Red Painter
Summary: "When the night terrors stop being just like any other dream, desperation can drive to unthinkable things"
Pairings: Sam!Dad x Daughter!Reader, Dean!Uncle x Niece!Reader
Warnings: Self Harm, Blood, Swearing, Nightmares, Mentions of death
A/N: "Commissions are open, some requested one-shots coming soon!"
"If you want to be added to the tag list message me or comment!"
Word count: 4k-ish
Masterlist on my profile
You saw the fear in their eyes.
The terror that paralyzed their bodies.
The woman and the man clutched each other’s hands, begging for mercy. You observed how innocent their bodies looked when they hit the floor.
Raising your arms, you noticed their blood on your hands.
You watched as their last bit of hope faded away with each breath.
As you approached the mirror, you looked at your reflection, massacred, covered in someone’s insides, looking at you with a smile.
Black eyes staring back at you.
“Hey, hey... calm down, Y/N...” You heard your uncle’s voice, and you immediately got up in bed.
A dream… it’s just a dream… You realized while inhaling deeply.
You’ve been having these kinds of nightmares for weeks. Since you got possessed by a demon during a hunt. He took control of your body for several days until your father and Dean exorcised him out of you.
Although the demon possessed you for less than a week, he murdered over a dozen people. He derived on their deaths, making sure each time you went through his victim’s every broken bone and heard every muffled scream.
You could still feel their blood on your hands even after weeks had gone. Their lifeless faces followed you with every blink.
You blamed yourself for the demon’s every victim, but you were incapable of admitting it to your father or uncle.
“Are you ok? I heard you scream...” You looked at Dean’s tired face. You scanned the room for the other pair of worried eyes. When you didn’t spot your father, you looked back at the older Winchester.
“I’m fine, ok, really. Just I... I think, just...” You hesitated, “Nightmares, I guess.” You gave him an apologetic look.
You didn’t need to wake him up. He already had bags under his eyes and had trouble sleeping. You hoped not to be a burden during this challenging time. “Dad didn’t wake up?” You questioned your father’s absence.
The Winchester brothers were known for many reasons. Besides their hunting talent and strong head, they were also known for one more thing. Very shallow sleep.
If Dean got up, Sam should’ve as well.
Winchester grinned and moved closer to you. The tiredness left his face altogether, and his fake smile made you shiver.
“He woke up...” He nodded at the unconscious man lying next to your bed. “Not for too long,” not knowing if it was because of the lack of sleep or a sudden wake-up call. You didn’t notice your father lying two feet away from you.
Terrified, you looked at your uncle, who smiled as wide as he could.
“So Y/N ...” He sighed as his eyes turned black. “Where were we?”
You woke up in a completely dark room, desperately grabbing your throat. Nobody woke you, no one came, and you haven’t screamed.
Your heart was still pounding. You could barely see the faint outline of the bunker bed in your room.
Were you still dreaming?
Was it a dream at all?
You didn’t know. That terrified you the most.
Sitting at the edge of the bed, you turned on the table lamp. You tried to calm your unsteady breath while the heart rumble rang through your head.
You wanted to tell yourself that you were awake, that you were safe. Trying to feel the floor with your bare feet, you felt its texture and temperature. You couldn’t calm down. It felt like Dean’s black eyes were drilling through you every time you closed yours.
“You were sleeping. You need to calm down.”
You were mumbling to yourself repeatedly.
“Are you sure?” This time, you heard your father’s voice from behind you. Seeing a man covered in blood, standing on the other side of the room as you turned.
He looked like your dad, but you knew it wasn’t him. You watched him as he crept over to your bed, smiling, playing with a dagger in his blood-covered hands.
You tried to run away, to move and, to scream… but you couldn’t. You were stuck in one place as if tied to it, watching your father, standing by the edge of your bed.
“You know, Y/N, your mom and I had many, many shared memories and dreams. I loved her so much,” you could have sworn that for a moment, he showed sorrow, which quickly turned back into a lifeless expression.
“You know which memory is my favorite?” The corner of your mouth twitched. It hurt you listening to his breaking voice. Although you knew he was playing games with you.
“You know how your mother died?” He moved closer to you, making the distance between your faces smaller than a few inches.
“DO YOU?!” He screamed, and you nodded, swallowing the lump in your throat. You closely followed the dagger, waving barely an inch from your neck.
“She died…” He hissed with such disgust you have heard no one express. Despite it not being your father, the sound of his trembling voice broke your heart. “Because she gave birth to you...”
