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wandering-winchesters · 1 year

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Every Embrace

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader

Word Count: 2,218

Summary: How sharing a bed with Dean Winchester started and where it is now.

Trigger Warnings: SPN level Violence, mostly fluff.

Requested: Yes, by Anonymous. “could you plzzzzzz make a fic where dean and Y/N share rooms or beds when on hunts and they aren’t dating but find comfort in cuddling and being near each other, especially dean. can he be the initiator and the sap for physical touch?”

A/N: Requests are open! Sorry for the lack of posts recently, life has been absolutely crazy! Hope to get back to posting regularly soon! <3 as always, please let me know what you think.

Masterlist

The first time we shared a bed was out of necessity. Dean had been driving for 10 hours straight, all of us were exhausted, sore and just tapped out for the day. The Wisconsin motel had come up suddenly, the last one for another hour. Dean had parked the impala and I had volunteered to be the one to go in and get us a room. Upon checking in, they informed me that they only had one room left, with two beds. I accepted and paid for the room, returning to the car. Intending to let Sam and Dean have the beds and I’d stay in the impala. The second I had suggested this to them it was shot down quickly.

Dean had immediately objected, stating that he’d stay in the impala and I could have his bed. Internally, I knew that wouldn’t happen. I helped them bring the bags in, letting them get settled. Sam quickly fell asleep on his bed, his clothes a rumpled mess. Exhaustion evident by the deep sleep he had been swallowed up by. Dean had hopped in the shower, mumbling something about needing to wash off the rock salt from hunting ghosts earlier in the day. I changed into comfier clothes, grabbing a pillow off of Deans bed and the blanket that I keep in my duffle at all times and quietly closed the motel door behind me.

I opened the back door to the impala and tossed my pillow in, spreading the blanket down over the seat before I had climbed in and shut the door behind me. I laid down, wrapped myself tight with the blanket I had brought and settled in as best I could in the cramped back seat. I had almost fallen asleep, when the door by my feet was yanked open. I yelled, fully prepared to kill whatever had decided to disturb my rest. I quickly backed off once I realized it was Dean.

He asked what I was doing and why I was in the impala when I was supposed to take the bed. I explained that I knew he was sore and I wanted him to have the bed. He refused. After a couple minutes of arguing, he grabbed me by my ankles and pulled me towards the open door. Mumbling that we could share the bed, he wasn’t about to allow me to sleep in the car. I tried to put up a fight, but he silenced me with a look. An exhausted, pleading look. I caved, and followed him inside. He had silently crawled into the bed, his back to the middle. I had carefully settled in next to him, mirroring his position, our backs had been to one another. That was until a nightmare had woken me up, a gasp had left my lungs and I had sat straight up. Dean had immediately noticed and his hand grabbed onto my own. He pulled me down against him, silently embraced me and lulled me back to sleep.

The second time was out of fear, Dean terrified to let me out of his reach for more than a second. We had unknowingly stumbled upon a hoard of demons, only making it out thanks to Sam and Deans quick thinking. I had frozen in place, fear overwhelmed my senses which allowed one of the demons to throw me head first down a set of stairs. I had blacked out, a concussion another injury to add to my long list of hunting ailments. I had awoken to Dean shaking my shoulders, his face swimming before my eyes like the image seen inside of a kaleidoscope. His words had been silent and they had fallen on deaf ears, a temporary loss of hearing plagued my senses, only to return a short time later. He had pulled me into his arms, cradled me close against him and rushed me out to the impala. His grasp on me firm, but gentle. Once we returned safely to the motel, he ignored my every protest and cleaned me up to his satisfaction.

The cut on my forehead and my splitting headache the only proof of the internal injury that was my concussion. He shushed me as he applied the bandage to my forehead, his eyes scanned my own for any hint of pain that he had not addressed. Once he was satisfied, he helped me down off the counter. A heavy silence had fallen between us, I was exhausted and simply didn’t have the energy for the argument that I was sure was going to follow. It didn’t however, he simply hugged me. His arms tight around my waist, his chin rested against the crown of my head. His breathing was escalated, sharp and had the edge of panic. I hugged him back, allowing his touch to calm me. I only let go when he pulled away, I had believed that was the last of it for the night.

I bid him goodnight and began to head for the motel door. He stopped me with his words, insisting that it wasn’t a good idea for me to go sleep in a room by myself, the concussion reason enough for me to stay in there with him and Sam. I had hesitated, not wanting an argument, but also afraid of getting to used to the comfort that sharing a bed with him provided. We still hadn’t spoken about the first time it had happened, the way that we had woken up in the others arms. Once we had both woken up, we were quick to roll apart, making excuses for our unconscious behavior.

The pleading look on Dean’s face was enough to convince me to stay that night. So for the second time, we climbed into the same bed. I faced the outside of the bed, my back to Dean’s. Yet this time, it didn’t last more than thirty seconds. He had immediately pulled me back against him, his arm wrapped snuggly around my waist. His chest pressed to my back, his chin cradled my the curve of my shoulder up to my neck. I couldn’t tell which one of us needed it more in that moment, his touch eased my pain. Little did I know, I eased his pain too. His was mental, mine was physical. We had both fallen asleep embracing the other, lulled into peaceful dreams by the other person.

I can’t tell you when the third time turned to the fourth, the fourth to the fifth ,or the fifth to the sixth. It was a natural progression, as easy as breathing. A fresh breath of air on a foggy morning, easy and clear. Refreshing. The situations varied, but one thing never changed. Dean was always the one to initiate the physical contact.

We no longer looked for multiple rooms at motels, the bed in the bunker that I had claimed began to go unused. Our need for the other person became so great that we could no longer ignore it. It was platonic, comforting and necessary for survival. The unknown ache that had settled over my should was slowly being eased. The need for another person, physical touch and emotional comfort had finally been fulfilled in a way that I never saw coming. If you had told me years ago when I stumbled upon the Winchester brothers that I would seek comfort in the eldest, I would have laughed in your face and called you crazy. However, now that I am here, shrouded in the safety that was Dean, I couldn’t help but smile to myself. The darkness of the room normally would have been anxiety causing, the nightlight that remained plugged in to the outlet of my room in the bunker is no longer necessary.

I no longer fear that monsters that might be lurking on the edge of the darkness, I no longer fear the darkness within my own head. All of these have been driven far away from my every thought, all of that due to the man who’s arms I am wrapped in at this very moment. It had changed from the inability to sleep when we shared a bed, due to anxiety over waking him up or the fear of letting him in, to the inability to sleep without him next to me. I craved his touch and that scared me more than I thought physically possible.

“Whatcha reading, Y/N?” Dean asks, his bare feet silent as he enters the room. I glance up from the book I was scanning, my eyes darting over the low hanging sweatpants adorning his hips, his bare chest and shoulders only covered by the fabric of his unbuttoned flannel before locking with his own. I hum, considering my next words carefully. While I had been sitting with this book for the last hour, I had not been reading. I had been thinking, over analyzing every time we had shared a bed or grown closer over the last few months. The emotional connection that I had with the green eyed Winchester standing in front of me, something I never could have predicted. “I, Uh-couldn’t really tell you,” I laugh, snapping the book shut and setting it on the table next to me. “Was thinking more than reading I guess.” I shrug my shoulders and try to brush off the look that he is giving me. One eyebrow raised, his lip caught between his teeth in the way that I know means he is debating on whether to tease me or let it go. He chooses the latter, remaining silent, but sitting down next to me on the couch. He nods and hands me a beer, that he had already taken the cap off of. Another thing that he had started doing for me, without my asking. It was little things like this that had caused me to question exactly what was going on between us, the silent things that he had started doing for me.

“What had you so lost in thought?” He asks, his hand pulling my legs across his lap. He rubs his fingers gently into the muscle of my calf, working out a knot that I didn’t know was there until his firm touch brushed against it. I shrug again, taking a sip of my beer in order to delay my response a bit longer. He had been so touchy recently, not that I minded. It was there, a need for physical affection, I had buried it long ago. Yet the second his body brushed my own, it was roaring like a lion. Needy and vocal, rearing to be released from the internal cage I had locked it in so long ago.

“You.” I mutter, the word leaving my mouth before I can even think to stop it. A flush washes over my face, my cheeks turning red. I can feel deans eyes on me, but I refuse to meet his gaze. I am paying close attention to a slight imperfection in the glass of the beer bottle.

“What about me?” He asks, his hand squeezing my thigh gently. I hesitate, wondering if I really want to vocalize my next thought.

“About how you’ve been so affectionate recently, I don’t mind it at all. I love it. But it confuses me, we haven’t talked about it. And I just, it leaves me to wonder, you know?” I say, the last words leaving my mouth an almost silent whisper.

“Wonder what, sweetheart?” He asks, his tone flirtatious and cocky. It’s only then that I look up and I’m greeted by a grin plastered across his lips. He’s enjoying this. He’s enjoying my hesitation and embarrassment. I smack his arm playfully, my eyebrows tugging together in a look that tells him to knock it off.

“Okay, okay.” He says, his hands raised in mock surrender. “Wonder, what Y/N?” He asks again, his tone returning to seriousness.

“What does this mean De?” I sigh, resting my head against my hand and staring back at him. He turns to face me, his hands resting on each of my thighs. I can see that he’s choosing his next words carefully which causes anxiety to bubble up within me.

“It doesn’t have to mean anything, everyone needs physical touch. It’s part of being human.” He says and my heart falls. The hope that had been building within me for something more with him quickly crumbles.

“Or, if you wanted it to mean more than just friendly affection, that would be okay too.” My eyes snap back to his once more, confusion flashing over my features. He smiles softly at me, his eyes searching my own for an answer. My voice is lost to me, so I nod. The only response necessary to communicate how I felt at that moment.

Even though we hadn’t labeled the things we both felt for the other, it was no longer a concern at that moment. Every embrace was enough to keep the other going. For now, being wrapped up in his arms and listening to his soft snores every night would be all that I need. Maybe one day that could change and we could delve deeper into the feelings that we shared. But for now, sharing a bed would be enough.

tag list: @roseblue373 @hobby27 @jc-winchester

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wandering-winchesters · 1 year

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Who Did This To You?

Pairing: Dean x Reader Word Count: 4,077 (Oops) Summary: Sam and the reader are close friends, Dean on the other hand is kept at a distance. The reader has a boyfriend, who turns out to be abusive. What will happen when Dean finds out? Trigger Warnings: Mentions of domestic violence, bruises and brief mention of blood. Requested: No, just something I thought up. A/N: I am really happy with how this turned out, please let me know what you think. <3

Masterlist

I press the accelerator down further, hot tears brimming in my eyes, frantic to get back to the bunker. Back to safety and Sam. I need to talk to Sam, he always knows how to calm me down. My boyfriend, Chris and I had fought tonight and it had been bad, he had gotten in my face and screamed at me over the smallest thing. I put up with it for almost an hour, before I got up and left. What had started out as utter rage had slowly turned to gut wrenching sobs throughout the long drive home. I pull into the driveway for the bunker, parking next to the Impala and quickly making the walk from the car to the door. I unlock it quickly slipping inside, I kick my boots off at the front door and head to the kitchen hoping to find Sam. Much to my dismay, the face looking back at me is indeed not Sam, but the other Winchester, Dean. He looks up at me, his eyes searching my face and his brows drawing together when he notices my expression and the tears on my cheeks. I sniff, quickly wiping them away but it’s too late, he’s already seen them.

“Where’s Sam?” I ask, drawing on every ounce of strength within in me to keep my wits about me for a few more minutes. Dean takes his time to answer, taking a sip from the beer he is holding as he studies me carefully. I shift my weight from one foot to the other, waiting anxiously for his reply.

“He went out for a bit, said he needed to get out of the bunker. Can’t say I blame him.” He says, tucking his bottom lip between his teeth momentarily before taking another sip of his beer. I give Dean a short nod and mutter a thanks before turning on my heel, intent upon heading straight to my room but his voice stops me once again.

“You’ve been crying.” He states, matter-of-factly. I freeze in my tracks, weighing my next options carefully. Why does he care? He’s seen me cry before and it hasn’t exactly made him kinder to me. I square my shoulders and turn around to face him once again, his eyes still locked on me. He looks as if he is carefully analyzing my every move, every breath I take and every word that I speak. He’s leaning against the counter top, one leg bent resting on the cabinet behind him. His arms crossed across his chest, supporting the hand that’s holding his beer.

“Why do you care?” I ask, my voice a bit more volatile than I initially intended. I am too tired to put effort into being nice to him, a sentiment that he rarely ever gives to me. He is slightly taken aback by my words, a fact made obvious by the way he holds his hands up to the side, shrugging his shoulders slightly.

“Just thought you might want to talk about it, since Sam isn’t here.” He replies, his tone soft and gentle, something I’d never received from him before. It wasn’t like we were enemies or anything, but he didn’t particularly care for me and I shared the same sentiment about him. We butted heads over everything, he always tried to hold me back on hunts, making me feel incapable and inferior.

“Ill be fine.” I mutter, moving to walk away once again, and once again he stops me his words cutting through me like a silver knife.

“Did he hurt you?” He asks, his voice unreadable, but his face screams danger, depending on my answer. I look at him, my eyes searching his face for any explanation of where this was coming from, but he’s impassive other than anger. I don’t trust my voice, so I shake my head no. It wasn’t exactly a lie, he hadn’t physically hurt me, he didn’t need to his verbal threats were enough.

“I’m just going to go to bed. Thanks anyways.” I say and he nods slightly but he’s not fooled. I turn and actually walk away this time and make it to my room before my tears start to fall again. I sit down on the edge of my bed pulling my phone out of my pocket, intending to send Sam a text, but I am distracted by the multiple messages flooding the screen. Beginning with anger and threats, before changing to apologies and begging for my forgiveness. I toss my phone onto the floor, too tired to deal with the nonsense tonight. The interaction with Dean replays in my head, his kindness strange and cause for reflection. It isn’t as if he was ever a complete asshole to me, but he was never fond of me. I had always been Sam’s friend and Dean just put up with my presence. Neither one of them ever intended for me to start hunting with them, it was a matter of wrong place wrong time. Sam and I had met in college and I went looking for him when he disappeared from classes, the week I found him happened to be when the yellow eyed demon came calling a few years ago, and I had stuck with them ever since. Intent upon learning everything I could about the supernatural. Sam had welcomed me in with open arms and Dean had been dragged along kicking and screaming, metaphorically speaking. Well, mostly metaphorically, he did a lot of yelling. So the concern Dean had for me tonight, was well concerning. It was throwing me for a bit of a loop, curiosity sparking within me. Did he actually care about me and his disdain for me was just a front? No, surely not. I had been with them for three years and this was an utter first. I brush the thoughts aside and close my eyes, hoping that sleep will over take me. Hours later, it finally does.

I wake to knocking on my door, I yell out a muffled come in, and Sam sticks his head in, his expression apologetic.

“Hey sorry to wake you, I am about to head out but I wanted to check in on you before I do. Dean said you were upset and looking for me last night, you could’ve called me Y/N, I would have come back earlier.” I had sat up in bed to look at him and he had opened my door the rest of the way. I smiled softly at the tall man standing in front of me, his hair messy and the collar on his flannel offset.

“Its okay Sammy, you have a good night out?” I ask and he grins sheepishly, nodding his head in response.

“Yeah, actually, I met a girl at the bar. I am heading back to her place now actually. You doing okay?” He asks me, his smile contagious. I chuckle, shaking my head slightly, but smile back at him.

“Yeah I am good, go get ‘em tiger.” He laughs at my response, and jogs off down the hallway yelling a see you later over his shoulder. He had forgotten to shut my door behind him, I sigh throwing my blankets to the side and standing up beside my bed.

I stretch my body, groaning slightly as the tension in my shoulders works it way out. I throw on the jeans I had worn yesterday, before finding a new shirt to wear, I settle on my favorite green tee, a memento from my college years. I pick my phone up from the floor, scanning the mass of texts and calls all from one person. Before sending him a quick message,

8:33 A.M. I’ll be over shortly, I just woke up.

I take a deep breath and grab my keys from my dresser and head towards the entry to the bunker. Dean is in the kitchen again, this time making himself breakfast. He gives me a slight smile as I walk past him towards the door. I smile back but keep on my path to my boots, still left haphazardly by the door where I had tossed them last night. “Need breakfast?” Dean calls from the behind me, I look back over my shoulder and see him standing in the doorway to the kitchen, skillet in one hand, towel in the other.

“Not hungry, thanks though. I’ll be back later!” I say, beginning to head out the door to the bunker. I hear him call out something along the lines of ‘be careful’ but I don’t stop to question it, our interaction from last night still weirding me out.

In hindsight, I should’ve gone back inside this morning. Had breakfast with Dean and ignored Chris’ frenzy of messages. Going over his place this morning was probably the worst idea I have ever had, it hadn’t gone well, worse than I had ever imagined. His messages to me last night and this morning had me convinced that he would apologize for his actions and yet that is the farthest thing from what happened. By the time I had gotten there, he had switched from apologetic to angry again. Instead of his words, he let his fists do the talking. The first time catching me so off guard it knocked me off my feet successfully splitting my lip, the second time I had dodged his blow, stepping out of his reach and yelling at him to keep his hands off of me and trying to leave. But the third. The third landed square on my jaw, knocking me unconscious.

I had come to from Chris shaking me and crying apologies. His touch sending waves of nausea through me, revolted by the thought of him. Glancing at my reflection in the surface of his coffee table I noticed the rapidly forming bruise. A mark that would serve as a vivid reminder of his actions and my inability of acting like a good, obedient girlfriend. Or so he said, after spending the morning accusing me of cheating on him with Sam. No matter what I said, it wasn’t enough to convince him that we were just friends and he had just lost it on me. I had left in a rush when he went to the bathroom, leaving everything but my phone and my keys behind on his couch. The ache in my body spurring me to move faster out of his place and into the safety of my car. The seconds it took me to get from his living room to the drivers seat, felt like an eternity. I had driven as fast as I dared back to the bunker, checking my rear view mirror constantly watching and waiting for him to appear behind me, but he didn’t. So here I sit, outside the bunker, debating the best way to get into my room without someone noticing the bruises still forming on my face. Not wanting the attention or, more likely the “I told you so’s” from Dean. I grabbed the hat from my passenger seat, tugging it low over my face. I rearrange my hair, framing it around my face in such a way that it covers as much of my jaw as it can. I take a deep breath and exit my vehicle, taking the few steps required into the bunker.

I shut the door as quietly as I can, taking soft steps towards my room. I hope to make it into the safety and silence of my room without anyone noticing, I am not even sure who is home at this time but I don’t want to see either of them. I had nearly reached the safety of my space, but I head Dean’s door swing open behind me.

“Y/N, you’re home sooner than I expected. Sam isn’t back yet.” He says and I freeze in my tracks, praying he doesn’t continue the conversation.

“Okay, thanks!” I say, my voice coming out shrill and unsteady, the opposite of what I was trying to sound like. I hear him move to close his door, but he hesitates and I can feel his eyes burning a hole in the back of my head.

“What happened to your jeans? Why is there blood on them?” He asks, and I internally curse myself out for my stupidity. I had wiped my hand across my thigh after wiping the blood off my busted lip. I must have taken too long to give him an answer, because I hear him moving closer to me and I close my eyes waiting for the moment that I had hoped to avoid. “Y/N, look at me.” He says and I can feel him ever so close to me. I turn around, keeping my eyes trained on the ground and my face angled away from him. He reaches out and gently grabs my chin, pulling it towards him so he can see me. I bite my tongue to keep the slight gasp from slipping past, his touch on my bruised jaw causing a ripple of pain to travel throughout my nerves, but he notices and his touch lightens. The opposite of his face, his expression darkens, eyes traveling over my skin. His other hand comes up and pulls my baseball hat off my head, revealing all of the color spreading through my skin, reds and purples mainly at this point in time.

“Who did this to you?” He growls, not waiting for a response his hand drops to my wrist and tugs me behind him. I follow his lead back towards the kitchen, when we get there he points to the counter muttering one word through his angry stupor, “Sit.” I don’t, but he doesn’t notice immediately, his attention turning to something else. He walks over to the freezer and digs out the ice packs that we kept frozen for any injuries that might surface.

When he turns around, his eyes are trained on me, a scowl engrained in his features. He sets the icepack down, before he turns to me, grabs my waist and lifts me up onto the countertop. I am caught off guard by his actions, a gasp leaving my lips from his sudden movements. His hands on my hips the most amount of physical touch that has ever been shared between the two of us.

I train my eyes to the floor, not daring to meet his gaze. He had stepped away again, digging through the cabinets for what I think is the first aid kit. I begin to let my thoughts wander, the dull ache in my jaw pulling me back to the moment that it happened. The pure evil hidden behind his eyes, the look of absolute enjoyment he had as he watched me struggle, his hands rough and violent against my body. But I am snapped back to reality by Dean’s gentle touch, his fingertips gingerly raising my chin to look at him. Tears are beginning to form in my eyes, adrenaline wearing off and emotion taking back over. I take a deep breath, hating the way my lip quivers, still dreading showing weakness to the older Winchester. He notices, he notices all of it, but he doesn’t say anything. He gently wipes away my tears and brings a cold cloth to my lip, cleaning up the cut from the first punch. I can feel anger radiating off of his skin, even though his touch is displaying the complete opposite.

“Did Chris do this?” He asks, his attention moving from the split in my lip to the gash on my forehead. I hiss as he wipes it clean, an antiseptic wipe pinched between his fingers, he mutters a slight apology, but continues patching me up.

“Yeah, he did. He lost it on me this morning, over nothing. It’s my fault though, I ignored all of his messages after I came home last night, so he was angry.” Dean freezes, his fingers stilling on my skin. I look up at him, confused as to why he stopped and I notice his jaw is clenched so tight that it has to be painful.

“Don’t ever say those words again, you hear me?” He locks his eyes on mine, fury absolutely radiating off of every inch of his body. “None of this, none, is your fault, you got it?” His words are sharp and pointed, his intent clear. I nod in response, he obviously didn’t want to hear anymore, got it. I would keep my mouth shut.

He continues patching me up, before he stills, looking me over from head to toe once more. He hands me the ice-pack he had laid out and instructs me to keep it on my jaw. He turns his back to me and washes his hands in the kitchen sink.

“Where does the fucker live?” He asks, his voice low and so calm that it scares me slightly.

“Why Dean?” This is when he snaps, the anger that has been coursing through him coming out in one big tsunami of a wave, now that he knows I am okay.

“Because I am going to go beat the absolute hell out of him, show him a bit of his own medicine.” He says, each word leaving his lips like a bullet leaving a gun. Dangerous and aimed at one specific target.

I sit quietly, unsure how to respond.

“Why? I didn’t think you’d care this much, figured-“

“Oh for fucks sake!” He interrupts me and I jump from the sheer volume of his voice, he walks back over to me and stands directly in between my knees, he rests his hands on my thighs and his eyes meet my own once again.

“I have always cared about you Y/N, from that day you showed up at our motel. Your search for Sam finally at an end. I have watched you let men into your life that don’t give two shits about you, I have watched how they treated you and I have hated every single one. None of them deserve you, they are all pitiful excuses for boyfriends. I heard you crying to Sam, each time one of them broke your heart and I had to sit back and not do anything about it. You deserve more than anyone can give you, including myself. Which is why I never said anything, I kept you at a distance. I can’t do that anymore, I can’t keep watching you put yourself into these situations. God, if you hadn’t left, he could have killed you. Probably would have killed you, and then I never would have been able to tell you that I-, that I love you.” He says, his voice growing less angry after each word leaves his mouth. My brain is spinning by the end of his speech, his words swirling around my head making me dizzy. He squeezes my leg gently, causing me to snap back to reality once again.

