Anonymous: Hello darling can you write a castiel x reader where the reader is Bobby’s daughter and after fitting a witch she becomes blind. And then she meets Castiel who helps her to translate Bobby’s book to Braille.. And one day she’s alone with Cass and she feels his wings and without hesitating she touches Cass wings and he’s like all confused because no one can see them. After touching Cass wings the reader sees the aura of the things so in part she can see. Idk if make sense. Thank you c:
Warnings: Coping Blind.
Word Count: 3311
Pairings: Eventual Cas x Reader
A/N: Castiel is in this part finally!! I’m thinking it’ll be a 6parter, but thats not for certain yet. Tell me what you think :D
I need more requests. If you have any ideas for Team Free Will x Reader stories, SEND ME A MESSAGE.
PART 1 PART 2 PART 3
As soon as you were able to, you made it back home to your father, moving back in and settling in to help each other mourn. It was difficult, but you couldn’t argue that it was refreshing to be back in familiar surroundings, with your dad’s voice echoing through the house, rather than some strange professor or tutor. You were even allowed to help your dad on a few minor hunts –a few minor demons, it was exhilarating knowing that you were able to do it again after so many years.
It was turning in to a hot, sticky summer. The dust of the yard often making its way in to the house, forcing Bobby to grumble every morning as he had to sweep the sand up again. You were out in the yard, working on hitting a target with a gun – a risky business. You could just about hear where the target was, but it was fleshing it out – putting it in to perspective. You’d gotten better over the months, with your dad helping, but you still weren’t up to par yet.
It after emptying the rounds of the gun that you heard voices from inside the house. Knowing that you weren’t expecting visitors, you made your way in to the house cautiously, having memorised the way back and forth with accuracy and precision – you didn’t need to make a sound.
You recognised that voice. You knew that tone.
It was impossible.
“Dad,” You said loudly, announcing your presence in the room, “What’s going on?” Your voice was shaking, “It’s not possible.”
“Y/N, I’ve tested. It’s him.”
“I promised,” Dean said simply, stepping towards you slowly, not sure how you’d react.
You waited until he was close enough before you punched his shoulder. You didn’t give him any time to complain though, as you immediately dragged him in to a hug after, gripping him tight, afraid that he’d disappear again.
“What was that for?” he muttered in to the hug, burying his face in to your shoulder.
“For leaving in the first place.”
You didn’t join Dean or your father as they went knocking for Sam, you knew it could only be an emotional, or an aggressive encounter, and you would prefer to stay out of it. It wasn’t long, however, that Bobby returned without Dean and announced that they were going to pay a visit to Pamela.
You heard the deep rev of the Impala and you couldn’t help the smile that spread across your face.
____
Sam led you through Pamelas house to help you get through the unfamiliar surroundings quickly and with ease. It seemed kind of farfetched for you to be visiting a psychic about whatever dragged Dean from the pit – almost dangerous. It was surely powerful, and you thought summoning it was probably not the brightest plan – but you were overruled.
You all sat around a circular table and instructed to hold hands. You were next to Bobby and Sam, and gripped their hands tightly in anticipation. You heard Pamela begin to chant, her voice assertive and strong.
It was weird. You felt you hair lift around you, you heard nothing but wind.
Then it happened. A flash, a minuscule second of something.
You saw something for the first time in five years. You saw a colour. A flash of blue in front of your eyelids. For the first time in five years, you saw something other than darkness.
An excited, breathy laugh escaped your throat, your grip tightened on the hands of those beside you, but nobody seemed to notice your sudden euphoria. They were all focused on Pamela, trying to keep her from glimpsing at it – it seemed dangerous to them.
It was only seconds after that you learnt why.
Her deafening scream overtook your senses, and the shouts of those around you immediately brought you down from your high – something had happened to Pamela.
Bobby and Sam let go of your hands and ran to where she had been sitting. You immediately brought yours fingers to your eyes, making sure they were closed, pawing at the socket to try get any semblance of colour. A small whimper escaped your throat as it soon became clear that the colour wasn’t coming back. You were thrown back in to darkness.
It was then that you heard the unmistakable whimper of fear and pain from Pamela, “I can’t see.” It was suddenly very clear that this thing was powerful.
___
“What do you mean you saw something?”
You were sat in a diner with Sam and Dean, waiting on news on Pamela from your father – who was looking after her. “I mean,” You started, “There was this flash, right before Pamela…” she veered off, “Anyway, I saw a colour. I saw blue. Guys, I saw colour for the first time in five years.”
“And you think it’s because of this thing?”
