#i will fight her and the dean if he doesn't sign them again bc i did everything right

[witchwhaat]

made pasta and it's delicious, life is good

[waywardsisterwrites-blog]

What Doesn't Kill You

Request: N/A

Warnings: Some mentions and descriptions of torture, not to graphic in my opinion, but be careful if that’s something that bothers you or makes you uncomfortable 

Pairings: Probably Dean x reader later on

Word Count: 3k 

A/N Please Please comment and let me know what you like and or what I can do better, I’d really appreciate it bc this is my first fic :) Thank you!

A/N 2: If you want to be on the tag list let me know and I’ll set that up for ya :) 

He walked slowly, pacing, steel toed leather boots scraping against the cool concrete floor. You'd lost track of how long you'd been there, your wrists ached from the thick rope that bound them together. It was cold, though you could see a window or a door, there was a certain chill that filled the air. You didn't scream anymore, didn't fight, you didn't see the point in it. There was no end in sight, no light at the end of the tunnel.

"What you're doing is kind of noble, you know," He spoke quietly, hiss gruff voice echoing off the walls. "Nobody Ive tried has made it this far."

You shook violently as another chill hit your bare shoulders. You couldn't think straight anymore, but that was to be expected. You had hardly been able to focus before you had been kidnapped, much less after so much time on lockdown in the basement of some raving lunatic, hell bent on discovering the key to immortality.

You had been out that night, drinking at a bar down the road from the motel where you and the boys had been staying. You were laying low, well, lower, courtesy of the Leviathans murder spree, wearing Sam and Dean like halloween costumes. The three of you had taken to paying in exclusively cash, ordering two separate rooms, wearing dark sunglasses and baseball caps, eluding the police and any well-meaning bystanders that might panic and call the highly advertised tip line that was plastered all over town under two rather unflattering of the Winchester brothers.

You had narrowly escaped the eyes of Dick Roman yourself, as you had been incapacitated from your last hunt, a witch who had cursed you with an obscure flu like illness. It was just you luck, being too sick for the Leviathans to even bother to trying to attack you. You followed Dean's orders, not attracting too much attention while you recuperated. When you were feeling better, you were helping Kevin research and you mixed Borax solution, filling squirt guns and empty water bottles, never leaving yourself unprotected.

You were just so tired and listening to the boys bicker about every little thing was enough to make you want to pull your hair out. So, you went for a drink. Sam and Dean were always the whiskey type, but you were a scotch kind of girl yourself. You told the boys where you were going, to which they responded with vague recognition that you had even spoken at all. You walked two blocks south from the motel to the Lone Star bar and Grill and you sat on the bar stool alone wile you nursed a tumbler of your favorite amber beverage.

You hadn't even seen it coming. You had three drinks and you were ready to head back, your eyelids heavy and your feet even heavier. You were tired you were buzzed and all you could think about was the comfort of a dusty and faded futon where you could get some much needed rest.

You had been so caught up in your thoughts that you failed to notice the man walking five paces behind you, using the shade of the buildings as protection from the harsh light of the streetlamp. It had started raining and you remember wondering if your night could be any worse. You had had a major headache since that morning and you were just. so. tired.

You hadn't been watching your step either, and the toe of your shoe caught the edge of the drainage pipe that jutted into your path from the rooftop of the building nearest you. You yelped and landed sprawled on your stomach, your phone slipping from your hand as you toppled. You heard jogging foot steps behind you and suddenly a hand was waving in front of your face, offering to help you up.

"Watch your step," he'd said, "it can be dangerous to walk alone this time of night you know."

You swatted away at his hand and swayed as you stood up.

"Can I interest you in a ride home? My car is parked on the street just up the road, I don't mind at all. Weather's getting nasty and a lady such as yourself shouldn't have to walk in these conditions" His voice was thick and gravely and he spoke slowly,sending an uneasy feeling to the pit of your stomach.

"No thanks, I think I can..." you paused to wipe the dirt from your face with the back of your hand "handle myself"

He placed his hand firmly on your elbow and you tried to tug it away, but you were weak and disoriented from the alcohol or from the lack of sleep, you couldn't tell which, not that it mattered at that point.

"I really must insist." He said, still holding your elbow with one hand as he reached up to your neck with the other. You felt a sharp pain where the needle you hadn't noticed before had punctured the fragile skin. You barely had the time to process what was happening before the world began to spin, the sounds of the street and the pitter patter of raindrops fading as you blacked out.

