’s a bad omen fr#John Winchester they could never make me like you#ꪆৎ laylasverse .#ꪆৎ supernatural dr .#supernatural#shiftblr#shifting realities
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i'm not at all bothered about people disliking john because entirely valid tbh and someone else's opinion changes nothing for me. i just think the militant anti john brigade - that is, those that make up textually unsupported and entirely leftfield reasons to dislike him - are really missing out.
the thing is, we've got an absolute buffet of an interesting and irreparably fucked up character here. we could debate the absolute Horrors of john winchester and his a+ parenting for days on end literally from the two seconds of screentime he had. because he does suck! it's totally fair to say that canon john is selfish, neglectful and at best emotionally abusive. now i'm defo no apologist (see username) - but he's also the furthest thing from a cardboard shitty abusive dad. there is serious context for the things he does and the way he thinks.
john's life was hell man. his own dad, for all he knew, abandoned him. he went to war young and almost certainly came back with ptsd. these things alone don't exactly make life easy but then your wife burns to death on a ceiling and you're left a widower and a single dad to a baby and a pre schooler before you're even thirty? then discover that it couldn't even be a plain old housefire but no - there is actual Evil out there and you and your children are not safe and never will be?
the desire for revenge is understandable. the desire to do stupid and paradoxically dangerous things to protect your children are understandable. right, good or healthy? no. but understandable. and that's what makes a good sympathetic character.
basically i think a lot of negative readings of john exaggerate the badness of his intentions and ignore his humanity. it's also understandable that john is not a beacon of emotional regulation. it's also understandable that he cant always balance being emotionally and physically there for his kids with Fighting The Horrors. pour alcohol misuse onto this dumpster fire and you're not getting a perfect person, or a perfect parent. you're getting a broken human who was focused only on keeping his kids safe, alive, protected, and able to protect themselves. sure, he had tunnel vision about it. he did it very badly. he controlled sam as the youngest and parentified dean as the oldest. he made sam feel misunderstood and smothered. he made dean feel completely responsible for the welfare of his brother and dependent on john's praise and approval as his second in command.
john fucked his kids up IMMEASURABLY. he thought he was doing the right thing.
also - remember young john? remember how he's softly spoken and loves his cars and adores his girlfriend and respects his fucking elders and, to quote mary, "believes in happy endings"? remember the doting dad we see for like a minute in the pilot? is that not meant to show us that, had his life not taken the turn it did - he would likely have been an entirely different person? how is the tragedy of that not also completely DELICIOUS??
so why homophobic john? why john who beat dean senseless regularly? why john who gave no shits and wanted his boys to be miserable? why these embellishments that make him someone else, someone with nothing good inside of him, when what canon gives us is so much better?
come on guys. the tragic messy sad angry selfish HUMAN john we got in the show is an absolute treat. why are we making him an irredeemable, unfeeling and uncomplicated asshole who doesn't give a shit about his boys. ya'll saw him spending a good 50% of his screen time crying about how much he loved them right? and sam and dean KNEW he loved them. they also knew, or in dean's case came to realise, that he was a terrible father in many ways. real life is messy and nuanced. families are messy and nuanced. and imo spn got this so right.
#john winchester#should probably add that i love a dark!john in fic lol#but that's why he's dark!john and not regular john!#pushing canon to its nastiest limit is hot and cute and delicious#but god cardboard abusive dad john is so boring#wank adjacent
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( -_•)╦̵̵̿╤─ ㅤ ─ ㅤ- ㅤ the gun goes off. ( d.w ) ³
cw. pre-established relationship. unhinged!dean. sweet!reader. graphic depictions of blood & death. mentions of child abuse.
no one ever tell me i dont finish stuff i finished this in 2 days !1!! sry if the conclusion is crazy bonkers i thought of it while manic. LMAOSKJ ALSO SORRY ITS RUSHED. IM JUST A GIRL.
THEY SHOULDN'T HAVE looked at you. their eyes beady and cruel, their mouths curling and snarled. they were going to hurt you; he'd never forgive himself if he let them get away with it. he wouldn't.
so it was reckless, this time. he didn't have his knife, left it back at home ─ he usually never started the slaughter until you were tucked into bed, and the screams blended in with the nighttime darkness. so already he was agitated, worked up more than he should have been. this was out of routine. this was desperate.
he hated the werewolves. they took longer to take down, you know? fought back. vampires went easy, their blood coated all over his skin, fell quick and hard.
it was date night. took you somewhere sweet, a little more high-end than usual. wanted you to know that he cared, even though you knew, of course you did, but what was a little more showing of it? what could it hurt to get to spoil you a little more, when he could?
you were in this little black dress. no wonder it drew attention. he thought it'd be vampires, maybe, was already on the lookout for their piercing gazes locked onto the exposed curve of your neck. but it's always what dean doesn't expect that ends up being the problem. like blood stained pink on his hands, or your dainty fingers rummaging in places they shouldn't.
he'd gotten a little carried away this time. he was agitated, alright? he was... he was scrounging for excuses for his behavior, but they wouldn't come, because there you were.
you'd gotten up to go to the restroom. gave him a couple of minutes. he'd followed one of the waiters into the kitchen, the one with the salivating mouth and the sharp canines, a steak knife clutched in his fist.
by the time he'd realized where he was again, and what happened, the cooks were already scrambling. had to take care of that, too, didn't he? couldn't leave room for mistakes. dean had made enough already.
he's content, in a way, to kill the whole staff one by one. one wolf in sheep's clothing meant that someone had to know, or they were all in on it, and that made them guilty too. today was judgement day, dean was the executioner.
of course, when the door swings open again, it's not a member of staff, it's you.
you, looking so shocked that the knife immediately falls from his grip, like that'll lessen the intensity of what you see. like his suit, your favorite on him, isn't splattered with crimson. like his hands weren't dripping with it, splotches on his lips. like the room wasn't painted red, and their waitress wasn't torn apart at his feet, and the cooks were in various states of muddle.
"sweetheart," dean breathes, like the room might shatter if he talks too loudly, like you might. his sweet, sweet girl. you'd understand, wouldn't you? you'd pull him into your chest and tell him it's okay, and that you get it... "sweet girl, c'mon, eyes on me."
but you don't move. not even an inch. your eyes are locked on your waiter, and he thinks, maybe you knew. maybe you knew, because you were so, so smart, that he was a monster.
"they would have hurt you." his mouth moves for him, making the choices to speak when he couldn't vocalize a single word. "they were... they're monsters, baby, you get that, right?"
of course you wouldn't, though. of course not. he's already formulating the story that he grew up on. monsters were real, in between his father's punches to the cheekbone. you are a one of them, dean.
he wasn't. no, dean wasn't. everything else was. he'd killed his dad the second that sammy moved out. if dean was a monster, than so was the man who created him. plus, dean never liked how john winchester looked at him. like he was some kind of fucking feral animal, bound to lash out at any moment. he wondered sometimes if john was scared, or if it was just catering to his expectations, what dean did.
always a good soldier. always what dad wanted him to be.
"you did this?" you ask, and your voice is shaking. he's a monster, he can say it now, because look at how you're looking at him. anyone would think the worst of themselves with that devastated fear burning into them.
dean doesn't have words. he feels like he's going to crawl out of his own skin and deposit it with the rest of the gore on the tiled floor. all he does is collapse onto his knees into a pool of blood. "they were going to hurt you," he repeats, like maybe if he says it enough, it'll stick, and you'll hold him. please, god, hold him.
"i'd never hurt you, honey, i'm─" he runs a bloodied hand through his mussed strands of hair, "i'm trying to protect you."
it's all starting to sink in now. monsters weren't real. his dad's cruel words manifested into this sick, snarling image in his head that came out whenever his safety net felt threatened. they weren't real; not unless you counted him, anyways. he was a monster. he'd put that terror into your eyes.
your eyes narrow in on him, the fear morphing into something cruel. it looks so foreign on your face; twisted lips, knitted eyebrows, squinting, dark eyes. hell, dean might have found it pretty, mesmerizing, if it didn't look so similar to─
"you figured it out, didn't you?" you ask, and in a second, your eyes shift again, into that soft, terrified expression that he can't stand. can't. he'll collapse to his knees any moment.
"i never meant to..." he feels the need to confess to all of his sins, to you. his baby. his precious, sweet baby. he never meant to become this, never meant to, in turn, become something unworthy of your love, all for things that... "this isn't real."
your eyebrows bounce. "what's not real?" you take a step, callously walking around and dodging the bodies littered on the ground, until you're right above him. you look so beautiful like this. dean wants to worship you. dean wants to wrap his arms around your middle and plead for forgiveness. "this is all very real, dean. you've made quite a mess of yourself."
he hates the words coming out of your mouth. hates that this part is real. he did this. but what he hates more is how cold you sound. this was not his sweet girl.
your lips bounce, a little attempt at a smile on your calculating face. "you reek of death and destruction, dean winchester. you always have." your hand comes up to trace your knuckle lightly down dean's cheekbone. "that is why i chose you, my sweet angel."
angel.
dean had never been called that in his life. it sounds so condescending in your mouth, like it doesn't quite fit, either, when it came to talking about him. his eyebrows furrow, and he can't stop looking at you, trying to figure out what, exactly, the shift in your demeanor was.
"i cannot wait," you say, a bright, genuine grin tugging onto your mouth now ─ he loves those dimples, wishes to live in them, "to make a mess of you."
dean opens his mouth to question it, confusion wrapped tightly around his tongue and pulled tight, silencing him. your eyes flash black, fully black, unnatural and cruel and inhuman, and he barely has a moment to process it, to understand how wrong he'd been, before the world went black, too.
. . . tags.
@whyyouegg @sthefferrete @cevansbaby-dove @titsout4jackles @cosmicanakin
@bluestrd @ultravi0lence14 @mccartneyqp @poughkeepsie99 @depressionbarbie2023
@im-bili @ariasong11 @chevroletdean @angelblqde @ostaramoon
@deansbite @lyarr24 @psyches-reid @reynas13 @momoewn
@deanswidow @jasvtsc @figthoughts @beausling @frosttbitessam
@aileenunfiltered
#──★ dahlia's jrnl#dean winchester#dean winchester one shot#dean winchester drabble#dean winchester imagine#dean winchester x reader#dean winchester x you#supernatural#spn#supernatural drabble#spn drabble
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forgiven
PAIRING — ex!dean winchester x fem!reader
SUMMARY — two years after you broke up, dean convinces you to let him help you with a hunt.
WARNINGS — angst, hurt/no comfort, major character death, torture, reader and dean ‘hate’ each other
WORD COUNT — 6,610
SONG — my tears ricochet - taylor swift
NOTES — writing this fic almost killed me. why does dean winchester turn me into an anguished poet.
masterlist | taglist
Regret.
Dean was a man with a long list of them, but as he stood in a field, watching the pyre burn alongside his brother and Bobby, he found himself placing you at the very top. You were the biggest regret of his life, and he hasn’t even made it to his thirties. He regretted shutting you out. He regretted letting you walk away. He regretted not looking for you when he finally came to his senses. He regretted not being fast enough.
He regretted letting you die.
Sam and Bobby had told him one too many times that it wasn’t his fault, but wasn’t it always? Wasn’t it always him making the hard choices, only for them to be wrong, in the end? Wasn’t it always him who had the blood of innocent people staining his hands? Wasn’t it always him that isn’t fast enough, isn’t strong enough, isn’t good enough?
Wasn’t it him that got you killed?
He’d heard things from other hunters after you broke things off with him. How bloodthirsty you’d become, always working alone, working efficiently, working ruthlessly. He’d hated it, deep down. How you dug yourself deeper into the hunting world when all either of you ever wanted was to get out. It killed him inside, knowing you were still in the business, even if a larger part of him carried hatred for you, albeit misplaced. Dean would never admit it aloud to anyone, though. Sam was often on the receiving end of his outward projections and rants at how much he hated you, and so was Bobby, on the rare occasion he saw the Winchesters. But the inward reflection of his soul was full of hurt; pain and grief and regret buried deep, dug up when Sam was asleep in the Impala and Dean waited for you to start some kind of weird conversation — only to remember you weren’t there anymore.
It came back to him every once in a while, the memories Dean never wanted to relive. They were too domestic (at least, as domestic as they could get in their line of work), too happy. But they were always hidden, waiting for Dean to be at his weakest. In an old mixtape, in a certain Zeppelin song that would play on the radio, in the crappy diner meals he would eat late into the night, in the glint of light off the silver ring you gifted him on his last birthday with you.
He wanted to hate you. He wanted nothing more than to hate you. But all you wanted to do was help him. His dad just died, of course all you wanted to do was help him. Dean was just too busy spiralling and drowning in his own grief to see it. That’s what he liked to tell himself. It was the grief that pushed you away. Just another thing his father wouldn’t let him keep to himself, to enjoy and cherish. He put the blame on his father, because why wouldn’t he? John Winchester was responsible for just about every other bad thing in his life thus far, why wouldn’t he be responsible for pushing you away, too?
So, like you, Dean hardened himself, diving headfirst into the very next case Sam was able to find. He ignored the pain, closed himself off, and got back to doing what he did best — hunting.
It was easy enough most days. In fact, it made him just that much better at what he did. It should’ve been concerning, at the very least, but Sam knew better than to step in Dean’s path. So, he watched silently as his brother, slowly but surely, crumbled beneath the weight of his own steeled emotions. But it didn’t show; not really, not beyond the occasional breakdown or bender, not until Sam and Dean arrived in Chicago.
The case itself was mostly cut and dry, they could see that before they even reached the city. Bobby had offered it over to them, a suspected shapeshifter that enjoyed preying upon people by taking on the faces of their ex-boyfriends and torturing them to death. It was gruesome, to say the least, but it wasn’t anything the Winchesters hadn’t seen before. In fact, it practically solved itself, save for the fact that the locations didn’t quite line up with the sewer system, and therefore, they had to take their time in locating the shapeshifter’s lair.
Their first clue that something was wrong was when they interviewed the first victim’s best friend.
“And you’re sure Katie was fine when you left?” Sam asked.
“Yes! Katie doesn’t— didn’t drink. She hated the stuff. We thought Matt was already gone, I mean, he said it himself. He was about to move to Boston.” The girl — Ashley, Dean thought her name might’ve been — reached for a tissue and dabbed at her eyes. “Why are you asking all this again?”
“Again?” Dean stiffened.
“Yeah, again.” She scoffed. “Another agent was here yesterday. A woman, I can’t remember her name. Mick? Something like that?”
Sam’s face dropped. “Agent Nicks?”
“Yeah, that’s her. Look, she already asked me all this stuff before, can’t you guys just leave me alone?”
Dean and Sam shared a quick glance before the latter closed his notebook. “Of course, we’ll get out of your hair.”
Neither of the brothers spoke until they were in the Impala, Sam reaching for his phone while peeling away from the curb, dialling Bobby’s number and putting him on speaker.
Bobby didn’t have the chance to breathe on the other line before Sam was speaking. “She’s here.”
“I’m sorry, I didn’t realise we were playing a game of Guess Who.” Bobby snipped. “Who the hell are you talking about, boy?”
“Y/n. She’s in Chicago. We just talked to the first vic’s friend, she said another agent already talked to her. Agent Nicks.”
Bobby cursed under his breath. “She ain’t gonna like you two bein’ there.”
“Well that’s just too bad,” Dean piped up, practically white-knuckling the steering wheel. “We’re already here. And I’m not leaving a case behind just because little miss wants to pitch a fit about it. We’re finishing this hunt whether she likes it or not.”
“On your head,” Bobby conceded. “Just be careful, boys. She ain’t the same girl she was two years ago.”
“We will. Talk to you later, Bobby.” Sam huffed as he ended the call, eyeing his oddly silent older brother as they headed back to their motel room.
“What the hell are you doing here?” Your voice was sharp, laced with anger directed at a pair of haunting green eyes.
“Working the case, sweetheart,” Dean smiled condescendingly, leaning against the bar. “You know, you should try to be a little less conspicuous next time, Agent Nicks.”
Damnit.
“And which conspicuous name are you using this time?” You tilted your head, chest already filled to the brim with barely contained rage. “Johnson? Perry? Oh, maybe it’s Plant! You always did have a hard-on for Zeppelin.”
“Would you—” Dean cut himself off with a heavy sigh. “God, you’re so— You know, I don’t know how the hell I put up with you for so long.”
“I guess I was just really good in bed,” you shrugged, a coy smirk playing on your lips. If this had been some post-hunt pub night years ago, Dean would’ve kissed that smirk right off your face. But it wasn’t. It was now, in Chicago, in a hotspot for shapeshifter activity and you hadn’t seen Dean’s face in so long that the presence of it now only made your blood boil.
“Whatever. We’re both in this now, whether you like it or not.”
“Like hell,” you nearly spat, finishing off your beer. “I work alone, Winchester. Or haven’t you heard?”
“It’s funny that you think I still think about you.” Dean scoffed a laugh. “We might as well do this together. Shapeshifters, they’re tricky business.”
“For you, maybe. Besides, taking on a shapeshifter in a group practically spells trouble. Ever since I left you guys, I’ve had no trouble taking them out on my own.” You shrugged, like it was no big deal.
Dean huffed, suddenly frustrated at your vehement refusal to work together. “Look, if we don’t work together, we’re only gonna get in each other’s way. And you and I both know neither of us are just gonna give up the job. That’s not how we work.”
“Why are you so insistent that I be anywhere near you, Dean?” You asked, dropping your angry mask and giving into the slight heartache behind it. “Because if I remember correctly, you were the one who wanted me gone.”
Dean’s mouth opened and closed a few times, his mind fumbling for any response that he could save face with. His green eyes flashed with hurt, only to be swept away by his tired, nearly pleading puppy dog eyes — nowhere near as convincing as Sam’s, but you were the only person he was ever able to charm with them, anyway. “Because it’s safer, and you of all people should know that I’d never hang a hunter out to dry like that. Especially—”
Dean cut himself off, his heart aching as he seemed, just for a moment, to forget what you two really were. Bitter exes with a taste for violence; proximal bombs so close to going off. If only you weren’t just that, then Dean would’ve said what was on his mind. Especially people I care about. Especially you.
You eyed the elder Winchester wearily, his words scratching at the crumbling walls around your heart. You hated to admit it, but maybe, just this once, Dean Winchester was right. These past few years had been wearing you down, stripping your resolve down to nothing more than a single, solitary wall protecting the worst thing you could think of from reaching your heart. You were tired. More so than you were when Dean first suggested getting the hell out of hunting. Back when he suggested it for the both of you, and ideas of an apartment and a dog and a normal fucking job were included in hushed conversations before bed in a crappy motel.
And then John Winchester sacrificed himself to save his son, and everything slipped out from underneath you. Because you knew the truth, long before Dean ever figured it out. John had told you himself — his final act, the only selfless thing he’d done for his boys. He begged you to get them out, told you that killing yellow eyes didn’t matter anymore. He just wanted his sons safe. And you couldn’t even do that.
With a final sigh, a too-long look into Dean’s eyes, and the echo of John Winchester’s final words to you ringing in your ears, you conceded. “Fine. But if anything happens, Winchester, so help me—”
“I know, you’ll kick my ass.”
“Actually, I’ll key your car, but that works too.”
Once you finally put all three of your heads together, it wasn’t difficult to find the shapeshifter’s central hiding spot. All of the locations it’d attacked at were no more than a 15-minute walk from an abandoned factory, which seemed to be the perfect spot. It irked you that you still didn’t know exactly how the shifter was picking and choosing its victims, but as long as it was dead before dawn broke, you would be content.
So, loaded up with silver — a knife tucked up your sleeve and some handy silver bullets loaded into your pistol, you joined the Winchesters in hunting a monster for the first time in what felt like a lifetime.
Your reunion with Sam was much more pleasant than your encounter with Dean, as the younger of the brothers had always had a soft spot for you. He considered you family well before Dean had even had the guts to ask you out, and he was just glad that you’d been staying safe during the years you spent apart.
“So, what exactly are we doing?” You’d asked, leaning over the Impala’s front seat, eyeing both Winchesters like it was any other hunt. The ride up until then had been eerily quiet, no one speaking a word and no music playing, which was unusual for Dean. But that was only because the last cassette mix you’d made him was still in the player, and he refused to show any kind of weakness. To show you that he still kept some parts of you around.
“Factory’s pretty big, so we might have to split up for a bit, see what we can see.” Dean reminded you, sending you a cursory glance in the rearview mirror.
You grimaced. “I don’t like the sound of that. A shifter could do anything with that kind of vulnerability between us.”
“And it’ll take hours for us to find the damn thing and gank it if we all stick together,” Dean argued, gripping the wheel a little tighter. A sliver of moonlight glinted off a ring on his right ring finger, and you noticed absently that it was the one you’d gifted him for his birthday just before you’d broken up.
“And we won’t be able to gank it at all if it looks like one of us and then we all die, Dean!” You shot back, voice rising in volume. “I’ve done this enough to know that if we stick together, our chances are better.”
“We’re splitting up and that’s final. I don’t like it either, but it’s our best shot at finding this thing. From what I know, it’s quicker than most shifters, and that means it’s more dangerous.” Dean reasoned, and you knew better than to keep fighting him on it.
“Look,” Sam stepped in, turning to catch your gaze as you slumped back against the backseat. “It’ll be a lot quicker, but just in case something goes wrong, you shout. If you come across one of us and think it’s the shifter, pull your knife. It’s not the best, but Dean’s right, and it’s all we’ve got.”
You merely huffed, silently conceding to the brothers’ plan and ignoring the twist in your gut. Your mind was practically screaming at you, begging you to get away from the Winchester brothers and complete this hunt on your own. You would’ve made an exception for them in any other case, if it has just been any other monster. But shapeshifters relied on groups. They relied on the connection between mimic and victim. And your connection to Dean alone was too big of a risk to take just to kill one stupid monster.
But that monster had killed three people in the span of two weeks alone, and you would be damned if you let it kill anyone else.
So, you tamped down the anxiety brewing in your gut and let the lull of the Impala bring you a comfort you’d been sorely missing over the past few years. Despite what you led others to believe, hunting by yourself was lonely. There was never any backup, and you could die at any given moment, but it was all you had left. You, your weapons, and the faith that you’d get lucky enough to live another day.
You were living on luck, really. Luck and grit and hustling drunk guys at pool or poker. Always on the road, never sticking around, and never letting anyone get close. You’d tried it once with Dean, and all it got you was heartache. Hunting was the only thing left, and after all, violence was your preferred method of distraction. You remembered one of your first hunts after you and Dean had broken up — a particularly rowdy vamp nest in southern Oregon, hell bent on wreaking havoc on an entire town just to quell their bloodlust. You’d been too blinded by the idea of releasing your anger on them that you failed to see how big their nest truly was. All of them younger, more energised vampires than you were used to. They were quick, but you were far more skilled, and you’d almost had them all when one of them sideswiped you with a knife of its own, jamming between your ribs and leaving you nearly too weak to finish the rest off. But you’d done it anyway, before collapsing in the dirt outside. You thought you were going to die that night, bleeding out under a beautiful canopy of bright, white stars and a silver moon. And you would’ve gone willingly, with Dean as your last thought. Your last, heart wrenching, regretful thought. And then, with all the anger and willpower you could muster, you got back up. Because if there was one thing you would not do, it was die so young. So young and so unaccomplished and so unloved. And you would not let your last thoughts be of the man who so willingly pushed you out of his life to succumb to his grief, when all you had wanted to do was help him through it.