“Is there any other explanation?”
“I suppose not. Just, don’t get your hopes up Y/N. This thing could be an evil son of bitch, I don’t think it could help.”
“I know that,” you said dejected, “you just have no idea what it’s like to actually see something, even for a second.”
They didn’t reply, the silence was only broken as Sam’s phone rang, and he excused himself from the table, “It’s Bobby.”
You nodded in response, hearing as his footsteps lead outside, leaving you and Dean alone to talk.
You could tell he was trying to get words out, to think of something to say about your excitement of seeing colour for the first time in a long time, so you thought you’d help him out, “I’m not going to start pitying myself again.”
He hummed in response, caught off guard by your bluntness.
“I’m used to it now, it’s a part of my life and it can actually be quite useful at time. You just – you wouldn’t understand. It’s like just seeing that one flash has sparked my memory now. I remember images that I thought were long gone from my memory.”
“I do understand, Y/N.” He paused, “I just, don’t want you to depend on this being a regular thing. Whatever it is, it might be something we don’t want around.”
“It saved you from Hell, Dean. It can’t be all that bad.”
He didn’t respond. Much like his usual reaction when someone mention his whereabouts of the past 4 months. You understood, and you were there for him when or if he ever needed to talk. You just refused to believe that this thing, whatever it was, was inherently evil.
___
Are You There God It’s Me, Dean Winchester.
“Angels?” You grinned when you heard, letting out an erratic laugh, “I told you it wasn’t evil!” You pointed in the general direction of where Dean was pacing, a smirk resting on your face.
“It’s not Angels, Y/N”
“Well then tell me what else it could have been.” Sam’s voice raised, his frustration evident at his brother’s determination.
“Look all I know is I was not groped by an angel.”
You stood up, leaving the brothers to bicker, and made your way towards your dad, who had been diligently flicking through bibles, ancient lore and basically anything he could find on angels.
“How’s it going?”
He didn’t seem to hear you, instead, as you heard his finger run across a page, he shouted into the dining “You two chuckleheads want to keep arguing religion, or do you want to come take a look at this?”
It seemed that the only thing powerful enough to pull Dean from hell was an angel. The smile on your face kept growing. The thing that popped the beautiful shade of blue in your eyes was an angel. It was something good. Something that you could help but keep your hopes up about.
There was something good in this world which only seemed to be surrounded by darkness anymore.
__
“Y/N”
You followed the sound of your dad’s voice, tiptoeing towards the heavy creaks of his each step. The lights had started flickering in the house, the electricity buzzing on and off. The temperature dropping to an ice cold, and your breath echoing out in front of you. A salt gun wrapped in its strap around your front, keeping you from dropping it., you whispered a “dad” as you neared him, he pulled you behind him and he lead you towards the ominous giggling that sounded around the house.
“You armed?” he asked as his head darted back and forth from each indication of a ghostly presence.
“And loaded,” you whispered back, following his every move.
“They want me, Y/N.” he said quietly, “Go downstairs and shut yourself in the panic room –“
“Dad, I’m not going to leave you alone.”
“Just -,” he cut himself off, “please. I’ll be down soon. Shoot anything that moves down there.”
You nodded, extracting yourself from your fathers grip and heading down to the basement, not noticing the cool which seemed to follow you. You reached out to open the door, turning the wheel with effort, when a high pitched scream echoed around you, forcing you to grip your ears in shock. You felt yourself get thrown back and crash into the shelves that held an array of paint tins, welding tools and debris, making it fall all around you.
“Poor Y/N” The voice seemed to come from every direction, you pulled the gun to your front, unlatching the safety and holding it out in front of you. “I would feel bad for pushing around a blind girl, but after all, you didn’t help me. Why should I help you?”
The voice gained clarity, becoming sharper as it seemed to get closer. It was familiar, and that’s what seemed to worry you. “Ava Michaels?”
“Ah, so you remember your first death, and here I though a night of drinking was all it took for you to get over watching me die.”
“It wasn’t my fault,” your voice shook as you felt the air around you thicken with ice, “that vampire was too fast.”
“Was it too fast? Or were you too scared to get it when you had the chance. Idiot Y/N thought it might have a conscience.”
You felt a hand slap you across the face, but it became clear in this instance that the ghost was right in front of you, if you could just get one clear shot –
“If you killed it when you had your first hunch, then maybe I wouldn’t be here. Maybe I wouldn’t have to kill you.”
She continued to punch you, each hit getting harder as her body became more corporal.