Now, you sat in a wooden chair, hands bound behind your back, hair plastered to your forehead as the man continued to pace. He was thinking, you decided, which was good because if he was thinking he wasn't doing which meant you had a little more time before the next round of trials started.

You hadn't eaten since the morning you were abducted, your stomach growling every few minutes. You were so hungry you were nauseous, the musty smell of room wafting in your direction was enough to make bile rise in the back of your throat. You had been allowed some water every now and again, the man would tilt a styrofoam cup to your lips and tell you to take small sips. At first, you'd refused, positive the water was poisoned or cursed, but after a while, you gave in, gulping the water down as though you had never tasted anything so sweet in your entire life.

He was calling them trials, the things he put you through. He was testing you. He'd done it before, that much was obvious. He'd preform a new test, chant some words in Latin and you'd be left wishing he had just killed you when he'd taken you. He'd sort of explained it, although you'd been in too much pain and too delirious at the time to really register the full extent of his plan. He wanted to test the limits of the human body, he was looking for the key to immortality an to do that,he said he had to understand the true meaning of mortality.

The first time he untied you, he took you through a door and down a flight of stairs to a dimly lit room, a table placed squarely in the center. He'd forced out to lay down, strapping you to the table at your wrists and ankles to keep you from "ruining the experiment" Then he started setting the fires. He built them in trash cans all around the room, a dozen or so maybe more, close enough to where you lay that you could feel the embers sink into your skin. At first it had been nice. It had been cold, you weren't wearing much in the way of clothing, your flannel and jeans had been replaced with a large white t-shirt when you had been taken. and your hair had been wet, leaving you cold and damp in a dark room. Then, as the fires began to grow, the heat became unbearable. You couldn't take it anymore it was as if hell itself had been opened at your feet. You could practically feel the water being pulled from your skin, the hair on your arms and legs singed off with the scorching flames.

You blacked out again after a short while, the heat proving too much for your body to take and when you woke again, you were back in the room in which you had started, hands bound behind you back, skin still stinging from the burns and welts that decorated your arms and legs.

The next trial happened a while later, day or so maybe, but you were so out of it that you didn't even notice that any time had ever passed at all. This time he took you to a bathroom, bathtub filled to the brim with crystal blue water, ice obscuring the scratched and stained tile at the bottom. He practically dumped you into the water, the ice feeling like a million daggers piercing your body.

You screamed and screamed until your throat was raw and the tears that had been flowing down your cheeks had subsided, your body succumbing to the icy depths of the tub. You had started to feel warm again by the time he pulled you out, you knew in the back of your mind that that wasn't a good sign.

The next thing you knew you were back again, soaking wet and shaking, muttering Deans name, calling out for Sam, begging for anyone to come and save you.

_______________________________________________________________________

POV:  The Boys

When Y/N had left, Dean had though nothing of it. You needed your space and he not only understood, but he empathized. He lay face down on the bed closest to the door and it took only minutes for sleep to overtake him.

Leviathans are a pain in the ass, he had thought, longing for a ride in the impala, wishing for, hell- even just to stop for gas without having to disguise his appearance from the kid behind the counter. It was all so tiresome.

He noticed something was wrong when he woke up the next morning to find the couch across the room empty. He had thought you'd be back by now, you weren't really the type to meet up with some stranger at a bar, so he had expected you to return before the night ended.

"Sam," Dean grumbled, Sam hummed and turned over in his sleep. "Sam," Dean said again, louder this time.

Sam jolted awake, glancing around the room before his eyes locked on the empty couch which Dean had been eyeing only moments previous.

"Where's Y/N?" he asked swinging his legs over the edge of the bed.

"I was just about to ask you."

"Didn't she come home last night? I didn't hear her."

"I didn't either. I was gonna check with you before I call her." Dean reached over to the nightstand between the two beds and quickly dialed your number.

"Straight to voicemail." He said, worry clearly written across his face. Sam's concern grew as he stood up, slipping into a pair of boots and tightening the laces.

"She said she was going to the bar, right? Did she say which one?"

"Lone Star maybe? I think I saw it on the way in."

"Should we go check it out?"

"Yeah I think so. Its not like Y/N to not keep us updated on her plans."

Sam nodded and the two walked out the door, headed to the bar.

