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Bugs | Supernatural Series Rewrite | Dean Winchester x Reader

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader (Eventual)

Warnings: BUGS lol, canon violence, canon gore

Word Count: 7012

Series Rewrite Masterlist

You and Dean decided that after your last job, you deserved a break. You went to a bar to play that eight-ball game you’d talked about back in Ankeny. The two of you were pretty evenly matched; you had to admit. He would win a game, then you would win a game, and that pattern continued for quite a bit. Then you’d swapped to nine-ball. The two of you walked away from the pool tables and found a table when you’d grown tired of playing with each other.

“I’ll admit, you’re pretty good, Winchester,” you told him.

“You too, sweetheart,” he responded, chuckling.

“You’re never gonna stop calling me that, are you?” you asked.

“Nope.”

You pretended to be annoyed and rolled your eyes. “You suck.”

“You, too.”

You playfully glared at him.

“You hustle?” he asked you.

“Duh,” you responded, taking a swig of your beer.

He chuckled. “How ‘bout it? I’m low on cash after I paid off that morgue tech.”

“Hey, you did that on your own volition,” you joked back. “Nobody forced you to pay him off. And maybe you lost even more cash after you lost that poker game to me yesterday.”

He glared back at you. “I’ll get you next time.”

“Sure. So who’re you hustlin’?” you asked.

He scanned the room for a moment. “Them.” He subtly nodded in the direction of a group of guys who looked around your and Dean’s age. They seemed kind of douchey, and you’d love to watch Dean kick their asses if you were being honest.

“Eight or nine ball?” you asked him.

“Nine.”

“Ooh, good luck,” you told him.

“I won’t need it,” he answered arrogantly and began heading over to the group.

Your newfound friendship with Dean was slightly difficult for you due to your unbelievable attraction to him. The more you got to know him the more you began to like him for more than just his beautiful face. But you knew neither of you had the time for anything more than friendship, especially considering you knew you’d be hitting the road as soon as they found their dad. You chose not to focus on the finite amount of time you had with the Winchester boys and just enjoy it while it lasted.

As much as you tried to push the thought away, you couldn’t deny that watching him hustle pool made you even more attracted to him.

“Cute,” you told Dean sarcastically when he walked back over to your table waving a wad of cash in the air. “But I betcha I can get us double the money.” You snatched his money out of his hands.

“Hey!” he said. “I earned that.”

“And I’ll earn it back,” you smirked over your shoulder.

He quirked a brow at you as you “drunkenly” walked away, watching you head over to a pool table surrounded by another group of young guys.

You wore a black tank top that showed off your cleavage, and stuck Dean’s money in the top of your bra while you sauntered over to the pool table. A tall blonde guy holding a cue stick was surrounded by his frat-boy posse hollering about how good the blonde guy played.

“Fifty dollars to play!” One of the boys yelled.

“I’ll play,” you piped up, looking down at the table set for nine-ball.

You pulled some cash out of the top of your bra and placed it on the rim of the pool table.

“Uh, sweetheart,” the blond began, “That’s only twenty.”

“Oh, sorry,” you snorted out a laugh, putting thirty dollars on the table.

“She’s hammered, dude,” one of the blond’s friends told him.

The blond waved him off, still looking over you. He handed you a pool cue with a smirk.

“You break.”

You fumbled with the cue before lining up your shot. After you hit the cue ball, you allowed the wooden stick to slip clumsily out of your hands. The balls flew all over the table in different directions because you had struck them so hard. However, you had not managed to pocket a single one.

The blond lined up his shot. Managing to keep the dopey look on your face, you mentally smirked at his amateur hand bridge. This guy would be easy to beat. With his friends cheering him on, he pocketed the yellow one-ball but missed the shot he took at the nine-ball. The nine-ball was in the perfect position for you to win on your next two shots, but you were not going for the big bucks just yet.

“Your turn, baby,” the blond told you.

You resisted the urge to cringe at the nickname. You had never liked being called “baby.”

Instead, you gave him a wide smile, walking up to the cue ball. You went to aim for the four-ball, but the blond stopped you.

“What are you doing?”

“Aiming for the pretty purple ball,” you replied innocently. “Am I doing something wrong?”

“You have to aim for the two-ball. You ever even played before?” he asked jokingly.

“No,” you smiled.

He was not expecting that answer to his jest, his face dropping out of the smile. “Then why are you playing for money?”

“I thought you were cute and wanted to play with you.”

The blond smirked down at you.

Before he could respond, you said, “C’mon! I wanna keep playing. This is fun.” You lined up and hit the two ball, knocking it only a little bit closer to the pocket than the blond had gotten it.

He ended up sinking the two-ball and then the nine-ball after that, his friends cheering for him. He took the money off the table. “Maybe next time.”

“Ooh, can we play again? Please?” you whined.

He looked around at his friends. They all shrugged.

You took all of the money out of your bra, including fifty dollars of your own to compensate for the fifty you just lost. You did promise Dean you would double the amount he had earned, after all.

The blond laughed nervously. “Uh, that’s a lot more than fifty dollars.”

“Is it?” you pretended you were surprised. “Oh, well. We’ll just play for whatever this is, then.”

One of the blond’s friends, a brunet, was already counting the money. “This is three-hundred dollars, man.”

“Look, you’re really drunk. That’s a lot of money,” the blond said. “Let’s just stop.”

“No,” you begged, “please? It’ll be fine!”

He finally conceded, collecting a total of three hundred dollars between himself and his friends.

On the break, he hit the one-ball and the five-ball ended up falling into the left side pocket. However, on the shot he took at the nine-ball, he missed.

You hit the two-ball, sank it, and clapped excitedly. You aimed for the three-ball next, hitting it between the right side and back pockets. The ball hit the wall and stopped only two inches off of it, giving the blond no shot at sinking it on his next turn.

He ended up pushing the three-ball and the cue ball into the perfect position for you to hit the red ball into the hole. Once you sank the three-ball, you lined up the cue behind the cue ball and hit the nine-ball into one of the pockets. Blondie and his friends stood there slack-jawed.

“I won!” you cheered, giggling. You gave Blondie a kiss on the cheek when you took your money.

You walked back over to Dean with your hips swishing confidently. Smirking, you held up your winnings.

He took them from your hands, counting the money. “Damn. I’m impressed.”

You feigned shock. “Dean Winchester? Impressed by something I did?”

“Can it, (Y/N).”

You walked outside of the bar with Dean at your side. You waved the money in your hand back and forth triumphantly as you approached the Impala that Sam sat atop flipping through newspapers. He looked disapproving. “Y’know, we could get day jobs once in a while.”

"Hunting's our day job,” you countered.

“Yeah, and the pay is crap,” Dean added.

“Amen.”

“Yeah, but hustling pool? Credit card scams? It's not the most honest thing in the world, guys,” the younger brother argued.

“Well, let's see, honest—” Dean began, and you held out one hand palm-up for “honest,” “—Fun and easy,” he finished.

You held out the other hand, representing a scale, tipping it to the side of “fun and easy.”

“It's no contest,” you shrugged.

“Besides, we're good at it. It's what we were raised to do,” Dean added.

Sam was still not convinced. “Yeah, well, how we were raised was jacked.”

“Yeah, says you,” sassed Dean. “We got a new gig or what?”

“Maybe. Oasis Plains, Oklahoma— not far from here. A gas company employee, Dustin Burwash, supposedly died from Creutzfeldt-Jakob.”

“Gesundheit,” you commented.

“Human mad cow disease.” Sam shot you a playful glare.

“Mad cow. Wasn't that on Oprah?” Dean asked.

“You watch Oprah?” you responded.

The older brother looked embarrassed and couldn’t think of anything to say. He decided to change the subject. “So this guy eats a bad burger. Why is it our kind of thing?”

“Mad cow disease causes massive brain degeneration. It takes months, even years, for the damage to appear. But this guy, Dustin? Sounds like his brain disintegrated in about an hour. Maybe less,” Sam stated.

You nodded slowly. “Oh-kay, that is weird.”

“Yeah. Now, it could be a disease. Or it could be somethin' much nastier,” Sam told you.

“Alright. Oklahoma,” Dean said, beginning to get in the car. You and Sam followed suit. “Man. Work, work, work,” the older Winchester sighed. “No time to spend my money.”

“You mean our money,” you said, handing him three hundred. You kept the other three.

“Right.” He put the money in his wallet and began driving off.

***

Dean had driven you to the gas and power company the deceased had worked at. You approached a man with shaggy hair and a scruffy chin who you had learned from another employee was the man who discovered Dustin’s dead body.

“Travis Weaver?” Sam called.

“Yeah, that's right.” The man turned to you.

“Are you the Travis who worked with Uncle Dusty?” Dean asked.

“Dustin never mentioned nephews. Or a niece,” he responded.

“Really? Well, he sure mentioned you. He said you were the greatest.”

You nodded, affirming Dean’s lie.

Travis smiled sadly. “Oh, he did? Huh.”

“I hate to ask you, but… what exactly happened out there?” you asked.

“I'm not sure. He fell in a sinkhole, I went to the truck to get some rope, and, uh... by the time I got back…” he trailed off, face contorting in discomfort.

“What did you see?” Dean questioned.

Travis shook his head. “Nothin'. Just Dustin.”

“No wounds or anything?” Sam chimed in.

“Well, he was bleeding... from his eyes and his ears, his nose. But that's it.”

“So you think it could be this whole mad cow thing?” Dean asked.

“I don't know. That's what the doctors are sayin'.”

“I don’t know, it just doesn’t feel right to me,” you added. “Uncle Dusty just never acted like that to me.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, if it was, he would’ve acted like he had dementia, a loss of motor control, you ever notice anything like that?” you asked.

“No. No way. But then again, if it wasn't some disease, what the hell was it?”

“That's a good question,” Dean responded.

“You know, can you tell us where this happened?” Sam asked.

Travis nodded. He instructed Dean the path to follow in order to find the scene of the incident. Surrounding the sinkhole he had fallen in was police tape, but the neighborhood it was in seemed mostly uninhabited except for a few construction workers milling about.

“Huh.” Dean looked down into the hole. “What do you think?”

“I don't know. But if that guy, Travis, was right, it happened pretty damn fast,” Sam responded.

You ducked under the tape and looked down into the hole with a flashlight.

“So, what? Some sort of creature chewed on his brain?” Dean��s face scrunched up in confusion.

You shook your head. “No, there'd be an entry wound. Sounds like this thing worked from the inside.”

“Looks like there's only room for one,” Dean commented. “Hate to say it, sweetheart, you’re gonna have to get down there.”

You flinched back. “What? No. We have no idea what’s down there.”

He picked up a nearby coil of rope. “Alright, I'll go if you're scared. You scared?”

“No. Dick.” Your stubbornness would not let you back down despite the genuine fear clawing at your throat. When you were younger, your father would often starve you to ensure you could fit into small spaces such as the hole you were about to journey down. You had no doubt you would’ve grown taller than 5’6” had he not done this. Even still, you mustered your courage. “I'm going.”

“I said I'd go,” Dean argued.

“I'm going,” you pressed, taking the end of the rope from him. You tied it around your waist. “Don’t drop me.”

“I won’t.”

“Sam, don’t let him drop me.”

Sam chuckled.

“What?” Dean sounded offended. “You don’t trust me?”

“Nope,” you smiled, clambering down into the hole. It took a moment for your eyes to adjust, but when they did, you were surprised by what you’d found.

Dean drove, and Sam was examining the dead beetle you’d found in the sinkhole. Some bugs you could handle, but beetles were not one you could spend prolonged periods of time looking at.

“So you found some beetles. In a hole, in the ground. That's shocking, (Y/N),” Dean quipped.

You shook your head. “Dude, no. There were no tunnels, no tracks, nothing. No evidence of any other creature down there.”

“You know,” Sam added, “some beetles do eat meat. Now, it's usually dead meat, but…”

“How many did you find down there?” Dean asked you.

“Ten.”

“It'd take a whole lot more than that to eat out some dude's brain, Sam.”

“Well, maybe there were more,” his brother argued.

“I don't know, it sounds like a stretch to me,” Dean responded.

“Well, we need more information on the area, the neighborhood. Whether something like this has ever happened before,” you added. A sign advertising an open house decorated with red balloons caught your eye.

Sam was looking back at you. “What?”

“There.” You pointed to the sign.

You passed another that read, “Models Open. New Buyers' BBQ Today!"

“I'm kinda hungry for a little barbeque, how 'bout you?” Dean remarked.

Sam gave him a look.

“What, we can't talk to the locals?”

You snickered. “And the free food's got nothin' to do with it?”

“Of course not. I'm a professional.”

His brother rolled his eyes. “Right.”

Dean pulled over and the three of you got out of the car to walk toward the open house.

“Growin' up in a place like this would freak me out,” Dean remarked.

“Ditto,” you said.

“Why?” Sam looked at the two of you like you were crazy.

“Manicured lawns, ‘How was your day, honey?’ I'd blow my brains out,” Dean chuckled.

“White picket fence,” you sing-songed, “private school, stay-at-home moms with three snotty children— no thanks.”

“There's nothing wrong with ‘normal,’ “ Sam rebutted.

“I'd take our family over normal any day,” the older Winchester said. He approached the house and knocked on the door.

A man in a steamed collared shirt opened the door. “Welcome,” he said.

“This the barbeque?” Dean asked.

“Yeah, not the best weather,” he replied, referencing the gray sky, “but... I'm Larry Pike, the developer here. And you are... ?”

“Dean. This is Sam and (Y/N).” He shook Larry’s hand.

“Sam, Dean, (Y/N), good to meet you. So, you three are interested in Oasis Plains?”

“Yes, sir,” the older brother responded.

“Let me just say—” You had no idea where Larry was going with this— “we accept homeowners of any race, religion, color, or... sexual orientation.”

You realized what he was trying to say. “They’re brothers. I’m just a friend.”

Larry nodded and seemed slightly embarrassed.

“Our father is getting on in years,” Sam explained, “and we're just lookin' for a place for him.”

Larry laughed awkwardly “Great, great. Well, seniors are welcome, too. Come on in.” He guided you to the backyard where dozens of people were chatting and eating. “Eighteen months ago, I was walking this valley with my survey team. There was nothing here but scrub brush and squirrels. And you know what, we built such a nice place to live that I actually bought into it myself. This is our house. We're the first family in Oasis Plains.” He brought you over to a woman around his age. “This is my wife, Joanie.”

“Hi there,” she smiled.

Larry introduced the three of you to her before saying, “Tell them how much you love the place, honey. And lie if you have to because I need to sell some houses.”

She laughed. “Right.”

This painfully fake interaction you were having reeked of Middle America. It was making you sick.

Larry left you alone with Joanie who said, “Don't let his salesman routine scare you. This really is a great place to live.”

A very energetic woman with bright, Ariel-red hair pulled back in a tight bun approached your group. “Hi, I'm Lynda Bloome, head of sales,” she grinned.

“And Lynda was second to move in,” Joanie went on. “She's a very noisy neighbor, though.”

Even Lynda’s laugh was obnoxious. “She's kidding, of course. I take it you three are interested in becoming homeowners.”

Before any of you could answer, she said, “Well, let me just say that we accept homeowners of any race, religion, color, or... sexual orientation.”

Dean chuckled. “Right. Um... I'm gonna go talk to Larry.” Dean began walking away. “Okay, honeys?” He smacked you on your ass as he left.

You nearly yelped in surprise. The rest of your interaction with Lynda became very awkward. You were barely interested in what she was saying about the various features of the home. “Who can say "no" to a steam shower? I use mine everyday.”

You nodded, forcing a smile. “Sounds great.”

Sam noticed something just beyond her, saying, “Excuse me,” and pushing her out of the way. What he had picked up off the picnic table was a large tarantula. You noticed a snickering boy with shaggy brown hair a few feet behind where Lynda had been standing.

Sam walked over to the boy. “Is this yours?”

The boy took the spider from him. “You gonna tell my dad?”

“I don't know. Who's your dad?”

The teen scoffed. “Yeah, Larry usually skips me in the family introductions.”

You sucked air in through your teeth. “Ouch. First name basis with your dad— sounds pretty grim.”

“Well, I'm not exactly brochure material,” the kid remarked.

“Well, hang in there. It gets better, all right? I promise,” Sam said.

The kid didn’t seem convinced. “When?”

You heard Larry call the name, “Matthew!” You turned to see the older man and Dean walking toward you.

“I am so sorry about my son and his... pet.”

‘Clearly there’s some issues there.’

You shook your head. “No big.”

“Excuse us.” Larry’s face was set and hardened, pulling his son away from you and the boys.

“Remind you of somebody?” Sam asked his brother. He was gesturing toward the arguing father and son. “Dad?”

“Dad never treated us like that,” Dean argued.

“Well, Dad never treated you like that. You were perfect. He was all over my case. You don't remember?”

“Well, maybe he had to raise his voice, but sometimes, you were out of line.”

Sam scoffed. “Right. Right, like when I said I'd rather play soccer than learn bowhunting.”

“Bowhunting's an important skill,” Dean replied. You agreed with him, but chose to say out of the brotherly debate.

“Whatever. How was your tour?” Sam asked.

Dean turned on the sarcasm. “Oh, it was excellent. I'm ready to buy. So you might be onto somethin'. Looks like Dustin Burwash wasn't the first strange death around here.”

“What happened?” you questioned.

“About a year ago, before they broke ground, one of Larry's surveyors dropped dead while on the job. Get this severe allergic reaction to bee stings.”

You nodded. “More bugs.”

***

Later that evening, Sam was driving you and Dean through the neighborhood. You put your head on Dean’s shoulder over the back of the front seat as he flipped through his father’s journal. He had looked at you strangely and tensed up when you’d first rested your head on him, but you just shrugged in response. To your surprise, he allowed you to stay there.

“You know, I've heard of killer bees, but killer beetles?” Dean shook his head. “What is it that could make different bugs attack?”

“Well, hauntings sometimes include bug manifestations,” Sam replied.

“Yeah, but I didn't see any evidence of ghost activity,” the older brother said, referring to his house tour.

“Me neither,” you added.

“Maybe they're being controlled somehow. You know, by something or someone,” Dean stated.

“You mean, like Willard?” Sam chuckled.

“Yeah, bugs instead of rats.”

“There are cases of psychic connections between people and animals - elementals, telepaths,” Sam continued.

“Yeah, that whole Lassie thing,” you commented. You were thoughtful for a moment. “Larry's kid— he's got bugs for pets.”

“Matt?” Sam seemed unconvinced. “He did try to scare the realtor with a tarantula.”

“You think he's our Willard?”

“I don't know. Anything's possible, I guess.”

Something caught Dean’s attention. “Ooh, hey. Pull over here.”

Your head perked up.

Sam pulled into the empty driveway of one of the Oasis Plains homes. “What are we doing here?”

Dean got out of the car and began pulling the garage door up and open. “It's too late to talk to anybody else.”

Sam scoffed. “We're gonna squat in an empty house?”

“I wanna try the steam shower. Come on,” his brother responded simply.

Sam didn’t move.

“Come on!” Dean urged.

Sam rolled his eyes but complied and pulled into the driveway. Dean closed it behind him.

To your surprise, the home was fully furnished. You assumed it was for staging house tours. You and the boys were thankful to find three beds within the home, avoiding the awkward task of deciding who was going to have to sleep with who. And for the first time in quite a while, you slept incredibly well on the soft mattress and plush pillows.

***

The next morning, you found Sam remaking the bed he had slept in down the hall from yours. He had the police scanner quietly droning on in the background.

“How’d you sleep?” you asked, yawning.

“How do you think,” he replied dryly.

“That’s what I was worried about.”

Sam sighed.

“Dude, we gotta get you right,” you told him. “You’re gonna end up really hurt.”

Before he could respond, the static of the police scanner coming alight with conversation caught your attention. Male voices spoke back and forth about a death that happened in what you recognized as the Oasis Plains area.

“You finish cleaning up; I’ll get Dean,” you told Sam, who nodded. Dean had been serious about indulging in the steam shower. He’d been in the guest bathroom since you woke up that morning.

“You ever comin' out of there?” you called through the door.

“What?” he responded.

You could still hear the water running. “A call came in on the scanner.”

“Hold on.”

“Someone was found dead three blocks from here. Come on.”

The door opened a bit to reveal Dean and his towel-wrapped head. Steam poured out into the hallway. “This shower is awesome,” he smiled.

You laughed in response. “Come on.” You walked away to finish helping Sam gather your things and hide the fact that someone had been here.

When you arrived at the crime scene, a body bag was being wheeled out on a stretcher. You found out from a visibly upset Larry that the realtor, Lynda Bloome, had been the one to pass away. The three of you discovered about a dozen dead spiders underneath a towel near where the outline of her body had been mapped out, and decided to pay Matt a visit.

It took a few hours, but you discovered where Matt went to school and followed his bus route. You watched when he got off the bus.

“Isn't his house that way?” Dean pointed in the opposite direction of where Matt was walking.

You nodded. “Yup. So where’s he goin’?”

The three of you began following the teenager from a bit of a distance. Unfortunately for you, he headed into the woods.

“Seriously, kid?” you muttered. “Always the fucking woods.”

Dean chuckled at your discomfort.

“Shut up, asshole,” you quipped.

Sam approached Matt first. “Hey, Matt. Remember me?”

“What are you doin' out here?” he asked, surprised.

“Well, we wanna talk to you,” Dean responded.

“You're not here to buy a house, are you?”

You shook your head.

“W-wait. You're not serial killers?” Matt began backing away from you.

“No. I think you’re safe,” you smiled.

“So, Matt... you sure know a lot about insects,” Sam began.

“So?” he shrugged.

“Did you hear what happened to Lynda, the realtor?” Dean asked.

“I hear she died this morning,” Matt responded.

“Mm, that's right. Spider bites.”

“Matt... you tried to scare her with a spider.” Sam’s tone was accusatory without being harsh.

“Wait. You think I had something to do with that?”

“You tell us,” you responded.

Matt scoffed humorlessly. “That tarantula was a joke. Anyway, that wouldn't explain the bee attack or the gas company guy.”

“You know about those?” Now you were the one being accusatory.

“There is somethin' going on here. I don't know what... but something's happening with the insects. Let me show you something.” Matt shouldered his bag and led you deeper into the woods. You hoped he knew where the hell he was going and how the hell to get back.

“So, if you knew about all this bug stuff, why not tell your dad? Maybe he could clear everybody out,” Sam suggested.

“Believe me, I've tried. But, uh, Larry doesn't listen to me.”

“Why not?”

“Mostly? He's too disappointed in his freak son.”

Sam scoffed. “I hear you.”

Dean seemed surprised. “You do?”

Sam gave him a look before turning back to Matt. “Matt, how old are you?”

“Sixteen.”

“Well, don't sweat it, because in two years, something great's gonna happen.”

“What?”

“College. You'll be able to get out of that house and away from your dad.”

Dean was upset. “What kind of advice is that? Kid should stick with his family.”

Sam sighed and glared at his brother.

You tried to break the tension. “How much further, Matt?”

You knew Matt felt awkward, too. “We're close.”

Sam glared at Dean once more before continuing walking. Moments later, you reached a large clearing. As you’d been approaching, the sound of insects buzzing had gotten louder and louder. Hundreds of them flew about the clearing.

“I've been keeping track of insect populations. It's, um, part of an AP science class,” the teen explained.

“You two are like peas in a pod,” Dean remarked.

Sam ignored him. “What's been happening?”

“A lot. I mean, from bees to earthworms, beetles... you name it. It's like they're congregating here,” Matt went on.

“Why?” Dean’s brows knitted together.

“I don't know,” he responded.

You caught sight of a dark, bumpy patch of grass a few feet away. “What’s that?”

Matt looked at you and seemed curious as well. He led you once more over to the pile. Your skin began to crawl at the sight of hundreds of wriggling earthworms. Dean accidently stepped on a pile of them and it sank into the ground. You pulled him back by the arm to avoid him falling, too. You let him go, and he crouched to the ground. He used a stick to poke around. He then dropped the stick and stuck his hand straight into the hole. When his hand came back up, he was holding a human skull covered in dirt and worms.

“Gnarley,” you said.

***

Sam suggested bringing the remains to the department of anthropology at a local university. “So, a bunch of skeletons in an unmarked grave,” he said as you approached the building.

“Maybe it is a haunting,” you added. “Pissed off spirits? Unfinished business?”

“Yeah, maybe. Question is, why bugs? And why now?”

The older brother quipped, “That's two questions.”

Sam ignored him.

Dean continued. “Yeah, so with that kid back there... why'd you tell him to just ditch his family like that?”

“Just, uh... I know what the kid's goin' through,” his brother shrugged.

“How 'bout tellin' him to respect his old man, how's that for advice?” Dean’s tone was sharp.

“Dean, come on.” Sam stopped walking, and you and Dean followed suit. “This isn't about his old man. You think I didn't respect Dad. That's what this is about.”

“Just forget it, all right? Sorry I brought it up.” Dean shook his head.

“I respected him. But no matter what I did, it was never good enough.”

“So what are you sayin'? That Dad was disappointed in you?”

“Was? Is. Always has been,” Sam bit back.

“Why would you think that?”

“Because I didn't wanna bowhunt or hustle pool— because I wanted to go to school and live my life, which, to our whacked-out family, made me the freak.”

“Yeah, you were kind of like the blonde chick in The Munsters,” Dean grunted.

“Dean, you know what most dads are when their kids score a full ride? Proud. Most dads don't toss their kids out of the house.”

You were accustomed to their normal sibling spats, but this was different.

Dean kept pushing. “I remember that fight. In fact, I seem to recall a few choice phrases comin' out of your mouth.”

“You know, truth is, when we finally do find Dad... I don't know if he's even gonna wanna see me.” The brunet sounded sad.

“Sam, Dad was never disappointed in you. Never. He was scared.”

“What are you talkin' about?”

“He was afraid of what could've happened to you if he wasn't around. But even when you two weren't talkin'... he used to swing by Stanford whenever he could.”

Sam’s smirk faded.

“Keep an eye on you. Make sure you were safe,” Dean finished.

“What?” Sam’s puppy dog eyes were back.

“Yeah.”

“Why didn't you tell me any of that?” the younger brother asked.

“Well, it's a two-way street, dude. You could've picked up the phone.”

Sam stared at him sadly.

“Come on, we're gonna be late for our appointment,” Dean grumbled.

***

The professor you’d gone to see at the college informed you of a Euchee tribe outside of Sapulpa that the bones Dean had found might have belonged to. The three of you now headed over to a diner one of the local Native Americans had directed you to. He had told you how to find Joe White tree, a bit of a patriarch of their group.

You found him playing cards at his table in the diner.

“Joe White Tree?” Sam asked.

The man nodded.

“We'd like to ask you a few questions, if that's all right.”

Dean continued for his brother, saying, “We're students from the university—”

The man cut him off. “No, you're not. You're lying.”

Dean seemed taken aback. “Well, truth is—”

“You know who starts sentence with ‘truth is’? Liars,” Joe responded.

Dean looked at you and Sam strangely.

“Have you heard of Oasis Plains?” you asked. “It's a housing development near the Atoka Valley.”

“I like her,” Joe told Dean. “She's not a liar.”

You smiled.

Joe turned back to you. “I know the area.”

“What can you tell us about the history there?”

“Why do you wanna know?”

You considered for a moment. “Something bad is happening in Oasis Plains. I think it may have something to do with a Native American grave we found there.”

“I'll tell you what my grandfather told me, what his grandfather told him,” Joe began. “Two hundred years ago, a band of my ancestors lived in that valley. One day, the American cavalry came to relocate them. They were resistant, the cavalry impatient. As my grandfather put it, on the night the moon and the sun share the sky as equals, the cavalry first raided our village. They murdered, raped. The next day, the cavalry came again, and the next, and the next. And on the sixth night, the cavalry came one last time. And by the time the sun rose, every man, woman, and child still in the village was dead. They say on the sixth night, as the chief of the village lay dying, he whispered to the heavens that no white man would ever tarnish this land again. Nature would rise up and protect the valley. And it would bring as many days of misery and death to the white man as the cavalry had brought upon his people.”

“Insects. Sounds like nature to me. Six days,” Dean stated.

“And on the night of the sixth day, none would survive,” Joe finished his story.

Sam and Dean exchanged a worried look with you.

“Thank you, sir,” you said.

Joe nodded at you before you and the boys headed off.

“When did the gas company man die?” Sam asked after you had made it outside.

“Uh, let's see, we got here Tuesday, so, Friday the twentieth,” Dean responded.

“March twentieth?” You thought for a moment. “That's the spring equinox.”

“The night the sun and the moon share the sky as equals,” Sam finished. “So, every year about this time, anybody in Oasis Plains is in danger. Larry built this neighborhood on cursed land.”

“And on the sixth night— that's tonight,” Dean finished.

“If we don't do something, Larry's family will be dead by sunrise. So how do we break the curse?”

“You don't break a curse. You get out of its way. We've gotta get those people out now,” Dean said sharply.

The three of you got in the car and sped away.

***

Dean drove while he spoke with Larry on the phone. “Yes, Mr. Pike, there's a mainline gas leak in your neighborhood… Well, it's fairly extensive. I don't want to alarm you, but we need your family out of the vicinity for at least twelve hours or so, just to be safe… Travis Weaver. I work for Oklahoma Gas and Power… Uh…” He panicked and quickly hung up.

