Oneiric (Chapter I)
Chapter Title: Oneiric
Summary: It's been two months now since Dean's girlfriend disappeared from the Bunker. When they finally find her, nothing could have prepared them for the state she was in. Will they be able to help her remember the world around her, or will Dean be forced to let her go forever?
A/N: So yall remember that series I had started that only had 1 chapter? Oneiric? Yeah, well, I FINALLY restarted it and actually have a plan this time. Hopefully, I continue it this time. I’m so sorry to everyone who might have been waiting for me to update that! So, some quick notes about this new series: I’m making up the “monster” that’s featured in this story because I came across some mythology and decided to do something with it.
Word Count: around 4,500
oneiric /ōˈnīrik/: (adjective) 1. relating to dreams or dreaming; from the Greek word oneiros, meaning a dream.
Ah, the simple life was great.
It was the same, day after day. The same exact morning routine, the same exact day at your safe little office job, and the same routine as you left every evening. You’d smiled as you exited your workplace, waving to your friends and heading out to your car. The sun was about to set, and a soft glow was cast over the town you live in. Basking in the pink glow, you thought about your home. Here I come. Home sweet home. The drive home was always the same, but something was extremely off on this particular evening.
Your mind wandered to the dream you had last night. It was odd, but not unusual. You could call it recurring, but every time it invaded your peaceful sleep it was as if it was another “chapter” of whatever was happening.
You couldn’t describe what you were seeing. These… these monsters in front of you were like nothing you’d ever seen. You were in the middle of the woods with a gun in your hand, but you weren’t sure a gun would save you.
Before you knew it, you were cold, lying on the ground, and something felt… wrong. Reaching down with trembling hands, your fingers brushed over something hot and wet. Blood. You could taste the blood in your mouth and tried to turn to the side to spit it out- stopping when a sharp pain shot through your abdomen. Oh, God. Oh, God. You felt empty, the bottom half of your body was in searing pain, there was blood everywhere. Everywhere.
“(Y/N)!” Someone called out your name. You couldn’t see them, but you someone’s presence, hands hovering over your body, not wanting to unintentionally hurt you. “Oh God. Fuck.” You heard his muttering, felt tears on your face- his or yours, you weren’t sure- and your face pressed into a heavily clothed chest. He lifted you gingerly off the ground, gathering you into his arms. “I know it hurts, but don’t close your eyes. C’mon kiddo, stay with me.” But you felt your eyelids drooping. And then he was running, yelling. “Keep your eyes open!”
You’d wake up in a cold sweat.
You turned on the radio, trying to block out the anxious thoughts, but the only legible thing was the static hiss of your favorite station. “What the hell?” Maybe the radio tower was down or something, but you couldn't shake the eerie feeling from your gut. Your eyelids fluttered. Were you always this tired coming home from work? The engine of your car hummed louder than normal, and for a moment it didn't even sound like your little car. It sounded like something larger, more powerful. You pulled over as quickly as you could, closing your eyes and rubbing them, with the palms of your hands. Your brain pounded against your skull, and you started whimpering in pain.
“Keep your eyes open, please!” You heard a voice echoing through your mind, and something told you that the voice wasn’t coming from real life. Images flashed before your mind, an abandoned road tunnel, someone’s arms around you, an old black car, green eyes. Pain.
Your eyes shut- you were certain of that- but now you were looking down on yourself as if you were in a third-person perspective but you couldn’t control anything that you were doing. Where am I going? What’s happening? Where am I? Am I dying? Among all the questions, there was only one clear thought in your mind as your vision started to fade.
Something was very wrong.
Two months. It's been two months since your disappearance.
“How do we even know she’ll be there anymore?” The younger Winchester spoke in a cautious tone, looking over at his brother. Usually, he was the one who kept optimistic and held enough faith for the both of them, but you had been gone for a long time, and he didn’t think that Dean would ever stop looking.
“Well,” Dean’s jaw clenched, the stress of the past two months evident in his weary face, eyes still glued on the road in front of them. “We don’t. But I’ll be damned if I’m going to stop looking for her.” The two of them fell silent as raindrops pattered on the windshield, matching their gloomy mood. It was so much different now- so empty without you in the backseat. They could both still remember the night you disappeared without a word. You had been acting differently throughout the weeks before you disappeared, though, unfortunately, they hadn’t been able to notice the change in your mood until it was too late. Dean grew suspicious when you didn’t come to bed with him that night, but fell asleep without you, figuring he’d find you next to him in the morning. He woke up earlier than usual- earlier than Sammy- and rolled over, hoping to find you in his arms.
