Good God, Y'all! | Supernatural Series Rewrite
Pairing: Dean Winchester x Fem!Reader
Warnings: general angst, religious trauma vibes, canon violence, canon gore, reader mentions her sexual trauma
Word Count: 3924
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Season 5 | Supernatural Series Rewrite Masterlist
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Something wasn’t right. There was a nagging feeling in the back of your mind telling you that Dean being the “Michael Sword” was only the tip of the iceberg.
Between hours in Bobby’s hospital room trying to figure out how to heal him and staring at the news with a pit in your stomach, there wasn’t much time to devote to thinking.
The street below the window you sat in front of on an uncomfortable canvas chair wasn’t as busy as usual. It gave the blustery afternoon an eerie feeling. Bobby sat beside you in his wheelchair just as silent as you, and you pulled your jacket tighter around your shoulders against the cool air.
The first thing in hours to bring your attention away from the window was Castiel coming through the entrance to the hospital room.
“Cell phone, Cas? Really? Since when do angels need to reach out and touch someone?” Dean scoffed.
“He hid us from all angels, remember?” you piped up. Your voice was a bit hoarse; you couldn’t remember the last time you actually spoke.
“Enough foreplay,” Bobby grunted. “Get over here and lay your damn hands on.”
You looked between Castiel and Bobby.
“Get healing. Now.”
The angel looked ashamed. “I can’t.”
Bobby turned his chair around to face him. “Say again?”
Castiel approached you and Bobby. “I'm cut off from Heaven and much of Heaven's power. Certain things I can do. Certain things I can't.”
“You're telling me you lost your mojo just in time to get me stuck in this trap the rest of my life?”
“I'm sorry,” the angel said. You knew he was being sincere.
“Shove it up your ass.” He turned back to the window.
Dean whispered to Sam, “At least he's talking now.”
“I heard that.”
You stared at the side of Bobby’s head, but only for a moment. It was apparent he was doing his best to keep from crying, and anything you said or did wouldn’t help him in the moment.
Castiel moved back over to Sam and Dean. “I don't have much time. We need to talk.”
Dean cast a glance over to you, and you returned his confusion. “Okay.”
“Your plan to kill Lucifer.”
“Yeah. You want to help?”
“No. It's foolish. It can't be done.”
Your partner scoffed. “Oh. Thanks for the support.”
“But I believe I have the solution. There is someone besides Michael strong enough to take on Lucifer. Strong enough to stop the apocalypse.”
“Who's that?”
“The one who resurrected me and put you on that airplane. The one who began everything: God.” You nearly bolted up from your chair as Castiel continued, “I'm gonna find God.”
You huffed a laugh while Dean shut the door.
“I’m not sure what I said was funny,” Castiel said monotonously.
You shook your head. “It just seems kinda… moronic.”
He cocked his head to the side as he often did, nearly making your blood boil.
“Your god let me get raped.” Fire burned behind your eyes as you stared at him.
“He is out there, (Y/N),” the angel insisted calmly.
You clicked your tongue. “Then he’s a coward.”
He glared at you, eyes piercing straight through you. “Enough. This is not a theological issue. It's strategic.”
You shook your head. “Everything with you is ‘strategic’—” you sneered.
He talked over you. “With God's help, we can win.”
“It’s a pipe dream, Cas—” Dean spoke up.
The angel advanced on Dean. “I killed two angels this week. My brothers. I'm hunted. I rebelled. And I did it, all of it, for you, and you failed. You, and (Y/N)—”
Your spine straightened, hairs on the back of your neck standing up at the mention of your name.
“—and your brother destroyed the world, and I lost everything, for nothing. So keep your opinions to yourself.”
You crossed your arms. “What do you want, then, Cas?”
“An amulet.”
Bobby seemed intrigued for the first time in weeks. “An amulet? What kind?”
“Very rare. Very powerful. It burns hot in God's presence. It'll help me find him.”
“A god EMF?” Sam snorted.
Castiel nodded.
“Well, I don't know what you're talking about,” Bobby huffed. “I got nothing like that.” He returned his attention to the still unusually quiet street.
“I know. You don't.” The angel turned his attention to Dean, then down to the necklace he wore, then back up at him.
