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eyesforjade · 6 months ago

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Jus In Bello | Supernatural Series Rewrite | Dean Winchester x Fem!Reader

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Fem!Reader

Warnings: yay arrests, canon violence, canon gore, henriksen being lowkey bigoted, mentions of smut (MDNI, 18+ ONLY)

Word Count: 6043

A/N: my american readers, i know we are all mourning this week. i hope that this brightens your day a bit. i love you all!

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Somewhere in Colorado, you and the Winchesters managed to track Bela down to a hotel. You rushed in with your gun stowed in your jacket and were surprised to find no one. Confused, you searched through drawers hoping to find the Colt instead.

“Any sign of it?” Dean whispered commandingly.

“No,” you replied. “This is definitely her room, though.” You held up three wigs from the dresser.

Suddenly, the phone in the room rang. You shared a confused look with Sam and Dean. You picked the phone up trepidatiously, and didn’t say a word into it.

“(Y/N)? Sweetie, are you there?”

“Bela,” you hissed. “Where are you?”

“Two states away by now.”

“Where?” you snarled.

“Where’s our usual quippy banter? I miss it,” she sing-songed.

“I want it back, Bela. Now.”

“Your little pistol, you mean?” she tsked. “Sorry, I can’t at the moment.”

“You understand how many people are gonna die if you do this?” you argued.

“What exactly is it that you think I plan to do with it?” she scoffed.

“Uh, I don’t know, take our only weapon against an army of demons and sell it to the highest bidder?” you remarked.

“You know nothing about me,” she replied bitingly.

“I know I’ll stop you,” you said evenly.

“Tough words for a gal who can’t even find me.”

“I’ll find you, I swear to god. Because I have absolutely nothing better to do than hunt you down and kill you,” you said.

“That’s where you’re wrong. You’re about to be quite occupied.” Her words had a sinking feeling forming in your stomach. “Did you really think I wouldn’t take precautions?”

Suddenly, police officers burst into the room and pointed guns at you and the Winchesters. Immediately, you put your hands above your head and dropped the phone.

“Hands in the air!” an officer shouted. “Down on your knees.”

“That bitch,” Dean growled from his position on the floor beside you.

The officers forced you down onto the ground with your hands behind your back. When the officers repeated your Miranda rights, though, you noticed Bela had only given your first name. Thankfully, your full identity was still concealed.

Though, that momentary relief quickly dissipated when you heard the voice of the man you’d spoken to on the phone of that bank in the shapeshifter case.

“Hi, guys,” Henriksen said. ��It’s been a while.”

You watched Dean lay his head down on the floor beside you in defeat.

***

Stoicism had always been your forte when it came to run-ins with the police. Dean, however, was as quippy and defensive as ever. You loved him more than anything, but that was definitely not going to work in your favor in this situation.

Dean and Sam were shackled together and brought into the police station first. Meanwhile, one guard stayed with you in the police car. Unfortunately, you were frisked upon your arrest, and anything you had to help you get out of your cuffs were now unavailable to you.

One other guard returned and led you into the police station. You cut your eyes at the secretary clutching a rosary and cowering in fear while she muttered what you assumed to be a prayer. You smirked at the irony of the situation.

You were then thrown into the cell across from Sam and Dean; the only two cells in the entire station. You remained silent, not even talking to Sam and Dean. Your anxiety was quickly getting the better of you. No matter what escape plan you tried to think of, you knew it was a lost cause.

“Hey there, sweetheart,” Dean called from across the hall.

You kept your eyes at the ground.

Then, the sound of footsteps you attributed to Henriksen approached. He stopped between the two cells, pacing around and addressing the three of you. “You know what I’m trying to decide?”

“I don’t know—”

‘Don’t do it, Dean,’ you thought.

“What?” your partner continued to remark. “Whether Cialis will help you with your little condition?”

“What to have for dinner tonight.” Henriksen clearly had no time for Dean’s comments today. “Steak or lobster, what the hell, surf and turf. I got a lot to celebrate. I mean, after all, seeing you three in chains…”

“You kinky son of a bitch. We don’t swing that way,” Dean sneered.

“Now, that’s funny.”

“You know, I wouldn’t bust out the melted butter just yet,” Dean continued. “Couldn’t catch us at the bank, couldn’t keep us in that jail.”

“You’re right. Fucked up,” Henriksen nodded. “I underestimated you. I didn’t count on you being that smart, but now, I’m ready.”

Dean scoffed. “Yeah, ready to lose us again?”

“Ready like a court order to keep you in a supermaximum prison in Nevada till trial. Ready like isolation in a soundproof, windowless cell, so that between you and me… probably unconstitutional.”

Your stomach flipped again at his words.

“How’s that for ready?” Henriksen smiled. “Take a good look at Sam and— oh, nice to meet you, (Y/N)— you three will never see each other again.”

You felt like you could throw up.

“Aw,” the officer mocked. “Where’s that smug smile, Dean? I want to see it.”

Dean shook his head in disbelief. “You got the wrong guys.”

“Oh, yeah, I forgot. You fight monsters. Sorry, Dean. Truth is, your daddy brainwashed you with all that devil talk, and no doubt, touched you in a bad place.”

‘Oh, fuck. C’mon, Dean, don’t do it,’ you silently begged.

“That’s all. That’s reality,” Henriksen finished.

“Why don’t you shut your mouth?” Dean spat through his teeth.

“Well, guess what. Life sucks. Get a helmet. ‘Cause everybody’s got a sob story. But not everybody becomes a killer,” the officer pushed back. “And now I have three less to worry about. But what I’m curious about…” Henriksen turned to you. “What happened to you, (Y/N)? What’s your sob story?”

You stared up at him through your eyebrows angrily.

“What, you met these two on the road somewhere? They convince you of this Satanist crap? Then what, you start givin’ it up to one of ‘em?”

“You shut your mouth now, Henriksen,” Dean roared.

“Hmm,” the officer hummed. “I’m guessing it was Dean. I almost feel sorry for you. But I gotta tell you, that’s not your only issue, here. It took a while, but I figured you out. You an immigrant? ‘Cause you’re undocumented. Where you from? So I can send your ass back wherever you came from, and they can deal with you as they see fit.”

You still did not respond to him despite the rage and panic bubbling just below the surface.

Henriksen seemed to get bored and look down at his watch. “Ah, well. It’s surf and turf time.” He laughed coldly and walked away from you.

“(Y/N), you okay?” Dean asked, reflex seeming to have him pulling on the chains attached to his brother to try and get to you.

You nodded.

“So, this is how it ends, huh?” Dean tried to remark.

“No, Dean,” you murmured quietly. “We’ll figure something out.” After the “Mystery Spot” ordeal, you just wanted to spend some time with Dean taking a quiet case or finding Bela. This was not how you would’ve chosen for his last three months to go. You couldn’t believe this was going to be your fate.

Your anxiety was quickly getting the better of you, and you wanted nothing more than to be in the cell with Sam and Dean just for some form of comfort.

Instead, you were isolated from them. You were feeling more and more isolated from both Winchesters lately. Maybe not physically but mentally. Mentally, you were just living in fear of the day that Dean left you. You were scared of what you were going to become after his death, especially after what the trickster told you.

A man entering the cells from the office area caught your attention. He closed the heavy door behind him. “Sam and Dean Winchester. And Ms. (Y/N). I’m Deputy Director Steven Groves. This is a pleasure.”

“Well, glad one of us feels that way,” Dean sneered.

“I’ve been waiting a long time for you three to come out of the woodwork.” Suddenly, Steven spun around and shot at you, hitting you in the left shoulder. You shrieked in pain.

“(Y/N)!” Dean and Sam yelled.

You fell back to the ground and scrambled around the cell trying to get away from the shots the man was firing.

Sam must have realized the man was possessed and began the exorcism ritual, making Steven’s head whip from side to side. He stopped firing, thankfully. “Sorry, I've gotta cut this short. It’s gonna be a long night, fellas.” Then, the familiar black smoke shot out of Steven’s body, and the man screamed.

Henriksen and two other officers burst through the door.

“What the hell was that?” one officer asked.

“Put the gun down!” another commanded.

“He shot him!”

Sam froze, still holding the gun. “I didn’t shoot him, okay. I didn’t shoot anyone.”

“He shot me!” you squeaked pointing to the man on the ground. You rolled toward the cold cement floor holding your left shoulder with the opposite arm.

“Get on your knees, now!” Henriksen ordered.

“Okay, okay, okay,” Sam mollified. “Don’t shoot. Please. Look. Here.” He passed the gun through the bars. “Look. We didn’t shoot him. Check the body. There’s no blood. We did not kill him. Go ahead, check him.”

One officer stooped to check Steven’s body. “Vic, there’s no bullet wound.”

“He’s probably been dead for months,” Dean explained. “What did you do to him?” Henriksen demanded.

“We didn’t do anything,” Dean responded.

“Talk or I shoot!”

“You won’t believe us.”

“He was possessed,” Sam began.

“Possessed? Right,” the agent laughed coldly. “Fire up the chopper! We’re taking them out of here now.”

“Yeah! Do that!” Dean threw his hands up as best he could in his cuffs in exasperation.

“Bill?” there was static on the other end of the radio in one officer’s hands. “Bill, are you there?” There was no answer.

Henriksen nodded for the man to go check outside.

The three other officers stood with their guns pointed at each of you.

You continued to writhe, the bullet wound in your shoulder making the entire left side of your torso hurt, waves of heat emanating from the hole in both sides of your shoulder.

“Could somebody help her for fuck’s sake?!” Dean grunted.

“They’re dead,” you heard the radio in an officer’s belt say. “I think they’re all dead.” His voice was cut off with a loud scream.

Henriksen grabbed the radio. “What the hell was that? Reidy? Reidy?! Come in? Reidy? Reidy?”

Henriksen never got a response. He and the other officers left trying to help the one who was likely dead by now.

You started trying to shove the jacket around your body into your wound as best you could with the limited amount of fabric and range of motion due to the cuffs around your wrists. Then, you noticed a roll of toilet paper atop the metal toilet in the corner.

“Sweetheart, you okay?” Dean asked.

You laughed through your pain as you crawled toward the toilet.

“I know, I know, stupid question. I wanna come help you. I’m sorry.” “It’s not your fault,” you hissed through your teeth, trying to keep pressure on the wound with the toilet paper.

Then, the lights in the prison went off.

Dean looked up at the ceiling. “Oh, that can’t be good.”

“Nope,” you groaned. “Fuck, man, what the fuck. What is wrong with our lives?”

Both brothers chuckled.

Henriksen came back into the cell area. “What’s the plan? Kill everyone in the station, bust you three out?”

“What the hell are you talking about?” Dean shot back.

“I’m talking about your psycho friends. I’m talking about a blood bath,” Henriksen pressed.

“Um, evidently, they’re not here to help us,” you groaned, motioning to the bullet wound in your shoulder.

“She speaks,” Henriksen droned.

“Look, you got to believe us,” Sam begged. “Everyone here is in terrible danger.”

“You think?”

“Why don’t you let us out of here so we can save your asses?” Dean begged.

“From what? You gonna say ‘demons’?” He raised his gun, pointing it at the ceiling. “Don’t you dare say ‘demons’. Let me tell you something. You should be a lot more scared of me.” Then, he left.

“How’s the shoulder?” Sam asked you.

You took a pad of toilet paper with a large blood stain on it away from your shoulder. “I’ll live,” you shrugged.

“Y’know, if we get out of here alive,” Dean added.

“Right. So you got a plan?” you asked the brothers.

Just then, you noticed the secretary peeking around a corner outside your cells.

“Hey,” you said to her.

Nancy backed off immediately, scared.

“Hey, Nancy,” Dean said. “Look, my girl’s been shot real bad. Can you— Can you get her a towel, or something? Just one clean towel, okay?”

Nancy looked unsure.

“Please, I’m beggin’ you here. Trust me, I don’t do that often,” Dean told her, trying to get her to open up a little. “Look. Look at us. We’re not the bad guys. I swear.” He gave her a smile, and Nancy shuffled away.

You deflated. “Nice try,” you told Dean. “Thank you.” Your eyes sank to the ground, and then, movement out of the corner of your eye caught your attention.

It was Nancy, who was back with a towel.

“Thank you,” you smiled gratefully.

“Thanks, Nancy,” said Dean.

Nancy backed away from you when she’d given you your towel. Suddenly, Sam grabbed her from behind and pulled her against the bars.

Nancy screamed, and an officer came in with a rifle.

“Let her go!” the officer demanded. “Let her go!”

Sam let Nancy go, and she left horrified.

“You’re okay, Nance?” the officer asked her.

She nodded.

The officer turned his attention back to Sam. “Try something again, get shot. And not in the arm.”

“Okay,” said Sam.

“What the fuck was that?” Dean questioned, upset.

Sam held up Nancy’s rosary.

You snorted out a giggle.

***

The towel was helpful, but not as helpful as some stitches, a clean bandage, and some antiseptic would be.

“We’re like sitting ducks in here,” said Sam.

Dean sighed. “Yeah, I know. Would it kill these cops to bring us a snack?!” he shouted out his last words.

“Always thinkin’ with your stomach,” you snorted.

Dean gave you a playful glare.

“How many you figure are out there?” Sam asked.

“I don’t know,” you replied. “But they could be possessing anyone. Anyone could just walk right in, and we’d have no idea.”

“It's kind of wild, right? I mean, it’s like they’re coming for us. They’ve never done that before.” Dean smiled suddenly. “It’s like we got a contract on us. Think it’s because we’re so awesome? I think it’s ‘cause we’re so awesome.”

You and Sam rolled your eyes.

A sheriff entered and unlocked your cell.

“Well, howdy, there, sheriff,” Dean said to the officer.

You stood, immediately uncomfortable and alert. “Uh, sheriff?”

“It’s time to go, darlin’,” he said monotonously.

You backed up into the cell. “Uh, I’m okay! I’m comfy right here. Thanks, though.”

Henriksen suddenly appeared. “What do you think you’re doing?”

“We’re not just gonna sit around here and wait to die. We’re gonna make a run for it,” the man replied.

“It’s safer here,” Henriksen pushed.

“There’s a SWAT facility in Boulder.”

Henriksen stepped into your cell. “We’re not going anywhere.” Then, he shot the officer in the head.

“Sam!” you yelled, and he tossed you Nancy’s rosary as you dodged a blow from the demon possessing Henriksen. You wrestled the gun away from him and threw it out of the cell. You scrambled to subdue the demon and dropped the rosary into the toilet.

Between shouts from the brothers trying to break out of their cell and Henriksen grunting as you wrestled him, you got your cuffs around Henriksen’s neck and pulled hard.

You knew it would hurt like a mother, but you flipped yourself over Henriksen’s head and pulled him to the ground with you where the holy-water toilet bowl was waiting. You shouted out an exorcism, continuously forcing his head into the bowl. You sat on his shoulders trying to use all your body weight to way the much stronger man down.

“Hurry up!” you heard Dean yelling.

“It’s too late. I already called them!” the demon told you between gasps as his head came out of the water. “They’re already coming.”

You shoved him back into the water and finished the exorcism.

Henriksen screamed as black smoke shot out of his mouth and into the air vent in the ceiling.

You got off the man’s back and sat down on the bed, panting. Henriksen had fallen to the floor. You then noticed the small crowd that had gathered around your open cell.

“Is he… is he dead?” Nancy squeaked.

Henriksen regained consciousness and coughed. “Henriksen! Hey,” called Sam. “Is that you in there?”

You got down to Henriksen’s level to give him a once-over.

“I… I shot the sheriff,” Henriksen breathed out.

You could feel Dean’s next quip coming. “But you didn't shoot the deputy.”

Despite yourself, you snorted out a laugh. You quickly regained your composure when you noticed Sam’s glare.

“Five minutes ago, I was fine, and then…”

You cut Henriksen off. “Black smoke? You were possessed.”

He looked up at you in disbelief. “Possessed, like… possessed?”

“That’s what it feels like. Now you know,” you shrugged.

“I owe you the biggest “I told you so” ever.” Dean returned his gun to Henriksen.

The agent stood and addressed the officer standing behind him that you’d just noticed. “Officer Amici. Keys.”

With said keys, he released you and the brothers from your cells and chains.

Dean rushed to your side.

“Alright, so how do we survive?” Henriksen looked between the three of you.

***

Dean insisted on patching you up. You insisted you could do it yourself, but Dean was just as stubborn as you were. Finally, you allowed him to work on you.

Sam had drawn two devil’s traps on the floor of the station in the midst of Dean tending to you. The officer, whose name you learned was Phil, helped Henriksen prepare guns.

Dean snorted at the guns. “Well, that’s nice. It’s not gonna do much good.”

“We got an arsenal here,” Phil replied.

“It’s like using a BB gun on a T-Rex. That’s just gonna make them mad,” you informed them.

“What do you need?” asked Henriksen.

Dean smirked slightly. “Salt. Lots and lots of salt.”

Phil scoffed. “Salt?”

“What, is there an echo in here?”

“There’s road salt in the storeroom,” Nancy piped up from the corner.

“Perfect. Perfect,” Dean sighed in relief. “We need salt at every window and every door.”

Henriksen and Phil left to go retrieve it.

You hissed as Dean made a particularly rough jab at your arm with his stitching and grabbed his wrist.

“Sorry,” he murmured.

You stroked his wrist with your thumb briefly before dropping your hand. You turned to Nancy, who looked on silently. “How you holdin’ up, angel?”

“Okay,” she shrugged, taking a moment to collect her thoughts. “When I was little, I would come home from the Church and start to talk about the devil. And my parents would tell me to stop being so literal. I guess I showed them, huh?”

You laughed softly. “Evangelical?”

“Yeah, actually,” she replied. “I would ask if you are, but…”

You laughed. “No. Raised Catholic, though.”

She made a sound of disapproval.

You laughed again. “Yeah, I’m not exactly crazy about it, either.”

Dean finished wrapping the bandage around your shoulder while you talked to Nancy. “Thank you,” you told your partner.

He kissed your forehead as he stood from his chair. Phil returned at that moment.

“Hey, where's my car?” asked Dean.

“Impound lot out back,” Phil replied.

Dean moved to leave.

“Wait.” Phil stopped Dean. “You’re not going out there?”

“Yeah, I got to get something out of my trunk.”

You immediately stood to follow him. “I’m coming with you.”

“(Y/N), no,” Dean warned.

“Dean,” you responded, leaving no room for argument. His gaze was intense, but you held it with equal ferocity. He was the first to look away, informing you that you’d won the argument.

You smiled cheerfully and followed him out to the Impala.

As soon as you were outside, Dean was angrily ranting. “I’m gonna fucking kill Bela, I swear.”

“Not if I kill her first.”

“I mean, she nearly got you fucking killed. Over a gun that means nothing to her. What the fuck is she playing at?”

“Dean—” you tried to cut him off.

“I swear to god, I’m gonna make it slow and painful.”

“Dean—”

“She’s gonna wish we got locked up in supermax,” he growled.

“Dean—!”

“What?!” he asked, turning to face you.

You were looking at him with such admiration, and his shoulders relaxed immediately as did his angry expression. “I love you,” you told him.

Dean leaned down to kiss you fiercely in the middle of the impound lot, cupping your chin. You pulled yourself impossibly closer to him.

He pulled away from hungrily kissing you momentarily. “I would fuck you right now if I could.”

You laughed. “Demon hunting’s what does it for you?”

“Watching you demon hunt does it for me,” he said. “The way you held your own against Henriksen? Damn.”

You pulled his lips back down to yours but pulled away after a quick kiss. Dean’s lips chased yours, but you turned and started walking forward.

“(Y/N),” he groaned.

“Hey, sweetheart,” you told Dean’s car as you approached it. You helped Dean pack his duffel bag with various weapons quickly until you caught sight of black smoke hurrying toward you. The lights in the lot flickered, and you smacked Dean’s arm frantically to get him to look.

Dean immediately pulled you away from the car after shutting and locking it, and the two of you raced back to the station.

As quickly as you could, you got back in the doors. “They’re coming!” you shouted, slamming the doors behind you and Dean.

Black smoke hit the window beside Nancy, and she screamed. You grabbed Dean’s and Nancy’s hands and pulled them into the center office with Sam close behind.

Dean tossed two sawed-off shotguns to you and Sam, and Henriksen looked between the three of you in admiration and confusion.

Phil, Nancy, and Henriksen had salted the windows while Sam spray-painted devil’s traps on the floor. The building shook as the demons hit what you imagined was the invisible wall keeping them out.

“Everybody okay?” Sam asked.

“Define ‘okay’.” That was the first time you’d heard Henriksen’s voice tremble.

“Alright, everybody needs to put these on,” ordered Dean, handing each person a protection necklace. “They’ll keep you from being possessed. There you go.”

“What about you guys?” Nancy asked.

You pulled down your jeans just enough to reveal the tattoo on your hip while Sam and Dean revealed theirs on their chests.

“Smart. How long you had those?” Henriksen asked.

“Not long enough,” Sam replied.

***

You stayed in the office with Dean and Henriksen while Phil, Sam, and Nancy went to check the perimeter. Henriksen stared sadly at Melvin’s nameplate— the officer he’d killed— and your heart hurt for him. As much of a pain in your ass as Henriksen had been, he had a big heart.

He then picked up one of the shells you were filling yours and Dean’s guns with. “Shotgun shells full of salt.”

“Whatever works,” Dean shrugged.

“Fighting off monsters with condiments,” Henriksen said more to himself than you. “So. Turns out demons are real.” He took off his tie and began filling his own gun with the rocksalt shells.