“Bobby,” the faintest of whispers travelled from upstairs, distracting the ghost for the smallest of moments, giving you the opportunity to pull the trigger and shoot it in the chest. You wasted no time, heaving yourself up and pulling the door of the panic room open, using all of your weight to shut it behind yourself.
When all you heard was quiet coming from behind the door, the sound of the giant fan above you spinning, letting air travel through, you let yourself breath. The hunters were being hunted by the ones they had failed. What the hell was going on?
___
You could hear footsteps coming down to the basement, the grip on your gun tightened as they got closer. It wasn’t until you heard the unmistakable gruff of your dad’s voice that you relaxed, setting the gun down next to you and leaning back against the wall from your perch on the bed.
The door groaned open and Bobby led the brothers into the room, flicking on the light switch behind them, they didn’t seem to register you at first, taking in the sight of your dad’s hard work.
“Bobby is this…?”
Bobby interrupted Sam, his voice thick with pride, “Solid iron, completely coated in salt. 100% ghost-proof.”
“You built a panic room?”
“I had a weekend off.”
“When do you not,” you commented from your perch, finally bringing your dad’s attention.
“What beat you up?”
“Ava Michaels.” You replied steadily, letting him look over the grazes on your face.
“Did you get her?”
“Salt round through the chest.” You said with a proud grin plastered across your face.
“’Atta girl.”
The Winchesters set about making salt rounds, while your dad explained the predicament, and what clues they had got so far.
“There seems to be a symbol branded onto the ghosts. Circular, with a cross and some other curves inside.”
“That’s not really going to help, dad.” You grumbled, “Go over the drawing, and push down this time.”
Your dad did as you said, his pencil making a rough noise as he pushed down further into the pad of paper. He pushed it over to you, and you felt the indentation, running your finger over the marks. You turned over the paper and felt the symbol on the opposite side, where the marks stood out.
“I’ve seen this before, I’m sure of it,” you muttered to yourself.
“I had that feeling too,” Bobby grumbled, pulling over the pile of books on the desk, and flicking through them.
“Have you tried that book you got in scripture? Black cover, worn down, looks like a school binder.”
Bobby pulled out a book from the pile and flicked through, noting the symbol down the side of each page. It didn’t take long before a match came up and he smacked your back in enthusiasm. “Brilliant, Y/N”
“We’ve found it,” he called out to the boys, “the symbol you saw – the brand on the ghosts… Mark of the Witness.”
____
The hunters getting hunted was apparently a milestone. An indication that the apocalypse was starting, and the only way to help with the witnesses was a spell cast over an open fire place.
Loading the guns with the salt rounds that had just been freshly made, Dean handed you back the one you were carrying with a light squeeze on the shoulder for luck.
“Cover eachother, and aim careful. Don’t run out of ammo until I’m done, or they’ll shred you.”
Sam voice sounded wary when he next spoke, not as certain as your dad seemed to be, “Should Y/N really be here if she can’t –“
“She’s fine.” Your dad replied fiercely, “Ready?”
The door opened and you shook your head, focusing your senses and you listened out for any danger.
You felt the cold before the others it seemed, and cocked your gun in anticipation, “on the stairs,” you whispered, able to feel the drop with each passing step.
“Hey Dean, remember me?”
Dean replied, his voice firm and emotionless. But the ghost was cut off by a gun going off from your Dad’s direction. “If you’re going to shoot, shoot. Don’t talk.”
The boys spread a salt line around you, while your dad laid out the spell and you lit the fire ready for the spell. Bobby ordered the boy’s to get the ingredients, while you stood in anticipation, readying your gun for the immanent ghosts.
“Bobby?” A little girl’s voice said. Your dad’s breath hitched as the voice came, and you immediately turned and shot.
“Thanks,” he muttered, turning back to the spell and preparing the ingredients he already had.
Shots were ringing out from upstairs, and the kitchen before the boys returned with the ingredients necessary. Sam and Dean reloaded their guns, taking refuge beside you in the salt line.
Wind filtered through the window which had just slammed open, and sudden you could feel cold spots everywhere. You aimed your next bullet getting one, reloading as quickly as you could as the boys shot around you.
You could tell you were running out of bullets, the panicked breath of everyone around you gaining. The salt line was broken and the strangled gasp of your father brought fear down your spine as you spun around and shot in that direction, effectively getting the ghost as Dean threw the ingredients into the open fire and banishing the ghosts from their uprising.
No one said anything as they each got their breaths, eyes darting around as they looked for more danger, hairs on your arms standing up on end in adrenaline. It’d been a while since you’ve done that.
