pairing: dean winchester x huntress!reader
warnings: death mentioned, grief (but weaklh written)
an: i'm so inconsistent that i'm sure nobody's following this but honestly idc, also it's a little slow but it will get better i promise
It was late, and blood was trickling down her side from a gash on her shoulder. Left one, thankfully, so she could still drive. Another thing she was thankful for - she was in Fargo when she got caught up, which was only five hours away from Bobby's place. Less, because she broke all of the speed limits on her way there. But when she rolled out of her car - literally, she had to pretty much roll out, careful not to use her left arm - she let out a string of curses. Because obviously the Winchesters were there. How could they not be? It was like that always. You crossed paths with someone once and then it happened again and again and again. Especially if you were a hunter. The community was really not that big throughout the US. Unfortunately.
But there was no going back anymore. She was there and she needed someone to stitch her arm, pronto, before she'd bleed out. So she walked in without knocking, as if she was coming home. Because, truth be told, in a sense, she was coming home.
“Bobby!” she called out, looking around the floor. He wasn't in the kitchen, or the living room, or his study, or anywhere. “Hey, Singer!” she yelled louder, her heartbeat speeding up because, well, if you were a hunter, and someone wouldn't respond to your calls, it usually meant something awful. She was about to call out again when she heard the sound of a reloading gun behind her. She turned around, her hand going to the gun safely fucked away in the holster on her hip. But, well, there was no need to draw weapons, because the man in front of her was Dean Winchester.
“You scared me,” he said, clicking the safety back on.
“You scared me. Where's Bobby?” Astrea looked around the house again, grabbing her left elbow to hold the arm - bleeding and dislocated - up. He was standing in the door that led down to the basement. “The safe room?” she asked, taking a step towards him.
“What happened to your shoulder?”
“A ghoul. Where's Bobby?”
There was a beat of silence after that. Now, did she think Dean Winchester would kill Bobby? No, she didn't. But it was weird, and off putting and he was acting shady.
“Down in the safe room,” he relented finally and tucked his gun away, waving a hand in the general direction. “We have a… situation. Do you need help with your arm?”
“I need to see Bobby.” She didn't even hesitate before trying to push her way past him to go downstairs. But he didn't budge. And he didn't hesitate before grabbing her arm - the unharmed one, she had to give him that - to stop her. “What situation are we talking about?” she asked after a moment of silence, before looking up at him. She looked determined to go down there, she really did. But she was in no condition to fight him. Maybe if she was fine. And that's a big maybe anyway.
He was about to lie his way around it, he really was, but before he could even open his mouth, a scream came from downstairs. It was his brother, calling out for help. And god, that scream was terrible enough to make her blood run cold. And she was seriously considering fighting him for a moment. Because, honestly, what the fuck?
“Okay, this looks bad,” he mumbled, but the grip he had on her arm only tightened. So did her muscles, fully ready to fight now, if she was made to. “Look, I'll go get Bobby and you wait here, deal?”
“Leave your gun,” she demanded, taking a step back, trying to free herself from his grip and - thankfully - he got the point and let go. He also didn’t argue about the gun part and put it on the table. He also didn't turn his back to her for the whole time he was moving back towards the stairs, which quite frankly seemed rude to her, because he was the one acting shady and having his brother locked in the basement. She should be the one to worry.
He came back with Bobby after a few minutes and Bobby almost fell when he saw her. Her side was bloody, the scarf she tied around her arm was absolutely soaked with blood, and so was her jacket, and the shirt under it. She was dirty, and her hair was a mess, and there was a nasty bruise forming on her hairline.
“What the fuck happened to you?” he asked, walking over to her and she made a step back, almost instinctively.
“What's happening here?” she asked stubbornly, even though she felt herself grow weaker and weaker from the blood loss.
“Sit down and let me look at that arm, I'll tell you later,” said Bobby in his father voice, and she listened. She sat down on the couch and let Bobby take the scar off and cut off the sleeve of her jacket, even though it was one of her favorites. Dean disappeared somewhere but reappeared before she could get worried, carrying a bottle of whiskey and a first aid kit. “It's dislocated,” announced Bobby and Astrea nodded, her eyes closed, face pale, teeth gritting together to hide the whines of pain.
