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@rainroses45
⋆˚࿔ 𝓵𝓲𝓷𝓪’𝓼 𝔀𝓸𝓻𝓵𝓭 𝜗𝜚˚⋆ ִֶָ࣪☾𝓼𝓱𝓮/𝓱𝓮𝓻 𝓪𝓷𝓭 𝓮𝓿𝓮𝓻𝓶𝓸𝓻𝓮ִֶָ࣪☾.
⋆˙⟡𝓑𝓲𝓼𝓮𝔁𝓾𝓪𝓵, 𝓑𝓲𝓵𝓲𝓷𝓰𝓾𝓪𝓵, 𝓑𝓲𝓽𝓬𝓱 જ⁀➴ 𝓭𝓮𝓹𝓻𝓮𝓼𝓼 𝓫𝓲𝓸 𝓶𝓪𝓳𝓸𝓻 𝔀𝓱𝓸 𝔀𝓻𝓲𝓽𝓮𝓼 𝓪𝓷𝓭 𝓬𝓻𝓲𝓮𝓼 𝓯𝓸𝓻 𝓯𝓻𝓮𝓮
⋆˙⟡𝑜𝓅𝑒𝓃 𝒻𝑜𝓇 𝓇𝑒𝓆𝓊𝑒𝓈𝓉 જ⁀➴ 𝓎𝑜𝓊 𝒸𝒶𝓁𝓁𝑒𝒹 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝒻𝒶𝒾𝓇𝓎 𝑔𝑜𝒹𝓂𝑜𝓉𝒽𝑒𝓇 𝒽𝑜𝓉𝓁𝒾𝓃𝑒 𝓌𝒽𝑒𝓇𝑒 𝓎𝑜𝓊𝓇 𝑜𝒷𝓈𝑒𝓈𝓈𝒾𝑜𝓃 𝒾𝓈 𝒾𝓃 𝓈𝑒𝓈𝓈𝒾𝑜𝓃
⋆˙⟡𝓓𝓸𝓷'𝓽 𝓬𝓸𝓹𝔂 𝓶𝔂 𝔀𝓸𝓻𝓴 𝓸𝓻 𝓽𝓪𝓴𝓮 𝓬𝓻𝓮𝓭𝓲𝓽 𝓯𝓸𝓻 𝓲𝓽
ִֶ . 𓂃˖˳·˖ ִֶָ ⋆★⋆ ִֶָ˖·˳˖𓂃 ִֶָ
𝓦𝓮𝓵𝓬𝓸𝓶𝓮 𝓽𝓸 𝓶𝔂 𝓹𝓪𝓰𝓮
જ⁀➴𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭. જ⁀➴. 𝐠𝐮𝐢𝐝𝐞 𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐞𝐬
જ⁀➴. Back up bio
im currently in puerto rico with my friends (we’ve been planning this since november) so trust once we get back home (in a week) on the plane we all going to start writing 😝 @honeelemon @cassi0p31a @itsythebitsyspider
I Hate that I made You Love me ♡
♡description: Dean loves-…loved you until you got bitten. Then suddenly the family business doesn’t include saving you, but eliminating you. Dean x Wife reader
♡a/n: i have been listening to this song on repeat I LOVE IT SO MUCH so i was like IDEA TIME also im writing this on my phone so format weird
♡warnings: mentions of severed head, hallucinations, blood, stab wounds
♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡
Dean knew the motel room was wrong the second he walked in, like the place had decided to imitate safety but couldn’t quite land the act. The light over the bed flickered every few seconds—on, off, on—like it was trying to get the timing right for a scare.
He didn’t sit. He didn’t check the curtains or the lock on the door like he was supposed to. He just dropped to his knees on the carpet, hands shaking, staring at the spot where the hallway should’ve led to you and didn’t.
Tap-tap-tap.
At the chamber door.
It wasn’t loud. It wasn’t even aggressive. It was patient. Like whoever (whatever) was out there had all the time in the world.
Dean swallowed, throat dry, and tried to do the thing he always did when his head started eating itself. Talk. Reason. Pretend the words could build a wall strong enough to keep the worst memories out.
“It’s over,” he said to the empty room. “I’m done. I pushed her away. I did the right thing.”
He said it again, firmer this time, like volume could turn a lie into truth. “I protected myself. I protected the innocent.”
And then, because guilt loved repeating itself—because guilt had the same rhythm as a heartbeat—he said the worst one.
“You can’t be in places you’re not.” He burned your bones. He sliced your head clean off before a single fang could appear. He followed the system to a T.
Tap-tap-tap.
Dean got up because standing still felt like giving the nightmare control. He crossed to the bathroom and turned on the sink, water hissing cold as if it had been waiting just for his hands.
He stared at the mirror to make sure there was no blood left. No stain. No proof.
The mirror didn’t show him.
It showed you, standing behind him, close enough that if he turned his head he’d find the outline of your mouth at his ear. Your smile was all teeth and bad intentions. Your eyes looked bright—too bright like you were enjoying something he couldn’t understand yet.
Dean spun so fast his shoulder hit the wall.
For half a second, there was nothing.
Just the running water. And a trail of blood from where he had cradled your decapitated body one last time. His wife. His love. His prey.
Then the mirror shimmered—like the glass was remembering a different version of the world—and you were there again, clearer this time. Closer. Smiling like you’d never died, like whatever came for you had decided you were worth keeping. Your head kept slipping, oozing out blood, blood that you never even tasted and swore you never would. But it didn’t matter now.
Dean’s breath caught.
He raised his gun. Arms shaking, but at least his hands knew what to do even if his brain didn’t.
“Stop,” he snapped. “Stop doing this.”
You tilted your head, slow. Almost curious. Almost sweet.
“I hate that I made you love me,” you said. Your left hand reached out for him. A glimmering piece of jewelry caught the attention of the moths, leading them to you to help push your head back into place. The stab wound on your chest filled with deadman’s blood still looked fresh.
The words hit like a punch because they were wrong in the way only a confession can be wrong—like you were saying sorry while stealing everything.
Dean’s jaw flexed. His trigger finger tightened.
“You—” he started.
You sang, high and delighted, like it was fun. Like it was a game you were winning.
“Is it really my fault you gave me your heart on your own accord…”
Dean went cold. Not because you were threatening him.
Because you were quoting him.
Because he remembered the promise. The “forever”. The moment he’d decided you were something that could be handled—managed—ended.
He’d killed a monster.
He told himself he had.
He told himself he was saving himself from seeing you turn into the dark side.
He killed a vampire. Not his wife. A vampire.
But your voice kept moving through the room, wrapping around the fluorescent hum, filling the air until there was no empty space left for his denial to hide in.
“I don’t really think sooooo…”
Dean’s gun jerked toward the mirror and then away, like his body didn’t know where you were anymore. He looked toward the bedroom. Toward the door. Toward the corners like you might be hiding behind the world.
You weren’t chasing.
That was the worst part.
You were waiting.
Dean backed up one step, then another, and the motel lights flickered—once, twice—like you were counting him. Like you were turning pages.
He spun toward the door and bolted into the hallway.
The carpet pattern blurred under his boots. The doors looked identical—like the building had decided “normal” was a costume it could wear forever. But the air smelled like you. Every breath tasted like memory that had gone feral.
He sprinted anyway, because running was something he could still do.
Dean reached the end of the hall. The dead-end door sat there with a chain hanging like a joke somebody forgot to laugh at. He grabbed the handle and yanked.
Locked.
Of course it was locked.
He tried again, harder, like desperation could beat whatever rules you’d brought into the world.
His fingers fumbled for the keycard.
Useless.
Behind him, the lights flickered in sequence again, fast now—too fast—like the motel was responding to you. Like it belonged to you.
Dean whipped around.
You stood right there.
Beside the dead-end door, perfect silhouette swallowed by dim light—rain in your hair, smile wrong and bright. It felt like the space between you and him had been erased. Like you’d just arrived by deciding he’d been heading (beheading) in the wrong direction all along.
For half a heartbeat, he thought he saw red at your mouth.
Not blood. Not exactly.
More like a memory replaying itself, eager and hungry.
“No,” Dean whispered, because no was all he had left. “No, you—”
You leaned in, and the hallway tightened around him. Pressure on his lungs. Silence so thick he could hear his heartbeat trying to escape.
“I’m sorry if I may be your type,” you said, and it was said like flirtation. Like seduction.
Then your smile widened, and fangs flashed—white and sharp, catching the motel light like they were new, like the day you became a monster wasn’t something that happened.
It was something that kept happening.
Dean’s breath came faster. His eyes wouldn’t stop searching for an exit that wasn’t imaginary.
“Don’t,” he managed.
You lifted a hand, placing it on your stomach.
The lights dimmed again. The world outside—rain, cars, distant noise, everything human and harmless—fell away like someone had turned down the volume on reality. Dean felt the melody crawling under his skin, continuing whether he wanted it to or not.
He tried to run.
But you were already there.
In front of him, then beside the mirror he’d passed, then behind his thoughts—smiling, singing, laughing like guilt was music and you were the only conductor.
And Dean finally understood what made it worse than a normal haunting.
You weren’t here because you wanted to scare him.
You were here because he promised forever.
And you remembered.
He hadn’t escaped you.
He hadn’t stopped anything.
He’d just given you the shape of the road back—taught you where the doors were, taught you what he’d buried, taught you how to bloom anyway.
Like flowers from a tomb.
Dean stood there in the dim hallway, gun raised, chest burning, listening to you laugh—patient, satisfied, close enough to feel like breath.
Not a hunter.
Not a chase.
A fisher waiting for the hook to take.
Because you weren’t coming to haunt him.
You were coming to collect what he swore he’d keep.
And Dean realized the worst truth of all. He hadn’t escaped you. Not when he put you down like a dog, and erased the sack of cells in your womb. He manipulated his blood into yours. Forever.
i’m so sorry i’m taking forever on the swan lake au but i really want it to be perfect (ironic ik lol) 🪄🤍
────୨ৎ────
prisoner dean who gain a few more muscles since being in prison
prisoner dean who loves hearing you whimper as he whispers dirty things through the phone, imaging his beautiful girl spread out on the bed just dripping wet for him
prisoner dean who always demands a “special reward”for being good and collecting minuets for his phone privileges, it usually ends up with him helping you finish over the phone and you sending him a picture the next day
prisoner dean who has a collection of your panties stuffed in a hole in his mattress and uses them to get off at night
prisoner dean who’s gain a reputation for pulling one to more fights with other inmates after you missed a call with him
prisoner dean who surprises you with a tattoo of your name carved on to his bicep with a heart and an arrow going through it, you lost another panty that day :(
prisoner dean who promises you the world when he gets out, ready to stuff a baby into you and pop a beautiful ring on that finger
prisoner dean who “accidentally” kills another inmate for talking shit about you, gaining him another sentence to serve :(
prisoner dean who know matter what will always love you, and of course will never leave his precious girl unsatisfied
Come Here Now!
࣪ ִֶָ☾.description: So after a little help from you, the brothers were finally able to track the killer siren. The question that lies ahead is, what do they do with their 'mermaid' friend now? Winchesters x Bimbo Fem! Mermaid Reader ࣪ ִֶָ☾.a/n: you all are so sweet and I really hope you like this part two, I tried my best and I hope it doesn't feel rushed, love you all so much, also i would love to hear yalls thoughts and ideas ࣪ ִֶָ☾.warnings: slapping of behind, crying (does that count?) ࣪ ִֶָ☾. part one
The first thing Veronica noticed was the reef concealer.
The second was the fact that you were attempting to apply it with a paintbrush.
“That’s not how makeup works.”
You jumped, nearly dropping the compact into the water. “You scared me!”
“You’ve been awake all night, haven’t you?”
Veronica crossed her arms from where she sat at her vanity. Around the room, your other sisters exchanged worried looks.
The kingdom had been uneasy for weeks.
People were disappearing.
The elders were whispering about how the human world would catch on to their species.
The currents carried rumors of blood and death.
And somehow, you looked worse than all of them.
Dark circles sat beneath your eyes.
Your hair was only half done.
Your usual bright smile looked slightly crooked from exhaustion.
“No,” you lied.
The entire room stared.
You sighed dramatically.
“Okay, maybe.”
Veronica pinched the bridge of her nose.
“Y/N.”
“What?”
"When was the last time you slept?"
You tilted your head, thinking hard.
"The last crescent moon?"
The room went silent.
Veronica stared at you.
"Y/N, we're already past the first quarter moon."
Your eyes widened.
"...Oh."
"You haven't slept properly in over a week."
"That sounds unhealthy when you say it like that."
“You need rest.” Ellie said, softly placing down her starfish clip.
“I can’t rest.”
“Why?”
A dreamy smile immediately appeared on your face. The kind of smile that made every sister in the room groan before you’d even spoken.
“The humans.”
Collective groaning echoed throughout the chamber.
“Of course.”
“I knew it.”
“Oh my God.”
You ignored them.
“They could come today.”
“They come every day.”
“But what if today is different?”
Veronica looked exhausted already. “How?”
You clasped your hands dramatically.
“What if they stay longer?”
“Y/N.”
“What if Dean laughs at one of my jokes?” You had finally learned their names, leaving you even head over heels infatuated with them.
“Y/N.”
“What if Sam likes the shell necklace I’m making?”
“Y/N.”
“What if—”
“FOR THE LOVE OF THE SEA.”
You flinched.
Veronica took a deep breath.
Then another. And another. “He is a hunter.”
You immediately rolled your eyes.
“He is my friend.”
“He is using you.”
“No.”
“He literally asks questions every time he sees you.”
“Because he’s interested in me.”
Several sisters started choking.
One fell completely out of her chair.
You frowned.
“What?”
“He writes everything down!”
“So he remembers what I say.”
Veronica stared at the ceiling.
As though asking the gods for strength.
Meanwhile, you returned to your mirror.
Carefully dabbing concealer beneath your eyes.
The dark circles were impossible to hide. Even with the reef concealer and the overnight pearl paste mask. It still wouldn’t go away. Still, you tried.
Because the humans had never seen you look tired before.
And somehow that mattered.
A lot.
⋆.ೃ࿔*:𓇼⋆.ೃ࿔*:⋆
Several miles away, Dean Winchester was beginning to wish he had chosen literally any other career.
The witness wouldn’t stop crying.
Sam sat beside her patiently while Dean leaned against the wall.
The young woman twisted a tissue between trembling fingers.
“It was her.”
Sam nodded gently.
“Take your time.”
The woman swallowed.
“She came out of the water.”
Dean’s jaw tightened.
Another siren.
Another victim.
Another dead body.
“What did she look like?” Sam asked.
The woman hesitated.
Then frowned.
“Beautiful.”
Dean exchanged a glance with Sam. As if to say “this is going nowhere..”
“Anything else?”
The woman nodded slowly.
“She had these pearls.”
Sam froze.
The room seemed to shrink.
“What kind of pearls?”