He didn’t.
He texted you, wondering if maybe you just went out to the store before he even woke up in the morning. When you didn’t answer after half an hour, he wondered if you were just asleep in your old bedroom instead of with him for some reason. So he searched in your bedroom desperately. You were gone. None of your clothes were packed up and nothing was missing, save from the knife Dean had gotten for you that you always kept under your pillow. On your bed lie two objects. The first was your phone.
You’d never leave without it. Never- it was too dangerous. Dean picked it up as if it was the last piece of you that he had, turned it on, and saw the lock screen of the two of you, smiling and happy on your first date. You were both a few years younger, sitting side by side in a diner booth. Dean’s cheek was facing the camera, a sneaky look on his face- he was pressing a chaste kiss into your cheek, surprising you right as you'd pressed the camera button. Your lips were turned up in a pleasant smile and your eyes were on him, giving him a look with more affection and love than he'd ever been given. Looking back, he was ashamed that that was one of the only romantic things he'd done for you. Not much has changed since then, but the happiness had faded from your eyes. He couldn’t bear to look at it anymore and set it back on your bed. Beside it lay a small slip of paper. It was simple but all the more painful.
“im sorry. i love you.
There was no heart scribbled down next to your “i love you” like usual, so Dean suspected that something must have been wrong. It was just unfortunate that he didn’t notice sooner.
Sam was startled awake that morning at the sound of glass breaking and found Dean in the kitchen with a shattered vase of flowers that he had picked for you only a few days earlier. He had just checked the garage, only to find that one of the old cars were gone. “She’s gone, Sammy.” Sam was shocked at your departure, but it took Dean even longer to realize and admit that you left at your own free will. He refused to believe it, saying that no, you did not write that, but your kidnapper did. Someone must have broken in, taken you against your will. You wouldn’t just leave like that. You wouldn’t do that to him. Sam still remembers having to calm his brother down when he thought you’d been kidnapped. He remembers his brother storming through the bunker, searching for any trace of you, any sign of a break-in, and throwing books to the floor in a furious rage.
Sam tried his best to comfort his brother, but he knew- from personal experience- how much it hurt to lose someone who’s that important to you. Someone who almost closer to you than your own brother. The night after you left, Dean drank. He drank, and drank, and drank. Dean was emotional- probably the most emotional Sam had ever seen him. He’d put his face in his hands and breathed heavily, trying to lessen the sobs before hiding in his room to drown himself in his whiskey.
“I’m not going to stop looking until I find her, Sammy. And I’ll kill anyone who tries to stop me, I’m going to kill anyone who tried to hurt her.” Sam remembers the look on his brother’s face- empty, lost, scared- as he tried to hide his tears. Dean let out a worried chuckle. “She wouldn’t just leave like this. She wouldn’t.”
“We’ll find her, Dean.”
Later, Dean started to think that maybe you’d made a crossroads deal and ran off so they wouldn’t know. But you wouldn’t. He tried to tell himself. You would never. They tried to pick up the pieces, looking through red lights and surveillance cameras around the area to try and find pictures of the car you had taken from the garage. It was a week before they even had a trail to follow. And now, they were here, two months after your disappearance.
“Sammy, look!” Sam could practically hear the hope in his brother’s voice. In front of them lay a run-down building- an old hotel, from the looks of it. Parked in front was the car you had stolen from the bunker the evening you left. Dean had shifted the Impala into park and was out in the rain in a second, gripping his gun secure in his hand as he approached the car and peered inside. There was nothing out of the ordinary, save for a hair tie hung around the gear stick. That was definitely you. What worried Dean was that the keys were tossed haphazardly onto the seat as if you hadn’t planned on coming back.
“Do you think she’s inside?” Sam approached his brother with two flashlights.
“She’s got to be.” Dean took the flashlight and turned towards the entrance to the building, gathering himself up to prepare for whatever they may find inside.
“Dean, we can’t just jump in there. We have no idea what’s holding her.” Dean didn’t hesitate and continued to move towards the building.
