Summary: After confronting Sam, the reader chooses to run away to start a new life as far away from the Winchesters as possible. But what happens when she’s gifted with an unexpected surprise?
Characters: Dean, Sam, Reader, and a surprise OFC!
Word Count: 3157
Warnings: Mild angst, mention of terminal illness (god don’t hate me), some nice resolution and fluff (?) at the end
A/N: This is it. This is the final part of I Confess. Honestly, posting this makes me so emotional because it’s grown so dear to my heart. Even though it took me basically a whole year to get it done, I’m sad to see this finally come to an end. Thanks again for all the support you all have shown me and for all the love you’ve given this story. I hope you enjoy the ending as much as I’ve enjoyed writing it. xoxo
I Confess Masterlist
The events that followed the night Sam left were a blur. His silhouette gliding out of the motel room burned too bright, overshadowing the details of your great escape. After twenty years, all you could muster were glimpses of you hastily packing the little belongings you had brought with you, and sprinting in the cool night towards the nearest bus stop. At the time, you didn’t care about the end location. It was just about your departure, and being as far away from the Winchesters as you could be.
Eventually, you found yourself in a small town off the coast of Washington. The kind of place where everyone knew everyone, making you a complete outsider. You didn't mind at the time. You weren't planning on settling anywhere. The goal was to hop from place to place across the continental U.S. – just long enough until you found the perfect distance where the invisible cord between you and the boys would snap from the mileage.
Well, that was the goal.
Finding a vacancy in a family run cabin rental joint, you had decided to stay only as long as necessary to scrape up enough cash to scram before anyone got too attached. But everyone knows how small towns work – they’re black holes that suck you in with their charm and sense of belonging. Which is what drew you to stay like a bee to honey, wasn’t it? To fit in? To have a new place to call home?
You had noticed the way the cabin owners – the Jones - glanced at you as you would walk to the main lobby for whatever toiletries you needed to be refreshed that day. It was one of pity and the desperate urge to help the poor woman who was all on her own.
By the end of your first week, the older couple pulled you aside and offered you a full-time job at the front desk and your current cabin as your permanent residence. Mrs. Jones gently placed her palm on your tightly closed hands, and her soft, yet sweet, plea to agree was all it took.
Just shy of two months in Washington, you awoke one morning utterly sick to your stomach. Thinking it was the typical stomach bug, you begrudgingly made your way to the office to ask for the day off. But you had barely finished your sentence before Mrs. Jones interrupted with a kind-hearted chuckle.
“Oh sweetie, that isn’t some stomach flu- trust me. This ol’ lady knows a little something, something about morning sickness.”
You remember laughing nervously. The high-pitched cackle reverbed off the tan walls. Sure, you had been busy in the last three months, but there was no way in hell you of all people were pregnant. But after a straight week of being triggered by any slight smell, making an appointment with the OB/GYN didn’t seem like such a bad idea.
“(Y/N), I have the results,” Bridget’s voice, the doctor, crackled over the phone as you anxiously bit your fingernails, “It seems like Susan was correct, you’re going to have a baby.”
Bridget continued to go on and on but all you heard was static. You, (Y/N) (Y/L/N), hunter of all things that go bump in the night, were going to be a mother. “Now there’s only one thing that’s kind of important to know, if it’s okay with you,” Bridget continued, “who’s the father?”
Bile rose in your throat, and you weren’t sure if it was another wave of morning sickness, or because you realized that you had no clue how to answer her question. Again, you had been busy, and it wasn’t exactly like you were completely devoted to one within a span of two and a half weeks.
Quickly you indirectly answered her inquiry – making some story up about how he was a one-night stand gone wrong. Bridget bought it easily.
The next months were spent waiting for Ezra, your baby girl. As nervous as you were, you found delight in the little things that came with the preparation of her arrival. Scouting for the perfect crib and nursery decorations, meticulously picking out the cutest clothes with Mrs. Jones. You even had your very own baby shower.
Enamored by it all you pushed the still unanswered question into the depths of your mind. The thought of who’s Ezra could be wasn’t shown the glimpse of day until September 20th – the day you finally held her in your arms.
Her tiny finger attempted to curl around yours, her face softened as she drifted off to slumber. Her lips pouted but curved into a slight smile that revealed two dimples in her cheeks. As you watched her go in and out of sleep that night, you etched every detail of her into your memory. From the way her hair settled neatly on her head, to how she giggled out loud while she dreamt.
Though what caught your attention were her eyes. Nothing like yours, they sparkled in the white light of the hospital room. Her irises were crystal clear, so clear you could see the variations of color swirl together to create one beautiful masterpiece.
There was only one person who had eyes like Ezra’s and you didn’t need a paternal test to prove it. You just knew.
Just like that motherhood was added to your list of talents. Was it easy? No, but years full of laughter, late night cuddles, movies, and even some tears flew by nonetheless. Your new life with Ezra was nothing less than perfect.
Well, it was perfect.
Before you knew it, it was Ezra’s twentieth birthday – your baby was all grown up. Humming along to the radio that was softly playing, you shimmied around the kitchen as you began the necessary steps to make the best – what you thought would be at least – birthday cake when you were overcome with a coughing fit.
You brought your hand up to your mouth reflexively and didn’t even think anything of it until you pulled it away to find it speckled with blood. Hearing you from the other room, Ezra popped her head in to make sure you were alright.
“Mom, you ok-,” she paused, noticing the splotches of red on your palm, “Get in the car. Now.”
Ezra had always been stubborn. It didn’t matter how many times you tried to reassure her that you were completely fine and to let you prepare for her birthday, she silently dragged you to the car and hopped into the driver’s seat.
You continued to tell her that and even told the doctor at the hospital that there was nothing, whatsoever, that could be wrong with you. You drank enough water, ate enough vegetables, and were still fit for someone your age. You were practically invincible.
After a couple of painful hours of flipping through the cheap cable provided by the hospital, your doctor came back with a multitude of test results. Glancing up at his gloom face, your stomach immediately dropped.
"Ezra, you might want to sit down," his words were shockingly smooth in comparison to his demeanor, "(Y/N), I got the test results back and-and they came back positive for lung cancer.”
Much of what he said after that was white noise. The only words that came across were ‘cancer' and ‘far along.' Out of the corner of your eye, you saw Ezra slumped in her chair. Her eyes were as wide as saucers as she hung onto every word the doctor said.
“So, she can get treatments, right?” Her voice didn’t quiver as she intently stared at him.
“Yes,” he answered tentatively, “but in (Y/N)’s current state it isn’t likely that it will work. That’s not taking into consideration how the after effects of the treatments would take a toll on her body in the process.”
“No,” you spoke up, your voice much softer than you intended. The doctor and Ezra shifted their gaze towards you for the first time since he came in. Taking a deep breath, you pushed the tingling sensation of a cough down and continued, “I’m not doing the treatments.”
Ezra’s eyebrows scrunched together, her mouth agape as her brain processed your words. “Mom, no,” she stuttered out, “you have to -.”
“I don’t have to do anything,” your eyes slid over to meet hers. Her face flinched the slightest under your heavy gaze. “I’m not going to spend the last months of my life in pain just for the chance to increase my longevity by a couple of hours.”
The air in the hospital room was thick. You could feel the doctor eyeing you cautiously. This couldn’t have been the first time a patient had opted for no treatment, but you knew your decision affected him nonetheless. He dedicated his life to helping people, people like you, and you threw it back ungratefully.
“But mom, please.” Ezra’s voice came out as a broken plea. Her eyes begged for you to reconsider, but there was no going back.
Licking your lips, you gave her an apologetic glance before quickly breaking it. “So, doctor, you know my choice,” you were surprised at how steady your tone remained although on the inside you could sense the onset of fear, “can I go home now?”
And that is how the end of your life begun.
Shortly after you were discharged from the hospital, the guilt of lying to Ezra about who you were before her birth slowly ate at you. You knew you couldn’t move on from this world without telling her the truth. Which is why one late afternoon you plopped yourself down at your desk with nothing but a blank leather journal and a plain black pen.
Using the cracks of sunlight that filtered through the wooden shades as your light, you began to write.
You wrote the story of a young woman who had needed to lose everything in her life for the random chance to gain it all back with one encounter with a tall, shaggy-haired guy at a bar and his doofus big brother. How everything she had thought about the world was torn to shreds, as she learned about every possible thing that goes bump in the night. One of heartache, pain, and the struggles of two boys and a girl who wanted nothing more than to save the world, of unrequited love and one mistake.
More importantly, it was the story of you and everything that had to precede before you could start your life with Ezra. It was a story for Ezra.
Unsure of how you managed to chronicle the last couple of decades of your life in only one night, you couldn’t help but faintly smile as you ran your fingers against the soft cover. Satisfied with your work, you snuck it into your bedside table where it remained until the perfect moment.
Six months passed and you enjoyed every second of every day that you had with Ezra. Yet even the joy you had couldn’t prevent the reality of the situation at hand. Your health deteriorated until it became difficult for you to even shift in your bed.