Dean looked taken aback. “What, this?”
“May I borrow it?”
“No.”
“Dean, give it to me.”
Your partner took a moment to think it through. Finally, he rolled his eyes and took it off. “Alright, I guess.” When Castiel reached for it, he pulled it back. “Don't lose it.”
Castiel took it, his eyes conveying that he wouldn’t.
Dean shifted uncomfortably. “Great. Now I feel naked.”
“I'll be in touch.” The angel disappeared without another word.
****
Rufus called Bobby no more than an hour after Castiel left. Immediately, you and the Winchesters were on the road to help him.
For whatever reason, Rufus chose River Pass, Colorado out of all the other demon-infested small towns. Although the surrounding mountain scenery was beautiful, Rufus wasn’t a “vacation” guy.
Dean pulled the Impala to a stop just short of a sudden break in the bridge on the only road into and out of the town. You got out of the car and peered over the edge of the dismantled bridge while Dean kicked a rock down below. You counted the seconds as the rock fell before you heard it hit the otherwise silent creek below: four. It was about a three-hundred-foot drop.
With no cell service and Sam carrying a duffel bag over his right shoulder, the three of you climbed down the steep cliff and over to the other side of the creek. Dean offered his hand to pull you up the last few feet once he’d landed on solid ground on the other side of the bridge.
“What ‘re you hummin’ for?” Dean asked, chuckling.
You cocked your head to the side. “Huh?”
“ ‘Spirit in the Sky’. You’ve been hummin’ it at least ten minutes now.”
“Dean, stop fucking with me.”
He gave you a strange look. “You stop fuckin’ with me.”
“Sam, have I really been humming?”
Sam stood a few feet away staring in the direction of the town. “Uh, yeah. ‘Spirit in the Sky.’ For ten minutes.”
You tried to laugh it off. “Nice, guys.”
“What?” Dean asked, following you as you walked down the road.
You didn’t say anything else.
“See! You’re humming!”
You stopped dead in your tracks.
“Dean, swear to me you’re not lying,” you said, pressing your lips together.
“Sweetheart, I’m not. I promise.”
A sense of unease settled over the rest of the walk. Down the main street of River Pass, various cars were flipped over, some with corpses hanging out of them. Windows of shops were smashed in, and blood ran in rivers toward the storm drains. Although you were accustomed to sights such as these, your breath caught in your throat for a reason you couldn’t explain.
Dean looked over at you, concerned.
“Something is really wrong,” you told him.
Clutching your shotgun, you approached a tan vehicle with its doors flung open and engine running. The radio played “Spirit in the Sky” through a staticky haze. You looked over at Dean, breath quickening. Even he seemed unnerved.
Sam turned the engine off, and the song stopped with it.
Seemingly in an attempt to distract himself, Dean admired the only car on the street in a normal state: a gleaming, cherry-red Mustang parked in front of a house with its sprinklers still running.
Suddenly, a gun cocked behind you. Arms raised with one holding your gun, you turned slowly to see Ellen.
“Hello, boys.” She looked over to you with a small smile on her face and nodded. “(Y/N).”
Dean and Ellen lowered their respective guns while the woman walked closer.
“Ellen, what the fuck’s going on here?” Dean asked.
Ellen splashed Dean in the face with holy water and tensed her shoulders.
Dean looked unamused, and you couldn’t help but stifle a laugh. “We're us,” he assured her monotonously.
Ellen cocked her head in the direction of a church in the distance. She guided you through the heavy wooden doors with a Devil’s Trap laying just beyond the threshold. Salt surrounded every doorway, and you were careful not to disturb it while walking over.
“Real glad to see you three.” She gave Dean a hug before pulling back and slapping him. “The can of whoopass I ought to open on you.”
“Ow!” he whined petulantly.
“You can't pick up a phone? What are you, allergic to giving me peace of mind? I got to find out that you're alive from Rufus?”
“Sorry, Ellen.” He looked genuinely ashamed.
“Yeah, you better be. You better put me on speed dial, kid.”
“Yes, ma'am.”
Ellen looked him over for another minute before leading you further inside.