I blink at him, once, twice, three times before his words finally settle over me and I am completely speechless. I never saw this coming, I admit I have feelings for him, but I had pushed them so far away because of his hatred for me.

“Dean, I-I don’t know what to say. I always thought you hated me, so I supressed my feelings for you, I dated other men because I thought you would never want anything to do with me. I’m sorry, that I hurt you. I love you too.” I whisper, my hands coming to rest on top of his. He tugs me towards him, his fingers digging into my hips and sliding me across the counter into his embrace.

“God, Y/N, I am so sorry he did this to you. He will never lay a finger on you again, I promise.” He says, his voice barely registering because of how quiet he is speaking. I can hear how close he is to tears, but don’t mention it to him. I hug him back and relish the way his touch makes me feel. How safe I am in his presence, every fear melting away.

I hear the door to the bunker open and Sam calls out a greeting. Dean pulls away from me slightly, but keeps his hand resting on my thigh.

“In the kitchen Sammy.” He calls out, and gently squeezes my leg in reassurance.

Sam rounds the corner and stops dead in his tracks, his eyes locking on my bruised face and anger quickly replaces the initial shock.

I look away from him, shame creeping over me. I put myself into the situation and this was the outcome, now both of them are aware of what I got myself into and it is crashing down on me in waves. I hear Dean talking to Sam, explaining everything that had happened. By the end of it, both boys were rearing to go track him down and give him a taste of his own medicine, or worse. Little did we all know, they were about to get their chance and they wouldn’t even have to leave the bunker.

A knock sounds at the door and Sam trails off mid sentence, glancing between Dean and myself, an obvious attempting at asking if we were expecting someone. Neither of us were, and suddenly it hit me. He’s here, he had followed me. My heart is in my throat, my breathing is heightened and shallow. My eyes meet Deans and he knows exactly what I am thinking. “Stay here, sweetheart. Sam, let’s go.” He says, giving me one last look before the two of them walk out of the room and towards the source of the incessant knocking. I don’t listen however, I slide down off the counter and hurry after them. Not wanting to be left alone and waiting to find out the outcome of this visit. Dean throws open the door to the bunker, immediately grabbing my now ex-boyfriend by the collar of his shirt and pushing him backwards away from the entrance. Sam is quick to step outside next to Dean, the boys creating a wall between me and Chris. Dean withholds the fury of his fist and issues quite a few colorful threats, instilling a healthy fear into Chris. He pulls him up by his shirt again and shoves him towards his car. They stand, watching him leave before turning and heading back into the bunker. Sam is quick to be by my side, pulling me into a hug. Apologies flying from his lips. I reassure him that I am okay, my eyes remaining locked on Dean. Hoping that the moment that we had shared wasn’t a one time thing, dying to once again be in his arms.

I excuse myself from the two of them, heading to the bathroom to clear my head. I spend a few minutes in there, my hands gripping the edge of the sink. Taking breath, after breath, trying to pull myself together. The whirlwind of a day, completely blindsiding me. I open the door to the bathroom and scan the hallway, empty. I take a chance and cross the hall towards Dean’s room. Knocking on the door and being beckoned in by his voice on the other side of the door.

I open the door and cross the threshold, closing the door quietly behind me. His eyes are on me immediately and I stare back at him, my heart nearly beating out of my chest. Four words hang heavy in my throat, fear of rejection constricting my voice. I clear my throat and finally utter the words I had been thinking.

“Did you mean it?”

“Of course I did, Y/N. I will always mean it.” He whispers, and that is all it takes for me to cross the room and throw my arms around him. He immediately hugs me back, tugging me as close to him as physically possible. His lips press against my forehead, sending shivers down my spine. The warmth his body provides is all consuming and like heaven on earth. A feeling that I had never had before, it was clear that this was where I was meant to be.

“I will always keep you safe Y/N, I promise you that. I love you.” Dean says, his lips brushing against my skin as he speaks. I knew he meant it with all of his heart and that was more than enough for me.

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wandering-winchesters · 1 year

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Bad Feeling

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader Word Count: 3,570 Summary: The reader has a bad feeling about a hunt, the boys ignore it and she gets hurt. Trigger warning: swearing, mentions of blood and injury.

Masterlist A/N: Requests are open, please let me know what you think of this!

I am awoken by a knock at my door, I open my eyes, squinting at the harsh light flowing through the window in my room. It takes me a second to understand where I am, the unfamiliar room catching me off guard, before I recognize it as the motel room I had crashed in late last night.

“Who is it?” I call out, sleep hanging heavy in my voice. I sit up in the bed, throwing the sheets and blanket to the side.

“Your favorite hunter.” The voice on the other side of the door calls back, I roll my eyes and cross the room to open the door to reveal a grinning Dean Winchester.

“Oh, you’re not Bobby.” I say, a mischievous smile on my lips. Dean looks taken aback, his grin faltering slightly.

“Ouch, sweetheart, that was mean.” He says, developing a pouty expression. I step back and allow him to walk into the room, closing the door behind him.

“What do you need Dean?” I ask, a yawn forcing its way to fruition, I stretch, raising my arms up over my head and a slight groan escapes my lips. I shake my head, trying to shake off the fog that is left behind from the remnants of sleep.

“Wanted to see if you wanted to grab breakfast before we head off towards the next hunt. But now that I am here, it might be better if I bring you breakfast.” He says, his eyes crinkling from the smile forming on his face as he surveys the sleepy mess that I am currently. My hair is thrown up in the messiest of buns, strands hanging down around my face and shoulders, having come loose in my sleep. A large oversized shirt adorns my body, sleep shorts too short to be seen underneath. I roll my eyes and push him gently, he dramatically takes a few steps back, rubbing his arm where I had shoved him, acting as if I had severely hurt him.

“Yeah, we can go get breakfast, I just need a few to shower and get dressed. Where’s Sam?” I ask, walking to my duffle bag and pulling out a change of clothes.

“He’s out already, went to the local library to dig for some death records.” Dean says, sighing loudly at the prospect of what he calls boring research.

“Oh he should have woken me up, I would’ve gone with him.” I say, walking into the bathroom but leaving the door propped open so I could still hear him. I pull off my shirt and shorts, turning the shower water on.

“I told him not to, wanted to let you get some sleep. I know you haven’t been sleeping well recently.” Dean says, and I can hear him shuffling around in my room. I wait for him to stop moving around and I stick my head out into my room, hiding my body behind the bathroom door.

“Hey, fucker. Stay out of my snacks!” I yell, glaring at him. He had seen the corner of a bag of chips sticking out of my bag and had helped himself. He turns around, caught red handed. But instead of looking apologetic or sheepish, he smirks. His eyes boring a hole through the door, even though all he can see is my collarbones and up. “Why don’t you come here and make me.” He grins, winking at me in the most painfully exaggerated way possible.

“You wish.” I roll my eyes, and slam the bathroom door. I can hear him laughing for quite a few minutes after I had shut the door. I smile to myself, shaking my head at his childish behavior. I love it though, I wouldn’t trade my friendship with him for anything in this world.

I quickly shower and dry off, throwing on the clothes that I had already picked out and brought into the bathroom with me. When I open the door, Dean is sitting on the end of my bed, flipping through a magazine that he must’ve brought with him. I don’t dare ask what magazine, because I honestly don’t want to know. I walk over to my bag and pull out my gun, checking to ensure it was fully loaded and I holster it. Before tucking the holster into the front of my waistband, pulling my sweatshirt down over it, successfully concealing it. I look up at him, and he is watching my every move. I look down, checking my appearance once more. Black skinny jeans, and a black hoodie, my staples, comfy but not frumpy, the only fashion sense I live by.

“What?” I ask him, after I ensure that there isn’t anything wrong with what I am wearing. He shakes his head, jumping up from the end of the bed. Weird, normally he didn’t have any issue expressing what he was thinking, flirtatious comments common, coming from him.

“Lets go get breakfast! Sam is going to meet us there.” He says instead, leading the way to the impala. I shake my head and follow after him, pulling a jacket over my hoodie and bracing for the cold air as we leave. I climb in the passenger seat, shivering slightly and Dean notices. He turns the heat up in the car, shooting me an apologetic glance. “I should’ve come out and started the car, sorry sweetheart.” He says, backing out of the spot and heading to a local diner. The short drive passes quickly, the car barely getting warm by the time we arrive.

We walk inside quickly, Dean holding the door open for me to walk ahead of him. I look around and see Sam sitting in a booth, and walk in his direction, Dean following right behind me. I slide into the booth, sitting opposite from Sam and Dean sits next to me.

“What’ve we got Sammy?” Dean asks, his expression serious a stark contrast to his behavior in the motel room. As Sam explains about the spirit that has been killing people in town and who he thinks it might be, a feeling of unease settles over me. I cannot put my finger on what he said that triggered this response, or why. My thoughts must have been written across my face in permanent marker, because Dean snaps me out of my thoughts by placing a hand on my thigh, squeezing gently.

“What’s wrong, Y/N?” He asks, but he is interrupted by the server coming over and taking our order. We all order different combinations of the same thing, food and coffee.

Once she leaves, Dean once again turns his attention to me, repeating his earlier questions. I shrug, tucking my hair behind my ear, debating on if I want to be honest or just brush off the feeling that is still settled heavily in my gut. I choose the former.

“I just have a bad feeling about this hunt, I can’t really put my finger on why. But as soon as Sammy started talking about what he found, this just bad feeling settled over me.” I explain, realizing just how crazy it must sound. Sam nods, his gaze meeting my own. Dean laughs it off, stating that I must just be hungry. I inwardly agree with him, and spend all of breakfast trying to shake off this feeling. After we are done eating, we head out to the impala. Approaching the old abandoned farm house, where the dead bodies have been found over the last couple of weeks. All of them dying under mysterious and unexplainable circumstances. Dean had met with the local sheriffs office yesterday and they were all stumped, convinced that a serial killer had taken up residence in the area. However, the lore that Sam had uncovered showed that every thirty years, in January this kind of thing happened. People left their houses in the middle of the night, walked to this farm house and were found dead the next day. Sam thinks it is an angry spirit, however there were multiple people that it could be. They hoped to narrow it down by visiting the house and looking around. We split up upon entry to the house, much to my dismay. However, this was the way we normally handled cases like this. Cover as much ground as possible, in as little time as we could. We stayed within shouting distance, that way if something went wrong or if there was a discovery, the others could hear you.

This is how I wound up, in the kitchen alone. I hadn’t found anything worth mentioning, but continued to look around anyways. “Guys, in here!” I hear Dean yell, and I quickly turn to locate where he was. Sam and I met him in the dilapidated room that probably used to be a study. He’s holding a well worn leather book, his eyes scanning the page.

“Looks like we’re dealing with an angry ghost of this Marla Johnson.” He says, pointing to the section of the page. “I found her daughters diary, and she says that her mother died suddenly and everyone in town suspected her father of being the murderer. Now to find out where she was buried.” A rush of cool air draws my attention and my eyes focus on the woman suddenly standing behind Dean, my eyes widening and I yell to warn them of her appearance. Dean jumps into action, pulling me behind him and readying the shotgun loaded with rock salt rounds. Just as quickly as she appeared, she’s gone. The temperature in the room returning to what it was before.

“Alright, Y/N, I am gonna go look around outside for a grave sight and see what I can find. You and Sam stay here and try to hold her off.” Dean says, handing me his shotgun. Sam and I exchange glances, before heading off to different rooms in the house. It is in that moment, that the bad feeling returns. A pit forming in my stomach, heavy and foreboding. I try to push it to the back of my mind, creeping back towards the kitchen where I had been before. My eyes sweep the room, before freezing in place when I look into the window over the kitchen sink and see her in the reflection, standing directly behind me. I steel my nerves and whip around, holding the shotgun up and aiming it at her. I’m not fast enough, she sends a knife flying through the air and it lands firmly in my thigh. I yell out, quickly pulling the trigger and watching her dissolve into mist. Not gone, but displaced for the time being. I hear Sam yell my name, but I don’t have the nerve to respond. Concerned that any sound will draw her back to me. I cycle the shotgun, reloading another shell, bracing for her reappearance. I brace myself in the corner of the kitchen, my back to the wall, leaning heavily against it in order to keep as much weight off my injured leg as I can. This position also giving me the visual advantage, I am able to see both doorways into the kitchen. I hear footsteps coming and I keep the shotgun braced against my shoulder, but lowered, so I won’t be pointing it directly at Sam or Dean when they enter the room. Sam rounds the corner, his eyes wide, the light coming in through the cobweb covered windows, highlight the concern on his face.

“Are you alright? I heard you scream.” He says, lowering his own weapon and walking closer to where I am standing. I wipe the sweat off my forehead with the sleeve of my hoodie, and gesture towards my thigh.

“Ive been better.” I mutter, gritting my teeth as I shift my weight slightly, all of the nerves and muscles in my leg screaming at me as I move. Sam’s face falls, he slings the shotgun over his shoulder and walks over to me. He quickly takes his belt off and secures it around my upper thigh, as high as he can and as tight as he can. He throws my arm over his shoulder and I wrap my own around his back, accepting his help fully.

“Lets get you out of here.” He says and we begin the awkward shuffle towards the front door, every step causing another swear to slip through my lips. He mumbles apologies as we go, supporting most of my body weight as I hop next to him. As we cross the threshold of the house, Dean comes around the corner, a grin on his lips.

“Marla, the bloodthirsty ghost has been salted and burned. We’re good to go, who’s-“ He stops suddenly, seeing the way that Sam is half carrying half dragging me out of the house. He breaks into a run, crossing the distance as quickly as he can.

“What happened?” He asks, handing my shotgun to Sam and picking me up, an arm under my knees the other behind my back, I bite my tongue to avoid calling him quite a few choice words as he jostles the blade in my thigh. I grumble, something about being able to walk and he silences me with a look.

“Ghosty bitch there, decided to impale me as her last act of vengeance. I told you I had a bad feeling about this hunt.” I say, reluctantly allowing my head to rest against his shoulder, the adrenaline wearing off and exhaustion setting in.

He carries me over to the impala, where Sam has already opened the back door for him. He sets me down, and pulls his knife from his back pocket, cutting the fabric to my jeans before I can even protest, he pulls the length of fabric away from my skin and begins to inspect the damage.

“These were my favorite jeans.” I mumble sadly, glancing down at the blood stained tattered mess that they had become.

“I will buy you more jeans, Y/N. I am more worried about you bleeding out on me here.” He says, concern written plainly across his face. Once he decides that I am not going to bleed out and it can wait until were back at the hotel to stitch up. He tosses the keys to Sam and climbs into the back of the impala with me. He pulls me against his chest, making sure I keep my leg propped up on the seat, his flannel torn to shreds and wrapped around the knife meticulously. I’ll give him this, he’s pretty good at improvised medicine. On the drive back he pesters me with questions about what happened after he went outside.

“Dean, I am not telling you this story for the third goddamn time.” I grit out between clenched teeth, “I just want to take a nap.” I whine, trying to close my eyes and snuggle into him further.

“And that’s what you’re not going to do, you gotta stay awake. We’re almost back at the motel sweetheart.” He says, shaking me slightly, not enough to aggravate my wound but enough to keep me awake. I curse him out, using the most colorful combination I can think of. He shakes his head, a light laugh escaping him. Sam parks the impala out front of the motel room, Dean leans me against the seat so he can climb out, and I scoot myself over to the door, preparing to climb out on my own.

“Hey! Stay put.” He orders, his tone taking me by surprise. He walks around to the other side of the car, gently pulling me to my feet, before once again picking me up and carrying me inside. I don’t complain this time, honestly too tired to care. Instead of going to my motel room, he walks into the one that he shared with Sam the night before, setting me down gently on the bed, propping me up with a couple of pillows. I try to ignore the throbbing in my thigh and focus on the wound itself. I lean forward, pulling the strips of his flannel away and looking at it closer. Thankfully, the knife she had thrown was relatively short, only about three inches long, the blade about 1 inch wide at the handle. It still hurt like an absolute bitch. Dean pulls a chair up to the side of the bed, and sits down in it. His hand coming to brush my own away and he hands me a bottle of whiskey.

“Drink, you’ll need it.” He says, the look he gives me full of sympathy. Apologizing in advance for what he was about to do. I take a couple of sips of the dark liquid, trying to ignore the burning sensation as it goes down.

“This is gonna hurt sweetheart, I’m sorry.” He says, gripping the knife firmly in one hand, the other bracing against my thigh. He counts down from five, and I try to relax my body as much as I can, resting my head back on the pillows he had propped me up on and taking a few deep breaths. He doesn’t wait until one however, and pulls the blade straight out on 3.

“Mother fucker.” I hiss, my hands reaching up and grabbing fistfuls of my own hair. He pours alcohol over my thigh, causing another strand of colorful language. Thankfully the blade had missed any major arteries and stitches should be enough to stop the bleeding. He sets to work, trying to be as gentle as he can be.

“Next time I have a bad feeling, I’m doing the salt and burn. You can get stabbed in the leg.” I mutter, looking down at Dean as he works on my leg, he should only have a couple of stitches to go now. He laughs softly, tying another knot with the filament he’s been using.

“You’re right sweetheart. I’ll listen next time.” He finished the stitches, covering my leg in a bandage and offering me the bottle of whiskey again. I take another sip, hoping to take the edge off of my pain. Sam had offered to stay in my room that night, so I could stay in here with Dean. He had brought all of my stuff in here, ignoring my every protest. I didn’t really mind, having an evening alone with the older Winchester sounded like a good way to end this shitty day. I love Sam, don’t get me wrong, but Dean and I are closer, we have more in common.

Dean had finished washing his hands in the bathroom and had come back out and sat down next to me.

“Dean, I hate to be a pain, but could you help me change clothes? I smell like moth balls, salt and blood.” I ask, throwing him my best puppy dog eyes and pout. He agrees and grabs a pair of sweatpants from my bag. He looks for a shirt, but quickly gives up when he can’t find one of mine. He grabs one of his own from his bag and crosses to the side of the bed. I slide my hips to the edge of the bed, pulling my jeans down as far as I can without standing. He helps me stand, pulls them off the rest of the way and helps me gently side on the clean sweatpants. He helps me sit back down, and hands me his shirt to wear. I happily shed my dirty one and slip on his. Secretly relishing in the idea of wearing his clothes.

“I’m going to take a quick shower, you’ll stay put in that bed, or so help me.” He says, closing the door to the bathroom. I roll my eyes, but happily oblige. I lay back on his bed, taking in his scent and the warmth that his shirt provides. I’m quickly lulled into a light sleep, the kind where you can still hear everything around you, but it’s restful all the same. I hear him come out of the bathroom, sometime later humming along to whatever song was playing in his mind. He stops when he realizes I’m sleeping and pulls a blanket off the other bed, laying it gently on top of me. He kisses me on my forehead and the next thing he does catches me completely off guard.

“I love you, Y/N, hopefully one day I can say it to you when you’re awake. I’m so sorry you got hurt today.” His words whispered and quiet, he presses another kiss to my forehead and I hear him start to walk away.

“Dean?” I ask, my voice barely above a whisper myself, sleep holding me tight in its grasp.

“Yeah, Y/N?” He asks, his tone slightly anxious.

“Nap with me?” Those three words, would change everything. I just didn’t know it yet.

He hums in agreement, coming to lay next to me opening his arms for me to come closer. I snuggle in against him, resting my head on his chest and carefully positioning my leg so I’m comfortable. We lay in silence for awhile, sleep on the horizon but still at bay. Right before I doze off, I press a kiss to his chest and repeat the words he had said to me just a little while earlier.

“I love you, Dean.”

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wandering-winchesters · 11 months

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Don't Push Your Luck

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader

Word Count: 2,707

Summary: After a bad argument with Dean, over the reader putting herself in danger, another hunt goes wrong. Will there be time to reveal the feelings that lie beneath the anger?

Trigger Warnings: SPN level violence, injuries and blood. Mentions of punching a wall, anger

A/N: It has been terribly long since I have posted and I am very sorry! Life has been utterly crazy and I have not had much time or motivation to write. Please let me know what you think!

Masterlist

Arguing with Dean was one of the most frustrating things in the entire world, once he was fixated on something it was nearly impossible to change his perspective on it. Which is how we wound up here, my chest heaving with exertion as I tried my best to calm my nerves. I can barely stop my body from trembling, anger pulsating through me enough to exhibit a physical response. My voice shakes when I try to speak, causing me to stop and take a few deeps breaths, unwilling to appear weak in front of my best friends brother.

“Just because you have been doing this longer than I have, doesn’t mean you can tell me what to do, Dean.” I respond, my voice as even and low as I can manage. A sharp contrast to moments before, when our raised voices carried throughout the entirety of the bunker. Rippling through the numerous rooms and corridors, alerting Sam to our disagreement. He had made an appearance, carefully placing himself between the two of us, but off to the side, just incase anything got out of hand. Not that it would get physical, but Dean and I have a track record of saying things that we shouldn’t when anger is raging between us.

“I never claimed I could tell you what to do, Y/N. But I know that you have been reckless, ignorant and foolish the last few times we have gone on a hunt. You throw yourself into places that you shouldn’t be, you take risks that aren’t necessary. And you’ve just been an absolute idiot!” He yells, his fist slamming into the wall beside him. I flinch, shocked by his sudden movement, his words stinging as they rush over my ears. I take a few steps away from him, crossing my arms across my chest and steeling my nerves, willing the tears that were pricking my eyes to fade.

“You really think you know everything, huh.” I reply, my voice shaky and thick with emotion, a single tear falls from my red rimmed eyes. I hurriedly brush it away and in that moment, I can see Dean break. His shoulders release and his face falls slightly, he runs a hand over his face letting a sigh of frustration pass his lips.

“Maybe you two should call a truce, it seems like enough damage has been done.” Sam chimes in quietly as he shoots Dean a look of disapproval, his earlier words hanging heavy in the tension filled air. Without a word, I turn on my heel, seeking refuge in my room. I can hear their voices as I flee, distant murmurs of a conversation that I have no desire to take part in.

By the time I close the door to my room, tears are flowing freely. I stifle a sob, my hands coming up to cover my mouth, as more course through my body. Reckless, ignorant, foolish and idiotic. All descriptors that Dean knew would strike a nerve, insecurities I have voiced to him in the past. Things that I had shared with Sam and Dean on one of our many late night dinner conversations, shared between the four walls of a rundown motel in the middle of nowhere. I could see the regret spreading through his features the moment the words left his lips, but there was nothing he could do to take them back. He spoke them into existence and there they would stay, a permanent stain on my subconscious. I let myself fall into the comfort of my bed, tension escaping my body. What was left was a void. My lungs that had been so full of air to scream into his face now merely pumped enough oxygen for a sigh to leave my lips. The argument was spurred on by a recent incident on a hunt from a few days back, the tension had been simmering, threatening to boil over all of that time. For whatever reason, today was the day where it became too much. The heat grew and the water overflowed. I had been jolted out of my thoughts by the slamming of the front door to the bunker, followed by Deans booming voice. Even though I knew it was coming, that didn’t make it any easier.

