Sin City | Supernatural Series Rewrite | Dean Winchester x Fem!Reader
Pairing: Dean Winchester x Fem!Reader
Warnings: arguing! angst! recovering from a sexual assault (please heed this warning), light smut (MDNI!!! 18+ only), mentions of suicide, canon violence, canon gore
Word Count: 7341
A/N: His beautiful face I will scream and cry
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You and the brothers decided to bunk somewhere between Black Rock, New York, and Bobby’s house in Sioux Falls, South Dakota. Although Sam knew about your relationship with Dean, Dean still got two separate rooms for you and the brothers. For a reason you couldn’t quite place, that bothered you.
He eventually did come to your separate room, and you immediately grilled him. “Why do you keep getting us two separate motel rooms?”
Dean seemed stunned.
“I mean, it’s not a big deal, but I don’t know… are you ashamed to be with me? Like, do you not want Sam to see us sleeping together? If you are, I’d rather you just tell me—”
Dean shook his head. “No, (Y/N), why would you think that?” he said. “I just wasn’t sure if you’d be comfortable staying with Sam. And… I don’t necessarily wanna have sex in the bed next to my brother,” he finished.
“Oh, so you thought we were gonna have sex tonight?” you questioned angrily.
“What? No! I wasn’t—”
“Because sometimes I feel like that’s all I am to you, Dean! Like I’m just one of your fucking hookups!” you shouted.
“Why the fuck would you think that?!” he argued. “When have I ever given you that impression?!”
“Oh, I don’t know, maybe because whenever we get in the doorway of emotional vulnerability, your solution is to have sex,” you chided. “Maybe because you can’t even tell me how you feel about me. I mean, I’ve poured my heart out to you, and I feel like you’re not even letting me in a little bit!”
“Why is now the first time you’re bringin’ any of this up?” Dean responded. “Maybe if you would’ve talked to me about this, I could’ve fixed it before you freaked the fuck out on me.”
“Because I feel like if you really cared about me, I wouldn’t have to ask you to prove it to me!”
“I thought that’s what I was doing!” Dean argued. “I mean, (Y/N), when was the last time you saw me even look at another girl?!”
“You looked at Bela!”
“You did, too!”
You considered for a moment, and unfortunately, he was right.
“I mean, seriously. When’s the last time I’ve stayed more than a few nights with a girl? If I didn’t give a shit, I wouldn’t be here having this conversation right now. And I told you—!” he cut himself off, seeming to feel awkward. “I told you how I felt. Not in the most direct way, but still!”
“Dean, don’t you think I might wanna actually hear you say it before you go and die on me?!”
“So that’s what this is about. About my deal?” he scoffed.
“It’s not just about your deal, Dean,” you huffed, “it’s about the fact that I wanna know you love me before you’re gone. I wanna… I wanna be yours, Dean. And I wanna know what’s going on in your head. God, I mean, is that so much to ask for?!” Your voice became louder again. “I mean, you’re gonna die in a year, and you’re acting like you’re goin’ to fuckin’ Vegas. I know you’re fucking terrified, and you won’t talk to me about it!”
“What do you want me to say, (Y/N)?! That I regret making that fucking deal? ‘Cause I don’t,” Dean shot back, and that stung you even more. “I am scared, okay? But I’m not gonna live every day whinin’ about it, either. And I figure, you got so much goin’ on in your head, I might as well not screw you up even more with my problems.”
“You’re right, I do have a lot going on. But you’re not gonna burden me with your problems, Dean,” you responded, voice still angry, but considerably quieter. “I want all of you—” you stepped forward and cupped his face in your hands— “the good, the bad, the ugly; all of it.” Tears welled in your eyes. “I love you. I do. And… I understand if you can’t say it back. I’m not gonna lie to you, it hurts, but I can also… try to understand if you don’t wanna say it.”
Dean grabbed your wrists and pulled them away from his face. He kissed the inside of your right wrist, brought both your hands down between the two of you holding them there, and stared down at you intensely. “I do, I just—” he grimaced in frustration, “I’ve never told anybody. Ever. Not even Sam.”
Your eyebrows shot up. “Ever? Not even Cassie?”
He shook his head.
“Damn.”
“Do you get why it’s hard now?” he asked.
You nodded.
“And I— I do wanna show you. I’m trying, (Y/N),” he whispered, and your heart suddenly clenched with guilt, “it’s just…” Dean trailed off, unable to find the words. “I don’t wanna hurt you after what you went through.”
“I won’t break, Dean,” you replied, voice soft. “I’m a tough cookie.”
He chuckled. “Yeah. I know.”
“I’m sorry,” you said, becoming serious once more.
“You don’t have to apologize.”
“Yeah, I do,” you insisted. “I’m… on edge. I should’ve brought this up differently.”
“Can’t disagree with you there,” he commented, “but I’m sorry, too. And if it really bothers you that much, we’ll have a sleepover with Sam next time.”
You giggled, remembering the stupidity of the origin of your fight. Slightly embarrassed, you covered your eyes with your hand.
