Lost - Part 6
Lost Masterlist
Pairing: Dean x Reader
Summary: You’re kidnapped by a monster and locked in a windowless cell. The problem is, Dean thinks you left him because you found out how he feels about you. Will he even realise that you’re in danger?
Triggers: Kidnapping, Confinement/Confined space, Starvation, Dehydration, Pain, Slowly dying, Heartbreak, MIA, Angst, guilt, betrayal, threats, mental torture.
Y/N = Your Name | Y/L/N = Your Last Name | Y/E/C = Your Eye Colour
Start Here | Last Part | Next Part
Dean: “Let me go!” Your voice echoed against the walls of the dungeon, underlined by the useless rattle of chains as you tried to tear yourself loose. You’d been screaming at him; cursing him. The normally soft cadence of your voice was raw and broken as you spat death wishes and vitriol his way. No, not you…
Damn it. He needed to stop thinking of that fucking monster as you. It didn’t matter that the shapeshifter was wearing your face. That thing, was nothing like you. Still, though he logically knew it wasn’t you, his heart still broke, thinking it was you chained to that chair.
It was just so damned hard, to not fall back into the foolish fantasy of you having come back to him. Just like it had been after Sam had pulled him aside right after that monster went out on its ‘shopping trip’.
The shapeshifter wore your face, had your beautiful (Y/E/C) eyes, and the same slight curve to perfectly plump lips. She looked like you, down to the smallest detail. She’d copied every little small miracle that Dean had marvelled in when he first discovered them; like how the light reflected in your eyes and warmed the very air around him.
Even if those same eyes that Dean had spent countless night dreaming of were now staring defiantly up at Sam and him. Burning with unbridled hatred that he’d never expected seeing in your eyes. At least not past nightmares of you rejecting everything about the broken man that was Dean Winchester.
It wasn’t you. Even if the less logical part of him still sent alarm bells ringing in his ears. Forcing his heart to squeeze painfully every time that monster struggled against the chains that kept her locked to the chair. It was your body, or at least a cheap imitation of it, but that was just physical.
You were more than just that. You were light and fire, soft words and hard as steel power. You had the biggest heart and the strongest will of anyone he’d ever known. The (Y/N) that Dean had fallen in love with was nothing like the shapeshifter currently struggling against her chains in front of him. Where that monster was a cold expanse of empty maybes, you were an endless promise of a better world. You were worth fighting for. That… Thing was just wearing a body that looked like yours, in an attempt to tempt his body to act without his heart.
It was the middle of the night, and even after over 24 hours awake, Dean was buzzing. He had been since Sam informed him that the whole hunt premise was just a fake lure. Just a way for the younger Winchester to test the weak doubts that had been forming in his mind, just like they had been in Dean’s. Sammy always had a good head on his shoulders.
While Dean had been fooling himself with some fake daydream, Sam had been busy putting two and two together. Seeing all the little hints where Dean had just been too lost in his own jumbled mind to connect the dots. Hell, who was he kidding? He’d blinded himself, refused to see the truth. After all, it wasn’t hard to see the signs now that the rose-coloured fog had lifted from his eyes.
Her attitude had been all wrong; you were never that cold or flippant. Even when angry, you ran hot. You didn’t smile with that calculated sharp edge or laugh without that beautifully brilliant bright thrill seeping through each small sound and saturating it in warmth and comfort. When it was you, every single smile and laugh would flood Dean’s senses and leaving him in blissful comfort. Yet, hers had only made him shiver; sounding wrong and fake where yours were always genuine, even when you didn’t feel like smiling and laughing; because you did so out of love. Worried you’d hurt Sam and him, if you showed any sign of weakness.
Then there was your necklace. You normally always wore a small silver chain around your throat, yet it had been missing since you came back. Dean’s fingers had traced the shape of that same bare neck multiple times, yet he hadn’t noticed. Hell, he hadn’t even questioned it. He’d been too lost in the addictive thrill of feeling your warm skin under his fingertips to remember the delicate chain that you never took off. That necklace meant the world to you, and you’d even told him to keep a fucking eye on it. Calling it your ‘insurance’, a way to prove you were really you, instead of a face full of holy water of a silver blade pushed against your arm.
Sam had noticed though.
Which was why he’d fabricated the hunt, in a vain hope that the shifter would prove his doubts wrong. While Dean was lying in bed reeling over thoughts of a kiss he now regretted with every fiber of his being, Sam had been hard at work. He’d littered the table with every single silver weapon they had. Carefully making sure blades and handles were overlapping, so she couldn’t touch any of them without touching silver.
