wandering-winchesters - Tumblr blog

wandering-winchesters · 9 months

Text

Take Me Back

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader

Word Count: 2,442

Summary: Based on the song, The Night We Met by Lord Huron, might be multiple parts dependent on how this one goes over.

Trigger Warnings: None really, language and angst.

A/N: I apologize for how long it has been since I have posted. It has honestly been a crazy month. After closing on my house, my grandfather passing away, getting everything settled... My husband and I found out that we are expecting our first child. So, it has been a crazy time. I hope you enjoy this fic, it has been bouncing around my brain for awhile.

All of You

Laughter erupts from my parted lips, Deans fingertips digging into the curve of my waist. His movements causing me to almost drop the jar of sauce that I am holding.

“You’re an ass, De.” I chuckle, swatting his hands away from my side where he was just tickling my skin.

“Mmm no, but you have a nice one.” He grins followed by a smirk as he grabs a handful of my ass through the fabric of my jeans. I again, swat his hand away. I roll my eyes at him and return to the spot I had been standing before he decided to annoy me. “I am trying to make you dinner here, idiot. The more you pester me, the longer it will take me to finish this damn lasagna.” I finish layering the sauce on top of the noodles and sprinkle the mozzarella cheese on top, before Dean gets in my way again. He reaches into the bag of cheese and pinches some between his fingers, before dropping it into his open mouth. He repeats the action, but instead of placing in his mouth, he drops it onto my head, a shit eating grin plastered across his face. I swear under my breath, sliding the lasagna into the oven and turning on my heel. A towel gripped in my hand, I start to twirl it around with the intention of smacking him in the leg with it, but he sees my plan and stops me by pinning my wrist to my side.

“Oh no you don’t, I know that trick all too well.” He laughs, presses a kiss to my forehead and draws me into his arms. Our laughter settles, turning to small chuckles and then silence. I rest my forehead against his chest and inhale deeply, taking in every ounce of him. Every second of this moment, the peace not something to take for granted.

“I love you.” I whisper, snuggling closer to him.

“I love you, more.” Dean replies, pressing a kiss to the top of my head.

Most of You

"You're not coming, Y/N. It's too dangerous, that's my final answer." Dean growls, his back turned to me as he angrily zips up his duffle. The cloth of his t-shirt gettings caught in the zipper, his anger towards me coming out on his belongings.

"Since when, is that for you to decide Dean? You are not in charge of me. You never have been, you never will be." I bite back, harshly wiping away the tears that had formed at the corner of my eyes. "I might not be as good as you, or as strong as you, but I am not and idiot!" I yell, my voice growing louder with every word that I threw back at him. My body is shaking, anger pulsing through my veins. Its at that moment that I can see his demeanor completely change, his shoulders drop and his face softens towards me.

"Y/N, I don't think you're an idiot. Sweetheart, I just don't want you to get hurt. That's all, there have been too many close calls recently and I couldn't bear it if anything happened to you." His hands rub my arms, gently bringing warmth back to my skin. I nod, his words still stung but the anger was beginning to subside.

"I love you, sweetheart, please just stay here." I did as he asked, again. The amount of time that I had spent alone recently, was absurd. His overprotectiveness had become overbearing. It was cute at first, but now it was suffocating. Even when he was home and we were together, it was nothing like it used to be.

Some of You

The motel bed quickly grew cold, the sheets no longer radiating the heat from Deans sleeping body. I wince, pulling myself up into a sitting position and carefully propping up against the bed-frame. My ribs sore and radiating pain from where I had been thrown up against the wall, by a less than friendly casper. I had talked Dean into letting me come with him, since Sam was otherwise occupied. It had been a job to convince him to let me come, he had insisted it was a bad idea. That I could get hurt. Or that something worse could happen. I had insisted on coming with him, the desire to be near him outweighed the risks in my mind. He had eventually given in, my puppy dog eyes and the promise of cuddling him every night was enough to get my way. However, I don't think it will ever be enough to convince him again. I had been distracted, for half a second, which gave the spirit a moment to swoop in and throw me across the room. It had knocked me unconscious, Dean's voice and hands shaking me awake. His eyes wide and full of absolute fear.

He hadn't said much to me since then, he had brought me back to the motel, cleaned my wounds and insisted that we went to bed. I tossed and turned most of the night, until Dean got up and took a shower. I let my head fall back against the wall, inhaling a deep breath and steeling my nerve for when Dean emerges from the bathroom.

He finally does, his eyes locking with mine almost immediately.

"Hi," I whisper, giving him a small smile. One that he doesn't return, he rolls his eyes and turns his back to me in order to finish getting dressed. My heart jumps to my throat, hurt rising from his blatant attitude of anger towards me.

"Dean, you cant ignore me forever." I say, hoping to get him to engage with me in any form of communication. I brace myself for his response, knowing that it isn't going to be a kind reaction. "I told you that it wasn't a good idea for you to come with me! Y/N, I knew something like this would happen! You got hurt, this is why I didn't want you to come! You're so clumsy and you were distracted and if I hadn't been there, you would have died!" Dean snaps, his eyes dark and cold. The love that they used to hold for me no longer at the forefront of his gaze.

"Dean, it was an accident. Accidents happen, I'm okay baby." I whisper, silently begging him to look at me. But it didn't work, the silent treatment still his most used tactic.

We left the motel a few hours later, silence still hanging between us and headed back to the bunker. No matter what I tried, he was just quiet. He was angrier now, meaner and nowhere near as gentle with me. The question of what changed floated through my head on a constant, the answer hanging just out of reach.

None of You

I set my final box down, inside the doorway to the apartment. It feels cold and empty, an unforgiving space that I would do anything to leave behind. The bunker had been my home for years and the thought of going back to living alone was a depressing and painful thought. Dean simply didn't love me anymore, the words had come straight from his mouth. Whether they were from anger or fear, I never let him explain. We had been fighting too often, his words were no longer kind and understanding, they were brutal and designed to hit me where it hurts. He had become bitter and mean, the man that I had fallen in love with had changed, no matter how hard I tried to stop it. I clung to the good, but it just wasn't enough.

I slid down the wall, my back pressed against it, bringing my knees to my chest. I pull my phone from my pocket, the lock screen still the picture of Dean leaning against the Impala. On one of the days where we had managed to have a few minutes of peace. The calm before the ever present storm.

4:57 P.M. Sam: hey, all your stuff is gone. Dean is drunk and won't talk to me. Are you okay? 7:15 P.M. Sam: Y/N, please just let me know you are okay. I won't say a word to Dean if that's what it takes. I'm worried. 8:17 P.M. Y/N: I'm okay Sam. I moved out. I'll let him tell you why.

I turned my phone off, ignoring the several missed calls from Dean's cellphone and the dozen or so voicemails that he had left. It was too little too late, his words from our last fight still stung.

For so long, it had been Dean and I against everything. The demons of this world and the next. Until one day, where everything changed. The other shoe finally dropped and it was me against him.

I have to figure out how to stand on my own two feet once again, as painful as it is.

Take me back, to the night we met.

“I need another, please.” I slide my empty glass towards the bartender behind the counter. The ice clinks against the glass, a reminder of the margarita that I had quickly finished. The bartender nods, grabbing my empty and quickly replacing it with another. I thank him and continue to scroll aimlessly through my phone, sipping from the cold liquid, the liquor just strong enough to sting as it goes down. The pit in my stomach, slowly decreasing as the liquor dulls my sense.

“Bad day?” It’s at that moment, that I notice the man sitting to my left. I look at him for a second, taking in the sight before my eyes. He’s tall, from the look of it. His legs are long, stretched down to the floor instead of the footrest on the barstool. His eyes are a piercing green, to the point where if I didn’t know better, I would say that he was staring into my soul. I blink again, shaking my head slightly to clear my thoughts.

“One of the worst I’ve had as of late.” I sigh, resorting to taking another sip of my drink. He chuckles and slides over to the barstool directly next to mine. He signals to the bartender to get both of us another drink, even though I have barely made a dent on my current one.

“Tell me about it.” He says, his directness catches me off guard. I look at him again, scanning his face for any kind of deception or bad intention. Yet, there is none. I find myself yearning to trust him, even though he is a total stranger to me. His demeanor one that just pulls you in as soon as you lay eyes on them.

“Why? Are you going to drug me and take me hostage?” I ask, placing my elbow on the bar and swiveling my stool in such a way that I can look at him without having to crane my neck. He laughs again, clear and deep. His eyes crinkling in the most attractive way possible. “Dammit, Sweetheart, you have foiled my oh so evil plan.” He hesitates, looking at me, studying me. “But really, why is such a pretty woman having such a shit day?” I hesitate, killing time by taking a long sip from my margarita, I brush the hair back out of my face and look at him once again.

“I lost my job. Something about ‘budget cuts’, but in reality it’s because I wouldn’t sleep with my boss.” I expect him to tease me, call me a prude and then a slut in the same sentence.

“Want me to go beat him up for you? I will, no strings.” He offers, the look on his face incredibly serious. I laugh, expecting him to join in, but he doesn’t.

“You know what rubs salt in the wound?” I ask and he raises an eyebrow, taking a sip of his beer. “When I turned him down, he called me a whore. Told me I was ugly and wasn’t worth his time. Which is just ridiculous, he had spent months harassing me.” I shake my head, draining the last of my second drink and turning to the third, the one mystery green eyes bought for me.

