Found Family! Supernatural and Teen! Witch! Reader
Chapter Two: Missing Witch
Summary: Dean and Sam go on a hunt for (Y/N).
Mouse Note: Did I accidentally post chapter one early? Yes. Am I going to commit and just give you guys an extra update today as well? Yes
Dean tapped his foot while he waited for Sam to get food from the vending machine. They had been driving for hours, and Dean felt like they were still too far away from Salem and any trace of (Y/N). He swallowed. (Y/N). Just what had happened to them after a year? Had they found other hunters? Were they with a family? Were they safe? And, the worst thought of all, were they alive? They were a teenager, they were a hunter, and they were a witch. There were too many people willing to hurt them for those reasons. It made Dean furious to imagine them in danger.
“Come on, I got you!”
Dean looked up and watched two boys with toy guns running around in the parking lot.
“No way,” complained the second.
“You’re dead!” said the first.
“No way, I’m not dead at all!” said the second.
Dean blinked, and the world almost blurred, becoming the forests of Purgatory once more.
He could feel himself running after a man, hot on his trail, knife in hand. The man grappled with Dean, and they fought viciously until Dean shoved him into a tree. He held his knife to the man’s throat, even when his vampiric teeth descended.
“Take a breath. Calm down. Where’s the angel?” snapped Dean.
“You’re him. The human,” choked the vampire.
“Where’s the angel?!” repeated Dean forcefully.
“I don’t know,” gasped the vampire.
The answer wasn’t good enough. Dean decapitated the vamp without a second thought. And a second vampire tackled him to the ground before he could have a chance at that second thought. His weapon fell, and Dean thrashed against the vampire’s hold. The fangs descended, and Dean fought for his survival.
A knife sliced through the vamp’s neck, and the head fell. Dean was released, and he shoved the body off him. Dean looked up, and Benny looked down at him, knife in hand, fangs showing.
Dean shook his head and let out a long breath. He turned away from the motel window while Sam reentered, trying to steady himself. He rubbed his hands together, and Sam frowned when he saw him.
“You okay?” asked Sam.
Dean straightened, body tense with alertness. His voice was strained, but he forced himself to speak with a smile. “Yeah. Yeah, hey, what do you say we blow this joint, hit the road?”
“Now?” said Sam, looking at the dark sky.
“Yeah, (Y/N)’s not getting any more found,” said Dean. He spoke brusquely to avoid his own worry.
“(Y/N) survived a year without us.” Sam wouldn’t entertain the idea of anything else. “They’ll be okay for another twelve hours.” He looked at Dean’s tense body warily. “Besides, when’s the last time you slept?”
Dean just grunted.
“What?” said Sam.
“Nothing. Is that, uh, that how you rationalized taking a year off? People will be okay?” snapped Dean, glaring at Sam.
“People were okay, Dean. You’re okay.” Sam spoke half desperately, trying to rationalize that (Y/N) was strong, that they had to be okay.
“Wow,” scoffed Dean.
“Look, I did what we promised we’d do. I moved on. I lived my life,” said Sam.
“We promised that. You and me,” said Dean. “And we always ignored it.” Sam flinched. “Even when you went to Hell, we tried to figure the Cage out. We tried. Me and (Y/N). And they’re not a part of our deal. They’re a kid. They’re our sibling. They’re our responsibility, Sam, and you abandoned them without even looking.”
“I thought they were with you,” said Sam, looking down.
“And that makes it okay?” snapped Dean.
“It meant I felt like—like I had nothing more to fight for,” said Sam. He sat down on the bed. “It wasn’t like I was…just oblivious. I mean, I read the paper every day. I saw the weird stories, the kind of stuff we used to chase.”
“And you said what? ‘Not my problem?’ ” said Dean accusatorily.
“Yes. And you know what? The world went on.” Sam would put up with Dean’s anger about (Y/N), his own guilt kept mounting, but the rest felt justified. It was justified.
“People died, Sam,” said Dean sharply.
“People will always die, Dean,” said Sam tiredly. “Or maybe another hunter took care of it. I don’t know, but the point is, for the first time, I realized that it wasn’t only up to me to stop it.”
“Hmm. So what was it, hmm?” Dean watched Sam’s face carefully. “What could possibly make you stop just like that? A girl?” Sam blinked. “Was there a girl?”
“The girl had nothing to do with it,” said Sam defensively.
“There was a girl,” said Dean.
“Yeah. There was. And then there wasn’t,” said Sam, bitter with fresh heartbreak.” Any more questions?” Dean was silent, but his harsh, disappointed gaze didn’t leave Sam’s face. “Listen, I know this is gonna sound crazy to you,” sighed Sam. “I don’t even necessarily need you to understand. But…you need to know. I didn’t just drop out, Dean. I found something. Something I’ve never had all my life.”
“Yeah, what was her name?” said Dean.
“Amelia,” said Sam softly.
“So, what, you, uh, you dropped your peanut butter in her chocolate? How’d it happen?” asked Dean, trying to soften a little. This was a sensitive subject. The morning wasn’t coming any faster, either.
“I hit a dog,” admitted Sam.
“I knew I smelled dog,” scoffed Dean.
“And I knew you’d throw a bitch fit,” sighed Sam.
“Hey, the rules are simple, Sam. You don’t take a joint from a guy named Don, and there’s no dogs in the car!” grumbled Dean.
“Alright. What about you?” asked Sam, treading carefully.
“What about me?” Dean attempted to deflect.
“Look at you.” Sam gestured at him. “You’ve still got that look. You’re shaky. You’re on edge. What was it like?”
“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you,” said Dean, staring into space, seeing something else before his eyes.
“Try me,” said Sam.
“It was bloody. Messy. Thirty-one flavors of bottom-dwelling nasties,” said Dean, trying to use sarcasm but falling flat. “Hell, most days felt like three-sixty-degree combat. But there was something about being there.” He shook his head abruptly, and Sam knew the momentary vulnerability had passed. “It doesn’t matter. I’m out. What matters is getting (Y/N).”
That was the end of the conversation. Sam couldn’t say anything to that.
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The impala pulled into Salem, and Dean parked. Sam and Dean got out, and they looked around. They spotted a diner and exchanged looks. That’s where (Y/N) would go. So, Dean and Sam walked inside.
“Hey,” said Dean, heading to the counter. “Did you work here last year?”
The teen looked at him. “No?”
“Can you get me someone who has?” said Dean.
“I know the menu—”
“Don’t care. Get me someone who has,” said Dean.
The teen jumped at Dean’s tone and quickly moved to get another worker. He cast an irritated look back at Dean.
“Did you need to be so harsh?” said Sam.
“Do you want to find (Y/N) or not?” muttered Dean while a worker came over.
“What seems to be the problem?” said an older woman, raising a judgmental brow at the young men before her.
“Hi,” said Sam before Dean could say anything. “We’re looking for our sibling. They’ve been missing for a year, but we heard they might have passed through here.”
The woman looked at him carefully and then nodded slowly. “We have lots of people passing through. What do they look like?”
Dean held up a hand. “This tall, scruffy, lots of piercing in their ears, crystal necklace? Wearing purple and a scowl?”
Sam fished an old fake ID of (Y/N)’s out. He held it out, and the woman took it. “It’s been a year, so I understand if you don’t remember, but they might have used your public phone.”
The woman looked at the ID and peered closer. “I might have seen them.” She looked at Sam and Dean. “But it’s been a year. Why are you looking now?” She was clearly suspicious.
“There was an accident,” said Sam. “We were in the hospital, and they went missing while we were there.” He lied, but the older woman softened slightly.
“They were a bit disheveled,” she admitted.
“You saw them?” said Dean quickly.
“I think so,” said the older woman. “Walked in covered in dirt, looking half-asleep and wild.” She glanced at them. “And they wanted to use the phone to call their brothers.”
Sam’s heart twisted, and Dean’s hand curled into a fist.
“Sam and Dean, right?” said Dean.
“I heard them say Sam on the phone,” said the older woman, nodding.
“What happened to them?” asked Sam.
“I fed them,” said the woman. “They were a darling child, if a bit…short at times. Guarded. They hardly spoke, but they were always on edge.”
Survival mode. Dean knew it well. “Did they stay here?”
“I gave them a place to stay for the night,” said the woman. “They said their brother would be there soon.” She glanced between Sam and Dean. “I suppose they didn’t know what had happened.”
“They didn’t,” said Dean.
Sam was unable to speak. He could picture (Y/N) waiting for him. And he hadn’t come.
“Are they still here?” asked Dean.
“No,” said the old woman. “They disappeared one morning. They were just gone. They left a note thanking me, though, and some flowers.” She shook her head. “From my own flower bushes, which had never looked so good.”
Sam and Dean knew exactly why it had looked so good. (Y/N) was a witch.
“Did they say anything about where they might go?” said Dean.
“Something about a cabin, I believe,” said the old woman. “That’s all I know.”
“Thanks,” said Sam, managing the word.
“Of course. I hope you find them,” said the old woman.
Dean nodded, and they headed out of the diner. He looked at Sam. “So they headed back to the cabin.”
“Yeah,” said Sam. “Which was empty.”
“So we’ve got two options,” said Dean. “They got there and were alone for months before leaving, and we missed them by a few days or something. Or they never went back to Rufus’s cabin for some reason.”
Sam shook his head. “Where else do they have to go? Bobby’s house isn’t standing. We had no other homes.”
“But they know people,” said Dean. “People who would take care of them.”
“Who?” asked Sam.
“Sheriff Mills. Garth,” said Dean.
“(Y/N) didn’t mind them, but they didn’t know them. Are we sure they’d feel safe enough to go to Jody? Or if they found Garth, safe enough to stick around them with their…condition?” asked Sam.
“It’s better than nothing,” said Dean. “And they might have heard something on the grapevine.” He gave Sam an evil glance. “You know, since they’re still hunting and talking to people.”
Sam swallowed guiltily. “Do you think—Do you think Crowley or someone else took them?”
“If Kevin got away, (Y/N) did,” said Dean firmly. “They’re not with Crowley.”
“Right,” said Sam, relieved at the point.
Dean opened his phone. “I’ll call Sheriff Mills. You call Garth.”
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“Alright. Thanks. Yeah, us too. Let us know if you hear anything,” said Sam, hanging up.
“I know. Yeah. Thanks, Sheriff. You’ll let me know—Right. Of course. I’ll let you know.” Dean finished with his phone call. “So?”
“No luck,” said Sam. “Garth hasn’t seen them. It was a longshot, though. But he said he’ll keep an eye and an ear out. He’ll make some calls.”
Dean nodded. Garth was a strange hunter, but he had a big heart, at least. “Same with Jody. She hasn’t seen (Y/N). But she’ll ask some of her sheriff buddies in nearby counties. So we’ve got hunters and cops covered.”
“Do you think—” Sam grimaced. “Do you think we should let Garth call other hunters?”
“They might have seen them,” said Dean. “Or have heard about a teenager appearing out of nowhere in Salem.”
“Yeah, but (Y/N)’s a witch,” said Sam. “Some hunters might try to…”
Dean stiffened. “They don’t know.”
“Right, but if something happens—”
“Sam, we need the hunters to find (Y/N). We have no clue where they are, and hunters are everywhere,” said Dean. “And it’s been a year. The trail is as cold as cold can get. We need all the help we can get.” He turned and walked back towards the diner, sullen and hungry.
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Sam and Dean sat silently over dinner. They had spent the entire day in the diner—breakfast, lunch, and dinner—pouring over a map of Salem and nearby towns, trying to decide what path (Y/N) might have taken to get back to Rufus’s cabin or where they might have gone.
“None of this is helping,” said Dean, frustrated. “They could have taken a bus, hitchhiked, walked—teleported, apparently. And now they could be anywhere.”
“Maybe they went back to Sucrocorp first to check on things?” said Sam.
“Still doesn’t explain why they didn’t get back to Rufus’s,” said Dean. “Ain’t that far.”
“Dean. What if—”
“Don’t.”
“Dean, we have to—”
“Sam.”
“Dean, if we don’t find them—”
“We will!” snapped Dean. “We will because we’re the Winchesters, and we always find each other.” He held his fork and knife tightly.
Sam went silent and nodded slowly. “Okay. Okay, Dean.”
Dean looked at his meal sourly.
Sam’s phone rang, and Sam lifted it. “It’s Garth.” Dean looked up, and Sam’s breath caught with hope. “Yeah?” he said breathlessly when he answered. Dean gestured, and Sam put it on speakerphone.
“Put out a few calls,” said Garth. “Nothing about the kiddo. Sorry.”
Dean gritted his teeth and almost snapped about why the hell did you call, then?! However, Garth continued.
“But I got news about a psychic or something that could help,” said Garth.
“A psychic? Garth, those are scammers,” said Sam.
“No, listen, this is the real deal. Apparently, they travel with a circus or those traveling people, and people are always saying they got real talents,” said Garth. “Buddy of mine said he talked to someone—you know, might have been a demon deal—and once, they got heckled, and the lights burst when they were annoyed. And their usual act is tarot, so, like, that’s not part of any fake séance. Real thing, right?”
“Is it a demon deal, though? We’re not working with that,” said Sam.
“No sign of sulfur or anything demonic,” said Garth. “Could give you a direction towards (Y/N).”
“Sounds like a coincidence,” said Sam doubtfully. “And it could just be a family of hunters.”
“It’s a longshot,” said Dean. “But it’s what we got.”
Sam nodded. “What direction was the circus going?”
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“Circuses,” said Dean, staring at the array of tents in front of them. He glanced at Sam. “Better hope there’re no clowns—”
“Shut up,” grumbled Sam. “Let’s just find the psychic.”
“Do we have something of (Y/N)’s? For the tracking spell?” said Dean.
“An old shirt,” said Sam, holding it up. “But it’s been a year, and those spells need something of value. This might not be enough.”
“Yeah, well, it’s what we got,” said Dean, determined. “And the tarot-thing could help.” He remembered (Y/N)’s phase with it, and his heart clenched. He missed them.
“Hi, hello,” said Sam, walking up to a man grooming a horse.
“Hi,” said the man, smiling. “Welcome. The show is starting soon, but we have food and other attractions—”
“We’re looking for a psychic,” said Dean.
“Oh, we don’t have a psychic,” said the man. “We have a fortune-teller, though. Reads tarot. Very good.”
“That would be great,” said Sam.
“Over there, third tent on the left,” said the man, gesturing.
Dean and Sam nodded and started heading over. They pushed away the curtained entrance and walked into the tent. In the dim light, they saw someone turned around. They wore a long black dress with a purple sweater overtop. Simple boots were on their feet, and earrings and rings winked in the candlelight as they moved. A vine tattoo peeked beneath their sweater at their left wrist, as well.
Sam cleared his throat. “Excuse me.”
“We need some help,” said Dean, getting straight to the point.
The psychic turned. Their eyes widened. Sam and Dean’s eyes widened. A familiar indigo spirit-quartz necklace fell around the neck of the psychic—the witch.
Found Family! Supernatural and Teen! Witch! Reader
Chapter Two: Binding Death
Summary: In a Hail Mary to deal with "God" Castiel, Dean suggests an unlikely bit of help: Death. It goes as well as (Y/N) suspects it will.
“She looks good…considering,” said Bobby.
Dean stared at the finished, repaired impala. “Considering? I should do this professionally.”
(Y/N) nodded. “Looks good.”
“So…” Bobby paused. “Seen Sam lately?”
“Yeah, why?” said Dean.
(Y/N) saw a strange expression on Bobby’s face. “What is it?”
“How is that kid even vertical?” said Bobby. “I mean, Cas broke his damn pinata.”
“We know,” said Dean, sighing.
“I mean, I get how he came to help us, back at the lab,” said Bobby. “Adrenaline. Sure. But now?”
“Well, he says he’s okay,” said Dean.
“How?” exclaimed Bobby.
“I don’t know,” said Dean. “I just pray to God it’s true.”
“Not Cas God. Other God,” said (Y/N), and Dean half-scoffed, half-chuckled.
“Seriously, though,” said Dean. “I mean, look at our lives. How many more hits can we take? So if Sam says he’s good, good.”
“Do you believe that?” said Bobby. “Either of you?”
“Yeah,” said Dean. Bobby stared. “…No. We never catch a break.” He squeezed the rag he was using to clean and grimaced. “But just-just this one thing, you know? But we’re not dumb. I’m not gonna get my hopes up just to get kicked in the daddy pills again.”
“(Y/N)?” said Bobby.
(Y/N) grimaced. “…Well…” They didn’t believe Sam was completely okay. The consequences of the memories from Hell had hit him and caused a nosebleed. Something had to be going wrong in his head, even if it hadn’t presented yet. That was a fact. “We’ve never had anything go right. And he collapsed at the lab. Something’s gonna go wrong. Hopefully Sam’ll notice and tell us so we can help. That’s all we can do.”
“Hey.” Sam walked in, and the group straightened.
“Well, how you feeling, sport?” said Bobby.
Smooth, thought (Y/N).