There is a knock on my door, quiet yet enough to alert me to their presence. I ignore it, unwilling to budge from my place underneath the sheets on my bed. The desire to speak with either one of the Winchester men tonight was at a resounding nonexistent. My silence is not accepted, however, another knock follows. There are a few seconds of silence before Sam’s voice travels through the door. “Y/N, it’s me. I just wanted to check on you, talk for a bit.” He sounds upset, concern flowing through his tone.

“I’m fine Sam, I don’t want to talk.” I call back, willing him to listen and not press me for more social interaction than I have energy.

“Okay, you know where I am if you need anything. Goodnight, Y/N.” I respond in turn and wait for him to leave, confirmation comes in the form of his footsteps retreating down the hallway.

My sleep that night is filled with numerous nightmares, each one worse than the last. A spattering of different conclusions to the hunt that had spurred on the argument with Dean. I had pushed him out of the way of danger, throwing myself into the path instead. Something that I had done for both of the boys numerous times, a fact that I was not ashamed of in the slightest. They were needed and had jobs to do. These nightmares were all of the numerous ways that the night could have ended if I hadn’t put myself in the path of death. Dean’s body, slumped against the wall, his final breath being drawn as Sam and I stood helpless in the room. Sam replacing Dean in the path of the bullet and both of them meeting their demise. Over and over, the nightmare repeated, changing slightly each time. No matter how many times I woke up, every time I returned to sleep it continued.

I pull myself into a sitting position, the last nightmare had been the worst. I had been helpless and forced to watch Dean be tortured by the monster of man that had us cornered. I had watched him bleed, watched Dean beg for him to spare Sam and myself. I jump as my door swings open, soft barefoot steps resounding through the otherwise silent bunker. My eyes land on Dean, disheveled and tired. His sweatpants hung low on his hips, the handle of the Bowie knife that he often uses, clutched between his fingers. I blink, staring back at him, hurt still fresh in my mind.

“I-uh, you screamed my name. So, I had to make sure you were okay.” He mutters, shame present throughout his features. The hand that isn’t holding his knife, comes up and rubs the back of his neck, before falling back to his side.

“I’m fine, just a dream. Sorry to wake you. Go back to sleep, we have to be up early tomorrow.” I respond, my voice even. I am unwilling to show him any weakness or emotion, the fight still hanging fresh between us. He nods, but hesitates in the doorway to my bedroom. I can see that he is searching for the words and I pray he doesn’t find them, I can’t hear them tonight. He nods once again, murmurs a goodnight and shuts my door behind him.

—

I manage to make it through the next morning with zero interaction with the older Winchester, both of them are distracted by preparations for the next hunt. No words are exchanged at all until we are an hour into the drive, the radio on but low as Dean focuses on the road ahead of us. I pretend to be oblivious to his glances through the rear view mirror, unwilling to be the first to speak. But I notice. I notice the way his eyes land on me, scanning my face for any hint of emotion. I notice the way he has destroyed his bottom lip, by the constant anxious biting. I notice the way his hair isn’t combed into place like it normally is, how his appearance in general is disheveled. He didn’t sleep last night. Good, he deserves to be upset by the things that he said to me.

“Y/N?” Sam calls, and I turn to look at him. The look on his face leads me to realize that he had been talking to me and I had not heard him.

“Hmm? What’s up?” I ask, giving him a small sheepish smile. His eyes are questioning but he doesn’t speak on it, simply repeating his earlier statement. “According to Bobby, he thinks we are dealing with a Harpy.” I groan, letting my head fall back against the seat of the Impala. A harpy hunt is one of my least favorite, something I have only encountered a couple of times before, but I have the scars to prove it.

“You can stay behind at the motel, if you prefer.” Dean chimes in, “Sam and I can handle it.” His words catch me off guard, it was an offer that was by no means wanted.

“I can handle myself, thanks. It’s not like this is the first hunt I am participating in, Winchester.” I bite back, my voice cold. Sam shakes his head, in a manner that displays the smile tugging at his lips, even though I can’t see it.

"I am aware that you've done this a hundred times Y/N, but maybe a little caution wouldn't hurt.” Dean says, his knuckles turning white from his grip on the steering wheel of the impala.

“Don’t push your luck, Winchester.” I mutter, returning to looking out the window of the Impala.

Unfortunately, Deans words would ring true. The anger and desperation I had to prove him wrong, land me in a very sticky situation. I threw caution to the wind and wound up paying for it ten fold.

—

“Dammit,” I cuss, a gasp leaving my lips as I struggle to pull myself into a sitting position. Every nerve ending in my body is on fire, screams of protest are rising from deep within me. The hard wood wall of the old house provides support as I slump against it, my hands cradle my abdomen, pressed tightly against the gaping wound, that was caused by a violent stabbing moments earlier. I listen carefully, searching for any sign of the boys.

In the fight with the Harpies, we had gotten separated and I was unsure of where they were, or if they were still alive. A wave of pain rushes over me and I let out a groan, blinking rapidly to try to clear my field of vision that is rapidly fading around me. “Y/N?! Where are you?” Dean yells, his voice traveling through the house, panic evident. I try my best to draw enough oxygen into my lungs to respond, but it is a losing battle. My lungs are on fire, along with the rest of my body. My ribcage is a vice and I cannot inhale enough to begin to speak, let alone yell. All I can do, is sit and wait. Hope that he finds me in time. Frantic footsteps fill my ears, barely heard over the rushing of blood through my head. A small rush of relief floods my body as Dean rounds the corner, our eyes meet and he crumples. His face is defeated ever so briefly, before he puts on a brave front, his eyes scanning my body an explanation of the amount of blood surrounding me. He’s at my side In record time, his hands gently prying mine away. He surveys the situation quickly, before pressing the fabric of his flannel against my stomach. A motion that pulls a guttural scream from my lips, I beg him to stop but he doesn’t, his lips pull into a tight smile and he brushes the sweat soaked hair from my forehead.

“Hey, sweetheart. It’s okay, you’re going to be okay, I’ve got you.” He murmurs, searching around frantically for something, anything to add to the flannel that he already has pressed against my body. I glance down and quickly realize, its even worse than I could have imagined. The material he had pressed against me moments before, was already soaked red.

“No, look at me. Right here.” He says, gesturing for me to focus on his eyes and not the blood soaked flannel.

“Guess you were right after all,” I whisper, a small laugh that quickly turns to a cough leaving my lips. Once I catch my breath, I continue. “ I was being reckless.”

“Stop, don’t think like that. I am so sorry for what I said, but we can’t focus on that right now sweetheart, we gotta get you out of here.” Dean says, his eyes growing sadder with every passing moment. “You think you can hold pressure on this while I carry you? Can you do that for me?” The desperation in his voice pains me, I know I don’t have the strength to do what he asks, but I nod anyways. I know that if he doesn’t do everything he can, he will always blame himself for my death. So I will try, I’ll try for him. I grab onto the flannel and pull it against me with all of the strength that I possess, as he carefully picks me up. His attempts to avoid causing me pain are useless, every step and motion causes a wave of nausea and dizziness to overtake me, but I do my best to not let him see.

“Dean, I have to tell you now, just incase,” I stop myself, unable to finish the what if scenario that is playing in my head, outloud. “Dean, I love you, always.”

“Hush, I’m not confessing my feelings to you until you are better.” Dean says, his breath catching in his throat as he focuses on each step he takes.

I can’t tell you how we made it to the Impala. My eyes are closed for the majority of the journey, only opening when Dean demands that I look at him. His voice begs me to stay with him, stay awake. Stay Alive.

—

“She lost so much blood, what if- if she doesn’t wake up?” I can feel a hand grasping my own, gently stroking my skin. Dean’s voice is there, he’s talking to someone. Warmth is covering my skin. It is almost peaceful, until it is interrupted by my nerves screaming out in protest. A groan leaves my lips and the hand on my own jerks away.

“Y/N, sweetheart, can you hear me?” It’s Dean again, I can feel the mattress shift underneath me as he sits on it, his hand coming up to stroke my cheek.

“Sweetheart is new, what happened to idiot?” I whisper, my throat dry and my tongue faltering to enunciate the words.

“You almost died and I couldn’t bear that thought, that’s what happened.” Dean says, his hand brushing over my skin. I open my eyes, squinting at the sunlight pouring in through the open blind. It takes me a second to realize that I am in fact in a motel and not the bunker.

“Who knew you had feelings, Winchester, thought you were all tough and no mush.” I say, moving to push myself into a sitting position, but quickly regretting that and abandoning the motion. He laughs, a clear and full sound. One that lifted my spirits ever so slightly.

“It’s no fun making you miserable, Y/N, not when you are already miserable. So I need you to get better, okay?” He says, pressing a very unexpected, but desired kiss against my forehead.

“Now who’s being the idiot?” I meet his gaze and smirk. He shakes his head, still smiling at me. He presses another kiss to my forehead, the breath he lets out through his nose rushing over my skin. “I love you, too, Y/N. Always have, always will.”

Tag List: @roseblue373 @jc-winchester @hobby27 @mishreem

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wandering-winchesters · 1 year

Text

Haunted

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader Word Count: 5,200 (Sorry, not sorry) Summary: The reader gets ghost sickness. Trigger Warnings: mentions of anxiety, death, typical supernatural violence and suspense. Requested: No, just an idea I had. A/N: Requests are open! I recently watched the episode where Dean has Ghost Sickness and it made me crack up. Please let me know what you think about this one!

Masterlist

The hunt was going well, as well as it could. We had just arrived in Minnesota, a small Northern town. It had caught Sam’s attention, because of the amount of people that had been dropping dead from a mysterious illness, that presented as a heart attack. They weren’t sure what it was, but we came to check it out anyways. Sam had gone to the library, Dean had hit up a local diner to ask questions and I made my way to the hospital. Upon arriving, I flashed my FBI badge and was allowed back into the small morgue. The body didn’t appear out of the normal realm of possibility for a dead body. Slightly defeated, I left.

I pulled out my phone and sent Sam and Dean a quick text, letting them know I was heading back to the motel. Dean offered to come pick me up, but I declined. It was a five minute walk on the quiet small town streets, the fresh air would do me good. I took a deep breath, surveying the scene around me. A few other people walked the street, but it was mostly empty. The sun setting on the horizon a reminder of the time of day, most people already home and inside for the night. A feeling of unease crept up my spine, the hair on the back of my neck standing at attention. I glanced around, checking my immediate surroundings for any sign of danger, but nothing. Yet, even with this visual reassurance, the feeling didn’t subside. I tried to shake it off, picking up the pace slightly, intent on getting back to the motel room.

I make it back within a couple of minutes, kicking off my high-heeled boots and shrugging my suit jacket, the FBI get up my least favorite. I hear Dean chuckle from the small table in the corner of the room, his eyes trained on my every movement. “Have something to say, Winchester?” I quip, I set the jacket down on the back of the chair across from Dean, “Nope, it’s just always amusing to watch you kick off those heels you hate so much.” He says, a smile plastered across his face, his hands full between a beer and the sandwich that he is in the middle of consuming. I roll my eyes at him and rest my foot on the seat of the chair, hiking up my pant leg so I can access the gun that I had holstered there. I remove the holster from my ankle and walk over to set it on the nightstand next to my bed. Dean and I had shared this room and Sam had one, right across the hallway from us. Although, during the day we all hung out in here when we weren’t out investigating.

“I’d like to see you spend ten minutes in heels, Dean, let alone a full day.” I huff at him, stealing one of his chips that had fallen out of the bag that he had set down haphazardly on the table. He raised his hands in surrender, offering me another chip to make up for his joke about the high heels. “Did you find anything out at the diner?” I ask him as I unbutton the white shirt that I had on underneath the jacket, revealing the white tank top that I had on as a base layer. The bashfulness of changing in front of either of the Winchesters, long gone. Traveling with them for years tends to have that effect, Dean has seen me naked on multiple occasions. They have both stitched me up after bad hunts, but Dean was the only one to help me shower and change. Dean mumbles something, his mouth half full, a sentence that I simply cannot understand because of the amount of food he was chewing. I shoot him a look, he holds up one finger and finishes chewing before he speaks again.

“Nope, nothing. All everyone could say was that they were surprised to hear of the deaths of those three people. All of them were healthy, definitely not people that were likely to have a heart attack.” I hum in response, lost in thought as I rack my brain for any semblance of a similar case. I walk to my duffle bag and search for the pair of leggings that I always keep in there, only to not find them. Cursing, I realize I had left them hung over the chair in my bedroom back at the bunker. “Dean, can I borrow a pair of your sweats? I forgot my comfy pants.” I ask him, glancing over at him. He nods, gesturing for me to help myself. I unbutton my black dress pants and kick them to the side. I walk over to Deans bed, a mess of sheets and blankets, his clothes strewn across the bed as well. I grab the pair of sweats that I am looking for and pull them on. I snag one of his sweatshirts as well, embracing the comfort as it envelops me. The scent of whiskey, leather and gun cleaner overwhelms my nostrils, Dean. “Sam should be here any minute, he just texted me.” Dean calls out, as I walk into the bathroom, I thank him for letting me know and jump through the shower quickly.

After my shower, I make my way back out to the main room and sit down across from Dean at the table that he is still occupying. The feeling of unease, still unwavering. No matter how hard I try to push it down. “What about you, did you find anything at the morgue?” He asks, pushing a takeout container across the table towards me, one that I didn’t realize he had gotten for me. I give him a smile and open the container revealing my favorite comfort food. His small gesture of kindness, enough to almost make me cry. I don’t but the thought was there.

“Nothing out of the ordinary, no sulfur or strange markings on the body. It all seemed normal.” I shrug, taking a bite of the food he had brought for me. I allow my mind to wander, going back over all of the things that we had discussed, the lore I had read and the things that I had seen today. The unease within me turning to pure anxiety. So much so, that when the door to the motel opens abruptly, I jump to my feet and reach for the gun that had been holstered at my ankle earlier in the day. Only that I had already taken it off and put it by my bed. My eyes land on Sam and I relax, sheepishly offering a small apology to both of the Winchesters who were looking at me questioningly. “I told you he was coming, Y/N. You okay?” Dean asks, his eyes narrowed and carefully studying my face. The jumpiness they had just witnessed very uncharacteristic for me. I was normally incredibly level headed, fear something that I had harnessed into a strength instead of a weakness.

I take a deep breathe, bringing my heart rate back down to the rate it normally was. “Yeah, all good. Sorry again, must just be jumpy today.” I say, sitting back down and returning to the food in front of me. Hunger, was no longer a pressing need. My stomach was churning, anxiety bubbling and that damn feeling of unease creeping back in louder than ever.

Sam didn’t hang out long, exhaustion a mutual feeling between all of us. I had moved to my bed, giving Sam my seat at the table with Dean. A wave of sleep was cresting over me at this very moment, threatening to crash down at any moment. I said goodnight to Sam as he turned to leave, giving him a sleepy wave as I burrowed further under my blankets. Dean closed the door behind his brother, locking it and tucking a chair under the handle for an added measure of protection. Something that I appreciated about him, it wasn’t a precaution he would take unless I was there in the room with him. “G’night Dean, Sweet dreams.” I whisper, rolling to my side and letting the wave of sleep finally crash over all of me, enveloping me in the darkness.

I am startled awake, a gasp leaving my throat as I sit straight up in bed. The dark room around me looming, shapes drifting that were most likely my eyes playing tricks on me. A small Yelp leaves my lips as the light in the room clicks on, revealing all of the shapes that had been worrying me, to be standard furniture. I look to my left and see Dean, his hand still resting on the lamp that he had turned on. His eyes focused on me, concern etched through his sleep dampened features. “You okay?” He asks, a yawn forcing its way past his lips. I rest my hand on my chest, my heart thumping against my ribs. I look over at him, my eyes wide with panic and my heart in my throat. “I-I don’t know.” I stutter, glancing around the room once again, nothing appearing to be out of place. Yet, whatever had awoken me was enough to cause me to startle nearly out of my skin. I swing my legs over the side of the motel bed, padding quietly into the small bathroom. I grip the edge of the sink with both hands, leaning over it and staring at my reflection in the mirror.

The bags under my eyes are growing darker by the minute, pure exhaustion settled firmly across my body. It is only then that I notice the spider crawling across the counter headed straight towards my hand, before I can even blink a splitting scream leaves my throat. I jump away from the sink, pressing my back to the bathroom wall and covering my face, The fear that had travelled through my body in the split second, enough to bring tears to my eyes. I hear a clatter from the room, Dean not wasting anytime to shoulder open the bathroom door. His gun drawn, eyes wide searching the room for any threat. When he can’t identify one, he lowers his gun. His attention fully focused on me and the way I was cowering against the wall. He raises an eyebrow at me, a frown tugging at the corners of his lips. “What is wrong, Y/N?” He asks, and I raise one hand, shakily pointing towards the counter.

“S-spider, De, right there.” His eyes follow my finger and land where I was pointing, his gaze growing even more concerned as his focus lands on the spider, no larger than the eraser on a pencil. He silently scoops it into a paper cup, walking it over to the window in the bathroom and allowing it to scurry outside. There is a knock at the door to the motel room, which again draws a startled yelp from me. “It’s Sam, I heard a scream. What’s going on?” Sam’s muffled voice calls from the other side of the door, Dean hurriedly crosses the distance from the bathroom to the door and lets Sam into the cramped room. “She saw a spider.” Dean says, his tone hushed, concern obvious from the way he formed his words. I walk out of the bathroom, both of their eyes locked on my every move. “Since when are you afraid of spiders?” Sam asks, curiosity laced in his tone.

“Spiders are terrifying Sam! What are you talking about?” Taking offense at his tone, the demeaning way that he questioned why I would react like that to the arachnid. Dean lets out a low, ‘uh-huh’ and gives Sam another look. “Y/N, how do you feel about snakes?” Dean asks, crossing his arms and glancing towards me thoughtfully. “Terrifying.” I whisper, a shudder making its way through my body. “Motorcycles?” Sam asks, naming off things that I used to enjoy doing or being around. “Death traps on wheels!” They spend the next ten minutes questioning me on things like this, until I snap. “What’s the point of all of this? It’s just making me scared!” I whine, crossing my arms across my chest and resisting the urge to cover my ears in the most childlike manner. Sam and Dean exchange glances once again. “Y/N, did you happen to touch the body when you were in the morgue? Or get any bodily fluids on you?” Dean asks, his eyebrows pulled together in the middle of his forehead, concern still evident. “Uh,” I hesitate thinking back over todays events, trying to recall just what had happened at the morgue.”Yeah, I touched his face to get a closer look at something, why?”

“Dammit,” Dean mutters, panic now growing ever more present on his features. He pulls out the EMF reader from his bag, turning it on and watching it go crazy the closer to me he placed it. “Ghost sickness.” Sam chimes in, the expression on his face mirroring the one on Deans. I look frantically between the two of them, waiting for them to explain what they mean. “What the hell is ghost sickness?” I ask, my own fear level rising quickly within me. Dean explains the whole thing for me, in detail. Recounting the time that he had ghost sickness in the past, the grip that fear had on him entirely. The steps they had to take to get rid of the spirit and the timeline on the whole thing. Sam had already sequestered my laptop, his fingers flying over the keys before pausing as his eyes scanned the webpage for any piece of information that could help. I did my best to remain calm, but failed miserably. My heart pounding, eyes watering and body shaking.

Petrified of the thought of death that is fast approaching. Dean can see this, its obvious as I have no sense about me to try and appear okay. “Hey,” He whispers, tucking a finger under my chin and raising my head so he can look into my eyes. “Its going to be okay, we’ve got you, I promise.” I bite my lip, my chin quivering as a tear begins to fall from my eyes. Dean notices immediately, his thumb wiping away every tear as it fell. He pulls me to my feet, embracing me in a tight hug. It doesn’t make the fear go away, but it does ease the anxiety the slightest bit.

—

The next several hours are a blur, a constant search for who the spirit was, where their body might be and how we can get rid of all remnants before my clock runs out. There is a constant stream of occurrences that Sam and Dean take turns handling, little things that normally wouldn’t have been a big deal, but in this moment are absolutely terrifying to me. A moth, the sound of a door slamming. When I looked out the window and saw a thunderstorm approaching, I was convinced that I was going to be struck by lightening from inside the motel. All of which the boys handled with grace. Except for the moth, Dean tried his hardest but couldn’t help his small laugh that escaped when he saw me cowering in the corner terrified that the moth was going to hurt me.

He apologized, when he saw the absolute hurt and betrayal sweep across my face, pulling me in for another hug. Sam is mostly quiet, his eyes glued to the screen on the laptop, I can tell by his concentration that he is slowly growing closer to a possible answer. “Ive got it!” Sam exclaims, causing me to nearly fall out of the nest that I had constructed of blankets and pillows on Deans motel bed. I steady myself and look at him, waiting for his explanation as to what he had found. “Curtis Marshall, he was murdered back in 1973, found shot to death in his kitchen. There was never much of an investigation and it was swept under the rug and labeled a suicide. But from what I can see, everything was definitely pointing towards a homicide.” He says, his face growing lighter as he reads, relief flooding over him. A solution, to a heavy question. “It says here, that he was buried in a cemetery in town. So, simple salt and burn and we should be good to go.” Sam stands, shutting his laptop and grabbing his jacket that he had slung across the back of the chair he had been occupying. “Ill stay here with Y/N, if you want to take care of the salt and burn.” Dean offers, Sam looks at him and they appear to have a silent conversation that ends in agreement.

“I don’t need babysitting, we can all go.” I mutter, a bit of spite coming out in my words. “So you can get scared by a bee and find a way to accidentally get yourself killed?” Dean asks, raising an eyebrow at me skeptically. “I don’t think so.” I resign myself to contempt and slouch back in Deans bed. I watch silently as Sam grabs a few things that he will need, catching the keys to the impala when Dean tosses them to him. He bids us a quick farewell and heads out into the early morning darkness, the sun just starting to approach the horizon. Once the door shuts behind him, Dean focuses his attention on me. I stare back at him, unsure what to talk about or what to do while we wait. My main focus on remaining calm, the thought of dying from a heart attack a thought that drives me to the edge of pure panic and terror.

My chest growing tighter the longer that I focused on it, I couldn’t hear anything around me. The only sound flowing through my ears was the sound of my own blood whooshing, my heart beating roughly against my ribs, bile rising in my throat as I continue to fall deeper into the images being created by my mind. “Y/N?” Dean asks, the look on his face telling me that he had asked me a question and I hadn’t responded to it as it had fallen on deaf ears. “Huh? Sorry I am distracted.” I apologize, focusing in on him as he crosses the room to get closer to me. He sits down on the side of the bed, his hand coming to rest on my knee. “In all our years of friendship, did you ever think that this would be the way you died? Ghost sickness?” His words shock me to my core, completely unexpected coming from the man I thought cared about me deeply. I shrink away from him, pulling myself as far to the other side of the bed as I can without falling to the floor.

