Summary: You have an addiction that is slowly consuming your life. When the Winchesters pick up your trail, they make you come face to face with what is causing your problem.
Characters: Dean Winchester, Sam Winchester, Castiel, other minor characters
Word Count: 2999
Warnings: Angst, language, SPN canon violence, minor sexuality, addiction, mentions of death
A/N: This is for @impala-dreamer‘s Titles Are Hard Challenge. I was going to make a fluffy fic of the reader being accepted into the Winchester clan... but this time of year reminds me of a very dark time in my life full of addiction and heartbreak, and part of how I deal with that is through my writing. If anyone out there is struggling with an addiction, just know that it gets better and make sure you Always Keep Fighting, no matter how long the road to recovery may seem. If you enjoy it or want more, I will more than likely make a part 2 with a ship, but as it stands right now, there is no pairing in this. If you would like to be tagged in any of my stories, please send me an ask! Beta’d by the lovely @saxxxology!
It felt like liquid sex rolling across your tongue and down your throat. Each taste bud exploding with delight as you drank with shaky hands. You could feel the warmth spreading through your stomach and making your whole body tingle just under the surface like electricity was coursing through your nerves. Sure, you never meant for it to go this far, but the feeling it gave you, the rush of pleasure and the tingle of excitement… you couldn’t get enough.
You were a vessel, approached by a celestial being that whispered promises in your ear. The angel that possessed you, Delilah, convinced you that you would be helping her do God’s work, that you would be aiding in the will of Heaven.
They were all lies.
Delilah took control of your body and did horrendous things. She murdered innocent people and other angels, she conspired against Heavenly Host, and worst of all, she killed your family when they were researching ways to expel an angel from a vessel. She whispered to you that it was for the greater good and that she still had work to do, but you were broken. The strong barricade you put up between you and her shattered, leaving you trapped in your own mind like a lethargic pile of despair unable to control your body.
You were stuck in the darkness of your own mind. That was until you breathed, felt air rushing into your lungs followed by a throbbing pain in your head. You willed your body to move, and your eyes shot open when you were able to wiggle your fingers. You slowly rolled to your side and took in your surroundings. You were in a derelict building that looked to have been abandoned since the sixties, judging by the wallpaper. There was debris and broken furniture scattered around you, everything caked in a thick layer of dust.
You sat up and noticed quite a few footprints in the dust surrounding your body. A few of them were scuffed like there was a struggle, but that’s when your eyes froze on the charcoal black outline of wings scorched into the floor in front of you. You turned around and didn’t see any where you had been laying down, but it appears there had been an angel killed here.
You leaned forward and managed to get to your feet, wobbling slightly as you remembered how to walk. It had been fourteen years since you said that one word that ruined your life, and you weren’t about to stick around and let them get another chance at you. Your eyes landed on a shiny metallic object under one of the broken chairs and you bent down and picked it up. An angel blade would come in handy, just in case you needed to defend yourself.
You brushed some dust off the tacky light gray suit you were wearing and slowly creeped through the house and outside into the sunlight, taking a moment to stand outside and let your skin tingle with warmth as the sun’s rays caressed you. It had been a while since you’d felt anything and you knew it was going to be slow remembering how to function again; remembering how to live again.
That was three years ago. You hunted for a while, trying to distract yourself from the piece of you that was missing. It felt like you were missing a part of your soul and nothing would satiate the hunger you had to be complete. You tried drinking, sex, pure adrenaline, and even some recreational drugs, but nothing worked. It was like your body was a puzzle with a piece missing and no matter how many times you tried to jam another piece in the gap, it never fit and you were left even more frustrated than before.
Until you met Damien two weeks ago.
“Hey Sammy, we got a case,” Dean called out from the library of the bunker. He heard the heavy footsteps of his brother getting louder as Sam made his way from the kitchen to the library.
“Whatcha got?” Sam sat down across from Dean and leaned forward, his elbows resting on his knees.
“A trail of bodies in Iowa,” Dean turned his laptop toward Sam, “four dead so far in two weeks, victims had no connection to one another except that they were wearing business clothing and-”
“And you think this is a case?” Sam raised an eyebrow after skimming the news report.
Dean raised a finger to silence his brother before leaning up and hitting the spacebar, scrolling the article down to show him pictures of the crime scene. Each crime scene had a pair of charcoal black wings scorched into the surface behind each body. Sam’s eyebrows shot up and he continued scrolling, studying each photo of the four crime scenes.
“Angels?” Sam asked and Dean nodded. Sam continued reading and let out a soft chuckle at one of the paragraphs. “They’re calling the perp a serial killer and named him The Crow. Clever.”
Dean cocked his head and raised an eyebrow in confusion. “Huh?”
Sam sighed and turned the laptop back around to face Dean. “A group of crows is called a murder. They’re being punny.”
