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Practically Magic Chapter Seven: The Stars That Guide You

Summary: Growing up in the same tiny mountain town, Y/N Owens and Dean Winchester despised each other. The only thing they ever agreed on was their need to escape. Life took them in opposite directions and neither of them ever looked back. So, when their paths cross over a series of gruesome murders in their hometown it was no surprise that old friction heated up again.

Dean never dreamed he’d be teaming up with a psychic, the FBI frowned on that sort of thing, but he was desperate. When that psychic turned out to be Y/N Owens, Dean knew two things for sure. One, Y/N was the real deal and two, he was in real trouble.

Pairing: Agent!Dean x Psychic!Reader, Dean x Reader, AU Dean x You Characters: Dean Winchester, Sam Winchester, John Winchester, Bobby Singer

Warnings: Slow Burn, Serial Killer Elements, Witches, Haters to Lovers, Claustrophobic Elements, Murder Scenes

Author’s Notes: This is an AU taking elements from the film Practical Magic and applying them to a fictional world where Dean Winchester is an FBI Agent. You will find parallels from that movie here, some quotes and other elements that capture the essence of the world of the Owens Witches. Hopefully! Additional Author’s Notes: This is a unique reader insert story as I have given the reader a physical description including hair color, eye color and body type. Chapter Six: The Stars That Guide You Word Count: 4614

“I dream of a love that even time will lie down and be still for.” – Sally Owens

April 19, 2008

Vivienne Owens was a straightforward woman. Tall and slim with an ageless face, she never lacked for companionship. A good laugh and a strong embrace were really all she sought when life got lonely. Never did she seek love. That kind of nonsense could ruin a witch! Especially if that witch was an Owens. She had no desire to spend her life mourning the loss of yet another victim of the family curse. Besides, her life wasn’t lacking in the love. She had you.

Funny, kind, and smart as a whip, you were the apple of your Gran’s eye. After the heartbreaking death of your mother, Viv found herself thrust into the role of guardian. Never would have guessed that out of that heartbreak would come such a gift! Raising you gave her a purpose she hadn’t expected. Life’s blessings were often found in unexpected places.

She was eternally grateful for the friendship you forged with Sam Winchester. That boy had a heart of gold and manners to match. For all the times she worried about the cruelty you might encounter out in the world, she never worried when you were with Sam. Unfailingly loyal and true. Exactly the sort of man Viv hoped would catch your eye when the time came. Alas, it wasn’t meant. She’d consulted every card and crystal on the matter, and they all had the same answer, not the one.

When the doorbell sounded, Viv answered it without hesitation. The gentleman caller waiting on the porch had her narrowing her eyes.

“Well, well. The bad penny.”

“Ms. Owens.” Dean replied with respect in his voice and his posture, hoping the Owens matriarch would give him a pass. For once.

“You’re supremely over-dressed to drive a pair of teenagers to the school dance. Or are you chaperoning?”

To his credit, he stood a bit taller, pride refusing to let him shrink away. “I’m Y/N’s date.”

Viv never liked Dean. A pretty faced bad boy who had neither the ambition nor the work ethic to be a decent match for any woman of quality. Certainly not for her cherished granddaughter.

She took a step towards him, steel in her dark eyes, “Not a chance.”

“Gran, stop teasing. We’re going to be late.”

There are events in life, specific moments that shift the world. Forever changing it and leaving us, the poor players struggling to right ourselves in the wake. By rights, one should be able to see something that epic a mile off. Maybe that was by design. How many of us would stay in the path of chaos when the outcome is so uncertain?

For better or worse, Dean was rooted to the floor as he watched you descend the staircase. If Sammy were there, he would have rattled off some random fact about the symbolic meaning of a staircase. A journey or a passageway uniting two states of being. But Dean didn’t need it spelled out for him, it was plain as day. You’d raced up those stairs a thousand times as a girl, but tonight a young woman came back.

“Uh… Sammy’s sick,” Dean blurted out, surprised that he was able to form a sentence.

“Yeah, he just called, poor guy.” You smiled, revealing perfectly straight, white teeth. Visible for the first time without braces, “You look really nice.”

Dean tried to blink himself out of his stupor. He’d watched you grow up, but this was seeing you. Really seeing you for the first time. Your dress was purple, of course it was. Strapless and fitted to the waist where it flared out into a proper princess gown with layers of tulle. There were thousands of tiny crystals sewn into the design that sparkled when you moved.

You had curves. Real curves. Your bust… wow. When did that happen?? Your normally mousy brown hair was a shade darker and pinned back with a silver comb so that it fell prettily over your shoulder. Your eyes looked darker too, lined and luminous. They held expectation, reminding him to speak.

“You’re beautiful.”

You could count on one hand the number of times Dean had spoken without a trace of sarcasm or swagger. This wasn’t the way he spoke to Lisa Braeden or any of the other girls that came around. There was no smirk. No flirt. No charming line. The sincerity in his voice was mirrored in the green eyes that held yours.

“Y/N.”

The way he said your name made butterflies stir in your stomach! No boy had ever said your name like that before, like a prayer and a promise mixed together. Like you were special and meant to be treated that way.

Confidence bloomed. You tilted your head with a teasing grin and spun in a circle, “Do you like my princess dress?”

“Oh, I’m a fan,” Dean chuckled, his cheeks turning pink in the process.

You picked up the skirt and revealed a pair of transparent heels that sparkled like they’d been dipped in fairy dust. “Look,” you laughed. “Cinderella!”

