The "Fanfic Writers Of The SPN Fandom" Discord server is an almost 2 year old, fast growing, and welcoming community where fan fiction authors in the Supernatural fandom can come to share their stories, ask for advice, access writing resources, and make friends!
We allow everybody of the ages 15 and older,
regardless of experience level or shipping
preferences. We also have two different
18+ writing categories - general nsfw, and
proship writers. Both are hidden unless you
have the role that grants access, so you can
choose to see both, one, or neither! Minors
do not have access to these sections in the
server. This way, everyone only sees and
interacts with what they are comfortable
with!.
We offer...
♡ Self-assigning roles!
♡ Lots of channels!
♡ Monthly writing challenges!
♡ Fictober/Kinktober, as well as other writing events!
♡ WIP Wednesdays where you can win REAL prizes, just for writing!
♡ Two different bots for sprinting!
And so much more!
Our mod staff are very friendly and ready to help!
Come check us out!
Check out the •♡•𝙁𝙖𝙣𝙛𝙞𝙘 𝙒𝙧𝙞𝙩𝙚𝙧𝙨 𝙤𝙛 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙎𝙋𝙉 𝙁𝙖𝙣𝙙𝙤𝙢•♡• community on Discord - hang out with 189 other members and enjoy free voice and text ch
If you could see what that demon will make him do—
Dean gasps, breaks away from the kiss, from the embrace, forcing himself to stay upright under his own power. He stares at Sam, at the hurt expression in his tear-bright eyes. “Sammy,” he says, his voice rough with exhaustion, thick with all the words he can’t quite get out. “I can’t—”
“I know you can’t,” Sam interrupts, dropping his gaze a little, wounded puppy-dog eyes aimed in a safer direction. “Or you won’t, which comes down to the same thing.”
“It’s complicated, is all,” Dean mutters. Glances around for the ten-mil socket that he would swear was in his hand a moment ago. Sam stands still, not quite looking at Dean, which suits Dean just fine; it’s not for another few moments that he realizes Sam is staring at Baby. He wants to say something stupid, relieve the tension— hey, don’t gawk, a lady doesn’t want you staring at her undercarriage— but he can’t quite get the words out around the lump in his throat. So he grabs a wrench at random, sits back onto the roller, and slides beneath the car. With any luck, Sam’ll leave, and he’ll have another blessed few hours of busywork while thinking about absolutely nothing—
“I knew. About you and Dad.”
Semper Fi | 6.8k | Explicit | Sam/Dean, Dean/John | Supernatural Season 2
written for @zxcide for the SPN Writers' Room Blind Fic Exchange
Warnings: This is pure angst (fucking made me cry writing this), Hurt/No Comfort, Slapping, Cursing, Dean is a belligerent drunk, implications of cheating, implications of child death (nothing graphic)
Summary: After a hunt involving multiple casualties, Dean goes missing. When Tori finds him, words are exchanged and ties are cut. When Dean comes to the following morning, he is forced to face his actions.
Word Count: 1694
Authors Notes: This was inspired by the songs Last Night by Morgan Wallen and Something In the Orange by Zach Bryan
Let me know if y'all want a part two
It had been a hard hunt. None of them had realized that the nest of vamps was working with a demon, and by the time they figured it out, 3 small children were dead and two more, Tori and Sam had sent to the hospital in critical condition. Like always, Dean had taken their deaths the hardest, not to mention Tori herself had a nasty black eye and a gash slicing across her bicep. Despite her protests that she was fine, Dean still insisted on doing the stitches himself. After he'd completed the last stitch, Dean had fled her room. That was two hours ago, and Tori hadn't seen him since. Well, that was until she found him in some rundown tavern just outside Lebanon city limits.
The first thing Tori noticed as she set foot into the bar was the blasting music, followed by the stench of body odor mingling with cheap alcohol. It was nearly enough to make her vomit, and definitely, enough to trigger an ache at the base of her skull from all her senses being assaulted at once. Tori swallowed hard and made her way, weaving through the throng of bodies. It wasn't hard to find Dean, she'd know him anywhere. The hunter she'd lived with, whose clothes she mixed in with hers, the hunter who'd just a week ago shared her bed. But what she wasn't expecting, was the scantily clad blonde practically curled up in his lap, the two sequestered away in a booth near the back. Tori felt ice flood her veins, making her shiver despite the overwhelming heat in the bar. She licked her lips, huffing an irritated sigh as she walked up to the table.
"Mind if I join you." Tori bit out, ire practically leaking from her body.
If Dean was surprised to see her, then he didn't show it as he spoke. "Actually, I think we do."
The girl on his lap looked up at Tori with a heavy-lidded gaze from where she had been nuzzling at Deans neck. It took years of masking and self control to keep the rage bubbling up in check and not drag the woman by her bottle blonde hair and throw her to the ground.
"Well to fucking bad, Dean." Tori pulled her eyes away from where the girl was sucking another dark mark against Dean's tanned skin, adding to the myriad of them already littering his skin. "Tell your," Tori ran her tongue over her teeth, "Friend, to go get us another round of drinks."
Tori, pulled a few bills from her pocket, slamming them hard enough onto the table to rattle the empty tumblers and cast a few glances their way. One sharp look from Tori had the onlookers quickly returning to their conversations. The blonde looked at Dean and he leaned in whispering in her ear, nipping at the skin below it before pulling away. The woman crawled over Dean to snatch the bills from the table, sauntering up to the bar.
"What are you doing here, Tori." Dean slurred, knocking back what was left of his drink before slinging an arm over the back of the booth.
"I'm bringing you home, Dean. We were fucking worried." Tori started, curling her hands into fists to keep the tears that threatened to well up at bay. "Sam was worried. I was worried."
"Yeah, well, I'm fine." Dean snapped back, words sharp as a blade. "You can go tattle to Sam and tell him I'm fine. Peachy even."
"Dean. I love you, and I will not let you drink yourself to death."
Dean chuckled darkly, the sound roiling some uneasy part in Tori's stomach. "Yeah, well the feelin' ain't mutual sweetheart."
And like that, the bottom of Tori's heart fell straight into her stomach. She took a shuddering breath, shaking her head. "You don't mean that."
"I do." Dean shrugged, crossing his arms over his chest. "What're you gonna do about it? Cry?"
Tori blinked, eyes blurry with tears. How could he be so fucking cruel? It was sheer will now keeping her from breaking down completely, and even that was beginning to slowly crumble.
"Fuck you, Winchester." Tori spat, clenching her fists so hard she barely registered the blood trickling from where her nails had bit through the flesh of her palms. "You're drunk."
Dean got up from the table, legs unsteady enough for him to place a hand on the table to prevent himself from falling. Tori reached out, but he slapped her hand away. He took a step forward, their chests millimeters from touching. She could smell the alcohol on his breath invading her nose and into her lungs to the point Tori wondered if she could get drunk if she breathed deep enough.
"And you're a nothing but a fucking slut. But you know what?" Dean gripped her chin, making her gaze shift from where she had been staring a hole into his chest to meet his. "In the morning I'll be sober, and you'll still be a pathetic whore who sucks the life out of people."
Tori's hand made contact with Dean's face before she had time to think. Her eyes were drawn to the lines of red dripping down his face from where the impact of her nails had sliced into his face, but she couldn't bring herself to care.
"I wish I'd never met you." Tori snarled, ripping Dean's hand from her face before he spun on her heel and disappeared back into the wave of patrons with no look back.
The first thing Dean registered when he woke up the next morning, was the pounding in his head. It was a herculean task for him to crack his eyes open. All he could remember was leaving the bunker, images of the dead on a reel in his mind, driving to a bar. Flashes kept coming in and out, drinking at a bar, Tori being there, but most too fast for him to comprehend. At least not while he was this hung over. Dean rubbed a fist against his eyes before blinking them open. It was much to his confusion when he was met with the sight of a naked woman sharing his bed. A naked woman that was very much not Tori, and in a bed that was very much not his room at the bunker. A sinking feeling started to nag at the back of his mind. He sat up, not caring if he woke the blonde woman in the bed, surveying the dingy motel room. If the sun peeking through the cracks in the yellowed blinds had indication, there were several hours between the present and the last sober memory he could recall.
Dean slipped out of the bed, frowning at his own nakedness before slipping himself back into the jeans that were discarded on the floor. He closed the bathroom door behind him before walking to the sink. He cursed under his breath as he beheld the blue and black mottling the left side of his face along with the two or three small cuts on his cheekbone. He ran the water in the sink cold before splashing it onto his face. The icy water was enough to send a shock through his system and the dam broke. Everything came flooding back like the water tumbling from the tap. Getting rip roaring drunk, making out with the blonde in the bathroom, Tori showing up, his downright vile words, her slapping him before disappearing as quickly as she came, tumbling through the motel room with the woman in the bed.
"Fuck." Dean whispered, before turning the water off and stumbling back into the room, hastily pulling his shirt on. He didn't take the time to tie his boots before running out of the motel room.
Dean was sure he'd broken a significant number of driving laws getting back to the bunker, not bothering to lock Baby before making his way into the bunker. The silence he'd grown to love about he bunker was now eerie without the sound of Tori's laughter, the music she'd blare while doing practically anything. His heart sunk as he approached his room, the door left cracked open. He slowly pushed it the rest of the way. Just days before he'd helped Tori move her stuff into his room. But now, every trace of her was gone. The bed was made, with every piece of clothing she had borrowed from him folded neatly on her side. A quick check in the dresser revealed that her clothes, along with the ones in the closet, were gone.
Dean's eyes slid to the desk, where Tori's sketchbook and pencils had taken up residence. Those were gone too. And in their stead, was a single folded piece of notebook paper addressed to him and a set of key. One was a copy of the key to the Bunker he had made for Tori when she officially moved into the bunker years ago, and the other was the key to the car she'd fixed up in her time here, the car Dean had given to her for her birthday last year. Dean took the note with a gentleness you'd think he held a bomb, not a piece of paper. He slumped down onto his bed, and with a shaky breath and equally shaky hands, opened it and began reading the note written in Tori's familiar, elegant scrawl.
Dean,
By the time you read this, I'll be long gone. Don't bother asking Sam where I went, he got his own note, but nothing regarding my whereabouts. The keys to the bunker and to the car are on your desk. I took nothing I didn't come here with, or bought on my own.
I'm not sure if I'm to thank you or curse you for the memories over the years. Those aren't so easily washed away as it was to wash the clothes I stole from you. I owe you no debts, and you owe me nothing in return. I wish you no ill will, only the best, which is what you deserve
Don't bother coming to look for me. I've disappeared once, I know how to do it again.
Written for @spnkinkevents : 2024 Kink Bingo using the square: 'Dirty Talk'
“Are we sure about this?” Tori whispers to Dean as they stalked through the abandoned farmhouse, the cool metal of her gun biting into her palms.
“This is the address Sammy sent us.” Dean shrugged. “What, were you expecting a bubbling cauldron, bats, and black cats everywhere?”
Tori shot Dean a glare, not deigning to reply to her partner. With her pistol aimed towards the ground, she gingerly ascended the stairs, boot-clad feet testing for squeaky floorboards.
Jagged streaks of lightning illuminated the sky in brilliant flashes, illuminating the interior for a split second. Thunder followed closely behind, a deep, booming percussion that reverberated through Tori’s bones. The rain came down in sheets, masking the minute sounds even the two skilled hunters couldn’t conceal on their own. Any other night Tori would have curled up with a lore book in front of the roaring fireplace in the Bunker with a hot cup of tea, but duty calls.
A witch had been terrorizing Wichita compelling wives to kill their unfaithful husbands. Tori didn’t have an issue with dogs like that getting their comeuppance, but both brothers strong-armed her into killing the witch. So here they were, Tori casing the upstairs while Dean cleared the bottom floor.
It was like every hair on her body was standing on end, a thousand eyes watched her from every dark corner of the hallway. Tori shivered, trying to get rid of the eerie feeling crawling across her skin like spiders. The first door yielded nothing but an empty bedroom, the second a bathroom complete with a porcelain clawfoot tub and copper pipework, even the mirror was shattered. It’s like I’m in fucking Friday the 13th. Tori grimaced at the thought as she approached the door at the end of the hallway. Her nose scrunched up in a wince as she eased the rickety door open, hoping and praying the hinges didn’t squeal. A sigh of relief slipped through her lips as the door stayed silent, but was quickly swallowed as she beheld what was before her.
This, this is what she had been expecting. An altar was positioned in the middle of the room covered in a deep green sheet embroidered with gold detailing. It held bottles upon bottles of what Tori could only assume was ingredients for various spells. As if on cue, a clap of thunder rattled the cracked windows in their panes causing Tori to flinch. The beam of her flashlight glanced off the colored bottles and crystals finally landing on a shallow bronze dish nestled among still lit candles.
Tori carefully advanced into the room, checking over her shoulder to the corners of the room before stopping in front of the altar. If it didn't belong to a murderous witch, Tori would have felt comfortable in the room. It smelled of whatever incense and herbs the witch was burning, dimly illuminated by candle light. She shoved her flashlight into the pocket of her jeans, freeing her hand to examine the herbs and small crystals in the dish. Some were dried, crumbling to dust beneath her thumb and forefinger, others fresh that left smudges of color.
Tori ran through the various herbs Rowena and Sam had taught her. Chili, for fidelity and passion. Coriander, for love and lust. Knotweed, to get rid of someone’s enemy. Tormentil, causes distress and harm to a foe. Tori jerked her hand back as she moved some of the petals to reveal the carcasses of black widows. Yeah, we are definitely in the right place.
Tori felt her stomach drop as a crash came echoing up the stairs, and before her brain had a chance to catch up her feet were already propelling her down the hall, nearly tripping on the moth-bitten carpet runner. Her heart was torn between the raw instinct clawing its way up her throat to call out to Dean, and the hunter in her knowing not to. Tori skidded to a stop at the top of the stairs descending into the basement, her momentum slamming her into the doorway, the wood groaning on impact. Tori refused to let the fear growing cold in her chest send its icy talons down her arms, to let it place its hands over her own and shake her resolve.
Tori reached the bottom of the staircase just in time to see Dean hit square in the chest by a light blue bolt of energy. A scream pierced through the air, muffled like it was underwater, and was punctuated by rapid fire bangs. It took Tori a second to realize the blood curdling scream had ripped its way from her throat and the loud bangs were the bullets fired from her gun. The witch’s lifeless body slumped to the ground with a dull thud, dark pools forming beneath her head and chest, the woman's beautiful face contorted in surprise and horror. Tori barely registered the way her knees popped, pain flaring in her joints as they hit the concrete floor, kneeling over Dean’s supine form.
“Fuck!” Tori hovered over him, eyes frantically scanning Dean for any obvious injuries. Tori couldn't seem to catch her breath as red started to soak Deans shirt, hands shaking so hard it was nearly impossible to pull the clothing item up to assess the damage. The paralyzing fear keeping her hostage in her own body feigned only slightly as she observed the blood originating from a cut over his chest. Years and years of near battlefield level triage kept the blind panic at bay knowing the wound wasn't deep enough to cause serious damage. Not yet anyway.
Dean winced as she helped him stumble through the motel door a half hour after she'd nearly carried him from the witches house and into the Impala. Tori had only worried slightly when he didn't fight her on letting her drive them back to the motel. Her arm around his waist was careful but firm enough to keep him upright. Tori kicked the door shut with her boot before sitting Dean on the bed.
"Sit. Stay" Tori huffed before dashing back out. She grabbed their bags and locked up the Impala before reentering the room.
"I know you think all men are dogs Tor, but commanding me to 'sit' and 'stay' takes it a little far dontcha think?" Dean smirked at her.
"Oh shut it." Tori tossed over her shoulder, but couldn't suppress the matching grin on her face as she grabbed her first aid kit from her duffle bag.
"Come on, Sweetheart. That was funny."
"Dean," Tori cocked her head at him. "Shut up and let me clean you up before you bleed through the sheets."
"Shutting up." Dean shot Tori a wry grin.
Tori rolled her eyes, shaking her head as she set the kit on the bed. Leave it to Dean to be a flirt while looking two steps from Death's doorstep. "You think you can get your shirt off?"
"Yeah," Dean grunted, eyes screwing shut as he slipped his leather jacket off, followed by his bloodied t-shirt. "Fuck."
"Fuck is right," Tori muttered to herself as she took in the damage.
His entire left side was starting to mottle blue and purple and there was a gash across his left pectoral."They don't look deep, probably won't need stitches. Tori trailed off, biting the inside of her lip. "Let me go wash my hands."
Tori disappeared into the bathroom, scrubbing her hands thoroughly before soaking a washcloth she'd snagged from her bag in warm water. She took a second to haul in a shuddering breath, reminding herself that he was okay. He was sitting up and talking, he had good color. "Okay, you." Tori sighed, holding up the washcloth. "Ready?"
"Just get it done with, Tor," Dean said reassuringly.
Tori repositioned so she stood between Dean's legs, bringing the washcloth up. She gingerly wiped at the blood caked on his skin. His muscles tensed under her hand, but Dean didn't say anything. Tori felt her heart flutter at how close she was to him. Sure, this wasn't a unique situation. Hunting meant injuries which meant close-quarter contact. But Tori could feel the heat radiating off his skin, his shallow breaths against her hands. She swallowed hard, willing the blush she felt creeping up the side of her neck to stop spreading, hoping the pain was enough to keep Dean from noticing.
Once most of the blood was gone, Tori quickly tossed the bloody rag into the bathroom before returning. She grabbed some butterfly Band-Aids out of her first aid box. Her head was dizzy with the intoxicating presence of Dean, of how close their bodies had been, resisting the way hers migrated to him like an unchecked magnet. Even after years of being together, Dean made her feel like a teenager with a crush, all giggly and doe eyed. More than once they'd snuck away on hunts just to feel each other's bodies like horny young adults. She would have been embarrassed if she didn't know he felt the same way. She was a junkie, Dean her fix, and he was more than willing to indulge her.
"How you doin'?" Tori asked softly. She hated seeing Dean in pain, much less pain that she was putting him in. Her lover had been through Hell, and she knew he could take being patched up, but it made her heart cry out for him all the same.
"I got a pretty girl standin' in front of me. Can't get much better than that." Dean responded, hands finding their places on her hips.
"Don't you ever get tired of flirting?" Tori asked flippantly as she opened the first bandage.
"Not really." Dean flinched as Tori's hands landed on his chest, fingers digging into the material of her jeans. He must have realized how tightly he was gripping her because his fingers retreated, stroking the area in a silent apology. "Especially when it makes you blush like that."
"Hmm, I love you, you know that?” Tori leaned forward, pecking a kiss to Dean's lips. "Can I trust that I can leave you alone for 15 minutes while I go clean up?"
Dean groaned lowly as he pivoted himself to lay on his back on the bed. As Tori mentioned leaving him alone, he arched a brow, a wry grin tugging on lips.
"Sweetheart, I think I'll be fine while you go shower." His eyes never left Tori as she rummaged through her bag to find a set of clean clothes. "But don't be gone too long. I'll get lonely."
She poked her head back out, matching the mischievous grin on Dean's face. "That's what your right hand is for." She winked at him and retreated into the bathroom.
Tori was only slightly disappointed in the motel shower, missing the Bunkers exceptional water pressure for ease of removing the dirt and blood from her skin. She'd had a mini breakdown upon the realization that the blood that caked her hands and had stiffened her shirt was Dean's. Wrapped in an old Zeppelin shirt of Dean's unequivocally put her mind at ease, pulling the collar up to her nose, inhaling his scent of leather from Baby’s seats and the lavender of their laundry detergent. The shirt was soft with use and threadbare in places for her having worn it for years, and Dean years before that. She wasn't sure how she acquired it, if her lover gifted it to or she had stolen it, or in the merging of their cloths the laundry gods deemed it her day to have custody of a time capsule in the form of a t-shirt. The hem tickled her bare thighs as she padded back out of the bathroom, wringing her damp hair in the towel.
“What are we thinking, pizza or-” Tori's inquiry turned into a surprised yelp as her gaze landed on a woman's sleeping form where her lover was not 15 minutes prior.
Her sudden vocal outburst seemed to rouse whoever was on the bed, the woman turning to face Tori. Fawn brown hair, emerald eyes you could find yourself getting lost in. It couldn't be.
“Tor?
It was a woman's voice but the sleepy inflection, that was all Dean. As the woman, Dean, turned over his newly acquired locks spilled over his shoulder causing him to flinch. “What the?”
Tori couldn't help but giggle. “Yeah, that spell the witch hit you with? I think it was a gender swap spell.”
Dean frowned, looking down at his new features, even young so far as to take a peek down his now too big shirt. “Aw man!” He groaned, tipping his head back.
“Can't be that bad.” Tori shuffled over to sit on the edge of the bed. “Do you feel any different?”