___
The house was too quiet. After the chaos and shouting of the day, dealing with the witnesses at your first proper hunt back on the job since you’d lost your sight, the quiet was keeping you up. You heard the soft snores from your Dad’s room, but it seemed to be the only noise.
Slowly, you crept downstairs, knowing that Sam and Dean were in the living room, asleep on the sofa and floor. You clicked as quietly as you could, avoiding the sleeping form on the floor and made your way carefully in the kitchen. You got a glass from the counter – set out to make it easier for you to reach by yourself. You filled it up with water from the tap and proceeded to lean against the counter, sipping it slowly and just listening. Discovering new sounds every time you put focus on hearing.
A flash of blue shone in your eyes. The familiar, and only colour, you had seen, and you knew what it was immediately. You jumped only slightly at the entrance, spilling water over your bare feet, but the angel didn’t make a noise, nor indication that he was actually here.
“Dean,” You whispered firmly, moving your hands to the counter so that you could safely put the glass down.
Dean grumbled from his spot of the floor.
“Dean?” You repeated.
He lifted his head slightly from his makeshift pillow, the sound of his hair on the material signalling that you had his attention, “What is it, Y/N?”
“Your angel is here.” You said simply, tapping around on the drawers to find a towel, so you could dry up your spillage.
“Wha-”
It was then that you heard the flutter of wings that indicated his arrival to Dean – the first sound you had heard from the angel. “How did you know I was present? I wasn’t visible to human sight.” His voice was gruff, low and demanding. He gave of waves of superiority, so you knew that the truth would have to suffice.
“I saw a flash of blue – it happened at Pamela’s when you arrived.” You shrugged, “I just assumed.”
Castiel muttered “Interesting,” to himself in a lower decibel. He was just to your left, next to the sink you had gotten water from. You heard Dean pad slowly in to the kitchen, remaining cautious. You continued to tap around for the towel and eventually reached it, being slow in your flustered state. You were speaking to an angel! You then slowly tried to make your way back to where you were sure you had spilled the water.
“What are you doing?” Dean sighed, his voice tired.
You turned to his voice, holding up the towel to show him, “I spilled my water.”
You heard Dean move, and he carefully pried the towel from your hands, “Don’t worry, I’ve got it.”
“I’ll just – uh, leave you alone then.” You said slowly, turning and clicking quietly so you wouldn’t wake up Sam who was sleeping on the sofa. You almost ran in to Dean’s sleeping bag, but heard the change at the last minute, putting your foot out to feel for it, then stepping around slowly, reaching for the stair banister.
“Why is she clicking?”
“Y/N is blind.” Dean explained, exasperated. “It’s how she gets around.”
There was a pause before you heard Castiel say, “Excellent job with the witnesses” Then there was silence from downstairs. You could only assume that Castiel had somehow muted their conversation from your hearing.
Anonymous: Hello darling can you write a castiel x reader where the reader is Bobby’s daughter and after fitting a witch she becomes blind. And then she meets Castiel who helps her to translate Bobby’s book to Braille.. And one day she’s alone with Cass and she feels his wings and without hesitating she touches Cass wings and he’s like all confused because no one can see them. After touching Cass wings the reader sees the aura of the things so in part she can see. Idk if make sense. Thank you c:
Warnings: Self-hatred. Coping Blind. Mention of death. Swearing
Word Count: 4108
Pairings: Eventual Cas x Reader
A/N: Hi. I’m back. Sorry that it’s taken so long, but I have part 4 written and i know how I’m going about this story now. Castiel won’t enter in to the story until part 4, but then it should go pretty quickly from there. Each part here is written with each episode title before Dean goes to hell.
I need more requests. If you have any ideas for Team Free Will x Reader stories, send me a message.
PART 1 PART 2
Dream a Little Dream of Me
You learnt something new there every day. They started by asking what you missed most about being able to see. Of course you said reading – reading the many books your Dad had in his collection. But, you had also said that you missed being able to defend yourself. You had made up some story about taking classes – which was kind of true as your dad had taught you how to fight, but you were curious as to what they would do with this information.
You were pleasantly surprised.
They taught you, step by step, lesson by lesson, how to read Braille. Giving you the alphabet to familiarise yourself with, before giving you sentences, paragraphs, chapters and eventually books. You were able to read again independently within 4 months, with lessons daily it really started to make you feel whole again.
Not only that, but the school had noticed your unique ability to get around – it was common for children who were blind from birth, but having only learnt the technique a few short months after being blinded, they were curious. They therefore arranged for your second wish to be granted.