Sam gestured for the phone. He learned from Matt that his backyard was crawling with cockroaches. He urged him to get his family out of the house, and Dean told him he needed to, under no circumstances, tell his father the truth about what was happening.

When you arrived at the Pike residence, Larry rushed out of the house. “Get off my property before I call the cops.”

“Mr. Pike, listen,” Sam urged.

“Dad, they're just tryin' to help,” Matt pleaded from the doorway.

“Get in the house!” Larry ordered.

Matt addressed you and the boys. “I'm sorry. I told him the truth.”

“We had a plan, Matt, what happened to the plan?” Dean grunted through his teeth.

“Look, it's 12:00 AM. They are coming any minute now. You need to leave now, before it's too late,” you told Larry.

“Yeah, you mean before the biblical swarm,” he replied humorlessly.

“Larry, what do you think really happened to that realtor, huh? And the gas company guy? You don't think somethin' weird's goin' on here?” Dean questioned.

“Look, I don't know who you are, but you're crazy. You come near my boy or my family again, and we're gonna have a problem,” Larry told you.

“Well, I hate to be a downer, but we've got a problem right now,” the older brother responded.

“Dad, they're right, okay? We're in danger.”

“Matt, get inside! Now!”

Matt stepped further out onto the porch. “No! Why won't you listen to me?!”

“Because this is crazy! It doesn't make any sense!” Larry yelled back.

“Look, this land is cursed! People have died here. Now, are you gonna really take that risk with your family?”

“Wait!” you shushed the group.

Everyone went silent.

“You hear it?”

From a distance away, there was a faint buzzing that got louder and louder rapidly.

“What the hell?” Larry muttered.

The fluorescent bug light on the porch began overheating; killing several bugs at a time. The buzzing got even louder. Millions of bugs blanketed the sky, heading straight to you.

“Oh my God.” Your breath quickened. “Everybody in the house, now!”

You and Dean held up the rear of the group, and you felt his hand on your back guiding you inside. You locked the door behind Dean.

“Okay, is there anybody else in the neighborhood?” Sam asked Larry.

“No, it's just us.”

Joanie entered the room. “Honey, what's happening? What's that noise?”

“Call 911,” Larry instructed her. “Joanie!”

She seemed caught off-guard. “Okay.” She picked up the phone and began to dial.

“I need towels,” Dean told Larry.

“Uh, in the closet.”

Sam and Matt went upstairs while you and Dean packed the base of the front door with the towels you found.

“Phones are dead,” Joanie informed you.

“They must have chewed through the phone lines.” Dean shook his head as the lights went out.

“And the power lines,” you grumbled.

Larry tried his cell phone only to get no signal.

“You won't get one. They're blanketing the house.” Dean looked towards the windows that were beginning to darken from the thousands of bugs collecting on them.

“So what do we do now?” Larry asked.

Sam had come back downstairs with Matt. “We try to outlast it. Hopefully, the curse will end at sunrise.”

“Hopefully?” Larry’s eyebrows raised in shock.

You looked to Dean. “You have your zippo lighter?”

He seemed to catch on to what you were suggesting and nodded. The two of you broke off to the kitchen and found bug spray under one of the cabinets.

Joanie seemed unimpressed when you returned with the can.

“Just trust us,” you told her.

A creaking sound from the fireplace caught your attention.

“What is that?” Matt’s voice was higher pitched than normal.

“The flue,” Sam answered.

“Alright, I think everybody needs to get upstairs,” Dean ordered.

Suddenly, thousands of bugs poured into the living room from the fireplace, swarming all around you. Dean used his zippo to light the can of bug spray. “Alright, everybody upstairs! Now! Go, go, go!”

You covered your ears and ran upstairs to the attic with Sam and Dean close by you. You could hear bugs thumping against the attic hatch door; trying desperately to get in. There was only a few moments reprieve before you heard gnawing above you.

“Oh, God, what's that?” Joanie cried.

“Something's eating through the wood,” Dean replied.

“Termites,” Matt added.

Dean ordered the family to get back from the spot where sawdust was beginning to descend and bits of moonlight were coming through. Moments later, bugs began to fill the room through the chewed in spot. You and the boys frantically tried to patch the hole, swatting bugs away from you like a madwoman. You were able to shove a board of wood with another under it to hold it up, but that only worked for a second. Two other holes were chewed through the roof, raining bugs down on you. You covered your ear with one hand and swatted bugs away with the other. You and the boys backed up into the Pikes, who were huddled in the corner. Dean tried his best to light the bugs up, but nothing was working. Then, miraculously, the sun began to rise. Thankfully, all of the bugs began to fly out of the holes they’d chewed through the roof. You watched through the same holes as they flew up toward the sun. You breathed a sigh of relief.

***

The next morning, you and the boys were about to head out of town but stopped by the Pike residence on the way. You approached the moving van that Larry was loading boxes into.

“What, no goodbye?” Dean joked.

“Good timing. Another hour and we'd have been gone,” Larry answered. He shook your hand.

“For good?” you asked.

“Yeah. The development's been put on hold while the government investigates those bones you found. But I'm gonna make damn sure no one lives here again,” Larry explained.

“You don't seem too upset about it.”

“Well, this has been the biggest financial disaster of my career, but…” He looked over to Matt, who was carrying a box in the garage. “...somehow, I really don't care.”

You smiled at him.

Sam walked over to Matt, who was throwing away all of his insect paraphernalia. You looked on fondly as the two smiled and laughed. You bid Larry goodbye and went over to the car with Dean. Seconds later, Sam joined you.

“I wanna find Dad,” the brunet said.

“Yeah, me too,” Dean nodded.

“Yeah, but I just... I want to apologize to him.”

“For what?”

“All the things I said to him. He was just doin' the best he could.”

“Well, don't worry, we'll find him. And then you'll apologize. And then within five minutes, you guys will be at each other's throats.”

You laughed. “I wanna find him, too.”

The boys looked at you strangely.

“I wanna kick his ass to hell and back for leaving you two alone.”

Dean shook his head. “I’m sure he had his reasons.”

“Well, whatever they are, they aren’t good enough,” you quipped. “And I wanna thank him. If it weren’t for him, I never would’ve met you two.”

Sam smiled at you fondly at y0u. Dean had a look on his face you couldn’t quite read.

“I thought we agreed on no chick flick moments, (Y/N),” Dean remarked. “C’mon, let’s hit the road.”

Series Rewrite Taglist: @polireader @brightlilith @atcamillanorrman @jrizzelle @insomnia-bookworm @procrastination20 @mrs-liebgott @djs8891 @tiggytaylor @staple-your-mouth @iloveshawn @jesstherebel @rach5ive @strawberrykiwisdogog @bruhidkjustwannaread @mxltifxnd0m @sunshine-on-marz @big-ol-boat @mgchaser @capncrankle @davina-clairee @chervbs @thepocketverse @simpingdeadcharacters @elqsiian

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brightlilith · 10 days

Text

HEARTS ACROSS UNIVERSES MASTERLIST

summary A mysterious amulet sends her to another dimension but she's met with the identical hunters she's been with for years. Not fate, but she must decide - stay and begin a new life or return and maybe never find her true love?

warnings fluff, angst, sweraing, heartbreak, comfort

words 19.6k more coming

a/n this will be a cowboy!Dean ? x reader x hunter!Dean ? I cant promise that I'll write fast but I'll finish this story as quick as I can. This one is inspired by @jay-and-dean & @roonyxx Series Stolen Crown

PART ONE

PART TWO

PART THREE

PART FOUR

PART FIVE

PART SIX

PART SEVEN

PART EIGHT

PART NINE

PART TEN

...

tags @ladysparkles78 @deans-spinster-witch @muhahaha303 @clairealeehelsing @winharry @rosecentury

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brightlilith · 11 days

Text

What's Mine

Dean Winchester x Reader

You and Dean have been tiptoeing around each other for weeks until you run into your ex on a hunt and Dean makes it a point to let it be known he isn't giving up what's his..you

The breath was knocked out of you when your back hit the dirt, Dean's body on top of yours was a familiar weight and he'd somehow supported your head to keep your neck from slamming at a weird angle when the two of you landed.

“You ok?” He asked breathlessly and you managed a smile “Had worse” you felt the heat of the flame from the open grave hit your side and knew Sam had torched the bones. Good thing too that damn ghost had tossed you and Dean both like a frigging ragdoll.

“You two good?” Sam called out and Dean who was still currently on top of you smirked “Been in a lot worse positions” you rolled your eyes and shoved him in the chest “Shut up and get off me Winchester” he got to his feet and helped you to yours before grabbing his chest playfully “Oh come on sweetheart. You're killing me here. You know you want me”

You felt your face warm at his teasing. Did you want him? Hell yes, who wouldn't? Did you have no clue where he stood due to months of flirting, light touches and getting so comfortable with each other you regularly ended up in each other's beds if one of you had a bad night.

“Oh yes. Let me ravage you in the middle of this graveyard covered in dirt and ectoplasm” you shot back and he grinned “Oh I'd take ya anyway I could have ya” you rolled your eyes and walked over to the grave where Sam was already filling in the hole and picked up a shovel. Dean joined the two of you and in no time the grave was back covered.

You looked from Sam to Dean “I need a shower” you announced only to be met with Sam saying he needed food and Dean saying he needed a drink. You laughed “There's a bar not far from our hotel. Sign boasted the best wings as voted by some traveling foodie. Let's hit the showers then we can grab some food and a few drinks before we hit the hay”

Dean grinned “That's my girl” and Sam shook his head “You two need to get a room” Sam was sick of the little dance you and Dean were stuck in as much as you were but you refused to make the first move. You knew how Dean was when it came to commitment.

You'd known both brothers for years and had started hunting with them full time after Bobby died then moved into the bunker full time after your last breakup.Sam was your best friend. You loved them both and refused to let your feelings for Dean come between that. He'd eventually make his feelings known, wouldn't he?

You walked in the bar between Sam and Dean, feeling Dean's hand at your lower back. It was a habit he'd long since started doing. Whether it was when the three of you were on a hunt, you went to the grocery store with him or something as simple as walking in a bar. When you'd asked him about it hoping he'd use the opportunity to admit anything he'd instead told you that he just liked to keep a hand on you. Something about in public places it keeping any pervs from thinking about looking your way.

You tried to ignore the instinct to lean into his touch. Was it possible he didn't want you like you wanted him? Maybe he really did just see you as a good friend and you were reading too much into things.

—--------------

Dean felt your back tense under his hand as Sam cleared the way to a booth on the back wall. “You good sweetheart?” He asked, leaning down so you could hear him over the music. You nodded but didn't give a verbal response. He was sure he'd blocked your head from taking a blow but maybe your back or ribs had taken a hit you hadn't admitted to?

He'd make a point to ask you before all of you settled down for the night back at the hotel.

He watched as you sat down on one of the benches then looked between him and Sam “Who's going to the bar?” He raised his hand slightly “you want your usual?” You nodded “Yes please” when you gave him a small smile he felt one slip onto his face in return but didn't miss Sam rolling his eyes. His little brother had been on his ass for weeks. The last threat had been “If you don't make a move I'm gonna start hitting on her for you. It's pathetic man”

—-------------

After Sam had eaten an extraordinary amount of wings for his usual appetite and you and Dean had split an order of mozzarella sticks you had gotten up to go to the bathroom. Normally one or both of them would walk you and wait outside the door but this once you'd convinced them to let you go alone.

When you got back out of the bathroom you saw that both of them had gone to the bar so you headed that way. You were almost to them when you heard a voice call your name you froze dead in your tracks, you'd recognize that voice anywhere. Your ex boyfriend Dominic.

The same ex boyfriend who'd broken up with you because “Ain't no way you're not sleeping with one of the Winchesters. They've never made a habit of working with any other hunter with the exception of Bobby yet you're always welcome to join them”

You turned to see him walking towards you. He was a fairly good looking guy. He was about six foot, dark brown hair and bright blue eyes. You'd been hurt when he accused you but now there was a whole different level to that hurt considering it seemed the Winchester that you did now have feelings for would never want you.

“Hey Dom” you greeted with a smile. “How ya been?” He asked and you shrugged “You know the life, still breathing so I'd call it a win”

—------------

Sam knew you should be out of the bathroom by now. He had hoped Dean would use the night out to admit his feelings. He turned to look around for you and spotted you talking to someone, no not someone your ex. That was Dominic. This should be interesting.

He glanced at Dean, trying to consider if he wanted to do this or not but then he saw your shoulders tense and knew you well enough to know when you needed a rescue. “Isn't that Dom?” He asked if off handedly but Dean spun around fast enough a few people looked their way. “Yeah it is”

The muscle in Dean's jaw was clenched hard watching you talk to your ex and Sam knew it was now or never. “She doesn't look too comfortable. Maybe one of us should go over there?” He stood like he was going to but Dean grabbed his shoulder “Let me”

—-----------------

What had started off as friendly enough turned not so friendly the moment Dom noticed Sam and Dean at the bar “Which one is it?” “Which one is what?” You asked because you honestly had no idea what he meant. “Which Winchester are you fucking?”

Before you could open your mouth to respond you felt a strong set of arms slip around your waist and heard Dean's voice say “That would be me. Why? You got a problem with it?” You cut your eyes up at him so he used that moment to bring one hand up to cup your chin and when his lips met yours the entire bar could've caught fire for all you cared.

You'd thought of kissing Dean so many times, dreamt of it but good lord the real thing couldn't be described. He rolled his tongue against yours, exploring your mouth and letting you taste the bourbon he'd drank. His hand moved to the back of your head, holding you in place as he deepened the kiss. You felt heat roll through your stomach as he pulled away from you leaving another light kiss on your lips before turning his eyes back to Dom.

“What was the issue of who she's with? Didn't you break up with her?” You could hear the venom in Dean's voice and felt his arms tighten around you protectively. This was new.

Dom shrugged “Yeah I broke up with her because I figured either you or your brother was fucking her” his eyes slid down to you then back up to Dean before he added “Or both of ya”

You felt Dean tense and knew you needed to diffuse the situation. Dom was strong, yeah but Dean was on an entire different level. He could easily kill him and not break a sweat. You gripped Dean's arms to stop him from moving “Baby,let's get Sammy and leave” you hoped you using a pet name for him that you normally wouldn't might get through his head.

He nodded “Yeah. Let's get back to the hotel” he slipped his arms from around you and grabbed your hand instead, lacing his fingers with yours. You took a few steps away and thought that was it, that Dom would use what brain cells he had and let it go. Instead he said “Does she still make that little sound right before she…”

He didn't get a chance to finish the sentence. Dean had dropped your hand and landed a solid punch before you could blink. Fuck. “SAM!” You shouted over the quickly growing crowd.

You didn't want to get close enough to get caught in the crosshair. Dean would be careful of you but add in enough drunks and adrenaline and accidents happen. “I got him” You heard Sam's voice before you saw him grab Dean's shoulder, ducking the thrown punch “C'mon he ain't worth it”

Dean looked up and met your gaze. You saw him take a deep breath then nod. “Yeah let's go” he reached for your hand and you gave it to him. Sam handed the nearest waitress a few twenties but by that time some drunks had helped Dom to his feet. He was holding his broken nose “So i was right. She's been fucking you”

You squeezed Dean's hand, silently begging him to not be baited. He pulled you into his side then turned to face Dom. “If I would've had her in my bed back then she would've kicked you to the curb long before you split and for the record she doesn't make any small noise with me” you felt your face warm when a chorus of “Ooohhs” went through the bar.

You spotted the bouncer headed in your direction and Dean must have too because he waved towards the door “I'm leaving. I'm leaving. This asshole needed to learn some manners”

The short ride to the motel had been in silence. You followed Sam into the room and headed for the door adjoining your room to theirs.

—-------------

You felt Dean grab your hand before you made it to the door “Can we talk?” You cut your eyes at Sam then nodded “Yeah. Come on” you walked into your room and waited until you heard Dean close the door to turn and face him.

“I'm sorry you were put in that position to have to defend me” You blurted out and he looked stunned for a minute then shook his head “I'm not. That guy's a fucking asshole. He never deserved you” you smiled slightly “Helluva punch and helluva kiss”

He smirked “I meant it” “The punch?” You asked and he rolled his eyes “The kiss you brat” you grinned “Oh really? What about the she doesn't make any small sound with me part?”

He pushed off the door, walking towards you with almost a predatory look. The same thing that made demons run the opposite direction had the ability to make your knees weak in the best way. “That sounds like you're doubting my abilities sweetheart?” You shrugged nonchalantly despite your heart pounding in your throat “Not like you've made a move to show me your abilities”

—--------------

He stopped just shy of touching you “Let me make myself clear if we do this that's it. You're mine, I'm yours. I don't want one night or just sex. I want all of you” “Good” you replied and that was all it took. He closed the space between you and if you thought the kiss in the bar was something it had nothing compared to the way his lips crashed against yours in a bruising, hungry kiss.

He backed you up to the bed and the moment the back of your legs hit it he eased you back on it, never breaking the kiss even as he hovered over you. Once the need for air forced you apart his lips moved across your jaw then down your neck “I've wanted you for so long” he spoke against your skin and you practically melted on the spot. “I'm yours Dean. I've been yours” you whispered and he groaned “Gonna be the death of me”

His hands gripped your shirt and before you could protest he ripped it right down the middle bearing your covered breasts to him. He bit down on one of them and when you moaned and arched your back he slipped his hands under you to relieve you of the bra as well, throwing it across the room. He looked down at you and the look in his eyes made your heart flip “You're so damn beautiful” he murmured before crashing his lips against yours again.

Your hands found his shirt so he broke the kiss long enough to slip it off and throw it, giving you access to his skin. Your hands smoothed over his chest, tracing the tattoo and small scars littered around it that even angelic healing didn't get rid of.

“I need more of you, please” he begged and you fucking whimpered hearing Dean Winchester sound that wrecked. “You have all of me Dean” you whispered and he left another searing kiss against your lips before moving down your body.

He slipped your boots off along with your jeans then panties leaving you bare to him before settling between your legs. He didn't give you time to adjust before his mouth found your core. The first lick was tentative, testing but when your hips bucked up into him he damn near growled before pinning your lower body down with one arm and diving in like a man starved.

—--------------

You were quivering under Dean. He'd already worked one orgasm out of you with his tongue alone and now had added two fingers into you as well. You were so close to that edge again and damn him he knew just what you needed. He turned his wrist to find that spot deep inside of you, running his fingertips over it as he sucked your clit into his mouth and you came again with a scream of his name on your lips.

Once you came down from that high you shoved weakly at his head “Please Dean, too much” he left one final kiss against your clit before leaning back to grin up at you “Worth the wait?” You nodded weakly “Please take your pants off and get up here”

He stood and slipped his boots, jeans and boxers off before crawling up your body, kissing and licking every inch of skin he could on the way up. When he crashed his lips against yours you could taste yourself on him and felt yourself clench especially when he moved to your neck to work your pulse point with his tongue and teeth.

“Dean, I will return the favor next time but please get inside me” He grinned against your skin “Yes ma'am” you felt the head of his cock teasing at your entrance and rolled your hips up towards him. He slid in slowly, a low moan leaving you both at the feeling of him stretching you.

Once you adjusted to his size you tapped his shoulder “You can move” he gave a thrust and when your hands went to his shoulders, nails digging in, he groaned “That's my girl” before setting a punishing pace.

—------------

You were folded damn near in half, your legs on Dean's shoulders as he pounded into you. You felt tears forming in the corner of your eyes from being pushed to that delicious line between pleasure and pain.

Your legs were shaking, your whole body felt like it was made of liquid. You'd never had this many orgasms fucked out of you and it seemed like he was aiming for one more before he let himself come. “Dean please. I can't take any more” you begged and he kissed your cheek “One more baby. Please. You've got one more for me”

His fingers slipped between you, rubbing tight circles on your clit and you felt that pressure burst again,your vision going soft from the pleasure coursing through you. His thrusts started getting uneven and you knew he was close. “Fuck Dean. You feel so damn amazing. Please come for me, fill me up” you sobbed, fucked senseless.

He groaned,burying his face in your neck as he gave one final hard thrust and you felt when he came deep inside of you.

—----------------

He slowly eased your legs down but stayed inside of you as you both worked to get your breathing back to normal. When he pulled out he apologized at the low whine you gave before going to grab a warm rag to clean you both up.

After he was sure you were cleaned up and didn't need anything else he climbed into bed next to you and pulled you over on his chest. “No regrets on wanting me?” He asked and you felt your heart jump at the uncertainty in his voice despite having just fucked you senseless. You leaned up to look up at him “Why? You already sick of me?” You teased and his eyes narrowed “Don't even woman”

You laughed lightly “I'm sure Dean. You're who I want” “Good, because I'd hate to have to kill anyone who tried to take you from me” you shook your head “Not happening Winchester. You're stuck with me” He pulled you back on his chest and left a kiss on your head before saying “I've been stuck in a lot worse positions than having you in my arms”

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brightlilith · 12 days

Text

Hook Man | Supernatural Series Rewrite | Dean Winchester x Reader

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader

Warnings: canon violence, canon gore, mentions of religious trauma/parental abuse

Word Count: 4869

A/N: Guys. We hit a bit of a milestone earlier in the week. Just wanted to say in celebration that I am so beyond grateful for all of your love and support. I'm so glad you guys are enjoying reading this as much as I enjoy writing it! Giving big big kisses to all of you!!! Taglist is open!!

Edit: Hey.... I suck I forgot to add the taglist when I published. So sorry!!! fixed now!!!!

Series Rewrite Masterlist

You and Dean were sat at an outdoor cafe; coffee cups in hand. He was clacking away at his laptop while you wrote in your journal. You wrote your excerpt on the shapeshifter next to a drawing of Dean’s necklace.

“Is that…?” Dean asked, pointing to your journal.

You nodded.

“I didn’t know you could draw,” he said.

“No offense, lovebug, but you don’t know much of anything about me,” you retorted.

He scoffed. “Will you take the compliment and be quiet?”

“I didn’t hear a compliment,” you giggled. “Well, maybe in ‘Dean Winchester Land’ it was a compliment.”

“Oh, shut up,” he responded playfully.

Sam hung up the payphone he was standing in and came back over to your table.

“Your, uh, half-caf, double vanilla latte is gettin’ cold over here, Francis,” Dean jabbed at his brother.

“Hey, don’t knock it ‘til you try it,” you told him.

“So, anything?” Dean asked Sam.

Sam huffed. “I had ‘em check the FBI’s Missing Persons Data Bank. No John Does fitting Dad’s description. I even ran his plates for traffic violations.”

“Sam, I’m tellin’ ya, I don’t think Dad wants to be found.”

Sam looked disappointed.

“Check this out.” Dean turned his laptop around to you and Sam. “It’s a news item out of Planes Courier. Ankeny, Iowa. It’s only about a hundred miles from here.”

“Thank god, a short trip,” you sighed.

“ ‘The mutilated body was found near the victim’s car, parked on 9 Mile Road,’ “ Sam read from the article.

“Keep reading.” Dean nodded at his laptop.

“ ‘Authorities are unable to provide a realistic description of the killer. The sole eyewitness, whose name has been withheld, is quoted as saying the attacker was invisible.’ “

That last line caught your attention. “Could be something interesting.”

“Or it could be nothing at all,” Sam protested. “One freaked out witness who didn’t see anything? Doesn’t mean it’s the Invisible Man.”

“But what if it is? Dad would check it out,” Dean responded.

***

The one hundred mile drive concluded with the boys dropping you off at a sorority house.

“Remind me why I have to play barbies for the week again?” you asked.

“Because this is Lori Sorensen’s sorority house; the witness from the killing,” Sam replied.

“Great,” you mumbled.

“Have fun making s’mores and singing campfire songs,” Dean remarked.

“Bite me,” you snarked. “You’re going to a frat, though, Steve McQueen, so I wouldn’t be so cocky.”

“Yeah, don’t remind me,” he grumbled.

“I’ll catch up with you guys later,” you said and shouldered your duffel bag. You bid them goodbye and reluctantly marched up to the door of the sorority house.

A girl with long, dark curls opened the door. “Hi,” she said. “Can I… help you?”

“Yeah, I’m (Y/N),” you explained. “I’m your sorority sister from Ohio State. Do you guys have an extra bed I could sleep in? I just transferred here.”

“Sure,” she grinned. “I’m Taylor, by the way.”

“Nice to meet you.”

She led you inside and introduced you to Lori Sorensen. She was a sweet girl; very naive and a little stuck-up. Taylor seemed a little more like a party girl, but still relatively tame. You decided you could gel with these girls for the time being.

They told you they were headed to Sunday service at Lori’s father’s church and invited you to go with them. You obliged.

In the middle of the introductory rites, you heard the heavy church door slam shut. Your head swiveled to find Sam and Dean frozen and looking guilty. You scoffed amusedly and rolled your eyes, turning your attention forward for the rest of the service.

Taylor invited you and Lori out to a party after the service, but Lori said she couldn’t. Her father had dinner with her every Sunday since her mother passed away. She and Taylor hugged and Taylor bid you goodbye before heading off.

Sam and Dean came over to you and Lori.

“Guys!” you said excitedly. “Sam, Dean, this is Lori.” You introduced her to them. “They’re my friends from Ohio. They transferred with me.”

“I saw you inside,” she told them.

“We don’t wanna bother you. We just heard about what happened and…”

Dean cut his brother off. “We wanted to say how sorry we were.”

You knew where this was going; he was cruising for another hookup.

“I kind of know what you’re going through,” Sam broke back in. “I-I saw someone..get hurt once. It’s something you don’t forget.”

Lori nodded slightly. Just then, her father came up to your group.

“Dad, um, this is Sam, Dean, and (Y/N). They’re new students.”

Dean shook the reverend’s hand. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, sir. I must say, that was an inspiring sermon.”

“Thank you very much,” he smiled. “It’s so nice to find young people who are open to the Lord’s message.”

“Yes, sir,” you replied and began leading him away from Sam and Lori. “Actually, we’re looking for a new church group…”

***

Later that day, you and the boys were sitting together in the local library. Sam relayed to you what Lori had told him about the passing of the guy she was with.

“So, you believe her?” Dean asked him.

“I do,” he nodded.

“Yeah, I think she’s hot, too.” Dean smirked at him.

“You think almost everything with a vagina and legs is hot, Dean,” you remarked.

“Not you,” he jabbed back, still smirking.

You clutched a hand to your chest. “I’m hurt, you dick.”

He rolled his eyes at you.

“Can we focus, please?” Sam broke in. “There’s something in her eyes. And listen to this: she heard scratching on the roof. Found the bloody body suspended upside down over the car.”

“Wait, the body suspended? That sounds like the—”

Sam cut you off. “Yeah, I know, the Hook Man legend.”

“That’s one of the most famous urban legends ever,” Dean added. “You don’t think that we’re dealing with the Hook Man.”

“Every urban legend has a source. A place where it all began,” said Sam.

“Yeah, but what about the phantom scratches and the tire punctures and the invisible killer?”

“Well, maybe the Hook Man isn’t a man at all. What if it’s some kind of spirit?”

You had the librarian bring over boxes of arrest records. The three of you poured through pages upon pages for hours.

“Hey, check this out. 1862,” Sam said finally. “A preacher named Jacob Karns was arrested for murder. Looks like he was so angry over the red light district in town that one night he killed 13 prostitutes. Uh, right here, ‘some of the deceased were found in their bed, sheets soaked with blood. Others suspended upside down from the limbs of trees as a warning against sins of the flesh.’ “

“Get this, the murder weapon?” Dean was looking at another page. “Looks like the preacher lost his hand in an accident. Had it replaced with a silver hook.”

You pointed to a page in Sam’s book. “Look where all this happened. Nine Mile Road.”

“Same place where the frat boy was killed,” Sam chimed in.

“Nice job, Dr. Venkamen and Annie Potts. Let’s check it out,” the older brother quipped.

The three of you headed to Nine Mile Road. Dean parked off the road in a clearing in the woods. He popped the trunk and handed Sam a shotgun. “Here you go.”

“If it is a spirit, buckshot won’t do much good,” Sam said.

“Yeah, rock salt. It won’t kill ‘em. But it’ll slow ‘em down.” Dean led the three of you through the clearing.

“That’s pretty good. You and Dad think of this?”

“I told you. You don’t have to be a college graduate to be a genius.”

“Cool it, Winchester. You and your daddy aren’t the first people to think of rock salt bullets.” You loaded your own gun with shells of your own.

“Yeah, yeah, whatever.”

“They’re a bitch to roll,” you said.

“Oh, one hundred percent,” he remarked.

You suddenly heard rustling in the bushes.

“Over there,” you whispered to Sam. The two of you aimed your guns and cocked it.

The “ghost” came out from behind the trees. A sheriff.

‘Dammit.’

“Put the gun down now!” he yelled. “Now! Put your hands behind your head.”

“Wait, wait, okay!” Dean told him.

You immediately dropped your gun and put your hands up.

“Now get down on your knees. Come on, do it! On your knees!”

You three obeyed.

“Now get down on your bellies,” he commanded. “Come on, do it!”

“Are you just on a power trip or something? ‘Cause— ah!” you were cut off by a sharp kick to the shin from Sam.

The sheriff brought the three of you into the station. It was early the next morning by the time you were able to leave.