Yet, she’d avoided every single one of them. Fingers gliding through the air above them before settling on the books instead. It had all been circumstantial at that point, but when paired with the more concrete evidence of the hidden video footage Sam had managed to capture as you sorted through books, it had pretty much been a closed case. When (Y/E/C) eyes flashed bright in the camera’s lens, that had been enough to seal the deal. It was a shapeshifter, wearing your form.
At least it had been enough for Sammy. Dean had been more hesitant at calling the monster out on the scam. Too selfishly worried about his own breaking heart.
He’d just been fooling himself, hoping, that his brother was wrong for once. That you’d just lost the necklace, that the picture was just camera glare and that you’d picked the books because you loved the old tomes so much.
Even when presented with all the fucking evidence, he’d been unwilling to believe you were still lost to him, possibly forever. That the words from the night before… The kiss… That none of it had been you. That the little slice of heaven he’d finally found his way to was as fake and flickering as the light at the end of every tunnel he’d ever faced in his dark and messed up life.
So, even when faced with all of Sam’s evidence and his own doubts… Dean had only half believed what Sam had told him. Still holding onto some hope, just to not deal with the fact that you, the real you, were still gone. So, when he snapped those silver cuffs around your wrists he’d half prayed his little brother had been mistaken. But there was no mistaking the way you’d… She had screamed out in pain as soon as silver touched her skin. Your features twisting in an inhuman snarl as (Y/E/C) eyes darkened unnaturally.
It had been a few hours since Dean shouted for Sam to come help him carry the monster to the dungeon, but he was still struggling to wrap his head around it all. There was just… Too fucking much to deal with. His heart was breaking all over again. Just as it had slowly started to patch itself together after that thing had weaselled its way into the bunker, pretending to be you. And he was angry, furious, as protective rage fought against heartbreak and the nauseous guilt that lay heavy in the pit of his stomach.
There were too many damned voices in his head, too many competing emotions, and he couldn’t claw his way back out. He was drowning. Sinking under a sea of fury, grief, shame and guilt; and there was no safe way back to shore. He’d left you out there alone, somewhere, as he allowed himself to believe that monster.
He’d known something was wrong. But he’d been so fucking selfish. He’d just wanted you to be back with him, to love him like he loved you… He’d wished for it so damn hard that it had made him push aside all his doubts. He should have run the tests. Or at least questioned the you that walked through the door all cold and unfeeling. He should have pushed for answers, he should have…
Instead he’d turned a blind eye to it all. He’d let himself believe everything would work out by some miracle. Instead he’d kissed you. No, her. He’d drowned against skin that looked so painfully like yours but wasn’t. All while you were out there somewhere; lost, scared and alone. Or worse… No.
Gritting his teeth, Dean shook away the dark thoughts that threatened to pull him under and chain him to the concrete floor of the dungeon. He could wallow in self-hatred later, but first he had to save you. You had to be alive. You couldn’t be dead. He wouldn’t be able to go on if your heart had stopped beating while he fooled himself with the hollow, artificial imitation in a shapeshifter’s chest.
“Dean… It’s all a mistake, I…” In front of him, the monster wearing your shape had changed tactics. (Y/E/C) doe eyes big and wet with laughably false tears. Her voice, which sounded exactly like yours, was still enough to pull Dean out of his own spiralling mind as he set his incredulous eyes in her.
Did that damn bitch really think she could talk her way out of this?
Did she think he was so far gone in the fake temptation she’d offered up that he’d fall for whatever little tricks she still thought she had up her sleeve? He wanted to laugh at her. He wanted to scream. Yet, he couldn’t find his voice. It was lost somewhere under the heavy beat of his breaking heart and hard angry breaths pushed through gritted teeth.
“Save it, we know you’re not (Y/N). We know what you are, and the only thing we want to hear from you is where you’re keeping our friend,” Sam spoke up instead, his voice shaking with the same barely contained rage that was bubbling up in Dean’s chest.
“Dean, please. I might not be her, but I could be. And I could be the (Y/N) you want me to be. One that loves you back, who lets you kiss her, and…” The shifter ignored Sam’s words. Keeping her pleading eyes set on Dean as lips that looked so heartbreakingly like yours dripped honeyed poison that made Dean sick to his stomach as they hit him like a punch to his solar plexus. Each pleading word forcing the air out of his lungs and fanning the flames of rage burning through his nerves.
“You’re nothing like (Y/N)! I don’t even want to hear you say her fucking name,” Once he found it again, Dean’s voice exploded out of him. Echoing against the warded walls of the dungeon and recoiling right back into his chest as her sick empty promises broke his already shattered heart and simultaneously helped him find his footing once more.