“FYI, ghosts are real too,” Dean noted. “So are werewolves, vampires, changelings, evil clowns that eat people.”

“Okay then,” the agent nodded.

Dean smiled. “If it makes you feel better, Bigfoot’s a hoax.”

Henriksen snorted. “It doesn’t. How many demons?”

“Total?” you asked. “No idea. A whole lot, though.”

“You know what my job is?” Henriksen asked.

“You mean besides locking up the good guys?” Dean smirked. “I have no idea.”

Henriksen began, “My job is boring; it’s frustrating. You work three years for one break, and then maybe you can save... a few people. Maybe. That’s the payoff. I’ve been busting my ass for fifteen years to nail a handful of guys, and all this while, there’s something off in the corner so big. So yeah… sign me up for that big, frosty mug of wasting my damn life.”

“You didn't know,” you told him.

“Now I do.” Henriksen looked thoughtful. “What’s out there? Can you guys beat it? Can you win?”

“Honestly? I think the world’s gonna end bloody,” Dean replied. “But it doesn’t mean we shouldn’t fight. We do have choices. I choose to go down swingin’.”

“Plus, you got nothing to go home to but your brother.”

“I wouldn’t say that,” Dean replied, nodding at you.

You smiled.

“So I was right,” Henriksen nodded, smiling lopsidedly.

“What about you? You rockin’ the white picket fence?” Dean asked Henriksen.

He shook his head. “Empty apartment, string of angry ex-wives.”

“Well, if there’s anything this one’s proven to me,” Dean nodded toward you again, “it’s that there’s someone for everybody.”

“Look at you getting sappy,” you said. “Imagine that.”

Dean smirked and clicked the barrel of the shotgun back into place.

Suddenly, you heard a crash. You grabbed your gun and ran out into the lobby.

A woman had broken in, but you couldn’t quite see who it was around Sam.

“How do we kill her?” Henriksen asked, stepping up beside Sam.

“We don’t.” Sam lowered Henriksen’s rifle, informing you exactly who had gotten in.

You rolled your eyes. “Oh, god.”

“She’s a demon,” Henriksen replied, confused.

“She’s here to help us,” Sam replied.

“Are you kidding?” Phil piped up.

“Are you gonna let me out?” Ruby asked.

Henriksen looked to you, confused. You just shook your head in exasperation.

Sam scratched the ground to let Ruby out of the devil’s trap.

“And they say chivalry’s dead,” she remarked. “Does anyone have a breath mint? Some guts splattered in my mouth while I was killing my way in here.”

“Show off,” you murmured.

Dean smirked.

Ruby walked past you into the main office, and you, Dean, and Henriksen followed closely.

“How many are out there?’ you asked.

“Thirty at least,” she replied. “That’s so far.”

“Oh, good,” Dean snarked. “Thirty! Thirty hit men, all gunning for us.”

“Who sent them?” you asked.

Ruby looked to Sam, who stood in the doorway. “You didn’t tell them? Oh, I’m surprised.”

“Tell us what?” you asked, cutting your eyes at Sam.

“There’s a big new up and comer. Real pied piper,” she explained.

“Who is he?” Dean questioned.

“Not ‘he’. Her,” Ruby answered. “Her name is Lilith.”

You laughed, immediately recognizing the name. “Like, from Isaiah? That Lilith?”

Ruby nodded. “Look at you, sparky. You almost impress me. She really, really wants Sam’s intestines on a stick. ‘Cause she sees him as competition.”

Dean turned his attention to Sam. “You knew about this?” Sam didn’t answer.

“Well, gee, Sam. Is there anything else I should know?!” Dean roared.

“How about the two of you talk about this later? We’ll need the Colt.”

“About that,” you said to Ruby.

She looked at you in anticipation. “Where is the Colt?”

“It got stolen,” you admitted.

“I’m sorry. I must have blood in my ear. I thought I just heard you say that you were stupid enough to let the Colt get grabbed out of your thick, clumsy, idiotic hands. Fantastic. This is just peachy.”

“Hey, look,” you said. “You’re not my mother. Spare me the reprimanding, okay?”

“Shut up,” she told you. “Fine. Since I don’t see that there’s any other option, there’s one other way I know to get you out of here alive.”

“What’s that?” Dean asked.

“I know a spell. It’ll vaporize every demon in a one-mile radius. Myself included. So, you let the Colt out of your sight, and now, I have to die. So next time, be more careful. How’s that for a dying wish?” she spat.

“Okay, what do we need to do?” Dean asked.

“Aw,” she tsked, “you can’t do anything. This spell is very specific. It calls for a person of virtue.”

Dean nodded. “I got virtue.”

The demon snickered. “Nice try. You’re not a virgin.”

The older brother laughed. “Nobody’s a virgin.”

Ruby looked at Dean and then at Nancy.

“No. No way. You’re kidding me, r— You’re…” Dean trailed off under your warning gaze.

“What? It’s a choice, okay?” Nancy’s cheek blushed, and she looked down to her ballet flats.

“So, y-you’ve never… Not even once? I mean not even – Wow.” “Dean!” you scolded, lightly smacking the back of his head.

“So, this spell. What can I do?” Nancy smiled at Ruby.

“You can hold still,” Ruby replied, almost smirking, “while I cut your heart out of your chest.”

“What?!” the woman squeaked.

“Are you crazy?!” you pushed back.

“I’m offering a solution,” Ruby said in response.

“You’re offering to kill somebody,” Dean argued.

“And what do you think’s gonna happen to this girl when the demons get in?”

Henriksen piped up. “We’re gonna protect her. That’s what.”

“Very noble,” Ruby scoffed.

“Excuse me!” Nancy politely interjected.

“Guys—” you tried, having heard Nancy trying to speak.

“You’re all gonna die. Look. This is the only way,” Ruby continued, talking over you.

“Would everybody please shut up?!” Nancy yelled. She turned her attention to Ruby. “All the people out there… will it save them?”

Ruby nodded. “It’ll blow the demons out of their bodies. So if their bodies are okay… yeah.”

Nancy paused thoughtfully. “I’ll do it.” The room erupted into a string of “hell, no”s.

“We don’t have a choice,” Ruby argued.

“Yeah, well, your choice is not a choice,” Dean asserted.

“Sam, you know I’m right,” Ruby tried, but the younger brother wouldn’t look at her.

Dean smiled, thinking Sam would agree with him. “Sam? What the hell is going on?”

“Sam,” you urged. “C’mon, man.”

“It’s my decision,” Nancy tried.

“Damn straight, cherry pie,” Ruby commented.

“Stop! Stop! Nobody kill any virgins. Sam, I need to talk to you. (Y/N), you, too.” Dean led you and Sam out into the hallway. “Please tell me you’re not actually considering this. We’re talking about holding down a girl and cutting out her heart.”

“And we’re also talking about thirty people out there, Dean. Innocent people who are all gonna die, along with everyone in here,” Sam responded.

“It doesn’t mean that we throw away the rule book and stop acting like humans. I’m not gonna let that demon kill some nice, sweet, innocent girl, who hasn’t even been laid. I mean, look, if that’s how you win wars, then I don’t want to win,” Dean stated.

“Then what? What do we do, Dean?” Sam pushed.

Dean turned away, and the wheels in your head turned. “Wait, I have an idea,” you announced. “It’s, uh, a stupid one, but it beats killing a virgin.”

“How stupid?” Sam asked.

“Like, Dean-level stupid,” you answered.

“I’m standing right here,” Dean said.

“I’m kidding. You’re very smart when you wanna be.” You patted his shoulder softly.

“Okay, so, what’s the plan?” Sam questioned.

“Open the doors,” you said. “Let ‘em all in, and we go to town.”

***

You stood near the main entrance waiting for Dean to give the “all clear.” Ruby left moments ago through the doors you stood near, and it gave you a clear view of just how many demons lay ahead of you.

Nancy and Phil waited on the roof with bags of salt to lock the demons in the station with you to carry out your fabulously idiotic plan.

“All set?” Dean called to you.

A string of “Ready!” came from you, Sam, and Henriksen.

“Let’s do this,” called Dean.

You broke the salt lines and devil’s trap protecting the doors in front of you. You threw the outside doors open, and suddenly, a demon appeared from above to kick his feet at you. You shot at the demon while you scrambled backward to try and scramble into the office.

You stumbled toward the audio room, shooting shot after shot over your hurt shoulder. You met Henriksen inside, providing him cover while he waited for the symbol from Dean.

Your shotgun clicked, having run out of shots, and you chuckled the gun at the snarling demon in front of you.

“Henriksen, now!” Dean yelled, much to your relief.

Henriksen turned it on while you wrestled with the demon in front of you, and the demon shoved you to the ground. He had your discarded shotgun pressed to your throat as the beginnings of the exorcism you had recorded played over the station’s radio system.

The demons screamed horribly as your voice carried over the loudspeakers, and the demon above you rolled off, allowing you to breathe once more. As the exorcism finished, you struggled to get to your feet. You checked on Henriksen behind you, who’d also had a tussle with a demon, and he sighed in relief.

You stumbled out of the audio room with Henriksen in tow, and you found the boys making their way out of the office.

After stepping over the collapsed, formerly possessed people scattered across the floor, Dean tucked you into his side as you took in the scene around you. You wiped blood off your lip and laughed in relief. You put your arm around Sam, and the three of you stayed there silently for a moment.

***

You bid goodbye to Henriksen, Nancy, and Phil, and the FBI agent had said he’d kill you, Dean, and Sam in his report back to the Bureau. Despite how rocky your relationship with the man had been, you were grateful for the way it’d ended.

Now, in your motel room, you packed up, and Ruby appeared at the door.

“Turn on the news,” she ordered, walking into the room.

You did so.

“The community is still reeling from the tragedy that happened just a few hours ago. Authorities believe a gas main ruptured causing the massive explosion that ripped apart the police station and claimed the lives of everyone inside. Among the deceased, at least six police officers and staff, including sheriff Melvin Dodd, deputy Phil Amici, and secretary Nancy Fitzgerald as well as three FBI agents, identified as Steven Groves, Calvin Reidy, and Victor Henriksen.”

Your hand flew to your mouth in horror.

“Three fugitives in custody were also killed. We’ll continue to follow the story here at the scene, but for now, back to you, Jim.”

Ruby turned off the television and looked at the three of you with an “I-told-you-so” look.

“Fuck you, Ruby,” you huffed.

“Don’t shoot the messenger,” she responded.

“Must’ve happened right after we left,” said Sam.

Ruby tossed hex bags to you and the brothers. “Considering the size of the blast, smart money’s on Lilith.”

“What’s in these?” you asked.

“Something that’ll protect you. Throw Lilith off your trail… for the time being, at least.”

You nodded to her in thanks, and Sam thanked her audibly.

“Don’t thank me,” she scoffed. “Lilith killed everyone. She slaughtered your precious little virgin, plus a half a dozen other people. So after your big speech about humanity and war, turns out, your plan was the one with the body count. Do you know how to run a battle? You strike fast, and you don’t leave any survivors. So no one can go running to tell the boss. So next time, we go with my plan.” With that, she left.

Your head dropped in exasperation, and Dean reached over to grab your hand. He squeezed tightly, and you and the Winchesters sat in silence for a long while.

Series Rewrite Taglist: @polireader @brightlilith @atcamillanorrman @jrizzelle @insomnia-bookworm @procrastination20 @mrs-liebgott @djs8891 @tiggytaylor @staple-your-mouth @jesstherebel @rach5ive @strawberrykiwisdogog @bruhidkjustwannaread @mxltifxnd0m @sunshine-on-marz @big-ol-boat @mgchaser @capncrankle @chervbs @simpingdeadcharacters @nesnejwritings @stillhere197 @tearsforhan @take-it-on-the-run @iloveyou2mia @maxinehufflepuffprincess @ohgeehowdigethere @seninjakitey @berarenado @s0urw00lf @princessleahorgana @quarterhorse19 @isla-finke-blog @silverdoragon @karacaroldanvers @gayandfairycore @examishbookwyrm @star-yawnznn @real-sharena-h @fandomloverrr @metalmonki @onlyangel-444 @yu-winchester @benniwiththefanni @daisychaingirl @immagods @missmieux @yoongi-holland @littledebbieinabigworld

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eyesforjade · 6 months ago

Text

Mystery Spot | Supernatural Series Rewrite | Dean Winchester x Fem!Reader

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Fem!Reader

Warnings: so much death. just lots of it. SMUTTTTTTTTTT (18+ MDNI!!! LEAVE!!!), car sex (yum), canon violence, canon gore,

Word Count: 7578

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Sam was incredibly insistent on working a case he’d found instead of going after Bela, much to your and Dean’s dismay. You and your partner were desperate to get your hands on her and tear her a new one.

However, you decided to humor Sam.

“I really don’t think this is gonna take that long,” you told Dean. “Should be like, a week, at most.”

You’d found a motel room in a small town in Florida. Broward County was the last place your victim had been seen. You left Sam in the room, and you and Dean went for a night drive.

“I’m runnin’ out of time, though, (Y/N). I wanna find the bitch before I croak,” he responded.

“Babe, I know. And we will,” you sighed, sadness taking over.

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t ‘ve brought that up,” Dean said, referring to his nearing trip downstairs.

“No, no, it’s fine,” you told him. “I know it’s constantly on your mind. It’s constantly on mine, too.”

He threw a lingering glance at you out of the corner of his eye before looking back at the road. Then, he pulled off to the side of it in a small clearing.

“Dee, what are you doing?” you asked.

Then, his lips were on yours. You let out a small squeak in surprise, but you melted into his kiss with your eyes fluttering shut. He wrapped his arms around you and pulled you across his lap. You pressed yourself down onto his hips and began to grind slightly over the top of his growing bulge. Dean groaned into your mouth, and you pulled his hair back to get better access to kiss his neck. He squeezed your ass, making you inhale sharply, and he took the opportunity to push your lips back to his and away from his neck.

“Back seat,” he growled.

“Yeah,” you nodded breathlessly.

With Metallica’s “Nothing Else Matters” playing in the background, Dean pushed you down into the backseat. Grinding down onto your core, he pressed passionate kisses to your lips. You pulled at his shirt, trying to cue him to take it off.

He chuckled against your mouth. “So needy.” He continued to kiss you while he quickly got his shirt off, and then, his lips were back on yours. He started to kiss down your neck and pushed your shirt up over your stomach. “ ‘S this okay?”

You nodded breathlessly. “Please.”

Dean pulled your shirt over your head, then unhooked your bra, then peppered kisses between your breasts. You tugged on his hair, making him groan. You tried to grind your hips up against him for some sort of friction, but he used his free hand to press your hips down. You whined, and you could feel him smiling against your right nipple as he bit gently on it.

“Stop teasing,” you begged.

“All business tonight, huh?” Dean taunted.

“It’s been too long, c’mon,” you whined.

That seemed to get through to Dean, and he started to unbutton your jeans. When your breath hitched, he immediately stopped. “Are you sure you want this?”

You nodded frantically.

“Words, baby,” Dean said, voice low and rumbling in his chest.

“Please, fuck me, Dee,” you begged.

That was all the encouragement he needed. He discarded both your and his pants and quickly sheathed himself inside you. You took in a sharp breath. No matter how many times you’d had sex with Dean, the stretch was still surprising no matter how turned on you were.

Breathing heavily, he gave you a little time to adjust.

“Move. Move, please,” you keened.

Dean rolled his hips into yours slowly and kissed you deeply. This was different than the other times you’d had sex. While you’d had very passionate sex before as opposed to rough or kinky, this was just you and Dean. It was you and Dean in your rawest, most vulnerable forms.

Before Dean, the phrase “love making” made you cringe. Now, you knew what it felt like. The kind of love you and Dean had for each other was the love you’d been searching for all your life. As a little girl, Disney princess movies had always been fun for you to watch, but you weren’t sure you wanted such a mushy, fluffy love. As you got older, you read about Mr. Darcy and the way he loved Elizabeth. That was the kind of love you were searching for. And, in his own way, Dean loved you just as powerfully. With each deep thrust of his hips, he was proving it to you.

When you’d both cum, Dean laid on top your bare chest. The two of you just allowed time to pass as rain started to patter against the windows of the Impala and the Metallica cassette tape came to an end.

Despite Dean’s avoidance to verbally telling you he loved you, you found him showing you more and more frequently as of late. Whether it be the extra time he took to make sure you were okay on hunts, his protectiveness, or those secrets he’d gotten better and better at sharing with you, there was no doubt in your mind Dean loved you. He would clean your guns without you asking, sharpen your knives, and replace your sets of your favorite black ink pens when you’d run out of ink for your journaling and sketching. When you smiled at him, it looked as though he was studying your facial expression as if to imprint it on his mind.

You’d noticed him trying his best to tame his wandering eyes and flirtatious remarks to himself at the beginning of your relationship, and now, it wasn’t even a conscious effort. You seemed to be the only woman on the planet in his eyes, which was shocking considering the way he acted when you met him. All these things he did to make you feel more secure in your relationship proved to you how much he loved you.

With that in mind, you pressed a kiss to the top of Dean’s head and noticed he’d drifted off. You smiled thoughtfully and raked your hands through his hair to soothe him.

***

A day later, you woke up to the sound of Asia’s “Heat of the Moment” playing loudly through the radio on the nightstand between the bed you shared with Dean and Sam’s bed.

“Rise and shine, Sammy!” Dean laughed. He sat on the end of your bed, tying his shoes.

You pushed his back with your feet still under the covers. “Get your shoes off my bed, Winchester!”

“Dude, Asia?” Sam scoffed.

Dean hummed. “Come on. You love this song, and you know it.”

“Yeah, and if I ever hear it again, I'm gonna kill myself.”

Dean turned up the volume. “What? Sorry, couldn't hear you.”

You giggled, still trying to push Dean off the bed, and he suddenly flopped back down across your body. “What’s gotten into you?” you asked regarding his bright-eyed and bushy-tailed demeanor.

“I got to fuck my baby in my baby. What could be better?”

Sam groaned. “Ew, guys. Dean? Shut up.”

You grabbed a pillow and chucked it at Sam. Then, you got up and moved to the bathroom. Dean slipped a hand on the small of your back and came to brush his teeth next to you. Sam took the only remaining spot at the other sink and did the same. In the midst of you and Sam brushing your teeth, Dean gargled his spit obnoxiously.

You and Sam were disgusted, and Dean did not hide his excitement at that fact.

Next, you got dressed in the bathroom. When you headed back into the bedroom, Dean was rummaging through his duffel bag. He pulled out your black, lacy bra. “This yours?” he asked Sam.

“Dean!” you shrieked, grabbing it out of his hands and shoving it back in his bag.

He laughed before rummaging around some more and pulling out his Taurus. “Bingo.” He got up and headed toward the door. “Now, who’s ready for some breakfast?”

You rolled your eyes, smiling lopsidedly, and headed out to the car behind him.

***

The cashier was talking to an old man as you entered the diner. It was quite small, and the wood paneling on the walls was likely making the room feel smaller.

You found a booth and sat down, and Dean sat next to you. Sam sat across the table, somewhat between you and Dean on the opposite bench.

Dean noticed a poster on the wall. “Hey, Tuesday. Pig in a poke.”

“You even know what that is?” Sam grimaced.

The waitress, whose name tag read “Doris,” came up to your table. “You folks ready?”

Dean grinned. “Yes. I'll have the special, side of bacon, and a coffee.”

“Make it two coffees and a short stack,” said Sam.

“How ‘bout you, darlin’?” Doris asked you.

“I’ll take a coffee and a short stack, too. Thanks,” you smiled.

“You got it,” Doris nodded.

“I'm telling you, Sam, this job is small fry. We should be spending our time hunting down Bela,” Dean said quietly.

“Okay, sure, let's get right on that. Where is she again?” Sam remarked.

“Shut up,” Dean grumbled.

“Look. Believe me, I want to find her as bad as you do. In the meantime, we have this.” Sam pulled out a newspaper.

“Alright, so, this professor—” Dean began to read over the headline.

“Dexter Hasselback was passing through town last week when he vanished,” Sam informed.

“Last known location?” you asked.

“His daughter says he was on his way to visit the Broward County Mystery Spot,” Sam replied.

You looked down at the flier Sam had put in front of you.

Dean pulled it slightly closer to him for a better view. He read off the back of the paper, “Where the laws of physics have no meaning.”

You snickered.

Doris arrived with a tray of coffees. “Three coffees, black, and some hot sauce for the—” Doris gasped and cut herself off when the hot sauce teetered and fell off the tray. The bottle smashed to bits on the ground. “Whoops. Crap! Sorry.” She turned around to the back of house. “Cleanup!”

***

After finishing breakfast, you walked down the street hand in hand with Dean. He’d been growing more and more touchy as of late; undoubtedly as his time was drawing nearer.

A golden retriever barking pulled you out of your thoughts.

You gasped, “Puppy!” and turned your head over your shoulder to look at it.

Dean chuckled. “What are you, five?”

You shrugged. “What? I like dogs.”

Dean reached over and grabbed the Mystery Spot flier from Sam’s hands. “Sam, joints like this are only tourist traps, right? I mean, you know, balls rolling uphill, furniture nailed to the ceiling, they're only dangerous to your wallet.”

“Okay, look, I'm just saying, there are spots in the world where holes open up and swallow people. The Bermuda Triangle, uh, the Oregon Vortex—”

You cut Sam off. “Broward County Mystery Spot?”

“Well, sometimes these places are legit,” the younger brother shrugged.