Dean hummed in contemplation, raising his arms, testing the feel of his new limbs. “Yeah, wait.” He took another glance down his shirt, rotating his shoulder. “It healed me.”
“Huh, let me see.” Tori climbed over the bed to straddle Dean's waist. She smirked but said nothing at the blush now highlighting his face.
“Is it cool if I remove this?” She tugged at the hem of his shirt. At Dean's nod, she pulled it upwards, up his narrow waist, over the swell of his newly acquired breasts to where the bandages she had placed laid over his heart. Sure enough, Tori pulled the bandage away to reveal smooth, unblemished skin adorned with the same anti-possession tattoo her lover sported. She dragged her thumb over where the wound had been, marveling at the effect of the spell. Tori looked up as a whimper wormed its way from Dean's lips, her smirk deepening into a grin at how his face had turned a deep shade of red.
“Jesus, is this how you feel?” Dean groaned, rubbing his thighs together.
Tori slid her hands down to cup Dean’s breasts, thumbing his pebbled nipples. “I don’t know, how do you feel?” She asked cheekily.
Dean couldn’t help the way his back arched, chasing Tori’s touch against his chest, hips undulating against hers. A pathetic whimper was the only reply he could muster as his lover's skilled hands manipulated his breasts in her hands, an artist molding his body to her will. His body felt different, but not in a bad way; softer, smoother. The way his arousal built up in his body was understandably different, like everywhere Tori touched him send zinging sensations straight between his legs, whether it was on his chest or on his sides.
“Words, my love. Use them.” Tori murmured, switching up her movements to roll his nipples between her thumb and forefingers, only adding the growing wetness between Dean's legs, soaking into the boxers that now crumpled up too big on his hips and thighs.
“Good,” Dean managed to utter, hands finding purchase on his lover's bare thighs, slender fingers digging into her tanned skin, feeling the cords of muscle nestled under the perfect amount of softness. “Feels so good.”
Tori hummed in approval, leaning down to capture Dean’s lips. Tori easily took the lead, nipping at his lower lip, removing one hand from his chest to pin Dean’s hands above his head, his smaller wrists facilitating the movement. Her lips left a trail of fire down Dean’s neck as she kissed and sucked and bit her way to his chest so by the time her hot breath hovered over his left breast Dean was sure he would spontaneously combust. This was so much different than normal, he felt everything at 100% sensitivity, to the point where the only thought in his brain was Tori’s name on a continuous loop.
A keening moan dragged its way up his throat as Tori’s hot mouth wrapped around his nipple, tongue swirling over the bud, her other hand having abandoned the grip on his own toyed with the other. Tori nipped at his chest, causing Dean to moan, his hand shooting to tangle in her hair. She pulled off of his breast, a string of saliva dripping from her lip before she moved to the other one kept malleable by her hands. As she pulled away, Tori maneuvered one thigh between Dean’s legs, pressing it against his soaked boxers.
“Such a needy slut for me.” Tori spoke against the valley between Dean’s breasts, nipping the sensitive skin. “Rubbin’ up against me like a bitch in heat. Bet you could cum just like that.”
The absolute filth dripping from his lover's kiss swollen lips surprised Dean, but was eclipsed by how impossibly turned on it made him feel, realizing they were his own words usually spoken to her. Fuck she was perfect. He was as desperate to please her as he was to reach that high, a high he’d never felt from this side of things. If he were less far gone than he was, Dean would have been taking mental notes, being in a position not many would ever be in.
The cotton from his boxers provided a delicious sensation against his swollen clit as he dragged his hips against Tori’s muscled thigh. He whimpered a moan as he felt his own legs start to shake, the pleasure building low in his belly, but never quite reaching that climax he so desperately chased.
“What’s wrong?” Tori quirked her head to the side, voice dripping with condescension. “Can my baby not cum without me?”
Dean shook his head, nails digging into Tori’s biceps, steadying himself. “Please.”
“C’mon. You can do better than that.” Tori teased, tracing a circle around his left nipple, down the side and copying the motion on the right. “Beg for it.”
“Please, please, please.” Dean was near tears, still grinding against her. “Please Tori, touch me.”
“Such a good slut.”
Dean whined as Tori pulled away, but quickly cut it off at the sharp look it earned him. Tori let her nails scratch against his hips as she rid him of the soaked boxers, setting them aside on the bed. Dean shivered as Tori leveled her intense gaze between his legs, shimmying closer to where he wanted her. She hooked his legs over her shoulders, one hand splayed over his hip, keeping him in place, the other spread his folds.
“All this for me?” Tori breathed a cool breath over Deans core, causing him to flinch but he was kept in place by her arm.
She teased him, dragging the tip of her tongue along the inside of his thigh to just ghost his clit and up the other side. Ragged breaths met her ears as Tori blew more air against Dean's clit, waiting to see when he’d break. Broken pleas that ran like an open tap from his mouth sounded like the sweetest sound. Dean could feel Tori smile against his core right before her tongue laved its way from his center to his clit. He could have cum from how good it felt, so different from how her mouth usually felt. It was like she knew all the ways to make him fall apart, her teeth nipping against his clit, lips suctioning around it felt like heaven.
It was almost too much at once as her tongue dipped inside him, tongue fucking him as her fingers circled his clit. He bucked upwards, chasing the feeling building back up, pulsing against his lover's mouth. It was when her slender fingers replaced her tongue, curling upwards in a way that caressed something inside him that he felt the coil snap. His climax roared through him as he came with a ragged moan, hand tangled in Tori’s hair, holding her hostage between his shaky thighs. His body went limp as the last vestige of his climax ebbed from him, only to stiffen again as Tori continued to lap at his core. The overstimulation had him whimpering again, hands fisted in the sheets.
“C’mon, give me another one. Be good for me and maybe I’ll let you taste how wet your moans have made me.” Tori’s words rumbled deliciously against his overstimulated clit.
Dean nodded rapidly, letting out breathy sounds as Tori pumped two fingers in and out of his pussy, making obscenely pornographic sounds at his sopping wet folds. Her thumb kept rhythm as she hit the gummy spot with each thrust, bringing him back to the edge of his climax. As he felt his orgasm crash over him again, he grasped Tori’s free hand, lacing their fingers, her name a string of intelligible babblings. He vaguely registered praise directed at him as his mind cleared and Tori pulled away. His chest heaved with every ragged breath he sucked in, a captive audience as Tori rid herself of her shirt, revealing her naked form beneath.
“So good for me, think you deserve a reward, yeah?” Tori climbed back up his body until she hovered over his face.
Dean couldn’t get his hands around her hips fast enough, dragging her down onto him. She hadn’t been lying, her own pussy was soaked as he lapped at her. He felt Tori above him grind down against his mouth as his tongue dipped inside her, nose nudging at her clit. Even though her thighs muffled his hearing he could register her soft moans as he ate her out, alternating his attention from her clit to tongue fucking her, thrusting it in and out of her. Dean could feel the muscles in Tori’s legs flex as she neared her own orgasm, the shaking intensifying with each kitten-lick against her clit. With a harsh moan Tori came on Dean's face, legs shaking hard enough she let him help her drop to the bed beside him. Tori rolled to her side to face Dean, locking their fingers back together as she studied his face.
“You’re prettier than me, no fair.” Tori pouted playfully.
Dean narrowed his eyes, scrunching his nose as he dragged her closer to him. “I think that's physically impossible.”
Tori hummed and grinned at her lover. “I’ll text Rowena in the morning, but since the witch is dead, the spell should wear off in the next 12 hours.”
“What ever shall we do until then?” Dean giggled, grabbing Tori and pulling her back on top of him.
Warnings: Fluff, mentions of a little spicyness, mentions of injuries
Summary: When you start receiving little notes around the Bunker, you go on a hunt trying to find your secret admirer.
Word Count: 1600
Authors Note: This is my @spnfanficpond Secret Santa for @kazsrm67. This also fulfills squares for @jacklesversebingo and @anyfandomgoesbingo Happy Holidays everyone!
Jacklesverse Bingo Prompt: Secret Admirer
Any Fandom Goes Bingo Prompt: Head Wound
Divider by @saradika-graphics
Tag List: @zepskies @king-of-milf-lovers @king-of-milf-lovers
It started out as sticky notes placed strategically in places across the Bunker where only you would find them: on the mirror in your room, or on the stack of books you kept sequestered to a table in the corner of the library room. Various colors of square paper with little compliments, albeit a little awkward, scrawled across them. The first time you’d found one, a blue square tucked into the cubby where you kept your bug-out bag in the armory, you’d been caught off guard. The neon, stark against the muted brown and black and grey tones, had caught your eye as you went about replacing and checking the supplies you kept within your duffel. You plucked the paper from where it was nestled amongst the various weapons and supplies kept within, sitting in wait for the next hunt. As you gingerly pulled the sticky note from your bag, you noticed the scrawling words written across it in black ink.
You look sharper than these knives.
Your head cocked to the side, face contorted into a mixture of confusion and amusement. Was that meant to be a compliment? More importantly, who was it from? Aside from yourself, Sam and Dean both took up permanent residence in the Men of Letters Bunker. Charlie, your childhood best friend and the person who introduced you to the Winchester brothers and the hunting world in general also lived here 90% of the time. It could be here playing one of her many pranks. A few other hunters used this place as refuge between hunts or came here for the endless trove of supernatural knowledge archived within its walls. You’d even convinced Dean, despite his best efforts to ignore your pleas, to host a couple seminars and training sessions for newer (and seasoned) hunters using the knowledge you and Sam spent hours upon hours organizing.
“When I was first introduced to this world, I wish I’d had this kind of training available to me,” You’d reasoned with him one day in the kitchen. “I’d have a lot less scars and a lot less near death experiences if I had.”
The eldest Winchester, whom you’d grown close to in the months you’d worked with him, Sam, and the cabal of supernatural beings that they considered friends or at the very least occasional allies, leaned against the island with a mug of freshly brewed coffee in hand.
“I’m not sayin’ it’s a bad thing, Sweetheart.” Dean placated you, setting his mug on the counter. “All I’m sayin’ is that there’s more to it than just puttin’ flyers on the street. How would we even advertise somethin’ like this?”
You shrugged. “You’re smart, you’ll figure it out.”
And figure it out he had. With the help of Charlie and Sam, the four of you managed to create a strategically worded ad, spreading it to known hunters who would even be remotely interested. It had spread like wildfire from there. So it was very possible one of the hunters passing through had put it in your bag. Even that explanation didn’t quite fit, but at the time it was a one-off, a fluke to never happen again.
That was until another one showed up. You’d taken a blow to the head when a rogue shifter slammed you back into a wall, knocking you unconscious. Blearily you opened your eyes to the dim light of the Bunker’s infirmary. A dull ache throbbed at the back of your head as you looked around. The room was kept mostly dark save for a lamp in the corner. I must have a concussion, you thought as you sat up, the crisp white sheets crumpled on your lap. You had reached over to check the clock on the table next to the bed when you saw yet another Post-it stuck to the top of it. The paper was red this time, but the writing held the same characteristics of the first one.
You take my breath away.
Your eyes must have read the sentence a hundred times over, wracking your brain trying to figure out who in the Hell is leaving you these messages. Some rational part of you whispered there were really only two options. Sam or Dean. You knew it wasn’t Sam; your relationship with the younger brother was strictly familial. You’d never seen him as anything other than a younger brother, despite his protests that he was only 6 months younger than you.
Dean on the other hand was a different story. Sometimes he acted like you were another younger sibling for him to be responsible for, other times the tension between the two of you could be cut with the dullest knife. Lingering eyes as the three of you changed between or after hunts, his fingers trailing over your hair and tucking it behind your ear when he assumed you were dead asleep. You’d be lying if he was the only one giving mixed signals. It made sense. To anyone who didn’t know him, Dean was a casanova, a womanizer who took what he wanted and offered nothing. And sure, maybe he was that way in his early 20’s, but life and the work of a hunter had taken a toll on him. So while you and Sam partook in one night stands, it was Dean who usually ended the night alone.
You found the notes enduring, actually, and very in character for him. So from that moment in the infirmary, you compiled the notes and the occasional small gifts left for you. Once you were sure it was, in fact, Dean showering you in corny one liners and sweet nothings, you hatched a plan. You figured there were a couple ways to go about it. One: confront him head on, which he very well might deny all together in embarrassment. Two: let the notes continue to pile up, hopefully bottlenecking Dean into coming to you personally. Or three: beat him at his own game. Out of all of them, the third sounded the most fun.
Like a game of tag, the next time it was your turn to go on the supply run, you stopped by a Dollar Tree and grabbed a stack of Post-its. Unfortunately, they only had the plain and frankly ugly yellow ones, but they’d do. If you played your cards right, you shouldn’t need too many of them anyway. You snuck around the Bunker for nearly a week, leaving the Post-its in inconspicuous places as Dean had. The first one you’d left next to the decanter of water he kept by his bedside, calling him a tall drink of water. The next one was slid under his disassembled 1911 when he went to take a break. You giggled to yourself as you positioned it, reading the line you’d printed on it. Is that a gun in your pocket or are you just happy to see me?
On the 7th day with no response from Dean, no change in behavior when the three (or four when Charlie came for dinner) of you went on hunts or stuck around the Bunker, you had started to lose hope. Maybe it was someone else and you’d read into the situation completely wrong. But something in your gut told you that you were barking up the right tree. Give it one last try, it seemed to say. So one last try it was. You’d know once and for all if it was Dean. You wrote the message that started it all on a sticky note, making sure Dean was in the kitchen before slinking off to the armory. All of you kept at least one bingo bag here, the main thing was finding which one was Dean’s. He kept his main pack in his room or in Baby’s trunk so it took some rooting around until you found the right one.
Just as you unzipped the bag, poised to place the sticky note against the blade of one of Dean’s hunting knives, a voice called out your name from behind you. You froze, your lips pressing into a thin line as a small cheeky smile started to form. You stood up, turning around to see Dean leaning against the door jam.
“Whatcha doin’ Sweetheart?” He asked innocently, but his tone and the smug look on his face was anything but.
“Nothin’.” You mumbled, suddenly a little sheepish. The plan didn’t involve you getting caught red handed. “You weren't supposed to catch me.”
“Figured as much.” He joked, crossing the space between you, plucking the Post-it from your hand, his fingers brushing against your own in a way that made your heart flutter a little faster than it already was.
“Asshole.” You huffed equally as teasing,watching him look at the sticky note, reading your chicken scratch.
You were both silent as Dean’s eyes met yours, his cheeks tinged a bit pink. You were sure your own were as well as you suddenly felt the urge to hide from his observing gaze.
“So,” Dean breathed. “What now?”
Ever the gentleman, you thought. Giving you the option to back out, to deny this thing between you both even though he’d quite literally caught you leaving a flirtatious note in his bag. You let your hand drift forward, hesitantly finding his own. You intertwined your fingers, feeling his callouses brush your own as you gave his hand a reassuring squeeze.
“I think now, you need to start sayin’ those things to me in person, not just on paper.” You gave him a small smile.
Chapter Tags/Warnings: Graphic description of gore, language, violence/threats
Chapter Summary: While hunting a high-ranking demon for Crowley, the brothers stumble upon a vampire hunt not too far outside Lebanon. The only problem? It seems someone has gotten there first.
Word Count: 4.7k
Author's Note: It's HERE!!!! The first chapter of this series that has taken me 3 years to develop.
Thank you so much to @copperboom82 for being my beta and helping me develop Tori and Dean's story. You were and are a big reason as to why I kept writing for them and why this story is finally getting published instead of sitting in my drafts collecting dust.
The title is from Ascensionism by Sleep Token
Tag List: @zepskies @immastealurkneecaps
Series Masterlist
Main Masterlist
“Looks like the Fed’s are actually on their game for this one.” Dean peered out the windshield from where he sat in the driver’s seat.
It was a gruesome sight, even with the body covered with a sheet, courtesy of the paramedics on scene. Blood and gore stained the cobblestone alley like a macabre Jackson Pollock painting. Whatever vamp had killed this victim didn’t have any qualms about keeping a low profile. Two police officers stood off to the side, a few more beside them setting up a barrier to block the nosy passerby’s, and Sam clocked a woman in a suit walking up to them.
“We don’t know she’s a Fed,” Sam shrugged, unbuckling his seatbelt, smoothing out the wrinkles in his black and white getup. The sleeves of the suit jacket were a little short, so were Dean’s, but they were banking on nobody looking too closely past the false ID’s. “She could be a well dressed reporter for all we know.”
“Still, I don’t like this Sammy.”
Sam glared at Dean but didn’t deign to reply, knowing no matter how many times he corrected his older brother, the pet name was stuck like hot gum to the bottom of a pair of sneakers.
In tandem, the brothers exited the Impala, Dean taking lead as usual. He palmed the counterfeit FBI badge in his jacket pocket, fidgeting with the lapels making sure they laid correctly over his dress shirt. They got closer to the woman and the boys in blue she was talking to, their words starting to carry on the breeze to the brothers.
“You feds usually aren’t this fast on the trigger.” The taller one spoke first, reaching his hand out to the woman.
“Agent Nicole Diver,” Dean watched the woman flash a badge not unlike the one he carried in his pocket. “I don’t make the rules, I only go where they send me.”
The woman reached out shaking both of the police officers hands before pulling out a pad of paper and a pen.
“Well I’m glad we finally got some back up on this.” The second one spoke up, gesturing at the sheet down the alley.
A truck roaring past covered up the woman's parting words, and she descended down to the crime scene. Dean felt Sam nudge his side.
“Dude, I was right. She’s not a Fed.”
Dean scoffed. “Yeah, how’d you work that one out, Sherlock?”
“Nicole Diver.” At his brother's blank stare Sam rolled his eyes and continued. “Nicole Diver is a character in a F. Scott Fitzgerald novel.”
“Could be a coincidence.” Dean shrugged his brother's notions off, approaching the two officers. “Agent’s Strummer and Page, I believe you just spoke to our colleague.” Dean flashed his badge, Sam following suit.
“Oh yeah, Agent Diver.” The first officer nodded to Dean, lifting the line of police tape for them to duck under. “Have at it, we haven’t been able to make but a scratch in this and it seems like this fucker is just getting worse.”
Dean ducked under the tape, dipping his head to the officer. “Will do.”
Once he and Sam were out of earshot Dean pulled his brother aside. “Okay, say this chick isn’t a Fed. What else could she be?”
Sam tilted his head side to side in contemplation. “Simplest explanation? She’s probably a hunter just like us. Best case scenario, it’s a looky-loo reporter that we can scare off.”
Something about this whole thing seemed off to Dean. What were the odds that another hunter was on this case and they hadn’t heard about it. Bobby was usually pretty good about monitoring the radios and not doubling up hunters unless both parties were notified. Dean cut a glance down to the main crime scene. The woman was crouched down, having pulled the sheet away from the body.
Usually gore and blood didn’t bother Dean. It was second nature to him, and most of the time he could pretend it was all props and dyed corn syrup like in his favorite slasher films. But when the tangy, irony smell of blood shoved its way up his nose to coat the back of his throat, it was a little harder to pretend otherwise—harder to forget that they live in a world where there are things to fear in the dark shadows of the closet, under the basement stairs, or in this victims case, down a darkened alley.
Dean rolled his shoulders, taking the lead. Here goes nothing. Dean tried and failed to suppress his cough at the overwhelming stench permeating off of the corpse. The throat of the young male had been torn away completely, nearly detaching his head from his shoulders. But it wasn’t the bloody site in front of him that made his breath catch in his lungs this time.
No it was the black gaze of the woman crouched at the body, latching onto him before swiping over to Sam next to him.
With a quick sideward glance, Dean knew his brother had seen it too. Dean watched with bated breath as she stood, not much shorter than him. With her dark hair in a tight braided chignon and subtle make up, she sure looked the part of an FBI agent.
“Gentlemen,” Her voice was familiar and alien to Dean all at once, sending shivers of deja vu down his spine. “Agent Nicole Diver. How can I help you?”
She held up her ID, and Dean was able to get a better glance at it. If it was a fake, it was a really good fake, maybe better than the ones he and Sam carried. Dean shot Sam a look before returning her gaze.
“I’m Agent Strummer and this is my partner Agent Page,” Dean gestured to Sam. “Where did you say you were out of again?”
“I didn’t,” she replied smoothly, tucking her ID away.
The simple slacks and dress shirt with matching suit jacket fit her like a bespoke suit. It was impressive really, whatever demon that took this woman as a meatsuit chose wisely. A muscle in Dean’s jaw twitched, offering the woman—Nicole if she was to be believed—a polite smile.