“Saved your asses!” Dean jeered. “Talked the sheriff down to a fine. I am Matlock.”

“How was it that you were left in charge of talking him down?” You raised a brow at him. “And how in the fuck did you do it?”

“Sweetheart, this may surprise you, but I’m good at my job. And I told him Sam was a dumbass pledge, you were his girlfriend we’d dragged along, and we were hazing you.”

You and Sam both recoiled at the idea of dating each other.

“First of all, ew,” you started, “No offense, Sam.”

“None taken.”

“But what about the shotguns?”

“I said that you were hunting ghosts and the spirits were repelled by rock salt. You know, typical Hell Week prank.”

“And he believed you?” you asked incredulously.

“Well, Sam looks like a dumbass pledge.”

“Can’t argue with that.” You stuck your tongue out at Sam.

Moments later, several officers ran out of the building to their cruisers. Barely needing to share a look with the boys, you hurried into the car and sped away to follow them.

You could see Lori wrapped in a disposable blanket in front of the sorority house you were staying in. You weren’t exactly sure what was going on, but you had no doubt that it was another murder. The stretcher carrying a body bag rolling out of the front door affirmed that thought seconds later.

Dean parked the Impala around the back of the house.

“Why would the Hook Man come here?” Sam asked as the three of you crept around the building. “This is a long way from Nine Mile Road.”

“Maybe he’s not haunting the scene of his crime. Maybe it’s about something else,” Dean suggested.

You pulled his arm back seconds later to avoid being seen by your “sorority sisters.” You used the fact that you had now pretty much pulled yourself in front of him to allow you to lead the way up to the second floor.

While Dean made a stupid joke about a naked pillow fight, Sam was busy giving you a boost before climbing up himself. You looked back down at the ground to see Dean struggling to find his footing.

“Need help?” you smirked.

“No,” he grumbled.

“I think you do.”

“No, I don’t.”

You waited patiently, leaning your head in your hands on the railing of the balcony and smiling down at him. He struggled for a few more moments before he conceded. All he did was open and close his hand he was extending upwards, similar to a toddler asking to be picked up.

“What’s the magic word?” you sing-songed.

“Come on!” he hissed. “Please?”

“There we go,” you smiled. You dug your heels into the ground and pulled him up.

You then realized the window you were entering was the one in Lori and Taylor’s closet. You hoped to god in that moment that Taylor wasn’t the one dead.

Your fears were realized, however, when you entered Lori and Taylor’s room to find the words “Aren’t you glad you didn’t turn on the light?” crudely etched into the wall above Taylor’s blood soaked bed. You didn’t exactly get attached to people on hunts, but seeing good people die was never easy for you. It didn’t get easier. Your dad would call you soft, but you always liked to look at your compassion as a strength.

“ ‘Aren’t you glad you didn’t turn on the light?’ That’s right out of the legend,” Sam whispered.

“Yeah, that’s classic Hook Man all right.” Dean tapped his nose as he spoke. “It’s definitely a spirit.”

“Yeah, I’ve never smelled ozone this strong before,” Sam muttered.

“(Y/N), you okay?” Dean asked you.

You nodded, biting your lip. “Yeah. Fine. It’s just… look at this symbol.” You were referencing the one beneath the writing. “Does that look familiar to you?”

Your head jerked toward the sound of footsteps approaching. You quickly shooed Sam and Dean back into the closet and out of the house. Thankfully, you made it back to the car without being seen. You pulled the copy you’d made at the library of one of the pages on Jacob Karns out of the backseat. That was where you had seen the cross symbol; on Karns’s hook.

You showed it to the boys. “Told ya.”

“Alright, let’s find the dude’s grave, salt and burn the bones, and put him down,” Dean said.

Sam took the page from your hand. “ ‘After execution, Jacob Karns was laid to rest in an Old North Cemetery. In an unmarked grave.’ “ He flicked the page with his finger, looking aggravated; as were you and Dean.

“Super,” the older brother muttered.

“Ok. So we know it’s Jacob Karns. But we still don’t know where he’ll manifest next. Or why,” Sam pointed out.

“I could just be spitballing here, but Lori definitely has something to do with it,” you said, looking up at the sorority house.

***

You managed to get into a party at the fraternity house Sam and Dean were staying in later that night. Dean had been busy mingling with thin college girls dressed in mini skirts while Sam stuck to the outside wall. You bounced around from talking to Sam and hustling some of the drunk frat guys in multiple rounds of pool.

The three of you reunited around the pool table you’d been dominating that night.

“Man, you’ve been holding out on me,” Dean told Sam. “This college thing is awesome!” He smiled and winked at a passing girl.

Sam looked intensely uncomfortable. “This wasn’t really my experience.”

“Let me guess. Libraries, studying, straight A’s?”

Sam nodded. You chortled.

“What a geek. Alright, you do your homework?”

“Yeah. It was bugging me, right? So how is the Hook Man tied up with Lori? So I think I came up with something.” Sam unfolded a piece of paper.

“1932. Clergyman arrested for murder. 1967. Seminarian held in hippie rampage,” Dean read.

Your eyebrows knitted together.

“There’s a pattern here,” Sam explained. “In both cases, the suspect was a man of religion who openly preached against immorality. And then found himself wanted for killings he claimed were the work of an invisible force. Killings carried out— get this— with a sharp instrument.”

“What’s the connection to Lori?” Dean asked.

“Her dad. Man of religion who openly preaches against immorality,” you pointed out. “Maybe this time, though, instead of saving the whole town, he’s just trying to save his kid.”

“Reverend Sorensen,” Dean tsked. “You think he’s summoning the spirit?”

“Maybe it’s like when a poltergeist can haunt a person instead of a place,” you suggested.

“Yeah, the spirit latches onto the reverend’s repressed emotions, feeds off them, yeah, okay.”

“Without the reverend ever even knowing it,” Sam chimed in.

“Either way, you should keep an eye on Lori tonight,” Dean told his brother.

“What about you?”

Dean looked over to the opposite side of the pool table where the blonde you’d been playing with smiled at him. He reluctantly said, “(Y/N) and I are gonna go see if we can find that unmarked grave.”

“We are? I wanted to play more eight-ball,” you told him.

He looked back over at the blonde, back at you, and shook his head in disappointment. “C’mon. I’m not happy about it either.”

***

“Are you sure you don’t wanna go back?” you asked Dean as the two of you trudged through the Old North Cemetery. You were holding shovels and flashlights searching for the grave of Jacob Karns.

He shot you a look.

“I know, I know, I’m kidding,” you laughed. “But seriously. Now that we’re… acquaintances, we should go out to a bar sometime. Preferably one with a pool table.”

“That’d be cool, actually,” he said, smirking at you. “You’re pretty good.”

“What, at pool?”

He nodded. “I could probably still kick your ass, though.”

“You’re on, pretty boy.”

He stopped and turned to you. “Don’t objectify me.”

“What?” you asked, stopping next to him. “You know you’re gorgeous. You frequently use it to your advantage.” You marched on.

You smiled when you heard him mutter, “You are so confusing, woman.”

You walked for a few more minutes before your flashlight landed on a grave marked with that cross symbol from Taylor’s room. “Jackpot.”

You and Dean set to work exhuming Jacob’s corpse. Your back and shoulders ached more and more the deeper you dug. “How fucking far down is six feet?” you remarked breathlessly.

“I don’t know, but next time, I get to watch the cute girl’s house,” he replied.

“Aw, you don’t wanna spend quality time with this cute girl?” you asked playfully.

He eyed you strangely with a lopsided smile.

“What?” you asked.

“Nothing. You’re just funny,” he told you.

You smiled back and got back to digging. Your shovel finally hit the wooden box lying below. You broke through it to reveal his corpse. Or at least, what remained of it.

“Hello, preacher,” Dean said. He threw his shovel aside and helped you out of the hole you had dug. After he had climbed out, you poured salt and lighter fluid all over the bones.

“Goodbye, preacher.” Dean threw a match down into the grave.

Your nose twisted up in disgust. “I will never get used to that smell.”

“What, burnt, hundred-year-old preacher? Me neither.”

You and Dean packed up and headed back to the car that was parked in the cemetery’s parking lot. Your body was exhausted.

“Um, weird question,” you started.

He turned to you and threw his shovel and duffel bag in the trunk.

“You think we could sleep in your car for a bit? I’m running on two days of no sleep.”

He shrugged. “I don’t see why not. It should all be over now and Sam should be layin’ it down with Lori.”

And so, you did. You stretched out over the backseat, and Dean laid down on the front. A few moments of silence passed between the two of you, and strangely, you no longer felt tired. You supposed it was the strangeness of the situation. You were now sharing a somewhat intimate moment with a man you despised just weeks prior. You weren’t quite sure where your relationship with Dean was heading, and that bothered you a bit.

“Dean?”

“Hm.”

“Goodnight.”

“Goodnight, (Y/N).”

***

Four hours of shut-eye later, you felt recharged. You awoke to the sound of Dean’s phone vibrating over which Sam told you to meet him at a hospital.

“Hospital? Why? Is he okay?” you asked Dean, climbing over the front seat to sit shotgun.

“I think so, but he said the reverend’s hurt.”

About fifteen minutes later, you were walking down a long corridor only to be stopped by two cops in wide-brimmed hats.

The sheriffs put a hand to Dean’s chest to stop him.

“No, it’s alright, we’re with him. He’s my brother,” he explained. “Hey! Brother!” he called, waving dorkishly at Sam.

“Let them through.”

“Thanks.”

You and Dean began walking toward Sam, who met you in the middle.

“You okay?” Dean asked.

“Yeah,” sighed Sam.

“What the hell happened?”

“Hook Man.”

You looked incredulous. “You saw him?”

“Damn right. Why didn’t you torch the bones?” Sam responded.

“We did,” you rebutted, confused. “You sure it’s the spirit of Jacob Karns?”

“It sure as hell looked like him,” Sam returned. “And that’s not all. I don’t think the spirit is latching on to the reverend.”

“Well, duh, he wouldn’t send Hook Man after himself,” you remarked.

“I think it’s latching onto Lori. Last night she found out her father is having an affair with a married woman.” He whispered that last part.

“Damn.” You gritted your teeth. “I could see how that could upset her.”

Sam nodded. “She told me she was raised to believe that if you do something wrong, you get punished.”

“Ok, so she’s conflicted,” Dean chimed in. “And the spirit of Preacher Karns is latching on to repress the emotions and maybe he’s doing the punishing for her, huh?”

“Right,” the younger brother nodded. “Rich comes on too strong, Taylor tries to make her into a party girl, Dad has an affair.”

“Remind me not to piss this girl off,” Dean muttered. “But we burned those bones, buried them in salt, why didn’t that stop him?”

“We must’ve missed something,” you said.

“No, we burned everything in that coffin.”

“Did you get the hook?” Sam asked the two of you.

Realization struck you. “Fuck,” you grumbled. “No.”

“Why does that matter?” Dean asked.

“Well, it was the murder weapon, and in a way, it was part of him,” Sam told him.

“So, like the bones, the hook is a source of his power.”

“So if we find the hook—”

The three of you finished Sam’s sentence in unison, grinning. “We stop the Hook Man.”

“Well, back to the drawing board,” you said as the three of you began walking away from the reverend’s hospital room.

“What do you mean?” Dean asked.

“Do you know where the hook is?” you raised your eyebrows at him.

He said nothing.

“Exactly,” you giggled.

***

Your next stop was the library for the second time this hunt. As much as you liked to read, obnoxious amounts of research was not your thing. Finally, you thought you’d found something. “Log book, Iowa State Penitentiary. ‘Karns, Jacob. Personal effects: disposition thereof.’ “

“Does it mention the hook?” Sam asked you.

“I don’t know. ‘Upon execution, all earthly items shall be remanded to the prisoner’s house of worship, St. Barnabas Church,’ “ you read aloud. “That’s where Lori’s dad preaches.”

“Where Lori lives, too?” Sam asked, but it was more of a statement than a question.

“Maybe that’s why the Hook Man has been haunting reverends and reverends’ daughters for the past two hundred years,” Dean added.

“Yeah, but I think someone would’ve noticed a blood-stained, silver-handled hook hangin’ around the church or Lori’s house.”

Dean pulled out another book and slapped it down in front of you. “Check the church records.”

Sam pulled the book to sit between the two of you. You and he flipped through pages upon pages of records before he found something. “ ‘St. Barnabas donations, 1862. Received silver-handled hook from state penitentiary. Reforged.’ “ He sighed. “They melted it down. Made it into something else.”

“Goddammit,” you grumbled.

Later that night, you and the boys returned to St. Barnabas Church. Dean shouldered a duffel bag and began leading you to the church. Sam followed close behind.

“Alright, we can’t take any chances,” the older brother began. “Anything silver goes in the fire.”

“I agree. So, Lori’s still at the hospital. We’ll have to break in,” Sam added.

“Okay, take your pick,” you told him.

“I’ll take the house,” Sam responded.

“Dean and I will take the church, then.”

“We will?” the older brother asked.

“Yup.”

You led Dean up to the church. He called back to his brother. “Hey. Stay out of her underwear drawer.”

You could hear the smirk in his voice and giggled.

You took the top floor of the church while Dean scoured the basement. The two of you, along with Sam, met up in the furnace room.

“I got everything that even looked silver,” Sam told you.

“Better safe than sorry,” Dean said.

Your head turned upward at the sound of footsteps. You could hear Dean taking his gun from his jacket as you grabbed yours.

“Move, move,” Dean told you quietly.

You crept up the stairs as quietly as possible. When you got back to the ground floor, you could see Lori hunched over, her shoulders shaking. You lowered your gun and lightly pushed Sam forward. He shot you a look, but headed over to Lori anyway. You and Dean went back downstairs to continue melting the silver.

“I feel for her,” you said quietly. “I know how much religion can fuck you up.” Silver clanked against the coals in the furnace as you spoke.

Dean turned his head to you. “You do?”

You nodded. “I’ve watched so many people go through crisis after crisis when their loved ones end up dead.”

“Me too,” he said earnestly. “Probably why I don’t pray.”

“Well, it’s a little difficult to believe in a higher power when all day, everyday is blood, guts, and monsters,” you remarked.

He chuckled. “Yeah. I don’t know if I’ve met one religious hunter.”

“I have,” you said. “My mom.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. She was somehow still convinced of ‘God’s plan.’ “

“Catholic?”

“Oh, very.”

“I’m sorry to hear that,” he replied playfully.

“Yeah, me too,” you smiled. “My dad wasn’t, but, uh, he had his… other issues.”

Before he could ask further questions, you heard commotion upstairs. It sounded like running heading toward the opposite side of the basement.

“C’mon,” Dean urged, sprinting out of the furnace room with his gun in hand. You followed closely behind. You could hear the breaking of boards and slamming of what you assumed were bodies that practically shook the walls that got louder as you got closer. Sam was maneuvering himself behind the Hook Man’s clunkily-moving apparition.

Dean gruffly called to his brother, “Sam, drop!”

His brother obeyed and Dean shot the Hook Man, who disappeared.

“I thought we got all the silver,” you said.

“So did I,” the older brother answered.

“Then why is he still here?” Sam’s voice was frantic.

“Well, maybe we missed something!”

You looked around and noticed Lori’s cross necklace. “Lori, where did you get that chain?”

“My father gave it to me,” she responded nervously.

“Where’d your dad get it?” Sam asked.

“He said it was a church heirloom,” she answered quickly. “He gave it to me when I started school.”

“Is it silver?!”

“Yes!”

Sam ripped the chain off her and threw it to you. You caught it with ease and went to start running back down the hall when the invisible Hook Man started dragging his hook along the wall.

You threw Sam your gun and started running down another corridor you hoped would bring you to the same destination. You could vaguely hear Dean say to his brother, “I’ll cover (Y/N), shoot anything that moves!” before you heard approaching quick footsteps behind you.

You sprinted down winding hallways and thankfully quickly made it to the furnace room. You threw the necklace into the fire and watched as it slowly began to melt. “C’mon, c’mon,” you muttered anxiously. It took longer than you would’ve liked, but the cross broke off the necklace and burned into ash. As soon as it did, you and Dean ran back to the latter’s brother to make sure the ghost was gone. Thankfully, he had, but Sam seemed injured. He was clutching his left shoulder and wincing.

You called the police to the scene and urged them to send an ambulance. They arrived in no time, and Sam was able to get his injury patched up.

“And you saw him, too?” A sheriff was asking you and writing in a notepad. “The man with the hook?”

“Yeah, we all saw him,” you responded. “We fought him off and then he ran.”

“And that’s all?” The sheriff was skeptical.

“Yes, sir.”

“Listen. You and those two boys—”

Dean came up behind you and answered for you. “Oh, don’t worry, we’re leaving town.”

You laughed at his response. Sam and Lori talking near the ambulance caught your eye. You continued watching them in the rearview mirror once you’d gotten in the backseat of the car. Sam soon left Lori, who looked after him sadly, and stooped down into the car.

“We could stay,” Dean suggested.

You could tell Sam wanted to, but he shook his head. A deflated air had settled over the car, but you knew the younger Winchester wasn’t ready for anything yet. He’d been dating Jessica for a year and a half and had just lost her less than four months ago. You knew he needed more time. The best way you knew to comfort him was to wrap your hands around his shoulders gently, minding his injury, from your place in the backseat. He tensed for a moment, but allowed you to hug him nonetheless. He responded by holding your arm with his good hand. And for a moment, if you closed your eyes, it was almost like hugging Steven again.

149 notes · View notes

brightlilith · 15 days

Text

Skin | Supernatural Series Rewrite | Dean Winchester x Reader

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader (Eventual)

Warnings: mentions of assault/battery, canon violence, canon gore (take care of urselves bbies)

Word Count: 5826

Series Rewrite Masterlist

You and Dean didn’t talk about Toledo. You were back to not talking about much of anything. Your fights had become much less frequent, and when you did fight, it was more playful than malicious. For that, you were grateful. You felt incredibly conflicted about the fact that he was beginning to grow on you.

‘Like a wart,’ you thought. ‘Or a blister, maybe.’

Whatever he was, he was beginning to chip through your hard exterior. You also found out he hadn’t told Sam what you’d told him about your family which you were surprised by.

The three of you spent more time on the road than you did anywhere else. When you used to drive cross-country by yourself, you felt yourself beginning to go crazy a few hours into the drive. As much as you loved your alone time, you also craved the company of others. Now that you had it, you weren’t sure how you were going to leave these guys once you found John.

Dean turned in his seat to face Sam. “Alright, I figure we’d hit Tucumcari by lunch, then head south, hit Bisbee by midnight.”

He didn’t respond.

“Sam wears women’s underwear.”

“I’ve been listenin’, I’m just busy,” he finally answered.

“Busy doin’ what?” you placed your head on his shoulder over the top of the seat.

“Reading e-mails.”

Dean had gotten out of the car and began pumping gas. “E-mails from who?”

“From my friends at Stanford.” Sam still seemed disinterested in conversation.

“You’re kidding. You still keep in touch with your college buddies?” Dean asked.

“Why not?” He still hadn’t turned his attention from his phone.

“Well, what exactly do you tell ‘em? You know, about where you’ve been, what you’ve been doin’?”

“I tell ‘em I’m on a road trip with my big brother. I tell ‘em I needed some time off after Jess.”

“And I couldn’t make my way into that lie?” you asked.

“What do I tell ‘em, (Y/N/N)? That we picked up some chick in California and took her on the road with us?” he chuckled. “And I don’t lie to them. I just don’t tell ‘em… everything.”

“Yeah, that’s called lying,” you retorted. “I get it, though, the truth is much worse.”

“So, what am I supposed to do, just cut everybody out of my life?”

His older brother shrugged.

“You’re serious?” Sam wasn’t really asking.

“Look, it sucks, but in a job like this, you can’t get close to people, period,” Dean responded.

“How many friends do I have, Sam?” you asked him.

“Me.”

“Exactly,” you giggled.

“You two are kind of anti-social, you know that?” He returned to scrolling through his emails.

“Eh, whatever.” You flopped back on the bench seat.

“God….” Sam trailed off.

“What?” you and Dean asked.

“In this e-mail from this girl, Rebecca Warren, one of those friends of mine.”

“Is she hot?”

You rolled your eyes. “Dean—”

Sam ignored the two of you. “I went to school with her, and her brother, Zack. She says Zack’s been charged with murder. He’s been arrested for killing his girlfriend. Rebecca says he didn’t do it, but it sounds like the cops have a pretty good case.”

“Dude, what kind of people are you hangin’ out with?” his brother questioned.

“No, man, I know Zack. He’s no killer.”

“Well, maybe you know Zack as well as he knows you.”

“They’re in St. Louis. We’re goin’.”

“Look, sorry ‘bout your buddy, okay?” Dean chuckled humorlessly. “But this does not sound like our kind of problem.”

Sam wasn’t having it. “It is our problem. They’re my friends.”

“St. Louis is four hundred miles behind us, Sam.” Dean and Sam got into what you can only describe as a staring contest before Dean scoffed; seemingly admitting defeat. Next thing you knew, you were headed to St. Louis.

***

The massive door on the undoubtedly expensive house you’d arrived at opened to reveal a beautiful blonde girl.

‘Damn all these pretty blonde bitches we keep running into,’ you thought.

“Oh my God, Sam!” she smiled, throwing her arms around her friend.

“Well, if it isn’t little Becky,” Sam jested.

“You know what you can do with that little Becky crap.”

“I got your e-mail.” His tone had become somber.

“I didn’t think that you would come here,” she answered earnestly.

Dean shoved in front of Sam. “Dean. Older brother.”

‘He’s making his fucking voice deeper again.’

She shook his hand. “Hi.”

“Hi,” she smiled back.

“We’re here to help. Whatever we can do.” You peeked out from behind Sam. “I’m (Y/N), by the way.”

“Nice to meet you!” You were only mildly annoyed by how wonderful her disposition was. “Come in.”

“Nice place,” Dean commented, taking in his grandiose surroundings.

“It’s my parents’. I was just crashing here for the long weekend when everything happened. I decided to take the semester off. I’m gonna stay until Zack’s free,” Becky explained.

“Where are your folks?” Sam asked.

“They live in Paris for half the year, so they’re on their way home now for the trial.”

‘Of course, they fucking do.’

“Do you guys want a beer or something?” she asked politely.

Dean obviously did, but his brother stopped him. “No, thanks. So, tell us what happened.”

“Well, um, Zack came home, and he found Emily tied to a chair. And she was beaten up and bloody, and she wasn’t breathing.” Becky began to cry.

‘She’s even pretty when she cries.’

“So, he called 911, and the police— they showed up, and they arrested him. But, the thing is, the only way that Zack could’ve killed Emily is if he was in two places at the same time. The police—they have a video. It’s from the security tape from across the street. And it shows Zack coming home at 10:30. Now, Emily was killed just after that, but I swear, he was here with me, having a few beers until at least after midnight,” she relayed.

“You know, maybe we could see the crime scene. Zack’s house.”

“We could,” Dean agreed, but you could tell he still wasn’t picking up where Sam was going with this.

“Why? I mean, what could you do?” the blonde asked.

“Well, me, not much. But Dean’s a cop.” Sam patted his brother’s shoulder.

“Detective, actually,” Dean laughed.

“Really? Where?”

“Bisbee, Arizona. But I’m off-duty now.”

“You guys, it’s so nice to offer, but I just— I don’t know,” she said.

“Bec, look, I know Zack didn’t do this. Now, we have to find a way to prove that he’s innocent,” Sam replied.

“Okay. I’m gonna go get the keys.”

“Oh, yeah, man, you’re a real straight shooter with your friends,” Dean mocked after Becky had walked down the hall.

“Look, Zack and Becky need our help,” Sam responded.

“I just don’t think this is our kind of problem.”

“Two places at once? We’ve looked into less.”

Dean said nothing, clearly defeated.

***

“You’re sure this is okay?” Rebecca asked Dean as the four of you walked into Zack's house.

Dean clearly was having fun with the whole “cop” thing. “Yeah. I am an officer of the law.”

You hated how smug he could be. Rebecca came inside with you and informed you that Emily had let her attacker in.

She then informed you about a recent incident that struck you as odd. “Um, there was something, about a week before. Somebody broke in here and stole some clothes— Zack’s clothes. The police— they don’t think it’s anything. I mean, we’re not that far from downtown. Sometimes people get robbed.” In the midst of her story, you could hear a dog barking angrily across the street. Dean peered out of the window, and Becca came up behind him. “You know, that used to be the sweetest dog.”

“What happened?” you asked her.

“He just changed.”

Dean turned over his shoulder to her. “Do you remember when he changed?”

“I guess around the time of the murder,” she shrugged.

You found Sam staring at a picture of himself, another college-aged boy you assumed was Zack, and Rebecca that was framed in the hallway.

Dean came up behind you soon after. “So, the neighbor’s dog went psycho right around the time Zack’s girlfriend was killed.”

“Animals can have a sharp sense of the paranormal,” Sam said.

“Yeah, maybe Fido saw somethin’.”

“So, you think maybe this is our kind of problem?”

“Yeah, prob—” you started, only to be cut off by Dean.

“No. Probably not. But we should look at the security tape, you know, just to make sure.”

You shot him a look. “The evidence is staring you in the face, and you still can’t admit you’re wrong.”

He shot a look back at you that said, ‘Don’t try me.’

Before you could push each other’s buttons any further, Rebecca came over to you, and Dean turned his attention to her. “So, the tape. The security footage— you think maybe your lawyers could get their hands on it, ‘cause I just don’t have that kind of jurisdiction.”

How Becky was buying into Dean’s lie, you had no idea. He was really laying it on thick.

“I’ve already got it. I didn’t wanna say something in front of the cop,” she giggled. “I stole it off the lawyer’s desk. I just had to see it for myself.”

The three of you went back to Becky’s parents’ home to review the security footage. It was of Zack entering his house, but a strange glint on the film caught your eye.

“22:04,” Dean noted the time stamp, “that’s just after ten. You said time of death was about 10:30.”

“Our lawyers hired some kind of video expert. He says the tape’s authentic. It wasn’t tampered with,” Becky added.

“Hey, Bec, can we take those beers now?” Sam asked.

“Oh, sure,” she replied politely, turning to go to the kitchen.

“Maybe some sandwiches, too?” He was putting on the puppy dog eyes just a bit to convince her.

“What do you think this is, Hooters?” she snarked.

“I wish,” Dean mumbled.

“Can you focus, please?” you asked him.

“What are you, my mother?” Your banter was no longer filled with malice, just a hint of aggravation.

“No, but frankly, the thought of you trying to bang someone makes me want to throw up in my mouth. I’d prefer not to watch it happen,” you replied playfully. “But look.” You rewound the tape an started it over. You caught the glint again, paused it, and realized Zack’s eyes were silver. “There!”

“Well, maybe it’s just a camera flare,” Dean shrugged.

“Does that look like any camera flare you’ve ever seen?” you asked rhetorically.

He just looked away, defeated.

“You know, a lot of cultures believe that a photograph can catch a glimpse of the soul,” Sam chimed in. “Remember that dog that was freaking out? Maybe he saw this thing. Maybe this is some kind of dark double of Zack’s, something that looks like him but isn’t him.”

“Like a Doppelganger?” Your brow knitted together, mind trying to wrap around what you were dealing with.

“Yeah. It’d sure explain how he was in two places at once,” Sam said.

Despite the luxurious villa Sam’s friend called home, the three of you didn’t want to intrude on her privacy; opting for yet another shitty motel. Something about this case was bugging you, though, and you tossed and turned all night thinking about it. And then, it hit you.

You pulled on your jacket and boots and rushed over to the boys’ room. A sleepy Dean answered the door. You hated to admit it, but he and his fluffy, mussed up hair were adorable when he’d just woken up.

“Morning, sunshine,” you grinned.

He scratched his head. “(Y/N), what the fu—”

“We have to get to Zack’s house. I just thought of something. “

Sam appeared behind Dean, already dressed. “Whatcha got?”

Dean stepped back from the door, letting you into the room.

“We saw ‘Zack’ go in, but never saw the killer leave,” you explained. “But of course, we didn’t. Why would the cops be looking for that when they nabbed Zack in his house with his dead girlfriend?”

Sam was with you, nodding his head.

“Did you have to realize that before five in the morning?” Dean yawned, pulling a pair of pants on.

“Sorry,” you replied sheepishly. “Couldn’t sleep. But I figured that out, so that’s all that matters.”

Dean shook his head and yawned again. “Sam, you’re driving. I might crash my baby if I drive right now.”

***

“He must’ve gone out the back door,” Sam said. You and the brothers were walking toward Zack’s house. “So, there should be a trail to follow. A trail the police would never pursue.”

“I still don’t know what we’re doin’ here at 5:30 in the morning,” Dean grumbled.

“C’mon,” you groaned, dragging his arm to follow Sam around the back of Zack’s house. Sure enough, there was a dried, dark red substance smeared on a nearby telephone pole.

“Blood. Somebody came this way,” Sam noted.

“Yeah, but the trail ends,” Dean added from a few paces ahead. “I don’t see anything over here.”

Just as he finished speaking, an ambulance drove past the house with its sirens wailing. You and Sam looked at each other before hurrying back to Dean’s car. Dean followed the ambulance to its destination where a man was handcuffed and being shoved into the back of a police car.

“What happened?” Dean asked a bystander.