Dean took your hand away from your eyes and wound it around his neck, leaning down to kiss you. His kisses were always incredibly passionate and often quite fierce, but this one was different. It was tender and seemed to convey everything he couldn’t say aloud.
You were surprised when he pulled away. “Where you goin’?” you asked as he headed to the bathroom.
Dean turned around and cocked his head at you. “To take a shower…?”
“You’re not gonna—” you gestured to the rest of you.
He shook his head. “I thought that was what we just fought about.”
“I mean, it was, but still. Just surprised, is all,” you shrugged.
“This may come as a shock to you, but not all men are horny animals, sweetheart,” Dean smirked.
You rolled your eyes. “The jury’s still out on that one.”
***
Later that evening, you were tucked into Dean’s side. His skin was smooth to the touch, and you loved the shaky breaths you pulled from Dean when you’d rake your nails along his abs.
“You gotta stop doin’ that,” he groaned.
“Hmmm, why?” you smirked.
“ ‘Cause,” he returned, the ends of his lips pulling upward.
“That’s not a very good reason,” you said, trailing down closer to the edge of his v-line.
Dean gripped your wrist and pulled you flush against him. “Such a tease,” he growled against your lips.
You kissed him with a grin and pulled away after a moment. “Fine, fine, I’ll stop.” You laid against him, his head nestled under your chin and resting on top of your naked breasts. You found Dean really enjoyed using them as pillows.
“Can I ask you something?” Dean murmured.
“Anything,” you replied.
“What happened earlier?” You knew he was referring to what happened with Willem Dafoe in the motel room. He must have felt you tense under him when he asked. “You don’t have to answer; it’s fine—”
“No, no,” you cut him off. “I wanna tell you.”
Dean pulled away from you and adjusted himself on his pillow until the two of you were eye-level in the bed.
“The guard,” you swallowed, “he- he held my hands behind my back. Had me on my stomach. I just… I freaked out.”
Dean looked angry, but you knew it wasn’t at you. “I swear, I’ll fuckin’ track ‘im down and kill him—”
“No, no.” You closed your eyes and took a deep breath.
Dean grabbed the hand you had curled into your chest and stroked it with his thumb. “What do you need me to do?”
“I don’t know,” you answered honestly.
“Is that why you freaked out about the sex earlier?” Dean asked.
You nodded.
“Jesus, (Y/N), I didn’t—”
“Dee, I know. It’s okay,” you answered, squeezing his hand. “And it’s not just that, y’know? I still want you to show me that you love me through means other than sex.”
Dean nodded.
“And I still… I still wanna have sex. We haven’t had sex in, like, four months, and it sucks for me, too. I mean, sex with you is like, the greatest thing in the fuckin’ world, but it’s just… it’s hard for me right now.”
He nodded, and then a coy grin spread across his face. “Is it really the greatest thing in the world?”
“Oh, fuck off,” you sighed dramatically, shoving him away from you and rolling to your other side.
Dean’s arms wrapped around you, and he pressed kisses to your neck. “Hey, be nice,” he said between kisses, “or I’ll withhold the greatest thing in the world.”
You giggled. “You wouldn’t dare.”
“Watch me.”
Feeling brave, you turned your face toward him and kissed him passionately. You turned around to face him once more, and Dean rolled on top of you. He ran his hands all over your torso. He was careful to avoid your breasts, and you were grateful he was trying to respect your boundaries.
You broke the kiss and grabbed his hand, guiding it to your right breast without breaking eye contact with him. A deep hunger filled his eyes, and he quickly leaned back down to kiss you fervently. He squeezed your breasts and kissed down your neck while you threaded your hands through his hair. When his lips reached your nipple, he looked back up at you. “Is this okay?” Dean asked.
You nodded, heat flooding you. The touch of his lips to your skin made goosebumps erupt all over you, and your back arched into him.
Dean pulled your nipple between his teeth, teasing the bud with his tongue. You writhed underneath him, tugging at his hair, and the action only spurred him on further.
When he moved further down your stomach, though, you began to get a bit nervous. Dean noticed your body tense, and he immediately looked up to you. “Are you okay?”
You began to cry. “I don’t know,” you admitted, bringing your hands to your face in shame.
Dean immediately climbed off you and tried to pull your hands from your eyes. “What’s goin’ on? Talk to me.”
You looked at him with watery eyes. “I can’t. I want to, but I can’t.”
“Sweetheart, we don’t have to. Not till you’re ready,” he assured you, running his hand along your hip.
“Yeah, but we don’t have that much time left. I want to before you—” you cut yourself off, shutting your eyes and taking in a shuddering breath.
“Listen, we got ten months left. We’ll work our way up to it, okay?” Dean promised.
“But what if you lose interest in me because I’m—” you tried to think of a way to phrase your next statement— “out of commission?”
Dean shook his head, chuckling. “Sweetheart, I love sex, and I love having sex with you, but it’s not the only reason I’m into you,” he assured you. “We won’t do anything until you’re ready.”