“What’s going on, Ellen?” he urged.
She replied simply, “More than I can handle alone.”
“How many demons are there?” Sam spoke up for the first time.
“Pretty much the whole town, minus the dead people and these guys.” She stopped at a closed door and turned around holding her breath. “So, this is it, right? End times? It's got to be.”
You pursed your lips. “Seems like it.”
“I used to love that song,” Ellen nodded at you.
Your cheeks heated, and you looked to the floor in a slight panic.
“Whoa, it’s okay, kid, you don’t have to be embarrassed—”
Dean cut Ellen off. “She doesn’t realize she’s humming, Ellen.”
The older woman looked between the three of you. “How long?”
“Since we got across that bridge.”
Although she seemed unnerved, she proceeded to lead you inside the room someone unlocked for her. The few survivors consisted of a pastor, men and women of various age ranges, and a pregnant woman being shielded protectively by her husband’s arm.
Ellen introduced the three of you to the room, each reaction varying stages of skepticism and disinterest.
Hardly able to focus on the conversation Sam and Dean were having with Ellen, you wandered around the room.
“Do you mind?” someone grunted beside you.
You turned to face a man leaning forward with his elbows on his knees and stroking his chin. The shiny wedding band on his hand caught some of the light and made you jerk back to avoid the glare.
“What?” you asked.
“The- The singing. Could you stop?” he asked impatiently.
Your heart sped up again. “Was I singing or humming?”
He gave you a quizzical look. “Humming…?”
“What song?” you asked.
“I just lost my wife. I don’t have time for your games, lady—”
“No, please, just tell me. I don’t realize I’m humming, I swear—”
The confused look on his face remained unchanged. “ ‘Spirit in the Sky’.”
You dropped your head back, closing your eyes. “Fuck.”
To avoid annoying anyone else, you headed back out of the room to the main hall of the church. Although Dean cast a worried glance after you, you assured him you were fine.
When Dean and Sam emerged from the room, you bolted up from the pew you were sitting in. Dean tossed you your shotgun, and you looked at him hopefully. “Am I still humming?”
The looks on Sam’s and Dean’s faces told you all you needed to know.
You sighed. “Where ‘re we goin’?”
“Sports’ shop on the main stretch,” Dean nodded. “Speaking of—” he turned to his brother, “why don’t you just let us go?” He gestured between you and himself.
“What? Why?”
Dean shrugged. “Somebody's got to stay here and start giving them ‘Shotgun 101’.”
Sam gave him an incredulous look. “Yeah. Ellen.”
“No no no. It's gonna go a lot faster if you stay and help, okay?” Dean tried again, grabbing Sam’s sleeve to keep him from leaving.
“While you two go get guns and salt and look for Jo and Rufus? That's stupid.”
“We can handle it.”
Sam clicked his tongue. “You don't want me going out there.”
A pang went through you. Yes, Sam was a liability, but so were you. You’d become cold, detached. Perhaps that wasn’t as dangerous as Sam’s erraticism, but it still made you feel hypocritical.
“I didn’t say that,” Dean shook his head.
“Around demons.”
Dean’s tone became firmer. “I didn't say that.”
Sam shrugged, “Fine, then let's go.”
You gave Dean a look as if to say, ‘you good?’ He gave you a nod before following his brother out the door.
****
“Which one of you is gonna be the least annoyed by my incessant humming?” you asked, looking between the two brothers as you stood in the street.
“You should go with Dean,” Sam told you. “He’s gonna need more help carrying rifles than I will carrying salt.”
His attempt at a light-hearted joke seemed to upset Dean, but neither brother said anything. Dean just turned on his heel toward the sports’ shop with you in tow. You turned over your shoulder one more time at Sam entering the Quick-Mart.
“You think he’ll be okay?” Dean asked hesitantly.
You turned back around to face him. Although you weren’t confident yourself, you offered a small smile. “He’ll be fine.”
****
Sam had apparently had a run-in with a few demons at the Quick-Mart, but it didn’t seem like he’d had anything to drink.
You stayed outside the room with the survivors inside in the main hall of the church once again. Dean, Sam, and Ellen were supposed to be helping the survivors learn how to use a shotgun.