“He tried to kill his wife,” she responded with a hand to her chest. “Tied her up and beat her.”

“Really?” you asked.

“I used to see him going to work in the morning. He’d wave, say hello. He seemed like such a nice guy.” She shook her head sorrowfully and watched as the police car drove away.

The three of you hung around the scene for a while until it had been completely cleared out. You regrouped while you snooped around.

“Remember when I said this wasn’t our kind of problem?” Dean asked as he approached you and Sam.

“Yeah,” his brother answered.

“Definitely our kind of problem.”

You gasped, feigning shock. “Mark it in the calendar, Dean Winchester admitted he was wrong!”

“Watch it, sweetheart,” he retorted.

“What’d you find out?” Sam asked.

“Well, I just talked to the patrolman who was first on the scene, heard this guy, Alex’s story. Apparently the dude was driving home from a business trip when his wife was attacked,” Dean explained.

“So, he was in two places at once, too.”

“Exactly. Then he sees himself in the house; police think he’s a nutjob.”

You paused for a moment, thinking. “You think it could be a shapeshifter?”

“Something that can make itself look like anyone? Sure,” Sam responded. “Every culture in the world has a shapeshifter lore. You know, legends of creatures who can transform themselves into animals or other men.”

“Right, skinwalkers, werewolves,” Dean added. “We’ve got two attacks within blocks of each other. I’m guessin’ we’ve got a shapeshifter prowlin’ the neighborhood.”

“Let me ask you this— in all this shapeshifter lore, can any of them fly?” the younger brother asked.

“Not that I know of.” You shook your head. “But someone ran out the back of his house and headed this way. And then… the trail just… ends. Just like at your friend’s house.” You gestured toward Sam.

“Well, there’s another way to go.” You followed Dean’s gaze down to a manhole.

“Ew, gross.” Your face scrunched up in disgust as Sam started to move the manhole cover.

The three of you quickly climbed down so as to not be seen.

“I bet this runs right by Zack’s house, too,” Sam said as the three of you made your way down the tunnel. “The shapeshifter could be using the sewer system to get around.”

You were leading the group, and stopped suddenly when you noticed a pile of blood and skin on the ground. “Blegh, look!”

“Is this from his victims?” Sam looked equally as disgusted.

Dean pulled out his pocket knife and lifted a piece of the skin off the ground. “You know, I just had a sick thought. When the shapeshifter changes shape, maybe it sheds.”

“That is sick,” you affirmed.

He dropped the skin back to the ground and turned to you to wipe his knife off on your jacket.

“Ew, dude!” you shoved his arm. “What the fuck?”

He just laughed in response.

You and the boys headed back up to the car to load up with some weapons.

“Well, one thing I learned from Dad—” Dean began, riffling through the weapons cavity, “—is that no matter what kind of shapeshifter it is, there’s one sure way to kill it.”

“Silver bullet to the heart,” you chimed in.

He nodded and handed you a case of the bullets.

Sam’s cell phone rang. “This is Sam… We’re near Zack’s, we’re just checkin’ some things out… What are you talkin’ about?”

He seemed caught off-guard. You thought he was talking to Rebecca, but had no idea why she’d be upset with you. You eyed Dean who shrugged.

“Why would you do that?... Bec— We’re tryin’ to help… Bec, I’m sorry, but—” And then he clapped his phone shut, looking disappointed.

Dean found it an appropriate moment to be a bit of a dick. “I hate to say it, but that’s exactly what I’m talkin’ about. You lie to your friends because if they knew the real you, they’d be freaked. It’s just—it’d be easier if—”

“If I was like you guys,” he replied quietly.

“Sam, I’m not trying to be heartless, but Dean’s kinda right.” Both brothers seemed surprised you were agreeing with Dean for once. “We’re not like other people.”

“But I’ll tell you one thing.” Dean’s lighthearted tone was back. “This whole gig— it ain’t without perks.” He held out a gun to Sam, whose face was still crestfallen.

You followed Sam and Dean back down the manhole, gun loaded with silver bullets. You carried the case of bullets Dean handed to you in your inner jacket pocket; just in case. After a few minutes of trudging through toxic sludge with baited breath, you noticed another pile of blood and skin on a pipe next to Sam’s head. “I think we’re close to its lair,” you told them.

“Why do you say that?” Sam asked.

“Because there’s another puke-inducing pile next to your face,” you snickered.

“Oh, God!” His face scrunched up in disgust.

There was another pile of clothing and rotting skin a few paces ahead of you.

“Looks like it’s lived here for a while,” you heard Dean say from behind you.

You turned to face him as you spoke. “Who knows how many murders he’s gotten away— Fuck, Dean!” you cried, seeing the shapeshifter in the form of its last victim behind him.

Dean wheeled around, only to be knocked to the ground by the smirking creature. You and Sam rushed to his side as the creature sped off.

“Get the son of a bitch!” Dean commanded.

The three of you sped down the tunnel and followed him out of the manhole. You couldn’t see where exactly he ended up, and you decided to split up.

Under the cover of night, you headed down streets and alleyways with your gun hidden inside your jacket. You came to a stop at a dead end and wheeled around at the sound of footsteps behind you. The shapeshifter, still in the form of the businessman, knocked you out cold before you were even able to raise your gun at him.

***

The next time you came to, you felt itchy bits of rope binding your hands, feet, and neck to a cold, metal post behind you. As your vision began to clear, you could see you were in some kind of a dark, dingy room. It seemed like a house, but you weren’t entirely convinced. You heard what sounded like the older brother’s voice coming from behind you.

“Dean?” you called.

“(Y/N), it’s not—” Sam shouted, but cut himself off with a groan.

“Hiya, sweetheart,” he smirked, leaning down to your eye level. He put a hand next to your head on the post.

You turned your face away from him, straining against the rope. He even smelled like Dean.

“You are one fucking trainwreck,” he said, searching your face.

You eyed him curiously. He just laughed coldly in response. “The more I learn about you, the more fucked up you get.”

“What do you mean ‘learn’?”

As if on cue, the shapeshifter held a hand to his temple, grunting in pain. After a moment had passed, he spoke again. “You made a big mistake telling him— I mean, me— about what you did to your family. If I wasn’t ready to get rid of you before, I sure as hell am now. I hope you’re tellin’ the truth about leaving the second we find Dad, ‘cause I don’t know how much longer I can put up with you. God, from your voice to your personality, you aggravate the livin’ crap outta me.” The shapeshifter leaned back down in front of your face, the two of you only inches away from one another.

“You’re a burden, (Y/N). You’re exhausting to be around. I constantly have to keep my guard up around you. I can’t trust you, not after what you told me in Toledo. How do I know you won’t turn on me and Sammy?”

Tears welled up in your eyes, but you kept them at bay. You instead reared back as much as you could and spat in his face. You had taken him by surprise, but his hand was around your throat in an instant. His lips were inches away from your ear and he squeezed your neck just tight enough to where you were beginning to see stars. “You fucking bitch. Y’know, take your voice and personality away, Dean would definitely wanna fuck you. He thought you were hot the first time he met you. Then he actually got to know you, and, eh, things changed. But I’m sure he’d have tons of fun with Sam’s little friend Becky.” A wicked grin spread across his face. “I think I’ll go pay her a visit.”

He released your throat and you sputtered and coughed when he did. He covered you up with a tarp moments later. You felt pathetic, but you let your tears flow freely now that he was gone, wiggling around to get the tarp off your head.

“(Y/N), are you back there?” Dean called from somewhere you couldn’t see.

You knew he hadn’t said those hurtful things to you, but it was still difficult to hear his voice. “Yeah, yeah. I’m here.” Your voice was still shaky from crying. “He went to Rebecca’s, lookin’ like you.”

“Well, he’s not stupid. He picked the handsome one,” Dean gibed at his brother.

You admired his ability to keep his snarky attitude and stupid jokes despite his circumstances. His confidence bewildered you at times.

You pulled at the ropes binding your hands, hissing when you felt the rope creating angry brush burns on your wrists.

“Yeah, that’s the thing. He didn’t just look like you, he was you. Or he was becoming you,” you heard Sam tell Dean.

“What do you mean?” the older brother asked.

“Yeah, it was like he was downloading your thoughts and memories,” you told him.

“You mean, like the Vulcan mind meld?”

You giggled. “Somethin’ like that.”

“Maybe that’s why he doesn’t just kill us,” Sam added.

“Yeah, he probably needs to keep us alive. Some kind of psychic connection— ah,” you yelped at the feeling of the rope aggravating your wrists again. The shifter had bound you unbelievably tightly.

“(Y/N), stop, I’m coming to help you,” Dean instructed.

“I’m a big girl,” you replied sassily. “I can do it.”

Dean had made his way over to you. “Do you have to fight me on everything?” He untied your hands with ease and began working on your neck.

“Yes, but thank you,” you told him. You still couldn’t look him in the eyes after what the shifter had told you. You were doing your best to keep your exterior steely. You couldn’t deny, though, that his tight-fitting gray t-shirt over rippling muscle and the way he’d helped you were starting to break down your walls a little.

“Come on, we gotta go,” you heard Sam order from behind you. “He’s probably at Rebecca’s already.”

Dean pushed a window out of the building you were kept in and the three of you climbed out.

Sam started down the street. “Come on. We gotta find a phone, call the police.”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa.” Dean stopped him. “You’re gonna put an APB out on me.”

His brother shrugged. “Sorry.”

“This way.” Dean led the three of you down the street. You ran shielded by the darkness until you reached a store window. There was a display wall of televisions in it, and the news was on. Conveniently, Dean was the breaking news.

“An anonymous tip led police to a home in the Central West End—” the reporter stated, “—where a S.W.A.T team discovered a local woman bound and gagged. Her attacker, a white male, approximately twenty-four to thirty years of age, was discovered hiding in her home.”

Of course, Dean’s attitude was unwavering. “Man! That’s not even a good picture.”

You looked around nervously.

“It’s good enough,” Sam said.

“Man!” Dean grumbled, following Sam down the street to an alleyway.

“They said attempted murder,” you pointed out. “At least we know—”

“I didn’t kill her.”

You nodded.

“We’ll check with Rebecca in the morning, see if she’s all right,” Sam said, looking over his shoulder.

“Alright, but first I wanna find that handsome devil and kick the holy crap out of him.”

‘He’s still as arrogant as ever.’

“We have no weapons, though. No silver bullets,” you countered.

“Sweetheart, the guy’s walkin’ around with my face, okay, it’s a little personal, I wanna find him.” He turned to face you, but you couldn’t meet his eyes.

“I get it. We need guns, though.”

“The car?” Sam threw in.

“I’m bettin’ he drove over to Rebecca’s.” Dean’s face began to heat up. You knew he was thinking about his precious Impala.

“The news said he fled on foot. I bet it’s still parked there.”

“The thought of him drivin’ my car—” he whined.

You shook your head. “Come on.”

“It’s killin’ me,” Dean whined again.

“Let it go,” you and Sam commanded over your shoulders.

The three of you rounded the corner along a tall hedge only to be greeted by the sight of the car.

“Oh, there she is! Finally, something went right tonight.” Dean’s joy was almost contagious.

His stupor was broken by a police car appearing down Rebecca’s street and blocking the end of the road.

“Fuck.” You spun around the way you came, but another cop car appeared back down that street, too.

“This way, this way,” Dean began leading you over to a fence and easily climbed atop it.

“You guys go. I’ll hold ‘em off,” Sam told you.

“What are you talking about? They’ll catch you.” Dean turned into a seated position on top the fence.

“Look, they can’t hold me. Just go, keep out of sight. Meet me at Rebecca’s,” Sam quickly spoke.

You and Dean hopped over multiple fences, fatiguing your limbs quickly. Several blocks from where you and the boys had run into the cops, the two of you stopped to catch your breath. You sat down on a street corner and tucked your knees into your chest.

Dean sat beside you. “What did he say to you?”

You turned to him. “Huh?”

“The shifter. What’d he say to you?”

You shook your head. “Nothing, it’s fine—”

“(Y/N), you haven’t looked at me once since we left that thing’s hideout. Tell me what he said.”

“Why can’t you drop it?” you spat, looking down at your boots.

“Because,” he protested. “I gave you a chance to explain in Toledo. At the very least, you owe me that.”

You sighed. “He said you think I’m annoying. And, um, a burden. He said you’re trying to find your dad so quick to get rid of me. And that you can’t trust me because of what I did to my family.”

Dean was silent for a moment. “Anything else?”

“He said everything about me aggravates you and that I exhaust you.”

He nodded. “Do you really believe that?” You could feel his gaze burning holes into the side of your face.

“I don’t know,” you answered honestly. “You haven’t exactly proven otherwise to me.” You looked up at him for the first time in hours.

He seemed surprised by that answer.

“Don’t look at me like that. Aside from Toledo and a few seconds on that plane, all we’ve ever done is fight,” you reminded him.

“Yeah, I guess you’re right.” A few moments of silence passed before he spoke again. “But I don’t think those things about you. Honest.”

“I feel like I’m pulling teeth here, Dean,” you remarked. “What do you think of me?”

“I mean, you can be annoying.”

You scoffed, but a smile tugged at your lips.

“And you’re way too stubborn.”

You raised an eyebrow at him. “And so are you.”

“And you’re too smart for your own good.”

“I wouldn’t say that…”

“Would you let me finish?” he deadpanned.

You took a deep breath. “Yeah, sorry.”

“You just… you intimidate me a little, honestly.” Now Dean was the one who couldn’t look at you.

You were shocked. “Really? Why?”

“Dammit, (Y/N), I’m not good at this,” he sighed. “I know you heard what I said to Haley about that being the most honest I’ve ever been with a woman.”

You giggled at the memory.

“This tops that by far,” he admitted.

You nodded. You’d have this conversation another time. You rose to your feet, and he followed suit.

“Can we start over?” you asked him.

He eyed you curiously.

“As… acquaintances, I mean,” you explained. “We’re no closer to finding your dad than we were the day I met you, so I imagine I’ll be around for a little while longer. I’d rather us not fight the whole time. It’s getting exhausting, if I’m being honest.”

He chuckles. “Yeah, I guess we can do that.”

“Okay, then.” You cleared your throat and stuck out your hand. “Hi. I’m (Y/N).”

Dean shook his head at your antics despite the smile pulling on his lips. “Dean.” This time, he actually shook your hand.

***

Later that morning, you and Dean had returned to the car for weapons. Thankfully, Dean still had some silver bullets left in the trunk. With guns in hand, the two of you headed back to the sewers. A few minutes into your walk, you came across a rancid pile of flesh, teeth, and fingernails.

“I think I’m gonna be sick.” Your face contorted in disgust. You looked up when you heard a rustling noise a little down the tunnel. You could see a dim glow from the place you’d heard the rustling. You tightened your grip on your gun and let Dean lead the way into the chamber. He nodded his head in the direction of the left side of a figure covered in a tarp at the back end of the chamber, indicating for you to go that way. You followed his instruction and crept up on the figure with him. He pulled the sheet away from the figure, only to reveal Rebecca.

“What happened?” you asked her. Her hands and feet were bound, her mouth was gagged, her hair was a mess, and her skin was littered with bruising and cuts.

She was still shaking and crying as she spoke. “I was walking home, and everything just went white. Someone hit me over the head, and I wound up here just in time to see that thing turn into me. I don’t know, how is that even possible?”

“Okay, okay. It’s okay,” Dean told her.

The two of you untied her and made sure she was able to walk before guiding her out of the sewers.

“We’ve gotta hurry,” Dean said. “Sam went to see you.”

When you got to Rebecca’s house, all you could hear was the grunting, furniture breaking, skin hitting skin, and bones cracking coming from the living room. And then, choking. You had no doubt it was Sam.

Dean seemed to pick up on that as well. He hurried into the den, shouting, “Hey!”

The shifter spotted Dean and got off of Sam. Dean shot twice, and with that, the shifter was dead.

You rushed over to Sam and cradled his head in your lap. “Are you okay?” you asked him.

He smiled painfully at you. “Peachy.”

You giggled at him. You looked up at Dean standing over… Dean… and watched as he ripped his necklace off the shifter.

You watched Rebecca say goodbye to Sam, and she waved at you and Dean who stood by the Impala. She turned to go back inside her house.

Sam approached the two of you.

“So, what about your friend, Zack?” Dean asked his brother.

“Cops are blamin’ this Dean Winchester guy for Emily’s murder,” Sam jested. “They found the murder weapon in the guy’s lair, Zack’s clothes stained with her blood. Now they’re thinking maybe the surveillance tape was tampered with. Yeah, Becca says Zack will be released soon.”

You giggled. Dean just rolled his eyes.

“Get in the car, (Y/N),” he chastised you. For the first time since you met him, you knew he wasn’t trying to tear you down. It was refreshing to have an amicable relationship with him.

As Dean tore down the road, he turned to his brother. “Sorry, man.”

“About what?”

“I really wish things could be different, you know?” the older brother said earnestly. “I wish you could just be… Joe College.”

“No, that’s okay. You know, the truth is, even at Stanford, deep down, I never really fit in,” Sam admitted.

“Well, that’s ‘cause you’re a freak,” Dean quipped.

You loved earnest moments between the two brothers. It made you feel normal; in a weird way.

“Yeah, thanks,” Sam said dryly.

“Well, I’m a freak, too. I’m right there with ya, all the way.”

“Yeah, I know you are.” Sam’s voice softened.

“You know, I gotta say. I’m sorry I’m gonna miss it.”

You felt one of Dean’s stupid jokes coming on. “Oh, here we go.”

He eyed you in the rearview mirror.

“Miss what?” Sam asked.

“How many chances am I gonna have to see my own funeral?” Dean smirked.

You shook your head. “And there it is.”

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brightlilith · 28 days

Text

ALL MY GHOSTS

- pairing: Beau Arlen x Fem Reader

- summary: You’re a deputy working for the Lewis and Clark County Sheriff’s Department in Helena; a good one at that. Since Beau’s arrival, you befriended the Texan, who eventually became the town’s new permanent sheriff. With a growing friendship, blooming feelings, a ton of inside jokes, and way too much fun on the job, it seems like everything is going right for you. But, you’re running from your past, and it seems to be catching up fast.

- warnings: 18+, murder, kidnapping, domestic abuse, stalking, obsessive behaviour, violence, trauma, dark content, angst, age gap relationship, abortion, alcoholism, smut.

- an: well, this is the first fanfic i’m posting on this account - but not in general, or on tumblr. it is, however, my first beau arlen fanfic. this is set AFTER season three!!!

- word count so far: 5484

CHAPTERS .

CHAPTER ONE !

CHAPTER TWO !

CHAPTER THREE !

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brightlilith · 28 days

Text

ALL MY GHOSTS (iii)

series masterlist

- summary: With Jenny now on board too, the four of you begin to investigate the strange-happenings occurring to you, behind Beau’s back. As things get weirder, you’re forced to finally tell your friends the truth of your past. You catch up with Beau at a grief counselling session.

- word count: 2421

- warnings: Mentions of domestic abuse, mentions of abortion, panic attack, dissociation.

━━━━━━ ✿ ━━━━━━

As it turns out, hiding an entire investigation was harder than you thought — which was honestly no shocker. Though Beau still remained blissfully ignorant to your endeavours, Jenny had, very quickly, caught onto the fact something was going on, when you excused yourself from work for the 10th time to pick up a phone call.

As you hung up, Jenny cornered you, arms crossed. You took a step back, surprised by her sudden appearance. But, before you could question her, she spoke, voice hard. “Tell me what’s going on.”

“What—?”

“You’re keeping something from me.“ Jenny interrupted, not letting you spit out some useless lie. Her brows raised. “Cassie knows. I know she does. I wanna help.” You knew that you couldn’t get away with not telling her — she was determined to figure out what you were hiding, and Jenny knew you far too well to believe any lie that fell from your lips.

So, you sighed, shoulders deflated, resigning yourself to spill it with Jenny. “You can’t…” your eyes trailed over her shoulder to Beau’s office. “You can’t tell him.”

Jenny didn’t have to turn around to know who you were referring to. “I won’t.” She assured you, speaking much more softly than she previously had been. “Now, what is it?”

“It’s just… like, strange things happening.”

“The flowers?” Your brows raised in confusion. Jenny nodded once, watching you carefully. “Beau told me. He said you were scared?”

“Yeah, well, I had a bad feeling.” You sighed, fiddling with your phone case. You hesitated before speaking again, wondering if you really wanted more people to know about this. Jenny’s sharp look made you start talking again. “It’s not just the flowers.” You mumbled. “My doorbell camera keeps telling me there’s movement outside my apartment, and— and I‘ve gotten, like, 15 mystery phone calls already today with no one talking.”

A best of silence fell over you, as Jenny considered your words. “That doesn’t sound like the ‘nothing’ you’ve been telling Beau about.” You hesitated to reply to Jenny. She frowned, now more concerned. “Why aren’t you telling him? He could help. The entire department could help — and will, if you just tell them.”

“No, Beau’s got too much to worry about already.” You immediately shot down that idea immediately. Jenny’s face flooded with disappointment. “He’s got that— that murder, and the drug cartel. And Carla and Emily to worry about.”

Jenny sighed. “Beau would help you in the drop of a hat.” You bit down on your tongue. You knew she was right. And that was the worst part about it; that Beau would do anything to protect you. “All of that? It’d mean fucking nothing to him if you were in any sort of danger. You’ve gotta tell him.”

“No. Cassie and Denise are handling it.”

She let out another sigh, shaking her head in disappointment. “Okay.” She relented with your idea begrudgingly. “Let me help, too, then.” You opened your mouth to argue. “Or I’ll tell Beau.”

You immediately groaned, rubbing your forehead. “Fine.” You agreed, sighing heavily. “Just… don’t tell him.” You sent her a pleading look, and then walked away, brushing past her as you returned to Beau’s office, where he was going over a file with Pop. Jenny was right on your heel, the pair of you entering his office together.

With a glance up at you, Beau grinned. “There you two are. Was wonderin’ where y’all wandered off to.” He chucked down a file on the table in your direction. “Need you two on this case. That okay?”

Shrugging, you reached over to grab the case file. Flipping it one, your hands stiffened.

Why did Beau always stick you with domestic abuse cases?

You bit your tongue, hard enough for it to sting and burn. Your eyes jumped up to Jenny, who had been closely watching your reaction. Sighing, your attention returned to Beau. “Yeah.” You agreed, hiding your reluctance pretty well. “We’ve got it, boss.”

He patted his desk and beamed. “Thanks, ladies. Pop ‘n’ I are dealin’ with that burglary on 5th. You wan’ a ride?”

“Nah.” You shook your head. “We’ll take my car. I need gas, anyway.” You slapped the file on Jenny’s arm shoulder, indicating for her to get going. With one last smile in Beau’s direction, you left with Jenny, fiddling with the corner of the file as you went.

“You okay?”

You nodded at Jenny. “All good.” You strode out of the police station with your heart hammering in your chest.

━━━━━━ ✿ ━━━━━━

Like you’d expected, the domestic abuse case had left you shaken up. Jenny had pulled you out of the case halfway through, when she’d noticed your pale and terrified expression, sending you back to the station and calling in extra units to cover for you.

10 years ago, you’d been a normal girl. Then came Jack. And your entire life had been altered. He’d ripped apart any remaining innocence you’d had left in you.

He’d taken everything from you.

He’d taken things from you you couldn’t even predict.

And the blood on your hands made your body ache.

You sat at your desk, toying with a pen, staring blankly down at the paperwork on your desk. The words seemed to blur together, turning into a dark blob in your vision.

Your pen tapped incessantly onto the wood of the desk.

And then a hand snatched it from you. “Stop that.” Beau held your pen away from you, eyes narrowed as he stared down at you. “What’s up wit’ you? Jenny said you freaked on the case. You’re meant t’be helpin’ her.”

“Sorry.” You ran a hand down your face with a heavy sigh. “Rough day.”

He stared for a moment, then nodded. “Mmm, I get’ya.” Beau dropped your pen back onto the desk. He pushed his hand through his hair, flashing you a reassuring smile. “You good? You ain’t hidin’ nothin’ from me?”

Your head tilted, and you smiled at him. “I’m good.” Came your instinctive reply.

“Mm, okay.” He nodded, clearly not believing you. He glanced over his shoulder for a moment. “Need a ride?” He held up his car keys, brows raised as he jangled them.

You hummed, considering it, flipped your file closed. “Sure.” You agreed, tucking the file into your draw and locking it.

Beau lit up with your acceptance. He grabbed your jacket and hung it over his arm, making you smile fondly. “You get anythin’ on that murder case yet?”

“Not really.” You got to your feet, following Beau away from your desk. “I was thinking, through, you should check out the new girlfriend of the ex boyfriend.” He looked at you questioningly. You smiled sheepishly, raising your shoulders into a shrug. “Just a suggestion. She might’ve been jealous of her guy’s ex girl. The cause of death was blunt force trauma to the head; doesn’t take much strength.”

He pressed his lips together and nod. “Huh.” He muttered, thinking it over. “Yeah. I’ll check that out.” He held open the door of the station, grinning at you as you exited.

“That’s all I got, though.”

He chuckled. “It’s more than I got. Good work.” Patting your shoulder, he led you over to his truck, yanking open the passenger seat. Once he’d ensured you were in safely, he shut the door, rounding the truck to get into the drivers seat. “Home?”

“No, no, Cassie and Denise.” You plopped your bag down by your feet. “I have some stuff to talk to them about.”

Starting his truck, Beau glanced at you. There was suspicion in his eyes. After a few beats, he nodded. “Yes, ma’am.” He agreed playfully, making you laugh softly. He pulled out of the parking lot, his hand on the gear stick drawing your attention far too much. “So, you wan’ talk ‘bout what made you freak on the case today?”

You shifted in your chair, crossing your arms defensively. “Not really.”

Beau cracked a smile, amused at your attitude. “Y’should know by now I ain’t taking that answer.” He glanced at you for a moment, sighing deeply. “Talk to me, honey. What’s going on wit’ you, huh?”

“Nothing, Beau.” You attempted to lie to him again.

Unimpressed, he pressed his lips together. “You’ve always been a shit liar.” He muttered, shaking his head. “Listen, if ya don’t wanna tell me, I get it. I ain’t gon’ push.” He reassured you, voice now far gentler. “But I’m gettin’ worried now. This ain’t the first time you’ve shut down on a case.”

You closed your eyes and gathered yourself. Beau had always been good at not pushing your boundaries, which was something you’d always greatly appreciated.

But it was times like these you wished he’d push a bit harder. You wanted to tell him — Beau was the one person you wanted to tell about your past. You wanted to spill every detail, and have him hold you to his chest as he comforted you. You just couldn’t find the words in your mouth.

“I’m okay.” You said instead, trying to sound reassuring. “Just having a rough time lately.” You tapped your fingers on his arm in an attempt to convince him.

It didn’t work — of course it fucking didn’t. Beau was like a mind reader when it came to you. “You know I don’t believe you, right?” He asked, soft.

Biting your cheek, you nodded.

“Okay.” He smiled warmly in your direction, his eyes still dark with worry. “I ain’t gon’ push. Just… come to me, yeah? If you need me. Come to me.”

“Always, Beau.”

He cracked a smile, relaxing a smidge. “Good. I’m always gon’ protect you, darlin’. Always.”

━━━━━━ ✿ ━━━━━━

Cassie didn’t have much good news to deliver you. Your case was posted up on boards hidden away in her office in the back, just in case Beau turned up with no warning and took a peek. Jenny had been helping them dig deeper, using the department’s resources to be more efficient.

Yet, they’d turned up with little to nothing.

Except one thing.

“We weren’t able to track the calls. Or the details of the person who delivered the flowers.” Cassie explained, leant back against the wall. You nodded, looking between the three women delivering your fate.

“But, Beau introduced a new system at the station last month.” Jenny began explaining. Your hopes rose a little. “When your mystery admirer delivered the flowers, he had to give a deputy his name.”

You almost sighed in relief. “Okay..?” At least that was something. A name. You could work with a name.

Cassie flipped through a paper. “He said his name was Jack.”She looked up at you, brows raised. “Does that name mean anything to you?”

Cold washed over you. The ground tilted under your feet. Jesus, were you going to pass out or vomit? You couldn’t tell.

“He said he was your boyfriend— Y/N?”

You didn’t realise you were falling until Cassie and Jenny lunged forward to steady you. The world seemed to fade to a dark blur, the name echoing in your brain like a gunshot. They were speaking, but the sound was muffled like you were underwater.

The next few minutes passed in a sort of haze. You weren’t aware of anything, really.

At some point, they’d sat you in a chair and wrapped a blanket around your shoulders, crouching in front of you. They were trying to ground you, hands holding on, squeezing and talking in gentle voices, trying to ground you. Denise returned from the back room with a mug of tea, handing it to you, as you took it in autopilot.

“Hey, there you are.” Cassie sighed in relief as she saw the daze in your eyes float away. “What happened? You scared us.” Your lack of a response seemed to worry her further.

The three women exchanged a look.

You knew what they wanted to ask. Who was Jack? Why did you freeze up like a damn idiot when his name was mentioned? They were trying to be respectful, by not asking, but, hell, you’d always hated being treated like you were glass.

You sipped the scalding hot tea. “He’s my ex-fiancé.” Their attention shot to you immediately. You tapped your nails on the mug, listening to the clink through the silence. “I dated him for four years in New York. We lived together.” They all looked equally parts concerned. Your breath was stuck in your throat. You released it all with your next words. “He was abusive.”