“Okay, so if it is legit—” you began.

“And that’s a big ass ‘if’,” Dean interjected.

“What’s the lore?” you finished, shooting a glance at Dean.

Dean accidentally bumped into a blonde girl who was carrying a stack of papers and bustling past.

“Excuse me,” she said.

“The lore's pretty fuckin’ nuts, actually,” Sam responded. “They say these places the magnetic fields are so strong that they can bend spacetime, sending victims no one knows where.”

“Sounds a little ‘X-Files’ to me,” Dean scoffed.

You watched two movers try to get a desk through the door of an apartment complex.

“Told you it wouldn't fit,” one of them said.

“What do you want, a Pulitzer?” the other replied.

“Alright, look, I'm not saying this is really happening, but if it is, we gotta check it out; see if we can do something,” Sam continued.

“Alright, alright, we'll go tonight after they close; get ourselves a nice long look,” Dean conceded.

*** Later that night, you did just as Dean said. The man in question was shining his flashlight around the glow-in-the-dark objects. Just as he’d said, there were various pieces of furniture nailed to the ceiling. “Wow, uncanny,” he commented. Dean moved his flashlight in your direction where you inspected a lamp at an angle to the floor. “Find anything?”

“No. Sammy?”

He held an unresponsive EMF meter. “No.”

“You have any idea what you're looking for?” Dean questioned his brother.

“Uh…” Sam trailed off. “Yeah.”

You shot Sam a look.

“No,” he admitted.

You shook your head, smiling a bit.

Suddenly, a gun was pointing directly at your forehead. “What the hell are you doing here?” the voice behind the gun questioned angrily. He appeared to be the owner of the Mystery Spot.

“Whoa, whoa!” Dean said, holding his hands up in surrender. The owner moved his gun to point it at Dean.

“We can explain,” the older brother continued.

“You robbing me?!” the man shouted.

“Nobody’s robbing you, I swear,” you said.

“Don’t move!” the owner roared.

“Just putting the gun down,” Dean explained, moving very slowly.

The owner fired unexpectedly, and you shrieked in surprise. “Dean!” You rushed to his side as he fell to the ground, breathing laboriously.

“Oh, my god. Dean!” you cried, his breaths becoming more and more choked.

“Hey!” Sam shouted at the owner. “Call 9-1-1!”

“I—I didn't mean to—”

You cut the man off. “Now!” The owner left.

You cradled Dean’s head in your lap. “Oh, my god. Not like this, please…” Tears welled in your eyes. “Not yet.”

Dean choked out one last breath, and then he went still; his eyes closed.

You closed your eyes and rested your forehead against his.

“Heat of the moment,” you heard Asia singing.

Confused, your eyes snapped open.

“Rise and shine, Sammy!” Dean laughed. He sat on the end of your bed, tying his shoes.

Dean looked to Sam, waiting for a reaction. “Dude. Asia.”

You shot up and looked over at the younger Winchester for any validation that you weren’t going crazy.

He seemed confused, too. “Dean?”

Okay, so maybe you weren’t alone in this.

Dean hummed. “Come on. You love this song, and you know it.” He grooved along to the song just as he had— yesterday? In your dream?— you weren’t sure.

Then, you got up and moved to the bathroom. You just needed to get away and try to come to grips with what was happening. Next, Dean slipped a hand on the small of your back and came to brush his teeth next to you. Sam took the only remaining spot at the other sink and did the same. In the midst of you and Sam brushing your teeth, Dean gargled his spit obnoxiously.

Noticing that you and Sam had no reaction, he deflated and spit. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” you and Sam responded in unison.

“Just had a weird dream, that’s all,” you said.

Sam shot you a curious look. “Me, too.”

Dean looked between the two of you, expression somewhere between confusion and upset. “Clowns or midgets?” Dean asked.

You rolled your eyes. Next, you got dressed in the bathroom. When you headed back into the bedroom, Dean was rummaging through his duffel bag. He pulled out your black, lacy bra. “This yours?” he asked Sam.

“Dean!” you shrieked, grabbing it out of his hands and shoving it back in his bag.

He laughed before rummaging around some more and pulling out his Taurus. “Bingo.” He got up and headed toward the door. “Now, who’s ready for some breakfast?”

You rolled your eyes and headed out to the car behind him.

“(Y/N), (Y/N), wait,” Sam called after you.

You stopped just before the door.

“You—”

You nodded. “It’s like de ja vu, man, it’s weird.”

“What the hell is happening?” Sam asked.

***

The cashier was talking to an old man as you entered the diner. It was quite small, and the wood paneling on the walls was likely making the room feel smaller; just like yesterday.

You found a booth and sat down, and Dean sat next to you. Sam sat across the table, somewhat between you and Dean on the opposite bench.

Dean noticed a poster on the wall. “Hey, Tuesday. Pig in a poke.”

“It’s Tuesday?!” you and Sam asked in surprise.

Dean looked between you and Sam. “Yeah…?”

The waitress, whose name tag read “Doris,” came up to your table. “You folks ready?”

Dean grinned. “Yes. I'll have the special, side of bacon, and a coffee.”

“Nothing for me, thanks,” said Sam.

“Let me know if you change your mind. How ‘bout you, darlin’?” Doris asked you.

“I’ll take a coffee and a short stack. Thanks,” you smiled uncomfortably.

“You got it,” Doris nodded.

“I'm telling you, Sam, this job is small fry. We should be spending our time hunting down Bela,” Dean said quietly.

You stared after Doris, and Dean snapped his fingers in front of your face. “You guys with me?”

You shook your head. “You really don’t… remember any of this?”

“Remember what?” he asked.

“This,” Sam began. “Today. Like it's— like it's happened before?”

“You mean like déjà vu?” Dean asked.

“No, I mean like, like it's really happened before,” Sam replied.

“Yeah. Like déjà vu.”

“No, Dee,” you said. “What he’s saying is, it feels like we’re living yesterday all over again.”

“Okay, how is that not dé—”

Sam angrily cut his brother off. “Don't, don't say it! Just don't even—”

Doris came back to the table with a tray with two coffees and a hot sauce. “Two coffees, black, and some hot sauce for the—oops! Crap!” Sam caught the hot sauce bottle as it fell, and he seemed a little stunned by his own action.

Doris gasped. “Thanks.” She put down the bottle and left.

Dean looked confused. “Nice reflexes.”

You and Sam were frustrated, and you just stared down at the steaming coffee in front of you.

***

After finishing breakfast, you walked down the street hand in hand with Dean.

A golden retriever barking pulled you out of your thoughts.

You turned to look at it as you passed.

“Guys, I’m sorry, but I don’t know what the hell you’re talking about,” Dean sighed.

“Okay, look,” Sam huffed. “Yesterday was Tuesday, right? But today is Tuesday too.”

“Yeah. No. Good. You're totally balanced,” Dean deadpanned.

“Why don’t you believe us, Dean?” you asked, frustrated with the whole situation.

Dean laughed as he collided with the blonde girl holding papers and bustling past yet again.

“Excuse me,” she said.

“Look, I'm just saying that it's crazy, you know, I mean, even for us crazy. ‘Dingo ate my baby’ crazy. Hey, maybe it was another of your psychic premonitions.” Dean was clearly reaching.

“How does that explain me, then?” you challenged.

“I— I don’t know,” Dean sighed. “You’re—”

“Careful,” you warned.

Dean closed his mouth at your firm stare.

“Listen, we were at the Mystery Spot, and then—” Sam cut himself off.

“And then what?” Dean prompted.

Sam paused, appearing as if he didn’t want to say. “Then, I woke up.”

You watched two movers try to get a desk through the door of an apartment complex.

“Told you it wouldn't fit,” one of them said.

“What do you want, a Pulitzer?” the other replied.

Sam snapped his fingers at you. “Wait a minute! The Mystery Spot. You think maybe it— “ The younger brother cut himself off again.

“Maybe what?” Dean asked.

“We gotta check that place out. Look, just – go with me on this, okay?” Sam said.

“I agree,” you added.

“Alright, alright, we'll go tonight after they close, get ourselves a nice long look,” Dean conceded.

Sam stopped in his tracks, as did you.

“No, no,” you rushed out.

“Wait, what?” Sam exclaimed simultaneously. “No!”

“Whoa,” Dean dropped your hand and looked between you and Sam. “Why not?”

“Uh,” Sam thought aloud, “Let's just go now. Right now. Business hours, nice and crowded.”

“My god, you're a freak.” Dean rolled his eyes.

“Dean,” you warned again.

“Okay! Whatever. We'll go now,” he sighed. Dean walked a few feet ahead of you and his brother and looked to his right. Suddenly, a car slammed into him from his left.

“Dean!” you and Sam cried.

You ran to the spot where Dean laid face down in the street. You rolled his head over into your lap, and his face was covered in bloodied scrapes. “No, no, no, not again.”

Again, you rested your forehead against Dean’s, hugging his body close to yours, and closed your eyes.

“Heat of the moment,” Asia sang.

Your eyes snapped open again.

“Rise and shine, Sammy!” Dean laughed. He sat on the end of your bed, tying his shoes.

Your heart dropped.

***

Dean noticed a poster on the wall of the diner. “Hey, Tuesday. Pig in a poke.”

“Okay, would you listen to me, Dean? 'Cause I am flipping out,” Sam said.

You were flipping out as well, so much so that it felt like your brain was short circuiting to where you couldn’t speak.

The waitress, whose name tag read “Doris,” came up to your table. “You folks ready?”

“He'll take the special, side of bacon, coffee, black. Nothing for me, thanks,” Sam said.

“How ‘bout you, darlin’?” Doris asked you.

“I’ll take a coffee and a short stack. Thanks,” you smiled uncomfortably.

“You got it,” Doris nodded.

“Sammy, I get all tingly when you take control like that,” Dean snarked.

You hit his shoulder lightly. “Shut up.”

“Quit fucking around, Dean,” Sam groaned.

“Okay. Okay. I'm listening. So- so, you think that you guys ‘re in some kind of a— what again?”

“Time loop,” you and Sam replied simultaneously.

“Like Groundhog Day,” the older brother said monotonously.

“Yes, exactly,” Sam nodded. “Like Groundhog Day.”

Dean nodded skeptically.

“So you don't believe us,” you said, feeling defeated.

Dean laughed. “It's just a little crazy, I mean even for us crazy, you know, like, uh—”

“ ‘Dingo ate my baby’ crazy?” you cut him off.

Dean turned to you sharply. “How'd you know I was going to say that?”

“Because you said it before, Dean, that's our whole point,” Sam responded.

Doris came back to the table with a tray with two coffees and a hot sauce. “Two coffees, black, and some hot sauce for the— oops! Crap!”

Sam caught the hot sauce bottle as it fell, and he didn’t even have to look at it to do so.

Doris gasped. “Thanks.” She put down the bottle and left.

Dean looked confused. “Nice reflexes.”

“No, I knew it was going to happen.”

“So did I,” you added.

Dean sighed. “Okay, look. I'm sure that there's some sort of an explanation—”

“You're just going to have to go with me on this, Dean, you just have to, you owe me that much!” Sam exclaimed.

“Sam, calm down,” you chastised.

“Don't tell me to calm down! I can't calm down. I can't. Because—” the younger brother cut himself off.

“Because what?” Dean pressed.

Sam couldn’t answer.

“Because you die today, Dee,” you said softly.

He tilted your chin up with his first two fingers. “I'm not gonna die. Not today.”

“We’ve watched you die twice now, and I—” you grabbed Dean’s wrist. “I can’t do it again. I won’t. Please, just go with us on this. Please.”

“Alright,” Dean nodded, “Okay. We’ll figure it out.”

You rested your forehead against his and nodded.

Sam sat across from you watching, and Dean cleared his throat awkwardly. He pointed at Sam. “I still think you’re nuts, but we’ll figure it out.”

***

After finishing breakfast, you walked down the street hand in hand with Dean.

A golden retriever barking pulled you out of your thoughts. You turned to look at it as you passed.

Dean collided with the blonde girl holding papers and bustling past yet again.

“Excuse me,” she said.

You watched two movers try to get a desk through the door of an apartment complex.

“Told you it wouldn't fit,” one of them said.

“What do you want, a Pulitzer?” the other replied.

Dean’s mind was still racing over the situation, and you could very clearly see the wheels in his head turning. “And you think this cheesy-ass tourist trap has something to do with it?” he asked out of the blue.

“Maybe it's the real deal, you know? The— the magnetic fields bending spacetime, or whatever,” Sam suggested.

The older brother tsked. “I don't know, it all seems a little too ‘X-Files’ for me.”

“Well, I don't know how else to explain it, Dean!” Sam snapped.

“Alright, alright, we'll go tonight after they close, get ourselves a nice long look,” Dean conceded.

“No!” you cried, stopping in your tracks. “No! We can’t.”

“Why not?” he asked.

“Because—!” You shook your head and looked away, unable to finish.

“Because what?” Dean questioned. It dawned on him suddenly. “I die there?”

“Blown away, actually,” Sam muttered.

“Huh. Okay, let's go now,” said Dean. He walked a few feet ahead of you and his brother and looked to his right. Before he could step out into the street, you and Sam grabbed him and pulled him back from nearly being hit by the car speeding past.

“Stay out of the way!” the man driving the car yelled.

Dean laughed, staring after the car, until he saw your and Sam’s faces. “Wait, did he—?”

“Yesterday. Yeah,” Sam nodded.

Dean raised his eyebrows. “And?”

“And what?” you scoffed.

“Did it look cool, like in the movies?” Dean grinned widely.

Sam rolled his eyes. “You peed yourself.” He walked off.

Dean immediately got uncomfortable. “Of course I peed myself. Man gets hit by a car, you think he has full control over his bladder? Come on!”

“You didn’t,” you told him. “And it did look like the movies.”

Dean smiled with boyish pride before holding you back while he looked both ways across the street.

***

“Folks, I can't tell you how much I appreciate this. We could use all the good ink we can get,” the owner of the Mystery Spot told you.

“How long have you owned the place, Mr. Carpiak?” Sam asked.

“Well, my family's been guarding the secrets here since you don't want to know when.” Of course, he kept up the act.

“So you'd know if anything strange happened,” the brunet continued.

The owner chuckled. “Strange? Strange happens here all the time. It's a Mystery Spot.”

“What exactly does that mean?”

“Well, uh, it's where the laws of physics have no meaning.”

Clearly, Sam was getting fed up. “Okay, like how?”

“Take the tour,” the owner grinned.

“The guy who went missing, Dexter Hasselback, he take the tour?” asked Dean.

The owner’s smile dropped. “Uh, uh, hold on a minute, what kind of article is this?”

“Just answer the question,” you demanded, patience wearing thinner than Sam’s.

“The police scoured every inch of this place. They couldn't find that man. I never seen him before. We're a family establishment—”

You stepped to him, shoving the pen in his face. “There is something weird going on here. Now, do you know anything about it, or not?”

The owner stiffened, staring at the end of the pen that he was keeping his distance from. “Okay. Look. Guys, um, give me a break. I bought the joint at a foreclosure auction last March, alright? Hell, I used to sell bail bonds.”

You continued to stare him down.

“Okay, Anne Lewis, let’s get some air,” Dean grumbled, steering you away from the man.

You weren’t angry at Dean, but you were upset with the entire situation. You shrugged Dean off as you hit the street outside.

“Well, I hate to say it, but that place is exactly what I thought: it's full of crap,” Dean remarked.

“Then what is it, Dean? What the hell is happening to us?” Sam argued.

“I don't know,” he sighed. “Alright, let me just— So, every day I die.”

You nodded.

“And that’s when you two wake up again, right?”

You nodded again.

“So let's just make sure I don't die,” Dean finished simply. “If I make it to tomorrow, then maybe the loop stops and we can figure all this out.”

“Just… that easy? I don’t know, Dean,” you shook your head.

“It's worth a shot,” your partner shrugged. “I say we grab some takeout and head back to the motel, lay low until midnight.”

You nodded, hopeful and anxious.

“Alright,” Dean beamed. “Who wants Chinese?”

He started walking again and got two steps in before a falling desk crushed him completely. It felt like the air was crushed out of you, and you looked up at the movers from the window who’d dropped the desk. You dropped your head back and closed your eyes.

“Heat of the moment,” Asia sang again.

‘I’m gonna go fucking crazy,’ you thought, staring at the ceiling.

“Rise and shine, Sammy!”

***

One-hundred Tuesdays. You’d been through one-hundred Tuesdays, and there was no end in sight. No matter what you and Sam did, talked about, or tried to change the daily routine, nothing worked. Dean had gotten food poisoning, been electrocuted, choked, been shot— he’d died every way you thought a person possibly could.

You were so frustrated, you thought you were going to end up dying next by your own hands.

You found a booth and sat down, and Dean sat next to you. Sam sat across the table, somewhat between you and Dean on the opposite bench.

Dean noticed a poster on the wall. “Hey, Tuesday. Pig in a poke.”

Sam placed a set of keys on the table; Mr Pickett’s, the man who’d hit Dean with his car on your second Tuesday.

“What are those?” Dean asked, clearly bewildered.

“The old man's. Trust me, you don't want him behind the wheel.” Sam’s voice was scarily devoid of emotion.

The waitress, whose name tag read “Doris,” came up to your table. “You folks ready?”

Dean grinned. “Yes. I'll have the special, side of bacon, and a coffee.”

‘Hi, angel,” you said curtly. “How ‘bout you log in some more hours at the archery range. You’re a pretty awful shot.”

“How'd you know that?” she asked, looking both startled and hurt.

“I’m not gonna answer that question,” you replied.

Doris walked away from your table, clearly uncomfortable.

“Okay, so you think you're caught in some kind of what, again?” Dean asked you and his brother.

“TIme loop,” you and Sam answered in unison.

“Like Groundhog Day,” Dean said, unsettled by you and Sam talking at the same time.

“Doesn't matter. There's no way to stop it,” you and Sam said again.

“What is wrong with you two?” Dean asked, looking between the two of you in concern and confusion.

“This is the hundredth Tuesday we’ve been through, Dean,” you said. “And it never fucking stops.”

“Hot sauce,” you and Sam stated together.

Doris came back to the table with a tray with two coffees and a hot sauce. “One coffee, black, and some hot sauce for the—oops! Crap!” Sam caught the hot sauce bottle as it fell, and he didn’t even have to look at it to do so. His face was stony as he slid it across the table.

Doris gasped. “Thanks.” She put down the bottle and left.

Dean looked confused. “Nice reflexes.”

“We knew it was gonna happen, Dean,” you and the brunet continued together.

“We know everything that’s gonna happen,” Sam said on his own.

Dean scoffed. “You don't know everything.”

“Yeah. We do,” you argued.

“Yeah, right,” the three of you droned together, you and Sam copying Dean’s dry tone. “Nice guess.”

“It wasn’t a guess,” you and Sam said.

“Right, you’re mind readers,” the three of you remarked. “Cut it out, Sam.” Dean looked to you. “(Y/N)!” you and Sam whispered sharply with Dean. “Stay out of this, (Y/N).”

Dean was growing frustrated, and the three of you leaned together to continue your memorized conversation. “You think you're being funny but you're being really, really childish!” You paused in time with Dean. “Sam Winchester wears makeup. Sam Winchester cries his way through sex. Sam Winchester keeps a ruler by the bed and every morning when he wakes up he—”

Dean threw up his hands. “Okay, enough!”

“That's not all,” you said.

“Randy the cashier?” Sam continued for you. “He's skimming from the register. Judge Myers? At night, he puts on a furry bunny outfit.”

“Over there, that's Cal. He's gonna rob Tony the mechanic on the way home,” you nodded at the man.

“What’s your point?” asked Dean.

“We’ve lived through every possible Tuesday,” you explained. “Sam’s ripped the fucking Mystery Spot apart, I burnt it down, and we’ve both tried everything we know to save your life.”

“But we can’t,” added Sam. “No matter what we do, you die. And then, I wake up. And then, it's Tuesday again.”

***

After finishing breakfast, you walked down the street hand in hand with Dean.

“Dog,” Sam pointed out.

A golden retriever barking pulled you out of your thoughts.

“There's gotta be some way out of this,” Dean exasperated.

“ ‘Where’s my damn keys?’ “ you and Sam mocked Mr. Pickett.

You passed him searching his pockets for the keys Sam stole. “Where’s my damn keys?”

Dean collided with the blonde girl holding papers and bustling past yet again.

“Excuse me,” she said.

Dean stopped walking. “Hey. All the times we've walked down this street, I ever do this?” He turned to go back to the blonde girl. “Excuse me, miss!”

You sighed. “No.”

The blonde gave Dean one of her papers which you knew was a missing poster for her father, Dexter Hasselback. You’d spoken to her before around Tuesday sixty-seven.

The dog growled and barked at Dean, and this was exactly what you were worried about. You tried to hold the dog back, but it still brutally attacked Dean. You closed your eyes again, not even wanting to see Dean lying dead on the concrete.

“Heat of the moment.”

***

The cashier was talking to an old man as you entered the diner. It was quite small, and the wood paneling on the walls was likely making the room feel smaller; just like yesterday. And the day before that. Everything was as it should be, but something was really bothering you you couldn’t quite put your finger on.

Sam typed away at his laptop researching Dexter Hasselback having finally thought to do so when he got the chance over the last twenty or so Tuesdays.

You barely listened to the conversation between the two boys as you finished breakfast. When you got up from the booth, it dawned on you what was wrong. The man at the table next to you had used strawberry syrup.

