Family don't end in blood!

Dean girl (with a slight Sam kink)| Est. 1984| grown-ups only thanks | If your page is blank or contains no age or age range you will be blocked!

[kazsrm67]

Masterlist

Here you will find all the crazy things that have come out of my mind. Please make sure you are 18+ before continuing to read my work. Minors DNI. If you interact and you have a blank blog, under 18 age/range, etc. . . I will block you so please play nice!

Supernatural

Dean Winchester

Sam Winchester

RPF oneshots/drabbles etc. . .

RPF Series

Writing Challenges

Bingos

Dividers

*thanks to @talesmaniac89 for the wonderful banners!

[cleighwrites]

The Perfect Planner for Writers

My sister has been planning this planner (unironically) for the past few years. It is the most amazing writer tool I have ever seen.

It has pages for planning out your storylines, brain-dumping info, planning social media engagements and collaborations, and gamifying your writer business goals. It's a blank slate so you can color it in to match whatever vibe you like!

HERE is the link to the waiting room to get more info and get access to early bird pricing to prepare for the Kickstarter. Be sure to sign up for the emails to get updates!!

Tagging some writer friends who might be interested! @impala-dreamer, @deanwinchesterswitch, @idlingintheimpalapodcast, @kittenofdoomage, @kazsrm67

Please spread the word so we can get her Kickstarter the big jumping off point it needs!!

[nudityandnerdery]

Just off the top of your head, don't need to try and look it up to check out anything:

Can you name a web search engine that you used before Google?

Yes

No

Don't know/just want to see the results

Remaining time: 3 days 14 hours

The book I'm reading suggests that Google became so market dominant that most people couldn't name a search engine that came before it, so I'm curious.

[waynes-multiverse]

Glitch 🌙 || Prologue

Fastening myself to you with a stitch...🪡

Pairing: Dean Winchester x witch!reader

Series Summary: Despite the blood in your veins painting a glaring-red target on your back, John Winchester once left you alive and kept you hidden for a reason. But when his two grown sons drag their muddy boots onto your crime scene one day, the first meeting is anything but cute.

You have a regular job and a carefully constructed, somewhat normal life built on just enough lies to keep the supernatural at bay, cleaning up messes no one else wants to see. And you definitely never advertise the fact that your magic comes from a bloodline ancient enough to make demons jitter.

Dean Winchester, on the other hand, doesn’t even flinch. He sees a witch and reaches for a weapon – no questions asked. You lie to survive. Dean judges to cope. The rules of this world dictate the two of you are supposed to hate each other for eternity, but somewhere along the road, something glitches in the cosmic machinery of fate.

That glitch is you.

Warnings: 18+ language, crime scene, canon-divergence, set after 2x02, enemies to friends to lovers, super slow burn, mystery, reader is also a CSI, tons of witchy vibes (tarot, auras, herbalism, spells...)

Word Count: 3.5k

A/N: Welcome to another crazy brainchild of mine! This one's been in the making a long, long time. Anytime I'd watch the show, my mind would draw its own little path. Can't wait to mess up canon lol! 😈 I also can't wait to torture you with this for a long time. Take the enemies and slow burn to heart here. But if you wanna see Dean pining and yearning for 20+ chapters 'cause he's got his head so far up his own ass, this one's for you 😝🫶

🔮 Chapter Title: I Feel the Earth Move by Carole King

🌻 Soundtrack (Wildflower Magic Edition) ✨ Soundtrack (Midnight Magic Edition) ⛅️ Soundtrack (Daydream Magic Edition)

Main Masterlist || DW Masterlist || Tag List

Prologue: Down to My Very Soul

Salem, Massachusetts

All crime scenes are the same, no matter how much people insist otherwise. 

Different houses, different victims, different motives, different evidence, different ways of violence leaving its fingerprints, sure, but the atmosphere always remains exactly the same. 

When Carole King sings that she feels the Earth move under her feet, that’s what you feel when you set foot onto a crime scene. It’s hard to put into words, but there’s something in the air, in the earth, in the water. And that something always tells a story – one only meant for you. It’s like having a sixth sense. And no, luckily you don’t see dead people. 

Well, usually, you don’t…

You mostly try to stay away from ghosts and ghouls and everything that goes bump in the night. What you do have is a natural gift, however, passed down by your ancestors for generations.

You call Salem your home. 

Some might find that slightly ironic or odd or even reckless for a witch to settle here, considering the town’s well-documented and long, rich history of witch hunts. They do have a lot of museums and tourist attractions here to commemorate the joyous event…

Living here may get you hanged or burned at the stake, yes – or it may be the smartest cover of all time. Who, in their right mind, would ever expect a witch to choose this as her home and come looking for her here, after all? 

Exactly. 

You perfectly blend in with all the other pointed hats they sell at souvenir shops around here. Aside from that, the choice was never truly yours. 

John Winchester had once picked this place for you many moons ago. 

You exhale a sigh and glance up at the small family home in front of you, the white siding dulled by cloud coverage. It looks pleasantly innocent, but the earth underneath it knows what happened here. It’s restless beneath your feet, the roots threading through the moist soil pulled tight like they braced for an enormous impact. 

The trees around the property crowd close and whisper, feelings caught in bark and giving their secrets away to the wind. The woods always remember everything, but they’re downright awful storytellers. It’s usually up to you to translate.

Anger. Fear. Pain. 

You can feel it in the air all around you. Each emotion has a different aura and comes in different shades. But your grandmother once taught you how to read them before you’d even learned how to tie your shoes. 

Sometimes, gathering evidence isn’t just about what you can see with your own eyes. It’s not just about fingerprints and blood spatter and bodily fluids lighting up under UV light. Emotions, especially strong ones, leave imprints behind, too. 

Magic and a cosmic bond with the universe certainly doesn’t replace forensics, but it is its own kind of science. When people think of magic, they tend to assume it’s something supernatural that science can’t touch – an invisible, surreal force. But it’s very much tangible and real to you. Just because the average human can’t see it, doesn’t mean it doesn’t exist. Magic is part of this world like everything else – like gravity, space, time, motion, and light.

What? Because some fancy scientists at CERN haven’t found the atom for magic yet automatically means it doesn’t exist at all? Two millennia ago, humans also thought the Earth was flat until Aristotle proved them wrong. 

You’re Aristotle in this scenario. 

So, when you investigate a crime scene, you let the official science tell you the how, when, where, and, if you’re lucky, even the who. But magic provides the why.

Try telling that to the cops, though. 

The house itself is tucked just far enough from the main road that the gravel path leading up to it disappears into mud after the last summer storm, surrounded by scrub brush and scattered oaks. Even the grass seems uneasy, slick and bent under the weight of water, each blade vibrating faintly in the unsettled air. Summers in Salem are sticky, heavy with heat and humidity as the wind carries a richness from the land and sea alike. But even on the sunniest day, this town doesn’t feel harmless. 

Neither does this house.

You duck under the yellow tape, nodding at the uniform stationed by the front door. He gives you the usual look – half curiosity and half skepticism. Everyone at the station has a look they specifically reserve just for you.

The frown. The raised brow. An eye roll here or there. A challenging scoff. A glare. 

You’ve learned to ignore them, though, and even started to collect them over the years like trading cards.

Inside the house, the place still tries its damn hardest to look normal. And normal is usually the fucking problem. 

A few things are immediately obvious upon entry: the coffee table is pushed back an inch too far, a picture frame hangs crookedly on the wall – the glass not broken but spiderwebbed – and the couch cushions don’t line up like they should. The living room is already bustling with cops, techs, and a photographer trying to take pictures from an angle that will never tell the whole truth. 

Then there are the things only you can see. 

The threshold is smeared with the tiniest trace of something that doesn’t belong there – panic. It clings to the doorway like humidity, thick enough that you hesitate before stepping inside. Your aura brushes the frame, and the house responds like a startled animal. 

Fear leaves residue. Pain sinks deep. Violence doesn’t vanish just because someone cleaned the floor. 

You close your eyes for half a second and breathe it in. The ground exhales with you, relieved to be noticed. Then you pull gloves from your pocket and slip them on, mostly because it makes everyone else feel better, your mind already scanning and sorting.

Blood doesn’t shout, but it pulls at your attention like the tide, clinging to fibers and cracks and the places people forget to scrub. You crouch near the edge of the rug, your fingers hovering just above the fabric, and feel resistance there – the ghost of something wiped away but not erased.

“You gonna tell us what you’re seeing, kid?” a detective asks, his tone suggesting he already regrets the question. It’s Murphy, one of the older and more seasoned ones at the station. 

The other cops at the precinct never take you seriously, no matter how many times you prove them wrong. You’re always too young. You’re always too weird. Brilliant, thorough, impossible to fluster – but weird. 

You talk to yourself. You notice things no one else does. You correct people mid-sentence and don’t always apologize. The fact that you graduated early with a forensic science degree and solve cases faster than anyone else tends to buy you forgiveness, however. 

Most times, at least.

You rise smoothly to your feet and humor the man with a smile. “There’s trace under the sink. He washed up there. And check the stair railing. Skin cells should be under the varnish.”

Another detective, this one younger and nameless to you, squints at you from across the room. “You get all that from vibes or what?” 

“From paying attention,” you quip without bothering to turn around. “Highly recommend it.”

“She does this every time,” another one mutters under his breath. That’s Kaminski. He smokes a pack a day in the parking lot, which is why you recognize him by the rasp in his voice. 

“And I’m right every time,” you retort. “It’s almost like I know what I’m doing.”

“Educated guess,” Murphy scoffs, skeptical as ever. Old dogs don’t learn new tricks, you suppose. Especially the Irish ones. 

You ignore the comments and laughter that follow till the chatter suddenly dies down when Sergeant Mia Owens sets foot onto the crime scene. Years on the force have given her a presence that rearranges rooms without raising her voice. She’s been doing this too long to waste energy on theatrics.

“She’s not guessing,” Mia says, calm and firm all at once. “So if you’d like this wrapped up before next week, let her work, hm?” 

Mia meets your eyes, her expression sharp but warm, the way it’s always been ever since a hunter dropped you on her doorstep at eleven, feral with grief and too much truth in your blood. She never asked for explanations you weren’t ready to give. She just decided you were worth the trouble, opened her door for you, and told you to take your shoes off. 

Somewhere along the way, she became your anchor – your advocate, your shield, and the person who showed you how to exist in places that didn’t quite want you. She taught you how to stand your ground in a world that doesn’t like things it can’t categorize. 

She’s been defending you ever since.

Mia steps closer to you, lowering her voice so only you can hear. “Victim’s alive. Kid wasn’t hurt.”

“Good.”

“But his lawyer is already pushing an accident. Claims she fell,” she adds quietly and then studies you for a moment. “She doesn’t have anywhere to go. If this falls apart…”

She doesn’t need to finish. You understand without words.

“She still in the hospital?”

Mia nods. 

“I’ll finish up here and then stop by to talk to her,” you say softly. “Can you make sure no one goes into the bedroom? I wanna do a reading.”

Mia doesn’t hesitate, putting two fingers into her mouth, whistling loud enough for the entire room to turn their heads in her direction. “Alright, gentlemen, how about we clear out and let forensics do their job before you’re dragging mud all over the evidence, huh?”

The room clears quickly after that as you hurry into the main bedroom of the house. The air is more chill here, no warmth or love left inside these four walls. You carefully close the door behind you and settle down on the bed, pulling a deck of tarot cards from your shoulder bag. 

God, you can already imagine the raised eyebrows if one of those heathens outside could see you right now. 

You then shuffle the cards once before cutting the deck. The first question you always ask is: 

What happened here?

The Five of Wands is the first card you pull. It tells a story of conflict, chaos, and escalation. Violence was born out of anger here and not strategy. It wasn’t an accident. It was an argument that boiled over. 

The King of Cups shows up next, but it’s reversed. It’s meant for the perpetrator – the husband. It’s the usual card that comes up for an abusive drunk. It’s emotional manipulation and rage behind closed doors. It’s a man who knows how to cry alligator tears on cue and tells everyone how much he loves his wife while his emotions rot under the surface and ferment there. 

The Nine of Pentacles is reversed, too. It’s the wife. Her independence has been stripped away. She can’t leave easily. It’s a cage that disguises itself as a home, but this house isn’t safe anymore. 

But what happens next? That’s the most important question and decides her fate. 

Ten of Wands.

You swallow thickly. The card is a warning. Next time, it won’t be an ambulance. She’ll leave this house in a body bag. 

You gather the cards together again, your fingers steady even when your heart feels hollow and aches with sympathy. One card, however, slips free and lands right in front of you. 

Uh-oh. 

You hate when they do that because you know this one’s solely meant for you. You flip it around and place it down on the mattress in front of you. 

Knight of Swords.

Your whole body goes still, your brow furrowing. Ugh, not this guy…

Look at this dude, riding into battle on his high horse. It’s a man on a mission. He wants to succeed in his quest no matter what, blind to everything else around him. Once he charges forth, he can’t be stopped. It’s action before thought, justified by righteous certainty. 

After all, the world is simple if you hit it hard enough, right?

But what does that mean for you? 

Well, you suppose someone is coming, and they’re not riding gently into the night, either. On the contrary, they’re bringing an agenda with them. The knight won’t ask if he’s right because he has already decided that he is. 

Your skin creeps with goosebumps all the way up your arms, your eyes flicking to the closed door, the murmurs of cops barely audible outside. Did someone out there finally discover you’re a witch and is coming to burn you at the stake?

Your gaze lands back on the deck of cards. Why are you coming for me?

You pick up another card and flip it around. Your heart stops. Shit, it’s a big one, which means this isn’t good. 

The Judgment.

Oh, someone definitely caught your scent, seeing you for who you truly are. It doesn’t automatically mean death, though. It just announces a reckoning in some shape or form. There’s an outstanding score to be settled. 

God, who did you piss off this time?

As you gather the cards carefully again, tucking them back into your bag, you hear the deep rumble of a car outside. It surely doesn’t sound like any cop car you’ve ever heard, and it can’t be the owners of this home, either. 

Slowly, you rise from the bed and peek past the yellowed curtains out the window, spotting an old but classic, sleek-black Impala pulling up the muddy drive. 

Your skin tingles. The blood prickles in your veins. 

It’s not exactly a white horse, but you have a feeling your knight has just arrived. You curse the damn cards for warning you so late. Couldn’t they have already told you that last night when you still had time to pack a stupid bag?

A minute later, the car doors rattle open, two young men stepping out almost simultaneously like they practiced their exit. They don’t look like cops. They’re too clean for local law enforcement and too sharp for state boys. Their worn suits are ironed enough to pass but look more like costumes. 

One of them is obnoxiously tall and broad-shouldered with a mop of hair that hasn’t seen a pair of scissors in a while. The other is shorter with a solid build that suggests he knows exactly how to throw a punch. The tall one tilts his head and mumbles something, brows pinched tightly. The shorter one then smirks and says something that makes the other huff a breath in response. 

Frustration. 

You don’t need to read auras or tarot to understand that. 

As they start their march toward the house, you peel away from the window and force yourself into motion. You hurry back into the living room, where Mia is speaking to some of the remaining techs. You grab your kit, crouch near the rug again, photograph fibers, bag samples, and jot down notes you won’t ever submit. You let your hands stay busy so your ears can do the real work.

“Hey, uh, where can I find Mia Owens?”

It’s the short one. His voice is raspy and smooth like a bourbon, an undercurrent of authority lacing his tone. 

Mia’s voice rings out immediately. “Right here. Sergeant Owens.”

She squares her shoulders and lifts her chin, already irritated and suspicious enough to make the two young men shake in their boots. 

“FBI, ma’am,” the shorter one says and flashes his badge quickly. “Special Agents Hetfield and Sambora.”

You frown a little at the names. Is it really a coincidence that one of them carries the same name as Metallica’s lead singer while the other shares one with a band member of Bon Jovi?

Your gut instinct says no. Again, you don’t even need magic to spot a liar.

“And what exactly does the FBI want with me?” Mia asks and raises an eyebrow, hands on her hips. It’s the same look and tone she’s used on you when you were a teen and tried to sneak out through the first-floor window of your bedroom. 

And where exactly do you think you’re going, young lady?

There’s a brief pause before the taller one, Bon Jovi, speaks this time, his tone lower and more careful. “We’re following up on a case that intersects with your jurisdiction. We were hoping to ask you a few questions about someone under your care.”

“Yeah, eleven years ago, you took in a kid, right?” Metallica asks more gruffly. 

“My adoptive daughter, yes.” Mia crosses her arms, nodding. “You’ll forgive me if I don’t discuss my family with two men who show up unannounced to an active crime scene. So why don’t you tell me what this is really about?”

Metallica’s mouth opens for a second, swallowing heavily before Bon Jovi steps in for the rescue. “We–, uh, we’d just like to ask you some questions about a fire that occurred in 1995 in Sugar Hill, New Hampshire. You were the first responder on scene?”

Your breath catches in your throat. So that’s what they’re here for. You haven’t expected that. It’s been a while since you thought about the worst night of your life. 

“I was,” Mia replies sternly, not budging as her protective instincts take over. “It was ruled an accident.”

“Three fatalities. Grandmother. Mother. Eleven-year-old daughter,” Metallica notes.

Mia gives him a nod. “That’s right.”

Metallica cocks his head slightly. “Except here’s the thing,” he says cleverly, a false sense of confidence oozing from every pore. “Adoption records show you took in an eleven-year-old girl a few days later. Same age. That’s quite a coincidence.”

Mia’s glare could probably burn those boys to dust at this point. “What are you implying, agent?”

To your surprise, Metallica doesn’t budge. But he doesn’t know Mia as well as you do, which is why he doesn’t know that he really, really, really should back off when she’s got that look in her eyes. Again, you know that one all too well from your teenage years, and you definitely wouldn’t want to be in Metallica’s big boots right now. 

“I think you know,” he says with a stern little crease in his brow, just right above his freckle-dusted nose. 

You think those two are about to jump each other’s throats when Bon Jovi luckily steps in. “We’re not accusing you of anything. We’re just trying to understand what really happened that night.”

Unfortunately, they don’t know that placating doesn’t work with Mia either. That woman is an excellent hostage negotiator. 

“Listen, FBI or not, I don’t appreciate two men waltzing into my crime scene and asking about my kid–”

“Mia, it’s okay,” you cut in gently and step up beside her. Someone has to save those boys, although you don’t know exactly why you’re the one who's volunteering for that particular job. The cards already warned you, so you’re pretty sure those two aren’t coming in peace and mean you harm. 

“You don’t have to–” Mia starts, but you stop her with a wave of your hand. 

“It’s fine,” you assure her.

Mia shoots you a look, searching your face for doubt or fear, but you give her a steady nod instead. She doesn’t like it, but she trusts you. She exhales slowly, retreating just enough to signal that this is your call now, though her sharp eyes never fully leave the men.

The shorter agent’s attention, meanwhile, has fully latched onto you. His posture loosens, shoulders rolling back like he’s settling into a role he enjoys way too much. His eyes, greener than the lush, wet moss in the woods outside, drag over your face, your stance, the CSI jacket, and the badge clipped to your belt. 

“You wanted to speak to me?” you prompt, forcing Metallica to clear his throat and refocus. 

“Yeah, uh–… Yeah.” He nods and reaches into his suit jacket, pulling out a badge and showing it to you. “Special Agent Hetfield,” he says and motions to his partner. “This is Special Agent Sambora.”

You step closer and glance at the ID for longer than necessary – so much so their auras grow nervous. But you don’t need to read them to know they’re lying. You already know they’re not FBI or any other kind of official law enforcement. 

Hunters. 

You exhale a breath and school your expression into something professional and harmless. If they’re really here for you, the worst thing you can do is panic. 

You offer them a bright and easy smile, tilting your head just enough to look curious instead of threatened. “Sure,” you say smoothly. “What can I do for you, agents?”

▶️ Chapter 1: Rough on the Surface – May 29

Well, well, the knight has arrived, it seems lol. I've had a lot of fun figuring out tarot cards for this series. Consider this a little taste-test. In Chapter 1, we're then gonna dive into the boys' side of things and find out how they even ended up there.

PS: As a teen I was obsessed with Charmed, Sabrina, and Practical Magic, so you may encounter a few of those elements in this series. I've developed my own witch lore and weekly monster cases covering local myths etc. for this one, and we'll also slowly uncover reader's whole family mystery in due time 😉🔮

Ready for the big one on Friday? Leave your first impressions and theories in the comments, my witches 💜

🔮 Series Masterlist

Coming Up:

“Well,” Dean says and pushes the car door open, stepping out onto the gravel as a smirk begins to form on his lips, “here’s hoping your theory’s wrong.”

Sam halts mid-exit before he slams the passenger door shut. “Excuse me?”

Dean closes his door and adjusts the lapel of his suit jacket. “‘Cause if this is just a paperwork mix-up and not demon-adjacent, I might actually get a decent night out of it.”

He smirks broad and full then, even though he can tell Sam wants to either smack or throttle him right now.

Sam stops in his tracks halfway of rounding the hood. “Dude. Are you serious right now?”

He shrugs his shoulders, grin widening. “What? Just saying. She’s cute.”

“Dean, she might be connected to a house fire tied to the same thing that killed Mom,” Sam points out all righteously.

Dean’s smirk softens, but it doesn’t disappear. “Yeah,” he says. “And if she’s not, I’d hate to waste a perfectly good opportunity.”

“Unbelievable.” Sam exhales sharply through his nose, already turning toward the house with a shake of his head.

🚀 Read up to six chapters ahead on Patreon

Main Masterlist || DW Masterlist || Tag List

Series Tag List Pt. 1:

@alwaystiredandconfused @xlynnbbyx @lyarr24 @deans-spinster-witch @blackcherrywhiskey

@jensensswthrt @foxyjwls007 @ladysparkles78 @roseblue373 @zepskies

@agalliasi @yvonneeeee @hobby27 @iamsapphine @globetrotter28

@lori19 @lacilou @suckitands33 @onlyangel-444 @syrma-sensei

@perpetualabsurdity @yoobusgoobus @jessjad @dayhsdreaming @hunter-or-the-hunted

@k-slla @just-levyy @mrsjenniferwinchester @illicithallways @muhahaha303

@ultimatecin73 @nancymcl @leigh70 @brightlilith @samslvrgirl

@xx-spooky-little-vampire-xx @fromcaintodean @barewithme02 @impala67rollingthroughtown @star-yawnznn

@spnaquakindgdom @americanvenom13 @lamentationsofalonelypotato @supernotnatural2005 @stoneyggirl2

@kr804573 @m0e0v0v @youroldfashioned @jassackles @periandernyx

[kazsrm67]

I'm hooked. Can't wait to see where the cards take us.