The room seemed to shoot down 20 degrees.

“Oh, Jesus.” Jenny whispered, realisation hitting her. “How bad?” You just nodded. That was enough. It was bad.

“I got pregnant.” Your voice caught in your throat, muscles tense. “It was an accident. I didn’t mean for it. I didn’t— I couldn’t keep the baby. I couldn’t raise a child in that place.” You whispered quietly, head shaking. Your hands trembled, making you tighten your hold on the mug of tea. “I kept it from him, got an abortion. When he found out… Jesus, I thought I was gonna die.”

Cassie, silent, pulled you in for a tight hug. She cradled you close to her chest, sighing sadly. “You think it’s him?”

You clung onto your friend tightly. “I wouldn’t be surprised.” You wished it wasn’t him. You really, really hoped it wasn’t, and that it was just some freak coincidence. But it was such a Jack to do. To travel half way cross-country in some crazed attempt to reclaim your love.

“Okay, this is part where we tell Beau.”

Frustrated, you sighed. “I’m not telling Beau.” You argued firmly.

“Why not?” Cassie asked gently. She pulled back from the hug to look at your face, her brows knitted together in concern. “He can protect you, much better than we can.”

“He’ll worry—“

“Good.” Jenny put a reassuring hand on your knee, squeezing gently. “You need protection from this asshole. And Beau can do that.”

For a moment, you considered it. Beau protecting you did seem like a good idea. And you knew he would, without a moment of hesitation. Beau would drop everything to protect you, and he’d made that abundantly clear.

But still.

“No.” You shook your head, backing down on your decision. They sighed, evidently disappointed. “We’ll deal with it. We don’t need him.”

You did need him. You’d never needed Beau more.

“Okay.” Cassie agreed reluctantly. “We’ll deal with it.”

God, you were so fucked.

━━━━━━ ✿ ━━━━━━

taglist: @yvonneeeee @deans-spinster-witch @fanfic-n-tabulous @dwonfilm

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brightlilith · 28 days

Text

Bloody Mary | Supernatural Series Rewrite | Dean Winchester x Reader

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader (Eventual)

Warnings: canon violence, canon gore, mentions/descriptions of parental death, implication of suicide (take care of yourselves, my loves)

Word Count: 6379

A/N: Happy Saturday! Asks/Taglists are open!!

You and Dean hadn’t talked much since the events on the plane. In fact, the two of you barely looked at each other anymore. Not out of disgust, your stomach just fluttered every time you caught a glimpse of him for reasons you couldn’t explain. You didn’t exactly like him, but you definitely didn’t hate him, either. In fact, your most recent journal drawing had been of your hand wrapped in Dean’s. You smiled at the memory.

Sam slept in the front seat while Dean drove the three of you to Toledo, Ohio. You had actually been the one to find this case. Steven Shoemaker’s eyes had bled when he died. According to his obituary, his death had been swift. He was much too young to have had a stroke or an aneurysm, and seemed to be in good health. Therefore, you concluded this was your kind of gig.

Sam began to stir, catching your attention. You straightened in your seat as the Impala came to a halt in front of a large hospital complex. Sam’s stirring and whimpering was getting worse by the second.

Dean shook his brother. “Sam, wake up.”

He bolted straight up, confused, taking both you and Dean by surprise. After taking a second to catch his breath, he said, “I take it I was having a nightmare.”

“Yeah, another one,” Dean reminded him.

“Hey, at least I got some sleep.” Sam’s faux optimism caused you to shake your head.

“You know, sooner or later we're gonna have to talk about this.”

Apparently, Sam was choosing the latter. “Are we here?” he asked.

Dean was happy to drop the subject, too. “Yup. Welcome to Toledo, Ohio.”

The three of you began to approach the morgue wing of the hospital. You noticed Sam was holding the newspaper you’d circled Mr. Shoemaker’s death in. “So what do you think really happened to this guy?”

“That's what we're gonna find out. Ladies first,” you joked, holding the door to the first floor of the hospital open for the brothers.

After making your way through the labyrinth of hallways, you found the dimly lit and vacated morgue. In the large room were two desks. One was labeled with a nameplate for Dr. D. Feiklowicz with neatly stacked packets, files, and books atop it. The other was a chaotic mess of stray papers labeled “Morgue Technician.”

“Can I help you?” he asked.

“Yeah. We're the, uh, med students,” Dean responded.

“Sorry?” the morgue tech asked.

“Oh, Doctor—” Dean gave his best shot at the name, “—Figlavitch didn't tell you? We talked to him on the phone. He— uh, we're from Ohio State. He's supposed to show us the Shoemaker corpse. It's for our paper.”

“Well, I'm sorry, he's at lunch.” The morgue tech was smug, snarky, and clearly lacked people skills.

‘No wonder they have him locked up down here,’ you thought.

Dean changed course. “Oh, well, he said, uh— oh, well, you know, it doesn't matter. You don't mind just showing us the body, do you?”

“Sorry, I can't.” The morgue tech gave a tight-lipped smile. “Doc will be back in an hour. You can wait for him if you want.”

“An hour? Ooh. We gotta be heading back to Columbus by then,” Dean tried. “Uh, look, man, this paper's like half our grade, so if you don't mind helping us out—”

“Uh, look, man,” the technician mocked, “No.”

Dean laughed a little and turned around, mumbling. “I'm gonna hit him in his face I swear.”

You took the opportunity to try a different tactic. You leaned down on the morgue technician’s desk, doing your best to take advantage of the fact that he probably has had little contact with women. “Please?” you asked innocently. “These guys are my tutors. I’m really struggling in this class, and I just—” you bit your lip, “—I really need a good grade on this paper.” You used your arms to push your breasts together. “Please?”

You could tell you had him on the ropes. “Uh…” He couldn’t tear his eyes away from your cleavage. He cleared his throat. “I, uh, I guess I could do that for you.”

You smiled innocently. “Thank you so much.”

He began leading the three of you into an attached room to where the bodies were stored for autopsies. You turned around and winked at the boys with a smug smile. Dean rolled his eyes.

The morgue technician pulled the rack Steven Shoemaker’s corpse rested on out from the wall of stainless steel cells.

“Now the newspaper said his daughter found him. She said his eyes were bleeding,” Sam said.

The technician pulled the sheet back from over Steven’s face. “More than that. They practically liquefied.” The poor man’s eye sockets were still bloody, and they hadn’t yet been sewn shut. You could see the dried blood peeking out from under his partially-closed eyes.

“Any sign of a struggle? Maybe somebody did it to him?” Dean suggested.

“Nope. Besides the daughter, he was all alone,” the technician answered.

“What's the official cause of death?” Sam asked.

“Ah, Doc's not sure. He's thinking massive stroke, maybe an aneurysm? Something burst up in there, that's for sure.”

‘Nope, he’s way too young and in much too good health for that to have been the cause,’ you thought, but kept the thought at bay.

“What do you mean?” you asked. You didn’t like playing dumb, but with this guy, it was necessary.

“Intense cerebral bleeding. This guy had more blood in his skull than anyone I've ever seen,” the tech answered. Although, he was more responding to your boobs than to your face. You fought the urge to snap in front of his face and get his eyes back on target.

“The eyes?” Sam asked. “What would cause something like that?”

“Capillaries can burst. See a lot of bloodshot eyes with stroke victims,” the morgue tech shrugged.

Dean’s tone was still aggravated with the guy. “Yeah? You ever see exploding eyeballs?”

“That's a first for me, but hey, I'm not the doctor.”

“Hey, think we could take a look at that police report? You know for, uh...our paper.”

“I'm not really supposed to show you that.” The technician looked back at you.

You suppressed the bile rising in your throat. Before you could do anything else, Dean stepped in front of you and pulled out his wallet. He shoved two twenties at him, hoping that would be enough. You could see the technician deflate, but accepted the money anyway.

Dean’s actions puzzled you. But you would be lying if you said your heart didn’t flutter at the thought of him doing it out of protectiveness of you.

When you had finished looking over the police report, the three of you began making your way out of the building.

“Might not be one of ours. Might just be some freak medical thing,” Sam suggested after having seen the report.

“How many times in Dad's long and varied career has it actually been a freak medical thing and not some sign of an awful supernatural death?” Dean replied.

“Uh, almost never.”

“Exactly.”

“Alright, let's go talk to the daughter.” Sam started picking up his pace out of the building. You were happy to see him getting his mind off Jessica and back into the job.

“Wait, Dean.” You grabbed his arm lightly before he could catch up to his brother.

He turned to face you.

“Why’d you do that?” you asked.

“Do what?” He furrowed his brow.

“Give the morgue tech your hard-earned poker money,” you half-smiled.

“I just didn’t wanna watch you prostitute yourself for information,” he replied gruffly, turning away from you.

You took offense. “Hey, I was not—”

He turned back to you and brushed a hand over his hair. “You’re right, you werent.” He paused again, and his voice came back quiet. “I just didn’t like the way he was looking at you, ‘s all.”

Your heart swelled in your chest and your cheeks began to heat up. “Thanks, by the way,” you said as you continued walking. You nudged his shoulder with yours. “You’re going soft on me, Winchester.”

***

When you arrived at the Shoemaker house, you hadn’t expected to be in the midst of the funeral gathering. If you did, you would’ve dressed more appropriately. Given this fact, you felt slightly awkward when you knocked on the door. A man let you in and pointed you toward the backyard and the two daughters of Steven Shoemaker.

The two sisters were sitting with two blonde girls near the firepit. Dean addressed the older, dark-haired girl. “You must be Donna, right?”

“Yeah,” the girl responded.

“Hi, uh, we're really sorry,” Sam lamented.

“Thank you.”

“I'm Sam, this is Dean and (Y/N). We worked with your dad.”

The girl looked at her friend before looking back at your trio. “You did?” She seemed surprised.

“Yeah. This whole thing. I mean, a stroke…” Sam trailed off.

“I don't think she really wants to talk about this right now,” one of Donna’s pretty blonde friends spoke up.

“It's okay. I'm okay,” she assured her friend.

“Were there any symptoms? Dizziness? Migraines?” Dean asked.

Donna shook her head. “No.”

The younger sister, who looked to be about twelve, turned around. “That's because it wasn't a stroke.”

You were intrigued.

“Lily, don't say that,” her sister urged her.

“What do you mean?” you asked the young girl.

“I'm sorry, she's just upset,” her sister responded for her.

“No,” Lily wasn’t having it. “It happened because of me.”

Donna placed a hand on her shoulder. “Sweetie, it didn't.”

You got down on Lily’s eye level. “Why would you say that?”

“Right before he died, I said it,” she said softly.

“Said what?”

She lowered her voice even more. “Bloody Mary, three times in the bathroom mirror. She took his eyes, that's what she does.”

Donna interrupted. “That's not why Dad died. This isn't your fault.”

“I think your sister's right, Lily,” Dean broke in. “There's no way it could have been Bloody Mary. Your dad didn't say it, did he?”

Lily tried to take this in. She shook her head.

“Exactly,” you told her. “I’m sorry, we weren’t trying to upset you. We’ll just be leaving.” You pulled the boys away from Donna’s group and went back into the house. Making sure no one saw you three, you crept upstairs to the bathroom where Mr. Shoemaker passed away.

Sam pushed the door open, and you noticed some dried blood still on the floor. “The Bloody Mary legend. Dad ever find any evidence that it was a real thing?”

“Not that I know of,” Dean replied. He walked ahead of Sam into the bathroom.

Sam stooped to the floor and touched the dried blood. “I mean, everywhere else all over the country, kids will play Bloody Mary, and as far as we know, nobody dies from it.”

“Yeah, but maybe it’s fine everywhere else, but not here,” you suggested.

“The place where the legend began?” Sam tried.

You shrugged as Dean opened the medicine cabinet.

“But according to the legend, the person who says B—” you stopped yourself and noticed your reflection in the medicine cabinet’s mirror. “You know what is the one that dies. But here—”

“Shoemaker gets it instead, yeah,” Dean finished for you.

Sam rose from the floor. “Right.”

“Never heard anything like that before. Still, the guy did die right in front of the mirror, and the daughter's right. The way the legend goes, you-know-who scratches your eyes out.”

You considered Dean’s words for a moment. “It's worth checking in to.” You went to leave the bathroom when you noticed one of Donna’s pretty blonde friends approaching you.

“What are you doing up here?” she asked.

“We— We had to go to the bathroom,” you answered, not believing yourself.

“Who are you?” the girl pressed further.

Dean stepped closer to you from behind. “Like we said downstairs, we worked with Donna's dad.”

She shook her head with scrunched eyebrows. “He was a day trader or something. He worked by himself.”

“No, I know, I meant—”

She cut Dean off. “And all those weird questions downstairs, what was that? So you tell me what's going on, or I start screaming.”

Sam put a hand up to calm her. “Alright, alright, we think something happened to Donna's dad.”

The blonde looked at you three like you were stupid. “Yeah, a stroke.”

“I don’t think so,” you argued. “He was pretty young to be having a stroke. His eyes wouldn’t have liquified if he’d had a stroke. I think it might be something else.”

She scoffed and crossed her arms. “Like what?’

“Honestly? We don't know yet. But we don't want it to happen to anyone else. That's the truth,” Sam responded.

“So, if you're gonna scream, go right ahead,” Dean snarked.

“Who are you, cops?” she asked, her brows still furrowed.

“Something like that,” you shrugged.

“I'll tell you what. Here.” Sam took a piece of paper and a pen out of his jacket pocket and wrote his phone number down. “If you think of anything, you or your friends notice anything strange, out of the ordinary, just give us a call.” He handed her the piece of paper before leading you and Dean down the hallway.

Your next stop was the public library.

“Alright, say Bloody Mary really is haunting this town,” Dean began. “There's gonna be some sort of proof— Like a local woman who died nasty.”

“Yeah, but this is hard. The legend is unbelievably widespread with hundreds of different versions of who she actually is,” you rebutted. “One story says she's a witch, another says she's a mutilated bride, there's a lot more.”

“Okay, then, so what are we supposed to be looking for?” Dean asked you.

Sam answered. “Every version's got a few things in common. It's always a woman named Mary, and she always dies right in front of a mirror. So we've gotta search local newspapers, public records as far back as they go. See if we can find a Mary who fits the bill.”

“Well, that sounds annoying,” the older brother commented.

“No, it won't be so bad,” Sam replied, “As long as we…”

You cleared your throat, gesturing to the only two computers in the library that had “Out of Order” signs on them.

Sam chuckled humorlessly. “I take it back. This will be very annoying.”

The three of you picked up boxes of the town’s newspapers and numerous books of Toledo’s public records and brought them back to Sam and Dean’s motel room.

You were beginning to go cross-eyed after reading for so long. Minutes turned into hours. Dean was sitting in a chair, you were sprawled across the floor with papers and books scattered around you, and Sam eventually fell asleep.

You stood up to stretch your legs and noticed his closed eyes. “Poor fella,” you said quietly. “How’s he been sleeping?”

“How d’you think?” Dean responded, eyes never leaving his book.

You nodded. “That’s what I was afraid of.”

“Maybe we should get him to take something,” you suggested.

Dean chuckled. “He won’t do it.”

“Is it just because I’m suggesting it that you’re saying that, or do you really think he won’t take it?” you countered.

He gave you a deadpan expression.

“You Winchesters are just about the most stubborn people I’ve ever met in my life. Including your dad,” you jested. You heard Dean chuckle a little, too.

“And I wanted to tell you,” you started, “I understand why you’d suspect me in your dad’s disappearance.”

He looked away from his book and over at you. “What do you mean?”

“What you said back in Colorado? The Wendigo case? I get it.”

Dean raised an eyebrow. “You’re still on that?”

“I mean, yeah, that was just about the most heated fight we’ve had. It kinda stuck with me,” you answered honestly, looking down at your stripey-sock-covered feet. “Anyway, I just wanted you to know that I understand.”

A moment passed silently.

“And I, um—” you took a deep breath, “I want you to trust me.” You looked back at Dean who was studying you carefully.

The tense moment was interrupted by Sam jolting awake in his bed. “Why'd you let me fall asleep?”

“Cause I'm an awesome brother.” Dean’s attention was back on his book. “So what did you dream about?”

“Lollipops and candy canes,” the younger brother responded hazily while staring up at the ceiling.

You laughed humorlessly.

“Did you guys find anything?” Sam asked.

“Oh, besides a whole new level of frustration?” Dean responded sarcastically. “No. I've looked at everything. A few local women, a Laura and a Catherine committed suicide in front of a mirror—”

“And a giant mirror fell on a guy named Dave—” you chimed in.

“But no Mary,” Dean finished for you.

“Maybe we just haven't found it yet,” Sam tried.

“I've also been searching for strange deaths in the area, you know… eyeball bleeding, that sort of thing. There's nothing. Whatever's happening here, maybe it just ain't Mary,” Dean said.

Sam’s phone rang just as his brother finished talking. “Hello?” A look of concern crossed his face. He was trying to calm whoever it was on the other end down.

You waited until he got off the phone to bombard him with questions. “What? What happened?”

“Charlie,” he told you. “Her friend’s dead.”

***

Charlie sobbed as she relayed the story of what happened to her friend Jill. “And they found her on the bathroom floor. And her— her eyes. They were gone.”

You had met her in a park not an hour after she had called Sam.

“I'm sorry,” the latter responded.

“And she said it,” Charlie told you. “I heard her say it. But it couldn't be because of that. I'm insane, right?”

“No, you're not insane,” you said.

“Oh, god, that makes me feel so much worse.” You feared that might be the case.

Sam was honest with her. “Look. We think something's happening here. Something that can't be explained.”

“And we're gonna stop it,” Dean assured Charlie, “but we could use your help.”

You knew exactly where Dean was going with this. And thankfully, Charlie obliged. She snuck you and the boys into Jill’s room through the window. Dean and Sam gave you a boost into the second story room before throwing up Dean’s duffel bag.

“What did you tell Jill's mom?” you asked Charlie.

“Just that I needed some time alone with Jill's pictures and things,” she replied simply. “I hate lying to her.”

You heard someone closing the blinds and curtains behind you. “Trust us, this is for the greater good. Hit the lights,” Dean instructed her.

She obeyed but asked, “What are you guys looking for?”

“We'll let you know as soon as we find it,” the older brother responded.

Sam handed you a digital camera. “Hey, night vision!” You turned it on. You aimed the camera at Dean.

“Do I look like Paris Hilton?” he asked.

You rolled your eyes, suppressing an amused smile. You walked over to Jill’s closet door and began filming the mirror on it.

“So I don't get it,” Sam began. “I mean, the first victim didn't summon Mary, and the second victim did. How's she choosing them?”

You shrugged.

“Beats me,” Dean answered. “I want to know why Jill said it in the first place.”

“It was just a joke,” Charlie replied.

“Yeah, well somebody's gonna say it again, it's just a matter of time.”

You had made your way over to the bathroom and filmed around the mirror. You stopped when you noticed a trickle of something running from behind it. “Hey, Sam?”

“Yeah?” He came over to you.

“Look at this.” You showed him the substance oozing from behind the mirror.

Sam looked to his brother. “There's a black light in the trunk, right?”

While Dean left to get the light, you and Sam pulled the mirror off the wall. When Dean returned, you could see a handprint and the name “Gary Bryman” illuminated by the black light.

“Gary Bryman?” Charlie asked.

You looked up at her. “You know who that is?”

She shook her head. “No.”

You learned from Sam’s research and Charlie that Jill had killed Gary Bryman, an eight-year-old boy, in a hit and run accident. Dean then decided you needed to return to Donna’s house. When you pulled the medicine cabinet mirror off the wall, sure enough, there was another handprint and the name “Linda Shoemaker.” You learned from Donna that her mother had overdosed on sleeping pills. You had left Charlie at Donna’s house to comfort her friend after you and the boys had upset her with your questions about her mother’s death.

You then traveled to Fort Wayne, Indiana to investigate the death of a woman named Mary Worthington. She had died the same way these victims were; bleeding from the sockets where her eyes used to be. You spoke to the detective who was the lead on her case. He believed she spent her last moments trying to expose her killer she was having an affair with. She went as far as to start spelling out the name of her killer in her own blood on the back of her mirror. She only got to the third letter of her killer’s name before passing away. It made complete sense to you that her spirit would spend its time exposing the secrets of other murderers. Mary Worthington’s body had been cremated, but the mirror she wrote on had been returned to her family. Now, you and the boys were trying to track down where that mirror had ended up.

“Oh really?” Sam responded to the man on the phone. “Ah, that's too bad Mr. Worthington. I would have paid a lot for that mirror… Okay, well maybe next time… Alright, thanks.” He hung up.

“So?” you asked.

“So that was Mary's brother,” he informed you. “The mirror was in the family for years, until he sold it one week ago to a store called Estate Antiques. A store in Toledo.”

Dean momentarily looked away from the road to his brother. “So wherever the mirror goes, that's where Mary goes?”

“Her spirit's definitely tied up with it somehow,” Sam responded.

“Isn't there an old superstition that says mirrors can capture spirits?” you chimed in.

“Yeah, there is. Yeah, when someone would die in a house people would cover up the mirrors so the ghost wouldn't get trapped.”

Dean connected the dots. “So Mary dies in front of a mirror, and it draws in her spirit.”

“Yeah, but how could she move through like a hundred different mirrors?” you challenged.

“I don't know, but if the mirror is the source, I say we find it and smash it.”

“Yeah, I don't know, maybe,” Sam sighed. His phone rang. “Hello?... Charlie?”

***

You and the boys picked up Charlie and brought her to the motel you were staying in. You and the Winchesters were busying yourselves with covering every reflective surface in Sam and Dean’s room with sheets, blankets, jackets; anything. Charlie’s gorgeous blonde hair was knotted and messy, her eyes were puffy from crying but remained closed, and her knees were drawn into her chest.

Sam sat on the bed next to Charlie. “Hey, hey, it's ok. Hey, you can open up your eyes Charlie. It's okay, alright?”

She looked up slowly.

“Now listen,” he began softly. “You're gonna stay right here on this bed, and you're not gonna look at glass, or anything else that has a reflection, okay? And as long as you do that, she cannot get you.”

“But I can't keep that up forever. I'm gonna die, aren't I?” Charlie’s voice trembled.

“No. No. Not anytime soon,” the brunet assured her.

You sat on the floor in front of her and put a hand on her knee. “We need to know what happened, babe.”

“We were in the bathroom.” Her eyes brimmed with tears again. “Donna said it.”

“That's not what we're talking about,” Dean stated. There was something dark behind his tone. “Something happened, didn't it? In your life— .a secret— where someone got hurt. Can you tell us about it?”

The tears were flowing from her eyes now. “I had this boyfriend. I loved him. But he kind of scared me too, you know? And one night, at his house, we got in this fight. Then I broke up with him, and he got upset, and he said he needed me and he loved me, and he said "Charlie, if you walk out that door right now, I'm gonna kill myself." And you know what I said? I said "Go ahead." And I left. How could I say that? How could I leave him like that? I just...I didn't believe him, you know? I should have.” She pulled her knees back to her chest and buried her face between them.

You felt completely horrible for her. But there was no time for a therapy session because you and the boys were off to that Toledo antique store where Mary’s mirror was being kept.

Dean sped down the road despite the pouring rain which you deeply wanted to protest against. You remained silent anyway.

“You know, her boyfriend killing himself, that's not really Charlie's fault.” Dean broke the silence.

“You know spirits don't exactly see shades of gray, Dean. Charlie had a secret, somebody died, and that's good enough for Mary,” you told him.

“I guess,” he shrugged.

“You know, I've been thinking. It might not be enough to just smash that mirror,” Sam chimed in.

Dean turned his head to his brother. “Why, what do you mean?”

“Well, Mary's hard to pin down, right? I mean she moves around from mirror to mirror, so who's to say that she's not just gonna keep hiding in them forever? So maybe we should try to pin her down, you know, summon her to her mirror and then smash it.”

“Well, how do you know that's going to work?” Dean asked.

Sam shook his head. “I don't; not for sure.”

“Well who's gonna summon her?” his brother’s tone got a little panicked.

“I will. She'll come after me,” Sam replied solemnly.

“You know what, that's it.” Dean pulled over to the side of the road. “This is about Jessica, isn't it? You think that's your dirty little secret that you killed her somehow? Sam, this has got to stop, man. I mean, the nightmares and calling her name out in the middle of the night— it's gonna kill you. Now, listen to me, it wasn't your fault. If you wanna blame something, then blame the thing that killed her. Or hell, why don't you take a swing at me? I mean I'm the one that dragged you away from her in the first place.”

“I don't blame you.” Sam’s voice cracked.

“Well, you shouldn't blame yourself, because there's nothing you could've done,” Dean responded sharply.

Sam tried to shake his emotion away. “I could've warned her.”

“About what? You didn't know what was gonna happen! And besides, all of this isn't a secret, I mean I know all about it. It's not gonna work with Mary anyway,” Dean said.

“No you don't,” was all Sam could muster.

“I don't what?”

“You don't know all about it. I haven't told you everything.”

You had been trying to stay out of it, but couldn’t hold it back anymore. “What are you talking about?”

“Well, it wouldn't really be a secret if I told you, would it?”

You and Dean were taken aback. “No. I don't like it. It's not gonna happen, forget it.”

“Guys, that girl back there is going to die unless we do something about it. And you know what? Who knows how many more people are gonna die after that? Now we're doing this. You've got to let me do this.”

Dean gripped the steering wheel, clenched his jaw, and pulled back out onto the road. The air was heavy and tense in the car. You sat back in your chair with your arms crossed over your chest. No one spoke for the rest of the drive.

When you reached the shop, you picked the lock on the door to reveal dozens of mirrors.

“Well, that's just great,” Dean grumbled. He pulled out the picture you’d gotten from the detective in Indiana of Mary’s body next to the mirror. “Alright, let's start looking.”

The three of you split up. You were an incredibly detail-oriented person, but even still, all of the mirrors seemed the same to you.

“Maybe they've already sold it,” Dean called from across the room.

Your flashlight came to rest on a mirror you could swear you’d seen before. “I don't think so. C’mere, Dean.”

He came over to you and held up the photo to the mirror. And sure enough, it was a match.

“You sure about this?” Dean asked his brother.

Sam nodded and handed you his flashlight. Taking a deep breath, he says, “Bloody Mary, Bloody Mary, Bloody Mary.”

You whipped your head in the direction of a light coming through the store.

“I'll go check that out. Stay here, be careful,” Dean ordered. “Smash anything that moves.” He crawled away from you and you heard him distantly say, “Crap.”

You paid no mind to Dean as you tightened your grip on the crowbar.

You heard a whooshing sound behind you and wheeled around. In the mirror was Mary. You sprang to action and smashed your crowbar through the dead center of it.

You could hear a distorted version of Sam’s voice coming from behind you, but before you could aid him, your own reflection caught your attention. It wasn’t quite syncing with your movements; instead looking at you menacingly.

Before you could move to hit it, you felt an insane pressure coming from behind your eyes, your throat constricted, and blood began to ooze down your face.

“You can’t keep running, (Y/N),” your reflection told you. “How could you? How could you be so careless?”

The blood dripping from your eyes began to mix with your tears. You didn’t have enough breath to protest. You began to sink to the floor, the crowbar clanging to the ground.

“It’s your fault that they’re gone. Why didn’t you try harder? Why didn’t you fight to keep them alive? Why did you have to kill them? Your guilt should eat you alive. You don’t deserve another family. You know you don’t deserve to be happy again. You know your recklessness will get these boys killed, too. You are so selfish! And your brother! If you hadn’t done what you did, he would still be alive, too. You are worthless. All you bring is death and—”

The pressure around your throat released when Dean’s crowbar went through the mirror. He barely spared you a second look before going over to his brother.

“Sam, Sammy!” you heard from behind you.

You clutched at your throat and began to cry. You knew Dean had turned cold once more because he heard what your reflection said.

Sam groaned in pain as you saw Dean shouldering his brother and pulling him toward the exit of the shop.

“C’mon, (Y/N),” Sam urged you.

You shakily stood and did your best to follow the brothers out. Your dizziness caused you to fall back down to the ground on top of shards of glass, making you yelp as they pierced your hands.

“Help her, Dean!” you heard Sam demand.

Dean came to your side, clearly in no hurry, and cradled you in his arms. Before he could get anymore than two steps, you noticed Mary crawling out of the frame of her original mirror. Her dark hair was matted and fell in front of her face. Her dress was tattered, and her limbs moved in an inhuman manner; cracking with every movement. You and Dean were sent flying across the floor toward Sam, and the bleeding of your eyes started again.

You looked to the mirror inches from your head. Despite your weakness, you forced yourself to grab it and turn its face toward Mary.

“You killed them!” you heard her reflection cry. “All those people! You killed them!” Mary started choking just as you had and then melted into a pool of blood on the ground. You threw the mirror you’d been holding and shattered it completely.

You dropped your head back to the floor.

“Hey Sam?” you heard Dean say.

“Yeah?”

“This has got to be like,what, six hundred years of bad luck?” the older brother joked.

Sam chuckled weakly. You couldn’t even muster up a laugh due to the bile rising in your throat. Memories were eating away at you, and the fact that Dean had heard your reflection was only adding to your anxiety. Your breath began to quicken, but you did your best to soothe yourself.