If Dean was being perfectly honest with himself, he wasn't just worried. he was petrified. Before he had met you he had been just going through the motions. His life had seemed pointless in a way, what with all the struggles and challenges he had been facing lately. You were the thing he thought about when he needed a break, when he needed to smile. He wasn't going to rest until you were back by his side.

It took them a week to pin point your exact location. You had dropped your phone outside the bar when you'd fallen, which meant they couldn't trace your GPS. The only lead they had was from a teenage boy who had been out for a smoke the night you'd gone missing.

"So let me get this straight," Dean had said "You saw a man drug a woman, /attack/ her and carry her to his car and you said nothing? You didn't call the police? What the hell is wrong with you?!"

The boy glanced apathetically up at Sam, and shrugging said "Snitches get stitches" Before standing to leave.

Dean stood to follow him, a fire of hatred gleaming in his eyes, but Sam grabbed his wrist before he could follow the boy out.

"You're no good to Y/N if you get yourself arrested, Dean"

Dean grunted his agreement, straightening the collar on his cheap suit. The brothers walked back to the police station,badges at the ready, and requested local records for the owner of the dark blue van the witness had described. The tech analyst, a balding man in his 50's, had said that it was a common description and that it might take a while to uncover the correct owner. It took all Dean's self control to not punch him in the face when he heard that it would take more time than he had expected.

"Maybe you should get some rest," Sam suggested, watching Dean gulp down his fourth quadruple-shot espresso.

"I already told you. I won't stop looking until I find her. I don't care if I never sleep again!" Dean was understandably irritable, he was still so afraid that he would never see you again, although he wouldn't outwardly admit that to Sam.

"Y/N is strong. She won't break down. We'll find her and it will all be okay when its over." Sam's facade of confidence was a little off-putting to Dean, but he allowed it, not having the time or the energy to correct or question him.

It was day four when they got the name and the address of the probable owner of the van. His name was Thomas Black, a man who's wife had left him after the death of their young son. Dean might have felt bad for the man if he didn't hate him. According to town records, his son had had a very aggressive brain tumor and had passed away a little over two years ago. His wife, unable to stand the grief and loss, up and moved away the day after the funeral and nobody had heard from her since.

"We have to go now!" Dean stated as the brothers stepped outside the police station. He couldn't stand to be apart from you a minute longer, especially when he didn't know if you were alright. Sam nodded and the boys piled into the 1987 Oldsmobile that had temporarily replaced the Impala. They both just hoped they wouldn't be too late. _______________________________________________________________________

POV: YOU

You were so cold. That was the only thing you could think anymore. Your face was expressionless and your eyes were bloodshot, gaze locked on your feet. Your hair hung in clumps around your face, stuck together with an odd mix of water and blood. He didn't bother tying your ankles anymore, you couldn't walk anyway and he knew that. Blisters covered most of your legs and arms though you couldn't feel them anymore. You were too cold. You were almost numb.

He was in the room with you again, though somehow you had missed his entrance. He knelt in front of you, palm cradling your cheek as he spoke softly.

"You're doing great. Today is going to be a rough one, but I think you'll make it. Nobody's ever made it. I think you're.. . you're strong enough. You might be the one I'm looking for. I'll know after today and then It'll be over."

He didn't move you this time, he didn't have to. He simply Inserted a needle into your neck, taping the contraption down with a thin strip of cloth tape. blood started dripping down immediately, slipping into the plastic tubing he had connected to a collection bag resting at your feet. It hurt. You were cold. You wanted it to be over. You wanted to die.

He sat with you for a little while, eyeing the plastic bag of blood that was slowly filling with warm red liquid. He told you about his family, his wife and his son. He explained that he hadn't meant to hurt anyone, he just didn't want anyone else to die. He couldn't stand the idea of facing the same fate that had stolen his son away from him.

"I found the spell book on Craigslist. Sixteen dollars plus shipping. I figured it was worth a shot, right? But you need blood. Lots of it. Not virgin, which seems weird to me, in the movies its always virgin blood. This stuff needs to come from someone powerful and strong. I didn't want to hurt anyone who mattered, you know, so I'd watch for a while and take people who were on their own. People who didn't have people. Nobody misses you, nobody looks for you, ya know?"

You couldn't even fully hear him anymore, his ranting sounding more and more like gibberish, although you could pick out certain phrases.

You don't matter. Nobody misses you. Nobody's looking for you.

You began to feel yourself fading again as more and more blood was drained from your body, the cold feeling more intense than ever. You put all the energy you had left into one whisper.

"Dean"