Nightshifter | Supernatural Series Rewrite | Dean Winchester x Fem!Reader
Pairing: Dean Winchester x Fem!Reader (Eventual ;) )
Warnings: canon violence, canon gore, hostage situation
Word Count: 5149
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You eyed Dean angrily as he flirted with the attractive woman in front of him dressed as an FBI agent. You knew he was teasing you, and it was pissing you off. You had long since finished your interrogation of the store’s manager. Helena had apparently been a patron of the store for years. Then, one day, she went crazy; the police caught her clearing out the jewelry store’s cases and the safe before shooting someone in the face and killing herself in her bathtub after the crime. You had a sneaking suspicion you were dealing with a shapeshifter; a monster that you were quite over dealing with.
Dean approached you, triumphantly waving the piece of paper with the phone number he’d gotten from the woman he was interviewing.
You snatched it out of his hands.
“Aw, you jealous?” he teased, leaning into you.
You deadpanned, “Keep it professional, Agent Hetfield, wouldn’t want the bureau to hear about this, right?” You ripped the paper up and shoved its tatters into your blazer pocket.
He deflated slightly, but still smirked at you. “I’m gonna make you crack, sweetheart, just wait.”
“Mm-hmm,” you hummed, turning away from him and heading out to the Impala. Admittedly, you were strutting a little bit to tease him.
Sam met you at the car, and the three of you drove to the home of the man whose police statement had been a mix of sci-fi nerd gibberish and the only eye-witness account of the incident.
As you approached the small house, Sam began talking about another piece of the case. “Uh, Milwaukee National Trust. It was hit about a month ago.”
Dean raised a brow. “Same M.O. as the jewelry store?”
“Yep, inside job, longtime employee, the never-in-a-million-years type. Dude robs the bank, then goes home and supposedly commits suicide.”
“The guy, Resnick, he was the security guard on duty?” Dean questioned.
Sam nodded. “Yeah. He was actually beaten unconscious by the teller who heisted the place.”
“Jesus,” you grimaced.
“Yeah,” Sam nodded. He knocked on the screen door. “Mr. Resnick?” A bright flood light turned on, momentarily blinding you.
You raised a hand in front of your eyes. “Holy—”
Sam was apparently unfazed. “FBI, Mr. Resnick.”
Through the screen door, a chubby, nerdy-looking man in his late twenties approached. “Let me see the badge.”
You slapped your badge against the screen next to Sam’s and Dean’s.
Mr. Resnick, whose first name was Ronald, squinted at them carefully. “I already gave my statement to the police.”
Dean chuckled. “Yeah, listen, Ronald, um… just some things about your statement we wanted to get some clarification on.”
“You read it?” He seemed surprised. “You come to listen to what I've got to say?”
“Well, that’s why we’re here,” Dean said.
“Well, come on in.” He opened the door and led you through a narrow hallway to a room cluttered with conspiracy theory paraphernalia.
“None of the cops ever called me back. Not after I told them what was really going on. Uh, they all thought I was crazy,” he rushed out. You were beginning to think the same. “First off, Juan Morales never robbed the Milwaukee National Trust, okay? That, I guarantee. See, me and Juan were friends. He used to come back to the bank on my night shifts, and we'd play cards.”
“So you let him into the bank that night, after hours,” Sam noted.
“The thing I let into the bank…” Ronald trailed off, “wasn't Juan. I mean, it had his face, but it wasn't his face. Uh, every detail was perfect, but too perfect, you know, like if a dollmaker made it, like I was talking to a big Juan-doll.”
You nearly choked on a laugh. “A Juan-doll?”
“Look, this wasn't the only time this happened, okay?” He scrambled through papers on his messy desk and handed you a folder. “There was this jewelry store, too. And the cops, a-and you guys, you just won't see it!” You flipped through the folder; it almost looked like a hunter’s profile of the case. You were half impressed. “Both crimes were pulled by the same thing,” Ronald finished.
Sam pressed, saying, “What's that, Mr. Resnick?”
He picked up a copy of a magazine labeled “Fortean Times” and held it out to you. The headline read, “Birth of the Cybermen.”