“Kansas field office. Apparently you boys are doing a lackluster job out this way.” Nicole carefully stepped over the body, Dean observing her careful steps to avoid contaminating the blood pooling around the body. “4 bodies in a month, all ripped to shreds. Evidently the Bureau has been slacking with their recruits.”
Dean didn’t appreciate the once over she gave him and Sam, dark gaze dragging from his head to his feet and back again. Normally he’d preen at a once-over from a pretty woman, but this was different. It was scrutinizing and judgmental to the point where humiliation crawled crimson up the sides of his neck much to his chagrin.
Beside him Sam cleared his throat before speaking. “We’ve been swamped recently.”
Dean mentally face palmed at his brother's half-baked lie, sheepishly rubbing the back of his neck. Nicole made a dismissive sound in the back of her throat that had Dean seeing red. She jotted some notes down in the small pad she had in her grasp, but he couldn’t make out the scrawl from where he stood in relation to her, and he wasn’t about to try and crane his neck to read it either. Dean opened his mouth to, well, he didn’t even know at this point, but was saved when Nicole shut her notepad with a snap.
“Well, I’ve got what I need. Crime scene is all yours, boys.”
Dean watched Nicole walk past them back up the alley. Watched her give a serpentine smile to the oblivious officers, tracking her until she disappeared around the corner.
“Okay, can I be the first to say that was weird?” Sam muttered from Dean’s right, a perplexed and inquisitive look plastered on his face.
“Yeah,” Dean trailed off, turning back to the body. “You think it has something to do with this?”
“Maybe. Let’s get what we need here and regroup at the motel.”
As Dean began to examine the body he couldn’t get the image of dark eyes staring back at him. Something about all of this didn’t sit right with him. It was already grating on him working for Crowley by hunting down some demon, but to stumble upon a gruesome hunt already being investigated by this mysterious woman. Yeah, it was safe to say Dean was on edge.
The car ride back to the motel was silent save for the clacking of keys, Sam typing away on his laptop in the passenger seat. The motel was on the only major road in and out of town, and seemed to be the only decent place to stay that didn’t involve the risk of bed bugs. Dean couldn’t wait to get out of the monkey suit, peeling off the layers and replacing them with the familiar wrapping of denim and flannel.
By the time both of them were showered and changed, Dean’s stomach was loudly protesting the fact that neither one of them had had anything to eat save for the gas station food they’d picked up on the way to the scene; a surprise to no one that a sandwich, if you could call it that, with two slices of meat and questionable cheese didn’t last very long.
The last thing Dean expected when he pulled up to the diner was to see a familiar braided bun and dark eyes sitting at a booth through the window. Dean nudged Sam, jutting his chin at his brother’s look of confusion. Recognition flashed across Sam's face and he grabbed the flask of holy water from the glove compartment, making their way to the door.
Tori sighed, slumping down into the booth. The diner was the only thing open that served food aside from the skeevy hole in the wall dive bar on the main drag through town. She'd stopped by her motel room to drop off her gear but didn’t bother to change out of her getup.
She shrugged off her suit jacket, which was stolen from an attorney's car along with the shirt and pants back in Lincoln, onto the booth beside her. Her waitress, a plump older woman with a cheery grin on her full face, dropped off a menu and took her drink order then disappeared back into the kitchen.
The case was pretty cut and dry. The blood loss and the sheer vulgarity and gore left behind meant either a werewolf or vampires. The timing wasn’t right for it to be the wolves, one victim popping up per week, so that left the bloodsuckers.
She tugged the small notepad from her jacket pocket, thumbing through the thin pages until she found the sheet she had jotted down her notes. Folded corners of the newspaper articles and online forum pages she’d printed out peeked around from the sides, tucked into the loose pocket. A bigger legal portfolio that was tucked away in the lifted pickup held more documents across various cases. Salt and burns, shifters, wendigos, and the most important: demons. The near phantasmal trail she had been following led her here, this town that wasn’t big enough to have a dot on a roadmap.
Previously, it had been one of many popular stops for settlers moving west in the 1800’s, the abundance of coal and ores like lead in the mountains of the West an alluring prospect. Over the centuries, it became more of a farming community. Farms and ranches that had been in families for generations surrounded the main town which didn’t span more than a couple blocks either way. It was enough for a few bars, a strip club, 3 churches of varying faiths, an elementary school with an adjacent intermediate and high school combo, and this diner.
Between the abandoned farms and the interspersed elevation no doubt holding caves and coal mines, there were plenty of places for a nest of vamps to sequester themselves into. She would have to scout out the options later, but first, was food.
Tori had just begun scanning the menu for something to satiate the grumbling in her stomach when the bell above the door loudly announced the arrival of new patrons. Glancing up from her menu Tori did a double take, spotting the two “agents” from the crime scene earlier. They’d changed into civvies, but it was definitely them.
Despite her better judgment, Tori slid down into the seat, leather creaking with the movement, and ducked her head behind her menu but not before locking gazes with the green eyed one.
Fuck, fuck, fuck. Maybe they'll leave me be.
The sentiment was quickly thrown out the proverbial window when the pair walked up to her table.
“Agent Diver,” the shorter, green eyed one slid into the seat across from her. “Fancy meeting you here.”
He'd introduced himself as Agent Strummer, and the mountain of a man sliding in next to him was Agent Page, though Tori was almost certain they were Federal agents as much as she was.
Tori plastered a smile on her face and lowered the menu enough to be polite. “Gentlemen, if I didn't know better I’d think you were following me.”
“Is there a reason we should be following you?”
Tori narrowed her eyes slightly at the first man. He stared right back, gaze unwavering. She watched a muscle twitch in his cheek. His jaw is clenched so tightly I'm surprised he hasn't cracked a tooth. Clearly he had more to say, and part of her wanted to know why he hadn’t. Not one to show her cards, especially since she knew nothing about the men opposing her, Tori opted to keep those cards close to her chest. They showed up here. They approached you. Let ‘em sweat for a minute.
The tension, thick enough to be cut with a spoon, was broken by the waitress returning with Tori’s coffee.
“Here you go, Sugar.” The waitress, Millie, according to her name tag, set the steaming mug in front of Tori. Straightening, she braced her hands on her wide hips to look between Tori and the two men, picking up on the hostility. “Are these two giving you trouble, Hon?”
As much as Tori would have enjoyed seeing the two dragged out of the restaurant by their ears like naughty boys being kicked out of Sunday school by their mothers, she shook her head. “No trouble here. Just a little spat between friends.”
Millie didn't look entirely convinced by Tori’s half-assed lie, but Tori flashed her a reassuring smile and she relented. “Let me get you boys a couple of menus.”
Once Millie had walked out of earshot, Tori turned back to face the men, every trace of easygoing cheer wiped from her expression.
“Okay, here's how this is gonna go. You two are as much Federal agents as I am the Queen of England. Now, I’ve got a gun leveled at Andre the Giant here and I’d rather not make a mess. So, you two are gonna tell me who the fuck you are and why you two are here.”
Unbeknownst to the two, Tori didn't actually have a gun, just a small knife strapped to her belt at the small of her back, but she was hoping to hell and back they wouldn't call her bluff.
Dean felt Sam stiffen beside him at the woman's threat. There wasn't enough room between him and the table for him to prove or deny what she claimed, nor would he even dare if there was. Something about the look in her eyes told him she was just looking for a reason to. Eyes that now he was not 2 feet from her were actually a very dark brown, so dark they were nearly black. Well, at least that's no longer an issue.
“Okay okay, simmer down Annie Oakley. No need to get violent.” Dean placated, sparing a glance at Sam. “Cards on the table, alright. I'm Dean, this is my brother Sam. I'd tell you what we're doin’ here but I don't think you'd believe me even if I did. And I don't know about Sam but I'm not fixin’ to have a slug to the thigh any time soon.”
He watched with curiosity, a flash of recognition crossed the woman's face, which morphed into a look he couldn't quite put a name to; she ran her tongue over her teeth, nodding her head slowly. A low chuckle emanated from her that set Dean's nerves on edge, and she tipped her head against the back of the seat. Her chest rose and fell with a seemingly exasperated sigh.
“Of fucking course.” She muttered incredulously. She glanced between him and Sam, and Dean had to stop himself from shrinking away from the sheer intensity of it. “You're Bobby's boys.”
That had Dean taken aback. For as long as he could remember, they'd been referred to as ‘John's boys’. Only the people closest to them know the extent of Bobby's influence on their formative years as well as their present. But if she knew Bobby well enough to know their relationship to the old man, then that'd have to mean…
“The last thing just need right now is for the Wonder Twins crashing my fucking hunt.” The woman rubbed the bridge of her nose.
Shit. Dean exchanged surprised looks with Sam. Sam had proposed the idea, but Dean didn't think either one of them actually considered it with any serious regard. Not that a woman couldn’t be a hunter, they’d met and recruited plenty, but she didn’t seem the type.
“I knew you weren't Feds. But hunters? Yeah I didn't see that coming.”
“Wait,” Dean interjected. “What do you mean you knew we weren't Feds?”
She gave him a look over the rim of her mug. “Your cuffs were an inch too short, big guy over here has hair that is against regulation, and anyone with working eyes can see your badges are shit.”
Dean opened his mouth, a retort hot on the tip of his tongue but it died when the woman raised a singular manicured brow. Out of the corner of his eye Dean saw Sam raise a hand to his hair. With every word from her mouth, his irritation only grew. It perturbed him, the casualness, the fact that she knew more about them then they knew about her. It felt wrong. Invasive.
Just then Millie came back, placing menus and coffees in front of the boys and filling up Tori’s coffee. “I'll be back to take your orders.” She gave the boys a sideline glance before she moved on to the patrons down from them.
“Alright Nancy Drew, we gave you our names, I think it's only fair you give us yours.” Dean spoke, bringing the coffee to his lips.
“I told you, it’s Nicole Diver.”
“Bullshit.” Sam cut in this time, much to the annoyance of the woman.
“Excuse me?” If looks could kill, Dean was sure Sam would be dead in his place beside him with the glare she leveled at his younger brother.
“Nicole Diver is a character in Tender is the Night by Scott Fitzgerald.” Sam stated, and Dean swore a look of admiration flashed across her face. “So unless your parents were really into his novels, you’re lying.”
Silence befell the three of them before she spoke.
“Touche, Mr. Winchester” Her mouth opened and shut a couple times, Dean’s eyes tracking the movements, and a slight narrowing of her eyes the only signs of reluctance before she continued. “My name is Tori.”
The waitress came back to take their order, providing a much needed buffer, feeling the men’s eyes digging into her, questions aimed at her like spears primed to fire. A tightness spread in her chest, a dull pounding in her ears. She always hated this part, the questions, the proposal to work together. They always insisted on safety in numbers, but how wrong they were this time.
“Pie, really?” Tori criticized, the waitress departing with their orders, hoping to divert from their line of questioning.
She watched with amusement when Dean’s eyebrows damn near reached his hairline at her inquiry. “Are you being serious right now? Pie is the best dessert to have ever been created.”
“How can you possibly say that when lava cakes exist?”
Dean opened his mouth, but Sam cut him off before he could speak. “Don’t you think we have more important things to discuss?”
Tori could have laughed at the pointed look Sam gave his older brother, the way Dean practically deflated with resignation. She could have, if that suffocating feeling hadn’t returned with an incessant vigor. I suppose it’s inevitable.
“Before you even ask, no, there is no plan. Matter of fact, there is no us”. She gestured with a finger between them, the ease that had been created with her and Dean’s meaningless banter was quickly snuffed out. “I was here first, so you boys can continue moseying your way to wherever it is that you came from.”
Dean scoffed. “You can’t call dibs on a hunt. Those vamps pose a threat to all of us. Not to mention there's no way in Hell, we are letting you take on this hunt alone. You saw the body. That's no sparkle-skinned vamp out there.”
“You think I don't know that?” Tori snapped back, not appreciating the tone in which Dean spoke. She didn't know what high horse he sat upon that he thought gave him the right to make those kinds of accusations, but he needed to be knocked off it. “I'm not some kind of novice hunter on her first case.”
“Doesn't fucking matter if this is your first hunt, or if you had a knife in your hand from the cradle.” Dean challenged. “We don't know how many of them are out there. In case you haven't noticed, things haven't exactly been the same recently.”
He was right, the last few months had been chaotic. The worst of Hell's denizens had been out in full force especially with its leadership currently in an unsteady position. With Lucifer and Michael in The Cage, Hell was currently being run by a demon who’s name she hadn’t come across yet. No doubt some lucky grunt who took advantage of the power vacuum. With the change of power, the leash being kept on the things hiding in the dark had faded into nothing.
Vampires and demons and things far worse now roamed the mortal plane with little to no consequences; the situation was worse than ever now, only rivaled by the aftermath of The Cage being opened years ago, and when The Gates busted open years prior to that. Ironically, the reason for that happening sat across from her, Millie setting their food down on the table in front of them.
“And I wonder who’s fault that is, hmm?”
“Fuck you.” Dean sneered, digging into his burger
Tori grinned, plucking a fry from her plate and taking a bite “You wish you could.”
A silent, temporary truce was placed as the three dug into their food. Not once did the tension fade, nor did the hair on the back of Tori's neck go down.
Something wasn't right.
When she'd entered the diner nearly an hour earlier, it was nearly full with the dinner rush crowd. But now, it was a ghost town which was to be expected the longer the night went on. Aside from the booth she and the Winchesters sat in, two other booths were occupied. One by a pair of teenagers, seemingly on a date. The other sat a foursome; Three men and a woman sat at the table, all dressed in paramedic uniforms.
Tori slowly stopped chewing, the cogs in her brain churning faster and faster until observation and idea connected. She sat her burger down, glancing out the window to the near vacant lot. Her stolen pickup truck, a beautiful Chevy Impala along with a rusted minivan and two older model sedans were the only vehicles in the parking lot. She didn't remember seeing any parking in the back.
“Did you guys see an ambulance when you pulled in?”
Dean’s brows furrowed, glancing at her then at Sam and back to her. “No.” The word left his lips slowly, clinging to the syllable. “Why?”
“Don’t look now, but there are four paramedics sitting at a booth behind you.”
Tori rolled her eyes as Dean craned his neck to look. Can he be any more obvious? She opened her mouth, a scolding remark aimed and ready to fire but Sam beat her to it. The younger Winchester swatted his brother on the arm with the back of his hand, raised eyebrows and a disapproving look plastered on his face.
“Thank you.” Tori said pointedly at Sam, digging into her pocket to pull out her wallet, throwing bills down on the table. “Look. You boys are smart enough to connect the dots, and I have better places to be.”
Tori hooked her finger into the collar of her jacket, slinging it over her shoulder, scooting out from the booth. She could sense the disappointment wash over the younger brother. It was too familiar and some deeply suppressed part of her almost felt bad.
It wouldn’t kill you to stay.
She looked down at the brothers, Sam looking up at her with this accepting disappointment. Dean on the other hand looked on with an air of contempt and something else Tori couldn’t quite place. Even so, despite the way he disregarded her, he was someone’s brother. A person, alive and breathing.
No, but it could kill them.
The thought immediately shut the door of possibilities that had opened the barest amount. Shadows and corpses, grotesque images flickered behind her eyes, the boys’ faces replaced by ghosts for a second too long, only adding a padlock to the theoretical door. A big, Grade A padlock incapable of being picked. Not if she had any say in it.
“Wait a damn minute.” Dean interjected. “We have questions. Like how the fuck you know Bobby. And why the hell he’s never even mentioned you.”
“Those are second date questions babe, and you only paid for one night.” Tori cocked her head at the older brother.
“And we can’t convince you to stay?” Sam looked up at her, setting his fork down
“If she wants to go, then let her.” Dean snapped. “She’s only gonna slow us down.”
Her lip curled up in a mocking gesture, not letting the jab hit its mark. Maybe mark-adjacent at the subtle sting that left her wanting to curl into herself. He’s not worth it. That kinda pride is blinding. Instead she rolled her shoulders back, standing straight. Tori gave Dean a single finger salute before shoving her hand in the pocket of her pants.
“Good luck, boys.” She called out flippantly over her shoulder.
It’s your funeral, she wanted to say but bit her lip, knowing the weight of a hunter's funeral was something she wouldn’t wish upon anyone.
She eyed the foursome of vampires on her way out, not liking the way they were eyeing the Winchesters. They paid her no more mind than the stepped-on fries that littered the floor. Clearly, they were not here for her. She wasn’t sure that gave her any peace of mind.
Something didn’t feel right. A dark, oily unease curled into lead in her belly. It was the kind of sensation that you don’t just ignore. It makes its presence known whether you want it to or not. It’s the feeling of hair standing on the back of your neck, the feeling of being watched, the inherent wrongness that came over you right before all hell broke loose.
Tori swallowed thickly, pulling her gaze away. No longer my problem. At least that’s what she tried to convince herself, exiting the diner with the intent of leaving everything that had happened in the last 8 hours in her rearview mirror.
Sneak peek for Chapter 2:
Please like, reblog, and/or comment if you enjoyed. Feedback is appreciated and encouraged!
Tags/Warnings: Canon level violence, death (not of a main character), descriptions of said violence/death and the injuries that ensue, fluff, a smidgin of angst, idiots in love, road trip shenanigans, movie references, slight peril?
Summary: When Dean's fear of flying means taking a cross-country road trip, he and Tori decide to make the most out of it; alternatively, Road Trip montage
Word Count: 6k
Author's Note: Title from the AC/DC song
The artwork included is done by the incredibly talented @xpurdyglambertx
I actually curated a playlist inspired by their road trip. It's way longer than what it will take to read the fic, but if y'all wanna take a listen, here is the playlist to put on while you read or on your own road trip!
My final entry for @jacklesversebingo'24 with the prompt 'Road Trip' as well as an entry for @anyfandomgoesbingo with the prompt 'Bleeding'
Dividers: Line Divider 1 by @olenvasynyt Line Divider 2 by @omi-resources SPN Divider by @talesmaniac89
Tag List: @zepskies @copperboom82
“Remind me again why we had to get up this early?” Dean grumbled from the passenger seat.
“Because,” Tori said, briefly glancing at Dean as she drove. “It's a twenty six hour drive from Lebanon to Miami. Even if we drive 12 or so hours a day, it will still take 3 days to get there and I wanna make the most of our time on the road.”
“Still. I think we could have pushed it back to 6.”
“Go back to sleep.” Tori huffed, flicking the stereo back on to a random radio station playing some metal band. “I’ll stop for snacks soon.”
When Tori had gotten a text from her friend Jackie, a hunter she met years ago whose homebase is in Miami, Dean couldn’t get a word in edgewise as she immediately started to plan the trip. Though, in the middle of Tori rambling about packing and how long it had been since she saw her friend, the words ‘plane tickets’ were mentioned and Dean recognized that familiar tightness in his chest.
He had managed to catch Tori in the middle of buying the tickets. Like in so many other conversations, she hadn’t judged him, hadn’t made a fuss over driving twenty six hours instead of taking a 5 hour flight. Dean even tried to convince her to take the flight and he’d just meet her later but she’d had none of it.
“The whole point is us going together.” Tori said with a finality to her voice that Dean knew better than to try and convince her otherwise.
However, the drive meant packing multiple bags each and a cooler, filling whatever space there was in Baby’s trunk or backseat so that they could wake up at the asscrack of dawn. Even when his alarm had blared at 3, Dean had just groaned into his pillow, smacking at the alarm clock until the incessant blaring had stopped.
The peace didn’t last long though before Tori had ripped the covers off of him, leaving him to the seemingly never remedied cold of the Bunker and telling him “You can sleep in the car.”
Begrudgingly, he had pulled himself out of bed and gotten ready. He didn’t know how Tori wasn’t a zombie. Actually he did. She drank damn near enough coffee he wouldn’t be surprised if it had replaced her blood.
He cracked his eyes open and sure enough, a thermos was set into the cup holder, the aroma of medium roast wafting throughout the cab. Sure, there was a slight sluggishness mostly indicated by her lack of conversation, but her eyes were open and she was alert. That was more than he could say for himself. That fact alone was why she was behind the wheel and he was half asleep against the passenger side door.
“‘m fuckin’ awake now.” He mumbled, sitting up straighter, glaring at the stereo as he reached out to change the channel. “The fuck is this?”
But his hand never made it to the knobs controlling the stations. Without looking away from the road, Tori slapped his hand away. “Knock it off, grumpypants. It’s In This Moment.”
It sounded vaguely familiar. The lead singer had some serious rasp to her voice, the vocals and instrumentals marginally harder than the classics that filled the shoebox of cassettes in his glove compartment.
He…didn’t hate it. It was just, a lot, for 6 in the morning. And it was a far cry from their usual road trip music. Again, he reached out to cue up the cassette tape, and again Tori smacked his hand away, harder this time.