Was that what that fucking monster thought he wanted? Some weak parody of you that could warm his bed and fool him into thinking you loved him back? Dean felt sick; bile rising in his throat from the thought that he’d almost let himself fall that far. If he hadn’t been so fucking desperate to do things the right way, he could have already… No. He wouldn’t let her mess with his head. He couldn’t let her derail the conversation.
“You’re nothing but a fake imitation. You’re nothing to me. Just looking at you, pretending to be her, makes me sick to my stomach. I never wanted you. Hell, I can barely stand being near you,” He spat, his fingers curled into shaking fists by his side as he took a step closer to the steel chair bolted into the concrete. The anger rolling off of him in waves, palpable enough to make the bitch of a shapeshifter flinch. Her (Y/E/C) eyes finally dropping from where they’d been trying to plead with him as she resumed her useless fight against the chains.
“Please! I can…”
“The only thing you’re going to do. Is tell us where (Y/N) is. Now,” Dean cut off whatever other weak plea she was trying to offer up. She was wasting her time, and theirs. If you were still… No, you were alive. You had to be. But you were locked up somewhere, and Dean had to save you. You were alone, cold and most likely weak and fading; he had to act fast.
“Tell. Us. Where,” Dean pushed the words out through gritted teeth, his shoulders tense as he took another heavy step forward. The anger burning in green eyes, a forest fire threatening to consume the whole damned bunker, finally making it clear to the monster tied to the chair in front of him that her little tricks wouldn’t work on him.
The only reason he’d let her trick him for so long was because of his own damned selfishness. Now that he knew, without a doubt, that the monster in the chair in front of him wasn’t the woman he loved, she had no hold on him anymore. Even the sight of her barely clad body, dressed in one of his undercover shirts did nothing for him when he knew it wasn’t you. She was just a body. You were everything.
“And why would I do that?” She’s my last bargaining chip, I’m not just going to give her away so you can kill me,” She laughed, the normally beautiful sound twisted and hollow when leaving the monster in front of him. Even if her voice sounded exactly like yours.
“You’ll tell us either way. It’s just up to you if we have to cut it out of you or not. You’re not leaving this room alive. Tell us now, and I’ll make sure to kill you quickly. And, hell, I’ll even try to not make it hurt too much,” Dean shot back, his clenched fist loosening to brush against the silver blade tucked in his belt. The small move a silent full stop to the very real threat. Though he wondered if he’d be able to actually follow through. Even just the thought of hearing those pained screams again, sounding so achingly like you, tore at the very core of him.
Sure, he had no qualms against hurting the shifter. Hell, even if she’d told them everything straight away, he still wanted to hurt her. Like she’d hurt you. But she was wearing your face, your skin… And even if he knew it wasn’t you, the way your gorgeous features and twisted into an agonized grimace when he snapped the silver handcuffs onto your wrists had still pained him. Pulverising his already shattered heart in his chest as the baser, instinctual part of him screamed at him to stop. To stop hurting you.
“You can’t torture me Dean. Not when I look like this. Even if I didn’t see the heartbreak in your eyes when you snapped those handcuffs on me, I know you Winchester. After all, (Y/N)’s mind’s not the only one I’ve gotten a peak at.
“You’re not (Y/N) and it won’t fucking work. Drop the disguise, and tell us,” Dean lied through his teeth. Barely managing to conceal the grimace that followed the weak play. If his mind wasn’t such a fucking mess, he might have been able to trick her into changing, but instead he’d just asked her… Well, maybe not nicely, but definitely ha hell of a lot nicer than he normally would have been to a monster wearing someone else’s face.
“It will. And even if it doesn’t… I’m not changing, I like this body. It suits me,” Lips that looked so much like yours twisted into that parody of a smile; cold and empty as she let her eyes burn into his. Challenging him to prove her wrong.
“If you’ve been inside my mind, you should know; if it’s to save (Y/N), I’ll do anything,” He shot back. And he meant it. Even if it would hurt him, even if he’d probably wake up screaming with nightmares of torturing you until he drew his final breath, he’d sacrifice his sanity to save you. If that’s what if took to get you back home.
“True… Anything, except hurting your pretty little (Y/N) that is. And as luck would have it, I’m wearing her face right now,” She hummed, stretching her body as much as she could under the layers of restraints binding her to the chair. Pushing her chest out as she arched her back in a way that forced the white dress shirt to ride up against bare thighs.