“But I thought I was, and look what happened,” you lamented.
“Just means you weren’t ready today,” he shrugged. “And I don’t blame ya. It hasn’t been that long, and you just had that thing happen today. It’s okay, seriously.”
“Are you sure?” you asked.
Dean nodded.
“You’re not lyin’ just to make me feel better?”
He shook his head.
“Like, absolutely positive—”
“Oh, shut up, (Y/N),” he said, pulling you into him and tucking your head into his chest.
You giggled and relaxed against him, wrapping your small arms around his waist. He kissed the top of your head, and you matched your breathing to the rising and falling of his chest beneath yours. Within minutes, the both of you were off to sleep.
***
Over the next few days, Bobby and Dean worked on the Colt you handed over to the older man. Their objective was to figure out a way to have it back to being able to kill demons which you knew Bobby was planning on using to figure out how to save Dean from his deal.
You and Sam were on research duty searching for demons.
“Think I got somethin’,” Sam announced from the messy kitchen table.
You and the other two men looked at him expectantly.
“Dry lightning and barometric-pressure drop,” he continued. “Plus, some guy blows his head off in a church and another goes postal in a hobby shop before the cops take him out. Might be demonic omens.”
Dean shrugged. “Or it could just be a suicide and a psycho scrapbooker.”
“Meh, but it’s our best lead since Lincoln,” you added. “Where in Ohio?”
“Elizabethville. It's a half-dead factory town in the rust belt,” Sam replied.
Dean sighed. “There’s gotta be a demon or two in South Beach.”
“Sorry,” Sam grinned. “Maybe next time. How's it going, Bobby?”
“Slow,” the older man responded.
“I tell you, it's a little sad seeing the Colt like that.” Dean nodded toward the deconstructed marvel of weaponry.
“Well, the only thing it's good for now is figuring out what makes it tick,” Bobby said, not looking up from the gun.
“So, what makes it tick?” Sam smirked.
Bobby looked up, not amused.
Sam held his hands up in surrender, and you giggled.
“So, if we want to go check out these omens in Ohio,” Dean began, standing up, “you think you can have that thing ready by this afternoon?”
You and Sam snickered while Bobby stared at him incredulously.
“Well, it won't kill demons by then, but I can promise you, it'll kill you.” Bobby jokingly aimed the barrel at Dean.
“Alright,” Dean smiled, “c’mon, we’re wastin’ daylight.”
“See ya, Bobby,” you said, grabbing your duffel bag off the seat next to you.
You and the boys headed for the door.
“Hey!”
The three of you turned back to face Bobby.
“You kids run into anything— anything— you call me.”
You nodded and left wordlessly.
***
You met with a priest who, in fact, watched the man commit suicide. Something notable you learned from the priest was that the man went to church every Sunday up until about two months ago. The town had even changed; people just became “unrespectable,” in his words. Additionally, the other man who’d killed himself had changed, too.
As you’d left the church, Sam had commented, “Two months ago, we open up the devil's gate; all of a sudden, this town turns into Margaritaville? It's no coincidence.”
Now, the three of you were heading a motel room. A shared one, at that. It made you happy to get to share the room with the boys, strangely; you guessed it just made you feel like less of an outsider and more a part of their family.
As you opened the door, though, Dean’s voice turned you around. “Richie?”
You turned to see a man exiting the room across the hall.
“I don’t believe it,” Dean said.
“Hey, Dean,” the man named Richie grinned, “Winchester, right?”
A tall, scantily clad blonde with smudged eye makeup came up behind Richie.
“This is my sister, uh, Cheryl,” Richie quickly explained.
“Hey,” “Cheryl” smiled.
Richie handed the woman some money, and Cheryl left. “Well, y’know, stepsister,” he awkwardly clarified.
You laughed and shook your head while you plopped down onto the bed.
“Come on in,” Dean said, leaving the door open for Richie. “This is my brother, Sam, and my girlfriend, (Y/N).”
Your heart swelled in your chest, and you were completely floored by Dean calling you his girl. The two of you had never discussed it formally, but you kind of liked how he just named it and claimed it.
“Girlfriend, huh?” Richie teased. “You settlin’ down, Winchester?”
“No, never,” Dean replied. “She’s a hunter, too.”
“How do you two know each other?” Sam jumped in.
“You were in school—” the older brother began.
Richie cut him off. “It was that succubus, in Canarsie right?”
“Yeah, yeah,” Dean nodded.
“Oh, man. You should have seen the rack on this broad. Freakin' tragedy when I had to gank her,” Richie lamented, shaking his head.
“Whoa, whoa. Wait. Who killed her? If I remember, your ass was toast until I showed up,” Dean commented.
“Oh, I forgot what a comedian this guy was,” Richie scoffed, making you giggle.
“Richie, Richie, know what? I told you then, and I'll tell you again: you're not cut out for this job. You're gonna get yourself killed,” Dean said, his tone becoming serious as he spoke.
