It Should Be You (pt1)
The Winchesters x Reader
Summary: After a plan goes horrendously wrong, Dean blames you. Distraught and convinced by his words, you turn to some old, toxic coping mechanisms for help. Alone in the bunker, you become out of hand and time is running out for the brothers to stop you.
Warnings: 18+. This one is pretty deep I’m sorry. MAJOR TW for death, suicide, self-harm, addiction, overdose, alcoholism, self-hatred, depression. Also angry Dean and some domestic violence. Please please please do not read this if you get triggered easily - this is all fiction and doesn’t glamourise anything. If you ever need to talk, my messages are always open.
On a less serious note, spoiler for 14x14.
Word count: 1,361
The pyre was the biggest one you’d made yet. It had taken hours - you, Sam, Dean and Jack cutting down as many trees as you could. You were exhausted, but it had at least helped distract you from what you had just lost.
Maggie had become your best friend lately. You hadn’t realised how lonely it had been just living with the boys until the other hunters had come through the portal and started living with you in the bunker. Having another girl around made a world of difference, and pretty quickly you and Maggie had bonded. She was like the sister you never had. And now she was gone.
They were all gone. All the hunters who had been integrated into your world, who had made you a full team. Why? Because you’d been stupid enough to let Michael out of Dean’s head. Not your Michael, of course. He’d been gone since before you’d met the Winchesters. Which you were glad about, because this alternative Michael was horrific, and you never wanted to encounter two of them.
Tears were streaming as you watched their bodies burn before you, partly because of the abundance of smoke, but mostly because you felt torn apart. Why was it just loss after loss after loss nowadays? You couldn’t remember the last time you’d had a win.
You cleared your throat, feeling like it was time to say a few words. “I didn’t know the crew for very long but...”
“Shut up.” Dean interrupted from your right. You turned to look at him, his stance wide, his head down. He didn’t look up at you when he said “just shut up. You don’t get to talk about them.”
You turned away, slightly taken back. Had you said something wrong? “Dean...” Sam moved between the two of you. “Don’t take it out on Y/N, c’mon.”
“Why the hell not, Sam?” Dean was angry now as he started walking towards you, shrugging his brother out the way. “This is her fault. She should have been the one to go on that hunt with you and Jack, not me. She should have been the one who got their head bashed in, not me. But because she didn’t, Michael got out. And now they’re all dead. So you don’t get to say anything about them, not a word, because they’re dead because of you”.
He was standing right in front of you now, eyes of fire fixated on yours. It was a little intimidating, to be frank. You’d seen Dean be like this to other people before, but never to you. “Dean I -” You didn’t even know what to say, not that you had much of a chance to, because as soon as you opened your mouth he grabbed you by the shoulders and shoved you into the tree behind you.
“Dean!” Sam shouted, reaching to grab his brother back. You caught Jack’s glance, realising with sudden guilt this was exactly the position he had been in time after time again. Dean was furious, and he was directing it all towards you this time.
“They were good people, Y/N. They were loved. Maggie, she helped us all. She was kind, she was genuine. She’ll be missed. But you know who wouldn’t be? You.” Sam and Jack were too stunned to move as you trembled under Dean’s tightening grip.
“It should be you up on that pyre.” The words were filled with venom as he spat them at you. “No one loves you, Y/N, and no one ever will. You mess everything up, every time. All you had to do was do your job, but no, you’re such a stubborn little bitch you had to do things your way. You should be the one dead. That way no one would care.”
Tears were streaming down your warm cheeks but you held your sobs back. “Okay Dean, that’s enough. Let her go” Sam took hold of Dean’s shoulder and pulled him back, but those eyes stayed locked on yours with their vicious anger. You felt Jack reach his arm round you, but you just shrugged him off. “I’m fine,” you snarled. “I’ll see you back at the bunker.”
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The bunker felt cold and unwelcoming when you got back. It was just so empty, you started to freak out. Grabbing a beer from the kitchen, you did the one thing you knew could boost your mood - put some punk rock on and turn it up loud. While you and Dean had kinda similar tastes in music, you liked the up-and-coming bands which he usually shunned in favour of the old classics. With no one else here, this was the perfect chance to listen to what you wanted, as loud as you wanted.
You pretty much downed a beer each track, and by time the time you’d got to a 2000s medley, you realised it just wasn’t cutting it. You were still miserable.
“It should be you up on that pyre”. Dean’s words kept going round and round in your head. He was right; you consistently messed things up, and no one would miss you. You hadn’t spoken to your parents in years, not since they kicked you out for not being the good little Christian girl they wanted you to be. Everyone else who had been in your life left pretty quick. You couldn’t hold down a job. And now you’d got 6 people killed.
About half way through the second bottle of vodka, you realised you knew this feeling. You’d felt like this before, when you were about 17. Numb, useless, just taking up space. Panicky, anxious, pessimistic. The drinking had helped that, so did the drugs. You’d been clean for over a decade now - but then, you hadn’t felt this hopeless in that long.
Living in a bunker with a bunch of hunters meant the first aid kit was generally pretty well stocked. In fact, you’d been on a supply run just a few days earlier. You finished the bottle and headed back to the kitchen, grabbing the box before doubling back on yourself and taking a bottle of Dean’s favourite whisky just for good measure. He’d be livid when he found out, but something about that felt quite satisfying.
Now the party could really get going. You emptied a couple of pills into your hand, and within a few songs your mood instantly changed. Who cared about stupid old Dean? He was just a bitter, lonely guy with waaaay more blood on his hands than you’d ever have. And as for Maggie and the crew - they were in a better place now anyway. Probably.
You closed your eyes and let the room around spin. Blues, greens, pinks, yellows flashed around you like a dancefloor. You jumped on your bed, screaming the lyrics of song after song until your throat was dry and beads of sweat were running down your forehead. You didn’t care that the boys might get back soon, nothing could ruin your fun now. All you needed was yourself, your stereo, a bottle of liquor and a crate of pills.
The problem was, you weren’t 17 anymore, and you couldn’t party like it either. Boiling hot, you pulled off your sweater and slouched down the side of the bed in just a vest. Taking another handful of pills, you decided to switch things up. Upbeat punk pop became melancholy, heartbreak ballads. Before long you were swaying with yourself, making your way through the first aid kit and washing it down with Dean’s whisky. You didn’t even realise you were crying, you felt so distant. It was like you were on the ceiling, then under the bed, then climbing the walls. Up and down, down and up, you let your brain take you wherever it went. Running away from the hell you were in, far far away to somewhere full of kindness and love. But no matter how far you ran, Dean’s voice still echoed: “it should be you up on that pyre.”
“It should be you up on that pyre”
“It should be you up on that pyre”
“It should be you...”
| PART 2 |