Dean made a grunt of approval before he slapped both hands on his thighs and stood up. “Sounds like our kinda thing, right? Right. Meet you at the car in ten.”
Sam slammed the laptop closed and grabbed it, sprinting after his brother to go pack for the trip.
“Thank you, officer. I will,” Sam forced out, rolling his eyes as the officer continued speaking. “No, I’m not sure if the FBI is hiring. You should check the website. I- I have to go. Goodbye!”
“Did you make a new friend, Sam?” Dean nagged, handing Sam a beer from the mini fridge in the motel they were staying in. Dean sat down on the end of one of the beds and popped open his own, taking a long pull.
“Shut up, Dean,” Sam growled, “I was eventually able to get more info about the crime scenes. All the victims were completely drained of blood; that was the detail they were keeping from the press.”
“So, what? We have a vamp that likes the heavenly fresh taste of angel blood?”
Sam shook his head. “No bite marks. All the victims had their throats slit. Had to have been done with an angel blade or else they would have healed.”
“Rogue angel?” Dean speculated. “Maybe some kind of ritual that requires a lot of blood?”
“I have no idea,” Sam said, “but you should call Cas.”
Dean groaned, but shut his eyes. “Castiel, this is Dean. We got a crazy serial killer down here that’s popping angels like they’re bubble wrap. We could use some trench-coated assistance. Come in, Castiel, Angel of the Lord.”
Dean opened his eyes when there was a knock on the motel room door. The brothers exchanged looks of confusion, but Sam stood, his gun raised, and walked over to the door, peering through the peep hole. He slipped his gun into the back of his waistband and opened the door, revealing Castiel standing on the other side.
“Hello Dean,” Castiel grumbled, stepping into the room. “Sam.” He nodded at the younger Winchester.
“Why didn't you pop into the room? What’s with the knocking?” Sam asked, sitting back down in his chair at the table.
“The last time I came when Dean prayed to my father, I interrupted him when he was naked in bed with a blonde woman. She was in an intriguing position with her leg behind-”
“Whoa, okay,” Dean cut the Angel off, “Sammy doesn’t need to know the details about that little mishap. Can we move on please?”
Sam muffled a laugh and cleared his throat, pulling up the news article and giving Cas a full rundown of the case so far. He agreed that it was probably not a vampire, but someone specifically targeting Angels for their blood. He assumed it was a witch or some other type of monster that was using Angel blood for a ritual.
“Did you know the angels?” Sam asked as he hacked into the traffic cams for the surrounding counties. The most recent killing had a witness that said she saw a black SUV pulling away from the scene fifteen minutes before the body was discovered.
“I knew two of them, Damien, the first victim, and Melissa, the third. They were both very good soldiers.” Castiel hung his head. “Our numbers are already diminished enough, we need to stop whoever or whatever is doing this.”
“Found it,” Sam exclaimed, rapidly typing on his laptop. “I spotted the SUV parked outside an abandoned house at the edge of town. Thank goodness for crime prevention cameras and paranoid civilians.”
It started off as a high pitched ringing in your ears. The sound felt like someone scratching nails down a chalkboard inside your brain. It was driving you mad, you couldn’t sleep, you could barely eat, and it was slowly killing you as you tried as many ways to get it to stop as you could. It wasn’t until your first taste that the ringing began to shift into words. Once you understood, you could call out, bringing them to you… like ordering a pizza delivery.
You slumped down against one of the decayed walls inside the house’s kitchen and brought your knees up your chest, shivering and rocking back and forth. You only had two cups left, barely enough to last the rest of the week. You whimpered, reaching for one of the cups. It was a problem, you knew, but your addiction was controlling you.
You chugged the entire thing, letting the warmth of the liquid soothe your tremors and pacify your mind. You swallowed down the last sip and were now licking the cup clean, trying to savor every last drop. You jumped and slunk farther into the corner when the front door was forcefully kicked in.
Three men ran into the living room only meters from you, two had flashlights and guns and one was in a trenchcoat. You spotted him immediately and licked your lips. A soft glow of bright blue surrounded his body and you could feel the power radiating from him. He was an Angel.
You reached for the angel blade on the counter as the two men split off in opposite directions and the angel began to walk toward the kitchen where you were hiding. You just needed another taste. You needed fresh blood. You needed him. You slowly wrapped your fingers around the cool metal of the angel blade’s hilt and shifted to your feet.
You followed his line of sight and knew he had seen the empty cups of blood littering the floor in the kitchen. It was now or never.
“Dean! Sam! I fo-”
You lunged at him with the angel blade, making him jump backwards, unable to finish his thought. He looked up at you and narrowed his eyes, confused as to why you were attacking him. You licked your lips, the sweet coppery taste of blood still on your mouth and chin.
