🍒 Gone Pt 5
Pairing: Dean x Reader
Summary: Dean met the love of his life. Everything was perfect, until you disappeared. Two years later he runs into you in a small town diner at 2 in the morning, with another man, and you have no idea who Dean is.
Rating: 18+
Word Count: 3467
Warnings: Language, Violence, Smut (for half a second)
A/N: Please let me know what you think.
Gone Masterlist
Dean’s hand on your hip tightened, but before he could even whisper your name in worry, the shadow beneath the door shifted. The closet door was ripped open violently.
The warm light of the bedroom flooded the small space. Brian stood in the doorway, his chest heaving, his face twisting from confusion to absolute, stunned fury as he took in the scene. He saw you—in your pajama set, your hair messy, your back pressed completely flush against Dean’s chest, his hand gripping your hip and your face was pressed into his neck.
“What the hell?!” Brian gasped, his voice cracking as he stepped back. “What... honey? What is he doing in our house? What are you doing with him?!”
In a fraction of a second, Dean’s hunter instincts took over. He stepped out of the closet, entirely shielding your body with his own solid frame. His gun was up, pointed straight at Brian’s chest, his stance rock-solid and lethal.
“Step back,” Dean growled, his voice low, vibrating with a protective rage. “Back, right now.”
“Are you out of your damn mind?” Brian yelled, raising his hands but refusing to back down. “Honey, get away from him! He’s got a gun!”
But behind Dean, you let out another weak, ragged whimper, your knees buckling completely as the pain in your head flared again, threatening to pull you under. You slid down the wall, your hand slipping from the back of Dean’s shirt.
The sound of your pain shattered Dean’s focus instantly.
The gun didn’t matter. Brian didn’t matter. In a heartbeat, Dean spun around and dropped to his knees, catching you before you could hit the floor. He let his gun clatter to the hardwood, to catch you, as he gathered you in his arms.
“Hey, hey, I’ve got you,” Dean murmured, his voice thick with sudden, mounting panic. He cupped your face with his hands, his green eyes scanning your pale features. “Look at me, sweetheart. Just breathe. Sammy!”
You murmured something incoherent and then the only part that Dean could make out, “...they said they were doing this to save us. To save you from me. Or me from you.”
Brian’s anger instantly faltered, replaced by a sudden, nervous panic as he looked down at you shivering in Dean’s arms. “What...what’s wrong with her? What did you do to her?!” he stammered, taking a step closer, though he looked terrified to touch either of you.
“Get back!” Dean roared at him, not even looking up as he pressed his forehead gently against yours. “I swear to God, if you touch her, I’ll kill you.”
Your eyes were closed. You had passed out again. Dean lifted you into his arms and carried you to the bed, glaring at your fiance—a silent warning to get out of his way—and laid you down gently.
You weren’t out as long this time. It was only about ten minutes but it was a tense, silent stand-off in the bedroom. Neither man spoke but each was glaring at the other. Dean was contemplating killing Brian for whatever he’d done to you and Brian was thinking about going for the gun on the floor or calling the cops.
Just then Sam walked in. “Dean–” he trailed off as he took in the absolute severity of the scene. You were unconscious on the bed and both men were on either side of the bed looking completely murderous.
Before he could try and de-escalate things a soft groan left your lips and your eyes began to flutter. Both men’s attention snapped back to you. Slowly, you opened your eyes and squinted, trying to adjust to the light in the room after your blackout. You brought your hand up to shield your eyes.
“Sweetheart, talk to me,” Dean said, his jade eyes locked on you.
“Honey, are you okay?” Brian said, crawling further into the bed beside you, his eyes warily shifting between you, Dean and the tall stranger now standing near the door. He was starting to feel trapped in his own bedroom and he still wasn’t sure exactly what he had walked in on with you and Dean.
Sam noticed Dean’s gun on the floor and immediately retrieved it. That took out one of Brian’s options but he tried to keep his face steady and not show as much fear as he felt.
“Dean,” you murmured.
“I’m right here, sweetheart,” he said, reaching out to cup your cheek. “Where’s Brian?” you asked, voice still pained.
“I’m here, honey,” he said, puffing out his chest just a bit while he reached for your hand slowly and carefully, remembering Dean’s threat.
You squeezed Brian’s hand but turned your head back towards Dean. “I saw something,” you said weakly, still trying to regain your bearings.