The cut of the engine turning off pulled you from the depths of your mind, darkness enveloping you as the headlights ceased. Turning to the window, you glanced at the distant, towering factory. It was decrepit; all shattered windows and crumbling brick. Graffiti covered almost every surface, and you could see how it was the perfect space for a shapeshifter to lay low.
Stepping outside, you re-checked all your weapons. The silver knife, still tucked in your sleeve. The gun, its magazine still loaded with silver bullets. Another knife, made of regular steel, tucked into your boot. It was an old switchblade, and had seen its fair share of kills over the years. One of the few things from Dean that you refused to part with, mostly due to how well it had served you in tight spots.
The walk into the factory, armed to the teeth with knives and flashlights, was silent. You all knew the plan, what was to be done. Nothing else needed to be said. With a few nods and nudges, Dean directed you all to different areas of the sprawling, decrepit building. The top floors were mostly gone, and you could see right through the holes in the concrete above. It was mostly a maze of heavy machinery and different rooms, and before you knew it, you were walking carefully, all on your own, toward the backend of the building. You could no longer hear either of the Winchester brothers’ footfalls, and the lack of noise within the building put you on edge. You kept your eyes and ears sharp, ignoring the chill in the room and the way your heart hammered behind your ribcage. The last thing you needed was to slip up. To let the shifter get the jump on you in some way.
Your movements were precise as you swept through each room, gun in hand and flashlight sweeping across the dark factory, searching for any clue that could lead you closer to the shifter. It felt like hours had passed until you stumbled upon a mound of flesh and liquid, gagging as your light glinted off it. It seemed fresh, too, and you briefly wondered if the shifter was off torturing someone else in the city and this plan was now a bust.
Then something scraped behind you, and you turned quickly, only to meet Dean’s squinting eyes. He was in different clothes, lacking a flashlight.
“What happened to your clothes?” You asked, tone tight.
“Covered in shifter juices. I had to change.” He huffed, already fed up.
“Your flashlight?” You asked again. “Where is it?”
“Battery died. I went looking for you when I got back inside. You were right, we should stick together.” Dean relented, and wearily, you nodded and lowered your gun, your grip on it still tight. You didn’t want to trust him, but it was Dean.
“Let’s go find Sammy and sweep back around. I think this thing’s bedroom might be nearby. If these things even have bedrooms.”
Beside you, Dean scoffed a laugh. “Doubt it.”
You eyed him again, wondering what the hell had gotten into him. “Since when are you so chipper, Winchester? I thought you hated the sight of me.”
“I don’t,” Dean shrugged simply, eyeing you quizzically when he caught your gaze. “What? I may not like you, but you’re right. Shifters ain’t fun going after alone, especially in a group.”
“I know.” You said, your voice tight. Something was wrong. Something was very wrong. But you kept yourself level. “That’s why I didn’t want either of you coming with me. But you just had to be persistent, didn’t you?”
“Well, you know me,” Dean shrugged casually, turning down a hallway.
“Yeah, I do know you.” You said, walking a bit faster to stop Dean in his tracks. Your eyeline lined up perfectly with his chest, and you did your best to remain calm as you gripped your gun tighter. “And I know damn well you wouldn’t go anywhere without your necklace. Not even if you changed your clothes during a hunt.”
Dean looked down at you as though you were crazy, a hand coming up to grasp gently at your bicep. “What are you talking about? I left it in the car, I swear.”
“Yeah, right.” You snipped, glancing down and finding the ring you gave him to be missing as well. “And your ring? The one you promised me you’d never take off? Where’s that?”
Not-Dean’s grip tightened on your arm, almost unbearably strong. He scoffed and rolled his eyes. “Now why would I keep wearing my ex-girlfriend’s ring after not seeing her for two years, hmm? Did you really think you meant that much to me, sweetheart?”
This wasn’t Dean. You knew it wasn’t. But the look in his eye was eerily similar to the one he gave you the day he forced you out of his life, and the words he spewed twisted the knife you didn’t know was still lodged in your beating, bleeding heart.
In an instant, you raised the gun and attempted to step back, trying to aim and shoot as quickly as you could. But it got the jump on you, first, gripping the pistol’s barrel and striking your forearm, wrenching the gun from your grip and tossing it down the hall behind it. Immediately, you slid the knife out of your sleeve and into your palm, raising it to strike. The shifter blocked that movement, too, grabbing at your wrist as it began to arc downard, squeezing so hard that the knife clattered to the ground. You tried to fight back, but with its grasp on your raised arm and now the hand twisting painfully into your hair — a familiar feeling, now tainted with fear and pain and panic — made you practically useless.
“Oh, sweet thing, I am just gonna love tearing you to pieces.” Not-Dean snarled, its sadistic smile churning your gut. You inhaled sharply, about to cry out, when it tugged on the roots of your hair, forcing a whimper from you, instead. “Not so fast, darling. We’re gonna have a little fun, just ourselves, before either of your boys can join in.”
His voice was what you couldn’t comprehend. Sure, that last fight before you broke up was brutal; shouting and cursing each other out and saying things you weren’t sure either of you had meant to say, but this? Hearing him so easily speak about hurting you, like it was nothing, that was what you couldn’t bear. Even if it was the shifter.
You looked around, finding quickly that you were in a rather secluded part of the building. The far right corner, judging by the window placements. There were beams and trolleys and pieces of equipment laying everywhere, coated in rust and god knows what else. Not-Dean guided you easily to an oddly clean chair in the room, and you sat down willingly, hoping and praying that one of the brothers would stumble upon you sooner rather than later.
“Tsk, you’re such an obedient girl, aren’t you, sweetheart?” Not-Dean smirked.
“Don’t call me that,” you growled, watching him lean down beside you and grab a long rope.
“Right, because Dean was the only one you let use that nickname,” he nodded sarcastically. “Does it bother you? That I’m in his head, that I know what he thinks. That I have his face.”
You shook your head as he wrapped the rope tightly around your wrists, pinning them behind the chair. “No. You’re just as big of an ass as he was. But you probably know that already, don’t you?”
“I do,” not-Dean chuckled, tugging on the rope with the final knot to secure it before heading to your ankles. “In fact, I know everything he’s ever thought about you, sweetheart. And boy, you should hear some of the things he used to think about you.”
“I’m good, actually. Thanks.” You grimaced, meeting not-Dean’s eyes as he smirked. He placed both hands on your knees, the warmth spreading through your jeans as he pushed himself up and dragged a trolley over to you.
“Are you sure?” He asked, skimming over the items on the table. “He’s had some very naughty thoughts about you, Y/n. And recently, too. The things he wants to do to you…” Not-Dean tsked and shook his head, finally picking up a knife.
“Gonna cut me up with that little thing?” You smirked, watching the shifter consider it for a moment before putting the knife back down.
He smirked and walked the short distance to come and stand before you, crouching to meet your eye level as he said, “I had something a bit more… tantalizing in mind.” Reaching into your boot, the shifter pulled your switchblade from where it hid. “Now this seems like a much better weapon, don’t you think?”
You stared at the folded switchblade, your heart thumping rapidly in your chest. Even after you and Dean broke up, that knife made you feel safe, tucked away in your boot. It had seen a lot of action since then as well, effectively protecting you from both monsters and drunkards on more than one occasion.
The shifter opened the blade slowly, sliding it into its final position with an echoing click. He ran his finger across it first, examining its sharpness before turning his — Dean’s — emerald eyes to meet yours. Something sinister brewed among those sharp irises, teeming with hatred and some sick, twisted kind of pleasure.
“Dear old Dean gave you this, didn’t he?” The thing smirked. “I’m sure you know why, right?”
“To protect me.” You growled, shifting helplessly beneath the ropes. “From things like you.”
“This?” He scoffed a laugh. “No, this won’t hurt me. But I can’t wait to see what it does to you.”
Not-Dean dug the tip of the knife into the space above your collarbone, hard enough to draw blood and drag it down your chest. You struggled to bite back a scream as he worked the metal down your skin, leaving behind a stinging gash when he finally pulled it back, his eyes shining with some sick sense of pride as he stared at it, at the blood dripping down into the valley of your chest.
“I know you wanna scream, sweetheart,” Not-Dean taunted, his voice syrupy sweet and dripping with sadistic joy. He dipped his head closer, lips brushing against the shell of your ear as he spoke. “From what I’ve seen up here in this pretty little head, you’re quite the screamer, aren’t you?”
“Go fuck yourself,” you spat, face hardening as the shifter pulled back and stood to his full height.
He wore the same, simmering rage that Dean often had before he ended things with you. The face he wore when you confronted him about his behavior, the one he wore before he punched Sam for bringing John up in the first place. It sent a strike of fear through your chest, barely concealed behind your hardened features.
You watched it turn into a smirk as he twirled the blade expertly between his fingers, lips pursing and eyes squinting as they raked over your form, as though deciding what to do with you next. Like he had all the time in the world to figure out how to hurt you the most.
“You wanna know something?” Not-Dean asked suddenly, throwing you off. “Something… secret?”
“Why do I have a feeling you’re gonna tell me no matter what I say?” You glared.
Not-Dean laughed. “Smart girl! Right on the money.” He smiled, resting his palms on his knees as he bent slightly to reach your eye level. “See, I know something you don’t,”
You remained quiet, hard eyes watching his every move.
“Remember all those naughty little thoughts I said Dean has about you?” He didn’t wait for a response as he sighed and straightened up. “Well… he has them all the time. In fact, he pretty much thinks about you 24/7. It’s… well, it’s pathetic.”
Not-Dean spat, his face turning hard and angry again as he sighed. “It’s like you’re on a loop in his head. Everywhere poor Dean looks, there’s something to make him think of you. Such a shame he was the one to push you away, isn’t it? I mean, you are quite the looker.”
You growled as he whistled lowly, his grip tightening on the knife as he stalked closer to you. He brought it to your cheekbone this time, smirking to himself as it dug into the flesh and sliced quickly. You hissed at the sting, feeling the blood trickle down to the corner of your mouth, the cool air of the factory soothing the cut slightly.
“It’s quite a shame that I want to ruin that pretty face of yours so much,” the shifter pouted mockingly, rearing back and landing a punch to your already injured cheek, throwing your head completely to the side. It took you entirely by surprise, a small grunt falling from your lips as you clenched your jaw and tried to hide the pain.
You swallowed hard when you hung your head and saw your blood staining his knuckles — Dean’s knuckles. And then he laughed, the way Dean used to when you’d make some corny joke that caught him off guard, and your throat went dry.
“Tired already, sweetheart?” Not-Dean chuckled, gripping tightly to the hair at the back of your scalp and pulling hard, forcing a yelp from you as he forced your gaze to meet his. “Better make this quick, then, shouldn’t we? After all, those Winchester boys can’t search this building and not find us. And I want you looking nice and broken when they do.”
You swallowed down as many of your cries as you could for the following beat down you received. Slashes with your own knife across most accessible expanses of skin, punches and hits everywhere else. Your lip was split open, tinging your spit with the never-ending taste of copper.
“If you’re gonna kill me,” you gasped, chest heaving as blood trailed down the side of your neck. “Just fucking get it over with.”
“Where’s the fun in that?” Not-Dean pouted with a shrug. “Besides, it’s not just you I want to hurt.”
Hurt pulled at your chest as your eyes met his, the realization swimming behind your wide eyes. He didn’t just want to hurt you, to break you however else you could still be broken after everything else you’ve been through. The shifter wanted to hurt Dean. It wanted to break him.
“Hurting me won’t do anything to him.” I scowled despite my bruised and bloody face. “He’s the one that pushed me away, remember? You saw that, didn’t you? In his head?”
“Have you not been listening to a word I’ve said?” The shifter scowled back, his voice low and rough, the way Dean usually sounded during hunts. “Dean still loves you. Hell, he never stopped, sweetheart. He’s too headstrong to admit it, but he is. And seeing you like this, all broken and bloody because he didn’t listen to you, because he just couldn’t stay away… that’ll kill him from the inside.”
“You’re wrong,” you rasped, swallowing your tears with a pained gasp. “Dean Winchester doesn’t love me anymore. And killing me sure as shit won’t do anything to hurt him.”
The shifter growled, the sound low and deep in his chest as he gripped the back of your neck, forcing you to look at him as he inched closer. For a moment, his attention was caught by something else, and then his lips upturned in that sadistic smirk. “Looks like we’re about to find out, sweetheart.”
With swift movements, the shifter cut your ties and hauled you from the chair by your forearm, his solid, familiar chest pressed to your back and his own forearm pressing you to him by the neck. Your hands came up to claw at his arm immediately, digging in but getting nowhere as you squirmed against his tight hold.
Almost instantly, Sam and Dean charged into the room from the door you stood parallel to, guns and knives drawn, pointed at you and the shifter.
Dean’s wide eyes looked from the shifter, the spitting image of himself, then to you. He hoped you could see how sorry he was. The plea to forgive him for not listening to you, for letting you get hurt because of his stubbornness filling his beautiful green eyes to the brim.
And you did. You forgave him the moment he first pushed you away, even if you didn’t want to admit it for a very long time. You made sure to tell him that with a single nod, just as the shifter adjusted his hold on you and smirked.
“Well, well, just in time, boys,” he said, pressing his arm a little further into your neck and forcing a choked sound from your throat. “So glad you could make it for the main event of the night.”
“Let her go.” Dean barked, adjusting the hold he had on his gun and aiming it right at the shifter.
Not-Dean scoffed. “Please, Dean, put that thing down. I know you’re not gonna shoot me when I have her in my way. She’s very useful, you know. Human shield, a fun little plaything… I can see why you kept her around for so long.”
When no one spoke, not-Dean hummed approvingly. “Exactly. Now, if you don’t mind, I’d like to get this over with.”
Your mind didn’t process what happened until it was already over.
A small flash of steel below you, cutting into your tank top and piercing up through your ribs, digging deep into your flesh. The release of your body from the shifter’s hold, and the way your body immediately crumpled to the floor. One shout and three shots ringing out above you, the shifter falling in a heap no more than five feet from you.
You coughed, sputtering, as you lay there on the concrete. Something dug into your torso with every breath, filling your chest with pain and warmth and something you couldn’t breathe through.
Dean was at your side in an instant, one hand cupping the back of your head as he pulled you into his lap, shushing the pained groans and whimpers that fell from your lips with a shaking voice.
“Hey, sweetheart,” he whispered, eyes flicking to the knife — the knife he gave you — wedged under your ribcage, blood already pooling out of the wound. “Hey. You’re gonna be alright, okay? We’re gonna get you some help.”
“Dean,” you choked out, breaths rasping and wheezing and taking more effort than they ever have before. Something copper coated your lips, your teeth — it was everywhere. You knew what it meant, and from the look on Dean’s face, he did, too. “I’m s— I’m sorry,”
“Hey, hey, don’t,” Dean shook his head, his beautiful emerald eyes filling with tears. “Don’t say that. This isn’t your fault. You’re gonna make it out of this.” His head snapped up for a moment, eyes catching on something you couldn’t see. “Sammy! Help us!”
“D—” you cut yourself off with another cough, blood pooling in your mouth and splattering all over your lips. Glancing down at the knife, you reached with shaking fingers to grasp at it, to press your hand over whatever part of the wound you could reach, coating your palm with blood. “Dean,”
His eyes snapped to meet yours in an instant. “Yeah? Sweetheart, what is it?”
Grunting, you moved your hand to the handle of the switchblade, Dean protesting above you as you shakily removed it with a pained sound, the metal clattering to the floor beside you. Dean’s hand covered the wound as it poured blood, the liquid coating his hand almost immediately. It stained the hem of his jacket sleeve and spilled between his fingers as they clamped over the wound, tinging his silver ring red.
“‘M gonna be okay,” you wheezed, nodding slowly as you kept your gaze on Dean.
“I know,” he nodded back, his voice tight with emotion as he locked eyes with you. “I know, sweetheart.”
“I…” you gasped, finding words harder to speak, your body harder to move. Your mind swam, and you knew your time was limited. “I love you.”
Dean made a choked sound as he squeezed his eyes shut for a moment, tears sliding down his cheeks, and all you wanted to do was wipe them away.
With the little strength left in you, you reached your bloody palm up to his cheek and did exactly that. The featherlight touch forced Dean’s eyes open, his body shuddering as he breathed in and you forced your hand to stay on his warm cheek.
“This isn’t…” you choked, and Dean shushed you.
“Save your energy, sweetheart. Help’s coming any minute now,” he nodded softly.
You pushed, anyway. “This isn’t… not your fault,” you shook your head, the movement jerking and slow as you practically forced breath into your lungs. Each new breath was unsteady and wheezing, harder to take in than the last.
Dean choked out a sob, leaning over your body and pressing a kiss to your forehead as your hand fell from his face. “You’re okay, sweetheart. I’ve got you. You can let go now. You’re safe.”
“I…” you rasped, the words dying on your tongue as the last of your fight dissipated, leaving Dean on the floor of the factory to cradle your limp body close to his as he finally broke, his sobs and cries echoing around the room.
Sam arrived moments later, his shoulders deflating and his heart aching at the sight of Dean. He’d never seen his older brother so broken, so willingly displaying his emotions as he held you, your body cold and pale in his arms as he rocked you.
The shifter had, in the end, succeeded. Part of Dean died with you that night, hatred and regret filling the gaping hole within him. He knew nothing else would ever try to fill it again, and a large part of him never wanted it to be filled. He wanted to sit with the hurt for the rest of his life, because it was what he believed he deserved.
You had gone willingly in his arms, a final admission of love dying on your tongue, leaving behind an ache Dean knew would never be soothed. Because, despite everything he’d done to you, somehow, you still loved him.
If there was one thing Dean Winchester was full of, after all, it was regret.
everything taglist: @mazerunnerrose @theboldandthebootyful @miraclesoflove @heliads
dean winchester taglist: @theweasleyslut @johnmurphyisqueer @thanossexual @dryyoursaltyoceantears @prettypychoinpink @whitemanshoe19 @allinfangirl @sunsetcurvej @killerqueenfan @justthatfangirloverthere @cadencebeat2662 @jamespotterslover @yagorlemmalyn @mariecoded @aunicornmademedoit @bloodyxheaven @weasleystwinswife @mrspeacem1nusone @jessimay89 @supernaturallydc @navs-bhat @xoxabs88xox @unic0rntaking0ver17645 @adhdhufflepuff @erospecies @imabee-oralizard @ellablossom @ajordan2020 @lunepoesie @multitasking44 @alexxavicry @avabh12
(taglists open!)
#dean winchester#dean winchester x reader#dean winchester x you#dean winchester x y/n#dean winchester imagine#dean winchester angst#supernatural fanfiction#supernatural x reader
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Go the fuck OFF @ilarual holy shit!!!!!! Cosigned a million times over!!!!!
Controversial suggestion: Supernatural.
Is it going to win? God I hope not. But there really are canonically queer characters. They just happened to also do as much queerbaiting as they conceivably could before revealing Cas was gay the whole time and never letting Dean acknowledge it. And the whole pulling 'bury your gays' on Charlie and Cas. But hey, Claire was still alive!
I'm going to put this one up to a poll
#SUPERNATURAL IS A QUEER TEXT.#THE ANGEL IS LITERALLY GAY. (SORRY BUT DOES THAT NOT COUNT ENOUGH? HOW IS THIS STILL A TOPIC BASED ON CAS ALONE!)#AND YES DEAN WINCHESTER IS *CANONICALLY BISEXUAL.*#I feel like I can benchpress a truck reading that paragraph because it's so refreshing anytime someone doesn't waffle on the facts. PREACH#also as always it makes me want to gnaw on furniture how queerness is in SPN's bones. deliberately crafted as such.#purposefully centralized in the story by the end. it is part of the primary plot and struggle.#the queer love story is a huge part of the reason for Chuck being the final villain!!! fucking HELLLLOOO. YOU CANNOT IGNORE IT!#the allegory about censorship and fight for free will is about breaking out of the narrative and growing beyond the creator's intentions!#because QUEERNESS IS NOW CENTRAL TO THE STORY meaning the characters have superseded the original intent for them!#it's a domino effect in the show and it was a domino effect IRL. that's the POINT. the show (the writers) spell it out#Castiel never did what he was told & his ultimate rebellion came through his queer love for Dean. explicitly.#meanwhile Sam and Dean but ESPECIALLY Dean (Chuck is particularly obsessed with controlling him; it's stated) are fighting to be free...#...to BE WHO THEY ARE. love who they love. define and live in their unconventional queer found family format.#who you are is more important than what you are or what others want you to be. that was true from s1 with John as God-like figure...#and then brought even further to the forefront through Chuck with the addition of the heavy-handed allegory.#because. once again: this all THEMATICALLY BECAME ABOUT BEING QUEER. IT'S ONE OF THE CENTRAL STORY PILLARS.#anon saying 'they just happened to also do as much queerbaiting as they conceivably could' <- SOURCE? BITCH#more like they did as much queercoding and subtext as they conceivably could while molding a narrative into a slow burn queer love story#that wasn't even originally meant to be one and started before same sex marriage was legal#anon: 'before revealing Cas was gay the whole time' <- yeah that's called building a story! sorry it simply took awhile!#that's how TV works even in the best of situations – and this decidedly was NOT the best type of situation and is also incomparable!#anyway. fuck everyone who doesn't respect SPN for being an impressive queer text explicitly and thematically. skill issue on your parts.#and fuck everyone who doesn't think Dean 'counts' as canonically bisexual. and fuck everyone who ignores the other queer characters.#and fuck everyone who thinks destiel is half canon or not fully canon or 'still queerbaiting' (?) because dean wasn't allowed to reciprocat#thank you and goodnight#supernatural#dean is bi
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it's wild to me that dean is always so shocked at children of monsters, especially relatively well-adjusted adjusted ones à la garth and the werewolf family in 9x12... like the concept of a second generation werewolf baffled him. but is he not a direct mirror of that?? are he and sam not the second generation of a way of life that ostracizes one from society and often results in premature death (dare i say... see: 15x20)? like hunters and monsters are at odds, sure, but in a way that just makes them interesting foils to each other, meaning that he's a mirror to the very thing he can hardly believe exists. very... dean.
#idk. just a strange look into how he thinks of himself and the things he hunts maybe#having thoughts about the winchester bros' childhood(s). yeah.#it feels like a look into the fact that he really did internalize the things john taught him. good writing. my favorite ghost in the show i#john winchester haunting the narrative#like it feels like a continuation of the whole 'i could never have anything in common with a monster' thing that he had going on during#sam's demon blood addiction arc#mmmm. dean you have changed so much but you never change. god#spn#the brothers winchester#dean#theo.txt#and im sure im not the first one to have thought of this but god these characters make me insane
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Chapter 2 - Under My Skin
Series Masterlist - Main Masterlist
Author's Note: If you're mad at me for getting any lore or myths wrong through this story, consider that Supernatural themselves cannot track their own lore, and I'm doing my goddamn best.