“Angel,” you whispered with a smirk.
You lunged at him again, knocking him backwards into the living room, landing with a loud crack as the coffee table you both landed on broke underneath the combined weight of the two of you. You were crazed, you could smell the power coming from him… it was more than any angel you’d ever seen. You needed him. Maybe this time you could be whole again.
You slashed your angel blade at him, but he was able to block every move while continuing to try and push you off him. You heard a loud bang and let out a feral shout as you felt a burning pain pierce through your right side. You rolled off to the left of the angel and took deep breaths, locking eyes with one of the two men. He was standing near the stairs, with light brown hair and deep green eyes, smoke still rising from his gun.
You felt a stinging sensation as the bullet was pushed from your body and the wound closed. You stood up and spun the angel blade in your palm, ready to kill this human that was getting in the way of your addiction. You saw his eyes shift to a spot over your left shoulder and the moment you turned around, you saw the butt of a gun coming at your face and everything went black.
You slowly came to, taking in your surroundings but keeping your eyes closed. You couldn’t move your arms or legs like you were tied down, and you heard hushed voices coming from a spot in front of you.
“She’s not an angel,” one voice whispered, “but she does have residual grace inside her. Almost triple what you had when Gadreel left you, Sam.”
You heard a scoff. “So she’s not an angel but is somehow able to access the power of the grace still in there?”
“I believe so. She’s been drinking angel blood to add fuel to the fire, so to speak,” he sighed. “Her soul was powering the grace for some time, but it’s been severely depleted. It’s almost been completely burned away, hence why she’s rabid. Her soul is almost gone.”
“That’s no way to talk about a lady,” you chuckled, lifting your head and opening your eyes, “especially one sitting in the same room. The name’s Y/N, by the way.”
All three men looked toward you and you looked around the room. You were chained to a chair in the middle of a devil’s trap in some kind of dungeon basement. There was a table and chair off to the side along with a cabinet filled with various blades and torture devices. You felt the first tremor tingle through your fingers and quickly balled your hand into a fist.
“So yah gonna tell me what the hell I’m doing here,” you nodded over to the cabinet, “or am I your freaky sex slave now?”
The tallest man stepped forward. “My name is Sam,” he pointed to green-eyes, “that’s my brother Dean,” he pointed to the Angel, “and you’ve already met Castiel.”
You let out a dreamy sigh and licked your lips. “You smell delicious, Castiel. Can I just have a small sip? I can practically taste the power coming from you. You’re not like the other angels, are you?”
“Hey,” Dean snapped, “you’re not drinking anyone. You’re not some Angel vampire.” A smile twitched at his lips and he chuckled. “Angelpire.”
“Dean, not now,” his brother scolded before he turned to you. “We’re going to help you. You need to detox from this angel blood. It’s not going to be fun, but we’re going to help you through it.”
You scoffed and laughed. “What if I don’t want to be helped? What if I’m perfectly fine with who I am now?”
Sam sighed and stepped forward, crouching down in front of you so he was eye level. “I know what it feels like. I was addicted to demon blood a few years ago. I loved the power it gave me, but that rush of pleasure and satisfaction made me do very, very bad things.”
“Cut the lecture, Dr. Phil,” you spat, “I don’t give a shit what you went through. I need angel blood to survive,” you nodded toward Castiel, “just ask Wings over there.”
Sam spun on his heel and looked back at the Angel. “Is that true?”
Castiel shrugged. “I’m unsure. Her soul is barely stable. The grace has attached to it like a parasite, siphoning power from it in order to keep her alive.”
“Can we do a grace extraction?” Sam asked Castiel as he stood up.
“I doubt she would survive. The angel blood has acted like a steroid, in a way. We need to weaken it before we can even begin to think about extraction. We need to get the angel blood out of her system, but that might kill her by itself.”
“So basically I’m screwed either way,” you shrugged. “Just kill me and get it over with. Angel blade should do the trick.”
“Nobody is killing anyone,” Dean interjected, stepping closer to you. “Sammy made it through his detox and we’re gonna get you through yours. I can tell you’re a fighter, it’s not time to give up now.”
You took a shaky breath as your hand began to shake again. You could feel the hunger gnawing at the back of your subconscious, clouding your thoughts. You had one goal and you would do anything to get what you needed. You began to struggle against the restraints, trying to loosen them and get your hands or feet free.
“I can’t,” you growled through gritted teeth. “Let me out of here!”
“You’re stronger than your addiction, Y/N. Just focus on getting better, we’ll be in to check on you a few times a day.” Sam let out a heavy sigh. “It’s going to suck, but we’ll be here to support you.”
Your whole body began to start shaking and you felt a trickle of sweat slide down your forehead. The hunger was becoming so intense, you couldn’t think anymore. You let out a loud scream of frustration as the three men turned around and walked toward the door on the opposite side of the room.