“Can’t complain,” said Sam, smiling.
“Great. What’s the word?” asked Dean.
“Well, a publishing house literally exploded about an hour ago,” said Sam. “Guys, the body count is really getting up there. We got to do something.”
“What we got to do is hunt the son of a bitch,” said Bobby.
“And get smited—smote?—but such is our life,” said (Y/N). They had said it before, but they would rather die trying to do the right thing than sit back and hide.
“Is there some kind of heavenly weapon? I mean, maybe something out of that angel arsenal that Balthazar stole?” suggested Sam. “There’s got to be something that can hurt him.”
“He’s God, Sam,” said Dean. “There’s nothing.” He paused. “But there might be someone.”
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“Ready?” said Dean.
“Ready,” said Sam, finishing the summoning spell.
(Y/N)’s energy buzzed to life, and they watched the bowl of ingredients and the match be lit. They itched for a piece of that magic, and they swallowed. But Sam and Dean had said no magic, so (Y/N) wasn’t even involved in the summoning.
In the middle of the Devil’s Trap, Crowley appeared. He stared at them while holding a glass of whiskey. “No.” He looked down at his feet. “No, no! Come on!”
“Don’t act so surprised,” said Bobby.
“My new boss is gonna kill me for even talking to you lot,” said Crowley.
“You’re lucky we’re not stabbing you in your scuzzy face, you piece of—”
“Wait, wait, wait,” said Sam. “What new boss?”
“Castiel, you giraffe,” said Crowley, rolling his eyes.
“Is your boss?” said Bobby.
“Is everybody’s boss,” said Crowley. “What do you think he’s gonna do when he finds out we’ve been conspiring?” He looked around. “You do want to conspire, don’t you?”
“No, we want you to just stand there and look pretty,” said Bobby sarcastically.
Crowley smirked.
“You wouldn’t be very good at that since you’re not that pretty, so we’re gonna ask you to conspire,” said (Y/N).
“Rude, Weasel,” said Crowley. “But I’m listening.”
“We need a spell,” said Dean. “To bind Death.” That was the plan, their only option.
“Bind? Enslave Death?” said Crowley. He scoffed. “You having a laugh?”
“Lucifer did it,” said (Y/N).
“That’s Lucifer,” said Crowley.
“A spell’s a spell,” said Sam.
Crowley smirked. “You really believe you can handle that kind of horsepower? You’re delusional!”
“Death is the only player on the board left that has the kind of juice to take Cas,” said Dean.
“They’ll both mash us like peas,” said Crowley. “Why should I help on a suicide mission?”
“Look,” said Bobby. “You really want Cas running the universe?”
“No,” scoffed Crowley. He poured himself a glass. “But, again, because you suicidal idiots don’t seem to listen, you don’t have the horsepower. Even if you have the spell, I very much doubt you can handle it. Magic like that needs a proper witch with proper power. Which you don’t have.”
(Y/N) coughed. “I don’t know about power, but…”
“No,” said Dean.
“No way,” said Sam.
“We talked about this,” said Bobby.
All of them spoke at the same time, and Crowley lifted a brow in surprise. “Don’t tell me.” He grinned. “Weasel is a—”
“They’re not performing any spells,” said Sam. He glared at Crowley. “We’ll do it. We can do it.”
“It’s your funeral,” said Crowley jovially.
(Y/N) scowled, and the magic inside them flared in frustration. Until then, (Y/N) had always helped with spellwork while Sam and Dean were on hunts. They were good at it. They—Shit, I am a witch. Instincts were helpful, and a natural knack for magic had come in handy. (Y/N) had been about to complain, but they fell silent. They didn’t want to be consumed by the magic inside them, even if it was starving. Someone else would perform the spell.
I’m hungry.
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Bobby entered the room with a mail-delivered envelope, despite no mailman arriving at the house. He tore it open and pulled out yellow parchment with a sticky note saying “bye forever, you fools. Kisses, C.”
“It’s from Crowley,” said Bobby.
Dean took the spell and stared at it “Well, who feels like hog-tying Death tonight?”
“Old age is overrated anyhow,” said Bobby with a sigh.
“Didn’t you already hit that?” said (Y/N) innocently, and Bobby cuffed them lightly upside the head. They just grinned.
Dean sat down with the ritual, and the four of them started to look up what they needed for it and if they had it available to them.
“Well,” said Bobby. “We got most of the stuff, but we’re gonna have to make a run for a few things.”
“Like?” said Dean.
“Like an ‘act of God, crystalized forever,’ ” said Bobby.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” said Sam.
“Thinking it means an actual crystal,” said Bobby. “See, lightning strikes sand at the right angle, it crystalizes into the perfect shape of itself.”
“Lightning—Act of God,” said Sam, nodding.
“Jenga,” said Bobby. “You got yourself a fulgurite. We’re gonna need a biggie.”
“And it’s gonna be rare, right?” sighed (Y/N).
“I found the records of an auction,” said Bobby. “Winning bidder lives about nine hours from here.”
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Bobby cut the lights and alarms of the house from the generator outside. Sam provided him with light. When a security guard spotted them and approached, (Y/N) and Dean knocked him out. It gave them time to pick the lock to the door without the alarm going off, and they crept inside the mansion. As they shone their flashlights around, they found a variety of art pieces and artifacts from around the world. They only needed one, though.
They split up as they went looking, and (Y/N) crept through a room of old books and busts. No fulgurite to be found. They frowned, and then they heard the click of a gun cocking. (Y/N) pressed themself to the wall, and they peered in to see a woman and man in robes, and the man was pointing a gun towards Dean, who raised his hands.
“Hi, uh…I don’t want to hurt you,” said Dean. “Really.”
“I’m the one with the firearm, son,” said the man.
“I get that,” said Dean, clearing his throat.
Wham! (Y/N) swung their gun across the back of the man’s head, and he fell. His wife screamed.
“Thanks,” said Dean.
“No problem,” said (Y/N), giving him a thumbs-up.
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“Okay,” said Dean, finishing the restraints on the man and wife. “Yeah, good.”
Sam and Bobby entered the room and stared at (Y/N) and Dean.
“Hey, guys,” said (Y/N). “Meet Dr. and Mrs. Weiss.”
Sam grimaced. “Hi. Sorry.” The couple stared back fearfully and with considerable confusion.
“I found the god thingy,” said Dean. He showed them the glass case displaying the fulgurite.
“Well, let’s light this candle,” said Bobby.
He opened his duffel bag and pulled ingredients out while Dean, Sam, and (Y/N) cleared a room for space. Bobby set up the ingredients together, Dean drew sigils, and Sam lit candles. (Y/N) was not allowed to help, and their eyes never left the spellwork. Sam crushed the fulgurite, Bobby dumped the other herbs and ingredients into the bowl, and Dean set up the fast food they’d bought for Death—(Y/N)’s suggestion. Bobby took Dean’s blood, and (Y/N)’s arms felt heavy for a moment. They swallowed. The blood dripped into the bowl, and the bowl was set onto a sigil. It was ready.
Bobby cleared his throat. “Te nunc invoco, Mortem.”
For a moment, nothing. (Y/N) squeezed their hand into a ball. Come on. Come on. They stared at the candles around the bowl. They flickered suddenly, and the color darkened for a moment. Then, magic filled the air, and the world rumbled with power.
“Te in mea potestate defixi,” continued Bobby, and the whir of magic continued. Books fell from shelves, glass cracked, and the room shook. “Nunc et in aeternum!”
The rumble fell away, and while Dr. and Mrs. Weiss sobbed in fear, (Y/N), Dean, and Sam looked around warily. That was supposed to be it, but they saw no hint of Death yet.
“Um…hello?” said Dean. “Death?”
“You’re joking,” said a familiar, calm drawl. Death had appeared in the room.
“I’m sorry, Death,” said Dean instantly, not wasting a breath. “This isn’t what it seems.”
“Seems like you bound me,” said Death. He lifted his hands, and half-visible were golden threads like chains.
“We don’t want to enslave you,” said (Y/N). “We need to talk to you, and this was the option.”
Death raised a brow. “Not your spell, I’d think.”
“We got it from someone else,” admitted (Y/N). They had a feeling “your” referred to them and not the collective of hunters.
“Mm.” Death was unsurprised, and (Y/N) suspected he knew who had given it to them.
“Um…fried pickle chip?” said Dean as Death’s bad temper didn’t dissipate. “They’re the best in the state.” He grabbed the fast food meal.
“That easy to soothe me, you think?” said Death. He glanced at Sam and pointed his cane at him. “This is about Sam’s hallucinations, I assume?”
Everyone looked at Sam in surprise. The other shoe had dropped. Something was wrong with Sam’s mind, and he had said nothing. Sam swallowed.
“What?” said Dean sharply.
“Sorry, Sam,” said Death evenly. “One wall per customer. Now, (Y/N), unbind me.”
There it was, the direct acknowledgement of their magic. “You knew,” they said, tilting their head. “That’s why you said I could unbind you from Lucifer’s control.”
“You had potential,” said Death. “But you were not capable of it yet. Now, however, you can, and I ask you again, unbind me.”
“How did you know that?” said Dean protectively.
“I’m old as time, Dean,” said Death. “I know a witch when I see one.”
“Okay, well, I’m not—I can’t unbind you,” said (Y/N).
“We’re not making them do magic,” said Sam. He wouldn’t let them lose themself to magic and get hurt.
“ ‘Letting’ is the appropriate word,” said Death, raising a brow. “So let them unbind me.”
“We can’t unbind you,” said Sam. Death’s gaze rested on him heavily, and Sam swallowed. “Y-Yet.”
“This isn’t going to end well,” said Death, tsking. He turned to the desk and starting to eat his meal.
“We need you to kill God,” said Dean.
Death stopped eating and turned. “Pardon?”
“Kill God,” said Bobby. “You heard right. Your…Honor.”
“What makes you think I can do that?” remarked Death.
“You told us,” said Dean.
Death glanced at them. “Why should I?”
“Because…we said so, and we’re the boss of you,” said Dean daringly. Everyone stared at him. “I mean…respectfully.”
“No,” said (Y/N) before Death reminded Dean that no one was his boss. “Not because we said so. The spell we have is a binding one, but we’re not gonna just order you around like a servant. That’s not-That’s not who we are.” They looked at Death. “You should help us because ‘new and improved God’ is dangerous. He’s killing people and threatening people and becoming a tyrant. We have to protect people.”
Death tilted his head ever-so-slightly.
“Amazing.”
(Y/N)’s blood ran cold, and they looked behind them. Castiel stood in the room. They furrowed their brow. Despite their trepidation, they could acknowledge something looked wrong. Castiel’s skin was red and mottled with burn-like marks. He had bags under his eyes; exhaustion written into his face.
“Cas,” breathed Sam, taking a step back.
“I didn’t want to kill you,” said Castiel. “But now…”
“You can’t kill us,” said Dean.
“You’ve erased any nostalgia I had for you, Dean,” said Castiel without any pity. He raised his hand to snap.
“Death is our bitch,” said Dean.
“Will you stop calling him that?” hissed (Y/N). It was rude, and they wanted Death on their side willingly. Death glanced at them approvingly and at Dean distastefully.
“We ain’t gonna die, even if God pulls the trigger,” continued Dean.
Castiel’s arm fell again, and he glanced at Death.
“Annoying little protozoa, aren’t they?” remarked Death. “Only one has perspective. Wouldn’t you agree, ‘God?’ ” He said the word challengingly. Clearly, he did not view Castiel as a god. “You look awfully like a mutated angel to me.”
Everyone looked at Castiel, and Bobby, Sam, and Dean took a close look and saw the mottled skin.
“Your vessel’s melting,” said Death. “You’re going to explode.”
“No, I’m not,” said Castiel. “When I’ve finished my work, I’ll repair myself.”
“You think you can because you think you’re simply under the weight of all those souls, yes?” said Death. “But that’s not the worst problem. There are things much older than souls in Purgatory, and you gulped those in, too.”
(Y/N) furrowed their brow. What other monsters were inside of Castiel? Dr. Visyak had warned them of what monsters existed. Now they were on Earth.
“I control them,” said Castiel.
“For the moment,” said Death. He was completely calm since he was in no danger, but the words hung ominously over the humans and (Y/N).
“Wait—Uh, what older things?” questioned Dean, swallowing nervously.
Death glanced at Dean as he asked the question. After Dean’s presumptuous and frankly rude references to Death as his “bitch,” he was fairly uninterested in answering his questions.
“Different than Eve’s children?” asked (Y/N), referencing all monsters as a whole.
Death looked at (Y/N) and spoke. “Long before God created angel and man, He made the first beasts—the Leviathans.”
“Leviathans?” repeated Dean.
“I personally found them entertaining, but He was concerned they’d chomp the entire petri dish, so He locked them away,” said Death. “Why do you think He created Purgatory? To keep those clever, poisonous things out. Now Castiel has swallowed them. He’s the one thin membrane between the old ones and your home.”
“Enough,” said Castiel.
“Stupid little soldier you are,” remarked Death casually.
“Why?” said Castiel, stepping forward. “Because I dared to open a door that He shut? Where is He? I did a service, taking His place.”
“Service?” Death looked Castiel up and down at the presumptuous words. “Settling petty vendettas?”
“No,” said Castiel. “I’m cleaning up one mess after another—selflessly.”
Death glanced at everyone else. “Quite the humanitarian.”
“And how would you know?” said Castiel coldly. “What are you, really? A flyswatter?”
“Destined to swat you, I think,” said Death calmly.
“Unless I take you first,” retorted Castiel.
“Really bought his own press, this one,” commented Death. He strolled through the room. “Please, Cas. I know God, and you, sir, are no God.”
“Alright, put your junk away, both of you,” said Dean as the conversation went out of control (and out of his understanding). “Look, call him what you want, just kill him now!”
“Whoa, what kill him?” said (Y/N), looking at Dean. That wasn't the plan. They thought they'd save Castiel, bring him back.
“Alright. Fine,” said Death. He lifted a hand.
Castiel snapped his fingers, and the golden chains on Death’s wrists disappeared. He was unbound.
Death glanced at his wrists. “Thank you,” he said. He looked at Castiel. “Should we kickbox now?” Castiel glared at him, and Death strolled to an armchair. “I had a tingle I’d be reaping someone very, very soon.” He took his food and leaned back. He glanced at Dr. and Mrs. Weiss. “Don’t worry. Not you.” When he looked back, he paused. Castiel had disappeared. “Well, he was in a hurry.” He just ate calmly. He had all the time in the world.
The hunters were frozen. Death was free and undoubtedly still irritated with their attempt to bind him and control him. Bobby and Sam looked at Dean and (Y/N). They gestured with their head towards Death. He liked the pair of them—(Y/N) most of all, apparently—so Sam and Bobby were going to let them do the talking.
“Um…” Dean cleared his throat.
“Shut up, Dean,” said Death, dabbing his mouth with a napkin. Dean swallowed and nodded. “I’m not here to tie your shoes every time you trip. I warned you about those souls how long ago? Long enough to stop that fool. And where did we end up? With your little planet on the edge of immolation.”
“We tried,” said (Y/N). “We did all we could.”
Death looked directly at (Y/N). “Did you? You didn’t use a bit of your magic.”
(Y/N) swallowed, and Dean put a protective hand on their shoulder.
“We’re not letting them get consumed by magic,” said Dean firmly.
Death raised a brow. “ ‘Consumed by magic?’ Humans have such strange ideas of our world.”
“Eve said it,” said Dean. “So we’re taking it seriously.”
“Mm.” Death glanced at Dean carelessly and returned his gaze to (Y/N). “I’d suggest you start learning about magic instead of what hunters think they know about magic. It would serve you well.”
(Y/N) looked at Death. “Look, I respect you, but can you try to be less vague sometimes?”
“I am a force of nature. I cannot hold someone’s hand, even if I find them somewhat interesting,” said Death. “Besides, you know what’s going on already, I suspect. Stop listening to them.” He glanced at Dean, Sam, and Bobby. (Y/N) furrowed their brow. “Well.” He stood. “It’s been amusing.” He was going to take his leave.
“Wait, h-hold on, hold on,” said Sam. “Just—can you give us something? You-You have to care a little bit about what happens to us.”
“You know, I really don’t care what happens,” said Death. “But I do find that little angel arrogant.”
“Great, let’s go with that,” said Dean.
“You’re only hope is to have him return it all to Purgatory,” said Death. “Quickly.”
“We need a door,” said Sam.
“You have everything you need at that lab,” said Death. “Get him to return there and compel him to give up the power.”
“Compel?” repeated Dean. He doubted they could compel a godlike being
“Figure it out,” said Death.
“But that door only opens in the eclipse, and that’s over,” said Bobby, hesitating as he spoke to Death, but he had to say it.
“I’ll make another,” said Death, unconcerned. “3:59 Sunday morning, just before dawn. Be punctual.” He held up a finger. “Don’t thank me. Clean up your mess.” He turned away and paused. “Try to bind me again, you’ll die before you start.” He strolled towards the exit of the room. “Nice pickle chips, by the way.” He disappeared.