Chapter title from Akaska Sad by Rina Sawayama
Word Count: 15.7k
Chapter Summary/Warnings: Dean and John take on an odd, difficult case, and you try—and fail—to avoid them. Usual warnings.
Tags: Dean Winchester/Female Reader, enemies to friends to lovers, canon divergence, slow burn, angst, fluff, monster of the week.
Chapter 1 - Chapter 3
Read on A03!
Lately, Dean’s life was fucking lonely. It was made of long car rides where Dad wouldn’t speak to him, countless cases where he felt almost useless, and restless nights where he’d get up to use the bathroom, look at the couch, and feel a little piece of him die again when Sam wasn’t there.
Every town looked the same. Every girl did too. He didn’t try to talk to them—he never had—but there was still something in him that was so furiously lonely, he was burning through chicks night by night in a desperate plea that they’d offer him something. Sometimes they’d talk to him, and that would become enough. He was never really all that interested—they all had the same voice and same words and same boring, apple pie lives that Dean would never get to be a part of—but it carried him over until the next one. Until he and Dad got the monster, left town, and nobody there would have to spare Dean a thought for the rest of their lives.
He tried to make them remember. He poured all he had to spare into the sex, and making it good enough that maybe—when each woman was married with kids and some sort of boring office job—they’d still use the memory of him to get off. They might not remember his name, or his voice, or his face, but they’d remember how he made them feel. And that did a little more to curb the loneliness. The pit like feeling of uselessness.
But sometimes he’d strike out, and be forced to wake up on an empty, stiff motel mattress. Dad would already be gone—getting coffee or working there leads or just fucking sick of Dean not being Sam—and it would only be Dean in the whole world. And that wasn’t enough. It couldn’t just be Dean. It’s never supposed to just be Dean. When it’s just him, everything gets too loud and too quiet and so hot, but also massive and empty and cold. Corners are shaper and knives are duller and colors are all muted, because only Dean can see them and he doesn’t deserve to.
And when that happened, sometimes he’d grab his phone and consider calling Sammy. He’d stare at the number—hidden from Dad with a fake contact, just in case—and allow his thumb to hover over the call button, but never press it. He couldn’t. He’d have no way to get to California, Sam probably wouldn’t want to see him, and Dad would freakin’ kill him for even considering it. Dean couldn’t even say Sam’s damn name without Dad’s jaw ticking and an unsettling tension falling over the room.
So Dean stayed lonely. He worked every case lonely, found every bed lonely, and woke every morning lonely.
But he wasn’t lonely in his dreams. It didn’t matter why he wasn’t, but he wasn’t. That, at the very least, was something Dean could count on. When he slept, he’d never be lonely, because-
It didn’t matter. They were just dreams, and dreams didn’t mean shit. Even it had been the same person starring in them every night—the same beautiful, twisted salvation to the pit that had formed inside of Dean, that he loathed and craved and couldn’t figure out how to get rid of—for the past year, Dean wasn’t some crystals and tea leaves chick who was going to try and find meaning in his freakin’ dreams.
This lady seemed to be, though. She was dressed like she belonged at Woodstock, there were dreamcatchers and random dried plants all over her house, and she kept trying to offer Dean a palm reading. Telling him his aura was strong. That didn’t fucking mean anything, because that shit wasn’t real, and Dean should know. His whole life was figuring out what things were real, and what was fake.
This magic, witchy bullshit was fake.
The ghost haunting Woodstock Chick’s house was very real.
“You know,” Woodstock frowned at Dean and Dad from across the table. “I’m a little surprised you’re listening to me.”
Dad shrugged. “Well, ma’am it’s routine to investigate complaints. It ain’t our job to judge, just hear what you’ve got for us. Now, we’ve got the objects flyin’ around-“
“It’s just,” Woodstock let out a breathy laugh, shaking her head slightly. “I’ve been filing these complaints for weeks, and all I’ve gotten is made fun of by my neighbors. Then, suddenly, you’re taking me seriously? Sending three officers to talk to me-“
Dean cleared his throat, shooting Dad a weary look. “Sorry, did you say three?”
“Yeah. You two, plus the one yesterday. Young woman, with the rings and lip gloss. She was gorgeous, good skin and hair, bright aura, just like yours.” she smiled at Dean as she continued. “She kind of looked like a,” Woodstock frowned, tilting her head. “Like a cat.”
Dad scowled. “A cat.”
Woodstock nodded. “You know, just like how he,” she nodded at Dean, and he frowned. “Looks like a puppy. It not about their faces, it’s about their energy-“
“And you’re saying this chick had the energy of a cat?” Dean asked, not allowing himself to dwell on the puppy thing. He had too much shit to worry about already. “Ma’am, we-“
“We’re takin’ your complaints seriously, ma’am.” Dad’s voice was firm over Dean’s, and Dean felt a cringe of shame in his chest. “Now, tell us about the lights, and we’ll let you keep goin’ with your day.”
Woodstock continued, Dad asking more careful, smart questions as Dean sat in silence, and the lady’s problem was pretty obviously a ghost. Kind of a douchebag of a ghost, but just a ghost. The hard part was just gonna be figuring out who it was, because Woodstock was insisting nobody had ever died in this house, that she had no dead relatives, and that she’d never even killed anyone.
That last question did get them kicked out, though.
“We ain’t accusin’ you of anything, ma’am.” Dad remained in the threshold of Woodstock’s door, holding the angry woman’s gaze. “It’s a just part of our report-”
Woodstock let out a dry laugh. “Nice try, officer, I don’t know what you’re trying to pull, but I do know that’s a lie. If you come back, come back with a warrant, or-“ Woodstock paused, looking between Dean and Dad. “Send Officer Brown. She was nicer, and didn’t ask me stupid questions.”
The door slammed, Dad groaned—running a hand over his face before stomping back to the Impala—and Dean was frozen in place as Woodstock’s words rang a loud, clean, golden bell in his brain. When Dad shouted at him to haul ass he managed to move, but barely. Everything was far away, because things that were supposed to be trapped in dreams were starting to follow Dean into the real world. They weren’t supposed to. Dean had promised himself he’d keep Her trapped down, where he never had to think about her until sleep dragged Her back to the surface of his brain.
And that hadn’t really been working. Sometimes he’d smell fruity perfume on a woman, and She’d flash in front of his eyes. Sometimes he’d have some random girl next to him or over him or under him, and they’d moan, and it would sound like a siren. The worst was when someone would look at him and a tiny, traitorous asshole voice would whisper She’d look at you better. She’d be better. You’re a piece of shit, Dean Winchester, because She’d been the freakin’ best and you left her.
He hadn’t left Her. He’d escaped her. Outsmarted whatever bullshit she’d been trying to pull on him, whatever scam She’d been running. And it didn’t fucking matter that his brain was clinging onto every piece of Her he’d gotten to see that day—that the bells were made of Her beautiful voice saying Brown’s a cop—because she’d probably stopped hunting. Realized it wasn’t the fun little rush She thought it was and crawled back home to her fancy, stupid life.
But She’d told him she’d been hunting since she was fifteen.
That had probably been a lie too.
It hadn’t sounded like a lie.
Well, maybe She’d just been an awesome liar.
Dean needed to snap the hell out of it. He’d tread down this path countless times, the voice—it seemed to live in his chest, a little to the right of his heart—trying to work out what that whole thing had been, and a good reason for Dean to track Her down and ask if She’d felt it too.
But She’d been playing him, and he never wanted to see Her drop-dead gorgeous face again. It didn’t matter what he’d felt, because Dad was right. It had probably been some sort of trick, made of all those pretty lies and words She’d been using on him. So Dean didn’t mention to Dad that Brown had been one of Her aliases, because he wasn’t supposed to remember anything about Her. Dad was seething in the driver’s seat—grumbling about lone, stupid hunters interfering in their case—but She wasn’t here, probably, so it didn’t matter anyway.
Another three days passed, and they still couldn’t figure out who the ghost was. Everyone Woodstock knew was clean—and claimed she was too—and everyone in this town died of old age like a bunch of freaking suckers, so they had nothing. This ghost couldn’t chill the fuck out, Woodstock had been telling anyone who would listen about how it had started to throw plates at her head—how she didn’t feel safe—so Dad had them on rotating watches. Keeping an eye on the house from the forest in case Woodstock started screaming while the other kept working it, searching for just one goddamn idea of who the ghost could be.
They hadn’t figured out who the other hunter was, either, but Dean was growing more and more certain it might be Her. He could’ve sworn he saw a flash of perfectly styled shiny hair on the street. He was either going batshit crazy, or he’d heard Her voice in a corner store while he was buying aftershave. And a feeling like gravity had reformed in his eyes, bringing his attention to shadows that might be Her and making his every nerve flare when he smelled something sweet. Most of all, he’d been in the motel parking lot a handful of times and felt it. That odd, light feeling that had surrounded him when he’d met Her, making it so easy to breathe he’d been certain he’d been doing it wrong before. That he’d started to do it wrong again, after She’d left. It had felt so good and been so impossibly to duplicate—Dean had really tried to, as well, in body after body after body—but it was back like a fucking asteroid, crashing into him and obliterating everything he’d thought had been right.
But he hadn’t told Dad. To start, Dad would look at him like he was a fucking idiot, and ask if Dean had watched a chick flick while drinking one too many beers. Then Dean would mumble no, and Dad would roll his eyes and tell him to get his shit together, because they had a job to do.
Dean could’ve told Sammy. He would’ve listened, made a little fun of Dean, and then started to ask a bunch of questions about what made Dean think it was Her. Maybe Sam would have found an explanation about how the vampire baby made men go crazy or something. Maybe She’d been a monster, and Sam would figure out what kind the moment Dean explained it.
But Sam wasn’t here, and Dean didn’t have any real evidence. He hadn’t seen that fancy car She’d been driving, and when he’d very casually asked the front desk of their motel—the only one if town—if anyone with Her name was in a room he’d gotten a no, but she’d probably be in a real hotel. With good water pressure and room service and little shampoo bottles that she didn’t need.
She hadn’t been in a fancy hotel last year. But that had probably just been another part of the scam.
So he didn’t tell Dad. Dean just took his shifts to watch Woodstock, worked the case, and fucking prayed they’d wrap this up and he could forget the whole thing. Dad would find something soon, they’d gank the ghost, and it would be done.
Dad had even said he had a new lead, when they’d swapped the watch. Dean had dropped off the car and gotten orders to stay here until Dad got back, to call only if it was an absolute emergency, and to message if he thought of anything new.
He’d been trying to. Dad was off working the lead, and Dean really wanted to help, but no matter how long leaned against the trees—watching Woodstock’s house and frowning into the air—he couldn’t think of shit. His brain felt numb, because this was freaking boring, and none of it made sense. It was just a ghost, it shouldn’t be this hard. Shit, with another hunter on the case, the asshole should’ve been ash days ago. Maybe it had been Her, and she’d realized they were in town, and She’d left. Been worried they’d try to turn her in for her bullshit, even though She had no way to know they’d figured her out.
Maybe She hadn’t wanted to see Dean. Which shouldn’t bother him at all, but the thought made his stomach turn and heart split down the center. He didn’t get it. It shouldn’t hurt, because he sure as hell didn’t want to see Her. He was looking everywhere for Her, but he didn’t want to see Her. He didn’t. He didn’t-
He did. He could. That was fucking Her. Walking up the steps of Woodstock’s house with a large bag, knocking on the door and being welcomed in with a warm smile Woodstock hadn’t offered Dad or Dean.
She looked hot. Dean wasn’t sure it was possible for Her not to—She’d even looked sexy covered in blood—but she’d somehow gotten hotter. She wasn’t wearing that horrible jacket anymore, but well-fitting, casual clothing that She moved so easily in. Clothing that suited Her, that She looked comfortable in, that Dean wanted to touch to see what fabric She liked. It would tell him more about Her, about what she deemed suitable for herself, what she enjoyed, what she wanted. And if She allowed him close enough, maybe Dean could rip it off Her body-
Fuck. It was happening again. Dean had just looked at Her and she’d dragged him under some sort of trance. The feeling had returned in full force, like an inevitable kind of cancer over his brain that Dean didn’t know how to cure. Part of him didn’t even want to cure it—it felt right and natural and filled up that pit with a shifting light that was shaped like Her—but he had to. He was useless like this. Useless to the hunt, useless to himself, useless to Dad. Dad would smack him on the head and tell him to get a goddamn grip, because a girl wasn’t worth falling down for. Dean’s job wasn’t staring at pretty things and trying to make sense of them, it was creating ash and spilling blood. He was a solider, not a prince who was going to save the damsel.
And She wasn’t a damsel. She was a bitch. The prettiest, funniest, smartest bitch Dean had ever met, who seemed like Cinderella but was really a stepsister. Dean didn’t need Her, and he shouldn’t be sparing Her a single thought at all. He should just text Dad that She was the other hunter, that She seemed tight with Woodstock, and that She’d been in the house for a long time.
A really long time.
Too long. It had been almost an hour since She’d disappeared off the porch, and unless she was there for a sleepover, she should’ve been out by now. Maybe the ghost had gotten the jump on Her and Woodstock. Maybe Dean had to go in and save Her, not because it was Her, but because that was his job. And maybe She’d thank him, and kiss him because She was so grateful he’d put his grudge aside to save her life, and it would be awesome and She’d taste like sugar and be soft under his hands-
“Dean Winchester.”
He nearly leapt out of his goddamn skin, spinning around with wide-eyes and clenched fists that couldn’t seem to remember how to fly and land square in Her pretty, mocking face. She was standing barely three feet away, Her arms crossed and brows raised, her bag nowhere in sight.
“Fucking hell, Princess.“ The nickname slipped out of him without thought, because She really did look like royalty. He knew why that was now—easy to look smoking hot and fancy when you had the money for it—but it didn’t change the fact. Her lips were glossy, her eyes seemed to shimmer with that pretty color that washed over his dreams, that causal clothing really did look like it was made to touch Her, and Dean couldn’t believe he was jealous of a fabric-
“What are you doing here.” Her voice still had that haunting, angel-like quality, but it was flat. Bored. Almost dead.
He gave Her a smirk, and he wasn’t sure why it hurt that She barely even blinked back. “Funny, I was just about to ask you the same thing. What could a bitch like you be doing in a place like this?“
Her eyes narrowed, and Dean could’ve sworn She curled a little into her body. “I asked first.”
Dean shrugged. “I asked louder.”
“I- You know what? I don’t care.” She stood a little taller, her voice somehow growing colder. “Whatever you’re up to, stop. This is my hunt. I got here first, I’m handling it, and you’re only going to slow me down.”
Dean let out a dry, humorless laugh. “Ghosts aren’t really gonna respect dibs, sweetheart.”
Her eyes flashed with something Dean didn’t really understand. “They don’t, but I’m not that worried about it, De. Like I said, I’m handling it.”
He glared at Her, ignoring how something in his chest was humming, trying to get Her to call him De over and over again forever. “Sorry,” he drawled Her name, leaning forward and trying not to think about how she didn’t flinch away. How he could smell that same, fruity perfume and sugar from before. “I guess we’ll just have to let the better hunter win.”
She raised Her chin, holding his gaze. “I’m warning you, Winchester. Leave.“
He chuckled. “I’m good, Princess. Think I’ll pass, but trying to warn me was cute-”
“Listen to me.” She hissed, leaning close enough that Dean could pick out every small bump on Her face, isolate every color in Her eyes. “I’m not asking. Go back to Sam and John, tell them you figured it out and it’s done, and get the fuck out of my way.”
Something brittle snapped in Dean’s spine, his jaw clenching as the words pushed out of him like vomit. “Sam’s not with us. He left.”
He didn’t know why the fuck he’d tell Her that. She wouldn’t care. She seemed to hate Dean as much as he hated Her—probably bitter he’d got the up on Her, didn’t want him to mess with whatever scam she was trying to pull on Woodstock—and She’d met Sam twice. He shouldn’t have told Her that, because Dad hated even talking about it. Hell, Bobby barely knew about it. It was family business, and She wasn’t family, and that perfume had to be some sort of pheromone because it was making Dean a freaking dumbass-
“Is he okay?”
Dean blinked at Her, and her expression wasn’t soft, but it wasn’t empty. She didn’t seem like a statue anymore, and whatever was behind Her eyes looked real. Just as real as it had been last year, like there was a whole universe inside of Her that Dean had wanted to explore. To find out what She was made of, and if it was as similar to heaven as it seemed.
It wasn’t. Dean knew that, in his working brain—rather than his heart that stretched for Her and his dick that ached for Her to be just a little closer—She wasn’t heaven. She was temptation in a beautiful form, determined to make Dean weak and pathetic and soft, everything he couldn’t allow himself to be. But he still told Her the truth. His voice lower and without any venom, his body tensed slightly, his brain spinning as the strange look in Her eyes seemed to glow, dragging the words out of him.
“He’s fine. Off at college. Decided he didn’t want-“ Dean cut himself off with a small shake of his head. He wouldn’t be that weak or dumb, exposing a gap in his armor she’d use to make him crumble to his knees. “He was done hunting. Wanted a normal life.”
She was just looking at him. Scanning over him carefully, holding one of Her own hands and just fucking staring, like Dean might be an illusion or his words might be a lie, and She was trying to look for evidence of it.
“That sucks.” She finally said, and it sounded so real. Like She might actually give a shit that Dean was lonely. That Sam had left him. “Sorry.”
“I don’t need your pity, sweetheart-“
“I don’t pity you.” She snapped, Her features growing harsh once more. “I’m saying that fucking sucks, I know you cared about him. I’m apologizing because it’s probably complicated and messy and not all that fun to deal with.”
Dean scowled, something raw snapping along his heartstrings. “I’m doing just fine, Princess. I’ve got my dad, and Sammy’s safe in California. He’s still my brother, and it’s not like he’s fucking dead. So I’m good.”
She raised her brows, an amusement that made Dean’s gut boil written over Her face. “Yeah, you really sound it.”
He narrowed his eyes. “Watch it-“
“Or what.” She hissed, leaning forward until Dean was almost drowning in Her. “You gonna run to John and tell him that the little moroi bitch is bullying you? That you need to hurry up on the hunt, because you can’t stand that I’m going to get this thing all by my fucking self-“
“All by-“ Dean stared at Her. “You’re still hunting alone?”
Her face twisted, her words hushed and furious. “That is none of your fucking business-“
“It is if you’re going to get yourself killed-“
She snorted. “Shut the fuck up. Don’t pretend like you give a shit about me-“
“I give a shit if you end up monster chow.” Dean sneered, pretending something wasn’t cracking along his ribs at the certain, settled hatred in Her voice. “The job is saving people, not choosing who. You try and jump in front of that ghost, I’ll stop you-“
“Please,” She scoffed, narrowing her eyes. “I’d like to see you fucking try.”
Dean’s breathing was ragged. His heart was violent in his chest, and his hands were curled at his side, and She was so fucking infuriating. Dean shouldn’t give a shit about Her, but his skin felt like it was being flayed at the thought of Her in danger or pain, and She shouldn’t sound like she was wounded by being the little moroi bitch, because She was, and Dean wanted to grab Her by the neck and slam his lips to Her’s-
“Stay out of my way, Winchester.” She hissed, still so close, and looking so warm and soft, and Dean was so close to figuring out what the hell that fruit was-
She was gone. She leaned back in a rough, sharp movement—like Dean was a magnet and She was only just strong enough to pull herself away—and just walked away.
He might be stuck here forever—on the edge of the woods outside Woodstock’s haunted house—his body trying to cling to her and his brain trying to erase Her forever. It was something he’d been trying to do for a year, something he’d never managed, and something that was made so much more difficult by the fact that She looked back. That their eyes met one last time, and it was like lightning through his blood.
He would have chased Her in Dad hadn’t called right then. He spent the next two days trying to convince himself he wouldn’t have, but it was a fucking lie. He wasn’t sure what he would have done when he caught Her, but he would’ve chased Her. Rushed after Her and asked why had She lied, why did She look like she wanted to punch Dean when She’d been the one to hurt him, if She had looked back because she could feel it too. Feel the gravity, feel the drug, feel the storm that threatened to consume Dean in Her name. Ask if She dreamt of him, ask if She saw him in shadows, ask if She was a monster and beg her to set him free.
But he hadn’t chased after Her. So it didn’t matter. Dad had picked Dean up—long after She’d been gone, Dean still rooted in place, his head still spinning—and he hadn’t seen Her since, so it didn’t matter. Maybe She’d left. Maybe She’d just skipped town, and Dean would never see her again.
That shouldn’t feel horrible. It should be relieving, the idea that he’d won. That he’d gotten the hunt, gotten Her away from him, gotten a justification for why he hadn’t told Dad he’d seen Her. It would mean that She was gone, and Dean could pretend that had never happened at all. But it still felt like fucking shit, and Dean couldn’t figure out how to stop it. It ate away at his brain as the days blurred together, and they hit dead end after dead end. She remained at least out of sight, Dean still didn’t tell Dad that She’d ever been in town, and the hauntings just fucking stopped. No more lights, no more temperature drops, no more screaming Woodstock.
It couldn’t have been Her. There were no graveyard disturbances, She hadn’t entered the house since their conversation, and it wasn’t like the EMF was gone. On the second day of no activity they’d had broken into Woodstock’s house, checked to see if it was gone, and it wasn’t. It had just stopped haunting.
Dad was losing his mind. He was barely speaking to Dean, shooting down all his ideas, and mostly just reading book after book and grumbling that it didn’t make any goddamn sense. Ghosts just didn’t stop, they still didn’t know who the hell the son of a bitch was, and they couldn’t leave until this thing was dealt with.
Dean suggested drinks—the motel room was starting to feel like a cage, they both needed it, and maybe the answer would be one or two bottles deep—and Dad had grunted an agreement. It was a small victory, but a victory all the same. Maybe Dean could find a woman there to distract from this disaster, distract him from Her-
He didn’t need to be distracted from Her. There was nothing to distract from. Dean might be dreaming about Her still—dreams where he did grab Her and kiss her, She fell to her knees and he went right down with Her, and it was fucking awesome—but She wasn’t anywhere real around him, so it didn’t matter. Every shadow on the darkened street was shaped like Her, but shadows weren’t real. That gravity in Dean’s chest was trying pull and pry Dean open so She could take a look, but that was just an emotion, and Dean wasn’t about to be some sort of pussy about his feelings. The whole bar seemed to smell like that strange fucking fruit and sugar, but Dean could just be losing his mind. The woman in the booth looked exactly like Her, and sat with her knees tucked up like she did, and was wearing the same shirt-
Shit.
“Dad, I don’t feel great, maybe we could-“
“You’ve gotta be fuckin’ kidding me.”
Dean felt the blood drain from his face. Dad had seen Her. His face was drawn in a scowl, the glare he used during hunts was furrowing at his brow, and there was a glint in his eyes that set everything on edge.
He was fucked. She was going to tell Dad they’d run into each other, Dad would fucking murder him for not mentioning it, and She’d just fuck off and get herself killed with the ghost. Dean didn’t know why that last one felt just as terrifying as Dad’s wrath, but it might actually be worse. Dad wouldn’t actually kill him. He’d get yelled at and probably banned from driving for a month, but Dad would never hurt him.