One Wednesday morning you were blessed with a beautiful view. The birds were chirping, and the sun rays were just beginning to peek over the snowy mountain tops. Ezra was lying next to you, telling you some silly story from school, but it was too strenuous to focus on her. It was too strenuous to do much of anything.
"Ezra, honey, can you do me a favor?" Your voice was thin and airy, the sentence almost inaudible to the untrained ear. You couldn't help but put on a feeble smile as her face perked up from the request. Imprinting the image in your mind, you slowly stated your request, "Could you get me something from my bedside table? There should be a brown leather book somewhere in there."
Without any resistance, Ezra slid off the bed and padded over to your bedside table. Moments later she carefully, any sudden jolt hurt you immensely at the time, sat back down next to you with it in hand.
"Baby, I know you don't want to hear this, but it's time," the words were faint. So faint as to make you believe that she hadn't heard you until her hand slid over the bed sheet to gently cup yours.
You watched as Ezra sucked in her lower lip and clenched it between her teeth – a terrible habit she had gotten from you. She did not meet your eyes, simply burrowing them into the book on her lap.
“Ezra, there’s -,” a throaty, wet cough interrupted your sentence. Your daughter immediately jerked up at the sound in concern, but you threw your palm up just as fast to stop her. Dragging the back of your hand against your mouth, you continued, “There’s something I have been wanting to tell you for a long time – about where I came from, how you came to be, but more importantly where part of you belongs.
I – I never told you out of fear. The fear of being hated, or judged, but when I was given the exact timetable of the rest of my life I knew I had to come clean. That book in your lap isn’t just some other journal, sweetheart. It’s the story of me.”
“Mom, I don’t understand,” Ezra quizzically glanced between you and the journal.
Another cough raked through your body, this one harder than the last. You groaned as the fit stalled to an end. You knew you didn’t have much time. With the little strength you had left, you gave your daughter’s hand a slight squeeze, “Read it, Ezra. You’ll understand when you do.”
The edges of your vision blurred as you let yourself sink into your pillow. “Mom?” you heard Ezra speak out, but the sound was distant. More difficult than you had thought it to be, you turned your head to face her. You could see worry lines crease in her forehead as your breathing became labored, but you used what limited energy you had left to zone in on her eyes.
“I love you, baby,” black spots shoved their way into your eyesight, but failed to block the glistening tears that streamed down Ezra’s cheeks, “Momma loves you so much.”
Ezra stumbled out of her car and almost fell face first onto the white gravel at her feet. Managing to grab hold of the edge of the door, she caught herself with a grunt. “Way to go, Ezra,” she mumbled as she stretched her tensed muscles, “You’ve finally summed up enough courage to face the other owner of half your DNA and you were about to do it with a face full of small pebbles.”
She sucked her teeth as she grabbed her backpack from the backseat and slammed the door shut. Anxiously she walked down the pathway, searching for the large brick half-moon and metal door that you had described for her in your journal. Pulling out her phone, she glanced at her GPS to double check she was heading towards the right direction.
“Okay,” she huffed as she shrugged her backpack further onto her shoulder, “based off the coordinates mom gave me, the entrance should be right…about…here.”
Peeking up from her cell phone, Ezra took a small circle around herself. Lo-and-behold, there was the door, just like you had told her. She shoved her phone into her back pocket and hip-hopped down the cracked concrete stairs to knock on it.
Swaying back and forth on her heels nervously, she gnawed on her lip as she tried to pull together some sort of opening line. Getting stuck between something along the lines of ‘Hey, you don’t know me, but I know you,’ Ezra failed to get her wits together before the door creaked open slowly.
“Can I help you?” A tall man in a red button-down gruffly asked. Ezra blankly stared at him, unsure of what to do or think. Seeing that she wasn’t a threat, the hand that was obviously holding something behind his back slowly moved to relax at his side.
He opened the door a little wider, letting Ezra see a bright set of green pupils analyzing her every movement. “Hey, Sammy,” he called out behind him uneasily, “I could use your help over here.”
Within seconds an even taller man approached the entryway. Running a hand to move a couple of long strands of hair out of his eyes, Ezra watched as his features curled into confusion, “You needed help with a probably lost teenage girl?”
“I – I’m not a teenage girl, I’m twenty,” she stuttered, but Ezra kept her eyes glued to them. They were older than how you had described them in the story, but she knew who they were. Hastily she slung her backpack forward to pull out the journal you had given her a month ago.
Timidly she gestured for them to take the book out of her outstretched hand, “And I’m here because an old friend of yours sent me. She gave me this to help in the convincing part.”
“An old friend?” Sam questioned as Dean cautiously grabbed hold of the now worn leather. Ezra folded her hands in front of her and nodded as Dean flipped open to the first page. His eyes grew wide as they scanned the yellowed page, “Sam, this is (Y/N)’s handwriting.”
“What?” Sam exclaimed and snatched the book out of his brother’s hands. Closing it just as fast, he directed his attention back to Ezra, “How did you get this?”
Ezra gulped at the amount of force behind his question. Fidgeting with her fingers, she rocked back and forth once more, “Well, let’s just say I know, uh (Y/N) pretty well. I actually know you guys pretty well too, thanks to that book you’re holding.”
Sam and Dean stood frozen in the doorway. Ezra could see how perplexing this all was for them, and she hadn’t even made it to the nitty-gritty part of the reason as to why she made the trip to the bunker in the first place.
“Look,” she restlessly threw her hands out in front of her, “if you want to know all the specifics about how I know (Y/N), it’s all in the journal. But, that’s not entirely the reason why I came here. I came here because there was something that she wanted to confess for the last twenty years, but never knew the right way to do so.”
“And what does that exactly have to do with you?” Dean inquired.
Taking a shaky breath, Ezra swiveled between them before landing on the one set of eyes that perfectly matched her own. She stifled a giggle at the irony of how you had been nothing but right all along.
“Because,” her lips curved into a hopeful smile, “I’m your daughter.”
Characters: Cas x Sister!Reader, Sam, Dean, and a bit of John
Word Count: 4443
Warnings: Sassy reader, Cas is an awkward little nugget, canon typical violence
Summary: This is part two to “Spread the Word Around– the Girl’s Back in Town”. The reader reveals a bit of her history. Meanwhile, Team Free Will, along with its newest member, set out to take on what should be a relatively easy case. Things do not go as planned, which works to the benefit of a certain shy angel.
A/N: So this is long overdue. Sorry. It’s a bit disjointed because I started it and then stopped and worked on something else... Apologies for that. I started out with this imagine in mind, and it kinda grew from there. Italics are reader’s thoughts. Thinking of making this a series. Let me know what you think. Hope you enjoy! As always, thanks for reading! Feedback is always welcomed and appreciated.
Read Part 1 here.
The protesting creak of a nearby door coupled with the muted sound of feet thudding down the hallway pulled you from your midnight reverie. Making your way quietly to the open doorway of your room, you scanned the hallway for the source of the noises, your eyes landing on a retreating figure of over six feet. With an annoyed groan, you made you way closer to the hulking mass that was trying to sneak down the hall like a teenager after curfew.
Let’s play guess the idiot. Too tall to be Cas. Can’t tell if it’s Sam or Dean yet from this far away, though he’s stumbling, whoever he is. Most likely Dean, in from a night out that hopefully won’t make me an aunt.
“Have a good time, did ya, brother mine?” you asked with a smirk, switching on the overhead lights. At the sound of your voice, the figure spun, albeit clumsily, to see who made the noise. With one hand to his head and the other groping the wall for support, Sam took a less than elegant stumble backward.
“Y/N? What’re you doooin up ssso late?” he slurred with a bleary smile. Sam was apparently a happy drunk, you mused, shaking off the surprise of being met by your youngest brother rather than your oldest one. Moving toward you, the moose of a man began to teeter.
“Whoa, there, Sammy. Slow your roll. There’s no way I can pick you and me both up off of this floor if you go all timber on me,” you cautioned. “Let’s get your ass to bed. I’ll lecture you in the morning.”
“Mmmm’kay, Y/N. I’m ssleeepy anyway,” he said in an exaggerated whisper.
How much liquor does it even take to get Samsquatch here drunk? Dear Lord, I hate to even imagine.
You trailed a tromping Sam back to his room, made him take off his shoes before he got in bed, and sat the ibuprofen he kept in his nightstand out for him when he woke up.
Damn grown man needs to be told to take his shoes off before he gets in bed. How the hell did he even get this drunk? And how can a guy that hits his head on ceiling fans regularly look so much like a little kid?
Sam was snuggled under the covers with a peaceful look on his face. Cracking one eye open, he attempted to whisper again, “Y/N, why were you even up? Ssssssssomething wrong?”
And on that he chooses to have a little clarity. The man that didn’t even remember his head– not his feet– goes on the pillow has the sense about him to ask why I’m up at this ungodly hour. Figures. Intuitive little shit.
“Shut up, Sammy. You’re drunk. Go to sleep,” you grumbled, hating that your little brother, even in his inebriated state, had managed to see that something was wrong.