“Wrapped around her waist.”
Silence.
Dean stopped breathing.
The woman laughed nervously.
“You probably think I’m crazy.”
“No,” Sam said immediately.
“We don’t.”
The witness looked relieved.
Dean forced a smile.
“We’ll call you if we need anything else.”
The second she left, the smile vanished.
The motel room fell silent.
Sam looked down at the report.
Dean stared at the wall.
Finally—
“No.”
Sam sighed.
“Dean.”
“No.”
“Dean.”
“The fish without a brain isn’t murdering people.”
Sam rubbed his face.
“We don’t know that.”
“She cries when crabs trip.”
“Dean.”
“She named a rock.”
“I know.”
“No. She named three rocks.”
Sam looked away.
Because unfortunately that was true.
Dean shook his head.
“No way.”
The image of you immediately appeared in his mind.
Bright smile.
Flower crowns.
Endless questions.
The way you got excited whenever they showed up.
That girl?
A killer?
Impossible.
“I don’t think she’d hurt anybody.”
Sam was quiet for a long moment.
Dean pushed himself off the edge and walked towards the window overlooking the distant sea.
“I hope you’re right.”
Because if this was really you, then every road led to the same ending.
The lore was clear.
The only way to stop a siren like this was through the heart.
Whether they needed your heart for the ritual that could lure the creature out...
Or whether they needed your heart to kill it- you.
The result was the same.
You died.
Neither hunter liked how uncertain that sounded.
⋆.ೃ࿔*:𓇼⋆.ೃ࿔*:⋆
The cove looked exactly the same.
Peaceful.
Beautiful.
Safe.
For one blissful second, Dean almost convinced himself the witness had been wrong.
Then he spotted you.
And immediately regretted it.
Because somehow, despite everything happening around them, you were making flower crowns.
You sat on your favorite rock, surrounded by piles of flowers.
Your tongue poked out in concentration.
Petals littered the water around you.
You looked up.
Saw them.
And lit up like sunrise.
“You came!”
Dean looked at Sam.
Sam looked at Dean.
Neither had the heart to ruin that smile.
“We came,” Sam agreed.
You immediately held up a flower crown.
“Look!”
Dean stared.
“What is that?”
“It’s for you.”
Dean blinked.
“It’s what?”
“A flower crown.”
You beamed proudly.
“I made it myself.”
Dean looked horrified.
Sam immediately started laughing.
You frowned.
“What’s wrong with it?”
“Nothing,” Sam said.
“It’s beautiful.”
You brightened instantly.
Dean pointed at it.
“Why is that one bigger?”
You gasped.
“Because your head is bigger.”
Sam nearly fell over laughing.
Dean looked offended.
“You measured my head?”
“Several times.”
“WHEN?”
You ignored him. Instead turning toward another pile of flowers.
“I’m making one for Sam too.”
Sam smiled. “Really?”
You nodded seriously. “Yours has to be prettier.”
Dean pointed accusingly.
“Favoritism.”
“No.”
“That’s favoritism.”
You shook your head.
“Sam has nicer hair.”
Sam immediately looked pleased.
Dean looked deeply betrayed.
“You wound me.”
“I need more flowers.”
“Why?”
You examined Sam thoughtfully.
“To compliment his pretty hair.”
Sam covered his face to hide the blush. Women have called him sexy before, but never has someone said his hair was pretty. He felt like a school boy.
Dean groaned.
“This is ridiculous.”
You smiled proudly. Then you noticed neither of them looked particularly happy. There was this dark sense of dread coming from within their eyes.
Your smile faded. “Oh.”
Sam immediately noticed.
“What?”
You fiddled with the flowers nervously.
“Did something happen?”
Dean and Sam exchanged a look.
The question neither wanted to ask sat between them.
Finally Sam crouched beside the water.
“Y/N.”
“Yeah?”
His expression softened.
“What do you do at night?”
You blinked.
The question seemed strange.
“At night?”
“Yeah.”
You laughed.
“Sleep.”
Dean watched carefully.
“That’s it?”
“Mostly.”
You tilted your head.
“Sometimes I dream.”
Sam's expression brightened immediately.
“Aww.”
You blinked.
“Aww?”
“Aww,” Sam repeated with a small smile. “You have a crazy imagination.”
Dean rolled his eyes.
“You encouraging her isn't helping.”
Sam ignored him.
“Is there anything else you want to tell us about what happens in those dreams?”
You frowned.
“No.”
Sam immediately shoved Dean’s shoulder.
Hard.
“Help me.”
Dean stumbled.
“Dude.”
“Talk to her.”
“You're better at that.”
“You've known her for weeks.”
“So have you.”
Sam stared.
Dean stared back.
Then Dean awkwardly cleared his throat.
“Yeah, um...”
Sam already looked disappointed.
“Dean.”
“What?”
“Just talk.”
“I am talking.”
“Like a normal person.”
Dean sighed dramatically.
Then looked at you.
“So when you go...” He waved vaguely. “...night night.”
Sam closed his eyes. “Oh my God.”
“What?”
“Night night? Who the hell says night night?”
Dean pointed at him. “Forgive me. Dad didn’t exactly get motels with the Disney Channel.”
You looked between them.
Once.
Twice.
Three times.
Their voices kept getting louder.
Again.
The same way your sisters got loud.
The same way everyone got loud.
The knot in your chest tightened.
“They’re fighting.”
The realization hit all at once.
Your eyes filled instantly.
Sam froze.
“Oh no.”
Dean noticed half a second later.
“Ah, crap.”
You backed away.
“No.”
“Y/N—”
“You guys are mad.”
“We aren’t.”
“Yes you are.”
You swam farther into the cove.
Sam stood immediately.
“Sweetheart—”
“You called me sweetheart.”
“That’s not the important part.”
“You only call me that when I’m in trouble or worse…when I do something dumb..”
Dean groaned.
“When have you ever been in trouble?” He was going to ignore the dumb part, cause the Lord did not bless you with an encyclopedia, and he was not about make a case on how you would win the noble prize.
You pointed dramatically.
“RIGHT NOW.”
And then you disappeared farther away.
The water grew deeper.
And deeper.
Until only your eyes remained above the surface.
Watching them suspiciously.
Like a very sad seal.
Dean stared.
“You have got to be kidding me.”
You sank lower.
Only your forehead remained visible.
Dean looked at Sam.
Sam looked at Dean.
Neither moved.
You sank even lower.
Dean threw his hands up.
“Fuck my life.”
Before Sam could stop him, Dean kicked off his boots and jumped into the water.
“Dean!”
The splash echoed throughout the cove.
Your eyes widened from seeing all the bubbles underneath the water. You quickly pulled up to the surface, swimming farther towards the mouth of the cove.
He kept swimming directly toward you.
“Come here.”
“No.”
“Come here.”
“No.”
“Come here.” His voice lowered. His eyes darkened as you pushed your tail away from his grasp.
You squeaked and tried swimming away.
Unfortunately, Dean Winchester spent most of his life chasing things that ran.
Or swam.
A few moments later he caught up. Bringing you towards his chest and carrying you towards Sam.
“Traitor.”
“You were literally hiding.”
“I was emotionally processing your mean words.”
Dean snorted.
“You were floating away like a puffer fish.”
You hit his cheek lightly, “I am not that puffy.”
Dean laughs at the gentle slap of his cheek. Before raising you over his shoulders and landing a light slap on your behind. Earning him a small “oof” and a blush of embarrassment from the mermaid. Not to mention the salty tears still being harbored at bay by the day full of tension.
By the time you reached the rocks, Sam was waiting.
The taller hunter immediately wrapped a blanket around your shoulders.
The warmth only made the tears worse.
Suddenly you were crying.
Really crying.
The ugly kind.
The embarrassing kind.
The kind you usually saved for your pillow.
“Why is everyone mad at me?”
Sam’s face immediately fell.
“We aren’t mad at you.”
“Everybody’s always mad at me.”
“No.”
“My sisters are.”
Sam shot Dean a look.
Dean wisely stayed silent.
“And the elders.”
“Y/N—”
“And the fish.”
“The fish?”
“Harold hasn’t spoken to me in days.”
Sam looked genuinely heartbroken.
“Oh honey.”
You buried your face in the blanket.
“I just want to go home.”
The words came out small.
Tiny.
Lost.
Sam’s expression softened immediately.
“Maybe we should let her.”
Dean stared.
“What?”
“She’s upset.”
Dean pointed at the ocean.
“I did not get soaking wet just for her to swim back to her pink clam bed filled with stuffed eels.”
Despite yourself, a tiny laugh escaped.
Dean immediately pointed.
“There.”
“What?”
“That.”
“What?”
“That was a laugh.”
“It was not.”
“It was.”
“It wasn’t.”
“It absolutely was.”
Sam hid a smile.
Then gently brushed a tangled strand of hair behind your ear.
“We’re just worried about you.”
You looked up.Your long, beautiful lashes framed your watery eyes, stuck together by tears and casting delicate shadows across your flushed cheeks.
“Really?”
“Yeah.”
Sam smiled softly.
“You’re special to us.”
Dean looked away.
Because those words hit harder than they should have.
Sam continued.
“And we don’t want to lose you.”
The cove fell silent.
Only the waves answered.
Something shifted inside your chest.
The fear.
The loneliness.
The anxiety.
It all tangled together.
And suddenly the secret didn’t feel so heavy anymore.
“There is something.”
Both hunters froze.
You stared down at the blanket wrapped around your shoulders.
At the pearls resting against your scales.
The same pearls from the witness statement.
The same pearls neither hunter could stop thinking about.
“My dreams.”
Sam sat a little straighter.
“What about them?”
You swallowed.
“They aren’t really dreams.”
The smile disappeared from his face.
“What do you mean?”
Your fingers twisted together nervously.
And for the first time since meeting you, both hunters saw genuine fear in your eyes.
Not confusion.
Not sadness.
Fear.
“I think...”
Your voice cracked.
“I think they’re nightmares.”
Dean’s stomach dropped.
You squeezed your eyes shut.
“In them...”
A tear rolled down your cheek.
“I’m hurting people.”
The cove went completely silent.
And somewhere beneath the water…
A need had to be fed.
So before midnight could ring out another final blow, the brothers would have to deliver theirs first.
⋆.ೃ࿔:𓇼⋆.ೃ࿔:⋆
tagged list: @babyspiceeeeeeee @sleepy-k0i @sb-bitch @eskibirfotograftanoydular @melancholysanatomy I didnt know if yall wanted to be tagged but i loved yalls comments so much 🪄🤍 hope i you enjoy and if you don’t let me know how to make it better for yall
you have no idea how much this means to me 💗😭 i have been struggling so much with my depression that last night i was going to end it but seeing this - i couldn't do it. you are so sweet and kind and im so happy you enjoy my midnight shower ideas💕 i also hope you are having such a wonderful day and i hope you keep your beautiful angelic heart ILYSM <3
sending you so much love,
your lina🪄🤍
p.s. i will totally start working on part three 🤭 also tumblr wouldn’t let me directly respond back BUT I HOPE YOU FIND THE MESSAGE
The Cage
༗ description: You have awoken but are you truly awake? And what does this mean having angels grace but also having something rotten within you? Winchesters x Sister Reader Part One Can be found here. ༗a/n: I have been so busy with work and everything so sorry yall,I had to log in during my break to write this. Also, shout out to my manager for showing me Underworld (2003) I HAVE INSPO NOW ༗warning: bone breaking, split personality..idk remember the rest im so sorry ༗tagged list: @s0urw00lf @babyspiceeeeeeee @mywifexqc @nacihe @fallen-moss sorry if i missed anybody, also you guys are so amazing, i hope yall have a marvelous day/night sending you so much LOVE 🤍🖤🤍🖤
꧁ᬊᬁ𖤍ᬊ᭄꧂
Dean had been sitting beside your bed for nearly two hours when he finally asked the question.
The motel room had long since fallen quiet. Sam was slumped in a chair near the window, staring at the floor with the hollow look he'd worn ever since Castiel revealed the truth. Castiel himself stood near the door, silent and watchful, his attention fixed on you in a way that made Dean uneasy.
You hadn't moved since the demon blood incident.
You looked peaceful, which somehow made everything worse.
Dean wasn't used to seeing you still.
Growing up, you and Sam had always been in motion. Arguing, laughing, getting into trouble together. Even during hunts, you had a tendency to fill whatever room you were in with noise. Now you lay motionless beneath a thin motel blanket, your face pale against the pillow, while black feathers occasionally appeared around you for no reason anyone could explain.
Dean hated it.
More than that, he hated the guilt crawling through his chest every time he looked at you.
"What do I do?" he finally asked.
The words were directed toward Castiel, but they sounded strange coming from Dean. Small. Defeated.
For a moment, nobody answered.
Castiel's gaze never left you. "I don't know."
Dean laughed bitterly.
The answer shouldn't have surprised him, but somehow it did.
Castiel was supposed to know things. That was the deal. Angels knew things. They had answers. They understood the universe in ways humans never could. That’s the whole reason he put up with them.
But tonight the angel looked almost as lost as everyone else.
Dean rubbed his hands over his face and stood. The room suddenly felt too small. Too warm. Too crowded with thoughts he didn't want to have.
Across the room, Sam shifted in his chair.
"This is my fault."
Dean immediately shook his head.
"Don't."
"It is."
Sam's voice cracked slightly. "If I hadn't given her—"
"Stop."
The command came out harsher than Dean intended.
Sam fell silent.
Neither brother wanted to admit the truth.
The truth was that they'd both failed you.
Sam had handed you the blood. Dean had ignored every warning sign before that. Neither mistake could be undone.
The realization settled over the room like a weight.
Outside, rain tapped softly against the motel window.
Inside, the silence stretched.
Then you laughed.
The sound was so unexpected that all three of them froze.
Dean turned instantly.
Your eyes were still closed. You were still unconscious. But the laugh had definitely come from you. Or at least sounded like you.
A small sound.
Barely more than a breath.
Yet it made every muscle in Dean's body tense.
Slowly, he approached the bed.
"Y/N?"
No response.
Your face remained relaxed.
Peaceful.
As though you were sleeping.
Dean looked toward Castiel.
The angel had gone completely rigid.
"What was that?"
Castiel didn't answer immediately.
His expression had darkened.
Not with anger.
With concern.
The kind of concern that only made Dean more nervous.
Then, before anyone could speak again, your lips moved.
At first it looked like you were dreaming.
Muttering nonsense.
But as Dean leaned closer, he realized you were speaking.
Not loudly. Not clearly. Just enough for them to hear.
"...wrong..."
Dean frowned.
"What?"
Your fingers twitched against the blanket.
"...wrong face..."
Sam stood.
The room suddenly felt colder.
Dean couldn't explain why.
The air hadn't changed.
Nothing had changed.
And yet a knot of dread began tightening in his stomach.
You fell silent again.
For several seconds, nothing happened.