“No! You can’t leave me here! I’ll be fine, just let me out!” You pleaded, the restraints digging further into your skin as you struggled against them. They ignored you and shut the door behind them.
You were alone with the pain of your addiction, the horrible impulsive subconscious entity that consumed you. And that… that scared you more than the pain of detox did. You really didn’t know if you could survive… or if you even wanted to.
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.
This was written for @dr-dean A/B/O Birthday Challenge. My song was “I Hate myself for Loving You.” By Joan Jett
2010
I knew the exact moment when Sam Winchester took back control of his body from Lucifer and jumped into the pit. Sam was my Alpha, and I was his Omega, and we shared a special connection.
Sam had begged me to stay away from Stull Cemetery. “I need you to be safe, Y/N. I don’t want you anywhere near Lucifer.”
I fought and argued, but eventually Sam wore me down and I agreed to stay behind. In the end I had to obey my Alpha. There was a desperation in Sam’s touch the last time we were together that told me he did not expect to survive this.
“I will come for you, Omega.” Sam told me as he kissed me one final time before leaving. “If there is a way I will always come for you.”
Later I doubled over in agony when I felt the bond with my Alpha sever. It felt like my soul was being ripped in half That was when I knew. Sam had sacrificed himself to save the world. My Alpha was gone.
2011
I was enjoying a night out with my friends at the bar when I smelled his familiar scent and my insides clenched. I looked around warily and spotted his empty eyes watching me from the end of the bar. Shit!
Sam smiled at me, a slow lazy smile that didn’t reach those cold dark eyes of his. I excused myself from my friends, telling them I needed to use the bathroom. I didn’t bother going to him, I knew he would find me.
When I came out of the bathroom I felt a hand on my wrist yanking me into a dark corner.
“What do you want, Sam?” I said quietly, trying to ignore the throb between my legs and the gush of slick that his touch produced.
“You know what I want, Omega.” He growled at me, his lips already on my neck searching for the claiming mark he had left there so long ago. Back when he was MY Sam: Before Lucifer, before Hell, and before he’d become this soulless monster wearing Sam’s face.
“Tell them you have to go.” He whispered in my ear.
I tried pushing him away. “I told you before, Sam. I am done being your booty call.”
Something shifted in those empty eyes and before I knew what was happening he had grabbed my hand and propelled me out the door. I could barely keep up with those long legs of his.
“What the fuck, Sam? Let me go!” I protested, trying to yank my hand from his iron grip. When he got outside he pushed me up against the wall, his large body covering mine. He ground his erection into me. I could feel how aroused he was. I was just as turned on. Despite my protests, Sam knew he touch set me on fire.
His lips covered mine and he kissed me until I was a moaning, pliant mess in his arms. For a second I swore I saw my Sam looking back at me, but then the moment passed and the cold hard stranger who was my Alpha returned. In the end he knew I would give in. I always gave in.
“Alpha.” I whispered finally, and he knew he had won. He grinned in victory.
“I told you I would always come for you, Omega.” He murmured as he pulled me towards his car,
Summary: Dean and you had no idea how something so small could change your entire perspective. ( PART ONE ) ( PART TWO) (PART THREE)
Prompt:13 and 14 by @deanwinchesterxreader
Characters: Dean, Sam, Reader
Pairings: Dean X Reader
Word Count: 1800
Warnings: Language, FLUFF, like holy shit all the fluff
A/N: Hope you enjoy! I am so looking forward to this series. ANGST and TRIGGER prompts are inevitable in this series towards the end. Please know that I am warning you now.- LINK to song that Dean sings
Any feedback is appreciated, also if you wouldn’t mind liking and rebloging.
I moved tags to the bottom becasue it is getting a little crowded up here. If you want tagged let me know
**IF SOMEONE DOES NOT WANT TAGGED LET ME KNOW**
A little pink plus. You stare at it forever, trying to get your brain to process it, mind to wrap around what was in front of you. Slowly your eyes shift up to Dean’s. He is watching you, shock and uncertainty covering his face. You can’t breath, can’t blink as you stare into his emerald eyes. He swallows hard, “Y/N?”
You can’t make words form, they just get caught in your throat. You can hear your heart pound in your chest, thumping away.
“Baby? When did you-?”
You shook your head, “I didn’t... not for sure. I tossed it because we were heading out. I didn’t wait…”
You inhale sharply, Dean watches in shock, his mouth agape and eyes wide, “Are w-...Are we having a-?”
Nodding quickly, your lips pull into a soft smile of disbelief, happy tears roll over your cheeks, “Dean, we are having a baby.”