Sighing, you made your way back to your room and plopped down face-first on the bed. You’d had a lot of these nights lately.
I am normally not a philosophical person, but there’s something about randomly escaping hell that makes a person ponder a few things. It all started when I was born… Kidding. Kinda.
Mostly, you thought about what had gotten you to this point. As Dean often reminded people, hunters never got to be kids, and you were no exception. From the moment you’d been big enough to carry a sawed-off, you’d been sleuthing, shooting, and salting. That’s not to say you didn’t enjoy it– most of the time.
Despite growing up a hunter, you’d been relatively sheltered from heartache until your mom had passed. She went down in typical hunter fashion, sacrificing herself to kill the demon that had possessed her. I come by this hero complex honest.
You did the best you could after her death, giving her a hunter’s funeral in the sticks somewhere in Alabama. It was the first time you were truly alone, and you didn’t know how to handle it. Cue obligatory reckless streak.
Amidst said reckless streak, you’d come upon daddy dearest. Yes. None other than John Winchester. You’d planned to ignore him, laying low until you knocked off that vetala. Well, as per usual, things didn’t go as planned; one vetala turned out to be two, and you were in need of a little saving. Enter John. He’d been on the same hunt– Shocker– and had come prepared. Curse you and your research, John Winchester. Needless to say, he saved your ass. What stung was that he had no clue who you were.
Well, as the whiskey got to flowing that night– Don’t judge me. I had a rough day. Whiskey is the grownup version of a blanky– so did the truth bombs. One right after the other. By the end of the night, you were both spent. He had a daughter. You had a near-death experience. I feel like we were pretty equal there. You know, on the whole shock factor thing. You agreed to stay in touch.
And so you did. You’d occasionally update each other on your cases, swapping information and tips, sharing about your lives and the years you’d missed together, and growing comfortable enough to joke around. It was all fine and dandy until your old man called you up for a little help on a case. Sam and Dean were in school, and he needed an extra pair of hands.
Probably just a couple of vamps, he said. Probably new changelings, he said. We’ll probably be done before lunch, he said. It’ll be easy, he said.
Turns out John was wrong. What he thought was a small nest– one, maybe two, tops– turned out to be about fifteen. Why they were all together and how they managed to tolerate each other is still a mystery.
Nest, my ass. Frigging hive is what it was.
You two gave it your damnedest. You held your own for a while, the quick movements of your machetes creating a steady rhythm of whooshing sounds punctuated by the sickening crunch of metal on bone as they sliced through the air and hit their targets. The two of you moved in tandem, as though you’d been working together your whole life.
Apple doesn’t fall far from the tree, I suppose.
Things were going great. Until they weren’t. All it took was a slight hesitation; one small slip of the hand. You were down to the last two; one for each of you. You squared up to smaller of the two, leaving John with his more even match. The fights that ensued were anything but easy. The two of you were already exhausted, covered in blood, and running on fumes. To say you were less than sharp was more than fair. You were both sloppy, but you managed to get the job done.
You got all the way back to the impala, congratulating yourselves on a job well done, before you noticed the blood seeping through the left leg of John’s jeans. And, holy hell, was there a lot of it. Femoral artery injuries can be a bitch. Exsanguination is not a painful death, but it’s a slow one; a death that fills its victims with a sense of hopelessness.
No matter how tightly you compressed. No matter how many layers of bandages and fast food napkins and shirt hems you piled on. No matter how fast you drove. It didn’t make a difference. That was the palest you’d ever seen him, his head lulled over, his short, rapid breaths creating little puffs of fog on the window. Your first thought was about the boys. You thought, I can’t let them go through what I went through. They already lost their mom. What’ll happen to them?
In your muddled mind, there was only one valid course of action. You found the nearest crossroads and did what had to be done. You made a deal– his life for yours. And the hero complex rears its ugly head, yet again. Here’s to hoping Sam and Dean never find out. But, if we’re being honest here, I was pissed as he– well… You get the point. I was really mad when he ended up down under literally right after me. I mean, how is that fair? To him, to me, to the boys? Fate has a twisted sense of humor.
This hunt and the literal hell you’d gone through after plagued your dreams when you did sleep.
When you couldn’t sleep, which was most of the time, you wondered who pulled you out of hell and why. At the same time, you were trying to adjust to life with your two hulking brothers and their ever so heavenly resident angel.
My brain has too many tabs open. I even think about overthinking.
Sam and Dean were loud, obnoxious, and messy. The bunker had been their man cave until you came along, and they were still getting used to how the fairer sex preferred to live. You know, sans unpleasant aromas, constant nudity, and leftovers that could be mistaken for a science project. I know, I know. It’s a lot to ask. Apparently I’m high maintenance.
To add to your frustration, Cas would not speak to you. Would. Not. Do. It. He still popped in from time to time. He just never spoke to you.
Okay, buddy, I’m not sure what your definition of ‘later’ is, but it’s been like a month, and I still have no clue who this damn pizza guy is and what the hell he taught you. Am I allowed to cuss at a celestial being? Ah, well. Who cares? What are they gonna do, send me to hell?
You snorted at your own joke, noticing the time flashing on your alarm clock. It’s an acceptable time for a normal human being to be awake. I need coffee.
You padded down the hall to the kitchen, grumbling greetings at a half-asleep Dean. You sat down with your oversized mug of coffee– Ah, sweet nectar of life–and skimmed the local newspaper. Seeing an article detailing a possible serial killer that had targeted upper-class men in swanky bars, you sighed, thunking your coffee cup down on the scarred table. You read further into the article, which chronicled methodology– cracked chests, hearts squeezed to mush, and bodies drained down to the last pint.
This is our kind of weird. At least this one is close to home.
“Sam. Dean. Wake up. Rise and shine, boys!” you shouted from your seat.
“What the hell do you want at seven in the morning on a Saturday? This is my day off,” Dean grumbled as he entered the room. Sam, who had skipped his morning run– probably because of the massive hangover he had. No judgement. Just saying.– came in just moments after, his hair sticking up in wild tufts, eyes matted and sleepy.
“Do you have to be so loud? Let’s all use our inside voices today,” he suggested, moving to the coffee pot.
“I think I have something. It could be nothing, but it’s at our back door, so I’d rather be safe than sorry. Police are investigating a possible serial killer, but I’ve never heard of a serial killer that squeezes hearts and sucks blood just for shits and giggles,” you explained.
“We can think about it when we get there. We need see more of what’s going on before we jump to conclusions anyway,” Dean replied, leaning on the door jamb.
“Finally learn your lesson about being prepared, eh, Dean?” Sam mocked, wincing at the bitterness of the brew in his cup.
“I HAD THE DAMN SIREN I WOULD’VE BEEN FINE,” Dean insisted. Seeing Sam’s wince at his volume, he asked with a smug grin,” DOES MY YELLING BOTHER YOU?”
“Boys, boys. Settle down. If you keep this arguing up, I swear to you, you’ll regret it,” you cautioned, your lack of sleep causing your already thin patience to wane further.
“Oh, yeah? What are you gonna do?” Dean tossed over his shoulder as he went to get his grab bag.
That is it. Last straw. Overgrown brats of brothers. You will rue the day you didn’t heed my words, Winchester. You asked for this.
Seeing your glare morph into a smirk, Sam must’ve known you were planning to make Dean pay in a big way, because he said, “You two are so much alike.”
“I know. It’s like we’re related or something,” you quipped, jumping up from the table to stash your go bag in Baby’s trunk.
How can two people make such a short car ride so unbearable?
From the second you shut the car doors– slammed, according to Dean– your brothers had been bickering. The music was too loud. The sound of Sam’s keyboard clicking was annoying. The heat was too hot. The air was too cold. Dean’s driving wasn’t up to par. The list goes on. Any attempts from you to referee were promptly shut down with a double brother glare.
Oh, Castiel, mighty angel of the Lord, with your majestic and fluffy wings, please, if it’s not too much trouble, CAN YOU GET YOUR ASS DOWN HERE AND USE YOUR PROFOUND BOND WITH DEAN TO MAKE HIM SHUT THE HELL UP? Thank you.
You praised the gods when you pulled up in front of the county courthouse, parallel parking on Main Street. Gee, thanks for the help, Cas.
You stopped and spun around, taking in your surroundings. Blink and you’ll miss downtown.
Putting on your best confident I-belong-here-I’m-in-charge look, you strode purposefully through the door, approaching the sweet-looking old secretary sitting behind the front desk. “Hi there… Margery,” you said, reading her nametag. You flashed your forged credentials. “I’m Special Agent Page, and these are my associates, Agents Bonham and Plant. We’ve been called in to have a look at this series of murders you have. Could you please point me in the direction of some case files? We just need copies. We wouldn’t want to trouble you all. Be in your hair and all that.”
“Why, of course I will. Let me just grab those for you. It’s no trouble at all,” she said with a smile.
You twiddled your thumbs waiting for Margery to come back, hoping the bickering would hold off at least until you left the courthouse. No such luck. Apparently, Sam was too close to Dean and was breathing down his neck. Amidst their squabble, Cas decided to make an appearance, earning a muffled scream from you. Margery chose this moment to reappear.