Found Family! Supernatural and Teen! Witch! Reader
Chapter Thirteen: Shotgun Wedding
Summary: Sam decides to get married (to the worst person ever). (Y/N) also meets someone strange.
“Do you have any idea why he wants us?” asked (Y/N) as they pulled into 348 Twain Avenue with Dean. LA was certainly something, and Dean had been out the whole night. Strangely, so had Sam, leaving (Y/N) to wander around a bit on their own until the strange text about coming to the address in their Fed suits.
“No clue,” said Dean, getting out of the Dodge and leading the way into the weird chapel-looking building.
“Why a chapel?” muttered (Y/N).
“I don’t like it,” said Dean. The lights flickered, and Dean pulled out his gun.
(Y/N) moved forward with him and opened the doors at the end of the hall. Instead of an enemy, it revealed Sam in a suit with a pink boutonniere.
Sam beamed. “Hey, Dean, (Y/N). It’s okay, you won’t need that.” He pushed the gun down, and Dean put it down warily. “Come on.” He took (Y/N) and Dean by the shoulders and pushed them into the chapel itself.
“I thought you were out becoming one with the land or some crap,” said Dean.
“Hey, what are we—Why am I on the podium?” said (Y/N) as Sam put Dean and (Y/N) up next to him at the front of the aisle.
“That’s my family’s side,” said Sam, pinning boutonnieres of pink carnations on Dean and (Y/N).
“What is this?” said Dean, frowning.
“Uh, apparently pink is for loyalty,” said Sam cheerfully.
“Pink carnations mean a woman’s love,” said (Y/N) matter-of-factly.
“Really? That’s lovely,” said Sam.
(Y/N) frowned. Something was off there.
“Alright,” said Dean, sighing to get it over with. “What’s the pretext? What are we, uh, wedding crashers? We lookin’ for some kind of siren or what?”
“No. Nothing like that,” said Sam, eager as a puppy. He faced Dean and (Y/N), took a deep breath, and spoke. “So…a little sudden. But life is short, so I’ll keep this shorter.” He put a hand on each of (Y/N) and Dean’s shoulders. “I’m in love. I’m getting married.” The pair stared at him, dumbfounded. “Say something,” said Sam awkwardly but still smiling. “Like, uh, ‘congratulations,’ for example.”
“What?” said Dean.
“Holy shit,” said (Y/N).
Before anything more could be said, the doors of the chapel reopened, and the bride entered. She had a lovely white dress and a veil covering her face.
“What the hell?” said Dean. This was real.
“Who is it?” said (Y/N).
The answer came as the bride arrived at the front of the aisle and Sam, gazing at her adoringly, lifted her veil.
“Becky?” said Dean and (Y/N) incredulously as they were met with the face with the crazy Supernatural book series fan who loved Sam, then got with Chuck, and now was marrying Sam.
“Dean, (Y/N),” said Becky, smiling widely at them. “I’m so glad you’re here.”
“This is a nightmare,” said (Y/N).
“I think you mean dream,” said Sam kindly, and (Y/N) rolled his eyes. He sounded literally lovesick, and it was going to make (Y/N) sick.
“Shouldn’t she ask for my permission or something?” said Dean, looking between Becky and Sam, not sure who was crazier.
“You want her to ask for my hand?” said Sam, chuckling incredulously.
“How in the—How did this happen?” demanded Dean.
“Short version? We-we-we met. We ate and talked and fell in love. And, you know, here we are,” said Sam.
“Yeah, doesn’t sound like there is a longer version,” said (Y/N). Red flags were everywhere.
“That’s—Okay,” said Dean, trying to figure out what he could say to wake up from the madness since (Y/N) was definitely right. “You know what? Ignoring everything, have you forgotten the average lifespan of your hookups?”
“Yeah, but—”
“But if anybody knows that, it’s me,” said Becky, putting a supportive hand on Sam’s arm. “I mean, I read every book. So, open eyes, you know? Open eyes.”
“I’m gonna be sick,” said Dean, holding onto (Y/N)’s shoulder to steady himself.
“Dean, (Y/N), look, it’s simple,” said Sam. “If-if something good’s happening, I-I got to jump on it—now, today, uh, period.”
“Okay, ‘Dead Poets Society.’ Fine,” grumbled Dean. He looked at Becky. “No offense.”
“Full offense,” said (Y/N) to Becky.
“Did you make sure she’s even really—”
“Salt, holy water, everything.” Becky held out her arm with a healing cut from silver. She smiled proudly. “See? Not a monster. Just the right girl for your brother.”
“Ah.” That meant Dean couldn’t argue she was a monster.
“Damn,” said (Y/N). There went the chance to shoot her.
“That’s it,” said Becky cheerfully.
A man walked up the aisle and handed a folder to Becky. “The bill,” he said.
“I got it,” she said when Sam tried to take it. “You three do your sibling thing.”
At least she’s gotten onboard with me as a character, thought (Y/N), rolling their eyes.
While she paid, Dean and (Y/N) pulled Sam aside.
“Really? Superfan99?!” said Dean incredulously.
“Look, honest to God, I had the exact same opinion of her as you do,” said Sam. “But when we got past the whole book thing—”
“She’s Superfan99. She’s not over it,” said (Y/N).
“—I found out that she’s great, and I was the dick,” said Sam earnestly.
“Yeah, you know, and speaking of the whole, uh, book thing…Becky randomly shows up during Vegas week?” said Dean, putting his hands on his hips.
“Yeah,” said Sam, not seeing a problem.
“Yeah,” said Dean, irritated.
“Okay, um, what are you trying to say?” asked Sam.
“Wow, did love take your brains, too?” said (Y/N).
“I’m saying maybe she knew you were gonna be here,” said Dean. “Maybe, uh, Chuck wrote about it.”
“Dean, (Y/N), you’re paranoid,” said Sam patiently. It was insufferable.
“And you’re in love? It’s been four days in Vegas,” said (Y/N). “No one falls in love that quickly.”
Sam let out an exhausted sigh. “You know what? Uh, how about this?” He tried to remain calm and smiled condescendingly at them like a parent with a child throwing a tantrum. “Becky and I are gonna go up to her place in Delaware. Um, why don’t you try and wrap your domes around this, get a little supportive, then give us a call?” He clapped Dean and (Y/N) on the shoulders and walked to Becky.
Happily, Becky tweeted out-loud, “First official tweet as Mrs. Becky Rosen-Winchester!”
(Y/N) and Dean exchanged looks. There was something going on, and they were going to find out what. So, they left the “happy couple” and headed outside to call the only person they knew to deal with the mess.
“Bobby,” said Dean into the phone, sent to voicemail but leaving a message all the same. “Hey, we know you’re beard-deep in that Oregon nest. We’re headed to Delaware to do a little snoopin’ around. Sam is there with his wife. That’s right. You heard me. His wife.”
“Superfan99, Bobby. Superfan99,” said (Y/N).
“Call us,” finished Dean, putting his phone away.
“Time for Delaware,” said (Y/N).
“And bring divorce papers,” grumbled Dean.
“Okay, yeah, but first…we need them to talk to us,” said (Y/N). “Feel comfortable.”
Dean groaned. “No.”
“I don’t like it, either,” said (Y/N). “But come on. It’s like being undercover.”
Dean grimaced. “This is going to be the worst.”
“Probably,” said (Y/N). “So you find a wedding gift, I’ll find a case.”
“Why do I have to do the gift?” said Dean.
“Because you were the Best Man,” said (Y/N). “I was just a groomsman.”
l
Dean fiddled with the red bow on top of the waffle iron box he’d purchased. (Y/N) rubbed their crystal necklace for luck before knocking on the door of the apartment. It opened, and Sam stood before them.
“Us being supportive,” said Dean, holding the box out. “Congratulations to you and the missus.”
“Thanks,” said Sam, smiling and taking the box.
“It’s a waffle iron,” said Dean. “Nonstick. Yeah, you just, uh…” he mimed how you closed it and turned it over. “I actually don’t know how to use it.”
“Pretty easy,” said (Y/N). “You’ll be fine.”
“Are we good?” asked Dean.
Sam shrugged and smiled briefly. That was a Winchester form of forgiveness.
“Good,” said (Y/N), heading into the apartment with Dean. “Because we found a possible case in town. A guy won Powerball, got squished by a truck. Second guy went from the bench to Major leagues, at least until his face became the catcher’s mitt a week later. Weird, huh?”
From another room, Becky said, “Our first thought was a crossroads demon, but there’s that ten-year timeframe on collecting souls.”
Sam beckoned to (Y/N), who rolled their eyes at Becky “hunting,” and Dean, and they followed him to the bedroom where a corkboard headed “Sam and Becky’s Investigation” and a lot of research pinned below.
“Then there’s a cursed object,” said Becky, gesturing to one picture. “Like in ‘Bad Day at Black Rock,’ but we haven’t been able to connect the vics yet.”
“You’re working the case…together?” said Dean. Becky was stealing Sam in every sense of the word.
“Yeah. I know, right?” said Sam, missing Dean’s discontent and merely being proud of Becky. “I mean, I guess all those Chuck Shurley books paid off.”
Dean gritted his teeth, and (Y/N) sent him a warning to look to go along with it all. Dean couldn’t. He snapped.
“Alright, listen, Cookie,” he said to Becky. “I don’t know what kind of mojo you’re working, but, believe me, we will find out.”
“Dean, that’s my wife you’re talking to,” said Sam protectively.
“You’re not even acting like yourself, Sam!” said Dean accusatorily (though not without basis).
“How am I not?” scoffed Sam.
“You married Becky Rosen!” said Dean.
“She’s kind of a stalker,” said (Y/N).
“What are you saying? I’m a witch? Or I’m a siren?” said Becky, crossing her arms.
“You’d be a disgrace tow itches,” snapped (Y/N).
“Ever occur to you that we’re—I don’t know—happy?” said Becky, and Sam stepped up beside her in complete support.
“Come on, Sam,” said Dean. “Guy wins the lotto, guy hits the bigs. Alright, obviously, people’s dreams are coming true in this town. Don’t you think this is a little bit of a coincidence?”
“You know what, Dean?” said Sam forcefully. “What Becky and I have is real. And if you can’t accept that, that’s your problem, not ours.”
“Or she’s a part of all this weirdness and could die soon,” said (Y/N). “Because people who get their little wishes are winding up dead real quick around here.” Becky shifted slightly, and (Y/N) narrowed their eyes. “And you’ve been her wish for years. Can’t you see it’s weird?”
“You know what?” said Sam. “I went after her, (Y/N). Maybe that’s what’s bugging you two—that I’m moving on with my life. (Y/N), you’re understand when you’re older and in love. I mean, Dean, you took care of me, and that’s great. But I don’t need you anymore.”
Dean had no words. He couldn’t speak. He just turned and walked out of the room. (Y/N) clenched their fists.
“I hope you’re very happy with what you’ve done, Becky,” said (Y/N). “And I hoope that all the consequences are worth it.”
They turned on their heel and left.
l
Dean grumbled, and (Y/N) grimaced as they headed back towards the car. His phone rang, and Dean almost threw it away until he saw it was Bobby.
“Hey, Bobby,” said Dean. “Yeah. Yeah, I was serious. It’s crazy. Definitely some weird mojo. No, he’s working the case with her.”
“Which means she’ll steer him wrong if she’s involved,” added (Y/N).
“So can you get down here to help us get some sense into him? Cover more ground more quickly?” said Dean. He groaned. “I don’t want another hunter, Bobby. Why can’t you do it?” He huffed. “Ugh. Fine! What’s his name?”
Huh. A new hunter, thought (Y/N). They wondered what he would be like.
l
Dean and (Y/N) walked into a restaurant.
“What do you think he’ll be like?” asked (Y/N).
“No idea,” said Dean. “Hunters are all weird. Gotta be reliable if Bobby recommended him.”
“Let’s hope,” said (Y/N).
They looked around a spotted a man sitting on his own, sipping a milkshake. The typical jacket over a flannel said “hey, look at me, probably a hunter.” So, Dean and (Y/N) headed towards him. (Y/N) saw he was thinner and smaller than Dean and Sam, and he had a very approachable face, which was unusual for a hunter.
“Hey. You Dean and (Y/N)?” he said. It had to be Garth, Bobby’s recommendation. He looked at them when they nodded. “Hm. Thought you’d be taller,” he said to Dean. “Bobby made it sound like you were way more alt. I thought goth or something.”
(Y/N) shrugged, just in painted jeans and a shirt with slightly ripped sleeves. “Sorry to disappoint.”
“Nah, the look is cool,” said Garth casually, and (Y/N) completely believed he wasn’t insulting them.
Weird vibes. But good weird. Still, (Y/N) was always on edge around new people, and they had no idea if Bobby had ensured this was another hunter that wouldn’t kill them for being a witch. They had to be careful all the time.
“I assume Bobby filled you in on the road,” said Dean, getting down to business and sitting down across from Garth. (Y/N) slid into the booth next to him.
“He told me two things,” said Garth with his milkshake in hand. “One, he’s tangling with a major-league nest up in Oregan territory. Numero dos, he said you’d be all, uh, surly working with me and the kid would be sarcastic. But hey, sticks and stones.” He was the most go-with-the-flow man (Y/N) had ever seen.
Dean took out the newspaper with the latest straight dream-come-true, a junior salesman becoming CEO out of nowhere, alongside the older newspaper clippings.
“Looks like a case,” said (Y/N). “Check the headlines.”
“First things first,” said Garth, taking the newspaper and flipping through it. He grinned when he found the page he wanted. “Oh, Marmaduke, you’re crazy!” He was maybe a little more than go-with-the-flow.
l
Dean, Garth, and (Y/N) sat patiently in front of the front desk of the Mutual Freedom Insurance group. Next to them, an irritated woman was snapping at the secretary, which drove (Y/N) up the wall.
“Are you trying to humiliate me?” she sneered. “It’s Marsha with a ‘s-h-a’ not a ‘c-i-a.’ ” She stalked away.
From behind the desk, an office door opened, and Becky and Sam emerged.
“Thanks again,” said Sam to the secretary while Becky scribbled down notes.
“Hey, is that your—” said Garth.
“Yes,” said Dean curtly.
“Oh yeah,” said (Y/N).
“Awkward,” said Garth.
Dean and (Y/N) stood and approached the couple awkwardly, as Garth said.
“Hi,” said Dean.
“Hey,” said (Y/N).
Becky made an unfriendly face and walked away from them without a word.
Rude, thought (Y/N).
“Okay, so…” Dean trailed off, trying to speak to Sam.
“So, uh, no point in going in. Guy’s clean,” said Sam, gesturing to the CEO’s office.
“You sure?” said Dean.
“Yeah. Positive,” said Sam. “Becky grilled him like a pro. She’s a natural.” He looked at her like a puppy.
Becky grilled him? Yeah, I’m sure that’s reliable, thought (Y/N).
“Huh,” said Dean, and that single sound communicated he thought exactly what (Y/N) did.
“What’s with the scrawny guy?” asked Sam, glancing at Garth.
“Temp,” said Dean.
“Well, we’re still gonna talk to the CEO,” said (Y/N). “So we have our own notes.” So Becky isn’t controlling the narrative for us, too. They smiled at Sam, who shrugged and headed out after Beck. Their smile fell. “Uck. Much more of this, and I’m going to throw up.”
“Tell me about it,” said Dean, wrinkling his nose as he watched Sam and Becky holding hands outside.
He looked away and, when the secretary gestured for them to go in, he led the way into the CEO’s office. Dean, (Y/N), and Garth settled down across form him, a young man with a pleasant smile.
“Throw a rock, hit a reporter these days, eh?” he remarked in a friendly manner.
“Well, your story’s a big deal over at the, uh, Actuarial Insider,” said Dean.
“Go ahead. Shoot,” said the CEO.
“Alright,” said (Y/N). “So, obvious question, how’d you get the gig as CEO?”
“Board came to me, asked. Said yes,” said the CEO concisely.
“Just out of the blue?” asked Dean, raising his brows.
“Pretty much,” admitted the CEO.
“Huh. And, uh, any idea how the Board landed on you over your supervisors?” asked Dean.
“Um, they didn’t say,” said the CEO, a little uncomfortable with the questions.
Is it guilt or the fact that he really doesn’t have an answer? wondered (Y/N). They decided to grill him properly. “Could you tell us what specifically excited the Board about your qualifications?”
“Say, fellas, what’s with the third degree?” said the CEO nervously.
Becky definitely didn’t do this right, thought (Y/N). If he broke so easily to being suspicious or nervous, she had done nothing.
“Oh, uh, no offense,” said Garth, finally speaking. “We were just wondering if you got here by nefarious means.”
“Whoa! Garth!” said Dean sharply, staring at him. (Y/N) gave Grath a shocked look because that was not subtle. The CEO looked both offended and shocked by the upfront question.