Richie’s phone rang, and he answered it before he could respond to Dean. “Talk to me,” he said into the phone. He then whispered to Dean, “FYI, Winchester, words hurt.” He quickly finished his phone call, and you and Sam exchanged a glance while Richie did so.
“So, you find anything in this town, anyway?” Dean asked.
The other man shrugged. “Ah, no. I got nothin’.” He then seemed to realize Dean wasn’t referring to women. “Oh, wait a minute. You mean as in demons and whatnot?”
The older Winchester nodded as if it was obvious.
“No, I got nothing.”
Dean chuckled. “Typical. What about your sister back there?”
“Oh, honestly? She definitely had the devil in her, but she wasn't no demon, you know what I'm saying?” Richie laughed, but became serious when he saw Dean’s deadpan reaction. “Right. Seriously. Church guy, hobby-shop guy; they were lunch meat by the time I got there. Hey, maybe they were possessed, but I can't prove it.”
Sam added, “Yeah, that's where we are, too. You know, let's just say that demons are possessing people in this town. Y’know, raising hell—”
“Yeah, but why would a demon blow his brains out?” Dean wondered aloud.
“Well, for fun?” Richie suggested. “Y’know, he wrecks one body, moves to another. Y’know, like taking a stolen car for a joyride.”
“Anybody else left in the town that fits the profile— y’know, nice guy turned douche, still breathing?” Dean asked the shorter man.
“There’s Trotter,” Richie noted.
“Who’s that?” you asked.
“Oh, she speaks! Lovely voice by the—” Richie cut himself off and cleared his throat awkwardly when Dean glared at him. “Well, he used to be head of the Rotary Club. And then, people say he turned bastard all of a sudden? Brought in the gambling, the hookers… Ah, he practically owns this whole town.”
“Know where we could find him?” Sam questioned.
“Oh, he'll be at his bar in a few hours.”
***
Off Richie’s tip, the three of you set off for the bar he’d told you about.
You were dressed in a mini skirt and tank top that showed off your cleavage, and opted to pair the outfit with a pair of sneakers.
Dean had laughed when he noticed your shoes.
“What?” you’d asked.
“Just… you,” Dean had replied. “Wearin’ sneaks to a bar.”
“I’m not wearin’ my heels to go step in spilled beer and possible vomit,” you’d shrugged.
When you arrived at the bar, it seemed more like a club. People bustled throughout the street, most of them heading into one of the several bars or strip clubs lining the street. Some were staggering around drunkenly despite the late afternoon sun; a sight you’d usually see at three in the morning.
“It’s five o’clock somewhere, I guess,” you said to yourself, taking in your surroundings.
“I thought you said this was some boarded-up factory town,” Dean said to Sam.
“It is. At least, it’s supposed to be,” the younger brother responded, looking uncomfortable.
A girl walked past you holding a cocktail and eyeing Dean wantonly. You glared at her, but Dean honestly didn’t seem to notice her. He moved to you and wrapped his arm around your shoulders. You smirked and wrapped your own around the small of his back.
“Well, what are we waiting for? Let's do some research,” Dean grinned, guiding you toward the bar.
Despite your stoic, often introverted, and guarded nature, you really did enjoy nightlife on the occasion; especially if a particular Winchester was involved.
You were the first to step into Trotter’s bar, sliding out from under Dean’s arm to grab his hand and guide him through the crowded room. The bar was completely alive and seemed more like a club than anything.
You turned back to see Sam looking uncomfortable and overstimulated, and Dean just smirked down at you with that trademark hard-to-read expression of his. When you turned back around, you nearly bumped into Richie.
“Oh!” You jumped back in surprise. “Hey!”
The man was wearing an orange short-sleeved shirt halfway unbuttoned to reveal a white wife beater underneath.
“Oh, Richie. Look at you,” Dean chuckled, shaking his hand. “Bringing satin back.”
“Oh, you like this? Try Thai silk. Canal Street,” Richie boasted. “You'd have to pay $300 for threads like these, easy. Cost to me? Fuggedaboutit.”
“How much is ‘forget about it’?” Sam chuckled.
“Ah, forget about it,” the man shrugged, clearly a little intoxicated. “That's Trotter over there. He sits there all night. Can't touch him.” He gestured to a bald, strong-looking man wearing a sharp suit. He almost reminded you of Kingpin from one of your little brother’s favorite Marvel comics.
“So, what do we do now?” Sam asked.
“I’m thinkin’ I’ll go talk to the bartender,” you began.
“Whoa,” Dean cut you off, “why can’t we have a little fun first?”
You deadpanned at him. “In case you haven’t noticed, we’re here to work.”
“Yeah, but—”
You continued your deadfaced stare at him, and he conceded.
“Fine,” Dean said.
“May need some of your charm, too; who knows what she’s into?” you suggested, smacking Dean’s ass lightly.
You smirked over your shoulder at him as you sauntered to the bar. You heard Richie comment, “You feel like sharin’?’ followed by a quick, “Don’t even think about it,” from Dean.