“(Y/N).” Sam drew you out of your trance. “Can you stand?”

You tried your best to, but couldn’t. Dean squatted down next to you. “C’mon.” He motioned for you to let him carry you. You complied. You looked up at his chiseled face. You swore he was handcrafted by the gods; perhaps Adonis himself. Your hazy mind couldn’t focus on anything aside from his beautiful green eyes. You had so much to say to him about what he’d heard. You knew he didn’t think highly of you, but your relationship had begun to get better. You didn’t want, well, you, to ruin it all now.

“Dean, I—” you started.

He cut you off. “We’ll talk later,” he said gruffly. Despite his cold and guarded tone, he put you down gently in the back of the Impala.

You ended up falling asleep in the back of the Impala. When you next awoke, you had been tucked into your bed in the motel. Your boots had been discarded, your jacket had been removed, and your key that you kept in your jacket pocket was now on the nightstand beside you. The gesture was sweet, but your mind immediately started reeling about the conversation you needed to have with Dean.

You checked the clock; it was ten in the morning. You were surprised how late you had slept, and figured the boys had dropped Charlie off; potentially had even left town without you. Your anxiety getting the best of you, you rushed over to their door. Dean opened it when you knocked.

“Hey,” you breathed.

“Hey,” he echoed.

“Can we talk?”

He nodded.

You led Dean back to your room. You sat cross-legged on your bed and Dean chose the chair across from you.

“Okay, um,” you sighed. “What do you want to know?”

“Who’d you kill, (Y/N)?” came his straightforward and dry response. “Why did it say you’d get us killed, too?”

You looked down at the floor, the tears beginning to well up in your waterline. “I wanna tell you, I just—”

“Look at me.” His voice was firm.

You did.

“I need to know.”

You took a deep breath. “When I was eighteen, I was coming back home from one of my first solo hunts. My dad had sent me to take out a vampire nest on the edge of the town we were staying in. There were only three vamps there at the time. I got so excited that I had nuked them all, I didn’t account for the fact that all three of them seemed like newbies. I didn’t… register, I guess, that one or more was probably missing.” You averted his gaze, struggling to keep your voice level. “And so, I left. I went back to the house we were squatting in, and, um, one of them followed me.” Tears began to roll down your cheeks.

“Sweetheart, that’s not your—”

You shook your head. “It is. He turned them, Dean. He turned my mom and my dad. I— I had no choice. I had to—” Your sentence was cut off by a sob, but Dean understood what you meant. You wiped a hand over your face and did your best to continue your story. “I sat with their bodies for a long time after. When my brother came back and saw what I’d done, he drew his gun on me. He, um, he wouldn’t listen. He wouldn’t let me explain. He couldn’t shoot me, though. He… He just… left. And then— And then, his best friend called me a few days later.” The tears came back. “He found my brother’s car.” You pressed a hand to your mouth. “And he was dead in it.” Broken sobs wracked your body once again. “It’s my fault that they’re gone, Dean, it’s my fault.”

You couldn’t bear to look at him. You knew how disgusted he must be with you. And then, you felt the bed dip beside you. Then, a hand on your arm. Then, he pulled you to his chest, and you melted into his embrace. Your cries still shook your body, but Dean’s strong arms held you together. He sat with you like that for a long time.

You and the boys had decided to leave Toledo sooner rather than later after Sam told you what Dean had done to the cops in front of the antique store. Long after leaving Toledo, Dean broke the comfortable silence that had settled over the car.

“Hey Sam?”

“Yeah?”

“Now that this is all over, I want you to tell me what that secret is.”

The younger Winchester sighed. “Look, you're my brother and I'd die for you, but there are some things I need to keep to myself.”

Your eyes remained trained on Sam as he looked out the window at something you were passing by. His expression went from confused to scared to saddened, and you knew he was seeing Jessica. After all, you had no doubt your face mirrored his every time you saw your mom standing on a street corner or your dad’s bloodied body lying in your footpath. In time, you knew he would learn to live with it just as you had.

128 notes · View notes

brightlilith · 30 days

Text

Spotless: Trill

Chapter Seventeen

Featuring: Dean Winchester/Reader

Other characters: Rufus (mentioned), Annie/Bobby, Kevin, Cas, Billie, Kelly Kline

Word Count: 1944

Warnings, etc: Mutual pining, dream sequence in italics, minor character death, grief, Non-Jewish people trying to honor a Jewish friend's life, reader keeps putting out fires, unbeta'd

Series Masterlist

Dean leans over the edge of the hot tub, dripping wet. He is smirking and coaxing you to join him. It’s warm, the height of summer somehow and you tell him it’s too hot for it tonight, but you can’t stop looking at him, at every exposed inch of his torso.

He pushes up on his forearms, thick shoulders somehow distracting you from his husky voice. He tells you it will be alright, it will feel better once you’re in the water.

With him.

You look over and Sam’s coming onto the patio, fully clothed in jeans and a flannel, hair flapping as he starts asking you about an interview. You look for your phone, but you look down to find you have no pockets, a swimsuit you wouldn’t put on on your best day is all that you’re wearing.

Dean chuckles and suddenly, you’re beside him, water warm and soothing as he drags you onto his lap. Your phone buzzes somewhere and you can’t find it on the ledge of the hot tub. Instead you feel Dean’s hands running over your hips, and he’s gone quiet, waiting for you to look at him again.

“You deserve to be kissed,” Dean’s voice reminds you and you look down and find he disappeared. A phantom kiss on the nape of your neck is what finally makes you look behind you and you’re standing in Elizabeth’s cafe, staring at the mural you’d been mesmerized by on New Year’s Eve.

Your phone buzzed again.

You stared at the screen, dumbfounded, then quickly got out of bed.

You made it to Bobby and Annie’s in less than an hour, which was practically a miracle even in the middle of the day. You didn’t even knock, instead you let yourself in through the back gate and stepped into the now somber kitchen.

Annie appeared suddenly. “So you heard?” she asked softly, pulling you into a hug.

“Yeah, I — How is he?” Bobby was the only thing on your mind the whole way there, not bothering to even post a condolences post from the band until you knew how he was handling the loss of his best friend and biggest pain in his ass.

“Oh, you know, fine— if you ask him. He hadn’t seen him in months, but the secret diagnosis and the shock has him more pissed than anything,” Annie filled you in as you sat down at the island and let her pour you a cup of coffee.

Bobby had known Rufus for over thirty years, having worked as his roadie for most of the eighties. A prolific piano player and notorious grump, Rufus had been one of the first actual celebrities you’d come to know through the band family. Now that he was gone, it felt like one of the elders was missing from your California tribe.

An end of an era.

“What’s he doing?”

“Sitting Shiva. Though I think that’s supposed to be after the funeral,” Annie added offhandedly.

“Have you heard anything about services?”

Annie shook her head. “I texted his daughter asking if she needed anything and she just said that they’d be in touch.”

You wanted to go give Bobby a hug, but you knew it was best to let him sit with the quiet for a while longer. Unfortunately, Dean didn’t get that unsent memo.

A loud banging rattled the front door and before you or Annie could rush to open it, Bobby was yanking it open and bellowing “what in the hell is this all about?!”

Dean gave him a pointed look. “Lunch,” was his only reply before stepping into the foyer, arms full of take out.

“What’d you get?” Annie asked, trying to ignore Bobby’s aghast expression as everyone returned to the kitchen.

“I stopped by that little Kosher deli Rufus always liked, and got one of, well, everything. I figure, whatever we don’t eat will keep,” Dean explained, unpacking submarine sandwiches and more sides than you tried to count.

Bobby tried to storm back to his study, but Annie wouldn’t let him. You all ended up just eating in contemplative silence and letting the food soothe some of the ache. You were so grateful for Dean’s thoughtfulness in that moment, you almost forgot about your racy dream and everything that led up to it.

It wasn’t the time or the place to get all hot and bothered anyhow.

After the food was done filling your bellies and Bobby’s and Annie’s monster-sized fridge, you pulled out what you had brought along to honor Rufus’ memory, an unopened bottle of Johnny Walker Blue.

You set the bottle down in the middle of the table with a thunk. Bobby whistled and Annie tried to get up for glasses but you waved her off, you knew where they kept them. Dean was reading the label when you returned with four cut crystal tumblers and a side of ice, you could never remember if Annie took it straight, she drank the hard stuff so infrequently.

He cracked the cap open and then your phone buzzed, but you ignored it. He poured doubles all around, but served Bobby first.

“To that dick, may he play on in glory,” Bobby toasted.

“L’chaim,” Dean replied and you and Annie followed suit.

The stories started after Bobby’s second glass, with Dean filling in bits he’d heard from Rufus or had witnessed himself from after he’d earned the man’s rare respect.

One time Rufus actually asked Bobby to help him bury a body, but it turned out it was Rufus’ neighbor’s dog and the lady was too heartbroken to do it herself. Another time they had been mistaken for federal agents due to their matching suits, but that was just because they had to walk passed an active crime scene on the way to Bobby and Annie’s wedding ceremony.

It felt good to laugh, even while it still hurt.

You got up to get everyone some water and finally checked your phone. What greeted you was a huge reminder that it was still a work day. And you needed to get back to it.

“Oh, fuck me,” you groaned, scrolling through the rest of the comments.

“Where’s the fire?” Bobby asked, the managerial voice coming out strong.

You looked at Dean and he could tell it wasn’t great, but you weren’t sure if you needed to bring Cas up at a time like this.

“Everybody alright?” he asked, testing the waters.

“For now, until I kill them,” you muttered, thumbing your screen until you could get to your contact list. You felt everyone’s eyes on your back as you started to pace as the phone rang, but Annie was the only one with the sense to find out what had made you so upset.

“Those morons,” you heard her say as you got sent to Kevin’s voicemail.

You hung up and called a different number. After three rings, someone finally picked up.

“Castiel’s phone, how can I help you?”

“Kevin?”

“Trouble?! Why are you listed as Y/N Y/L/N?”

“Cuz that’s my name, dumbass,” you snipped. “Where are you? Is Cas there? Why didn’t you answer your own phone?”

“Relax! I just got out of the chair, Cas’ stencil is just getting set. I would have called you back in like five minutes.”

You exhaled. “Okay. Few things. Field trips with rival schools require prior permission, you get me?”

Kevin had the nerve to laugh. “It’s just Cas, it’s not like I’m dating Ruby or hanging out with those wannabe Ghostfacers.”

You rolled your eyes. “Okay, but the band does have a designated artist. Who you— very publicly— didn’t use. You don’t piss off somebody like Billie, Kevin, you just don’t.”

“How was I supposed to know?!”

You did not feel sorry for the kid. “Put Cas on the line— speaker if his arm is busy.”

You turned around and raised your eyebrows in question to Dean, mouthing, ‘you want to hear this?’

Dean swallowed and shook his head. And you kept the phone call one-sided for your audience.

“I’m here,” Cas’ deep voice greeted you over the line, low and private.

“Who's your publicist?” you asked, not bothering with formality or reprimanding a forty-year-old man who knows better.

“Kelly, she’s also our manager and—.”

“Jack’s mother. Oh, Cas.”

“Don’t pity me, it’s fine. She’s good at what she does.”

“Okay, well text her my number and we can try and ease the backlash, but you’re gonna have to grovel to Billie on your own.”

“Right,” Cas bit out like he forgot who had covered half of his body in color.

You let the awkwardness hang in the air, but sighed when your curiosity got the best of you, “what’re you getting anyway?”

Cas hummed. “A quote from ‘Good God, Y’all’ looping around his earring.”

It was one of Rufus’ most loved albums, but not the most popular.

“Where?”

“Inside my left upper arm— Kevin’s is just below the seam of his elbow.”

“Did he cry?”

Cas sounded like he shifted positions, or maybe he was distracted watching the artist’s hands. “No, but it wasn’t his first one.”

“Pity. Okay, well I will be in touch. Don’t forget to talk to Kelly for me.”

“I won’t.”

“Bye, Cas.”

“Goodbye, Y/N.”

You hung up and slumped in annoyance and minor relief.

“What’d they say?” Bobby asked, breaking the silence of the room around you.

“Nothing too damning, but still enough to piss me off,” you replied. “I’ll talk to Cas’ people. Figure this out. I’m sure I have a million messages from Becky and Billie and probably even Crowley to sort through. Assholes couldn’t give me a day off.”

“You want me to talk to Kev?” Dean’s voice broke through your mini-rant.

“Only if you want to, I kind of gave him a piece of it already.”

Dean nodded and finished his glass.

“Damn idjits, even when they mean well.”

“Tell me about it,” you said over your shoulder, heading to Bobby’s study to get to work.

As it turned out, Kelly Kline was a stand up manager, both competent and protective. You figured out their niche and tried to work with it, though your fans were louder and more numerous, you didn’t want the frenzy of the matching tattoos to become a question of loyalty, for either Cas or Kevin.

You had Bobby read over your post memorializing Rufus and got that out into the world before you left to head back home. Dean offered to wait with you on the porch. You sat, once again, in silence, letting the sunset and breeze off the ocean ease some of the tension from the day. When your driver was two blocks away, he finally turned to face you.

“How’s he doing?”

You sighed and shrugged. “He seemed good. But from what I gather, he’s got a lot on his plate.”

Dean nodded. “Right, new band, new set list to master.”

“No, Dean, I think over everything else, the music is the easiest thing Cas has to deal with.”

“Huh.”

“Yeah.”

Dean spotted the little hybrid approaching and he stood to give you a hug. “Thanks for coming, I mean, I know it was for Bobby, but it was nice to see you on a day like today.”

“You too.” And you meant it. You squeezed him one last time as the driver called out to you through the passenger window. “Thanks for lunch.”

“Be safe.”

“Take care.”

You felt Dean’s eyes on you as you were driven away, back to the house he had bought with Sam way back when, where you were always, glaringly alone.

Tagging:

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44 notes · View notes

brightlilith · 30 days

Text

Phantom Traveler | Supernatural Series Rewrite | Dean Winchester x Reader

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader (Eventual)

Warnings: canon violence, canon gore, namecalling, typical Dean and reader

Word Count: 8289

A/N: Hi guys. I've been overwhelmed with love these past few weeks. Just wanted to say thank you from the bottom of my heart for reading. You guys are fucking awesome; I'm so grateful. I hope y'all enjoy this week's episode! Asks/requests/taglists are open!!!

Series Rewrite Masterlist

You were sound asleep, curled up into yourself when a knock on the door brought you out of your slumber.

“(Y/N)?”

‘Sam.’

“I got coffee, thought you could use some,” he called through the door.

You pushed yourself up out of the bed as you yawned, and walked over to the door of your motel room to open it for Sam.

“Dude, you realize it’s six in the morning, right?” You scratched your head as you let Sam into the room.

“You sound like my brother.”

You playfully glared at him. “Don’t compare me to him.”

“Here.” He handed you a coffee and a bag of what you assumed was a pastry.

“Thanks,” you replied, sitting on your bed with your stuff in hand.

Sam sat on the chair across from you. “Still haven’t warmed up to Dean, huh?”

“Well, he hasn’t exactly warmed up to me,” you reminded him, thinking of the fight you got into yesterday over his reckless driving.

“Guess that’s true,” he conceded. “It’s weird, though, you guys are so much more alike than you let on.”

“Tell that to him. He started it.” You took a big bite of your pastry.

“Seriously?” Sam laughed, “ ‘He started it’?”

You shrugged, smirking.

He seemed to remember his original intention behind disturbing your slumber. “Hey, he found a case, though.”

“Oh, yeah? What’s up?” You licked the pastry cream off your thumb.

“We don’t know. The guy on the phone didn’t say.” Sam raised his coffee cup to his lips.

“Guy on the phone?” You took a sip of your coffee as you let Sam answer.

“Yeah. Some guy my dad and Dean worked a case for a while back’s got another one for us. He called Dean.”

“Ah—” you nodded, “—gotcha. So, where’s he live?”

“Pennsylvania,” Sam responded.

“Okay, not too far,” you noted. “I’ll be ready in fifteen.”

***

“Thanks for making the trip so quick,” a short older man named Jerry told you and the boys. “I ought to be doing you guys a favor, not the other way around. Dean and your dad really helped me out.”

You were walking beside Sam as you followed behind the man who was having you do this job. You were being led through a warehouse past planes as well as their parts and people hard at work.

“Yeah, he told me. It was a poltergeist?” Sam asked the older man.

Someone walking in front of your group was eavesdropping on you. “Poltergeist? Man, I loved that movie.”

“Hey, nobody's talking to you. Keep walking,” Jerry stated authoritatively to the man. He turned his attention back to the conversation. “Damn right it was a poltergeist, practically tore our house apart.” He addressed Dean. “Tell you something, if it wasn't for you and your dad, I probably wouldn't be alive. Your dad said you were off at college. Is that right?” He’d turned to Sam.

“Yeah, I was. I'm— taking some time off,” Sam explained.

“Well, he was real proud of you. I could tell. He talked about you all the time.”

“He did?” Knowing what you knew about Sam’s relationship with his dad, you found this surprising, too.

“Yeah, you bet he did,” Jerry nodded. “Oh, hey, you know I tried to get a hold of him, but I couldn't. How's he doing, anyway?”

“He's, um, wrapped up in a job right now,” Dean lied.

“Well, we're missing the old man, but we get Sam and— what’s your name again?” he asked you.

“(Y/N).”

“(Y/N). Even trade, huh?”

“Eh, I wouldn’t say that,” you laughed.

“Say, (Y/N), how’d you get wrapped up with these two?” Jerry asked.

“Oh, uh—” you began, searching for an abridged version of the truth, “—I met them on a hunt in California. They decided to drag me along with them.”

“Well, I’m glad you’re here. The guys are gonna need backup with this one,” Jerry said.

“Why?”

He did not give a direct answer to your question. “I got something I want you guys to hear.”

He led you to his office where you and Sam took the two chairs and Dean stood behind his brother.

”I listened to this. And, well, it sounded like it was up your alley,” Jerry stated, putting a CD into a drive. “Normally I wouldn't have access to this. It's the cockpit voice recorder for United Britannia flight 2485. It was one of ours.”

A frantic voice immediately rang out from the speaker as soon as the recording started. “Mayday! Mayday! Repeat! This is United Britannia 2485—” the recording cut out with a static sound, “—immediate instruction help! United Britannia 2485, I copy your message—” and cut out again, “—May be experiencing some mechanical failure—” and then cut out one last time. The man’s voice was completely drowned out by static, whooshing, and growling sounds.

“Took off from here, crashed about two hundred miles south,” Jerry continued. “Now, they're saying mechanical failure. Cabin depressurized somehow. Nobody knows why. Over a hundred people on board. Only seven got out alive. Pilot was one. His name is Chuck Lambert. He's a good friend of mine. Chuck is, uh… well, he's pretty broken up about it. Like it was his fault.”

“You don't think it was?” Sam questioned him.

“No, I don't.”

“Jerry, we're gonna need passenger manifests, um, a list of survivors,” Sam listed.

“Alright,” the man replied.

“And, uh, any way we can take a look at the wreckage?” Dean inquired.

“The other stuff is no problem. But the wreckage… guys— and gal— the NTSB has it locked down in an evidence warehouse. No way I've got that kind of clearance.” Jerry shook his head.

You frowned.

“No problem,” Dean declared.

You gave him a questioning look to which he shrugged off.

***

“How fucking long does it take to make a fake ID?” you groaned, falling back across the backseat of the Impala. You and Sam had found a way to isolate the EVP on Sam’s computer, having gotten a copy of the tape from Jerry.

“I don’t know,” Sam responded. “But I’m gonna lose it if it’s much longer.”

“Same here.” At that moment, Dean walked out of the Copy Jack the Impala was sitting in front of as a pretty woman walked into the store. They greeted each other before Dean walked over to you and his brother.

“Dude,” you started, “You’ve been in there forever.”

“Wah-wah,” he whined, mocking you. “You can’t rush perfection.” He held up three IDs.

“Homeland Security?” Sam questioned as he took one of the IDs. “That's pretty illegal, even for us.”

“Yeah, well, it's something new. You know? People haven't seen it a thousand times,” Dean pointed out as he got into the car.

“Alright, so, what do you got?” Dean asked his brother as he flicked your ID back at you. It hit you square in the side of the head.

“Dude, really?” you hissed, aggravation clear in your tone.

“Shh,” the older Winchester hushed you as he waited for Sam to answer.

“Well, there's definitely EVP on the cockpit voice recorder,” Sam explained.

“Yeah?”

“Listen.”

The isolated voice of what you were dealing with came through the recording scratchy and backed by demonic growling sounds. “No survivors!”

“ ’No survivors’?” Dean asked. “What's that supposed to mean? There were seven survivors.”

You shrugged.

Dean let out a sigh. “So, what are we thinking? A haunted flight?”

“There's a long history of spirits and death omens on planes and ships, like phantom travelers,” Sam began.

Dean hummed in affirmation. “Or remember flight 401?”

“Right. The one that crashed, the airline salvaged some of its parts, put it in other planes, then the spirit of the pilot and copilot haunted those flights.”

“I don’t know, guys,” you stated skeptically. “Ghost just doesn’t feel right.”

“Well, thanks for your optimism, sunshine,” Dean quipped.

“It’s not about optimism, you asshole, it’s about being right and dealing with whatever we’re up against properly,” you pushed back.

“Know-it-all,” the older Winchester replied.

“Fuck off, Winchester.”

He let out a breath and turned his attention back to the case.“Alright, so, survivors, which one do you want to talk to first?”

"Third on the list: Max Jaffey,” you said.

“I wasn’t talking to you, but why him?”

You glared at Dean. “Because if anybody saw something weird, he did. I talked to his mom while you were spending forever in the store. She said some pretty weird shit and told me where to find him. He was so screwed up, he checked himself into the hospital.”

***

You and the Winchesters walked beside Max Jaffey, who hobbled on a cane, through the Riverfront Psychiatric Hospital’s garden.

“I don't understand. I already spoke with Homeland Security,” Max told your trio.

“Right. Some new information has come up,” Dean lied. “So if you could just answer a couple questions...”

“Just before the plane went down, did you notice anything… unusual?” Sam questioned.

Max looked confused. “Like what?”

“Strange lights, weird noises, maybe. Voices,” Dean offered.

“No, nothing.”

Seeing as no one was getting anywhere with this investigation, you tried your hand at it. “Mr. Jaffey, you checked yourself in here, right?”

He nodded at you.

“Why?”

“Uh, I was a little stressed,” he said sarcastically. “I survived a plane crash.”

“Uh-huh,” you nodded. “And that’s what scared you? That’s what screwed you up so badly?”

You could tell you were close to the answers you were after as he swallowed uncomfortably. “I— I don't want to talk about this anymore.”

“I know, but I also know you saw something up there,” you continued. “We need to know what.”

“No.” Max shook his head. “No, I was… delusional. Seeing things.”

“He was seeing things,” Dean half-mocked him.

You shot a warning glance at Dean, hoping to get him to shut up.

“It's okay,” you coaxed. “Just tell us what you thought you saw, please.”

“There was… this—man. And, uh, he had these… eyes—these, uh, black eyes. And I saw him—or I thought I saw him...” he trailed off, stopping as he recounted the events.

“What?” Dean asked.

“He opened the emergency exit,” Max explained. “But that's— that's impossible, right? I mean, I looked it up. There's something like two tons of pressure on that door.”

“Yeah,” Dean confirmed, clearly confused.

“This man, uh, did he seem to appear and disappear rapidly? It would look something like a mirage?” Sam asked.

Max quirked his head at the younger Winchester. “What are you, nuts? He was a passenger. He was sitting right in front of me.”

***

“I think we can rule out phantom traveler,” you noted as you got out of the car in front of the Phelps’s house. You were going to visit the wife of George Phelps, the man who opened the emergency exit.

“Why?” Dean asked.

“You heard Jaffey. He said the dude had black eyes. Opened a fucking emergency exit on his own. ‘Black eyes’ points me to demon.”

Dean’s eyes widened. “Demons?”

“I mean, it makes sense,” Sam shrugged. “He could be a demon. He might be some kind of a creature, too, in human form.”

“Does that look like a creature's lair to you?” Dean questioned as he gestured toward the house that was representative of the essence of suburban houses. From its beautiful garden to the cobblestone steps to the beige paint coating the outside of the two-story building.

Sam shrugged and began leading your trio up the steps of the house.

Once inside, you three sat across from Mrs. Phelps on the couch while she sat in an armchair.

Sam picked a picture of Mrs. Phelps and an older man up off of the side table. “This is your late husband?” he asked.

“Yes, that was my George.”

“And you said he was a dentist?” Dean questioned.

She hummed in affirmation. “He was headed to a convention in Denver. Do you know that he was petrified to fly? For him to go like that...”

Sam asked another question. “How long were you married?”

“Thirteen years.”

You could tell Sam was contemplating how to ask his next question. “In all that time, did you ever notice anything… strange about him; anything out of the ordinary?”

She paused for a moment. “Well, uh, he had acid reflux, if that's what you mean.”

You nodded, clicking your tongue. “I think that’s all we have for you, Mrs. Phelps. Thank you for your time.”

She showed all of you out, and you piped up as you walked down the stairs outside of the house.

“Demon’s sounding more and more correct all the time,” you smiled, trying to joke around.

“Jesus, you’re annoying,” Dean groaned.

“And you’re a misogynistic dick that can’t handle women with brains,” you responded.

“What, are we gonna duke this out now?” Dean stopped by the door of the car, facing you.

You stood by the backseat’s door. “You started it,” you taunted childishly, crossing your arms over your chest as you stared back at him.

“Really?” he leered. “You’re gonna pull that card? Mature.”

“You act like you’re any better.”

“Guys—” Sam tried to cut in, but Dean continued to fight with you.

“You’re such a bitch.”

“Wow, haven’t heard that one before,” you drawled.

“Guys! You can fight later. Wrong place, wrong time to sort this out,” Sam chastised you and Dean like you were children.

You got in the car and slammed the door behind you.

“Don’t hurt my baby ‘cause you’re pissed,” Dean scolded you as he started to pull the car away.

“Just drive, asshole,” you grumbled in frustration as you slumped down in your seat. The rest of the car ride to the local outlet mall was silent.

***

You had never felt more confident. Despite the fact that you could have worn the one dress you already had to pose as homeland security, you decided to treat yourself to a new outfit to distract from your aggravation with Dean.

The boys had gone to a suit shop called “Mort’s for Style,” and you went into a dress shop called “Betsy’s.” It was a cute little shop with a lot of great dress and pantsuit options.

You had picked out a navy blue pantsuit. You wore a white button-up underneath the blazer with the top two buttons undone to accentuate your breasts. The blazer was unbuttoned, and the high-waisted, straight-legged pants you wore matched the black color of your blazer. With the white button-up tucked into your pants and the small amount of makeup you threw on to draw attention to your eyes and lips, you felt good.

Once you had paid for your clothing, you walked out of the shop and back to the Impala. Surprisingly, the boys were not there waiting for you.

You leaned your back against the car, picking out the grit from under your nails.

You looked up when you heard Dean’s voice. “Man, I look like one of the Blues Brothers.”

Both of the boys were dressed in sharp, black suits. You almost lost your breath at the sight of Dean, but fought yourself to keep your composure. You would not give him the satisfaction of knowing you found him attractive.

“No, you don't,” Sam told him. “You look more like a seventh-grader at his first dance.”

You laughed at the younger brother’s jeer. “What took you girls so long?” you asked once you got in the Impala. “I thought you two would’ve beat me out the store by a long shot.”

“Dean wouldn’t leave the dressing room,” Sam said dryly.

“Seriously?” you droned.

You and Sam both looked to Dean, who did not answer immediately. When he finally spoke, he complained, “I hate this thing.”

“Hey,” Sam stared. “You want into that warehouse or not?”

Dean rolled his eyes as he continued to drive along.

You steeled your nerves as your black, pointed-toe pumps clicked across the warehouse floor. Your trio was headed to the security guard that would allow you in to see the wreckage.

You held the clipboard you had stowed in your bag close to your chest, acting as some sort of a recorder for the boys. The three of you flashed your badges at the security guard, who nodded and allowed you into the hangar where the wreckage was being kept.

There was a large map of what the plane should look like painted onto the floor, and the parts that corresponded to the different portions of the map were laid in their proper spots. There were wires hung on fences and broken interior parts of the plane laid on tables. The most heartbreaking things for you to look at were the torn passengers’ seats because most of the people who had been in them were now dead.

You looked over at Dean, who had earbuds in and was moving a small box over the tops of the wreckage.

“What’s that?” you asked him.

“It's an EMF meter. Reads electromagnetic frequencies.”

You got closer to him, noticing what the object appeared to be. “I know what an EMF meter is; I’m not stupid. But why does that one look like a busted-up walkman?”

“ 'Cause that's what I made it out of. It's homemade,” he grinned.

“Yeah, I can see that,” you quipped.

His grin disappeared. “Bitch.”

“Dick.”

You once again fought the pain in your chest when he called you a bitch. In all honesty, you thought his homemade EMF meter was cute. However, you were too far gone in your war with him to surrender now.

Dean ran the Walkman over a piece of the wreckage with black spores and yellow dust on it. You could hear the faint sound of a spike on the meter through Dean’s headphones.

“Check out the emergency door handle,” Dean called to Sam.