“Well, if I ever run into this asshole, which I hope that I do, I will make sure he knows who the bad guy is. I’m sorry you had to deal with him. He doesn’t deserve an ounce of your time or concern.” His words are sharp, but pointed and direct. Yet they make me feel slightly better about the bad day I had been having. “What’s your name, green eyes?” I ask him, changing the subject in an attempt to keep him invested in our conversation.

“Dean, yours?” He responds, his body bladed towards my own, eyes never leaving my face.

“Y/N.”

We talked for hours at that bar, until last call. The conversation ranging from light and humorous, to the darker parts of our lives that weren’t often discussed. For such a gorgeous man who I gladly would’ve accepted one night with, it seemed as though fate would have it another way. He insisted on driving me home, stating that I was much too intoxicated to walk home. I didn’t argue, he was right. I had continued drinking long after he switched from beer to water. Even though I knew the dangers of getting into a strangers car, they didn’t phase me. I already felt safe with him, even though I couldn’t put a finger on why.

“Do you wanna come in?” I asked him, my fingers hooked into the pockets on his jacket. A motion intended to draw myself closer to him, but the alcohol in my veins had different plans. I wobbled, dangerously near falling off my porch. Dean gripped my forearms, tugging me tight against his chest to stop me from falling. A motion that caused a wave of dizziness to sweep across my sense, once I regained composure I looked up at him. His green eyes focused on my face, I could feel his want for me in this moment. He smiled, kissed my forehead and gently pushed me towards my front door.

“Not tonight, you are too drunk for me to feel comfortable taking what I want from you.” He says, a sentence that ignites every inch of my body. He wants me. He respects me. I nod, thank him for bringing me home and head inside. Little did I know, that meeting this tall green eyed man, would change the course of my life. Forever.

Tag List:

@roseblue373 @jc-winchester @hobby27 @mishreem

125 notes · View notes

wandering-winchesters · 10 months

Text

Some precious Dean x reader comfort. ❤️

Let It Out

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader

Note: this wasn't requested, this is just purely self indulgent. It's basically just my thoughts right now but in a world where Dean's there. I'm feeling kind of sad and just needed some Dean comfort, so this all came out in the space of an hour or so. There are most likely mistakes, but it did its job and I feel better now so I don't really care 🤷‍♀️

Masterlist

Story

[Y/N] sat at one of the tables in the bunker's library, she had a selection of the library's books on vampires laid out in front of her. Sam and Dean were out on a vampire hunt, but she'd decided to stay back this time. The Winchesters were the best hunters she'd ever heard of, and they'd taken her in not too long ago. She had been a hunter nearly all her life too, and she was good, just maybe not as good or as well known as the brothers. For the most part, [Y/N] was happy with her life. She was good at what she did, she saved lives, made the world a better place one monster at a time. Other hunters always complimented her when they worked together, she was knowledgeable, people looked to her for advice and valued her opinion on hunts. She lived with her two best friends, who she held very close to her heart. She loved staying up late researching with Sam, and she loved having Scooby Doo marathons with Dean. She lived in a warded, almost impenetrable bunker filled with all sorts of secrets, the answers to any supernatural question within her reach. Objectively, she had it pretty good.

However, she'd been struggling a little bit recently. Nothing that would make the boys notice, she wasn't really one to talk about her feelings, much like Dean in that regard. Just... little things. She wasn't anyone's first choice. Dean would always choose Sam, Sam would always choose Dean. Everyone she knew had their own person; someone who they'd choose over anyone else, someone they loved the most, someone they cared for the most, someone they couldn't live without. No one she knew had her in that position. [Y/N] didn't really have anyone in that position either. As she sat at the table, books at the ready in case one of the boys needed something, she wondered about who she would choose if she had to. Not even in a life or death situation, but say if they both called her at the same time. Would she really choose one over the other every time? Would she always answer Dean first, or always answer Sam first? Would it make a difference? She wasn't even sure if she really cared anymore.

Apart from that, she also felt a bit not needed recently too. She knew Sam wouldn't need to call her to ask her about vampire lore, he'd killed hundreds of them at this stage. Dean, having nearly become a vampire himself at one stage, obviously didn't need lore help on a vamp hunt either. He knew how to chop heads off. They didn't need her out there either, the two of them were more than enough to take down what sounded like a small nest themselves. She actually felt a little bit stupid, sitting there with the books out, phone sitting on the table after she'd double checked it wasn't on mute. They weren't going to need her for this. She hadn't received a notification at all since the previous night when Dean had sent her a quick 'made it to the motel, be back in a few days' text. She'd sent the boys a text earlier that day to tell them to let her know if they needed anything. They'd both read it. They hadn't responded. Of course they didn't need anything, not from her, they were the Winchesters.

She sat there staring at the old pages from the book she had open right in front of her, not taking anything in, just letting these thoughts go round and round in her head. It wasn't enough. It wasn't enough to justify feeling sad. She had everything she needed, nothing bad had happened. No one had said anything mean to her. She had no right feeling sorry for herself about not being Dean Winchester's number one priority. Still, she couldn't help but let her mind wander to different scenarios. What if she decided to just up and leave? Live on the road like she used to, go on solo hunts or meet up with a different hunter in every city. Would the boys ask her to come back? Or would they just wish her well, an 'it was nice having you, call us any time' sort of deal? She wasn't family, she wasn't like Cas, or Bobby. She wasn't even like Jody or Donna, she hadn't known them that long. She'd only ended up living in the bunker because she didn't have a place of her own, and Sam had suggested she take a room there after they'd gone on a few hunts together. The domesticity of her relationship with the boys was only out of convenience. The movie nights, late night celebrations at the bar, research days, game nights, long drives... they'd all go on whether or not she was there.

It was 2am when she realised her eyes were slightly stinging, dry from her blank staring, slightly aching from her effort to not give in to the sadness and start crying. Her back felt a bit stiff from sitting in the hard chair for hours too. She grabbed the book right in front of her and migrated to the couch in the back of the library, moving almost in autopilot, the self pitying thoughts still occupying most of her mind. She lay down on her back for a few minutes, trying to stretch out and relieve some of the tension she'd built up over the course of the day. With a sigh, she rolled over to her side and propped her head up with her elbow, leaning on the armrest. She had the book open in front of her on the couch, and she lazily flicked through the pages, still not really taking anything in. The tiredness had taken over and her eyes had been long closed by the time her phone buzzed from the table.

***

"No answer?" Dean asked from the drivers side, and Sam shook his head. "Try calling her, we're gonna be passing the diner in about five minutes".

"Right, yeah I'll call her now". Sam lifted his phone up to his ear and waited, but it rang out, a familiar voice telling him to leave a message. "Nope, nothing".

"That's not like her, what time is it? 1? 2?" Dean began tapping his fingers against the steering wheel as he stopped at a traffic light.

"Just after 1pm, yeah. Maybe she's out and didn't bring her phone?"

"She never goes anywhere without her phone Sammy".

"Well maybe she's in the shower or something? Let's just stop in the diner anyway and pick up lunch, she always orders the same thing, we'll just get that". Sam watched as Dean's focus was glued to the traffic light, clearly ready to go as soon as it turned green. "Or if you're anxious about getting back, we can skip the diner". Sam tried to keep the disappointment out of his voice as he suggested this. He'd been looking forward to some food all day, having left their motel very early that morning. Dean had texted [Y/N] to tell her they'd finished up the hunt and were on their way home several hours ago, but she hadn't read it yet. Their plan was to stop in their favourite local diner on the way back and get some hot food for lunch, and Sam had texted [Y/N] to ask if she wanted anything, but she hadn't responded to him either, hadn't even read his text.

"I think we should just get back, you can go back out for food if you want". Dean floored it the second the light turned green, pushing Sam back into his seat. He looked at the determination in his brother's face and knew there was no point arguing. Dean hadn't said anything, but Sam knew how he felt about [Y/N]. She might not have noticed it, but Sam always caught Dean's lingering glances, the longing in his eyes as he listened to [Y/N]'s stories, the blush on his cheeks when she complimented him on something. Sam didn't know if they'd ever spoken to each other about something more than friendship, but secretly he shipped them. He knew [Y/N] would be good for Dean, she brought out a lighter side of him. He was more comfortable in his own skin around her, he was more enthusiastic about taking a break from hunting when she was there to spend time with, he was more likely to open up to her when something was on his mind. Sam was actually planning on asking [Y/N] about Dean, he wanted to see if he could get something started with them and he knew he'd probably have a better chance if he started with [Y/N].

"Yeah okay, sure". Sam pressed his hand onto his stomach to muffle the grumbling coming from it, and stared out the window as he watched the bunker come into view. As soon as Dean parked the car, he was out and taking two steps at a time down the bunker's staircase, immediately searching for [Y/N]. He went straight to her room, but the door was open and she wasn't in there. He checked the kitchen but she wasn't there either, and she wasn't in the Dean Cave. He called her name out as he wandered around the bunker, but there was no response. Working up into a bit of a panic, finally, he walked through to the library, noting the spread of books on the table. A soft snore brought his attention to the couch, where she was curled up, sleeping on top of an open book. His shoulders dropped in relief to see that she was okay.