You looked down the bar to see the priest you’d talked to from the church the latest victim died in talking to the pretty bartender. She turned away from him and to a customer further down the bar from you.
“Father?” you asked.
“Knew you kids would find your way here. They all do.”
“No offense, man, but what are you doing here?” you questioned.
“Like it or not, you go where your flock is,” he shrugged.
“Plus, the clergy drinks for free,” the bartender chimed in, handing the man a whiskey neat.
“True, and a certain bartender owes me a confession,” the priest jested.
“Not in this lifetime, Father,” she replied.
“I better see your butt on Sunday,” he told her, getting up from his chair and leaving.
“What can I get you, love?” the bartender asked you.
You leaned up on the bar, pushing your breasts together slightly. “What’s your specialty?” you asked.
“I make a mean hurricane,” she replied, smirking.
“We’ll see about that,” you challenged.
The bartender seemed intrigued by you, and she smiled flirtatiously as she went to make your drink.
Dean came up next to you at that moment and wrapped an arm around your waist, hand landing close to your ass. “How’s it goin’?” he asked.
“Just makin’ friends,” you shrugged, grinning.
“Don’t get too friendly,” he warned.
You snickered. Suddenly, something near the pool table caught your attention.
“Hey, what are you doing?!” a man panickedly yelled.
You then noticed the man across from the panicked one was holding a gun. You nodded toward the scene. “Dean—”
You set off toward the pair, but the man raised the gun and shot the other point-blank. The crowd immediately erupted into chaos as you sprinted over to the man who was raising the gun to his chin.
Dean tackled the man to the ground, and Sam appeared beside you with holy water. He splashed the holy water on the man, but the man’s skin didn’t sizzle.
“What are you doing?!” the man exclaimed. He suddenly realized what he'd done and began to writhe on the ground, crying, “He slept with my wife. That bastard slept with my wife!”
You took out your phone and called 911 while Sam and Dean kept the man in a sort of citizen’s arrest.
When the cops did arrive, Sam seemed to get anxious again despite the bar’s emptiness. “Too many cops here. I say we roll.”
“Just be cool,” Dean encouraged. “Poor jerk. Only thing possessing him was a sixer of Pabst.”
“So, what's the deal, then? People in this town getting possessed or not?” Sam wondered aloud.
“I don’t know,” you said, furrowing your eyebrows. “Maybe they’re influencin’ ‘em some kind of way?”
“Yeah, maybe,” Sam replied.
“You guys ready for your mug shots?” a police officer asked you and the brothers. Cued by your panicked expressions, the cop tried to soothe your worries. “The photographer's gonna be here in a few and take your picture for the local paper.”
Dean seemed relieved and feigned enthusiasm. “Be an honor, Officer. What a thrill!”
“Yep, time to go,” Sam said, standing.
“Wait a second. Wait a second,” Dean stated, looking around.
“What?’ you and Sam asked in hushed voices.
“Where’s Richie?”
***
The next day, Dean couldn’t seem to keep his leg from bouncing under the table in his seat beside you at Trotter’s bar. He kept trying Richie’s phone number, but no response ever came.
“You do realize there's red meat within striking distance, right?” Sam said, referencing the large hamburger sitting in front of Dean.
“How many times I got to tell Richie he's gonna get himself in trouble?” Dean sighed.
“Dean, he’s not your responsibility,” you assured him.
“And you’re assuming he's missing. I mean, maybe he just bailed,” Sam added.
“He’s a moron,” replied Dean. “I mean, he's a sweet moron, but he's not a coward. He wouldn't just bail. I got to go find him.”
“I’ll go with you,” you said.
“You guys do that,” Sam said. “Meanwhile, I think I’m gonna trail this Trotter guy.”
“Yeah?” Dean questioned.
“Yeah. I don't know. Something about the way he looked at me last night.
Maybe there is something going on here.”
***
You and Dean returned to your motel around midday after lunch with Sam at Trotter’s.
“How well do you even know this guy, Dean?” you asked.
“Well, it’s like I said—” he began as you sat behind your computer screen, “he was toast until I found him. We had a few drinks after, but that was about it.”
You stared at him over the top of your computer screen.
“What?”
“Nothing,” you replied, a love-drunk smile pulling on the ends of your lips. “You’re just sweet.”
“Shuddup,” he mumbled, looking embarrassed.
“Seriously! You care this much about a dude you don’t even know that you’re having me track the GPS in his phone. It’s adorable,” you replied.
He kept his head low, but you could see the smile Dean was fighting. “You’re… annoying,” he murmured.
“Oh, really? I’m annoying?” you smirked, standing from your chair while your laptop screen began to populate with all of Richie’s previous locations over the last week based on his cell phone’s GPS signal.
Dean caught you by the waist. “Yeah, you are,” he said.
You wrapped your arms around his shoulders and lazily dragged your nails up his back. He let out a few shuddering breaths. You leaned in to kiss him when a dinging sound came from your computer and forced the two of you apart. You headed back to the laptop and pointed at his last known location. You pulled an image of the coordinates up.
