LEFT A MARK - CHAPTER 9
PAIRING : dean winchester x original female character
STORY SUMMARY : in series masterlist
CHAPTER WARNINGS : age-gap. angst. angry dean. implied death. strong language.
A/N : obviously i changed a few things for the character insert so bear with me. hopefully y’all don’t hate it too much. thanks for reading 💜
Maricela’s POV
Dean had taken Kevin to a motel in Branson for a few days while Sam and I stayed at the bunker. After everything that’s happened these past few weeks, Dean and I decided to take a little break ourselves. Sam—of course—had questions that I didn’t know how to answer. Pretending that Dean never told me anything seemed to cease his inquiries—to me, at least. I knew he was waiting for his brother to get home to fill in the blanks. So, after attempting and failing to get more demon names from Crowley, I try and distract Sam.
“Saaammmm!” I whine as I walk toward the Winchester.
He sits on one of the chairs in front of the Map Table, documents from the Men of Letters scattered before him.
“Hmm?” He hums, eyes scanning over the records before scribbling on a notepad.
I wrap my arms around his neck from behind and nuzzle my face against his. “Take a break—watch a movie with me.”
He taps my forearm gently, replying, “I can’t. I have to find a way to help Cas.”
“Trust me, I want nothing more than Cas to be here, but we can’t help him if we burn ourselves out. Let’s just take a little break.” My arms falter from their position before straightening my posture. I lean against the table, finishing my persuasion. “It’ll still be here in a couple of hours—I’ll even let you pick the movie.”
He puts his pen down, then swivels his chair to face me entirely. His lips purse as he ponders my proposition. With my head tilted to the side, my brows slightly pinched, and pleading eyes peeking through my lashes, a tiny frown ties my puppy dog look together. Despite his dithering, I knew he couldn’t say no to me. With a heavy sigh, he throws his hands up in defeat.
Sam stands from his seat and mutters, “Fine.”
“Yay!” I cheer, already walking towards the kitchen. “I’ll grab the snacks while you get the movie ready.”
Heading straight towards the shelves, which held all nonperishable foods, I reach for the snacks only Sam and I would consume. I grab the Jiffy Pop popcorn and bring it to the stove. Just as I was about to ignite the burner, the door to the bunker slammed closed. The men’s voices carry into the kitchen. My heart flutters at the return of the eldest brother. Self-consciously, I tuck my curtain bangs behind my ears and straighten my clothing.
A light blush rushes to my cheeks, embarrassed about getting this flustered over a man. I wait a few moments, allowing the pinkness a chance to fade. Once the flush subsides, I focus on why I came into the kitchen in the first place. Deciding not to cook the kernels, I leave the gathered food on the island and walk toward the War Room. Dean stood with his arms crossed, listening to his younger brother.
They look underneath the table before Sam says, “You’re never gonna believe what we found.”
“You showing him the computer?” I ask and get a nod from the younger Winchester.
I follow behind the boys as Sam leads us to the new room we found earlier. He opens the door and flips the light switch, revealing a humongous machine in the middle of the room. It had at least a hundred buttons that lined the board.
“Voilà.”
“This is a computer?” asks Dean.
“Yeah—or it was in 1951 when it was installed.” We circle to the back of the machine as Sam raises his finger like Velma would often do when talking, continuing our discovery. “Now, here’s the crazy thing. It’s not plugged into anything. I mean, I have no idea what’s making this thing work.”
Dean runs his hand along the side of the metal, stopping to say, “It’s warm here.”
Sam puts his hand where his brother implies, feeling the heat for himself. Dean uses his fingers to open the panel to the computer’s back but lucks out. I inspect the shelves of miscellaneous items and find a flathead screwdriver, then hand it to Dean. He takes it and turns around, jamming the tool into the back of the computer. The metal creaks, refusing to open, but he jimmies harder. Suddenly, the panel clatters to the floor, and he stumbles into the wall and shelves behind him.
“Got it.” He clears his throat, trying to play it cool.
With the back now open, we squat to see inside. Sam retrieves a flashlight from his rear pocket to illuminate the machine. However, the guts weren’t like any computer I've seen. And judging from their responses, they haven't either.
“Huh.” Sam breathes.
‘Well, that looks simple. Does it come with a manual?”
“Nothing in the archives, and I obviously couldn’t find anything like it online, not to mention I’m pretty sure that the Men of Letters doesn’t exactly have I.T. support anymore, either.”
“I think I know somebody who could help us,” I mention, standing up to fetch my phone. “Come on.”
Wordlessly, the boys follow me out of room 28.
Charlie walks into the bunker along with Sam. He holds her duffle bag as they walk down the steps like the gentleman he is. Dean and I call our hello’s before getting out of our chairs. She waves and meets us at the bottom of the stairs.
“Thanks for coming,” Dean says, hugging her before me.
“Not a problem, especially since I got fired last week,” Charlie admits.
“Hey, what?” Sam questions after setting her bag on the Map Table. “What happened?”