He quietly walked over and crouched down in front of her, carefully slipping the book out from under her head. He pressed the back of his hand to her forehead, trying to see if she had a temperature. It wasn't like [Y/N] to be sleeping on the couch in the middle of the day, especially when she hadn't answered her phone from the morning either. His hand on her head stirred her, and her eyes fluttered open, slowly focusing on his face. "Hey Sweetheart". He gave her a smile and moved his hand from her forehead down to push her hair out of her face. "You feeling okay?" He kept his voice low, not wanting to disturb her any more than he had to. If it was Sam laying there, he would've thrown something at him or poked him. He had a soft spot for [Y/N] though, he couldn't help it, he felt a need to be gentle with her. She slowly shook her head and looked away from him. "You wanna tell me what's wrong?" He asked but she shook her head again. "What time did you go to sleep at?" She shrugged.

"You didn't need me". She mumbled, glancing at the books on the table, and Dean watched as a tear trickled down her cheek, instantly causing his heart to ache.

"Sweetheart, there was only one vampire, I didn't even need Sam there. We were in and out in twenty minutes, that's why we're back so early".

"Only one?" She sniffed, still not making eye contact with him.

"Yeah, only one. Not the brightest either". He chuckled lightly.

"Oh, okay". She whispered.

"I need you, you know that". He tucked a loose strand of her hair behind her ear. "Is that why you didn't want to come on the case? You don't feel needed?". She bit her lip, trying to hide the fact that it was quivering, and nodded her head. "Okay. Come on, sit up for me". Dean gripped her shoulders and pulled her up into a sitting position before sitting down next to her. "I'm not Sam, so you know I'm not great at this sort of thing, but uh, do you wanna talk about it? About how you're feeling I mean". He wrapped an arm around her shoulder, and she shook her head. "That's okay, that's cool". He wasn't quite sure what to do other than just sit there with her, so that's what he did. They sat in silence for a few minutes before Dean noticed that she was starting to lean into him, her head resting on his shoulder, and her breathing quite shaky. He knew she was crying, and he couldn't take it.

"Okay, come here". He took his arm back from around her shoulders and pushed himself off the couch, kneeling back down in front of her. Before she had a chance to ask what he was doing, he gently grabbed her waist and pulled her forward on the couch, her legs making room for him between them as he enveloped her in a hug. She instantly wrapped her arms around his neck, and he placed one of his hands on the back of her head, pushing it into his neck while he kept his other hand tight around her waist. "Let it out, I'm here".

She wasn't waiting for his permission, but as soon as he gave the command she lost all control and began to sob, her body shaking as she grabbed fistfulls of the back of his flannel, clinging to him. He just held her and ran his hands up and down her back. "You're okay, you're okay". He whispered into her ear as he brought a hand up to stroke her hair. "You mean the world to me, you make everything better, let me make you feel better too". He kissed her temple and pulled back slightly to look at her face once her shaking calmed down a bit and she'd caught her breath. "You tired?" He whispered and she nodded. "Okay, let's go". She didn't have time to react before he'd hooked his arms under her thighs and stood up with her, her legs wrapped around his waist and her arms around his neck. He kept his hands under her thighs as he began to walk, carrying her out of the library. She leaned her chin on his shoulder, her cheek pressed against the warmth of his neck, feeling the slight tickle of his stubble as he walked. She watched the library disappear behind them as he made his way towards the bedrooms, a small bubble of excitement taking over from the sadness as she watched him skip her room and push open the door to his.

[Y/N] had been in Dean's room before, but she'd never been in his bed. For all of his boasting about having the best bed in the bunker, he'd never shared it with anyone and had never let anyone try it. He reached down with her still in his arms to pull the covers back before laying her down, the softness of the memory foam instantly making her understand why he talked about his bed so much. She turned onto her side and she breathed in, calmed by the scent of his shampoo in the pillow. She looked up to him as he turned away to kick off his boots, and she watched in silence as he shrugged off his flannel and pushed his jeans down, leaving him in his boxers. It must have been an easy twenty minutes with the vampire, she couldn't see any new marks on him as she admired his back.

Dean turned back to the bed and sat down on the edge facing her. "Is this okay?" He asked as he looked to the space in the bed beside her. They'd only ever shared a bed once before, on a hunt when the motel only had one room left with two beds and no couch. Sam had taken one bed and had left Dean and [Y/N] to share the other. They'd both been a bit self conscious about it and had kept a distance between them, or as much a distance as the motel bed allowed. It was a bit awkward in the morning when they'd woken up face to face. Sharing a bed now was a choice, it was intimate, it was more than a hug or a shoulder to cry on. When she nodded, Dean lay down beside her and pulled the covers over both of them before pulling her over into his chest. "Wrap your arms around me". He murmured into the top of her head after gently kissing her hairline. She did as he said, and he shifted them so she was completely on top of him, her legs either side of his waist. He began to lightly massage the back of her neck with one hand while stroking her back with the other.

She'd stopped crying, and she gave herself permission to relax on Dean. She'd never felt so cared for before, so surrounded by affection. Dean's chest was warm, and even more comfortable than the memory foam mattress beneath them. She felt needed in this moment, like he wasn't doing this just for her. She felt like he was holding on to her like he needed it too, and he did. She felt safe, secure, and more than anything, wanted. They both knew that in this moment, their friendship had changed. It was no longer just friendship. They knew they'd have to talk about it in the morning, but for now, the two of them just enjoyed each other, holding onto one another until they drifted off to sleep.

The end

#dean winchester #dean winchester fluff #dean winchester x reader #dean winchester comfort

444 notes · View notes

wandering-winchesters · 10 months

Note

I just read Don’t Push Your Luck, it was great? Was curious if your requests are open?

They are open, life has been crazy. I cannot promise that I will write every request, but I will do my best.

#wanderingwinchesters

0 notes

wandering-winchesters · 10 months

Note

I'm so sorry for your loss honey. Just wanted to send you all my love and a huge hug. You're not alone. 🤍

Thank you for your sweet words <3

0 notes

wandering-winchesters · 10 months

Text

Grief

Summary: The reader loses her grandfather and eventually seeks comfort from Dean.

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader

Word Count: 2,576

Trigger Warnings: Mentions of Death, Casket, Grief & Sadness

A/N: This was written mainly for me. The man in this story was based on my grandfather and the memories recounted are my own. I understand if this is not the type of story for you, but it helped me in my grief. Love always x

In the span of two minutes, in the early hours of my otherwise normal Wednesday morning, my world changed forever. Blinking away the fog of sleep, I reached for my phone that was ringing loudly on the nightstand. My cousin’s name was flashing on the screen, a number of missed calls showing in the background a signal of a bigger issue. I hurriedly accept her call, clearing my throat to enable my voice to speak louder than a whisper.

“Hello?” The words that would follow would break my soul in ways that I didn’t know possible.

“He’s gone, Y/N. He passed this morning.” Anything said after that I didn’t hear, I couldn’t process that my grandfather was gone. The call was ended and I sat frozen still tangled in my sheets. The warmth of the blankets no longer enough to replace the chill that had overtaken my skin. Before I knew what I was doing, I climbed out of bed and grabbed my duffle. Beginning the process of packing the bare necessities to get by, the need to get to him was suffocating and pressing in on me like a vice.

Not twenty minutes later, I closed the door to the bunker quietly behind me. I double checked that it was locked, before climbing into the drivers seat of my truck and throwing my bag into the passenger seat. I shot Sam and Dean a quick text, letting them know I was leaving for a few days and not to worry, even though I knew the text would not be enough to convince them of such. The reality of the situation still had not settled, I knew he was gone, but it just didn’t seem possible. I have hours of road ahead of me and focusing on his death was just not an option. The drive crawled by, every mile felt like ten. Every minute an eternity. I was greeted by family, friends and an overwhelming sense of grief. Yet no tears fell, anger was prevalent and boisterous, denial following in its sharp footsteps. Every intended encouragement of “He’s in a better place,” or “He’s no longer in pain.” Only aggravated my anger. Those words meant to comfort and ease my pain, only ignited it further. Everything I saw in his home, reminded me of the good old days. The times spent in the woods bird watching, or in his workshop creating something new and beautiful. The nights where he would sit and hold my hand, singing songs from when he was younger. I found his journal, read the words he had written and saved them for another time the pain too much to bear.

I had many missed calls from the boys, their texts growing more and more concerned as my silence grew greater. Their demands for an explanation only made my desire to ignore them more prevalent. Even though, I knew deep down they were just concerned for my safety. The days passed quickly, the funeral looming closer and closer. The grip that grief had on me was looming, it was as a reaper themselves had their icy hands wrapped around my lungs and throat.

Funeral homes were something that I frequented, many of the cases with the Winchester men ended up in a morgue or a funeral home. I had seen countless dead bodies, in many different forms. However, the morning of the funeral walking into the funeral home, seeing the man who raised me was so very different from every time before. There were many people who loved him that came to show their support, a blur of faces and a mass of stories, he had been so very loved. Yet every minute I stood there was soul shatteringly painful. It was exhausting, my body ached almost as much as my heart. I resorted to every self soothing technique I knew, bracing myself for the next person in line that was waiting to share their grief with me. Yet I survived, I made it through to the end. Everyone else had gone home, yet I couldn’t bring myself to leave his side. I could feel his presence surrounding me, embracing me. I bite my lip, holding back the sobs that have been at bay for days now. The ache in my chest so great it brings me to my knees.

I am caught off guard by familiar strong hands gripping my waist, fully supporting my weight. Dean’s cologne wafts over my senses and the smallest amount of relief floods over me.

“You don’t have to keep hiding your pain, sweetheart. There’s no shame in crying.” He whispers, tugging me back against his body and wrapping his arms around me. I am so overwhelmed and confused as to how he came to be here, that his words go almost unheard.