“What did you see?” Dean asked softly, stroking your cheek with his thumb.
“Us. We were someplace big and we were watching a movie with beer and food and chocolate covered strawberries and we…” you trailed off, your gaze flicking to Brian.
“Chocolate covered strawberries. I remember. That was our anniversary…” Dean said, his eyes getting slightly moist but he blinked it away quickly. “We were on the floor of the bunker,” Dean continued, his voice barely more than a rough whisper. “We dragged the mattress from our room into the library. You said the couch was too lumpy. We drank cheap beer out of the bottle and you insisted we had to eat those strawberries because they were classy.”
Your eyes found Dean’s again. “We didn’t finish the movie… I remember us… being… intimate,” you admitted, your voice barely a whisper. You closed your eyes for just a second and saw Dean’s head between your trembling thighs, your hands gripping his hair tightly, back arched, flashing behind your eyelids. You let out a soft breath as you opened your eyes again, a shiver running up your spine.
Dean let out a raw, shuddering breath, his chest rising and falling rapidly. For the first time since he saw you again, the fierce, defensive guard he kept up completely crumbled. His hand remained on your cheek, his thumb gently wiping away a tear before it could fall. He looked at you with an expression of such profound relief and devotion that it made your chest ache all over again.
“We made it to the half-hour mark of the movie,” Dean said, his voice thick with emotion, a tiny, self-deprecating laugh escaping him. “Before I kicked the bowl of strawberries off the mattress because I couldn’t keep my hands off you.”
“Bullshit! You’re lying! You’re messing with her head, twisting her thoughts!” Brian yelled, squeezing your hand tighter. “Honey, this isn’t real! We are real. Our life together is real!”
“Brian, cut the shit, we know her accident never happened. So why don’t you start telling her the truth,” Sam said, his voice low and dangerous, the gun still in his hand at his side like a silent warning.
“I am!” Brian insisted, his voice cracking with a desperate, frantic sincerity that actually made Sam pause. Brian looked down at you, his eyes wide and completely terrified, swimming with genuine tears. “Honey, I swear to you, I’m not lying. I know you had an accident. I was there! The police called me from the hospital. They said you’d been run off the road, that your car was a total loss, and you didn’t have any ID on you but they found my number in your pocket. I rushed to Georgia. I took care of you. I—I built our home. I love you!”
Dean’s jaw clenched, his eyes narrowing as he watched Brian’s breakdown. He was a master at reading liars, but looking at Brian right now... the guy didn’t look like a con artist or a monster trying to cover his tracks. He looked like a man whose entire reality was suddenly being ripped apart at the seams.
Sam slowly lowered the gun, his brow furrowing as he watched the utter panic on the fiance’s face. He stepped closer to the bed, his analytical eyes scanning Brian’s body language.
“Brian,” Sam said, his voice dropping the hard edge, replaced by a cautious, calculating tone. “When you got that call... what was the name of the officer who called you?”
“I... I don’t know,” Brian stammered, shaking his head rapidly as he clutched your hand like a lifeline. “Officer... Officer Smith? Or maybe Miller? It was two years ago, I don’t remember! I just remember the panic. I remember driving all night from North Carolina to get to you.”
“North Carolina?” Sam repeated, his eyes widening slightly. “But you live here. You’ve lived here your whole life, right?”
“No, I—yes. Yes, I’ve always lived here,” Brian said, then he blinked, a sudden, glassy look washing over his eyes. He shook his head, looking momentarily dazed. “Wait. No, I was in Charlotte. I had an apartment. No... no, I’ve lived in this house for five years. I...” He trailed off, his breath catching in his throat as he gripped his own head with his free hand, his face twisting in sudden, painful confusion. “Why did I just say North Carolina? I’ve never even been there.”
Dean’s hand stilled on your cheek. He slowly looked up, meeting Sam’s eyes across the bed.
“Sam,” Dean said, his voice dropping into a low, heavy realization. “It’s not just her.”
“Yeah,” Sam murmured, his expression turning grim. “Someone didn’t just wipe her memory and dump her here. They built a whole damn cage around her. They found a guy who was already alone, rewrote his mind, gave him a fake history, fake memories of an accident, and slotted him right in as the perfect, devoted boyfriend."
“Dammit, they’ve both been magically roofied,” Dean muttered. He wanted to continue to hate Brian but this changed everything. Brian wasn’t the threat, just another victim.