[kazsrm67]

That Wasn't On My Bingo Sheet - CH 46

Summary: You're a biology major out on a campout doing some extra research when you discover a circle of downed trees and make the choice to investigate the area further. However, while you're there you see something you could never have imagined when a man's hand shoots straight out of the ground - just like something out of a zombie movie a man crawls out of his grave and walks away. When the urge to follow becomes too much you will soon have your life flipped upside down. 

Characters: Dean Winchester, Sam Winchester, Bobby Singer, Castiel, you, and pretty much any SPN character from season 4 on. . .

Warnings: anything that happened in the show will be mentioned or detailed in this series - and then some - including but not limited to: death, hospitalizations, injuries, pain, angst, fluff, smut, bad language, consumption of alcohol. There will be more warnings as chapters are posted I am sure.  

Chapter Warning: smut - quickie p in v, use of condom mentioned, reader is noticing Dean acting a bit off since Sam ended the trials. Charlie has a Sleepover, we meet Dorothy and learn that Oz is real, 

Word Count: 5,419

A/N: Cover image was created by me with a mix of my own photos and some from imdb

While Sam and Dean were worrying over what to do about what they could do with the whole fallen angels situation we got a phone call from Jody. She needed help with a spirit or maybe a house full of spirits.

"I can handle it," I told them.

"The hell you can," Dean snapped.

"Dean Winchester," I scolded, "Are you implying that I'm not a capable hunter? That I wasn't trained not only by the best three hunters around but by trial and fire already?"

He stammered, "Um, I uh…. a little help Sammy?"

"You bite off more than you can chew?" Sam asked with a snicker.

"You two suck sometimes," he mumbled.

"I'm gonna grab my gear," I stated as I put the book I'd been reading away. "You coming to help?" I asked Dean as I walked past him.

Of course Dean followed me to my room - we were still keeping our own spaces even though I spent most nights sleeping in his room.

He pulled me close and kissed me desperately but I tested him by pushing back a few moments later, "Hey, Jody needs me, we don't have time for that."

He almost looked hurt, "You're right," he muttered, "I was just teasing, I taunted, and dragged my shirt over my head.

"You're gonna be the death of me," he grumbled and stepped forward, his hands landing on my waist but quickly moving up to cup my breasts and tug one side of my bra out of the way.

I had to stifle my squeal when he lifted me and practically tossed me onto the bed, his pants hitting the floor not long after I landed.

It wasn't slow and sweet, we didn't take our time and tease, hell there was barely any build up, it was just a part of our life now. It had become an unspoken rule that if we could we'd part ways with one last round of pleasure - 'just in case.'

We kissed for a moment with Dean rutting against me, then he was quickly ready to push in, barely remembering a condom.

"You feel so perfect," he grunted against my ear, before scraping his teeth over the spot he knew would make me shudder.

"You clench so wonderfully when I do that," he murmured just before shifting his position and beginning to thrust in earnest.

I took his moment of peaceful distraction and managed to leverage myself just right to flip him onto his back under me.

"Just in case you forgot that I'm well trained and verrrry capable," I nipped at his neck and reveled in the way his eyes watched me full of what I can only describe as awe.

"I know you are," he grunted as I began to bounce up and down.

"Good, just making sure you won't forget next time."

Dean chuckled for a second before moaning lightly when I made sure to clench a little more around him.

"Oh you keep doing that and I won't last long," he admitted.

Leaning down to kiss him gave him the idea that he could take control back and this time I decided to let him.

He tweaked my nipple and nipped at my neck, taking care to leave a mark just below my ear - surely someone would notice later.

"We gotta get things calmed down so I can have more time with you," he whispered.

"When these cases are over," I gasped as he leaned down and pulled a nipple into his mouth - all thought left me as he licked and sucked at one breast and then the other.

I moaned his name as his hand traveled down my side and then between us to toy with my clit. It didn't take long for me to see stars once he did that.

It took a few minutes for us to recover before I could roll out of bed and get dressed.

"You'll call or text when you get there?" he asked, worry starting to sink in.

I stepped back to the edge of the bed, leaning down I kissed him, "You know it."

He watched as I checked my go bag and stashed a few extra items in it.

"I got everything so I'm gonna head out," I told him. "I'm gonna take that blue truck we have tucked out back ok?"

"I haven't started it in a while."

"I have. It is far less conspicuous than most of the cars in the garage, so I've used it to go to town for supplies before. I'll ditch it this time and grab something else on the way back."

"Probably a good idea," he confirmed.

Dean dressed while I grabbed something from the bathroom I'd nearly forgotten to pack, then he walked me out to the garage to say good-bye.

"I'm not going to drive Dean Winchester style," I chided. "So don't freak out if I haven't texted in four hours."

He rolled his eyes, gave me one last kiss and opened the door for me, "Just be safe."

"That's always my goal."

Dean smirked, "I mean it."

"So do I. You and Sammy be safe ok?"

"I always aim to," he lied.

"I'll let ya know when I'm there and I'll give ya updates when I can," I told him before pulling away from the bunker.

I'd made a fuel and snack stop before leaving town, the gas station clerk asking how I was and if I was going on a road trip.

"Yeah a short one. I got a cousin who's broken their leg, just going to help her out for a few days till she is used to getting around on crutches," I lied.

"Oh that's a bummer. Hope she heals up fast, you be safe."

As much as we were on the fringes of society we'd started to build a rapport with the locals of Lebanon and it really did make it feel like home.

I pulled up in front of Jody's house about five hours later and shot Dean a text to let him know I had arrived.

He texted back, "About time!"

I tucked my phone in my pocket and walked up to the front door, Jody opened before I could even knock.

"I was wondering if you were going to come in or just sit in the truck till I came to get ya," Jody teased.

"I had to text Dean and let him know I was here."

"Things are going pretty well for you two?" she asked.

"As well as they can go for two people who are constantly having their lives in danger and fighting off one apocalypse after another," I answered honestly.

"Sorry to pull you from him."

"It's fine, you need help," I stated but Jody shot me a look like she knew something.

"OK, what did he do?"

"I don't know," I admitted. "He's just been kinda off since the whole thing with Sammy and the trials."

"You mean about the way Sam just suddenly got better?"

"Yeah there's that too," I admitted. "Not that I'm unhappy about it or anything. It's just odd that he went from having internal burn injuries to being up and walking - "just a little tired," as he said," I added air quotes and then just stared at her. A bit shocked myself at the way I'd word vomited at her.

"Well, you can stay here as long as you need to if you need some space."

"I appreciate that but I think this time I should get the job done and get back as quick as I can. We have Kevin there and who knows what big thing we'll actually be up against next."

"OK well just know the offer stands," she told me as a timer beeped in the kitchen and she hurried off.

"Are you cooking me dinner?"

"No," she laughed, "I'm cooking us dinner. No reason for you to go off ghost hunting with an empty belly."

"What do you mean me going off ghost hunting?"

"Well, I've done all the research, it's a ghost but because of the location and the issues with the property, I can't go in there and risk getting arrested for trespassing."

"Oh but you'll risk me getting a trespassing arrest?" I snarked.

"Yeah because I know how to get you out of it," she quipped.

I arrived at the address Jody gave me, with all the things she'd figured out - rich oil family had built the house many years back so the father could stay here during his company's operations during the summer months. The old man had died and the family had pretty much left the house as is, the son coming to the property only when needed for work or some business meetings.

It was so pristine it reminded me more of a museum than a home - not to mention the size of the place. Jody told me it had 12 bedrooms and ten and a half bathrooms.

I found the original office that was no longer used by anyone and simply sat as a memorial to the original owner. Jody was sure that the thing tying the man to the property was his prized possession - a small gold plated shovel, that was used to do all the ground breaking ceremonies for his homes and new business ventures.

I managed to get the shovel, dig a small hole, fend off the ghost, burn, and bury the shovel before getting nabbed by deputy Swift.

Jody quickly arrived at the jail, explained she could vouch for me being the third cousin or something and they let me go.

Good thing I'd listened and left my truck two miles from the house and had left my wallet at Jody's just like she'd asked.

I was so glad I'd narrowly escaped a B and E on my record but I figured the way my life was going it wouldn't be long before I had a rap sheet as long as Dean's.

I got to the bunker's front door as Sam and Charlie were entering, we greeted each other and I followed them inside.

I saw Dean smiling first at Charlie and then at me, "Hey. Thanks for coming," he greeted her with a hug.

I pushed past Sam and wrapped myself around Dean, he kissed me hello and grinned happily between Charlie and I.

Charlie told Dean, "Not a problem, especially since I got fired last week."

Sam asked, "Hey, what? What happened?"

"Turns out the company I work for was outsourcing to child labor, so I took a big Wiki-leak all over that. And, yeah," she went on, "It's cool though. It's given me more time to focus on my hobbies. . . like larping, macrame, and hunting."

Sam and Dean exchanged looks, and Dean asked, "Excuse me?"

Charlie waived it off, "Okay. It was just a couple little cases. I took down a teenage vampire and a ghost, which sounds like a Y.A. novel when said out loud."

"Charlie that sounds-"

Sam cut me off, "Charlie, how'd that go?"

"It was, uh... It was intense. But I kind of wish hunting was more...magical, you know?"

Dean rolled his eyes and Sam stared at her confusion written on his face.

"Nevermind," she attempted to change the subject, "So, where is the Commodore 64 of yours?"

I followed along to the computer room and watched as Charlie began geeking out over the ancient machine.

"Sweet Ada Lovelace. This thing belongs in a museum. I mean, it's got encryption software. It seems to be powered by something magical."

Dean sighed, "Skip to the end."

"It's kind of an alarm system. Global badness? It freaks. This computer is what locked this place down," Charlie explained.

"Can we use it to track angels?" Sam queried.

Charlie said she was down for the challenge and Dean and I decided we could let her work in peace for a while while we reconnected.

"I missed you," I admitted the moment my door closed.

He smirked and stepped closer, "I bet you did," his hand going straight to the zipper on my jeans.

"Is that so?" I taunted, "Did I give you permission?"

"You were gonna, I just beat you to the punch," he replied cockily, as he slid the zipper down.

"You're so full of yourself Mr. Winchester," I replied reaching for the zipper on his jeans.

"We really shouldn't take too long," he muttered.

"Well, what are you waiting for?" I taunted and Dean pretty much lunged at me, we toppled onto the bed.

Dean scooted down my body, removing my jeans and panties before leaning down and licking a stripe up my center.

"I thought you said we had to be quick," I gasped.

"You think I can't get you off with my tongue?" he asked, his eyebrow raised.

Before I could say anything Dean had his face between my legs, lapping and sucking at me. When he paused and nibbled on my clit I squealed his name and came.

"Was that good enough?" he wondered as he made his way back up my body and kissed me before I could answer.

My insides were spasaming from how hard I'd climaxed and it took me a few moments to come back into my mind.

"You ok"

"I've never come that hard or fast," I muttered breathlessly.

"Damn," he smirked, "You're welcome."

"Shut up," I swatted at him and moved between his legs.

"What are you doin'?" he asked.

"I thought it was pretty obvious," I told him and licked his cock from base to tip, "I'm returning the favor."

Dean clasped his hands under his head, "Well you may proceed."

I started off placing a few kitten licks around the tip before taking him fully into my mouth, slowly I slid down toward the base, fighting my gag reflex the entire time.

"You keep swallowing like that and I'm gonna burst," he grunted.

I pulled off with a pop, "I thought we needed a quickie," I quipped before taking him back into my mouth and bobbing a few times. His cock twitched as I worked my tongue down the underside of his shaft and I knew he truly wouldn't last long.

Pulling away I gripped the base of his dick and he grumbled something about that not being fair, right before I took him fully into my mouth, his thick length further down my throat than I thought possible.

I bobbed a couple of times taking him as far as I could but it didn't end as sexily as I'd intended as I gagged and chocked when he came. Spattering his thigh with a mix of his cum and my saliva.

If this had ever happened with any of the other men I'd been with I would have dressed and left and never returned. Somehow with Dean I felt safe and cared for.

Sure he laughed but he didn't get angry like my ex would have and we cleaned up and laughed about it.

"Hey, I thought you handled that amazingly well," he told me. "I know a guy who had a chick choke on his cum and actually throw up on the bed. At leas you didn't do that."

I knew it wasn't a friend - I could tell he was making that part up but I chose not to pry. I'd seen the Supernatural books and figured I didn't need to work myself up about something that was in the past. I did thank him for not getting mad.

He looked at me with he softest expression and said, "If I got mad at you about that I'd be a real dickhead, you did just fine."

He pulled me into a kiss and then we went to find out if Charlie had come up with anything.

When we entered the room Charlie had all kinds of wires and switches running from our ancient computer panel to her computer.

"All right. It took some doing, but now we can download. This beast has all the Men of Letters files. Time for a little drag-and-drop," she told us.

"Wow. Well, it's a start. Thank you. Um, that's -- that's great," Sam told her.

Dean shot Sam a look - I knew he was telling him something but I couldn't figure out what.

Sam cleared his throat, "So, you've been hunting?" he asked.

"Alone," Dean added.

"I know. Not a good idea, according to the "Supernatural" books."

The boys glanced at each other and back at her looking annoyed, I stifled a giggle.

"You really can't delete those from the Internet?" Sam asked.

"Not even I can do that. Come on!" Charlie answered as if this was something he should know.

"Where do you even find them?" Dean wanted to know."

"A top-secret place I call Amazon. And someone uploaded all the unpublished works. I thought it was fanfic at first, but it was clearly Edlund's work."

Sam wanted to know who uploaded them and the response didn't surprise me one bit, "I don't know. Their screen name was beckywinchester176. Ring a bell?" Charlie replied.

I wasn't sure how to feel knowing that she'd apparently read all the books.

Dean was clearly flustered as he looked from Sam to me.

"None. Uh, nobody's. Uh, no, there are no bells. Uh...No," Sam stammered.

Charlie looked at Sam like he was losing it but quickly turned her attention back to the computer. "Ugh, these files are encrypted. This is gonna take a while. So, takeout, sleepover, braid each other's hair?"

Sam had an idea and soon enough we were hanging out watching the Game of Thrones DVDs that Dean had picked up on his way home from dropping Kevin at a safe location.

"Wow. That Joffrey's a dick," Dean stated.

Charlie lit up, "Oh, you have no idea. Wait until he --"

"Whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa! S-spoilers. I haven't read all the books yet."

"You're gonna read the books?" Dean taunted.

"Yes, Dean. I like to read books -- you know, the ones without pictures."

Dean glared at Sam and I laid my hand on his thigh and gave it a squeeze which thankfully stopped him from continuing that argument.

Wanting to change the subject Charlie said, "Man, this bed is about as comfortable as a brick. Any plans on moving in anytime soon?"

"I am moved in. This is just my style," Sam told her.

"Yeah, this is his, uh, style."

I rolled my eyes at the argument that was about to begin again.

"Well, I'm sorry I haven't hung up the, uh, "Hang in there, kitty" poster yet, Dean," Sam quipped. "Feel free to redecorate."

"So, what, our home's not good enough for the "Hang in there, kitty" poster?"

I let out an audible sigh at this point.

"This isn't our home. This is where we work," Sam snapped.

"What's the difference?" Dean wanted to know.

Charlie just looked uncomfortable.

"Okay!" I shouted.

With that Dean rose from the bed, "All right, well, I'm gonna go get us some more beers. How about that?"

"I'll come with you," I told him and rushed after.

"Hey you don't need to have a quip about everything your little brother says."

"I don't," Dean snapped. "I just can't understand why he can't just enjoy it here. We finally have a home again."

"I know. And it's amazing and while I understand where you're coming from I can also understand what Sam is feeling. I think he's scared to lose that tiny bit of normalcy we've built here. Every single time you boys have gotten a taste of safety or normalcy it has been yanked away. I just hate it when you fight so much."

"Why? It's not your problem - it's not even your business."

"Except that it makes my tummy hurt because you two get so fucking agitated," I snapped. "I can feel when you're upset and when he's also upset it magnifies."

Dean's entire demeanor softened and he hugged me tightly.

"I never thought of that ," he told me. "I can't make promises but I'll try ok?"

"I would appreciate that."

"You really think that's why he won't settle?"

"I think that Sammy won't ever open up and fully tell us but - yeah I think that's part of it. He doesn't remember your family home or how things were before your mom," I paused not wanting to upset him. "You two were on the road with John before Sam could form memories. That couldn't have been easy on either of you."

Dean's lips pursed together, "Yeah," was all he said and walked over to grab a beer for all of us. I accepted mine from him and followed him down the corridors back to room 28.

Charlie was telling Sam, "Download should be done by now."

Dean paused and remarked, "What the hell? Sam, give me a hand," he moved toward some shelves that had shifted somehow.

"Eew what the fuck is that?" I shivered at the sight of two gray pods that reminded me of some type of giant cocoon or spider nest.

Sam pulled his gun as Dean took out a knife and began cutting through part of one of the pods. When an arm fell out I screamed. But Dean continued cutting and the arm was still attached to the woman who'd been trapped inside the strange material.

I had a small bottle of Holy water so once Dean nudged the woman's shoulder so she was flat on her back I flicked some of the water on her face as she gasped and awoke.

"She's not a demon," I mumbled as the woman and the boys glared at me.

Sam got her a blanket fearing she might go into shock after being awakened so abruptly. Dean and Charlie started to question her and Charlie quickly explained there was a file and sent me to find it.

I brought the file and my own gun, which I tucked in the back of my jeans to have easy access if needed.

Charlie took the file and skimmed it, "Holy crap! The first case investigated in this bunker involved Dorothy. She and the witch came into this room, and they never came out. This will never stop blowing my mind!"

The bunker was blowing my mind too but probably in different ways - more on the lines of wondering, 'what the fuck else might be ready to kill us inside the "safest place in the universe," or who else could be buried in the walls?' None of those things had ever crossed my mind before.

Dean telling Charlie, "Okay, pace yourself, Toto," snapped me back to the moment.

"Oz is real! It's part of the fairy world."

Dorthy just sat there near Sam with the blanket wrapped around her, "We have to find her," she said.

"No, we have to talk before anyone does anything, okay? Dorothy?" Sam asked.

She didn't like that response, "Talk? Typical Men of Letters, standing around, having a nice, little chat with your nose buried in your books while your secretaries take notes."

"We're hunters," Dean stated.

Charlie and I spoke in unison, "Who're you calling a secretary sweetheart?" flew from my mouth, "And who are you calling a secretary?"

"You're not their secretaries? You're Women of Letters? W — how long have I been out?"

Charlie placed a hand on her hip and I crossed my arms and waited for her reaction to what Sam was saying.

Sam told her, "That's why we need to talk. Look, you've been gone for over 75 years. Now, according to our files, you came here to kill the wicked witch and then disappeared. What happened?"

"We couldn't find a way to kill her, so I did the only thing that I could," Dorothy answered a far away look in her eyes - one I've seen a thousand times on victims or the boys' faces.

Dorothy went on to explain how she'd learned a spell that would bind her soul to the witch and trap them together forever - it was all she could think to do since they couldn't kill the witch.

She reasoned that if she was awake then so was the witch and that we needed to find her.

"Wait, if she's here, why didn't she kill you?" Sam queried.

"She can't," Dorothy replied simply.

"You're protected by the Witch of the North's kiss. It's from the books," Charlie blurted.

"Oh, forget the books! They're not important. I'm protected. You aren't," she pointedly looked at each of us. "Now, the witch came here looking for something. I have no idea what it is. But we have to find her before she finds it."

Dean took charge of the moment, "All right. Charlie, dig into the files. See if you can find anything that puts a dent in this witch or any witch, whatever."

Charlied nodded her confirmation.

Dean looked at Sam and I and said, "We will look for anything she might be after."

"I'm helping," Dorothy announced.

As the three of us headed toward the door Sam told Dorothy, "Yeah, I don't doubt it. But for right now, why don't you rest up and help the smartest person in the room?"

Dorothy paused and I pointed at Charlie, "Yeah her," and the three of us left them to their work.

We spent the first ten or so minutes split up and checking different places we thought might hold the answer when I ran into Sam coming from one of the storage rooms and told him, "We need to go to the dungeon."

A moment later Dean rounded the corner and said, "Crowley, dungeon, now."

"Yeah, we're on our way," Sam replied.

Dean paused and looked at both of us before Sam pointed at me, "She might be the second smartest," he grinned and walked ahead of us.

"Huh, ya know you do give off the hot librarian vibes."

"I highly doubt that but I'll take the complement," I grinned at him and pulled out my gun as we made our way through the dungeon door.

"Wow. If it isn't the Scarecrow, the Tin Man and,"

"If you finish that I'll fucking slit your throat so fast, and it might not kill you but it'll hurt for a hell of a long while."

Dean snickered and moved just slightly in front of me.

"She's pleasant as ever," Crowley quipped. "Your new house-guest - so misunderstood."

When none of us responded Crowley asked, "None of you saw, "’Wicked’?"

"Just tell us what she said?" I sighed loudly.

Crowley paused for a moment and then told us, "Something along the lines of …" and then he hissed so loud it was almost comical.

Dean was taking none of his shit though and stated, "All right, well, I'm gonna go get some holy oil and a lighter, dick bag."

I happily turned to go grab the supplies, Dean just listed off, “I’m on it!

But Dean grabbed my arm and yanked me back into place between him and Sam. Crowley then told us he knew what the witch was looking for.

"Well, what does she want?" I demanded.

"I'd be happy to tell you, as soon as I get to stretch my legs," Crowley negotiated.

Sam and Dean looked at each other having one of their silent conversations and Sam just nodded in Crowley's direction and raised his gun in Crowley's direction. I mimicked Sam's stance just to remind the demon of how ready I was to end his shenanigans.

Dean moved to unlock the neck cuff, keeping the demon blade right next to his neck as a reminder of who was in charge. Dean stepped back while Crowley removed the neck cuff and laid it to the side.

"Oh. Ahh," he shifted around a little and stretched his neck, as he did this Dean backed up next to Sam and I and pulled his gun back out.