Sam came over to where you and Dean stood as the older brother scratched at the dust to get some on his hand.

“What is this stuff?” Dean asked.

One way to find out.” You saw the younger of the two brothers start scraping some of the dust into a small bag.

“We need to go,” you told the boys. You weren’t sure what told you that, but you just suddenly felt unsettled. The hairs on the back of your neck stood at attention, and every muscle in your body tensed. You started off toward the exit in the back of the warehouse.

“Wait, (Y/N), what if we’re missin’ something?” Dean questioned, clearly aggravated you were ready to ditch already.

“Too bad, we gotta go.” You kept walking toward the exit, making it out of the door and around the backside of the building.

At that moment, an alarm started blaring through the area surrounding the warehouse.

You turned around to look at the boys as you gloated, “I’m not gonna say, ‘I told you so’!“ Not bothering to rip your shoes off of your feet, you took off running to the gated exit.

Sam and Dean were quick to follow you and soon passed you up. The older brother took off his suit jacket and threw it over the barbed wire at the top of the fence. You did the same with your blazer. After quickly taking off your pumps to avoid hurting yourself when you jumped from the top of the gate, you threw yourself over the fence. The other two did the same.

Sam grabbed your blazer that you were too small to reach from the top of the fence as Dean found it within himself to remark, “Well, these monkey suits do come in handy.”

You ran after the two boys, heels and blazer in hand as the jagged rocks in the cement cut into your feet. As soon as you shut the door to the car, Dean slammed on the gas pedal.

He tore out of the warehouse’s parking lot, speeding down the road to head toward Jerry’s workplace.

"(Y/N),” Sam started, turning in his seat to face you with a curious expression on his face, “how did you know that?”

“Honestly, I don’t know. My intuition’s just always been pretty sharp.” You were being honest; there had been a few times on hunts previously when you’d known it was time to get the hell out of dodge.

“Hm.” You could tell Dean still didn’t trust you.

“Dude, I don’t know what else to tell you. That’s the truth,” you countered. “I’ve been helping you guys with your dad for almost two months now, and you still don’t trust me. I don’t know what more to do for you.”

“Maybe because I don’t know you,” he responded, never taking his eyes off the road.

“Maybe if you tried to know me, you’d find it a little easier to trust me,” you answered.

“Not interested,” came Dean’s grumbled response.

You tried your best to ignore the pang that went through your chest once more. “Of course not.”

***

You refused to speak to or even look at Dean; your frustration with the fact that he had no desire to know you and his general existence boiling to the surface. You could feel his stare burning into the side of your head as you focused on Jerry, who sat in front of you. He was looking through a microscope on his desk at the yellow dust Sam had collected.

“Huh,” Jerry remarked. “This stuff is covered in sulfur.”

“You're sure?” Sam asked.

“Take a look for yourself,” Jerry offered, getting up from behind the desk so Sam could take his place.

Banging sounds along with a string of curse words caught your ear as Jerry sighed.

“If you guys will excuse me, I have an idiot to fire,” he dryly stated, walking out of the office.

You got up from the chair you were sitting in next to Dean. “See?” you started excitedly, gesturing toward the sulfur, “Demons.”

“That would explain how one guy had the strength to open up the emergency exit,” Sam added.

“This goes way beyond floating over a bed or barfing pea soup. I mean it's one thing to possess a person, but to use them to take down an entire airplane?” Dean put his hands on his hips as he stood. “You ever heard of something like this before?”

Sam looked over at his brother, who responded, “Never.”

“Well, I have,” you said simply.

They both looked to you to continue.

“In NYC a couple years back. Some cabbies had gotten possessed and were takin’ girls left and right.”

“Those were demons?” Sam asked, standing up from behind Jerry’s desk. “That was a huge deal on the news while I was at Stanford. Police thought it was a serial killer. You took ‘em on all by yourself?”

“I’m a big girl, Sam,” you chuckled. “I can handle a few demons. But, yeah, that was me. That was probably the toughest case I’ve ever been on. Finding where those demons had taken those girls after they drugged them in the cabs... where they were raped and murdered...” You shook your head, your cheery expression gone.

“I’m sorry you had to see that,” Sam told you gently.

Your eyes were glued to the floor, hands on your hips with not a bit of life in your voice as you muttered, “All in a day’s work.”

Sam had asked you to tell him and Dean everything you knew about demons once you got back to the Winchesters’ motel room. Sam sat at the table close to the window while Dean sat on the bed closest to his brother. You stood in front of the two as you spoke.

“Demons exist in every religion in every world culture. With the ones that I was dealing with up in New York, they were most similar to Incubi from early Christian religion. Incubi raped sleeping girls. These demons drugged the girls to put them to sleep, then they raped them, and then they murdered them. What I’m thinking for these demons is that they’re most similar to certain Japanese demons. I had to look into these when I was trying to figure out how to kill the NYC demons. The Japanese believe demons cause certain disasters, whether it be natural or man-made. Some cause earthquakes, others cause disease—”

“And this one causes plane crashes?” Dean deadpanned, cutting you off.

You ignored him. “Demons are having to find new ways to ratchet up the body count. Like with me in New York, Incubi can’t go about their old methods anymore. This demon probably evolved with the times like the Incubi did, and so it figured plane crashes were the best way to get its job done.”

Dean snorted, getting up from. the bed and turning away from you and his brother.

“What?” Sam asked.

He turned around, scratching the back of his neck. “I don't know, man. This isn't our normal gig. I mean, demons, they don't want anything, just death, and destruction for its own sake. This is big. And I wish Dad was here.”

“Yeah. Me too,” the younger Winchester admitted.

Dean’s phone rang, and he answered it. “Hello?... Oh, hey, Jerry… Wha— Jerry, I'm sorry. What happened?... Where'd this happen?... I'll try to ignore the irony in that… Nothing. Jerry, hang in there, all right? We'll catch up with you soon.”

He hung up the phone.

“Another crash?” Sam questioned, already knowing the answer.

“Yeah. Let's go.”

“Where?”

“Nazareth.”

‘Ah, there’s the irony.’

***

After leaving the horrendous scene of Chuck’s plane crash, you and the boys went back to Jerry’s office. Once again, Jerry confirmed that the dust you had taken from the steering wheel of Chuck’s plane was, in fact, sulfur.

“Well, that's great,” Dean sassed. “Alright, that's two plane crashes involving Chuck Lambert. This demon sounds like it was after him.”

“If that's the case, that would be the good news,” you chimed in. You looked up to the sky, addressing the pilot. “No offense, Chuck.”

“What's the bad news?” Jerry asked you.

“Chuck's plane went down exactly forty minutes into the flight, just like 2485,” you informed the older man.

“Forty minutes?” Chuck inquired. “What does that mean?”

“It's biblical numerology. You know Noah's ark, it rained for forty days. The number means death,” Dean said.

“I went back, and there have been six plane crashes over the last decade that all went down exactly forty minutes in,” Sam explained.

"Any survivors?” the older Winchester questioned his brother.

“No. Or not until now, at least, not until flight 2485, for some reason.” Sam turned to you after thinking for a moment. “On the cockpit voice recorder, remember what the EVP said?”

“ ‘No survivors,’ “ you realized. “It's going after all the survivors. It's trying to finish the job.”

Dean drove the Impala down an empty highway.

Sam was on the phone with one of the survivors from the plane crash, the conversation almost over. “Really? Well, thank you for taking our survey, And if you do plan to fly, please don't forget your friends at United Britannia Airlines. Thanks.” He hung up the phone. “All right. That takes care of Blaine Sanderson and Dennis Holloway. They're not flying anytime soon.”

“That leaves the flight attendant, Amanda Walker,” you commented.

“Right. Her sister Karen said her flight leaves Indianapolis at eight P.M. It's her first night back on the job,” Sam told you and his brother.

“That sounds like just our luck,” Dean grumbled.

“Dean, this is a five-hour drive, man, even with you behind the wheel,” Sam said worriedly.

“Call Amanda's cellphone again, see if we can't head her off at the pass,” Dean tried.

“I already left her three voice messages. She must have turned her cellphone off.”

“God, we're never gonna make it,” you shook your head, leaning back in the seat as you scrubbed a hand through your hair.

“We'll make it,” the older brother countered, slamming his foot on the gas.

Somehow, someway, Dean had managed to get to the airport at ten minutes to seven.

You jumped up out of the car, taking your gun out of your pants and stashing it under the backseat.

“What are you doing?”

You still did not feel like talking to Dean but answered him shortly nonetheless. “We’re going into an airport.”

Dean finally caught onto what you meant and took all of his weapons off of him, too. “I feel naked.”

You fought the smile threatening to creep up your face.

You rushed into the airport just behind the boys, squeezing your way through the crowd of people to get to the departure board.

“Right there,” Sam pointed out. “They're boarding in thirty minutes.”

“Okay. We still have some cards to play,” Dean paused, thinking for a moment. “We need to find a phone.”

He found a courtesy phonw on the wall, picking it up. “Hi. Gate thirteen… I'm trying to contact an Amanda Walker. She's a flight attendant on flight, um… flight 4-2-4.”

He waited impatiently for Amanda to pick up the phone. When she finally did, he began speaking again.

“Miss Walker. Hi, this is Dr. James Hetfield from St. Francis Memorial Hospital. We have a Karen Walker here… Nothing serious, just a minor car accident, but she was injured, so—” His face fell, his eyes widening a touch. “You what?... Uh, well… there must be some mistake—”

Sam went around his brother to try to get a closer listen.

After a longer pause, Dean let out a sigh of relief and smiled. “...Guilty as charged… He's really sorry… Yeah, but… he really needs to see you tonight, so—... Don't be like that. Come on. The guy's a mess. Really. It's pathetic… Oh, yeah… No, no. Wait, Amanda. Amanda!” Dean slammed the phone back onto the receiver. “Damn it! So close.”

"Alright, time for plan B. We're getting on that plane,” you stated firmly.

“Whoa, whoa, now just hold on a second.” For the first time since you met him, Dean looked scared.

“Dean, that plane is leaving with over a hundred passengers on board, and if we're right, that plane is gonna crash,” Sam argued.

“I know.” He looked conflicted.

“Okay. So we're getting on the plane, we need to find that demon and exorcise it. I'll get the tickets. You and (Y/N) get whatever you can out of the trunk. Whatever that will make it through security. Meet me back here in five minutes.”

Dean looked at Sam blankly, evidently a little anxious.

“Are you okay?” the younger Winchester asked.

Dean hesitated. “No, not really.”

“What? What's wrong?”

“Well, I kind of have this problem with, uh...”

“Flying?” you cut in.

“It's never really been an issue until now,” he told you.

“You're joking, right?” Sam huffed.

“Do I look like I'm joking? Why do you think I drive everywhere, Sam?” he spat.

For the first time since you met him, you didn’t feel like mocking him about his fear of planes.

“Okay, then (Y/N) and I’ll go,” Sam proposed.

Dean shook his head. “What?”

“We’ll handle this one.”

“What are you, nuts? You said it yourself, the plane's gonna crash.”

“Dean, we can do it together, or I can do this one with (Y/N). I'm not seeing a third option, here.”

Dean scratched his head. “Come on! Really? Man...”

Dean walked much faster than you did toward the car to get supplies, clearly trying to leave you in his dust.

“Would you slow down a bit, please?” you asked.

“Why should I?”

“Because even if you get to the car before me, you’re not gonna have a fucking clue what to use to deal with a demon,” you reminded him, your words a bit more venomous than need-be.

He stopped, turning to face you. “Are you calling me stupid?”

“No,” you told him. You truly weren’t.

“Definitely sounds like you are.”

You walked past him to the trunk of the Impala. “I wasn’t, I’m simply pointing out the fact that I’m the one who knows how to deal with demons, and you don’t.”

“There you go again. Acting like you know so much better than I do.” His attitude was truly exhausting.

Your voice rose as you defended yourself. “Because I do! In this case, at least!”

“But it’s not just this one time that you acted like you’re better than me,” he argued. “Do you realize how frustrating it is to deal with your smart ass?”

“Do you realize how frustrating it is to deal with yours?” you threw back. You sighed, putting aside your anger for now. “Look, we don’t have time to talk about this.” You shoved holy water, a rosary, and the EMF Walkman into Dean’s hands. “Now, let’s go.”

You shoved past Dean and headed back to the airport.

***

You sat between Sam and Dean, completely at ease. Dean, however, was losing his mind.

"Just try to relax,” Sam whispered from the window seat

Dean’s voice came back harder and slightly louder. “Just try to shut up.”

“Oh, don’t be a baby,” you scolded playfully.

“Don’t be a bitch,” Dean clapped back using the same tone with you that he had with Sam. He took in a sharp breath when the plane began moving a second later.

You gathered your courage and grabbed his hand. He jerked away from you and looked at you in surprise. When the plane took off, though, his hand rejoined yours, squeezing tightly. You giggled to yourself.

“I’m so glad this is funny to you,” Dean hissed.

“It’s not,” you answered simply.

“Then why are you laughing?” His grip tightened once again.

“It’s just,” you considered your next words carefully. “It’s kind of cute, that’s all.”

Dean was caught off-guard by your response. He eyed you quizzically, unsure of what to say. You just shrugged, settling the back of your head against your seat with your hand still in Dean’s. It was much larger than yours, and you fought the urge to run your fingers along the calloused ridges.

Moments passed in a bit of an uncomfortable silence before Dean spoke again, not a trace of bite in his tone. “Why are you doing this?”

You rolled your head toward him. “Everybody’s scared of something,” you quietly replied. “It helps me to know I’m helping you. Even if you do hate my guts.”

“I don’t hate your guts.” He spoke so softly you almost couldn’t hear him.

“Pfft, could’ve fooled me,” you answered.

“You just…” he started, “...get on my nerves. ‘S all.”

You giggled.

A few minutes later when the plane had fully gotten up in the air, you heard the familiar sound of a song you had heard many times before in the Impala coming from the man next to you.

“You're humming Metallica?” Sam asked Dean monotonously.

“Calms me down,” the older brother replied.

“ ‘Some Kind of Monster’? Really?“ You raised a brow at him.

Dean did not respond to you.

“Look, man, I get you're nervous, all right? But you got to stay focused,” the younger Winchester reminded his brother.

“Yup,” you chimed in. “We only have thirty-two minutes to track the bitch down and full-on exorcise it.”

“Yeah, on a crowded plane,” Dean commented. “That's gonna be easy.”

“Just take it one step at a time, alright?” Sam said calmly. “Now, who is it possessing?”

“It's usually gonna be somebody with some sort of weakness, you know, a chink in the armor that the demon can worm through. Somebody with an addiction or some sort of emotional distress,” Dean stated.

“Well, this is Amanda's first flight after the crash. If I were her, I'd be pretty messed up,” Sam told Dean, who hummed in response.

Dean sat up stiffly, his body still tense as he turned to the blonde flight attendant walking past.

“Excuse me. Are you Amanda?” he asked her.

“No, I'm not,” she answered with a smile.

"Oh, my mistake.”

The flight attendant hummed in agreement.

He peered into the back of the plane, finding the other blonde flight attendant. “All right, well, that's got to be Amanda back there, so I'll go talk to her, and, uh, I'll get a read on her mental state.”

“What if she's already possessed, genius?” Sam asked.

“There's ways to test that,” Dean responded, pulling the holy water out of his jacket. “I brought holy water.”

“Correction, I brought holy water—” you leaned forward, gently taking the bottle, “—And that’s for when we try to exorcise the demon. She’ll flinch at the name of god if she’s possessed.”

“Yeah, I know that,” Dean replied, getting up from his chair. You could tell he had not. You already missed the feeling of his hand in yours.

He turned to go, but you stopped him.

“Dean!” you whispered.

“What?” The annoyance in Dean’s voice was back.

“Say it in Latin.”

“Yeah, I know.”

“Then what is it?” you smirked, quirking a brow.

“ ‘Christo!’ I’m not an idiot!” he hissed back. Dean turned away from you and headed to the back of the plane.

You slumped down in your seat, closing your eyes as the copilot began speaking. “Ladies and gentlemen, this is your first officer speaking...” you tuned out the rest of his message.

A few minutes went by before the older brother returned.

“Alright, well, she's got to be the most well-adjusted person on the planet,” he sighed as he flopped back into his seat.

“You said ‘Christo’?” Sam asked.

“Yeah.”

“And?”

“There's no demon in her. There's no demon getting in her.”

“So, if it's on the plane, it can be anyone. Anywhere,” Sam explained.

The plane shook, causing Dean to tense up. He grabbed your hand once more. “Come on!” he whined. “That can't be normal!”

“Hey, hey, it's just turbulence,” you coaxed.

“Sweetheart, this plane is going to crash, okay? So quit treating me like I'm fucking four.” He went to drop your hand, but you tightened your grip.

“Okay,” you started, changing tactics. Your tone became harsh. “You need to calm down.”

“Well, I'm sorry, I can't,” Dean sassed.

“You didn’t want to be treated like you’re four, so stop acting like it,” you commanded. “Be a man, Winchester. If you’re a basketcase, you’re wide open to possession. Get your shit together. Right now.”

Dean took a deep breath.

You smiled. “Great. Onto the Rituale Romanum.”

“The what?” Sam and Dean asked in unison.

“The exorcism ritual,” you elaborated. “It's two parts. The first part expels the demon from the victim's body. It makes it manifest, which actually makes it more powerful.”

“More powerful?” Dean questioned, his voice strained and eyes wide.

“Yup.”

“How?” He was starting to get panicky again.

“It’d just be able to wreak havoc on its own without a vessel,” you informed.

“Oh. And why is that a good thing?”

“ 'Cause the second part of that sends the bitch back to hell once and for all.”

“First things first, we got to find it.”

“There ya go,” you chuckled.

“Shut up,” Dean grumbled, getting up from his chair with the EMF Walkman.

You and Sam let him walk down the aisle by himself for a few minutes before the two of you got up to go talk to him.

You tapped his shoulder.

“Ah!” Dean jumped back, wheeling around to face you. “Don’t do that!”

“Anything?” Sam asked.

The older brother shook his head. “No, nothing. How much time we got?”

“Fifteen minutes,” Sam told you and his brother. “Maybe we missed somebody.”

“Maybe the thing's just not on the plane,” Dean shrugged.

“No way. Dean, it’s gonna be here,” you protested. Just as you spoke, the EMF meter spiked.

You looked up to see the copilot coming out of the bathroom.

“What?” Sam asked. “What is it?”

You stared at the copilot. “Christo.”

The man’s head slowly turned toward you and the boys, his eyes black.

You wheeled around to face Sam. “We gotta talk to Amanda.”

“She's not gonna believe this,” Sam contested.

“You’re probably right, but we only got twelve minutes,” you reminded the younger brother. You walked ahead of the boys into the concessions area where Amanda busied herself.

“Oh, hi. Flight's not too bumpy for you, I hope,” she smiled politely, clearly caught off-guard by your presence.

“Actually—” Dean began, “—that's kind of what we need to talk to you about.”

Sam closed the curtains behind you as Amanda answered Dean. “Um, okay. What can I do for you?”

“Alright, this is gonna sound nuts, but we just don't have time for the whole ‘the truth is out there’ speech right now,” Dean rushed out.

She looked confused but kept her smile painted on her face.

“Alright, look, we know you were on flight 2485,” Sam continued for Dean.

Her grin disappeared. “Who are you guys?”

Sam ignored her question. “Now, we've spoken to some of the other survivors. We know something brought down that plane and it wasn't a mechanical failure.”

“We need your help because we need to stop it from happening again. Here. Now,” the older brother told her.

“I'm sorry—” she started, attempting to move past you, “I— I'm very busy. I have to go back—”

“Chuck Lambert’s dead, Amanda,” you cut in, effectively stopping her from leaving. “The pilot from 2485.”

“Wait. What?” She turned to face you, her eyebrows furrowed. “Chuck is dead?”

“Yeah,” you said quietly. “He died in a plane crash. That’s the second plane crash in two months. Doesn’t that strike you as weird?”

She shook her head in complete disbelief.

“Look, there was something wrong with 2485,” Sam added. “Now maybe you sensed it, maybe you didn't. But there's something wrong with this flight, too.”

Dean made a last attempt to drive the point home. “Amanda, you have to believe us.”

The blonde looked to the ground. “On… on 2485, there was this man. He… had these eyes.”

“Black eyes?” you asked.

She nodded.

“That’s exactly what we’re talking about,” Sam clarified.

“I don't understand, what are you asking me to do?”

Dean answered before you got the chance to. “Okay. The copilot, we need you to bring him back here.”

Amanda looked between the three of you, confused. “Why? What does he have to do with anything?”

“Don't have time to explain. We just need to talk to him. Okay?”

“How am I supposed to go in the cockpit and get the copilot—” You could practically see her mind running a mile a minute.

Even Sam was getting impatient. “Do whatever it takes. Tell him there's something broken back here, whatever will get him out of that cockpit.”

“Do you know that I could lose my job if you—”

“Babe, you're gonna lose a lot more if you don't go get him right now,” you remarked.

She looked at you and nodded, turning to leave for the cockpit.

As soon as Amanda made it out of the curtains, you fished the holy water out of your hoodie’s pocket, moving to press your back against the wall next to the closed blue curtains.

A few moments later, you heard the copilot say to Amanda, “Yeah, what's the problem?” Just outside the curtains. As soon as the demon ducked into the small room, Dean punched him in the face. He then shoved the demon to the ground and slapped duct tape over his mouth.

“Wait,” Amanda protested as you got down on the ground beside Dean, “What are you doing? You said you were just gonna talk to him.”

“We are gonna talk to him,” Dean replied simply as you splashed the copilot with holy water.

The demon groaned under the duct tape, his skin sizzling and burning holes through his shirt.

“Oh, my god. What's wrong with him?” Amanda cried.

“Look,” Sam started calmly, “We need you calm. We need you outside the curtain.”

Amanda’s breath quickened. “Well, I don't underst— I don't know—”

“Don't let anybody in, okay? Can you do that? Can you do that? Amanda?”

She gave herself a pep talk before heading outside of the curtains.

“Hurry up, Sam,” Dean groaned. “I don't know how much longer I can hold him.”

The demon went to kick the older Winchester in the back, but you dove to grab his legs.

Sam began reciting the Latin ritual written in his father’s journal. “Regna terrae, cantate Deo, psallite Domino—”

The demon kneed you in the forehead, causing you to fall back and got a few good swings at the boys in as well. You clambered on top of the copilot, sitting on his stomach with his arms pinned by his sides under your legs.

Sam continued with the ritual before the demon threw you off of him. He ripped the tape off of his mouth and turned to Sam. “I know what happened to your girlfriend! She must have died screaming! Even now, she's burning!”

You attempted to recover from getting slammed into the wall while Dean focused on attacking the demon.

Sam sat there in shock, so you grabbed the journal and tried to finish the ritual.

The demon hit Dean again, effectively getting the young man off of him and knocking Dean into you. The book fell from your hand, and the demon kicked it out into the passenger’s cabin.

A cloud of black smoke flew out from the copilot’s body and into a vent while Sam went out into the aisle to find the journal.

Suddenly, the plane shook violently and took a nosedive. The lights in the plane flickered and you and Dean were thrown to the back wall of the concession’s area.

You and Dean screamed as the plane went down. Dean held onto the emergency exit door for dear life as you pressed yourself into the corner opposite from the older Winchester.

Your yelps were cut off when the plane leveled out following a surge of electricity coursing through the aircraft. You assumed Sam was able to finish the ritual and the pilot was able to regain control of the plane.

You shakily stood up from the ground and dusted yourself off, tugging on the sleeves of your large hoodie.

You stepped out into the passenger’s cabin, heading to Sam as people began asking their neighbors if they were okay.

You wrapped Sam in a short, tight hug as you thanked him for keeping his head level enough to finish the ritual and trying to comfort him after what the demon had said. When you had made your way back to your seats, a slight rumble went through the aircraft. Dean grabbed your hand once again, and kept it there for the rest of the flight. A small smile tugged at your lips.

After landing back at your original airport, you stood beside Sam and Dean as you watched the swarms of EMTs, FBI agents, and FAA agents go from person to person. They questioned or looked over each one, and your focus bounced between them.

You found Amanda in the crowd talking to an FBI agent, and she turned to the side to mouth “thank you” to you and the Winchesters.

“Let's get out of here,” Dean said firmly.

You began to head to the exit when Dean asked Sam, “You okay?”

You turned back to Sam, who reminded you and his brother, “Dean, it knew about Jessica.”

“Sam, these things, they, they read minds. They lie. Alright? That's all it was.” The older brother attempted to brush Sam’s concerns off.

“Yeah.” The brunet didn’t sound convinced.

“Come on.”

***

The next day, you and the Winchesters visited Jerry at his workplace to give him the final mission report. Jerry showed you and the boys out and escorted you to the Impala parked outside of the warehouse.

“Nobody knows what you guys did, but I do. A lot of people could have been killed,” he acknowledged. He shook your hand before turning to the boys. “Your dad's gonna be real proud.”

Sam gave him an awkward, tight-lipped smile. “We'll see you around, Jerry.”

You turned to the car, as did Dean before he turned back to the older man.

“You know, Jerry—" he began.

“Yeah.”

“I meant to ask you, how did you get my cellphone number, anyway?” the young man continued. “I've only had it for like six months.”

“Your dad gave it to me,” Jerry explained simply.

“What?” Sam exclaimed in shock.

“When did you talk to him?” Dean questioned.

“I mean, I didn't exactly talk to him, but I called his number. His voice message said to give you a call.” He took a pause. “Thanks again, guys— and gal,” he grinned.

“Bye, Jerry!” you called after him as he headed off.

“This doesn't make any sense, man. I've called Dad's number like fifty times. It's been out of service,” Sam told his brother.

Dean dials what you assumed was his father’s number. However, instead of the out-of-service message Sam had described, a voicemail began to play.

The two boys leaned into the phone so they could hear it better.

You leaned over Sam’s shoulder, the voice hard to hear, but you were still able to make out the words. “This is John Winchester. I can't be reached. If this is an emergency, call my son, Dean. 785-555-0179. He can help.”

Sam fumed, shaking his head in frustration as he got in the car. He slammed the door behind him. You looked over to Dean, who did not meet your gaze. He got in the car following his brother. You took one last look at the setting sun as a plane flew over your head.

“I fuckin’ hate flying,” you muttered.

Series Rewrite Taglist: @polireader @brightlilith @atcamillanorrman @jrizzelle @insomnia-bookworm @procrastination20 @mrs-liebgott @djs8891 @tiggytaylor @staple-your-mouth @iloveshawn @jesstherebel

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brightlilith · 30 days

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🙌🏻🙌🏻🙌🏻

THIS IS AMAZING💗

Chapter 4 - Cherry Pie (Taking Chances)

Summary: After a random encounter introduces you to Dean Winchester, you can't shake the magnetic pull you feel towards him. For years, you've felt like everything in your life is under control--a promising career, financial stability and no real responsibilities. Dean's a hunter; it's his life and job. But somehow when you meet, your worlds are flipped upside down and you have to decide if it's a chance worth taking.

Chapter Warnings: Fluff, slight language

Pairing: Dean Winchester x female!reader

Word Count: ~2.7k

[1] [2] [3]

A quick glance at the clock on the wall made you inwardly groan–how could it only be 11:23 in the morning? Work days were known to drag on, but this was overkill. You figured it might have something to do with the fact that you were just hours away from seeing Dean again. It had taken you far too long to fall asleep the night before; you couldn’t stop thinking about that damn kiss.

The way his lips felt against yours…the way it made you feel inside…

The buzz from your cell phone distracted you and shook you from your thoughts.

Dean Hey, Atlanta.

You didn’t think you’d ever get tired of the nickname. Another buzz caught you off guard.

Dean Or should I say, Hotlanta?

The text made you laugh out loud, which would have been fine had you been alone somewhere. Instead, colleagues that you hardly knew in this new office all turned to look at you.

“Sorry about that,” you said softly as you excused yourself from the cubicle you had borrowed. You wandered to the hallway and stood there as you typed back a response.

Hi, Dean…you’re ridiculous, but that still made me laugh anyway.

You nibbled on a pesky hangnail that had formed on your thumb as you waited for his text back.

Dean I do what I can. You still up for dinner tonight?

You hurriedly typed back before you hit ‘send’ and waited for his response.

100% yes! I can leave here at 4, but I’m driving to you this time. Just send me the address and I’ll meet you there. Besides, Salina isn’t really a lively city…

It didn’t take long for your phone to vibrate against the palm of your hand.

Dean Just wait til you see Lebanon…

Dean had sent you the name to his favorite burger joint just outside of Lebanon. As you drove through the small Kansas towns, you felt the flutter in your stomach all over again. You really couldn’t remember the last time you were this excited to spend time with someone new. It was overwhelming, almost. Before you arrived, you decided to make a pit stop and pick up a cherry pie—Dean had mentioned pie was his favorite dessert.

Just before 7pm, you pulled into the parking lot for Jiffy Burger. It reminded you of something out of the 50s; a diner, almost. It was cute, and definitely something you could appreciate. In the dating world, not that you spent a lot of time in it due to your focus on your career, there always seemed to be this draw to fancy restaurants where you never knew what fork to use.

Thankfully, it seemed like Dean wasn’t interested in that kind of thing. Especially since he referred to the side salad you almost ordered in Atlanta as “rabbit food”.