“What’s wrong?” Dean asked you.

You saw the man who usually sat at that table passing by the diner windows. “He always has maple syrup.”

Sam caught on to what you were suggesting. “(Y/N), you’re a genius.”

“Someone wanna bring me into the loop, here?” Dean’s voice broke in.

“Nothing ever changes here, Dean,” you said. “Just us.”

“Heat of the moment.”

***

You confronted the trickster, who, surprisingly, was the one you thought you’d killed back at that college. Somehow, though, he survived.

“Why are you doing this?” Sam demanded, still having the trickster pinned to the wall with the steak.

“You're joking, right?” the trickster snorted. “You chuckleheads tried to kill me last time. Why wouldn't I do this?”

“And Hasselback, what about him?” Dean questioned.

“That putz? He said he didn't believe in wormholes, so I dropped him in one.” The creature laughed at his own joke. “Then you guys showed up. I made you the second you hit town.”

“So, this is fun for you? Killing Dean over and over?” you asked angrily.

“One, yes. It is fun. And two?” He turned his attention away from just you to you and Sam. “This is so not about killing Dean. This joke is on you, Sam. Watching your brother die, every day? Forever?”

“You son of a bitch,” Sam growled.

“And my lovely (Y/N).” The trickster zeroed in on you again. “Joke’s on you, too. But you… you’re a lot more fun to push to your limits than Sam is.”

“And why is that?” you snarled.

“Because you’ll actually give me something interesting to watch. I can’t wait to see what kinda magic you make when Dean goes to Hell,” the trickster laughed.

Despite how his words rattled you, you kept your face steely.

“How long will it take you two to realize?” the creature continued to taunt. “You can’t save him. No matter what.”

“Oh yeah? I kill you, this all ends now,” Sam pushed back.

The trickster’s smirk dropped. “Oh-oh, hey, whoa! Okay. Look. I was just playing around. You can't take a joke, fine. You're out of it. Tomorrow, you'll wake up and it'll be Wednesday. I swear.”

“You’re lying!” you sneered.

“If I am, you know where to find me. Having pancakes at the diner,” he grinned.

You looked to Sam, refusing to look at Dean and let him see the emotions swirling in your eyes.

Sam kept his gaze on the trickster. “No. Easier to just kill you.”

“Sorry, kiddo. Can’t have that,” the trickster tsked and snapped his fingers.

“Promise me, I’ll be back in time,” Huey Lewis & The News sang.

You snapped up, back in bed in your motel room.

“What, you two gonna sleep all day?” Dean asked you and Sam. He stood near the bathroom sink.

“No Asia,” you breathed out.

“Yeah, I know. This station sucks.”

“It's Wednesday!” Sam exclaimed.

“Yeah, usually comes after Tuesday. Turn that thing off, will you?” Dean asked, gesturing to the radio closest to you.

Sam grinned. “What, are you kidding me? This isn't the most beautiful song you've ever heard?”

“No,” Dean snorted. “How many Tuesdays did you guys have?”

“Had to have been, like, one-hundred thirty,” you noted. “Hey, wait. What do you remember?”

“I remember you guys were pretty whacked out of it yesterday, and then, I remember running into the Trickster. But no, that's about it.”

“Alright, pack your stuff,” Sam asserted. “Let’s get the hell out of town. Now.”

“No breakfast?” Dean pouted.

“No breakfast,” you smiled lopsidedly, kissing his cheek as you moved to the bathroom to get dressed.

Dean headed down to the car while you and Sam continued to pack. A few minutes of silence passed between you and Sam before you suddenly heard a gunshot.

Your heads snapped toward each other, and you were instantly speeding out of the door to see if Dean was okay or needed help.

You hurried down the exterior motel stairs, and you made your way around the back of the Impala. To your horror, Dean splayed out on the ground with blood rapidly soaking his shirt.

“Oh, god,” you breathed out, dropping to your knees and ignoring the gravel digging into your jeans. “No, no, no, Dean! Baby, look at me!” You pulled his head into your lap as you’d done many Tuesdays before.

Sam was trying to close his eyes to make something happen. “I’m supposed to wake up. (Y/N), we’re supposed to wake up.”

Your heart dropped. “Somebody help!” you brokenly screamed, tears pouring down your cheeks. “Help us!”

***

Six months later, you were a shell of a human. No matter how many demons you hunted down, ghosts you’d popped, or monsters you’d slaughtered, you were unsatisfied.

You hadn’t spoken to Sam in months. You hadn’t seen Bobby for even longer. It was lonely, but you only wanted Dean. Bobby left numerous voicemails, but you hadn’t heard from Sam. You figured he was doing just as well as you were.

Sam had the Impala, and you kept stealing cars. The FBI was on your tail after St. Louis and Maryland and the bank robbery, and even more so now with your trail of stolen cars. However, you had gotten very good at leading them away.

No wound you sustained was enough to shake your emotionless expression. You’d become a weapon; a mindless, killing machine. And you could only imagine what Dean was experiencing in Hell. That thought haunted you. You knew you had to get downstairs to help him some kind of way, but you hadn’t quite figured out how to ensure your one-way ticket to Hell.

Well, you’d thought of a few possibilities, but you weren’t sure you were ready to do something that drastic.

Another thing you were mulling over was what the trickster had said to you. “I can’t wait to see what kinda magic you make when Dean goes to Hell.” You wondered if this was what he was talking about. Was this what he’d imagined you’d be? Was there a worse fate to be discovered?

Sleep was not your friend lately. You’d stay up rereading your journal entries from the years you’d spent with Dean and imagine the way your drawings would look in real life. If you couldn’t handle that as it was oftentimes painful, you’d just sit beside the window in the dark staring into the moonlight and imagine that Dean was sleeping in the bed across the room from you.

A few years ago, you would have made fun of yourself for your life having fallen apart after the death of the man you loved. You were always incredibly independent, and this breakdown would have been incredibly out of character for you to act this way before Dean.

Now, you sat at the table in the motel room illuminated by the lamplight eating takeout.

Suddenly, the trickster appeared in front of you. “Holy Full Metal Jacket, (Y/N). Gotta say, sweetheart, if this is you now? I can’t wait to see the real deal.”

“What do you mean?” you asked, unsure what to do in this situation. You didn’t have a stake on hand, and you hadn’t really been paying attention to the trickster recently. You didn’t see a point in it given Dean was gone either way.

“What, you really thought Dean was doin’ the hellfire rumba?” he tsked. “I gave you more credit than I should’ve, looks like.”

“Wait, this was all a trick?” You stood from your chair angrily.

“Whoa there, Megan Turner,” he chuckled, holding his hands up in surrender. “Sam’s given me a deal. I’m here to put you two out of your misery.”

“Then why come and talk to me instead of just do it?” you asked.

“Because! It’s more fun this way. It’ll be the last time I talk to you, hopefully. A little sentimental, no?” the creature smirked.

You folded your arms. “Not really. But what do you want? Why stall?” “ ‘Cause I have a few parting words for you,” he replied. “You were a little quicker on the uptake than Sam to realize that you can’t save Dean from Hell. At least, not before he takes the plunge.” You looked at him in surprise. Did he know what you were planning to do?

“Yes, angelface, I know exactly what’s been swirlin’ around in that head of yours,” he continued without you saying a word to him. “And your little plan is bat crap crazy, but like I said before, I can’t wait to see what you do, kiddo. You’ve always been my favorite of the Three Stooges.”

It was as if your brain wasn’t quite processing what he was saying, and you just kept staring ahead with your arms folded.

“Good luck out there, champ.”

“Promise me, I’ll be back in time,” Huey Lewis & The News sang.

You snapped up, back in bed in your motel room.

“What, you two gonna sleep all day?” Dean asked you and Sam. He stood near the bathroom sink. “I know, no Asia. This station sucks.”

“It's Wednesday!” Sam exclaimed.

“Yeah, usually comes after Tuesday. Turn that thing off, will you?” Dean asked, gesturing to the radio closest to you.

Tears rushing to your eyes, you leapt out of bed and ran into Dean’s arms. He made a sound in surprise but quickly returned your hug with your same ferocity.

“Sweetheart, how many Tuesdays did you have?” he asked you.

“Enough,” you muttered into his chest.

“What, uh, what do you remember?” Sam asked, awkwardly standing near.

“I remember you guys were pretty whacked out of it yesterday, and then, I remember running into the Trickster. But no, that's about it.”

Sam nodded. “Let's go.”

“No breakfast?” Dean pouted.

“No breakfast,” you smiled lopsidedly, kissing his cheek as you moved to the bathroom to get dressed.

“Alright, I'll pack the car,” said Dean.

“Oh, hell no,” you replied from behind the closed door in the bathroom.

“It's the parking lot, sweetheart.”

“Just— just trust her,” you heard Sam tell him.

“Hey, you don't look so good. Something else happen?” Dean asked Sam.

There was silence on the other side of the door for a moment. “I just had a really weird dream,” Sam finally replied.

You could hear the smirk in Dean’s voice. “Clowns or midgets?”

210 notes · View notes

eyesforjade · 6 months ago

Text

Dream A Little Dream of Me | Supernatural Series Rewrite | Dean Winchester x Fem!Reader

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Fem!Reader

Warnings:

Word Count: 6433

A/N:: There’s a Sherlock reference in here… let me know if you find it!! Lol I did a “New Girl” quote scavenger hunt once, and they’re a lot of fun! So… part 2 to movie/TV quote scavenger hunt.

Mobile Supernatural Series Rewrite Masterlist

Supernatural Series Rewrite Masterlist

Supernatural Series Rewrite Playlist

Everything Ruby had told you was hitting you like a ton of bricks. You’d been smoking a lot more regularly over the past few days, and you couldn’t bring yourself to care that it was worrying Dean. The two of you were physically together, but you both knew your minds were elsewhere.

The reality of the situation was that there was no way for you to save Dean. It completely shattered your heart, but you knew it was true. As much as you were trying to enjoy the last few months you had with him, it was incredibly difficult knowing what he would be facing very soon.

However, you didn’t have much time to focus on your woes. Dean had gone out to find Sam who, to your surprise, was at a bar at two in the afternoon drowning in whiskey. You couldn’t blame him, really, given your similar condition. Dean was pacing and worried as soon as he got back to your motel room. His rampage at Sam’s poor decision making, though, was disrupted by a distressing phone call.

***

It was Bobby. The maid had found him in his motel room unconscious, and she’d feared him dead. Thankfully, he was alive, but he was comatose. The doctors explained to you that he was physically perfectly healthy but just… sleeping.

“Mr. Snyderson,” the doctor addressed Dean, “you're his emergency contact. Anything we should know? Any illnesses?”

Dean shook his head, looking a bit bewildered. “No, he- he never gets sick. I mean, he doesn't even catch cold.”

“Is there anything you can do?” you asked the doctor.

“Look, I'm sorry, but we don't know what's causing it... so we don't know how to treat it. He just... went to sleep and didn't wake up.”

Your heart sank further into your stomach.

***

You helped the brothers search Bobby’s perfectly clean motel room where you eventually found his research and newspaper clippings hiding behind his clothes in the closet.

“Pittsburgh” was scrawled in big letters next to pictures of various foliage, maps, and newspaper clippings.

“Good ol’ Bobby, always covering up his tracks,” Dean chuckled, given the rack of clothes his research was hidden behind.

“You make heads or tails of any of this?” Sam questioned, looking over Bobby’s research.

You plucked a piece of paper off the wall. “ ‘Silene capensis’,”you read. “Oh, god, I know that name.”

“Well, you keep workin’ on that, sweetheart. ‘Cause that means absolutely nothing to me,” Dean commented.

“Here,” said Sam. “Obit.”

The two brothers read over the death of a doctor who’d fallen asleep and simply never woke up; just like Bobby.

You continued to think on the plant. Suddenly, you realized what it was. “Guys, African dream root. I couldn’t think of it immediately ‘cause it’s more commonly known as ‘silene undulata’. It’s supposed to induce lucid dreaming or something.”

“Alright, um…” Sam thought aloud. “So let's say Bobby was looking into the doc's death. You know, hunting after something that started hunting him.”

“Alright, stay here,” Dean instructed you and Sam. “See if you can make heads or tails of this.” He pointed to the closet.

“And where are you going?” you asked, quirking an eyebrow.

“I'm gonna look into the good doctor myself,” he smirked, referring to the first victim.

***

You and Sam were silent for quite some time. Both of you were too drained to speak, it seemed. Your heart was hurting, and you knew Sam’s was, too. You tried your best to focus on researching the news clippings in front of you, but your mind would always pull you elsewhere.

“You okay?”

You’d forgotten Sam was in the room with you if you were being honest.

You nodded halfheartedly.

Sam sighed. “Yeah, uh, I’m in the same boat.”

“I don’t even know what to do anymore, man,” you sighed, running a hand through your hair and throwing your notepad down. “I know there’s nothing we can do, and that almost makes it feel worse.”

“I get it,” Sam replied quietly. “And now, Bobby, and I just… why does everyone I love die, (Y/N)?” His voice cracked a bit and tears flooded his eyes.

“I wish I had the answer, man; I”m searching for it myself,” you said. “And it just… There’s nothing I can do to make this feel better. And I feel like I just got Dean, and now—” You dropped your head. “I’m sorry. Not trying to treat you like my therapist.”

Sam shook his head. “You’re not.”

“And I think the worst part is that Dean is terrified. And there’s nothing I can do or say to save him from that,” you continued.

“Yeah, well, I wish he’d be a little more honest with me about that,” Sam remarked.

“I’m his girlfriend, Sam,” you reminded him. “He’s not gonna wanna talk sob-story with his little brother.” You could see you weren’t getting through to him. “Take it from an older sister: we’d rather get our gums scraped than admit fear or stress to our baby siblings. Trust me, if Steven was still around, and I was in Dean’s shoes, I’d be doing the same thing.”

“Well, it’s crap,” Sam argued. “You don’t have to protect us.”

“It’s not about protecting you. It’s about being strong for you. It’s keeping our emotions at bay so that you have all the room in the world to express yours.”

Sam hung his head low. You could tell he was frustrated, but he understood what you were getting at.

Then, your phone rang. “Hey, Dee. What’s up?”

“So,” he began, “Looks like our Doc was running freaky sleep experiments on his patients. Guy I talked to said it felt like an acid trip.”

“African dream root ‘ll do that to you,” you replied.

“Yeah, sounds like he was putting it in a tea,” he explained.

“What’s the move now?” you asked.

“Goin’ to see Bobby. Meet me there,” he instructed.

***

You and Sam did as told. You found Dean sitting beside Bobby’s bed.

“How is he?” you asked as you entered the room.

Dean rubbed a hand over his chin as he turned to look at you. “No change. What you got?”

Sam held files in his hands that compiled your and his research. “Turns out, dream root isn’t just for lucid dreaming.”

“Let me guess. They dose up, bust out the didgeridoos, start kicking around the hackey,” Dean snarked.

“No, jackass,” you deadpanned. “If you believe the legends, it's used for dreamwalking. Entering another person's dreams; poking around in their heads.”

“I take it we believe the legends,” Dean nodded.

“When don't we?” Sam said. “But dreamwalking is just the tip of the iceberg. I mean, this dream root is some serious mojo. You take enough of it, with practice, you can become a regular Freddy Krueger. You can control anything. You could turn bad dreams good, you could turn good dreams bad.”

It was clear by the look on Dean’s face he understood what Sam was getting at. “And killing people in their sleep?”

You and Sam nodded solemnly.

Dean sighed.

“So, let's say, uh— let's say, this doc was testing this stuff on his patients, Tim-Leary-style,” suggested the brunet. “Somebody gets pissed at him, decides to give him a little dream visit, he goes nighty-night.”

“But what about Bobby?” Dean questioned. “I mean, if the killer came after him, how come he's still alive?”

You shook your head. “I don’t know.” You stared down at the old man’s resting form. It was the only time you’d ever seen him without him seeming like he carried a tremendous weight on his shoulders.

“So, how do we find our homicidal sandman?” Dean questioned.

“Could be anyone,” Sam shrugged.

“Anyone who knew the doctor; had access to his dream shrooms,” the older one nodded.

“Maybe one of his test subjects or something?” you suggested.

“Possible. But his research was pretty sketchy. I mean, I don't know how many subjects he had, or who all of them were,” Dean replied.

Sam scoffed.

“What?” you and Dean asked in unison.

The brunet sighed. “In any other case, we'd be calling Bobby and asking him for help right now.”

Dean seemed to have a “eureka” moment, and a smirk crawled across his face. “You know what? You're right.”

“What?” you and Sam asked.

“Let's go talk to him.”

“Uh, Dean, that conversation’s gonna be very one-sided,” you said, confused.

“Not if we're tripping on some dream root,” he smirked down at you.

Sam huffed. “What?”

“That’s actually not a bad idea, Sam,” you considered.

“We have no idea what's crawling around in there,” Sam argued.

“Well, how bad could it be?” Dean shrugged.

“Bad.”

“Dude, it's Bobby.”

The younger Winchester considered for a moment. “Yeah, you're right. One problem though. We're fresh out of African dream root, so unless you know someone who can score some…”

“We do, actually,” you said. “Not thrilled about it, though.”

“Who?” Sam asked.

“Bela.”

“Crap,” both brothers groaned.

Sam quirked a brow. “You're actually suggesting we ask her a favor?”

“I'm feeling dirty just thinking about it, but it’s our only shot,” Dean grimaced.

You turned out of the hospital room and began clicking buttons on your phone. The brothers took the lead, and you began to follow them out to the Impala.

“Hi, darling,” Bela said. The phone had barely rung once.

“So good to hear your voice,” you sassed.

“Aren’t you a sweetheart,” Bela replied.

“Flirting’s over, though, angel, mommy’s had enough now,” you smirked, and Dean gave you a both bewildered and lascivious look over his shoulder. “I have a favor to ask.”

“Aw, and here I thought you were calling because you missed the sound of my voice,” the woman replied.

“Promise I’ll check in more often,” you said. “Can you get your hands on some African dream root for me?” You sat down in the car, and Dean began to drive.

She sucked in some air through her teeth. “I think you know what’s coming next.”

“And here I thought you’d give me a freebie,” you sighed playfully.

“You are a stunner, love, but a lady’s got to pay her bills. Dream root’s a tricky thing to get my hands on.”

“Well, I haven’t really got much to offer you,” you said, feeling dejected. “And it’s not just for me to trip balls on. It’s for a close friend. Bobby Singer. He’s sick.”

“I wish I could help, really, but I can’t just fork it over for free. I’ll see you around, then, (Y/N).” And the phone clicked off.

You sighed.

“Trouble in paradise?” Dean questioned sarcastically.

“Fuck off,’ you replied.

***

Back in Bobby’s motel room, Sam sat at the desk with his head in his hands. He’d likely fallen asleep about thirty minutes ago at this point, and you and Dean were reading through some of the doctor’s papers.

“Dean, I’ve been wanting to ask,” you whispered, “were you okay with what I was saying to Bela earlier?”

He gave you a confused look.

“I mean, we’ve never really had a conversation about exclusivity or anything, but my interest is solely in you. I love you, and I don’t want what I said to her to make you uncomfortable or anything,” you continued.

Dean thought for a moment. “It really didn’t bother me. Thought it was hot, actually.”

You snorted. “Always thinkin’ with your dick, huh?” Just then, Sam let out a moan in his sleep.

Dean gave you a surprised look and seemed like he was going to burst out laughing at any moment. “Looks like Sammy is, too.”

“Ew, gross,” you shuddered, scrunching up your nose.

“Sam,” Dean called over his brother’s broken moans. “Sam,” he called a little more forcefully. “Sam!”

The younger brother’s head shot up, and he quickly brushed his cheek with the back of his hand.

“Dude, you were out,” Dean snorted. “And making some serious happy noises.”

Sam looked incredibly uncomfortable, and he refused to look in the direction of you and his brother.

The latter kept teasing poor Sam. “Who were you dreaming about?”

“What? No one. Nothing,” he stuttered.

“C'mon, you can tell me. Angelina Jolie?”

“No.”

Dean gave you a smirk before saying, “Brad Pitt?”

That got Sam to turn around. “No. No! Dude, it doesn't matter.”

“Whatever.” The older brother rolled his eyes. “Well, since Bela’s a no-go, we’ve been tryin’ to make heads or tails of the Doc’s notes. Unfortunately, he has worse handwriting than you do.”

Sam remained seated in his chair with his back to you.

Dean looked at him expectantly. “You gonna come help us with this stuff?”

Sam looked around, down to his lap, and then shifted uncomfortably to a standing position. “Yeah, yeah. Just give me a sec.”

Suddenly, there was a knock on the door.

You looked to Dean suspiciously and grabbed your gun from beside you. Pressing the barrel to the back of the door, you opened it a crack. To your surprise, it was Bela.

“Hello, darling,” she cooed.

You opened the door for her to come in, confusion etched across your face.

“You called me. Remember?” she said, raising a brow.

“And I remember you turning me down,” you replied.

“Well, I'm just full of surprises,” she smiled. Bela turned to Sam, who awkwardly waved over his shoulder.

“Hey, Bela. What's going on?” he said strangely.

Suddenly, it hit you. ‘Oh, my fucking god. He was dreaming about Bela!’ You were definitely going to give him hell later.

“I brought you your African dream root.” Bela handed a jar of it to you. “Nasty stuff and not easy to come by.” She dropped her purse next to the television and began to take off her coat which caused a hitch in Sam’s breath that you would have missed had you not been paying such close attention to him since your realization.