"All right. What does the witch want?" Sam snapped.

"Give me a moment. I still need to air myself out."

"Eeew," I whined.

Dean shot him in the chest, "I think you're aired out enough."

"Rude," Crowley grumbled as he looked down at the hole and back at us.

He pulled a paper out and held it up, the word KEY scrawled across it.

"Key?" I wondered.

"What key?" Sam demanded.

Crowley admitted he had no clue but sent her on a wild goose chase so she didn't harm him. He'd sent her to the kitchen.

Dean looked at me and Sam and we hoofed it to the kitchen, only stopping to lock the main doors of the dungeon. 

"Damn it," Dean grumbled. "I just cleaned in here."

I pushed my head between them to survey the mess - the kitchen was trashed - pots and pans everywhere, some food even torn open and dumped on the floor.

"What a bitch," I grumbled as we stepped further into the space.

"Looks like we got a witch here," Dean muttered.

Charlie and Dorothy entered the other doorway to the kitchen and all three of us swung our weapons in their direction, but quickly pointed them down and away from the girls.

"Sorry," Charlie said, realizing she'd startled us. "We raided your gun range," she brandished a weapon and continued explaining, "Made us some poppy bullets. They won't kill the witch but will stun the crap out of her."

"That's my girl," Dean inspected the two bullets she'd handed him.

"There was only enough for five bullets, so … make each shot count," she handed the last one to Sam.

"Now we just have to find her before she finds whatever the hell she's looking for."

"She's looking for a key," Sam informed them.

"How do you know?" Charlie inquired.

"Little birdie told us. Ring any bells, Dorothy?" Sam asked.

"Unfortunately," she sighed. "It's the key to Oz. There are magical ways into Oz -- tornado, eye of a hurricane, whirlpool -- but this key will turn any locked door into a portal to Oz. Insert key, twist, and presto, you're in Oz."

"How did the Men of Letters get the key?"

Dorothy looked at Sam, "I have no idea, but if she finds it, she'll go back and finish what she started. She'll destroy all that is good in Oz. She's got armies of witches, flying monkeys. Many will die."

"What's this key look like?" I jumped in.

Pulling a small brown journal from her coat she showed us a picture.

Dean thought a moment before announcing, "I've seen that key. Found it when I was doing inventory."

"Where is it now?" Dorothy asked.

"My room," Dean answered. "We got to get to that key. All right, we'll go look in my room," Dean glanced from Charlie to me. "Why don't you guys buy us some time?" he said to Sam and Dorothy.

Once they were gone Dean stopped Charlie and I who were almost out of the kitchen.

"The safest place in this joint is the dungeon."

Charlie glanced at me, "You have a dungeon in this place? Of course you do."

"So maybe you should…"

Charlie cut him off, "I am not hiding, especially in a dungeon. Wicked Witch, a key, a quest? Let's do this."

She bounced out the door and I just looked at Dean and wondered what was wrong with her.

"C-Charlie..." Dean called as he followed her, me on his heels.

As we dug through the box Dean thought the key might be in Charlie found his box of porno mags, "You keep your porn meticulously organized, but not --"

"Don't judge me," Dean defended.

"Maybe she can't but I can," I glared at him as I slammed the wooden box that held a shiny metal hair pin in it. 'I'll have to figure out what that does later,' I thought because it was pretty but if it was cursed I sure wasn't going to try to wear it.

"I don't see why you need to keep those in your room," I muttered.

"Ah!" Dean pulled something from a box and said, "Yahtzee."

I laid down the container I'd picked up to look in next when Charlie yelled, "Dean!"

The Wicked Witch grabbed the key from Dean's hand and slapped him so hard he was thrown across the room.

As she prepared to throw a ball of green lightning at him I shouted no an threw myself between her and Dean. 

SPN Fam:

@all-alone-he-turns-to-stone  | @lyarr24

@dean-winchester-is-a-warrior  | @nancymcl

@deans-baby-momma

@squirrelnotsam | @leigh70  | @impalaslytherin

@mishkatelwarriorgoddess | @deans-spinster-witch

@perpetualabsurdity  | @bumbleb10 | @mrswhozeewhatsis | @123passwort | @roseblue373 

@jackles010378 | @hobby27 |  @b3autyfuld1sast3r

Mr. Green-eyes Tags:

@mrsjenniferwinchester | @k-slla |   @jamerlynn | @libby99hb  | @lori19

@deansimpalababy | @stoneyggirl2

[indyredhead]

🍒 Gone Pt 6

Pairing: Dean x Reader 

Summary: Dean met the love of his life. Everything was perfect, until you disappeared. Two years later he runs into you in a small town diner at 2 in the morning, with another man, and you have no idea who Dean is.

Rating: 18+ 

Word Count: 3308

Warnings: Language, Violence, Smut (for half a second)

A/N: Please let me know what you think.

Gone Masterlist

What looked like a normal man stood in the middle of the room, next to Sam. Sam flinched and then stepped back to stand beside Dean, reflexively. He let out a small snort through his nose as he stared at the man. 

He was a little taller than Dean, with short sandy brown hair and those glowing electric blue eyes. He was dressed in a white button down shirt and gray dress pants. He looked like a menacing businessman but without a tie. 

He let his eyes fade back to a somewhat normal shade of blue but they somehow still looked like they were glowing. They were a striking, bright blue. His posture was perfect and his eyes were sharp as they took in the four of them, calculating. 

“Hello, Dean,” he said, with a voice that sounded like an aftertaste. The sound shook you and you immediately crawled across the bed to move closer to Dean, grasping at the back of his flannel. 

“Dean!” you cried out, terror in your voice. He instantly turned and wrapped one arm around you, still keeping his frame between you and the angel. 

Dean’s eyes never left the angel. “What’s wrong, sweetheart?” 

“His voice,” you stammered, your fingers gripping the soft fabric of Dean’s shirt so tightly your knuckles ached. “It’s… it’s the voice from the car. The day I woke up in the hospital. I remember the sound of it echoing inside my head before everything went black.”

Dean’s arm tightened around you, pulling you flush against his side. The protective warmth of his body was a sharp contrast to the ice-cold dread flooding the room. His green eyes were locked onto the angel, a terrifying, lethal promise burning behind them.

“You son of a bitch,” Dean growled, his voice dropping into a deep, dangerous tone that made the air feel heavy. “You’re the one who did this to her.”

The angel didn’t flinch. He simply tilted his head, his sharp, bright blue eyes watching the way you clung to Dean with a look of cold, analytical detachment.

“I am Sariel,” the angel said, and that strange, echoing aftertaste in his voice made a sharp spike of pain throb behind your eyes again. “And I did not harm her, Dean. I saved her. Left to your devices, she would have ended up dead in a ditch, or worse, corrupted by the life you force upon everyone around you.”

“You brainwashed her!” Brian yelled from the other side of the bed, his voice cracking with a mixture of fear and absolute fury. He was shaking, his eyes wide as he stared at the celestial being standing in his bedroom. “You messed with my head too! You made me believe a whole lie of a life!”

Sariel slowly turned his gaze to Brian. The sheer weight of the angel’s attention made Brian choke on his next breath and slide back against the headboard. “You were a suitable anchor, Brian. Good looking, stable, easy enough for us to control without rocking the boat too hard. We gave you a miracle; a beautiful life. A quiet life. We chose you to keep her safe from the misery the Winchesters bring.”

“We didn’t ask for your damn miracle!” Dean snapped, stepping forward just a couple inches to completely shield you from Sariel’s view with his body. He didn’t have an angel blade on him, but his posture was pure, tightly coiled violence. “You took her memories. You took her life. Our life. His life.”

“And I gave her a sanctuary,” Sariel replied calmly, his posture immaculate, completely unbothered by the hostility in the room. He took a single, slow step toward the bed. “But the edges are broken and cracked. The human mind is remarkably stubborn when infected by the Winchester curse. It is time to put the walls back up.”

Sam, who had been quietly tracking Sariel’s movements from the edge of the room that he had slipped to unnoticed, subtly shifted his weight. His hand was still on Dean’s gun, but he knew conventional bullets wouldn’t do a damn thing to an angel. He caught Dean’s eye for a split second, a silent, frantic question passing between the brothers: How do we play this without an angel blade?

Sariel raised his hand, his fingers starting to glow with a faint, rhythmic pulse of white celestial light as his eyes locked onto you. “Come here,” he commanded softly.

“You’re not fucking touching her, you son of a bitch!” Dean roared, his arm pulling you tighter against his back. “It’s okay, sweetheart,” he muttered to you. 

You clung to him for dear life, starting to tremble slightly. “Dean,” you pleaded in a whisper. “Don’t let him do this to me again.”

“I won’t,” Dean vowed, his voice a low, fierce promise right against your ear. “I swear to God, sweetheart, I’ve got you.”

Sariel’s glowing fingers twitched, his expression hardening into something cold and entirely unyielding. “You cannot fight the will of Heaven, Dean. Your attachments are your weakness. They always have been.”

Before the angel could take another step toward the bed, a sharp, metallic scraping sound sliced through the room.

Sam had lunged forward from the shadows, using the distraction to dive toward the master bedroom’s vanity mirror. With a brutal swing of his heavy boot, he shattered the glass, sending shards raining onto the floor. In one fluid, practiced motion, Sam grabbed a long, jagged wedge of the silvered glass, cut deep into his own thumb, and slammed his bloody hand against the closet door, rapidly drawing an angel banishing sigil.

Sariel’s bright blue eyes snapped toward Sam. “Samuel, do not try to outsmart me.” With a flick of his wrist he slammed Sam back against the wall, the shard of glass falling from his hand on impact.  Both of his hands were pinned against the wall so that he couldn’t move them and his feet were about six inches off the ground. 

Another swoosh of air and flutter of wings interrupted the altercation. “Sariel, stop!” Castiel commanded, voice serious and dark blue eyes trained on the other angel. 

“Cas, finally, man,” Dean grunted, relief flooding his voice. 

“Brother, what have you done?” Castiel said, ignoring Dean completely. 

“What I had to do. This is the will of Heaven, Castiel,” said Sariel with a solemn expression. 

“The humans may believe that but I know better. This is not Heaven’s will. This is your own vendetta,” Cas said, brow pulled tight as he stepped closer to Sariel. “Put Sam down, right now,” he demanded. 

“Maybe in a minute,” Sariel replied. 

Sariel gave a microscopic tilt of his chin, and Sam let out a choked gasp as the invisible force pinning him against the wall tightened, his boots dangling uselessly above the hardwood.

“Sam!” Dean called out, anger flaring higher.

“You have always had a weakness for them, Castiel,” Sariel said, his tone dripping with a quiet, dangerous disappointment. “You fell for them. I am merely trying to correct the anomaly before the damage spreads further.”

“She is not an anomaly,” Castiel countered, his voice dropping into that deep, gravelly register that seemed to vibrate the floorboards. “She is a human being who has earned her place beside them. What you have done to her—and to this innocent man—is a violation of the highest order. You know we are not to interfere with free will.”

Dean’s grip on your waist turned to steel. He couldn’t get to Sam, and he couldn’t fight Sariel, but having Cas in the room meant they finally had a weapon. “Cas, slice this son of a bitch open!” Dean barked, his eyes flashing with a lethal impatience.

But Sariel was faster. With a sudden, blinding burst of motion, he lunged toward Castiel, his hand slicing through the air. A blade of pure, shimmering celestial light materialized in his palm.

Cas anticipated the move, drawing his own silver angel blade from his sleeve with a sharp, metallic ring just in time to block the strike. The collision of their weapons sent a shower of blinding, white-hot celestial sparks flying across the bedroom, illuminating the dark corners in violent flashes.

“Brian, get down!” you screamed, your old survival instincts roaring to life through the fog in your brain. You threw yourself across the mattress, grabbing Brian by the arm and dragging him down toward the floor on the far side of the bed, using the heavy wooden frame as a shield. Brian didn't even fight you; he scrambled down, his hands over his head, completely paralyzed by the supernatural war breaking out in his own bedroom.

Dean screamed your name but held his position, still between you and the angel. 

The sound of blades clashing echoed like thunder in the enclosed space. Cas was holding his ground, his face set in grim determination, but Sariel was fueled by a fanatical, righteous fury.

“You cannot save her from her fate, brother!” Sariel roared, sustaining a vicious swipe from Cas that forced him back toward the doorway.

With Sariel’s focus entirely locked onto Castiel, the invisible grip holding Sam vanished. Sam dropped heavily to the floor, gasping for air as his boots slammed into the rug. He didn't waste a single second. He scrambled across the floor, his eyes scanning the debris until his fingers wrapped around the jagged shard of vanity glass he’d dropped earlier.

“Dean!” Sam choked out, coughing as he pushed himself up. “The sigil! I need a surface!”

Dean’s eyes snapped from the fighting angels to his brother, then to the blank expanse of the wooden headboard right above your pillows. “Right here! Do it now!”

“No, wait!” Castiel yelled. “Not yet.”

He moved swiftly and as their blades clashed again, Cas disarmed Sariel, his blade skittering across the floor toward the bathroom. Castiel’s blade was now under his chin pushing Sariel’s head up. “Now, brother, you will fix what you broke,” he demanded, voice firm and steady. 

Sariel huffed out a hysterical sounding laugh. “I will not.”

Cas pushed the blade up just slightly puncturing a small hole in the angel’s chin, a bright blue and white light leaked out. “Yes, you will.”

Sariel raised his hands to his sides, surrendering. “Very well. I’ll fix them but know I will never stop. I will reverse this in due time and this time I will kill Dean. Your pet will be no more and then things will be as they should,” Sariel vowed as he stared down at Castiel.

Sariel closed his eyes, and a low, melodic hum began to vibrate through the walls of the room.

Suddenly, your head felt like it was splitting entirely in two. The white-hot pain returned with a vengeance, so intense that you collapsed against the side of the bed, your fingers clawing at the carpet as a muffled scream tore from your throat. Beside you, Brian let out a loud, agonized cry, his hands flying back to his head as he curled into a tight ball on the floor.

It felt like a dam breaking inside your mind. The last two years of your life—the quiet mornings, the cozy library, the wedding planning, the gentle, domestic love you had shared with Brian—didn't vanish, but they suddenly shifted, pushed aside by a massive, roaring tidal wave of years of your real identity.

Memories flooded back in a dizzying, chaotic rush. Hunting monsters. The smell of cheap motels and old diner coffee. Late-night drives in the Impala. The heavy weight of a shotgun in your hands. Fighting alongside Sam. And Dean. Dean. A year and a half of fighting beside him, laughing with him, loving him, and the agonizing memory of the exact moment Sariel had ambushed your car in Kansas and dropped you in Georgia, ripping you away from the only family you had left.

As the hum abruptly snapped off, the pain vanished as quickly as it had come.

You gasped, your chest heaving as you opened your eyes. The fog was completely gone. The room was sharp, clear, and terrifyingly real. You looked up, your gaze instantly cutting past the broken glass and the chaos straight to the man standing by the bed.

“Dean,” you breathed, your voice no longer carrying the timid, pained confusion of the last few days. It was steady, grounded, and entirely yours.

Dean’s green eyes locked onto yours, and the sheer, agonizing weight of the last two years seemed to drop from his shoulders in an instant. “Sweetheart?” he whispered, his voice cracking slightly, searching your face for the confirmation he was desperate for.

Before he could step toward you, Sariel’s eyes snapped open, his striking blue gaze flashing with a bitter malice. “It is done, Castiel. I have restored their pathetic little minds. Now, remove the blade.”

Cas didn't lower the weapon an inch. His expression remained grim, his deep blue eyes locked onto his brother. “You promised you would never stop, Sariel. You threatened Dean’s life. Heaven may not care about your personal vendetta, but I do. I cannot allow you to remain a threat to them.”

Sariel’s eyes widened slightly as he realized what Cas was implying. “Castiel, you wouldn't—”

“You left me no choice,” Cas said, thrusting the blade up through his jaw. A blinding white light burst through the angel, coming out of his eyes and mouth that was open in a silent scream. Black charred wings spread across the doorway and along the walls. 

Cas slowly lowered his angel blade, sliding it effortlessly back into his sleeve as he let out a heavy, solemn breath. “I’m sorry, brother,” he whispered, mostly to himself. 

The silence that followed was thick and suffocating. On the floor beside you, Brian was slowly uncurling, his breathing shallow and ragged as he stared at his hands. The look in his eyes was entirely different now—the glassy, brainwashed devotion was gone, replaced by the staggering, heavy realization of his own real past. He remembered Charlotte. He remembered Chrissy. He remembered his actual life.

Dean didn't care about the angel’s death. The second the light faded, he dropped to his knees right in front of you on the floor. His hands came up to cup your face, his fingers trembling slightly against your skin, his jade eyes burning into yours with a raw, fierce intensity.

“Hey,” Dean murmured, his voice rough and thick with emotion, his thumbs gently brushing across your cheekbones. “Hey. Talk to me. Tell me it’s you.”

“Dean,” you murmured as you threw your arms around him, raising up onto your own knees. You slammed your mouth into his, kissing him with every piece of your soul that had been locked away for two years. Dean’s fingers slid into your hair and pushed your head harder against his lips, his tongue exploring your mouth as if it were the first time. He kissed you deeply and a small sound escaped your throat and he swallowed it. As your lips moved against his you pressed your body tighter against him. 

After a moment you pulled back, both of you breathless, staring into each other’s eyes like neither of you could trust that this was truly real. “God, I fuckin’ missed you,” he rasped, leaning his forehead against yours as his hands cupped the sides of your face. 

“I missed you too. I love you, Dean,” you said, eyes watery. 

“I love you too, sweetheart.”

Neither Sam nor Brian interrupted the reunion. Both fully understood the levity of it. Now that Brian was sorting through his own memories and emotions, he stood up and sat on the edge of the bed. He pulled out his phone and dialed Chrissy’s number, silently praying it was still the same. 

“Hello,” her voice answered. 

“Chrissy…” Brian said. 

There was a long pause. “Brian?” she said, her voice barely a whisper. 

“Yeah, it’s me, honey,” he said, a tear falling down his cheek. 

“But… No, it can’t be. Brian disappeared two years ago. This isn’t funny. Who is this?” she said, emotions threatening to overwhelm her and he could hear it in her voice. 

“It’s really me, honey. I was… well I was taken. I can explain everything. Are you still in Charlotte? Are you… are you still single?”

“Yes. And as of a month ago, yeah I am single again,” she said slowly. “Brian, is it really you?”

“Yes, babe. It’s really me. Finally,” he blurted out. 

“Finally?” she asked, confused. “Don’t worry. I’m in Mississippi but I’m going to pack my car and drive straight through to Charlotte. To you.”

“I can’t believe it’s really you. I’ve been so worried. I still think about you every day. I was so afraid that you–” she trailed off, unable to finish the sentence. 

“I’m coming home. I’ll explain it all when I get there,” he promised again. “Let me pack some things and I’ll call you from the car.”

“Okay,” she said, tears in her voice. “I love you.”

“I love you too, honey,” he said and then hung up. He turned to find the three of you looking at him but Sam and Dean quickly looked away. 

You pulled out of Dean’s arms after giving him a quick peck to the lips. Slowly, you walked over to Brian and held out your arms. He gave you a hug and you both sank into each other. It was a long hug filled with all your past memories and the relief that you finally had your real identities back.  When he pulled back you slipped off your engagement ring and tucked it into his hand, closing his fingers over it. You both gave each other a small smile of understanding. 

“Thank you for being so good to me, Brian,” you said before you let go of his hands. 

“You were good to me too,” he replied. “I’m glad you have your real boyfriend and I hope that Chrissy and I can get past this too. She won’t understand like boyfriend does. Hell, I don’t even understand it fully. It’s a good thing I have a long drive to try and figure out how I’m going to explain it to her,” he said nervously. 

“You will. If you need help, maybe Cas can come and explain it to her. Show her,” you said, looking back over your shoulder at Cas who gave you a simple nod of agreement.

Brian nodded too and looked at you one more time. “Take care of yourself,” he said, almost calling you honey but catching himself. 

“You too,” you said and you watched him turn towards the closet to grab a suitcase. 

You walked up to Sam and gave him a big hug. “I missed you too, you know,” you said with a smirk. 

“Me too,” he said with a smile as he rubbed his hand over your back. 

You turned and Dean was right behind you. Ready to pull you back into his arms again. “Babe, can you give me like ten mins to pack some things and change and then we can get out of here?”

He pouted but nodded. “Yeah,” he said, letting his hands fall back to his sides. As you pulled some personal things out and set them on the bed, Dean began packing them into a bag from the walk-in. He wanted to get you back to the motel as fast as humanly possible. Sam was already downstairs in the car. 

A few minutes later, you were ready to go. You gave Brian one more hug and hugged and thanked Cas for giving you your life back and told him you’d see him soon. Then you followed Dean out into the dark night. The crisp air hit your skin as you pulled the Impala door open and slid in beside Dean.

Part 7

Taglist: @throttlepascal @iloveneilperry  @cauldronboilme27  @velvetandromeda @in-hayah @moonz33 @julisgarden @kazsrm67 @megara0224 @marcspectorondeeznuts

[kazsrm67]

Oh my. What a roller-coaster! Poor Brian and reader. But I'm so glad Cas showed up and saved them!

[spnfanficpond]

SPNFanFicPond's Comment Bingo - July 2026

Comments uplift and inspire authors while letting them know exactly how much all their hard work means to us! In this event, the Pond really wants to encourage our readers to interact with our wonderful writers by leaving meaningful comments on their work. This bingo’s purpose is to give our writers a smile and help readers get into the habit of commenting on Supernatural fanfiction, no matter what platform it is posted on. So get your fingers ready to type some compliments and show our writers how much we appreciate them and the stories they share!

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This month's card:

[indyredhead]

🍒 Gone Pt 5

Pairing: Dean x Reader 

Summary: Dean met the love of his life. Everything was perfect, until you disappeared. Two years later he runs into you in a small town diner at 2 in the morning, with another man, and you have no idea who Dean is.

Rating: 18+ 

Word Count: 3467

Warnings: Language, Violence, Smut (for half a second)

A/N: Please let me know what you think.

Gone Masterlist

Dean’s hand on your hip tightened, but before he could even whisper your name in worry, the shadow beneath the door shifted. The closet door was ripped open violently.