‘Jesus Christ,’ you thought, suppressing a grimace.
“Chinese 've been working on 'em for years,” the man explained. “And the Russians before that. Part men, part machine. Like the Terminator. But the kind that can change itself, make itself look like other people.”
Dean smirked. “Like the one from T2.”
“Exactly! See, so not just a robot, more of a- a- a- a— Mandroid," he said finally, a bizarre twinkle in his eye.
“A Mandroid,” you deadpanned. “And what makes you so sure about this, Ronald?”
He held up a finger at you, smiling a little wildly. Your eyes flicked to Dean’s in concern, and he just wiggled his eyebrows at you.
The man returned a moment later holding a VHS tape labeled “M.N.T. Camera 4— Juan.” He inserted it into a player, saying, “See, I made copies of all the security tapes. I knew once the cops got them they'd be buried. Here.” He fast-forwarded a bit in the tape. “Now watch. Watch. Watch him, watch, watch! See, look! Th- th- there it is!” He paused it on a clip of the man with a silver in his eyes. “You see? He's got the laser eyes.”
You gave Sam a knowing look that he returned.
“Cops said it was some kind of reflected light. Some kind of ‘camera flare’. Okay? Ain't no damn camera flare. They say I'm a post-trauma case. So what? Bank goes and fires me, it don't matter!” You eyed Ronald uncomfortably as he continued to pace around and rant. “The Mandroid is— is still out there. The law won't hunt this thing down— I'll do it myself.
"You see, this thing, it- it- it kills the real person, makes it look like a suicide, then it sorta, like, morphs into that person. Cases the job for a while until it knows the take is fat, and then it finds its opening. Now, these robberies, they're, they're grouped together.” He pointed at the map on the wall. “So I figure the Mandroid is holed up somewhere in the middle, underground, maybe. I dunno, maybe that's where it recharges its, uh, Mandroid batteries.”
Dean nodded, seeming impressed. You just looked between Ronald and Dean in confusion.
“Okay. I want you to listen very carefully. Because I'm about to tell you the god's honest truth about all of this,” Sam began.
Your head whipped to him, confused as to where he was going with this.
“There's no such thing as Mandroids. There's nothing evil or inhuman going on out there. Just people. Nothing else, you understand?”
You kept a straight face, but were startled.
“The laser eyes,” Ronald tried desperately.
“Just a camera flare, Mr. Resnick. See, I know you don't want to believe this. But your friend Juan robbed the bank, and that's it,” Sam mollified.
Ronald immediately became angry. “Get out of my house! Now!”
***
You and the brothers found another tacky, cheap motel to stay in for the time being. You lounged on Dean’s bed in a pair of comfortable sweatpants and an oversized band t-shirt.
Dean paced around the room, chuckling. “Man, that has got to be the kicker, straight up. I mean, you tell that poor son of a bitch that— what did you say, remand the tapes that he copied? Classified evidence of an ongoing investigation?” He laughed harder. “That's messed up.”
Sam sat on the foot of the bed and inserted the tape into the television’s player. “What are you, pissed at me or something?”
Dean shook his head. “Nah, I just think it's a little creepy how good of a Fed you are. I mean, come on, we could have at least thrown the guy a bone. He did some pretty good legwork here.”
“Mandroid?” you deadpanned.
“Except for the Mandroid part,” Dean added. “I liked him. He's not that different from you or me. People think we're crazy.”
“He’s not a hunter, though, Dean,” you challenged. “He ran into something real and let his conspiracy-theory-brain-rot get the best of him.”
“Better to stay in the dark, and stay alive,” Sam finished.
Dean shrugged, “Yeah, I guess.” He put a paper down on the map on the table and began marking it with a red pen.
You shuffled forward to Sam and hit the pause button on the remote just as the man’s eyes flashed at the camera.
“Shapeshifter. Just like back in St. Louis. Same retinal reaction to video,” Sam informed.
“Eyes flare at the camera. I hate those fuckin’ things,” Dean grunted.
“You think we don’t?” you scoffed.
“Yeah, well, one didn't turn into you and frame you for murder.”