“Why the sudden change of heart?” Dean asked her.

“What? I can't do you a little favor every now and again?” the woman replied, slipping her coat off.

“No. You can't,” was Dean’s gruff response. “Come on, I wanna know what the strings are before you attach them.” Bela turned to you. “You said this was for Bobby Singer, right?”

You nodded.

“Well, I'm doing it for him. Not you.”

That piqued yours and Dean’s interest. “Bobby? Why?” Dean asked.

“He saved my life once. In Flagstaff.”

Dean looked down at you and you, up at him, but you ended up just shrugging at each other.

“I screwed up, and he saved me, okay? You satisfied?” Bela huffed.

“Maybe,” Dean replied.

“So when do we go on this little magical mystery tour?” she questioned, looking down at the jar.

“No offense, lovebug, but I don’t trust you enough to be in the same room with you for more than fifteen minutes, let alone Bobby’s head,” you told her.

Dean took the jar from you and put it in the safe with the Colt.

“And here I thought we were becoming such good friends,” she replied. “It's 2 AM. Where am I supposed to go?”

“Get a room,” Dean responded. “Ah, they got the Magic Fingers, a little Casa Erotica on pay-per-view. You'll love it.”

“You…” she trailed off, grabbed her bag and coat in a huff, and slammed the door behind herself despite Sam calling after her, “Nice to see— Seeing you… Bela.”

When the door shut behind the woman, you turned to Sam with a wide grin. “You dirty whore!”

“What? What?!” he asked.

“Well? Does she give good head?” you smirked wickedly.

Sam’s cheeks immediately flushed, and Dean just looked between you and his brother completely bewildered.

***

Almost an hour later, you and the Winchesters were downing disgusting dream root teas with a strand of Bobby’s hair mixed in to enter the man’s head.

“Feel anything?” Dean asked you.

You shook your head. “Sam?”

“Nothing here.”

You looked down at your cup, a bit disappointed.

“Maybe we got some bad shwag,” Dean suggested.

Just then, thunder clapped and rain pattered the window.

“When did it start raining?” you wondered aloud.

Dean wandered over to the window, and you followed close behind. He opened the windows to find the rain not coming from the sky, but from the ground. “When did it start raining upside down?” he questioned.

Then, you noticed your surroundings were changing. Next to Sam was no longer two beds, but a couch; an old-fashioned one at that. You turned back to Dean, and the window you’d been looking out of had turned into a fireplace.

“What the fu—” you muttered.

“Okay, I don't know what's weirder: the fact that we're in Bobby's head, or that he's dreaming of Better Homes and Gardens,” Dean snarked.

“Wait. Wait a sec. Imagine the place, uh, without the paint job.” Sam started gesturing to the corners of the room. “More cluttered, dusty, books all over the place.”

“It’s Bobby’s house,” Dean realized. “Bobby?!” he called.

The hairs on the back of your neck suddenly stood up, and you felt as if someone was watching you. You wheeled around to the window above the kitchen table, but you couldn’t see anyone. Still, something didn’t feel right. You turned toward the stairs and whispered, “Bobby?”

Still, you were suspicious of what was happening outside. “Dean?” you called. “I'm gonna go look outside.”

Dean whispered, “No, no, no, stay close.”

“Dee, I’ll be fine,” you insisted, walking up to him to leave a kiss on his cheek. “Pinky promise.”

He rolled his eyes, his face turning ever so slightly pink, and a smile played on his lips as he locked his pinky with yours. You loved that you could pull that reaction from the Dean Winchester with something so simple as a kiss on the cheek.

“Don't do anything stupid,” Dean told you.

“C’mon, it’s me we’re talking about,” you smirked, walking backward toward the door and still facing Dean.

“That’s what I’m worried about,” he remarked playfully.

You scoffed and headed outside. As soon as you opened the door, though, you found it was no longer raining. In fact, bright sunshine streamed down.

You were confused to say the least. Walking down through what would be the junkyard if you were in the real world, you found Bobby’s station wagon. However, it looked much newer and cleaner than it would in your real life. The walkway was well-manicured, and beautiful flowers lined the path leading to Bobby’s front door.

Suddenly, the door slammed shut behind you. You immediately spun around and tried to reopen it, but someone had locked it.

“Dean!” you hollered. You headed over to the window that overlooked Bobby’s kitchen table and banged on it harshly. “Dean!”

Despite the fact that you could very clearly see him through the window, he didn’t react to you calling his name or hitting against the glass. Still confused, you headed down the porch.

A beautiful little pond with flowers surrounding it came into view as you walked further into the backyard. You wished in that moment that you’d figured out a way to bring a gun or a knife into Bobby’s head before you drank the dream root tea.

When you walked past a line of washed sheets hanging out to dry, you got that feeling again; as if someone was watching you. You wheeled around just to get hit with a bat across your chest. Winded, you fell to the ground, heaving painfully. “Motherfucker,” you wheezed. A hand to your shoulder, you pushed yourself up on your elbow to face the college-aged man who’d hit you. “Who are you?” you asked in as tough a voice as you could muster.

“Who are you? You don't belong here,” the man replied.

“You're one to talk,” you scoffed. “You're in my friend's head.”

“You got a poor choice in friends. This is self-defense. He came after me. He wanted to hurt me,” the man spat.

“Uh, if he was coming after you, it’s ‘cause you killed somebody,” you told him.

“You should be nicer to me. In here... you're just an insect. I'm a god.”

“You’re overcompensating,” you responded dryly. “The ol' two-incher not workin’ how you want it to?”

The man’s face twisted, and he raised his bat again. “Sweet dreams.”

Before you could react, you woke up with a start back in your motel room bed next to Dean. You were actually still holding your empty cup.

The older Winchester turned to you as soon as he realized you were back in the real world. “You okay?”

You nodded. “You?”

“Yeah,” he replied. “We found Bobby.”

“You did?” you asked.

“And his, uh, wife,” Sam added. “Looked like he had to kill her. I’m guessing it’s how he got into hunting.”

“Jesus,” you sighed. “Speaking of, we should probably go get him.”

***

With Bobby back in your motel room, he immediately began looking over the papers from the doctor’s research.

“Hey, Bobby,” Dean said. “That, uh— That stuff, all that stuff with your wife? That actually happen?”

“Everybody got into hunting somehow,” he shrugged.

“I’m sorry,” Dean replied.

“Don't be sorry. If it weren't for you, I'd still be lost in there. Or dead.” He held Dean’s gaze with the most intensity and meaning you’d seen Bobby look at anyone. “Thank you.”

Dean’s lips twitched upward into a smile.

Sam burst back into the room at that moment. “So, uh, stoner boy wasn't in his dorm. My guess is he's long gone by now.”

“He ain't much of a stoner.” Bobby picked up a picture of the guy who’d attacked you.

“No?” You cocked your head to the side.

“No,” Bobby replied. “His name's Jeremy Frost. Full-on genius. Hundred-and-sixty IQ. Which is sayin' some, considering his dad took a baseball bat to his head.” He picked up another piece of paper and handed it to Sam. “Here's Father of the Year. He died before Jeremy was ten.”

Sam grimaced at the photo. “Looks like a real sweetheart.”

“Injury gave him Charcot-Wilbrand. He hasn't dreamt since,” Bobby finished.

“Till his whole Freddy Kruger thing,” you nodded.

“How'd he know how to dig up your worst nightmare and throw it at you?” Dean questioned the older man.

Bobby shrugged. “Hey, he was rooting around in my skull. God knows what he saw in there.”

“Yeah. How'd he get in there in the first place? Isn't he supposed to have some of your hair, your DNA, or something?” Sam asked.

“Yeah,” Bobby sighed. “ 'Fore I knew it was him, he offered me a beer. I drank it. Dumbest fuckin’ thing.”

Dean laughed nervously. “Oh, I don't know. It wasn't that dumb.”

Your face dropped. “Babe, you didn’t.”

“I was thirsty?” he winced.

Sam huffed angrily. “That's great. Now he can come after either one of you.”

“Well, now, we just have to find him first,” Dean tried.

“We better work fast,” Bobby urged, “and coffee up. Because the one thing we cannot do is fall asleep.”

***

Two days later, Dean was losing his mind. “I mean, this Jeremy guy's not a fuckin’ ghost. Where the hell could he be?” He was sitting at the wheel of the Impala twitching a bit.

“Dean, you sure you don't want me to drive? You seem a little…” Sam trailed off when his brother gave him a strong look. “...caffeinated.”

“Well, thanks for the news flash, Edison!” Dean grumbled. He tried to grab his ringing cell phone from his pocket, but his twitching hands fumbled.

You took the phone from him gently and answered it. “Tell me you got something,” you pleaded.

“Strip club was a bust, huh?” Bobby asked.

“Yeah,” you replied.

“That was our last lead,” the old man sighed.

“What the hell, man,” you wondered aloud. “What’s Bela got?”

“What do you got, Bela?” you heard him ask her.

“Sorry,” you heard her say distantly. “Sometimes the spirit world is in a chatty mood, and sometimes, it isn't.”

“She's got nothing.”

You repeated Bobby’s statement to the rest of the car.

Dean threw his hands up in frustration. “Great! Well, I'm just gonna go blow my brains out now!” He angrily grabbed the phone from your hands, and you did your best not to scold him. Dean began speeding back toward the motel, but after a few minutes, he pulled off to the side of the road in the woods. “Alright, that's it. I'm done.”

“What are you doing?” Sam questioned.

Dean slid down in his seat, resting his head on the back of it. “Taking myself a long-overdue nap.”

You lurched forward putting your face next to his. “Are you out of your mind?!” “Dean, Jeremy can come after you,” Sam reminded his brother.

“That's the idea,” the older man replied nonchalantly. “Come on, guys, we can't find him, so let him come to me.”

“On his own turf? Where he's basically a god?” you mimicked Jeremy’s words from when he beat you.

“I can handle it,” he shrugged.

“Not alone, you can’t,” you stated firmly.

Sam reached over and pulled out some of Dean’s hair.

“Ow!” His hand flew up to rub where Sam had plucked from. “What are you doing?”

“We’re comin' in with you,” Sam said plainly.

“No, you’re not,” the other Winchester scoffed.

“Why not?” you asked him. “At least, then, it’ll be three against one.”

“ 'Cause I don't want you digging around in my head.”

“Dean, what am I gonna find up there you don’t want me to see?” you asked. You’d always trusted him, but you were worried about what his response would be.

“Not you, (Y/N). Sam. There’s some things my kid brother shouldn’t know about me,” Dean grumbled.

To say you were relieved was an understatement.

“Too bad,” Sam responded. He had already mixed the teas and handed you a cup.

You took it and chugged the whole thing; desperately trying to ignore the foul taste. However, nothing changed.

“Dean,” Sam said, hitting his brother on the arm forcefully.

Dean jerked up. “For the love of god.” He looked extremely tired and confused. “What are we still doing here?”

“No idea,” you answered.

Suddenly, you heard a sound outside the car.

“There's someone out there,” Sam said, on high alert.

You walked around to the front of the car, and to your surprise, you were sitting on a little blanket with a picnic basket. She— well, you— smiled at Dean, not seeming to notice you or Sam.

“Hey. You gonna sit down?” the dream version of you asked Dean.

He didn’t move, he just gawked.

“Come on,” Dean’s dream-you said. “You know how I feel about you keeping me waiting.”

Dean turned to the real you, a bit embarrassed.

You smiled up at him as his dream-version of you said, “Dean. I love you.”

Suddenly, the whole scene began to shake. Everything disappeared.

“Where'd she— you— go?” Dean asked.

Just then, you spotted Jeremy coming out from behind a tree. Sam took off after him, and you and Dean soon got separated from him. The two of you called out to Sam, but it was no use. You turned back to see that the woods you’d run through had disappeared. Instead, the hallway of an unkempt motel laid before you.

“Stay close,” Dean instructed you, beginning to walk down the hallway. The door at the end of it opened just before you and Dean reached it. An equally gloomy room appeared behind the scratched-up door.

You could hear a clicking sound coming from within the room, and then, you saw the light on the desk clicking on and off. “Jeremy?” you asked.

The clicking stopped, the light remaining on, and you finally got a good idea of who you were looking at. “Dean,” you breathed out.

“Hey, Dean,” the dream version of your partner said.

“Well, aren't you a handsome son of a gun,” your Dean smiled.

“We need to talk,” said dream Dean.

The two began to circle each other, and you remained in the corner.

The real Dean nodded. “I get it. I'm my own worst nightmare, is that it? Huh? Kind of like the Superman III junkyard scene? A little mano y mano with myself?”

“Joke all you want, smart-ass. But you can't lie to me. I know the truth.”

The real Dean stopped by the desk, and the dream version stood by the door closest to you.

“I know how dead you are inside,” the dream version sneered. “How worthless you feel. I know how you look into a mirror and hate what you see.”

“(Y/N), don’t listen. It’s not true,” your Dean assured you when he saw how your heart broke for him. However, you knew that the dream version wasn’t lying; how could he? After all, this was Dean’s imagination you were in.

“Why do you think I’ve got her here?” the dream Dean spat. “She’s gonna get to watch the show.”

“Sorry, pal. It's not gonna work.” Despite how visibly shaken the real Dean was, he tried to smile through it. “You're not real.”

“Sure I am. I'm you.”

“I don't think so. 'Cause see, this is my siesta. Not yours.” The real Dean raised his arm. “All I gotta do is snap my fingers and you go bye-bye.” He tried it once. Then, a second time, and then, a third, and still, nothing happened.

“I'm not going anywhere. Neither are you. Neither is she,” the dream version smirked wickedly. The door slammed shut and locked behind him.

The real Dean’s face hardened into sincerity. “Let her go,” he commanded.

“No, Dean,” the other version said. “She deserves to know the truth. She deserves to know what kind of monster she’s involved with. Like I said, we need to talk.” He raised his hand to reveal a sawed-off shotgun. “I mean, you're going to Hell, and you won't lift a finger to stop it.”

The two began to circle each other again, and you stayed frozen in place.

“Talk about low self-esteem,” the other Dean continued to taunt, chuckling. “Then again, I guess it's not much of a life worth saving, now is it?”

Your Dean muttered to himself, “Wake up, Dean. Come on, wake up.”

“I mean, after all, you've got nothing outside of Sam and pretty little (Y/N) here.” The other version of Dean stopped walking by the desk, and your Dean stopped next to you. Your version gave you a pleading look, although you weren’t sure what he was asking you to do in this situation.

The dream version continued his assault. “You are nothing. You're as mindless and obedient as an attack dog.”

The real one tried to smile through it, and you knew the brave face he was putting on was mostly for your sake. “That— That's not true.”

“No? What are the things that you want? What are the things that you dream? I mean, your car? That's Dad's,” the dream Dean stated. “Your favorite leather jacket? Dad's. Your music? Dad's. Do you even have an original thought?”

The real version scoffed.

“No. No, all there is is, ‘Watch out for Sammy. Look out for your little brother, boy!’ You can still hear your dad's voice in your head, can't you?” the dream version pressed. He motioned with the gun toward his head. “Clear as a bell.”

“Just shut up,” the real Dean gritted through his teeth.

The dream one lowered the gun. “I mean, think about it.” He stalked toward your Dean, and you were still frozen in place; undoubtedly by the dream version’s doing. “All he ever did is train you, boss you around. But Sam? Sam, he doted on. Sam, he loved.”

“I mean it. I'm getting angry,” your Dean growled.

The other version of himself refused to stop, though. “Dad knew who you really were. A good soldier and nothing else. Daddy's blunt little instrument.” His voice had gotten hard and angry now. “Your own father didn't care whether you lived or died. Why should you?”

“Son of a bitch!” the real Dean shouted angrily, shoving the other version into the wall above the desk. “My father was an obsessed bastard!”

The dream Dean tried to get up, but the real one knocked him down again. Your Dean picked up the weapon and hit the other with the barrel across the face before pinning him to the wall with it.

“All that crap he dumped on me, about protecting Sam! That was his crap. He's the one who couldn't protect his family. He—” the real Dean had gotten so choked up, and you wanted nothing more than to run to him. “He's the one who let Mom die— who wasn't there for Sam. I always was! He wasn't fair! I didn't deserve what he put on me. And I don't deserve to go to Hell!” the real Dean had beaten the other so hard, it looked as though he was dead. Blood was splattered across his face, and his eyes were closed.

Suddenly, the dream version awoke again. His eyes were completely black upon reopening them. “You can't escape me, Dean. You're gonna die. And this? This is what you're gonna become!” He stood up and began to stalk toward the real Dean, but just like that, you woke up.

You shot up from your seat in the Impala frantically searching for Dean; demon or otherwise. You were relieved to find him in the front seat.

The sun had begun to come up some time while you slept. Dean was completely silent for the drive back to the motel while Sam informed you and Dean what he’d done to stop Jeremy.

“How’d you do that, Sammy?” you questioned.

“I don’t know, I just sort of concentrated, and it happened, y’know?” he replied.

“What happened?” you pressed.

“I made him see his dad. And, uh, some kind of way, one hit from his dad was enough to kill him.”

“Damn,” you breathed out as Dean rolled the Impala to a stop in front of the motel.

Sam walked ahead of you and Dean toward Bobby.

You hung back with Dean.

“(Y/N), I don’t wanna talk about what you saw in there,” he said as soon as the two of you were alone.

“We don’t have to,” you replied. “But when you’re ready— if you ever are— I’m here. And I still love you. No matter what.” You smiled up at him lopsidedly with your hands in the front pockets of your jeans.

To show you he loved you, too, he pulled you forward and pressed a lingering kiss to your forehead. You responded by leaning up and kissing his cheek. And then, he pulled you into a kiss on your lips. Your arms wound around his neck almost like a reflex, and Dean’s arms went around your lower back, holding you tightly to him.

Sam then interrupted your kiss by asking, “Uh, guys? Come see.” When you entered the motel room, Bobby was pacing angrily.

“What’s going on?” you asked.

“Bela’s not in her room. She’s not answering her phone,” Sam responded. “She must’ve taken off or something.”

“Just like that? It's a little weird,” Dean said, eyebrows furrowing.

“Yeah, well, if you ask me, what's weird is why she helped us in the first place,” Bobby replied.

“I thought you saved her life,” you said. You had a sinking feeling in your stomach suddenly.

“What the hell are you talking about?” Bobby questioned.

“The thing in Flagstaff,” Dean continued.

Bobby turned to look at you and Dean, who were still idling by the door. “That thing in Flagstaff was an amulet. I gave her a good deal, that's all.”

Dean’s face dropped, and the panic you were feeling was beginning to set in for him as well.

“You kids better check your pockets,” Bobby said, an edge in his voice.

All three of you began to feel around your jackets and pants.

“Not literally.”

You then followed Dean’s gaze toward the safe in the closet. Dean immediately headed over, muttering, “No, no, no, no.” He opened it, and it was empty.

“The Colt,” Sam breathed out. “Bela stole the Colt.”

Dean slammed the safe shut angrily.

“Damn it, kids!” Bobby huffed.

“Pack your crap,” Dean asserted, stomping over to his bag on the couch.

“Why? Where are we going?” Sam asked.

“We're gonna go hunt the bitch down,” Dean said.

Your anger was simmering just below the surface. You were angry at yourself for beginning to build a friendship with her and for not thinking she’d find a way to get something over on you.

You followed Dean out to the Impala where Sam was putting his bag in the trunk.

“Hey, Sam. I was wondering. When you were in my head, what did you see?” Dean asked.

“Uh, just Jeremy. He kept me separated from you. Easier to beat my brains out that way, I guess.”

Dean scoffed.

“What about you?” Sam asked. “You never said.”

Dean shook his head. “Nothing. I was looking for you the whole time.” Sam looked to you as you began to put your bag in the trunk, and Dean moved around to the driver’s seat. Despite not enjoying lying to Sam, you just shrugged and smiled lopsidedly.

When you got down into the car, Dean looked thoughtful. You were expecting him to take off immediately, but he hesitated.

“Sam,” he began.

“Yeah?”

You were intrigued as to where this was going.

Dean couldn’t look at his brother. “I've been doing some thinking, and... Well, the thing is... I don't wanna die.”

You closed your eyes, your heart saddening.

“I don't wanna go to Hell,” Dean continued.

“Alright. Yeah. We'll find a way to save you,” Sam said softly.

Dean looked up at him, and you searched his expression. It was another one of those confusing looks you couldn’t quite read; somewhere between pensive and saddened, frustrated and resigned. “Okay, good.” His voice was shaky, and you weren’t sure what you could do to make him feel better; if anything.

All you could hear was what the dream version of himself had said; “And this?” he’d spat, eyes black. “This is what you’re gonna become!”

115 notes · View notes

eyesforjade · 7 months ago

Text

Malleus Maleficarum | Supernatural Series Rewrite | Dean Winchester x Fem!Reader

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Fem!Reader

Warnings: angst, smut (MDNI 18+ ONLY), recovering from a sexual assault (heed this warning and take care of yourself, lovie), heeaavvvyyy discussions of Dean's deal/death, canon violence, canon gore, witches and things, an apparent suicide/discussions of it (pls be careful bbies)

Word Count: 5157

A/N: These gifs from @shirtlesssammy are my reason for living

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Now that Christmas was over, Dean wanted to get back to hunting as quickly as possible. He stumbled across a case where a woman’s cause of death had been bleeding from the mouth after all of her teeth had fallen out.

As a result, you and the Winchesters were posing as members of the CDC to interrogate the deceased’s husband.