“House rules.” She said, a level of smugness lacing her words. Dean knew what would follow, words he’d preached forever. “Driver picks the music, shotgun shuts his cakehole. And I say, we are listening to Maria Brink for now.”
Dean opened his mouth to retort, but shut it when he realized there was nothing to say. Those were the rules. He’d never really been in the passenger seat enough to have to be on the receiving side of that rule.
Instead he turned his gaze out the window, watching the rows upon of rows of corn pass by with the occasional break for cow pastures and accompanying barns and houses. The sun was just starting to peek up over the horizon, the golden rays spilling over the fields. While he didn’t see them very much, preferring to sleep in when he could, he always thought sunrises were beautiful.
Though nothing could compare to the way the warm glow truly brought out the beauty in Tori. He pulled his eyes away from the fields to look over at her. The sun shone off the gloss of her hair, giving the appearance of strands of gold amongst her raven tresses. As always, it was pulled back into a braid; the style of choice this morning was a single dutch braid down the center of her head. Though most of it was tied back, fine baby hairs along her forehead and temples couldn’t quite be tamed.
The sun had a way of making her already golden skin truly stand out, not to mention the way it highlighted every hue of brown in her eyes, turning them more amber than onyx. Truly, she was the most gorgeous woman he had ever seen, even early in the morning on little sleep and busting his balls over the music of choice.
Though, as he woke up further, more songs from the band playing in succession, they were starting to grow on him. Tori liked, generally, the same kinds of music as he did so there was little contention when it came to who was picking the tracks. But her music tastes were definitely more, eclectic, than his. Exhibit A being what was playing at the moment.
“See. Not so bad, huh?” Tori grinned triumphantly from the driver's seat. “Can you hand me my sunglasses please, babe?”
Dean eyed the mountain of bags piled into the backseat from over the seat back. “You got a idea which bag they’re in?”
“In my not-bag.” Tori gestured vaguely behind her.
“Your what?” Dean shot her an inquisitive look. He questioned just how tired his girl really was before it clicked in his brain what she meant.
“In the—”
“Yeah, yeah, I understand now.” He waved a hand, twisting in his seat to access the backseat.
He let out a perturbed noise when, as he leaned over the back of the bench seat to grab the black bag that was too small to be a bag but too big to be considered a purse, hence the nickname ‘not-bag’, Tori’s hand made contact with his backside.
“You’re lucky I love you. For many reasons.” He halfheartedly bemoaned, handing her the sunglasses she requested.
Her returning grin as she placed the glasses over her eyes rivaled the sun. She tilted the glasses down just enough to peer over them. “I know.”
It was another hour and a half before they stopped for snacks. Tori pulled the Impala off the main highway into some small run down gas station that looked like it hadn’t seen a maintenance crew in at least a decade. But, the gas pumps still ran gasoline when she tried to use them.
Using the opportunity out of the car, she raised her arms high above her head, stretching languidly. Baby’s seats were more comfortable than any in a modern car, but even so Tori was sure her ass had fallen asleep within hour two, her left leg the hour after that. When her arms and hands had started to tingle, she knew it was time to grab snacks to replenish the cooler of water they’d packed the night before and for Dean to switch over.
He was antsy to get back behind the wheel. All of a sudden she couldn’t read the road map correctly and she was being too rough every time she accelerated from a stop sign or light. Tori didn’t blame him. Baby was, well, his baby; she’d long ago accepted the fact that while she may be with Dean, Baby would always come first. She supposed if she had a car as beautiful and with such meaning to her, she would probably feel the same.
The sun was warm on her face as Tori leaned against the side of the car, tipping her head back to rest against the roof. She heard the car door shut, carefully, and it wasn’t long after that when warm hands slid across her waist and a body brushed against hers.
“You gonna drive for a bit?” She asked, raising her head back up, eyes opening back up to rest on Dean.
“Yeah.” He said back, hands smoothing up and down her sides. “Give you time to sleep.”
“Mmm.” Her lips curled up as her arms wound around his neck. “And it has nothing to do with the fact that you wanna be back behind the wheel?”
He returned her close-lipped smile, his hand leaving her side to hold it up with his index and thumb an inch apart. “Maybe a little bit.”
“That’s what I thought.” Tori giggled, leaning forward, pressing a chaste kiss to his mouth as the gas pump thunked off. “Suppose that's my cue.”
“But I’m not done with you yet.” He pulled her back and she couldn’t help but smile into the kiss.
After returning the hose to the pump, she and Dean made their way inside. On the way, his hand had found its way into hers, fingers interlocked. They walked like that throughout the store, one of her hands in his, the other held on to the basket she’d grabbed by the front door.
The little station didn’t have much, just two rows of shelves and a wall of coolers mostly filled with alcohol. The shelves were stocked with the basics: Pringles, bags of assorted chips like Doritos and Lays, Slim Jim sticks, bags of pretzels, and of course a whole section of just candy. Despite the limited selection, the basket was near full by the time they made it to the drinks.
“Seriously? Twinkies?” Tori arched a brow at Dean.
“What?” He grabbed a couple of water bottles from the cooler. “It’s classic roadie food.”
“Its more plastic and food coloring than it is food.” Her nose scrunched up in disgust. “Get me a Mountain Dew, would ya?”
“That’s what makes them so delicious though.” Four water bottles and two bottles of Mountain Dew dropped into the basket beside the snacks. “The real question is how you drink that stuff. Nothing that looks like radioactive waste should be ingested.”
Tori stuck her tongue out at Dean as they made their way to the counter.
“We’re on Pump One, and two of the Jackpot’s please.” Tori asked the attendant, a girl not much younger than herself, mid twenties maybe.
“Of course.” Tracy, according to her name tag, chirped.
Tori caught the way Tracy made eyes at Dean, the man completely oblivious as he was unloading the basket onto the counter, as she grabbed both tickets from the tray.
“Did you find everything okay?” Her voice was dripping with overexaggerated eagerness, the question clearly aimed at Dean.
“Huh?” Dean looked up from putting the bag of Twizzlers on the counter amongst the rest of their plunder. “Oh, yeah.”
Tori had to bite her lip to keep from grinning, swearing that Tracy’s eye twitched at Dean’s lack of reciprocation. That was only compounded when, as Tori dug into her wallet to grab her card, his hand slid into the back pocket of her jeans.
It should not have brought Tori as much joy as it did to watch as Tracy deflated like a popped balloon. Once all the items were scanned, the items being shoved into the plastic bags with a little too much aggression, she gave the total.
Tori could feel Dean’s eyes on her as she completed the transaction. The bags were split between them and they turned to the door.
She tried, truly, to take the high road. But the girl was old enough to know better. So with an evil grin shot at Dean as he held the door open for her, Tori turned, calling over her shoulder in the same over the top tone Tracy had started with. “You have an amazing day now.”
Tori wasn’t sure she was imagining the smoke coming from the girl's ears.
“You’re evil, you know that right?” Dean laughed once they loaded the snacks into the back, the drinks sequestered into the cooler.
“She deserved it.” Tori shrugged, sliding into the passenger seat. “She looked like a cartoon with the way her eyes were practically in hearts.”
“She has good taste.” Dean replied slyly as he started Baby back up.
“Dean Henry Winchester!” Tori exclaimed, smacking him on the bicep.
Dean laughed, pulling out of the gas station and back onto the highway. “Oh c’mon, Baby. My sun rises and sets with you.”
“Quoting Heat is not getting you out of that.”
“Worth a try.”
“Hey, what was with those lotto tickets anyway?” Dean asked.
It had been a little over an hour since they stopped at the gas station. He’d meant to ask her, but Tori had leaned against the passenger seat with her legs in his lap and had promptly fallen asleep as soon as they were back on the road. Her slumber hadn’t lasted long, though, once they made it to the interstate and people had started to drive more like idiots.
“I thought it would be a fun game. We could collect lotto tickets from each state we passed through on our way there and back. Make it a game and see how much money we win.”
Dean checked over his shoulder as he went to pass a minivan that was for some reason going 5 under the speed limit. “Have I ever told you how much I love the way you think?”
“Not nearly enough.” Tori quipped back.
Huffing a laugh, Dean passed yet another car. This one kept speeding up and slowing down, moving within the lane. Sure enough, as he pushed Baby faster to pass on the left, the driver was some teen with his eyes glued to his phone. While the back roads and rural highways weren't much better when it came to distracted drivers, this was why he hated taking interstates.
“Fuckin’ Hell.” He muttered under his breath, causing Tori to crane her neck and look. She just shook her head, sitting up straight.
“See this is why when you tell me to drive safely, I tell you it doesn’t matter how well I drive. It’s idiots like that who are the issue.”
Dean tilted his in agreement. He thought for a second. “Who taught you to drive, anyway?”
“My older brother.” Her voice softened in the way it always did when she talked about her family. “My parents were always busy with work, so he signed me up and taught me. Took me to the cemetery. Said ‘you can’t kill anyone, they’re already dead’.”
He chuckled as she lowered her voice, miming her brother. Tori never talked about them on her own, and anything she did share when prompted was limited. Dean knew enough to not ask the hard hitting questions. His heart yearned to know all the small things about her, and had made significant progress in undoing the locks that she used to keep everything locked away.
“Well, as you could probably guess, my old man taught me to drive.” Dean finally said after enough silence had passed since she stopped talking, giving her time to say more if she wanted. “I don’t remember what age I was. Young, definitely. But he put me on his lap and had me steer. Then, when I was tall enough to reach, he had me driving around parking lots. Course, when Sam was old enough, it was my job to teach him.”
He knew she was watching him. Whenever he spoke, Tori’s eyes, her attention was always fully on him. It wasn’t in an intense or uncomfortable way. But he knew she was truly listening, taking in every word and everything not spoken; she watched the way his face changed, the nonverbal cues that said what he couldn’t.
“I’m not sure I ever truly took a drivers test, or had a real license. That part’s fuzzy. Knowing my dad, how often we were on the move, probably not.”
“With the amount of fake ID’s in the cigar box, I am not surprised in the slightest.” Tori replied, referring to the cigar box full of fake ID’s and badges he and Sam had used over the years; hers were now mixed in with the rest of them.
“My point exactly.”
Since he’d taken over driving, Dean had popped in the Zeppelin cassette that he was surprised still played the tracks without issue with how many times it had been played. As the last song ended, Tori grabbed the shoebox full of tapes.
“What one do you want put in next?” She asked, taking the Zeppelin tape out, and setting it in carefully into the box.
She had, one slow weekend, cleaned and organized the tapes. At first, Dean had been frustrated, never the one for change especially when it came to his things. But now, he had to admit it was nice to be able to immediately find whatever one he wanted.
The opportunity to reply came and went before he was able when a thud followed by a dreaded rumbling caused Dean to let out a string of curses.
“Did you just—”
“Blow a tire.” Dean finished Tori’s question. “Yeah.”
At some point, they’d returned to the rural highways, diverging from the stop and go rush hour traffic. Many things made his blood boil and that was one of them. So with Tori following the map, they’d made the decision to go the longer but consistent route. A decision that Dean was very much regretting as he pulled the Impala to the gravel shoulder.
The sun had started to descend behind the horizon, making the shadows of the trees grow longer and longer by the second. It would be dark before too long, and Dean wanted to be back on the road before that happened. After that family of cannibals kidnapped him, Sam, and the policewoman investigating them, he wasn’t too fond of the idea of being stranded on some random backroad after dark.
“Goddamn it.” He muttered as he kicked the door open, storming around the car. Sure enough, the front right wheel had rapidly deflated, only the very last of the air remaining.
Baby’s trunk had seen many things. Bodies of people both dead and alive, jugs of holy oil, and of course a small arsenal of weapons both mundane and supernatural alike.The protection sigil kept everything inside safe, and it also meant whenever they did need to transport someone of the supernatural kind, they couldn't get out. But, it also held the spare tire, which was mounted at the very top.
“Here, hand me the jack and the tire iron and I'll work on getting this one off.” Tori appeared at his side, her hand out expectantly.
Dean hoisted the carjack to her, waiting until she got it into place and came back before handing her the lug wrench to remove the lug nuts. “You sure you got it?”
The stress really must have been getting to him.
She must have thought so too, giving him a ‘did you seriously just say that?’ look. And Dean was glad when she said nothing, just pumping the jack up, allowing the wheel to lift off the ground just enough to be able to slide off when the time came.
The first lug nut was the hardest to come off. Tori wasn’t weak by any measure, and she knew her way around a tire, but it never failed to give her grief. Plus, who knew how long it had been since the tires had been replaced, or the studs for that matter.
Setting the lug wrench into place, Tori grunted as she tried to loosen it.
No dice.
She changed her positioning, hoping the shift would garner more leverage. The muscles in her arms strained as she pushed against the wrench.
The gravel crunched as Dean walked up beside her. “You want me to do it?”
“No.” Tori replied through gritted teeth. “I almost got it.”
She wasn’t lying. The only problem was she had shifted her attention to Dean in that brief moment, which meant she missed the way the lug nut gave way. The change in resistance, caused Tori to pitch forward slightly, losing her grip on the lug wrench.
Pain blossomed in her hands as they met the sharp but tiny rocks of the road’s shoulder. Gonna feel that in the morning. Scratch that, gonna feel that now.
Sensing a remark, she held up a hand. “Not a word.”
“I wasn’t gonna say anything.” Dean held his hands up in a placating gesture.
She hummed a response, wiping her hands on her jeans before returning to removing the lug nut. After the first one, the rest came off easily enough.
Just as she took the last one off, setting it into Dean’s hand, a truck pulled up behind the Impala. After not seeing any traffic in the 20 minutes they’d sat here, both of them were immediately on edge. Especially as it was getting progressively darker, the sun nearly completely tucked into the horizon at this point.
Instinctually, Tori reached behind herself, feeling for the knife she usually kept strapped to the back of her jeans. Her hand met air, and her anxiety compounded when she remembered that she’d packed it into her not-bag. She had a small pocket knife made of pure silver, but it was little more than a glorified letter opener.
The air seemed to still, like the wind was holding its breath, as the driver's side door opened. The asshole hadn’t turned his headlights off, so Tori had to put a hand up to block the bright lights from blinding her completely. From her vantage, she clocked two shotguns strapped into a rack across the back window of the two-seater cab.
“Y’all need some help?” The man called out as he approached, and Tori felt the hairs on the back of her neck stand on end.
With the way Dean walked around her, not so subtly putting himself between her and the man, she knew he got the same feeling.
“Nah. We’ve got it all sorted, sir.” With one ear on the conversation, Tori tried to move as quickly as she could to pull the busted wheel off the axle.
She wasn’t sure if it was the adrenaline, or if the one or two hours a day at the Bunker’s gym was starting to pay off, but hefting the wheel off the studs and placing it to the side required little struggle.
“Quite the woman you got there.” The man's words slid down her spine like an ice cold serpent. Every muscle was tense, and she was primed to bolt for her bag, for the arsenal, for the knife in her pocket. What she was waiting for, she didn’t know, but she knew her instincts enough to trust that when the time came, her body wouldn’t fail her. And neither would Dean.
“I think it’s time to move on, bud.” Dean’s voice was a knife’s edge, cold and sharp as he took another half step in front of her to shield her further from the man’s oily gaze.
The spare tire slid onto the axle easier than she expected, and Tori was grateful for it as, out of the corner of her eye, the man took another step closer. One step too close for either her or Dean’s comfort.
Her heart was thumping now, slamming against the inside of her ribs like a jackrabbit trying to escape a trap. It made her hands shaky, but even with trembling fingers she slid the lug nuts back onto the studs. As she put the last one on, her hand slipped and her already bleeding knuckles crashed into the hubcap. But she hardly felt the pain as she reached for the tire iron.
“Oh come on,” The man purred, but it sounded less like a cat and more like an old and decrepit engine trying to sputter to life, like he’d been eating the gravel Tori knelt on, all his life. “I won’t bite.”
“Beat it, pal.”
One after the other, Tori torqued the lug nuts into place with a speed only matched by a NASCAR pit crew. Or at least that’s what it felt like.
The crickets and other insects fell silent and Tori knew shit was about to go down.
The man moved faster than either one of them anticipated.
He went for Dean first, shoving him with a force unexpected of a man appearing no younger than 55. A solid, two handed shove against his chest sent him stumbling back. But the stranger didn’t get much further than that.
Using her legs, Tori exploded upwards, swinging the tire iron in a wide arc. A sickening crack followed as the heavy steel tool made contact with the man’s head. His body crumbled to the ground like a sack of potatoes. Chest heaving, Tori gripped hard enough onto the tire iron that her arms were shaking. She was shaking.
Peering down at the man, something still screamed at her. Claxon bells rang at max volume.
The man’s—no, the monster’s—eyes shot open. Its mouth opened and let out a shriek so loud Tori had to resist to slap her hands over her ears.
But she didn’t.
Her knife was in her hand, and with a flick of her thumb, the blade deployed. The next second the hilt was flipped in her grasp, and she was plunging it into the creatures heart.
“Lemme see your hands.” Dean urged as soon as they stepped inside their motel room, stopping only to deposit their bags on the bed.
A tired sigh was the only thing Tori could muster as she plopped herself down on the edge of the bed. She held out her hands, palms up.
“Tori.” Dean groaned.
She rolled her eyes, flipping them over. The knuckles on both of her hands were bloody and raw, and the ones on her right hand were split further from where her hand had slipped the second time, slamming into the hubcap.
Dean sucked in a breath through his teeth, wincing on her behalf. “Jesus, Tor.”
“It’s not that bad.”
“I disagree.” Dean shot back, grabbing the bag with medical supplies in it.
“It could have been worse.”
That sobered the mood, which had just started to return to normal. What were the chances that a shifter just happened upon them?
Slim, was the answer. But not impossible. When the Winchester name was as good as the Boogeyman to human children, it was inevitable that the things that go bump in the night show up at the most inopportune times.
Thankfully, the motel not far from where they’d buried the body had vacancies.
“But it wasn’t, and that’s all that matters.”
After thoroughly washing his hands, Dean sat down on the bed across from her, the pile of first aid in a pile between their bodies. He doused a small folded up square of gauze with alcohol, the resulting sharp, clean smell permeating around them.
Tori didn’t so much as flinch when he gingerly wiped the blood, crusted and dark, from her skin and the areas immediately surrounding the cuts. He discarded the squares as they got too bloody, tossing them into a plastic grocery bag and repeating the process until most of the blood was gone from her swollen knuckles and her fingers.
Taking the opportunity, Dean examined the wounds now that they were clean and they had better light. Well, the yellow incandescent lights in the motel weren’t that great, but it was better than the near dusk they had been in.
Relief was the last bits of unease and concern that kept his shoulders tight, his body still feeling like it was vibrating, floating away on a breath when the wounds didn’t seem serious.
A little gnat of guilt still buzzed around his ear, his head. All the things they could have done differently played through his head.
But no matter the path he explored, the fact still remained that they were down a tire. They couldn’t have driven away. Sure, they could have been infinitely better prepared, but that still wouldn’t have changed the fact that a confrontation had been unavoidable.
Not only had he been next to useless, but Tori with her split knuckles, had taken the shifter down with ease. He had known something was hinky with the man when he drove up, but the gut sinking thought that if it wasn’t for her quick thinking, and foresight to carry a silver knife, that encounter could have gone much differently.
“Stop thinking whatever it is you’re thinking.” Tori murmured, nudging him with her knee.
“You don’t even know what I was thinking.” He grunted, letting go of her hands so he could shuffle through his bag to try and find some antibiotic ointment and something to wrap her hands in.
“You’re blaming yourself. Catastrophizing.” Tori set her hands on her thighs. “You get this look, like you’re not here.”
“Touche.”
“The shifter is dead. We aren’t.”
“But we could have been.”
Those injured hands cupped his face, tilting it up until he was forced to meet her eyes. “But we aren’t. I am right here, you are right here. Heart beating and lungs breathing we are alive. Some scraped knuckles from clumsiness was the best outcome.”
Leaning into her palm, Dean nodded. “Alright.”
After using a liberal amount of Neosporin on the cuts, Dean laid a layer of gauze over them before wrapping her knuckles in an elastic bandage, securing it at her wrist.
“See, now I’m really ready to kick somebody’s ass.” Tori joked, bringing her hands up in front of her face, imitating a boxer.
Only Tori could make light of a situation like this, and he couldn’t be more grateful she did. He couldn’t help but smile and shake his head as he cleaned up the waste.
Dean laughed, “Alright, take it easy Rocky. We should get to sleep so we can keep movin’ in the morning.”
“Alright.” Tori said with fake disappointment. “I suppose.”
Shedding their clothes in favor of pajamas, Dean in his boxers and a soft henley and Tori in a pair of sweats and a tank top, they climbed into the bed. As they got comfortable on the slightly lumpy mattress, Dean wound his arms around her waist, pulling her snuggly against him. He always did, after the encounters, the hunts.