“How did you know I was here?” I ask, clearing my throat to relive the ache ever so slightly.

“I pinged your phone, found your location and checked the local paper. I figured there must be something going on, especially if you told us you were leaving but then wouldn’t tell us where or why. I found his obituary and drove straight here. I’ve been outside for the last few hours, I wanted to give you space. I noticed everyone else leaving, but didn’t see you. So I came to find you.” His voice is soft, comforting and it awakened the sadness within me that I had refused to allow space for until this moment. Tears pricked the corners of my eyes and silently began to fall.

“Dean, I-I didn’t want you to see me like this, the weak, crying side of me.” I said, my voice cracking slightly as I spoke. My cheeks heating up as they turn bright red.

“Y/N, I know it hurts. It’s okay to cry, I’ll be here to wipe your tears, sweetheart.” He says, his thumbs rubbing circles into my skin as he continues to hold me tight against him. I take a couple of steps towards the closed casket, Dean close behind me, his hand securely placed on the small of my back. I rest both of my hands on the lid to the casket and let every emotion free. Before I can stop it, a sob leaves my lips, tears are falling hard and hot. I have never cried like this, I have never felt pain like this. The guttural reaction it pulls from me, is something that I have never experienced before. My vision is blurred by the tears collecting in my eyelashes. The mascara and eyeliner I had applied earlier in the day, surely streaking black remnants down my face.

“I couldn’t grieve him, De, I had to be strong for everyone else. They were all relying on me to plan this and put everything together. I didn’t have the time to grieve and now I have to say goodbye. I’m not ready to say goodbye.” I get the words out between sobs, turning to bury my head in Dean’s chest, swallowed up in his embrace. He immediately wraps his arms around me once again, his head coming to rest against the top of my own. His lips brushing against my hair as he murmurs words of comfort, pressing a kiss every so often.

“I’m here, I’m always here.” He whispers once I pull away, he brushes my hair out of my face and caresses my face with his thumb. It’s not until that moment, that I see Sam, he’s sitting silently in the corner of the room. Waiting to offer comfort, but not wanting to encroach on Dean and I. The second our eyes meet, I burst into tears once again. The ache in my chest heavy, surely if I were to die of a broken heart this is what it would feel like. Sam quietly crosses the room and pulls me into his arms, his embrace just as warm and welcoming as Deans.

“I am so sorry for your loss, Y/N.” He says, his grip tightening momentarily before he lets me go. Dean offers me his hand and I gratefully accept it, allowing him to guide me outside. I steal one last glance at the closed casket and follow him closely.

“Can I drive you home, sweetheart?” Dean asks, hesitating outside of my truck, his eyes soft and concerned. I nod, not trusting my voice to give a verbal response. He helps me climb into the passenger seat of my truck, and gently shuts my door. I let my head fall back against the seat and my eyes flutter shut. I hear the drivers side door open and feel the truck shift as Dean climbs in and adjusts the seat to his liking.

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you, I just didn’t know how.” I open my eyes and glance over at him as he starts the truck, he gives me a small smile and extends his arm resting his hand on my leg.

“It’s okay, sweetheart, I understand completely.” We ride in silence for awhile, my mind a constant rollercoaster of thoughts and emotions. My tears have stopped and everything other than my thoughts are quiet. There is rain hitting the roof of the truck, the tires are crunching against the gravel, but the only other sound is Deans fingers lightly tapping against the steering wheel of the car, keeping rhythm to whatever song is playing in his head.

“What’re you thinking about?” He asks, breaking the silence. I hesitate, trying to gather my thoughts into an actual sentence, instead of the dark depression that is swirling around in my head.

“Just remembering, the good times.” I say, a small smile breaking the surface of my lips.

“Care to share?” He asks, his eyes flitting back and forth from the road to my face. I chuckle softly, the memory in my mind floating through my head as an image.

“Okay, so you remember how my grandparents were together? My grandfather was always super flirtatious towards my grandmother? Well, this one time she was in a bad mood and he was trying to get her to laugh. So he took two balls of yarn, from her knitting project, stuffed them under his button down t-shirt and proceeded to parade around as if he had really big boobs. My cousin and I found it hilarious, my grandmother on the other hand was pissed. Well, for a few minutes, until she finally relaxed and laughed about it. I have the picture printed and hanging in the bunker?” Dean laughs, the clear and deep sound pierces the air around us and I relish the way it hangs in my ears.

“Do you have anymore you want to talk about?” He asks again, a slight twinkle in his eyes. I think for a minute, weeding through the memories in my head, some more clear than others.

“One time, after he got sick, he had this woodworking project that he wanted to do. He had all of these buildings on the farm filled to the brim with different types of wood, all different colors and ages. We spent no less than four hours, walking around so he could find just the perfect pieces for his project.”

It went on like this for awhile, I talked and Dean listened. He let me go on about how my grandfather would always shift the car into neutral when stopping at a stop light, how he would eat cranberry mousse on top of his pumpkin pie at thanksgiving. How he would sing my name as a greeting anytime I called him, or sing the numerous different old jingles from old toothpaste brands or other household products. How much I loved to hear him talk about anything and everything, from the weather to the stock market. The time when I was little, that he took me to a Poinsettia greenhouse that was a four hour drive and he just loved every minute of it. He was just so special and everyone loved him.

I grow quiet again, the rawness of my grief pulsing within me. Through all of this, exhaustion is creeping up within me. I scoot over the bench seat, getting as close to Dean as the truck will allow and rest my head against his shoulder. My intention was not to sleep, but just to close my burning eyes and seek the slightest comfort.

However, I fell asleep. Only realizing this when Dean opened the door to the truck and eased me into his arms.

“I didn’t mean to fall asleep.” I open my eyes slightly and he shushes me.

“It’s okay. you needed it, and you looked too peaceful for me to wake you up. Close your eyes, I’ll bring you to bed.” He says, pressing a kiss to my forehead and tucking my head beneath his chin. I do as he says, closing my eyes and allowing the sound of his breathing and the smell of his cologne to overwhelm my senses. I can hear him cross the threshold of the bunker, whispering something to Sam who had driven the Impala back. He makes his way to my bedroom, gently kicking the door open with his foot and closing the distance to my bed quickly. He gingerly sets me down on the sheets, pulling the blankets up over my skin. I open my eyes once again, taking in the sight of the tall older Winchester in front of me, grateful for his friendship and the love he has shown me in this dark time. “Get some sleep, sweetheart, I won’t be far.” He presses another kiss to my skin and turns to leave my room. Fear grabs hold of me and before I can thing, I speak.

“Dean, will you stay, please?” I whisper, a sob clawing its way out of my lungs. He sighs, not a sigh of frustration, but of empathy. He nods silently, climbing in beside me and gently tugging me against his chest. He wraps his arms around me and presses a kiss against my forehead.

“It’s not gonna hurt like this forever. It will always be there, but your life will grow and it will hurt less. I promise, Y/N.” He says, stroking my skin gently. The comfort leeching from him, something I needed from the day I got that phone call. I let my eyes fall closed, trying to block out every thought and just exist in this very moment, surrounded by a man who would do anything for me, who would love me unconditionally and always let me be true to my emotions.

Dean was right, life went on. Even though some days, I wanted it to slow down more than anything, I wanted the world to stop so I could just exist in my grief. I wanted to go back several years before, take more pictures, listen to more of his stories, take more videos of him singing. I longed to hear his voice just one more time, ask him one more question. Instead of focusing on what I couldn’t do, I focused on what I could do. I noticed the birds more, some of his favorite creatures. I watched more sunrises and sunsets, embracing the beauty around me as he would have done. I will always remember the days we had together, I will always long for more. For now though, I will grieve. And that’s okay.

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

@hunterscabin This contains some memories of my grandfather, I hope you will read them. <3

114 notes · View notes

wandering-winchesters · 10 months

Text

My grandfather passed away today, I’d appreciate any of your favorite comfort fics sent my way. ❤️

#dean winchester #dean winchester x reader #supernatural #dean winchester comfort

16 notes · View notes

wandering-winchesters · 11 months

Photo

9x13 | The Purge

You’re not supposed to be this cute when you’ve got a gun in your hands.

5K notes · View notes

wandering-winchesters · 11 months

Text

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

763 notes · View notes

wandering-winchesters · 1 year

Text

When the Storm Clouds Roll in

Pairing: Dean x Reader Word Count: 3,100 Summary: On a particularly hard day, the reader relies on Dean for comfort. Trigger Warnings: Anxiety, Depression, slight mentions of suicidal ideation, self hatred, mentions of the loss of a loved one. Requested: Yes, by @roseblue373 A/N: This one struck a definite cord and I pulled from my personal experience with depression. If this resonates with you, please know you are not alone. As always, please let me know what you think. <3

Masterlist

From the moment I opened my eyes this morning, I knew it was going to be one of those days. The kind of days where any task seems completely insurmountable, impossible and overwhelming. Out of the 365 days in a year, this one was my favorite but the hardest, at least for the last four years. I have yet to convince myself to clamber out of bed, the warmth of the blankets too inviting and comforting to desire leaving. I continue to scroll through the pictures on my phone, reminiscing on the years past. I land on a picture of my family and I, taken shortly before one of my loved ones had passed away and tears spring to my eyes. It was their birthday today and all of the feelings that were bubbling within me were completely overwhelming. I sniff and wipe away the tears that had formed in my eyes. I draw in a deep breath and roll out of bed, landing on my toes. I decide against putting on real clothes, deciding that today is a laid back day anyways. I open the door to my room and glance down the hallway of the bunker, neither of the boys anywhere to be seen. I can hear music coming from the kitchen and I follow it, knowing that I would find Dean judging by the song that was playing. My suspicions are confirmed, when I round the corner and find Dean making eggs and bacon on the stove. The sight of him brings me immense comfort, something I would never admit out-loud but within the confines of my own mind its an accepted truth. He doesn’t notice me right away, his attention focused on the bacon in front of him. I open the fridge and he turns to look at me, his eyes crinkling in the way they do when he smiles.