Nothing of interest came from you talking to him, but Sam discovered a hex bag under the woman’s bathroom sink; the room she was murdered in.

“Aw, gross,” Dean whined while you walked down the street beside him and his brother.

“Yeah, there are bird bones, rabbit's teeth. This cloth is probably cut from something Janet Dutton owned,” Sam explained, picking through the hex bag. He handed it to you for you to examine as well.

“So we're thinking witch?” Dean prompted.

“Well, duh,” you replied. “But this is, like, serious witch stuff. Old World black magic for sure.” You ducked down into the car.

“I hate witches,” Dean grumbled, slamming the door as he sat down in the Impala. “They're always spewing their bodily fluids everywhere.”

“Aren’t you…?” you trailed off, a smirk playing on your lips.

“Oh, ew—” Sam chuckled while his brother glared at you.

“It's creepy, y’know,” the older brother continued, “it's down right unsanitary.”

“Yeah, well, someone definitely had it out for Janet Dutton,” Sam added.

“Yeah, someone who snuck into that house and planted the bag. So what are we thinking, we're uh, looking for some old craggy Blair bitch in the woods,” Dean suggested.

“Could be anyone, man. Witches are literally the girl next door,” you replied.

“Great. How do we find 'em?”

“This wasn't random; someone in Janet Dutton's life had an ugly ax to grind. We find the motive—”

Dean cut Sam off. “We find the murderer.”

Sam nodded, and Dean pulled the car away from the Duttons’ house.

*** All you and the brothers could think to do was continue to stake out the surviving Dutton’s whereabouts to see if another attack happened. Sure enough, as Dean pulled into the diner parking lot you’d followed Paul Dutton to, he collapsed to the floor outside of his car.

Before Dean could stop the Impala, you were hitting the ground running toward the man.

“Check the car!” you heard Dean yell while you tended to Paul.

You hauled his choking body up from the gravel and positioned yourself behind him to perform the Heimlich maneuver. You knew with a witch after him, this was likely futile until Sam could get the hex bag and burn it. “Sammy!” you yelled.

“I know, I know!” he replied.

“Got it!” Dean shouted, and Paul soon stopped choking.

You let go of Mr. Dutton and turned to the burning hex bag on the ground.

“You okay?” Dean asked Mr. Dutton.

“What the hell is happening to me?!” Paul exclaimed.

“Someone murdered your wife and now they're trying to kill you, that's what's happening to you,” the older brother answered sternly. “That's impossible! There's no way—”

“If we hadn't been following you, you'd be a doornail right now. Now, who wants you dead?” Dean pulled no punches, and you loved that about him.

Paul explained to you that he’d had an affair with a young woman named Amanda, and he broke it off with her about a week ago.

Immediately, the three of you set off to the girl’s house; as Mr. Dutton had given you her address thanks to Dean’s insistence.

When you opened the door to the house, though, you found Amanda covered in her own blood on her altar.

“That's a curveball,” Dean commented.

With the barrel of your gun, you nudged where you thought the source of the blood was: her wrists. Sure enough, three vertical gashes on each wrist came into view. “Jesus,” you breathed out, wincing in discomfort and a twinge of compassion.

The smell of rotting food and blood in the room was overwhelming, and it was beginning to catch up to you. You buried your nose in the crook of your elbow to try and get some relief.

Sam said, “Looks like she was working some heavyweight evil here.” You turned around and jumped back suddenly, startled by the fact that you nearly walked into a rabbit corpse hanging from the ceiling.

“Oh, god!” Dean exclaimed when he saw what happened. “Fuckin’ witches! Seriously man, come on!”

“Guess we know where she got the rabbit's teeth from,” the younger brother grimaced.

“Poor rabbit,” you whined. You took out your pocket knife and cut the ropes hanging him from the ceiling.

“Well, Paul sure knows how to pick 'em, huh? It's like Fatal Attraction all over again,” Dean commented. He turned to you gently laying the rabbit on the floor and covering him in a blanket nearby. “And why does the rabbit always get screwed in the deal?! The poor little guy.”

“You know what I don't get, Dean?” added Sam. “If she was so bent on revenge, why do this?”

“Well, she got Janet Dutton, thought she finished off Paul, decided to cap herself and make it a spurned lover's hat-trick,” he shrugged.

Something about that didn’t seem right to you. “But where’s the knife she would’ve killed herself with? She didn’t alakazam those cuts on her wrists.”

Sam looked under the table Amanda laid on. “I think she’s onto something, Dean. Look.” He pulled a hex bag out from under the table and tossed it at his brother.

“Another hex bag? Come on!” Dean groaned. He tossed it on the table and took out his phone. “Looks like we got a hit, huh? A little witch-on-witch violence?” He held his phone to his ear. “I'd like to report a dead body, 309 Mayfair Circle… My name? Yeah, sure my name is—'' and then he clicked it off. You had been counting to make sure he stayed under the forty-second limit to avoid the call being traced, and were just about to cue him that he was running close on time.

“Why are witches ganking each other?” Dean continued.

“I don't know, but I think maybe we got a coven on our hands,” Sam said.

***

Later that night, you and Dean laid together in your shared bed; fortunately, in a separate room from Sam.

Dean kissed up your neck back to your lips, and you sighed contently into him. When he began to trail his hand down to your panties, you flinched.

“What, what’s wrong?” he asked, immediately breaking the kiss.

“I don't know,” you replied. “I, uh, I haven’t been having any problems recently, I don’t know why this is happening.” Panic began to grip your chest.

“Sweetheart, it hasn’t even been a year yet. I’m not expecting you to be completely over what happened to you,” Dean said. His understanding was frustrating you, for some reason.

“Dean, you only have a few months left,” you huffed, sitting up to face him. “We don’t have time for…” you gestured to yourself, “this! I cannot fucking believe the timing of this, man. And I’m fed up with it!” You got up from the bed and began to stomp around in your tank top and underwear. “I can’t have sex with the guy I’m in love with who’s gonna die in fucking three months because of some asshole that decided to rape me right around the same time you made that fucking demon deal.”

“Whoa, why does it sound like you’re angry with me?” Dean questioned, getting up to join you across the room.

“I’m not, I’m not! I’m just—” you ran a hand through your hair and sighed, closing your eyes. “I’m pissed off in general. I- I don’t wanna keep… doing… this.”

“What do you mean ‘doing this’? Don’t tell me—”

“No, Dean, no. I’m not breaking up with you,” you assured him. “I don’t wanna keep freaking out on you when we try to have sex. And I don’t understand why I can’t— I mean, we’ve had sex since then! I don’t fucking—”

“(Y/N), (Y/N), baby, slow down,” Dean said, gently grabbing your wrists. “Listen, it’s okay! I’m not upset!”

“I know you’re not, but I am,” you sighed. “And before you ask, I have no idea what you can do to help. I’m just pissed.”

Dean sighed, looking a little puzzled. “I’m sorry this is happening to you.”

“I’m sorry this is happening to you,” you responded. “I mean, it’s your last fucking year on earth. I’m sure you wanna fuck, like, all the time— I know you, dude, don’t look at me like that— and my fucking vagina and body are out of commission because I can’t get out of my own head. And, god, I wanna fuck you so bad, but I just… I don’t understand what’s wrong with my body.” By the end of your rushed admission, you were crying.

“I’m not gonna let you talk about yourself like that,” Dean replied gruffly. “No fucking way. There’s nothing wrong with you, dammit. I’m not upset with you! So let yourself off the hook, please! Practice getting out of your own head with this, okay? It’s fine. We can just… go to bed. It’s okay.”

“You sound upset, though,” you said meekly.

He turned back around to you. “I’m upset that you’re going through this; not with you. It takes everything in me every day not to hunt that fucker down for what he did to you.”

This pulled a small smile from you, and you wrapped your arms around him and buried your face in your chest. “I love you,” you told him.

“I love you, too,” he replied easily.

You pulled away from him. “You do?”

“What?” he smirked down at you. “I’ve said it before.”

“I know, but you always seemed, like, pained when you’ve said it before. You didn’t that time,” you grinned lopsidedly.

“Yeah, well. It’s never pained me, you’re just the first person I’ve ever said it to,” he admitted.

“Aw, Dee.” You pulled him against you, hugging him tightly to thank him for his understanding.

“Shut up,” he growled, pulling you closer with his arms wrapped around your waist.

***

The next day, the boys decided you would be the best person to subtly interrogate the women you’d determined were friends of Amanda’s. In fact, the four women had a book club they’d formed over the last year or so.

With a casserole in hand you’d bought from the supermarket, you walked over to a woman named Elizabeth who was gardening.

“You’ve got quite a green thumb,” you said.

“Excuse me?” she questioned, turning around to you.

“These herbs, I mean. Growin’ ‘em out of season like this; it’s impressive,” you noted. “Sorry, where are my manners? I’m Christine Nicks. I just moved in a few houses down.” You held the casserole out to her.

“Oh! Thank you,” she replied, brushing off her hands. “So, uh… how are you liking it so far?”

“It’s nice!” you paused, feigning thoughtfulness.

“What is it?” she questioned.

“Nothing, it’s just… I heard about this girl who… committed suicide? Just recently?” You watched her reactions to your words carefully, and her expression subtly changed when you mentioned the death.

“Yeah, yeah,” she sighed. “Amanda was her name. She was, uh, a friend of mine.” “Really? I’m sorry to hear that,” you told her.

She nodded.

“Elizabeth? You all right?” you heard a voice ask from behind you.

Y0u turned toward two other women who’d walked up.

“I'm fine, uh, Renee, this is Christine. She just moved into the neighborhood,” Elizabeth introduced.

“Pleasure,” the woman named Renee said. “Renee Van Allen.” She drew her name out as if it was supposed to be of any importance to you.

You eyed her curiously. “Oh, uh, nice to meet you. Were you… friends with Amanda, too?”

Renee seemed surprised by the fact that you knew about the deceased. “Yeah, we all were. It’s been really hard for all of us.” “Yeah,” the other woman spoke up. “I mean, you think you know a person.”

You nodded. “Well, it was nice meeting you ladies. Have a nice one!” You shuffled away, keeping up your girl-next-door character even as you faded from their view.

***

Later that night, you and the brothers drove down a darkened road.

“You should’ve seen it, guys. Belladonna, wolfsbane, mandrake— and she flinched when I mentioned Amanda’s death,” you explained. “I’m sold on Elizabeth at least.

“Well, she's definitely had a good run lately,” Sam added, reading through something he’d tabbed in a notebook, “gone up a few tax brackets; won almost too many raffles. Kinda thing a little black magic always helps with.” He continued, “I don't think she's alone either. Looks like 'Renee Van Allen' has won almost every craft contest she has entered in the past three months.”

“Yeah, a regular Martha Stewart, huh?” Dean chuckled. “Except for the devil worship, I'm thinking that was the coven you met back there, minus one member.”

“Amanda was clearly going off the reservation. What do you think, they killed her to keep up appearances?” Sam questioned.

“Definitely an ‘appearance’ kind of crowd,” you noted.

“If they killed the nut-job, should we, uh, thank them or what?” Dean questioned, quirking a brow.

“They're working black magic, too, Dean. They need to be stopped,” Sam replied simply.

“Like, ‘stopped’ stopped?” you prompted, intrigued to see what Sam’s answer would be.

Sam looked at you as if to say, “Of course.”

“They’re human, Sam,” Dean reminded his brother.

“They’re murderers,” he stated.

“Damn, I’m proud of you, Sammy,” you remarked.

Dean’s eyes flicked to yours in the rearview mirror. You could see the smirk pulling at his lips. “Burn, witch, burn.”

Suddenly, the Impala stuttered and choked, the headlights flickering.

“What the fuck?” Dean questioned.

The vehicle stopped in front of a figure standing in the road.

“Ruby,” Sam breathed out.

You grabbed the Colt from your duffel bag.

Sam had gotten out of the car before you and Dean, and you nodded to Dean in silent communication as you stowed the Colt in your jacket pocket.

“Sam, listen to me,” you heard the demon saying, “there's no time.”

“For what? What are you talking about?” Sam questioned.

“You have to get out of town.”

Within your jacket’s pocket, you aimed the Colt at Ruby.

“Never had the pleasure,” Dean deadpanned.

The blonde ignored Dean’s flippance and cut her eyes at you. “Whatcha got there? Just happy to see me?”

“Sure,” you glared.

“Point that thing somewhere else,” Ruby instructed.

Dean laughed coldly. “Yeah, right.”

“Sam, please. Go. Get in the car and don't look back,” Ruby begged the younger brother.

“Why? I don't understand,” the brunet worried.

“We can take care of a few kitchen witches, thanks,” Dean commented.

“I'm not talking about witches, you jackass. Witches are whores,” she spat.

“Can’t argue with you there,” you muttered.

“I'm talking about who they serve,” the demon finished.

You were confused for a moment, but it soon dawned on you. “Demons.”

Ruby nodded. “Yeah. And there's one here, now.”

“Oh, what, you mean, besides you?” Dean barked.

Ruby continued to ignore Dean, which you could tell was beginning to aggravate him. “Sam, it knows you're in town, and it's gonna come after you, and it’s way more than you can handle.”

Dean turned his attention to his brother. “Oh, come on, what is this, huh? Please tell me you're not listening to this crap!”

“Put a leash on your brother, Sam, if you wanna keep him,” Ruby cooed without looking in his direction.

“Watch your mouth,” you warned, cocking the gun.

“Guys, look, just chill out,” Sam pleaded.

“No! No! She's messing with your head; god knows why, that's who they are!” the older brother answered.

“I'm telling you the truth,” the demon insisted.

“And I'm telling you to shut up, bitch.”

“I'm sorry, why are you even a part of this conversation?!”

“Oh, I don't know, maybe because he's my brother, you black-eyed skank!”

Ruby scoffed. “Oh, right, right. You care about your brother so much. That's why you're checking out in a few months, leaving him all alone?”

“Shut up,” you hissed.

“At least let me try and save him, since you won't be here to do it any more,” she replied, ignoring you.

“I said, shut up!” you screamed. Just before you could fire at her, she disappeared.

You turned back to Dean and Sam, who were both looking at you strangely. Sam looked like a lost puppy, and Dean just seemed angry at this whole interaction. You just stormed back off to the Impala.

***

Back at the motel, you and Dean joined Sam in his motel room to find out what exactly had been going on with him recently.

“What the hell were you thinking?” Dean questioned angrily, stomping into the room behind his brother.

“What?! What the hell was I thinking?” Sam shot a glare at you.

“Don’t look at me like that,” you answered. “She’s a demon. We can’t trust her, man. They want us dead; we want them dead.”

“Oh, that's funny; I remember that demon chick in Ohio, Casey? Dean didn't want her dead,” Sam argued.

Dean took the opportunity to defend himself. “Yeah, well she wasn't stringing me along like a fish on a hook.”

“No one's stringing me along!” Sam declared. “Look, I know it's dangerous, that she is dangerous, but like it or not, she's useful.”

“No! We kill her before she kills us,” Dean said.

“Kill her with what? The gun she fixed for us?” Sam scoffed.

“Whatever works.”

“Dean, if she wants us dead, all she has to do is stop saving our lives.”

Dean headed over to the sink to turn the water on and splash it on his face.

“Look, we have to start looking at the big picture, Dean, start thinking in strategies and– and moves ahead,” Sam finished. “It's not so simple, we're not— we're not just hunting anymore. We're at war.”

“Listen, I agree with you to some degree,” you sighed. “I’m just not sure how much I like the idea of working so closely with a demon.”

“Are you feeling okay?” Dean asked his brother while he dried his face off.

Sam sighed. “Why are you always asking me that?”

“Because you're taking advice from a demon, for starters. And by the way, you seem less and less worried about offing people. Y’know, it used to eat you up inside,” Dean reminded him.

“Yeah, and what has that gotten me?”

“Nothing, but it's just what you're supposed to do, okay? We're supposed to drive in the fucking car and fucking argue about this stuff. You know, you go on about the sanctity of life and all that crap.” Dean rubbed his stomach with a grimace.

You looked at your partner in concern as he moved to sit on the bed.

“Wait, so– so you're mad because I'm starting to agree with you?” Sam laughed.

Dean shook his head. “No, I'm not mad, I'm— I'm— I'm worried, Sam— I'm worried because you're not acting like yourself.”

“Yeah, you're right, I'm not. I don't have a choice,” Sam stated.

“What is that supposed to mean?”

“Look, Dean, you're leaving – right? And I gotta stay here in this craphole of a world. Alone. So the way I see it, if I'm gonna make it, if I'm gonna fight this war after you're gone, then I gotta change.”

You heart sank, and you couldn’t bear to look at either of the two brothers.

“Change into what?” Dean grimaced.

“Into you. I gotta be more like you.” It almost made you smile bittersweetly at how much Sam admired his brother. However, you liked Sam for the fact that he was Sam. You agreed with Dean that Sam was supposed to be the morally gray one, and Sam changing under these circumstances made you sad.

Suddenly, Dean groaned in pain.

“What’s wrong?” you asked worriedly, rushing to Dean’s hunched over form. “Baby, look at me.”

Dean clutched at his stomach, seeming hardly able to force words out. “I don't know. Oh— (Y/N), something's wrong— bunch of knives inside of me—”

“Dean?!”

His head was almost between his knees by this point.

“Son of a bitch—” Dean cursed, hissing.

“Dee, hey—”

“The coven, man, it's gotta be the coven.”

You immediately rushed to the bathroom and threw open the cupboards below the sink in search of the hex bag. You threw things about frantically; opening boxes and dumping their contents out.

You heard Dean choke once more, and your heart nearly stopped. You ran to him to find him lying on the floor next to a puddle of blood he’d sputtered up.

“Did you find it?!” Sam asked frantically. He’d torn the covers off his bed and sliced the mattress open with his knife.

“No!” you replied.

Dean’s coughs got weaker, and he was quickly fading as you shifted to lay his head in your lap, facing you.

You saw Sam grab the Colt from your bag. “Sam, what are you doing?”

He moved toward the door wordlessly.

“Sam!” you called.

“I’ll be back soon,” he told you, and the door slammed shut behind him.

You kept Dean’s head in your lap, unsure of what to do. Dean continued to grunt and shift painfully, and you just tried to keep him as comfortable as possible. “Stay with me, Dee. Please, baby.”

All you got was a groan in response, but you knew he was trying.

Suddenly, the door to the room was kicked open.

You kept Dean cradled against you. “Stay back, bitch.”

Ruby shoved you aside harshly without replying to you and hauled Dean up by the collar. She forced his mouth open as Dean used his diminishing strength to try and shove her away.

You tried to pull her off Dean, but it was no use. She dumped some sort of dark liquid down his throat, getting you off her easily.

Dean was still struggling, but she soon got off him.

“Stop calling me ‘bitch’,” Ruby panted.

“Why did you save him?” you asked, slightly in awe and slightly apologetic.

“I don’t have to explain myself to you,” she replied.

“Okay, jeez,” you scoffed. “But… thank you.”

“Don’t mention it,” Ruby said. “Next time you point that gun at me, I'm not gonna just disappear, understand?”

You nodded and moved to help Dean clean the blood and Ruby’s liquid cure off his face.

“What was that stuff? God, it was ass. It tasted like ass,” Dean groaned as you wiped around his mouth. He gently brushed you off him and took the towel from you to do it himself.

“It's called witchcraft, short bus,” she deadpanned. Ruby turned and walked out of the room.

“You're the short bus... short bus,” Dean grumbled.

***

As soon as Dean had enough strength to move, you and he were off to find Sam. You knew he’d gone to the Van Allen house where the women held their “book club,” and Dean sped there in a stolen car.

You burst through the front door of the house with a sawed-off shotgun in hand. When you did so, you discovered the demon possessing one of the women you’d met, and Elizabeth standing frozen in fear.

Before you could make a move, you were thrown back against the wall.

“Three for one,” the demon smirked. “Lovely.”

“Wait,” you heard Ruby say. She walked in with her hands raised in surrender. “Please. I just... came to talk.”

“You made it out of the gate,” the other demon smirked. “Impressive. That was a bitch of a fight, wasn't it?”

“Doors out of Hell only open for so long,” Ruby shrugged.

“What do you want, Ruby?”

“I've been lost without you.” Ruby continued to advance on the other demon. “Take me back. That's why I led the Winchesters and their pretty little plaything here.”

Dean looked furious, as were you, and he mouthed, “I told you so” to Sam.

“They're for you,” Ruby continued, “as a gift.”

“Really,” the demon deadpanned.

“Let me serve you again. I've wanted it— I've wanted you— for so long,” she said.

Dean lifted his eyebrows at the flirtation between the two demons. You would have slapped him if you weren’t being held to the wall. In all honesty, though, you were intrigued, too.

“You were one of my best,” the demon smiled.

Ruby glared and tried to take her knife out to stab the other demon, but said demon caught it in mid-air.

“But then again, you always were a lying whore,” said the demon.

The two demons struggled against each other as you and the Winchesters were powerless to help or hinder. Elizabeth was cowering in fear behind the couch, and Renee’s dead body laid limply on the floor.

The demon-possessed witch stood with a hot poker in her hand. “You're really telling me you threw in your chips with the Animaniacs here?”

Ruby tried to stand, but the demon hit her across the face with the poker.

Elizabeth suddenly stood to move to her altar and began to dump pins onto a cloth littered with demonic symbols.

“Come on, get up!” the demon roared.

Ruby panted, unmoving, with blood coming out of her nose.