“I don’t care what’s got her. I’m getting her back.” He struggled with the locked front door before kicking it in. They were immediately hit with a musty smell and looked around at their surroundings. It was empty and showed no sign that you were ever there until Dean’s flashlight fell on something metallic across the room. “Goddamn it.” He moved across the room fluidly, kneeling down and turning the object in his hands, running his hand over the familiar etching on the blade. This was the knife he had gotten you. “It’s hers.”
“Dean. Over here.” Dean looked towards his brother and saw him holding up a familiar piece of fabric. Your jacket. “She was definitely here.” A loud clatter erupted from the floor above them, and the brothers shared a look before rushing towards the stairs.
Directly above where the brothers were searching, your eyes cleared and you slowly became aware of your surroundings. Where the fuck am I? Was that all just a dream? You were lying down in a tattered, dirty bed. The walls of the room you were in were grimy and dark, and it looked like the setting for a torture scene. For a moment your heartbeat raced, but you weren’t tied or cuffed down, so however you got here, whoever brought you must not want to keep you here that badly. “What that hell?” You lifted your head and immediately regretted it as your brain pounded against your skull. “Fuck…” You couldn’t help but whimper and grab at your head. Looking around once more, you noticed a… a tube? No, it wasn’t a solid object. Well, something intangible was running down the insides of both of your arms, radiating a pale white light, cold to the touch. Was that… your veins, glowing? Something was wrong. So fucking wrong.
What the fuck was happening? How did you get here? The last thing you remember is driving home from work. Was it a dream? Did you fall asleep at the wheel and die? Is this hell? Doubtful. You didn’t do anything in your life that would damn you to hell if it even existed.
You heard something breaking downstairs and the panic rose again. You jerked out of the bed and tried to move towards the door, but got dizzy halfway and fell to the floor.
“What’s this?” You snapped up and came face to face with a pale, long-haired woman in a white robe that you swore wasn’t there before. Woman? What- what was wrong with her skin? It was gray, lifeless, almost. Well, she certainly wasn’t… okay. “Oh, darling, you’re awake?” Her words were sweet and maternal, the tone of her voice pulled you in, even if her face was stone-still and calm. Something about her was lulling and familiar and made you drowsy. You sucked up your fear and spoke in a shaky voice.
“Who are you?”
“You’re hurting. I can make it better” She reached out to you with that white light coming from her hands and fingernails that were way too long and sharp. You scrambled backward quickly, only to collide with her again- did she just teleport? She spun you around and locked eye contact with you. There was something wrong with her eyes. They definitely weren't eyes, for starters. Never in your life had you looked into someone's eyes and seen such a clear, watery, irisless look. The watery mirrors of her eyes reflected your face, showing you just how terrified you looked. You were being pulled into her river-water-eyes, unaware that she had her sharp fingernails- claws- pressed sharply to your neck when a gunshot rang through the room. She, it- whatever it was- vanished, unharmed, into a watery cloud of light.
“(Y/N)?” You spun towards the loud noise to see two large men with guns rushing towards you and your fight or flight instinct kicked in. You chose flight.
“Get away from me!” You backed into the corner of the room with your hands in front of your face, feeling tears of pure fear and confusion building in your eyes. The men stopped in their tracks as if shocked by your reaction. “Please… don't hurt me."
"Woah! Woah, (Y/N). We won't hurt you." They tucked their guns away and the shorter of the two moved forward cautiously as if you were a scared animal and he was trying not to frighten you.
“(Y/N)?” You didn’t understand why he kept saying it. “Is that… my name?” A flash of terror ran through your blood. You saw something click in the man’s face, something you said must have struck him. He looked away for a moment as if he couldn’t face you, running his hands through his hair and mumbling curses before the taller, long-haired man stepped forward. You flinched back again. “Who are you?”
“You don’t remember us?” Remember? So you knew them at one point. You shook your head. “I’m Sam. That’s my brother, Dean. We’re here to help. Do you remember anything at all?” The long-haired man- Sam- watched with a gentle expression as you tried to rack your brain for any type of memories. You were terrified to find that everything was emptiness, up until when you woke up minutes ago.
“No. Why can’t I… What… what was that thing? How was it glowing? How did it disappear like that?” You wiped hastily at the tears on your face, but your hands were dirty and you weren’t sure you wanted to know what was on them.