Yet, where that very action had only hours earlier ignited fire in his veins, it did nothing for him now. Instead he only shuddered, not bothering to hide the disgust on his face as he swallowed back bile and more angry acidic words.
“Awh, don’t be like that baby. You seemed to like it when you were moaning against my neck yesterday. Or hell, even just a few hours ago when you were practically fucking me with your eyes,” She purred, the sound of it grating against Dean’s nerves like nails on a chalkboard as he fought the urge to retch. Both from the viscous tendrils of disgust in the back of his throat and the shadows of shame and guilt that tore at the remnants of his heart from how he’s betrayed you. Because that’s what it felt like. Like he’d betrayed the love he had for you. Even if you, the real you, didn’t feel anything for him; he never wanted to hurt you like that. He’d let her fool him, and he’d drowned in thoughts of you with some cheap stand in. It felt wrong, and he felt sick.
“I thought it was (Y/N). You disgust me,” He spat out, tasting blood on his tongue from where he’d cut into his cheek from biting the inside of it to keep from getting physically sick from the whirlpool of emotions wrecking through his body and mind.
“You know… My little shopping trip? I went to speak to your precious little (Y/N),” The shapeshifter chose to ignore Dean’s jab as she raised her voice to speak over him. Sounding so damn proud of herself that he wanted nothing more than to suck the oxygen out of the room to stop her from uttering another word. To wrap his hands around her throat until the only thing leaving lips that looked so heartrendingly like yours were whimpers for air.
“We had a nice little chat, woman to woman. I told her all about how your body felt pressed against mine, how you taste; like whiskey and sex. How you groaned against my mouth and let your hands tug and pull at me,” She nearly moaned the words as she undulated in her seat. The whole act wrong and repulsive when the body in the chair was yours. Made worse by the guilt that was slowly tearing Dean to pieces in front of her.
You knew.
Letting his rage sear away the grief and guilt that sat heavy in his stomach Dean took another shaky step forward. His trembling fist lifting, wanting nothing more than to shut her up. Yet, just as his arm lifted over his head, she whimpered in her seat, flinching back and looking so damn scared. And even though he knew it wasn’t you in that chair. That it wasn’t you whimpering and flinching away from him… It still broke his heart all over again.
“Dean, please…” She cried out, false tears staining (Y/E/C) eyes as every little saline drop hit him where it hurt. She looked too much like you, and it was fucking torture. Like he was the one chained to the chair in the middle of the room with that monster as his tormentor. He couldn’t hit her, no matter how much he fooled himself into thinking he could. As his fist sank back to his side, defeated, that scared look was gone again. Sad eyes replaced with a cocky, prideful glint as quickly as they had appeared.
“You know, I didn’t lie… (Y/N) did run away from here because of you,” She continued speaking after just a beat of dead silence. That same teasing lilt seeping back into her tone as she crossed her bare legs in the chair. Treating it like a goddamn throne now that Dean had proved her right; that he couldn’t hurt her when she looked so much like you.
“Shut your mouth. You’re a monster, you’re nothing but a filthy liar,” Dean’s voice was low, shaking with anger, though he couldn’t help the breathless gasp that followed them as her words winded him. She was just trying to hurt him, he just had to grit his teeth against the pain. He couldn’t fall apart again, looking for another bottle to hide in. Not when you were out there somewhere, alone and scared.
That monster was just trying to hit him where it hurt. He couldn’t let her see that she’d hit her target dead on.
“No. I’m not lying Winchester. How many times do I have to say it? Shapeshifter’s gain the memories of the people they shift into. And god, it’s all so sickeningly crowded with endless fucking pining in her head. Little miss (Y/L/N), her heart breaking every time you left a bar with another woman on your arm. Too blind to see any of the longing looks you sent her way,” The monster in the chair didn’t listen to Dean’s dangerously low threat. Choosing instead to pile on the hurt as he let his fingers dig into his palms, shoulders shaking as he tried to keep himself from doubling over in pain.
“Shut. Up!” The words exploded out of him, even as the small, ugly part of him whispered in the back of his head. What if she wasn’t lying? What if your heart had been breaking along with his, and he’d done nothing to protect it? Only piling on the hurt every time he left another bar with someone else in a foolish attempt to hide his heart from you. And finally crushing it completely by falling for temptation and kissing a damn shapeshifter. If you really did love him… Then he’d hurt you even more by falling for her little tricks.
“You know… She was so easy to catch,” She hummed. Ignoring the way Dean’s angry shout reverberated off the walls as her voice took on that sing-songy teasing lilt yours always held when you were joking around with Sammy or him in the bunker. The familiar sound enough to force a hollow sob from him, shaped like a sharp, pained exhale.