The warm light of the bedroom flooded the small space. Brian stood in the doorway, his chest heaving, his face twisting from confusion to absolute, stunned fury as he took in the scene. He saw you—in your pajama set, your hair messy, your back pressed completely flush against Dean’s chest, his hand gripping your hip and your face was pressed into his neck. 

“What the hell?!” Brian gasped, his voice cracking as he stepped back. “What... honey? What is he doing in our house? What are you doing with him?!”

In a fraction of a second, Dean’s hunter instincts took over. He stepped out of the closet, entirely shielding your body with his own solid frame. His gun was up, pointed straight at Brian’s chest, his stance rock-solid and lethal.

“Step back,” Dean growled, his voice low, vibrating with a protective rage. “Back, right now.”

“Are you out of your damn mind?” Brian yelled, raising his hands but refusing to back down. “Honey, get away from him! He’s got a gun!”

But behind Dean, you let out another weak, ragged whimper, your knees buckling completely as the pain in your head flared again, threatening to pull you under. You slid down the wall, your hand slipping from the back of Dean’s shirt.

The sound of your pain shattered Dean’s focus instantly.

The gun didn’t matter. Brian didn’t matter. In a heartbeat, Dean spun around and dropped to his knees, catching you before you could hit the floor. He let his gun clatter to the hardwood, to catch you, as he gathered you in his arms.

“Hey, hey, I’ve got you,” Dean murmured, his voice thick with sudden, mounting panic. He cupped your face with his hands, his green eyes scanning your pale features. “Look at me, sweetheart. Just breathe. Sammy!”

You murmured something incoherent and then the only part that Dean could make out, “...they said they were doing this to save us. To save you from me. Or me from you.”

Brian’s anger instantly faltered, replaced by a sudden, nervous panic as he looked down at you shivering in Dean’s arms. “What...what’s wrong with her? What did you do to her?!” he stammered, taking a step closer, though he looked terrified to touch either of you.

“Get back!” Dean roared at him, not even looking up as he pressed his forehead gently against yours. “I swear to God, if you touch her, I’ll kill you.”

Your eyes were closed. You had passed out again. Dean lifted you into his arms and carried you to the bed, glaring at your fiance—a silent warning to get out of his way—and laid you down gently. 

You weren’t out as long this time. It was only about ten minutes but it was a tense, silent stand-off in the bedroom. Neither man spoke but each was glaring at the other. Dean was contemplating killing Brian for whatever he’d done to you and Brian was thinking about going for the gun on the floor or calling the cops. 

Just then Sam walked in. “Dean–” he trailed off as he took in the absolute severity of the scene. You were unconscious on the bed and both men were on either side of the bed looking completely murderous. 

Before he could try and de-escalate things a soft groan left your lips and your eyes began to flutter. Both men’s attention snapped back to you. Slowly, you opened your eyes and squinted, trying to adjust to the light in the room after your blackout. You brought your hand up to shield your eyes. 

“Sweetheart, talk to me,” Dean said, his jade eyes locked on you. 

“Honey, are you okay?” Brian said, crawling further into the bed beside you, his eyes warily shifting between you, Dean and the tall stranger now standing near the door. He was starting to feel trapped in his own bedroom and he still wasn’t sure exactly what he had walked in on with you and Dean. 

Sam noticed Dean’s gun on the floor and immediately retrieved it. That took out one of Brian’s options but he tried to keep his face steady and not show as much fear as he felt. 

“Dean,” you murmured.

“I’m right here, sweetheart,” he said, reaching out to cup your cheek. “Where’s Brian?” you asked, voice still pained. 

“I’m here, honey,” he said, puffing out his chest just a bit while he reached for your hand slowly and carefully, remembering Dean’s threat.

You squeezed Brian’s hand but turned your head back towards Dean. “I saw something,” you said weakly, still trying to regain your bearings. 

“What did you see?” Dean asked softly, stroking your cheek with his thumb. 

“Us. We were someplace big and we were watching a movie with beer and food and chocolate covered strawberries and we…” you trailed off, your gaze flicking to Brian. 

“Chocolate covered strawberries. I remember. That was our anniversary…” Dean said, his eyes getting slightly moist but he blinked it away quickly. “We were on the floor of the bunker,” Dean continued, his voice barely more than a rough whisper. “We dragged the mattress from our room into the library. You said the couch was too lumpy. We drank cheap beer out of the bottle and you insisted we had to eat those strawberries because they were classy.” 

Your eyes found Dean’s again. “We didn’t finish the movie… I remember us… being… intimate,” you admitted, your voice barely a whisper. You closed your eyes for just a second and saw Dean’s head between your trembling thighs, your hands gripping his hair tightly, back arched, flashing behind your eyelids. You let out a soft breath as you opened your eyes again, a shiver running up your spine. 

Dean let out a raw, shuddering breath, his chest rising and falling rapidly. For the first time since he saw you again, the fierce, defensive guard he kept up completely crumbled. His hand remained on your cheek, his thumb gently wiping away a tear before it could fall. He looked at you with an expression of such profound relief and devotion that it made your chest ache all over again.

“We made it to the half-hour mark of the movie,” Dean said, his voice thick with emotion, a tiny, self-deprecating laugh escaping him. “Before I kicked the bowl of strawberries off the mattress because I couldn’t keep my hands off you.”

“Bullshit! You’re lying! You’re messing with her head, twisting her thoughts!” Brian yelled, squeezing your hand tighter. “Honey, this isn’t real! We are real. Our life together is real!” 

“Brian, cut the shit, we know her accident never happened. So why don’t you start telling her the truth,” Sam said, his voice low and dangerous, the gun still in his hand at his side like a silent warning. 

“I am!” Brian insisted, his voice cracking with a desperate, frantic sincerity that actually made Sam pause. Brian looked down at you, his eyes wide and completely terrified, swimming with genuine tears. “Honey, I swear to you, I’m not lying. I know you had an accident. I was there! The police called me from the hospital. They said you’d been run off the road, that your car was a total loss, and you didn’t have any ID on you but they found my number in your pocket. I rushed to Georgia. I took care of you. I—I built our home. I love you!”

Dean’s jaw clenched, his eyes narrowing as he watched Brian’s breakdown. He was a master at reading liars, but looking at Brian right now... the guy didn’t look like a con artist or a monster trying to cover his tracks. He looked like a man whose entire reality was suddenly being ripped apart at the seams.

Sam slowly lowered the gun, his brow furrowing as he watched the utter panic on the fiance’s face. He stepped closer to the bed, his analytical eyes scanning Brian’s body language.

“Brian,” Sam said, his voice dropping the hard edge, replaced by a cautious, calculating tone. “When you got that call... what was the name of the officer who called you?”

“I... I don’t know,” Brian stammered, shaking his head rapidly as he clutched your hand like a lifeline. “Officer... Officer Smith? Or maybe Miller? It was two years ago, I don’t remember! I just remember the panic. I remember driving all night from North Carolina to get to you.”

“North Carolina?” Sam repeated, his eyes widening slightly. “But you live here. You’ve lived here your whole life, right?”

“No, I—yes. Yes, I’ve always lived here,” Brian said, then he blinked, a sudden, glassy look washing over his eyes. He shook his head, looking momentarily dazed. “Wait. No, I was in Charlotte. I had an apartment. No... no, I’ve lived in this house for five years. I...” He trailed off, his breath catching in his throat as he gripped his own head with his free hand, his face twisting in sudden, painful confusion. “Why did I just say North Carolina? I’ve never even been there.”

Dean’s hand stilled on your cheek. He slowly looked up, meeting Sam’s eyes across the bed.

“Sam,” Dean said, his voice dropping into a low, heavy realization. “It’s not just her.”

“Yeah,” Sam murmured, his expression turning grim. “Someone didn’t just wipe her memory and dump her here. They built a whole damn cage around her. They found a guy who was already alone, rewrote his mind, gave him a fake history, fake memories of an accident, and slotted him right in as the perfect, devoted boyfriend."

“Dammit, they’ve both been magically roofied,” Dean muttered. He wanted to continue to hate Brian but this changed everything. Brian wasn’t the threat, just another victim.

You looked from Brian—who was now trembling, staring at his own hands in absolute horror as his brain tried to process the gaping logical loopholes in his own life—to Dean, whose green eyes were filled with a mixture of anger and deep, aching pity.

“Alone?” Brian muttered, still looking down at his hands. He lifted his head, his eyes darting between the three of them. “I wasn’t… I wasn’t alone. Chrissy. I had a girlfriend, Chrissy. We lived together in–” He cut himself off, his hands flying to his own head, eyes screwed shut in pain as he let out a low groan. 

“Brian!” you said, sitting up and reaching for him. Your hand came down on his thigh and you moved closer to wrap your arms around him. “Babe, are you okay?”

Dean’s fist tightened by his side but he remained still on the other side of the bed. This wasn’t his fault or yours. You were both victims. He couldn’t fault either of you for the feelings you’d built over the last two years. 

After a moment, Brian opened his eyes again. They were glossy but he didn’t let the tears fall. He said your name and hugged you back. “But Chrissy. What happened to her? What the hell is going on?!” he said, voice panicked and desperate. 

Sam let out a sigh and walked to the foot of the bed. “Something did this to both of you. It ripped you out of your lives and forced you into a fake life. We don’t know what yet or why but we will figure it out,” he promised. 

“Something?” Brian asked, looking between Sam and Dean. “What does that even mean??” he said, throwing his hands in the air in frustration and confusion.

Dean looked at him and his eyes were slightly less cold but no less intense. He didn’t sugar coat it. “There are things out there that people think are just fantasy. They’re not. Vampires, werewolves, demons, and many, many more monsters. They’re all real. We hunt them. She did too before she was zapped into Pleasantville.”

Brian stared at Dean, his face completely pale, his chest heaving as he tried to process the absolute insanity of what he had just heard. He let out a breathless, borderline hysterical laugh. “Monsters? Vampires? Are you out of your damn mind? Honey, tell me these guys are escaped mental patients, please.”

You looked at Brian, your heart aching at the pure terror in his eyes, but as you opened your mouth to comfort him, a bizarre, heavy weight settled into your chest. The word monsters didn’t sound like a fairy tale. It sounded like an old, familiar textbook.

“He’s telling the truth, Brian,” you heard yourself say, your voice remarkably steady despite the circumstances. You looked over at Sam, then back to Dean. “I don’t know how I know... but he is.”

Brian’s mouth opened and closed, his gaze flickering down to your hand on his chest. He looked completely unraveled, a man watching the walls of his entire existence crumble into dust. “Chrissy...” he whispered, his thoughts looping back to the fracturing pieces of his own mind. “If she was real... what did they do to her? What did they do to me?”

“Hey,” Dean said, his voice surprisingly quiet as he addressed Brian directly for the first time without a murderous edge. He didn’t move closer—respecting the fact that you still had your arms around the guy—but his green eyes were deadly serious. “Listen to me. Whoever did this to you, they didn’t do it because they hated you. They used you. You were a prop to keep her hidden. If your girlfriend Chrissy is out there, we’ll help you find her. But right now, we need to figure out who pulled the strings.”

Sam nodded, tucking the gun into his waistband. “Brian, think. Two years ago, right before you got that phone call about the accident. Did anything weird happen? Did you see a flash of light? Hear a weird noise? Did a stranger come to your door?”

Brian clutched his head again, his eyes squeezed shut tightly as he forced his mind back into the fog. “I don’t... I can’t...” He groaned, the pain clearly flaring up the harder he tried to fight the mental block. “There was... a man. At my apartment in Charlotte. He had a coat. No, that’s not right. He was wearing a suit. He had these... these eyes. They weren’t normal. They were glowing. Like a blue fire.”

A violent shiver ran down your spine, and you instantly looked up at Dean.

Dean’s entire demeanor shifted. The pity vanished, replaced by a sudden, rigid tension that made his shoulders lock. He didn’t look at Sam; he kept his eyes locked on you, his jaw working as a dangerous, familiar anger began to simmer beneath his skin.

“Blue fire,” Dean repeated, his voice dropping into a dangerously low register. He knew that description. He knew exactly what kind of power it took to rewrite two lives so flawlessly and construct a perfect, localized prison.

“An angel,” Sam breathed from the foot of the bed, his face falling into a grim, exhausted expression. “Dean... it was an angel.”

Dean didn’t answer his brother. Instead, he looked at you, his thumb tentatively reaching out to brush a stray piece of hair behind your ear, his touch incredibly tender despite the fury radiating off him. “They told you they were saving us from each other, huh?” he murmured, recalling what you’d muttered before you passed out. A bitter, heartbreaking smile touched his lips. “They always think they know what’s best for us.”

Brian looked between you and Dean, noticing the unspoken, profound connection passing between you even in the middle of a literal nightmare. He slowly let his hands drop from his head, looking entirely defeated. “If my whole life is a lie...” he whispered, his voice cracking as he looked at you, tears finally spilling over his eyelids. “Was... was this a lie too? Did you ever actually love me?”

The question pierced right through you, throwing you into a tailspin of guilt and confusion. You looked at the man you had planned to marry, the man who had been sweet and gentle to you for two whole years, and then your gaze drifted to Dean, whose green eyes were watching you with a heavy, agonizing breath held in his chest, waiting for your answer.

You looked at Brian, your heart fracturing at the raw, vulnerable pain in his voice. This was a man who had held you when you cried, who had built a quiet, safe life with you, and who—until five minutes ago—truly believed you were his entire future.

“Brian,” you whispered, your fingers tightening into the fabric of his shirt as you held him. “I… I don’t know what’s real in my head right now. But the way I cared about you? The way you cared about me? That wasn’t fake. We didn’t know. You were good to me, Brian. That was real.”

Brian let out a ragged, shaky breath, closing his eyes as he leaned his forehead against your shoulder for just a second. It felt less like a romantic embrace and more like two survivors clinging to each other in the middle of a shipwreck.

On the other side of the bed, Dean didn’t move. His jaw tightened, and he looked down at the floor, his fists clenched so hard his knuckles turned white. It was a jagged pill to swallow—watching you comfort another man, hearing you say you cared about him—but Dean forced his own jealousy down. He could see the truth. Brian wasn’t the monster who had stolen you; he was just another piece of collateral damage left in a dick angel’s wake.

“Look,” Sam stepped in, his voice gentle but firm as he tried to keep them all grounded. “The angel who did this… they didn’t just want to hide you. They wanted to make sure that if Dean ever did find you, the truth would tear all of you apart. It was a trap designed to keep you from going back to your real lives.”

“So what do we do?” Brian asked, slowly pulling back from you. He wiped a hand across his wet eyes, looking completely exhausted, his gaze shifting from you to Sam, and finally to Dean. “If my memories are a lie… how do I get my real life back? How do we get our lives back?”

Dean lifted his head, his green eyes flashing with a sudden, sharp determination. The heartbroken lover vanished, replaced entirely by the hardened, fierce hunter who was done being a pawn in some cosmic game.

“We find the son of a bitch who did this,” Dean said, his voice dropping into a lethal, gravelly rumble. He reached out, his hand resting flat on the mattress right next to your hip, bringing his presence close enough that you could feel the heat radiating off him. “Angels leave a signature when they do mojo this heavy. Grace leaves a trail. We’re gonna find out which choir-boy stepped out of line, and I’m gonna personally rip his wings off.”

You looked at Dean, and for the first time, the sheer intensity of his anger didn't scare you. Inside your chest, a strange, dormant spark of fire finally flared to life. You recognized that anger. You had shared it once.

“How do we find him?” you asked quietly, your voice losing its timid, librarian softness and taking on a steady, focused edge that made both Winchester brothers instantly look at you.

Sam let out a small, encouraging breath. “First, we need to check the local area for any weird celestial activity over the last two years. Localized lightning storms, sudden clusters of cured illnesses—anything an angel leaves behind when they drop in to check on their handiwork. Because if they went to this much trouble to build a cage for you…”

“They’re probably still watching it,” Dean finished for him, his jade eyes locking onto yours with a fierce, protective promise. “And the second they realize the hinges are broken, they’re gonna come back to fix it.”

“Cas, get your ass down here or so help me God,” Dean growled. 

You let go of Brian and leaned back on the headboard, turning to stare at Dean like he’d lost his mind. “Who are you yelling at?”

“An angel. One that’s BEING A DICK,” Dean said, yelling the last words at the ceiling. 

Suddenly, a swoosh of air swept through the room and the soft sound of wings flapping echoed briefly. Dean was on his feet now and he spun around, immediately putting himself between you and the sound. An angel came when Dean called alright—he had been watching his project fail in real-time—but it wasn’t Castiel.

Part 6

Taglist: @throttlepascal @iloveneilperry  @cauldronboilme27  @velvetandromeda @in-hayah @moonz33

[kazsrm67]

With that last sentence I muttered. "Oh no," and I can only hope my sleeping spouse doesn't remember me waking him. Lol.

Such a good chapter! I can't wait to see what happens next!

[indyredhead]

🍒 Gone Pt 4

Pairing: Dean x Reader 

Summary: Dean met the love of his life. Everything was perfect, until you disappeared. Two years later he runs into you in a small town diner at 2 in the morning, with another man, and you have no idea who Dean is.

Rating: 18+ 

Word Count: 3373

Warnings: Language, Violence

A/N: Please let me know what you think.

Gone Masterlist

Dean bit down into his cheeseburger. Sam had his laptop open and a big salad with grilled chicken sitting to the side of it. 

“Think she’ll reach out?” Sam asked. 

“I don’t know,” Dean said and then paused. “Strike that. Yes, I do,” he said motioning to the front door with his chin. Sam turned around and watched you walk through the door and begin to look around. 

Your eyes caught theirs and you slowly, shyly, walked towards them. You looked nervous, like you weren’t sure that you should really even be there. Stepping up to the table, you swallowed hard. 

“Um, hi,” you said, voice too soft. 

“Hi,” the brothers said in unison. Dean started to scoot over but you looked at Sam. “Can I sit here?”

Sam shot Dean a look but scooted over in the booth to make space. When your eyes met Dean’s again, he couldn’t help but look a little wounded. You hated that you've seen that look so many times since you met him but you felt a little more comfortable sitting next to the brother who didn’t stare at you with the heaviness and longing that Dean did.

“I-I’m only here because you said you know something about the hospital. I thought maybe you might know something about my accident.”

Sam quickly closed a couple of open tabs on his screen, leaving a clean official document visible before turning the screen slightly toward you. “Right. Of course. Well, first off, we dug into the records from that hospital in Georgia where you woke up two years ago.”

Dean didn’t say anything. He just watched you from across the table, his arms folded over his chest, his forgotten burger sitting in the basket. The wounded look was gone, replaced by that familiar, fierce intensity, but he was intentionally keeping his mouth shut so he wouldn’t scare you off again.

“Here’s the thing,” Sam continued, his deep voice calm and professional as he pointed to the screen. “The hospital records say you were admitted under Jane Doe after being found on the side of Route 16. The intake report lists your injuries as a concussion and dehydration. But there is absolutely no mention of an automobile accident. No lacerations, no broken bones, no bruising consistent with a crash. Nothing.”

You squinted at the digital document, your chest tightening as you read the words No physical trauma noted. “But… Brian told me the police said it was a hit-and-run. He said my car was totaled.”

“We checked the DMV and police databases for this entire region,” Sam said gently, his eyes filled with sympathy. “There is no record of a car registered to you ever being towed, impounded, or involved in an accident around that date. And your medical chart? The neurologist who examined you noted that your amnesia didn’t look like it was caused by a head injury. He actually wrote down that the cognitive block was ‘atypical’ and recommended a psychiatric transfer before you were suddenly discharged against medical advice.”

You sat back against the vinyl booth, the air leaving your lungs in a sharp gasp. The room suddenly felt very loud, the clinking of silverware and the murmur of other diner patrons buzzing in your ears. Your whole life for the past two years was built on the foundation of that accident. Brian had been the one to explain it to you, to hold you while you cried over your missing pieces, to help you start fresh.

“Why would he lie to me?” you whispered, your hands starting to tremble in your lap. “Why would Brian make all of that up?”

“Because he’s keeping you in a box,” Dean’s voice cut through the fog, low and rough. He leaned forward, resting his forearms on the table, bringing himself closer to you. “Sweetheart, think about it. If you don’t have a past, if you don’t have a car, if you don’t have any family checking in on you, who do you have to rely on? Just him.”

“No,” you said, shaking your head, your voice rising slightly in panic. “No, Brian loves me. He’s sweet, he’s—he wouldn’t do something like this. He’s just a normal guy.”

“He might be a normal guy,” Sam interjected, trying to keep his tone soothing before Dean could push too hard. “He might just be a guy who found a vulnerable woman and saw a chance to build a perfect life. Or… he might be a part of whatever actually put you there. We don’t know yet. But the paperwork doesn’t lie. There was no accident.”

You looked from Sam’s steady gaze back across the table to Dean. His green eyes were completely locked on yours, practically begging you to see the truth. The ache in your chest flared up again, hotter this time, a chaotic storm of confusion, betrayal, and that terrifyingly deep familiarity swirling inside you.

“I have to go,” you stammered suddenly, sliding out of the booth before Sam could even move his legs. “I—I have to get back to the library. Brian is supposed to bring me lunch in twenty minutes.”

“Hey, wait,” Dean said, standing up immediately as you backed away from the table. He didn’t chase you, but his voice anchored you to the spot for a fraction of a second. “Take a breath. You don’t have to face him alone.”

“I’m fine,” you said, though the words felt hollow even to you. You turned and practically sprinted out the glass front doors of the diner, the bell jingling merrily above you as you burst back out into the bright morning air, your head spinning out of control.

Dean looked at Sam. “Well, she knows. That’s a start.”

“Do you think she’ll accept it though? Uproot the perfect life she thought she’d built here? With him,” Sam asked, raising a brow and tilting his head slightly for just a fraction of a second.

“I don’t know. But we can’t give up. She still has my phone number on her wrist. That has to count for something,” Dean said, voice low and rough. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~

Brian came and brought a pizza with him. You both were sitting in the breakroom eating together when you noticed he was eyeing you a little. 

“What?” you asked, around a mouthful of pizza. 

“Nothing. You’re just… quiet,” he said, eyes still studying your face. “Everything okay?”

“Yeah,” you said, quickly taking another bite to keep from answering another question. 

“Okay,” he relented but his eyes still had that look in them. 