Dad would hurt Her. He was already stalking over to Her booth—She hadn’t even looked up, which didn’t increase Dean’s faith in Her lone hunting abilities—with white-knuckled fists that would have probably collided with Her face if she wasn’t a chick. Dean barely ran after him in time for them to reach the booth, to stop at Dad’s side right as he slammed his hand on the table.
She flinched slightly as she looked up, and the air around them became wired and electric.
“What the hell are you doin’ here, girl.” Dad lowered himself down to Her eye level as he spat the words out. “Ain’t no way you’re in town just by fuckin’ coincidence.”
She huffed a dry laugh, holding Dad’s gaze as she answered. “Not a coincidence. Just me, having the worst luck in the world.” Her attention finally turned to Dean, he felt alive, and Her words remained just as flat as before. “Hiya, Deano. You look like shit.” She looked back to Dad, her pretty lips curling into a smirk. “You both look like shit.”
“You think you’re smart-“
She snorted, cutting Dad off with a bored grin. “I am smart. Sit down, you’re drawing attention.”
She waved a loose hand around the bar, and She was right. People were wide eyed, watching them nervously, and they didn’t need that. Attention was bad in this line of business. It was downright dangerous. And Dad knew that, so he gave Dean a curt nod to listen to Her, and slid into the booth once Dean was settled across from Her.
It was a little freaking insane, how She only got prettier. How in the low, golden light of the bar she seemed to have a halo around Her head. But it wasn’t real. Nothing about Her was real, and Dean would have to remember that. Dad was real, was looking at Her like she’d tried to key the Impala, and Dean needed to figure out where that hatred for Her had gone and bring it back. Convince Her to skip town—because She’d get in the way, not because the idea of Her being thrown across a room by a spirit made him sick—and cover his own ass, because he was still in danger of Her snitching on him.
But She was hardly looking at him. Her attention was divided between Dad, her own hands, and the neon red, cherry and ice and paper umbrella drink in front of Her-
“Are you drinking a fucking Shirley Temple?” Dean spoke before he could stop himself, and She shot him a glare.
“You got a problem with that, Winchester?”
“Nah,” Dean shrugged, a smirk tugging at his lips. “I just didn’t know you were that much a prissy little princess-“
“They’re good drinks, dick.” She snapped. “It’s called having fun. Something you two buttheads,” She gestured between Dean and Dad. “Clearly know nothing about.”
Dean learned forward, bracing his elbows on the table. “I know plenty about having fun, sweetheart. Some might call me a master at it.“
She snorted. It was freaking adorable. “Some might call you a manwhore-“
“Watch yourself, girl.” Dad snapped, and Dean’s whole body tightened. Everything was rigid from the fury on Dad’s face—all directed at Her, all sick in Dean’s stomach—and raw from Her words.
Manwhore. She wasn’t wrong, and he’d been called a lot worse, but it still stung like a freaking hornet along the cavity of his chest. There was no way for Her to know that, unless Dean’s whole face just screamed lonely. Lonely fucking trash to be used up and forgotten. It didn’t. He was so goddamn careful to ensure it didn’t. Even Dad didn’t know the extent of that pit, so it was impossible for Her to, and why did it feel like She’d just punched him in the gut-
“Listen to me,” Dad hissed Her full name, and it was a low threat that snapped Dean back into his body. “Skip town. This is our case, and we don’t need some fancy brat gettin’ in our way.”
She glanced at Dean, and he almost didn’t catch the small frown on Her face. It was fleeting—barely a flash on Her gorgeous features—but strong. Reaching all the way to Her eyes and filling them with an emotion Dean didn’t understand.
But then it was gone. And when She looked back to Dad her face was in bored and taunting once more.
“I’m hate to break it to you, buddy, but ghosts don’t care about dibs.” Her lips curled into a smirk, and this was it. She was going to rat Dean out, he was dead-
“Lucky for you,” She picked up Her drink and leaned back in her seat. “It’s not a ghost. So maybe if you ask it really nicely, it’ll refuse to be killed by anyone but you.”
Dad scowled. “What the hell are you talkin’ about, girl. This ain’t another moroi thing, this is a fuckin’ ghost-“
“It’s not.” She grinned at them from around Her straw, and shit She had nice lips. They were a little puckered, Dean could still remember how soft they’d been, and they’d probably look even better wrapped around Dean’s-
“Whatever game you’re playin’,” Dad hissed at Her, snapping Dean out of his thoughts. “Cut the shit and say what you mean.”
She hummed, still wearing a bright, mocking grin. “You think it’s a ghost.”
“It is a ghost,” Dean muttered, watching Her carefully. “You’re not stupid, Princess, EMF plus random flying plates equals evil Casper.”
“That’s true.” She dropped Her empty glass on the table, leaning toward with a shrug. “But it’s still not a ghost.”
“You heard Dean, girl, it’s a ghost, plain and goddamn simple.”
“Have you seen it?”
Dean glanced at Dad, and he’d bet a lot of money that their expressions were identical in pure freaking confusion.
“We don’t have time,” Dad grunted, his voice low and edged. “For fucking riddles. You-“
“It’s not a riddle.” She raised her brows, picking a cherry out of the glass. “Have either of you actually seen your alleged ghost? Did Maggie Rose tell you she saw it?”
Maggie Rose. Woodstock. The woman who would’ve definitely seen the ghost by now.
And who hadn’t mentioned it a single goddamn time.
“I’m guessing you haven’t found remains either.” She hummed, picking the cherry off the stem with Her teeth. “And you’ve been looking for who the ghost could be, but you’re not finding anything. You’ve been looking in the wrong place. Poltergeist’s don’t have to haunt the places where they died, and they often have little to no connection with their victims.”
Dad’s eyes narrowed. “This thing ain’t nearly violent enough to be a poltergeist-“
“That’s because it’s been getting enough attention so far. Maggie’s been screaming about it, and it’s found that satisfying enough.” She spun the stem between two fingers, looking between Dad And Dean with a triumphant grin. “Poltergeist.”
Dean was pretty sure Dad was going to leap across the table and strangle Her. His jaw was clenched, his body stiff at Dean’s side, and his words—when he finally spoke—were pushed through his teeth.
“Dean.” He grunted, not looking away from Her. “I have to make a call to your uncle. Deal with her.”
“Yes, sir.” Dean nodded, and Dad slid out of the booth without another word. Leaving Dean.
But not alone.
Dean blinked at Her. Dad was gone, and She hadn’t mentioned that they’d seen each other before. Shit, She hadn’t even mentioned Sam, and his obvious absence. Dad would just chalk that up to Her being a bitch, but Dean was clinging to it. She should’ve said it. She had every reason to. But She fucking hadn’t, and some part of Dean was desperate to know why. To know if it was because the idea of him in trouble made Her feel like her skin was being ripped to shreds. It felt like that for Dean, whenever he was reminded that She hunted alone. Whenever a memory of Her covered in blood flashed through his brain.
And he could still feel it. Feel the electricity in the air that was so different than before. It was charged and tense, but in a way that made Dean feel like he was breathing. He could feel things that didn’t make sense, but they were right. She was right. Across the table, running Her hands over her calves and watching Dean like he might try to take a bite of Her, She still felt like she could fit against him like another piece.
“You’re not going to deal with me.”
Dean frowned at Her. She wasn’t meeting his gaze, poking the paper umbrella around the glass. “What?”
“What your dad said,” She muttered. “He told you to deal with me. You won’t.”
“What makes you think that?”
She finally looked at him. Really looked at him, for the first time since last year. On the curb She’d seen him, but not looked at him. Not like before. Not like that. Where Dean felt like She was seeing right into the pit—how empty and fucking pathetically worthless he was—and filling it up with something peaceful and silver and molten in his gut, like a melted star lighting him up from the inside. He wished it was real. Dean wished, more than almost fucking anything, that he didn’t know that this was part of Her scam or game. That She was looking at him like that because he made Her feel stripped and raw too. Because She saw something in him she wanted, and just kept digging for more without fear of him breaking Her.
But he also wished he wasn’t so fucking lonely that he could care about that. That he could get a hold over himself and just deal with Her. That She wasn’t giving him a strangely soft smile, and he wasn’t caving from how it made his heart freaking glow like a night-light.
“Because,” She said, like it was simple. Like Dean should just know what she meant. “You won’t.”
“I might.” He leaned forward, holding Her eyes on his as he smirked. “You’re putting yourself in danger, Princess. Dealing with you would be the responsible thing to do.”
“Really.” Her voice was dry, disbelieving. “How would you deal with me, Dean Winchester?”
God, She was trying to kill him. She was looking at him like that, and there was a smug smirk on Her full lips, and Dean had spent the last year hating Her but now all he could think about was how the universe that existed in Her eyes, and how he wanted to see every inch of it. Bare skin and brilliant eyes that had been phantoms in is sleep, now real and touchable. He had a million ways he’d like to deal with Her, and all of them started with those blinding fucking eyes. Rolling back in Her head and fluttering under him and sparkling on his. Her voice saying his name like it was more than just a breath, like it was the blood in Her veins-
“I’m afraid that’s top secret, Princess.” Dean dragged himself together to shoot Her a wink, and he could’ve sworn she flushed. “But I’ll tell you if you give me that answer you owe me.”
She gave him a strange look. “We were even.”
Dean shook his head. “You had asked me two questions. I only asked you one.”
There was a small, frowning pout on Her lips, and Dean realized She might be trying to work out if he was lying. He wasn’t. That conversation lived in the corners of his brain all the goddamn time, he couldn’t forget it if he tried. And he had. He’d bet his life that he was right. She’d asked him two questions about Dad and Sam, called him De, and his whole brain had short-circuited. He’d only realized on the drive back, and he’d been planning to use that to try and get Her to do the game again, but-
But She’d been tricking him. A con-woman and spoiled bitch who had been planning to use him. He’d seen the evidence. He knew that’s what was real. That between them, Dean wasn’t the liar.
He should care about that more. He should stand up and leave, or threaten Her to get the hell out of Dad’s way, or at least stop fucking smiling at Her. But She’d nodded, dropping Her knees down to lean closer, and he was drugged on Her voice and smell and face.
And he stayed.
“Fine.” She said, and Dean felt a thrill-like rush through his body. She was so pretty. “Go.”
He didn’t have a question ready. He hadn’t really expected Her to agree. But She had, and now he was staring at Her, trying to find something. Anything at all that didn’t make him look like a gaping dumbass, lost in Her eyes and high on her smell. He should ask everything he’d wanted to scream at Her on the street, and throw in a shout of why the hell didn’t you tell my dad I knew you were here. It didn’t make any goddamn sense that She hadn’t, and Dean needed to know why. That’s what he should ask. He should just freaking ask why.
“Where are you staying?”
Son of a bitch. That wasn’t what he’d meant to ask, now She was staring at him like he was some kind of creep or asshole, and Dean had to figure out how the hell he could justify asking that.
“For the case,” he added quickly, his voice drained of most of the artificial, cocky arrogance he prided himself on. “Ya’ know. In case we need to find you.”
“You won’t.” She said, Her finger running over that scar on her palm. “This is my case-“
“Yeah, and you’ve got it handled.” Dean drawled, raising his brows. “You gonna answer the question?”
She sighed. “Same motel you’re at. Down the road.”
He shook his head. “No, I haven’t seen your car-“
“You remember my car?”
He felt a little heat rush to his face, only worsened by how there was a little, dancing light in Her eyes that was trying to draw him into Her, as if he was only a moth and she was the freaking sun. And of course he remembered that car. It was Her car. He’d felt something seize in his chest every time he’d seen one like it for the last year.
“I like cars,” Dean grumbled—hoping She wouldn’t see it for the half-lie it was—and a small smile pulled at her lips. It looked a little too real.
“Like your dad’s.” She nodded, starting to fish ice cubes out of Her glass. “The Impala.”
It was Dean’s turn to grin. “You remember my car?”
She definitely flushed that time. “Yeah,” She mumbled. “It’s memorable. Shut up and answer my question.”
Dean raised his brows, remained silents, and tried to bait Her into saying it again. It worked.
“You’re such a-“ She cut herself off with a sigh and roll of Her eyes. “How would you deal with me.”
“I’m so glad you asked,” Dean drawled Her name, feeling his grin overtake his face, every bit of his confidence returning—stronger than before—as She swallowed under his gaze. “I’d deal with you however you’d like.”
She blinked at him, and he was certain Her voice was higher than before. “I don’t, um, I-“ She glanced down at his lips, Her tongue poking out between her teeth. Dean wanted to bite it. “What?”
“However you tell me to,” he winked, and She looked like he’d shot her. Good. “I’ll deal with you. My question is how?”
“How-“
“How would you like me to deal with you, Princess?”
Dean was pushing it. Shit, he didn’t even know what he was saying anymore, or why he couldn’t bring himself to sneer at Her, or mock her, or deal with her the way Dad had definitely meant. But he did know that Her eyes were wide and blown out, and Her lips looked soft, and he wanted to know if could get Her to be speechless. To gape at him all needy and dumb, so he could show Her exactly what fire She’d been playing with. That he wouldn’t roll over like a puppy, that whatever spell She’d cast on him—whatever aphrodisiac she’d been using—Dean might not be immune, but he could give better than he got. Maybe he’d get Her to bend enough that She’d admit what she’d been doing last year, and Dean would forgive Her because he didn’t know how not to. Because She was like tattoo on his brain that he didn’t want to get rid of.
Maybe he’d get to keep Her.
Maybe they could start over.
“I…” She trailed off, and Dean wanted to smash his lips to Her slack, open ones and start over. She was still gaping at him with a wide, open expression, and fuck he wanted to start over so bad. Against every bit of willpower and intelligence he had, Dean wanted to give into this strange instinct and start over.
“C’mon.” He drawled Her name, shooting her a wink. “Use some words.”
She glared at him, something hot flashing in Her eyes. “Pass. Ask me a different question.”
Dean scoffed under, dropping his voice to under his breath. “Who’s not fun now-“
“I heard that.”
“Course you did.” He rolled his eyes. “Fine, party pooper. What do you like?”
She blinked at him. "What do I like?"
"Like you said, sweetheart, I like cars." Dean said, trying to make his words sound casual. Like he wasn't desperate to learn everything about Her that she'd offer. "What's your thing?"
"My thing." She said slowly, still looking at Dean like he was insane. "That I like."
He nodded, watching Her carefully, and she frowned into the air as she continued.
"I don't know. Books? Movies and music?"
Dean gave Her an amused, flat look. "C'mon, you can gimme more than that-"
"No, I can't." She snapped. She was really hot when she snapped. "Movies and music is my answer, Winchester, deal with it."
Dean drawled Her name. “Everyone likes movies and music-“
“That doesn’t make it any less important to me.” She said, narrowing her eyes. “How would you like it if I said everyone drives cars-“
Dean scoffed. “They don’t drive them like I do, Princess-“
“And you don’t watch movies and listen to music like I do, Deano.”
He chuckled, raising his hands in surrender. “Alright. Point proven.” He titled his head at Her. “What’s your favorite movie?”
She laughed. A real laugh, and it sounded like music and rain and a soft summer breeze that shot right into Dean’s blood like a drug. “It’s my question, De. But nice try.”
He grinned at Her, clicking his tongue. "Bossy-"
"Shut up." She tilted her head at him, and Dean just grinned. "What's your favorite movie?"
"Untouchables." He said with a shrug. "Your turn."
She just looked at him with a small, teasing grin, and Dean realized she was waiting for him to repeat the question.
He chuckled, shaking his head. "Fine, sweetheart. What's your favorite movie?"
Her face split into a wide, full grin, and God, he was fucked. Nothing in the world seemed to matter more than that smile, and the way it made him feel like he was circling the sun, crashing down to Earth in a ball of fire, and turning to steam as She swallowed him in her gravity. He really didn't give a shit if it was real. Maybe Dean could get himself to be bloody and bright enough to match Her, and she'd feel this too. She'd feel this, and stay, and offer an explanation about last year. An explanation that would prove it wasn't all that bad, and that She was just as fucking empty as Dean was, and he'd fill Her up-
Fuck, he couldn't think that. Not right now, when She looked like that—beautiful in a way that might be deadly—and was smiling at him, and he couldn't get a damn grip and just hate Her. He wasn't supposed to be crashing back up into Her. Dad would be so freaking disappointed that Dean was dumb enough to fall for this act again.
But he was. His jeans felt tight, he couldn't stop grinning at Her, and that siren-like voice kept Dean in her orbit, with absolutely no desire to leave.
She had a million favorite movies. And She hadn't been lying. She watched movies differently than Dean did. Differently that anyone did. He'd never heard anyone use so many big art words in a row, followed by about twenty, very creative swears at a speed he could only describe as frantic. Like if She didn't get Dean to understand exactly why Indiana Jones was the perfect adventure movie, why chick flicks had irreplaceable cultural value, and sitcoms could be the best medium of television, the world might end.
And it should be reminding him that they weren't the same. That Dean was trapped in the mud—he'd been born here, he'd die here, and he belonged here—because it was the only place for things like him. Gut covered weapons, made of rust that would crumble to dust before they made it out alive. And She was just visiting. Using the mud to make Her feel alive or important until she could return to a world of people with ivory and marble who all spoke like this. She was using Dean to do the same, maybe more. Maybe worse. Maybe trying to pry him open and steal what little he had inside him.
But, son of a bitch, She could have it. He'd stay right here with Her for a million freaking years, just as long as She kept smiling and rambling and giggling at Dean's small jokes between Her breathes. Maybe he could take that bite out of Her. Taste sugar and fruit and whatever else he was starting crave. He could take Her flesh and blood and call it even for what She’d done, because She was still so pretty, and Dean felt like he could be valuable under Her bright attention.
He’d repay Her for that bite by offering himself. He'd be that smeared, dulled weapon for Her. He shouldn't be. Dad would kill him. But he wanted to be. He wanted to stay here forever. And when the waitress came over—with plastic tits and syrupy words—he didn't even fully realize until She cleared her throat and jerked her head to the side. Even then he just frowned at Her, a drunken trance of her voice and smile still clouding his attention, because what the hell could possibly be more interesting—more important—than listening to Her talk?
Then the waitress leaned down, almost blocking Her from view, and Dean frowned.
"What?" His voice was irritated, impatient, but he didn't really care. He needed think lady to freaking move, before She somehow vanished like a dream through Dean's fingers, and he was alone again.
"You want anythin' to drink, handsome? The waitress asked, and Dean nodded. He could use a beer—it might help dull the raging wildfire inside him, trying to tear him between his hatred of what he knew She was and the raw, feral instinct to latch onto Her and never let go—and Her glass was almost out of ice cubes. If he got Her another glass, he could keep Her here just a little longer. As long as he could.
"Beer for me," he raised two fingers, pointing between Her and himself. "Virgin Shirley Temple for the lady."
The waitress blinked at him for a second, but got the message. Dean had Her. He didn't need to company of another pretty face, because none of them could be prettier that Her's. Shit, it wasn't even a fair comparison. Leaving this booth for anything—leaving Her for anything—would be like trading a burger for a fucking salad. Insane and pointless.
When the waitress finally moved, She was gaping at him, her words suddenly soft. Almost nervous.
"You, um-" She shook her head slightly. "Thanks."
Dean shrugged. "Not a big deal, you blew through that fancy girl drink in like a second anyway-"
"No, that's not-" She frowned at him, and Dean realized she was touching that scar again. "You remembered. That I don't drink."
"Oh." Dean stared at Her, his tongue almost glued into his mouth, his brain a little warm and soft from Her almost vulnerable gaze. "Yeah."
They were just staring at each other, and all Dean could manage to do was clear his throat, scratch the back of his neck, and force himself to speak.
"You, uh," he swallowed, fidgeting with the cuff of his jacket. "Never mentioned why."
"Why-"
"You don't drink."
"I'm not twenty-one yet, Winchester, I don't think I-" She cut herself off, leaning a little away from Dean with a small frown. He waited, the silence resuming for a long, heavy second that sat and froze in Dean's lungs. She wasn't looking at him anymore, twisting a ring on Her finger, and when She spoke again, her voice had dropped to a mumble. "I want a clear head. It's safer."
"Safer?"
"For our job." She curled a little into herself, like Dean was trying to peel her apart. "I mean, I can't really afford to get drunk. It could end, uh, badly."
Something became sharp over Dean's skin. That wasn't it. It wasn't a lie, but Dean could read it all over Her—he wasn't sure how, but he could—that there was more to it. But that's not why there was a sore prickle rooted in his muscles.
"Because you hunt alone."
She nodded, bringing Her knees up to her chest, and the ache worsened.
"You could drink." He muttered, leaning back with a slight slam of his hand on the table. "If you'd hunt with a partner."
She sighed. "I'm not going to hunt with a partner-"
"Why?"
He'd snapped. He hadn't meant to, but the ache moved to his mouth and he needed Her to understand. To get that hunting alone was fucking dangerous, and would get Her killed, and he cared about that so goddamn much for no real reason. He shouldn't care. But the thought of Her covered in blood make his gut twist and his heart burn in his chest, so She needed to get it. Now.
She narrowed her eyes, finally looking at him. "Why what."
"Why won't you hunt with a partner." He grumbled, holding Her gaze. "What would make that so fucking bad, sweetheart?"
"Because, as I've told you all week, I don't need to.” Her words were firm, dropped to a hushed sneer. "Anyone else would get in my way."
"I haven't even seen you since the freaking house," Dean said Her name with a low huff. "How could that be getting in the way-"
"I'd be fucking babysitting." She hissed. "I don't need a bunch of assholes tell me what to do, how to fight, how to kill something, how to-"
"Be safe?" Dean cut Her off with a sneer. "Not act like you're too good for anyone else?"
"I never said that, you asshole." She was starting to hug herself, and Dean felt ill, but he wouldn't be the one to break. "I am not too good, I just refuse to be a little hunter fuck-doll beating bag."
Dean blinked. "What?”
She sighed in flat, unamused disbelief. "Hunter's don't have great track records with women. I mean, be fucking real, dude. It wouldn't be the monster's that kill me."
"You," he shook his head. "That's- There are assholes out there everywhere, that doesn't mean you just roll over and accept death-"
"So what should I do?" She raised Her brows. "Be your partner? Be you and your father's little fucking toy until one of you puts a bullet-"
She cut herself off, and Dean gaped at Her, fire crawling over his veins.
"I-" She swallowed, and Dean wished he didn't give a fuck how She suddenly seemed so small. "I'm-"
"Do you seriously believe," Dean muttered, unsure if the fire in his voice was for himself, Dad, or how She looked like a wounded animal. "That we'd- Shit, are you fucking kidding me-"
"It's- I-"
"Save it," He snapped. "We are not killers or fucking savage trash-"
"That's not-"
"You listen to me, Princess-"
"No! I just-" She sounded panicked. Cornered. "I’m sorry, I didn't mean it like that, it's complicated-"
He scoffed. "Not that complicated, sweetheart, you think I'm just as bad as that shit we hunt-"
"No I don't-"
"You do," he hissed Her name. "Drop the act. And, just so we're clear, I'd never hurt you-"
She laughed, shaking Her head. "You can't be fucking serious. That’s-“ She tensed, her face twisting slightly as she scratched at Her skin. "You don't get to tell me what I should and shouldn't do, Winchester. You don't get to act like you give a fuck if I hunt alone."