“Corner of Piermont and Clinton,” you announced.
“He did mention having plans with that bartender,” Dean said, “maybe that’s where she lives?”
You nodded. “Alright, let’s get goin’.”
You stood to leave, and Dean smacked your ass as you walked off.
“What was that for?!” you squeaked.
“ ‘Cause you’re a tease,” Dean smirked. “And still annoying.”
You stuck your tongue out at him and grinned.
***
After conducting your investigation, you were charged with the task of staying behind to wait for Dean and the bartender. You hid in the shadows of the cellar with your handgun readied.
You heard Dean’s voice suddenly coming down the stairs toward the cellar. “Looks like the maid's day off,” he commented. “Everything okay?”
You heard the woman kiss Dean, and you nearly jumped out of your hiding spot.
“Make yourself comfortable,” the woman said.
“Oh, I forgot to mention,” Dean tsked, “Richie was a friend of mine. When I realized I could track the GPS in his cellphone, I swung by earlier. Gave him a proper burial. It's better than rotting in some skank's basement.”
You stepped out from the shadows then, and the bartender launched herself toward Dean. She was suddenly stopped by an invisible barrier.
“Oops,” Dean smirked. He leaned down to the carpet and lifted the corner to reveal the Devil’s Trap you’d spray painted on the floor while Dean was gone.
“Isn't that a buzz kill?” the older Winchester smirked. “Sorry, sister, but you're going back to where you came from.”
“I don't think so,” the bartender laughed.
You took out the book in your pocket and began to read in Latin. “Exorcizamus te, omnis—” A violent gust of wind blowing past you cut you off, and you saw the demon before you with her eyes closed as though in deep meditation. You recollected yourself and began to read again. “Exorcizamus te—”
The pages were then ripped out of the book by the breeze. The woman opened her eyes and grinned at you.
“(Y/N), look out!” Dean yelled.
Just then, the bricks from the walls around you began to crumble inward. You dove toward the window to avoid getting hit by falling rocks. Dean rushed to you and helped you up. He turned his gaze to the demon in a glare. The demon grinned.
“What are you laughing at, bitch? You're still trapped,” Dean growled.
“So are you, bitch,” she sultrily said.
“So, what, I send you back to hell, and we rot down here?” you spat.
“Half the plan. Doubt you’ll be able to do that without your little book,” she smiled.
“I’m sure I could figure it out,” you said. “Exorcizamus te,” you began with authority, “omnis immundus spiritus. Omnis satanica potestas, omnis incursio, infernalis adversarii—”
Dean suddenly gasped out in pain and began to grab at his neck.
You immediately stopped the ritual. “What are you doing?!” you shouted, sinking to the ground with Dean, “Stop it!”
“Stop trying to ruin my fun, then. You’re good, I’ll give you that,” the demon cooed, Dean suddenly able to breathe again. “But I thought Sam was supposed to be the brains of the outfit.”
“How do you know that?” Dean questioned.
“You Winchester boys are famous. Not Lohan famous, but, y’know,” she shrugged. “And you, (Y/N)—” she hissed out your name— “are making your own way through the circles, too.”
“Well, that's flattering,” Dean commented, “I'll be sure to let Sam know when he gets here.”
“If he shows up first.”
The two of you looked to the bartender, surprised.
“What, you thought I was flying solo?” she asked mockingly. “You shouldn't underestimate, kids, it might be the death of you.”
You glared at her.
“You can give me hard eyes all you want,” she replied, “but the fact remains, we just have to wait and see who shows up first… the cavalry,” she smiled, “or the Indians.”
***
“Anybody ever tell you how nice your ass is, (Y/N)?” the bartender drawled from the floor behind you. You stood on top of a cask of wine attempting to get cell reception through the small window daylight streamed in from.
“Bite me, bitch,” you replied without turning to look at her.
“Look, why don’t you relax?” she asked you and Dean.
“Why don't you kiss my ass?” Dean flippantly responded.
“Why, Dean, you're a poet. I had no idea,” she deadpanned. “Look, we won't have any effect on the outcome of this. We might as well be civil.”
“Civil, huh? Killing Richie, that was— that was civil? The guy was harmless,” Dean countered.
The demon raised an eyebrow. “That knife he pulled on me? Didn't look so harmless.”
“Ah, a knife wouldn't hurt you,” Dean replied.
“No, but it would damage this body. And Casey has such a fine body, I wouldn't want to see it ripped.” The demon stretched out lazily on the floor, arching her back.
“Touching,” you said, jumping down from atop the cask when your efforts proved pointless. “But don’t pretend you have a heart. We know what you did.”
“Hey, I didn't pull any triggers,” the demon possessing Casey shrugged.
“Yeah?” Dean barked. “You did something.”
“You want to know what I did?” the demon pushed herself into a sitting position. “What I really did? I had lunch.”
“Lunch?” Dean questioned.