Something about churches— specifically Catholic ones— always felt foreboding. The ornate decor and dozens of pairs of eyes staring down at you from statues that held a moral superiority made you feel uneasy; the tall columns and pitched roofs made you feel small. How your mother ever found churches and their hard pews comforting, you’d never know.
Then, the lyrics of “Spirit in the Sky” popped into your head. You shook them away, but they persisted like a fever you couldn’t sweat out.
The hall felt cold and drafty, even through the zip-up hoodie you stole from Dean. The pit in your stomach deepened when you considered you could still be humming and not even knowing it.
Just then, you heard a stair creak somewhere ahead of you. Instantly, you dropped to the floor and pointed your shotgun over the top of the pew where your head was just barely peeking over.
“Whoa,” Dean held his hands up in surrender. “Just us, GI Jane.”
You breathed a sigh of relief and relaxed your shoulders. “What’s the plan?”
“We’re gonna help Ellen find Jo. Maybe Rufus, too, if we’re lucky,” Dean explained.
“Where’s Ellen? I thought she was meeting us up here,” Sam asked, looking back down the stairwell.
“She is,” Dean replied.
“Why are you being weird?” Sam asked accusatorily.
Dean sighed. “I just— I think just me and her should go with Ellen. Y’know, maybe you shouldn’t go out there again.”
“Crap doesn’t hit the fan with coffee breaks, Dean; I think you’re bein’ a little ridiculous,” Sam scoffed. “It's fine. You two just… stay here, get 'em ready. I'll cover Ellen.”
Dean shook his head. “Why's it got to be you?”
The brunet rolled his eyes and mocked, “Oh, that's right, I forgot. You think I'll take one look at a demon and suddenly fall off the wagon, as if, after everything, I haven't learned my lesson.”
“Sam…”
Both brothers turned to look at you. A fury burned in Sam’s eyes you’d only seen directed at you once before; the night you’d had to pull a gun on him.
“I can’t fucking believe you two. If you actually think I—” Sam cut himself off, chest heaving as he tried to contain his anger. He turned back down the stairs without a word.
****
Ellen and Sam had left almost three hours ago. A bit of unease was rising in your chest, but not for fear of them being gone too long. Truthfully, you expected them to be gone for at least another two.
Maybe it was the fact that it was too quiet; the angels’ inability to find you meaning you shouldn’t be getting any calls, but a paranoid part of you was worried they still would.
You instinctively reached for the knife on your belt loop at another creak of the stairs, but you relaxed when you heard Dean’s voice. “If I hear that guy say ‘the Lord is my shepherd’ one more time….”
You found it within yourself to snicker.
“So… how’s it hangin’ up here?”
You shrugged. “I think okay. I mean, as good as I can be.” That stupid song was still playing in your mind.
Dean sat beside you on the pew and instantly slumped against your shoulder. Using your opposite hand, you ran his hair between your fingers and turned to give him a gentle kiss on the top of his head.
You saw Dean’s eyelashes flutter closed. “Comfortable?” you asked.
Dean picked his head up from your shoulder and cupped your chin, leaning forward to kiss you gently. A warmth bloomed in your chest, and you felt real comfort for the first time in weeks.
A smirk appeared on Dean’s face.
“What?”
“You stopped hummin' when I kissed you,” he replied.
A genuine laugh burst out of you; one you hadn’t mustered in a while. “I promise, if I could stop, I would.”
His expression softened. “I know.”
Just then, the heavy door to the church swung open to reveal Ellen. Dean immediately stood from the chair. “Where's Sam?”
Ellen shook her head.
“They took him?” you breathed out.
“Everybody sit tight. I got to—” he cut himself off just as he started for the door. “Dammit. We need to get a plan together. Tell me everything.”
Ellen explained all of the strange happenings. Between Jo’s anti-possession charm and her calling Ellen a “black-eyed bitch,” nothing made sense.
Then, something dawned on you. “Cherry Mustang,” you remembered from the main street. “War. Dean, War.”
“I don’t follow,” Ellen replied after a moment.
“Yeah, I don’t either.” Dean shook his head.