Neither one of them slept well.
After the previous night's excitement, both she and Dean agreed to stick to the interstates if they could help it. It was better lit, more traveled, and faster since they’d lost time. Sure it meant Tori was in the driver's seat and dealing with the idiotic drivers, but every glance at her red tinged knuckles on the leather steering wheel reminded them both to just endure it.
She’d unwrapped them in the morning, deciding to let them air dry and hopefully that would get them to scab and heal quicker. Though, with the way Dean had kept looking at them, she wished she just left them covered.
Aside from too many road ragers, distracted drivers, and dodging Old Smokey, the drive was mostly uneventful. Dean had finished off his stash of snacks and was tasked with providing her with her own, as well as navigating the map.
Each time they crossed state lines, Tori was quick to find the first gas station or convenience store, picking up two lottery tickets while Dean topped off the tank when it was necessary.
Seven states. 7 different lottery tickets—14, technically, since she and Dean both had one. Tori would be surprised if not one of them resulted in some money. Not that she really cared. That wasn’t the point of buying them.
She was rich enough, the man fast asleep in the passenger seat next to her, was a testament to that fact.
Of course, nothing could be easy though. It was nearing 11 o’clock when they both exited the motel.
No vacancy, is what the clerk insisted. It was another 6 hours before they reached Miami, before they reached Jackie’s and neither one of them were fit to drive another 2 to the next city where there would be lodging
“Now what?” Tori asked, sliding back into the driver's seat. “I’m fucking exhausted. You’re exhausted.”
“Could just sleep in here.” Dean shrugged. “Not like it's the first time. It's only what, another 6 hours before we get there. We knock that out and then you convince your friend to let us sleep when we get there.”
“Do we really have any other choice?”
“No, not really.”
Tori sighed. “Help me move the bags to the front.”
Between the two of them, they managed to transfer the bags and the cooler to the front seat. Grabbing a blanket from the back, Tori returned to climb in the back.
“This seems fitting somehow.” She said as she wiggled onto the seat, laying with her back to Dean’s front.
“How’s that?” Dean asked, laying the blanket over them. Not that they would probably need it, both of them running hot as it was.
“Don’t know. Just does.”
She hummed a satisfied noise as Dean’s hand smoothed over her hair, brushing it behind her ear. The orange glow from the street lamps filtered through the windows. It was a little obnoxious, but it wasn’t the worst conditions she’d ever slept in. She was warm, she was safe, and she had Dean with his arm wrapped around her. She could deal with a little annoying light. Nuzzling into Dean’s bicep, she closed her eyes, trying to get comfortable.
“Sans the shifter and having to sleep in the car, have you had any fun?” Tori whispered to him.
“I never not have fun when I’m with you.” Dean answered. “We could be sitting doing lore research and as long as it was with you, I’d have fun.”
“The feeling is mutual.”
“What has been your favorite thing so far?”
Silence followed as he contemplated his answer.
“Just, enjoying the time not hunting. Not worried about the next case, about the world ending.” He traced small circles on her stomach. “Sure, we ended up ganking some son of a bitch, but at this point I don’t think we’re ever gonna fully be rid of that kinda thing. What about you?”
“I don’t know if I have one singular thing.” She shrugged. “Like you said, the mundane time spent with each other without the apocalypse or a big bad breathing down our necks. Just being, existing.”
“We should just exist more often.”
“We really should. But right now, existing, means getting some good goddamn sleep.”
Dean huffed a laugh, ruffling her hair. “Agreed.”
Tori didn’t think she had ever been so happy to see her friend’s cabin. It was a decent sized structure sequestered away in the Everglades. ‘Lots of area to hide a body, and plenty of gators to dispose of em’ Jackie had told her when she’d first moved into the place.
Her friend was out at the store, but texted her the passcode to the door so they could move their things in and get settled. The guest bed had already been made up, so they were free to get a much needed nap in before she came back.
Tori shifted Baby into park, and sighed deeply. “Finally.”
“I second that statement.” Dean said, relief evident in his voice.
“Now, all we have to do is move all that,” She jerked a thumb to their bags in the back. “Inside.”
Dean leaned forward, opening the glove compartment.
“You know we are gonna have to get these all checked and turned in at some point right?” Dean held up the lottery tickets.
“It was never about the money.” She replied, resting her head on his shoulder. “Just the memories.”
Please like, reblog, and/or comment if you enjoyed. Feedback is appreciated and encouraged!
Pairing:AU!Teen!Dean Winchester x AU!Teen!Tori Marchetti (OFC)
Tags/Warnings: Non-hunter AU, Flangst (Though mostly angst, as per usual), Mostly self-actualized, but still very much an ex-marine single dad, John Winchester, Inaccuracies (I am not a mechanic), Teenage angst and yearning, Dean STILL has abandonment issues (Would it be Dean if he didn't?)
Summary: The summer following senior year. It's a time where nothing seems certain or guaranteed—not jobs, or family, or relationships. In this AU where Tori and Dean are high school sweethearts, the pair navigates where to go when their paths diverge.
Word Count: 3.4k
Author's Note: Title from the song Softcore by The Neighborhood. Did you miss these guys? I know I did. I hope y'all enjoy this little 'What if?' AU. I put in some background on Tori so let me know your thoughts!
This fulfills the "One Big Hug at the Airport" prompt for @jacklesversebingo '24 and the "First Love" prompt for @anyfandomgoesbingo
Dividers: Line Divider 1 by @olenvasynyt Line Divider 2 by @omi-resources SPN Divider by @talesmaniac89
Tag List: @zepskies @copperboom82
Dean supposed there were benefits to working for his dad. Or, at least that’s what everyone was telling him. He was earning money, helping his dad and Uncle Bobby on the weekends and during the summer doing oil changes and air filter replacements—all valuable skills.
It was job security, knowing that between his hands-on work experience and ASE classes taken via dual credit courses at the Lawrence College and Career Center, even if he didn’t work for his dad he wouldn’t be hard pressed to find a position elsewhere.
But like every other eighteen year old freshly graduated from high school, Dean still longed to spend these last long summer days lounging by the community pool, sticky popsicle syrup spilling onto his fingers.
It was that limbo where he felt like an adult trapped in a teen body. Old enough to work with clients on his own, but still young enough to be wholly at the beck and call of his dad. Which meant doing anything outside of work required carefully crafting a compromise (read: hostage negotiation) with the old man.
The end result was 12 hour shifts Monday through Thursday and half days on Fridays ending at noon with weekends off. And that was after Uncle Bobby talked with his dad and convinced him it was a good idea, especially with Sammy all but flat out rebelling, spending more and more time at his friends houses and less at home. Maybe a little more leash on the idjits would do them some good. You tug that tether too tight and you’ll hang ‘em from it.
Dean could tell his dad wasn’t happy, but he had enough sense to find reason in his friend's words.
Tori made the long days worth it, though.
He started to associate her with the sound of the bell ringing above the door to the front office, signalling her arrival early in the morning just past opening, always with a carrier tray of coffee in her hands; one for him, black with a dash of creamer, one for both his dad and Uncle Bobby, the strongest brew she could find, and something light and sweet for herself.
Dean had a sneaking suspicion that the coffee not-bribe was a factor in the ‘lesser sentence’ of his work schedule.
Despite his grumbling about her being a distraction—her being his first girlfriend and all—but his dad tolerated her. Maybe a bit more than tolerated her, not that he’d ever admit it, especially when she helped out around the shop.
Tori never intentionally pulled Dean away from whatever client's car he was working on at a given moment, stayed out of the way and took care of the little things like making sure the used rags were thrown in the correct barrels lest they spontaneously combust.
He’d asked her once, where she learned about that. That had opened up a whole other side of her. Growing up in the garage her own family owned, two older brothers slated to inherit it. Tori had smiled fondly, mischievously even, when she detailed how much her mother loathed her involvement in what she considered ‘unseemly’ for a young woman. Her dad had insisted, however, arguing that she needed to learn so that she’d never need to rely on a man.
Tori had chuckled, and Dean couldn’t breathe as they both were bent over the engine block over a clients ‘70 Ford Bronco. Her bare arm had brushed against his as she reached for a torque wrench. He’d been too focused on the way her dark eyes brightened as she talked, the smear of grease swiped across her golden skin, to realize she had been handing it to him.
Whenever she wasn’t helping him or cleaning, she parked herself on one of the beat up office chairs gotten from Goodwill that they kept in the shop with her sketchbooks and assortment of pencils. Dean didn’t even know there were so many kinds, asking her to explain their purposes while he worked. Even after she rattled off their uses, about graphite to binder rations, he was lost.
But it was just the principle of seeing her so excited to talk about what she enjoyed, seeing the end result of her drawings at the end of the day; plenty of the sketches done while she was in the shop, the subjects ranging from the cars being serviced to Dean working, ended up tacked to a corkboard in his room.
It was the little things, the coffee, the menial tasks that made everyone’s jobs easier, the small talk with Uncle Bobby over lunch break, helping Sammy study, that slowly integrated her into Dean’s life. Into his family’s lives.
But that is what made it so much harder when she blew into the shop one morning, bearing coffee and a bittersweet smile. Dean knew in his heart of hearts that she was going places—big places. Places he knew he’d never be able to follow her. It didn’t make his heart drop any less, however, when she showed him her letter of acceptance to the Cooper Union School of Art with a full ride scholarship to boot.
Dean knew he could have handled the news better, but hindsight is 20/20. The fear, and jealousy, of losing her in less than 3 months had blinded any sense of maturity. Shame still burned through him like a wildfire at any recollection of the words that had spewed from his mouth, accusations of her not loving him anymore, telling her that she was selfish for leaving him here. His asinine words borne of his own insecurities were a never ending cassette that played on a loop starting the moment they were spoken into existence.
In the end, Uncle Bobby had ushered Tori from the office, shooting Dean a stern look over his shoulder. Despite his outburst, Tori had just stood there, the muscle in her jaw tense as if it was holding back a tidal wave of words.
But the tears that trickled from her beautiful brown eyes had needed no elaboration. She hadn’t said one word, not in defense of herself or in retaliation, letting Dean get everything out until only the empty embarrassment of his actions was left.
The silence that followed was decidedly worse than if she had yelled back. Tori was rarely silent. She always had something to say, and that was one of the things Dean loved about her. So the fact that she hadn’t clapped back, hadn’t gotten angry and hadn’t spoken to him in the days following only added anxiety and guilt that gnawed a deep, gaping hole into his chest.
He called and texted and called some more until his dad threatened to take his phone away. Back when I was your age, we didn’t even have phones, let alone these things. I knew it would lead to nothing but trouble. His dad had gestured to the Motorola in Dean’s hand. He’d saved up his wages and money from birthdays and christmases just to afford it. His dad had just shook his head, wholly unapproving.
Those two and half days that Dean had once begged for, became his own worst nightmare. He dreaded it and when the next weekend came around, Dean still worked the rest of his shift on Friday, and got up for work on Saturday and Sunday. He was there early and stayed late, cleaning the shop at the end of the day until you could have eaten off the floor. And that cycle continued each week that followed.
He hadn’t wanted to, the allure of spending his now all too open schedule laying in bed was quite compelling. But the last thing he needed or wanted was to see his dad give him that look. An amalgam of pity and confusion, as if he didn’t know whether to tell him to snap the fuck out of it, or leave him be.
So Dean just did what he knew his dad probably wanted him to do, and he worked until his body cried out in vain for him to stop. He kept going and going until the only hurt left was the ache in his bones and fatigue in his muscles.
By design, it meant as soon as his head hit the pillow, still damp from his shower, total exhaustion pulled him under. That totality left no room for overthinking, no room for all the echoes of the things he said to Tori to bounce around aimlessly.
That’s where he was, a month later, having just flopped onto his bed when his phone buzzed on his night stand. He lifted his head wearily from off his pillow, eyes heavy and grabbed it. When he read the name though, he sat up no longer tired.
“Tor? Hey.” He said into the receiver.
“Hey, Dean.” Her voice soft over the line, still carrying that melancholic tone.
His hand went unconsciously to his hair, raking his fingers through before bracing an elbow on his knee. “First off I wanna apologize-”
“Dean.”
“Yeah?”
She had gone silent for a second and Dean pulled the phone away from his ear to check that the call hadn’t ended. But her voice came from the speaker just as he brought it back.
“Just, stop. It’s okay.”
“No it’s not, Tor.” Dean sighed. “I was an ass. I should have handled it better. I-”
“Yeah, you were.” There, a little amusement eclipsing the sadness. Something in Dean’s chest lightened but he dared not to put a name to it, or expect it to stay. “But, honestly? I probably wouldn’t have done much better if roles were reversed.”
“I don’t believe that.” Dean swung his legs back onto the bed, laying back. He propped an arm behind his head and tried not to breathe too easily. Maybe this was a dream; he was already asleep and in the morning the call log would be empty.
“If you told me that you were moving away, from Kansas to New York, I’d be feeling a lot of things and most of them would not be nice.”
“But you aren’t just moving away for shits and giggles. You got a full ride to, what I’m assuming at least, is some fancy school. I should have been excited. I am excited for you. And more proud than I could ever tell you. Shoulda been supportive, not a dick.”
“The important part is that you know that. You know you fucked up-”
“Believe me I do.”
Tori laughed lightly as Dean interjected. “But, I forgive you.”
And for the first time in a month, Dean felt like he could breathe easy. There was no weight on his chest, no gauge keeping him from being too comfortable. He sucked in a breath, filling his lungs until it was almost painful before blowing it out between his lips.
“I’ll make it up to you. I’ll make it right. Anything, name your price.” Dean murmured.
“Mmm, careful De. Those are dangerous words.” He could hear the tiredness in her voice alongside the familiar warmth that had gradually returned. “We can talk more tomorrow. You work, right?”
Dean hummed in agreement “Tor?”
“Dean.”
“I love you. You know that right?”
“I know. Which is why I didn’t dump your ass.” She huffed in amusement. “And I love you too. I may not love your actions sometimes, but I know you didn’t mean to hurt me.”
“And for that I am eternally grateful. I’ll see you tomorrow, Tor.”
“Goodnight, De.”
“Goodnight Tori.”
For the first time in a month, Dean slept soundly.
His heart skipped as the bell rang above the entrance and he turned. Dean always thought she looked best in the early morning sun. The way the warm rays shown off her dark hair, highlighted every ribbon and speck of browns in her eyes like precious gems.
Like the patron saint of coffee, lost causes and second chances, she came bearing the familiar cardboard carrier of coffee which she placed on the desk as Dean approached.
He wasn’t sure who moved first, but one second she was standing there and he moved closer as if drawn in by a magnet, and the next she was in his arms. He buried his face in her hair, her scent wafting all around and enveloping him in a familiar cocoon.
Home, was what she was. He’d never been able to fit words to what she was, but that was what felt right. Home, safe, solid.
Whispered apologies fell from his lips before he could stop them. He hadn’t wanted to let go when she pulled back to cup his face. Mid syllable, her lips effectively shut him up as she kissed him. The last vestiges of rigidity and anxiety melted from his body, shackles unlocked and removed allowing him to return the brief motion of her mouth on his.
“What did I say last night?” Tori breathed as they pulled apart. “No sorry’s.”
“Sorry.” Dean said on instinct, but winced as soon as he realized it.
Tori just shook her head, a smile on her lips. He’d do anything if it meant keeping it there.
“C’mon. What are we working on today?”
His dad hadn’t seemed surprised to see her there, accepting the coffee when he came to see what Dean was working on. He sipped the coffee, listening to what Tori had to say as she and Dean were elbow deep in the engine well.
“If I had to guess, the radiator’s got some shit up in there, which is why the engine keeps overheating.” She stated, pulling her arm out, wiping the residual grease and oil off with a rag she kept tucked into the back pocket of her already stained jeans.
“And what do we do about that?” His dad asked
“We gotta-” Dean started but his dad had cut him off.
“Is your name Tori?” At Dean’s silence, he continued. “Didn’t think so.”
Dean looked over at Tori, her lips pressed together suppressing a grin.
She cleared her throat before turning back to his dad. “Depends on how much money the client wants to spend. Best solution would be to just replace the radiator. But if they are wanting a temporary fix, you could also drain the remaining coolant, flush the system and refill it with new stuff. It’d give it a few more years at best.”
Not sure who to look at, Dean glanced between his dad and Tori. He’d be lying if he said he hadn’t held his breath as Tori bore the weight of his dad’s stare, back a little straighter than normal.
“Good to have you back, Tori.” His dad had turned to Dean. “Do as your girlfriend said. Check with Mrs. MacLeod which option she wants and do it.”
Both he and Tori stayed silent, not daring to move a muscle or breathe too deeply until they heard the shop door shut before they both burst into laughter.
“Holy fuck, I thought I was gonna throw up!” Tori gasped, putting a stained hand over her mouth.
“You looked like it.” Dean teased, but grinned as Tori came at him, swatting the back of her hand against his chest.
“I hate you.”
“I love you too, T.”
“I’m gonna put motor oil in your coffee.” Tori scowled at him as she moved around the front of the car, shutting the hood, the sound echoing through the bay.
“Sure you are.”
The rest of the summer flew by quicker than either of them would have liked, the days blending in a heat induced haze. Even if it wasn’t written on the calendar on his wall, Dean would have recognized the date aside from the familiar darkness looming over his head. He’d already gotten his dad to allow him to take the day off. His old man had met the request with no contention, only a heavy hand on his shoulder and a request to wish Tori good luck.
The sun had just started to peek over the horizon slowly like it was wresting itself from bed when Dean pulled up in front of Tori’s house. She was already standing out front, saying goodbye to her family.
He watched from the driver's seat as she clung to her mom. Their words were lost on the wind, but he could see their mouths moving, the sheen of tears on everyone's faces as she turned to her brothers next, then her dad.
Reluctantly, Tori had pulled away and grabbed her bag. He was out of the car in an instant, popping the trunk. They’d loaded her bags into the Impala, another uncontested request he’d asked of his dad. He held the door for her, waiting until she got in to close it.
As soon as he slid into the passenger seat, he pulled her close. Tori had fallen into his arms, silent sobs shuddering through her body. With one arm around her, Dean drove them to the airport.
She must have fallen asleep at some point along the way because as Dean pulled up to the drop off lane he had to say her name softly to rouse her. Slowly, like her body was chained down with weights, did she pull away. The bags felt heavier than when they had put them in the car, and one caught on the rim as if it also didn’t want her to go.
“I knew it’d be hard.” Tori sniffled, eyes rimmed with red. “But I didn’t think it would be this hard.”
“I know.” Dean murmured, pulling her into a bear hug.
She wasn’t that much shorter than him, maybe a head in difference, but his arms still wrapped around her, holding her so close like he was trying to absorb her into his body.
And still, she reciprocated, her arms tight around him so much so he thought she might crack a rib. Not that he would care. He’d gladly endure the pain if it meant sparing her some. It’d be one more reminder of her, something he’d cling to in the moments when he missed her.
He took the time to breathe her in, cementing her into his memory. They’d already agreed that he’d come visit, and that she would try to be home for Christmas.
But in the meantime, it meant no more coffee in the mornings, no more late-night dates at the drive-in, no more seeing her around the shop. It was gonna be Hell. So he hugged her tighter.
“It’s gonna be okay, Sweetheart.” He said into her hair, his lips brushing against the crown of her head. “I’m so proud of you.”
Tori pulled her head away from where she’d smushed her face into his chest, and he had to keep his knees from buckling at the way her eyes were glassed over with tears. She leaned up and Dean met her half way.
The kiss was all-consuming, mouths pressed tightly together. She kissed him like it was the end of the world and it was the only thing to stop the Armageddon.
When the kiss finally broke, when she finally pulled away, did the tears start. It was a prick at the corners of his eyes, a lump in his throat that made it impossible to breathe. But he didn’t stop them. He let them roll in fat droplets down his cheeks.
“I love you so damn much Tori.” He whispered, voice thick and almost cracking.
“I love you too, Dean. No matter where I go, no matter what state, or country or universe we’re in.”
Dean smiled, a joke on his lips. “Even in a galaxy far far away?”
Tori snorted a laugh, sniffing back her own tears. “Even then.”
He pulled her into a hug, this one brief. One last time having her in his arms. But then he did the thing two months ago he wasn’t sure he was capable of.
He let her go.
Dean handed her her bags and watched her walk into the airport. She turned back once, waving and blowing him a kiss. But then she was gone, disappearing through the doors.
On unsteady legs he made his way back to the door, sliding into the car. And through tear-blurred vision, he started the Impala up and made his way back home.
Please like, reblog and/or comment if you enjoyed! Feedback is encouraged!