Then your back arched violently.
Dean stumbled backward.
A wet crack echoed through the room.
Another.
Then another.
The sound was wrong.
Too thick.
Too organic.
Like branches snapping beneath flesh.
"Y/N!" Sam shouted.
The blanket shifted.
Something sharp pressed upward beneath it.
A jagged point.
Then another.
Dean's stomach dropped.
Bone. His sister’s bone.
White, slick bone pushed against your skin from the inside, stretching it until it looked paper-thin. For one horrifying second it seemed ready to burst through.
Black feathers erupted around the bed.
The motel lamp flickered.
Your lips parted.
A smile spread across your face.
Not your smile.
Something wearing it.
Something practicing it.
Then you laughed again.
The sound was deeper this time.
Layered.
As though another voice was laughing underneath yours.
The bones settled.
The skin remained intact.
But beneath it, shapes shifted and crawled, moving under your flesh like trapped hands searching for a way out.
Dean couldn't move.
Couldn't breathe.
Couldn't look away.
Your head slowly turned toward the shattered mirror.
Though your eyes remained closed.
"...I'll teach the hollow wings to dance..." you whispered.
The words barely sounded human.
"...and they'll peel the feathers from your bones..."
Silence followed.
Heavy.
Suffocating.
Sam looked sick.
Dean felt sick.
Even Castiel looked disturbed.
Then the mirror across the room cracked.
The sound echoed through the motel like a gunshot.
Everyone jumped.
A thin fracture appeared down the center of the glass.
Then another.
Then another.
Without warning, a web of cracks spread across the entire surface.
Nobody had touched it.
Nothing had hit it.
It simply broke.
Dean stared.
Slowly, his eyes moved back to you.
Your breathing hadn't changed.
You still appeared asleep.
Yet something felt terribly wrong.
The hairs on the back of his neck stood up.
Because the room no longer felt empty.
It felt occupied.
Not by a ghost.
Not by a demon.
By something else.
Something watching.
His gaze drifted toward the shattered mirror.
For a moment, he thought he saw movement inside the fractured reflection.
A figure standing where no figure should be.
The shape looked vaguely familiar.
A girl.
Your height.
Your build.
Your face.
Except something was wrong.
Its smile stretched too wide.
Its jaw hung slightly open.
And beneath the skin of its neck, pale ribs protruded outward like the bars of a cage trying to escape.
Then it blinked.
And smiled wider.
Dean spun around immediately.
The space behind him was empty.
His pulse hammered against his ribs.
When he looked back at the mirror, the figure was gone.
Only his own reflection stared back.
"You saw it."
Dean turned toward Castiel.
The angel wasn't looking at him.
He was looking at the mirror.
And for the first time all night, genuine fear crossed his face.
"What was it?" Dean asked.
Castiel remained silent.
His eyes slowly moved toward your sleeping form.
The answer, Dean realized, terrified him.
Because whatever was happening wasn't just happening to you anymore.
It was beginning to spread.
A black feather drifted from nowhere and landed on your chest.
Your lips moved one final time.
Softly.
Almost lovingly.
"...when your ribs bloom open, save me the prettiest cage..."
Then you fell silent.
And somewhere deep inside a dream you couldn't wake from, something had finally realized it was no longer alone.
꧁ᬊᬁ𖤍ᬊ᭄꧂
Nobody spoke for several seconds after your final words faded into silence.
The room seemed to be holding its breath.
Dean found himself staring at the black feather resting on your chest. It should have been impossible. The windows were closed. The air was still. Yet feathers continued appearing around you as naturally as leaves falling from a dying tree.
He hated it.
Everything about this felt wrong.
The feathers.
The whispers.
The thing in the mirror.
Most of all, he hated the growing feeling that whatever was happening to you had already moved beyond anyone's control. This wasn’t something he would find in Dad’s journal, or even look up online - this type of mutation was unmentionable?
Then the familiar sound of a door opening broke the silence.
Dean's head snapped toward it.
"What the hell are you doing here?"
Ruby froze in the doorway.
For a brief moment she looked genuinely confused by the scene she had walked into.
Her eyes moved from Dean to Sam, then to Castiel.
The confusion disappeared the second she looked at you.
Every trace of color drained from her face.
"Oh."
The word slipped out before she could stop it.
Castiel immediately stepped forward.
His gaze hardened.
"What is she doing here?"
The question sounded less like curiosity and more like a threat. A demon and an angel, don’t mix. Maybe that’s why Sam took a step closer to Ruby and farther from you.
Ruby ignored the angel.
She couldn't seem to stop staring at you.
The black feathers.
The strange stillness.
The way your fingers twitched beneath the blanket as though you were dreaming of something enormous.
For the first time since Dean had met her, Ruby looked nervous.
Not irritated.
Not annoyed.
Afraid.
"Sam," she said quietly.
Sam frowned.
"What?"
Ruby didn't answer immediately.
Instead she took a slow step backward.
Then another.
As though instinct was telling her to leave.
As though every survival instinct she possessed was screaming at her to run.
"What happened?" she asked.
Nobody answered.
Ruby's eyes narrowed.
Then realization dawned.
And somehow that was worse.
"Oh, you idiots."
Dean's patience evaporated instantly.
"Care to explain?"
Ruby laughed once.
There wasn't any humor in it.
"You really don't know?"
Sam stood.
"What don't we know?"
Ruby looked directly at him.
The pity on her face was almost insulting.
"You think you're the only special child in the family?"
“We know she has angel dust coursing through her veins already, a little too late to be hooting and hollering about it.” Dean so badly wanted to dig his blade into her chest and finish her once and for all. But of course, he knew he would be stopped by Sam immediately, and be lectured about the bigger picture and how “we need her.” He hated Ruby.
Ruby rolled her eyes. “No you idiot, she is not part of that family tree but rooted into another.”
The room went still.
Even Castiel looked uneasy.
Ruby folded her arms.
"The whole plan was never about one Winchester."
Sam's expression darkened.
"What plan?"
Ruby's eyes flickered toward you.
Toward the feathers.
Toward the cracks slowly spreading through the mirror.
"The cage."
Nobody moved.
"The cage for Lucifer."
Dean's stomach dropped.
Ruby immediately noticed.
"There it is," she said softly. "That's the look."
"Ruby."
Sam's voice sharpened.
"What are you talking about?"
She hesitated.
For the first time since arriving, she seemed uncertain.
Not because she didn't know the answer.
Because she wasn't sure she wanted to say it.
Then your laugh echoed through the room again.
The same laugh from before.
Soft.
Dreamlike.
Wrong.
Everyone turned toward the bed.
Your eyes were still closed.
But you were smiling.
Ruby immediately moved.
"Sam."
Her voice had changed.
All humor gone.
All confidence gone.
"Get behind me."
Sam blinked.
"What?"
"You heard me."
Ruby's hand dropped to the demon-killing knife at her side.
Her attention never left you.
"Get behind me."
Dean stared.
"Are you serious?"
Ruby looked at him as though he were stupid.
"People like her don't exactly like people like us." Sam didn’t have a moment to digest the words.
A pulse of energy rolled through the room.
The lamp flickered.
The mirror cracked further.
Your smile widened.
For a moment nobody moved.
Then your eyes opened.
Slowly.
Not with confusion.
Not with exhaustion.
With recognition.
As though you'd finally arrived somewhere you'd been trying to reach for a very long time.
The red glow in your eyes reflected against the fractured mirror.
Not bright.
Not demonic.
Just enough to make everyone uncomfortable.
You sat upright.
Every movement unnaturally graceful.
Like a marionette whose strings were being pulled by an invisible hand.
Ruby immediately drew her blade. "Easy, there girl."
You tilted your head.
Watching her.
Studying her.
The way a scientist studies something pinned beneath glass.
Then you smiled.
"Oh, silly little demons."
The words came out soft.
Almost affectionate.
Your gaze drifted across the room.
"And you wonder why Heaven never trusts you."
Ruby threw the knife.
Dean barely had time to react. Sam didn’t even move.
The blade spun through the air—
Then stopped.
Completely stopped.
Suspended inches from your face.
The entire room froze.
The knife slowly turned.
As though guided by an unseen hand.
Pointing back toward Ruby.
Castiel immediately stepped forward.
"Stop."
For the first time there was panic in his voice.
Real panic.
"You're going to hurt people."
You looked at him.
Really looked at him.
The smile slowly faded.
Something sad crossed your face.
Something ancient.
Something that didn't belong on a human face at all.
Then you spoke.
"Is this not what I was born to do, brother?"
The word hung heavily between them.
Brother.
Castiel's expression shattered.
"Y/N—"
"To extinguish the filth taking root in our world?"
The room seemed darker somehow.
The shadows longer.
The air heavier.
For a moment Castiel looked as though he might agree.
As though some ancient instinct buried inside him recognized the logic.
Then horror crossed his face.
"No."
The answer came immediately.
Then softer:
"Yes."
Then, after a long pause: "No. Please. Just stop."
Dean stared.
"What kind of answer is that?"
Castiel never looked away from you.
Because he wasn't speaking to a hunter anymore.
He was speaking to something he recognized.
Something that frightened him.
And for the first time since arriving, Dean realized the terrifying truth.
Castiel wasn't afraid of what you might become.
He was afraid because he already knew what you were.
꧁ᬊᬁ𖤍ᬊ᭄꧂
The laughter didn't stop.
That was what frightened Dean the most.
Not the glowing eyes.
Not the feathers.
Not even the things you'd been saying.
It was the laughter.
Soft.
Breathless.
Almost delighted.
Like you'd remembered something wonderful that nobody else in the room could understand.
You stood motionless near the center of the motel room, staring at nothing for several long seconds before your attention drifted toward the bathroom.
Toward the mirror.
Nobody tried to stop you.
Not because they weren't worried.
Because they were.
Because every person in the room was terrified.
They simply didn't know what stopping you would accomplish.
You moved slowly.
Gracefully.
Almost dreamlike.
Each step seemed strangely deliberate, as though you were following music only you could hear.
The black feathers scattered across the floor shifted behind you.
Not from wind.
Not from movement.
They simply trembled.
Tiny vibrations.
Like they were alive.
Dean noticed it.
He wished he hadn't.
You reached the bathroom doorway.
Then stopped.
For a moment, nobody spoke.
The motel room was silent except for your quiet laughter.
Then you looked into the mirror.
And smiled.
Not at yourself.
At something inside it.
"Oh."
The word escaped your lips almost affectionately.
"There you are."
Dean's stomach tightened.
Sam exchanged a glance with Castiel.
Nobody liked that sentence.
Not one bit.
You stepped closer.
Your reflection smiled back.
At first everything appeared normal.
Perfectly normal.
Then Dean noticed something.
A tiny delay.
So small he almost convinced himself he'd imagined it.
You tilted your head.
Your reflection copied the movement.
A second later.
Not immediately.
Not correctly.
Late.
Dean frowned.
The hairs on the back of his neck rose.
"Cas."
Castiel was already staring.
Already seeing it.
The angel's expression had gone completely rigid.
Your reflection slowly raised a hand.
You hadn't moved yet.
The room went silent.
Dean felt his pulse hammering in his ears.
Then you lifted your own hand.
Matching it.
Like you were copying the reflection instead.
Not the other way around.
"Y/N."
Sam's voice sounded strained.
You didn't answer.
Your eyes never left the mirror.
The smile on your face widened.
So did the smile on the reflection's face.
Except the reflection's smile widened farther.
Farther than yours physically could.
Farther than any human smile should.
Ruby swore under her breath.
"What the hell is that?"
Nobody answered.
Because nobody knew.
For the first time in a very long time, Castiel looked genuinely lost.
You stepped closer.
The reflection stepped closer too.
The distance between you disappeared.
Glass separated you by only inches.
Your fingertips slowly rose toward the mirror.
The reflection did the same.
Dean took a step forward.
Every instinct in his body screamed at him to stop whatever was happening.
The problem was he didn't know what was happening.
Neither did anyone else.
Your finger touched the glass.
The reflection touched it from the other side.
The moment contact was made, every light in the motel room flickered.
Once.
Twice.
Three times.
The mirror rippled.
Not cracked.
Not shattered.
Rippled.
Like water disturbed by a stone.
Dean froze.
Sam froze.
Even Ruby looked horrified.
The surface of the glass moved beneath your fingertip.
Soft.
Liquid.
Impossible.
You laughed again.
The sound echoed strangely.
Not through the room.
Through the mirror.
As though a second voice was laughing with you.
A voice just slightly out of sync.
Your eyes widened.
Not with fear.
With recognition.
Like you'd finally found something you'd been searching for.
"I remember you." The whisper barely left your lips.
Castiel immediately stepped forward.
"No."
The word came out sharp.
Urgent.
Almost desperate.
"Y/N, step away from the mirror."
You ignored him.
Your hand pressed farther into the glass.
Your fingers disappeared.
Not broke through.
Not shattered it.
Simply passed through.
Like the mirror had forgotten it was solid.
Dean's heart stopped.
"Y/N!"
You looked over your shoulder.
For one brief moment, you seemed entirely yourself again.
Confused.
Lost.
Scared.
Then your gaze shifted back to the mirror.
And the thing staring back smiled.
Not your reflection.
The other thing.
The thing wearing your face.
The thing that had been waiting.
Its lips moved.
Nobody heard the words.
Except you.
Your smile vanished.
Tears suddenly filled your eyes.
Not tears of sadness.
Not happiness.
Recognition.
The terrible grief of remembering something you wished you'd forgotten.
"I remember the stars," you whispered. Your voice trembled. "I remember when they were born."
The room shook.
“I remember singing them awake.”
A picture frame crashed to the floor.
The mirror rippled harder.
The reflection reached for you.
This time everyone saw it.
Not copying.
Moving independently.
Its hand emerged from the glass and wrapped around your wrist.
Dean lunged.
So did Sam.
Neither reached you in time.
The mirror swallowed you.
One moment you were standing there.
The next your entire body slipped forward through the liquid surface.
Dean caught only the edge of your jacket before it vanished through the glass.
Then you were gone.
The motel room fell silent.
The mirror became solid again.
Nothing remained except Dean's reflection staring back at him.
And behind that reflection—
For the briefest moment—
He saw you standing somewhere impossibly far away.
Surrounded by endless white feathers.
Smiling sadly at him from the other side.