“Weren’t there only three of you before?” she asked, beginning to look suspicious.
“Yes, ma’am, but this is our new trainee, Agent Jones. He was letting our supervisor know we’d arrived. Isn’t that right, Jones?” you replied, elbowing the angel in the ribs to cue his response.
You honest to God chose this moment to show up? Say something, dammit. Before she realizes we’re frauds and calls us on it. It’s not that hard. Open your mouth. Use your words.
“That is correct,” he grumbled.
“I’ll just take those files from you. You should hear back from us within a few hours,” you said, prying the files from her still suspicious hands and making a beeline for the door.
“The next time you all pull something like that, I will end your lives, bring you back, and end them again. Am I clear?” you huffed, slamming the door to the impala, on purpose this time. Seeing Cas reluctantly slide in beside you, you addressed him. And you! I asked for your help earlier, and you left me high and dry. They are driving me insane in the membrane. Insane in the brain! Shit, now I have that song stuck in my head. Now see what you’ve done?
The car ride to a local diner was blissfully quiet. Apparently, death threats have a calming effect on this crowd. Duly noted.
After poring over the files Margery had been so kind as to give you, you all decided you were dealing with a lamia. You discussed the best means of disposal over your pie, ignoring the stares of the other patrons. Your rag tag little team had noodled out a tentative plan: you’d get all dolled up and go into the bar, look around, and signal the guys when you saw anything suspicious; one of the guys would act as bait, luring the lamia into a conveniently secluded alley, and the other two would be ready with a blessed knife and some rosemary, just in case. Sounds simple enough. I am gonna need some supplies though. I tell ya. I can’t even remember the last time I got all dolled up.
“Oh, brother mine!” Your sing-songy tone was bound to get on Dean’s nerves, but you needed a ride. “How much do you love me?”
“Depends on why you’re asking,” he said hesitantly.
“Oh, it’s nothing major… I just need a ride to town. I have to grab a few things before we head back out for the hunt tonight,” you said sweetly, twirling a lock of hair around your finger, trying to look innocent. Okay. Cue puppy dog eyes.
“Fine,” he huffed. “Let me get my keys. Sam! Ca–“ He cut off abruptly when Cas, ever ignorant of the concept of personal space, popped up comically close to Dean’s face. I thought I was your favorite Winchester? Too bad, angel boy. We could’ve had some fun.
Apparently Cas hadn’t headed your warnings to stay out of your head. He turned a deep crimson, cleared his throat, and stepped back from your eldest brother, leaving a very confused but relieved Dean to wonder what could possibly make an angel blush. Still, all you got was side eye.
“You were about to call for me?” Cas asked Dean, his gaze flitting around the room, landing on anything but you.
So that’s how it’s gonna be. Alright. Let me think about what I want to get while we’re out. A short dress? I think yes. Tight or loose? Who am I kidding? Tight it is. I’ll need some new underwear… These aren’t really suited for a tight dress– unsightly lines and all that. Where will I keep my gun?
The angel’s complexion rivaled that of a tomato at this point, and bless Dean’s soul, he spoke up. Spontaneous combustion isn’t easy to clean up, and you didn’t relish the thought of scraping bits of Cas off the wall. “Yeah…” he started hesitantly. “I just wanted to let you and Sam know Y/N and I are headed to town. Keep us posted if anything changes.”
“We will. I believe Sam and I are about to depart to ask for the blessing of a priest on your knife,” Cas said in reply.
As Dean nodded and turned to go, you mirrored his movements, throwing a wink over your shoulder at the flustered angel. I’m on a roll. Got Cas on my way to get Dean.
The unshakeable, unphasable Dean Winchester was shell shocked by the end of your little trip. He’d been subjected to horrors even his stint in hell hadn’t shown him. The dad bench at Victoria’s secret? Yeah, he’d been plucked from that with an, “I need your opinion, little brother.” The lounge chairs outside Sephora? Yeah, he’d been jerked from those to “help swatch”. The cologne display in your favorite department store? Yeah, he’d been yanked from there to assess which dress was “sexy but not slutty”. Even the sanctuary of the food court, practically holy ground, wasn’t safe. Apparently, a sale on shoes trumped his nachos. He drove home on autopilot, eyes focused on the road, doing the speed limit for once. You chuckled to yourself. Serves him right.
As soon as you pulled in the garage, you hopped out of the car, dashing toward the bathroom with your new purchases. So much to do, so little time. I’m not usually a frilly person, but doesn’t every girl get a little excited when she has an excuse to shake it up every now and then? You passed a very confused Sam and Cas, who questioned Dean about the haunted look in his eyes. Putting on your playlist and laughing when “Hell on Heels” came on, you settled in for the long haul.
Three hours. Three hours is how long it took to create your cascading ringlets, to carefully carve your face with the sticky tubes and pots you’d tested on Dean’s forearm, to strap on those ungodly undergarments, and to stuff yourself into a dress that left very little to the imagination. Now if you could just figure out how to fasten your shoes without busting out of said dress like biscuits out of their can. “Help! I need someone to…” you trailed off, seeing your brothers, shadowed by their angel friend, come crashing through the door.
“You said, ‘help’ and we assumed the worst,” Sam shrugged.
Dean let out a whistle. “Damn, Sam, our sister is a girl after all. How nice. Now cover up.” His glare rivaled the one he’d had in place when you dragged him to look at earrings, insisting he hold them up to his ear so you could see how they hung. He shed his outer shirt, wrapping it backward around your chest.
“This is the point, Dean. Gotta blend in; make ‘em think I’m a working girl,” you chuckled, tossing the flannel off. “You know, the classy kind.”
“Can you even sit down?” Sam asked.
“No. Sitting is for quitters.” You snatched your shoes from the box, and asked sweetly, “Now, who will be a dear and help me put these on?”
How many Winchesters does it take to get a pair of shoes on?
Castiel did his signature head-turn-squint, and you exasperatedly answered his nonverbal question, “It’s a joke, Cas. Take my word for it.”
You shakily walked around, testing your balance. You know how sailors get sea legs? I think women get heel legs. Someone make me one of those honorary pins.
Meanwhile, the heavenly being in the room had yet to take his eyes off you. You’re giving me siren flashbacks here. Stop being creepy and say something, weirdo. The squeaky wheel gets the grease, my fine feathered friend. This confused squint you ignored, opting to hobble to the garage.
You piled into the impala, praying the whole way the stitching in your dress was as strong as your love of your modesty, what little you’d preserved, anyway. The ride there was short and silent, oddly enough. You’d been over the plan at least a hundred times in your mind. You knew exactly what to do.
But, because nothing can ever be simple, especially when Winchesters are involved, things got messy. Long story short, you ended up flat on your ass in the alley behind the bar, the lamia above you. “Come on, now. Let’s settle this like adults. Woman to woman,” you choked out. It’s rather hard to speak when there’s a Grecian monster limiting your air supply.
“I can’t let some hunter ruin my fun, now can I?” she trilled, releasing her grip by a fraction of an inch.
“I mean, you can do whatever you want,” you said with a wink.
“What I want to do is this,” she said with a crooked smile. You could feel the skin on your chest tightening, being pulled taut as your chest began to crack open, ribs straining and bending before snapping. You choked out a half-formed scream as your air supply was firmly cut off. The edges of your vision tinged black as you struggled to hang on to consciousness.
The cavalry has arrived! Your little team made quick work of killing the lamia, Sam landing a solid stab to the back of her neck while she was focused on you, Dean and Cas not far behind.
“Damn it, Sam! Did you have to go for the throat? I’m covered in blood,” you grumbled as you swiped at the sticky rust colored liquid before deciding it was hopeless. “Where were you all? Better late than never, I guess.”
“What a shame. I guess that means your dress is donezo.” Dean grinned at the thought, ignoring your question.
You just rolled your eyes, and hopped up, taking inventory of your injuries. Seeing that you’d only sustained some broken ribs and shallow scratches, you celebrated. “Bam, bitches! Me, two. Death, ZERO. Sorry I couldn’t be your main squeeze, sweetie,” you spat at the lifeless lump of a lamia.
“SHHH DON’T SAY THAT HE’LL HEAR YOU!” Dean cautioned with wide eyes.
“Good. We can go for pizza. I hear he’s into that. I’m starving,” you replied, kicking off your shoes for the walk back to the car.
“When are you not starving?” Sam and Dean asked in unison.
“Stop that. It’s creepy. Just shut up and feed me.” You looked around, wondering aloud, “Where’d angel boy go?”
“Guess you scared him off, Y/N. Shame. I’d like to have him for a brother-in-law,” Sam teased, attempting to ruffle your hair.
Joke’s on you, dude. My hair is so full of hairspray and blood, I’m pretty sure you couldn’t get it to mess up if you took a belt grinder to it. You chuckled, seeing Sam’s disgusted look when he pulled his hand back and wiped it on his shirt. “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves here. Seriously, though, we’re getting food, right?”