“Oh,” said Garth, recognizing he’d messed up a little. “Uh, I-I didn’t mean of course, uh, corporate backstabbing—” the CEO’s eyes widened in horror “—I’m sorry. I meant more like, you know, black magic or hoodoo.”
Very smooth recovery. (Y/N) almost groaned but instead tried to take charge. “He’s joking. Everyone wonders if you sold your soul or something silly like that when your big dream comes true out of nowhere. So, uh, why don’t we focus on what it felt like to get your big dream?”
“Look, on the record, it’s great,” said the CEO.
A crack. Dean jumped on it. “Off the record?”
“It’s not my big dream,” admitted the CEO.
(Y/N), Dean, and Garth exchanged looks. That was a twist they hadn’t expected. It would explain why he was clean. This wasn’t his dream. But it has to be connected to someone’s if it’s true.
“Wait. You didn’t want this job?” asked Garth.
“Hell, no,” said the CEO forcefully. “I’m a sales guy. I was good in sales.”
In the doorway of the office, Marsha appeared. “Your secretary’s an idiot,” she said. “I’ll be at the printers this afternoon.”
“Alright, dear,” said the CEO, smiling somewhat tiredly. “See you at dinner.”
“Just have the idiot make a reservation,” said Marsha. “Here’s a tip—remind her she works for the CEO. One more screw-up, she’s fired.” She stalked off.
“Your wife seems pretty stoked on the promotion, don’t she?” observed Garth.
“Honestly, I’ve never seen her happier,” said the CEO. “I have no idea how I’m gonna tell her I have to resign. The news is just gonna—”
“Kill her?” said Garth. The CEO nodded sadly.
Unless something else kills her first, thought (Y/N).
“Well, thank you for your time,” said Dean, getting up and hurrying out the door.
“Yeah, thanks,” said (Y/N).
“Sorry for the backstabbing!” said Garth.
Dean, (Y/N), and Garth hurried towards the staircase of Mutual Freedom Insurance. Marsha was in front of them, and they needed to catch up since her husband’s promotion was her dream come true, which put her in danger.
“Mrs. Burrows?” said Dean as they caught up. “Hi.”
“Can I help you?” said Marsha impatiently.
“Yes, we’re, uh, doing a story on your husband’s promotion,” said Dean. “Wanted to ask you a few questions.”
“I’m sorry, I can’t today,” said Marsha dismissively. “If you schedule it with his girl…” She turned to leave.
Dean put a hand on her shoulder, causing her to turn back to him. “Okay, you know what?” said Dean, the frustration of the days building. “I’m trying to save you from a really bad accident.”
“Are you threatening me?” said Marsha.
“No,” said Dean, surprised by the reaction and drawing his hand back. “No. I-I-I’m pointing out a pattern. Why do people keep thinking I’m threatening them?”
“Because it sounded exactly like a threat, dude,” said Garth.
“Yeah,” agreed (Y/N), grimacing.
“Look, for your own good, what did you do to get him promoted?” asked Dean, looking at Marsha (which didn’t improve the “I’m not threatening you” claim).
“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” said Marsha primly. “Now leave me alone. Or do I have to call security?” She spun on her heel and left.
“Guess we’ve got to work from the shadows,” grumbled Dean.
“To be fair, telling someone they’re gonna die in an accident soon is pretty unbelievable,” said (Y/N).
“Come on, let’s make sure this accident doesn’t happen,” said Garth cheerfully.
They hurried down the stairs. In the foyer, Marsha was standing waiting for her car to be brought around (entitled). Above her, a chandelier swayed. (Y/N)’s eyes widened.
“Dean!” they alerted.
Dean ran forward as the chandelier broke. It careened downward, and Marsha screamed. Dean threw himself and pulled her out of harm’s way. The chandelier hit the ground, shattering as people gasped and cried out in shock.
“You okay?” said Dean, helping a shaky Marsha to her feet.
“How did you know?” she said, voice trembling.
“Cause you’re not the first,” said Dean. He looked around warily, trying to identify the being or object behind this. “Come on.” He pulled her safely towards Garth and (Y/N).
“You want to tell us what’s happened recently that’s strange?” said (Y/N).
“I mean, nothing-nothing too strange,” said Marsha.
“Who did you tell about your dream of your husband becoming CEO?” said (Y/N), straightforward. Marsha’s eyes widened. “Come on, you almost died. We’re going to help. Tell us.”
“I-I was having lunch with friends,” said Marsha. “This guy heard me bitching. Next thing I know, he’s making me an offer.”
“An offer?” repeated Dean.
“Craig’s job for my soul,” said Marsha. “I know. Hilarious. I mean, what have I got to lose?” Clearly, despite nearly dying and having her dream come true, she didn’t completely believe what she’d signed over.
“Well, there’s your soul,” said Garth. He looked at Dean and (Y/N). “What kind of demon deal is this? Timeline’s whack.”
“What are you talking about? Demon?” said Marsha, eyes widening incredulously.
“What other creatures do you sell your soul to?” said (Y/N) matter-of-factly. “That’s who you made the deal with you. You signed over your soul in exchange for Craig getting his promotions. Usually, though, they’re ten-year contracts.”
“Why’s the bill coming so fast?” said Garth.
“I don’t know, but I’ve got a bad feeling about who’s next,” said Dean. “We got to find Sam, pronto.”
Found Family! Supernatural and Teen! Witch! Reader
Chapter Three: Found
Summary: Dean and Sam find (Y/N). They are, reasonably, upset.
“(Y/N)?”
Dean and Sam stared at them, and (Y/N) stared back.
“Dean. Sam,” breathed (Y/N). “You’re—You’re alive. You’re here. I thought—” They shook their head. “I can’t believe it.” They stepped forward hesitantly. “How are—”
Dean grabbed them and pulled them into a hug. He didn’t need a single damn test—that was their sibling. He held onto (Y/N) as if terrified they would disappear again, and (Y/N) clung back.
“What happened? Where were you?” said (Y/N), hugging him back in relief.
Dean let go, and he looked at them. They were older, physically changed, but their eyes were as alive as ever, watching him as he looked at them. “Purgatory.” He had missed so much.
“Purgatory?” said (Y/N) in disbelief.
“Yeah,” said Dean bitterly. “Long story.”
“I can’t believe it. I thought that Dick exploding had—” (Y/N) shook their head. “My magic reacted to it, threw me halfway across the country. I was really worried about you guys.”
“Yeah, well, I made it out,” said Dean. “Just a few days ago.”
“You made it out?” repeated (Y/N), furrowing their brow. “What does that mean?”
“Cas was with me. He…didn’t make it,” said Dean, voice low.
“He didn’t—” (Y/N)’s worst fears were confirmed, and their heart clenched. “I’m so sorry.” They had already grieved their terrors months ago, after praying every night for Cas, calling Dean, leaving a message to Sam, and never getting a response. “But…if Cas was with you, and you made it out—” (Y/N) looked at Sam, brow furrowed “—where were you?”
Sam went silent, and Dean looked at him.
“Yeah, Sam, tell them where you were,” said Dean.
“Dean,” said Sam shamefully.
Dean looked at (Y/N). “Sam quit hunting.”
(Y/N) straightened. “What?”
“Yeah. Ditched the phones and ran off with a girl without even thinking of looking for us,” said Dean.
(Y/N) looked at Sam. “Is that true?”
“(Y/N), I thought you were with Dean, so I—”
“I left you a message,” said (Y/N). “I tried to call you.”
Sam’s mouth opened and closed helplessly. “The phones were at Rufus’s cabin.”
“And you didn’t spare us even a day,” said (Y/N) sharply as they realized just how quickly they’d been abandoned. “You didn’t look at all.”
“I thought you were with Dean,” repeated Sam pathetically.
“And that’s an excuse?” scoffed (Y/N). The candles flickered. “Do you know how long I looked for you guys?”
“You looked?” said Dean in shock.
“Yeah,” said (Y/N). “No food or money, nothing but the clothes on my back after the fight. Do you know how hard it was? I waited for days for you, and you didn’t show up. So I thought—God, do you know what it felt like?” They looked at Sam sharply. “If I hadn’t found this place—” they gestured to the tents around them “—I would have died out there.”
“There—There’s Jody,” said Sam.
“Right. And hunters and the witch who needs magic to live go so well together, don’t they?” snapped (Y/N).
“So you decided to stay here?” asked Dean.
“Yeah. Because this is safer than being alone. But I never stopped looking.” (Y/N) looked at Dean and Sam. “I wanted you back so bad.”
“(Y/N), if I had known—”
“You would have known if you checked your phone!” snapped (Y/N), and the candles flared, lighting up the entire tent and sweeping heat over all of them. “You didn’t even look?” Sam stared at them, unable to respond. “I can’t believe it. After everything—” (Y/N) ran a hand through their hair and took a deep breath. The candles died down again. “Get out.”
“What?” said Sam.
“Whoa, whoa, (Y/N)—” began Dean.
“Get. Out,” said (Y/N).
“(Y/N), don’t do this. It was a mistake,” said Sam. “I’m so, so sorry. I—”
“If you won’t get out, I’ll leave,” snapped (Y/N), and they brushed past Sam and Dean.
Dean and Sam looked at each other.
“Dean—”
“Consequences, Sam,” said Dean. “Stay here. I’ll talk to them” He left the tent and followed after (Y/N). “(Y/N)!”
“What?” said (Y/N), turning.
“(Y/N), I’m mad too,” said Dean. “He didn’t look for us.”
“Don’t tell me to forgive him,” said (Y/N) furiously. “Not when I had to—” They bit their lip. “Do you know how hard it was?”
“I do,” said Dean. “Because I had to fight every damn day just to fight the next. I get it. I do.”
(Y/N) looked at him, hands clenched. “I was lost and alone and scared, Dean. And Sam—it’s like he didn’t even care.”
“I know. I know,” said Dean. “But…we still have a job to do.”
(Y/N) scoffed. “Yeah, no shit, I’ve been killing monsters as we go.” They rolled their eyes.
Dean was surprised but…proud, though his heart clenched at the idea of them fighting on their own. “That’s…good. That’s good. But right now, the problem is a kid like you is in trouble.”
(Y/N) glanced at Dean.
“Kevin,” he continued. “Crowley took him a year ago, and he escaped, but we don’t know if he’s okay.”
“Let me guess, Sam didn’t answer his phone,” said (Y/N).
Dean didn’t take the bait, but his anger at Sam’s actions didn’t wane when he heard the fury disguising sadness in (Y/N)’s voice. “We’ve got to find him. Then, the three of us…we can work things out.”
“ ‘Work things out?’ Dean, Sam abandoned us,” said (Y/N), and Dean grimaced when their eyes flashed indigo.
“Yeah. And he’s gotta dig himself outta that hole himself. But I—After all the shit I fought through, after Cas—I need you back. Just like I needed to find Sam when I got out,” said Dean.
(Y/N) let out a long, slow breath. “…Fine. But only because I missed you.”
Dean couldn’t help but smile. “I miss you, too, kid.”
“Let me say bye to my friends and get my stuff,” said (Y/N), walking away.
Dean let out a breath of relief and headed back into the tent. Sam looked up from where he was shuffling through worn tarot cards.
“So?” he said, afraid of the answer.
“They’re coming with us,” said Dean. “But they’re pissed. Just like me.”
“I know,” said Sam softly. “I know I messed up. I just—I really thought they were with you.”
“But you didn’t look for me, either,” said Dean.
Sam looked down. “They’re not going to forgive me, are they?”
“We’ve pissed off witches before. They hold a grudge,” said Dean, and Sam grimaced.
l
“That all your stuff?” asked Dean, looking at the duffle bag.
“I’m used to keeping it light,” said (Y/N). They glanced back at the tents and waved again to some of the people. Then, they started walking towards the parking lot.
“So…fortune-telling?” said Dean.
“Don’t start. It’s barely magic,” said (Y/N), rolling their eyes.
Sam glanced at Dean worriedly, knowing that it had been year since they even started letting (Y/N) use magic. It was a slippery slope, and—
“You’re doing what you have to,” said Dean. “I’m just glad you’re okay.”
(Y/N) glanced at Dean. “You’re…cool with it?”
Dean shrugged. “Yeah. We all do what we have to to survive.”
Sam blinked, surprised at the quick acceptance, and he almost opened his mouth to ask about it.
“Right,” said (Y/N), smiling slightly.
Dean was glad to see the expression. “So…learn something with your circus friends?”
(Y/N) paused. “I experimented.”
The response was vague, and Sam looked worriedly at Dean. Dean, however, didn’t say anything. Just like he was keeping quiet about his time in Purgatory, it appeared (Y/N) was doing the same. Sam wished they wouldn’t close up. Dean and (Y/N)…Sam had messed up, but they were his siblings. He wanted to understand and help them.
l
“Here are Kevin’s messages,” said Dean, pulling out the phone.
“Sam Winchester, it’s Kevin Tran. Crowley had me in this warehouse, and I just escaped. I don’t know where I am. And I don’t know if he or-or any other demons are still after me. I need your help. Call me back. It’s Kevin Tran.”
Sam winced, and (Y/N) frowned at the similarities to their message.
“Sam Winchester. It’s Kevin Tran. I called you a week ago. Call me, please. I don’t know what the hell I’m doing out here, man.”
“Sam, it’s Kevin. I’m…Whoo! I’m so good.”
“Is he drunk?” said Sam in surprise.
“Who hasn’t been?” said (Y/N) sarcastically.
“Three months since you ditched my ass. Haven’t slept for more than four hours a night. It’s all good in the hood.” Kevin could be heard clearing his throat. “Uh, if you’re still alive, eat me.”
“Eat me!” was all another message contained.
“Sam, it’s been six months. I can only assume you’re dead. If not, don’t try and reach me. You won’t be able to. I won’t be calling this number anymore.”
(Y/N)’s hands curled into fists. Another teenager afraid and alone, just like they had been.
“Hear that?” said Sam.
“What, misery?” said (Y/N).
“No, I—” Sam grimaced. He was going to have to work for any sort of forgiveness. “I hear something."
“What is it?” asked Dean.
“I think he was on a bus. Listen again,” said Sam, pointing to the phone.
They all leaned in and replayed.
“If not, don’t try and reach me,” said Kevin’s voice.
“Last stop—Centreville,” said a woman’s voice.
“You won’t be able to—” Dean turned off the voicemail.
“Centreville? Centreville, where?” asked Dean.
“Michigan,” said Sam, typing on the computer. “Because his high school girlfriend goes to college there.” He showed the Kevin Tran BFF Link webpage, with Channing Ngo’s face displayed.
“That’s thin,” said Dean.
“Best lead we’ve got,” said (Y/N). They leaned back. “Let’s find him.”
l
As they drove towards Michigan, Dean and Sam glanced at each other and then back.
“So…what is working at a circus like?” said Dean.
“People are really annoying when they don’t hear what they want to,” said (Y/N). “Like, hello, not my fault your husband’s cheating on you.”
“You—” Dean started to laugh.
“Shut up,” said (Y/N).
“What tarot cards tell you that?” said Dean, grinning.
(Y/N) rolled their eyes but smiled slightly. “Okay, so it was a little magic involved.” They waved a hand.
Sam saw their sleeve slip down again, and the vine tattoos were exposed. “Are those new?” It was a good, neutral question.
“Yeah,” said (Y/N), nodding. “We had a tattoo artist, so I got a couple.” They rolled their sleeve back to show vines wrapping around their arm, extending up to the shoulder. Taking their cardigan off fully, (Y/N) showed off the stylized moon and clouds on the left shoulder to match the sun and clouds over their bullet-wound scar. Below their sun and clouds were stylized swirls of intricate designs. “And I got the matching rib.” They shrugged. “Just some more.”
“Wow,” said Dean. “You got over your fear of needles.”
“Yeah, I guess so,” said (Y/N).
“They look good,” said Sam. He didn’t ask if that was all or just their arms. He’d let them open back up.
“Thanks,” said (Y/N), putting their cardigan back on.
Their rings clacked against each other, and (Y/N) looked out the window, fiddling with their signature necklace. Their nails were also painted, indigo, of course, and the entire effect of their appearance was rather witchy. However, instead of looking like a costume, like a stereotypical fortune-teller character, (Y/N) looked like themself. Dean recognized bits and pieces of the style they’d tried and abandoned while with Lisa, when they were still scared to be themself. Sam saw parts of the style they’d tried to incorporate while hunting, the colors, the nails, the earrings…This was (Y/N) more themself than ever. More witchy than ever.
“Any trouble?” asked Dean.
“The usual,” said (Y/N), still vague. They shrugged. “I handled it.”
“…What is ‘handled?’ ” asked Sam.
“Handled, Sam,” said (Y/N). “Usually with a good silver knife or a gun.”
“Or magic?” said Dean.
(Y/N) tilted their head and looked at him. “Or magic. Not that I really know what I’m doing, but, you know…experimenting.”
“And you’re not getting sick?” That was what worried Sam the most.
“No,” said (Y/N). “I’m not. I think…I was wrong about the magic.”