Dean reaches out, arms pulling you into a bear hug, laughing unsteadily. You wrap your arms around his neck, crying into his shirt. It didn’t matter if you knew, it was so hard to believe that after all this time, all these months of pain, this was real, “Dean…”
“I know baby... I know.” He rubs his hands up and down your back. He kisses your neck and then your lips before pushing you at arm's length, looking between you and your stomach. You chuckle, sniffling, “Knock it off.”
“Uh-uh...No way.” He runs his fingers over your stomach lightly. His face was so warm, so loving, that you cry harder. Jesus, get a hold of yourself. Dean rests his forehead on your chest as his fingers continue to trace nonsense patterns.
“Dean, that tickles.” You complain but don’t have the heart to stop him as you rest your chin on the back of his head, arms lazily over his shoulders. His fingers stop and he lifts his head up.
“Baby I can’t-” Holding your face in his hands, thumbs running over your cheeks. He rushes forward, lips crashing against yours. He can’t stop smiling and laughing, the low sound cheerful and relieved. Dean pulls you in his lap, you both a bloody and beaten mess holding each other on the dirty motel floor. You lean against his warm chest, his head resting on yours, listening to his heart flutter and skip.
“Shit Dean...I still gotta stitch your up.” You glance up and he cranes his neck to look down at you.
“Yeah, I almost forgot.” His lips find yours again and again as you try to get up.
Giggling, you make an escape from his grasp, and offer your hand to pull him up. He takes it, grunting, then sitting on the side of the bathtub so you can reach easily. You roll up his sleeve, clean the cut and then begin to stitch. Dean’s hands running over your side, the back of your thighs, everywhere, making it hard to concentrate, “Dean...This is gonna be a mess if you keep that up.”
“It was going to be a mess anyways.” He laughs, still smiling.
“Stop smiling...It's creepy when I’m stabbing you with a needle.”
“I can’t.” He shakes his head. You sigh and tie up the last stitch. Dean inspects it, “Not too shabby.”
“Not too shabby my ass.” You scoff. Dean brings you between his legs, kissing your hipbone then your stomach, his lips hovering. Your fingers lace in his hair, playing with it as you watch him, your heart melting, “C’mon, you dork, let’s get some sleep.”
“Hmm?...Yeah, okay.” Your hands intertwine as you lead him out of the bathroom. You only let go of each other long enough to find some clean clothes before you curl up together under the sheets. Facing each other, bodies flush, foreheads touching, legs tangled; Dean’s hands play in your hair and your fingers trace the lines on his face. Dean nods off first, humming lightly under your touch.
____
Once back at the bunker, you both had agreed not to tell Sam until after you went to see a doc. It was killing Dean not to let him know, but you wanted to be careful, make sure everything was okay first. In all reality, you just thought everything was too good to be true and you didn’t want to get your hopes up.
Not two days after the return to the bunker Sam had found another hunt. You had wanted to go along, just to make it look normal. Dean didn’t let that happen; actually, he almost shit a brick when you suggested it. He fed Sam some lame ass excuse that it was a one man hunt. Bull-freaking-shit...But you had to admit, it was nice having the bunker to yourselves for a few days.
The music from radio drifted through the room as you pant, sweat running down your body, struggling to catch your breath. Dean laid beside you, breath coming in short gasps. You turn your head as he turns his, smiling at each other. Dean rolls over you, peppering kisses over your face as you giggle, holding his chin between you thumb and index, “Dean! We gotta get out of bed some time...Ah! Stop!”
He shakes off your fingers and attacks your neck, nipping before dragging five day scruff over the sensitive skin, “Dean! Th-that tickles. Ah!”
He chuckles from deep in his chest, trailing his lips between the valley of your breasts to your stomach. He wraps his arms around your back, laying down and buries his face there.
“I don’t know what you think you're doing Dean.”
He kisses your stomach again before resting his chin there and looking up at you under his lashes, eyes bright, “So goddamn perfect...I love you.”
You run your thumb along his cheek, “I love you too Dean.”
He kisses your stomach, “And I love you.”
You laugh, body shaking, “Alright big, tough guy.”
“Shut-up…” His brow furrows, “Aren’t you excited?”
You sigh, chewing the inside of your cheek, “I am, I just want to get to the doc’s and make sure everything is alright, you know?”
“Hey, hey…” Dean holds you tighter, “Everything is going to work out. Remember?”
“Yeah…” You lay your head back on the pillows, Dean humming along to the music. It changes and he mumbles against your skin, “I like this one.”
He hums the piano part and starts singing along, voice low, “Goodnight, my angel, time to close your eyes. And save these questions for another day... I think I know what you've been asking me, I think you know what I've been trying to say...I promised I would never leave you. And you should always know. Wherever you may go, no matter where you are, I never will be far away…”
Everything kinda drifted away as he kept singing, it felt safe and peaceful here in Dean’s arms.