Post pizza pitstop, Dean, who was keyed up from the hunt and his near death experience at the mall, decided to burn some rubber. Partially to burn off steam; partially to get back at you. You were white-knuckling it on the bench seat. Cas, take the wheel.
“I do not understand why you feel as though I should pilot this vehicle,” your resident angel said dryly, appearing in the seat next to you.
“God! You scared me,” you squealed, your fist connecting with his upper arm, your attention quickly returning to your brothers in the front seat when Dean swerved in reaction to the new addition to the car.
This is it. This is the end. It won’t be a monster that gets me. It’ll be a damn tree.
“We have been over this. I am no longer God,” Castiel huffed, rubbing his shoulder. You looked over to him, catching a glimpse of the look he was giving you.
Did he just roll his freaking eyes at me? Are you serious? Like, I’m the one that taught him that. Oh, he’s gonna pay for that one. And not in the good kind of way.
At that, the angel blushed, turning his head to look out the window, his hand tentatively finding yours in the backseat. You laced his fingers with yours, giving them a reassuring squeeze.
Sure took you long enough.
At that, Cas laughed, bringing the back of your hand to his lips, earning a groan from both of your brothers.
“Like sands through the hourglass, so are the days of our lives,” Dean mocked.
“Wait, how do you know that quote? It’s from a daytime soap opera. Dean, are you cheating on Dr. Sexy?” Sam snickered.
“You realize that understanding the reference indicates that you also enjoy daytime television, right, Sam?” Cas interjected.
“Sometimes it pays to know a guy that can read minds,” you said with a smile, bursting into laughter, stopping short when your ribs protested. It was worth it. High five for making them squirm.
Your brothers in the front seat and your angel in the back. What more could a girl ask for?
Let Me Know What You Think
(Shoot me an ask if you want to be added to this list) Everything Taglist: @whywhydoyouwantmetosaymyname @midnightjazzmine @wevegotworktodo @dont-forget-the-pie-bitch @percussiongirl2017
This is an A/B/O AU. You are the Omega artist daughter of Naomi Novak, a world-class heart surgeon who is running for Mayor of New York City. After a meeting where your mother’s advisors call you a “liability”, she tells you that if you don’t do as your told she will cut you off. You storm out and wind up in a bar a few blocks away.
The hottest Alpha you have EVER laid eyes on with a scent so mouthwatering you’re practically drooling sits down next to you and offers to buy you a drink. It’s just a drink, right? What do you have to lose? Only everything.
Characters: Omega! Reader, Beta! Naomi Novak, Alpha! Castiel Novak, Omega! Meg Novak, Claire Novak, Jimmy Novak, Alpha! Sam Winchester, Alpha! Dean Winchester, Alpha! John Winchester
A/N: So I read this post from @moansmisha and I started thinking about how I could put my own spin on it. When I messaged her, she said “Go to town, use whatever you want!”
When my mother told me two years ago she was considering running for office I just knew this would somehow come back to bite me in the ass. I thought maybe she would run for City Council or the Parks Department or something like that. But no. Not my mother. Not Harvard educated, top of her class, excels-at everything-she-does, overachiever Naomi Novak.
She’s running for Mayor. Of New York-freaking City. As if being one of the top heart surgeons in the world wasn’t enough? But nothing was ever enough for her. We were so different that when I was younger I was convinced I was adopted. My brother Cas is just like her: brilliant, driven, successful, but with enough of my Dad in him that he is also kind, compassionate and caring.
Cas is a physician like my Mom, a pediatrician. He is married to a wonderful Omega named Meg and has two beautiful kids, Claire and Jimmy. In my Mom’s eyes he is the perfect son. She gets along with Cas because he reminds her of her.
And then there is me. I am 100% my father. All the personality traits she apparently found attractive enough in him to marry him for she despises in me. I am an artist. I went to Art School, not even a “real college” according to her. I make my living selling my paintings at a few galleries around the city. I am slowly building a following. It makes my mother crazy that if it weren’t for the trust fund my father set up for me before he died, I would barely be making ends meet.
I told her two years ago that if she did this to leave me out of it. That I didn’t want to be dragged into any media circus. Cas was the perfect child. Use him for the photo ops and just pretend I didn’t exist. It would be better for everyone.
And then my mother’s secretary called and said Mom wanted me to come over Friday night for dinner. it wasn’t unusual for Abby to call for my Mom because she was busy so I didn’t think anything of it.
Friday night when I arrived (late of course) Cas and Meg were there, but so were two men I didn’t know. I immediately smelled something fishy and pulled Cas aside.
“Who are those guys?” I whispered to him.
“Some guys from Mom’s PR team. They did some kind of analysis or study or something and decided that mom comes across as too cold.”
“I could have told them that for free.” I muttered under my breath.
“Y/N.” Cas chided me. “Anyway. They want to humanize her, make her seem more like a family gal. That’s where we come in, I guess.”
“Great. Just great.” This night was sinking from bad to worse.
After dinner, we all retired to the library for coffee. I waited for the lecture to begin. The younger man spoke first. “Dr. Novak, our focus groups found that people thought you were an excellent surgeon, but didn’t really think of you as family oriented. Most saw you as focused on your career. We need to change that.”
I could tell my Mom wasn’t thrilled with his words, but she hid it well. “What do you suggest then?”
“More public appearances by your family. Have your children attend your speeches and debates. It will help.” He replied.
Now the older gentleman took over. “There is one more thing. Your daughter is an unmated Omega, is she not?”
“That’s none of your business!” I said angrily.
The younger one looked at me with distain. “During this campaign, everything is our business. You are going to be presented as a Beta like your mother. You'll need to take scent blockers and suppressants to hide your scent.”
“What? Why?” I snapped at him.
“Because an unmated Omega daughter is a liability we don’t need.” The older one said.
“I won’t do it! I’m not ashamed of what I am!” I stated furiously.
My mother spoke for the first time. “You will do what you are told or I will make sure you are cut off without a cent.”
“Cas!” I plead, staring at my brother.
“She controls the trust, Y/N. There’s nothing I can do, I’m sorry.” Cas frowns at our mother. “Is this really necessary, Mom?”
I jump up from the table. “I’m so done here.” I say angrily. I grab my coat from the closet and run down the hallway before anyone can stop me. I hop the nearest elevator and am on the street minutes later. It’s a nice night so I begin to walk. A few blocks later I come to a bar and decide to stop for a drink. I sit down at the bar and order a Long Island Ice Tea, and very quickly another.
Suddenly my head whips around as I smell the most delectable scent of Alpha I have every smelled in my entire life.. I look up, and UP, and this incredibly tall man is standing in front of me. He is gorgeous: long shaggy brown hair, hazel eyes, muscled body, amazing smile. I have the nagging feeling I have seen him somewhere before, but I chug my drink and it passes. I smile at him.
A/N: Ok, so this is pure smutty trash, also, my first time writing full on smutt, so please be gentle. I would like to give a HUGE shoutout to @jalove-wecallhimdean for beating this for me, and helping me with ideas! Seriously, you’re amazing! Hope you guys enjoy!
Pairing: Demon!Dean X Reader
Warnings: Smutt, masturbation(female), oral(female receiving), orgasm denial, slightly dom!dean, like seriously guys, if smutt isn’t your thing, turn back now!
“Oh (Y/N), where are youuu? Don’t you want to come out and playyy?” Dean’s voice echoed down the hall of the bunker.
You sat in a closet of one of the vacant rooms, struggling with your thoughts. You knew you should run, fear for your life, but you couldn’t. Something about the tone of Dean’s voice excited you, made you curious of what would happen if he found you. Before you could decide what to do, two strong arms were wrapping around you tightly.
“Gotcha now, princess.” Dean sneered, as his eyes flashed pitch black.
You knew you should fight back, try to escape from his grasp, but you didn’t. Instead you let him haul you off to god knows where to do god knows what to you.
“Dean…” was all you were able to get out before everything went black.
When you finally came to, you couldn't move. You looked down, searching for the source of your restraint, finding your arms and legs bound by straps. You were laying naked on what seemed to be an examination table, the cold stinging your bare skin. ‘What the hell is Dean doing to me’ you thought to yourself. Fear and excitement coursing through your veins.
“About time you woke up, I didn't want to have do this all by myself.” Dean smirked at you.
You looked over to see him seated in a chair facing you, slowly stroking his thick cock. His eyes clouded with desire.
“What… what are you going to do to me?” You all but whimpered out.
“Actually, you should be asking what you're going to do to yourself princess.” A devilish grin spreading across his lips.
Dean stood up and made his way over to you, his cock bouncing freely as he walked. You knew that you shouldn't, but all you could do was focus on it and wonder how it would feel inside of you.
Dean trailed his hand along your leg, up your thigh, and over your slick folds before unlatching one of your wrists.
“I want you to show me how you play with yourself at night when you think about me.” He commanded. “How you flick and pinch your nipples, wishing it was my tongue instead of your fingers.”
Dean snapped his fingers, and suddenly your free hand landed on your breast and began toying with the tight bud. A small moan escaping your mouth.
“That's it sweetheart, just like that.” He purred.