“Wrong about it?” asked Dean. “What does that mean?”
“Like…it’s not here to hurt me. It’s just me.” (Y/N) shrugged.
Dean and Sam had no idea what that meant.
l
“What do you think about (Y/N)?” asked Sam.
“What do you mean, Sam?” said Dean while grabbing junk food for snacks.
“Like…you’re fine with the magic?” said Sam.
“We had that talk a year ago,” said Dean. “They’ll die if they don’t use it.”
“Yeah, but you were still not sure,” said Sam. “I could tell.”
Dean shrugged. “I met real monsters in Purgatory, all the types we kill. Guess what? (Y/N)’s not one of them. So I don’t care if they use magic.”
“As simple as that?” said Sam in surprise. After everything their dad pushed onto them, after Amy, after (Y/N)’s fears…Dean was just chill about magic.
“Not simple, Sam. It’s called running for my life for a year while monsters wanted to tear me and each other apart,” said Dean. “And I know (Y/N) isn’t like that. They’re a good kid.”
“I know,” said Sam. “But—I’m worried.”
“Already?” said Dean.
“Yeah. They were alone for year. They were hunting. They were fighting and experimenting and I-I have no idea what that means,” said Sam. “And, hell, Dean, I know how easy it is to just…act out with powers you don’t understand.”
“This is (Y/N) we’re talking about,” said Dean.
“Yeah, a witch that has been alone and scared for a year. What if they made mistakes? What if other witches found them?” asked Sam.
“Sam, (Y/N) doesn’t like people in general. I’m surprised they even lasted working with the public. So I really don’t think they’re gonna run off with witches to dance around in the woods or something anytime soon,” said Dean.
“…I know. I just—I’m worried about what happened to them. They’re strong, but…(Y/N)’s different,” said Sam.
“Yeah.” Dean could agree with that. He saw that same weight in his eyes in theirs—the weight of pain and suffering while struggling for survival—and he hated it. “But we’re back with them. So if something’s wrong, we help them. We’re their brothers, Sam. That’s our job.” Below the words were a reminder of Sam’s failure to find and protect them from whatever they’d been through.
l
(Y/N) took a deep breath and closed their eyes. Sam and Dean were back. They had their family back. Their feelings were admittedly mixed. On the one hand, (Y/N) had missed Sam and Dean intentionally, and they had never stopped searching for them. Finally, they had their brothers back. Castiel is gone. (Y/N) swallowed. They had lost one family member, though, and it hurt. Unfortunately, their negative feelings went deeper. Sam hadn’t looked for them. He had lived his own life for over a year while (Y/N) had struggled and fought to survive. He had abandoned them. And they had to survive—
(Y/N) held their necklace. They had done what they had to. They had even helped people when they could. But (Y/N) had been entirely alone, abandoned by everything and unable to speak to anyone about who and what they were, what they had done and could do. Every monster or possible hunter had been a threat to their safety. There had been no home for them to return to. (Y/N) looked down at their hands and traced their tattoos for a moment. They let their magic run to the surface, tracing the feeling along their tattoos. They exhaled.
I’m okay. My family is back.
And yet, after everything, (Y/N) wasn’t sure if they felt safe yet. Not after what they’d had to do—what they didn’t feel sorry for.
Found Family! Supernatural and Teen! Witch! Reader
Chapter Seventeen: Strange Behavior
Summary: Castiel is acting strange, and the Winchesters can't put up with it.
Warning: Witch stuff, so a depiction of self-harm-like behavior (but they are not really hurting or doing this due to any harmful thoughts)
The impala rolled to a stop outside an abandoned building (surprise surprise). It was pitch black outside, the cover of night giving them some element of surprise before Crowley inevitably knew they were approaching. Sam, Dean, (Y/N), and Castiel got out of the car and looked around.
“So, there are four main points of warding,” said Castiel. “North, south, east, and west—and four Enochian symbols—” he took Sam’s hand and drew the symbol into his palm “—like this, that you need to destroy before I can enter.”
“Okay, so, what—we go in, take care of the Hell mooks, and you extract the angel?” questioned Dean.
“Yes,” said Castiel. “After killing so many, I need to save at least this one.” He gazed at Dean, who quieted slightly at the words.
“Okay, sounds like a plan,” said (Y/N).
Dean took out the demon knife. “Okay. Let’s do this.”
“Wait.” Castiel pulled his angel blade from his pocket. “Here.” He handed it to Sam. “It doesn’t just work on angels. It kills demons too.”
“Thanks, Cas,” said Sam, surprised.
“And I get squat,” sighed (Y/N). They wanted a cool new weapon.
“Hey, you’re the one with magic, don’t get greedy,” said Dean.
(Y/N) shrugged and followed him around the corner of the building. Several demons milled about the entrance, and Dean peeked out. He whistled, and a demon whirled. One followed the sound, narrowing his black eyes. Dean leaned on the building, and (Y/N) waved. The demon stepped forward, and Sam promptly stabbed him through the back from his alleyway hiding spot.
Dean looked at the body. “Well, not my most original work, but—” he shrugged.
(Y/N) knelt next to the body, grabbed the keys off his belt, and tossed them to Dean to unlock the side door. Together, the three headed inside and through the dark corridors. As they passed around a corner, they drew up short. Several sigils were painted in red—likely blood—on the wall. Sam held up his hand and compared the drawing to the sigils. A match.
(Y/N) pulled out a can of spray paint and cut the sigil in half with a thick black line. They nodded to Sam and Dean, and the three continued on their way. One cardinal direction down, three to go. They arrived at a fork in the road, and Dean nodded one direction. He started down it. Sam looked at (Y/N), and they were already heading down another. Sam sighed and went down the last one on his own.
(Y/N) heard a scream in the distance and headed towards it (stupid decision, yes, but they were a hunter and a witch. Their instincts were to go towards danger). As they went, they heard footsteps, and they stepped into the shadows. A demon passed by, and (Y/N) began to inwardly monologue about the annoyances of not having a weapon on them. All the same…(Y/N)’s gaze flicked up to a metal pole in the ceiling.
Well, a demon can’t use a body if there’s no body.
(Y/N) looked up at the beam, took a breath, and focused. They pressed their fingers together, pulled on the magic within, and snapped. The tension above the beam snapped, and it careened downwards. The demon was impaled through the brain and body before he had a moment to think. Literally pinned to the ground, there wasn’t much he could do when Dean jumped out and stabbed him.
“Did we get the sigils?” said Sam, stepping out. “I found one.”
“I got another,” said Dean. “And that kill counts to me.” He pointed at the demon.
(Y/N) scoffed. “No, it’s mine. I did it without a weapon.”
Footsteps echoed, and shadows danced on the walls as demons ran towards the hall they stood.
(Y/N) gestured while pulling a firecracker out of their pocket. “See? I had to do it on my own because I couldn’t waste these.” They tossed the firecracker, and the demon bomb went off with a resounding explosion that rocked the air with heat and tore the demons apart. (Y/N) grinned. “Those are definitely mine.” They sighed. “I like demon bombs. I’ll be sad when the ingredients run out.”
Another scream pierced the air. Dean straightened. “Alfie,” he said grimly.
“Let’s go,” said Sam, moving farther down the hall.
As they went, the final sigil appeared on a door, and Dean crossed it out. He looked at it and then around at the hall. “Alright, anytime now, Cas.”
With a rustle of feathers, Castiel appeared. He swayed on his feet, and (Y/N) frowned. He looked unwell.
“Cas, are you okay?” they said, looking him up and down.
“It must be the sigils,” said Castiel, breathing deeply as he tried to steady himself. He shook his head. “I’m not at full power.”
“Sam, Dean, let’s break more sigils,” said (Y/N), taking out their spray paint.
“No, wait, there’s no time,” said Castiel in alarm. “Samandriel won’t last much longer.”
Dean nodded and turned to handle the lock on the nearest door. Sam pulled out the angel blade and offered it to Castiel.
“Here, take this,” said Sam.
Castiel took it and then groaned, covering his ears in pain. His breathing turned shallow, and he stumbled. (Y/N) grabbed his shoulders to steady him.
“Cas? Cas!” they said. “Breathe. You’re…” He was having some sort of anxiety attack or PTSD episode. “Dean, hurry!”
Dean stabbed into the wall around the door and used the leverage to pry at it. Screams echoed, and Castiel stumbled back into the wall. He fell to the ground, looking small and afraid. (Y/N)’s magic flared as they saw real terror in his eyes. Whoever had caused him such fear was already someone (Y/N) despised.
“Dean!” said Sam.
Dean kicked the door, and it didn’t budge. “Okay, Plan B.”
“We have a plan B?” said Sam incredulously.
“(Y/N), take the door down,” said Dean.
(Y/N) rolled their shoulders, lifted their arms, and focused. They tensed their fingers, and the door bent under the force of their magic. They gestured to it, and Dean kicked it off its hinges. Dean, Sam, and (Y/N) burst into a laboratory room where a demon scientist stared at them with wide eyes. Before him was Alfie, strapped down with a headset with screws over his head. The screws were buried into his brain, and blood dripped over his features.
The scientist grabbed a scalpel and lunged. Dean blocked his arm and struck while Sam and (Y/N) went to Alfie. Castiel forced himself to stumble into the room and go to save Alfie. The doors at the end of the room opened, and another demon entered. Instantly, he went to punch Sam, and Sam blocked his arm, kneeing him. Dean was shoved into a wall, but he flipped his position against the scientist over. (Y/N) unscrewed the screws in Alfie’s mind gently while Castiel hovered worriedly. The scientist threw Dean into a window, and (Y/N) cursed.
They stood, leaving Castiel to handle Alfie, and lunged. They slammed into the scientist, and the demon stumbled. Dean twisted his arm and kneed him in the stomach again. (Y/N) pulled the knife from Dean’s belt as they twisted around, and they slashed the scientist in a single fluid motion. It was like a dance, and (Y/N) excelled.
(Y/N) tossed the knife back to Dean, who pivoted and caught the demon Sam was punching. He pinned him with an arm and stabbed through the back. The demon fell. The scientist groaned and stumbled back, eyes widening as the hunters turned to him.
“Wait, wait! I know-I know things!” cried the scientist, blubbering for his life.
“Cas!” snapped Dean. “Go!”
Castiel supported Alfie and disappeared in a flap of his wings.
“Good, good,” breathed the scientist when he wasn’t immediately stabbed. “There’s so much you don’t know. You need me.”
“Yeah,” said Dean, and the demon brightened. “Yeah, I don’t think so.” He stabbed the scientist, who cried out and burnt into a shell.
(Y/N) straightened and ran a hand through their hair. “We need to check on Cas.”
“Cas? Are you kidding, Alfie looked like the one getting his brain scrambled,” said Dean.
“He was having some sort of…attack,” said (Y/N). “Like what I hav—had.” They pretended it was in the past, but their breakdown in the café with Benny and Dean spoke differently. “Something’s wrong.”
Dean and Sam exchanged a look, and the three quickly headed out of the building. They burst back through the side door and circled to the impala. They found Castiel cradling Alfie’s unresponsive, bleeding body.
“Cas!” Sam broke into a run. “What the hell happened?!”
“Castiel, what—” (Y/N) saw Castiel’s angel blade covered in blood “—what did you do?”
“He was compromised,” said Castiel, staring into space. He spoke the words like they were rehearsed. “He came at me.” He stood. “I killed him in self-defense.” He looked over their shoulders as if it something that wasn’t present. He faltered.
“Cas?” said (Y/N), simultaneously wary and worried. “You alright?”
Abruptly, a tear of blood dripped down Castiel’s face. He wiped it and stared at the blood in confusion. “My vessel must have been damaged in the melee.” His body swayed like the wind could tip him over. “I have to go. Samandriel’s remains belong in Heaven.” Each word was spoken methodically. He knelt and cupped Alfie’s face.
“Cas, wait,” said Dean.
“Thank you all for everything you’ve done,” said Castiel. His tone was corporate.
“Cas!”
Too late. Castiel was gone.
Dean, Sam, and (Y/N) exchanged looks. Something was very wrong with Castiel.
l
(Y/N) carefully painted another anti-angel sigil on the walls of the safehouse. After Castiel’s strange behavior, it seemed best to have someplace he couldn’t get to. The last time he’d been off, after all, he had released Leviathans. They looked at their work and peered at the rest of the sigils.
“We should be good,” said (Y/N), nodding. “Cas can’t see or hear us now.”
Dean nodded, grimaced, and lost his cool. “Okay, what the hell?”
“I know,” said Sam, shaking his head.
“I told you,” said (Y/N). “Something weird’s going on.”
“I knew something was off with him since he got back from Purgatory,” said Dean, beginning to pace.
“So, what, we think someone’s messing with him or something?” said Sam.
“With the way he reacted to Alfie’s torture? Yeah. He was having a PTSD episode,” said (Y/N).
“But who?” said Dean.
“Angels?” suggested Sam.
“Why would the angels have him kill another angel?” said Dean.
“They have civil wars and kill each other, I doubt they’re flinching now,” said (Y/N). “The real question is what’s the motive this time, and when are we going to be in danger.”
“We’re left with nothing,” sighed Sam, running a hand through his hair.
“Listen, us,” Dean cleared his throat, “We got this.”
“What?” said Sam.
“Yeah. You have a girl to get back to,” said Dean, looking away. (Y/N)’s fingers twitched, and they folded their arms. It was time for him to leave them again.
“Yeah. I guess I do,” said Sam softly. He had almost forgotten that he had someone to return to instead of staying with (Y/N) and Dean. He cleared his throat. “Since when are you on the Amelia bandwagon?”
“I don’t know,” said Dean. “I’m just tired of all the fighting. And, you know, maybe I’m a little bit…jealous. I could never separate myself from the job like you could.” He opened a beer. “Well, maybe it’s time for at least one of us to be happy.”
Sam didn’t buy it. But he also didn’t press. He glanced at (Y/N). “(Y/N)?”
“Yeah…Yeah, I want you to be happy,” said (Y/N) softly. They were still pissed, but they also cared about Sam. He was their brother.
Sam smiled. “And I’m happy with you in my life, okay? I just don’t need to die every other week.”
(Y/N) managed to smile a little. “I’m…sorry for being so upset. I do want you to be happy. Always have.” That being said, their insecurity wasn’t going to die soon. Their fear for how he would react to what he did remained strong as ever.
Sam shook his head. “Don’t be sorry. I messed up. And I’ll make it up to you for as long as I need to. We’re…We’re a team.” He straightened. “And, honestly? I know that she’s waiting for me, but with everything staring down at us, with all that’s left to be done…I don’t know.”
“Huh,” said Dean.
“Yeah,” said Sam softly.
“Well, I do know this,” said Dean. “Whatever you decide—decide. Both feet in or both feet out. Anything in between is what gets you dead.”
“Yeah, I keep hearing that,” said Sam tiredly. He took a deep breath and exhaled. “I’m gonna…take a walk. Clear my head.” He stood and left the cabin.
(Y/N) stood as well. “I need to—”
“Do whatever it is you need to,” said Dean. He could see the telltale signs of their anxiety, the buzz of energy in them. He wasn’t sure how a witch handled that, but Dean would support them doing what they needed to. While his brother and sibling headed outside, Dean took out his phone and dialed another man he regarded as family.
“Dean. Thank you mightily, bud,” said Benny as soon as he answered. “I’m in a hard way here. How close are you?”
“I’m sorry, man,” said Dean, watching from the window as Sam left and (Y/N) walked into the woods as if they belonged there. “I, um, I’m not gonna make it.”
“You mean now or…?” Benny trailed off.
“Listen, Benny,” said Dean regretfully. “Everything you’ve done for me I’ll never forget, but uh…this is at.” He swallowed the pain.
“End of the line?” said Benny.
“End of the line,” murmured Dean.
“Yeah, well, I never liked these cellphones anyways,” said Benny. He spoke lightly, even though he was in pain, too. But he understood that Dean had family to take care of. He knew that he was scared for them. Benny hung up, breaking the connection so Dean didn’t have to.
Dean let out a breath.
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(Y/N) headed outside. They saw Sam walking and getting into the car, but they didn’t follow or wonder what he was doing. Sam would make his own choices. (Y/N) went farther into the woods, taking a deep breath as they felt the nature around them. Their magic steadied slightly as it buzzed. (Y/N) dragged their hands over the plants they passed. They touched their necklace with the other hand, the crystal almost breathing with them.
In. Out. In. Out. With each breath, (Y/N) took in some of the life of the world around them, the magic life stirred. When they exhaled, they returned their thanks. Exchange. In. Out. In. Out. (Y/N) opened their eyes as they steadied.
They had to remain strong. Whatever Sam decided, they couldn’t change it. Just as they couldn’t change their actions from the past. They couldn’t change who they had killed. And (Y/N) couldn’t change that they didn’t feel sorry. They could only focus on what was still left to be done: close the gates of Hell. Whatever it took.