“Turns out the company I work for was outsourcing to child labor, so I took a big WikiLeak all over that. And, yeah. It’s cool, though. It’s given me more time to focus on my hobbies...” Charlie trails off, watching Dean closely. My eyes go wide, knowing what she was going to reveal. I subtly shake my head, trying to prevent her from enduring the same judgment I went through. Ignoring me, she continues, “Like LARPing, Macrame, and hunting.”
“Excuse me?” Dean's voice lowers in a dad-like tone. His hands rest on his hips as he peers down at the red-head.
Her arms quickly rise in defense, trying to calm Dean’s growing anger. “Okay. It was just a couple little cases. I took down a teenage vampire and a ghost...which sounds like a Y.A. novel if you say it out loud.”
“Charlie, how’d it go?” Sam inquires.
“It was, uh...” She glances at Dean, his mouth hung agape in disbelief. Her gaze shifts to me, frowning momentarily before darting to Sam. “It was intense. I had a close friend helping in case anything went sideways. As you can see, I’m fine. But I kind of wish hunting was more...magical, you know?”
“Close friend—who?” Dean inquires urgently, ignoring her last sentence.
I shake my head, hoping my pleading eyes will make her keep my identity a secret. Charlie stares at me, hesitating to answer. Dean follows her eyes and sees my plea before I have a chance to mask it. Fuck. His eyes grew wider before narrowing in anger.
“You knew about this and didn’t tell us? Worse—you took her hunting?”
“I didn’t take her hunting; She wanted to go herself. So, I offered to assist.”
Dean’s eyes roll at my response. “You should’ve changed her mind!”
“I didn’t need to do shit. She’s a grown-ass woman, Dean! She can make decisions for herself. If she wants to hunt, that’s her prerogative.”
“She can get herself killed, and the last person who should be teaching her to hunt is you!”
“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” I ask defensively.
“It means you can hardly keep yourself alive.”
“That’s bullshit, and you know it.”
“Is it? ‘Cause it’s getting real old having to constantly worry every hunt if that one will be your last. I have enough crap on my plate, and making sure you don’t get killed isn’t something I signed up for. God, it’s exhausting. You’re the last person I would ever want on my mind.”
Silence fills the room once his honesty leaves his sharp tongue. His words hit me like a punch to the gut, leaving me breathless. Was it as bad as it sounded, or was the pain I was feeling heightened by my love for him? His face didn’t seem to carry any remorse. Instead, he loomed over me, his annoyance palpable as he peered down with a towering stance.
“Sorry, I’ve been such an inconvenience for you. Maybe next time I'll die, so you don't have to worry anymore.” My words dripped with disgust as I desperately tried to mask the hurt I felt.
I don’t waste another moment in the War Room and in his presence. Ignoring Sam’s calls, I storm into the corridor. Anger replaces my pain the closer I get to my room. How dare he say those things. I’m a great hunter! I’ve been hunting for years; I knew what I was doing. I never took on something I couldn't handle by myself.
In a rage, I slam my door closed. I’m a damn good hunter! I assure myself. Every single one has been close to death, so why was I any different? He goes in guns blazing, too! He doesn’t have any regard for his life, and he’s made that known on many occasions.
Knowing that my thoughts would only aggregate me further, I grab my wireless headphones from my desk. With the light off, I stumble to my bed and get comfortable as I turn on the set playlist for times like this. I close my eyes, allowing myself to get lost in the music and not my fist in Dean’s face. As each song played, I felt my anger subside a little more. I can’t be sure how much time has passed, but the frustration rushes back once my headphones get yanked off.
“What the hell?” I yell at the figures towering over me.
“We’ve got a problem.”
Sam, Dean, and I scavenge the halls after they explain what was going on. Dorothy and the Wicked Witch are real, and just so happen to be in the bunker. We wander to the dungeon, instantly greeted with Crowley’s whistle rendition of ‘Somewhere Over The Rainbow.’ The men stroll closer to the King of Hell as I follow behind.
“Wow, if it isn’t the Scarecrow, the Tin Man, and Dorothy. Well—not the real one, anyway. As for your other new houseguest—so misunderstood.” The demon joked, yet no one but him found it amusing. “Either of you saw ‘Wicked?’”
“What did she say to you?” Sam demands.
“Something along the lines of...” Crowley trails off before hissing.
“All right, well, I’m gonna go get some holy oil and a lighter, dick bag.” Dean chimes in, turning to fetch the items, but stops once the demon starts speaking.
“I know what she’s looking for.”
“What does she want?” I ask.
“I’d be happy to tell you as soon as I get to stretch my legs.”
The younger Winchester nods toward the prisoner, agreeing. With annoyance, Dean moves to fill the King of Hell’s request. Sam and I aim our guns in case Crowley tries to pull anything. With one hand, Dean grabs the key out of his pocket to unlock the lock around the metal collar, while the other hand holds the demon blade to the demon’s throat as a warning. Dean backs away as the soulless monster happily pries the collar off, chains clattering when he drops it to the table.
“Oh.” He chuckles, standing from his seat.
“What does the witch want?” Sam questions.
“Give me a mo. I still need to air myself out.” Crowley pushes.