You woke with a start, a vile taste invading your mouth, “Dean!”
Pushing him off, trying to struggle out of his death grip, “Please Dean, let go!”
“Wha-? Y/N?” His voice groggy, but his arms loosen enough that you fall off onto your hands and knees, managing to grab the metal trash can before your body heaves and you vomit.
“Y/N!” You wave him off but he doesn’t pay any attention, holding your hair back with one hand and rubbing your back with the other, “It’s okay baby, just get it out...It's okay.”
You panic a little, your body barely allowing yourself to breath between heaves. Your body shakes as you dry heave a few times, nothing left to come up. You try to catch your breath and then slowly look up at Dean, his face wrought with concern. You nod, “I’m fine...It’s done, I think.”
Dean’s hands don’t leave you as you sit back on the cool concrete. He kneels, holding you steady, looking you over, “Stay put sweetheart.”
You nod weakly, hearing his feet patter against the floor and the sink run. He sits down next to you, “Here.”
He hands you one of his t-shirts which you slip on and then a glass of water that you chug in about two gulps, “Thanks Dean.”
“Guess that morning sickness shit is legit.” He chuckles, trying to make it a joke. But he can’t hide the worry from you and you rub his bare thigh reassuringly, “I’ve had worse...Remember that time we were at Bobby’s and I drank all that moonshine?”
Dean scoffs and makes a choking sound, “You threw up and were hungover for like three days...Ha.”
You glance over at the radio clock by the bed, “Oh shit Dean, we gotta go. The appointment is in like forty-five minutes.”
“Son of a bitch!” He hops up, hauling you to your feet. You move around each other smoothly, both getting quick showers and getting dressed in record time. Actually you made it to the doc’s with five minutes to spare thanks to Dean’s general disregard for speed limits.
Everyone was super nice, but you were still nervous as hell, keeping as close to Dean as you can. He keeps his hand in yours the entire time, never letting go. Every once in awhile you glance up at him and he catches your eyes, flashing you a warm smile, then kissing the top of your head. The nurse takes your vitals, listens to your heart, smiling at you, being sweet, “There’s nothing to worry about honey, the doctor will be right in.”
The doc tries to talk to you, he is really nice, but your nerves definitely get the better of you. Dean steps in easily, chatting with no problem. You pull up your shirt and he puts the cool gel on your stomach, spreading it with the plastic as he turns on the ultrasound. You jump at the cold, Dean chuckles but rubs the back of your hand with his thumb.
The doctor mumbles, “Let’s see, a little bit...Ah, here we go. I would say you are about six to seven weeks. If you look right there, that small black area is the baby.”
Dean smiles infectiously, the goofy ass grin filling his face. He points to the screen as the doc moves the angle a little, “What’s that moving doc?”
“That right there would be its heart beating.”
You squeeze Dean’s hand as your heart flutters. This was real, this was yours. Your little family.
Tagging my squad- @shortandlongstories @for-a-brothers-love@tigershadow@i-have-loved-a-thousand-lives @bogganheart @nichelle-my-belle @for-the-love-of-dean@the-mrs-deanwinchester@jxackles@deanwinchester-af @torn-and-frayed@daydreamingintheimpala@sherlock44@bloodysideofhell @gryffindorable713@ocaptain-mycaptainmorgan
Series Summary: Six years after you quit hunting to start a family, disaster ensues. The person left for you is the one who was by your side when you started.
Pairing: Dean x Reader
Word Count: 2146
Warnings: None
A/N: Part 3 is out guys! Also, I hit 300 followers (in under a month, I might add) and I love each and every one of you! Thank you so much, guys!
Tagging: The Pond @spnfanficpond , @winchester-writes , @fandommaniacx , @thedancingnerdmermaid , @deansdirtylittlesecretsblog , @mysupernaturalfics , and @theb-adlands
Let me know if you want me to tag you when I post a new part :)
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“No,” Dean deadpanned, giving you an annoyed look. You stomped your foot, crossing your arms across your chest like a five year old.
“Dean, I need to hunt,” you whined, looking up at him. “It’s been a month since the fire, and I haven’t done any hunting in six years, and I need to get back into it so I can actually do something useful!”
“I’ve already told you, Y/N, if you want to get back into hunting, you can do it with me and Sam, not alone. And definitely not a werewolf as your first case.”
“Dammit, Dean! What, you just want me to burn the bones of some old ghost?”
“Yes. That’s exactly what I want you to do.”
You let out a frustrated yell, running your hands through your Y/H/C locks. “Look. I need to get back into it. I haven’t done anything except for mope in the last month, and if I’m gonna find the thing that—” you took a shuddering breath, voice shaking as you finished, “that killed my family, I need to hunt. Please, Dean.”