Their fingers twitched, and their hand went to a small knife in their pocket. They withdrew it. (Y/N) took a breath and sat down, letting the sunshine and moonlight both roll over them at once. They rolled up their right sleeve—right arm for giving. With their left hand, (Y/N) raised the blade. They looked at the stylized swirls tattooed over their right forearm, and (Y/N) traced the shapes lightly with the blood, just barely pricking the surface. Blood dripped down their arm and onto the ground.
(Y/N) closed their eyes and murmured quiet prayers to the earth. Grant me strength. Guide me. Let me be strong enough to do what must be done. Their eyes opened, and they looked upwards at the stars emerging. Let me protect my family. They would do whatever it took.
The blood dripped steadily into the earth, the offering absorbed.
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Dean looked up as the door to the cabin opened. The sky had darkened, and he had been a little worried. (Y/N) entered and smiled at him. He smiled back and moved over so (Y/N) could sit down next to him.
The door opened again, and (Y/N) and Dean looked up. Sam stood in the doorway. He carried takeout food in and set it down before them silently. He sat down. (Y/N) smiled at him, and Sam smiled in return. Dean nodded in acknowledgement. Two feet in.
Found Family! Supernatural and Teen! Witch! Reader
Chapter Five: Company
Summary: The King of Hell makes a move.
Kevin reentered the sanctuary of the church where Sam, Dean, and (Y/N) awaited him. He walked towards them, but as he moved, the floorboards creaked. The creak turned into a rumble, and within moments, the church shook violently. Pews broke apart, and floorboards bent upwards.
“We got company,” said Dean, on alert. He was used to this feeling, the feeling of the fight. Purgatory had taught him how to always be ready for a fight. “Sam.” He tossed Sam the demon knife and pulled his own weapon out.
(Y/N) drew a knife, on edge as they looked around themself as the world trembled.
“What the hell is that?” said Sam, staring at Dean’s strange weapon.
“It’s Purgatory,” said Dean.
“Badass,” said (Y/N).
Dean had to agree. At least the weapons were cool.
The doors of the church flung themselves open with supernatural force. Two figures stepped in. Their eyes flashed black, and (Y/N)’s eyes narrowed.
“Dean Winchester,” said one of the demons, sizing the Winchester up. “Back from Purgatory.”
“Spanky the demon,” retorted Dean. He gave a cocky grin. “Yeah, I heard about you. You’re the one who uses too much teeth, right?”
The demon growled, and he rushed towards the group. His companion followed, and the fight began. Sam remained firmly in front of Kevin, defending him as soon as one demon tried to attack him. Dean grabbed the other, swiping it him. The demon took the hit and grappled with Dean. Kevin grabbed a water gun, fired, and squirted Holy Water over the demon in front of him. The demon shouted as his skin burned, and Sam stabbed him with the demon blade. The body glowed as the demon was burnt out, and he fell.
“Dean, (Y/N)—!”
“Incussus fulminis!” (Y/N) spoke in rapid succession, and the demons’ body jerked as it was electrocuted.
Sam tossed the blade to Dean as the demon felt the press of (Y/N)’s power, and Dean plunged the knife through his back. The demon fell, dead.
“Still on that little trick, eh, Weasel?”
Everyone’s eyes snapped to the entrance of the church where Crowley stood. Channing stood beside him—definitely possessed.
“Hello, boys. Weasel,” greeted Crowley. (Y/N)’s eyes narrowed, and Crowley noticed. He grinned. “It will take more than that little Leviathan spell to take me. I wouldn’t try it.”
“I want to,” said (Y/N).
“I’ve had centuries to hone my magic. You’ve had a year,” said Crowley. “Do you really want to risk losing any control?”
“Crowley,” said Dean, voice low.
“Dean,” replied Crowley coolly. “You’re looking…” He looked him up and down. “Well, let’s just say Purgatory didn’t do you any favors. At least (Y/N) got a sense of style in the last year.” He tilted his head. “Where’s your angel?” he remarked.
“Ask your mother,” retorted Dean.
“There’s that grade-school zip. Missed it. I really did,” drawled Crowley. He glanced at Sam. “Moose. Still with the pork chops. I admire that.” Sam scoffed.
“Let Channing go,” said Kevin forcefully.
“That’s not Channing, Kevin. Not anymore,” said Dean bluntly.
“What an awful thing to say to the boy,” tutted Crowley. “Of course it’s Channing. Kev. Last time we danced, you stole my tablet and killed my men. Tell you what. Come with me now, bygones.” He waved a hand. “And I’ll let the girl go back to What’s-the-Point U.”
“He’s lying,” said Dean. “You won’t get Channing back. She’s probably dead already.” In the past year, he had learned to let those who were lost go.
Crowley sighed. “Will you please stop saying that?” He glanced at the demon possessing Channing. “Let the girl speak.” He snapped his fingers.
Channing’s body blinked, and her eyes became a natural hue. “Kevin?” she said in confusion, looking around herself.
“Channing?” said Kevin.
“What’s going on?” said Channing fearfully.
“There’s a demon in you, and you’re going to your safety school,” said Kevin.
“What?!” From Channing’s horror, (Y/N) had to guess she was more concerned about going to her safety school than being possessed.
“But it’s gonna be okay,” said Kevin.
“I just—I can’t,” said Crowley, rolling his eyes at Channing’s dramatics.
“No, wait—”
Before Kevin could say another word, Crowley snapped his fingers, and with a blink of her eyes, Channing’s eyes were subsumed by black.
“Okay. I’ll do it,” said Kevin.
“Kevin,” said Sam sharply.
That easily? (Y/N) nearly said it out loud, sharp with irritation. Perhaps it wasn’t kind, but they were sick and tired of doing what others wanted, so capitulating this easily was…pathetic? Irksome?
“Myself for the girl,” said Kevin, looking only at Crowley. “But this ends. All right? No fighting, no nothing. It ends.”
“Can’t let you do that, buddy,” said Dean, stepping forward slightly.
Kevin glanced at him. “What? You’ll kill me?” He looked back to Crowley. “I’ll grab my stuff.” He headed to the back room.
Crowley smirked at Dean, Sam, and (Y/N). “Chin up. I’m a professional.”
(Y/N) glowered. He was not amusing them anymore. He was annoying them. Well, that made things simpler.
“This ain’t over by a long shot, Crowley,” growled Dean as Kevin reemerged with a bag.
“Really, Dean, who writes your stuff? A marshmallow?” scoffed Crowley. “Let’s go, Kevin.” Dean raised the knife, preparing to lunge. Crowley snapped his fingers, and it glowed red-hot. Dean shouted and let go as his hand sizzled. Crowley smirked. “Sorry, boys, Weasel. Time for us to go.” He turned towards the exit.
(Y/N) flicked their wrist. One of the many buckets of holy water tipped over and splashed down onto Crowley and Channing. They both let out shouts of pain, skin sizzling.
“Go!” snapped (Y/N), grabbing Kevin by the backpack and dragging him towards the door.
Dean scooped up his blade, and he and Sam ran after (Y/N) and Kevin. Dean dove into the impala, putting it into drive, and they tore away. As they passed the entrance of the church, Crowley glowered. He raised a hand and twisted it. Channing’s neck snapped, and she fell to the ground.
They had escaped, but not everyone had survived.
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Dean’s phone rang while he stood in the gas station parking lot. He answered it. “Hello?” He listened. “Wrong number.” He hung up. “Automated jackass.” He looked at the group. “Alright, anybody want anything?”
“I’m good,” said Sam.
“(Y/N)? I’ll get you anything for that trick with the water,” said Dean.
A smile tugged at (Y/N)’s lips. Praise. For using magic. It made them feel lighter. “I’m alright. I’ll hold you to it later.”
Dean glanced at Kevin next, who didn’t respond and stared blankly out the window. He looked at (Y/N), who shrugged—it was obvious why he was upset, but there wasn’t much to be done. Dean looked at Sam—the one of them that was good with people.
“Kevin?” Sam twisted in his seat to look at Kevin. “How you holding up?”
“Awesome,” said Kevin sarcastically. “The King of Hell just snapped my girlfriend’s neck. How about you?”
Sam grimaced, and Dean and (Y/N) exchanged a look.
“Alright, listen to me,” said Dean. It was time for him to be the older brother and say what had to be said. “I’m sorry about your girlfriend, okay? I am. But the sooner you get this, the better.” He looked at Kevin long and hard. “You’re in it now, whether you like it or not. That means you do what you got to do.” Kevin blinked, and Dean straightened. “I’m hitting the head.” He walked away to the gas station.
Sam winced and looked at Kevin. “That was…He was harsh. I’m sorry.”
“But he’s right,” said (Y/N). They looked at Kevin. “We’ve all lost people. It sucks. The hurt never fully goes away.” They touched their necklace absently. “But we have to keep living. Otherwise, what’s the point? Life won’t get easier wallowing in your misery. Take it from someone who specializes in obsessive thoughts and mental illness.”
Sam winced again. That wasn’t much better, even if it was true. The worst part was that it reminded him of his own failures. (Y/N) had a horrible time when hiding their magic and then, after, they got sick from repressing it. Sam hadn’t supported them. They’d spiraled, gotten anxious, and suffered from depression. He hadn’t noticed them in pain. He’d failed as a brother.
And then he’d abandoned them.
Sam couldn’t help but “wallow in his misery.”
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“How’s Kevin?” said Dean, finishing a beer in the motel parking lot.
“He’ll probably wake up again soon, but he’s sleeping right now,” said Sam. “(Y/N)’s meditating.”
Dean nodded. At least Kevin was getting some rest. And (Y/N) was…being (Y/N). That was all they could do at the moment while they tried to figure out the Demon Tablet issue. “Want a drink?”
“I’m good,” said Sam.
“Still on a health-junket?” said Dean. “That girl and you work out together? Eat salads?”
Sam sighed. “Dean…I can’t apologize enough times. I don’t—There’s no excuse I know that.”
Dean waved a hand. “Can’t do anything about it now.”
Sam leaned against the wall of the motel. “Yeah…” He couldn’t do anything now. “Do you think (Y/N)’s going to forgive me?”
“That kid can hold a grudge,” said Dean. “But they like you. And you look miserable, so they probably know that.”
Sam let out a soft scoff. “I still left them alone for a year. They had to survive and use their magic and—They were alone.”
“Yeah,” said Dean. “They were.” He still worried about the consequences of that loneliness on them. Purgatory had “toughened” him, but what had happened to (Y/N) alone? They were young, a witch, and so goddamn tough but still so vulnerable—a kid. Dean was their big brother, and he hadn’t been there for them.
“What do you think happened to them?” Sam voiced their identical concerns. “I think—Dean, I think it was bad.”
“Yeah,” said Dean. “Yeah, it probably was. But they survived, and they’re here with us. And we’ll keep (Y/N) safe.”
Sam nodded, head jerking.
“And they’re not helpless,” said Dean. “You saw them today.” He smiled slightly. “They’re getting their abilities under control.”
“I still can’t believe you’re just…cool with this. You were so worried, even after we realized they were getting sick from suppressing it,” said Sam. “And now they can do magic whenever they want?”
“I saw a lot of shit in Purgatory,” said Dean. “Do you know what I didn’t see? A kid using magic and being a monster.” He shook his head. “(Y/N)’s just (Y/N). Magic or not. And it makes them stronger. Safer. And honestly? It’s kinda cool.”
Sam laughed slightly. “Yeah. I guess so.” He grew somber again. “Still, though. I know how slippery the slope was for me, and after they were on their own—”
“I’m going to lose control?”
Dean and Sam straightened. (Y/N) leaned in the doorway of the motel. Without a jacket, their tattoos were on full display on their arms. The sun and moon on their shoulders, the vines twining down their left arm, the sparkles of stylized swirls tracing down their right. They crossed their arms.
“I think I would have by now if I was going to,” said (Y/N). “Trust me. I learned the hard way that a bad mental state leads to bad magic.” They grimaced. “Set fire to my tent a couple times.” They leaned their head on the doorway. “But I didn’t completely crack.”
“I don’t think—I don’t think you’re a danger to anyone,” said Sam. They had to know that. He thought the world of them. They didn’t believe differently, did they? You abandoned them. They probably thought you didn’t want them anymore. “I’m just worried about you.”
(Y/N) let out a sigh, softening slightly. “Yeah. I get it. But I’m trying to be careful. I don’t want to let the magic do everything in my life. I’m still capable without it. But it’s not…it’s not like me and my magic are separate.” They held up two fingers and crossed them. “We’re one thing.” They straightened from where they were leaning. “So I’m going to keep using it. I want to get better with it. If I’m stronger, I can protect more people.”
Dean smiled. That was the kid he knew. “You’re a good kid, (Y/N).”
“Are you trying to have a chick-flick moment?” teased (Y/N). Dean rolled his eyes.
“(Y/N),” said Sam.
(Y/N) looked at him.
He paused, choosing his words carefully before speaking. “I trust you with magic. But be careful, okay? It’s still magic. It can get out of control.”
(Y/N) nodded. “I know. But I can’t stay weak.”
“You? Weak? I don’t believe it,” said Dean.
“I’m seventeen,” said (Y/N). “I’m physically weaker than most of the monsters we face. My magic…it feels strong. But I have difficulty using it without adrenaline.” They looked at Sam. “That’s what I’m working on. Not big, grand spells. Just being able to use it when I want.” They looked at their hands. “And learning when I need blood or not.”
Dean grimaced. “Yeah, that’s kinda gross.”
“I don’t want you to hurt yourself,” said Sam.
“Me neither,” said (Y/N). “But that’s why I’m figuring it out. Because…this is a way to protect myself.” Their gaze turned absent, looking into the distance without truly seeing anything. “I need to be able to protect myself.”
Dean and Sam exchanged a look.
“(Y/N)…What happened?” said Sam. It would torture him to hear what he abandoned them to experience, but he had to know.
(Y/N)’s jaw shut, and they fiddled with their necklace, a telltale sign of their anxiety. “I ran into trouble a couple of times.” They fidgeted, gaze dropping to the ground. “If I had been stronger, I wouldn’t have been so scared.”
Sam’s heart clenched. Scared because they had been alone, had to fight alone, had to survive alone. Because he hadn’t been there. “I’m sorry.”
“I know,” said (Y/N).
“We’re here now,” said Dean. “We have your back.” He meant it with all his heart.
(Y/N) smiled slightly. “Yeah.” Nonetheless, they had to grow stronger. They couldn’t rely on Sam and Dean. They had learned that the hard way. (Y/N) had to be able to fight for themself. The magic and them had to become stronger together. Otherwise, what was the point of having it?
Found Family! Supernatural and Teen! Witch! Reader
Chapter Twenty-Six: Envy
Summary: Witches be bitches, but, luckily, (Y/N) is the worst of them.
Dean, Sam, and James sat on the edge of the bed. James took a deep breath as he focused.
“James, are you sure you’re still even able to do this?” asked Portia, shifting nervously.
“Oh, well, that’s a confidence booster,” said Dean, grimacing. “Anything else I should know before I become some disembodied thing, completely at his mercy?”
“Relax,” said (Y/N). “I’m keeping an eye on things. If he tries anything, I can shut it down.”
“Just close your eyes,” said James, putting his hands on Dean and Sam’s shoulders. “Whatever I see, I’ll pass on to you guys.” He took a deep breath. “Libera me occulta cognoscere veritatem.”
His eyes rolled into the back of his head, and Dean and Sam’s bodies jerked as their spirits were projected outside of their bodies. James’s spirit threw itself out of the house and to the police precinct, and Dean and Sam’s spirits were dragged with it. Distorted voices echoed around them, but James’s focus was on C-110.
Within the room, the tech guy Sam had seen and Ed Stoltz were hard at work at computers. A board of victims displayed possible ties to James. There were photographs of him in his car from long-term surveillance and witness statements about his whereabouts. James leaned closer. The witness statements were sighed by Philippe LeChat.
James jerked back to his body and let go of Sam and Dean. He stumbled away from his bed, folding over as his stomach churned with panic at the truth he’d uncovered.
Sam groaned, holding his head, and Dean swayed as he stood.
“James, why not give us a little warning when you’re gonna snap us back like that?” said Dean.
“Stoltz—he’s building a case against me,” breathed James, eyes wide.
“What?!” said Portia incredulously.
“Ed—he’s always wanted a breakthrough case,” rambled James. “Nailing a renegade cop—that would qualify.”
“Yeah, especially one he holds a grudge against,” said Sam.
“My first case,” realized James. “They dropped him as lead detective. They went with me.”
“So what is this? You think payback?” said Sam.
“He can’t just arrest you,” protested Portia, shaking her head. “He needs evidence. He needs proof.”
“Phil. The cat,” said Dean, remembering the witness signature. “That’s who signed a witness statement.”
“Philippe,” said Portia, betrayed.
“So Philippe is the problem on the community’s side,” said (Y/N). “But what’s his motive—”
The bedside lamp flew into the wall as James paced, angry.
“Okay, whoa, take a breath,” said Dean.