Tags/Warnings: Angst with a capital A, Hurt/No Comfort, Violence, John Winchester and his physical/psychological abuse towards Dean, depictions of said abuse, a lil make-out sesh but no smut, a hint of spiciness but again nothing explicit (the line is thin), tickling, mentions of spit, Dual POV, No use of Y/N
Summary: Working at a library means you see a lot of characters coming through. But after you bump into a devastatingly handsome man, Dean, you fall head over heels. Too bad you aren't the most important thing in his life (as much as he wants to you be)
Word Count: 5k
Author's Note: Title and fic inspired by Strangers by Kenya Grace. I'm trying to write more x Reader fics so let me know what you think! Fun fact, I listen to all the bands I mention in this.
This fulfills the "Bitter Ending" prompt for @jacklesversebingo '24 and the "Right Person, Wrong Time" prompt for @anyfandomgoesbingo
Side note—I DO NOT condone AI usage. I only just recently found out how to use em-dashes and apparently they are signs of AI??? I can't believe I have to say this but I do NOT use AI in any form of my writing.
Dividers: (In Order of Appearance) Line Divider 1 by @olenvasynyt Line Divider 2 by @omi-resources SPN Divider by @talesmaniac89
Tag List: @zepskies
We’ve been here too long.
At least that’s what Dad keeps grumbling to himself as we sit in the library in Jefferson City. It’s my first time in Missouri, at least that I can remember, and Dad is too focused on finding the thing that killed Mom to allow himself or me to really enjoy it. Uncle Bobby called just over two months ago, telling Dad about some lead here.
So here we are, stuck in this stuffy library while Dad and I rifle through books on monster lore.
Though, his bad mood isn’t just attributed to the complete lack of evidence. I look at the empty seat next to me, where Sammy should be. But no, he went off to Stanford almost 3 months ago, abandoning me and Dad and the search for the thing that killed mom. Something hot and tight curled tightly in my chest. My nostrils flared as I let out a short, frustrated breath. Sammy gets to go off and play lawyer while I’m stuck here with-
“Dean.” Dad’s voice cuts through my inner monologue causing a twinge of fear to wash over me, going as quickly as it came. I stared off into space too long apparently. “Focus, son. We need to get through these last books then we’re outta here.”
I muttered a confirmation, turning my eyes back to the book on the table in front of me, the pages soft at the edges, small water stains freckled the pages. A near empty notebook sat beside me, blue pen with a badly chewed cap stuck onto its end. It was one of many bad habits I’d never been able to kick. I ducked my head, pretending to scan the book on the table in front of me, but none of the ink printed on the pages registered.
The thing was, I didn’t want to leave, at least not yet. Her eyes flashed in my mind’s eye, the unique hue of them, the way her hair tended to fall in front of them. Her perfume was stuck in my nose, having gotten a breathful when I leaned down to help her pick up her books. We’d bumped into each other as I was trying to keep up with Dad as he hustled his way up the stairs to the library when we’d gotten here.
Now, I had to admit, it didn’t take much to turn my head. But this girl, she was something different. It wasn’t the fast and hard lust that often came over me when flirting with the waitresses and bartenders and the odd witness on a hunt. This was different, new. And If I was being honest, I wasn’t sure how to feel about it. The way she smiled so softly made my heart ache. I wished I didn’t have to leave, but I had a job to do.
Speaking of which…
“C’mon, son. Library’s closing soon.” Dad grumbled, checking his watch before starting to pack up our things, books included. We had a whole stack of library cards stashed for this very reason. They came in handy for late nights or, on very rare occasions, when Dad found a book he just had to have. In those cases, they were just never returned and the library called a dead number associated with a fake name and a false address.
As I stood, my phone buzzed in my pocket. I knew it wasn’t Sammy. He hadn’t reached out in months after we got into a fight. He’d told me he was gonna stay in Stanford over the summer break, and that he’d moved in with his girlfriend. Jess or Jane or something. A knowing grin spread across my face, accompanied by a warm, almost stifling feeling growing in my chest. I didn’t dare check it right then.
Only once me and Dad made it back to the motel room and put in a delivery order. Guilt took millions of nibbling bites at me, both on behalf of leaving her waiting for a reply, and on the fact I was distracted from what I should be doing. I looked over at Dad, his frame slumped on one of the patterned chairs, weary eyes trained on some cop procedural show playing on the box TV. He was already two long necks in, a third tipped back nearly half gone.
I eased my phone out of my pocket, seeing her message. I get off work in an hour. Want to take me driving?
An instinctual smile tugged at my lips. She knows me well. I checked my watch, seeing she’d be getting off of work right about now. I looked over at Dad, causing a daunting, dark cloud growing and eclipsing the light and airy feeling that manifested from her message. The way his posture, even three drinks in, was rigid, his grip on the bottle just a little too tight.
My hand drifted to my cheek, not fully of my own volition and I could feel the detachment start. It was still slightly tender. A kind of dull flat itch when I touched it or layed too long on that side. Last time I checked, there was still faint discoloration there, mostly faded to blend in amongst the smattering of freckles across my face.
It was a night not unlike this one. I’d said the wrong thing on the wrong night. Pushed him too hard. Distantly I could feel that floaty feeling flood around me, like I was back there, feeling the weight of his ring-clad hand crack across my face. Feel my body reel back, nearly falling to the ground with the force behind the blow. Warm blood trickled from my nose and the small cuts courtesy of the silver bands on his fingers where they’d torn into my face.
Then, it was like I was dropped from a great height, the way I suddenly snapped back to the motel room. A fog that had been lifted and everything was clear again, only the ghost of an ache was left of the memory.
These moods indicated a quiet violence, one I had twenty something years to learn the signs, learn how to redirect the drunken anger from Sammy. Now, with Sammy gone, I had less reasons, less excuses to dodge his fists and the words that stung nearly as much. The tried and true method? Get. The fuck. Out. Preferably silently and without trouble. But that was more wishful thinking than it was an expectation.
Pick you up at your place? I texted back, not waiting long before seeing her reply with the affirmative.
With one eye on Dad, I tucked my phone into my pocket before standing. I managed to throw on my jacket, palm the keys to the car and make it nearly to the door before Dad’s voice booming at me stopped me in my tracks.
“Where do you think you’re going?”
My heart dropped, an icy shot sent my spine ramrod straight. I prepared myself for whatever was about to come. A physical blow, a verbal lashing, both? Even in my twenties, Dad a few short years from fifty, he still could look me square in the eye. No matter how many times I told myself I’d never let him lay hands on me again, it just kept happening.
“Out.” I said, hating the way it came out meekly.
“Not with my car you’re not.”
“You gave it to me.”
“Not to use to go screw whores and skip out on the job.” Dad’s voice started to raise and out of the corner of my eye I could start to see his hands clench into fists.
“I’m not twelve anymore, Dad.” I argued back, willing myself to stand straighter and not cower beneath his burning gaze. “You can’t just boss me around like this.”
“Or what?” There was a deadly quiet edge to Dad’s rebuttal and the little kid in me started to tremble, knowing I’d fucked up.
I blinked and then I was sent crashing back into the wall, my head bouncing painfully off the tackily wallpapered drywall. Dad had his hands fisted in the edges of my flannel and jacket, his face just inches from mine, spittle flying off his lips.
“Or what!” His eyes were wild with fury, his breath a hot cloud stinking of alcohol. “Answer me!”
He slammed me back into the wall hard enough I saw stars for a second, as if he thought it would get me to talk. I mustered every bit of mettle I possessed, my nostrils flaring as I stared him down.
“Or I walk.” I wasn’t even entirely convinced of my statement even as it came out of my mouth. “I-I’ll search for the thing on my own. Hell, maybe I’ll go try my hand at an apple pie life just like Sammy.”
I saw Dad’s anger flare, saw the thought of striking me pass him. But no, he was too mad for that. With a shove, he pushed off of me, stepping back.
“Be my fucking guest.” He sneered as I pushed away from the wall, grabbing my bag from my bed. “You’ll be back. We don’t survive out there. We hunt, or we die.”
I tried to ignore him the best I could as I shoved what little I’d unpacked back into my bag, b-lining it for the door.
“You walk out that door,” Dad called after me as I opened the door. “You’re no son of mine.”
And with that, some part of me didn’t care as I slammed the motel room door behind me.
You were standing outside your apartment building when the familiar rumble of Dean’s Impala met your ears. He pulled up, and it was almost like as soon as the car was in park, he was there grinning brightly, opening the passenger door for you.
“Sorry I’m late.” He murmured to you as you passed by him, pressing a kiss to his cheek before climbing into the car.
“It’s alright.” You responded once Dean had hustled back around the front of the car and sliding back in behind the wheel. “It took me longer to get ready than I anticipated so you would have been waiting on me anyway.”
You roll your window down as Dean pulls away from in front of the apartment building, driving off down the road. Stealing a glance over at him as he drove, the tension in his jaw, the way his hands gripped the steering wheel of his beloved car just a little too tightly was not lost on you. Neither was the faint bruise on his cheek.
He hadn’t told you what, exactly, he did for work. At one point, within the first days of you meeting, he vaguely described something that sounded like traveling sales; but sometimes, on the few occasions he talked further in detail about it, it read more like pest control. You’d be lying if you said you weren't curious, and perhaps a little concerned. Except every attempt at clarification ended in subtle redirection.
What you did know, via reading between the lines, was that whatever he did was with his dad. Dean’s dad, you also deduced, was a huge source of his stress.
Zeppelin played low in the background from a cassette Dean had popped into the stereo, serving as a backdrop as he asked you to tell him about your day. You provided him details of your job, a circulation desk receptionist. Occasionally you’d bitch about your mildly infuriating coworker who never spelled your name right in their emails despite having worked with them for over a year now.
Your ranting was slowly dying down when Dean pulled off the highway and onto one of the access roads. The Impala rumbled over the dirt coming to a stop in a little clearing not far from the main drag. One side was rows and rows of soybeans and the stretch of turf between you and the road was a sea of tall grass. A large oak stood alone with limbs that arched over the clearing, the waning moonlight filtering through the leaves.
“Seriously, it’s in my salutations. And it’s in my email address. Open your fucking eyes, it’s not that hard.” You finished with a huff as Dean set the car in park.
“Common sense seems to be runnin’ in short supply these days, huh?” Dean threw his arm over the back of the seat, resting partially on your shoulders.
“Yeah.” the word was said in a sigh that kept the word dragging. “Yeah it is. But that’s not the point of tonight.”
“Sweetheart, you could talk about all the things that don’t make any sense to me and I’d still listen for as long as you’d let me.”
That grin. Fuck did it make your heart beat wildly. Pair that with the warmth radiating from his arm slung halfway over your shoulders, and you were having to make a conscious effort to keep your thoughts straight. A hot flush grew in your cheeks and you ducked your head a bit. The loose threads in your shorts had all of a sudden become very interesting as you picked and tugged at them
“I doubt you wouldn’t be able to figure out what I’m saying.” You uttered after a second, trying to sort through the rush of things to say, figuring out how to follow that. “You’re pretty smart, you’d be able to figure it out and keep up.”
Evidently, you’d picked the right response judging by the way his confident facade turned sheepish—bashful, even. He was smart. He played dumb, writing off his intelligence and not out of modesty. You guessed it had something to do with the too-cool image he presented as a front.
He’d tried that when you first started talking, but the more you got to know him—the more he got to know you, that facade slowly dropped, leaving a dorky and very smart man in its wake. You much preferred the latter.
“You give me too much credit.” His voice had lost that cocky edge, something more vulnerable creeping in.
“Nah, I give you the credit you deserve D.”
“C’mere.”
The arm that laid halfway over your back and shoulders curled tighter, pulling you to him. He was always gentle with you, something that had been a surprise given his rebel-without-a-cause exterior that made it seem like he should be spending more time in a dive bar than he did in a library.
But maybe he did. You didn’t know.
You didn’t particularly care, not when his lips captured yours. Immediate reciprocity was your reaction, kissing him back as you melted further into him. His hand found your hip, warmth radiating from his palm through your shorts, squeezing gently. You hummed into his mouth, the sound spurring him to do it again.
Sweeping your tongue into his mouth, you deepened the kiss. A little spark of pride within you was triggered as Dean let out a groan as you did so, his fingers gripping the denim of your shorts, the other hand sliding up into your hair to cradle the back of your neck.
The kiss was all tongue and teeth, both his and your hands exploring across each others bodies. The hard planes of his chest and abdomen slid under your palms. His hand on your hips traveled north, sliding under your t-shirt to rest skin on skin; the cool metal of his rings were an added difference in sensations as they pressed against your waist.
Unfortunately, you needed to breathe, which meant breaking the rhythm of your lips. As you reluctantly pulled away from him, a thin tendril of your mixed saliva stretched between the inches of space you'd given yourself to breath. It broke off, snapping back against Dean’s lips and part of his chin like a bungee cord.
That man was gonna be the death of you, the way his hand left your hair and swiped the spit from his chin and lips and sucked it off them all the while keeping white hot eye contact with you. His coke-bottle green eyes had been nearly eclipsed by how blown out his pupils were. You were sure yours were too.
Both of you had barely caught your breath before his hands were back on your hips, tugging you towards him. With some maneuvering you managed to settle into his lap. In the process you’d hit your head no less than 5 times and had bumped the steering wheel with your ass, causing the horn to beep at you, sending both of you into a fit of laughter
“That was smooth.” You snorted, scooting closer to him and away from the wheel.
Dean still grinned up at you, unphased by your snafu. “Shit happens.”
You hummed a noncommittal answer that could have been in agreement as you rested your forearms on the back of the seat, leaning in and brushing your lips against his once more. In this position, Dean had both hands firmly on your waist, fingers creeping under your shirt. They didn’t move upwards much past there, content on just resting under the cotton.
As you kissed him, you could almost feel some of the tension dispel from him. He became less rigid, and even though you both breathed hot and heavy he still took air in and out easier than he had when he picked you up at the beginning of the night.
Solace. Dean seemed to find it in you whether it was like this, with his lips on yours and hands roaming across each other's bodies, or if it was in the domesticity of watching Tombstone while eating take out pizza in your bed. In times like the latter, you watched with soft amusement as he would quote lines to you as if he had the script in front of him. Another of his quirks that just made you want to know him more, that wanted him to tell you more.
You carded your fingers through his hair, dragging the blunts of your nails softly against his scalp. In turn, your skin grew goosebumps as Dean’s fingertips traced across your skin. It didn’t quite tickle, but you knew for damn sure you didn’t want him to stop it. A sound almost like a purr rumbled from your throat and you could have died of embarrassment. His answering low laugh against your mouth had you nipping at his lower lip before sucking it harshly.
But this time he did tickle you, wiggling his fingers against your side. Instantly, you pulled away, a shriek ripping from your kiss-swollen lips. Your head collided with the roof, but Dean didn’t relent. Flinching back so hard you fell back partially against the wheel, it honked at you once more, almost in insult. A string of expletives followed as you were trapped between Dean’s teasing and the steering wheel.
“I yield! I yield!” You were nearly in tears via uncontrollable laughter.
Thankfully, Dean accepted your white flag, returning his hands to a neutral position on your hips. Chest heaving as you sucked in breath, you rolled your head side to side, arching your back in a stretch you sighed.
“As much fun as I’m having,” You grumbled, pressing a kiss to the side of his mouth. “I think this party should move beyond the driver's seat of your car. Fucking cramped up here.”
“I think that’s a good idea.” Dean snickered. “Poor Baby here has been battered enough.”
Your jaw dropped, eyes going wide in an incredulous look. You smacked his chest with the back of your hand. Rolling off his lap and into the passenger seat, you hid the amusement pulling at your lips. “Asshole.”
Dean chuckled, reaching across the space between you, laying a hand on your knee. His thumb rubbed the side of it in languid sweeps. “I’m just playin’, Sweetheart.”
“I know.” You pressed your knee into his hand, encouraging him to continue.
As Dean started the Impala up, pulling back off the access road and onto the main drag, you grabbed the shoe box that was overflowing with cassette tapes. Flipping through them, you read the names on each one. Some you knew, and listened to frequently: Metallica, Motley Crue, Black Sabbath, AC/DC. Others you’d heard of, but not listened to, like Motorhead, Quiet Riot and Van Halen. And of course there was an abundance of Zeppelin.You plucked the …And Justice For All cassette, one of your favorite Metallica albums.
Dean nodded as you ejected the previous Zeppelin cassette and replaced it with your selection. “Good choice. Though house rules say I get to pick the music, I think I’ll let it slide for you.”
“Why thank you.” You tapped your finger against the windowsill in time with the first song.
“Hey,” Dean spoke after a few minutes, both of you sitting and listening to the music. “When we get to your place, mind if I crash there for the night.”
Your brows furrowed, tilting your head inquisitively. “Of course. Is-is everything okay?”
“Yeah, yeah. Things with my dad aren’t great at the moment and I can’t go back there right now.”
You nodded, unsure of what to say, so you said nothing at all. Instead, you slid your fingers between his hand and where it was still resting on your knee. Sliding your hand into his, interlocking your fingers, you gave it a squeeze. His answering squeeze was all you needed to know that he got the message.
That would explain the tension that had him wound up tighter than a garage door spring, the absent, distant look he had when he drove you out to the field, and now as he was driving you back. Why he was late picking you up.
The rest of the drive back to your apartment was uneventful. Dean had fallen silent and you knew better than to push, respecting that boundary that he didn’t need to speak out loud to set in place. It had been an easy quiet, just the two of you and the music.
At one point in the drive it had started raining. Lightly at first, but by the time Dean pulled into the spot you directed him to park in, the sky had opened up and it was pouring down rain. In the twenty foot run from the car to the front of the apartment building, both of you were thoroughly soaked.
You more so than Dean, his leather jacket shielding his upper body from the downpour. But as soon as you made it up to your apartment on the second floor, he shook his head, which in your mind likened him to a German Shepherd. In the process, he was spraying water everywhere, including on you.
You giggled, putting your hands up to block the droplets, though it was a moot point. He had the gall to look sheepish, even though the glint in his eyes suggested that it was very much intentional. After showing him where the bathroom was, letting him change out of his wet clothes, you moved into your bedroom. You shucked off your wet clothes, hanging them over a chair to dry a little before throwing them in the hamper.
Not long after you’d shimmied into a pair of soft sweat pants and t-shirt and climbed into your bed, Dean padded sock-footed into your room, his hair still damp but otherwise dry. You couldn’t help but stare. It was a side of him you hadn’t seen of him before.
Dressed only in boxers and a black henley that hung loose over his frame, it was a far cry from how he usually presented himself. The only way you’d seen him dressed was in that armor that consisted of jeans, flannels and that leather jacket. He looked…soft.
It didn’t register that he said anything until you heard him call your name. You blinked, blushing knowing you’d been caught.
“Hmm? Sorry.”
“I said, you could take a picture. It’ll last longer.”
You rolled your eyes, but it wasn’t a half bad idea. You leaned over to the nightstand by your bed. You rummaged around until your fingers grazed smooth metal. Whirling around, before Dean had a chance to react, you raised up the small camera, taking a picture.
The flash caught him by surprise, his head jerking back. But, still, he just shook his head with a closed-lipped smile. “Course you’d have a camera on standby.”
“What can I say? I am full of surprises.”
Dean hummed in acknowledgement as he slowly started walking over to the bed. Sleep wore heavily on him, like as soon as he let his guard down enough to relax all the weight that he carried manifested. You knew what that was like, keeping yourself busy enough to forget the hard things, to distract from all the doubts and insecurities that would otherwise play on repeat like a radio.
The bed dipped beside you under his weight. He settled in, pulling the covers over himself. An ache sprung in your chest as you saw that he appeared hesitant, gingerly handling the sheets, hunching his shoulders like he was trying to shrink himself.
“Dean.” You said softly.
Sliding down to lay on your side, you beckoned him to come lay beside you. He murmured your name, a weak protest against the vulnerability. Arms still open, you didn’t budge. If he truly didn’t want to lay here that close, then you wouldn’t force him.You didn’t think you could force him to do anything, even if you wanted to. But you knew that look, and maybe you didn’t know all the details, but you didn’t need to.
That mental tether frayed, then snapped, and with a breath Dean shifted over allowing you to wrap your arms around his wide torso. His breath ghosted across your skin as he buried his face in the crook where your neck met your shoulder. One of your hands threaded through his hair in slow strokes, the other making small circles on the small of his back.
His arms wound around your waist, clinging to you. You welcomed it, the feeling of his body against yours. He was so warm, and you felt safe. Logically, probably you shouldn’t, having only known him for 2 months, but you did. It was like nothing could hurt you here. Some sneaking feeling said he felt the same. The way he leaned into your touch, like a silent request to continue.