“Good morning sweetheart,” He says, taking a bite out of the bacon he had already finished cooking. His shirt stained from the grease spitting out of the pan. I look him over from head to toe and can’t help but give a small smile.

“Ya know, if you didn’t cook the bacon on such a high temp, the grease wouldn’t splatter as much.” I tell him, deciding on a cup of tea to start my morning. I grab my favorite mug and the tea of my choice, before setting the water to boil. He dramatically rolls his eyes at me, mimicking me and repeating my words back in a high pitched tone.

“Jerk.” I mumble, placing the tea bag into my mug and leaning back against the counter to wait for the water to boil.

“Bitch.” He shoots back, flipping the pieces of bacon still in the pan. He yelps when the grease pops and lands directly on his hand. I shake my head, a slight laugh leaving my throat as he discreetly turns the temperature down on the stove, following my earlier advice. Instead of commenting, I keep my mouth shut and pour the now hot water into my mug.

“So,” He changes the subject, his eyes trained on me now, the bacon sizzling away in the background. “You up for a hunt today? Should be basic, couple of vamps a few towns away.” He offers me a piece of bacon, but I shake my head no. Hunger the furthest thing away from what I am feeling at the moment.

“Uh, I don’t think so. I’ll hang back on this one, have some stuff I need to get done.” I look away from him, kicking an invisible piece of dirt on the tile floor. I can feel his eyes on me, his suspicions obvious on his face, hence why I won’t make eye contact with him.

“What kind of stuff?” He presses, for whatever reason this rubs me the wrong way and I snap back at him, my words harsher than I meant them to be.

“What’s with the twenty questions? I am an adult, I can stay behind if I want to.” I grumble, taking my tea and leaving Dean standing open mouthed, unsure what he did wrong. In reality, he didn’t do anything wrong. I just wouldn’t be able to keep myself together if I was to go on the hunt with them and I wouldn’t put them in danger like that. My inability to focus today, could not be the reason that one of the boys gets injured. I wouldn’t be able to live with myself if that were the case. I walk into the library, deciding to spend my morning reading a book, in hopes of distracting myself from the sadness and grief trying to weasel their way past my internal walls. Sam is already in there, an old book carefully opened before him, his notebook open beside it. I give him a smile, hoping he doesn’t notice the tears attempting to break free.

“Hey Y/N, you coming along today?” He asks, his voice tired but he disguises it well behind the smile he’s wearing. I shake my head in response, not trusting my voice to function the way that I want it to. He looks slightly taken aback by my refusal, his eyes studying me carefully. It’s out of the ordinary for me to stay behind on a hunt, I am usually the first to volunteer. The chance to get out, learn and take out the creatures that roam the earth and harm people an opportunity I rarely pass up on. Sam doesn’t push me, but I can feel his questions lingering heavy in the air even though they are unspoken. I pull a book off the shelves and decide to return to the safety and quiet of my room.

—

The boys leave for the hunt around noon, Dean poking his head into my room to verify one last time that I am not coming along with them. He looks disappointed and concerned when my answer remains the same. Even though there were tasks that I am behind on and that need completing, I can’t find it within me to actually do them. I have not left my bed since I climbed back in it after finishing my tea. My thoughts are becoming louder, harder to ignore to the point where I give in and let them overwhelm me. I could feel depression imminent, a large storm cloud looming at a distance waiting for the currents of wind to pick up and carry the storm in. The cloud is growing and the winds are picking up and there’s nothing I can do. The water around me is rising and I can’t swim. It feels like I am drowning. My lungs are restricted, not from water, but from my own thoughts and emotions.

Grief looms at the forefront, worthlessness and self hatred following close behind. Everything around me fades to the background, my brain fully incapacitated by the thoughts within my head, unable to focus on anything tangible. The pit in my stomach is growing and before I know it, tears are flowing down my cheeks. My chin is quivering and I feel like screaming, I slip out of my bed and sit on the cold hard floor. An attempt to ground myself, I place my head in my hands and rock myself gently. My heart hurt so much that it felt like I was going to die, unable to process just how to move forward, it felt impossible. It would be easier if I weren’t here, the burden I was to Sam and Dean would be lifted, they could go back to the way things were before they met me. They didn’t care about me anyways, it would be easier. What good am I to them anyways? I am worthless, I always slow them down on hunts, there’s nothing I can do that they can’t handle better without me tagging a long. I know that these feelings aren’t me speaking, its depression screaming. I have reasonable thoughts and unreasonable thoughts. The problem is that the reasonable side of my brain speaks in a whisper, unable to be louder. The unreasonable thoughts have a megaphone, unable to be ignored.

The ache in my chest turns to a burn and the occasional tear turns into a constant stream. How do I recover from this? It has been years and yet the grief is still so fresh? What is wrong with me that I still cannot cope all of these years later? It’s pathetic. I feel pathetic. Good, you should feel pathetic. You’re worthless. The voice in my head is so loud, so cruel and completely debilitating. These thoughts continue to repeat, my brain a recording that is on repeat. Seconds turn to minutes, which turns to hours. I have no concept of time, I notice the darkening of the room around me but besides that I am numb to all of it. I am so entrapped within my thoughts that I don’t realize that I am no longer alone, the slight chatter of the Winchester brothers travels through the bunker, but it falls upon deaf ears.

The panic that I am entrapped in so all consuming. I don’t hear the refrigerator door slam, the clink of beer bottles or the footsteps approaching my room. I don’t hear the knock, or the gentle call of my name. Upon not hearing a response, Dean opens my door, surveying the scene before him. Unknown to me is the way his heart shatters at what he sees, something that I will not find out for years to come. I am blind to all of this, until I feel hands on my body, tugging me gently into an embrace. My sense are overwhelmed with the smell of cologne, beer and leather. Dean. His hands are on my waist, lifting me into place on his lap. I immediately sink into his touch, wrapping my arms around his neck and burying my face in his jacket. So desperate for comfort, there is no space within me to be ashamed of my actions. I can hear him speaking, but I am still too worked up to focus on his words. He must be able to sense this, because he changes tactics. He slips a hand under the hem of my shirt, settling on my lower back, his fingers tracing patterns into my skin. Something he knows will calm me, because at another day and time, I had told him that was the fastest way to pull me out of my head. Skin on skin contact. He brings his other hand to the nape of my neck, his fingers gentle but firm as he angles my head so his lips can reach my forehead. He gingerly places kisses to the crown of my head, his lips still murmuring words of comfort. I begin to catch bits and pieces, you’re okay, I’ve got you. You’re safe, sweetheart. Just breathe. Words he continues to repeat until my shaking stops, my breathing calms and I am back in control of my body.

“‘M sorry.” I breathe out, my shuttering inhale catching in my throat. He shushes me, his grip on me never letting up.

“Don’t ever apologize for this, I just wish I could’ve been here for you. Has this been bugging you all day?” He asks, his voice deep and comforting. I nod against his shoulder, exhaustion washing over my body. My muscles aching from the position I had been in on the floor for hours. He lets out a sigh, pulling away from me ever so slightly so he can see my face. I avert my eyes from him, not wanting him to see how red my face is from crying. He doesn’t let me though, he tucks a finger under my chin and raises it until I meet his gaze.

“Spill.” That one word is all it takes, a fresh wave of tears spills over, he wipes them all away with his fingertips. He’s patient with me, helping me regain my composure before I begin to speak.

“I lost someone, a few years back and today would have been their birthday. It hit me incredibly hard this morning and ever since then, everything has just been crumbling around me. My depression has been all consuming, voicing my biggest fears and self doubts and- and, it just made everything seem unbearable.” My voice starts out strong, but by the end of my sentence it’s faltering. Deans hand strokes my lower back, his touch gentle but reassuring.

“I’m so sorry, that is really hard to bear. What kind of thoughts, Y/N?” He asks, concern evident. I debate on being untruthful, hiding just how bad it had gotten from him. He notices my hesitation because he follows up his question with a plea for honesty, his voice never wavering. I nod and take another moment to choose my words.

“I feel like a burden to you, worthless and just that- well that you and Sam would be better off without me.” Another tear rolls down my face and I quickly brush it away, shame seeping in over the feelings of self doubt and hatred. Being open and vulnerable was not one of my strengths and I fully expected Dean to laugh and reaffirm my darkest thoughts. He didn’t. His face fell, and I could see anguish written on his features. His lips were pulled into a tight, thin line. His breath catching in his chest, before he blew it out all at once.

“Y/N, do you have those thoughts a lot?” He asks, his voice calm and his eyes catching my own once more. I shrug, fiddling with the tag on the back of his shirt where my hands had come to rest.