“The Four Horsemen. Precursor to ‘em is a falling star that kills a bunch of people. I bet you that’s what got Rufus here in the first place.”
Ellen snapped her fingers. “Now that you say that, he did mention something about one.”
Your breath quickened. “Fuck— the Four Horsemen—” then, you ran a hand over your hair. “That must be why I’m humming!”
The large door to the main hall of the church swung open, the man who’d been twirling his ring earlier panting like a dog as he burst in. “I saw them, the demons. They know we're trying to leave. They said they're gonna pick us off one by one.”
Dean scoffed. “Wait, wait, wait. What? Where did you go?”
“I thought someone should go out and see what's going on!”
Your heart hammered against your ribs as you narrowed your eyes at the man.
“Where did you see the demons and what did they say exactly?” Dean asked, his shoulders subtly bristling.
“They're gonna kill us unless we kill them first.”
“Hold on. Hold on— Slow your roll. This is not a demon thing.”
“Show’s over, man,” you deadpanned.
War dropped the act instantly. “Worth a shot.” A wicked smirk stretched across his face when he noticed the crowd of people that had emerged from the basement to see what the fussing was about. He raised his right hand and twisted his ring once more, pointing at the three of you. “Look at their eyes! They're demons!”
You sneered at him, your patience having quickly waned. Just as you went to lunge for War, the pastor from downstairs cocked a shotgun.
Dean yanked your arm back and forced you forward.
Truthfully, the fight was much longer and more confusing than you would’ve liked. It took far too long to convince Rufus and Jo you weren’t demons, and even longer to put all of the fighting dogs War had on his side down. At long last, you approached War aside his red Mustang.
With Sam back by your side, he pulled Ruby’s knife.
“Whoa. Okay,” the Horseman chuckled. “That's a sweet little knife. But come on, you can't kill War, kiddos.”
Dean grunted, “Oh, we know.”
Sam immediately hacked all four of the Horseman’s fingers off, the ring clinking down on the pavement. You picked it up and shoved it in your pocket.
Dean gave you a look.
“Better with us than him,” you reminded him. The ring felt like it was burning a hole through your jeans.
He eased off.
Having said your goodbyes to Ellen, Rufus, and Jo, you headed out with Sam and Dean again. At the first mountain rest stop, Sam asked you to pull over.
Dean shoved his hands in his pockets before sitting back at a nearby picnic table. “So, pit stop at Mount Doom?”
Sam had been quiet until that moment. “Dean—”
Dean closed his eyes, sighing heavily. “Sam, let’s not.”
“No, listen,” Sam demanded, “this is important. I know you don't trust me. Just… now I realize something. I don't trust me, either.”
Dean held his brother’s stare, and you cast your eyes to the ground as you listened.
“From the minute I saw that blood, only thought in my head— and I tell myself it's for the right reasons, my intentions are good, and it- it feels true, y’know?” Sam swallowed harshly, his voice getting caught. “But I think, underneath… I just miss the feeling. I know how messed up that sounds, which means I know how messed up I am.
"Thing is, the problem's not the demon blood, not really. I mean, I, what I did, I can't blame the blood or Ruby or… anything. The problem's me. How far I'll go. There's something in me that— scares the hell out of me, Dean. In the last couple of days, I caught another glimpse—”
“So, what are you saying?” Dean asked, voice rough around the edges.
“I'm in no shape to be hunting. I need to step back, 'cause I'm dangerous. Maybe it's best we just… go our separate ways.” He trailed off, and you looked up at him. Sam couldn’t meet yours or Dean’s eyes.
“What?” you asked, the wind feeling knocked out of you.
Sam just nodded while the back of your throat burned.
“Well, I think you're right,” the older brother said finally.
“I was expecting a fight.”
“The truth is I spend more time worrying about you than about doing the job right. And I just… I can't afford that, y’know? Not now.”
Sam nodded. “I'm sorry, Dean.”
“I know you are, Sam.”
Sam stood up, and Dean cleared his throat. “Hey, do you, uh, wanna take the Impala?”
“It's okay. Take care of yourself, guys.” He offered you a small smile.
You couldn’t bring yourself to return it.
Dean’s voice wavered. “Yeah, you too, Sammy.”
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