Dean's hand curled into a fist. "Nobody should hunt alone, it's, fuck, it's stupid-"
"I am not stupid-"
Dean huffed a dry laugh. "I got that, Princess. But you know what? I think," he leaned forward, letting the words fall out of his mouth before he could think about them. Before he could stop them. "That you're just too much of a crazy bitch to have anyone stick around."
It was silent, and She was just staring at him, her features moving through a million emotions that Dean couldn't understand. He'd won. She looked like he'd taken a knife right to Her heart, and she wasn't fighting back, so he'd won. And he couldn't fucking breathe. He felt sick, and faint, and freaking awful-
"Choke on my dick, Winchester.” She snapped, but there was something weaker in Her voice. Something that told Dean he’d hit on something fragile. That he was a piece of fucking shit that went for the killing blow because he couldn't help it. Because he was the very fucking, lower-than-the-sewers trash She'd just accused him of being-
He opened his mouth to say something, anything, to take it back or say they'd both gone too far, and he felt like shit and still wanted—despite literally everything—to start over. To at least ask Her to tell him the truth, to at least tell Her how hating her like this made him feel wrong-
But She was gone. She'd left the booth and stomped out the door before Dean could even make a sound, and he just goddamn sat there. She wouldn't come back, but he was still just sitting there. Dad was probably waiting for him, ready to demand a reason why he'd taken so long, but Dean still just sat there. Shit, they might have a poltergeist to deal with, but Dean wasn't freaking moving.
What finally got him was the waitress, making her way back to the table and saying some snide comment about his girlfriend not appreciating him. Dean didn't even spare the woman a look as he shot up, shoved past her, and marched out into the parking lot to find Dad and get the hell out of here. If Dad asked, Dean would say he'd taken care of it. Not of Her—She'd looked like he'd torn Her to shreds with his teeth—but the situation. She'd probably be gone by morning, not wanting to be anywhere near two mud and gut covered hunters. Near Dean.
Dad was still on the phone when Dean saw the Impala. Sitting in the front seat with a frown, the windows rolled down to combat the flat heat of air, speaking in a low, gruff voice to whoever was on the other end of the line.
"I don't care," he was muttering as Dean approached, his voice carried on the wind. "I can get the asshole no problem, Bobby, the poltergeist ain't my issue."
It was a poltergeist. If Bobby said it was a poltergeist, it was a poltergeist. She'd been right. And as Dean got closer, Dad obviously couldn't see him in the shadows, so he should probably say something to alert Dad that he was here
"Obviously it's the fuckin' girl." Dad snapped, and Dean froze. "Shit, she just shows up again? On another weird fuckin' case, bein' right about what it is, sinkin' her claws into Dean-"
Dad stopped talking—Bobby was probably saying something Dean couldn't hear—and Dean's breathing was shallow. He shouldn't be eavesdropping. Dad would kill him, and he just shouldn't. He trusted Dad, and if this wasn't something Dad wanted to hear, it wasn't something he had to hear. But She hadn't sunken Her claws into him. She'd just scratched him over his brain and scarred him, but Dad couldn't see that. She just haunted him, and drove him mad, and made him want to-
"She's the one Dean's obsessed with."
Dean frowned. He was not obsessed with Her.
"She's a hunter alright. That moroi case me and the boys worked-" There was a small pause. "Yeah, moroi. Freakin' nasty little vampire baby shits. She-" Dad huffed, and Dean could hear the muffled sound of Bobby's voice. It sounded urgent.
Then Dad said Her full name into the speaker, and Dean could hear his frown. "You heard of her, Bobby?"
Bobby must have said no—there was no reason for him to know Her—but whatever he did say made Dad's hands grip the wheel with white knuckles.
"The hell you mean you have to go- Bobby-" John groaned, the click of his phone being closed snapping through the air and Dean swallowed. The call was over. Time to pretend he wasn’t a piece of fucking shit that had been invading Dad's privacy.
Dean moved out of the shadows and opened the car door, Dad barely waiting for him to be seated before he started talking.
"We got a poltergeist." He grunted, turning on the engine. "Let's go."
Dean blinked. "Go? Like, now?"
"Damn right, now." Dad shot him a raised brow. "Why, you fuckin' waiting for somethin'-"
"No, sir." Dean shook his head, and Dad nodded, still watching him carefully.
"You take care of the girl?"
"Uh, yeah." Dean hated that the words tasted rotten in his mouth. "She's gone."
Dad nodded. "Remember, son. No pair of tits are worth more-"
"Then family." Dean finished. He'd heard that sentence enough to recite it in his sleep. It didn't matter. She didn't matter. Dean felt like a fucking asshole, but She didn't matter. "I know, Dad."
"Good." Dad muttered, pulling out of the lot. "Let's kill this fuckin' poltergeist and get the hell out of here."
—————————
Bobby doesn't know you're here. He thinks you're in Louisiana still, dealing with the kelpie.
You're not. You're in Illinois. Trying something on a poltergeist.
You'll tell him when you get home. Explain that you'd just wanted to test your ghost ritual again, and if you'd told that him before, he would've snapped that testing that stuff was dangerous, and the thing had already worked once, so there wasn't any goddamn reason to risk it again.
And he was right. The rituals and spell and curses that had started to come to you in the dead of night—when it was just you and the White in the world, and the darkness became consuming—weren’t exactly safe to test on hunts. Not because of the rituals themselves, but because of the exposure. The danger of using magic where you could be discovered by another hunter. But you had to test them. You didn't know where they were coming from or how to stop them, but they always worked. You wake up and know that, if you said all these words and mixed these things together, you could make a veil between dead spirits and the living. A barrier that didn't kill the ghosts, but stopped them. A blockade that could be torn down, but bought you plenty of time and minimized any casualties.
It was why Bobby wasn't stopping you. He insisted you stay far away from other hunters, and update him after every test to make sure you hadn't blown yourself up or worse, but he wasn't trying to hold you back. Convince you to just drown in the darkness until it eroded the White, and you lost control forever. But he still wouldn't be happy about the second test. And you could've justified it by pointing out that this was actually a poltergeist, so you'd had to figure out how to alter the ritual, but then you saw the Winchester's Impala in your motel parking lot.
Which meant this it would be stupid to keep working the case. It meant you were in danger, because they were probably hunting the same poltergeist you were trying to do magical experiments on.
Worse, it meant Dean was here.
And you're going to fucking scream.
He'd never left your brain. You haven't stopped moving, you never stop moving, but Dean has followed you everywhere. Into your head every second, still circling around his handsome face and pretty face and beautiful smile. Into the darkness when it started to slip out of you, fueled by an echo of unworthy and sick, edged with the phantom feeling of his body at your side.
He was in countless, lonely motel beds where you looked to the side and expected him to be there. He was on the curb when you were covered in grime and monster guts, and you looked up to find the shadow above you only a shadow. He was in your bag, because you’d never thrown out his shirt. It didn’t smell like him anymore—he was there too, in wet grass in the spring and the spice of cheap aftershave on a man in a bar—but you were still holding onto it. Holding onto Dean.
You weren’t sure what could make you let go. You’d even started to fish for information about him from Bobby with careful questions about the Winchesters. What they usually hunted, so you could avoid them. What Sam and Dean were like, in case you ever ran into them, so you’d know what to expect. If they always hunted with John, or if they ever went off on their own. Bobby would always give you a strange look and a short answer—whatever they ran into, they’re good boys in the same shit situation as every other hunter, and John never let them hunt alone—but you’d pieced more from what you already knew. Sam hated hunting, and Dean loved it, their relationship with John was complicated—you could’ve gotten that one yourself—and Dean was what Bobby called eager with women.
He slept around. He’d probably been trying to sleep with you, and given up when he realized that you weren’t easy. That you were tired and rough and so, so angry all the time. That you might be beautiful, but the same was a thunderstorm is beautiful. The same was a statue is beautiful.
Something you shouldn’t touch. Something you shouldn’t try to hold, even for a night.
Something that wasn’t worth Dean Winchester time. Something he’d seen, turned away from, and then left you. He’d left you because he’d seen you for what you were, and he hadn’t wanted anything from you in the first place, but he’d still fucking left you. And you hated him for that, because you’d been ready to offer him whatever he wanted. Against all reason and logic and caution, you’d wanted him more than you could describe.
And against all your willpower, you couldn’t let go of him. Because you’d seen the Impala in the parking lot—the one you’d been searching for on every highway, in every small town and city—and the force of Dean is here had hit you like a hurricane. Everything had felt so fucking big, and you couldn’t hold onto the darkness in your body as your breathing became heavy and you attempted to keep yourself together. Nails digging into your skin as the wind howled through your room, the peeled paint on the walls cowering from you as your attention became vigilant, everything crashing back down into you when you bit down, and a lightbulb shattered across the room.
You’d avoided him. You’d hidden in crowds on the street when you saw him, and ducked behind shelves when he entered the corner store. You’d kept your shades angled so you could see the parking lot, and pushed down the way the White howled at the sight of him coming and going. You’d planned to handle the hunt in silence, and then just go.
The house owner was a sweet hippy who agreed to let you do the ritual when you told her she had the aura of a swan. You’d give it a few days after to ensure the barrier could hold, get rid of the poltergeist for good, and then leave without the Winchester’s ever even knowing you were here.
Then you’d seen Dean in the woods, and you couldn’t resist talking to him. He’d seen you anyway, so there wasn’t anything left to lose. And he’d still been so pretty, and your knees still felt weak, and the White still whined for him no matter how much of a dick he was being. It was insufferable, you’d left with darkness eating at your blood, and you’d looked back. You couldn’t stop looking back. Every time you had run on the street you’d turned around to see if he was frowning in adorable confusion around the busy sidewalks. When he was in the parking lot you’d checked to see if he was still pretty, even though you knew he would be. Of course he would be. He was an asshole like that.
You’d looked back outside of the poltergeist house because you had to. You had to see if he was real or just another flickering dream, and you couldn’t resist the desire to see him—staring at you on the street and suffocating you with that same smell from last year—one more time. It’s why you hadn’t skipped town right after. It’s why you’d stayed so long in the bar. You just fucking had to. You could fight against his winks and grins and smooth words, making you smile when you hated him, making you laugh when you should’ve been running. It had seemed—for whatever strange reason—that Dean hadn’t told John you were here, but he definitely knew now, and you were certainly in very real danger. But Dean had carved you open again, and you’d stayed in that stupid booth until he’d given you a good reason to leave.
And it was a great reason. It would’ve been kinder to shoot you in the temple than say that. At least he would’ve killed you, and you wouldn’t have had to wage this war in your body. The war between your hatred of him, and how you want to go back. He’s such a fucking asshole, but you still want to turn around and go back. To ask him why he left, why he cares, how he seems to know your every raw nerve and if he's still feels this too. If he felt it before.
You don't really want to know that last one. Because if he felt it before, that means he felt it and left. That he can feel it now and hates you for it.
Because he does hate you. If it wasn't in his words, it was all over his face. How he’d laughed like you were just a silly little girl. How he’d looked right into you like he could see the darkness. How he’d grinned at you like a wolf, like he wanted to rip you apart. He sees what you are, and he despises it.
And you were fine with that. You despise him. He was an arrogant, smug, dickish, charming, controlling, annoying, handsome, caring, selfish, funny, sexy, adorable, funny, strong, sweet-
God fucking damnit. He was an asshole. He'd left you, he hated you, and you wouldn't fall for the cowboy-in-shining-leather thing again. You were going to take care of this poltergeist now, and leave town right after. Dean and John could be here another week trying to figure out if it was even dead for all you cared. You just had to go. Before this all got worse.
You've barely parked when your phone starts to buzz. You don’t look at the contact when you decline it—you don’t have the time—but then it just starts buzzing again.
It’s Bobby.
You still don’t answer. If he’s in danger, he wouldn’t call you. If it’s an urgent question, he can handle it himself. If it’s a non-urgent question, he can wait for this to be done. If he was dying-
You almost pick up the phone. The thought flashes through your brain, a small stone grows in your throat, and you reach for the phone with a frantic movement. You’re about the dial him back when the first message comes through, and you sigh in relief.
You better call me back now, kid, we need to talk.
Not dying. Can be dealt with later. You’ll call him back when you’re done, because this will be quick, and you’ll get through it. You always do.
You’d convinced the homeowner to get out of town for a few days, to stay with her sister until you were done. The purification ritual was in the trunk of your latest stolen car—you’d meddled with the ingredients, giving it an extra kick—and this would be quick.
There’s no blur as you start. You’re alert for your barrier to break—keeping in iron poker in your hands—but there’s no disturbance, so you just go through the motions. The basement is finished in five minutes, the first floor in ten, and you’ve only got two bags left when glass shatters downstairs, and the blur starts to cloud your head. Something cracked in the ritual, maybe because you’re almost done, but now you have to fight-
“Dean, you got the guns?”
You freeze as John Winchester’s voice sounds from down the stairs, and everything becomes too sharp. There’s a creaking sound from downstairs, the darkness is starting to spread up your spine and over the white popcorn ceilings of the house, you’re fucked, and the White is reaching out to-
“I got it, Dad, but I thought poltergeists-“
“Son of a bitch wants attention.” John snaps over Dean, and you might crush the bag in your hand. “We’re gonna give him some until he shows himself, and we find the asshole’s remains and burn them.”
This is bad. That’s not how poltergeists work at all—you’re a little shocked John thinks it is—and they’re going to fuck up your barrier, and you can’t tell them they’ll fuck up the barrier or John will turn one of those guns on you-
“Is the hippy chick home?” Dean asks, snapping you out of your panic as the White howls inside you. “I can deal with her while you take care of-“
“No need. Car ain’t in the driveway.” There’s a pause, and you can hear them shuffling downstairs. “Plus I know how you deal with the vics, Dean. We don’t need that right now.”
Something’s bitter in your mouth that has no right to be there, and no right to vanish at Dean’s grumbled words.
“I didn’t mean it like that, Dad-“
“I don’t care how you meant it. Focus up so we can get this shit done.”
There’s another few muffled sounds, an unmistakable click of a gun, and you’re moving before you think better of it.
“Stop!” You’re almost shrieking—dropping the poker and shoving your last two bags into your pockets as you run down the stairs—and barely stop your body from colliding with Dean’s in the entrance hallway.
“What the fuckin’ hell are you doin’?!“ John’s roar makes you flinch, his rifle aimed right at your head. You take a stumbling step back as darkness wraps around your hands and your heart kicks into a rapid, frantic rhythm you can hear in your ears. John can see you. He’s going to kill you. You going to die, and they’ll burn your body, and shit you never called Bobby but the darkness is going to burst out of you and John’s going to kill you-
A hand steadies you by your shoulders, grass and spice and leather ease the darkness down, and you wish you didn’t relax into the warmth of behind you, that the pretty, rolling voice a little over your head didn’t soothe your panic.
“Woah, Dad, it’s just-“ Dean says your name, and John scoffs, not lowering his gun.
“I know who it is, Dean, that ain’t my issue.” John’s eyes narrow on you, hatred painted all over his face. It’s worse than Dean’s somehow. There’s something pure about it, like John didn’t have to look into you to see what an atrocity you are. He just senses it. “Why the fuck are you here, girl.”
“I’m hunting my poltergeist.” You snap, forcing your voice to sound angry and not terrified, your face to be a mask of annoyed and not painted in dread. “What possible other reason could I have.”
“Could be looking at real estate.” Dean mumbles with a shrug, and he’s still touching you. You can’t help but glance back as you jerk away from him, and the expression on his face is unreadable. Guarded but cautious, like when he’d watched you and John snap at each other in the booth. Like he’s waiting for a bomb to go off. “I hear this is a good neighborhood.”
You give him a flat look. “This house is haunted.”
He shoots you a wink, clearly fueled by you not just ignoring him. “Won’t once we’re done with it-“
“Once I’m done with it.” You narrow your eyes at him. “This is my hunt, Winchester. I was here first.”
“Poltergeists don’t respect dibs, Princess.” Dean snaps. “And you don’t even have a freakin’ gun.”
“I don’t need a gun-“
Dean lets out a dry, shouting laugh. “I take back what I said earlier, you are stupid if you’re about to try and kill this thing without a freakin’ gun-“
“You’re stupid if you think I’m just going to let you fuck this up-“
“We’re saving your ass from getting whacked by a poltergeist, some gratitude might be nice-“
“You’re getting in my fucking way-“
“You’re-“
“Enough!” John’s shouts over Dean, and you both freeze. You hadn’t realized you’d been shouting, or how close Dean had gotten. You can see his every freckle, every shade of green in his eyes, how his lips are slightly parted so his breath fans over your face-
“I don’t want you two talkin’ unless it’s telling me where the poltergeist is.” John hisses, and you force your body away from Dean’s. “We’re killin’ this thing right fuckin’ now, got it?”
Dean nods, bowing his head slightly, and you just glare at John. All you have to do is get upstairs place the last two bags, and you’ll be fine. If agreeing to work with them does that, you’ll do it.
You split up. John goes to the basement, Dean takes the first floor, you rush upstairs. The bags are in your pants, and you’re so close, but John and Dean are waving around guns and talking about ganking the poltergeist, and it can definitely fucking hear them. The paintings shake on the walls as the temperature drops, and it’s trying break through. You get the first bag just as the lights begin to flicker, and you sprint down the hall to the last wall. Just one more and it will be done, and you can leave-
“Fuck-“ Dean shouts right as you reach the spot, and your blood goes cold. “Dad! It’s on me- shit-“
Then he roars your name, and you’re moving before you can think. Grabbing the poker, half-falling down the stairs, and reaching Dean just as his gun is yanked out of his hands by nothing at all. His eyes widen as they meet your, his mouth opens to say something and-
“Dean!” You can barely hear your own scream as he flies across the room, his head knocking on the counter.
His body slumps, and you’re not in a blur. This is a rush. Everything is wide around you, there’s an airy chill in your lungs, and the darkness is pouring out of you as the lights grow too bright and the windows bang on a windless night. The darkness starts to ignite over your hands—a phantom flame you’re not sure is real, burning and stinging at your skin—you whirl around, and, on instinct alone, shove the air. There’s a high, shrill, horrible sound of pain as the air goes up in flames, and then it all comes down. The room grows warm, the house goes quiet, and the darkness returns to you without a fight.
And Dean’s still slumped on the floor.
“Dean!” You fall to your knees at his side—rolling his face to the side, grabbing his hand to take a pulse—and only notice John as he silently joins you, taking Dean’s face between his hands with a set jaw.
You don’t know how long he’s been there.
You don’t know what he saw.
“What the hell-“
“Poltergeist.” You whisper, watching John examine Dean’s head. “Threw him across the room.”
John scowls. “You just let this shit happen-“
“I didn’t- I got the asshole.” You hiss, clawing at the skin near your nail until it stings. “House purification ritual, which I was already doing before! Nothing would’ve happened at all if you didn’t jump in with fucking guns-“
“Just-“ John raises his hand, and you fall silent. You’re still holding Dean’s hand. You don’t let it go.
“He’s okay.” You mumble, mostly for yourself. Mostly to fight the bile in your throat at the sight of him, sweaty and pale, not bleeding but moving, eyes fluttering but not waking up. “He’s gonna be okay.”
You almost miss John’s strange look. You almost forget about the axe over your head, and how he might know what you are. All you can really think about is Dean. You barely hear John order you to stay here while he grabs the car, and it feels a little pointless. You would’ve stayed here no matter what.
He’s groaning. Dean keeping making low noises of pain, and his hand keeps flexing in yours, but he’s breathing. Shallow breathes, but he’s breathing. And he’ll be okay. He has to be okay. It’s just a Poltergeist, not even a strong one, and he’s young and strong, and he’ll be okay. Your breathing has become a little uneven, and you can feel the White rioting and bellowing inside you as he shudders slightly, but he’ll be okay. You won’t let him not be. He feels clammy when you press your hand to his brow—your fingers brush his hair, and it’s soft, and that’s not important but you’re going to think about it for a million years—so you shrug off your own jacket and toss it over his body. He’s still holding onto you, so you don’t drop his hand. When John gets back you loop his arm over your shoulders, your own arm around his waist, and haul his dead-weight up until John grabs the other side.
When you reach the Impala—you working in silence with John to slide him carefully into the backseat—he clings to you. John drops his arm and it shoots over your stomach, his head falling onto your chest as he makes another low grunt of pain. And there’s such little color on his face, and he’s still shuddering when you move the jacket back over him, and you could fix this. You’ve never healed anyone before, but you could. You can feel the darkness moving into the tips of your fingers and over your heart as Dean takes a stuttered breath, and you have to-
“Get out.”
You look up and find that John has walked around the car and opened your door. “I-“
“Leave.” John grunts, not even sparing you glance as he speaks. “Now.”
You shake your head, and it’s a weak movement. There’s that feral instinct of survive still in your bones, but it’s not bigger than Dean. Nothing’s bigger than Dean. “No, I-“
“I ain’t askin’-“
“It’s not up to you-“
“My car. My rules.” John’s words sound pushed through his teeth. “Out.”
“I,” you swallow, glancing back down to Dean. “I could help-“
“You’ve done enough.“
“I could fix him!” You shout, and your sounds pleading. You feel like you’re pleading. It’s pathetic, and you don’t care because Dean makes a low, strained noise and you feel like you’re choking. “I could-“
“Listen to me very fuckin’ closely.” John sneers your full name, finally lowering down to meet your gaze. “The out of my fuckin’ car, and stay the hell away from my son. I don’t need you fixin’ him, because he’s not broken, and if he was the last thing he needs is some high horse brat making him weak.”
There’s a high ringing in your ears, and your voice is soft. “I-“
“He’d be fine if you hadn’t interfered with our work.” John snaps. “You’re out of your little pond, girl, and if I ever see you distractin’ Dean or fuckin’ with his brain again, I’ll put a bullet in yours. Got it?”
You nod, something vast and numb spreading over your chest as you carefully climb out of the car—making sure not to disturb Dean, or make his head worse—and leave John without another word. But you look back. You can’t help yourself from turning and watching the Impala pull away, from digging your nails into your skin as you cling to yourself until their headlights vanish around a corner.
You’re already packed. Everything’s in your car—clothing, tools, books, makeup and hygiene products, first aid kit—and you could just drive out of town, but you don’t. You toss the last purification ritual bag into the truck, sit behind the wheel, just stare into the darkness.
You need to call Bobby. You need to go. John wouldn’t kill you with an injured Dean to care for, but he’d seen. He had to have seen. And not leaving now would be a death sentence.
But you just sit in the car. Sit in the cancerous darkness that’s alight in your body, the image of Dean’s pained features burned into your eyes, flashing in front of you whenever you blink. All that boiling hatred for Dean is gone. Evaporated into thin air, leaving you ill and pained and empty. John was right. You hadn’t been fast enough, and Dean got hurt. Your barrier against the poltergeist made it violent, and Dean got hurt. You’re the sick one. It’s why he left to begin with.
He was better for it. He didn’t need you—no one needed you—and John’s threat hadn’t been empty, so you need to drive away and never look back.