“What do you mean, Dean? Sam is on his way to salt and burn the body now, I’m not going to d-“My breath catches in my throat as I focus on his eyes. It wasn’t Dean looking back at me, It was a Demon. I watch in fear as they flash from his usual green to black, a nasty grin spreading across his face. I hurriedly throw the covers off of my lap, struggling to untangle my legs from the lengths of fabric. Just as my feet touch the grungy carpeted motel floor, he lunges for me, managing to lock his hand around my ankle. He yanks me hard, causing me to stumble and fall flat onto the hard floor. All the air is knocked out of my lungs, but I still struggle. Doing my best to crawl away from him, even though his grasp on my body is tight. I let out a scream, his body now shrouding my own as he straddles me. His hands finding their way to my wrists as he pins my legs to the floor with his hips. My heart is pounding so hard, it feels like it is going to burst.

The oxygen necessary to survive coming as gasps, unable to subside the burn within my lungs as I struggle for breath. He lets out a laugh, cold and bitter, enough to chill me to my core. It was Dean’s laugh, but twisted in ways that I never wanted to hear again in my life. “Look at you, so pitiful. So fearful. It’s a glorious sight, I can’t wait to watch you die.” He croons, his face coming down to hover close to my own. I spit at him, bringing my knee up to hit him straight in the groin, giving me the slightest chance to slip away from him. I take it and throw his weight off of me, just enough to scramble to the door of the motel. It’s locked, the chair wedged under the handle and in my panic I can’t get the chair loose. This momentary lapse in ability, gives him just enough time to close the distance between us again.

His body slamming my own into the length of the door, a desperate scream leaves my lips as I struggle to get him off of me. His hands move towards my face, I expect them to close around my throat and I lash out. My eyes are scrunched closed as I scratch, hit and use every muscle in my body to fight back. Instead of wrapping around my throat, his hands come to rest on my shoulders and they shake me, desperately. “Y/N!” He yells, his voice different, desperate but not evil. I hesitantly open my eyes and Dean’s green eyes are searching my face, desperate and horrified. “It’s me, it’s Dean, you’re okay.” I throw his hands off of me, scrambling to get as far away from him as possible. He holds his hands up in mock surrender, allowing me the space that I was crying out for.

“Don’t touch me!” I yell, hugging my arms to my chest, surrounding myself in the smallest amount of comfort I can find. “You’re not Dean, y-youre a demon!” I cry out, searching the room desperately for the demon killing knife that I know Dean keeps close by at all times. Dean takes a cautious step towards me, his hands still up in an attempt to calm me. I keep him at a distance and cross the room in a way that makes it look like we are walking in a big circle. He reaches for a small bottle that he keeps on his nightstand at all times, he holds it up so I can recognize it for what it is, holy water. He unscrews the lid and takes a sip of it, the relaxed expression communicating what he was trying to tell me. Not a demon. Just Dean. I relax slightly, dropping my arms back to my side, relief flooding through me. “but, you were just trying to kill me!” I say, my voice shuddering and fear sweeping over me once again. “It was a hallucination, Y/N. We were sitting on my bed talking and then you were just off, running for the door. I pinned you so you couldn’t leave on your own and it took me awhile to get through to you.” I listen to his words, but they seem impossible. How could that have been a hallucination? I could feel him, smell him, hear the way he laughed at my impending doom, I could see the way his eyes changed from green to pitch black. It just didn’t seem possible. I’m going crazy. My body is a mass of nerves, my muscles shaky and aching for relief. I rest my back against the wall and slide down to the floor, my hands holding my head as my world caves in around me. I am going to die. This was it, hallucinations are the second to last progression of the ghost sickness. My heart is in my throat, regret flooding over me. “Dean, listen to me.” I say, raising my head to look at him. He had crossed the room to sit across from me, his legs crossed in front of him. He looks at me, his gaze holding my own as he gives me a small nod to let me know that he was listening. “I know I am about to die, this is how you told me it ends for people who get ghost sickness. The hallucinations-“ I shudder, my voice faltering for a moment. Dean goes to interrupt me but I stop him, “No, I need to say this. Please.” I plead, tears beginning to fall from my red rimmed eyes once again, my cheeks raw from how much I had been crying. He nods, allowing me to continue my thought. I bite my lip and lower my eyes to the floor, unable to say this directly to his face. “If this is my last day, I have to tell you. I love you. I have always loved you. Every day that you have been in my life on earth, and every day that you were in hell. I have loved you. I have longed for you and I can’t lose you again without telling you.” It’s at this moment, when the last word leaves my lips that a sense of relief floods over me. Fear lifting like darkness in the morning when the sun rises again. I inhale deeply, oxygen filling every space within my lungs for the first time in what feels like forever. I can’t explain it, the sudden lack of terror. But I am going to enjoy every second of it while it lasts.

What I don’t see, is the way that Deans face flashes several emotions in a matter of seconds. Fear, at the thought of my death. Shock, at the revelation of the feelings that I have had for him for so long. Relief, at the fact that he shares the same feelings. Last of all, adoration. Absolute awe, that I love him in the same way that he loves me. He closes the distance between us, sitting with his back to the same wall and wrapping an arm around my waist.  “First off,” He whispers, his lips brushing against the side of my face, sending shivers down my spine. “You’re not going to die. I promise you that. Sam is going to burn the body before anything happens to you. Second, I would fight though any hell to get you back, I don’t care what I had to do.” He pauses again, his hand finding solace on my hip, his thumb rubbing circles into my skin that is peaking out over the top of his sweatpants that I had stolen to wear. “Third, I love you with all of my being, Y/N. You were the thought that got me through those years in hell, nothing else.” I let out a breath that I didn’t realize I had been holding, utter relief and bliss rushing over me. I sob, every fear and emotion coming out in a rush. He presses a kiss to my forehead, his breath tickling my skin as he encourages me to match his breathing. We are both startled by the loud ring coming from his phone. He is quick to pull it from his pocket, both of us glancing at Sam’s name displayed across the screen. He hurriedly accepts the call and puts it on speaker phone, allowing both of us to hear what he has to say.  “Sam? Tell me you’ve burned the psycho ghost.” He says, his tone pleading and slightly desperate. “Yep, salted and burned about three minutes ago.” Sam responds and the sense of relief I had felt around that same time, makes complete sense. It wasn’t my confession, it was the relief of the spirit no longer plaguing me. Dean and I both sigh in relief, Dean thanks Sam and tells him to hurry back as he is ready to ditch this “hellish town, in the middle of nowhere.” As Dean ends the call, I let my head fall back onto his arm, staring up at the ceiling. “So,” He starts, breaking the silence that had fallen between us. “Still mean what you said?” He questions, his tone cautious and slightly anxiety ridden. “Yeah. I do. Do you?” I ask. He doesn’t answer, so I turn my head to look at him. He takes this as an opportunity to cup the side of my face and pull me towards him. I let out a sharp exhale through my nose, anticipation building within me. My eyes flutter shut as he closes the distance between us, his lips brushing ever so slightly against my own. He pulls back momentarily, whispering words that I had longed to hear for years. “I love you, all of you.” I close the distance between us once again and press my lips fully against his, desperate and searching. Conveying every fear, hope and want through our shared intimacy.

A short twenty minutes later a knock at the door separates us, Sam had arrived and was waiting outside the entrance to the motel room. The lock and chair keeping him out until Dean moved them out of the way. Sam is quick to enter the room, not noticing the flush to my cheeks and the shit eating grin plastered on Dean’s face. “Everything okay here?” Sam asks, relief washing over him when he sees the two of us in one peace. “Yeah, it got hairy for a moment, but after you burned the bones all was well.” I sigh, giving Sam a tight hug in thanks. A slightly awkward silence fills the room, Sam glancing between the two of us a question forming on his lips, but before he can ask it Dean breaks the silence with a clear of his throat and a question of his own.

“So, spiders Y/N?” He says, a laugh forming in his throat. I roll my eyes and chuck a pillow at him that he catches with ease.

“Shut up, it’s not my fault that I was being haunted by a stupid spirit.” I mumble and I can feel the blush spreading quickly across my face. He smiles at me, his hand coming up to cup my cheek once again. An action that is very quickly noticed by Sam, his eyes moving back and forth between Dean and myself. “I knew it, you finally admitted that you had feelings for each other, took you long enough.”

As embarrassing as it was to have our revelations displayed like that in front of Sam, he was right. Dean and I had been tiptoeing around each other for years. Both of us desiring more with the other, but neither of us taking that first step. That was until, I thought I was at deaths door. In that moment, that haunted moment, where I thought I was going to die and lose Dean forever, I took a chance and I will forever be thankful for that moment of bravery in the midst of fear.

Taglist, message me or comment to be added: @jc-winchester @roseblue373

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wandering-winchesters · 1 year

Text

Tragedy

Pairing: Dean x Reader Word Count: 3,626 Summary: The reader is used to hunting solo, yet this solo hunt does not turn out quite like she had hoped. She is required to call on Dean and Sam after she is injured. Trigger Warnings: injury, firearms, blood, death. SPN level violence Requested: No A/N: I hope you enjoy this, I had fun writing it. Please let me know what you think. :)

Masterlist

I let out a sigh, tossing my laptop onto the motel bed, frustrated didn’t even begin to cover it. I had spent the last several hours searching through local records, looking for any deaths that fit the profile of the ghosty murderer floating around town, but nothing lined up. I wished Sam was here, he would’ve been incredibly helpful searching for an answer. But I had split off from them a couple weeks ago, returning to solo hunts, like the old days. They had both argued with me, tried to convince me to stay with them., but I had insisted on going off on my own again. I had to prove to myself that I still could, I felt as if I was slipping into a pit of dependance and a lack of self sufficiency.

I had spent the last six months hunting with the two Winchester boys, helping them tackle numerous cases, which was nice. However, it terrified me how comfortable I was around them, I had told myself that I wouldn’t ever get too close to someone ever again. But with them, it was too easy to fall into comfortable dependency. Especially Dean. God, Dean Winchester. His eyes could pierce my soul if I let them, they appeal to me like a siren appeals to helpless sailors. I couldn’t resist him when I was around him, causing me to make stupid choices, I went with his gut over my own and it left me feeling helpless. It wasn’t his fault, he wasn’t doing anything intentionally, I just couldn’t help but fall further in love with the green eyed hunter every moment I spent with him. Which is exactly why I left, love had never come easy for me. I had lost my parents as a teenager and branched off on my own, evading the torment that would have greeted me had I gone to live with my Uncle. I never went to college, I hunted. Yet while on one of those hunts, I met Ian. Ian had been the love of my life, before he met an unfortunate end in a terrible car accident, eerily similar to the way my parents died. Death, followed me and those that I let in and loved.

So I had sworn off love, friendship and anything else that let people into my life. That was until the two Winchesters had busted down the door to the old house, guns drawn, expecting to find me in the captivity of a werewolf den. Instead, they found me. My own weapon drawn, the body of a dead werewolf at my feet. I wish I had been recording that moment, the looks on their faces were utterly priceless. I had agreed to help them on one more hunt, that turned into three, which turned into six months worth. I was getting too comfortable and I just had to get out. That’s how I wound up alone in this motel, attempting to crack the case in this podunk town. I laid down on the musty motel bed, pushing my laptop onto the far side and leaving enough room for me to lay down. I stare at the cracks in the ceiling, following the trail they make and trying to distinguish where one starts and another one ends. Then it hits me, I have been looking in the wrong place this whole time. All of the deaths had occurred at the local bar and I had assumed it was a vengeful spirit, but what if it wasn’t? What if it was a, shit- what are they called? I grab my laptop hurriedly pulling up the lore I had been reading earlier, my eyes scanning the words quickly, skimming until I land on what I was looking for. A wraith. They had all died under mysterious circumstances, but they all had the same wound on their forehead. A small, circular incision. It had to be a wraith, but who was it? There was one bartender, he was my number one suspect. I glance at the clock, it’s not too late to go now. I ensure it is loaded with silver bullets before I tuck my gun into the holster, placing it at the small of my back and covering it with my leather jacket. I glance around my room once more making sure that I am not leaving anything behind. I send Sam a quick text, updating him as to my suspicions, he had texted me earlier in the day just checking in with me, so I figured it couldn’t hurt to keep him updated.

The drive to the small little dive bar was short and uneventful. I checked to make sure my gun was still in place as I opened the door to the interior, the hinges in need of help judging by the loud shriek of protest they gave off as I opened it. I take in my surroundings, making note of the few people inside the bar. There were five, the bartender and four other customers not including myself. The bartender glances my way, gesturing that I can sit anywhere, he’s an unassuming man. His hair neat and well groomed, yet everything else about him is a mystery, we’ll call him blondie. I take a seat at the corner of the bar, my back to a wall and my field of view encompassing the majority of the room.

“What can I get you?” He asks, setting a coaster down in front of me. I consider him carefully, trying to determine if he was a threat. I order a beer and a water, fully prepared to sit back and wait everyone else out. The television is the loudest sound in the bar, conversations around me hushed and sparse. Most people too focused on their drinks or the television to be deep in conversation. That’s how the next hour goes, I sip my beer and observe the people around me, watching and waiting. I pull out my phone and see a text and a missed call.

-Missed call, 9:53 P.M. Sam Winchester

-10:13 P.M., From Dean Winchester- Sammy said you found a wraith? Want some backup? They can be tricky bastards.

An unconscious smile pricks my lips, the concern in his text obvious. I respond with a brief thanks, but no thanks and send Sammy another text asking if everything is okay.

A few of the other people in the room had left by this point, leaving just myself, the blonde man behind the bar and one other guy, who appeared to be in his mid thirties. I drained the last sip of my beer, setting the bottle down on the surface of the bar. I rolled my shoulders back, my upper back starting to ache from the lack of support provided by the stool that I had been sitting on for the last while. I am taken aback by another beer being set down in front of me, I hadn’t ordered it. The confusion must be clear on my face, because the bar tender gestures to the man a few seats away from me. “It’s from him.” Blondie says, a small smile pulling at his features, which confuses me further. I glance once more to the one other customer in the bar and I find his eyes are already fixed on me, dark and focused.

“Thanks.” I mutter, raising my beer towards him, suspicion heavy in my voice. For whatever reason, this rubs me the wrong way. The environment in the room had changed and every bone in my body was screaming danger. My gut said this was about to get bad.

“I figured you deserved another beer before you meet your accidental death. We knew you were a hunter from the second you pulled into town. It’s a pity, you’re too pretty to die this young. Too bad.” His words hit me like a brick to the face, my eyes close and I take a deep breath. This was it, it wasn’t one wraith it was two. In that moment, I regretted leaving the safety of numbers. Had Sam and Dean been here, it would’ve been three to two. Not two to one, with me on the losing team. I blink once more, taking one more deep breath, the kind that makes your lungs scream from too much oxygen and I hurl my beer bottle at the bartenders head. This action buying me a few seconds, enough to get off the stool and anchor my feet on the old wooden floor. Nevertheless, it wasn’t enough. Blondie had stumbled back from the impact of my beer smacking off the side of his head, however that had given the other wraith the opportunity to close the distance between us. His fist collided with the corner of my jaw he then proceeded to throw me into the hard surface of the bar. I grunt, the sheer force that he had thrown me with enough to knock the air out of my lungs. This hunt was about to go down terribly, I could handle one wraith on my own, but two? I don’t know if I could manage to take out both of them. I can already feel the throbbing in my jaw from his blow and I am dreading how I will feel in the morning, if I make it to the morning. I rest my elbows on the bar top, using my momentum to kick my feet into his chest and send him flying backwards. I use the gap I have created to pull my gun from the waistband of my pants, aim and fire a silver bullet right between his eyes. He drops, dead weight.

“NO! You’re going to pay for that, you bitch!” Blondie yells, his eyes trained on his friend who had just fallen, dead, to the floor of the bar. I turn to face him, my gun pointed directly at him. He snarls, his attention turned towards me. For whatever reason, I hesitate, my finger doesn’t pull the trigger and I don’t end him. A complete mistake, he closes the distance between us faster than I can comprehend and sends my gun clattering to the floor. His hands shoving me backwards, causing me to stumble and fall to the floor. It happens in a matter of seconds, seconds I cannot even process. My gun is no longer in my hands, but it is clutched in his grip. He points it towards me and fires, it hits me directly in the side. A scream leaves my lips, but I don’t have time to process what just happened because his body is now on top of mine, his anger clear and pulsating through him. My hands come up to defend my face, pushing him away with all of my strength, but he is stronger. I wrap my fingers around his wrist, knowing what is to follow. The spike in his wrist is already extended and it is clear that he intends to send it straight through my skull.

“Any last words?” He asks, his mouth set into a sneer, his fingers just brushing my forehead preparing to send the spike through my forehead.

I grit my teeth, every nerve in my body screaming, adrenaline pumping and thoughts rushing through me. I laugh, bitter and cold and It catches him off guard. That slight hesitation is all I need to get the upper hand, I slide my hand up from where I was gripping his arm. I grab onto the spike extended from his wrist and wrench it backwards with all of my strength, effectively breaking it in two. His scream sends shivers down my spine, the spike still clutched tightly in my fist. I pull the knife from where I keep it hidden around my neck and drive it through his skull, much like he had intended to do to me. His full weight falls onto me and I cry out in pain, his body crushing the oxygen out of my lungs and the bullet wound in my side is throbbing like no other. I manage to slide out from underneath of him, slowly and agonizingly. I scoot myself backwards towards the wall, finally reaching it and I slump back against it. I look down at the hand I had pressed to the gun shot wound on my side and wince, it’s not a pretty sight. Crimson has soaked through the white t-shirt I was wearing, a lot of blood by the looks of it. My head is spinning, either from blood loss or the blow to the head, I wasn’t sure which one. I cover my mouth as a coughing fit wracks my body and when I pull my hand away there are traces of blood there too. Fuck. This really wasn’t good. Before I could even register what I was doing, I had pulled my phone out of my pocket and called Dean. He picks up on the second ring.

“How’s it going sweetheart? Did you change your mind about wanting help with the wraiths?” He asks, his tone cheery, I can hear the roar of the Impala in the background and it brings a slight smile to my face. I must have remained silent for longer than I thought because Dean speaks again, his voice serious and concern flecked throughout. “Y/N, are you okay?”

“Mmm, I took out the wraiths, but they got me good too. Any chance you’re nearby?” I groan, trying to reposition myself in such a way that I can apply better pressure to the wound in my side. I can hear the Impala accelerating, as Dean responds. “Shit. We are twenty minutes out from town, figured we’d surprise you. Where’s the bar?” I manage to give him brief directions, doing my best to recall where exactly I was.

“I’m so tired Dean.” I whisper, the phone beginning to slip from my hand and away from my ear.

“Hey, no, don’t do that. You don’t get to do that, you hear me? You stay with me, talk to me. I am almost there sweetheart.” He responds and I can hear the panic rising in his voice but its too late. Every breath is a battle, holding my phone to my ear is impossible. The amount of strength it requires is simply too much. I watch as it clatters to the floor, my eyes slowly blinking shut. I slump forward, the world around me fading into black.

—

I vaguely notice voices, irritating voices drawing me back towards consciousness. I try my damndest to ignore them, the more I focus on them the greater the pain is flowing through my body. I hear my name being yelled, my shoulders behind jostled and my body being laid flat on a hard wooden surface. My head is placed onto something soft and I take that as permission to sleep. Yet I don’t get to do that, hands grab my face pulling me back into consciousness.

“Y/N, hey, oh thank God, look at me Y/N.” Dean is leaning over me grim faced, his hand pressed tightly against my rips holding something against it. I wince, trying to pull his hand away but he stops me. Sam’s face swims into view as well, his hand cradling the back of my head.

“Dean.” I sigh, my voice weak and seemingly coming from someone other than myself. “Doesn’t seem too bad, does it?” I ask, laughing slightly before grimacing from the pain that causes. His face is pale, eyes searching for the answer to my question, he doesn’t have to answer, I know it doesn’t look good.

“Im going to get you out of here, I promise. You’re gonna be okay.” He says, lifting my shirt so he can tie the bandage around me as tight as he can. He picks me up, a yell leaving my lips in the process. I can hear him whispering reassurances and apologies as he carries me out to the Impala. It all feels like a dream, as if I am watching from above as all of this happens. I drift in and out of the darkness the entire car ride, the whole way into the motel room. Until eventually, it all fades to black once again.

—

“I don’t know what else to do Sammy, the bullet went all of the way through. We stopped the bleeding and stitched her up. But that was hours ago! She still hasn’t woken back up.” Deans voice sounds nearby, anxious and completely grating on my nerves at the moment.

“Would you shut up! ‘M trying to sleep here.” I groan, the throbbing of my nerves returning like a wave of pain rushing over me. I hear a flurry of movement, before the bed sinks down next to me and I can feel a hand rest against the side of my face. I open my eyes, blinking rapidly, trying to adjust my eyes to the harsh lighting a stark comparison to the darkness of sleep I was used to. When my eyes his, he falls apart. Tears spring to his eyes and he breaks down before my very eyes. His mouth opens and closes multiple times, searching for something, anything to say.

“Dean, Im okay.” I whisper, my voice raspy and aching in my throat. He shakes his head, his eyes still trained on my own.

“You weren’t, we almost lost you so many times Y/N.” His words sink in slowly, understanding for his reaction lands on me in droves.

“I’m sorry I worried you. Thank you for getting to me in time.” I reach my hand up and touch the side of his face, surprised when he leans into my touch.

“He made the twenty minute drive into an eight minute one.” Sam says, and for the first time I realize that he’s sitting in the chair a couple of feet from the bed. I chuckle lightly, unsurprised, Dean was always able to drive way too fast when he needed to, a talent almost.

We spend the next few hours talking, questions being thrown at me from every angle. I do my best to answer them, but exhaustion quickly settles in. Sam notices and mentions to Dean that they should let me get some sleep, there’s a slight argument over who will stay with me. Much to my surprise, Dean is insistent upon staying himself. Sam gives me a quick hug and excuses himself from the room, which leaves Dean and I alone. Oh so alone. It wasn’t the first time we had shared a room, but it felt completely different this time. An uncomfortable silence hangs between us, neither one of us wanting to be the one that breaks it. I shift my body, trying to prop myself up further in bed. A decision I regret as soon as I flex the wrong muscle and am greeted by a screaming pain in my side. I throw my head back, my mouth opening in a silent yell. Deans hands are on me in an instant, helping me settle into a more comfortable position. I give him a grateful smile and expect the silence to continue, but it doesn’t.

“You’re never doing this again, you hear me? You’re only ever hunting with us from now on. I could’t bear it when I found you like that and I definitely couldn’t bear it if it ever happened again.” Dean says quietly, his eyes trained on the floor. I’m quiet for a minute, considering my response carefully, unsure where his words were coming from. Dean wasn’t controlling, so it wasn’t that. Concern was evident, but I didn’t think that was enough to spur him to make that declaration.

“Dean, I am really okay. It was a bad turn of events, but I have been hunting for years on my own and I made it this far. You don’t need to worry about me, ill be-“ He cuts me off, his voice raised and his hands running through his already disheveled hair.

“You don’t get it, do you? Ever since that night, six months ago, I have worried about you. I care about you, Y/N, so worrying comes with the territory. For a time, I thought you cared about me in that way. But then you left. You just left and I didn’t know what to do with myself, so I followed after you, not wanting something to happen to you and thank god I did.” His words leave me speechless, did he mean what I think he means? Before I can protest or respond in anyway, he’s walking over to me. He sits on the edge of the bed, leaning towards me. His hand comes to rest on the back of my neck, pulling me towards him ever so slightly. He leans in, his face nearing my own and my eyes flutter shut. His nose brushes my own, his breath causing goosebumps to rise on my skin.