“Me and Trotter,” she began. “He had a cheeseburger, I had a salad, and I just pointed out the money that could be made with a few businesses that cater to harmless vice. So Trotter built it, and man, did they come. Supposedly god-fearing folk, waist-deep in booze, sex, and gambling. I barely lifted a finger.”
“That’s it?” you scoffed.
“You don't get it. All you gotta do is nudge humans in the right direction,” Casey continued. “Some whiskey here, a hooker there, and they'll walk right into hell with big, fat smiles on their faces. Your kind is corrupt, kids. Weak. Our will's stronger. That's why we'll win.”
“And that’s how this ends?” you pushed.
“No. That's how it begins.”
“So, demons take over,” you continued. “And you’re convinced that’ll work… how?”
“Yeah, I thought the meek shall inherit the earth,” Dean piled on.
Casey rolled her eyes. “Oh, according to your Bible. It's only a book, Dean.”
“Not everyone would agree,” Dean replied simply.
You stared at him strangely, and he shrugged in response.
“Because it's god's book?” Casey pressed. “Do you believe in god, Dean? I'd be surprised if you did.”
“I don’t know,” Dean said honestly. “I'd like to.”
“Well, god’s done a bang-up job in my opinion,” you said, unable to help yourself.
“Finally, someone who makes sense,” Casey snickered. “I like you, (Y/N).” She returned her focus to Dean. “War, genocide; it's only getting worse. I mean, this past century, you people racked up a body count that amazed even us. It's our turn, now, and we're gonna do it right this time.”
Dean heard a noise and turned his face up to the grate you’d tried getting cell service from.
“Don't be hopeful, Dean. You're not delivered. It's only the wind,” Casey commented.
Despite yourself, you laughed.
Dean and Casey turned their attention toward you.
“Whose side are you on there, sweetheart?” Dean questioned, slightly pointedly.
“Sorry. Demon or not, she’s funny.” You cleared your throat and regained your composure. “You keep talking about this ‘endgame.’ Pretty vague. How am I supposed to even know there is one?”
“Why would I lie?” she countered.
“Demons lie,” Dean replied.
“Some do. Some are true believers.”
“Believers in what?” you pressed.
Casey scoffed. “What, you think humans have an exclusive on a higher power?”
Dean looked shocked, as did you. “You have a god?” Dean asked.
“Sure,” the demon shrugged. “His name's Lucifer.”
You deflated and crossed your arms. “You mean the devil.”
“You don’t seem impressed,” Casey noted, seeming intrigued by you.
“ ‘Cause I’m not,” you replied. “No offense, but he doesn’t exactly put the fear of god in me.”
“Well, he should,” she told you. “Once, he was the most beautiful of all god's angels. But god demanded that he bow down before man, and when he refused, god banished him. Tell me, how do you like bowing before lesser creatures?”
“Lucifer's really real?” Dean wondered aloud.
“Well, no one's actually seen him,” Casey explained, “but they say that he made us into what we are, and they say that he'll return.”
“Oh, gimme a break,” you said, slumping to the floor.
“What? Is faith such a laughable concept to you?” Casey remarked.
“Absolutely,” you said coldly.
“Well, you’d better start believing. A lot of you humans are in for a real treat when this is all over,” she said coolly. “Dick Cheney?”
“He one of yours?” Dean asked.
“Not yet. Let's just say, he's got a parking spot reserved for him downstairs.”
Dean laughed despite himself before pausing a moment. “Hey, speaking of downstairs… What's it like down there?”
“What, Hell?”
Dean nodded.
“That's right,” Casey smirked. “You booked a one-way ticket with that deal.”
Dean laughed in discomfort, and you eyed him sympathetically.
“You're not gonna like it, Dean,” the demon said honestly. “And, um, judging from the trouble you've caused, I don't think you'll be getting the presidential suite. No, it's a pit of despair. Why do you think we want to come here?”
Dean looked somber, as did you. You knew better than to reach your hand out to comfort him, and you just sat against the wall with your knees tucked into your chest.
A few moments passed before Casey spoke up again. “Kind of funny, don't you think? Three of us sitting here like regular folk.”
“Yeah, it's hilarious,” Dean deadpanned, “y’know, in that… apocalyptic sort of way.”
“You're all right, Dean,” Casey said seriously.
Dean scoffed, and you flicked your eyes between your love and Casey.
“The others don't describe you that way. But, you know, you're— you're likable.”
“Well, keep how much you like ‘im to yourself, sister,” you spat.
“Jealous, are we?” Casey mused. “Don’t worry, darlin’. He’s all yours.”
“A demon likes me,” was all Dean could think to say. “Sorry, I don't know how to respond to that.”
“You could say thanks,” she mocked. “That deal you made to save Sam; a lot of others would mock you for it, think it was weak or stupid. I don't.”
Dean paused for a moment. “It's been kind of liberating, actually. Y’know, what's the point in worrying about a future, when you don't have one?”
Your eyes saddened upon hearing that. You cast your gaze down to the floor, knowing you’d cry if you looked at Dean.
“Still, a year left. You're not scared?” Casey asked.
“Nah.”
“Not even a little?”