You shrugged. “Well, look, if this shifter's anything like the one we killed in Missouri—”
“Then Ronald was right. Alright, they like to layer up underground, preferably the sewer. And all the robberies have been connected so far, right?”
Sam nodded.
“With the, uh, sewer main layout. There's one more bank lined up on that same sewer main,” Dean continued.
“Awesome,” you grumbled.
***
Later that evening, you and the brothers headed to the bank Dean referenced, the City Bank of Milwaukee, to see if the shapeshifter would be hitting that one next. You posed as Sam and Dean’s boss, and the two boys wore security camera technician outfits.
The guard of the bank informed you as you walked along, “Well, we haven't had any flags go up on our system yet.”
You shook your head. “No, sir, this is a glitch in the overall grid. I just need to cover all my bases and make sure the branch monitors are okay.”
“Well, better to be safe than sorry, I guess,” the guard shrugged.
“That’s the plan,” you nodded.
He opened the door to an observation room flooded with monitors for you, saying, “Alrighty. You guys need anything else?”
“Nope,” you replied. “We’ll be in and out before you know it. Just a routine check.”
“Okie-dokie,” he said, leaving the room.
Dean chuckled. “I like him. He says ‘Okie-dokie.’ “
“What if he's the shifter?” worried Sam.
“Well, then we follow him home, put a silver bullet through his chestplate,” the older brother replied simply.
You sat down in one of the desk chairs to watch the screens. You kicked your high-heeled feet up on the desk in front of you, leaning back in your seat. “Anybody got popcorn?” you yawned, preparing for the hours of work ahead of you.
***
You and the Winchester boys were beginning to go cross-eyed after searching for the monster for so long.
“Well, it looks like Mr. Okie-Dokie is… okie-dokie,” Dean commented upon seeing his eyes appear normal in the camera screens.
“Maybe we jumped the gun on this, guys,” sighed Sam. “I mean, we don't even know it's here.”
Something caught your eye. “Wait a minute.” A middle-aged man turned toward the camera, and his eyes flared. “Got him.”
“Hello, freak,” Dean growled.
Sam immediately jumped up, as did you, but Dean lingered behind. “Guys, wait!”
“What?” you and Sam spun around.
You then saw Ronald scurrying up to the door of the bank with a chain and a padlock, chaining it shut.
Dean scoffed. “Hello, Ronald.”
You immediately began running down the hall, ignoring the protesting of the soles of your feet as your heels clacked against the floor. As you approached the main lobby of the bank, you heard Ronald screaming for everyone to get on the ground. And then, gunshots.
“Fuck!” you cursed.
“And you said we shouldn't bring guns,” Dean scolded Sam, nearly bumping into someone fleeing past him.
“I didn't know this was gonna happen, Dean,” Sam replied.
“Just let me do the talking,” the older brother commanded. “I don't think he likes you very much, Agent Johnson.”
You saw Ronald standing in front of a group of people huddled together on the floor. “Now, there's only one way in or out of here, and I chained it up. So nobody's leaving, do you understand?”
Your eyes flicked to Dean concernedly as he stepped forward. “Hey, buddy. Calm down. Just calm down—”
Ronald wheeled around. “What the— You! Get on the floor, now.”
Dean began to crouch to the floor, as did you and Sam. “Okay, we're doing that. Just don't shoot anybody, especially us.”
“I knew it. As soon as you two left. You ain't FBI. Who are you? Who are you working for, huh? The men in black? You working for the Mandroid?”
“We’re not working for the Mandroid!” Sam exclaimed.
Ronald shakily aimed his gun at Sam. “You, shut up! I ain't talking to you. I don't like you.”
“Fair enough,” the brunet mumbled.
“Get on 'em. Frisk them down, make sure they got no weapons on them. Go!” Ronald commanded one of the hostages.
“Oh, hell, no, you’re not fucking touching me,” you struggled against the man as he tried to feel you up.
“(Y/N), (Y/N), stop, stop,” Sam pleaded.
You shoved the man off yourself. Your struggle was strategic, though, as it kept him from finding the knives you had planted on yourself; one in your sleeve and one alongside your thigh.