You didn’t want to have a conversation with him yet. Not now. And definitely not here. You needed time to wrap your mind around everything, well as much as you could, before you asked him about the hospital. About the accident that apparently never really happened. 

After lunch you walked him out to his car. He pulled you into his arms and gave you a long deep kiss. Somehow, you managed to kiss him back like nothing was wrong. His embrace was warm and his kiss was steady. Nothing gave away that he might be hiding anything. That sent a shiver down your spine but you gave him a smile and started to pull away to go back inside. He kept his hold on your waist. 

“Honey,” he said, studying your face again. “Are you sure you’re okay after everything that happened last night with the weirdo?”

“Weirdo?” you said softly. “You mean Dean?”

“Yeah, him. He was weird and the whole thing really freaked me out so I can only imagine how you feel.”

“Yeah, I’m fine. Really, babe,” you lied. 

He looked at you for another moment before finally letting go of your waist and giving you a quick peck to your lips. “Okay then. I’ll see you tonight before my poker game.”

You nodded and gave him a small smile before turning and walking back into the library. 

You walked back into the breakroom to hang up your jacket. Immediately, your gaze dropped to your wrist. You pulled out your phone and saved Dean’s number in it. As a small sigh left your lips, you closed your eyes and took a deep breath. As you opened your eyes, Mary walked in and you stepped back out to get back to work.

The rest of the afternoon shift dragged by in an agonizingly slow crawl. Every time the library’s front doors opened, your heart leaped into your throat, half-expecting to see those familiar green eyes or Sam’s tall silhouette walking through the door again.

But they didn’t come back inside.

Instead, you spent hours shelving books in a complete daze, your hands moving on autopilot while your mind spun in exhausting circles. Every memory you had of your life here—every sweet thing Brian had ever done, every comforting word he’d spoken when you woke up terrified and blank in that hospital room—now felt tainted. It was like looking at a beautiful painting and suddenly noticing a massive, ugly crack running right down the center.

No physical trauma noted. No car registered to me. Why would he lie?

By the time 5:00 p.m. finally rolled around, you were completely spent. You said a quiet goodbye to Mary, gathered your things, and walked out into the cool evening air. The sun was beginning to dip below the horizon, casting long, dramatic shadows across the pavement. You headed straight for your small white sedan. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~

 Dean was sitting on the edge of the motel bed, looking at Sam who was digging up info on Brian over at the desk. Dean glanced at the hole in the wall above Sam’s head then looked into the main part of the room, not focusing on anything in particular. 

“Cas, get your feathery ass down here,” he said, as his eyes scanned the room for signs of movement. After a moment, he sighed. “C’mmon, Cas! This is the fourth time I’ve called you. I need you, man,” he gruffed, getting more annoyed by the second. 

Sam turned and looked at Dean. “Still nothing, huh? That’s rough.”

“Fuckin’ angels,” Dean grunted.

Sam shrugged and turned back to his laptop, fingers flying across the keys. 

Dean’s phone buzzed and he saw your number, your current number, pop up on the screen. He answered quickly, saying your name. 

“Dean,” you said in a whisper. 

“What’s wrong? Why are you whispering?” he asked, panic flooding his green eyes as he jumped to his feet. Sam spun to look at him, a questioning look on his face, but he remained silent. 

“Dean, someone is in the house. Brian is gone at his poker game. I’m alone in here and I heard a crash downstairs,” you said quietly but fear penetrated every word and Dean heard it. 

“Text me the address. We’re on our way,” he said, his voice deep and certain. 

His phone buzzed again just as he slid behind Baby’s wheel. 

Dean entered through the front door while Sam went around the back. He didn’t see anyone downstairs so he headed for the second floor, his boots silent on the hardwoods. He peeked in the first room. Empty. He swung his body around to point his gun through the open door of the second room. Empty. In the third room, he saw a flickering light. As he entered the master bedroom he walked by the door to the master bathroom. The tub was full of water and there was some water on the floor. A big candle sitting on the vanity bathed the room in a warm flickering light but it was empty too. 

Dean turned and looked around the room. His eyes landed on the movement behind the curtains. He walked over to pull them back but didn’t have a chance. 

You lunged out from behind the fabric with raw, explosive speed, your body moving on a pure, instinctual autopilot that your conscious mind didn’t even have time to register.

Before Dean could even react, you slammed your body weight into his chest, throwing him entirely off balance. Your hands gripped his collar, and with a swift, practiced twist of your hips, you swept his legs right out from under him. He went down hard, the back of his head barely missing the edge of the nightstand as he hit the fluffy shag rug with a heavy, breath-robbing thud.

In a fraction of a second, you straddled his waist, your knee pinning his arm to the floor while your hand flew to his throat, squeezing just enough to keep him pinned.

Your chest heaved, your breath coming in ragged, terrified gasps as you stared down at him, ready to strike.

Dean didn’t fight you. He didn’t even try to throw you off, though he easily had the size advantage. He just lay there on the floor, his free hand held up in a placating gesture, his green eyes locked onto yours. Even with your fingers pressed hard against his windpipe, there was no anger in his face—only a sudden, staggering wave of awe.

“See?” Dean choked out, a rough, proud little laugh escaping his lips despite the grip you had on his throat. “Told you... hunter, sweetheart.”

You blinked, the fog in your brain briefly clashing with the absolute lethality of the position you had just taken. You looked down at your hands, then at the way your knees were perfectly locked to pin his hips, realization slowly dawning on you. You didn’t know how to do this. You were a librarian. You spent your days shelving biographies, not dropping grown men to the floor like a SWAT officer.

“I...” your voice trembled, your grip loosening on his neck, though you didn’t get off him yet. “How…? How did I do that?”

“Muscle memory,” Dean whispered, his eyes scanning your face, drinking in the sight of you. “Your head might not remember the training, but your body does. You’ve taken me down just like that multiple times but usually it’s for the enemies.”

“Dean!” Sam’s voice roared from the hallway as he came rushing up the stairs, his gun drawn. He rounded the doorway of the bedroom and froze, his eyes widening as he took in the sight of you, in a tiny little tank top and shorts pajama set with your hair pulled up into a messy bun, straddling and completely pinning his older brother to the floor.

Sam slowly lowered his gun, a small, stunned smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Well, guess she’s still got it.”

“Shut up, Sammy, and help me up,” Dean grumbled, though he didn’t look the least bit upset about being held down. Dean watched, his eyes still holding the awe, as you released him and slowly stood up. You were now wrapping your arms around your middle shyly. “I…” you started. “I don’t know what to say. I’m sorry,” you murmured. 

Sam grinned at you both. “I’m just going to be,” he paused. “Yeah, anywhere else,” he said, turning and walking out of the room as he shook his head. A moment later, you both heard the front door close behind him.

Dean’s eyes never left you. “It’s okay, sweetheart. You don’t have to apologize.”

You nodded slowly. “Was there anyone downstairs?” 

“I didn’t fully clear it but Sam probably did. No sign of a broken window or anything though,” Dean said, climbing to his feet and smoothing down his clothes. 

Just then Dean saw a shadow moving in the hallway. He grabbed you and pulled you into the closet, his hand sliding over your mouth. The closet next to the master bathroom was small, not like the huge walk-in across the room. Your back was pressed to his chest, in order for you both to fit. 

His heart was slamming against his ribs. First you were straddling him and now you were pressed against him and he could feel the curve of your ass pushing against his dick, your slightly damp hair at the nape of your neck from where you’d been laying in the tub was against his neck, the smell of soap and your own personal scent overwhelming his senses. He whispered in your ear, without having to move at all, “Someone is out there. I’m going to lower my hand. Can you stay quiet?” 

You nodded. Dean lowered his hand and it landed on your hip instinctively. He didn’t notice—his focus was split between the threat and your body pressing so tightly to his that he was starting to get hard.

Shit. Not now. I’m really going to fucking scare her off now. 

Your breathing was ragged although you were trying to keep it quiet. As he spoke to you, you could feel his lips brushing against your ear, his breath warm and intimate against your neck. You could feel his muscular chest pressed against your back. Then you felt it. Your breath caught and you couldn’t help but let out a tiny rasp of his name, “Dean.”

Dean tensed immediately. Your voice. The way you said his name. It was practically a fucking moan. He closed his eyes for a fraction of a second, trying to hold it together. 

“I know, sweetheart,” Dean breathed against your temple, his voice a low, raspy rumble that sent a physical shiver straight down your spine. “I know. Just try to breathe.”

He forced his mind to lock onto the hallway, blocking out the torturous reality of how perfectly your body curved into his. His thumb brushed a slow, unconscious circle against your hip, his grip firm but gentle against the smooth, silky pajama shorts, keeping you anchored to him in the dark.

Every single one of your senses was on fire. Your heart was drumming a frantic rhythm in your ears, but it wasn't just from the fear of an intruder anymore. It was him. The solid, heavy heat of his chest pressing into your half bare back, the raw masculinity radiating off him, the possessive way he held you—it didn’t feel terrifying. It felt safe. It felt like home.

Outside the closet door, the heavy oak floorboards of the bedroom creaked.

Dean’s grip on your hip tightened instantly, his entire body going rigid as steel. He reached down with his free hand, his fingers quietly finding the grip of his gun. His chest stopped moving against your back as he held his breath, listening.

Slow, deliberate footsteps paced across the rug. They stopped right in the middle of the bedroom.

“Honey?”

The voice echoed through the quiet room, sounding completely normal, yet making your entire body go ice-cold.

It was Brian.

“Are you up here?” Brian’s voice called out again, closer to the closet this time. “The front door was unlocked. I came home early because I was worried about you. Honey?”

You felt Dean’s breathing change behind you, a dangerous, protective heat rolling off him as his fingers tightened on the weapon in his hand. If Brian opened this door and saw the two of you like this, Dean wouldn't hesitate. But you could also feel the intense conflict in the way he held you—he didn't want to blow this apart for you if you weren't ready.

Dean leaned his head down just a fraction of an inch, his lips brushing the shell of your ear. “Your call, sweetheart,” he whispered, so quietly it was barely a vibration. “Do we go out there, or do I make him go away?”

You tried to hold your breath, to keep as still as possible, but the sheer sensory overload of Dean’s body heat, his scent, the absolute intimacy of the way his hand rested on your hip, and his lips brushing against your ear was too much. It made your heart hammer against your ribcage like a trapped bird. 

Suddenly, a blinding, white-hot spike of pain shot directly behind your eyes. It was so intense it made your vision go black for a split second. A sharp gasp cut through your throat, followed by a low, pained groan that you couldn’t hold back. You slumped backward, your forehead resting heavily against the side of Dean’s neck as you clutched at your temples.

Outside, the footsteps stopped instantly.

Part 5

Taglist: @throttlepascal @iloveneilperry @cauldronboilme27

[kazsrm67]

Oh no... you got me on the edge of my seat!

I hate that I have to stop reading and do adult stuff ... like laundry and household chores.

[indyredhead]

🍒 Gone Pt 3

Pairing: Dean x Reader 

Summary: Dean met the love of his life. Everything was perfect, until you disappeared. Two years later he runs into you in a small town diner at 2 in the morning, with another man, and you have no idea who Dean is.

Rating: 18+ 

Word Count: 3490

Warnings: Language, Violence

A/N: Please let me know what you think.

Gone Masterlist

The sun had been up for a while but Dean’s exhaustion kept him in a heavy, if not restless, sleep. Four hours later his eyes didn’t just drift open lazily, they snapped open and his head whipped to the left, looking for you. 

You weren’t there. Then slowly, it started to come back to him. You waking up and reaching for Brian. Asking him to take you home and Dean reluctantly letting him, to not cause you even more stress in those early morning hours. Dean, not wanting to push you too hard too fast as it was already taking a physical toll on you and that was only enough to remember his name. 

Dean sat up slowly, swinging his legs over the side of the bed and scrubbing both hands over his face. He glanced at the clock on the nightstand which read 7:23 a.m. and groaned. At least he’d managed to get a few hours of sleep. He had a feeling he was going to need it. 

He walked to the bathroom and after using it and then brushing his teeth he finally splashed some cold water on his face. It didn’t help. Then he heard the three harsh raps on the door. 

Sam. 

Dean walked out and swung the door open, turning and walking back to the bed. “It’s really her, Sammy,” he said, voice still rough with sleep. 

Sam walked in and surveyed the room, craning his neck to peek into the bathroom. “Uh, well, where is she?” he said, turning to face Dean who was now sitting on the edge of the mattress, shoulders hunched, elbows resting on his knees. 

“Gone. Again.”

Sam looked alarmed. Either his brother was hallucinating the whole thing or something was very wrong that would make Dean let you out of his sight after everything that had happened. Neither option was a good one. 

“Where, Dean?”

“With her fiance. To their home. Together,” Dean said, sounding completely defeated. 

Sam stood frozen by the small wooden table, his jaw slightly slack as he tried to process what Dean was saying. “Dean... what do you mean, gone? You told me on the phone she had a fiance, yeah, but you didn’t say you were just gonna let her walk out the door with the guy.”

“I didn’t have a choice, Sammy,” Dean muttered, keeping his eyes glued to the faded carpet between his boots that he was tugging on.

“What do you mean you didn’t have a choice?” Sam stepped closer, his brow furrowed in deep concern. “Dean, she’s been missing for two years. We’ve been tearing the country apart looking for her. You find her in a random diner, bring her back to a motel, and then just let some guy drive off with her? That doesn’t make any sense.”

Dean finally looked up, his green eyes bloodshot and filled with a dangerous, simmering mixture of grief and fury. “She didn’t know who I was, Sam.”

Sam blinked, the words clearly not registering. “What?”

“She didn’t know me,” Dean repeated, his voice cracking on the admission. “She looked right at me, terrified out of her mind, and treated me like a dangerous stranger. Brian—the guy—said she woke up in a hospital two years ago with a chunk of her memory missing. The exact amount of time she knew us, Sammy. Someone did a surgical strike on her brain. Wiped out just me. Just us.”

Sam’s expression shifted instantly from utter bewilderment to intense, analytical shock. “A total block? Dean... are you sure?”

“No, that’s the thing,” Dean said, standing up aggressively and pacing the small distance between the bed and the window. “It’s not total. Right before she passed out cold in the diner, she looked right at me and said my name. Her head didn’t know it, but her soul did. And then in this room, she woke up, looked at me, and said it again. But she was totally blank. She couldn’t tie the name to a single face or memory.”

“If she’s saying your name, the block is cracking,” Sam said, his hunter brain automatically kicking into gear. “But Dean... why let her leave?”

“Because pushing her was hurting her!” Dean snapped, his voice suddenly sharp with the raw emotion he’d been trying to choke down since last night. He stopped by the window, his knuckles white as he gripped the cheap plastic frame. “She was having a damn panic attack or a seizure or something just trying to remember a flash of a feeling. She looked at me and begged him to take her home. What was I supposed to do, tie her to the bed? Force her until her brain turned to mush?”

Turning quickly, he put his fist through the drywall above the little desk and let out a roar. His knuckles were starting to bleed a little but he didn’t care. Dean let out a ragged breath, turning back to the window and looking out at the sunny gravel lot. “I had to let her go. For now.”

Sam flinched slightly at the sudden crack of the fist meeting drywall, but he didn’t move away. He just watched his brother breathe through the pain, the silence in the room stretching out until the only sound was the hum of the old motel mini-fridge.

“Hey,” Sam said softly, taking a step toward the window. “Dean. Look at me.”

Dean didn’t turn around. He just kept staring out at the gravel, his chest heaving, his bleeding knuckles resting against the sill.

“You made the right call,” Sam insisted, his voice steady and grounding. “If a witch or a demon locked those memories down with a heavy hex, forcing the barrier to break all at once can cause permanent psychological damage. It could literally bleed her brain out. You protected her, Dean. Just like you always do.”

Dean let out a hollow, bitter laugh, finally turning his head just enough to glance at Sam over his shoulder. “Yeah? Well, protecting her feels an awful lot like losing her all over again. You didn’t see the way she looked at him, Sammy. She called him babe. She wanted to go home with him.”

The words tasted like ash in his mouth.

Sam grimaced, the sympathy clear on his face, but he didn’t let Dean spiral. “We’re going to get her back. The fact that she said your name—twice—means whatever magic they used on her isn’t perfect. The human soul doesn’t just forget that easily. It’s trying to fight its way out.” Sam walked over to the desk, pulling his laptop out of his duffel bag and setting it down right beneath the newly minted hole in the wall. “Now, what did the fiance say about where she works?”

“A library,” Dean said, the hunter in him finally forcing the grief down into a cold, dark corner of his chest. He walked over to the bathroom door, grabbing a rough white hand towel to wrap around his bloody hand. “Said she’s been here almost two years. Works at the library. Didn’t give a town name, but this one is pretty small so if they have a library there’s only one.”

“Okay,” Sam muttered, his fingers already flying across the keyboard. “A small-town library within a fifty-mile radius of this diner just to be safe. That narrows it down. Give me twenty minutes and I’ll have a list of every local library employee matching her description.”

Dean leaned against the wall, watching the screen light up Sam’s face. “Find her, Sammy. Because the second she wakes up today, she’s gonna be looking at that guy, wondering why the hell a stranger’s name is stuck in her head. And I want to be there when she realizes the truth.”

Sam’s fingers didn’t stop moving, the rapid click-clack of the keys filling the tense quiet of the room. “Alright, I’m pulling up employment records for the county libraries first. If she’s using her real name, this shouldn’t take long. If they gave her a fake identity when they dropped her at that hospital, it’s going to take a little more digging into recent hires from two years ago.”

Dean stood by the bed, slowly unwrapping the towel from his knuckles. The bleeding had stopped, leaving a raw, angry scrape that matched the burning sensation in his chest. “She was using her real name,” he said, his voice completely certain.

Sam looked up from the screen, raising an eyebrow. “You sure?”

“Brian said her name in the diner, Sam. He called her by it. Whoever did this to her didn’t care about hiding her from the world. They just cared about hiding us from her.” Dean tossed the stained towel onto the nightstand. “They wanted her living a normal, white-picket-fence life, completely blank to the fact that she used to bleed and fight by our sides.”

“Which means whoever did this wanted you to suffer,” Sam murmured, his eyes dropping back to the laptop. “They didn't kill her. They just took the one thing that kept you grounded.”

A sudden, sharp chime echoed from the computer. Sam paused, squinting at a PDF file that had just loaded on the screen. A slow, triumphant nod came from him. “Got it.”

Dean was at his brother’s shoulder in a split second, leaning over the back of the chair. “Where?”

“Oakwood,” Sam said, pointing to a scanned employee profile on the screen. There was a tiny, low-resolution digital photo attached to the file. Even though it was grainy, there was no mistaking your hair or the familiar curve of your smile. “Oakwood Public Library. It’s a small town about thirty minutes north of here, right off the main highway. According to the database, she’s scheduled for the opening shift at nine o’clock this morning.”

Dean glanced at the clock on the wall. It was 7:42 a.m.

“That gives us just enough time to grab a coffee and breakfast and get to that library right as the doors unlock,” Dean said, his defeat instantly melting away into a cold, determined focus. He snatched his keys off the table, the metallic jingle sounding like a promise. “Let’s go get our girl.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~

Mary had just unlocked the doors and you were in the back of one of the stacks, reshelving books when a tall man walked around the corner and said your name. Your head popped up. You didn’t recognize him. He was really tall, dressed in jeans, a black and blue flannel and t-shirt. 

“Good morning. Can I help you find something?” you asked brightly. You didn’t feel nearly as perky as you let on but you enjoyed your job and were going to try very hard to shake off the lingering, swirling emotions from the early morning craziness. That’s something you could think about later tonight, in the tub while Brian was at his poker night. 

He just stared at you. You placed a book on the shelf and then turned fully toward him, waiting. 

“You really don’t remember, do you?” Sam said. 

Your whole body tensed up. “Excuse me?” you said, voice smaller now. 

Just then Dean came around the corner. Your eyes immediately shifted from the tall man to Dean and back. 

“Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to–” Sam trailed off with a sigh. “I’m Sam, Dean’s brother.”

You looked between them again as Dean stepped up next to Sam. 

“Wh-what are you doing here?” you stammered, gripping a book tight in your hand. 

Dean, eyes locked on you, gave you a small smile. “I just wanted to check on you. Last night was… a lot,” he said. 

You turned and shelved the book just to give yourself a second to take a deep breath. Finally, you turned back to face him. You swallowed hard, your knuckles turning white against the spine of another book. The familiar, terrifying ache threatened to flare up behind your eyes again, but you fought it down, desperately clinging to the quiet safety of the library stacks and the smell of old books.

“I’m… I’m fine,” you lied, your voice trembling slightly despite your best efforts. You looked at Sam, trying to map his long face and kind, concerned eyes, but there was absolutely nothing there. Just a blank wall. Then your gaze drifted back to Dean, and that strange, phantom heat flooded your chest all over again. Your body remembered him, even if your mind was screaming that he was a stranger. “You shouldn’t be here. Brian is… he’s going to be dropping off my lunch in a couple of hours. If he sees you—”

“We don’t care about Brian,” Dean cut in softly, taking a single, tentative step forward. He kept his hands open and visible, completely non-threatening, but the sheer presence of him seemed to fill the narrow aisle. “We care about you. Look at him, sweetheart.” He gestured faintly to Sam. “Look at Sammy. Just try to think. Two years ago, the three of us were in Lebanon, Kansas. We were sharing a crappy takeout pizza on the hood of my car. You laughed so hard you choked because Sam tried to explain the plot of some nerdy sci-fi movie.”

A sudden, sharp static buzzed in your ears. Your eyes widened, and the book in your hand slipped, thudding loudly against the carpeted floor.

A memory—or the ghost of one—slammed into your brain. It wasn’t a clear picture, just a chaotic rush of sensory details: the taste of cold pepperoni, the deep rumble of Dean’s laugh right next to your ear, and the towering silhouette of a very tall man sitting across from you in the dark.

“Stop,” you whispered, pressing the palms of your hands against your temples as your breath picked up. “Stop doing that. Please. It hurts.”

Sam instantly looked at Dean, a heavy warning in his eyes, but Dean’s focus never wavered from your face. His heart was breaking watching you fracture right in front of him, but seeing the way you reacted proved what he’d told Sam in the motel room.

The block was cracking. And they were running out of time before whatever locked your mind away realized someone was picking at the cracks.