꧁ᬊᬁ𖤍ᬊ᭄꧂
i dont know if yall want a part three but should we make her be another reason to why the cage was opened? I dont know im just going crazy here...also very scared to go to the bathroom cause I turned off all the lights and its completely dark and scary did i mention it’s SUPER DUPER SCARY AND A LONG HALLWAY TO THE BATHROOM
Pulling My Tail :(
⋆˚꩜｡description: You weren't the smartest of all your sisters, but that doesn't mean your dumb..right? So when Dean and Sam come asking questions about siren killings, who are you to not help such kind humans? Especially when they think you are such a smart girl. Winchesters x Fem! Mermaid Bimbo Reader ⋆˚꩜｡a/n: Okay so I have work tomorrow but I had this idea so I quickly wrote it like crazy, my computer is dying and so am I YIPPIE also im writing this on computer so let me know if my font and spacing sucks ⋆˚꩜｡warnings: degrading/praising, dean grabs her tail because dude almost trips and falls clumsy ass bitch
⋆˚꩜｡ part two
⋆.ೃ࿔:𓇼⋆.ೃ࿔:⋆
You weren't the brightest guppy in the sea, but you were certainly the kindest.
Your older sisters never let you forget it, either. They'd tease you endlessly, asking if pebbles rattled around in your head whenever you shook it, or if you were part fish and part fool. You laughed along most of the time, too good-natured to take offense, but their words still stung more than you let on.
For all their teasing, though, they loved you fiercely. They watched over you, rescued you from trouble, and protected you from the dangers your trusting heart never seemed to notice.
But even sisters had their limits.
Sometimes their frustration would outweigh their patience, and your endless questions, misplaced trust, or oblivious mistakes would earn you a sharp scolding. On those days, when their voices became too loud and your chest felt too tight, you would slip away before the tears could come.
You always went to the same place.
The hidden cove.
Tucked between towering cliffs and sheltered from the rest of the ocean, it felt like a world made just for you. The water was calmer there. The fish seemed friendlier. The sunlight danced across the waves like liquid gold.
It was the only place where everything made sense.
Sunlight spilled through the water in broken gold lines, fish drifted like thoughts you didn’t have to finish, and your sisters argued in the distance about something that probably didn’t matter.
You were brushing your hair on a flat stone when you heard it.
Footsteps.
Not waves.
Human steps.
You turned your head slowly. Allowing for your semi-dryed hair to fall behind your back.
Two men stood at the edge of the rocks.
One of them looked annoyed, like the ocean itself had personally offended him.
The other one… softer. Observant. Careful?
You tilted your head.
“Oh,” you said brightly. “You’re humans.”
Dean Winchester lowered his gun slightly. “…Yeah, no kidding, Sherlock.”
Sam glanced between you and the water.“She’s not what I expected.” Especially since they were told to come here to find a vicious scary siren with teeth the size of claws and a hunger for blood that only Dracula could outbeat.
Dean huffed. “Yeah, well. Don’t get distracted by her shiny pearls. She isn’t the killer.”
You smiled at them like they had hung stars. Humans. Real humans. Not the dead ones that sink to the bottom of the ocean floor, that don’t make a sound until their bones begin to shatter from the erosion.
“Do you need help?” You asked eagerly.
That made Dean pause.
“…Maybe,” he said slowly. “We’re looking for something, or rather someone.”
You kicked your tail lightly in the water. “I know lots of things. I am really smart, like super duper smart. I know people too. Loads of People.”
Dean’s eyes flicked over you.
“Yeah? Good. Maybe you’re useful after all, sweetheart.” He rolled his eyes, then whispered to Sam, “this balloon girl is a waste of time.”
Sam immediately shot him a look.
“Dean.”
“What?” Dean shrugged. “We need answers. People are getting murdered Sam, it's not like airhead Barbie is going to give them to us.”
As the two humans bickered back and forth you nodded along to every word they said. You didn’t understand the references they were making. Barbie was a doll, no? Dolls are pretty. OMG they think you are pretty.
“So you’ll stay?” you asked. Your long lashes fluttered in anticipation.
Dean leaned back slightly. Sam let out a sigh before nodding. “For a bit.”
⋆.ೃ࿔*:𓇼⋆.ೃ࿔*:⋆
After that, they started coming back.
Not always together.
Sometimes just Sam.
Sometimes just Dean.
And every time, you got a little more excited.
You told them everything.
About the tides.
About the caves no one swam into anymore.
About the strange songs that echoed under the water when the moon was full.
About the people who disappeared near the northern cliffs.
Sam always listened like you were important.
He would sit on the rocks, notebook open, nodding gently.
“That’s really helpful,” he’d say. “You’re doing great.”
And something warm would bloom in your chest every time.
“You think so?” you’d ask. A blush tinting your skin. The water felt warmer whenever they came.
“Yeah,” Sam would smile. “You’re very smart.”
You would glow under his attention like sunlight through water.
Dean, on the other hand, was different.
He would sit a little further back, arms crossed, watching you like you were a puzzle he was trying to solve.
“Okay, sweetheart,” he’d say, “try not to drift off into fairy land. Just tell me what you saw.”
“I am telling you,” you’d insist.
“Right, right,” he’d sigh. “Just… keep it simple. You don’t have to overthink everything.”
You’d pout.
“I don’t overthink.”
He’d smirk.
“Sure you don’t.”
It should have hurt. Your sisters say the same thing - the WHOLE kingdom says the same thing.
But it didn’t hurt. Because he always came back.
And that felt like something.
⋆.ೃ࿔*:𓇼⋆.ೃ࿔*:⋆
Your sisters noticed immediately.
“They are using you,” one of them said flatly one evening while yall were getting ready for bed.
You shut your clam mirror shut.
“No he isn’t Veronica.”
“He only comes when he wants something.” She looks through her vanity mirror towards you, raising an eyebrow in disapproval.
“He comes because he likes talking to me.” You sit up from your seat. The rest of your sisters tsked in disagreement. You were the baby of the family, of course you fell for every trick in the book by hunters.
“He’s literally writing everything down.”
“So he remembers me better.”
Silence.
Then a collective groan.
“You’re impossible.”
But you weren’t listening anymore.
Because they didn’t understand a human’s touch like you do.
⋆.ೃ࿔*:𓇼⋆.ೃ࿔*:⋆
“Hey,” he called down from the rocks.
You perked up instantly.
“You came back!”
“Yeah, yeah,” he waved his hand. “Don’t get emotional.”
You ignored that and swam closer.
Sam wasn’t with him this time.
That made you a little sad.
“Where’s the nice one?” you asked.
Dean rolled his eyes.
“The nice one is busy.”
“Oh.”
Dean crouched slightly, pulling out his notebook.
“Alright, listen. We’ve got a problem. People are dying near the cliffs again. You said you heard singing?”
You nodded quickly.
“Yes. Very pretty singing.”
Dean exhaled.
“Okay. That’s what I needed.”
You tilted your head.
“Oh. So you’re leaving again?”
Dean paused for half a second. Then stood. “Yeah.”
Something in your chest tightened.
“Oh.”
He hesitated like he might say something else.
Instead he just nodded once.
“Stay safe, alright?”
You smiled anyway.
“Okay.”
And then he left.
⋆.ೃ࿔*:𓇼⋆.ೃ࿔*:⋆
Sam came alone the next day.
You lit up when you saw him.
“Hi!”
Sam smiled warmly.
“Hey.”
You swam closer.
“Is the mean one busy again?”
“Yeah,” Sam said, sitting down on the rock. “He’s… thinking.”
“Oh.”
Sam opened his notebook, then glanced at you.
“You’re really helping us, you know that?”
Your eyes widened.
“I am?”
“Yeah,” he said gently. “A lot more than you realize.”
You beamed.
“I’m good at helping.”
“You really are,” Sam said with a smile.
And the way he said it made your whole chest feel light.
Like you mattered.
Like you were doing something important.
Like they needed you.
⋆.ೃ࿔*:𓇼⋆.ೃ࿔*:⋆
What you didn’t see—
What you never noticed—
Was the way Sam’s kindness always ended in another question.
And the way Dean’s teasing always ended in silence while he wrote something down.
And the way both of them compared notes when they left.
“She trusts us,” Sam would say.
“Yeah,” Dean would answer. “Too much.”
“We’re close,” Sam added.
“Close enough,” Dean muttered.
Neither of them said the part they were thinking.
That you were lonely enough to tell them everything.
And sweet enough to never question why they kept coming back.
⋆.ೃ࿔*:𓇼⋆.ೃ࿔*:⋆
Back in the cove, you sat on your rock again, humming softly.
Your sisters surfaced behind you.
“He’s going to get you hurt,” Ellie warned.
You didn’t turn around.
“He’s my friend.”
“He’s a hunter.”
You brushed it off. “That just means he hunts things. We have hunters too, you know.”
“No he hunts monsters.” Telly tried to explain but soon stopped after seeing your confused face.
“Monsters? Like sharks?”
“No, Y/n,” Ellie faced, dropping to seriousness before reaching out for your hand. “Like you - he kills monsters like you.”
You smiled faintly anyway.
“No, he wouldn’t. I’m not a monster. He said I’m helpful, and sometimes he calls me sweetheart.”
Your sisters went quiet.
Because that was the problem.
You didn’t realize the truth wasn’t in the praise.
Or the teasing.
Or the smiles.
It was in the questions.
And the way they always left with exactly what they needed.
While you stayed right where you were.
Waiting for them to come back again.
And the feeling only got worse from there.
⋆.ೃ࿔*:𓇼⋆.ೃ࿔*:⋆
The first time they really started coming closer to you, it didn’t feel like danger.
It felt like attention.
And attention was something you’d always craved.
Dean was the first to get too comfortable.
You were perched on your usual rock, brushing your hair, humming softly to yourself when he came down the slope too quickly.
“You’re slippery as hell,” he muttered.
Before you could react, he reached out and grabbed your tail—not gently, not carefully—just enough to steady himself as he nearly slipped on the wet stone beside you.
“Hey!” you yelped, splashing instinctively.
Dean didn’t even look embarrassed.
“Relax,” he said. “I’m not gonna drop you or whatever.”
You blinked at him.
“…You grabbed me.”
“You’re fine.”
You weren’t sure what “fine” meant, but you decided to believe it anyway.
Dean crouched closer, already pulling out his notebook.
“Now—about the singing near the cliffs—”
“You’re very handsy,” you interrupted.
Dean didn’t look up.
“Yeah, I get that a lot. Now focus. You’re a smart girl, tell me what happened.”
You stared at him.
Then slowly smiled again.
“Oh. Okay.”
Because he was still there.
That was what mattered.
⋆.ೃ࿔*:𓇼⋆.ೃ࿔*:⋆
Sam was different.
Sam always noticed things you didn’t think anyone cared about.
He came the next day with a small cloth bundle in his hands.
You tilted your head.
“What is that?”
Sam smiled.
“Something for you.”
He opened it carefully.
Inside were pearls.
Not perfect ones.
Small, uneven, glowing softly in the light.
Your eyes widened.
“Oh.”
Sam sat on the edge of the rock.
“I noticed you collect shiny things,” he said gently. “Thought you might like them.”
You reached out slowly.
“They’re beautiful…”
Sam watched as you lifted them into the water, letting them settle near your waist where your natural scales shimmered.
“They match you,” he said.
You froze.
“Me?”
“Yeah,” Sam said softly. “Your scales catch the light really beautifully.”
Your cheeks warmed.
You looked away quickly so he wouldn’t notice.
“…Thank you.”
Sam smiled like that was the right answer.
From behind him, Dean walked up.
He saw the pearls immediately.
“What is this?” he asked.
Sam shrugged. “Just something nice.”
Dean scoffed. “Right. Because we’re here for arts and crafts.”
You frowned slightly. “You don’t like them?”
Dean glanced at you, then at the pearls, then back at your face like he was recalculating something. “…No, they’re fine,” he said finally. “Just don’t get distracted.”
You brightened instantly.
“So you do like them.”
“I didn’t say that.”
“You didn’t not say it.”
Sam covered a smile.
Dean sighed deeply.
“Okay, sweetheart. Focus. We need info on when’s the next attack.”
And that was always how it went.
Sam made you feel special.
Dean made you feel useful.
And between the two of them, you felt needed enough not to ask questions.
⋆.ೃ࿔*:𓇼⋆.ೃ࿔*:⋆
Later that night, after Dean had left with another page full of notes and Sam had promised he’d return soon, you sat alone on your rock.
The pearls shimmered softly around you.
You touched them gently.
“You see?” you whispered to the sea. “They like me.”
The water didn’t answer.
Only the waves kept moving.
And far away on land, Dean Winchester flipped through his notes, Sam next to him, both of them silent for a moment longer than usual.
Because the information was good.
Too good.
And neither of them said out loud what they were starting to realize.
That you weren’t just helpful.
You were trusting.
And that made everything more complicated than either of them wanted to admit. That in order to kill the siren, they would need your heart.
My True Feathers
༗description: As Sam is dealing with his addiction to demon blood and Dean fearing his brother is becoming a monster, no one checks up on you. Especially with these weird changes happening. Winchesters x Fem! Sibling Reader
༗a/n: it’s been so hard uploading lately and honestly I kinda feel like utter shit fighting with grammar and formatting as always not edited
༗WARNINGS: body gore, inspired by the movie Black Swan, vomiting, burning, cuts, blood, body parts melting like heat melting
The first feather appears on a Tuesday. You don't think much of it.
Honestly, compared to everything else happening in your life, a random black feather isn't exactly worth panicking over.
You find it caught in the sleeve of your worn down jacket while Dean drives and Sam pretends to read in the passenger seat. You flick it away and forget about it. At least, you try to. It was probably just some stupid bird misplacing its grooming techniques.
Then another appears.
And another.
And another.
By the end of the week you've found six.
All black.
All identical.
All showing up where they shouldn't.
Inside your backpack. On your motel pillow. Tangled in your hair. Tiny ones under your fingernails. Every time you find one, a strange feeling settles in your stomach. A warning. A feeling that something is very, very wrong.
But nobody notices.
Dean's too busy watching Sam's every move with paranoia. And Sam's too busy hiding things. So you keep your mouth shut. Like always.
⋆⊱༻𖥸༺⊰⋆
The coughing starts a few days later.
At first it's minor. Just a tickle in your throat. An irritation kinda like the beginning of strep throat.
Something easy to ignore. And curable with hot tea and steaming.
Then one morning you wake up feeling like your lungs are filled with broken glass.
Every breath hurts. Every inhale burns. Every exhale rattles your bones.
You spend ten minutes bent over the motel sink trying to catch your breath. The force of the cough was so strong it had left you hunched over, pushing your vertebrae to stick out against your skin.
When you finally emerge from the bathroom, Dean barely glances up from his lukewarm coffee.
"You sick?"
You force a smile.
"I'm fine. Just some allergies."
Dean nods.
"Well pick up some claritin on the way over."
Then he immediately turns to check on Sam.
It was September. Maybe the bees were also pollinating your lungs as well, leaving their stingers right next to your heart. A reminder of them in the winter.
⋆⊱༻𖥸༺⊰⋆
The first time you see the cuts, you almost screamed - key word almost.
You're changing clothes after a hunt when you catch sight of your reflection on the dirty motel mirror.
For a second your brain can't process what you're looking at.
Then realization hits. There are marks on your back. Long. Deep. Jagged.