The man moved over to Dean and found a knife stashed in his boot.
“Now what have we here?” Ronald’s question was meant to sound intimidating, but his wavering voice gave him away.
Sam shot Dean a look.
“I'm not just gonna walk in here naked!” Dean hissed back.
“Get back there,” Ronald ordered. You did so, following his pointing of the gun to the group of people behind him. He dropped Dean’s knife in the deposit box, and Dean winced.
“We know you don't want to hurt anybody,” he said. “That's exactly what's gonna happen if you keep waving that cannon around, and why don't you let these people go?”
“No!” Ronald shrieked. “I already told you. If nobody's gonna stop this thing, then I've got to do it myself.”
“Hey, we believe you! That's why we're here,” Dean replied.
“You don't believe me. Nobody believes me! How could they?” he cried.
“Come here,” Dean said.
Ronald scoffed. “What? No.”
“You're holding the gun, boss; you're calling the shots. I just want to tell you something. Come here.”
Ronald approached cautiously and leaned into Dean. You assumed he was telling him who the shifter was.
“Why do you think we've got these getups, huh? We've been monitoring the cameras in the back. We saw the bank manager. We saw his eyes,” Dean whispered.
The shorter man’s eyes widened. “His laser eyes?”
“Yes.” Dean seemed to realize what he’d said. “No. No! No, look, we're running out of time, okay? We've got to find him before he changes into someone else.”
“Like I'm gonna listen to you. You're a damn liar,” Ronald grumbled.
Dean stood cautiously, hands out.
“Dean, no!” you said.
“I'll shoot you! Get down!” Ronald ordered, pointing his rifle at Dean.
“Take me. Okay? Take me with you; take me as a hostage. But we've gotta act fast , because the longer we just sit here, the more time he has to change.” Dean paused. “Look at me, man. I believe you. You're not crazy. There really is something inside this bank.”
Ronald finally nodded. “Alright, you come with me. But everyone else gets in the vault!”
You stood on shaky legs as the people around you gasped and cried. You helped Sam herd everyone into the vault, and Dean tried to calm everyone down when Ronald ordered him to shut the door.
“It's okay, everyone. Just stay cool.” He threw a lingering glance to you before locking the vault completely.
A young redhead stared after Dean. “Who is that man?” she asked breathlessly.
“He's my brother,” Sam replied; you could hear the worry in his voice.
“He is so brave,” she practically moaned.
You rolled your eyes and crossed your arms.
The redhead went silent for a few minutes, and you took some time to thoroughly think your situation over. ‘Cops are gonna be all over this place by now. Dean’s been accused of murder, and the three of us have already been arrested once. Dean’s on the FBI’s radar. Surely, after our escape on the danashulps case, the feds are on us again. Now, we’re smack dab in the middle of a full-on hostage situation. And who are they likely to blame? Us!’ Your anxiety was beginning to get away with you as your thoughts began to swirl in your head. You were then acutely aware of how hot the room was, and unbuttoned the top two buttons of your shirt to keep some circulation moving.
The woman next to you who seemed infatuated with Dean introduced herself to you.
“ ‘Scuse me, sorry. Uh, hi, I’m Sherry,” she said. “You’re, uh, with those guys, too, right?”
You nodded.
“You known them a while?”
You nodded again.
She grinned. “Oh, gosh. What’s it like being around him?”
You snorted. “ ‘Him’ who?”
“That guy! The one who saved our lives!” she beamed. “What’s he like?”
“To tell you the truth, he’s a pain in my ass most of the time,” you giggled, arms crossed over your chest.
“Oh, really?” She deflated a bit before her floaty, trancelike inflection in her voice came back. “He just… He seems so wonderful to be around. I mean, staring down that gun. And, you know, the way— he played right into that psycho's crazy head, telling him what he wanted to hear, I mean—” She trailed off, turning her attention back to you. “He's like, a real hero or, or something.” She tucked a hair behind her ear as she continued to gush.
You nodded again, feeling weirded out.
“Sorry, I just,” she sing-songed, “I’ve never met anyone like him.” She paused, seeming to consider her next question carefully. “You ever… done anything with him?”