And yet you end up in the motel parking lot. Hunched in your seat as you wait for just a little proof that Dean’s okay. That you hadn’t held him and shattered him, like he’d shattered you. You’re there until the sun breaks the sky, until it’s beating over your head and you have to crack the windows.
You’re there when your phone starts to ring, and you realize you’d forgotten to call Bobby.
You’ve barely picked up when he starts shouting, and you flinch away from the speaker.
He uses your full name. First, middle, and Singer. He only uses your full name when he’s proud of you, or furious. And this feels more like the latter. You’re in trouble.
“You wanna tell me,” he hisses. “Why John fuckin’ Winchester knows who you are?”
“I, uh-” You swallow, twisting a ring with your thumb. “I don’t-“
“And I ain’t gonna buy your bullshit, kid, that shit doesn’t work on me.”
You sigh. “Bobby, look-“
“No, you look. I didn’t teach you to be a goddamn idjit dumbass,” he snaps your name, and you curl a little further into your seat. “You know what he’d do to ya’. Shit, what are you plannin’ on doin’ if you have a slip? If he sees that hoodoo shit happen?”
“Um, he might have already seen it.”
There’s silence on the other end for a long second, then a low, “What.”
“We just finished a poltergeist case.” You mumble, hoping he’s too angry to catch onto the why are you on a poltergeist case part. “And it attacked Dean. And I killed it.”
Bobby says your name slowly. “How the hell did ya’ kill a-“
“With my hands. I just, um, burned it.” You take a long breath. “And I think John saw.”
“And he just let ya’ off the fuckin’ hook-“
“Dean got hurt.” You whisper, and the words sting your tongue. “He was focused on that.”
“Balls.” Bobby mutters, and you can picture the frown on his face. “Well, you’re outta there now, we can-“
“No.” You sigh. “I can’t go, I have to-“ You cut yourself off, because it sounds stupid in your head. You do not have to make sure Dean’s okay. He hates you, everything logical in your brain says that you should be remembering how to hate him any time soon, and he’s not yours tocare about. John made that clear with his threat. Dean made it clear by leaving. But you’re still in the parking lot. And you still have to make sure Dean’s okay.
Bobby says your name through the phone, his voice slow. “You gonna tell me what happened last year. On that moroi hunt.”
“I ran into the Winchesters-“
“I ain’t slow, kid, I worked that part out. What happened that made you call me and flop around the house like a widowed fish for a week.”
You bring your knees up to your chest, shaking your head. “It’s… I can’t-“
“What if I ask if that was Dean’s shirt.” Bobby grunts. “That you were wearin’.”
“Yeah.” You drop your head back on the seat, letting out a heavy exhale. “It-“
You freeze, watching Dean finally step outside like he’s been summoned. He’s walking slowly, but walking, and he seems really okay, and he’s looking around the parking lot with a frown-‘
Shit.
You drop down in your seat, out of the view of the parking lot, and pray he didn’t see you.
“Bobby, I gotta-“
“You ain’t goin’ anywhere, we still got some shit to sort out-“
“I’ll come right home.” You keep your voice hushed, in case it could carry on the wind. “And you can yell at me there.”
Bobby sighs. “I wasn’t gonna yell-“
“Yeah you were-“
“No-“
“Lying is a sin, Bobby.” You smile, carefully pulling the car keys out of your jacket. “You’re not a very good role model-“
“Well, I’m gonna fuckin’ yell at ‘ya now!” He snaps, but you can hear the slight amusement in his voice. “Get home quick, and we’ll deal with this. John don’t know you’re with me, and unless Dean needs a week after your hunt-“
“I think he’s fine.” You mumble, craning your head up to see Dean gone from the lot. “I’ll be safe at home.”
“Not if I kill ya’ for pullin’ this shit on an old man.” Bobby grunts, and you grin he falls silent, a long moment of static before- “You okay, kiddo?”
“I’m okay.” You mumble, and you’re not, but you will be. You always are. “And I’m really sorry for-“
“Apologizin’ ain’t gonna help us,” Bobby mutters. “Get home, and keep outta trouble till we sort this.”
You nod. “I will.”
You’ll try. Dean’s still pulling at you in your chest and consuming your head, but you’ll try. If only for Bobby’s sanity, you’ll really try.
You’ll pretend you don’t stay in the lot for a minute longer to watch Dean walk back to his room, that you don’t glance back at the room as you drive away, and you’ll keep yourself away of trouble.
Away from Dean.
End Note: I’d say this story is about to be John vs Bobby on who’s a better dad, but that would be like making a mouse (John) fight a dragon (Bobby).
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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#Enemies to Friends to Lovers#slow burn#smut#eventual smut#angst#x reader#reader insert#eventual romance#romance#canon typical violence#canon divergent au#jensen ackles#jensen ackles characters#female reader#godmadeaterribleerror#pining#idiots in love#18+ mdni#Babylon The Great (supernatural)#dean winchester fanfiction#dean winchester x reader#dean winchester#dean fanfiction#dean winchester x you#dean x reader#dean x you#no use of y/n#supernatural fanfiction#supernatural#fluff
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"Sleep. I'll keep you safe." - Dean Winchester Prompt Response
Summary: When Sam calls to tell you that Dean is gone, you can't accept it. Not until you visit the offline Bunker and see for yourself. ...But is he really gone?
Pairing: Dean Winchester x Female!Reader; Dean Winchester x Huntress!Female!Reader
A/N: Prompt from @thelonelyempath. I had this idea for a scene in my head that took place during 15x20 with the reader and Sam & then from there it just kind of wrote itself, including the semi-twist. Hope it's okay.
There is a song mentioned in here ("Is This Love" by Whitesnake) which is a sort of homage/dedication/thank you. I read this Dean x Reader fic a long time ago (I can't remember the name of the fic or the author right now, I'm sorry!) but they used the song for some Dean/Reader time in the Impala and I had never heard the song before so I checked it out. I have become obsessed with it. It's so perfect, not only for Dean but in general as an 80s love rock ballad. So thank you to that author whoever you are!
This is meant to take place between mid-15x20 and Dean's foray in The Winchesters (pre-series).
Unbeta'd so all mistakes are mine.
Warnings: angst; mentions of character death; mentions of implied sex
Word Count: 12k+
Taglist: @avada-kedavra-bitch-187; @rieleatiel
Dean Taglist: @heartlessdelusions; @nancymcl; @brightlilith
Jensen Taglist: @samanddeaninatrenchcoat; @deansbbyx
You can also read on AO3
"Sleep. I'll keep you safe."
Soldier Boy version ✨ Beau version ✨ Jenny version ✨ Tom version ✨ Jason version ✨ Anael version ✨ SDV Alex version
You sat on the corner of the bed in your motel room, numb, your phone next to you, having been forgotten long ago.
It couldn’t be true. It wasn’t. You refused to believe it. How was Dean just gone? On a simple hunt? How?
Sam had called you to give you the news. You could hear the breaks in his voice as he relayed what happened, sounding as if he had been crying just a few minutes before. Vampires. Who were mute. A gang of them run by a vampire named Jenny they had faced off with years ago. On a hunt with John. She had gotten away and they thought she was gone for good. Apparently not.
You were frozen, in shock, unable to process what he was telling you.
“Y/N?”
“I… I need to see him,” you whispered.
Sam was quiet for a moment before he forced out, “I gave him a hunter’s funeral.”
You shut your eyes in pain. “What?” You could feel your throat tightening as well as your chest.
“I’m sorry, Y/N, but I had to. I couldn’t…” You heard him take a breath. “I couldn’t make the long drive with… I just couldn’t.” You could hear those breaks again and you should have been hurting for him, that not only did he have to watch his brother die but he’d had to burn him alone. But right then you got angry and you couldn’t help snapping at him.
“Why would you burn his body, Sam? You know we need his body to bring him back!”
“Y/N, he didn’t want to be brought back.”
“You don’t know that!”
“Yeah, I do. He told me right before he died. As long as I was going to be okay,” Another break. “He was done.”
A tear rolled down your cheek and regret immediately consumed you. You knew Sam was telling you the truth. Dean making sure Sam would be okay as he was dying clinched it for you. Sam had always been his main concern. You started mentally berating yourself then. If only you hadn’t let fear stop you, you could have given him something to live for, to fight for. He would have let Sam call for help, call Jack, something. He would have made sure he somehow made it home, just like he always did. But you didn’t and now, he was gone. Truly and irrevocably gone.
Another tear slipped down your cheek and you quickly wiped it away. “I have to go, Sam.”
“Y/N, I—”
You ended the call and tossed the phone onto the bed. You weren’t trying to be heartless. Sam was obviously struggling and you should be there for him. That’s what Dean would want, you knew that. The two of you being there for each other, helping one another, you looking after his little brother while he looked out for you. But you just…couldn’t.
Why hadn’t you called Dean? After everything that went down with Chuck and Jack? Why hadn’t you reached out? You owed him that at the very least. So why hadn’t you?
You knew the answer to that. You were scared and like a coward, you’d told yourself it wouldn’t have made a difference. It wouldn’t have changed anything. But a part of you knew it would and that scared you just as much.
You thought back to the last time you’d seen him, right after he and Sam went to try to get Amara on board against Chuck. He was still reeling with the news that Cas had told him before he’d left, that Jack was going to sacrifice himself to kill Chuck. He cared about Jack, more than he let on, even though the kid had accidentally killed Mary. Jack was family to him and he was having a serious moment of doubt. If Jack’s plan would work; if he should let it happen; if he should tell Sam; if Chuck hadn’t been right, he would win in the end. He was so beyond tired of that: Chuck winning. He didn’t want to sacrifice Jack but if they could be free of Chuck and have a chance…
He was torn up about it and he’d called you, asked you where you were, then begged you to come to the Bunker when he found out you were only an hour or so away. You hadn’t wanted to, you could hear the desperation in his voice and you knew all too well what would happen if you went. You were still hurting and you didn’t know if you could survive that.
You didn’t bother telling him that the reason you were an hour outside of town was because you’d temporarily settled there, not sure where to go or what to do. Sure, you took on hunts here and there, but ultimately you were lost. Ever since Dean broke things off with you because he couldn’t tell what was real anymore versus what had been Chuck all along. The breakup had hurt, of course, but that caused pain in you that you weren’t really sure you would ever come back from. Him thinking everything between you might not be real? After you’d given him everything you could because you deeply loved him? In your heart, you knew it was real, but when you had said this to him, he’d simply responded with “I don’t” in his typical detached way he adopted whenever he had made up his mind that he had to do something for the greater good, no matter how hard it might be. You thought he had already broken your heart, but it shattered right then in your chest.
Since it was Dean, though, and he never begged, you went. And sure enough, what you worried would happen, happened. One minute, you’d been wiping the rare tears he let fall around you, and the next minute, he was kissing you and gently pushing you back onto his bed. You could feel the desperation in his movements, his touches, the way his lips trailed over your skin. Shockingly, he took his time with you, and it only hit you halfway through that this was his real goodbye. It wasn’t guaranteed that Billie’s plan would work but he hoped it would. And if it did, then that meant he and Sam would finally be free and they could hang it up if they wanted to, do something else with their lives and move on. And that possible future didn’t include you.
You’d silently cried then, holding onto Dean as he moved and moaned into your ear. When he pulled back to kiss you, your cheeks were free of any tear tracks and you kissed him back. You wondered how on earth he couldn’t feel that this was very real between you as you moved your hips to meet his in a tender rhythm as he held you in his lap, his green eyes staring into yours as he held you close. Sex was sex but this right here, this right in between you right then that he refused to put a name to, it was beyond real. You knew he could feel it just as much as you could…so why was he still hellbent on throwing it (and you) away?
A little while later, you had laid there, with his head on your chest, running your fingers through his hair in soothing strokes, his body still entangled with yours, staring up at the ceiling as you both were still trying to catch your breath. Your heart spoke for you before you could stop it. “I love you,” you whispered, meaning it with every fiber of your being.
It shocked the hell out of you and made something warm and fluttery happen inside your chest when he sleepily murmured to your skin, “Love y’too. Don’go.” You ended up chalking it up to him being in a post-sex sleep daze though, not knowing what he was really saying or even really having heard you correctly. That or he only meant for the night because the very next morning, things went back to how they were.
Dean seemed surprised when he woke up to find you next to him, scrolling through the news feed on your phone for any new cases. You’d given him a warm smile. “Hey, sleepyhead,” you teased.
Instead of smiling back, though, he cleared his throat and ran a hand through his hair. “Hey.” You could see that familiar detached expression settle on his features and you knew he was regretting the night before. He had been drinking by the time you got there, sure, but he hadn’t been inebriated. He was incredibly lucid by the time he made a move on you so try as he might, this couldn’t be chalked up to a drunken mistake.
You could literally feel that wall going back up and you gave one last ditch effort to keep him from shutting you back out, even laying a hand over his. “Dean, don’t—”
He pulled away from you and got out of bed, quickly slipping on his Scooby Doo boxers and jeans that he grabbed from the floor. You might have smiled seeing the familiar underwear that you hated but secretly loved if you weren’t hurting so much. “I’m hungry. You hungry?” He asked, slipping a black t-shirt over his head. “I’ll go see if Sam’s cooking anything up. I need a serious cup of coffee. You just…” He glanced back at you, seeing you holding the sheet tightly to your chest as you watched him, compulsively swallowing when he saw your eyes glistening. “You, uh, just come out when you’re ready.” He then made his way out of the room, closing the door behind him and never looking back.
You sat back against the headboard, dissolving into a fit of tears and quiet sobs. You knew you should have never come. Once you were able to breathe without fresh tears welling up, you got yourself cleaned up and redressed. You splashed some water on your face and you took a deep breath before leaving the room. You were near the bunker stairs when Sam called out to you.
“Hey! Y/N!”
He was coming over to you, a big smile on his face. He was pleased to see you.
“Hey,” you greeted back just as warmly, forcing a smile.
He gave you a quick hug and you could see Jack a little ways behind him, giving you a smile and wave. “I didn’t know you were here. We were just about to have breakfast. Why don’t you join us?”
“Oh, I…”
You were saved from having to make an excuse when Dean appeared next to Jack, his expression severe and cold all at the same time. “She’s got a hunt she’s heading out for. Possible vamp nest in Duluth. Right, Y/N?”
Just when you thought he couldn’t hurt you even more, there he went proving you wrong. “Right,” you agreed quietly. You turned a wan smile onto Sam. “I’ll take a raincheck.”
“Duluth?” Sam glanced from his brother to you. “Maybe we can give you a hand on this one.”
“We can’t,” Dean stated firmly. He gave his brother a look and Sam’s brows furrowed before realization played upon his features and his jaw tightened. He turned apologetic hazel eyes onto you. “Donna’s up that way. If she needs a hand, she can call her,” Dean added.
You felt sick to your stomach. Obviously, you weren’t heading to Duluth or anywhere near Minnesota but the way he dismissed you so casually…the pain was overwhelming. The smile you kept on Sam turned into more of a grimace. “I appreciate the offer, Sam, but I’m good. Like your brother said, I can call Donna if I need anything. Don’t worry. Thanks, though.” You squeezed his arm and then turned to make your way up the stairs.
“Best of luck,” Dean gruffed out. You turned to see pure ice staring back at you.
You pressed your lips together to keep from falling apart right there, from demanding why Dean had obviously only called you for sex and a pick-me-up when there plenty of women in Lebanon that could do that for him, from begging him to wake up and see you were right in front of him and that what you had was very much real before it was too late. Instead, you continued climbing the stairs.
“Keep us updated and give us a call if you need anything,” Sam called after you.
“Will do,” you forced out.
“Good luck,” Jack offered.
When you reached the top, you glanced once more at Dean. His expression hadn’t changed one bit. The green gaze staring back at you was cold, hard. You let out a huff and shook your head, turning to open the door and close it behind you. That had been the very last time you saw him.
After that, you went back to the motel you had been renting a room in, packed up, and headed across state lines. You ignored Dean’s calls but took Sam’s.
Apparently, at some point, you had vanished when Chuck disappeared everyone. You had no idea until Donna filled you in. That explained the several missed calls from both Sam and Dean and the voicemails they left. Both had sounded desperate, especially Dean.
“Please, Y/N. I know you’re pissed at me and I get it but please call me back. Or call Sam. I don’t care. Just as long as we know you’re still with us and that you’re okay.” His tone sounded rough around the edges but considering the context Sam gave you when you did call him (there was no way you were calling Dean, especially not now), you realized they were just desperate to get in touch with anyone, having lost Cas and being the only three forms of life left on the planet.
Dean was right, you were angry. Angry that he’d used you that night, angry that he’d broken your heart in the first place. He had pursued you before you got together, not the other way around. By the time you let your guard down enough to let him in and things kicked off between you, he was deep in. Or so he’d said. By the time he ended things, you were deep in yourself. Now…now you were in even deeper thanks to him, so deep you were pretty sure Dean would haunt you the rest of your life no matter how you tried to shut him out of your heart.
Another tear rolled down your cheek. Though, you’d never meant the word haunt literally.
You wiped your face with your sleeve and let out an aggravated breath before getting to your feet. You grabbed your coat, your emergency bag, your hunting bag, and the car keys from the table near the door. You locked up and got into the car you only used for hunts and grocery trips now, starting it and backing out of the driveway.
It’s not that you doubted what Sam had told you or Sam himself, but you needed to see things for yourself. You turned the car in the direction that would lead you to Kansas.
You opened the door to the Bunker, seeing nothing but darkness greeting you, the clanking of the door being the only sound to echo in the large chamber. That was strange. They never shut it down when they left for hunts. You hit the lights and hearing a loud thrumming sound, you watched as they came back on, one by one. You had your own key since you were also a Legacy. You’d never been more thankful for that fact when you arrived to find the Bunker locked down, no Sam in sight.
You shut the door behind you and dropped your bags near the table. You bit your lip to keep your eyes from welling up when you noticed an unfinished chess game on the table, most likely one that Dean and Cas had been engaged in, but now neither of them would be back to complete it. Instead, you focused on the matter at hand. You pulled your gun out and an angel blade, slipping the latter into your coat pocket in case you needed it. In the other pocket, you slipped a flask of holy water and a small piece of iron bar you could wield if need be. In your gun sat silver bullets; you couldn’t be too careful nowadays. Especially if the word was out to the world of the supernatural that Dean Winchester was gone and only Sam was left now, alone.
You slowly made your way down the stairs, listening intently for any other noises you might hear. All that you could make out besides your footsteps was the low hum of electricity that was commonplace for the old bunker. You cleared the library, the hallways, the kitchen, the shower room, the infirmary, the Dean Cave where you’d been forced to watch The Lost Boys and slasher films more times than you cared to count (you had dug your teeth into your bottom lip to keep from crying when you saw the DVD cover of Tombstone left near the TV), every single room in the place until you came to the one that made a lump form in your throat. You swallowed it back down and forced yourself to focus, raising your gun that much higher. You opened the door and hit the lights, scanning every which way. The room was clear.
You lowered your gun and made your way inside, the lump in your throat back again. Your eyes roamed over the hastily made bed; the empty dog bowls on the floor (which made your brows furrow in confusion slightly); the messy desk; the empty beer bottles on the table; the headphones on the nightstand; the shotguns on the wall; the books scattered about; the load of laundry sitting off to the right in a corner. Memories washed over you and your eyes began to sting as tears welled up.
You’d walked into the room to find Dean jamming out on his bed, listening to music through the headphones he’d insisted on buying on your last trip. You huffed out a laugh and dropped the laundry basket of folded clothes onto the bed, garnering his attention.
He opened his eyes and glanced up to find you smiling at him.
“What are you listening to?”
He held one of the phones away from his ear and you could hear some serious strumming of heavy metal guitar coming out of it. “Huh?”
“I said, what are you listening to?” You asked a little louder.
“What?” He nearly yelled.
You picked up the top item from your pile, his Scooby Doo underthings, and playfully tossed it at him. It landed squarely on his chest and he immediately jumped up as if it had burned him, his cheeks turning redder by the second as he threw the headphones onto the bed.
“You did my laundry?” He asked in horror.
Amazing. You two had explored every single inch of each other time and time again, been sort of rooming together for the past month, but he was embarrassed that you washed his dirty underwear?
You shrugged and began to place his folded clothes on the bed. “I had room in the washer so I figured I’d grab yours, too. You’re welcome.”
“You washed our clothes together?” He sounded genuinely surprised.
You gasped and gave him a mock look of horror. “Oh no, not together.” You tossed a pair of jeans over at him and he caught it in time. “I used detergent, fabric softener, dryer sheets, and everything,” you teased. “But putting it away is where I draw the line, pal. That’s on you.” You pointed to the neat pile sitting on the bed before moving over to the door to head to the room you kept your things in down the hall.
Arms wrapped around you from behind, stopping your trek, and Dean murmured into your ear, “You washed my clothes for me?”
“And folded, too,” you pointed out. “Don’t forget that.”
“Mmm, what else can I get you to do for me?” He grabbed the basket from you and placed it down before gripping your hips and moving in to kiss your neck.
“Hey, I’m not your maid. I had room in the washer, that was it. Don’t get used to this,” you laughed before digging your teeth into your lip when you felt his tongue on a particular part of your skin.
“What if I want to get used to this?” He moved up to your jaw line.
“I’d say you’re SOL. Unless…”
“Unless?” He hummed near your lips.
“Unless you finally let me tidy up this room a little.”
His head shot up, frowning down at you. “What? Why, what’s wrong with how it is now?”
“Well,” You wrapped your arms around his neck. “Some of these papers on the desk need organizing, the books can be put in a stack on the table over there, these empty beer bottles can be thrown out, the shotguns you have near the bed can be put away…”
“There’s nothing wrong with anything you just mentioned,” he grumbled.
“Oh, really? So the other night when you were doing that thing—”
“That thing you really like,” he interrupted, smirking cockily at you.
You had to keep from rolling your eyes and smirking yourself. “When I moved, I knocked into the shotgun and it fell. It almost went off. You remember that?”
“Nothing happened or went off, well, except you.” His smirk got even bigger. “You remember that?”
This time you gently swatted at his shoulder. “Dean.”
He heard the warning in your no-nonsense tone and laughed, leaning in to kiss you. “Alright,” he whispered to your lips. “I’ll put the shotguns up out of the way. But everything else stays.”
You huffed out an exasperated breath. One of these days when he wasn’t looking, you swore you’d do as exactly as you’d suggested. Clear out the empty bottles and stack the books at the very least.
“Hey, it’s all about compromise, right? Speaking of that,” He turned you around in his arms and you were once again facing the laundry basket he’d left on the floor. “Find a space and keep some of ‘em in here.”
A pleasant shock ran through you. “Are you sure?” You whispered.
He slowly turned you back around and gently cupped your chin. “Yeah, sweetheart, I’m sure. You’re practically sleeping in here every night, anyway. I’d rather you not have to put back on the same clothes from the night before or walk naked down to your room. Then again, naked…”
You glared up at him, making him chuckle and brush his lips against yours. “I just didn’t want to crowd you,” you admitted after a moment. “It’s your space. If I’m in here too much, I can—”
“I want you here.” You gazed into his green eyes, unsure, but all you saw staring back at you was softness with a glint of earnestness. He was telling you the truth; he really wanted you to stay.