Running across your shoulder blades. They look like claw marks or lizard skin. Except they're perfectly symmetrical. As if someone drew them there with a ruler.
You twist around. Trying to get a better look. Pain shoots through your back.
The skin feels tight. Tender. Almost stretched to its brim.
Like something underneath is pushing outward.
You don't tell Dean.
You already know how that conversation goes.
“Later, Y/N.”
“Not now.”
“We're dealing with Sam.”
Everything is Sam. Sam and his stupid demon blood causing him to lean into the possession of Ruby. Dean hated her. But at least he would talk to her, unlike you.
Lately it feels like you're disappearing.
Standing right in front of them and somehow being invisible.
⋆⊱༻𖥸༺⊰⋆
The next symptom terrifies you.
You catch your reflection in a gas station bathroom.
For half a second your eyes red.
Not bloodshot.
Not irritated.
Glowing. As the retinal veins filled with neon and burst in your frames of view, penetrating your iris.
A bright crimson flash. Your pupils began to open towards the liquid streaming down your eye ball. As if your eyes became cherry slushies in a matter of seconds.
Then they're normal again.
You stumble backward.
Your heart pounding.
"No."
The word comes out as a whisper.
You grip the sink.
Stare into the mirror.
Wait for it to happen again.
It doesn't.
But the fear stays.
Growing.
Spreading.
Poisoning every thought.
Because you know someone else whose eyes do strange things.
Someone else who was fed demon blood as a baby.
Someone else who's becoming less human every day.
Sam.
⋆⊱༻𖥸༺⊰⋆
The thought follows you everywhere.
Maybe you're like him.
Maybe Azazel chose both twins.
Maybe you're just finding out later.
Maybe you're turning into something awful.
You start noticing similarities.
Sam gets headaches.
You get headaches.
Sam has nightmares.
You have nightmares.
Sam's changing.
You're changing.
It makes sense. Too much sense.
And the more you think about it, the more convinced you become.
⋆⊱༻𖥸༺⊰⋆
Then the feathers start coming up. Again.
One minute you're brushing your teeth.
The next you're doubled over the sink coughing so hard tears blur your vision.
Something catches in your throat.
You gag.
Choke.
Spit into the sink.
And freeze.
A black feather sits in the white porcelain.
Covered in blood.
For a moment the world stops.
You stare.
Unable to breathe.
Unable to move.
Unable to think.
The feather shouldn't be there. You shouldn’t even question why it is coming within you instead of outside. This is not normal.
Nothing about this should be possible. Sure, you lived in the supernatural world, but you weren't part of it yourself. This couldn't be real.
Yet there it is.
Real.
Proof that whatever is happening to you is getting worse.
⋆⊱༻𖥸༺⊰⋆
You stop sleeping after that.
Every night you wake gasping.
Covered in sweat.
Your back burning. Your lungs aching. The cuts stretching wider every day.
And nobody notices.
Or maybe they do.
Maybe they just don't know what to do.
Dean spends every waking second worrying about Sam.
Following Sam.
Arguing with Sam.
Trying to save Sam.
Sometimes you want to scream at him.
Sometimes you want to grab his shoulders and shake him and shout:
LOOK AT ME.
I'M FALLING APART TOO.
But you never do.
Because Dean already looks exhausted.
And because part of you is terrified of what he'll find if he actually starts paying attention.
⋆⊱༻𖥸༺⊰⋆
The breaking point comes three weeks later.
You're sitting alone in a motel room when Sam walks in.
He immediately notices something is wrong. He has for a while now, he just never grew the courage to say it until now. (Especially with Dean being gone.)
You look awful.
Your skin lacks color.
Dark circles sit beneath your eyes.
Your hands won't stop shaking.
"Y/N?"
You look up.
"What?"
His forehead wrinkles.
"You look terrible."
You laugh.
A harsh, bitter sound.
"Thanks."
"I'm serious."
You look away.
For some reason that hurts.
Because Sam noticed.
Sam noticed before Dean did.
⋆⊱༻𖥸༺⊰⋆
Later that night, after another coughing fit leaves blood staining your shirt, Sam approaches you quietly.
He's holding a flask.
You already know what's inside.
Demon blood.
The thing Dean hates.
The thing Sam swears helps him.
The thing that's slowly destroying him.
"I think you're like me," Sam says softly.
Your stomach drops.
Because you've been thinking the exact same thing. For weeks. For months. The only difference is Sam got to beat demons and you ended up feeling like one. It wasas if you got the other end of the deal.
"I know."
Sam sits beside you.
For a moment he's just your twin.
Not Lucifer's vessel.
Not the chosen child.
Not the boy carrying the weight of the apocalypse.
Just Sam.
Your brother.
The boy who used to hold your hand during thunderstorms. The boy who always shared his snickers. The boy who once punched a bully for making you cry.
"It helps," he says.
You stare at the flask. "If it helps you..."
"Maybe it'll help you too." He finished your sentence.
You don't want to do it.
Every instinct in your body screams not to.
But you're desperate.
You're scared.
And most of all—You want this nightmare to stop.
So you take the flask, and drink.
The second it touches your tongue, you know you've made a mistake.
Pain explodes through your body. Not discomfort. Not nausea.
Fuckin pain. Pure. Blinding.Agony.
The flask slips from your fingers and crashes onto the motel floor.
You barely hear it. Your ears are ringing. Your heartbeat is pounding so loudly it drowns everything else out.
"Y/N?"
Sam's voice sounds far away.
You clutch your throat.
It feels like you've swallowed fire. Actual hell fire.
Like molten metal is burning its way down your chest. Molding your insides to steel beams.
"Sam..."
The word comes out broken. Barely audible.
Then your knees hit the carpet.
Hard.
A scream tears from your throat. And suddenly Sam is beside you.
"Y/N!"
Your entire body convulses.
The pain spreads. Down your neck.
Across your shoulders. Through your ribs.
Every nerve feels like it's being ripped apart.
Something hot crawls beneath your skin.
You look down.
And your blood runs cold.
Golden cracks are spreading up your arms.
Thin lines glowing beneath your flesh.
Like sunlight trapped under your skin.
"What the hell—"Another scream cuts you off.
The motel room blurs.
Your vision doubles.
Triples.
The cuts on your back feel like they're splitting open.
Something pushes against them.
Something enormous.
Something trying to get out.
"Dean!" Sam shouts.
"DEAN!" He shouts again, and as if teleportation became a reality, the door slams open so hard it nearly flies off its hinges.
Dean storms inside.
"What happened?!"
Then he sees you.
And freezes.
For one horrible second nobody moves.
You lie crumpled on the floor.
Shaking.
Crying.
Barely conscious.
Smoke rises from your skin.
Actual smoke.
The air smells scorched.
Burn marks spread across your arms and neck. Your skin begins to melt off your bone and mold into lumps of molten lava. Almost as if your skin began to wrinkle like a pig in a fryer.
The carpet beneath you is blackening and rising with thick smoke.
Dean's face loses all color.
"Y/N."
You hear it.
The fear in his voice.
Real fear.
The kind he rarely lets anyone see.
The kind that instantly makes you feel six years old again.
"Dean..."
Your voice breaks.
Another wave of agony slams into you.
You scream.
Dean is beside you immediately.
One hand gripping your shoulder.
The other brushing your hair back from your face.
"Hey."
His voice shakes.
"Hey, hey, look at me."
You try.
You really do.
But everything hurts too much.
"Dean..."
"You're okay."
The lie is automatic.
You both know it.
Dean looks up at Sam.
"What happened?"
Sam looks sick.
Actually sick.
Like he might throw up.
"I gave her some."
Dean frowns.
"What?"
Sam swallows.
"Demon blood."
The room goes silent.
For a moment Dean simply stares.
Not understanding. Not processing. Then realization hits.
His eyes widen. "You did what?"
"I thought she was like me!"
Dean stands so fast the lamp rattles.
"ARE YOU OUT OF YOUR DAMN MIND?!"
Another scream tears out of you.
Both brothers immediately snap their attention back.
Your body arches off the floor. The cuts on your back split wider. Blood soaks through your shirt. It was as if teeth with chomping away the flesh of your back and replacing the once smooth flesh with flakes of crisp bone.
Dean's heart nearly stops.
"Y/N!"
The motel lights begin flickering.
On.
Off.
On.
Off.
Off.
On.
Then every light explodes at once.
Glass rains from the ceiling. The television shorts out. The mirror shatters. The windows crack. A morning dove's cry could be heard within the blended screams.
And for one impossible second—the entire room fills with white light.
Blinding.
Beautiful.
Terrifying.
Dean throws an arm over his eyes.
Sam stumbles backward.
The walls shake.
The floor trembles.
And behind you—
For the briefest moment—
Something appears.
Massive.
Brilliant.
A silhouette made entirely of light.
Wings.
Huge marbled wings.
Stretching from one side of the room to the other.
Then they're gone.
Just like that.
The light disappears.
The shaking stops.
And you collapse.
Motionless.
Silence.
Nobody breathes.
Nobody moves.
Dean stares.
His mind refusing to process what just happened.
"Y/N?"
Nothing.
He reaches for your pulse.
His hand shakes.
"Come on."
Nothing.
Fear settles heavily in his chest.
Cold.
Sharp.
Familiar.
He remembers another hospital room.
Another impossible loss.
Another person he couldn't save.
"No."
His voice cracks.
"Come on, kid."
Still nothing.
The panic starts rising.
Fast.
Dangerously fast.
Because Y/N isn't supposed to be the one lying there.
She's supposed to be stubborn.
Annoying. Rolling her eyes. Arguing with him. For everything good in the world, she was supposed to be making fun of his haircuts and sideburns, not on the floor waiting for door dashed reaper.
Not—not this.
Never this.
⋆⊱༻𖥸༺⊰⋆
The familiar flutter of wings echoed through the motel room, but this time it didn't bring relief.
Dean spun around, ready to snap at Castiel for appearing unannounced as usual, but the words died in his throat the moment he saw the angel's face.
Something was wrong.
Terribly wrong.
Over the years Dean had seen Castiel experience just about every human emotion imaginable. He'd seen him furious enough to start wars, confused by humanity's simplest habits, determined enough to rebel against Heaven itself, and burdened by guilt so heavy it nearly destroyed him.
But fear?
Dean had never seen Castiel afraid.
Not once.
Yet that was exactly what he saw now.
The angel's eyes immediately found Y/N's unconscious form sprawled across the motel floor. His expression tightened as he took in the burns crawling across her skin, the blood staining her clothes, and the black feathers scattered around her like the aftermath of some impossible storm.
For a moment, Castiel simply stared.
Then the color drained from his face.
"What happened?" he asked quietly.
Dean pointed toward Sam.
Sam looked sick enough to collapse.
"I gave her demon blood."
The words hung in the air.
Castiel's gaze shifted to him so slowly that it made Dean's stomach twist.
"Why?"
Sam swallowed hard. "I thought she was infected too. I thought she was like me."
The silence that followed felt unbearable.
Castiel crossed the room and knelt beside Y/N. His hand hovered over one of the burn marks on her arm without quite touching it. The closer he got, the more troubled he seemed.
"You thought she was like you, Sam," he said.
It wasn't a question.
It sounded like an accusation.
Sam's shoulders sagged beneath the weight of it.
"Isn't she?"
For a moment Castiel said nothing.
His eyes closed briefly, and when they opened again there was something exhausted in them, as though he were carrying knowledge he had hoped never to share.
Dean immediately hated whatever answer was coming.
Finally, Castiel looked up.
"She was never infected."
Dean frowned.
"What?"
The angel's gaze returned to Y/N.
The hardness in his expression softened into something that looked dangerously close to grief.
"She was never carrying demon blood."
The room fell completely silent.
Sam stared.
Dean stared.
Neither of them understood.
Dean let out a frustrated laugh.
"What the hell does that mean?"
Castiel remained quiet for a moment before speaking.
"When Azazel fed Sam his blood as an infant, Heaven became aware of what he was doing."
Dean's stomach sank.
A cold feeling settled deep in his chest.
"...Go on."
For the first time, Castiel seemed reluctant.
"It means one twin was claimed by Hell."
Dean's jaw tightened.
His eyes immediately moved to Sam.
"And the other?"
Castiel looked down at Y/N once more.
The expression on his face made Dean wish he hadn't asked.
"The other was claimed by Heaven."
The words struck the room like a thunderclap.
For several seconds nobody spoke.
Dean's mind raced through months of memories.
The feathers.
The coughing fits.
The strange wounds on her back.
The flashes of red in her eyes.
The way she always looked exhausted.
The way she kept insisting something was wrong, then backing down saying it was nothing.
The way he'd brushed it aside because Sam's problems had seemed more urgent. I mean, his brother was drinking demon blood straight from the source.
One by one, every piece fell into place.
Not demon blood.
Grace.
Angel grace.
The realization made him feel physically ill.
His gaze dropped to his sister's unconscious form.
She looked so small lying there.
Fragile.
Human.
Yet apparently she had been carrying something impossible inside her for her entire life.
Dean remembered every time she had tried to get his attention.
Every complaint he hadn't listened to.
Every cough he'd ignored.
Every exhausted look he'd failed to notice.
While he'd been watching Sam spiral toward Hell, Y/N had been suffering right in front of him.
And he hadn't seen any of it.
Guilt settled heavily in his chest.
Because for weeks he'd convinced himself he was protecting his family.
But looking at Y/N now, broken and unconscious on the motel floor, all he could think was that he'd failed her.
He should have noticed. He should have listened.He should have been there.
And somehow, the look on Castiel's face told him that none of that was the worst part.
Whatever was happening to Y/N, whatever Heaven had hidden inside her all those years ago, it wasn't over.
In fact, Dean had the sinking feeling it was only just beginning.
HIII DO YOU STILL WROTE FOR CAPTAIN MAN/RAY MANCHESTER IF U DO CAN U WRITE A RAY X WIFE READER WHO CAN TURN INTO A TINY BIRD AND WHEN SHES A BIRD SHES SUPER TINY AND ROUND AND THE SCENARIO IS BASICALLY SHES DONE W HER HUSBANDS CONSTANT FLIRTING HABIT SO THE “SIDEKICKS” AKA HENRY, CHARLOTTE, AND JASPER HAVE TO HELP RAY GET HIS WOMAN BACK
The Bird Issue
𓍼ོdescription: Ray was flirting on camera and you happened to see because Henry can’t hide shit…poof there goes the bird Ray x wife! Reader
𓍼ོa/n: i’m so sorry i tried uploading this several times but it wouldn’t let me HOPEFULLY THIS TIME IS THE CHARM
𓍼ོwarning: NOT EDITED AT ALL
ོ ོ ོ ོ ོ ོ
The villain had finally been captured.
Police officers swarmed the street while news crews hurried over to cover Captain Man’s latest victory. The flashing red and blue lights reflected off nearby buildings as officers took statements from witnesses.
You stood beside a patrol car, explaining the situation to one of the officers while trying to ignore the chaos around you.