“Hey, listen to me. We’re going to get you out of here, alright? We can explain everything later.” You hesitated for a moment.
"How can I trust you?”
“You can either trust us or stay here and wait for that thing to come back. There’s no real option here.” You may not know exactly who these guys are, but to be fair you didn’t even know who you were either, and there was no way you’re staying one more minute in this place.
“Okay.”
“Do you think you can walk on your own?” The short-haired guy- Dean, apparently- finally spoke up again, his voice strained and raspy, despite the caring and worried look on his face. You shook your head, remembering how you ended up on the floor in the first place. “Here.” Dean held out a hand and helped you to your feet, supporting you with an arm hooked around your shoulders as you quickly retreated from your prison.
Outside, it was pouring. The light drizzle from earlier had picked up, and now it was pouring buckets. Dean held his jacket over your head so that you didn’t get too wet while he helped you into the backseat of a classic black car. A few seconds later, he handed you a spare flannel shirt that had been in the back. “You’re probably cold, yeah?” you looked down at your old, tattered and dirty tank top and ripped jeans and wondered how long you had been there. So you nodded and pulled the shirt on, immediately feeling a wave of familiar warmth surround your body. The shirt was huge and warm on you, and you imagined it must have been his or his brother's.
“Thanks.” Your voice came out weak and quivering. Dean’s eyes lingered on you for only a moment longer with a soft smile before he climbed into the front seat, now soaked in rainwater. Sam slid into the backseat next to you while you absentmindedly stroked the black leather seat and missed the warning look that Dean shot him.
"I'm just going to ask some questions on the way, okay? So that you can rest for as long as you like when we get back." You nodded at him, and he gave his best reassuring smile. "Do you know what day it is?" You tried to imagine the last time you'd seen the date, but all you saw was black.
"I have no idea." You felt so helpless that you couldn't answer any questions.
"Your name?"
"Well… (Y/N)? That's only a guess. That's what you guys said back there, right?"
"No last name, either?"
"Not that I can think of. I'm sorry."
"Hey," Sam stopped you with a gentle voice. "None of this is your fault, alright? We'll figure it out." You glanced up to see watery green eyes in the rearview mirror before Dean glanced back to the road.
"We always do." Dean added from the front.
The trip was quiet, mostly just Sam’s questions and your short answers. After a bit, he just started to tell you that it’d be alright, that you were safe with them and you’d never have to deal with whatever just happened again. They still hadn’t explained who they were to you- your past self- you figured it must have been too painful for them to express at the moment. You had caught Dean’s gaze in the rearview mirror more times than you could count, each time looking more and more painful than the last. You sunk down in the seat, pressing your head back into the leather seat, not wanting to fall asleep yet. Maybe an hour or two later, Dean parked the car in front of an odd building. “Where…”
“This is home, (Y/N).” Dean smiled from the front, pain still evident in his face. Sam got out and you could see Dean motion for him to head in awhile. Dean stayed behind and helped you out of the car. You were almost sure you could walk on your own now, but didn't want to risk it- your head was still throbbing painfully.
“So this is… where I lived? A bunker?” You asked as Dean supported you on your way to the front door- if it could even be called that. There were concrete stairs, slicked with the rain that had passed, and a metal railing leading down to an old door- which Sam had left cracked open for you.
"This is where we live. The three of us." He sighed, looked at you with a hopeful smile. "Hope being here brings back some memories."
"Oh…" You felt bad. It was obvious that Dean had been affected more than his brother by this, and you wished there was something you could do to fix it. It's not like you could just choose to remember them. You steadied yourself on the railing, taking careful steps down the stairs, and took a breath before pushing the door open. Inside, you found yourself at the top of a metal balcony and staircase, looking out over a room with a single map-covered table and some chairs. You could see rooms beyond this one, but right now you were trying to pick up every last detail- perhaps that would help your memory.
“Anything?” Dean watched you with intense eyes, calming somehow, but worried. The longer it took you to answer, the more the hope in his eyes fell.
“Nothing.” Dean’s face fell completely.
“Okay.” He swallowed tightly. “Well, no worries. It’ll all come back eventually.” He supported you, hand on your shoulder as you climbed down the stairs slowly.
“Well, I…” You looked around again. It feels… familiar. But I can’t remember anything.”