“More often than not, deep down I know they’re not true, but it’s incredibly difficult to find solace in that.” I admit, my words flowing before I can stop them. He’s silent, for one minute then two. It begins to psych me out, my breathing hitching in my throat again. I shift my body, moving to climb off his lap and retreat into my shell once again. His hands stop me, firmly gripping my hips.

“Don’t.” He pleads, and I meet his eyes for the first time in a few minutes and I’m caught off guard. Tears, he has tears in his vivid green eyes. I still and remain in his grasp, puzzled as to why he’s crying.

“Sweetheart, I know that nothing I say can completely change the way you see yourself. Yet I can’t not say it.” He tucks his fingers beneath my chin once more, firmly holding my head in place. “You are the farthest thing from worthless, the fact that you think you’re replaceable breaks my heart. You are so incredibly valued by Sam and myself. The whole time we were gone, we were thinking of you. We were concerned about you. Do you think we’d do that if we didn’t love you and want you to be with us? I’m so sorry for the grief that you are still processing, it takes so long to come to terms with that and I am so proud of you for coming this far. It’s a difficult battle to face, everyday. If I could take all of this hurt from you, I would in a heartbeat.” His hand has moved from beneath my chin to cupping my face, his thumb stroking gently along my cheek. My eyes flutter closed, his touch filling a part of my soul that I didn’t know needed comfort. Tears begin to stream down my cheeks once again, stinging slightly as they rush over my raw skin.

His touch is gentle as he wipes them away, the ache in my heart is easing ever so slightly as the time in his arms passes.

“Dean?” I whisper, my words hanging heavy in my throat.

“Yes, sweetheart?” I take a deep breath, my hands gripping his shoulders as I steady myself.

“Will you stay with me tonight? I’m afraid of what will happen if I am alone with my thoughts.” He agrees without hesitation, he lets me know he’s going to go grab a change of clothes but that he will return shortly. He stands, pulling me up with him. He instructs me to climb into bed and that he will be right back.

I stand for a moment, dumb struck over our previous discussion, still shocked that he agreed to stay with me.

He comes back a few minutes later, like he said he would. He smiles as he crosses into my room, a blanket and pillow tucked beneath his arm, his laptop clutched in the other. He kicks my door closed gently with his foot, dropping the bedding on the floor beside my bed. He sets the laptop on my bed.

“Find a movie you want to watch, while I set up my bed.” He says, spreading the blanket out on my floor. He asks to borrow one of my mine and I hand him one of my favorites. He thanks me, before settling onto the floor. I find a movie I want to watch, some action movie that I know he will enjoy.

The movie passes quickly and before I know it, his steady and even breathing is easily heard over the dialogue. He fell asleep, and suddenly loneliness is overwhelming once again. I contemplate what I should do, I should go to sleep like the adult I am supposed to be. However, there’s this tug in my heart that’s telling me to climb down next to Dean and curl up with him, once again. I give into the temptation and quietly sink onto the floor next to him, and burrow underneath the blanket he has wrapped around him. He quickly opens his arms for me and I wrap myself around him. He lips find my forehead and his sleep words catch me completely off guard.

“I love you, sweet girl.” He whispers, his voice so soft I couldn’t tell if I’d imagined it. A question I’d have to save until morning. I pulled him closer and whispered back.

“I love you too, Dean.” It was his three words that washed away all of my doubt and self hatred. The grief and sadness too, while I know it won’t last forever. I am going to enjoy the emptiness within my thoughts while it lasts. I allow myself to drift off in his embrace and I hope that this will become a regular thing.

128 notes · View notes

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

354 notes · View notes

wandering-winchesters · 1 year

Note

Hey! How are you? I just read one of your fics and loved it! Just wanted to let you know that your both links on your masterlist are redirecting to our main page of your blog. Love ya xNoe

Thank you <3 I’ll work on that in the morning, technology is my nemesis.

7 notes · View notes

wandering-winchesters · 1 year

Text

I might have to work my way through this list, feel free to request :)

𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐞 𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐯𝐞 𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐦𝐩𝐭𝐬.

my original batch can be found HERE! i got all kinds of angsty and protective vibes took over, but if u think of any more that you’d like to see on the list, shoot me a DM so i can add it!

“ get behind me… ”

“ stay here. ”

“ don’t worry. everything’s going to be alright… ”

“ you shoot anyone who comes through that door who isn’t me. ”

“ when you love something, you protect it. ”

“ i’ll keep you safe. ”

“ do everything that i say, and we might both live to tell the tale of this night. ”

“ when i say run, i need you to do as i say and don’t even think about me. ”

“ get down! ”

“ close your eyes, you don’t need to see this. ”

“ why wouldn’t i save you? ”

“ it’s alright. they won’t be hurting you again… ”

“ of course i came for you… it would take far much more than that to stop me. ”

“ listen to me… i need to go back out there. but i promise you, i’ll be right back. okay? all i want you to do is stay hidden, and i’ll be back before you know it. ”

“ there’s nothing in this world nor any other, that would stop me from protecting you. ”

“ get out of here! now! ”

“ i knew you’d feel guilty; you do understand that i’d take a thousand wounds if it meant keeping you safe, don’t you? ”

“ i swear to you. as long as i’m by your side, you’ll never be harmed. ”

“ it’s my job to keep you safe, yes, but you could work with me a little to make it easier. ”

“ protecting you isn’t my duty. it’s my privilege. ”

“ who did this to you? where are they? ”

“ listen to me. i don’t think i’ll be able to buy you much time. and once i go out there, the clock starts. so the second you hear us fighting, i want you to run. as fast and as far as you can. ”

“ are you alright? “

“ can you move? “

“ why is it so difficult for you to believe that you deserve to be protected? “

“ you’re a good person. good people deserve to be safe. “

“ i’m going to protect you, now. because that’s what we do for the ones we love. we keep them safe. “

“ stay close. whatever you do, do not leave my side. “

“ i’ll do whatever it takes to keep you safe. no matter the cost. “

“ i’m on my way. ”

“ it’s alright… it’s okay… i’m here now. i’ve got you. ”

“ it’s all over now. don’t panic. it’s not my blood. ”

“ i don’t know how long i’ll be able to protect you for, but i guarantee you, i’ll only stop with my final breath. ”

7K notes · View notes

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

348 notes · View notes

wandering-winchesters · 1 year

Text

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

3K notes · View notes

wandering-winchesters · 1 year

Text

Don't Ever Do That Again

Request: Hi! Could you do one where the reader is kidnapped and Dean does everything in his power to get her back? Either they’re already dating or they’re like frenemies. You’re such a great writer!!

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader

Summary: Reader takes on a djinn on her own. Sam isn't happy with her going on her own so makes her promise to keep in contact, she goes in on her own and gets captured. Dean and the reader are exes who didn't leave it on good terms, but when Sam tells him that he hasn't heard from her, Dean needs to get to her as fast as he can.

Story

[Y/N] was sitting in a dusty motel room, at a little table just big enough to hold the book she was flicking through, and her laptop which was opened on search results for 'djinn'. The book was one she had borrowed a few months back from Sam Winchester. It was basically like a book version of a hunter's journal, about a page or two description for each monster, god, or supernatural phenomenon. Not super detailed, but it gave a good overview and it had become her go-to resource for figuring out what she was up against. She had arrived in the small town the previous morning, having read about a series of disappearances over the last two weeks. There was a witness account in the local newspaper which had been dismissed as the guy being high on a cocktail of drugs, but his account of his abduction had sounded suspiciously specific, and it was what really caught [Y/N]'s attention. She had gone to visit him in the local hospital and had taken notes, which she was now comparing to her book and what she could find online. She was positive that it was a djinn, something she'd never gone up against before.

Back when she was with Dean, she remembered him telling her about being captured by a djinn, how he thought he was living a life where his wish for Mary to have never died had come true. It turned out that a djinn was keeping him captive, and what he was experiencing had just all been in his head. He told [Y/N] that story several years ago, before their relationship had ended. She had only seen him a handful of times since; the break up had been messy. He blew up at her after a hunt the two of them had been on. It was a simple salt-and-burn, but she had thrown herself between Dean and the ghost, which had flung her against a wall. She broke her arm, and told Dean she was fine, but he didn't listen. He was angry that she'd put herself in front of him, even though he'd do the exact same thing for her. After that incident he had tried keeping her off cases, or tricking her into taking the safest option of every case. It was becoming dangerous for the boys too; Dean would send her off on some 'clue' which he knew would lead her far away from any action, leaving him and Sam to deal with the monster themselves, leaving them one hunter short.

She got fed up with his attitude. She knew he was scared of losing her, but he was scared of losing Sam too and he didn't have any issues with Sam hunting. It felt like he didn't think she was good at hunting, or was more prone to getting hurt than either he or Sam, which wasn't true. [Y/N] had been hunting her whole life, she knew what she was doing. After several weeks of this behaviour, she broke up with him. They argued for hours in his room in the bunker, the room that he had shared with her. They argued loud enough for Sam to hear them from the kitchen. After she stormed out of Dean's room, Sam had begged her not to move out of the bunker. He said there was so much space, so many rooms, that she didn't have to leave. He loved her like a sister, and she loved him like a brother, but she couldn't be around Dean, it was too hard.

Sam texted her all the time, and asked her to help him on hunts whenever Dean was busy with something else. She saw Sam quite regularly on the condition that he wouldn't bring up Dean.

11:02am: Sam: Hey, you working? I think I have a case if you're around?

11:04am: [Y/N]: Hey, I'm actually working a case at the moment. What do you know about djinn?