“And then he tried to escape through the alley,” you said. “Which honestly would’ve worked better if he hadn’t screamed, ‘You’ll never catch me alive!’ while running away.”
The officer laughed as he scribbled notes onto his clipboard.
A few feet away, Henry suddenly made a noise that sounded suspiciously like someone choking.
You frowned, thinking something happened to the teen.“What?” You looked towards him.
Henry’s eyes were wide and locked on something behind you.
“No.”
“What?” You asked once more.
“No, no, no.” Henry kept blinking harshly hoping his eyes betrayed him.
Your suspicion immediately grew.
Slowly, you turned.
Big mistake.
Across the street stood your husband.
Ray Manchester.
Captain Man.
The love of your life.
The absolute idiot.
A news crew had cornered him for an interview, and standing beside him was an attractive reporter.
The reporter laughed.
Ray laughed.
The reporter touched his arm. He didn’t pull back.
Henry physically winced. “Oh, we’re doomed.”
You narrowed your eyes.
The reporter asked another question.
Ray flashed one of his charming smiles.
The smile.
The stupid smile.
The smile that had somehow convinced you to marry him despite all evidence suggesting it was a terrible idea.
“You know,” Ray said smoothly, leaning against the news van, “this interview just got a lot hotter with me in it. It was smoking with you but on fire with us.”
The reporter giggled.
Your eye twitched.
Henry immediately stepped in front of you.
“Nope.”
“Move.”
“Nope.”
“Henry.”
“Absolutely not.”
You attempted to step around him.
Henry moved with you.
“Henry.”
“Look at me Y/n.”
“Move.”
“Look at me.”
You folded your arms.
“Henry.”
“Did you know octopuses have three hearts?”
“Move.”
“Fun fact.”
“Henry.”
“Actually they might have four.”
The officer glanced between the two of you, not gathering any ounce of information with the sirens ringing louder.
Slowly he lowered his clipboard, and backed away.
Smart man.
You inhaled deeply.
Very deeply.
The kind of breath people took before making terrible decisions.
“Y/N?” Henry asked nervously.
You smiled.
That somehow scared him more.
“I need to go.”
Henry’s eyes widened.
“Wait—”
Golden light surrounded your body.
A second later, a tiny round bird appeared where you had been standing.
You puffed your feathers up angrily.
Chirped once.
Then shot into the sky.
Henry watched you disappear.
Then looked toward Ray.
Who was still flirting.
Completely oblivious.
“…He’s dead.”
⸻
Five minutes later the interview ended.
Ray jogged over with a grin.
“Did you guys see that? I nailed that interview.”
Henry just stared at him.
Ray’s smile faltered.
“What?”
“Where’s Y/N?”
Ray immediately looked around.
“Yeah, where’s my wife?”
No answer.
“My beautiful wife?”
Henry groaned.
“My gorgeous wife?”
“Ray.”
“The love of my life who looks really hot when she punches bad guys?”
“Ray.”
“What?”
Henry rubbed a hand over his face.
“She saw the interview.”
Ray blinked.
“What interview?”
Henry pointed.
“The one you literally just did.”
The realization hit.
“Oh.”
“Yeah.”
“Oh.”
“Yeah.”
Ray slowly looked toward the sky.
“She went bird?”
“She went bird.”
“Oh, that’s bad.”
⸻
The elevator doors burst open inside the Man Cave.
“CHARLOTTE!”
Charlotte nearly dropped her tablet.
“What?!”
Ray stormed inside with Henry and Jasper right behind him.
“My wife is missing.”
Charlotte stared.
Then looked at the monitor beside her.
The replay of the interview was playing.
The reporter laughed.
Ray winked.
Charlotte slowly lowered her tablet.
“Oh my God.”
“See?” Henry said.
“OH MY GOD.”
Ray pointed defensively.
“I was being nice.”
Charlotte looked ready to throw something at him.
“Y/N saw that?”
“Live and in her face.” Charlotte buried her face in her hands. “Oh, you’re so stupid.”
“I am not.”
“You flirted with her six times this week.”
Ray thought for a moment.
“Seven actually.”
Charlotte slowly looked up.
Across the room Jasper pointed at Ray.
“Did I hear those numbers right?!”
Then pointed at Charlotte, before brining his hands up.
“Six.”
“Jasper.”
“Seven.”
“Jasper.”
“Six.”
“JASPER.”
“Sorry.”
Charlotte whipped back around.
“THAT IS NOT THE POINT.”
Ray looked confused.
“But technically the point is seven.”
Henry groaned.
Charlotte groaned.
Even Jasper groaned.
And for the first time all day, Ray looked genuinely worried.
⸻
The search began immediately.
They searched your house.
The park.
Your favorite bakery.
The flower shop.
The beach.
Every rooftop in Swellview.
Nothing.
Hours passed.
By midnight, desperation had fully set in.
“Maybe she’s hungry,” Henry suddenly announced.
Charlotte stared.
“What?”
“Maybe bird-Y/N is hungry.”
Charlotte blinked.
“No.”
Five minutes later they were standing inside a pet store.
⸻
“Why are we buying bird food?” Charlotte asked.
“I DON’T KNOW!” Henry cried.
He tossed another bag into the basket.
“What if she’s hungry?!”
“She doesn’t eat bird food.”
“How do you know?”
“Because she’s a human!”
“She’s also a bird!”
“Not all the time!”
Henry looked close to tears.
“I JUST WANT HER BACK.”
Charlotte sighed.
“You are way too emotionally invested in your mentor’s marriage.”
“I like Y/N.”
“We all like Y/N.”
“She’s nice to me.”
“She’s nice to everyone.”
“EXACTLY.”
⸻
Ray stood silently in one of the aisles staring at tiny bird treats.
For once, he wasn’t joking.
Wasn’t flirting.
Wasn’t acting like Captain Man.
He just looked miserable.
“I really messed up.”
The others looked over.
Ray rubbed both hands over his face.
“I really, really messed up.”
“You didn’t mean anything,” Henry said.
“I know.”
“Then why do you look like somebody died?”
Ray looked down.
Because she won’t even look at me.
The words hung in the air.
“She’s sweet.”
Nobody interrupted.
“She’s smart.”
Charlotte nodded.
“She puts up with me.”
“That’s a miracle,” Jasper muttered.
Ray pointed at him.
“Exactly.”
Then his expression softened.
“And she’s the love of my life.”
The room grew quiet.
“I know flirting is stupid.”
“Very stupid,” Charlotte agreed.
“I know.”
“Annoying.”
“I know.”
“Irritating.”
“I KNOW.”
Charlotte seemed satisfied.
Ray sighed.
“I’m not saying any of that excuses what I did.”
He looked toward the ceiling.
As though somehow you might hear him.
“Because it doesn’t.”
His voice softened.
“But I’d rather gouge out my own eyeballs than lose her.”
A beat passed.
Jasper raised his hand.
“They’d grow back.”
Everyone turned toward him.
“SHUT UP, JASPER.”
⸻
By one in the morning the search had become completely unhinged.
Henry carried bird seed.
Charlotte carried flashlights.
Ray carried enough bird treats to feed an entire forest.
And Jasper— well he was making bird noises.
“Loo-loo-loo-loo!”
“What are you doing?” Charlotte asked.
“Bird call.”
“That is not a bird.”
“Loo-loo-loo-loo!”
“It sounds like a broken microwave.”
Jasper looked offended.
⸻
Meanwhile, hidden high above the Man Cave on one of the shelves, you watched everything.
Tiny.
Round.
Fluffy.
Every time you remembered the interview your feathers puffed up again.
But the longer the night went on…
The less angry you became.
Because Ray looked awful.
And Henry looked ready to cry.
And somehow they had spent actual money on bird food.
You chirped softly.
Nobody heard.
⸻
A little after two in the morning, the elevator dinged.
Everyone looked up from their laps in defeat.
The doors opened.
And in walked Schwoz.
Holding coffee.
Laughing.
Actually laughing.
“Schwoz?” Henry asked.
Schwoz waved. “Oh, hello.”
Ray immediately stood.
“Not now, Schwoz, we don’t need your preppy engery.”
“Oh, I think now is perfect.”
Ray frowned.
Then froze.
Because perched casually on Schwoz’s shoulder was a tiny bird.
A very familiar tiny bird.
A very familiar tiny round bird.
You sat happily on his shoulder.
Chirping.
And somehow actually having a conversation with him.
The bird chirped.
Schwoz nodded.
“Exactly.”
Another chirp.
“I know.”
Another chirp.
“That is what I said.”
The room went silent.
Henry pointed.
“What.”
Charlotte pointed.
“What.”
Ray pointed.
“WHAT.”
Schwoz looked confused.
“What?”
“YOU CAN UNDERSTAND HER?”The group yelled.
The bird chirped.
Schwoz nodded.
“Of course.”
Another chirp.
“Yes, he is being dramatic.”
Ray looked betrayed.
“She said that?”
Another chirp.
Schwoz burst out laughing.
“Oh, that’s mean.”
“What did she say?”
Schwoz grinned.
“She called you an asshole.”
Henry immediately doubled over laughing.
Charlotte nearly fell out of her chair.
Even Jasper was wheezing.
Ray looked horrified.
“AN ASSHOLE?”
You chirped proudly.
“See?” Schwoz said. “She stands by it.”
The laughter slowly faded.
And for the first time all night, everyone noticed something.
You weren’t hiding anymore.
You weren’t angry.
You were watching Ray.
Waiting.
Ray swallowed hard and stepped forward.
“Hi, sweetheart.”
Your tiny head tilted.
The room became quiet.
Ray looked exhausted.
Worried.
Heartbroken.
“I’ve been looking for you all night.”
You chirped softly.
“I know I messed up.”
Another chirp.
“I know saying sorry doesn’t magically fix things.”
His voice cracked slightly.
“And I know being nice to people isn’t an excuse.”
The room remained silent.
For once nobody joked.
Nobody interrupted.
Nobody teased him.
Because they could all see how much he loved you.
Ray took another careful step forward.
“You are the best thing that’s ever happened to me.”
Your feathers twitched.
“You’re smarter than me.”
A chirp.
“Definitely prettier than me.”
A louder chirp.
“And you’re the love of my life.”
The tiny bird looked down.
Ray laughed weakly.
“I know I flirt too much.”
You chirped.
“Okay, way too much.”
Another chirp.
“But I never want anybody else.”
His eyes never left you.
“Not for a second.”
The room felt impossibly still.
“And if I spend the rest of my life making this up to you, I will.”
You stared at him.
Then slowly—
Very slowly—
You flew from Schwoz’s shoulder.
Across the room.
And landed directly on top of Ray’s head.
Everyone froze.
Then Henry gasped.
“OH MY GOD.”
Ray stood perfectly still.
Afraid to move.
Afraid to breathe.
A tiny bird feather drifted down onto his shoulder.
You chirped once.
Softly.
Forgivingly.
Ray smiled.
The biggest smile anyone had seen all night.
And somewhere behind him, Charlotte quietly whispered,
“Finally.”
While Jasper immediately ruined the moment.
“So are we returning the bird food or—”
“JASPER!”
me when im on "x reader tag" looking for fics at 3 am BUT all i find is memes and all the funny posts under the world EXCEPT the fics abt the character :
may the fourth (force) be with you
ryland grace x teacher reader ✰
w/c: 833
a/n: nothing much for me to say! just had this little idea today and while its not 100% pertaining to star wars (like at all), it was just a little idea i wanted to write FLUFF FLUFF FLUFF :3 also not edited thoroughly
i want to hold your hand. the beatles
“Are you and Ms. [last name] together?”
Grace’s sip of coffee caught in his throat and dripped down his chin, half choking, half spitting, at the question.
“N- No!” He coughed a few times, cheeks blaring red. “That's– that's not even- like– shes– she's totally out of my league.”
Julia turned around and walked to her group, frowning.
“You guys set me up!” She whispered.
They all started whispering in a rather loud tone.
Grace walked over to the lab sinks and grabbed some paper towels to try and dab the mess dry.
You’d just gotten his suits dry cleaned and he already ruined one…
—
Julia and her entire friend group walked over this time. Nosy little kids.
“Okay,” she started. “We know you're dating Ms. (last name).”
“We're not dating. and why do you kids want to know so bad? dont you guys have tests to study for? or homework to do?”
The kids looked at each other.
“You guys are both wearing nerdy star wars shirts.”
“And? Star Wars is a very popular movie franchise.”
They almost sighed in unison as they walked back to their desks, clearly defeated again.
—
The bell had just rung, and you’d made it to lunch duty early, sliding into your usual spot at the end of one of the long, empty tables.
Students trickled in, murmuring and laughing until the room filled with the usual chaos. A few spotted you immediately.
“Ms. last name?” one of them called, nudging the kid next to them.
“Yes?”
“Are you dating Mr. Grace?"
“Uhm,” you stalled too long. Your silence practically answered their question. “Of course not. We're just… really good coworkers.”
“But you guys are the only teachers wearing star wars shirts today.”
You groaned. “It's May the Fourth. like– like may the force be with you but its may the fourth– whatever. Star Wars is a popular movie franchise. That’s all.”
“Mr. Grace said the same thing!” Julia pounded her fist on the table.
“Alright Juli, this is an eighth grade lunchroom not a courtroom.” you chuckled.
They weren’t convinced at all.
“We know you and Mr. Grace are together! just admit it!”
You glanced over at the entrance to the cafeteria, half-hoping Grace would come in and diffuse the situation before it could explode.
“How about this…”
And then you went on a rant about the subtle difference between a lightsaber and a training saber.
The cafeteria doors swung open five minutes later.
There he was. Ryland Grace, getting in line with the students to eat the very unhealthy slop the education system liked to call lunch. He spotted you instantly, giving you the smallest, most unnoticeable wave that only close spectators would be able to see.
Of course, the students noticed.
“That’s it! They waved at each other! They gave each other that– that look!” One of them whispered.
“Yes!” Julia almost jumped from her seat, pointing a finger. “They are together!”
“Guys—” You huffed.
They huddled together again, their little whispers overlapping each other now.
Grace walked over.
“What’s going on over here?” He chuckled, holding a place with a chicken burger and other fixings.
“They’re—”
Their little huddle broke again. They seemed more composed now.
One of them put their hands together in front of them, like this was some kind of professional meeting.
“Listen. We know. So you guys can just tell us.”
“That’s—” Grace wheezed his words, a common sign that he was hiding something. “That’s— ridiculous! We’re just… coworkers!”
You rubbed your temples a few times, shaking your head. “Ryland, maybe we should just—”
“I just don’t think they should—” he whispered, glancing at you. Then he turned to the students, trying to salvage the last of your secrecy. “Look, kids, I swear, we’re not dating. I mean—yes, we like the same movies, but that doesn’t mean–”
“Just admit it!” Julia groaned. “You two are literally the cutest couple ever.”