You didn't want to do this, but you couldn't stop. You watched as Dean's eyes surveyed your body as if you were his property.
“Now I want to see how you slowly slide your hand down your body, running a finger through your slick folds.”
And with another snap, your hand began to trail down your body, a finger dipping into your heat. You were surprised to feel the wetness that had began to pool up between your folds. You couldn't deny how turned on you were by Dean’s torture.
“Now taste it.” He demanded.
You did as you were told as Dean looked on in surprise; he didn't have to make you follow his command.
“Oh, you like that don't you (Y/N).” He said as he began to slowly stroke his length.
You decided to take things into your own hands, no longer needing Dean's commands. You slid your hand back down to your heat and began to run a flinger through your slick coming up to flick the sensitive mound of nerves.
Dean looked on with pure lust as you took your finger and plunged it into your opening, pumping in and out slowly.
You could feel your release building inside of you, but before you could reach it, Dean removed your hand and placed it back into the restraint.
“Not yet princess.”
Dean's tongue appeared where your finger had left off. Slowly circling your mound, as he thrust a long thick digit inside of you, curling it slightly to access your g-spot. You felt your release begin to build again, but just as you were about to fall over the edge, Dean removed himself from between your legs. You let out a frustrated moan.
“What's the rush princess?” Dean smirked up at you. “We've got all night.” He whispered across your skin, his breath sending tingles up your spine.
His callused hands find their way to your breasts, pawing and kneading them as his mouth finds your rising bud, taking it between his teeth, nipping and sucking causing you to arch up into him. You struggled with your restraints, needing to feel him.
Dean was taking his time, tormenting you, savoring every inch of your body.
He finally stopped his attack on your chest, and released your arms and legs from their restraints. He slid you down until your legs were hanging off of the table.
“Now be a good girl, and don't move.” He commanded as he spread your legs, teasing your folds with the head of his length.
Dean looked up at you, eyes flashing black, before thrusting into you hard and fast. You screamed out in pain and pleasure, fighting the urge to arch into his thrust.
Dean stilled inside of you before he began thrusting in a rough rhythm, his hips grinding into your own.
He let out a primal roar, “mmm so tight princess, gonna rip you wide open!”
Dean quickens his pace, his hand tangling into your hair and holding your head down, his other hand finding your breast and begins roughly kneading.
You could feel the pressure building inside of you as Dean quickened his pace.
“Dean… gonna come.” You squeaked out through labored breaths.
Your walls tightened around him as you finally found your release, Dean's name rolling off of your tongue as you rode the waves of pleasure.
“Fuck princess. So hot!” He roared as he tightened his grip in your hair. You felt the warmth fill you as he came, his length throbbing inside of you.
After riding out his own release, he removed himself from you.
“I always knew you'd be a good fuck, (Y/N/N).” Before vanishing from the room, leaving you naked, empty, and alone.
Warnings: none that I can think of, but let me know if there are!
A/N: I’m so sorry I haven’t been writing. I have some issues and events going on in my personal life. I also have an announcement sometime soon! Anyway, here is Deep Sleeper pt3
Tags: @skeletoresinthebasement (also, some other people who I’d thought would take a gander at it. if you don’t want to be tagged, please let me know!) @winchesters-favorite-girl @mrswhozeewhatsis @impalaimagining @kaz2y5-imagines
Cas veered to Y/N’s room with a hard look on his face. Dean was hot on his heels.
“Cas? What is it?” Cas kept walking, ignoring Dean, “Cas!”
“Dean, you need to trust me,” he stopped in his tracks and spun around. Dean looked at him as if he was crazy.
“What are you doing? And no! I’m not gonna sit out here while you go... wherever.”
Cas gave Dean a hard look and Dean knew it was important.
“Dean, I think I know how to get her back.”
“You’re, um, what?”
The ‘replica’ smirked, her arms crossing over her chest.
“I’m you. You’re me,” she paused and laughed in mockery, “You do understand, right?”
Y/N was lost. She didn’t know what was going on, or what kind of thing she was dealing with. The other Y/N sensed Y/N’s stressed state and elaborated.
“Look, you’re not from here-”
Y/N scrunched her face, almost feeling insulted, “Yes I am. I grew up here, in Kansas.”
Y/N number two laughed, shook her head, and explained, “You didn’t let me finish. This is a whole other world. A whole other universe, if you will.”
The original Y/N grew more panicked with each breath she breathed. Her face paled, her chest started to move rapidly, and her eyes grew in fear. She struggled the find her words, “What-who-wha...”
“Don’t worry,” a wicked grin spread on her face, “ We are going to have so much fun.”
The real Y/N kicked her hunter instincts into gear. Her breathing steadied and her face turned cold, and her body was ready to pounce. She was face to face with herself, and not in a metaphorical way.
Before anything could happen, Y/N was taken down in an instant. Doubled over in pain, with her hands covering her head, she struggled, “What did you do- ah!”
She dropped to her knees, no longer able to focus on keeping herself upright.
“Why are you do-oing this?”
The other Y/N simply stood there, watching Y/N writhe with agony. Her arms crossed over her chest, in a nonchalant manner, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
The victim looked up for a split second and saw that the girl in front of her wasn’t moving a muscle. She must be a monster, Y/N thought. She was forced back down. The pain was white hot, eating away at her brain and chest. It felt like she was being torn apart.
“Do you, uh, want popcorn... or something?” Y/N looked back up, only to by hit with another tsunami of pain. The other one, though, looked as if she was asking a serious question, “Oh, do you not do popcorn? What about nachos?”
Y/N kept muffling her cries of pain as they became too much.
“I mean, you can’t watch a show without a snack.”
“Sc-crew yo-ou,” and Y/N’s body went limp.
“Dean, Sam,” the brothers came to his side. Cas gazed towards the floor, then back up, “I am going to have to go into her mind, and search for whatever might be left over of her soul.”
“You have to uh, ha, uh, what?”
Cas sighed, repeating himself, “I have to-”
Dean held his hand up and Cas stopped talking, “Yeah, we heard it the first time.”
Sam grew worried, “Cas, won’t that take a big toll on her? I mean, we don’t even know if she is actually fully healed,” his eyes screamed concern, and his voice got a little higher each time he spoke.
Cas, again, had a grim look on his face, which radiated throughout his body. Both brothers knew that whatever their friend was about to say, it wouldn’t be good.
“You’re right Sam-,” Dean tried to interject, but was cut off by a glare from the angel, “-and she might not be at 100%, and this won’t be easy,” Cas paused.
“What, what is it?”
“I have to do both. At the same time.”
Dean’s heart dropped. He knew that Y/N was strong, and a fighter, but he had a feeling. A bad feeling.
“So, we are going to kill her?”
Hearing it out loud was tough on all three men, each one stiffening when Dean made that statement. It made the situation real. Final.
“I’m going to try my best to save Y/N and bring her back.”
Sam looked downwards to hide his reddening eyes, “When she makes it out of this, will she be the same? Will she be OK?”
“I don’t know for sure. But the sooner I do this, the better,” the boys nodded and sauntered down the hall towards Y/N’s room where she lay. They were stopped short, “Guys?”
They turned their heads to face Cas, who hadn’t moved, “You don’t want to be here when I do this.”
Dean shook his head, disappointed in himself, “No. No, I’m not leaving her. She is here because of me! I did this to Y/N! My job is to protect her, and I clearly deserve a medal for that!” his face was red, his out burst causing the flushing. Sam quickly aided his brother.
“Dean, how is it your fault?” Dean looked anywhere but at Sam. Cas had already slipped into Y/N’s room, both brothers distracted.
Dean struggled to answer, his mouth opening and closing several times. Sam looked at his expectantly, and received a small, but forceful answer, “It just is.”
Sam was about to protest, but Y/N’s screams filled their ears. They looked at each other with panic on their faces, and bolted towards their sister’s room, only to find it locked. Dean slapped on the door while demanding Cas to open it.
He and Sam tried to bust it down, but Cas had it locked down. The screams didn’t stop until ten minutes in. Both brothers sat against the wall, feeling more than helpless, and a little guilty.
Y/N’s door opened and reviled an exhausted angel. In the back sat a blank Y/N. Dean glanced at Cas, and moved past him towards his sister. He crouched down in front of her, tears welling in his eyes.
Y/N’s eyes, though, held nothing. Dean knew the second he saw her. He couldn’t admit it to himself or to anyone else.
Cas watched the Winchester siblings interact. He picked up on Dean’s knowledge after the two made eye contact, and flew off after a quick nod to his dear friend.
Dean’s focus went back to Y/N. She was sitting upright on the edge of her bed, completely zoned out. Sam grew more concerned with every second that ticked by without his baby sister moving a single muscle.
The brothers shared a look after just sitting with her, and knew what they had to do.
Dean picked Y/N up without a single protest, confirming his assumption completely.