“Of course not.” However, you caught the briefest bit of hesitation in his voice.
Dean then seemed to notice your sadness. “Hey, I’m—”
“Save it,” you said, feeling brave enough to look up at him. “We’ll talk about this later.”
“Didn’t mean to cause any trouble in paradise,” Casey snickered.
“Hey, can I ask you a question?” you asked pointedly.
“I’m an open book,” the demon shrugged.
“So, the gate opened. The demon army was let out. What now, huh?” you questioned. “I'm not seeing a big master plan here.”
“Honestly, there was a plan,” she replied. “Azazel was a tyrant, but he held us all together.”
“Azazel?” you and Dean asked in unison.
“What, you think his friends just called him ‘Yellow Eyes’? He had a name. After you did him in—” Casey nodded toward you, “it all fell apart.”
You smirked. “Sorry ‘bout that.”
The demon cut her eyes at you in challenge.
“So, what? No chain of command?” Dean pressed.
“There was. It was Sam. Sam was supposed to be the grand pooh-bah and lead the big army, but he hasn't exactly stepped up to the plate, has he?”
“Thank god for that,” Dean breathed out.
“Again with god,” Casey groaned. “You think this is a good thing? Now you've got chaos, a war without a front, hundreds of demons all jockeying for power, all fighting for the crown. Most of them, gunning for your brother.” She looked toward a conflicted Dean, becoming incredibly serious. “For the record, I was ready to follow Sam.”
Before you could ask anymore questions, you heard Sam call yours and Dean’s names.
“Sam?!” you and Dean called, scrambling to your feet.
“Looks like you win,” Casey smirked.
You weren’t too sure that you actually had. “What’s that look for—”
Your question was cut off by a loud pounding on the door.
“Dean!” you heard Sam calling.
“Sam!” Dean replied. “Sammy, down here! The basement caved in!”
Sam’s voice appeared at the grate you’d been trying to get cell reception through. “Guys, hold on, okay? We’re coming.”
“Who’s we?” you asked.
“I’m here with the father.”
You whipped back around to Casey who seemed almost excited.
“Sam, be careful—”
And then suddenly, a gunshot was heard.
“Sam!” Dean called.
Then, the rocks covering the entrance to the cellar began to move aside. In came the pastor, who you attempted to rush. You were thrown to the wall and fell to the ground painfully.
When you recovered, you stood to see the priest and Casey passionately kissing outside the Devil’s Trap.
“You two?” Dean questioned, face twisting up in disgust.
“For centuries,” the priest nodded. “We've been to Hell and back, literally.”
“Leave ‘em be,” Casey told the pastor.
He didn’t listen to her and approached Dean, grabbing him by the throat. You tried to rush him again, but you were held to the wall by the priest’s power.
“Don't kill him. Let's just go,” Casey begged. “Please.”
Sam appeared at that moment and shot the priest without hesitation. Lightning emitted from the priest’s wound, eyes, and chest, and he slumped to the ground.
“Sam, wait!” Dean told him.
But it was too late. Casey suffered the same fate as the priest. You looked to the two real human bodies on the ground and mourned a little for both of the humans behind their demonic state.
***
“I cannot believe you ransacked Richie’s stash,” you told Dean as he rolled a joint under the cover of night sitting on the hood of the Impala.
“Well, not like he can use it anymore,” Dean shrugged. “Besides, it’s a tribute to him.”
You rolled your eyes and laughed. You took out your lighter and took the joint from your partner. While you lit up, Dean asked you a question. “What do you think? About what we did here; you think it made a difference?”
“I don’t know. Humans aren’t our job, but still,” you replied after taking a hit, “it’s kinda weird leaving knowing things may never be resolved.”
“Yeah, I mean, maybe these people do just want to really destroy themselves. Maybe it is—” Dean seemed to struggle for a moment to find the words, “a losing battle.” He took the joint back from you and took a hit.
“Is that you or the demon chick talking?” you asked playfully, nudging your shoulder with his. Although, you knew he knew you were seriously asking him.
“Oh, it’s me,” Dean replied. “Demon’s very dead.”
“Well, had to be done, I guess,” you shrugged. “Sam was saving your life.”
“Yeah, but I don’t know, (Y/N),” Dean started, shaking his head and passing the joint back to you, “it was cold.”
“I agree,” you nodded. You took a deep breath and slowly let a cloud of smoke pass through your lips.
“Back in Wyoming,” Dean began, “there was this moment. Yellow Eyes said something to me.”
You looked to him expectantly, taking a second hit.
“That maybe when… Sam came back from, well, wherever, that maybe he came back different.”
“Different how?” you questioned, cocking your head to the side.
“I don't know. Whatever it was, it didn't sound good. You think— You think something's wrong with my brother?”
You considered for a moment. You knew no matter how you answered, Dean wouldn’t be satisfied until he knew for sure. You opted for attempting to provide him comfort. “No. Demons lie. I'm sure Sam's okay.”
Dean nodded. “Yeah. Yeah, me too.”
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