You nearly choked at her statement, uncomfortable with the objectification of Dean. “What?”
“Y’know,” she drawled, “How good is he in the—”
You were grateful to hear the vault door unlocking, revealing Dean holding a handgun.
“Oh my god, you saved us! You saved us!” Sherry cheered.
“Actually, I just found a few more. Come on, everybody, let's go. Let's go.” Dean ushered the guard from earlier and a few other people inside the vault.
“What are you doing?” Sherry questioned.
“Sam, (Y/N), look, uh, Ronald and I need to talk to you,” Dean said.
You shot Sam a confused look, and Dean shut the vault door behind him, shrugging apologetically.
“It's shed its skin again,” Dean explained. “We don't know when— it could be in the halls, it could be in the vault.”
“Great,” you sighed. “Y’know, Dean, you are wanted by the police.”
He nodded.
Sam seemed to catch onto where you were headed with this. “So even if we do find this damn thing, how the hell are we gonna get out of here?”
“Well, one problem at a time,” the older brother replied. “Alright, I'm gonna do a sweep of the whole place; see if we can find any stragglers. Once we get everyone together we've got to play a little game of find-the-freak, so… here.” He handed Sam a silver letter opener. “Found another one of these for you. (Y/N), I know you have weapons on you. Best use ‘em.”
You grinned at how well he knew you. You slipped your silver-bladed knife out of your sleeve.
Dean turned to Sam. “Now, stay here, make sure Ronald doesn't hurt anybody, okay? Help him manage the situation.” He turned to you. “C’mon.”
Sam’s voice began rising in outrage. “Help him manage? Are you insane?”
You turned your head to Ronald who seemed shaken, attention caught by Sam’s voice.
“Look, I know this isn't going the way we wanted—”
Dean was cut off by his brother nearly shouting, “Understatement!”
“But if we invite the cops in right now, Ronald gets arrested, we get arrested, the shifter gets away, probably never find it again, okay?” Dean finished.
Ronald peered out of the window in plain view of whoever was down below. You snapped, “Ronald! Out of the light!”
Sam scoffed at his brother, “Seriously?!”
Dean sighed. “Yeah, Ron's game plan was a bad plan, I mean, it was a bit of a crazy plan, but right now, crazy's the only game in town, okay?”
Dean slapped Sam on the shoulder and grabbed your hand, bringing you along with him. ‘If only Sherry could see us now,’ you thought bitterly.
Dean looked over his shoulder at you. “What’s that face about?” he questioned.
“Nothin’,” you replied, still grinning in self-satisfaction, scanning the hallway ahead for anyone or anything.
He just hummed at you, turning his head forward again.
“I hate this case,” you whispered after a few minutes of tense walking.
“Yeah, me too,” he replied, still scanning the ceiling. He seemed to notice something, and you followed his gaze upward. A panel in the ceiling had been left askew. You eyed Dean curiously and took the gun from him, pointing it at the panel while Dean dislodged it with a coat rack from nearby. Suddenly, a naked body fell to the floor. Dean turned the body over with the end of the rack.
“Wait, Dean, wasn’t that?—”
“Yeah, I just let that guy in the vault.”
***
You and Dean hurried as inconspicuously as possible to inform Sam of what had just happened. Sam told you that man had been trying to get the front door unlocked and helping Mr. Okie-Dokie who may have been going into cardiac arrest when you and Dean found the body.
You turned to Ronald and his cocked rifle. “You know what, Ronald? He's right, we've got to get this man outside. Come on. I've got you.”
The shifter tried to help, too. “Yeah, yeah, let me help you.”
“Oh, we got him, it's, it's cool. Thanks,” you replied. You helped the guard out of the way, and Sam took the man’s other side.
“Thank you. Thank you,” the guard told you between labored breaths.
“Sure,” you smiled politely.
You could hear Dean talking to the shifter and a sudden crash behind you. You turned with the guard still on your shoulders at Ronald yelling, “Stop! Come back here!” You noticed a red laser pointed on his back, and your breath caught.
“Get down! Now!” you screamed, but you were too late.
The bullet from the sniper rifle hit Ronald squarely in the chest. You watched in horror as he fell to his knees before hitting the floor dead.