“ I love you, Y/N and nearly losing you, made me realize that I couldn’t keep that to myself any longer. Fear in the face of tragedy and all of that.” He mumbles, his lips nearly brushing against my own as he speaks. I don’t think, I just act. I close the distance and press my lips against his own, dissolving into the kiss and I can tell he does too. His warmth envelopes me entirely, his lips, his touch, everything. When I finally pull away, my head is spinning. His words rushing through my mind, over and over again. “I love you too, Dean.” I whisper, smiling gently and I press another kiss to his lips. “Fear in the face of tragedy, how poetic.”

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wandering-winchesters · 1 year

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If this is how I go, it’s worth it.

Dean x injured reader

Word count: 1,926

Trigger Warnings: injury, blood, mention of a firearm.

Summary: reader gets hurt protecting Dean.

A/N: Requests are open! Please send them to me. If you’d like to be added to my tag list, please let me know! Masterlist

I’ve always had a hard time letting people into my life. Introducing them to the real me, the darker side of me that I hide behind a bubbly facade. The childhood that shaped me, something that very few people know about. When I was little there was no one to protect me from the things that I had to live through, the nightmarish situations that I still relive too often in my sleep. In adulthood, I’ve changed the narrative. I’ve become the protector, there’s nothing I wouldn’t do to help someone else. Save someone else. Especially those that I love and hold close to my heart.

Sam and Dean have always held a special place in my life. Ever since I met them, on a hunt many years ago. They’d taken me under their wing, Sam willingly, Dean reluctantly. I knew nothing of the supernatural until I was in the wrong place at the wrong time and become the next helpless victim of a nest of vampires. That was until Sam and Dean showed up, just in time.

They knew I didn’t have a great childhood, I’d clued them into that much. However, I would never let them in entirely. It was too much, I didn’t want them to think of me any differently. I’ve seen the way Dean already looks at me after hunts, the annoyance that comes over him when things don’t go the way he wanted. I see the concern that washes over Sam, when I come close to being injured, or when I walk away with cuts and bruises. I don’t need their pity, they don’t need that burden.

Through everything over the years, I began to love them more than I thought possible. Sam like a brother. Dean like an annoying asshole, but also my best friend that I loved with all of my heart, not that I would ever tell him. I couldn’t, he would never feel the same way I was sure of it.

So when I saw that demon smirk and point a gun directly towards Dean’s head, I never hesitated to throw myself onto him and shove him to the ground. My body blocking the path of the bullet, giving Sam enough time to finish the exorcism, the black cloud erupting from the helpless man and fleeing the room.

“What the hell, Y/N. You shouldn’t have done that!” Dean yells, anger etching its way across his face, the concern only evident from the tone of his voice. His eyes searching mine for any sign of pain.

“He was going to kill You Dean.” I grovel, pushing myself off of him, the adrenaline still pumping through my veins. Dean scowls, his hand coming up to his face to wipe some sweat from his brow.

“So what? You were going to sacrifice yourself for me? How much of an idiot are you?”

I roll my eyes at him, pushing off my thighs to stand from the squatting position I had moved into. It wasn’t until I stood fully upright and began to stretch my limbs that the searing pain caught up to me. I press my hand to my abdomen instinctively, trying to dull the pain.

“I’m not an idiot De-“ I stop mid sentence as I bring my hand up to eye level. Red. Dripping , red blood, covers the entirety of my fingers. My eyes dart up from my hand, locking with Sam’s from across the room. He’s staring back at me, shock etched across his face, but beginning to walk towards me.

“That’s debatable- oh my god Y/N, fuck.” Dean starts, his tone changing halfway through his lecture. He takes the two steps necessary to get to me, taking his flannel off in the process. I feel his hands grip my body, one going to my back, the other balling his flannel up and pressing it tightly against the wound in my abdomen.

“Sam, you’ve gotta help me.” Dean pleads, his eyes never leaving my face.

My body starts to feel numb, the adrenaline wearing off and searing pain roaring through every nerve ending in my body. I feel my legs collapse beneath me, Dean quickly compensating for my lack of lower body strength, by pulling me into his embrace.

I laugh bitterly, coughing and choking on what I assume is blood making its way through my lungs and out of my throat.

“If this is how I go De, it’s worth it. I promise you.” I whisper, my eyes locking with his vivid green ones. His eyes. I’d never allowed myself to stare into his eyes for this long, the deep green is enchanting. Pulling me in, the longer I look. I barely even notice my tears beginning to fall, I’m too focused on the way his eyes are beginning to water as he stares back at me.

I can see his lips moving, feel the way he’s shaking me gently, his hand cupping my face. Sam is right next to me too, I feel the floor pressing into my body as they lower me to the ground, in an attempt to slow the bleeding and apply more pressure. None of that matters now. Nothing matters now, my vision is blurring. My eyelids are heavy, so heavy.

“Hey!” Dean’s firm voice breaks through my haze, his hand lightly slapping my face, “don’t do that, Y/N. Don’t close your eyes. You don’t get to die on me, you hear me sweetheart?” I blink rapidly, trying to clear my field of vision. I momentarily succeed, my eyes locking with his again. I can see the absolute panic engraved into every ounce of this man’s face, he’s moving me now. My head falls forward as he places an arm under my shoulders, the other under my knees. He tucks my head against his chest with his chin, pressing a kiss to my sweat soaked hairline. I continue to fight the wave of exhaustion sweeping over me, blinking my eyes trying to keep them open. The last thing I see is Dean, looking down at me pleading for me to stay with him. But slowly, ever so slowly, my eyes fall closed and the world around me goes black

Agony.

This must be hell, the amount of pain that I’m in, the only explanation is hell.

A low groan escapes my lips, every inch of my skin is on fire. Muscles and nerves that I didn’t know I had are screaming out in protest as I try to take a full breath. I manage to inhale, immediately turning into a coughing fit as I choke on the air entering my lungs.

“Easy. Slow breaths, sweetheart.” A hand comes to rest on the crown of my head, stroking my hair gently. The touch startling me, causing me to panic and try to brush away the touch.

“Shhhh, it’s okay.” His voice rushes over my senses, calming me, reassuring me.

I force myself to open my eyes, unsure what to expect.

“Dean?” I whisper, finally realizing that he’s here in-front of me. “Am I dead?” My voice barely functioning, my throat dry and hoarse.

“It’s me sweetheart. You’re not dead. I told you I wasn’t going to let you go.” He smiles slightly, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. He holds a cup up to my lips, letting me take small sips, his fingers never leaving my skin.

“I must be dead, the Dean I know is never this nice to me.” I whisper, a small laugh escaping me, which I immediately regret. Relief floods over deans face, the crease in his brow lessens, a small smile reaches his eyes this time.

“That’s not true, idiot.” He says, pressing a kiss to my knuckles.

“That’s more like it, bitch.” I say, squeezing his hand back.

The next few weeks pass slowly, I’m never alone for more than five minutes. The boys take turns, keeping me company, changing my bandages, helping me shower, and just all around waiting on me hand and foot. Dean spends every night on the couch, that he had dragged into my room in the bunker. I don’t object, too weak and tired to even dare. I spend a lot of time sleeping, nightmares plaguing my every attempt at resting.

Tonight is one of those nights, I’ve already awoken from a nightmare. Now I lay on my side, gazing at Dean sitting on the couch. His fingers hovering over the keyboard on his laptop, researching some creature that he has refused to tell me about. Any time I have asked, it starts an argument about how the only thing I need to think about right now is recovering.

“I can feel you staring.” He smirks, bringing his eyes to meet my own, the corners of his mouth turning into a smile. He seems older, worry is etched deeper into his face, his eyes not nearly as bright as they used to be. The dark circles under his eyes, accentuated by the terrible late night lighting of my room.

“I can’t help it, you’re just so annoying I can’t not stare.” I mumble, gently pushing myself up on my elbow. Trying to conceal the wince that follows this slight movement.

Dean chuckles, closing his laptop and turning his body to face me.

“Y/N, we need to talk about what happened back there.” He stares, his brow furrowing again. So many emotions sweep across his face at once, I cant read him.

“You can’t do that again. You cant throw yourself into harms way to save me. I couldn’t live with myself if anything happened to you. What am I saying? Something did happen to you. I already have a hard time looking at you, knowing you almost died to save me. I love you too much, to let you die for me.” He wrings his hands as he speaks, his eyes moving away from mine and focusing on the wooden floor boards beneath his feet.

A silence falls between us for a few moments, his words hanging heavy in the air. My head spinning at his words, I love you too much. Dean Winchester loves me.

“Dean, I don’t think you understand me nearly as well as you think you do. There is nothing you can say or do that would stop me from taking a bullet for you again. I will always do everything in my power to protect you. Protect you in the way that I never had. You would do it for me De, you gotta let me do it for you too.” His eyes are trained on me again, red rimmed and watery. He swipes at them with his fingers, clearing his throat and maintaining eye contact with me once more.

I slide my feet towards the edge of the bed, intent upon going to sit near to him. He stops me with a look and a few mumbled words about how I better not move my ass from my spot or else.

I huff, patting the bed next to me.

“C’mere then, Winchester.” I say, watching his every move as he crosses the distance of the bedroom to sit by my side.

“De-“I rest my head on his shoulder, taking a deep breath and steeling my nerves. He reaches over and intertwines our fingers, his thumb tracing a pattern into the back of my hand. “I love you too, more than I thought possible. I’ll always do anything I can to save you. On this side of hell and the next.”

#deanwinchesterfluff #dean winchester fluff #deanwinchesterxreader #dean winchester fic #supernatural dean #dean winchester x reader #dean winchester angst #dean winchester x injured reader #dean winchester #dean winchester comfort #dean x reader #supernatural #spn #wanderingwinchesters #sam and dean #dean x you #deanwinchesterblurb #sam winchester

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wandering-winchesters · 1 year

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Nightmares

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader

Summary: The reader has a nightmare and Dean is there to wake her. After, he questions what caused the nightmare.

Trigger Warning: Mention of abuse, death and implied assault.

Word Count: 2,331

A/N: I wrote this for myself, I have been in my feelings a lot recently and needed an outlet. I hope you find comfort in it as well. Requests are open x.

Masterlist

Fear does not even get close to describing how I feel at this very moment. The face leering above me, should be impossible. He couldn’t be here, it’s just not possible. He died. Not at my hands, but I watched it happen.

“Miss me?” He whispers, the s, whistling when he speaks. His hands come up to grab my face, his touch burning my skin, although no marks appear. “‘Cuz I missed you,” He grins now, pulling me closer to him. Rage fills my every nerve, I try to strike him, bite him anything. But I can’t, my body seems paralyzed. He laughs, the shrill, evil sound bringing back all sorts of cruel memories. I scream, and suddenly it's all ripped away.

“Hey, wake up. It’s okay, you’re okay.” I sit straight up, pulling away from the hands that are shaking my body. Falling straight onto the floor, completely disoriented and unable to distinguish where I am.

“Get the fuck away from me!” I yell, scurrying backwards across the floor until my back hits the wall. Panicking, I reach around to find something, anything that I could use as a weapon. Nothing. My hands are empty. My breathing is shallow, my chest tight and my throat burning from the screams that had left my mouth moments before. The room is pitch black, but I know he’s still there. The light clicks on and I immediately focus on the other person in the room. His hands raised, to show they were empty. His head cocked slightly to the side, a look of avid concern engraved into every inch of his face.

“Hey, it’s just me, Y/N.” He says, his voice low and calm. Recognition sweeps across my body, my eyes lock onto his and I relax. Dean. It’s just Dean. He must see me relax, because he drops his hands back to his side and approaches me. He reaches down, extending both his hands, offering them to me silently. I thank him quietly, and take them. Letting him pull me to my feet and then into his embrace. I willingly sink into his arms, allowing his scent to overwhelm me. The sound of his heart beat a comforting constant rhythm, causing my own to slow. I tuck my head under his chin, resting it fully against his bare chest. He doesn’t question it, just brings a hand to the back of my neck, weaving it into my hair and scrunching his fingers. Playing with my hair in the way that he knows calms me. His other hand is on the small of my back, tracing circles and holding me pressed against him.

“I’m sorry.” I whisper, not daring to pull away or even attempt to move. I am positive that if I tried to stand on my own, my legs would give out from beneath me.

“Don’t be, I was awake anyways.” A lie and we both know it. However, neither of us choose to debate it. “You wanna talk about it?” He asks, pulling back slightly so he can look down at me. I glance back up at him, sleep still heavy throughout all his features. I shake my head, not trusting my voice to speak. He nods in understanding, not pushing me any further.

He loosens his grip on me, his hand hand from my neck dropping, but leaves the one on my back. He guides me back towards my bed, I sit on the edge, my knee bouncing.

“You can go back to bed, De. I’m okay now.” I glance up at him, his face clearly showing that he knows I am lying. He doesn’t argue, nods his head and presses a kiss to my forehead. Something he does often, even though we aren’t together.

“I’m not far if you need something.” He says, before turning and closing my bedroom door behind him.

I wrap my arms around my core, trying to calm myself. Something I have done since I was a small child, but nothing seems to stop it now. I lay down, wrapping myself up in every blanket I can find, in hopes of warming my chilled body. Even though I know, the chill is internal, not something the warmest fire or blanket could resolve. According to the clock on my bedside table, I lay there for thirty minutes, restless and sleep evading my grasp. I sigh and toss my blankets to the side, clamoring out of my bed and over to the door leading to the hallway of the bunker.

The lights are still on, someone is still up. I hear noise coming from the library and decide to head that way. I make a pit stop in the kitchen, grabbing a couple of beers from the fridge, I figure whichever brother is still awake will appreciate a cold beer if they’re still awake this late. My feet are cold, the tile floor sending a chill through my body. I should have brought one of the blankets from my bed with me, but I am not going back to get one now. I round the corner into the library and see Dean, slouched in the corner of the couch, one leg outstretched, the other planted firmly on the floor. On the couch that the boys had dragged in there specifically for me to curl up on, while I read up on whatever lore necessary for the next hunt. The TV is turned on, some old movie playing quietly on the screen. He sees me coming and chuckles, I am a sight, I’m sure. My hair pulled up in a messy bun, sleep shorts hugging my hips and one of Dean’s well worn shirts adorning my body. I offer him a sheepish smile, handing him one of the beers. He shifts his body, so I can sit comfortably next to him. He pops the cap off his beer, taking a sip before turning to face me, slinging an arm over the back of the couch. I settle into the corner, leaning back and crossing my legs under me. I look down at the beer in my hand and debate on whether I want to struggle with the lid or just ask him for help. I choose the latter, I hold it out to him and shake it back and forth, gently. “Help, please?” I say, a small smile forming on my lips. He laughs again, reaching over and popping the bottle top off easily. Handing it back to me, but not before giving me crap about not being old enough to drink if I can’t get the lid off. I roll my eyes at him, but thank him all the same. We sit in silence for awhile, watching the movie play out before us. I have no idea what was happening, but I was thankful for his company nonetheless. I feel his eyes on me every so often, glancing at me before focusing back on the television.

“Y/N,” He breaks the silence, I look over at him and he is focused on me now. His beer mostly gone, I can tell he has questions. Things he wants me to clarify and it makes anxiety bubble up within me.

“You want another beer? I’ll go get it.” I say, standing quickly and moving to take his almost empty bottle. “What? No, sit down.” He sighs, grabbing my arm as I go to take his beer. I comply, knowing that I owe him an explanation. I sit back on the couch, returning to my prior position. I grab the blanket from the back of the couch and pull it over me, a barrier between myself and the outside world.

“You were talking in your sleep before you screamed, something about how he should be dead? You watched him die yourself? And then you screamed and, god, I have never heard that sound come from you before. What was that one about, sweetheart? Did something happen to you? Something you haven’t told me?” He poses the questions gently, his eyes watching me for any reaction or glimmer of an explanation. I stare at my lap, my hands coming up to rub my arm, a method of self soothing that I had adopted long ago.

“De, I, I don’t know where to start.” I mumble, stuttering over my words in the beginning. My throat feels closed off and it is difficult to speak. My eyes flutter closed as a flash of memory floods my brain. The hard floor pressed against my back, the metal digging into my wrists, his face hovering above me. The things he had done, mostly unknown by myself at that moment in time. My consciousness fleeting in and out, thanks to the concussion he had given me in the process of breaking my will.

“Hey,” Dean rests his hand on my knee, snapping me back to reality with a jolt. “you’re not there, wherever your thoughts are. You’re here, with me and you’re completely safe.” He says, his thumb moving back and forth over my skin. I nod, clearing my throat.

“Dean, do you remember when your dad called you and told you that he needed you to come get me and keep me with you for awhile?” I ask and Dean nods, his lips curving up in a slight smile.

“A call, I will forever be thankful for.” He states and I smile back, momentarily distracted and reminded of the day when Sam and Dean showed up outside of the motel room John had left me in.

“What he didn’t tell you was why. Your dad found me, he was hunting a demon. That demon happened to be possessing my boyfriend at the time. What I didn’t realize is that the entire time I was with him, he was possessed. I fell for all of his tricks, all of his advances, sweet nothings and every promise he made me. He had an easy time of it, he promised me an escape from my family. I was desperate to get out, so when an attractive, seemingly kind man offered me that, I jumped at the opportunity. It didn’t take long after I moved in with him for everything to change. He became cruel, snapping at me over the smallest things. Controlling what I did, who I could see.” I pause, taking a shaky breath. Dean squeezes my knee giving me the courage to continue. “If I didn’t do what he wanted or if I talked back, he would beat me…” Over the next few minutes I go into more detail of the things that he would do to me, the way he treated me and the closed brushes with death that I experienced. I don’t even realize that tears have started to fall from my eyes, until Dean brushes one away with his thumb. His face unreadable, but his body tense.

“The night your dad found me, was the closest I ever came to death. I watched your dad kill him. He used one of the bullets from the colt to kill him, in the process killing the body that the demon possessed. I don’t know who he was, or anything about him but his face haunts me, almost every night. I wouldn’t be here, if it wasn’t for your dad. If you hadn’t come to get me when he asked, I don’t know what would have happened to me or where I would be now. I think he knew that, which is why he had you two come get me. Take me in.” I exhale, my breathing accelerated now, a small sob escaping my lips. The feeling of getting everything off my chest and out into the open a relief, one that I never thought I would get. I drop my head into my hands my tears flowing freely now, sobs emanating from deep within me.

“C’mere.” Dean mutters, his hands gripping my ankles and pulling me across the couch towards him. He pulls me into his arms, his hand pulling my head into his chest and pressing a soft kiss to my forehead. “I’m so sorry, sweetheart. Ive always known there was a reason for what dad did, but I never expected it to be that. The demon is lucky that he’s already dead, otherwise he would have absolute hell to pay.” He murmurs, his lips moving against my forehead, his words soft but the anger showing through them.

“I didn’t want you to think less of me, Dean. I thought that if you knew then you would look at me differently, think of me as weak. That you wouldn’t let me come with you and Sammy on hunts.” I say, pulling my body closer to his, the need for comfort overwhelming any other thought in my head.

“I could never think any less of you, Y/N. You are one of the most amazing people I know and I am so lucky to have you in my life. Please never doubt that, baby.” His words shock me, especially the use of baby. He has called me sweetheart many times, out of comfort or teasing. But never anything else.

“Dean?” I ask, my voice timid and quiet. He hums in response, looking down at me. “Thank you, for listening. For waking me up from my nightmare and comforting me. I couldn’t have gotten through tonight without you.” I look up at him, our eyes locking. I rest one of my hands on his cheek, angling his face towards me. I inhale, steeling my nerves and lean up, closing the distance between our lips. I hesitate, close enough to almost taste him, close enough I can feel his breath against my lips. He leans down, closing the distance and kisses me. It is unlike any kiss I have had in the past, its slow, meaningful and there is no hint of an ulterior motive. Just this, just a kiss. Just me and him. It’s enough, I’m enough.

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wandering-winchesters · 1 year

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Masterlist

All writing has been categorized by pairing:

Darkest Night- The reader loses someone close to her, Dean is close for comfort

Hunt Gone Wrong - The reader is injured while on a hunt, but doesn’t want the boys to know. Considering it should have been an easy hunt.

Not A Demon In Hell - The reader is taken by a Djinn, follows Dean as he does everything in his power to get her back.

If this is how I go, it’s worth it - the reader is injured saving Dean.

Please don’t shut me out - the reader deals with depression and anxiety, Dean seeks to help her.

Crossroads, Crossroads II, Crossroads III- (SPOILERS) Based around the time period of Season 2, when Dean makes a deal with the crossroads demon. The reader finds out that he made a deal, and what follows.

Nightmares-The reader has a nightmare and Dean is there to wake her. After, he questions what caused the nightmare.

A Million Times More- The reader and Dean make a pit stop on the way back from a hunt, will their true feelings finally be revealed?

Bad Feeling-The reader has a bad feeling about a hunt, the boys ignore it and she gets hurt.

Burning Up - the reader is sick and Dean takes care of her. Lots of fluff.

The Mark Of Cain - Dean has the mark of cain, and Y/N is normally the one who can calm him. However, this time things go too far.

Down Range- The reader is new to hunting and Dean takes her to learn how to shoot.

Premonitions- The reader has always had visions, but now they’re changing and causing her physical harm.

Not Yourself- The reader has been feeling off, ever since a nasty encounter with a demon.

Who Did This To You? -Sam and the reader are close friends, Dean on the other hand is kept at a distance. The reader has a boyfriend, who turns out to be abusive. What will happen when Dean finds out?

Tragedy -The reader is used to hunting solo, yet this solo hunt does not turn out quite like she had hoped. She is required to call on Dean and Sam after she is injured.

Hopeless - The reader can feel her depression creeping back in and eventually seeks comfort from Dean, who greets her with open arms.

When the Storm Clouds Rolls in- On a particularly hard day, the reader relies on Dean for comfort.

Haunted- the reader gets ghost sickness

Do It- The reader is taken captive and has given up hope of being rescued or escaping. Yet when Dean does appear, his life is the one at stake.

Don't Push Your Luck- After a bad argument with Dean, over the reader putting herself in danger, another hunt goes wrong. Will there be time to reveal the feelings that lie beneath the anger?

Sam Winchester

Never Forgotten- The reader left behind a friendship with Sam because of an abusive boyfriend. When they are reunited, will their true feelings for eachother be revealed?

#supernatural dean #dean winchester #dean winchester x reader #deanwinchesterblurb #deanwinchesterxreader #spn #supernatural #deanwinchesterfluff #dean x you #dean winchester fluff #dean winchester fic #dean winchester comfort #dean x reader #dean winchester angst #wanderingwinchesters

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wandering-winchesters · 1 year

Text

Please don’t shut me out.

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader Word Count: 2,607

Requested Anonymously: Could you write something using the prompt, “I know you always push people away, I just never thought you’d do it to me.” With a Dean x Reader pairing? I love your writing!! xx

Summary: The reader struggles with anxiety and depression, especially after a hunt doesn't go the way she hoped it would.

Trigger Warning: Mentions of anxiety, depression and coping mechanisms.

Note: Everyone handles anxiety & depression in different ways, I by no means think that there is a cure all. The things that I mentioned are simply things that bring me comfort. If you are struggling, please reach out.