“Well, locate it back,” she grumbled, frowning when she felt his hand on her arm. There was a moment of silence and Dean handed her the whiskey bottle, which she chugged a quarter of immediately and then coughed.
Bobby waited until the bottle was out of her hand and then popped the shoulder back in place without warning, which earned him a half-choked scream from Astrea, followed by a string of curses. “Gimme,” she groaned and leaned towards Dean, trying to reach the bottle and then chugged another quarter of it, breathing heavily, trying to just get over the pain. She poured some whiskey on the wound and breathed out through clenched teeth. “Okay, fuck,” she mumbled and glanced at Bobby. “Don't stare, stitch it up,” she demanded and leaned back on the couch, before looking back at Dean. “And you better fucking explain why is your brother screaming from the safe room.”
And so he explained everything. The Yellow-Eyed Demon, the special abilities, the possibility of Sam killing Lilith if he drank enough, the possibility of him dying from it. Everything, from A to Z, and she sat there, frowning at the needle entering her skin, and Dean's words.
“That's fucked up,” she said after Dean finished and then glanced at Bobby. “Honestly. That's so fucked up.”
“Thanks, I didn't know,” said Dean sarcastically and grabbed the bottle from her to take a sip of the whiskey. She frowned a little, watching him. Because honestly, what the fuck was she supposed to say to this? How do you react to something like this?
“Well, what's your plan?” she asked, looking down at her arm when Bobby wiped it with antiseptic spray and started bandaging around it. “I mean, are you gonna… just leave it up to chance? What did that angel friend of yours say?”
And at that, Dean up and left the room, and then the house, slamming the door hard enough that the walls shuddered. You jumped a little and looked at Bobby surprised. “What the fuck?”
She didn't see Dean for another three days, which she spent mostly asleep, high on painkillers, because her shoulder hurt like a motherfucker, and Dean spent them pacing the house, drinking and arguing with Castiel, Bobby and himself.
When she came downstairs, it was almost nine in the evening, the sun was setting and Bobby was asleep in his armchair. “Hey,” she said, her voice hoarse from not speaking for almost the entire three days. “How's things?”
“He's fine,” said Dean, not even bothering to look up from his laptop. “Didn't figure out anything new.”
“Well, if he's still alive that's a good sign, right? Most detoxes last like a week or two,” she said, rubbing her face and breathing heavily, her body weak and messed up from the days of not eating, not drinking enough water and getting by on painkillers. “Sorry, that sounded bad. What I mean is, if he's still fine, that's good. There's hope,” she explained and looked at him, because he looked at her with an absolute killer look.
“Yeah, whatever,” he rolled his eyes and looked back down at the screen. She sighed, closing her eyes for a moment. “Is he better?”
“No.” And as if for confirmation, there was a gruelling scream from the safe room. She frowned and looked towards the stairs. And then, she sat down beside him and grabbed one of the books that lay next to him. “What are you doing?”
“Helping you find something to help your brother out,’ she said, as if it was the most obvious thing on the planet.
They didn't find anything new for a few hours and called for a study break. They went outside to smoke and for the time that it took to smoke half a cigarette, they sat in silence next to each other on Bobby's porch bench.
“How's your shoulder?” he asked finally, and she looked at him, slightly surprised that he even spoke. He mostly didn't. It was nesting two in the morning, and in the past five hours he said maybe six sentences to her, and so she was absolutely certain he actually hated her guts, for whatever reason.
“Hurts like a bitch,” she said and shrugged with the healthy one, the dislocated one being firmly placed in a sling. “I'll be out of the game for like, four weeks, which sucks because I don't think I can stay still for that long.”
“Cas could heal you next time he comes around,” he offered and she raised her brows. She still had a hard time wrapping her head around the concept of angels and demons existing, and the idea that an actual angel could heal her shoulder was just… insane. “If you'd like,” added Dean, when she didn't speak for a while.