Before Grace could protest again, you glanced over at him. His eyes went wide, but then he exhaled, finally letting a small reluctant smile slip out.
“Okay,” he murmured. “We are together,” he said casually. “We just… like to keep some things private. Helps keep work and everything else… separate.”
You smiled and reached for his hand. “He’s right. We just like to keep it professional around here, mostly.”
“Proefssional?” one kid whispered incredulously. “You’re literally holding hands!”
Grace set his tray down and sat next to you, enjoying the little chaos. “Yes, well… even the greatest minds need a little mystery.”
The students groaned in unison at his cheesiness, but you saw the way Grace looked at you, eyes crinkled with pride and happiness.
there is so much to do and so little time 😭
Road Trip with the USM Team
⁃ Danny is driving
⁃ Ava is the co pilot/navigator
⁃ Luke is carsick
⁃ Sam and Peter are fighting like children
⁃ You’re either drowning them out with music or just ignoring them
⁃ You guys stole Nick Fury’s car
⁃ ‘He’s not gonna notice he’s got like 3 million of them’ -Sam
⁃ You definitely get caught as soon as you get back
⁃ Lots of stops so Luke can throw up outside of the vehicle preferably
⁃ ‘Can you hurry up Luke, we have to get to the hotel before they cancel our reservation’
⁃ God forbid Danny takes a wrong turn Ava will have an aneurism
⁃ Her and Danny will make everyone stop at historical sights and crap
⁃ Peter and Sam will get you kicked out of museums
⁃ She got the trashiest, sketchiest, cheapest hotel you could possibly get in the middle of nowhere
⁃ ‘Ava why didn’t you just steal Coulsons credit card this place is a disgusting’
⁃ ‘It’s not that bad’
⁃ ‘There is a hole in the wall and alcohol stains on the carpet’
⁃ Peter probably just makes a hammock out of his webbing
⁃ Sam complains the whole time cause it smells like literal mold
⁃ Luke is appalled at the bathroom situation
⁃ ‘Quit snoring, web head!’
⁃ ‘Quit breathing, bucket head!’
⁃ ‘Guys shut up!’
⁃ Ava ain’t taking their shit
⁃ Meanwhile Danny disappeared and they’re like ‘uh did anyone see him leave?’
⁃ He went and got himself a hotel room cause he doesn’t want to hear their bickering all night
⁃ So Danny’s peacefully sleeping on a different floor of the hotel while you and Ava have to deal with the others
⁃ You track Danny down and force him to let you stay
- ‘How did you find me??’ ‘Doesn’t matter, scoot over’
⁃ Back on the road Ava is exhausted and Luke’s eye is twitching of irritation
⁃ ‘Quit touching me!’
⁃ ‘I’m not touching you!’
⁃ ‘Yes you are! Y/N! Ava! Peter keeps looking at me!’
⁃ Ava just slowly turns the radio up higher and higher to eventually drown them out
⁃ Sam packed snacks for everyone but Peter
All Alone
Demon Dean & little sister!reader, Sam Winchester & little sister!reader
Requested by Anonymous
Synopsis: Dean comes after you when he’s a demon. Can Sam get to you in time?
A/N: hey guys, I’m not dead! Here’s a fic, hope you like.
Warnings: violence, blood, angst with a happy ending
Sam didn’t want to leave you alone.
He was either halfway to saving Dean, or halfway to killing him, but either way you shouldn’t be alone with the demon that used to be your brother. But Sam didn’t have a choice.
At least, that’s what he told himself.
He told himself that he needed to get more blood, even though he wasn’t quite out. He told himself he needed to check the warding again, even though he’d checked it half a dozen times.
The truth was, he needed to get away from Dean. That roiling mass of dark energy and evil intentions that wore his brother’s face. After weeks of obsessive searching to save his brother, Sammy needed one moment of selfishness, one moment of weakness where he didn’t need to think about saving anyone.
So he left.
And he would regret it.
…
Sam shouldn’t have left you alone.
Dean watched as Sam muttered something to you about needing more blood, before the both of you left the room. However, while Sam’s heavy footsteps slowly faded out of Dean’s demonically impressive earshot, yours didn’t go farther than the other side of the door.
You were alone in the bunker with him.
It really was a perfect opportunity. Not that Dean didn’t think he could take Sam, but he was weaker with all that human blood in him, and he’d prefer to take you out one at a time.
Dean yanked at his chains in one sharp tug, and they came loose easily. Dean grinned as he tossed the metal aside. Being a demon really did have its perks. But it also had its downsides—such as the paint under him that supposedly kept him from leaving. But if Dean’s theory was correct, with all the human blood in him he just might be able to cross.
Dean took a cautionary step forward. His foot hovered over the paint, then crossed it, then came to rest on un-vandalized concrete. A low chuckle escaped from the back of Dean’s throat as he crossed the room. Ever since he’d died, he felt like he barely touched the ground anymore. The crushing weight of guilt that the lesser part of him constantly struggled under was gone, and now he could float around the world and do whatever he wanted.
At least, he had been able to until you and Sam appeared. He’d make you pay for that.
Dean paused when he reached the door out of his little dungeon. He could hear your staggered breathing just on the other side, and he resisted the urge to roll his eyes. His poor, stupid little sister, always hovering around him as if he were her personal guard. For a while, he had been.
But things had changed.
Dean slammed his fist against the door, and listened with a satisfied smirk as your breath caught and your footsteps started echoing away from him. This wouldn’t be any fun unless it was a bit of a chase. Not that he’d have to work hard to get you—you weren’t Sam. It was almost sad how quickly Dean knew he’d catch you. How quickly he’d kill you.
Once the sound of your footsteps died away, Dean opened the door. He’d heard you go left, but he headed right, in the direction of the weapons cache. Once he reached it, he took his time selecting a weapon. He was in no rush. His hand hovered over a hammer—brutal, bloody, and slow—before he changed his mind and grabbed a gun. It wasn’t mercy. It was Dean’s way of proving a point. Dean wanted Sam to know exactly how he saw you. As an inconvenience to be thrown away. He would let you—the extra, the tagalong—die like collateral damage. Like he couldn’t care less about you. But Sam…
Dean would make Sam die slowly.
He would save the hammer for Sam.
Dean let the gun hang limply in his hand as he strode across the bunker in your direction. Besides the gun and the heavy echo of his boots ominously clashing around the concrete bunker, Dean could’ve been going through a stroll in the park. Killing you wasn’t even a question in his mind. You’d barely even helped Sam—mostly just stayed in the car while your big brother did the hard work—which Dean knew was Sam’s choice. The boys had always been very careful about keeping you out of danger. But that didn’t matter to Dean. You may not have personally tied him to that chair, and you represented no threat to Dean’s freedom, but that wasn’t going to stop him from killing you. Beside the fact that it would send a message to Sam, it was also a pleasant inconvenience to Dean. Like going out of your way to pick up a treat from the gas station. He wanted you dead.
After everything Sam had done, Dean was no longer content with letting anything from his old life live. Dean was dead, and his so-called loved ones would die with him.
Long live Demon Dean.
Dean froze halfway through his stride. The echo of footsteps was gone, but your faint gasps now reached his ears. Dean grinned. He could all but hear your racing heart. He was glad he hadn’t killed you immediately—getting you scared was much more fun, even if it was easy.
“Ohh N/N!” Dean taunted, turning his strut in the direction of your heavy breathing. “Come out, come out to play!”
The patter of your footsteps echoed again, and Dean turned left down a hallway. He caught sight of a flash of your blue shirt sleeve at the end of the hall, before you disappeared around the corner.
Dean chuckled lowly, enjoying how the sound echoed against the wall and the way your gasping became louder after you heard it. You had just turned down a dead end. This chase was almost over, and it was about to end in the perfect place. The hallway you’d turned down ended with a single bedroom.
Dean’s.
Dean heard his own door slam shut, and listened to your ragged breaths as you surely searched for a hiding place. Dean slowed his steps. He would let you hide.
Step.
Step.
Step.
Dean reached his door. He twisted the handle slowly, deliberately, and let the door creak open with just a small push.
“I know you’re in here, sweetheart,” Dean cooed. He could hear exactly where you were, but he took a moment to revel in the way your breath caught at the nickname. The one he once used to comfort you. It felt right to use now. It felt like letting go of the nurturing side that had been forced upon him since childhood.
A floorboard creaked. The room grew eerily silent. Dean could tell you were holding your breath. He let the moment linger like the pause before a rollercoaster drop. Then he took a purposefully silent step toward his prey, and knelt down.
You were under the bed. Regular-old Dean would’ve been pained to see you so vulnerable, acting like a child in a cheesy horror flick. Demon Dean just laughed and wrapped his hand around your ankle. You screamed the second his hand closed around you, but Dean ignored your cries as he yanked you into the light.
Your hands automatically lifted to cover your face, and Dean rewarded your cowering with a swift jab to your ribs. You let out a pitiful sound between a yelp and a whimper as your hands flew to your rapidly-bruising side. As soon as your hands were out of the way, Dean raised his pistol to the side of your head, grinning as your body stiffened and froze.
“That’s it.” Dean’s voice was tauntingly gentle, like he was soothing a crying baby. “Stay still, or this will hurt so much more.”
“Please De—“
You started to shift, testing your boundaries. Dean wasn’t in the mood to be tested. He moved his gun an inch to the right and fired into the concrete. Your body convulsed in a dramatic flinch, and Dean watched as a trickle of blood dripped down from your ear that was closest to the gun.
Tears tracked down the sides of your face, mingling with the blood coming out of your ear.
“I said stay still,” Dean growled, and he could tell from the way you squinted your eyes at him that you were reading his lips—your ears must’ve been ringing from the blast that Dean’s superhuman abilities protected him from.
Despite your damaged ears, you got the message and obeyed it. You shook like a leaf, but you didn’t try to squirm or move your hands again.
“De,” you whimpered. “Please don’t—please don’t hurt me Dean.”
The tears were coming faster now, and your breathing was becoming shallower.
Dean lingered in the moment, relishing every second he got to explore the newfound freedom in his soul. He knew that the human version of himself would be wracked with guilt looking at your terrified face. The mark of Cain version of himself would’ve been angry at your obnoxious cries—he was always angry, in a way that only made the guilt feel worse.
But here, now, this black-eyed, better version of Dean didn’t have to feel any of it. He could finally let go of the family that had been weighing him down for too long, and he didn’t have to feel bad about it for a single second.
Dean slowly lifted his thumb to the hammer of his gun and pulled it back, grinning as you flinched at the crack of the gun cocking.
“Dean?” Your sob came out as a question, as if you were looking for your big brother and didn’t see him in front of you. Good. You were learning.
Just to let the moment play out a little longer, Dean moved his gun away from your face. Relief lighted your features. Dean was excited to see it wash away. But first—
Dean’s free hand came up to the side of your face while his gun traveled lower, finding its spot right above your lung.
Dean’s palm brushed your face just as the muzzle of his gun brushed your ribs. Your face twitched, ever-so-slightly, toward Dean’s hand, as if you actually believed it was there to comfort you.
Then your brain seemed to register the gun that was pressing against your skin, and the horror returned to your eyes.
“Dean, don’t do this,” you pleaded. “You’re my—“
Dean pulled the trigger.
He felt your blood splatter across his face, staining his cheeks, his hair, his toothy grin. But he didn’t care.
Dean waited to feel something negative—remorse, guilt, grief—but no such feelings came. His demon soul was truly, profoundly free.
A single tear tracked down your face, remnants of the begging that had done you no good.
Your chest convulsed up and down in a crude attempt to find air, and a horrible gargling sound escaped your mouth as proof that no air would come. You were drowning in the blood that was quickly filling your lungs, just as Dean aimed for.
The light was slowly draining from your eyes, but still you kept them trained on Dean.
“De—“ a whine that sounded like a twisted attempt at Dean’s name tore from your throat as Dean got to his feet. You coughed, and blood tainted your lips scarlet. You would be dead within seconds, but Dean couldn’t be bothered to sit around and wait. He wasn’t going to offer you the comfort of dying in his arms.
Your hands twitched up at him as he rose out of reach. Even now, even after he’d murdered you, you were still looking for your brother behind the black eyes. Dean wasn’t about to let you find him. He wanted the last thing you ever saw to be him, doing what he should’ve done the second John placed you in his arms.
Walking away from you.
…
Sam would never forgive himself for leaving you alone.
As soon as he’d returned to find the dungeon door open and Dean’s chains on the floor, a horrible pit had opened in his stomach.
He’d left you alone with a monster. And now the monster was out.
The bunker was eerily silent except for the pounding in Sam’s ears as he began the search for his siblings.
He didn’t know which one of you he was looking for. He didn’t know if he even wanted to find either of you. He didn’t know if he was ready for what he would find.
He wasn’t.
The sound that tore from his throat the moment he laid eyes on you wasn’t human. It wasn’t animalistic, either. It was raw. It was grief in echoed form.
He wasn’t sure when his legs gave out, he only knew that he was now closer to your deadened eyes, and his pants were now soaked with your blood.
Every part of him knew that you were already long gone, but he cradled your body anyway, as if he could turn back the clock and at least give you the slightest comfort of dying in his arms.
He couldn’t.
You’d faded away on the unforgiving cold concrete, with no one to hold your hand and no one to wipe your tears. It wasn’t just that Sam hadn’t protected you—he’d let you die alone.
The three of you had been through almost every pain it was possible to go through. But none of you had ever been allowed to die alone.
The presence hit Sam before he even saw his brother. The room suddenly felt shrouded in darkness and stiff with cold. The air felt sucked out by the presence of an evil Sam didn’t want to face.
For a moment, neither brother spoke. It took every ounce of Sam’s courage to lift his chin a few inches to face his big brother.
Your blood was smeared across Dean’s cheek. A grin split his face, wide in an almost unnatural way. But the worst part—the part that hit Sam in the gut and made him want to throw up—was that Dean’s eyes weren’t black. Dean was still a demon, but he’d chosen to face Sam with a green stare that only stood to remind Sam of the brother he’d lost.
The brother that had killed his sister.
“Why—“ Sam voice came out in a broken sob. “Why would you do this? She only ever wanted to help you! She only—we only wanted to save you!”
Dean’s smiling composure didn’t waver.
“I told you I didn’t want to be saved. I warned you—“ Sam flinched when Dean raised his hand. He was clutching a hammer in his fist, pointing it at Sam. “And I warned her. And now I’m gonna give you the same chance I gave her. Five.”
Five?
“What?” Sam breathed.
“Four.”
…
Sam was out of the room before Dean got to three. Dean watched as his little brother spared an agonized glance at your body before disappearing around the corner.
Sam’s footsteps echoed in Dean’s ears as he finished his count. He listened for the footsteps to stop as he stepped over your body, but they kept going.
Sam had run right past the armory. Interesting.
“Zero!” Dean called out as he followed his brother’s path. “I’m coming for you, Sammy!”