It was a lot harder than you originally thought it'd be. Starting off slow, you had to listen out for you attacker, throwing out punches from your stomach in order to hit their mid-section. It got a lot more intense and difficult as time went on, but exhilarating none the less. You soon were able to distinguish the sound of a punch being swung by listening to the air surrounding it. You found that if you kept up a constant click, you could almost see the person moving. The vibrations of the noise hitting their body, their movements, and quickly registering in your mind.
You instructor was very impressed. Your dad, not so much. The conversation would always go the same:
“You were meant to go there to be quiet and learn to read again. Be scholarly.”
You would only laugh at his complaints and weak grumbles, “But I’m learning to be a kick-ass blind ninja, isn't that better?”
“Most people would take blindness to be their ticket out of hunting.”
“I think we've established I am not most people Dad.”
He would always agree, laughing on the end of the phone before he'd update you on the next hunt, or goings on around the apparently apocalyptic world.
Then he would always end the conversation with a soft “Stay safe,” before you'd both hang up and carry on about your day.
It was normal, routine, and the only thing that really kept you sane and fighting at the school. The idea that you might once again be of use to your infamous father and surrogate brothers, that's what made you ready each day to learn something new that you could achieve in your blindness. Those phone calls.
So it's why, at one o'clock in the morning, the room cooling as the night grew on, the phone sat in front of you, that you remained awake. Your knees up by your chest, your hands clutching them tightly in an embrace – he'd always call... always.
You began to panic, your hands gripping tightly on to whatever material you could find, your nails digging in to the fibres as some kind of comfort to your speeding heartbeat, the cold sweat and your muscles shaking. You couldn't even get up to pace, not knowing the room well enough, and your mind too erratic to consider processing any noise, and clicking.
You had to remain seated on the bed, gently rocking as angry tears rolled down your cheeks – if he had just forgotten, you were going to kill him.
It was five minutes later when the unmistakable sound of your phone rang through the room, you picked it up immediately, clutched the receiver to your ear and said the customary greeting.
“Hello? Is this Y/N Singer?”
You deliberated, drawing out a slow, “Yes.”
“Hi, This is Ohio Valley General Hospital, in Pittsburgh.” Your heart stopped, “We have a Robert Steven Singer in our care, and you're listed as his emergency contact.”
“What's happened?” Your voice was quiet, almost defeated as you asked.
“He has slipped in to a comatose state, it is probably best that you get here right away.”
You nodded your head silently, “Thankyou,”
They hung up and you just sat there, left speechless and in shock.
“No, no, no, no” You repeated, throwing your feet of the edge of the bed, your hands in your hair and pacing back and forth. You kept bumping in to furniture, hitting your legs against the obstacles around the room, walking in to corners, making your panic rise and the slow feeling of being out of control overtaking you.
Bumping finally in to the bed, your knees crumbled beneath you and you patted the bed carefully, looking for the phone you had abandoned. You wouldn't be able to get there in time, but you knew who could.
“Dean?”
“Y/N, what is it? What's wrong?”
“Dad's in hospital, they just rang me, he's in a coma. Dean, I don't know what to do I -” Your breathing began to get erratic, your heart racing and a whimper escaping your throat as you thought about how helpless you were at that moment.
“Calm down, Y/N. Breath,” His words were elongated, soothing as he spoke. “Where is he?”
“Ohio Valley General Hospital, Pittsburgh.” You answered automatically.
“Okay, We'll go down there immediately. You just get back here when you can and we'll meet you – take you to him. Calm down, we'll find out what’s going on.”
You nodded silently, controlling your breathing and finally feeling the bruises you had made on your skin from the amount of things you paced in to. “Thankyou.”
“Don't mention it, Y/N. Just get here safe, okay?”
___
It took a day for you to get a ticket to Pittsburgh, in that day, you had Sam calling you, telling you that it was something Supernatural going on, but they'd try their best to figure it out. You told them the time you'd be landing, and they promised to pick you up from the airport.
“Hopefully we'll have everything sorted out by then,”
“Thanks Sammy.”
“Anytime Y/N.”
You had to have someone come with you through the airport. It was always so busy and loud – you had no chance of making it through the terminal by yourself. The school assigned you a carer for the trip, they'd come with you to Pittsburgh, and as soon as Sam and Dean pick you up, they'd be on their way back – it was a customary precaution.
You had apologised to them for not being that talkative, but they understood completely, leading you carefully through the bustling people after you had gotten your ticket. They made sure to get you a seat close to the gate you'd be boarding, so that you wouldn't have far to go – not that it mattered, considering you had priority seating.