“Hey, it’s okay,” Dean murmured, his voice dropping into that incredibly gentle, protective tone that made your knees feel weak. He didn’t push any closer, respecting your space, but his green eyes were fiercely holding yours. “We’re not gonna hurt you. I promise. But you need to know the truth. Brian isn’t your fiance. This town isn’t your home. You’re a hunter, just like us. And someone stole you from me.”

“A hunter? I’ve never gone hunting in my life. I don’t even like camping,” you murmured, still pressing your hands to your head. 

“Dean, they wiped a little more than just two years if she doesn’t remember hunting. She was a hunter long before she met us.”

Dean nodded to Sam and then turned his gaze back to you. “Sweetheart, I know this all seems impossible but it’s true. And you weren’t that kind of hunter.”

“Stop. Please,” you pleaded, eyes begging as your hands dropped to your sides. 

Sam laid a heavy hand on Dean’s shoulder. Dean closed his eyes and nodded.

You felt the panic that had started to rise in your chest ease just slightly at his acknowledgement. You took in a couple of deep breaths and finally said, “I’m not a hunter, Brian is my fiance, and I’d like you to leave, please.”

Dean looked like he had been punched in the gut. That caused a heat and an ache to flood your chest although you still couldn’t pinpoint why he affected you so much. 

Dean nodded again, and then his gaze fell to your wrist. His phone number was still written there. You hadn’t washed it off. You saw something unreadable shift in his eyes. Then he lifted his hands as if to surrender. You tugged your sleeve down over it.  “Okay, sweetheart. We’ll leave. I know you’re working. But I’m not giving up on you,” he said soft but firm. 

You didn’t reply. Sam didn’t say a word but he had a sympathetic look scrawled across his features and he waved a quiet goodbye. 

You let out a heavy breath as they walked away. 

You left your cart of books and walked back up to the front desk where Mary was sitting, just in time to see them walk out the glass front doors. 

“They must be new to town. So handsome!” she whispered to you excitedly. “The short one is just my type. Maybe I should ask him out if I run into him again.”

Suddenly, a wave of nausea and what felt like jealousy surged through you. 

Well, that was weird. I don’t even know him! Who cares if Mary likes him? I have Brian, who is sweet and loving and cares about me. …  Dean seems to care about me too, though. 

You shook your head trying to clear those thoughts away. 

Mary looked up at you from her chair. “You don’t think he’s handsome?” she asked, catching you shake your head.

“Ohh. Um, yeah I guess he is,” you said quietly. You couldn’t really deny that he was truly attractive, almost beautiful, really. 

Mary gave a soft, knowing chuckle, adjusting her reading glasses. “You guess? Honey, if I were twenty years younger and didn’t think your Brian was such a catch, I’d be dragging that man into the fiction section myself.”

You forced a small, polite laugh, but it felt hollow in your throat. Your stomach was still tightly knotted, the phantom jealousy refusing to fully simmer down. Mary’s words were meant to be lighthearted, but they only magnified the bizarre, magnetic pull you felt toward a man you supposedly met for the first time last night.

A hunter. The word echoed in your mind, sounding entirely foreign yet dangerously loud. You hated camping. You loved the quiet, predictable safety of rows of books and the scent of aged paper. You loved your cozy routine. Yet, when Dean had described the cold pepperoni pizza and the rumbled laugh on the hood of a car, your soul had literally ached with the memory of it.

“Are you alright?” Mary asked, her tone shifting from playful to genuinely concerned as she studied your face. “You look a little pale. Did that headache from last night come back?”

“Yeah,” you murmured, seizing the excuse gratefully. You rubbed a hand over your forehead, where a dull throb was still lingering like an unwelcome guest. “Yeah, I think the lights in the stacks are just making it a little worse today.”

“Oh, sweetie, go sit in the breakroom for a bit,” Mary urged, shooing you with her hand. “I can handle the front desk and finish up that cart. Go get some water. Brian will be here with your lunch soon anyway, right?”

“Right,” you said. Brian. Just the thought of his name usually brought a sense of absolute calm, a grounding reality. But right now, looking down at your wrist, your focus zeroed in on the dark ink of Dean’s phone number.

The handwriting was bold, slightly messy, and entirely authoritative. You’d had a shower this morning. You’d used soap. But subconsciously, you realized you hadn’t scrubbed that specific spot on your skin. You had protected it.

Stepping into the small, quiet breakroom, you closed the door behind you and leaned your back against it, letting out a long, ragged breath. Your hands were shaking again. Slowly, you walked over to the little sink, turning on the cold water and splashing it over your face, desperately trying to wash away the fog, the confusion, and the terrifying warmth that Dean’s green eyes had left behind.

You grabbed a paper towel, drying your skin, and then looked at your reflection in the small mirror above the sink. You looked like yourself. The same hair, the same eyes. But beneath the surface, it felt like a mirror fracturing, tiny hairline cracks spreading through everything you thought you knew about your life.

Almost two hours later, you were back in the breakroom again refreshing your coffee when your phone buzzed in your pocket. You pulled it out, expecting a text from Brian saying he was on his way with your favorite sandwich. Instead, it was a text from an unknown number.

Unknown: Sammy found something about the hospital you woke up in. We’re at the diner across the street from the library. I’m not gonna push you, sweetheart, I swear. But when you’re ready to hear it, I’ll be waiting.

Your heart hammered against your ribs. You looked toward the small breakroom window that faced the main street. Directly across the asphalt, the neon sign of the local diner flickered in the morning light, beckoning to you.

Part 4

Taglist: @throttlepascal

[kazsrm67]

Oooh I feel so bad for her!

The jealousy when her co-worker ogled him was soo good

[indyredhead]

🍒 Gone Pt 2

Pairing: Dean x Reader 

Summary: Dean met the love of his life. Everything was perfect, until you disappeared. Two years later he runs into you in a small town diner at 2 in the morning, with another man, and you have no idea who Dean is.

Rating: 18+ 

Word Count: 2407

Warnings: Language, Violence

A/N: Please let me know what you think.

Gone Masterlist

Right as Dean leaned over, with you cradled against his chest, to unlock the door to room 4, Brian screeched to a halt right next to the Impala. Dean strode into the room, leaving the front door open for your sad excuse of a fiance, and laid you down on his bed gently. He brushed your hair out of your closed eyes and gazed down at your beautiful, peaceful face. 

Even unconscious you were the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen. Brian rushed into the room, eyeing Dean suspiciously. Once he saw that you were just laying on the bed and that Dean wasn’t doing anything questionable he looked behind him at the open door, hesitating before he pulled it close. 

He was stuck with some strange man who was very strong and didn’t mess around. But you were here and he had to make sure you were okay and get you away from Dean and back home somehow. He sucked in a breath and walked up to the opposite side of the bed that Dean was sitting on. 

Dean raised his eyes to Brian for half a second before they dropped back down to you. He remained silent, just watching you. The intensity of his stare was tightening the growing knot in Brian’s stomach. 

Dean reached down for you and Brian bristled. “You don’t need to touch her,” he said, trying to make his voice strong and half failing. 

Dean ignored him and checked your pulse again. He let his fingers linger against your wrist for a moment before finally pulling back, although he stayed sitting on the side of the bed, his thigh pressed to your hip. His mind was racing. He pulled out his phone to text Sam.

Dean: I found her.

After a moment the bubbles popped up. Sam was still up. Or at least he was now. 

Sam: Really?? Where?

Before Dean could reply his phone buzzed. Sam was calling him. 

“Yeah,” Dean answered, voice rough. 

“Dean, where did you find her? Is she okay?” Sam said so quickly that the words almost ran together 

“I’m in Mississippi. I just sent you the coordinates,” Dean said. 

“Is she okay, man?” Sam asked.

“Uh, she’s unconscious. Her…” Dean drug his hand down his face pausing for a moment. “Her fiance and I are sitting here waiting for her to wake up,” Dean said and Sam could hear the strain in his voice. 

“Her WHAT?! I’m sorry, man, I think your phone cut out because I swear it sounded like you just said–” 

“I did,” Dean gruffed, his voice dropping lower and lethal. “Just get here. Now,” Dean snapped and then hung up. He couldn’t take any more questions from Sam right now. 

Sam: I’m not far. In NOLA. On my way.

Dean glanced up and Brian was eyeing him nervously. 

“You’re calling for back up? Do I need to call the police? I don’t know what’s going on but none of this is okay!” Brian blurted out. 

“Do whatever the hell you want but nobody, not even the police, is making me leave her side. That’s a promise,” Dean said, voice low and terrifyingly calm.

Brian opened his mouth to argue, but the sheer gravity of Dean’s words seemed to choke the breath right out of him. He looked down at you, then back at Dean, before slowly sliding his phone into his pocket. He didn’t call the cops. Deep down, he probably knew that a small-town deputy wouldn’t be able to handle whatever the hell was happening in this room anyway.

Instead, Brian sank heavily into the creaky wooden chair by the motel desk near the bed, his eyes locked on your pale face. “How do you know her?” he asked, his voice suddenly sounding hollow, stripped of all the previous bravado. “She’s lived here for almost two years. She works at the library. She… she doesn’t have anyone. No family, no ties from before she moved here. She told me she was in a bad accident and couldn’t remember much of the last year or two before waking up in a hospital three states over.”

Dean didn’t move a muscle, but his jaw clenched so hard a muscle ticked in his cheek. A hospital. The bastards who took you hadn’t just wiped your mind; they’d dropped you off like unwanted baggage and left you to piece together a life out of nothing. 

You don’t remember the year or two before you disappeared. A year and a half was the exact amount of time you knew me. Something doesn’t want you forgetting your entire past. Just me and Sam. Maybe just me.  

“She isn’t from here,” Dean said, his voice flat, refusing to give Brian anything more than the bare minimum. “And she wasn’t alone.”

Silence stretched between them, thick and suffocating, punctuated only by the distant roar of a semi-truck passing on the highway outside. Dean’s hand had made it back to your wrist at some point and he didn't remove it this time, his thumb resting right over your steady, slow pulse, occasionally stroking it gently, silently begging you to wake up.

It was another twenty minutes before you finally stirred.

A soft, pained whimper left your lips first. Your brow furrowed, your head shifting restlessly against the stiff motel pillow as your eyelids fluttered.

“Hey,” Dean murmured instantly, his entire demeanor shifting from a brick wall to something incredibly gentle. He leaned over you, his free hand coming up to cup the side of your face, his thumb sweeping over your cheekbone. “Hey, look at me. I’ve got you.”

Brian stood up so fast the wooden chair scraped loudly against the linoleum. “Honey? Are you okay?”

Your eyes finally cracked open, blinking rapidly against the harsh overhead light of the motel room. The sharp, blinding pain in your skull had faded to a dull, throbbing ache, but your mind felt like it was floating in a thick fog. You looked past Dean first, catching sight of the familiar, panicked face of your fiance.

“Brian…?” you whispered, your throat dry.

“I’m right here,” Brian said, stepping closer to the foot of the bed, though he kept a wary eye on Dean.

But as your vision fully cleared, your gaze drifted back to the man sitting right beside you. The man whose hand was warm against your face. The man whose green eyes were staring down at you with an intensity that made your chest ache with a sudden, overwhelming surge of familiarity.

You didn’t shrink away from his touch this time. Your mind didn’t recognize him, but your body did. Your heart rate spiked, your fingers twitching against the mattress.

“Dean,” you breathed out, the name slipping past your lips easily, naturally, like a habit you’d practiced a thousand times before.

Dean let out a ragged breath, a broken, beautiful smile flashing across his face for a split second before he caught the look in your eyes. You knew his name—your soul knew it—but the confusion running through your expression told him the wall in your head hadn’t completely broken down yet. He was still a stranger to you.

“Yeah,” he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. “It’s me, sweetheart. It’s Dean.”

“What’s going on?” you said looking back and forth between them, reaching your hand out towards Brian. 

Brian, whose eyes kept darting between you and Dean, fully stepped up to the other side of the bed. He sat down and pressed a kiss to your forehead. “It’s okay, honey. Everything is going to be okay.”

Dean’s hand that wasn’t still on your cheek, grasped the side of the mattress tightly, trying to restrain himself from shoving Brian away from you. He didn’t want to stress you out any further given that you had just passed out on him as it was.

You looked up at the ceiling, a heavy crease forming between your brows as you tried to force your brain through the fog. “I don't understand,” you murmured, your voice small, your fingers tightening around Brian’s hand. “I know I said it. I know I said your name. But... I don’t know who you are. I don’t know why I know it.”

Brian squeezed your hand, his eyes shooting a venomous, protective glare across the mattress at Dean. “You don’t have to know him, honey. He’s nobody. He’s just a guy from a diner who needs to leave.” Now that you were awake and confused, it seemed Brian’s defensiveness was back and he just wanted to get you away from here. Away from Dean.

Dean’s jaw clenched, his knuckles turning dead white where he gripped the edge of the mattress. The temptation to drop Brian right then and there was overwhelming, but he kept his voice completely level, completely focused on you. He slid his hand down from your cheek, letting his fingers rest gently against your shoulder instead, trying to keep you anchored.

“Look at me,” Dean said softly followed by your name, his green eyes drawing yours right back to him. “Just try to think about the year before you woke up in that hospital. Think about the Impala. A black ’67 Chevy. Think about Kansas. Think about the way we...” He choked on the words for a split second, the image of the ring in his duffel bag flashing through his mind. “Just think about me.”

You stared at him, your breath picking up along with your heartrate. You squeezed Brian’s hand again. “I’m sorry but I don’t know you, Dean.” You looked from him to your fiance, your eyes pleading for him to pull you into his arms and take you out of here.

A gasp caught in your throat, and your eyes widened in absolute shock. You ripped your hand out of Brian’s grip, your fingers flying up to press against your temples as another sharp, stabbing ache flared behind your eyes.

“Honey? What is it? What’s wrong?” Brian demanded, instantly leaning over the bed, his panic flaring right back up.

“I... I saw...” you stammered, staring at Dean in pure terror, your heart hammering against your ribs. “I saw a flash of something. But I couldn’t make it out. It was more of a… a feeling.”

Dean’s heart jumped in his chest, a small wave of hope crashing through him, but he immediately saw the agony on your face as you fought the block in your mind.

“Sweetheart, don’t push yourself. I can’t stand to see you in pain. It’s okay. We will figure this out,” Dean said, eyes locked on yours, voice soft. 

You looked at him with a furrowed brow and pain still spread across your features. You turned to Brian. “Babe, I just want to go home.”

Dean’s heart sank. 

Brian didn’t waste a single second. Seeing you reject Dean and lean toward him was exactly the opening he needed to regain control of the situation.

“We’re going home, honey. Right now,” Brian said, his voice dropping into a rushed, protective tone. He slid his arm behind your shoulders, helping you sit up on the edge of the mattress. Your legs were still a little shaky, and you rested your weight heavily against his side. Brian kept his eyes glued to Dean, half-expecting the man to draw a weapon or physically block them from moving.

Dean stayed completely frozen on his side of the bed. His heart felt like a lead weight dragging down into his stomach. Hearing you plead to go back to a life that didn’t include him—a life with a guy who had never seen a fraction of the things you’d survived together—was a deeper kind of pain than any blade could inflict.

He wanted to pull you back. He wanted to scream at Brian to get out. He wanted to tell you about the hunt where you’d almost gotten eaten by a wendigo, or the diner in Texas where you’d laughed until milk came out of your nose.

But as he looked at the tight, painful lines of exhaustion around your eyes, he forced his hands to stay at his sides. Pushing you right now was literally making your brain short-circuit. He’d seen the agony you were in just trying to fish out a single memory. If he forced the issue tonight, he might break your mind for good.

“You can go,” Dean said, his voice dropping so low it was almost a gravelly growl. “But first…” Dean grabbed a pen off the nightstand and wrote his phone number on the inside of your wrist. “Just in case,” was all he said. You looked down at it and then back up at him but didn’t say anything. 

Brian blinked, visibly shocked by the sudden concession. He didn’t wait for Dean to change his mind. He carefully guided you off the bed, keeping his arm firmly around your waist to support your uneven steps.

You let Brian lead you toward the door, but just before your hand hit the brass knob, you stopped. Your body hesitated, a phantom pull making you turn your head back over your shoulder.

Dean was still sitting on the edge of the mattress, his broad shoulders hunched forward, looking incredibly solitary under the harsh motel light. He was staring down at his own boots, his jaw tight, his hands braced on his knees. He looked like a man who had just lost everything all over again.

“Dean?” you called out softly. The name felt so heavy on your tongue, so loaded with a history you couldn’t see.

Dean snapped his head up, his green eyes instantly locked back onto yours, a desperate, silent question hanging in his gaze.

“Thank you,” you whispered, your brow furrowing as a strange sensation of grief tightened your own throat. “For… for catching me.”

Dean didn’t say anything. He just gave you a slow, barely perceptible nod.

Brian quickly pulled the door open, ushering you out into the cool Mississippi night. The door clicked shut behind you, leaving Dean completely alone in the suffocating silence of Room 4.

Dean didn’t remember laying down. He didn’t remember drifting off; being completely pulled under by the exhaustion, but at some point he had. His dreams were restless and filled with a mix of good times with you and the gaping ache that your disappearance had left while he searched for you. Just a mirror of real life. 

Part 3

Taglist: @throttlepascal

[kazsrm67]

Oh poor Dean... poor reader....

[indyredhead]

🍒 Gone Pt 1

Pairing: Dean x Reader 

Summary: Dean met the love of his life. Everything was perfect, until you disappeared. Two years later he runs into you in a small town diner at 2 in the morning, with another man, and you have no idea who Dean is.

Rating: 18+ 

Word Count: 2393

Warnings: Language, Violence

A/N: Please let me know what you think.

Gone Masterlist

It was 2:15 a.m. when Dean pulled Baby up to the curb on Main Street of a little nowhere town that sat right next to the highway. The open sign flickered like it was on its last breath and the ‘E’ was completely burnt out. He just needed a slice of pie to quiet his rumbling stomach before he returned to the motel he had just checked into down the street. 

He had just come from a brutal solo hunt and was running on fumes. He walked into the diner and slid into a booth. A waitress who looked to be in her fifties, tired, and a little rumpled came up to the table. “What can I get you, honey?” she asked in a sweet enough southern voice. 

“I’ll take a slice of pie, please,” Dean said. 

“What kind would you like? We have blackberry, cherry, and maybe some apple left but I’d have to check on that one.”

“Hmm, I’ll take th–” Dean trailed off, his eyes widening slightly and his whole body tensing up. 

“Hun, you okay?” the waitress asked. 

“Forget the pie. Can you, uh, give me a minute?” he said quickly. 

Her brow pulled in a little but she shoved her little book back in her apron. “Sure thing.” She walked off towards the back. 

It can’t be. Here? Now? In the middle of nowhere at 2 a.m.?

Dean didn’t turn around yet, he kept listening. It was your voice. He was sure of it. Finally, he turned around, his arm slung over the back of the booth. There you were. You were sitting three booths down with your back to Dean, talking to a man. 

I can’t see her face. Maybe it’s not her. I’m just imagining things. Lack of sleep. Rough day. Shit.

Then he heard your laugh and he was sure. It was really you. He was staring at the back of your head. He hadn’t seen you in two years. You were his girlfriend. His everything. He had even bought a ring. And then you had just simply disappeared. He and Sam looked for you for over a year. He still sometimes caught himself looking for your old car or staring at someone from behind who had similar hair. It haunted him every day. And here you are just sitting there chatting and laughing at a small-town diner in the middle of the night like you hadn’t completely destroyed his heart and his life. 

Dean slid out of the booth and walked up to yours. He completely ignored the man, staring down at you in disbelief. He still thought he might be getting ready to wake up from a dream or that a djinn had put him under, when he said your name. 

You looked up at him with a startled and confused look on your face. You quickly looked at the man before returning your gaze to Dean. “Uh, hi,” you said slowly. 

The man looked at you with a slightly furrowed brow. “Babe, do you know him?”

Your eyes narrowed slightly as if you were deep in thought, trying to solve a puzzle. “I…I don’t think so,” you said. Your eyes flicked to the man and then back to Dean again. “I’m sorry but have we met?”

Babe? Have we met?!? 

His eyes dropped to your hand which was sitting on the table over the fork you’d just set down. Your left hand. It had a shiny diamond ring on a very specific finger. 

Dean’s face went pale. He felt like he was going to be sick. 

He searched your expression—looking for a flicker of recognition, a silent plea for help, or even the telltale ocular flash of a shapeshifter or a demon. But there was nothing. Your gaze was just polite and mildly uncomfortable. You were looking at him the exact way you’d look at a stranger who was making a scene.

The world seemed to tilt on its axis. The hum of the flickering neon sign outside suddenly sounded deafening, roaring in Dean’s ears like a freight train. He braced a hand against the laminate edge of the booth just to keep his knees from buckling.

Two years. 

Two years of sleepless nights, of tearing up every pavement from Lawrence to Lebanon, of praying to a God he didn't even believe in just to find a lead or at one point even a body so he could finally stop wondering.

And here you were. Wearing a ring that wasn’t the one currently tucked away in the bottom of his duffel bag under a stack of flannel shirts.

“Hey, Pal. I’m talking to you.”

The man’s voice cut through the fog in Dean’s brain. He finally looked up from your hand to face the guy. He was clean-cut with short brown hair and dark eyes, wearing a soft fleece jacket—the kind of guy who probably had a 401k and had never held a sawed-off shotgun in his life. He was standing up now, putting himself halfway between Dean and you, his posture defensive but mostly just bewildered.

Dean didn’t even blink. He couldn’t. If he blinked, the illusion might shatter, or worse, it wouldn’t.

 “You don’t know me?” Dean’s voice was a rough, broken gravelly whisper. He didn’t look at the man; his green eyes crashed right back down to yours, searching your face for anything. A smirk, a hidden signal, a flicker of fear that meant you were being coerced. 

But there was nothing. Just genuine, uncomfortable confusion. You shrank back into the vinyl cushion just a fraction, your hand instinctively reaching out to touch the man’s arm. “Look, I... I’m sorry. I think you have the wrong person.” 

That gesture—the way you leaned into him for safety, the way you looked at Dean like he was a dangerous stranger—hit Dean right in the chest harder than any supernatural creature ever could. It left him completely breathless. 