“I just borrowed your face for a little while and she followed me like a goddamned lovesick puppy. Oh god, the look on her face right before I knocked her out was hilarious. She looked so heartbroken and betrayed. Big (Y/E/C) eyes, all unfocused and hurt,” She cackled. Fucking cackled. A vicious evil sound that should never come from your perfect mouth.
Dean’s jaw clenched as he struggled to breathe around the mix of nausea and pain burning its way through his body and forcing small convulsed shivers from him. His skin breaking out in goose bumps, even in the humid air of the dungeon.
“Why Dean. Why would you huuuurt me,” The shapeshifter was mocking him. Mimicking your pained expression with an over exaggerated pouting bottom lip as her whining tone grated at Dean’s nerves.
“Stop…” The word left him like more of a broken whisper through his clenched jaw. The ache of the strain on his jaw barely even registered with him as his breaths stuck to the shrapnel of his heart in his chest. A poisonous, acrid mix of anger and guilt coursed through his veins as he shook in place.
It was a miracle he was still standing. His body and mind were waging a war against his heart, and hell… With the chaos saturating every damned nerve in him, tearing him apart, he couldn’t even tell which part of him was winning. He couldn’t breathe, he could speak, he couldn’t even swallow down the bitter taste on his tongue. The taste of you that had been so addictive and sweet only hours earlier when he was lying in his bed thinking back on the kiss now tasted rotten and wrong.
“And now she’s dying… Tied up and all alone. Thinking you’re here screwing me,” She wasn’t stopping. Instead she just kept piling on the fucking hurt, nearly moaning around the words as she took some sick pleasure from the fact that you were out there somewhere. Your heart breaking and your body slowly dying.
“I SAID SHUT UP!” The confirmation that you were alive, helped Dean find his voice again. Somewhere under the storm in his chest. Squeezing his eyes shut to shut out the view of her body undulating in the chair, bare thighs rubbing against each other and plump lips parted, like she was fucking getting off on all of this, he letting every ounce of anger and viscous guilt propel the words out of him. And though some small part of him registered the pain, he just couldn’t make himself give a fuck about how the feral scream tore at his vocal cords or burned in his throat.
Dean’s hands were still curled into painful fists at his sides and his body was visibly shaking, but with his eyes closed, he didn’t see that damned monster anymore. No, instead it was all you. Your beautiful smiling face, your laughter, your bright eyes, all dulled and broken. Locked up somewhere dark and damp. Shivering, crying and fading fast. All while he was kissing a damned monster and wanting more.
While he’d been happy. Smiling even. You, the real you, had been in pain, hurting and scared somewhere. All alone.
“You love her Winchester, and she’ll die without ever knowing,” The monster tied to the chair in the dungeon just kept fucking pushing. Her words the final bullet in the chamber that unloaded on his heart. Sounding even more like yours now that his eyes were closed, and your broken and defeated body was the only image in his bruised and battered mind.
Sinking to his knees, Dean barely even noticed Sam’s arms reaching out to keep him from fully collapsing against the cold hard concrete. Your hurt features and (Y/E/C) eyes shining in betrayed tears the only thing he could see. No, he couldn’t hurt her. Not when she was wearing your face.
But he had to. God, he needed to save you. Even if you’d never forgive him.
Start Here | Last Part | Next Part
Tags:
Dean Winchester Tags: @ria132love @woodworthti666 @defenderrosetyler @akshi8278 @justanotherwinchester @lyarr24 @torn-and-frayed @all-will-be-well-love @wearesuchstuff1 @thefridgeismybestie @adoptdontshoppets @starsandmidnightblue @punof-agun
Forever Tags: @deanwanddamons @winchest09 @hobby27 @awesome-badass-cafeteria-sauce @sea040561 @donnaintx @alwaysdreamingforthebest @thatmotleygirl @chocolateheart @superfanficnatural @flamencodiva @starryeyeseunbyul @waywardbeanie @supernaturalenchanted @ellewritesfix05 @emoryhemsworth
Lost Tags: @bi-danvers0 @vicmc624 @multi-fan-lover @my-proof-is-you @maralisa124 @busy-bee-angel-misska @supernatural3002 @firefly-in-darkness @unmistakablyunknown @winchester-writes @fandomoverdose666 @kalesrebellion @faded-blue @hellsenthero @divadinag @lullabylike @ellallheart @united-fandoms-in-one-home @spideysimpossiblegirl @cuteandohsodeadly @acreativelydifferentlove @caynov @skyelikestowrite
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