…
Cas had arrived in time to save Sam, and Dean was back in the dungeon.
Sam stood just outside the door, his hands shaking. He was barely holding it together, and it had nothing to do with Dean chasing him around with a hammer.
He’d lost you. He hadn’t protected you when it mattered most.
Sam watched Castiel pace and knew that the angel was blaming himself, too. If he’d arrived earlier, he could’ve stopped Dean.
In the end, it didn’t matter. Sam could’ve stayed, Cas could’ve moved faster, heck, Dean could’ve fought the evil inside him just a little harder. The blame game never ending and impossible to win, with countless possibilities and different paths that it was too late to take.
You were dead. You were dead, and you’d died alone, and the three men in your life that had once loved you more than anything were responsible. No amount of blame games could fix that.
“It’s time to finish this,” Sam said at last. “It’s time to bring Dean back.”
…
For one, fleeting moment, Dean thought the agony that ripped into his soul might destroy him from the inside.
But this was not a pain that would do him the mercy of killing him.
Dean was on his knees with his head in his hands, though he wasn’t sure when he’d been freed of his restraints. Cas’s voice was hovering around him, but he couldn’t make out the words. When he finally managed to look up, Sam was there. Dean saw his own pain reflected in his brother’s eyes, and for a moment he wanted to scream, until he realized he already was.
The cry broke off when he ran out of air, and though he suddenly heard the sound of his own gasping, he couldn’t feel the lack of air. He couldn’t feel anything other than his newly-purified soul cracking under the weight of his guilt.
“I…I want to see her.” He didn’t even know when he’d decided to speak. The words just came. “Is she…”
“I…” Sam’s whole body twitched as he swallowed, as though every movement hurt. “I haven’t moved her yet.”
Walking the hallway to Dean’s bedroom felt more like walking to an execution chamber. Each step landed heavy, the echoing click pounding in Dean’s ears.
His door was still open, and Dean saw a trail of red blood before he saw you. The sight of your body washed over him in waves, each one impossibly more painful than the last as he took it all in.
The blood that had dripped from your ear after he fired that shot just for the sheer joy of scaring you.
The pool of red covering the floor around your chest, where he had shot you knowing that it would hurt so much more than a bullet between the eyes. He hadn’t wanted to give you the mercy of a swift death.
Your still-open eyes, from when you had looked for him as he turned his back on you.
Your barely-outstretched hand, from when you had reached for him as he walked away. Reached for him until your strength gave out.
Dean’s hand shook as he reached down and closed your eyes. He’d been around enough death to know that it didn’t look like sleeping, even with your eyes closed, but he did it anyway.
He didn’t kneel down. He didn’t cradle your body the way Sam had. It was too late for that. He had chosen to let you die alone on the floor, and trying to make up for it now by holding your cold body just felt like a pathetic cop-out.
Instead, Dean lifted you into his arms and set you gently down onto his bed. His fingers groped around for his blanket, and when he found it he pulled it up to your chin. Not over your face. Not yet. That was too final.
“She was cold.” Dean didn’t know who he was talking to, but the three words were the only way he could explain why he’d tucked you in as though you had just fallen asleep.
She was cold.
She was alone.
I did this.
Sam didn’t speak. That was worse. Dean wanted Sam to blame him, if only to know that Sam wasn’t blaming himself.
It wasn’t Sam’s fault. But Sammy always carried guilt, and Dean had never been able to take it from him, no matter how hard he tried. Guilt about Mom. Guilt about Jess.
And now you.
“We should—“ Sam’s voice stopped abruptly. Dean knew why. There was so many things they should do, but not yet.
They should burn your body.
They should tell their friends.
They should say goodbye.
It was too soon. Dean didn’t want it to be real yet, but the blood all over his hands made it all too real already.
Dean’s eyes moved from you to his little brother.
“You should get cleaned up,” he said finally. Sam’s clothes and hands were soaked in your blood.
“You too,” Sam echoed.
Dean nodded. He needed to do something, something that wasn’t looking at your pale face or mentally planning how to say goodbye.
He would take a shower. He did that every day. It had no sense of finality to it.
Dean moved like a ghost through his own room, refusing to look at his bed. He retrieved clean clothes from his drawer, his hands trembling when his fingers brushed a gray hoodie—the one you always liked to steal.
He left it in the drawer.
Dean stood under the hot water until it turned cold. He watched your blood go down the drain, trying to pretend it was someone else’s.
A vampire, like the one you’d killed on your very first hunt.
A wendigo, like the one he’d saved you from.
His own, like that time a hunt went sideways and you’d had to drive him to a hospital.
Anyone’s but yours.
…
You woke up alone.
Your eyes snapped open, your chest heaving for breath that came easier than you thought it would. You sat up, the gentle weight of Dean’s blanket sliding off you. Your hand shot up to your side as images flashed in your head.
Dean chasing you.
Dean shooting you.
Dean walking away.
Your fingers couldn’t find the bullet wound. You lifted your shirt and looked down. You were still soaked in sticky red, but you couldn’t find a wound. Your ribs were bruised from where Dean had struck you, but there was no hole. No bullet.
Your confusion fled, to be replaced by panic, when Dean’s bathroom door opened to your left. Dean emerged, no longer covered in your blood, but that didn’t matter.
He had hunted you down.
He had killed you.
You threw yourself out of bed and ran out the door, not daring to spare a glance behind you.
You didn’t know how much time had passed—long enough for Dean to change clothes—and you didn’t know why you were alive. Those questions could wait. You weren’t going to let Dean kill you again.
“Sam!” You screamed, listening to the sound echo around you. You could only hope that he was back now, that he could save you.
“Y/N!”
It wasn’t Sam’s voice that answered, but Dean’s. He was close behind you.
“Sam!” You called again, hesitating when you reached the war room. The dungeon, or Sam’s room? You didn’t have time to ponder, but the wrong answer could mean death. Again.
You turned left, down the hallway that led to Sam’s room.
“Sam help!”
You couldn’t let Dean kill you again.
…
“Y/N!”
Dean had a thousand questions, but he didn’t dare stop to think about them yet. He’d stepped out of the shower, and before he could stop himself, his eyes drifted over to where he’d laid your body. Only now, you were sitting up. His foot hovered halfway through a step, and his breath froze in his throat.
Then you’d seen him. The sight of him used to bring relief to your eyes when you were feeling scared, but this time your face drained of what little color it had, and you were out the door before Dean could even think to wonder why you were alive.
And now he was doing the last thing he should be doing—chasing you. He knew you were scared, but he had to get to you. He had to tell you that he wasn’t going to hurt you. You needed to know he wasn’t a demon anymore. He had to know why you were ok.
So he ran.
…
Sam had been out of the shower for a while, but he didn’t leave his room. Instead, he sat cross-legged on his bed, trying to keep his mind from picturing how you died.
It wasn’t working.
His imagination became so vivid, that for a moment he thought he heard you calling for him.
Then his door burst open.
“Sam!” You were a sobbing mess in his arms before he could even begin to understand what he was seeing. Sam’s arms came around you subconsciously even as his mind worked overtime.
This wasn’t possible.
You couldn’t be here.
“N/N?” Sam pulled you back, his eyes trailing over your blood-soaked clothes. He reached down to where he knew your wound was, and lifted your shirt.
It wasn’t there.
“What—what—“
“Dean’s after me,” you sobbed. “Please don’t let him get me again Sam, please don’t let him—“
“Hey—hey—“ Sam tucked your trembling form in his arms. The hunter part of him wanted to question this—to question you, to test you in case you were a shifter, or a demon. The scholar part of him realized that the bunker was too warded for anything to get in, but also didn’t believe that you could be alive. But the big brother part of him just wanted to dry your tears and tell you everything was gonna be ok.
The big brother won.
“It’s ok,” he soothed. “Dean’s not a demon anymore. He’s never gonna hurt you again.”
“He killed me,” you whimpered. “Sammy, he—he killed me.”
His arms tightened around you. “I…I know.” Sam’s chest ached. “I’m sorry, I’m—“
“Y/N.”
You flinched in Sam’s arms at the sound of Dean’s voice. He was standing wide-eyed in Sam’s doorway, looking like he wasn’t sure whether he should run away from you or toward you.
“It’s ok,” Sam promised. “He’s not a demon anymore.”
Emboldened by Sam’s words, Dean stepped forward.
“Sweetheart—“
Sam felt you flinch again as you tucked your head against Sam’s shoulder.
“Not yet,” Sam told Dean. “Just—just give her a minute. Go get her some water.” This seemed the most subtle way to tell Dean to get out without actually needing to tell him to go.
Sam waited until Dean was gone to speak again. “I know you’re scared. But I promise, he won’t hurt you again, he’s—“
Sam’s phone rang in his back pocket. Frowning, he pulled it out to glance at it. Crowley. He answered it.
“What do you want?” He demanded.
“Moose. Lovely talking to you too, as always. Did you get the gift I sent you?”
Sam’s eyes flicked down to you.
“Did you bring her back?”
“I finally get rid of one Winchester only for you idiots to send another one down to me. I hear Dean’s human again. I just dumped him, I’m not looking to have him come track me down again demanding his little sister back, so I sent her before he could come pounding at my door.”
“I…you…” Sam didn’t know what to say.
“No need to thank me,” Crowley interrupted. “Just keep your family out of hell and away from me.”
The phone clicked.
You blinked up at Sam as he put the phone down, looking to all the world like a little girl who had been through too much.
“Crowley brought me back?” It wasn’t an observation, it was a question.
“That’s what he said. You don’t remember anything?”
You shook your head.
“Does—does that mean that somebody has to go to hell? Did one of you sell your soul?”
“We’re gonna be fine,” Sam promised. “Nobody is going to hell.”
Sam knew Dean would be back any minute. He took another look at you—you were still shaking, and there were still tears in your eyes. You weren’t ready.
“Why don’t you go clean up?” He suggested gently. “Use my shower—I’ll bring you some clothes.” He didn’t want to think about how panicked you’d be if you ran into Dean on the way to your room.
You nodded mutely and made your way across the room, but stopped just before you reached the bathroom.
“Are you sure he’s better?” Your voice came out strained and small.
“I promise,” Sam replied firmly. “He’s just regular-old Dean again.” Sam hesitated. “He’s never gonna forgive himself for what he did to you.”
You pondered this for a moment.
“I will,” you decided. “Just…I’m just not ready yet.”
“That’s ok. He can wait.”
You stood in the doorway a moment longer, before stepping through and shutting the door behind you.
…
The glass of water was shaking in Dean’s hands. The sound of you choking on your own blood kept replaying in his head, and he couldn’t make it stop.
Sam appeared to be waiting for him when he returned. You weren’t in sight, but the sound of the shower running in Sam’s bathroom explained why.
“Crowley brought her back,” Sam spoke softly, as if he was trying to preserve a fragile sense of peace. “No deals, no red tape. He just didn’t want you to come looking for her in hell.”
Dean’s voice came out thin and rough, like sandpaper, after a long pause.
“So we got lucky.”
“Yeah.” Sam breathed. “Yeah. We got really lucky.”
The door opened slowly, so slowly that Dean only noticed it because of the way it creaked. He hadn’t even heard the shower turn off, but now the quiet in the room felt suffocating.
You had a towel wrapped around your shoulders like a cape, and you were drowning in Sam’s old Stanford hoodie. Dean hadn’t realized how much your blood-soaked clothes had been affecting him until you were no longer wearing them. He no longer felt like he was staring at a walking corpse, but instead his living, breathing little sister.
The one that he had drained the life out of, and reveled in the act.
“I’m sorry.” The words were so pathetic, so inadequate, but Dean had nothing else to say.
“I know.” Your eyes flicked up to Dean’s before you looked back down. Your shoulders hunched in, like you were trying to make yourself smaller.
Dean took slow steps forward. When you didn’t step back or cower, he lifted a gentle hand to your cheek.
“I can’t make up for this. I just want you to know—“
You flinched suddenly away from Dean, almost tripping over your feet to back away from him.
Your hyperventilating triggered alarm bells in Dean’s head, and he realized just what he’d done.
The last time he’d touched your face like that, just hours ago, he’d had a gun pressed into your ribs.
“I’m sorry.” Dean choked. “I—I didn’t mean to—I’m so sorry—“
Sam was between the two of you in an instant. He faced Dean, as if guarding you.
“Just give her some space.” Sam didn’t sound angry. He just sounded tired. He turned his back to Dean and wrapped you in his arms, muttering something in your ear.
Dean could do nothing but stagger out of the room, echoing apologies all the way.
…
Memories were slamming unbidden into your mind.
Dean’s gentle hand on your cheek.
The cold muzzle of a gun pressing into your ribs.
The bang.
The spurt of blood.
Drowning.
It was happening again. There was no gun, no bang, but it was happening again. Dean. His touch on your face. And now…
You couldn’t breathe.
Your ears were ringing, just as they had after Dean fired that shot next to your head. There was no blood, no bullet, but you were still drowning.
Then, a voice that hadn’t been there when you’d drowned the first time.
“N/N, listen to me. You’re safe, you’re safe now. I’ve got you, just breathe.”
Sam. He’d come at last to save you.
Too late. You had already drowned.
But no. Not this time. This time, your desperate gasps for air were successful, even if it was a struggle. Your vision wasn’t clouding, blood wasn’t clogging your airways and staining your lips.
“That’s it, that’s it.” You could track your breathing progress based on the relief in your big brother’s voice. “You’re doing great, just keep breathing.”
You weren’t drowning. You weren’t dying. Dean wasn’t going to come after you again.
Your mind was sure of these three things, but your body wasn’t ready to let go of the panic just yet.
You didn’t know if it would ever be ready.
…
Dean was sitting on the cold concrete floor of the bunker, his back against the wall, when Sam’s door open. You emerged slowly and took a seat on the floor next to Dean.
“I know it wasn’t you.” You didn’t look at Dean as you spoke.
“But you’re still scared of me.”
“I’m trying not to be.” You paused before turning to face Dean fully. “I forgive you.”
Dean could hardly meet your eye.
“I don’t.”
You let the words hang in the air for only a moment.
“You’re allowed to feel that way,” you decided. “But this time, I think how I feel is more important. Since you know, I’m the one who got murdered.” The smile you gave Dean didn’t reach your eyes, and Dean didn’t even try to return it. Instead, he gave you a single, steady nod. You were right. This was about your safety, not Dean’s self-loathing.
“I want you to forgive yourself,” you added. “But I know why you can’t yet. But I want you to try.”
Dean gave no promises. He didn’t think you expected any.
You sank back against the wall, facing away from Dean again.
“We’re pretty screwed up, huh.”
Dean hummed.
“But maybe—“ you reached out and grabbed Dean’s hand in yours. Not trust, not yet. But something like it. “Maybe we can fix it.”
Dean looked down at your little hand holding his.
Yeah. Maybe you could.
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