It was your first walk down the red carpet since becoming a regular on the show. These things were proving to be a lot more hectic and stressful than you had ever anticipated, gaining a new respect for the rest of the cast who had to do this multiple times a year. You were waiting for your turn with the next interviewer, one of dozens who were waiting in line, waiting to talk to you and everyone else in hopes of gaining the ‘inside scoop’. Jensen was behind you, already answering the magazine journalist’s questions. You stopped to wave at some of the fans who were watching in behind the madness, trying to keep your eyes from wandering over to Jensen.
The two of you had been dating for a few months now but never really went public with the relationship, hoping to keep the private moments private for as long as possible. It was one of the downfalls about being in the public eye. Everyone wanted to know everything and neither one of you really wanted to share that part of your lives.
Over all of the commotion, you clearly heard your name pass the interviewer’s lips as she asked Jensen her next question. The shocked expression on his face was unsettling, you could barely hear what was being said but when you seen the woman pull her phone out and turn the screen towards Jensen you felt your blood run cold.
_________
“Can you tell us what the deal is between you and Y/N?” Jensen rolled his eyes before cutting them at the journalist.
“I’ve told you and many others before, we are close friends and co-workers. There’s really nothing else to tell.” Although his tone was obviously annoyed, the interviewer was persistent.
“Recent photos we’ve dug up tells us otherwise, Mr. Ackles. Last time I checked, ‘close friends’ don’t make a habit of holding hands and each other in public.” She pulled the incriminating pictures up on her phone and swiped through numerous shots of you and Jensen at a bar the night before with the rest of the cast. Unable to conceal the exasperated sigh, Jensen ran a hand down the back of his neck, studying the floor he contemplated his answer. Locking eyes with you he cocked his head in a motion for you to join him.
He asked the woman to show you the photos and you instantly knew what was about to happen. The two of you exchanged a few expressions, knowing exactly what the other was trying to convey, you came to an agreement and Jensen slid his arm around your waist before making eye contact with the journalist.
“Yes, Y/N and I have been seeing each other for a few months now and we couldn’t be any happier.” He looked down at you with a sparkle in his eyes that you hadn’t noticed before, a warm wave washed over your body and you weren’t sure if it was the man standing next to you, the fact that you didn’t have to hide anymore, or possibly a combination of both. His lips met yours in a chaste kiss. Cameras started flashing all around you and the fans who were watching in filled the room with screams and whistles. He removed his arm and you moved on to the next interview.
“What was all that about Miss Y/L/N?” The woman cocked an eyebrow at you. Your gaze drifted back to Jensen who was still watching you, his eyes locking onto yours. You smiled to yourself and answered the question without breaking eye contact with him, “I think I’m in love with that man.”
You knew he heard what you said, his face blushed a light pink and his smile grew impossibly larger. Turning back to the journalist to answer the rest of her questions, you couldn’t seem take your mind off of him. It was going to be a great day.
Warnings: Saccharine fluff. Sorry not sorry. Scattered plot (is this a warning?) I still suck at titles.
Summary: The reader and the Winchesters have been on a case that has been going on for quite some time. In their eagerness to follow a lead, they stumble upon some witches. Dean’s plan backfires on him a bit, and suddenly, he's a baby. The reader takes care of him.
A/N: This is my entry for @deals-with-demons 200 follower challenge. Congrats, Sarah! Hope you like it! (I’m running right down to the wire here. Guess who took too many hours this semester.) I had one thing in mind when I took the prompt, which is bolded below, but this one kinda just took over. It’s just a little something. It’s unbeta’d, so all the mistakes are mine. Italics are reader’s thoughts. Feedback is always welcome and is more than appreciated! Thanks for reading!
What have I gotten myself into?
Life with the Winchesters was not all you’d thought it would be. The men who managed to keep the world from ending couldn’t manage to keep from bickering with each other. Constantly. The men who managed to kill monsters for a living couldn’t manage to kill a spider. Ever. The men who managed to clean up crime scenes after a hunt couldn’t manage to clean up… well, anything, really. The men who managed to always have near perfect aim couldn’t manage to aim for the laundry basket. Or the trashcan. The list of things they couldn’t manage to do was ever growing.
They did, however, manage to get on your nerves; sometimes purposefully, sometimes accidentally. The eldest Winchester had a special way of getting under your skin; it was a gift, really. He picked at you every chance he got. As little brothers often do, Sam fell in line, taking his cues from Dean. The two of them together was enough to drive a normal person crazy. It’s a good thing I’m not a normal person.
I did not sign up for this, you groaned inwardly, seeing the disaster zone that was the motel room you’d been sharing with the brothers.
Kicking your way inside past the fast food wrappers, dirty socks, and the leftovers in varying stages of decomposition, you griped, “Is it too much to ask for a room that doesn’t smell like something died? I don’t understand how you all think this is okay. Why do we always have to go through this? It’s the same routine: you all make a mess, I nag about it, we eventually clean it up. Why can’t we skip a couple of steps? You all could just be clean from the get go. It would save so much time and energy.”
Looking up from the newspaper he’d been reading, Dean asked, “Does it bother you, sweetheart?”
“You know it does, Dean,” you grumbled, dangling one of his socks in front of his face.
Snatching his sock and smirking, he rolled off the bed and tossed over his shoulder, “That’s why we have to do it.”
You rolled your eyes and half-heartedly bit back a curse, picking up a sticky soda can from the nightstand and chucking it at Dean’s head.
Having been on this wild goose chase of a hunt for over a week, you were tired. Tired of playing mom to two man-children. Tired of fruitless research. Tired of dead ends. Tired of long nights. So, when you heard Sam mention something about a possible lead, you were, understandably, eager to check it out, foregoing your usual air of caution. When Sam mentioned this, you replied, “What’s the worst thing that could happen?” The three of you parted ways, you and Dean going to check out the address Sam had dug up while Sam went to the police station to grab a few case files.
This. This is the worst thing that could’ve happened, you thought, taking in your surroundings. Instead of finding a routine vengeful spirit or a run-of-the-mill demon or even a nice werewolf, you managed to stumble into the command central of some new practitioners of black magic. Apparently, Fate had decided to cut you a little slack, though– Wait, isn’t she dead? Anyway, the point remains. Only one of the witches was home. Hallelujah. The only problem was that while she was inexperienced, she was anything but ineffective. From the time you two had clamored in like you owned the place, she’d been on you hot and heavy. She’s just one person. WHERE IS SHE KEEPING ALL THESE INCANTATIONS AND SPELLWARES?
After a solid thirty minutes of bobbing and weaving, you were all on the verge of exhaustion. The witch paused, panting. Seeing an opportunity in the lull, Dean, ever trigger happy, squeezed off half a clip, effectively solving your witch issues.
“A bit much, don’t ya think?” you asked, moving to nudge her with the toe of your boot.
“Better safe than sorry,” he said with a smug grin, and began straightening the mess the firefight had made. I knew he knows how to clean. Jerk. You moved to help him, setting a tipped table aright.
“Where the hell did Sam go? He was supposed to come here after he got done at the sheriff’s office. If that jackass is taking a nap again, I swear to the gods–“ you were cut off by shrill yell. Spinning on your heel, you were met with the sight of a disheveled young girl, her blond hair sticking up in irregular tufts. She shakily made her way to the corpse lying in the middle of the room, her once red face becoming ashen.
“You,” she growled, reaching out a clawed hand toward Dean. “I will end you,” she vowed, her childlike voice at odds with her words.
“End me? I’d like to see you try, sweetheart. Who invited the overgrown child?” Dean snorted, looking around the room as if for the person responsible for her.
No no no no do not agitate the unstable witch. Do. Not. Provoke. Her. You shot Dean a warning glance, but he continued to snicker seeing her burning glare.
“What, you gonna bop me with your magic wand? Bibbidi bobbidi boo me? Come on, princess. We both know you couldn’t hurt a fly,” he taunted, swaggering her way.
What the fresh hell are you doing, you idiot?
Dean flashed you a quick I-know-what-I’m-doing look. You swallowed a sigh.
“Overgrown child? OVERGROWN CHILD? I’ve been casting spells longer than you’ve been alive. I’ll show you an overgrown child!” she shrieked, her spritely figure contorted in her rage.
Oh, I get it.
With the witch’s attention diverted toward Dean, you were able to slide the gun from the waistband of your jeans.
One more smartass remark. I just need one more. That shouldn’t be difficult for you, Winchester. He grinned, seeing that you were catching on.
You took aim, “That’s enough. Back away,” you motioned with the barrel of your gun.
Sadly, the little witch didn’t head your warning. She lunged at Dean, and you pulled the trigger.
Bullseye.
But before she went down, the witch managed to fling some harried Latin and a shimmering powder– Seriously though, where the hell do they keep this stuff?– at Dean. Your first priority was to make sure she was actually dead. No pulse. Check. Your second priority was to check on Dean. Turning from the two corpses– That’s gonna be a bitch to clean up– you looked around the room trying spot your hunting partner. This should not be this hard. He is literally over six feet tall. HE’S THE ONLY OTHER PERSON HERE. Your gaze caught on a pile of clothes that hadn’t been there a second ago. Drawing your weapon once again, you moved toward it with measured steps.