“I would,” she hummed and nodded slowly, looking at him. She caught herself thinking that he looked… ethereal, almost, in the moonlight, with his lashes casting shadows on his cheeks. “Thanks.” She prayed her voice didn't falter. She prayed her voice didn't give her, and the way she cursed herself in her mind, out. She felt disgusting every time she thought a guy was handsome now. Miles has been dead for nearly seven months, and even looking at someone felt like cheating. It made her want to puke, claw her skin off, rip her heart out. But instead, she just looked back up at the sky, staring at the stars.
“Why do you hunt alone?” asked Dean, after lighting up another cigarette, not looking at her, either. Unbeknownst to him, that question felt like a dagger in her heart. It hurt more than dislocating her shoulder.
“My partner died,” she answered plainly, but there was a slight switch in her voice. It wasn't light or cheerful before, but now she sounded like death herself. “Seven months ago.”
“Sorry to hear that,” he said and glanced at her, watching her side profile for a while. He didn't hate himself for thinking she was hot. It was like stating a fact to him. In other circumstances, he'd probably try to get her to sleep with him. “Were you close?” Now, that question could actually kill her. She knew why he asked. It wasn't rare for hunters to pair up rather randomly, just cause they were close, or the same age, or from the same background. It was a normal thing that hunting buddies weren't your best friends or family or anyone. Not her and Miles, though. They were made for each other, she was sure. It must've been written in the stars.
“We were supposed to get married this June,” she whispered after a long silence, in which they both finished their second cigarette. Dean flinched at that. That was uncommon. Married hunters? What else? Maybe they dreamt of apple pie life, too? “Pretty close, if I say so.”
“Sounds like it,” he said slowly, unsure of what to say to that. How do you comfort someone after something like this happens? How do you comfort a person who was next to a stranger? Why would she even tell him that, honestly? She could've just said yes and that'd be it. “He a hunter, too?”
“Mhm,” she hummed and nodded, exhaling the smoke and staring at it for a while. “Miles Bradshaw.” Now, that got a reaction she wasn't expecting. Dean almost jumped and leaned a little to look at her face.
“Miles Bradshaw?’ he echoed back and she nodded, very obviously confused. “From Seattle area? Tall guy, really good in a fist fight?”
“Yes?” she answered, her heart almost flipping. Because was it possible Dean Winchester knew her fiance?
“Jesus, I didn't know he died,” he mumbled, running a hand through his hair. “Hell, I didn't know he was engaged. I hunted with him a few times. Good guy. Shit, I'm sorry.” Finally, he sounded genuine. As if he had to know who she was mourning before deciding it was good enough. “How did he… no, I probably shouldn't ask.”
“Vampire hunt,” she answered anyway, and he actually looked sheepish about even mentioning it. He knew how hard it could be to talk about the death of someone close to you. “He got pushed into a canal and swam out but one of them shot him with my gun before he climbed out.”
“Oh, shit,” mumbled Dean, his eyes wide, mouth twisted in a frown. “How did you get out?”
“There was only two of them left,’ she shrugged and looked away, staring at the distance numbly. There was nothing she hated more than thinking about that night. “Adrenaline kicked in, or something.”
“Sounds… tough,” he said carefully, as if he was scared she'd burst into tears immediately after talking about it, but she just shrugged, staring out at the stars still, her face so stoic it was almost creepy.
“Do you know when your angel friend is gonna come? I need to fix up my car and I really need both hands to do it,’ she said, fully changing the subject and now he just shrugged.
“He comes and goes as he pleases. But when he does, I'll make sure he helps you out,” he said and smiled at her a little, but she didn't even notice that.
“Okay, well,” Astrea flicked the cigarette away and stood up, stretching the healthy arm above her head and walking back inside. “Let's go back to work.” She was already sitting back at the table, when he came back to himself from staring at her ass. Was he proud of it? No, obviously not, she just talked about her dead fiancé. But he was just a man. A stressed out, exhausted man, and she wore really tight jeans.