“Okay,” you agreed with a shy smile.
He beamed at you and then picked you up, making you gasp loudly and wrap your legs around his waist. “Not that you’re gonna be needing them right now.”
You shook your head and kissed him as he walked you both towards the bed. When he had you on it, you could hear the music coming from the forgotten headphones. “Is that…Whitesnake?”
Dean smirked down at you. “Uh huh. One sec.” He reached over, quickly clicked something on his phone, and the music suddenly changed. You smiled when a familiar song started up.
“Really?”
“What? It’s our song.”
You framed his face with your hands, looking up at him affectionately. “Dean Winchester, secretly sentimental and sensitive guy extraordinaire,” you teased him.
“Shut up,” he mumbled. “I’m not any of that crap. It’s the first song we made good use of Baby’s backseat to, that’s all. Now that you’re staying in here, we gotta celebrate.”
Romantic. You rolled your eyes but smiled. “Like I said, sentimental.” You pulled him down to you and kissed him sweetly. Needless to say, he had been right; you hadn’t needed your clothes for a little while.
You took in a ragged breath, your fingers gently touching over the papers on his desk. While you hated the empty beer bottles and you didn’t want to end up possibly shot with a salt round during a passionate moment of sex, you really hadn’t minded how he had things. You knew this was the first home he and Sam ever really had. He could keep things messy or disorganized if he wanted to; he had more than earned the right. It might sound silly to someone else but he deserved to experience living in a home, mess and all, like everyone did at some point in their lives. Not only did he not have a place to do that since he’d been four years old, he’d never felt comfortably settled in anywhere ever to be able to do it. You remembered him and Sam telling you how long it had taken Dean to settle into this room, to think of the Bunker as not just theirs but home. You’d kick the crap out of anyone who tried to take that away from him, and you would be the last person to try to do it yourself. You still thanked him when he hung the shotguns up on the wall; you were beyond grateful. That time, he was the one who went off and quite happily.
A sob nearly tore its way out of your chest when you saw his handwriting on one of the papers. Your fingertips traced each letter. How could he really be gone?
You ran your fingers over an open file, wondering what he had been looking at, when you heard the clicking of nails on the floor behind you. You spun, lifting your gun, to find Sam standing in the doorway, watching you with wide eyes as a dog appeared beside him. That must have been what you’d heard. You lowered the gun and let out a relieved breath. “What are you doing here?”
You winced internally at your question. He had every right to be here, this was his home. You were the intruder.
“The monitoring system we set up… I was alerted that someone was in the Bunker. I locked it down and I know only he and I had the keys, so I didn’t know if…” You watched as he compulsively swallowed.
You turned back to the desk. “I get that. Where were you, by the way? Why did you lock it down?” He didn’t answer for a moment when you glanced over your shoulder at him, seeing his gaze glued to the ground. “Sam?”
His eyes flicked up to yours and he swallowed again. “I was on my way to Austin. For a case. But then…” He gestured towards you. “I turned around and headed back to see.” You noticed he didn’t mention why he had locked the Bunker down but then again, he didn’t really need to. Who else would be coming here now that Dean, Cas, and Jack were gone? Mary was gone as well as most of the other hunters you’d worked with over the past couple of years. Apocalypse World Bobby was still up in Minnesota somewhere. Apocalypse World Charlie and Stevie had moved East, choosing to retire after what happened with Chuck temporarily disappearing everyone. Garth and Bess still lived in their home with their family. Jody and the girls had their own operation up in Sioux Falls with Donna lending a hand every now and then. And you…well, you never told Sam where you were.
You gave him a slow nod and dropped your eyes back down to the desk, running your fingers over the pages of an open lore book Dean had been reading. It was probably ridiculous but you thought maybe you could somehow still feel him here (though you did not want him to be a ghost), that perhaps by touch or sight or smell even that you could somehow connect to what his last days had been like. You wondered if he somehow knew deep down or if he hadn’t seen it coming. Even though he had always told you that he didn’t see a good ending for himself down the road, that he was forever bound to this life, you knew he also secretly fantasized about his life going in a different direction, one he’d included you in once upon a time. You then wondered if there was a girl somewhere who was either waiting for a phone call she would never get or was crying her eyes out because Sam had given her the news like he had you. It hurt to think that maybe he had found someone that he envisioned another future with instead of you, with someone he knew without a shadow of a doubt that Chuck hadn’t inserted into his life as a manipulation or a story device. Someone that he didn’t question what he had with them, if it was real. Though at the same time, you hoped he found a little piece of happiness. You still loved him enough to want that for him.
You briefly closed your eyes in pain when you remembered that last night you spent with him, telling him you loved him. You truly meant it and even though he hurt you again and again, you still did. You forced the thought away and instead chose to focus on the open book in front of you. “What was he working on?” You choked out, quietly clearing your throat once you heard how rough your voice sounded.
You turned the page, seeing mentions of witches and vampires, when you realized Sam never answered you. You glanced back at him, arching your brows in question.
Sam’s eyes were wide and laser focused on your body, his mouth hanging open. Shit.
You should’ve known that despite the dark clothing you were wearing, the long black coat you were sporting, turning away from him, that you wouldn’t be able to hide your secret much longer. Truthfully, it wasn’t even something you’d thought about when you set out for the bunker. Had Sam been here when you arrived, he probably would have seen it then.
You turned towards the younger Winchester and Sam’s eyes flickered up to you. “Are you…?”
“Yes, Sam.”
Sam closed his mouth and swallowed, glancing back and forth between you and your protruding belly. You read the clear question in his eyes that he was burning to ask.
“You’re going to be an uncle.”
Except the few times he’d been close to death, you’d never seen Sam look so pale.
You and Sam sat on the edge of Dean’s bed, Miracle (as you’d come to find out was the dog’s name) laid at your feet, his head on his paws.
“How?” Sam finally asked you.
You snorted in amusement. “You know how.”
“No, I mean… Why didn’t you tell Dean? Did you tell Dean? Because he didn’t tell me and I don’t think that’s something he wouldn’t have told me.”
You wet your lips with your tongue, feeling the heavy weight of guilt and sadness wrap around you once more. “No. I didn’t tell him,” you whispered. It was now the biggest regret of your life, right before the second biggest one of you walking out of the bunker the morning you’d last seen him and not fighting harder to get him to let you back in.
“Were you ever going to?”
Your eyes snapped to Sam at the judgment clear as day in his tone and they narrowed. “No, I wasn’t. He made it pretty clear he wanted nothing more to do with me or anything related to me. So, no, Sam, I wasn’t,” you snapped.
He pressed his lips into a thin line and looked down at his lap.
You turned your gaze forward again, taking a breath to tamp down the familiar anger and resentment that you’d worked so hard to try to let go of. After a moment, you rubbed at your forehead. “Yes,” you muttered. “I don’t know. I think so…”
Sam stayed quiet and let you sort through your thoughts which you were grateful for. You’d been caught completely off guard by the pregnancy yourself. When you found out, you thought back to how you unwisely didn’t take your usual precautions and since you and Dean had broken up long before that, you hadn’t been too concerned with maintaining your birth control.
You’d thought over your options. Bringing a kid into the hunting lifestyle was the worst thing you could do to it. Dean and Sam were living proof. Their mom herself had known it which was why she tried to get out when she married their dad. Not to mention, it would make you vulnerable in your line of work and the kid would always be in danger, always have a target on its back. Plus, you were pretty sure that even if you told Dean, he’d be less than thrilled. He always told you he didn’t want kids, for the very reasons you were now facing. And did you really want to bring a kid into the world that Chuck was about to end, only to have a father who was dismissive of it, or even hated it? You didn’t think Dean would be capable, he’d been great with Jack and Ben after all, but this was different. This kid would have his blood, his genes, would look like him somewhat. Sure, he had that in Emma once and that had torn him up, but this would also be different. This was for the long haul. And that’s only if he even wanted to be in this kid’s life. Which he might opt not to. How could you do that to your child? So you considered choosing to end the pregnancy, which would have been a true mercy given everything stacked against it before it would be born, but eventually you decided otherwise.
You’d heard the baby’s heartbeat on a checkup while you were still mulling it over, and that was it. Dean wanted to know if what you had was real or not? Here it was, its little heart thumping away deep within your body. After that visit, you’d decided the hell with it. You were someone who believed everything happened for a reason, well before things with Chuck went bad though you still operated on this age-old belief most of the time. You were having a kid, one who would be half of you and half of Dean, the love of your life for all intents and purposes. Though it had hurt when he dismissed you that morning, perhaps this had been the reason why he called you out of the blue, wanting you to come to him, and why you went despite knowing what would most likely happen and how much pain it would cause you.
So you made a decision to start pulling out of hunting. Donna rented her family cabin in Hibbing to you. Bobby hadn’t been back since Mary died so it was sitting empty and unused. You hid the pregnancy as best you could but ultimately, once the first trimester was over and you had popped, you couldn’t hide it anymore. Donna found out though she never knew who the father was. She didn’t pry which you appreciated. When she called you to warn you that Billie was making people disappear left and right, a familiar fear clawed at your chest. Not only fear for your child but also the fear of what if Dean found out about it. That was the only thing that kept you from offering to come down to Kansas to help.
“We’re going into some place warded to protect us. You should do the same. I can send you pictures of the sigils they’re using.”
“Okay, thanks. Are you sure you’re going to be alright?”
“Yeah, don’t you worry. We’ll figure this out. You just stay safe in the cabin. You and…well, you know.”
You appreciated her staying discreet when you heard Sam’s voice in the background. “I will. Thanks, D.”
“You betcha. Talk soon.”
You hung up and Donna did indeed send you the pictures. You did your best with what you had but it didn’t matter in the end. The last thing you remembered was painting a sigil on the window and then everything went black. The next thing you knew, you were back at the window, your finger extended towards the glass, the half-finished sigil staring back at you. You noticed the sun was in a different position in the sky than it had been and you immediately grabbed your cell phone. Two days had passed. How?
It hit you then what happened and you dropped the phone with a cry, immediately grabbing at your stomach. You ran for the machine Jody had shipped to you after Donna told her. At the time you’d been annoyed, but right now, you couldn’t be happier at the sheriff knowing about your pregnancy once your baby’s heartbeat echoed throughout the bedroom. You let out a huge sigh of relief, rubbing your belly affectionately. “We had quite a scare there, didn’t we, kiddo?”
It dawned on you then that while you had vanished, you were back, baby and all. Did that mean everyone else was back, too? You went back downstairs for your cell phone and immediately called Donna. Yep, everyone was back, they had all disappeared, and it wasn’t Billie but Chuck who had done it. You asked after Dean and Sam and that was when she told you about Cas and then Jack. You knew both brothers would be devastated, especially Dean, and you considered breaking your radio silence to call him. However, you chickened out at the last second and called Sam instead to check in.
It’s not that a part of you didn’t want to tell Dean he was going to be a father, it was that you were scared of what would happen when you did. Originally, you had feared that he would turn his back on you completely, more importantly on his kid, but now you were worried that maybe it would be the exact opposite. While you would be happy for him to be actively involved in your child’s life as its dad, you also knew Dean. He would try to resume things between you, make it work for the kid’s sake. Just look at how long he tried to make it work with Lisa for Ben’s sake. Not that he didn’t love her and he ended up leaving to protect them, but even Lisa knew his heart wasn’t in it. While that had been for different reasons involving hunting and Sam’s reappearance in his life, he still tried to make it work. But as he’d told you, the family thing didn’t work for him, and besides he already had a family with Sam, Cas, and Jack. You hadn’t missed how he didn’t include you in that group; you supposed you should’ve known then.
You didn’t want him to fake wanting to be with you just to give your kid some semblance of a family life that Dean himself hadn’t really had. You didn’t know if you could take him forcing himself to kiss you goodnight before turning his back on you every single night. Or forcing a smile when he’d come home after a long day and you were the first thing he saw when he stepped inside. It was a ridiculous fear to have, you knew that, and you should be stronger than this — you were stronger than this. Not to mention, you knew you were being selfish and not at all fair to your baby or Dean. But the images kept replaying over and over in your mind, making you flinch, and you told yourself you’d tell him the next day. The next day turned into next week, then the next month. Before you knew it, you were in your third trimester and you were getting a call from his younger brother to inform you of his untimely death.
Maybe that’s really why you raced down here from Hibbing. Maybe that’s why you wanted to see for yourself that he was gone. Not only to confirm that the man who had your heart was gone for good, but also so you could tell him, hoping he might hear it wherever he now was. Or maybe by some act of mercy Jack could relay it to him, wherever Jack was. It was cowardly, you were a coward, and you hated yourself for it. You knew you should have told Dean months ago, after you found out that he and Sam had beaten Chuck, Jack was in charge of the universe now, and the world was not coming to an end anytime soon. Regardless, you couldn’t turn back the clock.
A tear escaped that you quickly wiped away, not caring if Sam saw or not. “You know, when you first told me about Dean, I considered a demon deal.”
Sam’s head snapped up. “No! That’s not what he would want! No!”
You held out a placating hand. “I know. I’m not going to do that.” He seemed to deflate slightly in relief. “I can’t, anyway.” You motioned to your bulging stomach. “I couldn’t do that to my kid. Only be around for 10 years and then poof, I’m gone? Even if it had Dean, if Dean wanted it that is, it’s still terrible to do that to a kid.” You winced slightly when you realized you were saying this to Sam Winchester of all people.
“Dean would’ve wanted it,” he assured you quietly.
You grimaced and dropped your gaze down to the dog who was staring up at you. “Maybe.” You reached down to pet his head.
Sam placed a gentle hand on your shoulder. “He would’ve.”
You stayed quiet for a moment, thinking over his words, when you murmured, “Is there any way to get him back?”
Sam let you go and his hazel eyes began to shimmer. “No,” he choked out. “I, uh, checked with Jack and he said it was his time. So…no.”
“What?” You snapped, getting to your feet. “After everything you’ve done for that kid? He just—”
Sam got to his feet, tenderly cradling your shoulders. “I know. I didn’t want to hear it either but…Jack’s right.” Your jaw dropped, ready to let some f-bombs fly (which you usually tried to avoid since the baby could now hear you), when Sam’s hands moved up to your face, trying to get you to listen. “He was ready to go. Jack confirmed it. Dean’s in Heaven and he’s at peace.”
Tears were on the edge of falling when you heard that. “He’s in Heaven?”
Sam nodded, a tear making its way down his cheek. “Yeah. He is.”
If Dean was in Heaven…well, then that was some consolation at least. Just when he thought he’d never make it there thanks to his being a demon for a short stint, being killed by a Hell Hound, and everything that had occurred over the years — even some of the things he’d done. But that also meant he was gone, for good this time. It was confirmed; he wasn’t coming back. It hit you like a freight train and it punched a huge hole in your chest. You felt as if you were falling, falling, and would never stop. Dean was…gone. “Then he’s…”
“He’s gone,” Sam confirmed. “He’s not coming back.”
Your knees buckled and you nearly fell, Sam thankfully having caught you. You heard a wailing sound but you had no idea where it was coming from until you felt it ripping its way out of your body. Sam gingerly picked you up in his arms and moved you onto the bed. You were violently sobbing and you barely noticed Sam holding you, gently rocking you back and forth, his own tears falling into your hair. Miracle had jumped up and laid next to you, whining quietly and trying to shove his head under your hands, rubbing his body carefully against your belly.
There was no way. No way that this was real. This had to be a nightmare. But when you heard Sam sniffle above you, choking out, “It’s going to be okay, Y/N. I promise, it’s going to be okay,” you knew that it wasn’t. Memories of Dean’s face, his laugh, his smiles, his touch, his scent, the way he looked at you when you’d both been happy together, his kisses, the way he felt like home in a way that no other person or place ever could, the way he made you feel safe — all of it smashed over you like a tidal wave and it didn’t let up. Dean Winchester, the man you’d loved with all of your heart, the man whose child you now carried inside of you, was gone. And there was nothing you could do to bring him back.
Dean had just pulled the Impala over at a beautiful spot, where you could see nature’s beauty for miles. He rested back against Baby and marveled at it all. There was even a double rainbow that showed up and Dean chuckled, knowing that had to be Jack’s doing considering there hadn’t been any rain. Then he wondered if it did rain at all. How did things like that work up here anyhow?
He was still enjoying the view when Jack popped in next to him.
“There he is.” Dean grinned and went to give him a hug before he thought better of it. “Am I still allowed to…you know?”
Jack smiled. “Of course. I like hugs.”
Dean laughed and embraced him tightly. “Thanks, kid. For everything you did up here, I mean. Bobby told me.” He pulled back, clapping his shoulder in thanks. “So, where’s Cas?”
“He’ll be along shortly but first, I need to show you something.”
Dean’s brows furrowed but he shrugged. “Okay.”
Jack placed a hand on Dean’s shoulder and next thing Dean knew, he was back in his old room at the Bunker. “Whoa,” he whispered, thinking Jack and Cas had built the Bunker just for him. He would be able to wait for Sam here, in his home. He hoped the TV in the Dean Cave worked and that he still had access to his music. Baby’s radio had worked so he had high hopes. He was about to thank Jack when his eyes suddenly caught sight of someone in his bed. Well, two someones.
He glanced towards Jack who gave him a subtle nod, silently encouraging him to get closer. Dean shot him a confused look but did move closer. When he caught sight of you, his heart dropped into his stomach. Even being dead, he felt the same exact thing he felt the last time he had seen you. You were the one who got away, or more appropriately, the one he pushed away.
Sure, he’d been confused when he found out everything in his life was a lie when Chuck revealed himself to be a giant dick, but he did love you. He had such trouble reconciling the two: what he knew to be true and what his mind was telling him. No other romantic relationship had worked out for him, all two of them prior to you, and now he knew why. Chuck liked him better on his own, being the guy with no strings attached and rolling through town to save the girl, kill the monsters, get thanked, and move on his way. The only other person Chuck liked having in the Impala regularly was Sam. You, well, you he hadn’t seen coming and after the Big Bad Chuck reveal, he had to wonder why.
He had never meant to hurt you, though he couldn’t seem to stop from doing it. If things weren’t real between you all of this time, he didn’t want to keep pretending like they were. That wasn’t fair to either of you and he certainly didn’t want to continue stringing you along when his heart was no longer in it like it used to be. So he let you go, as painful as it was and as wrong as it felt, he did the right thing by you. Then that night he’d called you out of the blue, he’d been torn up about Cas’ revelations about Jack’s actual role in Billie’s plan, how badly he wanted Chuck gone, and how while he didn’t want to sacrifice the kid, he wanted his and Sam’s freedom more. Without thinking, he’d picked up the phone and dialed you. He shocked himself when he asked you to come over after hearing you weren’t that far away, and you shocked him even more when you agreed.
Dean hadn’t planned for you two to be intimate, but once you were there, right in front of him, it hit him hard how much he missed you, missed what you had together. So he made a move and you let him. He’d put everything he had, everything he felt but couldn’t tell you, into this stolen moment in time between you. And then the next morning, he thought it had all been a dream until he turned his head and saw you laying there, hair adorably disheveled, sheet covering you, doing something on your phone. It briefly reminded him of the many mornings he’d woken to find you in this exact same position, already up after a wild night, searching for cases. He wanted to bask in the comfort and familiarity for a moment longer, but when you turned and smiled at him, greeting him like you always had, he started kicking himself internally. He didn’t want you to think that this meant things would change when he knew they wouldn’t. He was being unfair to you and it wasn’t right. He’d been a selfish bastard and now he had to go into dick mode which would hurt you again. And sure enough, he knew he did when he saw your face fall as he easily dismissed you, not once but twice. He winced at the memory; he certainly didn’t blame you for not taking his calls or returning his voicemails after that.
The truth was that while he had initially been confused about his feelings for you and their validity, he knew he cared deeply about you and the most important thing was keeping you safe. He didn’t want you involved in the Chuck showdown, which is why he rudely dismissed you that morning, making up an excuse of a case in Duluth, something he knew you’d go along with. After watching you leave, as the door closed behind you, his heart fell into his stomach and he felt about three inches tall. He hated hurting you, hated pushing you away, but he knew it was for the best. You needed to be safe; not a target for Chuck.
After Chuck had been defeated and Jack took over, Dean realized in those months that he’d been a grade A idiot when it came to you. Sure, he’d been a cold dick, but he also had been a complete dumbass. He still loved you and he missed the hell out of you. What you had together had been something special that he stupidly threw away. There were quite a few nights after quite a few drinks, he’d picked up his phone and hovered over your number but he never actually called it. How could he even think of asking you to forgive him and give him another chance? After everything he’d said and done? He truly was a selfish bastard.
When he didn’t call, he then switched over to all of the photos and videos he had taken of you and both of you together. As he heard your laughter, saw both of your smiles, watched how you looked at him and the affection you’d shown him, he continued drowning his sorrows. He wanted so much to talk to you, to apologize and explain, and ask if he could come see you, but he never let himself ask. He didn’t deserve it; he knew that.
Now, here you were, asleep on his bed, Miracle curled up next to you. Staring down at you, he wondered how the hell he had ever let you go. And now, he’d never get to hold you again, feel your touch, or even share a conversation with you ever again. Even though Dean was at peace with his fate, regret languished within his chest the more he studied your face. He reached out to brush some hair back over your face but sadness overwhelmed him when he realized he couldn’t even do that small simple touch. Not anymore.
Dean’s eyes narrowed when he noticed an arm curled around you, almost protectively, pinning you to another body. His gaze traveled up that arm to find his younger brother, asleep right behind you. That surprised him but he quickly put two and two together. You must have gone to the Bunker when Sam called you to tell you the news and here you were, in Dean’s room, asleep on his bed with his dog. And while he didn’t begrudge you or his little brother some comfort you both might need, he didn’t like the look of that embrace or that Sam’s face was buried into the back of your neck.
Dean glanced back down at the arm, seeing Miracle staring right up at him. He couldn’t help but smile at the canine who had been his companion for months before he died. “Hey, boy,” he whispered, not sure if he would be heard or not but not wanting to startle you if he was. “How are you?”
Miracle didn’t seem to react at first, not until he got up and moved closer, wagging his tail. Dean went to try to pet the dog, hoping he could at least touch the animal, but he never got that far. His eyes zeroed in on just what Miracle’s body had been blocking.
His wide eyes flicked up to you, to Sam, back to you, and back to your fairly large and round stomach. The hell with being heard and possibly scaring you two. He glanced back to find Jack watching him. “What the hell is going on here, Jack?”
“They’re sleeping.”
“I’m aware of that,” he growled. “But what—”
Just then, Cas popped in next to Jack. When the angel saw Dean, he offered a soft smile. Dean felt himself relax slightly and a part of him wanted to go hug the angel but another part of him was nervous to. Plus, he really wanted to know what the hell was going on. He shifted his eyes towards Jack, his jaw tightening. “What the hell are you showing me?”
Cas glanced towards the bed, realization lighting his features, before he turned to Jack as well.
“The present,” Jack simply answered.
Dean cursed under his breath, not caring that both Cas and Jack could hear him. “The present of what? Because from where I’m standing, it seems like some time has passed.” He gestured towards your stomach. He tried not to be angry with you or Sammy, he really did, but dammit, his brother knew how he felt about you! Him dying didn’t change that! Besides, Sam had something going with Eileen last he knew, whatever happened to that?