11:05am: Incoming call from Sam

[Y/N] answered the phone and brought it to her ear. "Hey Sam".

"Hey, you think you have a djinn?"

"I think so. I don't really have any material on it so I'm kinda relying on Google, but yesterday I spoke to a a guy who escaped after being captured last week. What he said matches what I can find about them".

"Who are you working with?"

[Y/N] considered lying, saying she was working with another hunter. Unfortunately Sam knew pretty much every hunter there was. If she said she was hunting with someone, he'd need a name, and there was no doubt he'd check with that hunter to make sure she was telling the truth. It was also unfortunate that no hunter she knew would lie to the legendary Sam Winchester for her.

"You're hunting alone, aren't you?" He pushed when she didn't respond straight away and she sighed.

"Sam, I can handle it, okay?"

"Really? What do you know about djinn?"

"Sam-"

"No, I'm serious, c'mon tell me what you know".

"I know that they feed off people, they put people into a kind of transe".

"Go on".

"Uh, I know you guys have faced them?"

"And how does that help you exactly?" She could hear the irritation in his voice.

"You don't think I'm capable". She said bluntly, he was reminding her a little too much of Dean.

"I think you're smart enough to know that you shouldn't be hunting alone. I don't go hunting on my own, Dean doesn't go hunting on his own". She flinched slightly at the mention of Dean's name. "Give me your location, I'll bring what we have on djinn".

"I'm in Burley, Idaho. You're a two day drive away, I don't have that kind of time to wait around. It's only a matter of time before more people go missing"

"[Y/N]..." He warned.

"You said you had a case of your own?" She heard Sam sigh on the other end of the phone.

"Look, just keep me updated, okay?"

"Okay, I will". She promised. "So what do you know?"

Reluctantly, Sam gave her a detailed account of his experience with djinn. He told her about their poison, how some of them cause hallucinations to make you think your wish has been granted. He explained that if that happened, she would have to die by her own hands within the hallucination to wake up. He also told her about the other type of djinn that prefer their victims to be scared, and that if she gets caught in one of their hallucinations then the only way out is to overcome her fear. She didn't know which one she would find harder to escape. Of course, he also told her that beheading would be the way to go, or else to go to a butchers and ask for lamb's blood to dip her silver knife into. [Y/N] thought this request in the small town she was in would sound suspicious and draw unwanted attention, maybe even alert the djinn to her presence as a hunter, so she decided that beheading would have to do. "Whatever you do, just avoid any physical contact with them. They can poison just by their touch, enough to kill you if they don't want to keep you for feeding off of".

"I'll make sure to keep my distance. Any advice on where it might be? The victim was found on the side of the road, pretty out of it, he didn't remember where he'd come from".

"Have a look for abandoned warehouses, ruins are kinda their thing".

"Okay cool, thanks for your help. I'll text you every few hours okay?"

"Text me every hour, on the hour. If I don't hear from you at that time, I'm coming, and I'll be bringing a very angry Dean". He warned.

"You're forgetting about my rule of not bringing him up". She mumbled, trying to convey her irritation as a warning. "I'll text you every two hours". She compromised.

"Fine, every two hours on the hour. Just please stay safe and text or call if you need anything at all".

"I will Sam, and I appreciate that you care. We'll meet up soon, okay?"

"Okay". He grumbled and they said their goodbyes. [Y/N] turned her attention back to her laptop in search of any abandoned buildings nearby.

***

Sam was in the bunker's archives, trying to find an object that could potentially protect against werewolf bites that he'd read about in one of the Men of Letter's records. The case he'd texted [Y/N] about the previous day had turned out to be nothing, so he was spending his time looking through old artefacts. He was also spending his time waiting for [Y/N]'s text updates, and also Dean's return from a visit to Jody. [Y/N] had kept true to her word and had texted every two hours, excluding over night when she was sleeping. From her last text at noon, she had made a list of potential locations and was currently checking them out one by one. It was nearly 2pm, so he was expecting a text from her any minute with an update. At 2:05 he looked over at his phone, but she hadn't texted. He left it another five minutes before deciding to text her and see what was happening.

2:10pm: Sam: Hey, you forget the 2pm check-in? How's it going? Narrow the locations down yet?

He put the phone down on the desk that he was sitting at and continued to look through some of the boxes he had on it.

2:20pm: Sam: [Y/N], can you give me an update?

By 2:30pm he could no longer concentrate and was anxiously staring at his phone. He decided to call her, but it rang through three times. He left her a voice mail asking her to call him immediately, and put is phone back on the desk. He sat back and ran his hand over his face, before placing it on the desk beside his phone and tapping his fingers nervously. He was so focused on the phone that the sudden voice behind him made him jump.

"Hey Sammy- woah, what's got you all jumpy?" Dean had just wandered into the room. He must have arrived back in the bunker awhile ago, because he was holding a mug of coffee in his hand. He walked over to the desk and had a quick look into one of the boxes. "Looking for something?" He asked, sitting down on the edge of the desk.

"Uh, yeah, just something I read about in a record somewhere". Dean could tell that Sam was distracted by something. He noticed that his eyebrows were furrowed and his eyes were wider than usual; he looked stressed.

"What's wrong?" He asked. Sam sighed and swallowed before leaning forward and placing his head into his hands.

"You're gonna kill me".

"What? Why? What did you do?" Dean placed his mug down beside him.

"[Y/N]'s working a case. Alone. I asked her to text me every two hours on the hour, but she missed the 2pm check-in and isn't answering". Sam didn't look at Dean, he didn't want to see his expression. Dean had taken a sharp breath in at the mention of [Y/N]'s name, and he felt anger start to bubble up inside of him.

"Hunting alone? And you let her?"

"She's an adult Dean, she can do whatever she wants. I offered to help but she's a two day drive away and said she wouldn't wait".

Dean banged his fist down on the desk and pushed himself up before storming out of the room and slamming the door behind him. He had never regretted anything more than his break-up with [Y/N]. She meant the world to him. He admired her as a hunter, he adored her intelligence and bravery, and he had never been so attracted to anyone before he met her. After she broke up with him, he tried to tell himself that it was for the best, that she would be safer. He hoped that since the Winchesters seemed to attract the worst of the worst, any cases she'd find on her own would be less dangerous. He had made Sam promise to make sure that she didn't hunt alone, and so far he had made good on that promise. He was furious that Sam had let her hunt alone. He was marching towards the bunker's garage when Sam caught up behind him.

"Dean-" Sam started and reached his hand for Dean's shoulder, but Dean immediately shook him off and spun around to face him.

"Don't touch me Sam". Dean glared at him. "Why the fuck didn't you tell me she was hunting alone? Why didn't you go to her anyway when you knew she was alone? Did you even call any other hunters to see if there were any nearby? God Sam, I asked you to make me one promise".

"I'm sorry, Dean, okay? Yeah I messed up. She's allowed to make her own decisions though, take her own risks. She doesn't report to us".

"Spoken like a real friend". Dean rolled his eyes at him.

"Jody and Donna have both gone on hunts on their own, you've never reacted like this".

"[Y/N]'s different". Dean looked away from Sam.

"When was the lat time you even spoke to her Dean?" Dean didn't answer, he just turned around and continued walking to the garage.

"Tell me where she is, I'm going to go find her". Sam sighed but jogged to catch up with Dean.

"She's in Burley, Idaho. It's a fifteen hour drive. We won't get there until tomorrow morning even if we just drive straight".

"We're going. You can spend the drive filling me in on what you know and calling other hunters to see if anyone is closer".

***

Sam spent the first hour of the drive calling every hunter who's phone number he had, but none of them were any closer to [Y/N] than he and Dean were. He tried her phone several times too but there was still no answer. He filled Dean in on what he knew, [Y/N] had shared the locations that she was going to check out, so they would check those first.

"I swear Sam, if anything has happened to her..." Dean trailed off and shook his head. His grip on the stirring wheel was turning his knuckles white, and his jaw was clenched. Sam had only seen him this angry on a handful of occasions, and it was never good to be on the receiving end of it. He didn't try to apologise again, he figured it was safest to just keep quiet and stare out of the window.

Nine hours into the drive it was midnight, they had stopped off once earlier for a quick pit stop, and Dean had refused to let Sam take over the driving, insisting on driving the entire way himself. "Dean you'll be exhausted by the time we get there. Just let me drive for a couple of hours, get some rest". Dean glanced over at Sam quickly before gluing his eyes back to the road.

"No".

"You're not gonna be much help to [Y/N] if you're falling asleep. Come on, pull over and swap".

"I said no Sam". Sam sighed and decided to try and get some sleep himself. At least one of them should be alert when they get there.

***

It was 5:30am when Dean pulled up beside the first warehouse on [Y/N]'s list. He didn't see any sign of her car, so he wasn't hopeful that it was the right place. He gave Sam a quick shove to wake him up, and the two of them got out of the car and made their way over to a window. They didn't see any activity, but Sam went towards the door to pick the lock anyway. "What are you doing?" Dean asked as he moved to make his way back to the car.

"I'm gonna check and see if she's inside, what are you doing?"

"We don't have time for that, her car's not here and it doesn't look like anyone has been here in months. We should go to the next one".

"We should make sure, what if she is in here?"

"Fine, you stay here and check. Hot wire a car for yourself, I'm moving to the next location".

"Dean, come on, we should stick together".