Dean sighed, a look of pity in his eyes as he saw you breaking down. He pulled you into a tight hug, and you gladly returned it, comforted by his warmth. Dean had been there for you the most after the fire, always trying to make you safe. He still didn’t know that you had overheard his conversation with Sam, but you knew that if you could ever get over the pain that wrung your heart every time you thought of Zac, Declan, and Maci, Dean would be the person you would want to be with.
“I’ll tell Cas to go with Sammy on the werewolf hunt,” Dean sighed, letting go of you. “I’ll go with you and we can find a case, okay?”
You nodded, feeling more and more like a child as Dean patted your shoulder sympathetically. You plopped yourself down on the couch as he grabbed two beers from the fridge, sitting next to you. He pulled out his phone, dialing in Sam’s number and putting it on speaker.
“Dean?” Sam asked, confusion dripping from his voice. “Where are you?”
“In the family room,” Dean smiled, winking at you.
“Why’d you call me? I’m two rooms away from you.”
“Because I need you to do some research for me. Can you come in for a sec?”
Sam sighed, hanging up, and you could hear him trudging down to hall to the family room. He gave Dean an annoyed look, saying, “So? What is it?”
“Y/N here wants to go on a hunt.”
“So? Take her on the werewolf case with us.”
“See?” you shouted, throwing out an arm and at gesturing at the younger Winchester. “Even Sam thinks it’s okay for me to go on that hunt!”
“Well, it’s not happening,” Dean said, turning his attention back to his brother. “Find me an easy case, will you? Ghosts or something. You and Cas can deal with Wolfie.”
“Hunting with Cas. My favorite,” Sam rolled his eyes, exasperated. “I’ll find the case, though.”
Dean thanked him, and Sam left to do research, leaving the two of you alone again. A sudden silence washed over you two, both of you slightly sobered. Dean cleared his throat, and you turned to face him as he said, “Can I ask you something?”
“Shoot,” you said, taking another sip of your beer.
“How was it? Having a family?” he asked, his voice low.
You froze, not wanting to answer. “You know how it is. You did stay with Lisa and Ben for a bit, didn’t you?”
Dean nodded, but then stopped and shook his head. “No. It wasn’t the same. I was half empty the whole time, Sammy was always on my mind. But you…you were happy. Carefree. The only people you cared about were Zac, Declan, and Maci.”
You pinched the bridge of your nose, voice thick as you answered, “It was nice, Dean. I actually felt normal, for once. I didn’t have to watch my back for demons all the time, and I was actually happy.”
Dean downed the rest of his beer, looking at you. “Normal…” he chuckled darkly, closing his eyes. “That would be nice.”
Dean slammed the trunk of the Impala as you hopped out of the car. He tossed you a gun and a container of salt. “Rock salt bullets,” he said, holding up his own gun as the two of you walked into the empty house.
“I’ll check the attic,” you said as you looked up at the old building. Kids had been coming into the house for dares, only expecting a small scare. Of course, none of them had expected to die.
“You sure? We probably shouldn’t separ—”
“Dean, I’m not four,” you cut him off, shaking your head. “I’ll check the attic, you get the basement, okay?”
Dean looked surprise by your sudden authority, but nodded, opening the door slowly. “Shout if you need anything.”
“You know I will,” you nodded, making your way up the stairs. You crept into the bathroom, pulling down the hatch that hung from the ceiling, revealing old wooden stair that led to darkness. You braced yourself and climbed up.
The minute you entered the dark room, the smell of mold and rot hit your nostrils, choking you. You coughed, flipping your flashlight on and shining it around the crawlspace. It was dusty, boxes stacked one on top of the other, and you walked over to one, pulling off the lid. It was full of pictures, black and white images that smiled up at you. Each photo was of the same family. The father was handsome and young, holding his beautiful wife tight in his arms. Two identical girls were standing next to them, their face frozen in laughter as they looked at each other. A pang shot through your heart, tracing over the little girls’ faces. You couldn’t help but think about how Maci could’ve been like this. Smiling, carefree, loved. But she would never got to say her first words.
Tears in your eyes, dropped the photo and kept walking, scanning around the attic. It wasn’t until you had traveled to the back corner that the smell really hit you. It was disgusting, the smell of rotting flesh filling your nostrils. You shined your flashlight on the wall, only to see it bloodstained. You didn’t want to see what was on the ground beneath it. Hand quivering, you lowered the light to the ground, casting a shadow on a pile of bodies, eyes and mouths wide open, their faces etched into an eternal scream. You shuddered, suddenly cold, but by the time it took you tot realize what that meant, it was too late.
You were thrown sideways, the whole wall shuddering as you slammed into it. Dizzy, you glanced up to see an old lady, half of her flesh burned off her face, the other side wearing a deadly look. At first, you couldn’t recognize her, but suddenly, you saw the resemblance between her and the mother in the picture.