You looked from Brian—who was now trembling, staring at his own hands in absolute horror as his brain tried to process the gaping logical loopholes in his own life—to Dean, whose green eyes were filled with a mixture of anger and deep, aching pity.
“Alone?” Brian muttered, still looking down at his hands. He lifted his head, his eyes darting between the three of them. “I wasn’t… I wasn’t alone. Chrissy. I had a girlfriend, Chrissy. We lived together in–” He cut himself off, his hands flying to his own head, eyes screwed shut in pain as he let out a low groan.
“Brian!” you said, sitting up and reaching for him. Your hand came down on his thigh and you moved closer to wrap your arms around him. “Babe, are you okay?”
Dean’s fist tightened by his side but he remained still on the other side of the bed. This wasn’t his fault or yours. You were both victims. He couldn’t fault either of you for the feelings you’d built over the last two years.
After a moment, Brian opened his eyes again. They were glossy but he didn’t let the tears fall. He said your name and hugged you back. “But Chrissy. What happened to her? What the hell is going on?!” he said, voice panicked and desperate.
Sam let out a sigh and walked to the foot of the bed. “Something did this to both of you. It ripped you out of your lives and forced you into a fake life. We don’t know what yet or why but we will figure it out,” he promised.
“Something?” Brian asked, looking between Sam and Dean. “What does that even mean??” he said, throwing his hands in the air in frustration and confusion.
Dean looked at him and his eyes were slightly less cold but no less intense. He didn’t sugar coat it. “There are things out there that people think are just fantasy. They’re not. Vampires, werewolves, demons, and many, many more monsters. They’re all real. We hunt them. She did too before she was zapped into Pleasantville.”
Brian stared at Dean, his face completely pale, his chest heaving as he tried to process the absolute insanity of what he had just heard. He let out a breathless, borderline hysterical laugh. “Monsters? Vampires? Are you out of your damn mind? Honey, tell me these guys are escaped mental patients, please.”
You looked at Brian, your heart aching at the pure terror in his eyes, but as you opened your mouth to comfort him, a bizarre, heavy weight settled into your chest. The word monsters didn’t sound like a fairy tale. It sounded like an old, familiar textbook.
“He’s telling the truth, Brian,” you heard yourself say, your voice remarkably steady despite the circumstances. You looked over at Sam, then back to Dean. “I don’t know how I know... but he is.”
Brian’s mouth opened and closed, his gaze flickering down to your hand on his chest. He looked completely unraveled, a man watching the walls of his entire existence crumble into dust. “Chrissy...” he whispered, his thoughts looping back to the fracturing pieces of his own mind. “If she was real... what did they do to her? What did they do to me?”
“Hey,” Dean said, his voice surprisingly quiet as he addressed Brian directly for the first time without a murderous edge. He didn’t move closer—respecting the fact that you still had your arms around the guy—but his green eyes were deadly serious. “Listen to me. Whoever did this to you, they didn’t do it because they hated you. They used you. You were a prop to keep her hidden. If your girlfriend Chrissy is out there, we’ll help you find her. But right now, we need to figure out who pulled the strings.”
Sam nodded, tucking the gun into his waistband. “Brian, think. Two years ago, right before you got that phone call about the accident. Did anything weird happen? Did you see a flash of light? Hear a weird noise? Did a stranger come to your door?”
Brian clutched his head again, his eyes squeezed shut tightly as he forced his mind back into the fog. “I don’t... I can’t...” He groaned, the pain clearly flaring up the harder he tried to fight the mental block. “There was... a man. At my apartment in Charlotte. He had a coat. No, that’s not right. He was wearing a suit. He had these... these eyes. They weren’t normal. They were glowing. Like a blue fire.”
A violent shiver ran down your spine, and you instantly looked up at Dean.
Dean’s entire demeanor shifted. The pity vanished, replaced by a sudden, rigid tension that made his shoulders lock. He didn’t look at Sam; he kept his eyes locked on you, his jaw working as a dangerous, familiar anger began to simmer beneath his skin.
“Blue fire,” Dean repeated, his voice dropping into a dangerously low register. He knew that description. He knew exactly what kind of power it took to rewrite two lives so flawlessly and construct a perfect, localized prison.
“An angel,” Sam breathed from the foot of the bed, his face falling into a grim, exhausted expression. “Dean... it was an angel.”