You could feel pure anger gushing out of every word from behind his clenched teeth. With each passing second, you saw the knife in his hand inch closer to your neck.
“No...” all that came out of you was a mumbled, hoarse sound.
“And you know what?! YOU WEREN’T WORTH IT!” He screamed, staring maniacally into your scared eyes.
“You weren't worth her bleeding to death!” He growled, putting a dagger to your throat,
“It wasn’t worth her dying in agony so you could breathe!” He pressed the knife down as he hissed at you with contempt.
“No, stop...” you said louder this time, choking on salty tears. “Please...” you pleaded while shaking your head.
“You’re not worth her.” You felt warm blood trickling down your neck.
You jumped out of bed, and you grabbed your throat, trying to find any trace, wound, or anything that would confirm the visit of a demon in your room.
It couldn’t be a dream.
Everything felt so real.
You thought you could still feel his dagger against your throat.
You put your hand under the pillow on which you were sleeping. You tried to feel the cold material of the cushion to calm yourself down.
You stopped moving it when you suddenly felt the sharpness of your dagger. You always kept it with you, just in case.
Is this happening?
You touched the blade and hesitantly removed it from under the pillow.
You had to be sure.
Is what I feel real?
You pressed the dagger to your wrist, exhaling quickly and cutting the skin on your forearm.
A sharp wave of pain woke you up.
After a second thought, you moved the blade again, this time slashing deeper. Blood began to weep from the wound. You let out a sigh of relief.
It’s happening.
I’m safe.
Ironically, the sight of blood helped you relax. After a while, you wiped the cut and put the dagger away. Forcing yourself to close your eyes and turn off the light, you laid down and fell asleep.
That night you dreamed nothing more.
***
The next day, you followed the scent of burnt pancakes that, as you guessed, were supposed to be your breakfast. As you entered the kitchen, the odor struck you unpleasantly, filling your nostrils.
“Holy shit...” the curse slipped out of your mouth as you saw your uncle scoop the burnt cake out of the pan. He squinted at you.
“Language,” he grunted, scraping the burns off the pan. “Turned around for a second to watch Dr. Sexy and Boom. Can’t trust anything these days ...”
You giggled as you walked over to him and took the utensils, trying to save his unsuccessful attempts to clean the dish.
“What is that?” He asked, pointing to a long fresh slash on your forearm. You froze with a spatula in your hand, looking at him with a slight concern.
“Nothin’...” you preferred not to talk to your uncle about the aftermath of the hunt. You’ve already heard enough, “I told you so” recently. The hunt was a soft spot between you two, and you weren’t going to add another argument in his favor.
“Mhm, and I’m Queen Elizabeth. Let me see,” He grabbed your wrist and turned your forearm to get a better look. He looked up and scanned your face with a serious expression.
“Sam! Come here quick,” Dean yelled, calling your father. Great.
“I said it’s nothing.” you tried to free your hand as your father entered the kitchen.
“What’s up” Sam sent his brother a questioning look as he continued to chew on the sandwich he was holding. Dean lifted your forearm with a telling look. Your father put the sandwich on the counter and took your hand, confused. “Y/N, did you do that?”
You shook your head and sighed as they released your hand. Both brothers looked at you with concern, waiting for your answer.
“If Dean would’ve let me explain...” you grunted, “He would’ve known that I cut myself with a coat hanger last night” the smooth lie made your uncle roll his eyes
“Coat hanger, my ass...” He huffed while looking at your hand. Sam seemed to sigh with relief.
“Why would I do this to myself, then...” You questioned Dean. He just looked away in embarrassment before shaking his head
“Teenagers…” he cleared his throat and returned to bustling about the kitchen
“Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ll go change.” You took a couple of ready pancakes from one of the plates and shoved one of them into your mouth, smiling playfully, "and I’ll try not to get involved with a rack this time,” you said with your mouth full and winked jauntily.
Your dad chuckled as you left the kitchen, and Dean just mumbled something about how awful kids are these days.
***
The following nights were like the latter. Waking up from a nightmare, panic attacks, calming down using a blade. Sometimes two cuts were enough, sometimes 10 or more.
The texture of blood on your fingers was like air to you. When the entire world spun around you, it helped you breathe and think.
Some days you would cut after arguing with your father, and other times after a bad day at school. When you felt overwhelmed, it sobered up your thoughts.
You weren’t doing anything wrong, right?
After all, minor cuts were better than what your family used as coping mechanisms. Drinking their thoughts away and losing themselves in the shooting range.
You chose the better alternative.