"There's no time Sam!" Dean's anger was beginning to degrade into desperation and fear, it was clear on his face and from the tone in his voice. "I'm going to the next warehouse on her list. You can come or you can stay, I don't care". He shrugged and continued his way back to the Impala. Sam looked back at the lock for a moment in contemplation, but he ended up following Dean.

***

The next two warehouses didn't show any signs of activity either, and after a quick look around their perimeters Dean insisted on moving on too, only letting Sam have a quick look inside the second one since the door was open. Dean's heart started racing when he turned the corner to the next one however, and spotted [Y/N]'s car parked off to the side. "She's here". He was out of the car and rushing towards her car faster than Sam could even open his door.

"See anything?" Sam asked and he caught up with Dean.

"No, the car's empty apart from her journal, which she hasn't filled in since yesterday. She must be inside". He said as he closed [Y/N]'s car door.

"Okay, let's think this through".

"You want to waste more time?" Dean's irritation was building back up again now with the adrenaline of knowing he was close adding fuel to the fire.

"I just think we have a better chance of getting to her safely if we don't charge in with just our guns. We'll need blades to cut its head off, so let's go back to the car, get what we need, and make a plan".

Even through his anger Dean knew that Sam was right about this, so the two of them made their way back to the impala to get what they needed. They decided to split up, one go from the front and the other around the back. That way, one of them should be able to catch the djinn by surprise if it was in there. Dean made his way to the front of the building while Sam headed to the back. Dean carefully pushed the door open, noticing there was no lock, and stepped inside. It was quiet, and he was in a large room which was mostly empty apart from a few broken planks of wood and a lot of dust. He quickly looked around to make sure nothing was hidden in the shadows, and made his way to a door on the far side of the room.

He opened the door slightly but stopped when it made a loud creaking. He froze, waiting to hear if he had caused any unwanted attention. When he was met by silence, he continued on cautiously. He walked down a narrow hallway with flickering lights, as quietly as he could. He stopped suddenly when he heard a scream coming from up ahead of him, then immediately ran to its source. He swung a door open to find [Y/N] hunched over on the ground, with a tattooed body and a separate tattooed head lying beside her, a bloody machete loose in her hand. "[Y/N]?" He almost whispered, but she heard him and looked up. Her eyes were read and her cheeks were stained with tears. She looked exhausted and broken, and Dean rushed towards her, falling to his knees and gathering her up in his arms. She was crying, and he held her tight, one arm around her chest and the other on her head, holding her as close as possible. "You're okay, I've got you". He murmured into her hair after kissing the top of her head. He rocked her back and forth as she cried. Sam walked through the door and rushed over to them.

"Is she okay?" He asked, his expression panicked.

"I've got her, you check out the rest of the building and make sure there aren't any more, see if there are more victims too". As much as Sam wanted to see his best friend's face and make sure she was okay for himself, he knew he needed to let Dean have this moment with her. He nodded and left the two of them alone. "Shhh". He stroked her hair as she continued to cry. "You're okay, breathe [Y/N]". She struggled to catch her breath, and she gripped Dean's flannel tight in her fist. "Match your breathing to mine, come on". He turned her around so her back was pressed against his chest and she was sitting between his legs on the ground. He wrapped both of his arms around her and held her against him. "Breathe in when I do, breathe out when I do. I've got you, you're safe". While [Y/N]'s breathing was shaky, she did manage to slow it down and match Dean's.

"D-dean?" She whispered.

"Yeah, I'm here". He leaned his chin on the top of her head.

"I... I had to kill myself". She sniffed. Dean didn't respond straight away, but his grip on her tightened. "I was in a different life. I was with you, we were happy, Sam was there too and he was happy". He closed his eyes as he listened to her. "I knew it wasn't real, we're not happy in real life... we're not together". She whispered the last part and Dean swallowed, feeling a lump in his throat. "I remembered Sam saying you have to take your own life to get out of the dream. I had to do it". She sniffed again and reached up to wipe her face. "Dean I don't want to die".

"You're not going to, okay? You're safe. You killed the djinn, it can't hurt you anymore. I'm here, so is Sam, we're gonna take you home". She nodded and they sat in silence for a few minutes. Dean didn't want to let her go just yet, and she was calmed by being held by him.

"Hey". Sam walked back into the room. He crouched down in front of them and smiled at [Y/N] before pushing her hair back off her face.

"Hey". She whispered back to him. He looked up at Dean and shook his head, a signal that there was no one else in the building, alive anyway. Dean nodded back at him, and leaned forward to stand up. Sam helped him pull [Y/N] up as they stood, and she swayed once she was on her feet.

"Woah, let's take it slowly" Sam placed his hands on her shoulders to steady her.

"Here, you get the car started". Dean handed Sam the keys and took his place holding [Y/N] steady. Dean moved in front of her and looked down at her to see that she was struggling to keep her eyes open. "Okay, I'm gonna carry you out, is that alright?"

"I'm tired".

"I know Sweetheart, you've been through a lot. We'll find a motel nearby and we'll have a look at you properly, make sure you're not hurt, then you can sleep, alright?"

"I want to sleep now though".

"You just have to stay awake a little bit longer, we need to make sure you're okay. Can you do that for me?" His hand moved up to her cheek and stroked it, and she leaned into his touch and nodded.

"Am I good to lift you up now?" He asked and she nodded again. He bent down and lifted her up so one hand was under her knees and the other around her shoulders, and she leaned her head against his chest. "Keep those eyes open for me". He kept his eyes on her as he walked out of the warehouse and back to the car. Sam jumped out and opened the back door for him, and he got in still holding [Y/N].

Sam drove to the nearest motel which was only down the road, and got them a room while Dean did his best to check [Y/N] over in the car. Once they had a room, Dean carried her there and gently set her down on one of the beds. "[Y/N], can I take your top off? Just to check for injuries". She nodded, trying very hard to keep her eyes open and also stay balanced sitting up on the bed. "Okay, thank you. Sam can you hold her steady while I have a look?" Sam nodded and knelt down in front of her, holding her waist so she didn't fall over as Dean pulled her top up. Sam looked away, he had seen her without clothes before on various hunts, having stitched her up many times himself, but she didn't need two pairs of eyes on her in this moment. Once Dean was satisfied that there were no hidden injuries, he shrugged off his flannel and helped her into it.

"I'm gonna have a shower then get some sleep, I think we all need it". Sam said as Dean sat down beside [Y/N], holding her steady and allowing Sam to let go. Dean nodded at Sam, and he left them alone again.

"Let's get you out of those jeans and into something more comfortable, I keep spare boxers in my bag, do you want a pair?" He asked her and she nodded, far too tired for any words at this stage. He let her lay back on the bed as he went through the bag that Sam had brought in; an 'emergency supply' bag that they kept in the Impala for situations like these. Dean helped her out of her jeans and into his boxers while Sam showered, and then pulled back the covers on the bed for her and helped her slide under them. She was still awake, though her eyes were now closed. Sam walked out of the shower as Dean was tucking her in, and made his way to the other bed in the room.

"Dean you need sleep too, you drove for almost fifteen hours straight through the night". He said as he pulled back the covers to the bed.

"Stay with me". [Y/N] mumbled and Dean shifted his attention from Sam back to her.

"There's a couch Sweetheart, I can take that". He smiled at her and tucked her hair behind her ear. Even though every part of his being was screaming at him to be close to her, he knew that she wasn't totally with it and he could wake up to her screaming at him tomorrow if she didn't remember this.

"No, please, I need you". He didn't have the will power to deny her request again, so with a quick glance at Sam and Sam's encouraging nod, Dean slid under the sheets beside her. He pulled her close to him, kissing the top of her head.

"Sleep [Y/N], we can talk tomorrow". He whispered. Not long after, all three of them were fast asleep.

***

It was late afternoon before Dean woke up, and he smiled to see that [Y/N] was still in his arms. He glanced over to his side and saw that Sam's bed was empty, so Dean grabbed his phone to see if he'd left a message. There was a text from Sam saying he'd gone out to get some food, which meant it was only Dean and [Y/N] in the room. He lay there with her for several more minutes, just letting himself enjoy her presence. When she started to stir, he began to stroke her back. "Dean?" She looked up at him.

"Hey".

"Hey". She whispered back and looked back down, leaning her head back on his chest.

"Don't ever do that again". His command had no trace of anger in it, it was more of a plea.

"I won't. I'm never going to hunt on my own again. You were right, I'm not good enough".

"No one's good enough to hunt alone Sweetheart. You did manage to hunt down and kill it on your own though, so I guess you were right too, you don't need me protecting you all the time". She looked back up and him and shook her head.

"I do need you. I need Sam too. I miss both of you".

"You think we could give each other a second chance? There is always a place for you back at the bunker". She nodded at him.

"Yeah, I think we could give each other a second chance". She gave him a small smile which drew his attention down to her lips. Without allowing himself to overthink anything, he leaned forward and pressed his lips to hers. To his relief she kissed him back, and he moved one of his hands up into her hair while the other strayed lower on her back, sliding under his flannel and beneath the boxers that she was wearing. She licked his lower lip and he opened his mouth, letting her in. One of her hands was pressed against his chest, holding her up, while she moved her other hand up to his chin to feel his stubble.

After several minutes of kissing and feeling each other again, she pulled back and leaned her forehead against his, allowing them to catch their breaths. "I still love you". She said, feeling her cheeks grow hot. He smiled up at her and pushed her off onto her back before crawling on top of her and pressing his lips to hers again.

"I still love you too".

The end

934 notes · View notes

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

472 notes · View notes