Masterlist

—

Since I was ten years old, anxiety and depression had been my closest unwelcome friend. Although, at the time I did not know it by that name. It was the nightly stomach ache at eight o’clock sharp every night. The insomnia when my parents sent to bed at nine o’clock. My brain keeping me awake after everyone else had fallen asleep, every night. I never had many friends as a child, I kept to myself. Social anxiety not allowing me to think anyone cared enough about me to want to get to know me.

Now, as an adult, I have managed to cope with my anxiety a bit better. However, when my depression gets bad, it is still an uphill climb. A battle that I internalize as much as I can, not wanting anyone else to see the darkness within. Especially when it comes to Sam and Dean, they have enough on their plates they don’t need to worry about me on top of all of that. They don’t need to know that every hunt that I go on with them haunts me in my sleep almost every night. The boys are an escape on their own, just being around them helps with any anxiety while I am awake. They calm me, their presence alone surrounds me with the feeling of love and protection. Not having to worry about if I am safe, when I am with them.

I had started hunting a few years back, I was unwilling at first, dragged into it by my late father. We had run into Sam and Dean while on a witch hunt, the very same hunt that claimed my fathers life. The boys took me in after that, ignoring my refusals of their help. Insisting, that they just needed my help with one more hunt, that turned into 2, which turned into 30. Until it just became the norm. I moved into the bunker with them and took it upon myself to keep the place cleaned and stocked with food. Not something they ever asked for or expected me to do, it is just how I show my love and appreciation for the two of them.

Today has been a difficult day, I had just gotten back from a solo hunt that I insisted on taking. Much to Sam and Dean's dismay and strong objections. However, I didn’t give them much choice, getting up early while they were still asleep and leaving in my truck. Sending them a quick text to explain where I was off to, with instructions not to worry or try to come after me. I regretted my choice, I should have brought them along. It would have made it easier to handle, made the loss a little bit easier to manage. I can still see the face of the woman I was seconds too late to save. Her eyes slowly closing, her hand gripping my arm, tears slowly running down her cheeks. I blink, bringing myself back to reality. I was parked in front of the bunker, back from the hunt. I reach up and wipe away the tears that had unknowingly fallen from my own eyes, as I was lost in my thoughts.

I open the drivers door, stepping down onto the gravel. Making quick work of grabbing my backpack and duffle from the back seat. I turn and walk towards the door, steeling myself before I walk into the bunker. Not wanting the boys to catch on to the fact that I am not doing well. I precariously balance my duffle bag on my knee as I try to unlock the door to the bunker, but instead I drop my keys.

“Christ,” I mumble, lightly kicking my foot against the door in frustration and blowing a strand of hair out of my eyes. The door jerks open, Dean grinning at me from the other side.

“Wow, thanks sweetheart. I knew I was great, but didn’t realize you thought I was Christ like!” He winks, reaching to take my bags from my hands.

“I got ‘em, thanks though.” I say, rolling my eyes and pushing past him to drop my bags on the floor in front of my room. His joke, that would normally make me laugh, striking the wrong nerve. Dean still stands by the door, confusion spreading across his face. Sam glances up from his seat at the table and gives me a smile, closing the book he was reading and setting it down on the wooden surface in front of him.

“How did the hunt go, Y/N?” Dean asks, closing the door and turning to look at me. His eyes scanning my face for any explanation for the way I had snapped at him. I sigh, and roll my shoulders out, releasing some of the tension I had been carrying between them.

“It went fine Dean, I am just tired and hungry.” I shrug, walking over to the fridge and pulling out a cold bottle of water, taking a few sips.

“Did something happen that you need to talk about?” Sam asks, turning his attention towards Dean and myself, his eyebrows raised in concern.

“Nope, nothing happened. Just tired.” I say, my tone growing more annoyed at having to repeat myself. I turn my back to the boys and walk towards my room, well aware of the looks that the they were giving each other. I am sure that this is not the last I will hear of this conversation.

—

Once I got to my room and shut the door, I could feel depression creeping over me, like a storm cloud, heavy, dark and looming. I took off my jeans and t-shirt and grabbed a pair of sweats and a sweatshirt that I had stolen from Sam, it was one of the ones he had gotten while he was in college. It was warm and comforting, so I always wore it on days like today.

I turned and headed towards my bathroom, deciding a shower was the best thing to do next. I turned the water on, as hot as I could stand it and climbed in. I stood under the water at first, working my fingers through the knots in my hair that had occured over the last few days of stressful hunting. I finished washing my hair within the first few minutes of the shower, but didn't get out. I slid down onto the tile and let my head rest against the wall. I embraced the emptiness I felt, letting the hot water overwhelm my senses. I lost track of time, only getting out of the shower when the water started to turn cold. I shut it off and grabbed my towel to dry off. I ran a brush through my hair before dressing myself in the clothes that I had brought in with me.

I walked out of the bathroom and surveyed my room, messy and cluttered, but mine. I flicked the light off and shuffled across the room before flopping onto my bed, not bothering to get under the covers.

I could hear the low tones of the boys talking in a nearby room, not enough to understand their words, but enough to know they were there. Knowing they were close by was comforting, but at this moment I just wanted to be alone.

The familiar ache in my stomach creeps in, anxiety at its finest. The horrors of the hunt washing back over me, like a tsunami I can't outrun. I scowl, a puff of air escaping my lips as I sigh, rolling onto my side. I pick up my phone, glancing at the unread messages on the screen.

Sam

8:07 P.M. : Hey, I don’t know if something is bothering you or not, but we're here if you need anything. Just yell.

9:45 P.M. : Dean is getting really worried, antsy even. I would at least text him back if you want to be left alone.

Dean-

8:33 P.M.: You said you were hungry, want a burger?

9:17 P.M. : You have been in the shower for over an hour, are you alive in there?

I shut off the screen, setting my phone on the table beside my bed. I close my eyes and try to sleep. However, sleep does not come. I toss and turn, the only thing I can see is her face as she takes her last breath. I can feel tears burning at the corners of my eyes, but I blink them away. Stupid. I was stupid to think I could have managed this on my own. It's all my fault that she's dead.

I am jerked from my thoughts by a knock on my door. I keep quiet, hoping that whoever it is they will go away. The knock sounds again, this time my door creaking open a couple of inches, enough for Dean to look through into my dark room. "If you don't want people to know you are ignoring them, you should turn your read receipts off. I know you are awake Y/N." I can hear the worry in his voice, his tone soft. As if he is speaking to a frightened animal, trying to reassure it that he isn't a threat.

"Go away Dean, I just want to be alone." I say, the unsteadiness in my voice way more evident than I wanted it to be. I bite my lip, hoping he won't notice how close to tears I really am.

"I knew you always push people away, I just never thought you’d do it to me." He says, stepping into my room and shutting the door behind him. It's dark, so I can hear him carefully making his way towards me. He chuckles as he trips over something on my floor, probably the jeans I had discarded earlier. He settles himself next to me on the other side of the bed, resting his back on the head board. I pull myself into a sitting position, hugging my legs to my chest and resting my chin on my knees. His weight shifts, and I can't tell what he is doing until the light on the bedside table clicks on. I protest, but am quickly silenced by the look that he gives me. I look away, hoping that he doesn't notice my red rimmed eyes.

"Now, you wanna tell me what happened? Or should I drag it out of you, like you know I will eventually." He asks, his hand coming to rest gently on my spine, tracing soft patterns on my skin.

I sit silent, except for the sniffles that I can't seem to stop. The tears starting to flow again. I sigh, before starting from the beginning. How I had left, the werewolves that I had encountered, the moment where I realized that I had fucked up. How scared I had felt, but that I didn't think I could call him, because I didn't want him to be mad at me. I pause after my last admission, taking a breath and clearing my throat.

"All of this, was bad enough. But then... Dean... I couldn't save her, she was too far gone by the time I got to her. If I had just been better, worked faster, If I hadn't hesitated because of fear then, she would still be here. It's all my fault, I-" The tears are streaming even harder now, leaving a trail, but quickly being replaced by another, a sob escapes me and I quickly try to cover it up, but he knows.

"Hey," He sighs, his hand squeezing the back of my neck to get my attention. When I don't look at him, his tactics change. He shifts his body around so he is sitting in front of me, he cups my chin in his hand tilting my face so his eyes can meet mine. "Stop that, right now. That thinking, is how we end up with another dead hunter. You are not at fault here, from what you told me, there was nothing anyone could have done by that point Y/N. You did your best, and that is something to stand behind." He gently tucks my hair behind my ear, his thumb brushing over my chin before bringing his hand back to his side.

My whole body is trembling at this point, my breathing shaky, muscles tense from trying to stop the unwanted movement making its way through my body. I look away from Dean once again, to wipe my tears on the sleeve of my shirt.

"I never wanted you to know this side of me Dean, that is why I pushed you away. I would've been fine in the morning." I mumble, barely loud enough for him to hear, I look at him once again, to find he's still staring back at me. His green eyes soft, yet concern is etched across his face. His brows pulled together in that all too familiar look of sympathy that I hate.

“Sweetheart, I’ve known this side of you since I first met you. I have it, Sam has it. Matter of fact if you didn’t have it, then I’d be concerned. You can’t do this line of work, without dealing with those things you mentioned. It’s normal, Y/N. You and Sam are the only things that get me out of bed some mornings, most mornings if I’m being honest.” He changes position again, moving back to my side, his arm snaking around my waist and pulling me into his side. I give in and lean against him, tucking my head under his chin. I relish this moment, the scent of his cologne hanging heavy in the air around me. The sound of his heartbeat and the steady rise and fall of his chest grounding me in ways I didn’t think possible. Dean holds me for awhile, not breaking the silence. I just need him to hold me and even though I never asked, he knew.

“I can sleep on the couch in here tonight, keep you company.” He offers, beginning to pull away from me. I immediately feel the lack of warmth his body was providing.

“No,” I say hurriedly, watching as confusion flashes over his features. “Can you sleep here? In bed with me?” I ask, bracing myself for his refusal. What was I thinking? Of course he wouldn’t say yes, why would he want to share a bed with me? But instead of refusal, he nods, a small smile spreading across his face. He sheds his flannel, t-shirt, and pants. Before pulling the covers back on my bed and sliding under them, laying on his side facing me.

“Hurry up and get under here, Y/N.” He says, but I don’t move fast enough for his liking. Because before I can blink, he’s pulling me towards his chest and throwing the blankets on top of me. It makes me laugh, small and short, but a laugh none the less. I can feel him smiling against my neck, his lips twitching up at the corners. I turn to face him, wrapping my arms around him in a hug that I was so unknowingly desperate for. We stay like that for quite a while, in silence. His breathing evening out, I assume he’s sleeping, so when he speaks I jump ever so slightly. His grip around me tightening.

“Promise you won’t shut me out again, sweetheart? I just want to be here for you. Just like you do for me.” He whispers, pressing the lightest kiss to my forehead. I nod, raising my chin too look up at him.

“I promise.”

A/N: Requests are open! Please send them to me. If you’d like to be added to my tag list, please let me know!

#deanwinchesterxreader #dean winchester #supernatural dean #deanwinchesterblurb #dean winchester x reader #dean winchester fic #dean winchester fluff #deanwinchesterfluff #sam and dean #sam winchester #spn #dean winchester angst #dean winchester comfort #wanderingwinchesters #supernatural #supernatural fic

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wandering-winchesters · 1 year

Text

Burning up

Pairing: Dean Winchester x reader

Word Count: 2,412

Trigger Warnings: none really, mostly fluff. Some swear words.

Summary: the reader is sick and Dean takes care of her. Lots of fluff.

Requested: yes, by anonymous. Hey =) just wanted to thank you for writing and sharing your stories 🤍🙏🏻💐Absolutely in love with them. Are u up for a sick/hurt and comfort fic? Love 🤍

A/N:this was so much fun to write! I went with the sick side of things, I’m sure I’ll write another hurt one soon. Requests are still open. :)

Masterlist

I groan, opening my eyes, my head beginning to throb immediately, causing me to close them again. Nope. Getting up early is not happening today. I shut off my alarms for the morning and return to sleep.

I wake up a couple hours later, soaked in sweat, every muscle in my body aching and fever raging through my body. It’s already ten o’clock in the morning, yet the desire to get out of bed is none existent. I drift off again, my restless sleep filled with awful dreams. I’m slightly disturbed from my rest, when my door creaks open, one of the boys checking on me as I’m normally awake hours before. However, they don’t say anything, just quietly back out of my room in the bunker and shut the door behind them. I fall back asleep once again, praying that I feel better the next time I awake.

“Hey, sweetheart, you okay?” I hear Dean ask, sitting down next to me on my bed. His hand coming to rest in the middle of my back. I open my eyes and peer at him, wincing from the bright light filling the room.

I groan in response, turning my head away from him and squeezing my eyes shut.

“What’s wrong?” He asks, I can hear the concern in his voice even though I can’t see his face. He reaches over, and brushes my sweat soaked hair out of my face, his fingers glancing over my forehead quickly. Before he places a full hand over my forehead, I hear him let out a sharp sigh.

“Y/N, you’re burning up. We gotta get your fever down sweetheart.” He says quietly, pulling back the layers of blanket I’m buried under. I groan, fighting him and trying to pull the blankets back up. I hear him chuckle slightly, his hands rubbing my back gently. An unintentional moan leaves my lips, embracing his touch easing my stiff muscles.

“I’m going to go get you some Tylenol and water, stay put. I’ll be right back.” He says, leaving the room quietly. I try not to miss the way his hands felt on my body, the ease that he worked the kinks out of my muscles. The fire it ignited inside of me. Dean and I had slept together a handful times, mainly in moments of desperation and weakness, but never anything serious or exclusive, although that’s all I wanted, everything I could ever want. I ease my body into a sitting position, pulling my sweatshirt off my sweaty body, leaving on the tank top underneath. I push myself over to the edge of the bed, moving to stand up, a wave of dizziness overtaking me. I stand up, but only make it a couple of steps towards the bathroom before I’m reaching for the nearest object to steady myself. Which happens to be the dresser, I put my back against it and slide down to the floor. I rest my head on my knees, hoping that the wave of dizziness and nausea will soon subside, and stop crashing down on me like a damn tsunami. Dean renters the room and I hear him turn around when he realizes in no longer in bed.

“What’re you doing, sweetheart? I told you to stay put.” He says, placing the water glass and medicine bottle down on my side table.

“Wanted a shower, body hurts.” I say, my head still buried in my knees, unsure if he heard or understood me. He then crosses the room to my side, crouching down in front of me. He places his hands under my armpits and gently lifts me to my feet, keeping a firm grasp on my waist, helping me walk towards the bathroom. He sits me down on the lid of the toilet, making sure I’m not going to fall over.

“How about a bath instead? I’ll help you, don’t want you slipping and hitting your head.” He says, his hand cupping my chin and making me look at him.

“No, I don’t need help. I’ll be okay.” I protest, trying to shoo him towards the door but he doesn’t budge.

“Dean, I don’t want you to see me like this.” I say, rolling my eyes at his stubbornness.

“Y/N, it’s not like I haven’t seen you naked before if that’s what this is about..” he says, chuckling slightly before he sees the look on my face telling him silently to shut up.

“I’m just a fuck buddy, I don’t need you taking care of me and seeing me in this moment of weakness.” I mutter, my tone bitter a sentiment that I never would’ve confided in him, if I wasn’t half out of my mind with sickness. Or so I told myself.

His face falls, momentarily, confusion then taking over his features. His takes my hand in his own, stroking it gently with his thumb.

“Y/N, sweetheart. You’re not just a fuck buddy, you’re my best friend and I care about you a lot. Taking care of you while you’re sick doesn’t make you weak, it’s something you’d do for me. Something you have done for me.” He says, while his words are true, his use of best friend stings a bit. I knew it would never be anything more than that. I resign myself to accepting his help, nodding silently. He takes a step towards the bath and turns the water on, checking the temperature with his hand before filling the tub. He turns the light off in the bathroom, lighting the candle that I keep on the counter to provide a small source of less harsh light. An action that I appreciate and quietly thank him for doing. He nods, reaching to help me stand in order to take what little remaining clothing I have on, off.

His hands steady me gently, his fingers barely applying pressure to my skin, and helps me clamber into the tub. The warm water engulfs me and immediately begins to soothe my sore muscles. He tucks a folded towel behind my neck, giving me something to rest my head on and again, I thank him for his gentleness.

The ache in my muscles is improving, thanks to his actions. Yet the ache in my heart is growing, insatiable, the need for something more with this man unquenchable. I’ve had these feelings for him since we were teenagers, which I convinced myself that they would go away before adulthood. Yet they didn’t. The first time we slept together was after I got hurt on a hunt, emotions running extremely high. That’s what we chalked it up to, a bad choice in a moment of emotional weakness, Ouch.

The second time was after Sam died, before Deans deal with the crossroads demon. Another moment of emotional turmoil and weakness. Ouch, again.

The third time, was the night before the hellhounds came for him. My heart so empty and terrified for him, that I craved any kind of physical affection from him which he partially satisfied. The next day he was gone, I watched the hell hounds tear him to shreds, soul shatteringly devastating.

The fourth time and most recent, was after Dean came back from hell. We hadn’t talked about that one, but I chalked it up to me being the first woman he saw this side of hell. The first piece of ass he could get his hands on, and I was more than willing. My heart still broken from the time of him being gone. Sam had left me too, going off to try and bring Dean back but not wanting me to come along as I would “slow him down.”. Being with Dean after he came back from hell, felt different. But once again, my hopes were dashed when he apologized the morning after, telling me it shouldn’t have happened. Ouch.

I’m snapped out of my chain of thoughts by a cold wash cloth being pressed to my forehead, a straw held to my lips and two little red pills offered to me. I take the pills from him, accepting a sip of water to wash them down with before closing my eyes once more. I know Dean is near, but he’s quiet. I open one eye, glancing towards him and he’s sitting respectfully, with his back against the edge of the tub. Watching out for me, but respecting my privacy as much as he can. A gesture that pulls at my heart just that much more.

The words that leave my mouth next can only be explained by one thing, confusion and insanity caused by my fever. Or that’s what I’m telling myself, anyways.

“Dean?” I ask, lowering myself into the water a little more attempting to calm the chills racking my body. He hums in response, assuring me he’s still near.

“Why can’t you see how much I love you?” I ask him, my voice small. Almost quiet enough that I could convince myself I didn’t actually say it out loud for him to hear. That I didn’t just expose my heart completely on my sleeve for him to reject.

I can tell I’ve caught him off guard because he stiffens, his body language screaming run, flee, she’s insane. All of these things happen simultaneously and quickly. Yet the fear and anxiety of a ruined friendship is bubbling up inside of me.

“Forget it. Can you leave? I’ll be fine.” I say, closing off and moving to pull the shower curtain closed.

“What-wait Y/N.” He says, turning around to grab my wrist stopping me in my tracks. His eyes are locked on mine, questions swimming through his eyes but he’s not verbalizing them.

“Y/N, sweetheart,” he says, taking a breath to compose himself, I look away from him and staring at my knees, that I’ve pulled up to my chest. Here it is, the great let down. The I love you, but not like that. It’s me not you speech. The one I’ve had in my head a million times, convinced that I had no chance with him. But that’s not what leaves his mouth. “Stop that, look at me.” He reaches out, gently turning my face to look at him once again. His eyes never leaving my face, never wandering, his gaze unfaltering.

“I saw the way you act towards me, but I couldn’t get my hopes up to believe that it was love for me Y/N. I couldn’t bear losing our friendship by mistaking friendship for more than that. God, sweetheart, I love you more than I thought possible.” He says, his voice faltering towards the end, barely a whisper. I blink once, twice, three times before his words finally hit me. He loves me.

“When I came back from hell, you were the first person I wanted to see. You were the first thought on my mind, not Sammy. Maybe that makes me a terrible brother, but when I told him that he asked me why I hadn’t grown a pair and just told you. Y/N, you were never just a fuck buddy. It breaks my heart to hear you say that. I’ve wanted more since we were teenagers, but I was too much of a coward to seek that out. So I threw myself at other women, but none of them ever compared to you. Shit, please don’t cry sweetheart, I’m sorry.” He wipes away a tear from my face, a tear I didn’t realize had started to fall. I look back at him, watching him closely before I start laughing. He looks taken aback and concerned, unsure where my reaction is coming from.

“You’re- you’re telling me we could’ve been together for years by now? Why couldn’t I have had a fever induced feelings confession years ago? Hell, this is comical.” I say, still laughing softly. He laughs too, rolling his eyes, yet the smile forming on his face bringing a smile to my own.

“I love you, Dean, more than anything.” I say, resting my head on my knees once more, keeping it turned towards him so I can watch his expression. I shiver slightly, the water having cooled off since I got in. He notices and quickly drains the tub, helping me stand up and wrapping me in a towel. He lifts me out of the bath, his hands under my arms, before he pulls me straight into his chest. His arms wrapping tightly around me, holding me pressed against him. I melt into his embrace, hugging him back with all the strength I have at the moment.

“I love you, too, Y/N. More than anything.” He mimics, pressing a kiss to my temple before he tucks his finger beneath my chin and raises it, leaning down to press the most passionate kiss to my lips. My eyes fluttering closed, leaning into him and kissing him back. Conveying every hidden emotion I possibly can into this kiss.

“Dean, I’d love to stand here forever, I really would. But ‘m freezing here.” I mutter, beginning to shiver more violently. He chuckles, and begins to help me get dressed into the clothes that he had, unknown to me, laid out when I had first gotten into the tub.

“Back to bed with you.” He says, gently guiding me towards my disheveled sheets. Once I climb in, he shuts the curtains and turns off the lights in my room. He then walks towards my bed once again, shedding his jeans and T-shirt and climbs in next to me. His hands quickly find me, pulling me into his chest, tucking my head beneath his chin. His hands quickly coming to rest on different points of my body. One at the nape of my neck, working it’s way into my hair. The other, on my hip rubbing circles into my exposed skin. The feeling of closeness that this brings, is indescribable. The peace that over takes me, the relief that floods my thoughts. The emptiness this fills.

“‘M tired De. But I’m scared that this was just a fever dream, I don’t want it to be over when I wake up.” I mutter, my eyes already mostly closed. His touch lulling me into a sleep, much more peaceful that I thought possible with a fever running it’s course.

“Sleep, sweetheart. It’s not a dream, I’ll be here, I promise.” He whispers, pressing one more kiss to my forehead before I doze off, fully embracing the open arms of sleep.

Masterlist

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wandering-winchesters · 1 year

Text

Hunt Gone Wrong

Dean Winchester x injured Reader

Summary: The reader is injured while on a hunt, but doesn't want the boys to know. Considering it should have been a super easy hunt.

Word Count: 2,009

Not Proof Read

Trigger Warning: Blood, Injury, Needles, Swearing. 18+

AN: Requests are open! Please send them to me. If you’d like to be added to my tag list, please let me know!

Masterlist

I’m not a colorful person, the majority of my wardrobe is made up of black, gray and dark greens. Today, more than ever I’m thankful for my drab wardrobe. Blood doesn’t show in black. I know the gash on my side is bad, but how bad I’m not sure. When I had pulled my hand out from under my shirt it was covered in blood. My blood. I wince, shifting slightly in the passenger seat of the impala. Biting my lip to keep my breathing as steady as possible. Focusing on the trees flying past as Dean drives, his foot weighing heavily on the accelerator.