The over head speaker called your flight, and your carer carefully took your elbow and hand and lead you to the front, where you handed in your tickets and was then guided through the long hallways to the entrance of the flight.
The feeling of helplessness just kept washing over you. The fact that you had to have someone guide you everywhere when you were needed the most for your father; well, it hit you down a few notches.
You had thought with learning how to be more independent at the school, that it'd be easier, that you wouldn't feel so fragile, that you could actually help.
Yet, there you were, your father in a coma, one of your (may-as-well-be) brothers only a few months away from hell and the other consumed by guilt and driving himself crazy with research. And the only thing you could do was be a nuisance, get a lot of bruises and cuts on your ankles from walking erratically into sharp corners in your panic and need someone to escort you to another person’s awaiting hands.
You were useless.
You couldn't even find your own luggage without help.
The carer led you to the waiting area, asking who was picking you up, but it was unnecessarily because the loud shout of your name over the top of everyone's heads told you that they were there.
You chuckled as you heard their footsteps approach you through the still crowd, their constant “Excuse me,” and “Sorry,” showed their clear path towards you before you finally felt the tight, spinning hug of Sam Winchester. You smiled in to his hug before he let you go, placing you carefully on the floor. Dean gave you a simple side hug, muttering in to your ear “He's fine. But we might need your help,” so that your carer couldn't hear. You nodded in acknowledgement before thanking the person who had escorted you here, telling them that you'd contact the school when you felt ready to return.
Sam took your bag from your grip, and Dean kept an arm around you as he carefully led you out of the airport. He was a lot more discrete than the carer – which you appreciatively greatly.
It was only in the car that you heard the full story.
“So this guy is controlling people through their dreams,”
“Seems like it,” Sam replied from the front of the car, papers rustling as he was going through his notes.
“And you drank the beer he offered you, Dean. Seriously?”
“Hey now!” He complained, “I thought he was a stoner. Not my fault.”
“Yeah, like that's an excuse.”
“Have any idea what we can do, Y/N?” Sam interrupted, but a smile in his voice at your casual teasing.
“Well, I don't know how you're meant to find him. But if he's using fear to keep you in the dreams, it seems like he needs a taste of his own medicine.”
They took you back to the motel room that they were staying in. Inside was you dad – who you immediately pulled in to a hug, and a woman you had heard a lot about: Bela Talbot. She greeted you casually, before turning back to whatever she was working on.
While Bela and the boys argued over each others stupidity, your dad led you to the other side of the room so that he could greet the daughter he hadn't seen properly in 5 and a half months. He kissed the top of your head as you hugged him again, the familiar smell comforting you.
“You didn't have to come here, Y/N.”
“I thought you were in a coma, dad. Of course I did.”
“But aren't you going to miss your lessons on how to be – what did you call it, a kick-ass blind ninja.”
“Nah, I think my instructor needed a rest from all the beatings he was getting anyway,”
He chuckled at that, the faint sound of his rubbing his hand over his beard as he spoke to you made you smile slightly at his habit.
“I've missed you, Y/N.”
“Missed you too, dad.”
It was two days later, and they still hadn't found anything to help. Dean was getting desperate, having gone without sleep for 48+ hours and you could tell the tensions were high. Bela read tarot cards, keeping an eye out for the guy you were trying to track down. She spoke to you occasionally over the two days, but really you thought she might have been feeling slightly awkward speaking to you. Many people did, as you never knew where you were looking, you often couldn't make eye contact – and you had found that that had often troubled a lot of people in the past. You didn't blame her, of course, but as long as she was helping – you didn't really mind.
Your dad was calling his contacts, trying to find a location spell of some kind, or even just getting the word out who you were looking for. He would occasionally give you the title of a book he remembered from your library, allowing you to search you memory and establish if there was anything useful in them. Nine times out of ten there wasn't.
The night was wearing thin, and you knew that neither brothers would be able to stay up much longer. You were right. You had a long couple of hours of radio silence from the two of them. Your dad trying to desperately ring every number that he knew of the boys, but with no success. He grumbled miserably, throwing his phone on to one of the beds, muttering a frustrated “Idjits.”
“Dad, don't worry.”
“How can I not worry, they've gone willingly in to a world where that psycho is god.”
“Because I told Sam that he needs to fight fire with fire. They'll find a way out of there, they always do.”
It didn't stop him from fretting. You knew that it wouldn't, but you were also certain that Sam and Dean Winchester were not going to be taken down by a kid who couldn't dream. It was only after Sam rang Bobby back, saying that they were fine, well, and on their way to the motel, that he actually believed you.