“Calm down,” said Sam. “We can—”
James flexed his arms, and Dean and Sam flew into the wall. James looked at (Y/N), who raised their hand. The lights flicker, and their eyes glow indigo. James stepped back, eyes widening. He hadn’t ever seen a witch show that before. The community wasn’t known for naturals. They were uncommon in the modern day.
“Stand. Down,” they hissed, the different objects around the room lifting into the air as they spoke.
“He can’t get away with this,” said James.
Dean and Sam raised their heads warily, and Portia swallowed, longing to run to James. The pure danger in the air stayed her hand, though.
“He won’t,” said (Y/N). “But you’re not thinking clearly. What’s Philippe’s motive?”
“I’ll find out!” snapped James.
“No, you won’t, not if you insist on going in and attacking people,” snapped (Y/N). “The community will hate you.”
“I can’t just leave this!” shouted James.
“Sit down!” snapped (Y/N). James sat. (Y/N) straightened, and all the objects in the room crashed down. “I will go and talk to Philippe. The rest of you are backup when something goes wrong because I know that it sure as hell will.” They put their hands on their hips. “But I have a clearer head.” (They sure looked clear-headed, note the sarcasm). “And no one is currently out to get me.” They smiled. “Do we all understand the plan?”
James and Portia hurriedly nodded.
Dean and Sam stood and glanced at each other. They had somehow forgotten that beneath the quips and sarcasm, (Y/N) could be intense.
“Awesome,” said (Y/N), smiling brightly.
James, Portia, Dean, and Sam just stared.
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“So, you don’t think it’s too late for me to wear braces?” said Philippe to a witch beside him.
“Won’t even notice it,” said the witch. “We’ll put in transparent.”
“Philippe.”
Philippe turned around and grinned when he saw (Y/N). “Welcome back. Can we get you a drink?”
(Y/N) smiled. “You can answer some questions.”
Philippe tilted his head. “Questions?”
“About your witness statement regarding James Frampton,” said (Y/N) cheerfully.
Philippe tried to run, and (Y/N) twisted their wrist. Philippe fell onto his chair and didn’t move. The lights flickered around them, and everyone still in the bar stared at (Y/N) as magic pulsed through the air.
“Now, Philippe, I was trying to have a conversation,” said (Y/N), running a hand through their hair.
“I don’t know anything about that!” said Philippe.
“Liar,” said (Y/N), straightforward instead of playing games. They heard someone step forward behind them, and they glanced back, eyes glowing indigo. “Back off.” The witch faltered, and (Y/N) smiled. “Now. Everyone, out.” The other people stared at them. “Get out!” The world flashed with lightning, and the bargoers ran. “Alright, now that that’s handled,” said (Y/N), looking back at Philippe. “Tell me the truth. Now.”
“I-I had no choice,” said Philippe, and if he had a tail, it would be whipping with anxiety.
“What do you mean?” said (Y/N) sharply.
“My master made me,” said Philippe.
Spencer. James’s “friend,” thought (Y/N).
“It was a direct command,” said Philippe helplessly. “Please. Don’t hurt me.”
“I don’t want to hurt you,” said (Y/N).
Philippe let out a breath. “Thank you—”
“But I will,” snarled an angry voice.
(Y/N) felt the magic, and they pulled Philippe back, magic sparking around them, warding off the curse Spencer had sent at them. (Y/N) felt the impact, but the chair turned to ash instead of Philippe.
“Pretty spineless, giving up so easily,” said Spencer, narrowing his eyes at his Familiar, who flinched.
“Philippe, leave. Now,” said (Y/N).
“Philippe. Stay. I’ll deal with you in a moment,” said Spencer, and Philippe tried to curl in on himself.
“So. You’re behind it all,” said (Y/N), looking Spencer up and down. “Kind of cliché. The betrayal of a friend.”
“I humbly accept credit,” said Spencer.
“You.” James stepped into the room now that (Y/N) had found the real killer, and Spencer raised a brow. “You made me think I was the killer. Ed Stoltz put you up to it. He found out you were a witch, tried to blackmail you.”
(Y/N) saw Spencer scoff. “No. That’s not it. Is it, Spencer?”
“Not quite,” said Spencer. “But then again, James hasn’t had to use his brain for years, has he? Not much up there. It was actually crucial that Stoltz didn’t believe in the occult.” He smirked. “He’s built such a solid case, hasn’t he?”
“I don’t—I don’t understand,” said James, faltering.
“Of course you don’t,” said Spencer, sneering at his lack of comprehension. “Neither of you ever considered my feelings.”
“Portia?” said James, confused. “This is about her?”
“Can you imagine the insult when she chose you?” said Spencer, beginning to pace. “I wanted her as my soulmate the moment I saw her.”
“She was meant to be my Familiar,” said James. “Our souls are—She chose me. And I chose her.”
“Oh, yes, you certainly chose each other,” scoffed Spencer. “She’s way more than a Familiar, isn’t she?” He stepped forward, and (Y/N) narrowed their eyes warily. “When she picked you as a master, I endured it. But then you two went all ‘Bella and Edward,’ broke the code, put your passions before community rules—! Well, the arrogance, the entitlement was too much. Your total ruination seemed appropriate.”
“Seriously? All of this because you’re a jealous controlling freak?” said (Y/N).
Spencer went still and glared at them. “I don’t expect a child like you to understand. You make a good show of power, but no one knows who you are. You’re nothing here.”
“Maybe you should look their name up somewhere else.”
Spencer smirked. “The wiccan from Detroit.” He glanced back at Dean and Sam when they walked in. “Quite the group of outsiders James has brought to us. I can’t imagine the community will be pleased.”
“The community can go screw itself,” said (Y/N). “They consented to the relationship, and your rules are as made up and ridiculous and hypocritical as human society, so who cares? Not me, that’s for sure.”
They raised a hand and shoved outwards. Several tables and chairs flew towards Spencer, and he dodged. Dean and Sam lunged for him. Spencer threw out his hands, and Dean and Sam went flying. James raised his hands, and Spencer scoffed.
“Seriously, you want to take me on?” said Spencer. He flicked his wrists, and James jerked as electricity ran through him.
(Y/N) snapped, and Spencer jolted with lightning. James fell and crashed into a table, rolling to the ground. Spencer threw out his hands, and (Y/N) flew into the wall. They hit the ground and rolled back to their hands and knees, eyes narrowed.
Dean and Sam scrambled up and grabbed for their witch-killing spell, but they hesitated when they saw how close (Y/N) was. They couldn’t risk it.
Spencer took advantage of the momentary hesitation to look into their eyes, and they felt a wash of energy pass over them. “It’s not only James’s head I can get inside.”
Dean and Sam stumbled and felt. Dean scrambled back, staring at the world fearfully. He cried out. Sam pulled at his hair in panic, patting his arms like he was on fire.
“Dean, Sam!” cried (Y/N).
Spencer laughed until a body slammed into him. It was Portia, growling and biting at him. He kicked her away, and Portia yelped. James tried to sit up from the broken table, panicked when he saw Portia cowering. Spencer raised his hand, looking at the hunters trying to get to their feet, even stuck within torturous memories.
“Get away from them!”
Spencer flew into the wall and crashed to the ground. He glared at (Y/N). “You insolent little—” He choked.
“You don’t—” (Y/N) glared at him, eyes blazing as the world darkened around them “—touch my family!” Their palms were bleeding, blood trickling down over their tattoos, following the inked contours. With their eyes, all the tattoos on display, and the magic in the air, they looked all the part of what they were.
Spencer’s eyes widened as he felt the pressure of magic far beyond (Y/N)’s years close over his throat and limbs. On their part, (Y/N) felt whole, the magic singing within them, and they focused in on it, the harmony. No resistance. They were merely a vessel for all the magic around them. They were more of a witch than Spencer ever could be.
Spencer’s neck snapped with a sickening crack, and his body crumpled to the ground. The spell on Dean and Sam was released, and they gasped with relief. Portia, in human form, ran to James to check on him, and he just stared.
(Y/N) took several deep breaths, eyes fading to their regular color, but the world still felt electrified around them. The harmony was fading, but (Y/N) felt the echoes in their bones. They had reached for something deep, something more, all to protect their family. And the magic had responded.
“(Y/N)? You alright?” said Dean.
(Y/N) smiled. “I’m great.”
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“Are you sure you don’t want to stay and fight this?” asked Sam. “Look, we can help you.”
James and Portia hovered next to James’s car, packed up and ready to leave town. Philippe, alive although shaken, leaned against the car.
James smiled sadly. “Spencer was right,” he said. “Ed Stoltz has built enough of a case against me to make like Hell for a long time, and the community here wants no part of us.”
“We start over,” said Portia. “We’re used to it. It’s the way it’s always been, for all of us.” She looked at (Y/N). “Thank you again. For everything.”
“Yeah,” said Philippe. “You saved…all of us.”
(Y/N) just smiled. “Just trying to do the right thing.” Trying to make up for hurting people.
“I’ll miss you,” said Portia. She glanced at the boys and grinned. “Maybe even you two.”
Philippe cleared his throat and looked at (Y/N). “You know…if you ever wanted a Familiar—”
(Y/N) rolled their eyes in amusement. “I think you should take some time to yourself, Philippe. Besides, I’m not really interested in being anyone’s master.”
Philippe shrugged and grinned. “Worth a shot. Who wouldn’t want to work with such a powerful witch?”
Portia nodded and rolled her eyes when James pouted slightly. “You know it’s true that they’re more powerful, James.”
James had to sigh. “What was that spell you used against Spencer?”
“What do you mean?” asked (Y/N).
“To kill him,” said James.
(Y/N) paused, frowned, and shrugged. “I just…let the magic flow.”
Philippe and Portia exchanged a look.
“What?” said Sam, looking at (Y/N). “Is that what you’re…usually doing?”
“Yeah?” said (Y/N), confused. “I mean, I know some spells, but most of the time, I’m just reaching out for magic, and it responds. Like teamwork or harmony.”
“Magic on autopilot,” murmured Portia.
Philippe tilted his head. “What’s your name?”
“You know it,” said (Y/N). “(Y/N).”
Philippe shook his head. “Your full name.”
“(Y/N) (L/N),” said (Y/N).
Portia and Philippe exchanged another look.
“Do you know the name?” said Dean, frowning. This was now the third time the (L/N) name came up as important.
“The (L/N)s were a well-known witch family,” said Portia.
“They disappeared seventeen years ago,” said Portia. She looked (Y/N) up and down. “I guess this explains it.”
“You really should have introduced yourself as an (L/N) at the bar. Spencer would have run,” said Philippe, grinning slightly.
“I think I should keep a lower profile,” said (Y/N).
“Pity,” said Philippe. “With all that power.”
(Y/N) rolled their eyes. “Yeah, yeah. Get along.”
Philippe held up his hands, winked, and got into the car, transforming into a cat as he went. Portia shook her head in amusement and opened the car door.
“Good luck. All of you,” said Portia, getting in.
“Thank you for everything,” said James, shaking each of their hands before getting into the car.
Dean, Sam, and (Y/N) watched them drive off. Dean and Sam then glanced at one another before looking at (Y/N).
“So…old witch family, huh?” said Dean.
“Hey, you guys have the hunter and Men of Letters legacy, I’ve got my own thing,” said (Y/N), shrugging.
“Yeah, doing magic without spells,” said Sam, furrowing his brow. “Have you always been able to do that?”
“I told you. Superconductor,” said (Y/N), gesturing at themself.
“That can’t be all,” said Sam. “I mean, magic asks for a price.”
“I pay it,” said (Y/N), tracing their arms where the blood had trickled. It was washed away, but the tattoos were still humming with power.
“Your tattoos?” asked Dean.
“Kind of,” said (Y/N). “You saw the rest.” They rolled up their pant leg to show Sam some of the tattoos on their legs, and their tank top shifted to show a bit of their back tattoo. “They have meaning, spiritual more than anything.”
“So they’re sigils,” said Sam.
“Yeah,” said (Y/N).
“What do they do?” asked Dean. A few years ago, he would have thought he was stupid for asking about magic, but here he was, legitimately curious and invested in his little sibling’s growth.
(Y/N) brightened at the chance to talk. “Well, the ones on my ribs and shoulders were for my scars, duh, but the rest—”
(Y/N) launched in an explanation about vines and growth, the sigils of protection carved into their stylized magic swirls, the moth for transformation and intuition, the butterfly for transformation and spiritual rebirths, and all the rest. Just like their necklace, each tattoo gave them a sense of connection to the magic their parents had loved and the magic that flowed through them. (Y/N) used intention to grow stronger, giving magic respect so that it could respect their wishes in return.
Was (Y/N) making it up as they went? Yes. But their intuition with magic had never failed them. They understood it, even if they had feared it at first. That was what had scared them, after all. How simple it had felt to connect. Magic was a part of them, like their blood. A little blood, a few prayers, spells—(Y/N) would give it the respect and care it deserved.
Sam smiled as he listened to (Y/N) speak. They were slowly opening up again. Whatever they had been through, it had shaken them, but they were starting to trust again. It was…nice. And Sam was glad to see (Y/N) was feeling more comfortable both with him and their own identity. They were a good kid.
Found Family! Supernatural and Teen! Witch! Reader
Chapter Eight: Heartless
Summary: Someone gets their heart ripped out, and not in the metaphorical way. That calls for the Winchesters.
Sam paid for the basket of apples he’d picked out and tossed one to (Y/N). They caught it and took a bite as they kept walking through the local farmers’ market.
“Wow. Guy goes to Purgatory for a year, all hell breaks loose,” said Dean. He looked up from his phone and gestured to them. “Check this out. A jogger in Minneapolis gets his heart ripped out.”
“I’m guessing literally?” said Sam. He started picking tomatoes.
“Only way that interests me,” said Dean. “And then, there’s another article from six months ago. Same thing happens, also in Minneapolis. What does that tell us?”
“Stay out of Minneapolis,” said Sam, paying.
“Two hearts ganked, same city, six months apart?” said Dean. “I mean, that’s got to be a ritual, man. Right?” He looked at (Y/N).
“Sounds like a pattern,” said (Y/N), nodding. “Could be our sort of thing.”
“It’s a case. Look, I say we hang out the shingle again and ride,” said Dean.
“We’re on a case,” said Sam. “Kevin and the demon tablet need to be found, so heart guy takes a number.”
“Uh, we just spent a week chasing our asses trying to lock Kevin down, okay?” said Dean. “And look at us. We’re—Where the hell are we?”
“Farmers’ market,” said (Y/N), taking another bite of their apple.
“Sam?” Dean knew this was Sam’s idea, even if everything cost more than gas station food.
“What? I had a year off. I took the time to enjoy the good things,” said Sam.
“While avoiding doing what we actually do,” said Dean.
Sam made the mistake of watching (Y/N)’s expression darken, the way they closed themself off instantly. He swallowed. “Yeah. Yeah, Dean, I know. Does it make you feel better to keep saying it?”
“If you seemed sorrier, maybe,” said (Y/N).
“I am sorry.” Dammit, he thought he had been getting somewhere with them after the magic discussions. Apparently, (Y/N) compartmentalized.
“All right, man, look, we get it,” said Dean. “You took a year off to do yoga and play the lute, whatever, but we’re back. Okay, we’re back, which means that we walk and kill monsters at the same time. We’ll find Kevin. But in the meantime, do we ignore stuff like this? Or are innocent people supposed to die so that you can shop for produce?”
“We should help as many people as we can,” said (Y/N) firmly.
Sam had no room to argue.
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The detective dropped a folder with photos of the dead jogger down in front of Sam, Dean, and (Y/N), suited up.
“Here’s what’s odd about this thing—the guy wasn’t chopped or cut into, no incision. But his heart was ripped out of him like a peach pit,” said the detective.
“Was he robbed?” asked Sam.
“Phone, watch, money all still on him,” said the detective, shaking his head in bafflement.
“What about enemies?” said Dean.
“He was in town for a conference. No local connections,” said the detective.
“And this is the second incident in six months?” said (Y/N).
“Yeah, and we hit a brick wall. We had nothing to go on, really,” said the detective. “Thought maybe we got lucky here.” He gestured to a TV. “A park surveillance camera picked up something.”
It displayed the jogger getting past by a more heavy-set man.
“Huh. That chubby guy the last person to see the vic alive?” asked Dean.
“Other than the killer. Name’s Paul Hayes. We, uh, pulled him in for questioning,” said the detective, but he shrugged.
“So what makes you think he’s clean?” asked Sam.
“Well, so far, no reason not to,” said the detective. “I mean, he said he briefly saw the victim, he ran out ahead, that was it.”
“What, you mean he didn’t fall to his knees and confess to gutting the guy?” asked Dean, smirking slightly.
“No. I mean we did a thorough check on the guy, not so much as a parking ticket came up.” The detective gestured to the screen. “I mean, look at him. I mean, sure, he can run a little bit, but Thor he ain’t. You think he’s gonna grab Freddy fitness here and throw him down and rip out his heart? I don’t think so.” He gave Dean a look. “Forgive me if I didn’t take him out back and shoot him.”