You took in a sharp breath at the sight, forcing yourself to keep your composure for the sake of everyone else in the room with you.
It was bedlam at that minute. All of the hostages began running out of the vault toward the door. You put Mr. Okie-Dokie on the ground next to you and just kept him talking until something could be done to help him. You weren’t quite sure what Sam or Dean were doing, but you made it your priority to keep this man from going into cardiac arrest.
Dean suddenly came over to you, holding a rifle.
“Dean, what are you doing?” you questioned.
“(Y/N), trust me on this—” he pleaded before helping the guard stand.
“Dean! I can help him, don’t bring him outside—”
“I’m not taking that chance, (Y/N). C’mon,” he told the guard. “I gotcha.” He held the man out in front of him and pushed him out the front door with the rifle at the guard’s back. You stayed out of the light, back pressed against the pillar next to the heavy door.
“No, don't shoot! Don't shoot! Please!” you heard the guard yell.
Dean commanded, “Don't even think about it! I said get back! Now!” He paused a moment before you heard his voice again. “Okay, go, go!” The older Winchester slipped back inside, shutting the door and latching it.
“We are so fucked,” he mumbled to you, helping you up from the floor.
“Fuck, why?”
He ran a hand through his hair. “There’s about, I don’t know, eight thousand cops out there. Helicopters and search lights and everything. We are fucked, (Y/N).”
You dropped your head back, groaning, “Great.”
Dean’s phone rang, and you assumed it was Sam. “Yeah?” he answered. “What?... God, it's like playing the shell game. It could be anybody. Again… Alright, you search every inch of this place, we’re gonna go round everybody up.” He hung up the phone.
“I think this is the most stressed I’ve been on a job,” you said as you and Dean began searching for the hostages.
“Yeah? Even more so than the demons in New York?”
“Oh, definitely. That was just a sad one; not super stressful,” you replied. You noticed a herd of people toward the end of the hall. You gripped the handle of your knife, knowing the shifter would likely be in the mix of all the hostages.
You and Dean rounded them up; Dean pointing the rifle he picked up from Ronald at the group. You guided them back to the vault.
“And I thought you were one of the good guys,” Sherry, who held up the back of the group, told Dean, who was trailing behind her.
“What's your name?” he asked.
“Why would you care?” she scoffed.
“My name's Dean,” he said. Your heart melted a bit at his gentleness with her.
She hesitated but still answered. “I'm Sherry.”
“Hi, Sherry. Everything's gonna be alright. This will all be over soon, okay?” He assured her, shutting the vault door and spinning the lock shut. The landline of the bank rang and you picked it up. You didn’t say anything when you answered the phone.
“This is Special Agent Victor Henriksen,” a commanding voice stated through the phone. “Is this Dean? Sam?”
You didn’t respond once more.
Dean mouthed to you, “Who is that?”
You shook your head, holding up a finger to gesture for him to wait.
“Oh, or is it that pretty girl? Our very own criminal Jane Doe. Some people have been calling her Ghost since no one can seem to find any record of her existence.”
Your breath hitched in your throat, but you still didn’t say anything.
“Well, whether you’ve got the Bonnie to your Clydes with you or not, it’s my job to bring you boys in. Alive's a bonus, but not necessary. I want you Winchesters out here, unarmed, or we come in.”
You still didn’t say anything.
“I know you’re still there,” he said, almost taunting. “I know everything about you two. I've been looking for you for weeks now. I know about the murder in St. Louis; I know about the Houdini act you pulled in Baltimore. I know about the desecrations and the thefts. I know about your dad.”
Dean was trying to get close to the phone, but you kept pushing him away because you knew he’d explode at the mention of his father.
“Ex-marine, raised his kids on the road,” the agent continued, “cheap motels, backwood cabins. Real paramilitary survivalist type. I just can't get a handle on what type of whacko he was. White supremacist, Timmy McVeigh, to-may-to, to-mah-to. You have one hour to make a decision, or we come through those doors fully automatic.” With that, he hung up the phone.
You slammed the phone down, cursing in frustration.