___
Sam and your dad had gone out to get some supplies and some 'healthy' food as Sam put it before you all went your separate ways again. You exited the bathroom of the motel slowly, clicking your way through the foreign place, assessing and readjusting to fit whatever vibrations bounced back towards you.
“Hey, Y/N, you seen Bela? She's not in her room.” It was Dean, he was facing the desk as you entered, and from the sound of it, he was checking his guns, making sure that the ammo he needed was present.
“No,” You replied, “I went out for a coffee earlier, and she was still here. Don't know where she is now,”
He must have nodded, because he was quiet for a while before a fumbled, “Yeah, okay.” Came quickly out of his mouth. It happened a lot around you, people often forgetting that you didn't get their silent communication. You made your way carefully towards one of the beds, sitting on the edge and looking in the direction of Dean.
“So how are you doing, Dean?”
He sighed, moving to sit next to you, “I suppose you don't mean generally.”
You shook your head, remaining silent as he considered whether or not he'd actually want to admit anything to you. “Well,” he started, “Sam is killing himself trying to find a way out of it. As is your dad, come to think of it.”
“And you?”
“I don't know.” He paused, sighing and leaning further forwards, forcing the weight of the bed to change. “I'm scared, Y/N.”
You didn't know what to say to that, you reached out slowly, carefully, reaching for his hand. He saw what you were doing and helped you out, placing his hand in yours and allowing you to cradle it comfortingly.
“I... I of course want them to find a way, but part of the deal was that I couldn't get out of it. And -” He cut himself off, squeezing tightly on to your hands, as if he was afraid you were going to disappear, “And I don't want to die, Y/N. But I don't want Sammy to go either.”
There wasn't really anything you could say. You guided him to your side, placing a hand around his back and rubbing soothing circles in to his shoulders, “They'll find a way,” You muttered, more as a reassurance to yourself then to him. You weren't sure if he believed you. You weren't sure if you even believed yourself. However, for now, that was all that could be said. “I can't believe that you have to be taken. After all the good, you have to be taken... If I could trade places with you Dean, I would in a heartbeat.”
“Don't you dare,” He growled, but it didn't defer you.
“They take you, who helps the world in it's darkest times, and leave me, who can't even see the world when it's light.”
He pulled you in to a hug as you said that, squeezing your back so tight you thought your ribs might break. “Don't you ever think that Y/N. Ever.” He said in to you shoulder, “You may think that you are useless, that you are a burden – I know the feeling Y/N, I do. But trust me, you are far from it.”
“Dean-”
“No, let me finish.” he pulled back, his hands on your shoulders so that you knew you were facing him, “The way you were before this,” he was referring to your blindness, “You were amazing. Researching and remembering books like you were a fucking library. Able to beat up any living creature, or dead one, to a pulp. And damn did you know how to make a good pie,” you laughed at that, “But after. After, Y/N, you're even better. The way you coped with what you were handed is just so incredible and inspiring. Everyone just feels so much better around you, like a weight is off their shoulders. You keep everyone feeling light. When you couldn't cook, you taught me to. When you couldn't read, you showed Sammy how to research quicker. And I've heard you're still a badass fighter.” He paused, gauging your reaction. “You are not worthless, and your life in no way matches mine. Your soul is strong, and it definitely should not be traded for mine.”
You didn't say anything for a while, just pulling him back in to a hug after a few failed attempts at reaching for him. “If i'm not allowed to be worthless, then you better fucking believe that you aren't either.”
“Deal.” He said, kissing the top of your head in brotherly affection.
“Deal.” You repeated.
___
No Rest for the Wicked
It was four and a half months later when you last spoke to Dean.
You knew you wouldn't get any sleep that night. They were meant to keep you updates, they were meant to tell you whether or not their plan worked. But of course, again, you were out of the loop. Sat in your room, back at the school, completing the last few weeks of your programme, the phone sat in front of you, a blanket tied tightly around your shoulders and the soft music from the radio keeping you awake and alert.
The night before his last day.
Your phone rang and you jumped on it immediately, fumbling with the receiver as rushing out a quick and erratic “Hello?”
“Hey Y/N.” He sounded low, sad, like he'd given up.
“Dean?” You knew it was him, his voice was the easiest to recognise out of the lot of them, and right now, he sounded defeated, “They couldn't find a way.” You said it as a statement, knowing purely from his fatigue.
“Afraid not,”
You stifled back a sob, trying to remain calm for Dean, but of course, he could tell.
“Hey now, don't do that. I just wanted to say my goodbyes while I still can.” He chuckled, reverting back to his usual self – trying to make a joke out of everything.