“Where can we find Hayes?” asked (Y/N).
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Hayes smiled at the three as they sat and waited for him. He turned his blender off and shrugged apologetically.
“Sorry. I kind of try to stick to a nutrition and workout schedule. Do you want a hit?” he offered.
“I’m good, thanks,” said Sam.
“No,” said (Y/N).
“So, Paul, you passed a runner who was later killed,” said Sam, getting to the point while Hayes took a drink of his smoothie. “Did you speak with him at all?”
“Yeah, I went over this with the cops. I-I-I didn’t know him. I had never spoken to him. I ran past him. I never saw him again. The end,” said Hayes, shrugging. He took a drink. “Mm. Oh.” His nose wrinkled. “It’s disgusting. It tastes like crap, but it keeps you young.”
(Y/N) smirked. That wouldn’t keep him young. Well, most people wouldn’t age as slowly as they would.
“Now, Paul, we couldn’t help but notice that the jogger you outraced was a good deal younger than you,” said Sam.
“Yeah, and less, uh…” Dean wasn’t sure how to say it politely (and he had some moments where he could be polite).
“Full figured?” Hayes smiled. “You should’ve seen me before. Yeah, hugging a desk all day and watching TV all night, eating fried everything was killing me. I had a health scare about a year ago.”
“Really?” (Y/N) tilted their head.
“It changed my life. I mean, I started taking care of myself,” said Hayes.
“Now your body’s a temple, huh?” said Dean.
“Where I worship every day.” Hayes took a long sip of his smoothie. “Ah.”
“Can I use your bathroom?” asked (Y/N). “While my colleagues ask a few final questions?”
“Sure,” said Hayes.
(Y/N) stood. Time to take a little snoop and see if anything else was keeping Paul Hayes young.
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“Alright, so what’s the word? What did you find poking around at Paul’s?” asked Sam, setting (Y/N)’s cappuccino down in front of them.
“No hex bags, strange papers, runes, none of the usual suspects,” said (Y/N).
“So, he didn’t seem like a guy who would be voted most likely to disembowel?” said Sam.
“No, but you never know,” said (Y/N).
“Wait a minute. Here’s another one,” said Dean, tapping on the computer.
“What, murder?” asked Sam.
“And a do-it-yourself heart bypass. Two days after this one,” said Dean.
“The detective didn’t mention anything,” said (Y/N), frowning.
“It was in Iowa. Ames,” said Dean.
“Well, Paul was here being questioned,” said Sam. “There’s no way that could have been him.”
“This guy was a cop,” said Dean. He showed them the headline. “Ames Police Officer Arrested in Murder.” “This is exactly what happened six months ago. Minneapolis, then Ames. Then Boulder. Guess we missed that one. I’m just saying.”
“So the pattern goes past state lines? A federal monster,” said (Y/N). Dean snorted.
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Officer Levitt shook his head in dismay. “Arthur Swenson. Real top-shelf officer. 20 years on the force. He’d ordered a pizza, which the vic delivered.” He sighed.
“And then?” asked Sam.
“The vic didn’t make his next drop-off.” Levitt shook his head again. “His body was found on the walk in front of Swenson’s.”
“And he wasn’t wearing a heart?” asked Dean.
“No. Heartless,” confirmed Levitt.
“What about Swenson?” asked (Y/N).
“Crumpled on the front stoop,” said Levitt. “Covered in blood, crying like a baby. Ironically, he had been in court all week, testifying.” A phone rang, and he held up a hand. “Excuse me.” He answered. “Go ahead,” he said to the phone.
“So that couldn’t have been him in Minneapolis,” murmured Sam to Dean and (Y/N).
“I hate when this happens,” grumbled Dean.
“What is this, an illness that makes people pull hearts out?” said (Y/N).
Levitt hung up and turned his attention back on the hunters.
“So, this Arthur guy, what does-what does he have to say?” asked Dean.
Levitt grimaced. “It’s not really helpful.”
“What do you mean?” asked (Y/N).
“Follow me.” Levitt stood and led them from the office to the interview room Swenson was being held in. Levitt shook his head and stepped away. “Go in if you’d like.”
Curious, (Y/N) led the way into the room.
The man was sweating, staring into space, and looked like he was in a figure state. His eyes—heterochromatic, interestingly—were blank, not seeing what was in front of him. He clasped and unclasped his hands repeatedly, murmuring under his breath. Over and over, he said the same words, the same rhythm of syllables. “K’uhul ajaw, Cacao, shi-jiiy. K’uhul ajaw, Cacao, shi-jiiy.”
“So, you getting his statement?” said Dean.
“Uh, yeah, k-kind of.” Sam frowned. “Probably not.”
“It’s too bad I dropped out of Lunatic 101,” said Dean.
“He’s repeating the same four words,” said (Y/N). “They’re…” Goosebumps trailed up their arm. “Yeah, definitely inhuman.”
“Magic?” said Dean.
“Probably,” said (Y/N). They stepped closer. “Arthur.” They spoke firmly. “Did you do this alone? Or did someone tell you to?”
Swenson slammed his hands onto the table, and Dean jerked forward to grab (Y/N) protectively, every bit of post-Purgatory stress disorder demanding he fight for them.
“I’m good,” said (Y/N), watching him.
Dean’s heart rate slowed slightly, and his arms dropped. “Right.” He tried to focus. “Okay.” He took out a flask and held it up to Swenson. “Hey, Art. Can I call you Art? Listen, I’m gonna sprinkle your arm, and it’s gonna steam and burn if you’re possessed by a demon.” Swenson didn’t respond. “He’s a mushroom.” He poured the holy water over Swenson’s arm, but he didn’t react.
“Okay, not possessed,” said Sam. “Thinking cursed?”
“No idea,” said (Y/N). “Arthur, you want to tell us why you did this?”
“K’uhul ajaw, Cacao, shi-jiiy.”
“Okay,” said Dean, giving up.
“We need to figure out what those words mean,” said (Y/N). If Swenson wouldn’t or couldn’t respond, then they had to continue with the clues they had.
(Y/N) closed their eyes and listened intently to the recording of Arthur’s words, trying to see if they reminded them of anything or they’d get a clue to their meaning.
“So, what do you think?” said Sam.
“Personally, I prefer the Keith Richards version,” said Dean.
“Not you,” said Sam, rolling his eyes. “(Y/N)?”
(Y/N) opened their eyes. “It’s like a mantra. Something intrinsic to whatever’s happening to him. But I don’t know the language.”
“Wait a second.” Dean sat up, pleased.
“What?” said (Y/N).
“I bought a translation app,” said Dean, bringing his phone towards the recorder.
“You bought an app.” Sam was surprised Dean could work a modern phone.
“Yeah.” Dean was offended. “Here, play it.”
(Y/N) pressed play again, and Dean watched the app work.
“And babble wins. ‘Language unknown,’ ” said Dean.
“Unknown to the app,” said (Y/N). Dean huffed.
Sam’s phone rang while he chuckled, and he answered it. “Agent Sambora.” He frowned. “What?”
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Arthur Swenson sat on a hospital bed and stared blankly into space. A thick white bandage wrapped around his head, tinged pink with blood. It obscured the space where his eye used to be.
“So, Dr. Kashi,” said Dean, addressing the doctor in charge. “What are we looking at here, some kind of psychotic break?”
“Oh, definitely. He was very thorough. Severed the optic nerve. He was determined to remove the eye,” said Dr. Kashi, shaking her head.
“How did he cut it out?” said (Y/N). “There were no tools near him.”
“He doesn’t look strong enough, but he broke off part of the bed frame and used it as a knife,” explained Dr. Kashi.
“Wow. They should put warning labels on those beds,” said Dean.
“Like I said—determined,” said Dr. Kashi.
“His eyes—I noticed he had heterochromia,” said (Y/N). “Did he become obsessive about it?”
“Actually, he is not heterochromatic by birth,” said Dr. Kashi. “Apparently, he was in an accident where much of one eye was shattered. His vision was saved with a transplant.”
(Y/N) frowned. “Which eye did he cut out?”
“The transplanted eye,” said Dr. Kashi.
(Y/N) suspected that was a significant detail. After all, Hayes had also had a life-changing surgery in the past year.
“When was this transplant?” asked Dean.
“A year ago, almost to the date,” remarked Dr. Kashi.
“Really?” Dean exchanged a look with (Y/N). “Hey, let me ask you something, doc. Is it possible to trace the donor of a transplanted organ?”
“Difficult,” said Dr. Kashi.
“But possible,” said (Y/N) knowingly.
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Dean and (Y/N) entered the motel room with Indian takeout in hand while Sam was at work. He glanced up.
“Hey,” said Sam.
“Hey.” (Y/N) handed him some food.
“Arthur Swenson had an eye transplant a year ago, right?” asked Sam.
“Yeah,” confirmed Dean.
“Well, I remembered that Paul Hayes was talking about a health scare he had a year ago that changed his life, so I pulled up his medical records from Minneapolis,” said Sam.
Dean stared at Sam.
Sam sighed. “You want me on board, I’m on board.” He gestured to his research. “Anyways, you want to guess who else, other than Arthur Swenson, had a transplant in the last year?”
“Paul Hayes mentioned his life being changed after a health issue, so definitely him,” said (Y/N).
“Bingo,” said Sam.
“Okay, so we’ve got two suspects in two identical murders in two different cities that both had organ transplants a year ago,” said Dean, recapping the information.
“Yeah, also…” said Sam.
“We have an also?” said (Y/N).
“I got to thinking about all that stuff Arthur Swenson was talking about,” said Sam. “(Y/N)’s probably right that the app can’t recognize the language since it’s not modern. It’s probably dead. So I e-mailed an audio file of Arthur's mumbling to Dr Morrison.”
“Who?” asked (Y/N).
“Dr. Morrison, the anthropology Professor who helped us out with the Amazons,” said Sam.
“Oh, yeah. That was a weird case,” said (Y/N).
“Yes, okay. Okay. Well, let’s get our asses on the road,” said Dean, grabbing the keys.
“Headed to…?” asked Sam.
Dean shrugged. “Well, if we are in a repeat of a cycle from six months ago, then, after the murders in Minneapolis and in Ames, the next heart attack was in Boulder, Colorado.”
“Heart attack.” (Y/N) snorted.
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(Y/N) stared out the window while in the backseat of the impala, taking another bite of their samosas. In the front seat, Dean drove while Sam checked his phone for more details on the deaths six months ago.
“All right, case is coming together,” said Dean, talking to the silence. “Things are coming together, man. You and (Y/N) and me. It is all good.” Back together. Family. That’s what mattered. Dean had found his siblings again. My siblings. No one responded. “Hey.”
(Y/N) gestured with their samosa. They were eating, so they weren’t talking.
“Hey,” said Sam absently.
“What are you thinking about, organic tomatoes?” teased Dean.
“I don’t know about you, but this last year has given me a new perspective,” said Dean abruptly.
“Definitely did.” (Y/N)’s voice became a murmur, and they stared into space for a moment. They blinked and returned to their present.
Dean furrowed his brow. He saw the signs that (Y/N) wasn’t completely fine, even if they seemed so normal. He had to keep an eye on that. He had failed last time. He wouldn’t fail again.
“I know where I’m at my best, and that is right here, driving down crazy street with you two,” said Dean.
(Y/N) smiled slightly. Dean wanted them around. He really did. He would have looked for me. He did look for me. As soon as he was back.
“Or…” Sam swallowed. “Maybe you don’t need me. I mean, Dean, maybe you’re at your best hacking and slicing your way through all the world’s crap alone, not having to explain yourself to anybody.”
“Are you going to leave again?” (Y/N)’s tone had gone completely cold. They didn’t seem angry, just…empty. It was worse.
“No. No, I’m not bailing on you.” Not abandoning you. “I’m just saying make room for the possibility that we all want different things. I mean, I want my time to count for something. Dean wants to fight the world. And you…”
“And me?” said (Y/N), making eye contact with Sam in the rearview mirror. Their eyes flashed indigo, and Sam flinched.
Sam didn’t know what (Y/N) wanted. He didn’t know what the kid he had lost for a year, the witch who was growing into their power, the hunter that never backed down even when they should, wanted.
Dean’s phone rang before Sam had to say something. Dean picked it up. “Yeah? Hey, Dr. Kashi. Okay. Thank you.” He nodded. “Uh, could you run one more name for me? Yeah—Hayes, Paul. Uh-huh. And the donor?” His brows raised. “Seriously? How many others? Did anybody from Boulder, Colorado, receive any of those organs? Okay, thank you.” He hung up. “Well, this is gonna singe your axons. She says that both Paul Hayes’ kidney and Arthur Swenson’s new eye came from—you ready for this?—Brick Holmes.”
“You don’t mean the Brick Holmes,” said Sam.
“Who?” said (Y/N).
“I do,” said Dean.
“Who?” repeated (Y/N).
“The all-pro quarterback?” said Sam. “Come on, he was famous.”
“No idea,” said (Y/N).
“Wow,” said Dean. “Your parents gave you no culture.”
“Not that culture,” said (Y/N).
Dean shrugged and conceded. “The guy played at the top of his game for like a million years, didn’t he?”
“Yeah, he bought it in a car crash last year,” said Sam. “Nose-dived off a bridge or something. He must’ve signed a donor card.”
“So how many organs did he donate?” asked (Y/N). “How many people are infected by…whatever the hell is happening?”
“Including our two suspects? Eight,” said Dean.
“Eight?” said (Y/N).
“Eight,” repeated Dean.
“Okay, um, and one of them’s in Boulder, am I right? said Sam.
“You would be wrong. That’s the bad news. Good news is, Brick lived just outside of Boulder,” said Dean.
“Well, Brick’s dead,” said Sam.
“When has that mattered?” said (Y/N).
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“I just want to say how sorry we are for your loss, Mrs. Holmes.”
Sam, Dean, and (Y/N) sat across from Mrs. Holmes inside her estate where she had lived with her son, Brick, while he was a quarterback. It was spacious and let in plenty of light, but while living alone as an old lady, it felt like a bit much. Lonely and empty.
“Thank you,” said Mrs. Holmes graciously.
“You know, Brick Holmes was my idol back in high school. Amazing career,” said Sam. “Uh, eighteen pro seasons, seven division championships, four Super Bowls—never slowed down a day.”
Mrs. Holmes smiled fondly. “Brick lived for competition and athletic perfection. I don’t think it occurred to his fans that he was human, like the rest of us.”
“Do you know your son was an organ donor?” asked Sam.
“Does that make this a matter for the FBI?” asked Mrs. Holmes warily.
(Y/N) tilted their head.
“Like we explained earlier, we’re mostly here, uh, to dot some I’s on a different matter,” said Dean, smiling in explanation.
“There was a public-awareness thing a few years ago,” explained Mrs. Holmes. “A lot of star athletes signed on. I’m sure Brick didn’t think twice about it, since he never thought he was going to die.”
“A lot of jocks are like that, I guess,” said Dean. He paused before continuing. “You know, I-I can’t help wonder what happened that night on that bridge. There was light traffic, no alcohol involved, no skid marks. Big-time athlete, reflexes like a cat, how is it that he just drives off the side of a bridge?”
Mrs. Holmes pursed her lips. “When things happen that aren’t supposed to happen, they’re called accidents, I believe.”
“So, everybody knows about Brick’s football career, obviously, but no one knows much about his personal life.” Sam changed the subject. “Was he ever married?”
“Just to the game. He gave it everything he had. It’s a difficult life,” said Mrs. Holmes.
Something in her eyes spoke of more. (Y/N) tilted their head.
“Did you notice any changes in Brick before he died—you know, anyone, anything new in his life?” asked Dean.
“No, no. I don’t think so,” said Mrs. Holmes, shaking her head.
“So, no new interests? Fly fishing, stamp collecting, the occult?” asked Dean.
Smooth, thought (Y/N).
“The occult?” questioned Mrs. Holmes, voice turning sharper.
(Y/N) raised a brow at the reaction. “Just as an example. Some people like strange things. We don’t judge.” They killed.
Mrs. Holmes sighed. “Everything was just as it had been. I’m sorry, but I'm afraid my time is up.” She stood and gave them a polite smile. “The university is naming a new athletic building after Brick. I can’t be late.”
“Of course. Just one more question,” said Sam, standing with her.
“There is always one more question in life, isn’t there?” said Mrs. Holmes. “That’s what I find.” She left without another word.
Sam, Dean, and (Y/N) had no choice but to leave and head back to the impala parked outside. Sam cast a look back towards the house as they went, suspicion etched into his face.
“Oh, she didn’t want to say much, did she?” he remarked.
“That reaction to occult?” (Y/N) smirked. “Who wants to bet old Mrs. Holmes knew Brick was up to something?”
“Son of a bitch.” Dean looked up from his phone. “There it is. It happened.”
Sam furrowed his brow. “Come on, don’t tell us someone had their heart ripped out here in Boulder.”