The hunt had gone exceptionally well, minus the small mishap that had left me in my current situation. Dean and Sam had begrudgingly let me come with them to take out a demon, an easy job. There was only one that we were after on this occasion, or so we thought. We had unintentionally split up upon entry to the house, Sam and Dean had headed upstairs searching for the demon. But something caught my attention and I had veered away from them. I realize now, that it was all apart of the demons plan to draw me away from the protection of the boys. A fact that I wanted to keep from Sam and Dean. Hence, why I was doing my best to keep my injury hidden from them. Praying my shirt and flannel would absorb all of the blood and I wouldn’t stain the seats in the impala.

I zone in and out, listening to the boys argue about what they could have done differently, what went right and who screwed up what. I am counting down the minutes until we are back at the hotel, my jaw clenched, every muscle in my body aching from how tense I have been on the short, fifteen minute drive back.

“Y/N?” Dean says, reaching over to squeeze my knee. I jump, pulling away absentmindedly, “You okay there? You have been awfully quiet.” His brows pull together, worry forming across his face at my actions. “Yeah, I am good. Just tired, ready to get to the motel. All good De.” I try my best to smile, probably more of a grimace. I know I haven’t convinced him, his lingering glance that I catch out of the corner of my eye tells me that much. He knows me all too well, a fact that I do not normally mind. However, today, I just want to fade into the background. I wish that he was not as familiar with my mannerisms as he is.

The gravel crunches under the tires of the car as Dean parks in front of the motel. After a few seconds of arguing, Sam heads inside to get us a room.

“I don’t know about you, sweetheart, but I am starvin’! Demon killing always works up my appetite. What do ya’ want for dinner?” Dean asks, turning the car off and grabbing his jacket from the seat next to him, preparing to get out of the Impala. “Hmm?” I hadn’t been paying attention to his words, my hand pressed tightly against the wound on my side, trying to gauge just how bad it is. “Oh, I don’t know Dean, I am not that hungry.” I give him a half smile, looking him in the eyes for the first time since we left the run down and demon infested house.

His face falls quickly, looking me over, searching for any sign of injury.

“Jesus, you’re as pale as a ghost, Y/N! Are you hurt?” He throws open the drivers door and moves to climb out, surely to come over to the passenger side and look me over for himself.

“No, Dean, I am fine, I promise! Just tired, today took it out of me. I will be fine after a shower and a good nights sleep.” Dean gets distracted by Sam making his way back over to us.

“So, good and bad news. Good news is I got us a room. Bad news, they only had one room open, but there are two beds at least!” Sam says, tossing the room key onto the hood of the impala, while he walks to the trunk and pulls out his bag.

I throw open the passenger door and snatch the key off the hood of the car before Dean can. "I call first shower!" I sling the strap of my bag over my shoulder and walk as quickly as I can, to the door of the room.

The next few minutes are a blur, I manage to grab a change of clothes and the first aid kit out my bag and slip into the bathroom. Avoiding the any further contact with Sam or Dean. I curse under my breath, turning the lights on in the small, dingy space. Realizing now, just how light headed I am. I anchor myself against the sink, using my other arm to slide my flannel off my shoulders and let fall to the floor. I take a deep breath and pull my shirt off, steeling myself for what I am about to see. The sight of blood is one thing that has not gotten any easier, mine or someone else's.

The cut is deep, deeper than I thought it would be. I wince, as I pull the fabric of my shirt away from my skin, the dried blood making it an even harder task.

"Fuck." I am going to need stitches. I angle my body to the mirror, trying to get a better look. The angry, red gash stretches from the top of my hip, up to the front of my ribcage. Fresh blood begins to pool and drip from the wound, irritated from the removal of my shirt. How am I going to do this? I can do stitches, sure, but I have only ever done them for the boys. The angle that I will have to work at seems impossible at the moment.

I lean over and turn on the shower, figuring I should clean out the wound before stitching it up, plus the sound of the shower would help to cover up the gasps and whimpers I cannot seem to contain now that I am alone. I grab a seemingly clean towel, from the rack in the bathroom and press it against my side. Trying to slow the bleeding while I collect my thoughts. I am interrupted by a knock at the door.

"Y/N, I am just gonna wash my face while you shower-" Dean opens the door and sticks his head in the room. Stopping in his tracks as he sees me, a mumbled apology starts to roll off his tongue, before he freezes. His eyes trained on the towel that I have pressed to my side. I glance down and notice the red tinge that covers the part of the towel that I had already used.

"Damn it, Y/N. What happened?" He asks, slipping the rest of the way into the room and shutting the door behind him. He crosses the small space to me in a second, taking the towel from my hand and pulling it away so he can survey just how bad it is. His brow creases, as he looks closer. I can see worry etched into every inch of his face. "I'm fine De, Just a scratch." I mumble, looking away from him, not wanting to see the expression on his face any longer.

"You are as far away from fine, as that can be." He states, grabbing the first aid kit off the counter and hurriedly searching for the suture kit that we keep in all of our bags. I feel the tears that I have been holding back, begin to fall. I curse under my breath, and glance up at the ceiling, trying to hold back those tears I so desperately do not want to fall.

"I can do it myself, Dean, I don't need your help." I state, trying to take the sutures from his hand. He stops me easily, a hand wrapping around my wrist. He releases my wrist after a few long, painful seconds and looks at me.

"Stop it, I wasn't asking if you wanted or needed my help. I am doing this. Now, are we doing this the easy way, or the hard way? Because if you want to be difficult, I can go get Sammy to help. And you know he is way more dramatic than I am about these things." He states, holding the suture kit up above his head, to keep me from trying to grab it from him.

"Okay." I mumble, my voice barely more than a whisper. Dean nods, gently guiding me over to the counter, encouraging me to hop up on to the elevated surface so he can have easier access to the wound on my side.

Time passes slowly as Dean cleans the lovely gash caused by my moment of stupidity on the hunt. The tension in the small bathroom building by every passing moment. I can feel the anger and frustration radiating off of Dean in waves.

"Shit, that hurts De." I hiss as the suture pierces my skin for the first stitch of many. I hear a low apology make its way from him, his brows knit together in concentration.

"Why didn't you just tell me? Or Sam? For God's sake Y/N, this isn't just a scrape. It's deep. Judging by how pale and clammy you are, you've lost a lot of blood. If you had just told me when it happened, we could've done something about it ages ago!" He curses, grabbing a clean square of gauze to wipe away some of the fresh blood.

"I didn't want to disappoint you, it was supposed to be an easy hunt. It's my own damn fault that it happened. Plus, I didn't think it was this bad. Figured I could clean it up on my own and you'd never had been the wiser. If I had just remembered to lock the goddamn door." I shrug my shoulders, immediately regretting the motion as waves of pain ripple through my body. Nerves igniting that I didn't even know existed.

"You could never disappoint me, I am just sorry that this happened in the first place. We shouldn't have split up, you aren't stupid Y/N."

He finishes the sutures over a period of time that feels like hours, but in reality was only minutes. His touch gentle and cautious, but firm and reassuring at the same time. A combination that I didn't think possible, especially coming from the older of the two Winchesters. "Finished," He sighs, helping me down from the counter. "Do you want help showering? You need to be careful not to rip your stitches."

It takes me a moment to process what he said, his offer to help me shower a first coming from him. Our friendship had never gone past meaningless flirtation, this level of intimacy something that I wasn't prepared for coming from him.

"Uhm, no, I think I will be okay, thank you though." I say, glancing up at him with a small smile. "Are you still angry with me?" I ask, my voice barely a whisper.

"Y/N, I was never angry." He hesitates, as if debating on if to finish what he was going to say. "I was scared. I wasn't there to protect you and you got injured. The thought of something happening to you, I just-" He pauses again, his fingers coming up to brush a strand of hair out of my face and behind my ear. The calluses on his fingers, dragging against my skin. "I couldn't live with myself if something happened to you, that's all." He presses a quick kiss to my forehead, then turns on his heel to head out of the bathroom.

"De, wait." I say, reaching out and grabbing his hand before he opens the door. "Could you stay, and help me wash my hair?"

#deanwinchesterblurb #deanwinchesterxreader #dean winchester x reader #supernatural dean #dean winchester #dean winchester fluff #deanwinchesterfluff #dean x reader #spnfamily #spn #supernatural #dean winchester angst #wanderingwinchesters #dean winchester comfort #dean winchester fic #dean winchester x injured reader

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wandering-winchesters · 1 year

Text

His Hands

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader

Word Count: 931

Summary: The thoughts the reader has about Dean's Hands.

Trigger Warnings: None

Requested: No.

A/N: I honestly couldn't tell you where this came from and it might be awful. It was just a combination of thoughts that I had to get onto paper. Please let me know what you think :) x

Masterlist

Since I was a child, I have always been fascinated by hands. I remember a time when I would stare at the wrinkles in my grandmother's hands and imagine the life that they had endured. The stories they could tell if given the chance. She hated her hands, they were old, wrinkly, brittle and aged. A combination of words that she would use to describe her dislike for the hands that had served her for her eighty plus years. I took notice of my father's hands, the rough calluses that reflected the physical toll that his work had on him. My mother's hands, the softness in which they would brush over my skin. Any person that I met, at some point in time I would notice their hands. How they carried themselves, the motions they carried out with their hands.

Which is why it caught me off guard the first time I had felt Dean’s hands on my skin. The first time I met him, I had watched him strangle a demon with his bare hands, not a move meant to kill it, only an attempt to satisfy Dean’s anger.

The green eyed hunters eyes were locked with the black orbs of the demons. A grin plastered across the demons face as Dean gripped tighter around his throat. I could see the rage emanating off of Dean as Sam muttered the words to the exorcism. I watched as Dean’s face contorted into one of utter fury, a yell leaving his parted lips. He only released his grip on the body, when the black plume of smoke rushed from the body shrieking as it was sent back to hell.

I had nearly crawled inside of my skin as Dean turned his attention from the Demon that had been before him, to myself. I hadn't realized that I had pulled myself into the corner, cowered and done my best to make myself as small as possible before the two Winchester brothers. Another wave of fear had crashed over me as Dean's eyes locked with mine. I watched as he raised his bruised and battered hands in a mock surrender, his knuckles bloody and split open. They had to hurt, but they didn't seem to bother him at this moment.

At that time, I didn't know Dean from anyone on the street. My whole world had been turned upside down in a matter of hours. I had been taken from my apartment in the middle of the night by the man that turned out to be a supernatural. He had gotten into every corner of my brain, places that I didn't even know existed. Brought every thought filled with self hatred and doubt to the forefront of my mind. That was before the two men that stood before me, had burst into the room. A fact that the demon disliked, his attention immediately focusing on the two of them instead of myself. They argued back and forth, their words spit at the other like bullets from a gun. I couldn't really tell you what they said, even to this day it is all a blur within my mind.

Dean's eyes had locked with mine, soothing words of reassurance leaving his lips. He could tell I was poised to bolt, a deer in the headlights of terror. He kept his hands where I could see them and slowly approached me. He had crouched down next to me and extended one of his hands, offering it to me to help me to my feet. I took it and was caught off guard by the gentleness that he responded with. The calluses on his fingers brushed against the inside of my wrists as he pulled me to my feet. His grip on me had been firm but unmistakably gentle, almost soft. His hands were no longer an extension to the violence that I had seen moments earlier, now they were a source of comfort.

Since that first night, I had learned even more about what makes Dean the man that he is. I understood the anger that allowed him to strangle that Demon the first night we met. I had watched as he used his hands for the overall good of mankind. I saw desperation in his motions as he worked to patch up the many wounds and injuries that I acquired. Felt the gentleness leaching through his fingertips when he brushed away the stray hair that hindered my sight.

The first time he held me as I cried, his hands holding my body so tight against him it was all consuming. The need that flowed through him when he climbed into my bed for the first time, tugging me into his chest for comfort. Whether it was comfort for him or myself, neither of us would ever admit.

I had felt his grief through his grip on my body, late one night, as he clung to me. When the world had gone dark and silent, his choked sobs the only noise that fell upon our ears. A side of Dean that very few people would ever see, a side that Dean considered weak.

I experienced the feeling of love in a whole new way the first time his thumb brushed my cheek. One of his hands cupping my jaw, while the other pulled me by my waist into his embrace.

I have always been able to tell a lot about people by their hands, yet I never expected to find myself in love with a man whose hands were capable of giving me the world.

Tag List: @roseblue373@hobby27@jc-winchester

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wandering-winchesters · 1 year

Text

Not A Demon In Hell

Dean x Reader

Word Count: 2,173

Summary: The reader is taken by a Djinn and the turmoil that follows.

Trigger Warnings: Swearing, mention of death, injuries

AN: Requests are open! Please send them to me. If you’d like to be added to my tag list, please let me know!

Masterlist

Guilt, anger, fear. These are the emotions flowing through my veins as I pace in the confined space of the motel room. Guilt, because she is missing. Fear, because I could not stand the thought of something happening to her. Anger, because whatever took her, was going to have hell to pay. My fists clench and unclench, my body so filled with adrenaline that my hands have gone stiff and cold.

I could faintly hear Sam on the phone with Bobby, discussing what had happened and what they think could have done it. But I cannot listen, the only thing I can do is pace. If I sit down, or stop to dwell on it I will go crazy. I will break anything or hurt anyone if it means getting her back. My body is on fire, like a live wire sparking on the ground. Every muscle amped, every sense heightened. Ready. Waiting.

“Dean.” Sam said softly, jerking me out of my thoughts. I did not respond, just pause in my steps and look over at the younger Winchester. Sam sighs, his brow creased, the bags under his eyes nearly as bad as my own.

“Bobby and I talked, we think it is a Djinn.” Sam’s words echo around my head, every second it repeats it distorts and grows louder. Djinn. The hairs on the back of my neck stand up on end, goosebumps spread quickly over my skin. Those ugly bastards. The memory of the one that had me, chilled me to my core. What hallucination did it have her locked up in. Was she scared? Was she alone? Did she think I had abandoned her? Where had we encountered the Djinn? I had not let her out of my sight this whole trip, we had been together the whole time, except...

"The bar. Sam, the bar." My voice is soft at first, rising steadily as I recall when, and where we were. "I left her to go get another beer, the Djinn must have been there and poisoned her!" I curse, clenching my hands into fists again, to keep from punching a new hole in the motel wall.

"Where would it take her?" I question, mostly talking to myself. I resume my earlier pattern of pacing, every second I waste feels like an eternity. How long had she been gone? How long had she been in pain? How long until that Djinn drains her entirely? He did not know.

"They tend to like caves, are there any cave systems nearby? We should start there." Sam says, already pulling out his laptop to search for whatever he could find.

The next hour passes so slowly, every minute dragging out longer than I thought possible. The level of fear and anxiety running through my veins, something I had not felt in a very long time. Maybe never, before this terrible day. Y/N is my best friend, there is nothing in this world I would not do to keep her safe. Keep her earthside. This is all my fault.

We had met as children, on one of the numerous occasions dad was out of town and left me to take care of Sam. The same night that the Shtriga came for Sam. She had been at the arcade, entranced by the same game that I had snuck away to play. The one that almost cost Sam his life, if my dad had not come home just in time.

I kept her at arm's length for a long time, unable to trust anyone besides Sam and my father. But she just kept showing up, she would not give up on me and I just could not figure out why. I eventually stopped resisting and slowly, overtime grew to love Y/N. Platonically at first. Over the years, we grew closer. I shared every aspect of my life with her that I could, leaving out the demons. I did not want her to think I was crazy, but deep down I really did not want her to worry about the monsters that plague my nightmares.

It was not until her parents died, an accident that I was trying to prevent. One of Sam's visions predicted it. But we didn't get there fast enough. It was then, that I told her everything. I spared no detail, fully expecting her to scream at me, tell me never to talk to her again. Y/N listened, absorbed every word, her face passive. When I finished telling her everything, what happened to mom, where I had been all of those years, why I was always travelling, what happened to her parents, I quieted. I did not dare to look up from my shaky hands.

She simply crossed the room and hugged me. Telling me that she had known something was different about me all along, and that she was grateful for someone like me, keeping others safe.

It was not long after this that she brought a case to Sam and my attention, begging for us to let her tag along. Since she was the one that did the research. I finally caved, after days of her calling and texting, she finally showed up at the door to our motel. How could I have turned her away? We were all she had left, Sam and myself.

I have known, since that night when I told her everything, that I loved her as more than a friend. I just could not bring myself to cross that line. She meant too much to me to risk losing her all together if the feelings were not reciprocated. I would rather have her in my life in a strictly platonic capacity, then not at all.

"I found it, Dean. There." I am jerked back to reality by Sam, sliding his laptop across the table and pointing to a cave system. Twenty minutes north of where we currently were.

"Lets go."

We wasted no time, grabbing the gear we would need to send this bastard back to hell. Hopefully never to return. Sam drives, which is probably a good decision. The adrenaline at an all time high as we near the caves. I am silently praying that Y/N is there. Begging any God or Angel that might exist to keep her alive, just a little while longer.

"We are going to find her, Dean." Sam says, his foot pressing the accelerator to the floor. Driving as fast as he possibly can, the need to get to Y/N just as important to Sam as it is for me.

Time is still dragging, but we eventually pull up to the spot that Sam thinks to have an entrance to the cave system. We hurriedly jump out of the Impala, wasting no time to rush into the woods.

Her flannel, rain soaked and torn is laying a few feet in front of me. A sharp punch in the face. She was here. She has to be close still. Sam sees it at the same time and nods, a silent understanding. We both approach the spot and see the entrance to the cave.

"We're comin' sweetheart." I whisper, following Sam into the darkness. It takes my eyes a minute to adjust, not wanting to use a flashlight and give away our location to the Djinn. It is relatively easy to navigate, the cave not nearly as big as the map had made it out to be. I am grateful, if it had been any longer I might have gone crazy. My heart is pounding so hard in my chest, reverberating in my ears to the point where I cannot hear the gravel crunching under my soft footsteps.

We walk as quickly, but as quietly as we can. Finally reaching an opening in the cave, wooden beams formed a rough structure within. Rope dangles down from the cross beams, loops tied in the ends. Bastards. This was definitely a Djinn. The question still remains, where is it? My grip tightens on the silver knife in my hand, the lambs blood still dried on the blade.

I turn the corner and all the air is knocked out of my lungs. Y/N. She's there, her wrists strung up above her head. Limp, Pale, sweaty and covered in bruises, but she’s breathing. In that moment, nothing else matters. I rush across the cave, my senses overwhelmed. The only sound I can hear is my heart thumping in my chest. I wrap an arm around her waist, hurriedly cutting the rope that is suspending her in the air. Her body slumps against my own, I cradle her close one hand on her back the other gently grasping the back of her neck. I brush her hair back from her face, wiping away dirt and sweat in the process.

“Y/N, sweetheart, it’s me. I’ve got you” I whisper, pressing my lips to her forehead. She’s so cold. It’s at this moment that I hear Sammy yell out a warning, my eyes snap up, locating the danger that is present. I lean Y/N up against the nearest wall, quickly stepping in between her and the Djinn that had made a sudden appearance.

“Hey, asshole!” I yell, the anger returning full force, flooding my senses. He grins, and charges full speed towards me. I grab the handle of the knife that I had sheathed, in order to hold Y/N. A fact that he fails to notice, running straight into the outstretched blade.

“Lambs blood, very useful.” I twist the blade as I speak, wishing I could have made him suffer longer for what he had done to Y/N. The Djinn falls to the floor and a small wave of relief washer over me.

“Dean.” I hear her say, a whisper, barely heard over the adrenaline pumping through me. I turn around on my heel, immediately walking back over to her. Dropping down onto my knees, I cradle her in my arms once more.

“I’m here, sweetheart. You’re okay. I’ve got you. I promise.” She looks up at me, her eyelids fluttering, exhaustion sweeping across her face.

“Am I dying? I thought I was dying, we were together in my.. my dream? It was weird, things were different-“ she stutters, confusion overwhelming her features. The grip she has on my T-shirt increasing.

“No,” I interrupt her, “no, you’re not dying. You’re okay, I’ve got you now.”

Back at the motel I insisted on patching her up myself, ignoring all of her firm protests. I couldn’t bear to let her out of my sight. Every bruise and cut, every scrape and mark on her skin hurt me as if they were my own injuries. She sat, on the counter in the small motel bathroom, the scent of antiseptic overwhelming my senses. Her eyes swollen from tears, lips trembling, brows drawn together in a heartbreaking manner.

“I don’t know how it happened De, one minute I was with you and the next, I was just gone.” She whispers, shivering slightly as I cleaned another gash I had found on her ribs.

“I know, sweetheart. Im so sorry. I shouldn’t have let you out of my sight, I never will again. This is all my fault.” I drop the antiseptic wipe in the trash and pull her into my chest. I wrap my arms around her as tightly as I dare, not wanting to hurt her any further. She relaxes against me, her hands gripping the back of my shirt pulling me even closer. I can feel her trembling, fear and anxiety still coursing through her veins.

“It’s not your fault De, you found me. I knew you would. I knew you’d never let me die. It’s one of the things I love about you.”

Her words cut me to my core. Now that I have the time to reflect on everything that had happened tears sting the corners of my eyes. How close I had come to losing her, the fear that she had experienced. Everything came flooding over me at once.

“There’s not a demon in hell that could keep me from you, sweetheart.” She sighs, wrapping her arms around my waist and slipping her hands under the hem of my shirt.

“Y/N, I can’t keep pretending here.” I whisper, pressing a kiss to her forehead. “This may be terrible timing, but I love you Y/N. More than anything in this world, or the next. I love you.” I can’t bring myself to look at her, keeping my eyes trained on my reflection in the mirror behind her.

Her hands find my face, tilting my chin down towards her own. My eyes flutter closed as she presses light kisses over my chin, the corners of my lips, my jaw until finally, slowly. She presses a soft kiss to my lips. Her fingers gently stroking the sides of my face.

“Dean Michael Winchester, I love you, too.”

AN: Requests are open! Please send them to me. If you’d like to be added to my tag list, please let me know!

#dean winchester #dean winchester x reader #deanwinchesterblurb #deanwinchesterxreader #spn #supernatural #supernatural dean #dean x reader #dean winchester fic #deanwinchesterfluff #dean winchester comfort #dean winchester fluff #dean x you #wanderingwinchesters

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wandering-winchesters · 1 year

Text

Do It.

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader

Word Count: 3,408

Summary: The reader is taken captive and has given up hope of being rescued or escaping. Yet when Dean does appear, his life is the one at stake.

Trigger Warnings: SPN level violence, swearing, mention of weapons, injuries.

Requested: No

A/N: This has been floating around inside my brain for awhile and I finally managed to find the time to write it down. I apologize for the lack of posts, I am in the process of buying a house and it has been an emotional rollercoaster. As always, please let me know what you think. xx

Masterlist

It was not often that I would accept defeat, I was too stubborn for that. I have lived my life by the philosophy that there is always another option, a way out, some way to make the outcome different than what I feared. It had gotten me pretty far, I had managed to get out of some pretty sticky situations. It was a natural occurrence when spending time with the Winchester boys, hellish situations seemed to follow them wherever they go. They made friends easily, but enemies even easier.