It was your way of taking care of yourself, of them.
***
“Oh, fuck you… You’re just a sad and lonely old man who has an issue with someone being honest!” You yelled as you ran out of the main room, trying to escape your fight with Dean. Again.
They were more frequent over the weeks. You pushed yourself away from your family, trying to hide the panic attacks and reoccurring nightmares from which you had suffered. Secrets that had been getting bigger and bigger disconnected you from the ones you cared about.
You were becoming less comfortable in the bunker every day. You didn’t know if it was still your home.
“Y/N M/N Winchester, get back in here!” You could tell he was furious. This time, you hit the spot. Your fight started caused by some minor thing about the case and quickly turned into a confrontation. It always gets heated between you two. You were just sick of him. Of everything.
“Fuck you!” You slammed your room door and kicked it. You weren’t sad. Oh no, you were pissed off, furious. So frustrated that you could take it out on anyone.
You knew your uncle wouldn’t come trying to ease things out for some time. He’d want to cool down first. Both of you tended to say awful things that you would regret later. You two had a silent agreement to stop the fights early on, not letting things escalate even more.
Frustration took over your body, throwing books, pillows, and everything laying in your way.
Maybe it was a family thing, having awful anger management issues.
The spinning feeling in your head didn’t help soothe you as you laid down.
You found yourself holding your dagger, pressing it hard onto your right forearm.
One
Two
Three
Breathe
You exhaled deeply as you felt the hotness spread over the cuts.
Breathe Y/N, breathe.
Realization hit you as you opened your eyes in horror. Looking at the growing red stain on the white sheets.
Fuck.
Dean was supposed to come here. You didn’t know when he could’ve been on his way to your room or opening another beer.
You had to clean it up. The sheets, yourself, your clothes. You had to be quick and stop the goddamn bleeding.
Without hesitation, you wiped the blade on the edge of your shirt and hid the dagger under your bed. You just had to go to the bathroom quickly, right? Just wash your clothes, change the sheets with no one noticing, and somehow wash them before Dean sees it.
You were in deep shit.
In no time, you were in the bathroom washing your wounds and changing into a sweater.
Faster, please faster.
You begged in your head while bandaging the cuts. You couldn’t let Dean see them. Anyone but him.
“Y/N?!” You heard your uncle calling your name.
Fuck.
“Y/N, why is there blood on your bed?!”
You couldn’t lock the door because you realized he’d break it down without hesitation. Coming up with a Plan B was your only option.
You took off your pants and sat on the toilet, taking one pad from the cabinet. You bent over your stomach as Dean burst into the bathroom.
He froze seeing you on the toilet. You threw the pad onto his chest as he realized what it meant.
“Thank you for telling everyone I’m on my fucking period,” you grunted as the embarrassed man slammed the door shut and mumbled an apology.
You hated lying to him, but you told yourself it was better for all of you. You knew he was just worried, that he didn't mean to hurt you.
But you convinced yourself that if you handled this on your own, it would be better for all of you.
You knew the truth would hurt them. Not knowing you were doing it yourself.
***
During the last month of spring, you easily managed to wear long-sleeved flannels, sweatshirts, and sweaters without arousing any suspicions. Covering your hands this season was normal, right?
You were drenched, wearing a sweatshirt and a T-shirt. The first hot day of the year turned out to be your undoing.
You knew that in summer, you had to find other spots on your body to presume your habit. You just didn't expect that the heat waves would come so quickly.
You and Dean have been giving each other the silent treatment for two days now. You haven’t spoken a word to him and it seemed like he wouldn’t bother to do so either.
Sam already gave you a lecture on how you shouldn't talk like that to either of them. But you weren't going to apologize to older Winchester, not in a million years. He was too stubborn too, so you were just ignoring each other. The game of who will break first. It definitely wasn’t gonna be you.
You were already sitting in the library reading Volume III of some series about Demonology when the brothers entered the main room. You smiled at your father, completely ignoring your uncle. Sam looked at you in surprise and gesticulated at your clothes.
"Aren’t you too hot in that?" You shrugged as you scanned Winchester’s clothes, both of them were wearing only T-shirts, which is the least you have seen them wear, probably ever. And yet they were still visibly hot
"Nah..." You replied casually.
You. Were. So. Fucking. Hot.
You felt your T-shirt being completely soaked and drops of sweat forming on your forehead.
“You look sick...” your father replied, touching your forehead with his hand and checking your temperature. “You’re awfully hot and soaked. Take the hoodie off. You’re gonna get overheated.” You just nodded at his request, expecting them both to go back to their conversation.