“I said, get up!” The possessed witch hauled Ruby up by her jacket. “We've been here before, haven't we?” She chuckled to herself and turned to Sam. “She didn't tell you? Pretty mortifying, I guess. She was one of mine. I turned her out a long, long time ago. Ruby here was a witch. Of course, that was when you were human.”

You were surprised by that, honestly, but shouldn’t have been given the work she’d done to help Dean.

The witch threw Ruby back down onto the debris of the bookcase she’d been nearly put through.

“Didn't want your friends to know that all those centuries back, you sold yourself to me? Embarrassing, I guess. But don't worry, love, no secrets where you're heading, remember?” The demon taunted. She began to chant in Latin, and black smoke began to curl out of Ruby’s mouth. Suddenly, she began to cough, and you realized Elizabeth was chanting under her breath at the altar.

The possessed witch stumbled and coughed harder, and her weakened powers allowed you freedom from the wall. You slid Ruby’s discarded demon knife over to Dean as the demon killed Elizabeth, and Dean took the demon’s distraction as an opportunity to kill her. He stabbed her in the back quite a few times to ensure the demon was truly dead. Your partner dropped the body to the ground, and he moved to help Sam up.

“Go,” Ruby ordered, looking slightly embarrassed from her position on the floor. She wiped the blood away from her mouth. “I'll clean up this mess.”

You stood between the two brothers, and the three of you helped each other toward the door. You could feel the Winchesters turn to take one last look at Ruby, but you kept your eyes forward. With your urging, they continued walking.

***

Somehow, the three of you made it back to the motel safely. You and Dean were outside of your motel room, just sitting on the hood of the Impala and talking, when the neon lights of the motel’s sign flickered.

Dean jumped off his car, shielding you with his body protectively. You turned to see Ruby standing in the shadows a few feet off.

“So, the devil may care after all; is that what I'm supposed to believe?” Dean asked her. He led you toward the demon.

“I don't believe in the devil,” she replied, arms folded.

“Wacky night,” he commented. “So let me get this straight, you were human once, you died, you went to Hell, you became a…” The blonde nodded, turning to leave.

“How long ago?” Dean asked, stopping her in her tracks.

“Back when the plague was big,” was her simple reply.

“So… all of you guys— you were human once?” you questioned, slightly worried for the answer.

“Every one I’ve ever met,” Ruby shrugged.

“Well, they sure don't act like it,” Dean scoffed.

“Most of them have forgotten what it means, or even that they were. That's what happens when you go to Hell, Dean. That's what Hell is— forgetting what you are,” Ruby explained.

Dean, of course, kept up his plucky attitude. “Philosophy lesson from a demon. I'll pass, thanks.”

Your breath, however, had caught in your throat at Ruby’s description of Hell.

“It's not philosophy. It's not a metaphor. There's a real fire in the pit. Agonies you can't even imagine,” Ruby continued.

“No, I saw ‘Hellraiser’. I get the gist.”

Ruby turned and started to walk away. “Actually, they got that pretty close. Except for all the custom leather.” Suddenly, she stopped in her tracks again. “The answer is 'yes', by the way.”

“I’m sorry?” Dean asked.

“Yes, the same thing will happen to you.”

You could’ve sworn your heart stopped.

Ruby continued her torturous explanation. “It might take centuries, but sooner or later, Hell will burn away your humanity. Every Hell-bound soul— every one— turns into something else. Turns you into us. So yeah. Yeah, you can count on it.”

Dean tried to keep his head held high, but you knew him well enough to know he was beginning to break. “There's no way of saving me from the pit, is there?”

Ruby sighed. “No.”

“Then why'd you tell Sam that you could?” you asked, finding the ability to speak.

“So he would talk to me. You Winchesters can be pretty bigoted. I needed something to help him get past the—”

Dean cut Ruby off. “The demon thing? It's pretty hard to get past.”

The blonde laughed. “Look at you. Tryin' to be all stoic. My god, it's heartbreaking.”

‘She’s not wrong,’ you thought.

“Why are you telling me all this?” Dean questioned.

“I need your help. Yours, too, (Y/N).”

“With what?” you asked.

“With Sam. The way you stuck that demon tonight— it was pretty tough,” Ruby addressed Dean. “And (Y/N), I’ve seen you in action, too. Sam's almost there, but not quite. You need to help me get him ready for life without you. To fight this war on his own.” She walked away again.

You were unsure why she was talking as if you wouldn’t be there to help Sam as well.

“Ruby!” Dean called, making the demon pause. “Why do you want us to win?”

She turned back around. “Isn't it obvious? I'm not like them. I don't know why. I– I wish I was, but I'm not. I remember what it's like.”

“What what's like?”

“Being human.”

Dean looked at the ground, lost in thought, and you stared at Ruby while she disappeared from view.

134 notes · View notes

eyesforjade · 7 months ago

Text

A Very Supernatural Christmas | Supernatural Series Rewrite | Dean Winchester x Fem!Reader

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Fem!Reader

Warnings: discussions of childhood trauma lol, discussions of religious trauma lololol, canon violence, canon gore, talking about Dean's deal sad face

Word Count: 7223

A/N: One of my favorite episodes of all time ever. I am so excited to share this with you guys. Thank you, thank you, thank you for all of the support. I love y’all!

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In the middle of nowhere in Michigan, you and Dean posed as FBI agents investigating a holly jolly potential case.

“Um, my daughter and I were in our beds,” the woman before you shakily explained.

“Mike was downstairs decorating the tree. I heard a thump on the roof, and then, I heard Mike scream. And now I’m talking to the FBI.”

“And you didn't see any of it?” Dean questioned.

She shook her head tearfully. “No, he was… he was just gone.”

“The doors were locked? There was no forced entry?” you asked.

“That’s right,” she replied.

“Does anybody else have a key?” you suggested.

“My parents.”

“Where do they live?”

“Florida.”

Sam then walked out of the house. “ Thanks for letting me have a look around, Mrs. Walsh. I think we, uh, got just about everything we need. We’re all set.”

“We’ll be in touch,” Dean told her.

The three of you started down the steps.

“Agents?” Mrs. Walsh called.

You turned to face her.

“The police said my husband might have been kidnapped.”

“Could be,” Dean shrugged.

“Then… why haven’t the kidnappers called? O-Or demanded a ransom? It’s three days till Christmas. What am I supposed to tell our daughter?” she began to cry.

“We’re very sorry,” you said empathetically. You watched the distressed woman turn to go back inside, and the heavy Christmas wreath on the door clunked against the door when she shut it.

“Find anything?” Dean asked Sam as the three of you walked away from the house.

Sam sighed. “Stocking, mistletoe… this.” He took something out of his pocket and dropped it into Dean’s hand.

You inspected it. “A tooth?” you asked upon seeing the bloody bone.

“Where was this?” Dean looked up at Sam and away from the tooth.

“In the chimney,” Sam replied.

“Chimney? No way a man fits up a chimney. It’s too narrow,” Dean grimaced.

“At least, not in one piece,” you winced.

“Alright, so, if dad went up the chimney—”

“We need to find out what dragged him up there,” Sam finished.

***

Christmas had never been a completely happy time for you. Growing up Catholic, there was always a hint of, perhaps, fear that came with the holiday. The idea that Christ was supposed to come again, and his second coming would mean the end of the world was unsettling to you, even as an incredibly pious child.

Working jobs around the holidays always managed to recreate that unsettled feeling for you. Something so gruesome like the case you were dealing with now around such a happy holiday always made you nostalgic for a childhood you never had: an innocent one.

Around your motel room, Sam was pinning pictures of demons up while you researched on your laptop. The door opened, and Dean came inside.

“So, was I right? Is it the serial-killing chimney sweep?” Dean smirked, carrying a brown paper bag.

Sam mirrored Dean’s expression. “Yep. It's, uh, it’s actually Dick Van Dyke.”

Dean looked confused, but you snickered.

“Who?” Dean asked.

“Dude,” you said, “Mary Poppins?”

“Who’s that?”

“Oh, god, you’re hopeless,” you sighed, shaking your head.

“Well, it turns out that Walsh is the second guy in town grabbed out of his house this month,” Dean explained.

“The other guy get dragged up the chimney, too?” Sam asked.

“Don’t know. Witnesses said they heard a thump on the roof,” Dean shrugged. “So, what the hell do you think we're dealing with?”

“Actually, I have an idea,” Sam replied. “Uh, it's gonna sound crazy.”

“What could you possibly say that sounds crazy to me?” Dean deadpanned.

“How ‘bout evil Santa,” you smirked.

Dean considered a moment before nodding. “Yeah, that’s crazy.”

“Yeah… I mean, I’m just saying that there’s some version of the anti-Claus in every culture,” Sam said while he showed Dean drawings of the creature. “You got Belsnickel, Krampus, Black Peter. Whatever you want to call it, there’s all sorts of lore.”

“Saying what?” Dean looked incredulous.

“Saying, back in the day, Santa’s brother went rogue and now he shows up around Christmas time, but instead of bringing presents, he punishes the wicked.”

“By hauling their ass up chimneys?” Dean snorted. “So, this is your theory, huh? Santa’s shady brother?”

Sam shrugged. “Well, ah, I’m just saying, that’s what the lore says.”

“Santa doesn’t have a brother. There is no Santa.”

“Yeah, I know. You’re the one who told me that in the first place, remember,” Sam sassed at his brother.

Dean looked down, seeming to feel a little guilty.

Finally, Sam sighed. “Yeah, you know what, I could be wrong. I gotta be wrong.”

Dean shrugged. “Maybe, maybe not.”

You and Sam were confused.

“I did a little digging. Turns out both victims visited the same place before they got snatched,” Dean explained.

“Where?” Sam asked.

***

The place Dean was referring to was a cutesy little craft fair called “Santa’s Village.” Children played and people bustled around wearing Christmas costumes.

“It does kind of lend credence to the theory, don’t it?” Dean remarked, looking around himself.

“Yeah, but anti-Claus? Couldn’t be,” Sam replied.

“It’s a Christmas miracle. Hey, speaking of, we should have one this year,” Dean suggested casually.

You remained quiet, feeling almost sorrowful at his statement given he’d discussed bringing this up to Sam with you.

“Have one what?”

“A Christmas.”

Sam scoffed. “No, thanks.”

“Aw, c’mon, Sam,” you said, swallowing your emotions.

“Yeah, we’ll get a tree, a little Boston market, just like when we were little,” Dean continued.

“Dean, those weren’t exactly Hallmark memories for me, you know,” Sam reminded his brother.

“What are you talking about? We had some great Christmases.”

“Whose childhood are you talking about?”

Dean rolled his eyes. “Oh, come on, Sam.”

“No! Just… no.”

You and Dean were both surprised by Sam’s petulance. “Alright, Grinch,” Dean snarked. He walked ahead, and you remained by his side.

“What’s Sam talking about?” you asked quietly.

“Ah, I don’t know,” he shrugged. “I mean, Dad was out all the time, and Sammy and I fought… a lot… as kids, but I didn’t think it’d scar him.”

You turned back to Sam who still seemed lost in thought.

“Hey, Scrooge,” you called, which seemed to shake the younger brother out of his own head, “you comin’?”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m with you.” He caught back up to you and Dean.

“What are we looking for, again?” Dean asked him.

“Um…” Sam trailed off, “lore says that the anti-Claus will walk with a limp and smell like sweets.”

“Great. So we’re looking for a pimp Santa,” Dean said dryly. “Why the sweets?”

“Think about it, Dee,” you replied. “If you smell like candy, the kids will come closer. Which is wrong on just… so many levels.”

Sam chuckled.

“How does this thing know who’s been naughty and who’s been nice?” Dean questioned.

Sam shook his head. “I don’t know.”

Dean turned toward a man dressed as Santa taking pictures with a child whose mother stood close by. “Maybe we do,” he noted.

***

Later that night, you and the Winchesters were just about to confront and kill who you thought was your Krampus. Fortunately for the Santa actor from earlier in the day, you realized the man was just a lonely old creep.

After an uncomfortable rendition of “Silent Night” that Dean led you and Sam in singing in an attempt to explain why you were in the creepy Santa’s house, you slumped down in the backseat of the Impala.

“Well, back to square one, I guess,” you sighed. “Also, Dean, couldn’t you have picked a song you actually knew the words to?”

“Hey, I did know the words,” he replied, beginning to drive off.

“Yeah, all two of ‘em,” Sam chimed in.

You giggled. “Hey, Sam?” you asked.

“Hm?”

“Why do you hate Christmas so much?”

The younger brother sighed. “(Y/N)...”

Dean took the opportunity to jump into the conversation. “I mean, I admit it. Y’know, we had a few bumpy holidays when we were kids.”

“ ‘Bumpy’?” Sam scoffed.

“That was then. We’ll do it right this year,” Dean tried.

“Look, Dean. If you and (Y/N) want to have Christmas, knock yourselves out. Just don’t involve me.” Sam shifted in his seat to face the dark night that had fallen outside of the car.

Dean grumbled, “Oh, yeah, that’d be great. Me and (Y/N) making cranberry molds.”

You knew Dean wasn’t actually opposed to just enjoying Christmas with you, but he wanted to involve his brother.

***

“Wanna smoke?” you asked Dean.

Sam was still wide awake in his bed, and you and Dean had some things to talk about without the younger Winchester present.

He nodded and followed you out of the room.

Despite the lack of snow on the ground, you were bundled in one of Dean’s hoodies to protect you from the slight chill in the air.

“I think you’re turnin’ me into a fiend,” Dean commented as you lit your joint.

“Well, I’d rather you smoke a plant than drown yourself in booze,” you replied, a slight tremble in your voice from the cold.

“I meant to tell you earlier,” Dean began, taking the joint from you and looking at the ground, “you’ve got a real beautiful voice.”

You laughed softly and hopped up on the trunk of the Impala. “You’re only sayin’ that ‘cause you and Sam are terrible.”

“I’m serious,” he said, blowing the smoke at you playfully.

You scrunched up your nose and shut your eyes to avoid the puff. When you reopened them, you found Dean staring at you with that confusing expression again. After all this time, you still couldn’t place what that look meant.

“What?” you asked, a smile tugging at your lips.

He shook his head, still admiring you and smirking. “Nothin’.”

“So, do you want me to talk to Sam? About Christmas?” Dean’s intense stare was making you nervous, and you needed to break it up with the conversation you initially wanted to have with him.

“Nah,” Dean shrugged. “I’m sure he’ll come around.”

You opened your arms to him and gestured for him to come lean against you. He turned his back to the Impala, and you wrapped your arms around him. You kissed his shoulder before placing your chin on top of it. The two of you just sat like that in silence in the cold, enjoying each other’s company while getting lost in thought.

“What was your Christmas like? As a kid, I mean?” Dean asked, breaking the silence.

You picked your chin up off his shoulder and stuck your hands in your pockets. “Oh, gosh,” you sighed. “It was always a little less ‘candy canes and Rudolph’ and a little more ‘fear and condemnation’.”

Dean jumped up on the trunk next to you and turned, clearly a little surprised by your answer. “What do you mean?”

You shrugged. “Christmas always kinda felt like a threat to me. Y’know, ‘Jesus is gonna come again’ and all that.”

“That’s… weirdly dirty,” Dean commented.

You gently nudged his shoulder with yours. “Perv. Meaning Jesus is gonna come back to life and, like… destroy the planet. My mom always said Christmas was a reminder that this is not our true home.”

“This, as in, earth?” he asked, genuine intrigue in his eyes.

You nodded. “And we’re all gonna end up being judged. And if you don’t believe or follow the commandments, you’re sentenced to Hell.”

“Jesus,” Dean grimaced. “That’s a little dark to be telling a kid.”

“Tell me about it,” you smirked. “But… if that’s the truth, at least we know I’ll be seeing you again.” You turned to him, smiling a little lopsidedly.

He tried to return your smile, but his heart wasn’t in it. “I’m scared, (Y/N).”

You nodded. “I know. Do you wanna talk about it?”

He shook his head.

You took a moment to let his mind recover from his anxieties. “What were your Christmases like growing up? You said they were good, but you never told me why they were good.”

“Uh, let’s see,” Dean began, reflecting on something in his memory. “There was this one time when Dad was supposed to make it back from a hunting trip. He’d promised Sammy he’d be home for Christmas. But, uh, Dad never showed.”

You looked at him sadly.

Dean’s eyes remained focused on his hands in his lap. “I was maybe twelve. Sammy was eight. And on Christmas Eve, while he was asleep, I went out and found this really nice house.”

“You did not!” you scolded playfully, knowing exactly where he was going with this.

“I did,” Dean chuckled. “Only, I didn’t know they were chick presents. Sam was pissed when he got a Barbie instead of the green army men he’d been asking for.”

“You did the best you could,” you reminded him.

Dean shrugged. “And, uh, since he never made it back, Sam gave me the present he was planning on giving to Dad.” He thumbed the amulet around his neck and showed it to you.

“That’s so sweet,” you smiled, a tinge of nostalgic sadness behind your smile. “My little brother and I always gave each other what we could. Normally, it was just stupid little things from the gas stations around or something.” You smiled, remembering your brother fondly. “When he was seven, Steven gave me a little bracelet. He stole it out of a girl’s backpack pocket when she was waiting for her parents to finish booking a room in the motel lobby. He was a great pickpocket; you guys would’ve gotten along great.”

Dean chuckled.

“But anyway, uh, it was a little friendship bracelet. I was so upset when I grew out of it,” you said. “Biggest regret of my life is burning it with his body.”

Dean nodded somberly. “Why’d you do it?”

You shrugged. “I kept telling myself, ‘He doesn’t live in the stuff. Keeping his stuff doesn’t keep him alive.’ And I’d grown out of it, so I figured, I’d never have any use for it again. But, uh, I was an angry teenager. I was so angry at him for so long after he killed himself. I definitely threw the bracelet in the fire in a moment of anger.”

Dean just stared at you, and once again, you couldn’t read his expression.

“You keep giving me that look,” you said, staring deeply into his beautiful eyes.

“What look?” he asked. Dean clearly knew what you were talking about, as his face hadn’t really changed from the look in question; there was simply a slight tease behind his eyes on top of it.

“That look,” you said, giggling. “It frustrates me so much ‘cause it’s, like, the only facial expression on the planet I can’t read.” “Then, I’m definitely not telling you what it means now,” Dean taunted, still smirking.

You rolled your eyes and hopped off the car. Dean grabbed your arm and spun you back around to face him, putting you back on the trunk and standing between your legs. He kissed you deeply, hands eagerly trying to pull you closer despite there being no more room between the two of you.

“Dean,” you said between kisses. “Dean—”

“What?” Dean pulled back just long enough to ask you and then returned to kissing you.

“We have to go to bed now, c’mon,” you replied.

“Aw, c’mon, not yet,” Dean groaned, trailing his lips down your neck.

You sighed shakily at the feeling of his soft lips against the sensitive skin, and your eyes closed in content. “C’mon,” you whined. “I’m freezing.”

“Fine,” he groaned.

***

The next day, another poor soul had gone missing. According to the son of the man who was abducted, Santa had dragged his father up the chimney. As you left the house, Sam noticed a wreath on the hearth he’d felt noteworthy enough to ask the grieving wife about.

“Wreaths, huh?” Dean taunted, sauntering away from the woman’s house. “Sure you didn’t want to ask her about her shoes? I saw some nice handbags in the foyer.”

“We’ve seen that wreath before, Dean,” Sam said, ignoring his brother’s flippance.

“Where?” you and Dean asked in unison.

“The Walshes’. Yesterday.”

Dean eyed Sam curiously. “I know. I was just testing you.”

You rolled your eyes, ducking down into the Impala.

***

“I’m an idiot,” you groaned, dropping your head back.

Sam sat up from behind his laptop. “What, why?”

Dean turned to you from his spot on your shared bed as well.

“That smell,” you said. “Guys, we’re not dealing with Krampus.” You laughed at your own stupidity. “I should’ve known it from the wreath on the door at the Walshes�� house!”

“(Y/N), would you cut to the chase?” Dean asked dryly.

“It’s meadowsweet,” you revealed.

Dean whistled mockingly. “Wow! Amazing. What the hell is meadowsweet?”

“It’s pretty rare, and it’s probably the most powerful plant in pagan lore,” Sam replied.

“Pagan lore?”

“Yeah,” you nodded. “Meadowsweet’s for human sacrifice. It’s kinda like chum for the gods. The gods are drawn to it, and they’d stop by and snack on the nearest human.”

“Why would somebody be using that for Christmas wreaths?” Dean wondered.

“Almost every Christmas tradition is pagan, Dee,” you replied.

“Okay, Ms. Catholic, I thought it was Jesus’s birthday,” Dean snarked, a smile playing on his lips.

“No, uh, I had to unlearn that when I left the Church. Jesus’s birthday was probably in the fall. Yule was the winter solstice festival the church stole and renamed ‘Christmas.’ ‘Cause, y’know, eurocentrism. Hooray,” you explained.

Sam added, “The Yule log, the tree, even Santa’s red suit; that’s all remnants of pagan worship.”

“How do you know that? What are you two freaks gonna tell me next? Easter bunny’s Jewish?” Dean remarked.

Both of you rolled your eyes.

“So, you really think we’re gonna be dealing with a pagan god?” The older brother quirked a brow.

“Yeah, probably Hold Nickar, god of the winter solstice,” Sam noted, crossing his arms over his chest.

Dean huffed, “And all these Martha Stewart wannabes, buying these fancy wreaths…”

“Yeah, it’s pretty much like putting a neon sign on your front door saying ‘Come kill us’.”