His hunter brain, the one that usually kept him alive, finally kicked into overdrive through the shock. Shapeshifter? Siren? Djinn dream? No, he’d just come from a hunt, he was awake. Was it a hex? Did a demon wipe your slate clean just to screw with him? 

“Is this guy bothering you, honey?” The waitress was back, holding a coffee pot, her eyes darting between Dean’s pale face and the tense standoff at the booth.

“No, it’s fine, Martha,” the man said, keeping his eyes locked on Dean, trying to play the protector. “Buddy, I think you need to turn around and walk out of here. Before there’s a problem.” 

Dean barely heard him. He was completely locked onto you. “Your name is,” he started, his voice cracking on your name, the sound of it heavy with two years of unspent grief. “You... we lived in Kansas. You like your coffee with too much sugar. You sleep on the left side of the bed because you say the right side gets too cold.” 

You froze. The polite, confused smile dropped from your face entirely. Your eyes widened, a sudden, sharp flash of something panic-adjacent crossing your features as you stared up at him. Your lips parted, but no sound came out. 

“Hey! That’s enough!” The man stepped fully into Dean’s line of sight, placing a hand on Dean’s chest to push him back. Usually, anyone putting a hand on Dean Winchester ended up on the floor in three seconds flat. But right now? Dean just stumbled backward a step, completely hollowed out, his eyes still trying to burn a hole through the space where you were sitting. 

The man’s hand against his chest was the only thing anchoring Dean to the reality of the diner, but it felt like a static shock. He stared at the guy’s hand, then slowly looked up into his face.

“Get your hand off me,” Dean said. The rough, broken whisper from a second ago was gone, replaced by a low, vibrating warning that made the waitress, Martha, take a sharp step back with the coffee pot, bumping into an empty table.

The man didn’t back down, fueled by the panic he’d just seen on your face. “Or what? You’re harassing my fiancé, buddy. I don’t care what kind of mental break you’re having, you step away from her right now or I’m calling the cops.”

“Brian, please,” you whispered, your voice trembling.

Dean’s eyes shot past the guy—Brian, apparently—straight back to you. You were pale now, your hands gripped so tightly in your lap that your knuckles were white. You looked terrified, but it wasn’t just the fear of a strange man causing a scene. It was the look of someone whose mind was suddenly fracturing, trying to process a puzzle with missing pieces. Those details—the sugar, the left side of the bed—they had hit a nerve. The memory was in there, locked away deep behind a wall.

“You remember,” Dean said, ignoring Brian entirely, taking a half-step forward. “Don’t look at him, look at me. You know who I am.”

“I said back off!” Brian snapped. Emboldened by Dean’s previous stumble, he shoved Dean’s chest harder this time, trying to physically force him away from the booth.

That was a mistake.

Dean didn’t even blink. His hand shot out like a vise, clamping onto Brian’s wrist with crushing force. With a single, brutal twist, he forced Brian’s arm down and stepped directly into his space, their faces inches apart. Dean’s eyes were dead, terrifyingly cold.

“I told you,” Dean growled, his voice dropping into that dark, lethal tone, “to keep your hands off me.”

“Dean, stop!”

The name tore from your throat before you could even think about it.

The entire diner went dead silent. Brian froze, his face twisting in a mix of pain and sudden, horrible realization. Dean’s grip tightened on the guy’s wrist, but his eyes swung slowly back to you, his heart hammering against his ribs.

You had stood up, your hands resting on the edge of the table to steady yourself. Your eyes were wide, staring at him in utter horror—not because he was a monster, but because you had just said his name, and you had absolutely no idea how you knew it.

Dean said your name, slowly. “You do remember.”

You shook your head violently. “No! I-I… I don’t know why I said that!” you gasped, your voice climbing an octave as panic flooded your chest. 

Dean still had a hold of Brian but his focus was entirely on you. “But you’re right. That’s my name. And I didn’t say it. Not here. Not tonight.”

You grasped the table even harder as your legs started to tremble. “No… I don’t know you,” you murmured. Suddenly, a sharp pain split through your skull, so intense that you started to wobble, your legs unsteady. Dean immediately let go of Brian and turned just in time to catch you as you passed out. 

He scooped you up in his arms, like he had a million times before, in good and bad times. As he stared down at your beautiful face which was no longer strained with panic, he felt his heart squeeze hard enough to hurt. 

He didn’t look back at Brian, and he didn’t look at Martha, who was frozen by the counter with her mouth half-open. Dean just turned, keeping his arms locked tight around you, and marched straight out into the freezing night air.

“Hey! Bring her back! What the hell do you think you’re doing?!” Brian’s voice echoed out of the diner doorway, frantic and furious, followed quickly by the heavy thud of his boots on the pavement.

Dean reached the Impala in record time, using his hip to shove the passenger door wide open. He carefully laid you across the bench seat, tucking your legs in and making sure your head was supported before he slammed the door shut and spun around to face Brian.

Brian had stopped about ten feet away, his chest heaving, his phone already pulled out and unlocked in his hand. “I’m calling the police. You’re crazy, man, you just kidnapped my—”

“Listen to me very carefully,” Dean cut him off, his voice dead and carrying a weight that made Brian genuinely falter. Dean stepped into the street in front of the Impala, his leather jacket cutting a lethal silhouette in the dark. “She just collapsed because her head is forcing a memory that someone locked away. I’m taking her to the motel down the street. You can call the cops, you can follow me, you can do whatever the hell you want. But if you try to stop me from getting her somewhere safe right now, I will put you on the ground, and I won’t be nice about it.”

Brian’s jaw worked, his eyes darting from Dean’s unblinking stare to you slumped on the front seat of the Chevy. He was terrified, but he clearly cared enough about you not to just run away. “The... the Whispering Pines Motel?” Brian stammered, his knuckles white around his phone. “The one past the interstate?”

“Yeah,” Dean growled, turning on his heel. “That’s the one.”

He slid behind the wheel of the Impala, the engine roaring to life with a familiar, comforting rumble that usually settled his nerves. Tonight, it did nothing to quiet the storm in his chest. He pulled away from the curb and tore down the main strip, his right hand reaching across the seat to wrap gently around your wrist, checking your pulse.

It was steady, but your skin felt entirely too cold.

As he pulled into the gravel lot of the rundown motel, Dean killed the engine and just stared down at you in the dim dashboard light. The ring on your finger caught a glint of the yellow neon overhead. His mind was racing through everything Sam had ever dug up on memory wipes—curses, witch hexes, angel touch. Something was keeping you from him, and it was hurting you to fight it.

He scooped you up again, carrying you to the door of Room 4, his mind completely made up. He was going to lay you down, he was going to wait for you to wake up, and then he was going to figure out exactly who he had to kill to get his girl back.

Part 2

[kazsrm67]

Oof that cliffhanger! Can't wait to dig into this more!

[wayward-dreamer]

Do Something About It

Square/s filled: Free space @jacklesversebingo |

Pairing: Jensen x F!Reader

Word count: 2,056

Summary: Y/N goes to the Radio Company concert in Austin to support her boyfriend, but gets more out of the show than she thought she would.

Warnings: Swearing, sweaty Jensen (yes that comes with its own warning), smut: dirty talk, bathroom sex, public sex, v fingering, unprotected sex (wrap it up people), fluff.

A/N: I've been working on this one literally since the concert happened, and it took finally being in the same room as @hintsofhoney (still can't believe that happened!) for me to finish it lol Thanks for beta'ing babe! Happy reading everyone!

The room was sweltering.

No one could figure out if it was hotter inside or outside, but it was probably the former considering the scorching display in front of the crowd. The band was electrifying, the backup singers were angelically soulful, Steve was absolutely crushing it but Y/N only had eyes for one man on that stage.

Beads of sweat dripped down the length of Jensen’s neck, the vein glistening as he threw his head back, combed his hands through his drenched locks and stood in front of the mic again. The black tank he wore exposed his muscular arms, a rare sight which was gladly received. The heat was getting to everyone, but his presence in the room was either making it more manageable or worse. She couldn’t decide. She suddenly wished she could’ve been at the first night’s show as well. Maybe it could’ve prepared her better for what she was currently witness to. Or maybe it would've been the precursor to this final nail in the coffin.

Between the way he looked and the way he sounded - that deep husk that only increased as he sang - the need to squeeze her thighs together grew. The perspiration that ran down her back was nothing compared to the wetness between her legs the longer she stood to the side of the room. Just about every erotic thought she had about him came to mind, her brain not knowing when to chill out and forgetting she was in public. All she knew was she needed a cold drink and even colder shower once this was over. Or maybe her vibrator and some time alone with those thoughts was what she really needed. Or maybe she needed him; those strong arms around her, hands bruising her skin in the best way possible, his cock slamming into her roughly…

She dropped her head, closing her eyes and willing those images away, but it was no use. Especially when she looked up again and caught a glimpse of his gaze on her through the crowd, his green eyes intensely focused on her as he crooned the last words of the song. With his attention solely on her for what felt like forever but in actuality was probably only a moment, she knew she’d have to give way to the fantasies.

His cute little dance and sultry roll of his hips as the beat played out only added to her wild imagination, and as Steve announced the last song she was more than grateful. The first thing to do was splash water on her face and calm the fuck down once this was over.

As the final number reached its crescendo, the crowd cheered and applauded as the band continued with their incredible energy. With one last riff, the boys said their goodbyes and walked off the stage, the room going dark as the people still clapped and whistled. As the house lights came on, Y/N followed behind a group of people as they made their way to the exit. Spotting the sign for the restrooms, she walked towards it, going down the narrow hallway. Just as she reached the women’s, she heard the door across the hall open behind her and a tug on her hand, dragging her back. She almost screamed, but the hands at her waist turned her around and pulled her close, a pair of familiar green eyes staring down at her.

“Fuck, you scared me!” she exclaimed, slapping his sweaty, tattooed arm.

He hummed, leaning into her neck and pressing a soft kiss to her pulse. “Sorry, darlin’. Didn’t mean to.”

“How’d you know I was coming this way, anyway?” she asked, her hands resting on his soaked tank.

“I had a feeling,” he shrugged, his face close to hers.

His lips captured hers in a long, sultry kiss. The kind that always had her needing air as soon as he pulled away. Only this time it deepened as he walked her back towards the sink, his mouth refusing to leave hers as he bent a little, supporting her thighs and lifting her onto the ledge. Her legs instantly wrapped around him, her arms draped over his broad shoulders as her fingers played with his wet locks. An obscene moan escaped him as she lightly bit down on his bottom lip, causing him to briefly shift away and glare down at her.

“That’s not very nice, Y/N,” he husked.

She scoffed, flipping his shirt up slightly and reaching for his belt. “No, what’s not nice is you giving me that look on stage while you’re dressed like this.”

He grabbed her wrists in his large hands, holding them down to her sides. “I can give you whatever look I want, sweetheart. It’s you that should know you don’t talk back to me.”

“So take me home and do something about it, then,” she challenged.

“Who said anything about going home?”

Jensen lifted his eyebrows suggestively as he moved down and kissed her, passionately. She tugged roughly at his shirt, pulling him as close as he could get to her. His lips drifted down her cheek, jaw and neck, leaving small nips and kisses along her skin as her nails scraped through his hair, eliciting a deep groan from him. She had a brief thought that this bathroom might not be the best place to do whatever he was planning, but she forgot all about that the second his calloused hands pushed the hem of her dress up her thighs. He pulled away for a moment, his breath fanning against her mouth as he lifted his hand, pressing the pads of his fingers against her bottom lip. Knowing exactly what he wanted, she softly sucked at the digits and let them go with a wet pop, a low moan leaving her in anticipation of what was coming.

His hand drifted down between her spread legs, their eyes locked as she felt him pull her underwear aside and slide his fingers up and down her folds. Her head fell back slightly, leaving her neck open to attention from his plump lips.

“So fucking wet already,” he muttered, one side of his mouth pulling up as he stared down at her.

Before she could respond in any way, his fingers moved into her tight heat, causing a loud moan to fall from her lips. He pulled them out a little before sliding back in, building up the pace gradually to one that had her whimpering in his ear just the way he liked. She gripped his shoulders tight, her eyes squeezing shut as she felt him hitting that sweet spot inside her.

“So fucking tight, darlin’,” he groaned, nipping at her pulse. “Can’t wait to feel you wrapped around my cock…”

“Jay, please,” she gasped, her eyes fluttering open to look up at him.

“What, babe?” he whispered against her lips. “Tell me what you want.”

“W-Want-” she shook her head, unable to think straight.

He clicked his tongue as he smirked down at her. “Use your words, sweetheart.”

His fingers slid in a little deeper, making her cry out in wanton pleasure as she cupped his face in her hands and pulled him down, pressing a rough kiss to his lips. Her hands stroked down the front of his top and reached for his belt once more, but he stopped her just as quickly as before.

He pulled away from the kiss, his gaze darkened as he removed his fingers from her and undid his belt himself.

“Fuck, Jensen, just fuck me already,” she whined, her breath heavy with impatience.

He smirked as he unzipped his white jeans, taking that small moment to relish the way her fingers kneaded into his shoulders, tugging at his black shirt as she waited for him to do something.

“You gotta ask nice, darlin’,” he teased.

“Please,” she begged, draping her arms around him and pulling at the ends of his hair. “Please fuck me.”

“Good girl,” he praised, giving her lips a quick peck.

He grabbed her waist and pulled her close, her legs locking around him. She held tight to him as he took hold of his hard cock, lining up to her entrance. Without wasting another second, he shifted his hips and pushed into her, her walls sheathing him completely as he sank deep. Her mouth fell open in a hushed moan, their eyes on each other as he grinned at her reaction. He set a steady pace, his hips rolling as he moved within her, a growl escaping him as her fingers combed through his sweat streaked locks.

“Fuck, darlin’,” he husked, pressing his forehead to hers. “Feel so fucking good, so tight and perfect just for me…”

“Shit,” she hissed, her head dropping down on his shoulder. “F-Fuck me harder, Jay. P-Please.”

The words had barely left her mouth before he was picking up the pace, his pelvis smacking against her spread thighs as he pounded into her. She cried out as she buried her face in his face, panting against his skin as she held on for dear life. It was everything she had envisioned as she watched him perform earlier, and then some. Beads of perspiration ran down his throat, causing her to softly nip and lick them away, tasting his tangy musk on her tongue. That clearly did something for him because the sound that came out of him - somewhere between a growl and a moan - only encouraged him to thrust deeper into her, his cock pressing against that spot inside her with precision.

It was hot inside that bathroom. She knew that they’d have to take several showers once they were home, but at that moment she couldn’t give a shit. Their hands roamed over each other’s sweaty skin, their bodies moved perfectly together and she was gaining on that sweet bliss, feeling the beginnings of that heat in her core.

“You’re close, aren’t ya, sweetheart?” His voice was low, the rumble vibrating against her. “I can feel it… you wanna cum, don’t ya?”

“Yes!” she moaned, the sound echoing off the walls, but she no longer cared if anyone heard her. “I-I wanna cum, baby, please. Make me cum.”

He hummed, biting his lip as he stared down at her. “How bad do you want it, Y/N?”

“So bad, Jensen, please,” she pleaded, her nails digging into his biceps.

He held her tighter, feeling his cock pulse as he slammed into her repeatedly, knowing he wasn’t too far from his own release. He pulled her hips forward with each thrust, her pleasure gaining volume as they both headed toward that euphoric peak. The rhythm faltered slightly as they grew closer to the edge, her desperate whimper enough for him to know she needed a little help. He brought his hand down between her legs, his thumb flicking over clit, circling the swollen nub as she clung to him, their eyes locked as her mouth hovered over his.

“Take it, darlin’,” he groaned, kissing along her jaw. “Take what’s yours… make yourself cum on my cock.”

With a few more thrusts, Y/N’s eyes rolled back as she cried out his name just as the coil snapped. Her body convulsed as her walls contracted around him, feeling her wetness cover his cock as it throbbed inside her. His neck strained as he let out a deep grunt, the vein popping against his glistening skin as he followed soon after her, ropes of his cum flowing into her. He shuddered as he pulled her close, her nose nuzzling against his neck and up to his jaw. His lips found hers in a slow, passionate kiss before they pulled away, sharing a small laugh.

“Can we leave now, please?” she asked, pushing him back lightly. “We need to wash this place off us.”

“Sure,” he chuckled, before his voice dropped down as he leaned into her. “And I’m gonna take my time with you once we get home.”

Feeling a shiver run down her back as she fixed herself and popped down from the counter, she took his hand in hers after he made sure he was decent. She pushed up on her tip-toes to kiss him, roughly, letting him know everything she needed with one passionate embrace.

“You better."

[kazsrm67]

Well that was a pretty steamy fic to read first thing in the morning. What a wakeup call for me. Lol.

[whatareyousearchingfordean]

Let It Be

Summary: When it felt like everything in her life was falling apart, getting offered the job as the Ackles’ nanny seemed like the perfect fresh start. It was only meant to be temporary, that is, until one fateful New Year’s Eve. With a promise to keep, she makes it her mission to keep the shattered family from crumbling into dust, but where does that leave her?

Pairing: Jensen Ackles x Fem!Reader

Series Warnings: Language, angst, character death, discussion of automobile accident, discussions and depictions of grief, smut (tbd), (individual chapters will be tagged accordingly)

Author’s Note: This story is purely a work of fiction and intends no harm to Danneel or the Ackles family. This is a Danneel-positive blog, and hate will not be tolerated. 

Prologue 

Part 1 

Part 2 

Part 3 (Coming Soon!)

Part 4

Part 5

Part 6

Part 7

Part 8

Part 9

Part 10

Part 11

Part 12

Part 13

Part 14

AO3 if you prefer

Updated: 6.6.26

[teamackles96]

Join The Dark Side

❧ Summary: You had been missing for weeks. The Winchesters finally find you and they might not like it.

❧ Pairing: Dean Winchester x reader

❧ Wordcount: 1.8k

Main Masterlist | Dean Winchester Masterlist

"Oh, Squirrel, what have you got yourself into now?"

Crowley chuckled, his hands buried deep in the pockets of his long wool coat as he stood across from Dean in the middle of the warehouse. The King of Hell looked entirely too pleased with himself.

Dean Winchester, meanwhile, was tied to a chair. Again. At this point it was becoming less of an inconvenience and more of a personality trait.

The older Winchester had long since stopped struggling against the ropes, having realised escape wasn't an option. Instead, his gaze kept drifting toward Sam's unconscious form slumped against the far wall.

Their brilliant plan was to trick Crowley into a Devil's Trap lasted all of three minutes.

Dean sighed heavily. He was too tired for games. "Where is she?"

Crowley raised an eyebrow. "Where's who?"

Dean closed his eyes briefly, nose scrunching in frustration. "You know exactly who." When he looked up again, there was nothing but exhaustion in his expression. "Where's Y/N?"

"Oh," Crowley said with mock understanding. "You mean the little mouse who stumbled right into my trap?" Dean's jaw clenched. 

You'd been missing for two weeks. Fourteen days. Three hundred and thirty-six hours. Not that he's been counting.

His biggest fear at first has been that you'd left. Packed your bags. Walked away. Dean knew it was irrational. You wouldn't do that to him. Would you?

One drunken night in a motel room somewhere in Nebraska, he'd admitted something he'd never told anyone before. That people leaving terrified him. Whether they wanted to or not, they always left. You'd listened quietly. Then promised him you weren't going anywhere. 

Dean wanted to believe that promise. Which only left one possibility. Someone had taken you. And whoever it was had covered their tracks damn well.

Dean had been losing his mind trying to find you. You'd disappeared during a vampire hunt. One minute you were heading to the bakery across from the motel to grab breakfast. The next? Gone.

The bakery just happened to sit beside the truck stop the vampires had been using to lure victims. Coincidence wasn't exactly a word that existed in Dean Winchester's vocabulary anymore.

The nest had paid for it. Him and Sam had torn through every single vampire inside that building. When the dust settled, all they'd found were bodies, severed heads, and an empty warehouse.

No sign of you. No clues. No trail. No stone had been left unturned. Bobby had been called. Jody had been called. Every lead had been chased. Every rumour investigated. Every hunt within three states followed. Which had eventually led them here.

Crowley

They'd actually come to ask for his help. Their last resort.

Of course, the plan had been subtlety. The plan had gone out the window the moment one of Crowley's demons had smirked and said:

"Finally come looking for your bitch?"

After that? Dean honestly didn't remember much. Just red. A whole lot of red. The resulting demon massacre had gained Crowley's attention remarkably quickly.

Which was how he'd ended up tied to a chair in an abandoned warehouse while the King of Hell looked at him like he was watching reality television.

"By the way," Crowley said casually, "thanks for wiping that vampire nest. They were absolutely murdering my market share."

"Crowley, please."

The demon actually looked offended. His hand flew dramatically to his chest. "Is Dean Winchester begging me?" he gasped. "My, my. How hopeless you've become."

Dean lowered his head. Defeat tasted bitter. "Just tell me she's here." His voice cracked slightly. "Please."

Crowley's expression faltered for half a second. Then his usual smirk returned. "Well." He sighed theatrically. "This is getting embarrassingly pathetic." He clicked his fingers.

The double doors behind him swung open.

Dean glanced up slowly. Two demons stepped into the room, dragging a smaller figure between them by thick silver chain wrapped around their waist.

His breath caught.

You.

You looked exactly the same as the day you'd disappeared. The oversize hoodie that doubled as your comfort blanket. The leggings. The worn trainers. There was no blood. No bruises. No cuts. No signs of torture. Which somehow made it worse. 

What the hell had they been doing to you?

Your eyes lifted through the curtain the hair. "Dean?"

The whisper barely reached him. Dean bit down hard on the inside of his cheek. Relief crashing into him so violently it almost hurt. You were alive. You were here. You hadn't left him.

He'd found you.

"You okay, sweetheart?" Immediately, he wanted to punch himself. Of course you weren't okay. You'd been kidnapped by demons.

You gave a weak shrug. "Been better."

Despite everything, Dean laughed. A sad, broken sound. Of course you were making jokes. "You hurt?"

You shook your head. "No."

Crowley groaned dramatically. "Oh, enough with the touching reunion. Honestly, it’s making me nauseous."

"Let her go." Dean strained against the ropes again. He needed to get to you.

"And where," Crowley asked lazily, "would the fun be in that?"

Dean glared at him. "What do you want?