Hearing the still-present silence, you looked up, confused.
Your father stood over you, waiting. Dean’s gaze was drilling right through you. You can’t take your sweatshirt off. You have to think of something. Now.
“I’ll pass. I don’t know about you guys, but extra layers are just fine.” You smiled faintly, wanting them both to drop the subject.
“Y/N...” You heard your uncle’s voice for the first time in two days. You looked at him in surprise. You didn’t feel the satisfaction you thought you would when he broke the silence between you two.
“I said I’m fine,” you said through gritted teeth. Maybe if you’d fight again, they’ll let it go. Dean walked over to Sam and leaned on the table in front of you. You wanted to bury yourself in the chair, surrounded by Winchesters scanning you with their eyes.
“Y/N, take it off,” your dad ordered
“No.” You said stubbornly, looking into his eyes, because what are they going to do, force you?
“Take it off, or we’ll take it off of you,” Dean said firmly, eyeing you up and down. Fuck. You had no choice. Maybe you can manage out of this somehow. Think, think...
Your dad took your wrist. You raised your other hand in a sign of defeat.
“Ok, just because you asked so nicely” You tried to lighten up the mood but they both kept their expressions serious.
You picked up the sweatshirt from the bottom, putting it over your head. You took it down to your elbows, shrugging casually.
“Take it all off,” Sam ordered crossing his arms over his chest.
You didn’t know what he expected, but definitely not what he saw as you removed your hoodie.
Before that day, you didn’t wonder what this part of your body looks like to others. You hadn’t thought about how they would react when they saw your wounds because you assumed it would never happen.
Dozens, if not hundreds, of cuts, scrapes, and burns covered your forearms. Showing it made you realize how it actually looks.
“Oh God...” Sam whispered emptily. You knew you let him down. He wasn’t supposed to worry. Everything going on in your head was supposed to stay there without tormenting your family. Pain and shame paralyzed you. You felt tears run down your face.
Your father fell to his knees in front of you and gently embraced your hands.
“I’m sorry...” was all you managed to say as you gasped for air between the sobs.
You failed him.
You failed them.
“Y/N baby…” He said, then kissed your wounds. The new ones from yesterday, the minor scratches from pens or fingernails, the already healed wounds, and the recently made ones. He kissed them as if they would vanish after it as if he could heal all wounds by holding you.
You felt Dean hugging you from behind, stroking your hair gently. You rested your head against his belly, sobbing harder and harder. Sam hugged your hands, stroking them gently while Dean rocked you, letting you let everything out.
They stayed like that until your breathing stabilized, and you sniffed loudly.
“I still see them…” you mumbled, looking into your father’s sad eyes. “Everyone I’ve killed, sometimes I can’t tell the difference between what he showed me and what’s really happening,” You breathed shakily as you turned to Dean. “It makes it go away,” you shuddered, remembering the black eyes from nightmares.
“I’m sorry I yelled at you, bug,” sighed the older Winchester, stroking your shoulders. “I’m sorry for being so harsh.”
“No, I’m sorry I- “you gasped. “I’ve let you down. You shouldn’t have seen it. None of this is your problem” You rubbed your eyes as you let go of your father’s hands, and he sighed deeply.
“Y/N, look at me,” He said, moving loose strands of hair from your face, putting one hand on your shoulder. “I have nightmares too. Pretty nasty ones and visions of everything that happened. “You looked at him with glazed eyes, “And I know it hurts more than words could ever describe it” He stroked your cheek. “But I also know that I wouldn’t manage. I wouldn’t be here if I was going through it alone.”
You exhaled shakily, taking Dean’s hand, feeling their warmth. And for the first time in weeks, truly experiencing their presence. “And it gets easier, it really does. I know, I have you, I have Dean. And that helps me get through it. “
The older Winchester squeezed your hand as he felt another teardrop fall on it. “None of this is your fault. You hear me? And don’t say that what you feel is a problem. It’s our job to be here and take everything with you. Because we’re family. “
Sam wiped another tear from your cheek as your lips twitched. You saw Dean kneel next to you, looking gently into your teary eyes. “And it’s gonna be hard. Hell, probably even worse. But you don’t have to take it all on yourself. You don’t have to hurt yourself to live through it. We’ll be here walking with you every step of the way. “He hugged you as your eyes began to tear up again.
Being embraced by your family, the weight on your chest and shoulders slowly getting lighter. You felt safe and genuinely happy for the first time in a while.
And you finally felt like you could get used to it.
Masterlist.