Dean deadpanned, “Great.”

“Wait, Hold Nickar makes sense, though,” you chimed in, something dawning on you. “Guess what he gives you in return?”

“Lap dances, hopefully,” Dean smirked.

You gave him a look. “Mild weather.”

Dean looked out of the window. “Like no snow in the middle of December in the middle of Michigan.”

“For instance,” shrugged Sam.

“Do we know how to kill it yet?” Dean asked.

“Have you met me? That’s all I’ve been looking for the past hour.”

“While you work on that—” Sam turned to his brother, “we got to figure out where they’re selling those wreaths.”

“You think they’re selling them on purpose?” Dean questioned, sitting up on his bed.

“Feeding the victims to this thing?”

Sam sighed. “Let’s find out.”

“You keep workin’ your pagan-god-killin’ angle, (Y/N),” Dean told you, moving over to you. “Sam and I ’ll be back soon.” He gave you a quick kiss on your forehead, and your cheeks heated at the brief contact.

***

“How ‘re you supposed to kill a god, (Y/N)?” Bobby droned through the phone.

“I don’t know, dude, that’s what I’m asking you,” you sighed. “I mean, I’ve been pouring through this shit online for hours. I’m ready to pull my fucking hair out.”

“Lemme make a few calls, kid, and I’ll see what I can do,” Bobby said.

“Thanks, Bobby. You’re the best.” You sat back in your chair and clicked your phone off.

Almost as if on cue, Dean burst through the door with Sam trailing behind him.

“Hey, sweetheart,” the older one drawled. “Got somethin’ for me?”

“I wish. Just sent Bobby lookin’,” you replied. “Got anything for me?”

“Actually, yeah,” Dean said. “That store we went to? Turns out, lady named Madge Carrigan gave ‘em to the store for free. How much do you think a meadowsweet wreath would cost?”

“A couple hundred dollars, at least,” Sam answered while you clacked away at your computer looking for Madge Carrigan’s home address.

“Sounds pretty suspicious,” you said absentmindedly.

“Remember that wreath Dad brought home that one year?” Dean laughed while he took his jacket off.

“You mean, the one he stole from, like, a liquor store?” Sam responded, an unimpressed expression crossing his features.

“Yeah, it was a bunch of empty beer cans. That thing was great. I bet if I looked around hard enough, I could probably find one just like it.” He sat on the bed closest to you and went to lean over and look at your computer.

Despite the fact that you were still on the phone, Sam asked Dean, “Alright, dude… What’s going on with you?”

You stopped typing, and both you and Dean sat up to face Sam.

“I mean, since when are you Bing Crosby all of a sudden?” continued the brunet. “Why do you want Christmas so bad?”

“Why are you so against it?” Dean challenged. “I mean, were your childhood memories that traumatic?”

Sam’s voice became heavy with emotion. “No, that has nothing to do with it. I-I mean, I-I just… I don’t get it. You haven’t talked about Christmas in years.”

“Well, yeah.” Dean’s voice had less of an edge. “This is my last year.”

Sam huffed out a quick breath. “I know. That’s why I can’t.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, I can’t just sit around, drinking eggnog, pretending everything’s okay, when I know next Christmas, you’ll be dead.” The near-casualness Sam spoke about Dean’s almost-five-month-out deadline with made your breath catch in your throat. “I just can’t,” Sam finished, voice almost too quiet for you to hear.

The three of you went silent. To distract yourself from the heaviness in the room, you went back to typing on your laptop to find Madge Carrigan’s address and any information on her that suggested she really was your bad guy.

You could feel Dean staring at you, though, and you knew he needed you at that moment. So you shut your laptop and got into bed with him. He laid against your chest, and you kept your arms around him tightly. Soon, you drifted off to a dreamless sleep.

***

The next day, you and Dean headed to the Carrigan’s home. Sam stayed behind to research and see if you had missed anything in your search the night before. The house you arrived at was decorated with cutesy Christmas decorations and screamed the 1950s “American dream.”

“This is where Mrs. Wreath lives, huh?” Dean remarked, looking around. “Can’t you just feel the evil pagan vibe?” He rapped his knuckles against the door.

A blonde, middle-aged woman in a sweater opened it. “Yes?” she answered sweetly.

“Please tell me you’re the Madge Carrigan who makes the meadowsweet wreaths,” Dean said.

“Why, yes I am,” she smiled widely.

“Ha! Bingo.” Dean turned to you with a grin.

“We just moved into the neighborhood,” you lied, gesturing between yourself and Dean, “and we were mingling with the Sylars the other day. They had one of your beautiful wreaths on their fireplace. He and I were immediately in love with it.”

“You were? Well, isn't that meadowsweet just the finest-smelling thing you ever smelled?” Mrs. Carrigan’s smile had not lessened since she opened the front door; it was creeping you out.

“It is; it sure is,” you replied. “But the problem is that all your wreaths had sold out before we got the chance to buy one.”

“Oh, fudge!” she pouted.

“You wouldn’t have another one that we could buy from you, would you?” Dean questioned.

“Oh, no, I’m afraid those were the only ones I had for this season.”

“Aww…” you whined, deflating.

“Tell me something, why did you decide to make them out of meadowsweet?” your partner asked.

A man who you assumed was Mr. Carrigan came down the staircase behind the woman as she answered, “Why, the smell, of course! I don’t think I’ve ever smelled anything finer.”

‘She… already said that,’ you thought, but you kept the smile plastered on your face.

“What's going on, honey?” Mr. Carrigan asked his wife. You noticed his outfit of choice was a cardigan and slacks, and he held an old-fashioned pipe. The two reminded you very much of “Leave it to Beaver.”

“Well, just this nice couple asking about my wreaths, dear.”

“Oh, the wreaths are fine,” Mr. Carrigan affirmed. “Fine wreaths. Oh, care for some peanut brittle?” He held out a tin, and Dean took a piece.

You gave him a harsh glare, preventing him from raising the brittle to his lips. Politely, you bid the couple goodbye and kept Dean from snacking while he started to drive.

As soon as you got out of the line of the Carrigans’ sights, you took the peanut brittle and chucked it out of the window.

“What was that for? I’m hungry,” Dean whined.

“Evil pagans, Dean,” you reminded him. “I don’t want you to get magical food poisoning.” You kissed his cheek and sat back in your chair.

He considered for a moment but finally seemed to admit defeat when he hung his head, a small smile and a blush rising to his cheeks.

***

That night, you and the Winchesters headed back to the Carrigan’s home. “ ‘O Come All Ye Faithful” played from somewhere down the street, and the soft glow of Christmas lights on strings shining through the dark night almost made you feel like a child again; falling asleep in the back of your family’s station wagon while your mother hummed along to the Christmas tunes on the radio.

An evergreen stake was hidden in your jacket’s inside pocket; Bobby was becoming your favorite person with his seemingly endless amounts of contacts and information. Sam had informed you and his brother that the last place the Carrigans had lived, three people disappeared, too.

You followed Dean into the living room of the dark home after he picked the lock. He turned around and whispered, “See? Plastic.” He gestured to the couch and other furniture still covered in sheets of it.

You headed down the hallway where ornaments and snow globes rested on shelves on the wall. You made your way into the kitchen where Sam and Dean were looking at a lock on the basement door. Dean picked it, and you followed him down the stairs. You did your best to avoid making the stairs creak as you did so.

You shined your flashlight around and realized the basement was less of a storage room and more of Hannibal Lector’s playroom; a bowl of blood and bone sat at the end of a bloodstained wooden table just big enough to fit a human on that had shackles outfitted to each of its corners. You backed up along the wall, only to bump into something that moved. You yelped in surprise and wheeled around to see a leather bag wriggling around, as if a person was inside it.

Suddenly, you felt a hand on the back of your shirt, lifting you up, and you screamed.

“(Y/N)!” Dean yelled.

You wriggled and kicked with all your might, but Mr. Carrigan was too strong. He turned you around and held you to the wall by your throat, and you clawed at his hand to get away from him. However, slowly losing air, you were unsure whether the best strategy was to fight or to conserve your oxygen.

“Gosh, I wish you kids hadn’t come down here,” Madge smiled sweetly.

***

Slowly, your mind began to awaken. Your limbs and head felt heavy, and the light seeping in through your closed eyes felt painful. You blinked a few times, soon able to fully open your eyes and look around.

You jerked a little in your seat but soon realized your hands were bound to the chair. You turned your head to the left to see Dean tied up shoulders slumped, and on the right, Sam. You supposed the two boys were tied back to back and your chair was tied sort of in between the two. However, you couldn’t see anything going on behind you.

“Dean? You okay?” you asked frantically when you heard him groan.

“Yeah, I think so,” he grumbled.

“How ‘bout you, Sam?”

Sam just hummed in response. “So, I guess we’re dealing with Mr. and Mrs. God. Nice to know.”

“Yeah,” Dean murmured, breathing deeply.

You heard approaching footsteps coming from behind you.

“Ooh, and here we thought you two lazybones were gonna sleep straight through all the fun stuff,” you heard Madge giggle.

“Miss all this? Nah, we’re partiers,” Dean snarked.

You heard Mr. Carrigan take a puff from his pipe. “Isn’t he a kick in the pants, honey? You’re hunters, is what you are.”

“And you’re pagan gods. So, why don't we just call it even, and go our separate ways?” the older brother suggested.

“What, so you can bring more hunters and kill us?” Madge laughed, voice still sugary sweet. “I don’t think so.”

“Maybe you should have thought about that before you went snacking on humans, now, huh?” Sam shot back.

“Oh now, don’t get all wet,” Mr. Carrigan scolded gently.

“Oh, why, we used to take over a hundred tributes a year and that’s a fact.” You turned to the left to see Madge put a napkin on Dean’s lap. “Now what do we take?” She did the same to you. “What, two? Three?” And then did the same to Sam.

“Hardy Boys and Nancy Drew here make six.” Mr. Carrigan took another drag from his pipe. Funnily enough, you hadn’t seen him light the thing once yet.

“Now, that’s not so bad, is it?” Madge crooned.

“Well, you say it like that,” Dean sassed, “I guess you guys are the Cunninghams.”

“You, mister, better show us a little respect,” Madge instructed, and you could see her leaning down to try and intimidate Dean.

“Or what?” you remarked, trying to crane your neck around to look at the Carrigans. “You gonna eat us?”

“Not so fast,” Mr. Carrigan responded. “There’s rituals to be followed first.”

You turned to Madge, who looked excited. “Oh, we’re just sticklers for ritual.”

“And you know what kicks off the whole shebang?” Mr. Carrigan taunted, walking around in front of you.

“Let me guess.” The glare you delivered was challenging. “Meadowsweet.”

Mr. Carrigan nodded.

“Oh shucks,” you mockingly pouted, “you’re all out of wreaths. I guess we’ll just have to cancel the sacrifice, huh?”

“Oh, don’t be such a gloomy Gus.” You could hear Madge rustling around as she spoke. Suddenly, a wreath was put around your neck. You attempted to bite Mrs. Carrigan’s fingers to no avail, and she just tapped your nose in response. “There. Oh, don’t they just look darling?

Mr. Carrigan smacked his lips. “Good enough to eat. Alrighty-roo. Step number two.” You heard the sound of a knife being released from its sheath.

Sam started mumbling, “No, no—” to which you and Dean cried his name.

“D-Don’t!” Sam wailed.

“Leave him alone, you son of a bitch!” Dean shouted.

You struggled even harder against your binds.

“Hear how they talk to us?” Mr. Carrigan tsked. “To gods? Listen, pal, back in the day, we were worshiped by millions.”

Mr. Carrigan walked around to you holding the bowl, and you started to panic just a little.

“Times have changed!” Dean growled.

“Tell me about it. All of a sudden, this Jesus character is the hot new thing in town. All of a sudden, our– our altars are being burned down, and we’re being hunted down like common monsters.” Mr. Carrigan walked back behind what you assumed was the kitchen counter.

“But did we say a peep? Oh ho ho, no, no, no, we did not. Two millennia,” Madge continued for her husband. “We kept a low profile; we got jobs, a mortgage. Wh- What was that word, dear?”

“We assimilated.”

“Yeah, we assimilated. Why, we play bridge on Tuesday and Fridays.” The woman walked over to you holding the bowl with Sam’s blood in it. “We’re just like everybody else.”

“You’re not blending in as smooth as you think, lady,” Dean snarked. Madge ignored your partner’s comment. “This might pinch a bit, dear.” With that, she sliced into your arm deeply.

“F-Fuck!” you screamed.

“(Y/N)!” Dean yelled. “Get your hands off her!”

“Oh, my goodness me! Somebody owes a nickel to the swear jar. Oh, do you know what I say when I feel like swearing?” Madge waved the knife around in your face as you panted in pain. “ ‘Fudge’.”

“I’ll try to remember that,” you sassed.

“Oh, god, you son of a bitch!” Dean howled, and you assumed Madge had cut him up, too.

“Get away from him!” you yelled, creating brush burns on your arms from how hard you were pulling on your binds.

“You kids have no idea how lucky you are,” Mr. Carrigan said. “There was a time when kids came from miles around, just to be sitting where you are.” He came to a stop in front of you holding a pair of pliers.

“What do you think you’re doing with those?” you asked, chest heaving in panic.

All he did was smile in response.

“You fudging touch her again, and I’ll fudging kill you!” Dean growled.

“Very good!” Madge praised just before you heard your love groan in pain again.

You had no time to focus on Dean because Mr. Carrigan grabbed your hand.

“No, no, don’t!” Sam begged from beside you.

“Get off me!” you cried, and your cry soon turned into a scream as the god painfully pulled your index fingernail off.

“Oh, we got a winner!” Mr. Carrigan exclaimed happily. He disappeared from your line of sight again, and you dropped your head back on your chair. Your finger and arm were throbbing, and you couldn’t help but cry.

“I swear to god, (Y/N), I’ll fucking kill them,” you heard Dean mutter through the white hot pain roaring in your ears.

“What else, dear?” Madge cooed.

“Well, let’s see. Uh, fingernails, blood. Oh! Sweet Peter on a popsicle stick,” the man laughed. “I forgot the tooth.”

“Oh, dear!”

“Merry Christmas, guys,” Dean said, out of breath.

You turned your head to see Madge and Mr. Carrigan advancing on Dean. The man held the pliers up and grabbed Dean’s chin harshly. “Open wide… and say, ‘Aah’.”

Suddenly, the doorbell rang.

“Somebody gonna get that?” Dean asked around the tool in his mouth. “You should get that.”

“Come on,” Mr. Carrigan finally said.

You knew you had to act fast, and you started working the knife out of your sleeve as soon as the doors shut behind the Carrigans. Silently, all three of you got out of your binds. You hid with Dean behind one of the kitchen doors.

“Now, where were we?” you heard Madge say.

You pulled a drawer out to hold the door closed and trapped the Carrigans in the kitchen. Almost immediately, the couple was attempting to open them.

You made your way over to Sam at the other end of the kitchen and leaned on the door beside him.

“What do we do now? The evergreen stakes are in the basement!” Dean whispered.

“Well, we need more evergreen, Dean!” Sam replied.

You looked over at the tree in the corner of the living room. “Guys. Bingo.”

Dean smirked excitedly. “Sam, help me get this.” He had his brother assist him in moving the large cabinet next to the door in front of it.

While the boys worked, you pushed the Christmas tree over and broke three large branches off it. You tossed one to both boys who caught them with ease.

Gripping your stake tightly, you waited with bated breath as the house went silent. Suddenly, Mr. Carrigan tackled Dean to the ground. Madge grabbed your shoulder before you could help Dean and wheeled you around. “You little thing,” she chastised. “I loved that tree.”

You raised your stake, but she hit you hard and threw you back onto the plastic-covered couch. The woman stalked toward you, and you whacked her to the ground with the branches of your stake. You scrambled to your feet before she could recover and stabbed her through the chest with your stake.

“Madge!” Mr. Carrigan screamed just before Sam stabbed him with his own makeshift stake.

You moved to stand beside the two boys, chest heaving from the effort. “Merry Christmas, ya filthy animals,” you breathed out at the dead bodies at your feet. The two boys huffed out labored laughs before Dean slung his arm around your shoulder and began leading you out of the house.

***

“How’d you keep Dean from finding this stuff?” Sam asked.

You pulled a few plastic bags out from under the bed you shared with the older Winchester. “He doesn’t look under here unless it’s for his shoes. I’ve been making sure they’re next to mine by the door every night,” you explained with a smile. You handed one of the bags to Sam. “It’s not much, but I found a crappy dollar store down the road. I was hoping you’d change your mind.”

Sam looked down sheepishly. “You do get why I was… hesitant, though, right?”

You stood up and nodded. “Absolutely, I do.”

He gave you a lopsided smile.

“C’mon,” you said. “Oh! I almost forgot!”

“What?”

You stooped to pull out the little plastic Christmas tree from under Sam’s bed and held it up with a wide grin.

***

Dean returned almost an hour later holding a six pack. “What’s all this?” he asked, almost in a sort of daze as he looked around the decorated room.

You continued to busy yourself with making eggnog while the brothers talked.

“What do you think it is? It’s– it’s Christmas,” Sam replied.

You walked over to Sam with a cup of your concoction.

“What made you change your mind?” Dean asked him.

“Oh, thanks,” Sam told you without answering his brother.

“Lemme know if it needs more of a kick,” you said.

Sam took a swig and coughed. “Nope, all good.”

“Yeah?” you grinned.

Sam nodded and smiled.

Dean came up behind you and slipped an arm around your waist, his hand landing just above your ass. He smirked down at you and took the other cup of eggnog from your left hand. He gulped almost half of it down, unfazed by the strong whiskey taste.

“Well, uh, have a seat. Let’s do… Christmas stuff, or whatever,” Sam awkwardly said.

You sat beside Dean on the couch next to the small Christmas tree decorated with car air fresheners. Sam pulled up a chair across from you.

“All right, first things first,” Dean nodded, and you handed him the two packages he’d wrapped shoddily in brown paper bags. “Merry Christmas, Sam.” Dean handed him one of the two bags.

Sam smiled widely. “Where’d you get these?”

“Someplace special,” Dean smirked. At Sam’s deadpan expression, Dean continued, “The gas mart down the street. Open them up.”

“Well, great minds think alike, Dean.” Sam brought out two packages wrapped in newspaper. He gave the first to Dean.

“Really?” Dean asked, eyes shining with surprise.

You left Dean’s arms momentarily to reach under the couch and brought out two packages daintily wrapped in brown paper. You handed one to each of the boys, and they handed their gifts to you. “You didn’t have to get me anything, guys,” you said.

“Yeah, we did. Shuddup,” Dean remarked, smirking.

You relaxed back against him while Sam opened his gift from Dean. “Skin mags!” he laughed. “And shaving cream.”

“You like?” Dean questioned.

Sam smiled and nodded. He then opened the gift from you. “Oh, no way!” He held up the Staind cassette tapes you’d gotten for him to add to Dean’s collection for long drives; especially for when Dean was gone.

You grinned widely as he admired the tapes. “Okay, Dee, your turn,” you told him.

He chuckled and unwrapped Sam’s gift to him. “Look at this! Fuel for me and fuel for my baby.” He held up a candy bar and a bottle of oil, and you laughed. “These are awesome,” the older brother said. “Thanks, Sammy.”

“Okay, now mine,” you beamed.

“Oh, holy shit,” Dean breathed out while he opened the Bowie knife you’d gotten engraved for him. On the hilt of the blade were his initials, and the handle was engraved to look just like the side of his prized Taurus pistol. “Jesus, (Y/N), this is—” he couldn’t seem to find the words, instead opting to place a long kiss on the side of your forehead.

At last, you opened yours. Sam gave you the second book in a series you’d been reading on Greek myths, for which you were eternally grateful, but Dean’s gift truly floored you.

“Where’d you get this?” you asked, fingering the small beaded bracelet Dean had given you.

“Off some kid in the lobby,” he smirked.

Tears filled your eyes at how close of attention he paid to you and your stories.

“There’s something else in there, too.”

You looked up to Dean with complete admiration before rummaging around in the bag once more. You pulled out a ripped piece of paper from the notepad at a motel you’d recently stayed at with the words, “Redeem on Dean’s expiration date.” You looked up to him in confusion.

“It’s, uh, for this,” Dean revealed, thumbing the amulet around his neck. “I want you to have it.”

You threw your arms around his neck and hugged him tightly. He returned your fierce embrace, pulling you impossibly closer across his lap.

“Merry Christmas, Deano,” you whispered into his shoulder.

Dean pulled away from you and kissed your forehead. He then held his eggnog up to cheers you and Sam. “Merry Christmas, guys.”

The three of you sat in silence sipping your drinks before Sam broke the quiet.

He looked quite sad as he began, “Hey, Dean, y—” but Sam cut himself off, sighing and shaking his head. “Do you feel like watching the game?” he finally asked.

Dean grinned in relief. “Absolutely.”

You clicked on the television before settling into Dean’s side. He lazily thumbed your hip and sighed in content. Sam turned his chair to face the television.

***

Later that night, long after Dean and Sam had gone to bed, you were still wide awake. Snow had begun softly falling outside the motel room window, and the moonlight reflected off the white blanket over the Impala beautifully. Wrapped in a blanket, you made your way over to your duffel bag. You hadn’t taken the bracelet that Dean gave you off, and you were still holding the piece of paper to “redeem” when Dean was gone.

You took your wallet out and slipped the piece of paper into the see-through pocket where your ID sat, and there it would stay until this was all over.

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