With my gun already raised, I shoot a round into the demon’s chest. He looks down at it, physically unfazed. “I think you’re aired out enough.”
“Rude.” He murmurs before picking up the crumbled-up paper from the table to reveal the word: key.
“Key? What key?” Sam presses.
“I haven’t the foggiest. Had to send her off on a merry chase before she could melt me.” The King of Hell flashes his pearly whites before revealing, “Told her you boys kept the keys in the kitchen. You do have a kitchen in this crap hole, don’t you?”
We look at one another before racing to the destination. Once in the kitchen, it was clear it had been ransacked. There wasn’t one surface that was left untouched. I groan, knowing I had to clean it later.
“Damn it, I just cleaned in here.” Dean sighs in disappointment.
“Really?” Sam rhetorically asks in sarcasm.
Walking down the steps, the Dick of the Day states the obvious, “Looks like we got a witch here.”
Someone walks into the other door to the kitchen, and we quickly draw our weapons only to see Charlie and the Dorothy.
“Sorry. We raided your gun range.” Charlie extended her arm for us to see what was in her hand. “Made us some poppy bullets. They won’t kill the witch, but they will stun the crap out of her.”
Dean picks up the casing, examining the bullets. “That’s my girl.” He murmurs, his eyes lingering on her before seeking a glance at me as his attention shifts to his handgun.
If it weren’t for the fight we had earlier, I would’ve been jealous that he’d never complimented me like that once before. Instead, the ‘jealousy’ turns into more anger. What was it that made him act differently towards me? I wonder.
“There was only enough for five bullets, so...make each shot count.”
We load the bullets into our magazines as Dorothy speaks, ‘Now we just have to find her before she finds whatever the hell she’s looking for.”
“She’s looking for a key.” I clarify.
“How do you know?” Charlie inquires.
“Little birdie told us,” Sam responds. “Ring any bells, Dorothy?”
“Unfortunately,” She replies with dismay. “It’s the key to Oz. There are magical ways into Oz—tornado, eye of a hurricane, whirlpool—but this key will turn any locked door into a portal to Oz. Insert key, twist, and presto, you're in Oz.”
“How did the Men of Letters get the key?” I question.
“I have no idea, but if she finds it, she’ll go back and finish what she started. She’ll destroy all that is good in Oz. She’s got armies of witches, flying monkeys. Many will die.”
“What’s this key look like?” Dean interjects.
Dorothy pulls out a journal from the inside of her jacket. We huddle around her as she quickly flips through the beige pages. Finally, she finds the one with information regarding the sought-after key. The top read ‘KEEP SAFE’ and was written with three exclamation marks. A sketch of the key took up half the page but was perfectly detailed to identify when searching for it.
“I’ve seen that key.” The oldest Winchester confesses. “Found it when I was doing inventory.”
“Where is it now?”
“My room. We got to get to that key. All right, Maricela, Charlie, and I will go look in my room.” He turns to Sam and finishes, “Why don’t you guys buy us some time?”
“I’ll go with Sam,” I speak dryly, not wanting to be around Dean any longer than I had to. His deep voice utters an ‘I don’t think so,’ to which I roll my eyes. “Oh, right. You don’t think I can handle myself, so I can’t leave your side.”
Without waiting for a comeback, I try storming to his room, but before I can leave the kitchen, his hand grabs my arm, pulling me back. I turn around and snatch my limb back, my eyes narrowing at his touch, daring him to do it again. Sam and Dorothy had left the room, leaving us three. Ignoring my glare, the Winchester’s gaze shifts between Charlie and me as he speaks.
“Safest place in this joint is the dungeon.”
“You have a dungeon in this place?” She inquiries, giving me déjà vu. “Of course you do.”
“So maybe you two should...” Dean trails off, implying we run from the danger.
Before I speak up, Charlie says, “We are not hiding, especially in a dungeon. Wicked witch, a key, a quest?” She playfully punches his shoulder—had it been me, it would’ve been rougher and somewhere else. With glee, she declares, “Let’s do this.”
She pivots and heads towards Dean’s room. I turn on my heel and ignore his calls as I walk with Charlie. After giving up, he assigns us corners of his room to scavenge. I rifled through his desk drawers and a box of files he handed me.
“You keep your porn meticulously organized, but not—” Charlie starts to criticize before Dean interrupts.
“Don’t judge me.” He rifles through a wooden crate before calling out, “Ah! Yahtzee.”
Charlie and I face the man who found what we were searching for. Suddenly, she gasps, calling out his name as she stares at the witch behind him. He turns around, and the witch snatches the key from his hand. She backhands his face, knocking him on the bed behind him before he bounces off with a grunt and rolls into the wall. The Wicked Witch pockets the key in her black cloak before raising her right hand towards the Winchester. The power began to gather in her hand, emitting a green glow.
Panicking, I shout, “No!”
Without a second thought, I jump in front of Dean. As I intended, my body shields his, absorbing the blast instead. And in the blink of an eye, I’m in the middle of the woods, the sun high in the sky, as I point a gun at the beer bottles set up ahead.
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