That is how I wound up here, bound to a wooden chair. Zip ties digging into my ankles and wrists, my body aching with every breath that I take. I can feel the bruises forming on my skin every second that I am forced to sit on this god forsaken excuse for a chair. My jaw aches, forced apart by the t-shirt that had been stuffed into my mouth to keep me quiet. The only sound in the room besides my own labored breathing was the clock ticking away on the wall. Each twitch of the second hand mocking me louder than the one before. It had been hours, I had been here for hours.

From the moment I had managed to open my eyes, I had been fighting against the restraints. Panic had been held at bay until I realized that the knife that I kept hidden in my clothing, for times such as these, was no longer there. A curse would have left my lips, if it could. Internal curses had sufficed, my brain a constant swirl of colorful curse words and a means to escape. The only thought that kept me going was the Winchesters. They would be looking for me, Dean would search heaven and earth to find me. Unless, he wasn’t able to look because something had happened to him.

No, stop that. Dean is looking for you. Sam is looking for you. Hell, Bobby is probably out looking for you. Breathe.

I force myself to reset my breathing, taking a sharp inhale through my nose. I stretch my neck in either direction as far as I can, closing my eyes and allowing a rush of oxygen to flow over me.

Think. C’mon Y/N, Think!

My eyes snap open and once again I survey the room, looking for something, anything, that I can use to my advantage to get myself out of this goddamn chair. Nothing. There is nothing within reach and the chair is bolted to the floor.

What kind of person bolts a chair to the floor?

Fear once again begins to creep in, a shroud of darkness impeding my thoughts. My breath catches in my throat as my heart rate increases ten fold. There is nothing I can do to stop it, I am truly stuck. All at once my thoughts come crashing down on me. I am stuck sitting here until Sam and Dean find me or until Gordon comes back. That thought is a punch to the gut, Gordon. He knew what he was doing by taking me, he knew that Dean would come searching and in turn Sam. It was a trap and there was nothing I could do about it.

The floor above me creaks and I freeze. I close my eyes, attempting to shut off every sense except for my hearing. Footsteps. Someone is coming, the question is who? I steel myself, my eyes closed except for a sliver. I sit and wait, praying to any God or Angel that might listen. The door creaks open, slowly, ever so slowly and I hear not one but two sets of footsteps enter the room.

“Y/N.” His voice is hushed but it is enough. My eyes snap open, relief floods over me as I see Dean. He is quick to holster his gun and close the distance between us. His eyebrows are drawn together in concern and he crosses the floor to my side in two strides. I wince as he gently tugs the gag from my mouth and I flex the stiff muscles in my jaw slowly, easing my mouth fully closed for the first time in a few hours. A hiss leaves my lips as he moves to undo the zip-ties on my wrists, the sharp edges of the plastic had already caused multiple small cuts to form around them.

“Who did this to you? Where are they?” Dean asks, his voice still hushed. It is at this moment that I remember the urgency that lies around this moment.

“It was Gordon, he got the jump on me in town. I have no idea where he went, he knocked me out before he tied me up down here. Be careful Dean, he could be anywhere.”

As I speak Dean continues to to work on the remaining zip ties, he’s on the last one when Sam quietly enters the room. Our eyes meet and he gives me a soft sympathetic smile, followed closely by a frown as he takes in the scene before him.

“Gordon’s nearby, Sammy. We have to be careful.” Dean mutters, his knife tugging against the stubborn plastic still wrapped around my ankle. I yelp as he finally gets it to snap, the plastic leaving one final mark on my skin. Dean is quick to help me to my feet, his hands steadying me gently as I ease myself into a standing position. Every muscle in my body is screaming in protest, aching from the sudden movement.

There is a loud clatter from the room above us, Dean glances at me and I nod, he immediately jumps into action, flying towards the stairs. Sam is right on his heels and I can hear them moving quietly towards the disturbance. The pit in my stomach builds again, this doesn’t feel right. It all seems too easy, they were able to walk right in and it seemed as if we would be able to leave without incident. I follow the boys towards the kitchen, slowly and every step more painful than the last. Yet the need to be in the reach of Dean outweighed everything else. I make it to the top of the stairs, my body aching with each step. I turn the corner and begin to head towards the room that I can hear the boys moving around in, I am almost to the doorway when my progress is halted. An arm slips around my waist, yanking me back roughly into the body behind my own. A hiss leaves my lips as a blade is pressed firmly against my neck, the cold steel causing goose bumps to rise on my skin.

“Shhh, better not fight it Y/N. Wouldn’t want to make you lose that pretty head of yours.” Gordon whispers in my ear, his lips brushing against my skin cause a wave of nausea to flood through me from his touch. He pushes me forward with the arm that is still wrapped around my middle, forcing me towards the room where Dean is, my Dean. I square my shoulders as much as my current situation allows, unwilling to allow myself to appear weak in front of this awful excuse for a human, well vampire.

“Well, well, well. What do we have here?” Gordon announces our presence, keeping a tight grip on the knife pressed to my throat. He presses harder as Dean whips around, his eyes locking onto the situation before him and anger overshadowing his prior expression. His chin tips down, his gaze fixed on the life at my throat. His forehead relax, but eyes dark. His lips are parted and his chest heaves with exertion, absolute fury coursing through his veins.

“Don’t touch her!” He spits taking intentional steps towards us, an action that Gordon meets by pressing the knife against my throat tighter. An involuntary whimper leaves my lips as the blade slices through my skin, leaving a deep, but not deadly cut on my neck. Dean halts, his eyebrows drawing together in concern. HIs eyes now focused at the point where the blade meets my flesh.

“I wouldn’t make demands here, Dean. You don’t exactly have the upper hand.” I can’t see Gordons face, but I can picture the smirk that is plastered across his face even though he’s behind me. My eyes are focused on Dean, pleading silently with him to look at me, but he doesn’t, his eyes remain locked on Gordons.

“What do you want?” Sam asks, stepping into view besides Dean. His hands are raised, displaying that they are empty and that he is not currently a threat. Gordon laughs, the vibrations from the sound traveling through my body due to the close proximity.

“Oh Sam, you know what I want. I want the two of you. She was just bait.” Sam watches carefully, his face calm and unreadable.

“Then let her go. Take us instead.” Dean spits, one of his hands coming up to rake mindlessly through his hair.

“No, Dean don’t do th-“ Dean stops me with a look, his eyes fierce and I understand what he’s communicating. He has a plan and I need to just go along with it, for everyones sake. I bite my tongue, keeping quiet and waiting for his next move. I’m caught off guard by Gordon loosening his grip from my body, before he shoves me away from him. I fall hard, my knees and hands hitting the wooden floor abruptly. In the moment, I don’t notice the pain. I’m too focused on getting to Dean, I scramble to my feet and close the distance to where he’s waiting. His hands tug me behind him as quickly as he can, he steps between me and Gordon. Shielding me from danger as he always does. I dig my fingers into his shirt, balling the material in between my fingers, in an attempt to keep Dean close. It doesn’t last long. Gordon demands that Dean face him like a man, and of course, Dean follows through.

Dean steps forward, his fists balled by his sides, fingers twitching to find solace around Gordon’s throat, but he wouldn’t risk putting me in danger.

I am not alone for long, Sam must have closed the distance between us, because the next thing I know he is tugging me behind his tall frame. His body fully blocking my view of the horrible scene before us. I step to the side, ever so slightly, just enough so I can still see Dean, I can’t bear to take my eyes off of him. Not now. Not ever.

A sob rises in my throat as I see what I had missed in those brief seconds hidden behind Sam. Gordon has a knife to Deans throat, similar to how he had it to mine seconds ago. But this time, Dean is standing in front of him, facing him. His eyes are boring into Gordons, a glimmer of rage flashing across surface of the green orbs. His lip twitches up into a sneer, silently daring Gordon to finish what he started, end it.

“Y/N, close your eyes, you don’t need to see this sweetheart.” Dean says, his voice barely loud enough, but I hear him. I don’t realize that I am walking towards the two of them until Sam grabs me by the wrist and pulls me into his chest, wrapping his arms around me and sheltering me within his grasp. I hadn’t realized that I was protesting and yelling at him, I could hear myself. I couldn’t feel the tears falling down my cheeks.

In that moment, my life flashes before my eyes. More specifically, the life that we had shared together. The day I had met the love of my life, so many years ago, when we were still children. It was a couple years after Mary died, I lived in the same neighborhood that they did. I knew that Sam and Deans mother had died, but I had never interacted with them. I fell off my bike in the street outside of their house, scraping my knee in the process. I had burst into tears, in the natural way that a six year old would when they got hurt. Dean was only a little older than me at that point, but he helped me up and walked me home. An act of compassion, that I would find out later was unusual for the older Winchester.

How, years later in high school, Dean beat up a group of boys that had been bullying me. Something I wouldn’t find out until after I graduated. He was always protective of me, but I could never really figure out why. We lost touch for a few years when I went to college, I would call him on occasion and get his voicemail and when he would call me he would get mine. Phone tag in every regard. It wasn’t until the day I lost both of my parents, that we finally reconnected. None of my friends understood how that felt, the loss of a parent. But I knew who would. I had called and left him a voicemail, pleading with him to return my call, that It was urgent and I didn’t know what to do. Well, instead of calling, he tracked my phone and showed up at my door. An act that freaked me out at the time, but now I can see why he responded in that manner.

We have had many fights over the years, varying in seriousness. Some of them petty disagreements that would end in playful fights. Others, volatile and filled with anger and one of us storming out. This was how I found out about the supernatural world, he had been dodgy and unresponsive. It made me angry, we had just started dating and I could never get him to give me a straight answer as to what he was doing and where he was going. So I followed him, right into a nest of vampires. That was a bad night, but I see now that he was just scared. He didn’t want to lose me, he couldn’t lose me. Just like how in this very moment, I couldn’t lose him. I was terrified at the looming possibility that tonight is the last night that I would see him alive. He could die. He was about to die.

I snap back to reality, my face still buried in Sam’s jacket. His hand is cupping the back of my neck keeping my head pressed against him, not allowing me an inch of wiggle room. I knew he didn’t want me to see what was about to happen, but I wanted to. I needed to see for myself if Dean died, otherwise I would never believe it.

I fight against his grip and I gain an inch, the ability to crane my neck enough to see Dean again. Still in the same position that he had been in moments before, only now there was a trickle of blood running down his neck, similar to the one on my own.

“Please, Gordon, don’t.” I plead, fighting harder against Sam’s grip on me, but I can’t move any further. I can’t get any closer, I can’t stop him, I can’t take Dean’s place. “Do it.” Dean spits, his eyes unwavering from Gordons. Even though I know it’s not possible, Deans eyes seemed black. Emotionless and dark. As he finished his sentence, his jaw clenches and he lowers his chin, a small grin replacing the frown that had been there moments before.

I am confused, why is Dean grinning? He seems almost elated at the prospect of his life being taken away at the hands of the evil man before him. It is only then, that my eyes drift past the two of them to the dark doorway behind them. I see a shadowy figure and almost scream out a warning, before I realize I recognize the way the shadow is moving. It’s Bobby. He is completely silent, the way his feet drift over the floor completely silently and he makes his way towards them. His machete raised high and poised to strike.

“Oh I will do it and with pleasure.” Gordon smirks, his muscles flexing in order to apply more pressure to the blade. But just as he begins to pull his arm back, to then return in a slicing motion, Bobby pounces. Bobby lunges forward, his machete slicing though not only the air, but Gordons neck. There is a satisfying and gut wrenching thump as his head hits the wooden floor. I scrunch my eyes shut, no longer needing to see what was going on in front of me. We were safe.

The second danger is no longer looming, Sam’s grip on me loosens and I am bolting. I throw his arms off of me and run straight to Dean. I wrap my arms around him so tightly that he takes a quick step back and it takes him a second to return the embrace, but he does. I let out a sob that I didn't know I was holding in. I snake my hands under his shirt, seeking comfort in the warmth of his skin. An action that we are both very accustomed to, a calming routine that helps the both of us. He presses a kiss to my forehead first and then my lips, before he whispers soothing words in my ears, none of which stick around long enough to register.

"You damn idjits, you're lucky I followed you." Bobby grumbles, wiping the blade of his machete with a dirty towel he must have found on the floor. A small argument breaks out between the three men, Dean jumping to defend their actions. It ensues loudly, until my knees nearly give out from underneath me. Dean notices and grips me tighter, his sentence cutting off in the middle and his attention is fully devoted to me once again. It's then that he takes in my condition, the multitude of cuts and bruises, the dark circles under my eyes.

"I'm dizzy De." I whisper, resting my forehead against his chest, my arms slipping down to my sides.

"I've got you sweetheart, let's get you home."

That's what he does. He is quick to pick me up, his hands gentle with me. How we got from the abandoned house back to Bobby's is a story that you would have to ask him. The second we climbed into the back of the Impala, I was asleep. My head tucked under his chin and my arms wrapped around him as firmly as I could manage. He carried me into Bobby's house, setting me down gently onto the kitchen counter. A mumbled, stay put, the only thing he needed to say. He addressed all of the injuries he could see, nearly waterboarded me with the amount of water he made me drink. Insisting that I was dehydrated and if I didn't drink, he would make me go to the hospital.

He was now fussing over a smudge of dirt on my forehead, a dirty washcloth pinched between his fingers.

"Dean," I sigh and reach up to push his hand away. "I'm okay, baby. I promise. I'm here. You're here. Let's just go to bed. Please." He doesn't budge and attempts to return to his previous task, his tongue pinched between his teeth. I push his hand away once more, holding it down against my knee this time. "De, please. I'm so tired. I just want to sleep in your arms." This time he listens, a sigh leaving his lips and he nods.

The second we got into bed he was asleep, a restless and anxious sleep. A slumber that I knew would soon turn into nightmares. The grip that he had on my body was tight, almost unbearably so. Yet I knew he needed it, just as much as I did. I shift slightly, allowing myself to be pulled even closer to his sleeping body. The love that we shared was unimaginable, I couldn't do any of this without him. I truly hope that tonight was the last time I would come that close to losing him. I close my eyes and allowed sleep to overtake me.

Little do I know, that was far from the last time something would try to separate us. It was only the beginning.

Tag List:

@roseblue373 @hobby27 @jc-winchester

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wandering-winchesters · 1 year

Text

Never Forgotten

Pairing: Sam Winchester x Reader

Word Count:

Summary: The reader left behind a friendship with Sam because of an abusive boyfriend. When they are reunited, will their true feelings for eachother be revealed?

Trigger Warnings: Domestic abuse, violence, injuries, mentions of death.

Requested: Yes, by anon. Not sharing the anon message here, spoilers.

A/N: Please mind the trigger warnings on this one. <3

Masterlist

It was a rare occasion that Sam Winchester was not on my mind, his face, his kind touch and the way he would always listen to me. I miss him, terribly. We had been friends for close to two decades, our fathers were friends long before we even came to be. My father and his had a falling out, but Sam and I remained friends. The time we spent together as children resulted in some of my favorite memories, times that I still look back on fondly. We both left for college, our schools a few hours from each other. We stayed in touch, even when he dropped out. Our communication faltered, until I had cornered him and asked him what he was doing and why he was avoiding me.

This was when I learned about the supernatural world, something I could have gone my entire life not knowing about. I stayed in college, graduating a short time later. I had met my boyfriend in college, that was when everything changed. At first everything seemed normal, he was a jealous guy, but I found it endearing. Slowly, ever so slowly it got worse and he made me cut people out of my life. He would get angry when I would talk to friends, especially other men. So as much as it killed me, I cut Sam off. For a long time, Sam would still reach out. He would call and text me, checking on me, but I would ignore him. Out of all my friends, he tried the longest to get in touch with me.

Then the verbal abuse turned into physical, it started out with him shoving me when we would fight. Then it turned to slaps, slaps turned to fists, fists turned to kicks. It all snowballed, at first the marks he would leave on my skin I could hide with clothing. The first time he gave me a black eye, I had to learn how to cover bruises with makeup. Once he saw that I could cover the injuries, he no longer cared about hiding it. His violence led to my loss of hearing, one ear now completely useless. There was nothing I could do now, everyone had left me and I was stuck. If I tried to leave, he would kill me. I had enough, I was giving up hope on ever leaving. Until tonight, we had come back to Kansas to visit some of my boyfriends friends. He had accused me of flirting with one of them, something I would never do. Once we got back to the motel, he took that as a good enough reason to beat me, my head still throbbing from the last punch he had thrown, a hard blow to my jaw. The second he shut the bathroom door, I had ran. Out the door to the room and down the familiar dark streets. My heart and lungs screaming with every step, but I didn’t care. The chill of the rain, not a concern. My feet knew where I was going before my brain did. I only realized when I turned the corner and was face to face with the bunker. I stop in my tracks, the sight of the run down concrete building and the impala parked outside almost enough to bring me to my knees. I steel my nerves, my chest heaving from exertion and anxiety, the only sound in my ears the rush of my own blood. I cover the distance to the door, my knuckles rapping against the door before I can think twice. I almost lose hope when no one answers, a minute passes and then two. Before the door slowly opens, a crack forming, the barrel of a gun poking through. I wait, unmoving, frozen from fear of the person on the other side of the door not being a Winchester. The door is thrown open, the gun lowered and its, Dean. His face twisted in utter confusion as he says my name, his eyes glancing over my disheveled appearance.

“Sam! Get out here!” He yells, his voice loud enough to make me jump. He steps to the side and gestures for me to come inside. The warmth of the bunker, is barely enough to take the edge off. My clothing is soaked and chills are emanating through my entire body. His eyes don’t leave me for a second, the gun that had been pointed at me moments earlier, tucked safely into the waistband of his pants. My gaze is drawn to the hallway as I hear footsteps approaching and Sam comes into view, but he doesn’t see me right away. His attention focused on his brother.

“Dean, what’s the ma-“ He stops, his eyes finally landing on me. His face is mixture of multiple emotions. Shock, concern, anger and utter confusion.

“Y/N.” My name falls from his lips, a whisper, barely traveling the distance to my ears. I hug my arms to my body, a shiver making its way through once again.

“Hi, Sammy.” I give him a small smile, my voice tiny and shaky. It takes him two full strides to cross the room, his arms coming to wrap tightly around me. I am caught off guard by his actions, fully expecting the third degree before he even acknowledged the past friendship that we shared. It takes me a full five seconds before I hug him back, relief flooding through me. God, how I had missed this man. His embrace bringing back a rush of nostalgia that I had done my best to forget, I never thought I would see him again. He pulls away, holding me at an arms length and looking me over from head to toe. I watch the creases deepen on his forehead when he sees the gash on my cheek and the bruise slowly forming on my jaw. His fingertips brush over the marks, questions forming in his eyes.

“Where have you been? I went looking for you, I tried to find you. I knew something had to be wrong when you stopped responding to me.” He says, his eyes searching my own for any explanation.

“It’s a long story Sam.” I say, my body continuing to punish me for remaining in my drenched clothes. He notices, gesturing for me to take my jacket off. While I do that, he grabs a blanket from the shelf nearby and wraps it around my shoulders. The warmth it provides a slight comfort in this moment.

“I’ll let the two of you catch up, I’ll be in my room if you need me.” Dean says, leaving us alone. Sam takes my hand, pulling me gently behind him. He leads me to the kitchen, my eyes taking in every part of my surroundings. Not much had changed since the last time I was here, everything still in the same place.

“Sit on the counter, I’ll get you cleaned up.” Sam says, his voice gentle but firm all the same. I comply, resting my hands on the counter and lifting myself up onto the cold surface. He is silent as he pulls the first aid kit out of the cabinet, I watch his every movement, waiting for the other shoe to drop. For the anger he must be holding at, waiting for the dam to break and his surprise to turn to violence. But that doesn’t happen, his touch is gentle as he gingerly cleans the cut on my cheek. His fingers gently move across my skin, cleaning and then bandaging my face. Only after he is done and satisfied with his work, does he speak.

“Coffee?” He asks, and I nod, eager for any source of warmth. The bone chilling cold still settled deep within me, the blanket helping but not fully relieving it.

“Sam?” I say, watching him move efficiently around the small kitchen, grabbing all of the things he needs to make a coffee. He hums in response, his eyes meeting mine momentarily before focusing on the task before him.

“I owe you an apology, I didn’t want to shut you out. I missed you every single day.” I say, my voice breaking towards the end. I clear it, pushing away the tears that are threatening to form in the corners of my eyes. He is silent, he finishes making my coffee and hands me the mug. I gratefully take the mug from him, holding it up to my face and letting the warm steam wash over me.

“Where were you, Y/N?”

“Tennessee, then Nevada, then Maine. We moved around a lot, avoided too many questions.” I say, taking a sip from the steaming liquid, I am pleasantly surprised when it is made exactly how I like it. He hadn’t forgotten.

“Who is we? What questions?” He asks, his arms coming to rest across his chest. I hesitate, unsure how to explain everything that had happened over the two years since we had spoken last.

“Do you remember the guy you met when you came to visit me last? The one from my Biology lab?” He nods and I continue, “Well we started dating shortly after you met him. I moved in with him, and-“ I hesitate, memories flooding through me from the times before things got bad. I shake my head and glance up at him. He is waiting, his eyes trained on me. Listening, just like he always did. “Well. He wasn’t the guy I thought he was. He would get angry over the smallest things, it started out as really bad arguments. Which turned into him verbally abusing me. He couldn’t stand it when I talked to anyone other than him. So I stopped talking to everyone, I had to. Even that wasn’t enough for him. He moved from berating me, to beating me.” My eyes fall to the floor, shame washing over me as I continue to explain where I had been. I couldn’t hold his gaze, I felt weak reliving all of the moments that I had kept hidden from everyone. He stays silent, letting me get it all out. I can’t bring myself to look at him, so I take another sip of my coffee. Dreading the complete silence that has settled between us. “I could kill him. I should kill him. I thought you were dead, I searched the obituaries for your name every day, for months.” Sam finally says, crossing the room to stand directly in front of me. His hands land on my knees, his thumbs rubbing circles on my skin through the thick fabric of my jeans. I look up at him, his words catching me completely off guard. My lip trembles and before I can stop them, tears are falling quickly. He frowns, and pulls my head into his chest. His arms coming to wrap around me again as I slide down from the counter, allowing myself to be swallowed in his embrace. “I am so sorry, I missed you, Sam. Every day.” I exhale, a sob following shortly behind. He strokes my back, his touch and smell something that I never fully comprehended how much I had missed them.

“It’s okay, I’ve got you now and nothing will change that.” He says, pressing a kiss to the top of my hair.

The few hours are spent together, he gives me dry clothes to change into and leaves me to take a shower. He sits outside the bathroom door, giving me my privacy but he is close enough for me to know he is still there. I take my time in the shower, enjoying the warmth that it brings. After my shower I join him in his room and we spend hours catching up, taking turns listening intently to the other. Even though so much time had passed, it felt like nothing when we started thinking back to our many shared adventures. It had been a long time coming, this reunion I had dreamed of but never thought would happen. That night we share a bed, not the first time it had happened and I’m sure it won’t be the last. We doze off between conversation, exhaustion taking over shortly after the blankets come to rest covering our bodies. Sam is there when I wake, sweat soaked and screaming. He is quick to pull me into his embrace and remind me that I’m safe. His arms are wrapped tightly around me, lips pressed to my forehead as he murmurs comforting words against my skin. The sense of safety lulls me back to sleep and just before I’m swallowed up by the darkness it brings I hear him whisper four words that will change the rest of our lives for the better.

“I love you, Y/N.”

tag list: @roseblue373

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