You reached for your gun, but she pushed you sideways again, and both the gun and your sat was out of reach. You screamed as your head collided against the wall, slumping down.You couldn’t focus your vision, and felt blood dripping down your head. Finally, you could see clearly, and noticed a newspaper clipping on the floor next to you.
July 19th, 1954. The Richmond house caught on fire, entire first floor burned. Husband, wife, and two daughters dead.
You looked up at the old ghost again, feeling a pang of sympathy for her. You knew exactly how she felt, her family gone. Suddenly, a thought struck your mind. This lady had been driven to insanity over the death of her and her family. And you understood her. This would be you, you realized. This would be exactly what happened to you.
You laughed darkly, looking up at the ghost. “Go on then. Kill me.” She bared her teeth, snarling as she came closer. “Kill me, dammit! I’ve got nothing left! I’m just like you!”
You heard a shot, watching as a bullet rushed through her body and she disappeared. Moment later, Dean was at your side, pulling you into his arms. “She’s linked to an object. Her body’s burned.”
“The pictures,” you wheezed, chest still hurting from your impact with the wall. Dean set you down, lighting a match and throwing it on the boxes of photos before picking you back up and running down the stairs. You watched as the ghost erupted into flames, body falling to pieces before she finally disappeared, the photos turned to black dust. Dean shut the door to the house and carried you to the Impala, sitting you in the passenger seat and buckling you in before making his way to the driver’s side.
It was silent for a while, the highway empty as the two of you sped back to the bunker. Finally, Dean cleared his throat and said, “Why’d you say that?”
You knew he had heard what you had yelled at the ghost, but had been trying to act like it never happened. You felt his stare boring into you, but you look straight ahead as you muttered, “Because it’s true.”
“Y/N, you’ve got so much left. You’ve got me, and Sammy, and a whole life to live.”
“But I don’t have my family,” you whispered, tears streaking down your face. “So tell me something.” You turned to face him. “Give me one good reason not to kill myself.”
He looked at you, taking in your shaking body, tear stained cheeks. “Listen, Y/N,—”
“Why. Shouldn’t. I?”
“Because I’d miss you,” he said desperately, looking sadly at you. He knew it wasn’t good enough. Nowhere near good enough. “Because it will get better. You’ll make sure that they didn’t die for nothing. You’ll find the son of a bitch who did this for you and kill it.”
He took a deep breath before continuing, “You’ll be happy. And everything will be better. Please. Just try and understand that.”
You nodded, your heart torn in two as you saw his emerald eyes sparkle with tears. Somehow, the fact that you had brought Dean Winchester, tough, emotionless, strong Dean, to tears hurt you more than you could’ve ever imagined. He shook his head before continuing, “Dammit, Y/N, I don’t even know what else to say to get you to see that I need you.”
You smiled sadly at him. “It’s okay, Dean. Saving me has never really been your job.”
He look at you desperately, making your heart cry out. “Dammit, Y/N, you just don’t get it, do you?”
“What?” you shot back.
“I love you, okay? I’ve loved you since I first met you, and since you left, and even now.” You didn’t stop him, didn’t cut in to say that you had heard him say this to Sam. “And I know you’re going through shit right now, and I know how awful it is. Trust me, if anyone knew what you were going through, it would be me. But this, here? The depressed thoughts and “I’m going to kill myself” shit? Dammit, that’s not going to kill you. It’d kill me. And I know that I have a snowball’s chance in hell with you, but I can’t let you going around saying those things.”
He went quiet, speeding the car up and racing down the empty road. You didn’t say anything for awhile, instead letting the noise from the engine fill up the silence. No one spoke for the rest of the ride, until finally, the Impala pulled up to the bunker and Dean took the keys out of the ignition, reaching for the door handle. You pulled his arm and he turned back around, looking surprised.
“Please don’t give up,” you said, hand still around his wrist.
“What?”
“Please don’t give up on me. You’re right, I’m not okay right now. Hell, I’m farther from okay than I’ve ever been, but please don’t stop loving me. Because I want to get through this, and if there’s anyone I can imagine my life with later on, it’s you. And I want to be able to love you too, someday. So please, don’t.” You leaned forward and planted a kiss on his cheek, the rough stubble on his face scratching your lips. You backed away, giving him a sad smile before climbing out of the car.
For the first time since the fire, since you’d been left broken and dying, you felt some shimmer of hope. Small as it may be, all you knew is that you would cling to it. No matter what it took, you would find a way to be okay again.
A/N: A little bit of angst to brighten your day :) Seriously though you guys, thank you so much. Not to be cheesy or anything, but I seriously never though you guys would like my writing so much! Seriously, from my first story on January 2nd to now, I’m just so happy you guys like my writing. I love you guys!❤️❤️❤️ xx, Jess