“What you’re seeing is a few days after your death.”
Surprise ran through Dean at that revelation. So, this wasn’t some screwed up future scene he was witnessing? His eyes roamed over you, coming to rest once again on your stomach. You were very pregnant, looking as if you might be ready to pop any day now, he wasn’t sure. But one thing was clear; there was no way the baby was Sam’s. Sam wouldn’t have been able to keep that secret from him that long and he just didn’t see you or Sam going behind his back like that while he was alive. You were pissed at him, maybe even hated him, but you would never do that to him. Nor would Sam. The only answer was that you had found someone else and you were starting a family with them. Now he understood your radio silence even more. You might currently be sad at the news of his death, awash in memories in his room to where you’d fallen asleep on his bed and Sam had to comfort you, but you had truly moved on. That burned him even more. While he was happy if you were happy, knowing you’d found someone who wouldn’t break your heart and would treat you better than he ever could, a part of him was saddened by this knowledge. He knew you were too good for him, that you deserved better, but to see it confirmed in such a way, well, it was heartbreaking.
“So if she’s… Then she’s…” He couldn’t even put it into words; it hurt too much.
Jack clasped Dean’s shoulder. “The child is yours, Dean.”
Dean wasn’t alive anymore but if he had been, his heart would have stopped. He turned to Jack, shocked. “What?”
“You’re going to be a father,” Jack supplied, letting him go.
“But…how?” Dean’s gaze fell on you once more.
Cas suddenly appeared on his other side. “You don’t remember how you conceived the child?”
“What? No, I just…”
“Dean,” Jack called.
When he turned to look at the new God, the latter held up a glowing finger to him that almost reminded him of that movie E.T. “What are you gonna do with that? Check my temperature?” Speaking of E.T., hadn’t that been one of the last movies picked for movie night before the Chuck showdown?
Jack smiled and touched the finger to his forehead. Within seconds, Dean was reliving every single moment between you two:
…When you’d met.
…When he decided he’d liked you while you decided you didn’t like him too much.
…His constant flirting and trying to win you over.
…Your begrudging friendship that then grew into something more.
…Your relationship.
…Your breakup.
…All of the times you’d been in pain because of him.
…That last night.
…The next morning.
Then the memories shifted to yours from after that morning:
…You finding out about the pregnancy a couple of months later.
…Your hemming and hawing over calling him to tell him.
…Your fears.
…When you’d vanished with everyone else.
…Your panic upon your reappearance.
…The time you spent getting ready to retire from hunting and set up a normal life in Hibbing while preparing for the baby.
…The call from Sam with the news of his death.
…Your regret at not telling him about his child and your drive down here.
…Your conversation with Sam.
…Your collapsing in grief at finally realizing that he was gone and not coming back.
All of it that led to the scene he was witnessing now. He felt everything you felt, heard every thought, saw every tear, every smile.
By the time Jack pulled away, Dean’s eyes were wet. He wasn’t sure how he was able to produce tears as a dead man but he did. Not only did he feel how deeply he’d hurt you, but he also felt just how deeply you loved him. He already knew he’d been an idiot when it came to you, but he really had no clue before this just how incredibly stupid he’d been. It had always been real between you. That hadn’t been Chuck. Not by a long shot.
Dean discreetly wiped his eyes. “Send me back.” His tone was firm and he wasn’t really asking.
“I’m sorry, Dean, but your time on Earth is up.”
Dean turned a menacing glare onto Jack. New God or not, he didn’t care. “She’s having my kid and she needs me. They both need me. Sam, too. After everything I’ve done for this world, you owe me.” Jack stared him down, unbothered by the taller man’s attempt to make demands. “Now I appreciate the Fixer Upper: Heaven Edition, I really do, but I should be with them. I deserve a shot at this and you know it.”
Jack mused on that for a moment before staring up at Dean sadly. “I’m afraid it doesn’t work like that.”
Dean scoffed. “Then why bother showing me any of this? Why bother telling me that it’s my kid she’s about to have? What’s the point, dammit?”
“You were afraid that you had left nothing behind of value, except Sam and your beloved car. Afraid that your life hadn’t amounted to anything in the end. No matter how many people you saved, no matter how many connections you made, no matter what good you did. ” Jack gestured towards you. “It did amount to something. You are leaving behind something, something important. A legacy,” Jack gestured to your stomach. “A family,” he waved his hand over you and Sam.
Dean’s jaw clenched and he ignored the stinging in the corner of his eyes. “So this was just to show me what I can never have. The girl, the kid, the life…that’s just aces,” he muttered.
“No, Dean,” Cas spoke up. “What Jack is trying to explain is—”
“--your life amounted to more than you thought it had,” Jack finished.
Dean watched as Miracle went back and curled up against your belly once more, his head on his paws as he watched the scene in front of him. The corner of Dean’s lips tipped up into a smile. It was almost as if the dog knew it was his kid in there. And he was determined to protect it in Dean’s absence. His smile faded though when he thought of how he wouldn’t be able to see his kid, at all. He’d had enough of this. “That’s great. Appreciate the pep talk, fellas. Now, if you could send me back so I can actually raise my legacy and take care of my family, that’d be much appreciated.”
Jack and Cas exchanged a glance. Dean knew he wasn’t winning this one but that didn’t mean he wouldn’t keep trying. “It’s not your time yet,” Jack answered cryptically.
Dean’s head snapped in his direction. “What the hell does that mean?”
“It means that now your time is in Heaven, not Earth. And it’s best if you return to it.” Before Jack could snap his fingers, Dean held up a hand.
“Whoa, wait! That’s it? You’re not even gonna let me stick around to see what I’m gonna have?”
Jack smiled once more. “You’re going to have a son. A strong, healthy son.”
Dean reeled from that information. “A son?” He choked out.
Jack gave him a happy nod and held his fingers up again.
“Wait, wait! I’m serious, Jack. Why can’t I stick around?”
“You know what happens to ghosts, Dean. Besides, you’ve already been admitted to Heaven.”
“But you can do something about that, right? Like bring me back?” When Jack didn’t respond, Dean became desperate. “At least let me check in on them every now and then or something! You’re telling me you can’t even do that? You’re freaking God!”
Jack’s smile faded. “You’re not an angel, Dean.”
“No,” Cas interrupted. “But I am.” Cas stretched out his wings that were a lot brighter than Dean remembered. If he wasn’t dead, he was pretty sure he would at they very least be blinded from the brightness right about now. “I can take him back when he’s ready and I can escort him on any future visits.”
Dean was shocked but also beyond grateful at Cas’ offer. While they hadn’t spoken yet about how things were left between them before The Empty took away the angel, he couldn’t imagine it would be easy for Cas to watch as he pined over someone else, as he watched his kid grow, but Dean was grateful all the same.
Jack appeared to think this over before meeting Cas’ intent gaze. “You will make sure to bring him back each time.” At Cas’ nod, Jack gave him a knowing yet affectionate smile. “I expect you to keep to the rules during these visits.”
“Of course,” Cas agreed.
Jack then glanced over at Dean. “If you’re worried about her and your child, you don’t need to be. Sam is going to watch over them.” Dean’s eyes widened slightly and his head snapped in your direction, his eyes shifting to Sam’s arm around you.
“What the hell does that mean?” He demanded.
“It means that your family is going to be safe. They’re going to stick together. Sam is going to help Y/N raise your son. He won’t allow any harm to come to them.”
His jaw tightened, thinking it should be his arm over you, him behind you, him helping you raise your kid, you two together. He should be the one to take his son fishing, teach him about girls when he got older, show him how to keep Baby going, be the father his old man had the potential to be but minus a few things. He’d do whatever it took to keep the kid out of hunting, to give him a shot at a full happy life. He’d give up hunting himself in order to make it happen. And you…if you’d take him back, he’d never leave your side. Hell, he’d marry you if you let him. After Jack had caught him up to speed on everything you went through, everything you had felt and were feeling, he’d spend the rest of his life making it up to you, letting you know every single day just how much he loved you, if only you’d let him. If only Jack would allow him to come back. It felt beyond wrong that he wasn’t there and Sam was stepping into his place. Sam shouldn’t have to; he should be able to go and build his own family with Eileen or whoever, get married, have a couple of kids, buy a house, get out of hunting and go back to school — do whatever he wanted with his life. Not this.
“Dean.”
His eyes slowly lifted to Jack’s, who was a lot closer now than he had been before. He laid a reassuring hand on the man’s shoulder. “It’s as it should be. After you died, Sam was lost. She’s going to need help when the child is born.” He stared at Dean meaningfully. “They all need this.”
Dean’s gaze briefly roamed over the three of you on the bed before landing on Jack again. He thought back to his cryptic words from before. “Will I ever meet my kid? Get to see her again? Outside of Heaven?”
Jack’s expression didn’t change nor did he say anything but he squeezed his shoulder. That was the only response Dean was going to get apparently.
Dean huffed a snort and shook his head.
“I told you, Dean. There would be no more meddling with the world from on high. I will not repeat Chuck’s mistakes. Everything is as it should be.”
Dean’s jaw clenched and he dropped his gaze. No, everything wasn’t as it should be. He made up his mind then to talk to Bobby when he got back. There had to be something he could do to get back to Earth, to get back to you and Sam and the baby…to get back to you all. If he couldn’t convince Jack to send him back, he’d find some other way.
Jack released him as Cas came to stand next to Dean. “I’ll see you back in Heaven.” He then looked at Cas. “Not too long.”
Cas gave him a nod and like that, Jack disappeared, leaving the angel and the hunter alone. Dean wasn’t thinking about how that might have set them up to talk about Cas’ last words to him before dying; right now, his focus was on you.
“Cas, please…can I touch her?”
“Dean…”
“Please,” he begged. “Just one last time. I’m not gonna get to be with her or raise my kid. I just want to touch her one last time. Please, Cas.”
Cas thought it over and then moved closer to the bed, leaning down to place two fingers against your forehead. Dean’s brows furrowed when he noticed a golden glow appear from the touch. “Whoa, whoa, Cas. What are you doing?”
“I’m giving you what you asked for. Y/N’s a light sleeper, like all of you hunters. If she wakes up, she could think she’s being attacked by a ghost or some other entity. I doubt you want that.” He pulled away and gave Dean a look.
“No,” Dean quietly agreed. Cas moved away to make room to let him in. Dean gingerly sat on the bed, about to touch you when he glanced up at the angel, unsure. Cas gave him a nod and Dean turned to gently run the backs of his fingers down your cheek. He felt your warm and soft skin this time when he came into contact with you and he let out a small breath of relief, sadness filling his chest.
“I’m so sorry, Y/N. Had I known, I would’ve…” He supposed it didn’t really matter what he would’ve done. “I should’ve been there. You shouldn’t have had to go through all this alone. I should be there with you now, ready to help you take care of the kid. I…” He tenderly moved your hair behind your ear. “I’m sorry, sweetheart. I never wanted to hurt you, but I had to keep you safe. I didn’t want you to become a target for Chuck. And I never should’ve…” He could feel a familiar stinging at the corners of his eyes and he wasn’t surprised that his voice was a bit gruffer when he next spoke. “I knew what we had was real. I know I questioned it for a second there but I always knew. That’s why it was so important to me that you were safe. But it doesn’t make what I did and said okay. And I’m sorry for that.” He ran his fingers lightly over your lips, wishing he could kiss you one last time, feeling you kissing him back. “I love you,” he whispered, a single tear falling down his cheek that he hastily wiped away. He stroked the apple of your cheek tenderly with his thumb. “And I always will.”
Not really wanting to pull away from you but knowing he was on a time clock, he reluctantly moved his fingers away from your face and laid his hand on your belly. He couldn’t feel anything except the taut skin underneath his fingertips, but it was enough to make him smile. “Being that you’re my kid, you’re probably going to give your mom a run for her money. Try not to make her too crazy, huh?” He let out a watery sounding laugh. “I’m sorry I can’t be there but your Uncle Sammy is going to make sure you and your mom are taken care of. Okay? He’s going to show you how to toss a ball around, help you with your homework, all that stuff. Just do me a favor, though. Don’t let him feed you kale the whole time and don’t let him get you into his true crime podcasts. The guy is a classic nerd, don’t let him turn you into one, too.” His smile slowly faded. “Saying all that, he’s one of the best guys I've ever known and I know he’ll be good to you, be good to your mom. So cut him some slack when you get older, alright?” He rubbed his thumb in gentle circles. “Take care of your mom for me. I’ll be watching over both of you. I hope I get to meet you someday.” Unable to resist, he leaned down and pressed a kiss to your stomach before sitting up and coming face to face with Miracle. The dog quietly whined and Dean gave him one last good head scratch. “You look out for them, okay buddy?” The dog whined again and Dean patted him.
“Dean,” Cas gently called.
Dean nodded and slowly got to his feet. His eyes shifted to Sam who was sound asleep, giving him a soft smile. “Thanks for taking care of them, Sammy,” he whispered. He didn’t vocalize that it was only temporary, that he was hell bent and determined to find a way to get back. His eyes then landed on you and he reached out to you one last time, trailing a fingertip along the dried tear tracks on your cheek. “Cas, can we just stay until they wake up?”
“Dean, Jack said—”
“I know what Jack said,” Dean snapped, glancing back at the angel whose parted lips pressed into a thin line. Dean immediately felt sorry for snapping at him; it wasn’t Cas’ fault and he wasn’t angry with him. He softened his tone. “I just want to be here when she wakes up. That’s all.” Cas seemed to be wrestling with his request. “Please, Cas,” he begged. “I just want to see her like this, awake.” He was slightly embarrassed at admitting that to his best friend but he wasn’t sure when he’d be allowed to visit again (and what he might be able to figure out to get himself back or how long it would take), and he had the strongest urge to see you up and about, walking around, pregnant with his kid. Not to mention he wanted to hear your voice one last time. “Please,” he whispered in a broken plea.
Cas stared at him for a moment before giving him a nod. “But after she wakes, we go back.”
“Thank you, Cas.” He meant it. While he highly doubted Cas would get into any real trouble on his behalf, he knew how difficult it must be for the angel to unwillingly push against Jack’s rules. Dean turned back to you, carefully sitting down next to you, caressing your face. “Sleep, sweetheart. I’ll keep you safe,” he murmured. He also made you a silent promise: he would do whatever it took to get back to you. His eyes briefly roamed to your stomach. To get back to both of you. Fate and the universe and all that crap be damned.
A/N: Please don't hate me.
Please let me know if you would like to be tagged for this character.
dividers by @firefly-graphics
banner by @cafekitsune
#dean winchester x female reader#dean winchester x reader#dean winchester x y/n#dean winchester fanfiction#sleep i'll keep you safe#thebiggerbear writes
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Here are those fic recs I promised you @incesthemes ! I hope there's some in there that you'll really enjoy <3 I split up the recs into overarching tropes to group some together, but I'll start with those that don't fit into any of the groups.
The list got a bit long, so I decided to split it up into two parts.
(Part 1 | Part 2)
Courting Death by theproblematique.
Summary: Sam Winchester lived the first six months of his life in a happy family; the next twelve years as John Winchester's only son, and the last decade as an orphan. He's supposed to die at twenty-two trying to save the woman he loves from a fire, because he doesn't have a brother to pull him back. But the night Sam meets his Reaper he discovers that Death is overly fond of pop-culture references, too beautiful to be real, and reluctant to kill him.
Servant of Servants 'verse by klove0511.
This is a two-part series (though I think it might've been intended to have more fics, its ending doesn't leave you feeling snubbed), posing the question: "what if it had been Sam who'd been mortally wounded at the end of Season 1?"
love potion no. 9 by according2thelore.
Summary: Dean drinks a love potion. Sam is falling apart at the seams because he's been in love with his brother for more than a decade.
keep me in a daydream by according2thelore.
Summary: After an accidental kiss makes a hunt go suspiciously well, Sam and Dean decide to try it again. And again. And again. It's no different from wearing lucky socks, right? A 5 + 1.
for you and me (i got no alibi) by remy.
Summary: There are people hitting on Sam wherever he goes, and Dean is doing weird things like holding doors open for him and touching him way more than is necessary, and it's all driving Sam up the wall. It doesn't help that he's been in love with Dean for just about forever, and all of it feels like a mockery of something he'll never get to have. Meanwhile, Dean is at his wits' end trying to figure out how he can make Sam realize that he is, in fact, trying to get into his pants.
Ben Has Two Dads by regala_electra.
Summary: When Ben turns thirteen and learns that Dean Winchester is his father, he runs away to join his father (and uncle). A tale where boys are boys, Vikings are Vikings, unicorns go to Candy Mountains, Dean and Sam are in big gay love, and Ben becomes a Winchester.
Last Temptation by merle_p.
Summary: Sam is running a fever again, the kind of fever no Ibuprofen or cold compress will bring down, the kind of fever that is eating him up alive, eviscerating him from the inside. He is too hot and too cold and too pale, delirious and shaking, resonating with whatever divine energy the trials are subjecting him to, and Dean is not sure how much longer he can stand to see him be in this state. Because Sam is quite possibly dying, and there is nothing Dean can do to stop it. Because Sam is dying, and he just. Won’t. Shut. Up.
Five Times Dean Forgot and One Time He Remembered by elsi.
Summary: Rowena warned him the obliviate curse might have “aftershocks.” That Dean could relapse to his amnesiac state without warning—though only temporarily, she assured. But this? This goes beyond calling a lamp a “light stick.”
Whatever It Is by theproblematique.
Summary: Both Sam and Dean get sent to the year 2014.
Take My Hand (Take My Whole Life, Too) by TeacupUnicorn.
Summary: Sam and Dean get handcuffed together during a hunt. With a werewolf on their tail and a proximity to each other they haven’t had since they were kids, their unstable relationship is put to the test and their trust in each other is pushed to the limit. Set sometime after 5x16 and before 5x20.
Not Her Sam by Yuval25.
Summary: Future Dean goes back in time to change the future and saves Jess. Future Sam tags along unexpectedly. And Jess is okay. No, seriously. She's fine.
Mistaken For a Couple
101 - mythology by ani_coolgirl.
Summary: As Sam, Dean, and Kali flee Lucifer's slaughter, Kali makes an assumption. The boys try to clear up any misconceptions. They don't do a very good job.
I need you so much closer by cherryvanilla.
Summary: five times they're mistaken for a couple plus one time they actually are.
Domesticity
Paisley by samsexualdeancurious.
Summary: After his mind wall was broken and was healed, Sam knows he can’t be a hunter anymore, so he and Dean retire, and Sam ends up finding a homeless dog who was abused and together they heal.
The Chicago Verse by compo67.
This is a series spanning a whopping 169 fics. I've read only a few of them and I enjoyed Sam and Dean retiring in this town together. It's still updating, looks like, since the latest fic added was in May of this year.
a few things worth saying by hathfrozen.
Summary: “So this morning,” Dean ventures as they blast down the highway in pitch black night toward a probable werewolf case. Sam looks over at him, thin eyebrows raised, eyes clear and calm. He’s not even difficult about it, doesn’t ask what Dean is after, doesn’t deny what had happened. Instead he says, very simply, “I just figure, why lie?” Alright then.
All The Way In by hunters_retreat.
Summary: Sam never did know how exactly it happened. One day, he and Dean were run ragged, exhausted from yet another disaster of a hunt, no money and no gas, no prospects and no allies left alive to give them a hand. The next, they owned a store with a shooting range and Sam was a professor of religious studies at a local community college.
Pre-Series & Season 1
To Blow Against the Wind by dreamlittleyo.
Summary: After Oasis Plains, Sam and Dean can't. Stop. Touching each other.
Star-Crossed by Agent_Hellcat.
Summary: Before Sam departs for Stanford, he writes a letter to Dean, begging him to come to Palo Alto with him.
Birthday Suit by wincestation.
Summary: On the morning of Dean’s eighteenth birthday, Dad takes him to buy a suit. Sam is… interested.
house song by according2thelore.
Summary: “The werewolf.” Sam says, quick. Hushed. Scared. “I don’t know how. I was—He was standing above you and then he wasn’t. And I think I did that.” Dean keeps whispering stuff to Sam, banal reassurances that Sam soaks up like a sponge, but he feels sick. Sammy did something impossible. Sammy’s been doing impossible things. For years. Or: Pre-Canon/Teen!chesters AU in which Sam develops powers at age eleven, Dean will do anything to protect him, and they have to live with the consequences
Outsider POV
What I've Done by Amoreanonyname.
Summary: He wasn’t going to say anything more about it. He could tell, Dean was happy to see him, but wasn’t going to humor this topic. Dean, young Dean would jump to obey John, to answer John’s questions, but this was an older Dean who was more loyal to someone else now. More loyal to his brother. John wasn’t the priority here, and he realized with another guilty jump in his stomach that he never should have been.
something you love and understand by monsterq.
Summary: In heaven, Mary makes an unwelcome discovery about her sons’ relationship.
a skeleton terribly restless by remy.
Summary: Mary knows she doesn't fit right in this strange new world she's woken up in, with these grown men masquerading as her sons, but she tries her best. She really does. She closes her eyes to all the things she does not want to see, and she lies to herself until she's convinced. Until she can't.
Flowers on the Window Sill by orphan_account.
Summary: Sam and Dean Winchester's relationship as observed by the good people of Star's Hollow.
Soulmates
Fix You by non_tiembo_mala.
Summary: After their encounter with Famine, the boys are in dire straits. With Dean left shaken by the horseman's taunts - which rang truer than he'd like to admit - and Sam juiced up on demon blood again, Dean is at a loss. He has no idea how to move forward, or where they're meant to go from here. Then again, they’ve always had each other - perhaps their salvation isn't as far away as it seems.
All Too Familiar by sammichgirl.
Summary: Sam's new hobby has consequences they never saw coming. Turns out, that's OK with Dean after all.
What We Do by BleedingInk.
Summary: Castiel catches Sam and Dean in a compromising position.
since feeling is first by queenklu.
Summary: That he wants to think this is Dean yanking a leash should make his blood run cold, not aching hot. It should make him sick, angry, it should get his fucking hackles up and make him fight. He does want to fight. But there’s a skin-thin line between primal things, and fighting isn’t all he wants to do.
if the dam breaks open many years too soon by deirde_c.
Summary: Sam’s soul springs a leak, and Dean’s the one who can repair it.
In the beached margin of the sea by rivers_bend.
Summary: Sam and Dean black out on a hunt, and when they wake up, Dean's having visions and Sam can't get new, strange feelings out of his head. When John finds out about the side effects, he'll do anything to get rid of the "curse". But Sam and Dean don't want to go back to the way things were before.
I Don't Need A Symbol by amoreanonyname.
Summary: It hadn’t meant that much to Sam at first. A warm glow at being able to do something nice for Dean, to give him something for once, to make him as happy as he seemed when he put it on immediately. It was what it meant to Dean that made it mean something else to Sam.
#wincest#samdean#fic recs#rec list#part 1#og post#so here it is!!#this took me way too long 💀 sorry about that#tumblr also been giving me sooo much trouble formatting this ugh#if anything doesnt work or looks wonky lmk and i'll try to fix it!#hope you enjoy the fics!!<3
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