“That’s alright. You wanna take a shower and get some clean clothes?” He motioned at you, and you became ultra-aware of the fact that you were still cold, dirty, and- under Dean’s flannel- only wearing clothes that were tattered and, well, who knew how old? “I’ll grab you some fresh clothes. C’mon, I’ll show you to the shower.” His hand found your arm, and he guided you gently through the bunker, down a series of intertwining hallways. This place was so… complex. There’s no way you’d be able to find your way around without getting lost. “Ah,” Dean paused in front of a certain room. “This was your old room. You wanna… look around while I grab you some clothes?”
“Oh. Okay, yeah.” You pushed the door open and took a few seconds to glance around, trying to piece together any information you could get. Much like the moment when you first stepped into the bunker, you were hit with a wave of recognition. Somewhere, deep in your mind, you must have been here before. You moved closer to the bed, picking up a small photo that was framed on the nightstand. It was 2 side by side photos of Dean, one snapped while he wasn’t looking, and the other the moment he glanced over, a sparkle of surprise in his green eyes. Wow… we were pretty close, weren’t we? But you sighed when no specific memories came to you.
“Hey.” you glanced over to see Dean watching you from the dresser with a gentle look. You set the picture back down, feeling as if you were intruding on somebody’s privacy by looking at this photograph of Dean, though this was your room. “Don’t worry about remembering stuff yet. It’ll come back to you.” He had pulled out a pair of sweatpants and a flannel shirt- one that looked just as big as the one you had on. His?
“Thanks.”
“I’ll show you the shower now.”
It was refreshing, the hot water hitting your skin for the first time in who knows how long, washing off the remnants of that place you were kept. You couldn’t help but let your mind wander. What had happened in the last couple of hours? Well, you woke up in a dark, dirty warehouse and were face to face with something that looked far from human before two giant, intimidating men had stormed in with guns ready. You couldn’t remember anything from before that moment. And Dean… there was something about him that you couldn’t put your finger on. He was being so gentle with you, even though it looked like that wasn’t really his nature. Giving you his shirt, helping you around, and a framed picture of the two of you in your bedroom. It was obvious you were closer to him than to Sam. Maybe you were a couple? You stayed in the shower longer than you probably should have, feeling comforted by the rhythmic droplets of water hitting the shower floor. You stayed until the hot water went cold and the steam fogged up the mirror, before slowly stepping out and toweling off.
You changed into the clothes Dean gave you, feeling a wave of safety and protection when you pulled the flannel around you. It smelled like him- something masculine and strong- it had to be his shirt. While you buttoned up the shirt, you wiped away at the steamed up mirror and caught a glance of yourself. It looked like you’d been locked in a dark place for a while- you looked half dead. To be fair, you were. You left the bathroom and stepped into the hallway.
Dean was nowhere in sight.
Oh, no. You have to find your own way back to your bedroom? You moved to look down one long hallway. Is that the one we came from? It didn’t help that all of them looked the same. “Dean!” You called out for him, a tremor in your voice, hoping that he could hear from wherever he was. You turned, hearing footsteps coming from the other direction. Dean came into view, his face going apologetic the moment he saw your worry.
“Sorry, (Y/N). Thought I’d give you some privacy. Forgot you don’t exactly know this place yet.”
“S’okay. I just… can you take me back to uh, my room?"
"Course." He showed you down the hallway again, nudging a door open. Once again, you were hit with a wave of unfamiliar recognition. You've been here before, a time you can't remember. "If you need anything, my room's right down the hall." He pointed to the way opposite where you came from. "Or you can just shout. I'll probably be out in the library. Down that way."
"Okay." You didn't even bother to close the door before dragging yourself to the bed, pulling the covers up and closing your eyes. All you wanted right now was to lay down and sleep, to clear your mind of everything that had happened in the past few hours. Forget everything. God, maybe all your memories will return by tomorrow morning and you could put all of this behind you and move on. Or maybe this is all just a horrible dream and you’d wake up and start a new day and everything would be normal. But enough thinking. Tomorrow will come. Right now, all you wanted was to sleep. Maybe have a few good dreams in the meantime.
If only...
Taglist!
@ruffdog921 (it’s been a really long time since you asked to be tagged, not sure if you even still wanna be tagged in Oneiric but here I guess?)
@solis200213
@music-lockscreen
@bella-ca
@samanthaharper2018
@yetanotherreader
@polina-93
@keithseabrook27