“What? Who was that?” Dean asked.
“The fucking FBI agent who’s been tailing us since Missouri,” you replied, beginning to pace anxiously. “He knows everything about you guys, man. Even about your dad. That’s why I didn’t let you talk to him; I knew you would’ve ripped his head off.”
“Damn right,” the man growled. “They have a positive ID on you yet?”
“No, actually,” you said. “Ironically, some of the feds labeled me ‘Ghost’ cause they can’t find anything on me. Which makes me even more nervous. Anyway, we’ve got an hour till they come in here and pump us full of lead,” you informed him.
“Fuck,” he muttered, running a hand through his hair.
Moments later, Sam appeared at the entrance of the vault room.
“Hey. We've got a bit of a problem outside,” Dean said.
Sam snorted. “We got a problem in here.”
“What?” you questioned.
Sam hushed his voice. “The girl that was gushing over Dean in the vault? It’s her,” he told you.
“Who, Sherry?” you questioned.
He nodded. “Just found her body.”
Barely needing to flick a glance at the boys, you unlocked the vault.
“Sherry? We're gonna let you go,” Dean called as the door swung open.
“What? Why me?” she questioned.
“Uh, as a show of good faith to the feds, come on,” he replied.
The woman hesitated. “Uh... I think I'd— I'd rather stay here, with the others.”
Dean approached her intimidatingly. “I'm afraid I'm going to have to insist.”
You clutched your blade at your side. After a tense moment, she approached you. Sam and Dean pushed her back to the hallway.
“I thought you were letting me go,” the woman you thought was the shifter said.
Dean shoved her forward, holding her head and forcing her to look at the body of Sherry Sam had brought back with him. She began screaming hysterically.
“Is that community theater, or are you just naturally that good?” Dean gruffly questioned.
“This is the last time you become anybody. Ever,” Sam added.
“No! Oh god!” she cried. She fainted almost immediately.
You stared at the two Sherrys in disbelief. One of the bodies was dressed, the other, half-naked. ‘Poor lady,’ you thought. You took off your blazer and laid it over the woman’s body, trying to spare her dignity.
“Wait, why did it do that?” you questioned. You leaned over the undressed body of Sherry covered only by your blazer and put your finger on her neck, trying to find a pulse. The body immediately jolted up, grabbing you by the throat. You struggled, stabbing at it frantically. You got a lick in at its upper arm with the knife before it kneed you in the chin and bolted.
You coughed when it released your throat, clutching at your neck and coughing.
“(Y/N)!” Dean cried.
“Dean, no, I’m fine! Follow it!”
He nodded, taking your knife from your outstretched hand and running after it. You kicked off your heels and took another moment before standing and going to follow Dean. Sam had taken off somewhere with the real Sherry.
You didn’t know what else to do besides stay with the vault and Dean’s discarded handgun, prowling in front of it with the gun at the ready.
***
You had no idea how long it had been. You just continued to pace in front of the vault, tension overtaking your body and anxiety keeping your eyes flickering across the room rapidly. You suddenly heard approaching footsteps and dove on the ground behind a desk— unsure if it was Dean, Sam, the shifter, a cop— and were panicked at the sight of S.W.A.T. sniper rifle lasers and flashlights on the wall in front of you. Your breath quickened as the footsteps continued approaching you. Then, a masked man ducked under the desk in front of you.
You shrieked.
“Here’s Johnny!” he yelped.
“Dean! Fuck you!” You shoved his shoulder harshly when you recognized his face. He and Sam were donned in S.W.A.T. outfits that they had definitely taken off some poor bastards hidden in a broom closet somewhere.
“C’mon, we gotta get outta here, now,” Dean told you. You grabbed your heels and followed the boys out of the building and to the Impala. Dean and Sam had their stolen guns at the ready as you sprinted up to the third floor of the parking garage.
The three of you sat in the Impala, completely breathless, as you grappled with the reality of your situation.
“We are so fucked,” Dean murmured.
You and Sam nodded minutely.
You looked out of the window at the rising morning sun. Exhausted, you let the rumble of the Impala soothe you into a restless sleep as Dean drove you away from the bank.
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