So you did, until his warm breath against your neck slowed and evened out. But even in sleep his grasp on you never faltered. To the steady rhythm of his breathing, and the warmth of his body pressed against yours, you let your eyes close, falling into the embrace of sleep, hoping that maybe in your dreams he’d be there too.
The cellphone buzzing in my pocket was unnaturally heavy. Guilt, regret, shame, all of them were like rocks dropped in my pocket to sink me down into the depths of all the things I knew would keep me up at night for decades to come.
I knew it was her. She’d already sent me more texts than I cared to think too long about and even more calls. The last one I read before becoming unable to look at them anymore said Please, just let me know you’re okay. I could see the tears in the letters, feel her pain in each word, regret slamming into me over and over.
It took everything for me to not text her back, to let her know I was okay, but I knew if I did that, it wouldn’t be a clean break. She deserved a clean break, a clean cut. Clean cuts always healed easier, left nicer scars, if any at all.
Dad hadn’t been hard to find. I knew he’d be at the little breakfast nook down the street from the motel getting his coffee, black, and a sandwich. We were on the road again. He had praised me when I met him at the diner. Said I’d made the right decision. It made me sick, so much so that I didn’t dare get anything to eat or drink outside of a bottle of water.
I wasn’t so sure it was the right decision, though. But that entire night, even curled up next to her I couldn’t stop seeing all the monsters, seeing the flames engulf Sammy’s nursery, then the house. I had a job to do, if not for Dad, not for myself or Sam, then for Mom.
I started as a knock came from the window. Dad stood outside, his GMC parked next to mine. He held a hand up, making a thumbs up gesture. I nodded, giving one back before starting Baby up. The purr of her engine comforted me some, but nowhere near the degree I needed it to. Baby was more of a home than one made of brick and mortar; the leather upholstery had cradled my head more than a proper pillow ever had, and probably ever would.
My phone buzzed again, and again I ignored it. I couldn’t subject her to this life. I knew too much, had too much I needed to do. She deserves better—a person with a stable job that pays in money and not in bruises and cuts. This was my life, and as much as I hated to acknowledge it, Dad was right. Chances were I would die in this life, on a hunt, taken out by some creature that was only real to most people in their nightmares.
So, I shifted Baby into drive, following Dad out of the parking lot. We’d never come back here to Jefferson City. We never hit a city twice. And as we passed by the library on the way out, some part of me hoped to catch a glimpse of her, a reminder that no matter how much I wanted out, I wanted something more.
But I didn’t, and somehow, that fit. Because she was the right person, but there’d never be the right time. Not for me.
I stayed up way too late to get this published. Please like and reblog if you enjoyed this. Feedback is encouraged!
This is the re-write of "Ties in Blood" I've been putting off for the past couple years.
Aeryn Malone is a nursing student at a major Michigan college when she's suddenly introduced to the supernatural world.
“Hey, Emily,” I greeted as I dumped my class books onto my cluttered dorm desk.
Exhaustion crept through my body as I reminded myself that I had work in about forty five minutes. Third year nursing classes were kicking my ass. I wasn’t sure what drove me into taking the nursing program at the Southeast Michigan college. Yet here I was working my way through college. A fleeting thought of calling my brother passed through my mind.
“Hey, Aeryn. Harper called a floor meeting soon. She wanted to make sure we’re all here for it.”
“For what? We’re half way through September already.”
“You’ve heard about the animal attacks, right?”
There had been a few bodies found in the trails and parks in the city that surrounded the university. Reports from the city officials and police said that the victims were missing their hearts and nothing else. No one knew what animal in the area that could take down a fully grown human and just take the heart.
“What about it?” I asked, half knowing what it was about the animal attacks.
“Probably has new safety things for us to follow,” Emily said.
Any hope of a shower had gone out the window thanks to the floor meeting Harper wanted to have. A quick wash at the sink and putting on some makeup would have to do. I pulled out my make up bag and shuffled through it and decided on little make up due to the time. Enough to make me look less tired. My icy blue eyes reflected back in the mirror. My skin was pale despite the late summer sun. Too many hours indoors for classes and laboratory work. No amount of make up would cover up how tired I was.
“Come on,” Emily called when I finished with the makeup.
“Hold up.” I stepped out of the bathroom. “I’m nearly ready.”
Back in the room, I pulled out a women’s v cut shirt for work that show enough cleavage to be flirty and slipped off the men’s shirt I’ve worn all day. A number of patrons at the bar I worked at seemed to respond with flirting if I wore clothes that flatter my figure.
Emily was at the door when I finished dressing. We left the room and made our way down to the common area where other women our age had gathered.
“Okay, everyone,” Harper called over the general chattering of the dozen or so women. “I know you all have plans this evening, but this is important. The University is stressing the òimportance of being careful when going out at night. We don’t know what sort of animal is causing the maulings, so whenever you all go out at night, do your best to travel in groups. If you cannot do that, tell anyone in this group where you’re going and how long you may be gone for. Let anyone know when you’re on the way home from work or the library or classes. Understood?”
There was a gathering of nods or acknowledgements.
“Alright,” Harper finished. “Be careful out there and be aware of your surroundings.”
The group of floor mates started to disperse and talking about the new guidelines while Emily and I worked our way back to our own room.
“Any idea what the creature is?” Emily asked when we walked back in.
I shook my head. “I doubt that there’s any animals that are big enough to take down a fully grown human or would just take the hearts and nothing else. I don’t know any creature that could do that. Do you?”
Emily shook her head.
I gathered my bag and ensured that I had everything in it before heading for the door.
“I’m off to work. I should be back around ten.”
With my bag in hand, I made my way out of the dorm building and out onto the street. I melded into the crowds of students that were out after a long day of classes. A number of them seemed to have the air of being at the university on their parents’ money. I’ve had students like that in the bar and I refused to serve them. If the students had an issue with being denied service, I would call over a bouncer and have them escort the student out.
Getting to the back door of the building, I saw a couple of the cooks sitting nearby while sharing a joint. I waved in greeting before going in. Taking the elevator down to the kitchen and cutting through to get to the landing, I dumped my bag on the top of the cabinets.
“Hey, Aeryn,” Tami called from the top of the stairs.
“Hey.” I came up into the server area to see Tami and Nikki there. I ducked out into the sitting area and over to a computer monitor and pulled up the clock to clock in.
“Did you hear about the animal attacks?” Nikki asked when I returned to the server area.
I nodded. “Yeah. My RA had a quick meeting before I came here about it. Basically travel in groups or communicate with our dormmates about where we’re going and when we might be back.”
We all eventually dove into serving people. The shift went by quickly enough and there weren’t anyone I did not have to remove. At the end, I cashed out and collected my bag. With a quick text to Emily on the way out, I started to make my way back to the dorm building.
The streets were relatively quiet on the walk back. There was a small breeze that ruffled the leaves. I swore there was a noise on that breeze I could not place at first. It came around again and that time it sounded like a howl. My heart started racing and adrenaline flooded my system. I fought against the urge to run back to the dorm building. If it was a predator, it would be a bad idea to run.
As I turned a corner, I saw a large body on four legs and feeding on a prone body. My own body froze in fear. I stood there for a few moments before noping out of the area. I turned in that weird calm way and started back down the street. There was another way I could take to get back to the dorms.
My hands fumbled a little as I reached for my keys to unlock the main door for the dorm building. I double checked that the door was closed and locked behind me once I was inside. That thing was not a normal creature. Definitely too large for a normal wolf, and there were no wolves in the area. Coyotes, yes. Definitely not wolves.
Emily was passed out on her bed with a class book and study papers before her. I left her to sleep while I gathered things for a shower. The thought of studying passed through my head as the hot water washed over my exhausted body.
Author: ShoshannaRose
Summary: Even before the Apocalypse began, there were whispers about John Winchester's boys. By the time the Gates of Hell are closed, the Winchester brothers become every hunter's living legend and every monster's horror story.
Rating: Not Rated
Word Count: 5,577
Authors: birdsofthesoul & PlaidIsTheBestPattern
Summary: A series of posts made by various Supernatural characters on a popular Reddit forum called r/AmItheAsshole where users go to ask other redditors to judge which party is the asshole in a dispute.
Judgements include: YTA = "You're the asshole", NAH = "No assholes here", NTA = "Not the asshole", and ESH = "Everyone sucks here".
The plots of these fics are not connected unless they are part of the same multi-chapter work. Each work in the series stands on its own.
Rating: Varying between General Audiences, Teen And Up Audiences, Explicit
Word Count: 49,760
Author: noviembre
Summary: Whoever is answering the phone as "FBI Assistant Director Robert Harvelle," she really hopes they come through for her, because her handcuff-slipping skills are definitely not up to par yet.
The hunting community, after the apocalypse-that-never-happened.
Rating: General Audiences
Word Count: 6,931
Author: ImYourHoneyBee
Summary: The bartender gives an amused snort, “You never know. He’s kind of a dorky little guy for an angel.”
That snatches Avery’s attention back from the graceful swoop of Corra’s neck, “You’ve met him?”
“Once or twice,” he says and turns to greet the dark-haired guy, who joins him behind the bar. His tone doesn’t change much, but any idiot with eyes can see how his posture softens when the guy steps in close, “Heya, sunshine. We were just talkin’ about whether or not the Winchesters retired or not.”
Suptober Day 11 - Epic
Rating: General Audiences
Word Count: 2,111
Author: cowboydeanwinchester
Summary: Dean started working at a local auto repair shop in Lebanon, Kansas about a year ago. His coworkers don't know much about him. Except that he has a wife. Or maybe he doesn't. But he has a kid. Who is either a toddler or a high schooler. Who is either named Jack or Sammy. He also might have a best friend named Cas, but that also might be his wife.
Truth is nobody knows what to make of Dean.
In universe, where nobody dies and Cas and Dean get domestic and Dean doesn't realize the mental hoola-hoops he's causing his coworkers to work through.
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Word Count: 4,016
Author: @mulletbro
Summary: Honestly, Dean's never had great birthdays. Sometimes he gets something nice- the Impala when he was 18, for example. But normally his birthday kind of blows.
or
Five times Dean had a shitty birthday and one time he finally got everything he wanted.
Rating: General Audiences
Word Count: 5,018
This is mostly a character analysis of Dean Winchester using Pokemon. I spent way too long trying to pick out the right mons for how I view Dean and his character over the whole show.
This is less "pokemon I think Dean would pick" and more "Pokemon I feel represent Dean" and then reasons for him to have them. I'm 1000% ignoring region and what's catchable in Unova (the America based region). I'm going purely off of pokedex entries, species lore, and vibes. This is somewhere between fanfic, world building, and character analysis. It kind of gets all mixed together.
For this world I'm going with the idea of two groups of people fighting each other over some sort of god pokemon- those would be equal to heaven and hell. Michael is the leader of the heaven-allegory team and Lucifer is the leader of the hell one. Chuck is still their father- but he's fucked off to drink with Arceus, or something like that. An absent father. Angels like Gabriel or Cas deflecting would be them leaving the group- Changing their pokemon teams to distance themselves. There'll be more on the Heaven/Hell teams when I do Cas' list of pokemon and my nonsense there.
To start with, Mary was accidentally killed in some sort of attack/battle between the two groups. John, being John, decided to become a bounty hunter/cop of some sort and travel around with his boys trying to get revenge. Dean ended up falling into that life, but Sam wanted something different (He probably wanted to be a professor or something. Does Pokemon have lawyers? Who knows), and got out. He gets dragged back in by Dean and they go off and join a third group that's formed to keep the peace (the Hunters. Possibly led by Bobby or Ellen or someone like that. John was not part of the group because he does not believe in working with others). It eventually ends up under Sam's leadership.
I'm sticking with a team of six to make things consistent if I decide to do other characters/people want other characters. Six is also my favorite number, so it works out well. My own personal challenge is to not give someone my favorite pokemon just because it's my favorite (Raichu). I'm trying to write them in the order he got them/got their base form. For Dean, I put the species and then their name. Because he very much names his pokemon. Then my rambling reasoning for my choices, followed by how I think he got the pokemon.
I feel like Dean never properly catches any of his pokemon. He just accidentally gathers them up and they adopt him like he adopts them. I think a bit part of his character is how easily he gets close to others- how easily he seems to make friends and allies. There are some characters he has pretty deep relationships with that are only in like, four episodes. And I forget that because the relationship always feels deeper than just a handful of time spent together (Claire, Kirssy, Garth, Benny, etc etc.) A lot of his character is about the connections he manages to make.
One Pokemon you're not gonna see on this list is Cubone.
Like, I get it. It's the dead mom pokemon. It's a shoe-in for both Winchester's team, it's their whole reason for getting into hunting in the show- the dead mom and obsessive dad.
With that being said, I don't think Dean's dead mom is one of the most important parts of his characterization. It's very important to his backstory and how he was raised- but that doesn't necessarily make it a big part of his characterization. Backstory and identity/characterization are tied together, but different people are going to put different emphasis on their history, and, to me, Dean's mostly got the idea of helping people from how he was raised.
Cubone is all about revenge and sorrow for it's missing mother, but it never feels like that's how Dean gets about it. He hunts because he was raised in it and he wants to help people. His motivation never really feels like it's all about hunting down Mary's killer. That's John's motivation more than anything. Hunting down Jess' killer becomes Sam's motivation in season 1. But it never really feels like Dean's. Dean wants acceptance, love, and to help people. Even as far back as Season 1. He wants to find his missing dad, he wants to help people as he does that. He wants his dad to be proud of him. He wants a relationship with Sam. He wants Sam to be proud of him. None of that really feels like a revenge-driven motivation.
The few times Dean wants to get back at someone- actually hurt them, it's mostly during the mark of Cain arc. Even when he wants to find Bela, it's never really a single-minded search for her. In Changing Channels he mentions he's wanted to kill "the Trickster" since the mystery spot- but once again it's not the single minded focus that Sam gets when thinking about revenge. I just don't think cubone fits Dean's character when you look closely at it. It might end up on Sam's list- but I just don't think it belongs on Dean's.
So with that being said, enjoy.
Special Case: Revavroom (Baby)
There's a car pokemon. Yeah, it's gotta be there. I was going to put Baby onto Dean's proper team- but Baby was John's to start with. And while she's associated with Dean she's also Sam's car/home. She felt too special to just be a pokemon on Dean's team. As much as people joke about her being a Winchester…is it really a joke? So to compromise, she's John's old pokemon that he left with Dean (and Sam).
Sam and Dean take care of and travel with their dad's old Revavroom. She doesn't really belong to either brother- her pokeball was lost with John's death. She was John's only pokemon- he'd used to keep several but after Mary's death he abandoned all but the Revavroom. He would have gotten rid of her too, but she was a pokemon he got with Mary-one that she loved dearly- he couldn't make himself abandon her too.
She traveled with the Winchesters for their whole lives, carrying the boys when they were small, keeping guard over them when not with John. After John's death Sam and Dean told her she was welcome to leave (even if it would tear them apart), as she didn't belong to them and her pokeball was gone, but she loved the boys and stayed with them.
Dean is her main caretaker, and he's very protective of her- getting angry if Sam dares to try to put any kind of dumbass contest costume on her. "Baby is a lady. Get that shit off her". And Baby- enjoying that Dean gave her a name and love- agrees with a vroom vroom. If anything happens to Dean, she gets upset and tries her hardest to comfort Sam. Baby feels very maternal towards Sam and Dean, thinking of them as her children in a way. If Sam and Dean separate, she tends to stay with Dean over Sam. If Dean is away, she protects Sam as best she can (but does get annoyed about the weird costumes he tires to put her in).
Dean's Team of Six:
Appletun (Crumble)
Appletun was the second pokemon I thought of when choosing a team for Dean. I knew I had to give him at least one food based pokemon. Mostly because of how Dean constantly shows affection and love through giving or cooking food. We have flashback scenes of him feeding Sam as a child, making sure he got what he wanted. We see him in Season 8 and beyond being happy with the Bunker having a kitchen. Baking Jack a cake, making Sam his weird egg white omelet with chives on it, and his pride in making a good burger. Food is important to Dean's character, both in a 'he likes food' way and a 'food is affection and connection way'. Yes, he likes to eat, and food is a comfort to him. But it's also connection and affection.
As for why Appletun and not a different food-based pokemon, I chose it for two and a half reasons. One of them is that Dean loves pie. He'd choose a pie pokemon in a heartbeat. Appletun, canonically, can be eaten (Pokemon Shield: "Children used to eat it as a snack"), and sometimes Dean needs a sweet treat from his pokemon buddy. Dean "Don't forget the pie" Winchester would have a pie pokemon. My half reason is that, honestly, Appletun is a little goofy. He keeps his little eyes lowered like ears and wears an apple hat. And Dean, deep down, is also goofy. He likes puns and bad jokes! He has so much fun LARPing, he quotes movies. He likes cowboy movies! He can list facts about his favorite cowboys! He craves being a goofball (more than he sometimes is allowed). Appletun Is just a big goofy pie baby. He goes well with Dean being a big goofy pie baby (when allowed).
My other, real, reason for the Applin line is that in-game it's about connection. In Galar there's a whole thing about giving them as a gift to romantic partners and it helping the pair stay together. You have a side quest where you get two lovers Applins so they can trade them. While in game it's romantic- the idea of this food pokemon being a connection is so very Dean. So for a character that uses food to show connection, I wanted a pokemon that was all about connections.
My lore is that as a kid, Dean only heard that Applins were meant to be given to the most special person in your life, and that would keep you together always. Being young-around 8- Dean didn't realize quite what that meant- but Sam had been asking for a Pokemon for months and this would be perfect. Little Sammy was his most special person- his baby brother, plus Sam thought dragons were cool! That meant Applin was perfect! And he'd seen some in the forest outside town. So out Dean snuck-out to find an Applin for his brother. He had no pokeballs, no money, but a fucking dream. It took him hours of hitting trees, trying to tackle the dragons himself, and a lot of tears before he ended up just asking an Applin half-hidden in the grass if he'd be his brother's friend. Dean had walked out of the forest with a weird green Applin to give to Sam. He was so happy to have a friend to give his brother, he didn't notice the red applin that was following after him, clearly enamored by Dean's stubbornness in trying to fight a dragon with his own 8-year-old hands.
Sam, being overjoyed with his new shiny friend, went to go acquire a pokeball to officially catch the Applin (spoiler for if I ever do a Sam list). While doing that the shop worker noticed the other one following Dean and offered him a pokeball too (honestly, Sam didn't even need to use the puppy eyes, most pokemarts will just give kids a pokeball if they need one). Sam insisted on catching the one following Dean, that way he could give one to Dean like Dean gave him one. The applin agreed and allowed it to happen.
Later, after John came home, Dean defended the Applins to John- who wasn't very fond of pokemon anymore and didn't really want his kids to have them. But with both Dean and Sam having one, John felt he couldn't really take them away. Dean was a little embarrassed when he later learned that exchanging Applins was meant to be romantic- but he just declared that for them it was for brothers. For family.
Even when Sam had left to go to school (Or wherever he goes off to in Pokeworld), he'd still look at the Applin and think of Sam and their connection. When both of them broke the rules and stood up to John for something that was just for them. Something to remember the love between them. It evolved into Appletun during the years that Sam was off at where ever he is in Pokemon world.
Dean didn't actually mean to evolve his Applin. Dean was on his own for the first time- after Sam left John had followed after. He could finally start doing things that he wanted- 22 and finally able to be himself a little more. No John to judge him, no Sam to be a good role model for. He ended up slowly starting to spoil his pokemon- they deserved nice things and to be out of their Pokeballs more often (John hated it when the boys let the pokemon out. He hated seeing them). He was grabbing food for himself at a stall and his applin kept bumping into an apple on a display. Dean just shrugged and got it for her. Maybe she wanted a new apple to chill in? It turns out she was just trying to tell him she wanted to evolve- with the sweet apple so she could herself and what she was meant to be. He was glad that she was happy and could be herself (and a little glad about what it meant for him)
When he met back up with Sam both Dean's Appletun (Crumble) and Sam's Flapple (Pandowdy) refused to be separated for a good few hours, happy to be back together again. Both brothers pretended to be embarrassed about their pokemon, but really they'd missed each other like crazy. Even when the brothers fight, the apple siblings stay close together in solidarity. They don't want to be separated again.
(Years and years later he'd spend a few days finding another green Applin- it's gotta be fricken' special- to press into Cas' hands, mumbling something about 'part of the family' and 'shuudup and take it' with a blush on his cheeks.)
Sylveon (Bullet/Spitfire/Sweetheart)
Sylveon was another pokemon that I felt really strongly represents Dean. When I was making my list I went though and opened the ones I felt strongly about before going thought the dex and adding others that might work. Sylveon was one of the first pokemon I opened, I felt so strongly about it.