Dean didn’t answer his brother. Instead, he looked at you, his thumb tentatively reaching out to brush a stray piece of hair behind your ear, his touch incredibly tender despite the fury radiating off him. “They told you they were saving us from each other, huh?” he murmured, recalling what you’d muttered before you passed out. A bitter, heartbreaking smile touched his lips. “They always think they know what’s best for us.”
Brian looked between you and Dean, noticing the unspoken, profound connection passing between you even in the middle of a literal nightmare. He slowly let his hands drop from his head, looking entirely defeated. “If my whole life is a lie...” he whispered, his voice cracking as he looked at you, tears finally spilling over his eyelids. “Was... was this a lie too? Did you ever actually love me?”
The question pierced right through you, throwing you into a tailspin of guilt and confusion. You looked at the man you had planned to marry, the man who had been sweet and gentle to you for two whole years, and then your gaze drifted to Dean, whose green eyes were watching you with a heavy, agonizing breath held in his chest, waiting for your answer.
You looked at Brian, your heart fracturing at the raw, vulnerable pain in his voice. This was a man who had held you when you cried, who had built a quiet, safe life with you, and who—until five minutes ago—truly believed you were his entire future.
“Brian,” you whispered, your fingers tightening into the fabric of his shirt as you held him. “I… I don’t know what’s real in my head right now. But the way I cared about you? The way you cared about me? That wasn’t fake. We didn’t know. You were good to me, Brian. That was real.”
Brian let out a ragged, shaky breath, closing his eyes as he leaned his forehead against your shoulder for just a second. It felt less like a romantic embrace and more like two survivors clinging to each other in the middle of a shipwreck.
On the other side of the bed, Dean didn’t move. His jaw tightened, and he looked down at the floor, his fists clenched so hard his knuckles turned white. It was a jagged pill to swallow—watching you comfort another man, hearing you say you cared about him—but Dean forced his own jealousy down. He could see the truth. Brian wasn’t the monster who had stolen you; he was just another piece of collateral damage left in a dick angel’s wake.
“Look,” Sam stepped in, his voice gentle but firm as he tried to keep them all grounded. “The angel who did this… they didn’t just want to hide you. They wanted to make sure that if Dean ever did find you, the truth would tear all of you apart. It was a trap designed to keep you from going back to your real lives.”
“So what do we do?” Brian asked, slowly pulling back from you. He wiped a hand across his wet eyes, looking completely exhausted, his gaze shifting from you to Sam, and finally to Dean. “If my memories are a lie… how do I get my real life back? How do we get our lives back?”
Dean lifted his head, his green eyes flashing with a sudden, sharp determination. The heartbroken lover vanished, replaced entirely by the hardened, fierce hunter who was done being a pawn in some cosmic game.
“We find the son of a bitch who did this,” Dean said, his voice dropping into a lethal, gravelly rumble. He reached out, his hand resting flat on the mattress right next to your hip, bringing his presence close enough that you could feel the heat radiating off him. “Angels leave a signature when they do mojo this heavy. Grace leaves a trail. We’re gonna find out which choir-boy stepped out of line, and I’m gonna personally rip his wings off.”
You looked at Dean, and for the first time, the sheer intensity of his anger didn't scare you. Inside your chest, a strange, dormant spark of fire finally flared to life. You recognized that anger. You had shared it once.
“How do we find him?” you asked quietly, your voice losing its timid, librarian softness and taking on a steady, focused edge that made both Winchester brothers instantly look at you.
Sam let out a small, encouraging breath. “First, we need to check the local area for any weird celestial activity over the last two years. Localized lightning storms, sudden clusters of cured illnesses—anything an angel leaves behind when they drop in to check on their handiwork. Because if they went to this much trouble to build a cage for you…”
“They’re probably still watching it,” Dean finished for him, his jade eyes locking onto yours with a fierce, protective promise. “And the second they realize the hinges are broken, they’re gonna come back to fix it.”
“Cas, get your ass down here or so help me God,” Dean growled.
You let go of Brian and leaned back on the headboard, turning to stare at Dean like he’d lost his mind. “Who are you yelling at?”
“An angel. One that’s BEING A DICK,” Dean said, yelling the last words at the ceiling.
Suddenly, a swoosh of air swept through the room and the soft sound of wings flapping echoed briefly. Dean was on his feet now and he spun around, immediately putting himself between you and the sound. An angel came when Dean called alright—he had been watching his project fail in real-time—but it wasn’t Castiel.
Part 6
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