Crowley's smile widened. "Now we're getting somewhere."

"Whatever it is, you can have it."

Crowley raised an eyebrow. "Oh?"

Dean swallowed hard. "Take me instead."

"Dean, no!" You lunged forward instantly. The demons yanked hard on the chain. You crashed to the floor with a cry. Dean surged forward in the chair.

"Y/N!"

"Careful," Crowley mused. "You'll hurt yourself."

"She has nothing to do with this!"

Crowley looked positively delighted. "Oh, but she has everything to do with this." He stepped toward you. "Because we've discovered something rather fascinating." Dean's jaw clenched. "Apparently little Y/N here is the secret to destroying Dean Winchester."

Dean froze. "What?"

"You become remarkably irrational where she's concerned." Crowley smirked. "You slaughter vampire nests, start demon massacres, and throw yourself into deals without so much as blinking." His grin widened. "So naturally I thought—why not use that?"

A laugh echoed through the warehouse. Crowley stopped speaking. The laughter got louder. Your shoulders shook.

"Y/N," Crowley warned.

You wiped beneath your eyes. "I'm sorry," you said between laughs. "I really couldn't hold it anymore."

Dean frowned. "What the hell is going on?"

You stood. The chains around your waist slipped away effortlessly, falling to the floor with a metallic clang. "God, get this off me." You pulled your hoodie over your head, tossing it aside. You stood in leggings and a low V-neck tight shirt.

Crowley's grin mirrored your own. "Mouse here joined the dark side."

You raised an eyebrow. "Joined is a strong word."

Crowley waved dismissively. "Fine. Strongly encouraged. Forced almost."

You stepped back until you stood beside him. Dean stared. "This isn't you."

You gasped dramatically. "Dean Winchester, are you saying you don't like the new me?" You slowly turned in a circle. "New and improved."

Dean said nothing. That hurt more than it should have. You moved toward him slowly, swapping your hips with each step. Rested your hands on his shoulders and leant down slightly. His eyes betrayed him immediately, enjoying the view.

You smirked. "Oh, there he is." Dean groaned. "You should join us, Dean."

"Never gonna happen, sweetheart."

You leaned closed. "Not even if I asked nicely?" You swung one leg over his lap.

Dean sat bolt upright. "Uh..." His brain had officially left the building. "What exactly are you doing?"

You smiled, sinking into his lap. "I liked you, you know." Dean blinked. "The old me. " Your fingers brushed along the stubble on his jaw. "God, I fell for you the second I met you." His breathing stopped. "I wanted you so bad." You leaned closer. "Still kinda do."

"Y/N..." His voice came out strangled. "Please stop talking."

A throat cleared behind you. "Do you two need a room?"

You looked over your shoulder. "Could we?"

Crowley rolled his eyes. "Fine. But clean up after yourselves."

The doors slammed shut behind him. Dean immediately snapped back to himself. "Y/N, listen to me. This isn't you."

You traced your thumb over his bottom lip. The tip of his tongue poked out before realising what was going on. "We could have fun, Dean."

"Now is really not the time."

You pouted. "But I like you like this." Your hand slid into the hair at the nape of his neck. "At my mercy." Dean swallowed hard. "I've actually imagined this before." His eyes widened. "You tied up." Your hand tightened slightly in his hair. "Me in charge." You pulled his head back gently. "I think you like a woman taking control."

Dean's smirk finally returned. "Never said I didn't."

Your grin widened. As you shifted on his lap—

Oh.

Well

This is interesting.

You leaned toward his ear. "Looks like someone agrees with me."

Dean closed his eyes. "Oh, this is my personal hell."

You rolled your hips slightly. His head hit the back of the chair. "Definitely my personal hell."

Your lips ghosted along his throat. A strained groan escaped his mouth. "I'm gonna enjoy this."

Dean's eyes opened. "Oh, I'm gonna enjoy it too."

You frowned, pulling back from him. "What?"

Pain exploded through your side. You looked down. Ruby's knife protruded from your side.

Sam stood behind you. Very much not unconscious.

You barely had time to register the betrayal before your vision filled with a flash of red before fading to black.

You woke up hours later in your room at the bunker. Cas had already healed the stab wound. Also checked the rest of you after the possession.

You sat on the bed with your face buried in your hands. Dean sat beside you looking entirely too amused. "I'm not gonna lie," he said. You already hated where this was going. "I liked the demon you."

"Oh my god." You groaned louder. "Shut up."

Sam leaned in the doorway. "You practically gave him a lap dance."

You looked up in horror. "I did not."

Sam nodded seriously. "You absolutely did."

"I was possessed."

"I still had to sit there and watch it happen whilst playing dead."

Dean pointed accusingly. "Yeah, could've stabbed her sooner, bitch."

Sam laughed. "Could've stopped enjoying it sooner, jerk."

You froze.

Slowly, very slowly, you turned towards Dean, who suddenly became fascinated by a crack in the wall. "What?

Dean shrugged. "Nothing."

"Dean Winchester."

"Nothing happened."

"You got turned on by demon me"

"I did not."

"You absolutely did." You looked to Sam for confirmation, who just nodded.

"I was tied to a chair."

"Because it was me?"

Dean's head snapped toward you. "Y/N." He warned.

Your eyes widened. "Oh my god."

Dean stood immediately. "Oh no."

"It was because it was me."

"Nope."

You crawled across the mattress toward him. "I can recreate the scene if you want."

Dean nearly tripped over his own feet backing toward the door. "I'm good."

"I can even dress up."

"Absolutely not."

You followed him into the hallway. "Dean!" He was already halfway down the corridor. "I'll give you a lap dance! Just let me get ready."

"SHUT UP, Y/N." Your laughter echoed through the bunker. Dean's horrified groan followed shortly after.

You were never letting him live this down.

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[bettystonewell]

*banners etc made by me in canva | above image links x x

The Placenta Effect SERIES MASTERLIST

Read on AO3 || Main Masterlist

Pairing: Dean Winchester x f!Reader

the placenta effect (pla-cen-ta ef-fect), n, a phenomenon in which the mental health of non-committed partners decreases due to inept compliance with at-home pregnancy tests; this can lead to additional delayed or secondary results that negatively affect their physical health, emotional wellbeing, other relationships, employment and personal growth; individuals partaking in the family business should proceed with caution

Tags/Warnings: explicit | smut, angst, fluff & hurt/comfort | friends with benefits to lovers | idiots in love | pining | miscommunication | unplanned pregnancy | kidnapping | rescue | monster of the week | vampires | case fic | happy ending | non-linear narrative | POV Dean Winchester, incl. Dean being an insecure dumbass | 18+only MDNI

A/N: This story was written for the @storytellers-contest’s The Jensen Ackles Chronicles. It was beta’d by the wonderful @kblognar (thank you my lovely for all your help). I also had the support of the bestest friends a girl could ask for who not only encouraged me, but also alpha read, and wrote alongside me through body doubling and writing sprints. TYSM as well for all your support my lovelies @ambiguous-avery @aniresrene @jollyhunter & @sorryitsmyfirstdayonearth

This story is complete: 44k words. Chapter links below 👇

CHAPTER LISTING

1 - The Precursory

2 - Regression to the Mean

3 - Response Bias

4 - Reporting Bias

5 - Non-inert Treatments

 

Additional Notes: phew! It’s been awhile! As most stories go, the final product is very different to how it all started. The original concept I had was to turn the fake dating trope into a fake pregnancy one. Some days it did my head in, but here we are!

I signed up for the competition late last year and throughout the process there were moments I thought I wouldn’t get it done on time thanks to a very mushy brain. To all my lovely mutuals and regular readers who read this, I hope you enjoy, and apologies for being absent for so long. Hopefully, I’ll get back into my regular interactions and reading - Beth ❤️

Reader’s Choice Award: As mentioned above, this story was written for the Storyteller-Contest’s The Jensen Ackles Chronicles. It’s a fanfic writing contest being judged by a pre-selected group of judges, with prizes to be won.

If you liked this story or want to check out the other entries, you can find them here. On top of official judging, there is also a Reader’s Choice Award where reader’s can vote for their favourites from the competition. Please consider checking it out, too. Voting closes 30th July.

[kazsrm67]

You got me on the edge of my seat!

[kazsrm67]

That Wasn't On My Bingo Sheet -CH 45

Summary: You're a biology major out on a campout doing some extra research when you discover a circle of downed trees and make the choice to investigate the area further. However, while you're there you see something you could never have imagined when a man's hand shoots straight out of the ground - just like something out of a zombie movie a man crawls out of his grave and walks away. When the urge to follow becomes too much you will soon have your life flipped upside down. 

Characters: Dean Winchester, Sam Winchester, Bobby Singer, Castiel, you, and pretty much any SPN character from season 4 on. . .

Warnings: anything that happened in the show will be mentioned or detailed in this series - and then some - including but not limited to: death, hospitalizations, injuries, pain, angst, fluff, smut, bad language, consumption of alcohol. There will be more warnings as chapters are posted I am sure.  

Chapter Warning: the trials land Sam in the hospital and things only get weirder from there

Word Count: 2,771

A/N: Cover image was created by me with a mix of my own photos and some from imdb

We got Sam to the nearest hospital as quickly as we could - watching his lifeless form in the hospital bed was beyond painful. Not only because we were just sitting there waiting but because his little brother laying there near death, yet again, was physically painful to Dean. That was something else about our bond, I could sense emotions and a lot of his pain. 

I couldn't really sense Sam and that really worried me more than I wanted to admit - nor would I speak it out loud to Dean. 

Dean stood there studying the medical scans that had been posted up on a light panel in the corner of Sam's room.

When the doctor walked in with his clipboard I stood up, "Tell us you got some good news?" I asked hopefully. 

"The MRI shows massive internal burns affecting many of the major organs. Oxygen to the brain has been severely deprived. The coma is the result of the body doing everything in its limited power to protect itself from further harm."

"His body," I snapped.

The doctor paused and looked at me, confused. 

"You called him the body - he's not dead yet - his body is in a coma."

The doctor pursed his lips together and looked over at Dean, who muttered, "This wasn't supposed to happen."

"If your brother continues on this trajectory, the machines might keep him alive, but –"

Dean filled the pause, "He'll be dead." 

"Technically, yes. I'm afraid so."

"So, there's – there's no recovery? I mean, there's no bounce-back. There's no nothing," Dean asked a hint of pleading in his voice. 

"I'm afraid that's in God's hands now," the doctor stated with a sympathetic look. 

"You're a doctor. You're a medical professional. You're trying to tell me that his brother's life is in God's hands? What, is that supposed to be a – a comfort?" I snapped - obviously channeling Dean's anger. 

"Mrs. Dougherty –"

"No, God has nothing to do with this equation at all," I snipped. 

"I didn't mean –"

"That's not good enough," Dean barked and walked out of the room.

"I'm sorry he's the only family we have left anywhere," I whispered  nodding at Sam before I walked back over to sit at the chair next to him. 

The doctor simply nodded and left the room. 

Later after Dean had returned a woman entered the room and Dean very oddly pulled himself away from the window and said, "Hi. I'm just gonna break the ice. Are you an angel?"

"Are you an angel?" I mouthed.

"Sometimes I wish I were. My name is Kim Schortz, and I'm a grief counselor here at the hospital."

"Right. Yeah. Uh... Sorry. I'm just tired. Well, all due respect, but, uh, I'm not grieving – not yet at least, so –"

"I'm afraid, as hard as this may be, this might be a good time to talk... about the inevitable."

"Look, I'm sure you're a nice person and that you mean well, but "inevitable" – that's a fightin' word where I come from. There's always a way," Dean told her before I could interject. 

"And I am a prayerful woman who believes in miracles as much as the next, but I also know how to read an EEG. And unless you're telling me you have a direct line to those angels that you were looking for –"

"Yeah, no, I, uh... Guess I don't. But I might have something better. I got the King of Hell in my trunk," Dean grumbled and left the room. 

Poor Kim called after him, "Uh, is – is that... I'm sorry. Is that a metaphor?"

"He's struggling with his brother's condition," I shrugged. "Uh, their family is very um - superstitious," I lied, "It's probably some kind of old world cure, who knows," I smiled again, hoping I looked friendly at least.

"Here's my card, please call me when you get him to a point of talking - hopefully before his brother is gone."

Once she was out of the room I turned to Sam's bed, "What a bitch am I right?" I said, faking all my bravado just like Dean would. "Listen Sammy I need a sign from you - if this is it you gotta help me ease him into it, but if you're willing to fight then you gotta know we're both in it for the long haul." 

Sam stayed still and silent - he wasn't capable of giving me a sign and I knew it. 

While Dean was gone I began to scour the web - well, as much as I could with nothing but my phone - I hoped to find some kind of repair spell or hell some way to power up my soul to pass some jolt to him to heal him. 

I'd come up with one thing that wouldn't cure Sam but might buy us some time for him to heal up some. When Dean and another man walked into the hospital room I jumped up and rushed over to Dean, "I think I found something that might help," I whispered but glanced back at the other man. "Who's your friend?"

"Someone who might be able to help. What's your idea?" Dean asked.

"I found something that might not get him up and going  but it might at least get him healed up enough to wake up a little. I need to run down the street to the crystal shop - I think we have everything but the obsidian in the car."

"Where is it?"

I showed him the map and he told me to and wait there, he'd pick me up after a bit. Wanting so badly to help Sam and please Dean I didn't think about the other man again, as I rushed out of the hospital and down the street. 

About an hour later Dean pulled up outside of the shop and I bid the manager ado and rushed out to the car. 

Sam was sitting in the front seat - that caused me to stop so abruptly that someone walking by ran into me. 

"I'm sorry, are you ok?"

I looked him up and down and back at the car, "Yeah, sorry. I wasn't expecting my brother to be there," I stated because I needed a lie to fill the space. 

"Oh, was he part of the group of soldiers that came home this week?" the man asked.

"Um yeah," I lied. "Didn't know it was happening."

"Thank him for his service for me," the man smiled warmly and walked away. 

'If he only knew,' I thought. 

Dean must have noticed my shock because he jumped out, "I'll explain later - we gotta go."

"But Dean-"

"Get in, we gotta get home," he hissed. "And keep your mouth shut about the hospital - he can't remember it and it's better that way."

The next thing I knew I was in the back of the car and we were heading west, when Sam woke up after more than 24 hours of sleeping in the car Dean finally spoke again - only to answer Sam's questions but things weren't adding up. 

I was wondering if that man in the hospital had done some kind of hoodoo on Sam and that's how he was up walking again. 

Dean decided it would be good to pull over and let us all take a break so we found this rest stop with a nice nature area. 

Dean laid out on one of the picnic tables like a small child and Sam and I sat on the benches as we chatted. 

"So, what, Cas is human?" Sam asked. 

"Ish. I mean," Dean sat up, "He's got no Grace, no wings, no... harp, whatever the hell else he had."

"Okay. Where'd he crash-land?" Sam asked. 

I just kept studying Sam - I could sense something was different about him. 

"Called me from a pay phone from Longmont, Colorado. I told him just to make for the bunker."

"Well, you think he can handle a road trip like that?"

"Well, Cas is a big boy. Things go Breaking Bad, he knows our number. Right now we got bigger worries."

'Like whatever is going on with Sam?!' my brain screamed. 

"The fallen angels?" Sam asked. 

I felt so bad for him, he looked awful, not to mention that there was something odd about his behavior - I started to wonder if Dean would have allowed one of Crowley's goons in to fix Sammy up. The way he was so desperate for him had me just shaking my head and thinking - 'they are a package deal.'

"Yeah. I mean, thanks to Metatron, we now have a couple of thousand confused loose nukes walking around down here."

"What do you think they're gonna do?" Sam asked. 

"I got no damn clue."

"What about Crowley? You, uh..." Sam mimed slicing his throat.

"I would've loved nothing better than to ice that limey bitch. But then I thought to myself, what would Sam Winchester do?" Dean replied proudly. 

"I'd've stabbed him in the brain."

That was clearly not the answer either of us expected because I snorted and Dean replied, "Oh."

After a beat he went on, "Well, I figured the King of Hell might know a few things, so why not Zero Dark Thirty his ass?"

Dean and Sam stood up so I followed suit. 

"Wait, so Crowley is... alive?"

Dean opened the trunk as he told Sam, "Oh yeah. He's the junk in my trunk."

"I painted that myself, thank you."

"You're good," Sam smirked at me. 

To say that we forgot about Kevin might be the understatement of the century because when he nearly shot Dean with a crossbow I almost pooped my pants. 

Apparently when the angels fell the bunker went nuts and locked poor Kevin inside - he figured it reset when we entered the front door. 

Kevin was equally as surprised when we traipsed a blindfolded Crowley into the bunker and down to the dungeon. Can't say I blame the poor kid - I'd be pooping my pants over that too, if I were him. 

We got Crowley locked down in the dungeon and pretty soon were on the trail of a reanimated Abaddon. 

I tried to keep and eye on Kevin and run point from the bunker but while the boys were out dealing with a sack of crap we'd been handed and trying to catch Abaddon and her minions. With the bunker being down for a few days that meant everything in the fridge had gone bad so once we'd cleaned up the fortification Kevin built and I got an inventory of what we could salvage in the kitchen I went into town for a supply run. 

Sam and Dean thought they had a way to trap Abaddon and stop this whole crazy thing so I figured there wasn't anything else I could do to help them - especially since they'd left me in Kansas to baby-sit. 

When I came out of the first shop I got grabbed by this shitty pair of low-level demons. I was taken by surprise and knocked out so when I woke up they had me tied to a chair, fortunately they were stupid and I managed to wriggle my hand free, pull out the gun I had tucked into the side holster and shout for them.

"Damnit, she got the gag off," the woman growled as she stalked into the room with the man behind her. 

"Yeah the gag is what you have to worry about," I snarked.

The man stopped, obviously not trusting me to play nice, the woman stepped a little closer and took the last demon trap bullet I had loaded in the gun.

"Why can't I move?!" she screeched. 

Ignoring her I pushed the rest of the ropes off, "You two really don't have a good grasp on knots Sam and Dean would have been out of these in like five minutes," I quipped as I began stalking toward the man. "You seem to be more afraid of the boys than she is," I noted as he trembled and inched back toward the exit.

"Oh and the next time you take a hunter captive - you should check them for extra weapons ya idjit," I told him.

We traded a few punches before I was able to exorcise the demon - poor guy had been dead for who knows how long. I returned to the female to exorcise her - the woman's body was worse than the man's and I quickly got myself out of there and back to my shopping. 

We needed food dammit! I didn't have time to be playing demon hunter. 

I figured out that my hour supply run had turned into a nine hour ordeal by the time I'd been knocked out, come to and fought the two demons, cleaned up anything that might identify me and actually did the grocery run. 

I walked into a shit-show at the bunker.

Kevin and Dean were arguing about something and when I rounded the corner I saw Kevin with his backpack slung over one shoulder.

"He said my mom's alive. Crowley said if I let him go, he'd give her back to me," Kevin told Dean. 

"And you believed him?" Dean asked. 

"He's still in there, isn't he?!" Kevin shouted. 

"Crowley's lying."

"And if he's not?" Kevin snapped. 

"Well... if she is alive, then she's dead. In every way that matters, she's dead, Kevin, I'm sorry. I know you're dying to bolt, man. I get it. But out that door, it's demons, and it's angels, and they would all love to get their hands on a prophet. So even with Crowley here, this is still the safest place for you. It just is. And we need you, man."

"Because I'm useful?" Kevin asked.

"Because you're family," Dean told him. "After all the crap we've been through, after all the good that you've done... man, if you don't think that we would die for you... I don't know what to tell you," Dean continued and tears started streaming down Kevin's face. "Because you, me, Sam, Y/N, and Cas, we are all we've got. But hey, if none of that matters to you, then I won't stop you."

"He's right - it's not good out there," I murmured.

"What the hell happened to you?" Dean rushed over and started inspecting my face. 

"I'll get the first aid kit," Kevin rushed off. 

"I think demons know we got Crowley - either that or they are just running amok without him down there. I got grabbed coming out of the crystal shop, and before I could even get groceries."

"What?!"

I explained everything and told Dean I just wanted to take a nap. Kevin and Dean patched my face up as good as they could and sent me to go sleep. 

When I woke a couple hours later I found Sam doing research and Dean telling him, " Kevin's passed out in one of the back rooms. He's a tough kid. He'll bounce back," Dean stated - I wasn't sure if he was trying to convince us or himself.  

"What's up with you?" Dean asked Sam as he poured two drinks. 

I stepped all the way into the room and settled at the table. 

"Nothing. It's just... what Tracy said about me, she wasn't wrong."

I had no clue who or what he was talking about. 

Dean set the glasses down and pushed one toward Sam. 

"Sam, listen to me. You have helped a hell of a lot more people than you have hurt. So all of that... that was then. Okay? Here's to now."

They clinked their glasses and Sam glanced between us, "So, you ready for it?"

Dean took a sip and asked, "Hmm?"

"The fallen angels? Abaddon? Cas losing his halo, Crowley in our basement?"

"Crap. We're living in a freaking sitcom," waited a beat before continuing, "What about you, how's the uh, the engine running?" he asked Sam. 

"Honestly, um, I feel better than I have in a long time. I mean, I realize it's crazy out there, and we have trouble coming for us, but I look around and I see friends, and family. I am happy with my life, for the first time in... forever," He paused, "I- I am. I really am. It's just things are  . . . things are good."

"Never better," Dean remarked, but his posture and the internal waves of guilt and shame told me otherwise.

There was no fucking way I was going to burst Sammy's bubble after all he'd been through lately though. 

Dean's behavior was strange since Sam's stint in the hospital and it only seemed to be getting stranger as the days went by. 

SPN Fam:

@all-alone-he-turns-to-stone  | @lyarr24

@dean-winchester-is-a-warrior  | @nancymcl

@deans-baby-momma

@squirrelnotsam | @leigh70  | @impalaslytherin

@mishkatelwarriorgoddess | @deans-spinster-witch

@perpetualabsurdity  | @bumbleb10 | @mrswhozeewhatsis | @123passwort | @roseblue373 

@jackles010378 | @hobby27 |  @b3autyfuld1sast3r

Mr. Green-eyes Tags:

@mrsjenniferwinchester | @k-slla |   @jamerlynn | @libby99hb  | @lori19

@deansimpalababy | @stoneyggirl2