As soon as you parked, you spotted the Impala. You gathered your purse and the pie you had brought, and headed inside.

A smile stretched across Dean’s face as soon as he saw you. You didn’t miss the way his eyes traveled from your face down your chest to your legs. Heat pooled in your chest and cheeks as you suddenly felt slightly self conscious under his gaze. With your free hand, you tugged at the hem of your black blazer, but managed a smile back at him as you approached the table.

“Hey,” you breathed as you finally reached him.

“Hey, yourself,” he smirked. He stood and with one hand, he reached behind you and pulled you closer to him. It felt exactly like you would imagine a puzzle piece would as it melded with the other. “What’s this?” His question pulled you out of your thoughts.

You glanced down at the white grocery bag in your hand. “Oh!” You set it down on the table and opened it up to reveal the pastry you had purchased at the nearest bakery. “I know you said how much you love pie…” you gently held it up in the foil container. “I wasn’t sure which flavor you liked best, but I felt like I couldn’t go wrong with cherry.”

He seemed truly surprised. “Damn, woman,” he breathed as his eyes grazed over the dessert. “It’s perfect. Thank you.” His words were so genuine, and he sealed it by leaning down and giving you a gentle kiss that only made you want more.

“You’re welcome,” beaming, you felt accomplished as Dean pulled back the metal diner chair for you to sit. “This place is so cute!” You glanced around at the neon lights on the wall, red and white checkered designs and servers dressed like they had stepped out of the 50s.

“They have the best burgers I’ve ever had,” Dean said matter-of-factly. “And trust me, I’ve tried ‘em all.” As he settled back in his chair, his eyes found the plastic grocery bag again. “I seriously can’t believe you brought me pie.”

“It can’t be that hard to believe,” you emphasized as you watched him. “I’m sure I’m not the first girl to bring you a pie…” you trailed off as you watched him contemplate.

After a pause, “Nah, can’t say that’s happened before.”

It was a surprise to you; surely, you thought, Dean was a ladies’ man. He had all the markings of one, anyway: the leather jacket, woodsy vibe, muscle car…

“You’re kidding,” you couldn’t hide the surprise in your voice.

Dean chuckled softly. “No, sweetheart. You are definitely the first.”

His words were gentle, but true—you could tell. A small tug pulled at the corners of your eyebrows. “I’m sorry, I’m just surprised,” you said carefully as the waitress approached your table.

“Hi there, my name’s Alice. What can I get ya, doll?” She smiled at you with a grin that reminded you of how an aunt or grandmother might.

“I’ll have water, please. I’ll just take a minute to look over the menu,” you smiled back.

She nodded and turned to Dean. “You still doing alright, love? Need a refill or anything?” While her tone had been pleasant and kind with you, it really softened when she addressed Dean. It made you smirk. It only validated further that he was certainly a ladies’ man.

“Nah, I’m alright, Alice,” he smiled back. “Thank you, sweetheart.” You could’ve sworn you saw Alice swoon, but Dean didn’t seem to notice. “How was work today?” Dean asked as he turned his attention back to you.

“Ugh,” you groaned, the smile completely gone from your face. “Same shit, different day, I guess.” You mumbled. Dean seemed interested so you continued. “I just landed a new project. It’s a new client, so there are a lot of growing pains.” You explained. “But it could always be worse, right?”

“I don’t know,” Dean said as he took a drink of his soda. “The more you talk about your job, the more miserable it sounds.”

“Doing what I love doesn’t pay the bills, Dean,” you sighed but found a small smile again. “We can’t all be traveling exterminators.” You winked.

Dean chuckled with a look down at his hands folded on the table in front of him, but then back to you. “Well, what is it that you love?” The way his eyes stared back into yours made your breath get caught in your throat. It was as if he wanted to see you—who you were, not just at face value, but deeper than that.

You took a moment to gather yourself before you continued. “I love writing. I always have. I tried applying it to a career, actually,” your mind wandered for a moment as you remembered the girl you used to be all those years ago. Your gaze found Dean’s once more. He noted the slight sadness that had appeared there. “It just didn’t work out.”

Alice had returned with your water now, and you heard her voice ask if you were ready to order.

“Go ahead,” you smiled at Dean. “I won’t take long.” You quickly spanned the menu as Dean ordered some burger meal in the background.

After he was done, Alice turned to you. You ordered a bacon burger and tater tots. Alice smiled at you both.

“I’ll get that out in no time,” she said. “You two need anything else?” You both shook your heads ‘no’.

“I think that’ll do it, thanks, Alice,” a smile pulled at Dean’s lips once more.

You noticed the way Alice’s red manicured fingers touched Dean’s shoulder. “You just let me know if you need anything else. Anything at all…” she trailed off with a wink.

You pressed your lips together to contain the laugh that threatened to bubble up at how blatantly she was flirting with Dean. He didn’t seem to notice, or at least, didn’t bring any attention to it.

Once she had walked away, you noticed Dean’s gaze had returned to you. You cleared your throat and took a sip of water before you spoke again.

“So, what about you? I’m genuinely curious about this traveling exterminator business you’ve got going on,” the words felt a little silly as they came from your lips, but you were being honest. Ever since Dean had mentioned it, you were curious. Dean chuckled softly as he broke eye contact. He ran his palms down the thighs of his jeans before he looked back up. You weren’t sure, but you would have thought he looked nervous, which seemed odd to you. “Seriously, how do you love being an exterminator? And why is it the ‘family business’?” You used your fingers to air-quote the way he had referenced it before.

Dean shrugged slightly as it was his turn to take a gulp of his water. “Well,” he started slowly. “My, uh, my mom died when I was really young. I was four and my brother, Sammy, was six months old.” He explained. That was something you hadn’t been expecting and your eyes widened. You had somewhat assumed Dean’s parents may be deceased or out of the picture from the way he spoke of it just being him and his brother when you were in Atlanta.

“I’m so sorry,” was all you knew to say. Dean’s forearms rested on the table now as he spoke. On instinct, you reached across and placed your hand just over his. “That’s awful. How did she…?” You trailed off, unsure if that was a question you should even ask or if he would be comfortable talking about it.

“There was a house fire,” he explained softly. His eyes looked down at his lap. “But, uh, after that my dad kinda had a hard time.” Understandable, you thought to yourself but kept quiet to let him continue. “We ended up on the road a lot. My dad met up with my, uh, my Uncle Bobby,” he seemed to hesitate, but you still kept silent to allow him to work through what he needed or wanted to say. “They started up this traveling exterminator business. They’d pick up jobs to help people out. My dad just didn’t want to stay in one place too long, so we moved around a lot.”

It still seemed wild and wasn’t anything you were familiar with, but now understanding the loss of his mom made it easier to absorb.

“I can’t imagine,” you shook your head as you looked down to where your hand still covered his. You pulled it back gently. “I’m so sorry for all you’ve been through, Dean.”

“Ah, it’s alright,” Dean cleared his throat and it felt like he had almost pulled himself out of his feelings as he sat back in his chair. A smaller smile crossed his face. “We’ve all got stuff. We just gotta go through it, I guess.”

While you appreciated his ability to pull through it, you knew there were probably some underlying feelings there. Your mind wandered back for a moment and pulled out something he had said in the hotel in Atlanta to you: he’s terrified of being afraid.

It started to make sense. He was afraid of being afraid: at four, he lost his mother in a horrible tragedy. And by the sounds of it, he may have lost his father because he didn’t know how to be a parent in the face of tragedy. When he told you it was just him and his brother, he had meant it. Who wouldn’t be afraid of being afraid after living through something like that?

“Here you are,” Alice reappeared with a sing-songy tune as she placed your burgers down in front of you.

“Looks great,” Dean smiled down at his plate. You felt a twinge of sadness for him and all that he had been through, but you pushed it aside just as he did.

“It really does, thank you,” you smiled back at Alice. But her eyes weren’t on you, they were all over Dean.

“My pleasure, hun,” she practically swooned. “And I mean it, you let me know if you need anything else.” How many times has she said that now? You matched Dean’s smile.

“Thanks,” Dean said as she nodded and turned to walk away with a long glance over her shoulder.

It took everything in you to contain the laugh that threatened to emerge, the thoughts of your previous conversation fading. Alice walked back to the kitchen and Dean looked at you with a clear “what?” look plastered on his face.

“Oh, nothing,” you smirked before you took a sip of your water. “It’s just that I bet you could get whatever you wanted with a charm like that.”

“Alright, alright,” Dean rolled his eyes, but still smiled, as he shrugged it off.

“I’m serious. All it takes is a little bat of those lashes and she’s putty in your hands,” you teased.

Dean leaned forward with his forearms flat on the table, his hands clasped in front of him. His face was close again—it reminded you of the Longhorn in Atlanta when he was so close, you felt like you could count the freckles that dotted his face. “And what about you, sweetheart? You turn to putty, too?” The playful grin that tugged across his lips made your stomach flutter.

You leaned back a bit and took another drink from your water—it was for two reasons, really. It gave you a minute to gather your words, but it also cooled you off from the flame that burned so obviously in front of you.

“Oh, no,” you quipped, as you attempted to seem unphased. The flirtatious notes from your tone came through, and Dean picked them up–the way his lips crept up in a small smile gave him away. “I’m immune.” A shrug raised your shoulders but you couldn’t help the pull of your lips as you caught the way Dean’s eyes glinted back at you.

“We might just have to test that theory,” his comment made you slightly inhale the bite of your burger you had just consumed. Thankfully, your sputtering only lasted a second, but the gig was up and your cover had been blown. The heat that rose in your cheeks gave away that your stoic demeanor was just a ruse, and Dean was completely aware.

There was something about the way his lips still curved upward, but his eyes bore into you–they were dark, but in a way that felt almost like you were caught in an electrical storm; the little hairs at the back of your neck stood to attention and goosebumps bubbled over your skin.

“Are you trying to seduce me, Dean?” Your voice was low now, your eyes trained on his. As flustered as he had gotten you just a moment before, you forced yourself to stay strong as you stared straight back at him without even a blink.

Without missing a beat, the muscle in his jaw clenched as he bit down with his teeth. The familiar upward curve up his lip made the dimple in his cheek pop as his eyes moved between your eyes and your lips. “Is it working?”

And just like that, you felt like putty in the man’s damn hands.

A/N: Well, hellllllo, Tumblr world! I know, it has been far too long. Things in my life are still hectic, BUT I'm back! I have missed all my reader friends, writer friends and writing in general.

I can't promise double updates each week (but I will when I can). Otherwise, new chapters will be posted on Thursdays moving forward.

I hope you all are well, and I hope you enjoy chapter 4!

PREVIEW OF THE NEXT CHAPTER:

You had never consumed (nor had you seen someone consume) a burger so quickly before in your life. It was a good burger, but that wasn’t what you could focus on.

When Alice came back to the table to check out–ahem, on–you (but mostly Dean), his gaze didn’t even move from yours.

“We’ll take the check now, Alice,” he said carefully as he watched you. The way his eyes studied you made you feel naked. It was like nothing else existed in the world but you. Heat climbed your chest in blotchy patches until they formed puzzle pieces on your neck, your cheeks. The way your heart pounded against your sternum felt so loud, you could hear each beat in your ears. This man was doing something to you, and that was something you hadn’t experienced in too long.

“Here you go, sugar,” Alice gingerly placed the bill in the middle of the table. She watched Dean intently, certainly hoping for maybe one more look into those beautiful green eyes. He glanced quickly with a smile as he fumbled in his pocket for his wallet. He tossed enough cash to cover the meal and the tip on the table, then back to you.

“Thanks, Alice,” he said, without missing another beat. He stood and held his hand out for you to take. “You wanna get outta here?”

Words seemed to fail you for a second, so you just nodded very quickly. Before he could pull you towards the door, he grabbed the grocery bag with the cherry pie you had brought.

“Oh, you forgot to eat your pie,” you murmured as you followed him through the diner.

“I was thinking we might have a different dessert tonight,” he paused at the door as his eyes looked over you once more. You realized he was asking if that’s what you wanted, too. Yet again, all you could do was nod.

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brightlilith · 1 month

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Cherry Pie Kiss Masterlist

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Female!Reader

Series Trope: Frenemies to lovers - please read individual chapter warnings.

Slice One ® - The pie thief has struck again. You know who it is but how to prove it? The answer is on the tip of his tongue.

Slice Two ® * - Out on the hunt, out of state and out of options; with your life on the line, Dean makes a call you're not happy with. Just when you thought you couldn't take any more, he brings a peace offering.

Slice Three ® + - You're cornered and chased by Bartholomew's minions. Separated from Sam and Cas, you and Dean make a run for it. Lust finds you both when you're finally safe. Dean rocks your world.

Slice Four - Coming Soon

A/N: + denotes 18+ smut | * denotes violence, death or disturbing themes | ® is a reader insert | ~ denotes a WIP

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brightlilith · 1 month

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Recommend me Jensen and Dean fics, I beg you 🙏

#dean winchester #dean winchester x reader #dean winchester fanfiction #dean winchester x you #supernatural dean #dean winchester fanfic #dean winchester x y/n #jensen ackles x reader #jensen ackles x you #dean x y/n

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brightlilith · 1 month

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Spotless: Rubato

Chapter Fifteen

Featuring: Dean Winchester/Reader, Dean/Bela

Other characters: Lee/Pam, Sam/Madison, Benny, Charlie, Elizabeth

Word Count: 3340

Warnings, etc: Mutual pining, mentions of Bela's childhood sexual abuse, lots of drunken shenanigans, Benny's not flirting, just being his own charming self, jealousy, Dean is slipping, unbeta'd

Series Masterlist

The week between Christmas and New Years is always a week of stasis, celebratory and lazy, just holding its breath for changes to come. In a word, it’s possibility. You still did some work, but not many requests were coming in and social media was bombarded with gratitude and self reflection. Not many people noticed the band’s lack of posts and you were grateful for not having to make excuses for some family time, for anyone.

Your flight home had been arduous, delays and a layover that just left you a zombie for a solid 36 hours afterwards. You woke up on the morning of New Year’s Eve with a sense of dread. You checked your phone just to be safe and all seemed well, or quiet at least. Annoyed with your brain, you decided to punish your body instead, or practice self-care, depending on who you asked. Your stationary bike had gotten a little dusty while you were out of town, but after a couple miles everything else fell out of focus. The rolling hills made you feel invincible.

It had started as physical therapy after your car accident back in college, but biking had turned into one of your go to hobbies. And as boring and non-creative it sounded, it did you a lot of good when your thoughts got too loud. It was like running away from your problems, but it still benefited you both physically and mentally.

Win win.

By three, you were just waiting to get ready. The outfit you picked out with Bela hung on the back of your closet door still wrapped in the Sister Jo’s bag. You slumped in your robe and scrolled through the news as you waited to switch the wash around.

Different broadcasts covered the various local NYE specials and reminded everyone to drive sober, take the bus or get a ride. You thought Dean said he had gotten rides covered the last you talked, but you weren’t sure who was getting you or when, really. If you needed to meet somewhere to go as a group, you needed to order your ride now or everyone would be waiting on you.

Biting your lip, you called him instead of texting, because your worry was immediate not eventual. He picked up on the third ring, slightly out of breath.

“Hey, Trouble, what’s up?” “What’s the plan for tonight? Are we leaving from your place or are you picking me up? I don’t know where Elizabeth’s Nightowl Cafe actually is, Dean.”

Naturally, he laughed. “Hey, look, it’s not a great time. I’m in wardrobe right now. But I’ll make sure you get home safe. Maybe just head over to Bela’s and we’ll pick you both up on the way?”

“The photoshoot is today?! I could have sworn you already had it.”

“Yeah, well, Christmas took longer than I thought and they wedged me in.”

“Dean—”

“Look, I figured it out. And you didn’t have to hold my hand or anything. Now, look, I gotta drop trough, so if you need to continue this conversation with my dick out, by all means. They’re putting me in white pants, so bye-bye Batman boxers.”

You almost swallowed your tongue.

“Yeah, I’m good. You— you have fun with that.”

“See you tonight.”

“Right, bye.”

You slammed your eyes shut, but the damn visuals still flooded your mind. Gorgeous fucking bastard. You exhaled and called Bela, which was far less of a rollercoaster of a conversation and you agreed to be at her place after five to get ready together.

“You still haven’t said anything about your trip home,” you reminded Bela as she handed you another flute of champagne.

You were both dressed and ready, nibbling on an assortment of cheese and crackers on her oversized kitchen island. From what Dean said about Benny’s cousin’s cooking, dinner was on the agenda, but you had started pregaming and didn’t want to get sloppy too early.

“I’m trying to black it out, honestly. It was such pretentious bullshit. And don’t get me started on my mother’s latest project involving the southern gardens at the summer home,” Bela rolled her eyes and shoved another slice of cheese into her mouth.

“Topiaries?”

“Close, a walking maze. Because apparently Queen Victoria is alive and well,” Bela dusted her hands and raised them in surrender. “At least she didn’t try to force me to bring Dean, that would have ended poorly.”

“Dean is actually really good with moms— but I’m pretty sure he’d get arrested if he had to sit down and have a meal with your dad like he isn’t evil incarnate.”

Bela hummed, sipping her drinking.

You took another bit of cheese and made a sandwich, sensing she was holding something back. “You actually told him about it?”

Bela swallowed and chewed on her words. “Let’s just say Dean and I bonded over our less than stellar fathers, but yeah, I agree with you. In fact he said as much, something about knowing how to hide a body and having a big trunk to drag it away.”

You laughed darkly. “That would be Dean. Prepared, but with violence at the ready.”

“Anyway, setting up another fundraiser for Prevent Together for the new year. Please keep both of your calendars free because I need all my people there, alright?”

“Of course,” you promised, reaching across the butcher block countertop and squeezing her hand. Bela never ceased to amaze you with her strength. You switched gears to grant her some space, “is this the first time you’re meeting the rest of the band?”

“Well, I’ve met Sam. But I’m guessing he’s in on the plan. They’re a bit attached-at-the-hip types?”

You smirked. “Basically a package deal, but I think he’s more protective lately. His girlfriend Madison is fun and I hope they work out, he’s a good guy.”

“So who else do I need to charm?”

“Pamela.”

“Pamela?”

“The drummer, possibly psychic and honestly a little frightening at times. But she’s got a big heart to go with her bluntness. If you can’t convince her, we’re all in for it, because she’s gonna dig. So we’ll make sure you and Dean are on all night. I am definitely snagging some midnight shots, so pucker up, darling.” You teased, but honestly, kissing Dean couldn’t be anything but a treat, even just for a camera.

Maybe you were biased.

“Naturally. Alright, and how does Dean know the owner of the cafe?”

“She’s Benny’s cousin. A good friend and head of tour security, sometimes a personal bodyguard.”

Bela nodded, “I think he’s mentioned him as being on standby if one of our nights out got to be too much.”

You were grateful Bela had paid attention, if she was actually dating Dean, she would know all of this already. The less you had to explain on the spot, the less chance of a slip up.

“Big Cajun guy, total teddy bear. He’ll love you,” you added.

“Nice.”

A mechanical crank sounded somewhere behind you. “Is that—?”

“The garage, they must be here,” Bela gathered the tray and unceremoniously set it inside the fridge.

“How did they get into the garage? I didn’t see you get a text.”

“Dean has the code. Finish your drink,” Bela rushed you.

You slammed the rest of your champagne and added your glass in the sink with Bela’s. Something felt weird that Dean knew Bela’s security override code, but then again you didn’t drive, must be why you didn’t have it.

“Hey— whoa!” Dean’s voice snapped you out of your sleuthing spiral. “Lookin’ good, ladies.”

You turned and took him in, burgundy suit without a tie, a dark undershirt with the collar popped. Fucker.

“Thank you, likewise.” Bela leaned in and pecked his cheek.

Dean turned to you. “All set?”

You looked around for your phone and grabbed it and the charger off of the ledge towards the sidedoor. “Yeap. You?” you asked Bela.

“Do I need a touch up?” she asked, tilting her head side to side for your honest inspection.

“Nope, lipstick did its job. You’re glorious,” you affirmed.

“Right, well, shall we?” Bela gestured toward the door which Dean pushed open for you and Bela to go first. Past Bela’s MG the big door was still open, showing a pair of black SUVs waiting on the curb. As you stepped out onto the short drive, Lee screamed out a backwindow from the first vehicle, “ladies, ladies, ladies, are we ready to have a good time?!”

You laughed, dancing a little up the incline and pumping your fist to an imaginary beat.

“Trouble’s ready! What about you? You gonna give this one a run for his money?” Lee teased and then took a swig off of his own bottle of champagne.

“You can count on it,” Bela said darkly, eyes only on Dean. Everyone cheered as Dean put his hand on the small of her back and kissed her temple.

From the second SUV Sam emerged smirking and opened the door, waving you all inside. It was time to get the show on the road.

You had met Elizabeth a handful of times and everytime you were floored by her natural hospitality. The cafe was closed for the event, where barely thirty of you were gathered in the vintage-diner- themed all night cafe. She had tables set up with appetizers and a bartender working the soda fountain so you could get dessert with your booze if you wanted.

You wondered if Dean had requested the pie, because there were three cut and displayed on a stand with plastic domes to keep them from drying out.

Oldies played from the antique jukebox and everyone mingled as others arrived. You snapped pictures of the guests and the hand painted mural on the wall showcasing blues artists and faces from classic Hollywood. Everything was gorgeous and it was a little overwhelming seeing everyone dressed to the nines, but you remembered how smashing you looked in your outfit and tucked your shoulders back and held your head high.

Eventually, Benny found you and pulled you in for one of his signature bear hugs.

“It’s been too long, doll. Stickin’ to your namesake or have you been behavin’ ?”

You chuckled, pulling back to look up at his handsome face. “Oh you know, I do what I can. You?”

Benny’s bright eyes searched for something and eased you back onto your heels. “Uh, yeah, good. Itchin’ to get back on the road. Working the movie lots is a real pain, glad it’s only temporary.”

The song changed and Benny hummed along, you caught a glimpse of Sam and Madison talking with Bela while Dean and Lee waited in line for drinks.

“I can’t wait for the tour either, I think we all could stand to get back to basics.”

“Boys causing a ruckus for ya?” Benny asked knowingly.

“Nah, just a feeling. They’ve been working too hard more than anything. So a little balance will probably do the trick.”

“Well, that’s what we’re here for. Time to play hard. Wanna dance?” You looked around and sure enough, Lee and Pamela had started swinging to Johnny B. Goode, while some of the other roadies were shuffling along with their partners in a less flamboyant way.

You flexed your knee and decided you were tipsy enough to risk it and your pride for such an earnest proposal. “Lead the way.”

Benny was surprisingly light on his feet for such a sturdy guy and he helped you get in a good groove, just for the song to switch into Patsy Cline. Benny slowed it down into a stroll to fit the song and you giggled as he told you about what his ex Andrea had done now, after getting out of prison for trying to stab him, of all things.

“You are so better off without her,” you told him, patting his chest as the song came to a close.

Dinner was phenomenal: medallion sized steaks that were still juicy inside with spiral cut fried potatoes, green bean almondine and Waldorf salad. There were four tables set for eight set up in the space that would usually hold a dozen two or four seaters. Elizabeth finally took a seat as you were half way through a plate, but you made sure to let her know how amazing everything was.

“Oh, it’s nothing, now make sure you save room for pie. Got Strawberry Rhubarb, Dutch Apple and Blackberry waitin’,” she insisted like a favorite grandmother and not somebody you could have gone to school with.

Dean groaned deeper as she mentioned each variety, making everyone around your table share a knowing look.

“Easy there, Dean might need to claim a pie as his own, you know how he gets. And I am not one for sloppy seconds,” Benny teased.

The table erupted and Dean didn’t even look like he cared. “If she ends up sending me home with a whole pie, it’s my business what happens to it.”

Tears were burning in your eyes from laughter and the lecherous look Dean shot Benny. He was ridiculous.

You turned to Bela, “good thing Sam isn’t at our table or he’d need to excuse himself.”

“It is getting a bit indecent isn’t it?” Bela said out of the side of her mouth.

“Are you raggin’ on me now, too?!” Dean asked aghast.

“Of course not! Just don’t want your girlfriend to get jealous of a pastry,” you quipped.

A low rumble of an accepted burn answered from around the table.

“Hey now, my girl knows what tickles my taste buds, if you know what I’m saying,” Dean shot back, earning him a fist bump from Lee.

Bela rolled her eyes and shrugged, which only made the laughter louder. The humor dissipated until every noise was roaring like the ocean in your ears. This wasn’t even the worst thing you’d heard out of Dean’s mouth, after years of groupies and life on tour, you thought you’d heard and seen it all. But Bela not denying Dean’s prowess in pussy eating suddenly made you feel impossibly lost.

You literally set up the joke and now you wished for anything to take it back.

“Gentleman, please!” Elizabeth broke into the cacophony. “Or no dessert.”

Which promptly set them all off once again, but they got their act together enough to be gracious when the pie did arrive. You had blackberry and it was thick and rich enough to keep you from opening your big mouth again. Also the vodka cranberry you had switched to was a perfect chaser for the sweetness of the filling.

Two more drinks and three hours later, you were in better spirits and a sequined top hat. The noise makers were harder to come by, Madison and Benny fighting over the last one like toddlers over the last Hot Wheel. Sam had to break it up, which meant Madison won anyway, naturally. But at least Benny could still whistle. The countdown was getting close and everyone was crammed together on the makeshift dance floor under the dimmed lights, talking and swaying in circles. Dancing would have been too much with all the anticipation in the air.

You had your camera at the ready, taking small videos of the crowd and snapping selfies with anyone within reach. The lone television behind the counter hopped between coverage of celebrations in Vegas, Seattle and LA. You did a quick scan of your immediate vicinity for Bela and Dean. Finally, you found them next to Pam and Lee, who were sharing a bottle of bourbon between them, while Bela and Dean were whispering and readying their noisemakers and confetti respectively.

“Oooo, two couples one shot! I want you guys to make it count okay, this is for posterity’s sake!” you ordered, framing the shot just as the countdown began.

10…9…8…

Dean pulled Bela close by the waist. Lee tipped back another swig before almost losing his hat to the movement.

7…6…5…

Bela gazed up at Dean’s face and said something you couldn’t hear over the numbers shouting out of every corner of the party.

4…3…2…

Dean leaned in and started kissing Bela before she could get to one, tipping her back until she almost knocked into Lee, who was hauling Pam up by her haunches before starting to tongue fuck right there in front of your camera. You snapped countless shots, screaming and jumping in place as you worked your magic. Hot people doing hot things who were also clearly into it, was marketing gold.

Eat that Crowley.

Sam swooped you up in a hug and wished you happy new year, then came Charlie, who had arrived after dinner with some girls from her LARPing group. After a few elbows to the side, Dean broke from Bela’s mouth and welcomed you and Charlie into a group hug. The speakers blasted Auld Lang Syne and everyone joined in, arms linked and swaying to the stilted beat.

Elizabeth ensured the party was still going, so she had her people put out fresh appetizers and turned the jukebox back on. There was a run for the bathroom and then for refills and before you knew it it was after one. You had a fresh drink in your hand and a circle had formed around you of women grooving to Mustang Sally.

“Ride Sally, RIDE!” you all bellowed.

Bela had taken off her shoes and was holding them over her head as she swayed her hips. You whipped your head and shoulders back and forth feeling loose and timeless. Charlie was snapping and getting soulful as she sang along, knowing every line of the verses even.

Sam Cooke followed Wilson Pickett on the jukebox, slowing it down and sending your little circle off towards their partners. You didn’t care, you just kept swaying and taking turns singing “yeah— yeah!” and sipping your cocktail.

The crowd was thinning and you knew either brother would be corralling the group for the after party at their place shortly. Thank the label for drivers and security all on the craziest night of the year.

“Hey, you good?” Dean’s voice came out of nowhere and you turned towards his warmth, eyes closed and humming.

“Yeah, is it time–?”

“Let’s get off the dancefloor, I can barely hear you,” Dean took your elbow and brought you over to the edge of the counter where the bartender was wiping glasses dry.

“How are you? Need to puke and rally before we get in the car?” Dean asked firmly, testing your sobriety by your answer and the focus of your eyes.

“I’m fine, why? Is Bela puking?” you looked around for your bestie amongst the remaining partygoers.

“No, look, I just, here,” Dean brushed his knuckles against your cheek to get you to look back at him. Once he had your full attention, he leaned in and licked his lips, watching you as you waited for him to finish his thought. And then he was kissing you, hand on the back of your head and impossible lips massaging yours into complete submission.

You shuttered around a breath and opened your mouth for his tongue. That delicious sensation was enough to reset your brain and you pulled back, gasping.

You couldn’t form words and Dean’s face went from sleepy to wary to disappointed all in the blink of an eye.

“Look— you deserve a midnight kiss, too, you know. I just—- thought you should have one,” Dean said in the space between maybe and almost.

You cleared your throat. “Oh, well, I guess it’s okay then. Thanks?”

You couldn’t look him in the eye, you were too shellshocked, too exposed.

“I’ll start getting everybody towards the exit. See you at the cars,” Dean said lowly, fingertips brushing your hip as he moved through your space.

You finished your drink and got a road beer from the blissfully unaware bartender. It was time to slow down, especially if you were going to be in Dean’s space the rest of the night.

Damn it.

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