It might not be the first thing that comes to mind- mainly due to it's looks, but it just fits him. Sylveon was introduced in Gen VI when they added both fairy types and affection. To become Sylveon, an Eevee has to know a fairy move and have two levels of affection/love. That's the big reason I think it fits Dean. He's filled with love- an insane amount of love. He loves his brother, he loves his friends, he loves his dad even if John's done some fucked up shit, he loves almost all of the children he finds during cases, he loves Jody and Donna, he loves Ben and Claire like his own kids (He loves Jack, even if they had a rough start), he loved Benny (in whatever way you choose) who was a vampire he should have just used for help and then abandoned.
Like, insert Cas' entire confession speech here (and yes, Dean loved Cas, I didn't say it in the previous paragraph but like, do I have to?) Everything Dean did in the show was for love. He had enough love to break an angel's programming and help him break free of heaven. His love for his brother was enough to break Lucifer's hold on Sam to stop the end of the world. This man was created with so much love that it broke God's plan. If you cut him open, he would bleed love and pain (also blood). Him existing taught Cas to love, he broke an angel with the amount of love that's just radiating off of him. Like??
I feel that he'd love his pokemon the same. An intense amount of loyalty and love. Once he got one pokemon to truly take care of and love, he could not be stopped. The dam of love had broken and it was time to share it with any pokemon that he could bond with. At first he tried to pick pokemon that would be big and tough- that way they could help with John's revenge plot. Ones that would make John proud of him. But any time he tried to catch something it just didn't feel right. Actually using his Applin to fight felt odd, like it wasn't really meant to be. At least, not just random battles. He understood fighting to protect his brother, or to protect things smaller than him, but fighting for fighting's sake just wasn't him (at least not yet. Not that it would really ever be, but he wasn't into pretending it was just yet).
While walking back from an unsuccessful hunt for a pokemon John would approve of, he came across what looked like the tiniest Eevee he'd ever seen trying to attack Sandshrew. It wasn't doing very well- but the little thing was trying it's hardest. Before he could really think, Dean threw out Applin and attacked the ground type. The sandshrew ran off and he approached the eevee, who was now looking at the applin with suspicion. Dean sat next to the two pokemon and used his eight--years-of- wisdom and experience being a big brother to lecture the eevee about having to be smart if she was so small. That she needed to be careful and clever if she was going to go after people bigger then her. He told the little eevee that if she couldn't be smarter, then she needed a big brother to protect her while she learned- just like him and Sammy. He was clearly unaware that he'd just sold the eevee on becoming his new friend. So when he got up to leave he was shocked when she followed him.
He insisted that he wasn't good for her- his father would hate her and how small and weak she was. He stopped several times on the way home to tell her. He told her this when she jumped on his shoulder. He said it again when she nipped at his ear in annoyance. He told her again that she'd want someone else when she kept nuzzling where she bit his ear. He ended up returning to the temporary home with applin in her ball and an eevee on his shoulder,nipping at his ear and insisting on being caught. John was disappointed- to say the least. A runt eevee wasn't what he pictured his son having. Dean wanted to make his dad proud, but this little eevee was something else. Spunky and ready to take on the world. He'd already connected to it, so he accepted his new pokemon and declared she'd one day be an Umbreon- dark and dangerous. Perfect for what his dad wanted. He gave her the name Bullet, something that got a nod of approval from John, and offered her a pokeball.
However, no matter how close Bullet and Dean were- she never did evolve. She'd stayed an eevee for years. It wasn't until after Dean felt abandoned by both Sam and John that he decided that it was probably his fault. It couldn't be his little spitfire of an eevee's fault- she was perfect. Fierce, brave, and still tiny. There must have been something broken in him that- when he'd said that she rolled her little eyes at him and nipped at his ear. It took him a bit longer to really accept and understand what she'd been saying.
It'd started with her not responding to Bullet anymore- not that Dean had used it very often. It might have been her government name, but she was more used to Spitfire (around everyone) or Sweetheart (When it was just Dean and his team). He never understood why she'd never become umbreon (or even espeon); she'd turned up her nose at the fire/water/electric stones he'd offered her. No matter what area they were in, she'd stubbornly refuse to evolve. Dean dreaded the idea that she might be Sylveon.
Sylveon was…very pink and soft looking. His father would kill him before having a heart attack about it if Dean showed up with Sylveon. So Spitfire stayed eevee for years and years. Only evolving after Dean finally fully accepted that love wasn't a weakness and was something good. When he finally accepted that he did deserve love, and it wasn't wrong to feel love. That the love he felt was a strength- one of his defining traits. It wasn't something to be embarrassed of- the love he felt was meant to be celebrated. Spitfire is a little dramatic and probably evolved during Dean's wedding or a big "i love you" confession. Much like Dean, she was better at showing love than saying it.
If anyone said anything about Dean having a pink fairy pokemon, well, Sweetheart had sharp teeth, a biting problem, and flesh ribbons.
Braviary (Feathers)
Braviary was the second to last pokemon I chose for Dean, there were a few different options for this one. I had stronger feelings about the other four, but the fifth and sixth spots I wasn't as sure about. I had a few horses (both as a ride and because cowboys), a few bears, an octopus (it's a gun and because…Dean and his hentai), and even a squirrel. I picked Rufflet/Braviary due to it's dex entries. They're all about standing up for and protecting friends. Having scars is a badge of honor for them, and they stand up no matter how big or dangerous an opponent is. It's also known to have anger/aggression problems- which is something else that does fit Dean at times.
The other reason I chose braviary is because after having two smaller pokemon, Dean does need something that would make his dad a bit more proud of him- something other than his little apple dragon and tiny eevee. A big tough bird of prey is a good 'manly man' pokemon but it's personality still fits Dean well. Acting big and tough on the outside while just wanting to protect people on the inside (and being actually dangerous). Someone willing to do anything for his friends/family. It fits his early season characterization: trying hard to be John but also a lot softer underneath the bravado. Trying to hide and pack away the softness to be the person John wants him to be.
Dean met his rufflet the summer when he was 11. Him and Sam had been parked at Bobby's pokemon ranch for the summer while John went off to look into something. Bobby hadn't had a problem with the applins or eevee, unlike John. But Dean still knew he had to find something tougher. Then maybe he could help out his dad with protecting others (that's what his dad did, right?). Dean had been helping out around the ranch when he spotted the braviary that had nested in a tree right outside the fence of Bobby's land. Dean was fascinated. Braviary was big and noble and perfect; just what he was looking for. He was smart enough now to know that picking a fight with the bird was a bad idea, so instead he did something he'd never done before. Went to the books to research. He'd figure out how to earn the bird pokemon's respect. Then it would join his team, and his dad would be happy with him. It was the perfect plan.
He looked though all of Bobby's books, ignoring the man when he said he could help Dean out. Dean wanted to figure this out himself- that way he earned the respect of the bird pokemon on his own. He read and he read and he read, looking for any and all information on how to charm the valiant pokemon. It was a lot about being strong, brave, and proud of both. Dean could do that. He had a ton of scars from his attempts at keeping Sam safe. That'd be impressive to the braviary. So he went to work.
He stood at the edge of the property- just inside the thin wire fence, and showed off his scars. He described them to the bird pokemon- going into every detail about how he got them, and how much it hurt, but how he worked through the pain. The braviary was unimpressed by him. So Dean tried harder. He came back the next day and told the bird about good he was about the pain, and how he was brave and strong. The bird remained unimpressed.
Each day Dean came back- for a week- trying to charm the braviary into being his new team member. Talking about how tough he was- how strong and brave he could be. But the bird remained unimpressed. Nothing he could say would get the bird to do more than raise an eyebrow at him. Dean refused to give up, however. Even if he didn't end up catching the braviary, he wanted to get it's respect. It was the principle of the thing. So out he sat- getting into staring contests with it, trying to out stubborn the bird.
While he did, he started talking about why he had scars and bruises- trying to keep his brother safe. Trying to keep his two little friends safe and healthy. The bird seemed more interested in this, so Dean went on. He spoke about wanting to keep people safe- to help those he cared about. How he wanted a big and strong partner so he didn't have to force his two buddies to grow up too fast (he knew how that was and it sucked). Somewhere along the way he lost sight of his goal to get the bird to join him- he just wanted to get out his feelings and how heavy it sometimes felt. How he wished that his dad was home more often so he could stop having to grow up as fast as he was.
When he finished speaking, the braviary nodded at him from the tree he was perched in, accepting and understanding. The two sat quietly for the rest of that day. (It would be years before Dean discovered that Bobby had been aware of what he was doing and had heard that entire conversation.) The next day, Dean- still refusing to give up- sat down by the fence and was surprised when the braviary flew down towards him, holding an egg in his claws.
The bird pokemon pushed the egg towards Dean, letting the boy take it. The wild braviary didn't want to be on a team, but did trust this kid who had the weight of the world with it's own egg. Dean promised to look after the rufflet that would hatch. That he wouldn't make it grow up quick like he was forced to.
And with that, Dean spent the next few days with the egg. Taking it on walks, keeping it warm, and talking to it. Telling the egg how Dean didn't actually care how tough the bird was- he just wanted his new friend to be happy and safe.
The egg hatched after a week and the rufflet that popped out was a lot like Dean himself. He loved showing off, acting tough, and trying his best to protect everyone. Even if he was too small to really do much.
Feathers, as Dean would call the rufflet, grew into a strong pokemon. Evolving when Dean is about fifteen. It remains one of his most aggressive Pokemon- but in moments of calm Feathers likes to curl up with the smaller pokemon under his wings- keeping them safe and close.
Arcanine (Husian?)
Other than Cubone, Arcanine is the other pokemon that most people assign to Dean when making teams. And this one I agree with. Dean is very dog-coded. He's loyal to a fault, loving, and trusting. The amount of trust he puts into people is astounding- actually. Season six with trusting Cas comes to mind as a major moment. If someone earns Dean's loyalty they have it forever.
Arcanine is really unique in pokemon in that it mentions China in a few of it's pokedex entries. There's not many pokemon that mention real world locations in the dex entries, but this also gives us more to work with. Seeing as how it talks about China we can guess that it's based off of the Chinese Guardian Lion statues (石獅; shíshī). Which are meant to be protectors. Normally they're in pairs- with the male having a ball and the female having a cub. They're yin and yang- protecting the house and the family. They sit outside temples and keep away spirts and other things that might want to harm it.
But Arcanine is only one pokemon- so I like to think he represents both the lions. Arcanine is described as both beautiful and powerful. Many are captivated by it's regal majesty and anyone that hears it's bark is left in awe. It blends the ideas of both yin and yang together.
They've also got elements from the Xiezhi (獬豸), which eat corrupt people and can tell right from wrong. (They resemble the Japanese version, the kaichi a bit more (as it's described as a horned lion, rather than a goat) but the dex mentions China, so the xiezhi.
Dean's a protector- he keeps his and his own safe. We get that shown to us in episode one. That's one of the reasons that Arcanine fits his character. But also, Growlithe is a good fit for Dean as well. I like when both the starting and ending evolutions fit. Growlithe's dex entries feel like they were written about Dean. "It has a brave and trustworthy nature", "It protects it's territory", "Extremely Loyal. It will protect it's trainer from harm".
As for why I went Hisuian, I just really liked the pokedex description of it. It talks about how it's big and bulky- but still graceful in battle. It can trick it's opponents into dodging the wrong way because of how it moves. I also just like the rock typing for Dean. It's strong and sturdy- just like him.
As for how he got this one, she was a gift from Bobby. I am feral for found family and father figures who think they'd be awful but they're the best dad a Dean could ask for. Introducing Bobby at the end of season one was peak and the best decision the show made. I would shoot a hundred John Winchesters just to get one Bobby Singer. This man looked at these two kids and went 'well, I guess I gotta do my best and parent them' even though he thought he'd be shit at it. I love Bobby so much and I'm gonna stop now before I turn this into a Bobby Pokemon mini-list.
Dean gets his Growlithe the same summer he gets his rufflet egg. Bobby heard Dean venting to the bird pokemon (he mostly wanted to make sure Dean wasn't going to get attacked) and wanted to do something. Dean had already had a rough life and he was only 11. And it wasn't gonna get any easier with John Winchester taking care of him. He couldn't just steal Sam and Dean- but he could give Dean something to help.
Bobby looked over the dog pokemon he had- he needed sheep dogs on the ranch- and tried to figure out the best for Dean. The boy needed something that'd be big enough to help him keep others safe- but also a friend. That's when he decided on one of the the Hisuian Growlithes he'd just gotten. They weren't trained just yet- so they'd be easy to hand off to another trainer- and they'd be loyal and protective. Just like Dean.
He claimed that she just 'wasn't working out' and handed her off to Dean, who took it very seriously. He was trying to think of a name when Sam insisted that 'Pepper" would be a good name for her. Dean gave in, mostly because Sam didn't get a pokemon- so he could help name the one Dean got. Even then, he almost never used the name. Normally refering to her as Darlin' or Miracle.
She was, much like Dean, stubborn and willing to take on things way bigger than her. She didn't like listening to Dean until an incident where Dean jumped in front of something to save her. Then she was loyal to a fault (much like him).
She evolves into Arcanine when Dean's about fifteen- just after rufflet evolves into Braviary. The two pokemon have a bit of a rivalry going.
Dragapult
Dragapult was the first pokemon that came to mind for Dean when I started thinking about this little project of mine. I knew that Dean needed a caretaker/parent pokemon on his team. That's such a big part of his character. That he takes care of his brother as a child, and how that's been his life goal ever since he was four. Sam's first steps were to him, he went hungry for Sam, he gave up everything to protect Sam, he sent himself to hell for Sam. He's a caretaker (I will fight the world about my mama Dean headcanons. Let this man be the mom he's always wanted to be. He deserves to be called mama). He needed a pokemon that is about being a caretaker.
The list of caretaker pokemon isn't super long- pokecenter pokemon (Chansey, Audino, and Indeedee) are used as nurse pokemon. Then we have the most famous mom pokemon, Kangaskhan. None of the Pokecenter pokemon felt right. Chansey and Audino are more about healing and gaining experience in game, while Indeedee is more of a servant pokemon. Kangaskhan is the og mom pokemon- it carries it's baby with it and worries about how the kid will grow up.
But that's also all the dex entries really said- it worried about the child, and wanted to protect it. Not all children- or even all other pokemon. Just it's child. And that felt too limiting. And then we have Dragapult and it's line. While it came to mind first, I did put it aside to look at others, because Dragapult is one of my favorites and I"m biased. I wanted to make sure it was the best for Dean and not just my favorite.
Dreepy are known to be weak and need protection- They're so weak a child could beat one. They find the fastest Dragapult and basically attach themselves. And the Dragapult love and worry about their dreepy. All three pokemon in the line talk about just grabbing Dreepy- or other pokemon if they can't find a dreepy- and taking care of them. They don't care about species- just that they have someone to care for. And not only that, but the dreepy want to be with them- they want to be loved and taken care of by Dragapult.
That felt very Dean. It's not just about keeping Sam safe. It's protecting anyone he views as family. That's expanded since he was a kid-and it's not just about his blood family. It's anyone. He collects people that he wants to keep safe and happy. For a more funny reason, Dragapult also throws Dreepy as an attack- and the pokedex says that Dreepy loves this. It's all very Dean. Was thrown at things to attack as a child, wants to keep other children safe, but understands that some of them are insane and want to hunt. He gives them the tools they need to be happy and as safe as possible. This honestly feels like the most Dean-Pokemon to me. Both the first stage and the final stage fit him well.
Like with all his pokemon, he didn't mean to get his dreepy. He was sent on a 'solo mission' from his dad when he was 18- his first one. He was supposed to get rid of a bunch of ghost pokemon that were haunting a building. When Dean got there, he found that the ghosts weren't actually trying to hurt anyone. They were just playing tricks- ones that weren't great for the people living there- but they weren't malicious. He could battle them- but he figured a better way would be to find them somewhere else to go- that way they didn't come back to the building when he left (he wasn't going to kill them. They were just trying to be themselves. There was nothing wrong with that).
So he asked around and found someone that owned a joke shop/mystery spot a few towns over- someone that was glad to take in all the ghost pokemon and let them pull all the pranks they wanted on him and the people who paid to get pranked. The ghosts were all pretty happy to go- other than one. There was a dreepy that did not want to leave her corner. Dean wasn't sure if she was scared or just attached to the place, but he didn't want to just leave her behind.
So he sat down and asked what she wanted- if she didn't wanna live at the joke shop, what did she want. He'd try to find a trainer for her, too. One that would be what she wanted. He wasn't sure exactly what happened- but Dreepy then flew into his hair and rested there happily. Ready to go with Dean and be his new buddy. (It didn't occur to him that all she wanted was kindness and affection). He ended up calling her Shrimp as a joke- but the name stuck. She refused to answer to anything else for the rest of her Shrimp-y life.
She evolves into Drakloak when Dean's 24, as Dreepy doesn't evolve until level 50. When Dean's 27 she evolves for the second time into Dragapult.
Tinkaton (Charlie "Pink").
So when I make pokemon lists for characters I always pick a bunch and then narrow it down. On my big lists I normally have some silly/meme pokemon that I put on as a joke and then eventually take off for my more serious choices (as serious as giving Dean Winchester Pokemon can be). Tinkaton started as me being silly; "Hehe, Dean is a girl dad to chaos gremlins", but then I actually thought more about it and the more it made sense.
Dean has relationships with fascinating women- specifically platonic/familial relationships. The women he ends up romantically involved are really cool, pretty, and normal. But his female friends/adopted family? They are all completely insane and chaotic. Sam has these women in his life too, but Dean always seems to have a stronger connection to most of them. It's probably because Dean becomes a bit more of the main character in later seasons so he tends to get a little more focus.
Charlie was a normal ass person who went 'actually, I am going to become a hunter and then go on a lesbian uhaul trip with Dorothy after knowing her for six hours'. Someone described Claire "I don't need a degree to be a hunter" Novak as "Angry blonde agent" and Dean knew right away who it was. Krissy (who should have gotten more than two episodes) threw herself into a hunting group and stayed there because she enjoyed it, even if she had a way out. Even in early seasons we had him with Jo- trying to help a rebellious younger woman that he did care about.
Even Jody does some truly chaotic things. My brain goes to "I have invited Sam and Dean to dinner now let's talk about sex and birth control- boys why aren't you helping me?". I love Jody she's so great. Someone tries to get into Bobby's house and she tries to keep them outside because 'you probably have a body in the house'. Iconic. Donna (her wife, no one can tell me otherwise) vibes so well with Dean. "Hey do you know how to shoot a gun? No. Welp! Here you are!" What an icon. We even see it a bit with Mary, when she's young and a bit when she's back from the dead. Eileen might be Sam's girlfriend- but if we had more time she'd also have been Dean's new bestie. All the women he platonically loves are insane. He has a collection of (lesbian) chaos gremilns that he loves fiercely.
He's a magnet for somewhat chaotic and fun women- and that's what Tinkaton is. Tinkaton is a female only species that's known for causing problems on purpose. They hunt down metal pokemon to steal their body parts to make a hammer. Half the time they don't even need to- they're just doing it for the funsies. Tinkaton (which is 100% a pokemon on Claire's list, as well) is a representative of Dean's tendance to adopt/be adopted by chaotic women.
That's also how he ends up with Tinkaton on his team. One day Drakloak showed up with a tinkatink on her head in addition to the dreepy that normally hung out there. Dean was confused as to where the little pink creature came from- and why his pokemon just brought it to him. He'd have been cool just keeping her, but he figured he should make sure he knew where she came from first. That way if the tinkatink belonged to someone, they could get it back.
This lead him to meeting Charlie- She was trying to take down a company that was run by a man named Dick Roman- one that was profiting off of abusing Pokemon. The tinkatink was a pokemon that Charlie had rescued- but then it got stolen by a random drakloak. When Dean brought it back- they decided to work together to take down Roman enterprises. Neither of them really liked the idea of what was happening continuing.
While working together they clicked- their senses of humor, their mutual dweeb-ness, their love of pokemon- it all fit together well. During the adventure, the tinkatink decided she liked Dean and Drakloak better- so she wanted to stay with him. He named her after Charlie- because much like the redhead, this pokemon was dropped on him and just fit.
He normally calls her "Pink" or "Pinkie" to go with calling Charlie "red". He gets Pink when he's 25, with it evolving at a normal level. It evolves into Tinkatuff right before he goes to find Sam (This time bringing Charlie along with him- that's his little sister now and she needs to meet their brother). She evolves for the second time when Dean's 28- right around the time that he meets Cas.
—
This is Dean's main team of six. There are probably other pokemon he uses- but these are the ones that he'd consider his partners.
This is mostly just me going off about Dean's character by using pokemon. Join me later when I hopefully do a list for Cas and Sam (and maybe write an actual fic about this world)