“I knew I should have come back, I knew I should have-”
“No. No you definitely shouldn't have. Y/N, you have no idea the amount of crazy crap which is going on down here. You are a lot safer up there, and I know that your dad rests easier at night knowing that you're not at the centre of it.”
“Doesn't mean I like it,”
“Never thought you would.” He paused for a second, and you could hear the smile in his voice as he said, “You never have backed down from a challenge.”
There was a comfortable silence and you smiled at his compliment, not too sure what to say when you knew that this might be the last time you hear his voice. “I just wanted to say that I'm sorry,”
“What do you mean Dean?”
“I uh. I'm sorry that my Dad dragged you in to that hunt.”
“Dean-”
“He hated himself for it. Until the end he regretted it. That you had lost something that you didn't even realise you cherished until it was gone because of him. He always told me to appreciate everything I had after that night. Completely understood Bobby's reaction mind you -”
“It wasn't his fault, Dean.”
“Hm?”
“I was the only one who knew the incantation. It wasn't his fault, but I suppose that's the Winchester way – taking the guilt of the world.”
There was a pause. Dean was breathing heavily, he must have shut himself away for this conversation, because the sudden break in his voice brought a sob you'd been holding back, “I'm scared, Y/N.”
Tears were falling freely down your face, your hands wrapped around your legs and you gripped hard against them, trying to force some kind of comfort through your body, trying to convince yourself that you were with Dean, and you were hugging him in comfort. “Me to.” You finally admitted, your eyes sore and dry. “Just – Dean, please just be strong. Know that no matter what you might have thought, your life means something, and will always mean something to so many people in this world. You're not worthless and my world is going to become a lot darker than it already is without my big brother, around to comfort me.”
You could hear his breathing become heavier, a whimper that you never thought you'd hear escaped his throat, forcing one from yours too.
You both remained on the phone throughout the night, trying to comfort one another, wishing you were there. You were his litter sister and he was your big brother. It was the hardest thing to even consider hanging up the phone to him and never hearing his voice again. So instead, you both spoke until your voices were hoarse, until dawn had risen and his last day had begun. Reminiscing about growing up together, and occasionally laughing when the conversation called for it.
There was a comfortable silence over the phone for a while, and you both knew that you'd have to hang up. “Dean,” you said eventually.
He hummed in response.
“I'm going to miss you.”
You heard him sigh. He readjusted the phone and spoke for the last time to you. “I'm going to miss you too, Y/N. Just, please remember everything I said back in Pittsburgh. You are not worthless, and if you ever think that then I’m going to drag myself out of the pit and talk some sense back in to you – I mean it.”
You laughed through the tears, “Promise?”
“I promise.” He paused, “See you later, Y/N.”
“See you,” you replied as the ringing tone rang through the receiver – signalling the end of the conversation. You were glad that you didn't have to say goodbye, that neither of you even mentioned the word. You weren't sure if you could have dealt with that.
___
You got the news at 1:30 the next morning. Your dad rang, with the unmistakable sound of Sam sobbing over on his side. It broke your heart all over again.
You didn't really believe it until you were standing in front of the grave that Bobby had dug. Sam clung to you as you all threw dirt on to Dean's coffin, shielding his body from the world, saying whatever words you could get out in a small ceremony for closure.
Bobby had to leave soon after, returning to his truck to get a few minutes of peace – to mourn. You felt Sam's grip lesson, his body had stopped shaking from held in tears and he walked slowly to kneel in front of the grave. The fresh dirt sounding off to your ears compared to the dryness of the grass surrounding it. “I'll see you again, brother.” You heard Sam whisper to the makeshift cross that had been made to mark his resting place. You could hear determination in his words, and somehow knew that he would stop at nothing to be reunited his Dean again, whether in this world, or the next.
But the only thing which echoed through your mind as Sam grabbed your hand again, slowly leading you away from the resting place, was Dean's last words to you.
but I’m back, and I’m trying to get back into the groove of writing again. I will upload the next part of Ghosts that We Knew tonight and I am once again taking requests.
Sorry for the wait, and thankyou to all of those who followed since I’ve been gone and keeping my activity going. I really appreciate it!
#I love how Sam is just like #Dean #you are dumb #shut your face #I know that you’re jealous of this special relationship that I have with my salad #and I’m sorry #but unlike someone I could name who drinks too much beer and has a habit of dying #I actually value my health #and I can’t rely on a pretty-boy angel to drag me back up every time I go to hell #so #I don’t know #go fuck the Impala’s exhaust pipe or something #gosh Dean