“Son of a bitch. Dean?” you questioned, taking in the tiny figure burrowed in the Led Zeppelin t-shirt Dean had been wearing. Sighing, you picked him up, his chubby fingers immediately finding and tugging on your hair.
“I freaking hate witches,” you grumbled, pulling out your phone to call Sam. Three rings later, a groggy voice answered with an air of annoyance.
“Hello, Samuel. Enjoy your nap? Good, good. It’s the last sleep you’ll get UNTIL YOU FIGURE OUT HOW THE HELL TO GROW YOUR BROTHER UP. What am I talking about, you ask? If you’d been here, you’d know! Witches, Sam. I’m talking about witches. Plural. We got ‘em, but they apparently got Dean too. He’s an infant, Sam. I DON’T KNOW HOW TO TAKE CARE OF A BABY! I’m coming to you, and you better have that nose of yours buried in whatever book will tell us how to fix this by the time I get back,” you said, angrily hanging up.
I miss the days when I could slam my flip phone shut. Hitting the end button violently just doesn’t do it for me.
Looking down at the baby in your arms, you sighed.
I did not think this through. How am I supposed to drive and hold him?
“I guess we’re winging it, Deano. You know what this means? I get to drive Baby,” you said with a grin. At that, he let out a high-pitched wail.
“Don’t get your diaper all in a twist. I’ll be careful. Shit, you aren’t stopping. What do I do?” you asked frantically. I guess we’re winging it here too. You began to gently rock him, bringing his head up to rest on your chest. In response, he curled his fingers in your hair and grinned.
Alright, we know that works. I’ll tuck that away for future reference.
With a now content Dean still nestled on your shoulder, you gathered his clothes from the floor and shoved both your guns in the waistband of your jeans. After dropping the stuff in the backseat of Baby, you grabbed the spare gas can from the trunk, soaking the perimeter of the house.
“This will have to do for clean-up, kid,” you said to the little boy dozing on your shoulder as you flicked your lighter onto the accelerant.
Your drive back to the motel was mostly silent. Turns out babies aren’t much for carrying on conversations. Pulling into the parking lot, you scooped a now sleeping baby Dean up and ran toward the door.
God this is weird.
“Sam, open the door!” you said while banging with your fist, waking the little blonde headed baby on your shoulder. Fat tears started streaming down his face just before he let out a wail. “SAMOPENTHISDOORRIGHTNOWDAMMIT” you yelled, causing him to be even more upset.
“Okay, this is fine. We’re fine. You’re fine,” you attempted to soothe him, bouncing him up and down before snuggling him close to your chest again.
Hearing the creak of the door, you almost bowled Sam over in your determination to get inside.
“Dude, you have to take him. He’s your brother. This is just too weird,” you said as soon as Sam had locked the door.
“I don’t know anything about babies. I was the baby,” Sam said, putting his hands up in front of him.
“This isn’t a stick up, so you can put your hands down. I can’t take care of him, and you know damn well why,” you said, once again trying to hand off the baby that had settled his hand on your cleavage. Even as a baby, Dean. Un-freaking-believable.
“That’s a shitty excuse, Y/N. I’m not taking care of him just because you have some silly little crush,” Sam said, dropping down onto the sofa.
“Oh my God, Sam. Don’t say stuff like that in front of him! We have no idea what he’ll remember! You make it sound like I’m some fifteen-year-old school girl or something. What happened to ‘It’s no big deal’ and ‘I swear I won’t say anything’?” you shot back.
“Relax. He’s asleep. I didn’t mean to get you all riled up. If you think about it though, we’ll get this solved more quickly if you just let me continue researching. We both know I’m faster,” he shrugged.
“You. Owe. Me. What am I even supposed to do with him?” you asked, sitting down on the bed, automatically adjusting Dean’s position not to jostle him.
“I don’t know. Go get him some clothes, figure out how to make a bottle? I’m sure you’re a natural,” he rattled off, not really paying attention.
“Guess that’s what we’ll do,” you sighed, grabbing your keys and stolen credit card from the night stand. “Wait. Moms carry purses. I think I have one here somewhere... Aha! Got it.” You stuffed your pistol, keys, card, and an extra magazine in the little black bag. Grabbing a shirt to use for a makeshift blanket, you headed out the door.
How am I even supposed to know what a baby needs? Aimlessly wandering down the aisles with a gurgling Dean in your arms, you chose things at random. Bottles, diapers, wipes, pacifiers, stuffed animals; into the cart they went. Until you got to the clothes, that is. ALL THIS STUFF IS SO LITTLE. I CAN’T. If we have to do this, we’re gonna do it right. You chose a fuzzy penguin sleeper and a matching onesie pant set with little baby bears. OH MY GOD THERE’S A MATCHING HAT WITH EARS. You’re gonna love it. I can just tell. Eager to get Dean home so you could play dress up, you quickly made your purchases and left.
Once you were back at the motel, you dropped the bags on the bed, digging in them with one hand for the things you needed to dress him. Sam eyed you with curiosity as you put on Dean’s tiny little outfit and blew a raspberry on his stomach. Scooping up a now giggling Dean, you tossed him up in the air, earning more giggles, the ears on his hat flapping as he went up and down. You two continued on like this until Sam, who’d had enough of the baby talk, suggested you put Dean to bed.
Flipping off the lights, you gently placed a footie-pajama-clad baby Dean next to you in bed. He promptly rolled over and stuck his butt in the air. Suppressing a giggle, you rubbed circles on his back and patted him until he was snoring softly. You gently placed him on your chest to ensure you wouldn’t roll over on him.
“You know, you’re not so bad, little man. You can’t speak and annoy me like grown-up you does. I know this was really weird at first. I’m permanently blocking the memories of those diaper changes, by the way. But this was kinda nice. It wasn’t all bad. I wouldn’t mind being this close to you when you’re all grown up. I’m a snuggler. I know you don’t see me that way, but hey, a girl can dream right? Sammy’s right. It’s just a little crush. I’m sure I’ll get over it. You know, you’re a good listener when you’re sleeping,” you whispered, finishing with a snicker. You placed a soft kiss on the top of his head and nodded off.
I can’t breathe. I can’t freaking breathe. Why is it so damn hot? You thought, your eyes snapping open. Instead of a sweet little baby snuggled into your chest, there was a grown man lying on top of you.
HIs snoring isn’t so soft now. Aaaaaand he’s naked.
“Dean… Dean,” you whispered, poking him. Sighing, you said a bit louder, “Dean. Get up. I can’t breathe.” Giving up being gentle, you shoved at him and all but yelled, “DEANGETOFFYOURESUFFOCATINGME” The snoring man woke with a start, falling off the bed and pulling you with him. Hearing Sam’s chortle, you popped up out of the floor and made a beeline for the bathroom, leaning against the locked door for support.
Okay, so that just happened. Calm down, Y/N. Calm down. This is fine. You’re fine. Just give him a minute to put some clothes on. That’ll make this a little less awkward. Please, for the love of all that is good and holy in this world, don’t let him remember all that.
Taking a deep breath and steeling yourself, you unlocked the bathroom door and stepped outside. Sam was gone. You and Dean were alone.
Well this isn’t awkward at all.
“Morning,” you said hesitantly.
“Morning,” he replied.
After an awkward silence that seemed to last eons, you broke down, “All right. I’ll bite. How much do you remember?” You avoided eye contact like the plague.
That’s a nice lamp. Why is he taking so long to answer? Was that stain always there on the carpet?
You were so wrapped up in trying to decide if the blob on the edge of the bed skirt was jelly or pudding that you didn’t notice Dean approach you. You didn’t see the tender look in his eyes or the little half smile he had when he said, “I remember everything.”
Startled at his sudden close proximity, you took a step backward. “You want to elaborate, Winchester?”
“Not particularly. I liked the hat, though” he said, his usual arrogance returning.
“Oh. Okay. Glad you’re back to normal,” you said uncertainly, turning away from him and looking for something to do with your hands. You settled on making coffee and had just placed a filter in when two large hands clasped around your waist, spinning you around.
Your gaze locked with Dean’s as he emptied your hands and moved them so they were joined behind his head.
“I remember everything,” he said again.
“Oh.”
“Yeah, ‘oh’ is right. Just so you know, I’m a snuggler too,” he said with that grin that made his eyes crinkle. God I love that.
“You heard that?” you asked warily.
“Every. Single. Word.” He said, his words each punctuated with a chaste kiss; one to your nose, one to the corner of your mouth, the last lingering on your forehead.
Taking advantage of where he’d put your hands, you pulled him down, connecting your lips with his. His eyes, wide with shock, eventually fluttered shut as your mouths moved in synchrony, tasting, testing, and exploring. You broke apart, breathing heavily. Trailing openmouthed kisses across his face, you worked your way down and nipped at his jaw.
“You missed,” you said with a sly smile.
“My mistake. Won’t happen again,” he said, claiming your mouth once again.
You pulled back. “But seriously, though, you liked the hat?”
“That’s what you take away from this?” he sighed, incredulous. “Yes. I liked the hat,” he chuckled, pulling you in closer.
I knew it.
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