“Alright, you two, picture time.”

You pulled on a pair of long, white opera gloves and Dean tied the corsage of wisteria and starflowers to your wrist. The sight of big, tough Dean Winchester tying a delicate bow made your heart melt. You did your best to be grown up about it and straightened his bowtie in exchange.

Viv posed you by the ornately carved banister at the base of the stairs. Dean stood behind you, his arm wrapped naturally around your waist, and you glanced up at him with a smile. The camera was a family heirloom, several generations old. If the light was right, the lens would reveal the subject’s aura. She didn’t even have to adjust the focus, the haze around the pair was glowing bright pink, edging into crimson. Viv silently cursed.

When love is true, there is a rosy hue.

“Come on, Princess. I got your carriage waiting,” Dean said, holding the door for you.

Gran dropped a kiss to your forehead, “Have fun, darling girl.”

“Love you, Gran,” you smiled back as you fastened the wrap around your shoulders.

Vivienne’s fondness cooled as she regarded the eldest Winchester. The fates may have deemed you a perfect match, but she sure as hell didn’t have to like it.

“I’ll have her home by midnight, Viv… ah, Ms. Owens.”

“Treat her like a princess and we won’t have an issue, Mr. Winchester.”

Dean shook the hand the woman held out to him and tried to shrug off the ill-ease that came with it. He knew Viv didn’t hold him in high esteem, but this was the first time he felt a true, underlying threat. He didn’t want to fixate on what his fate would be if he failed to deliver you at the appointed hour.

“It’s a promise.”

If the road to hell is paved with good intentions, then your prom must have been held at the ninth gate.

You never meant for things to go so badly; your motives were entirely pure! Wear the dress, play the part, and behave yourself. A task so simple anyone could do it. Anyone except you, apparently.

You wrung your gloved hands together in your lap as the Impala squealed out of the high school parking lot. Too nervous to steal a glance at Dean, you turned your attention to the houses and street signs whizzing by. He wasn’t saying anything, and you could hardly blame him. In under twenty minutes you managed to turn a normal, if bland, school dance into utter chaos! So much for a night of playing princess.

When the silence in the car finally became more than you could take, you spoke. “Do you think everyone noticed?”

“Which part? When the strobe lights exploded or when that statue of Charlie Baker came to life and ordered a whiskey?”

“We shouldn’t have a statue of him in the first place, he murdered dozens of Ute Indians.”

“Yeah, well tonight he was aiming for the principal.” Dean gave a thoughtful pause, “Is that girl’s hair going to grow back?”

You groaned and let your head fall back against the seat, “Ugh! Gran’s gonna have my ass. I’m supposed to be working on control. I’ll be lucky if they don’t hang me in the town square!”

“Nah, it’s not that bad. Most people won’t even believe it, they’ll probably blame it on a prank gone wrong or bad beer.”

The car went quiet again as you ran through dozens of ways you could explain this to your grandmother. None of them good. Maybe you should go back and try a memory spell? You were still inexperienced with casting and something of this size was not for a novice. Given your track record, there was a good chance it would backfire. As if things could get any worse…

Then you heard Dean snicker.

Looking over, you saw his shoulders start to shake. An ill-concealed grin took over his face, although he clearly tried to fight it.

“Dean! It’s not funny!”

He laughed then, loudly. Cracking up so bad he had to wipe a tear from his eye. “Did you see the look on Mrs. Walcott’s face then Charlie called her a Painted Lady and asked how much?”

You shook your head and pressed your lips together, trying to keep a straight face. It didn’t work. Dean had the best laugh and when he really got going it was contagious.

“A dollar for the night, two if the lights stay on,” you chuckled, repeating Charlie’s offer.

“Holy hell, Y/N… best prom ever!”

It was early yet, so rather than take you home to face a lecture, Dean headed in the opposite direction. Ten miles outside of town and up the side of the mountain, he pulled off to a lookout point. Not well used, the gravel road was overgrown with weeds just starting to green for the spring. He parked Baby facing the valley below. The worn, flannel blanket in the trunk still spread perfectly over the hood for the two of you to lay on.

No stars shone through the overcast sky, making the lights of Silverton especially bright.

Dean pulled a flask from his inside coat pocket and offered it to you, “Sorry your prom blew up.”

You took a sip, surprising him by not choking on the warm whiskey. “It’s not a total loss,” you replied, handing it back to him. “The company’s still top notch.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. I’ve missed you.”

You still couldn’t believe that he was here, let alone your date! You hadn’t seen much of Dean after he graduated. He bounced around taking a few trade courses and working in garages off and on. He didn’t seem to have much of a direction except to get out of Silverton. You suspected that the only thing keeping him around at all was Sam.

After what happened with Bobby, Dean closed himself off to you. There were no more Saturday afternoons spent tuning up the Impala. No more hot cocoa after class or karaoke on country drives. You missed his friendship and his company, but fear and pride kept you from seeking him out.

Still, he was here now, and you took it as a good sign.

“I missed you too.”

Sudden shyness had you looking away and changing the subject. “Sam said that you were working in Denver.”

“Ah yeah, for a while, you know.” Dean took another swallow of whiskey and looked out to the city lights, “It’s a little big for a kid from the sticks. I spent most of my time in Greeley.”

An image popped into your mind of blowing blonde hair and sad eyes. “Greeley. That’s where your mom was from.”

A bittersweet smile tugged at his lips, “Your hocus pocus is getting better, Pip.”

“Sorry,” you whispered.

“Nah, don’t be. It’s no secret.”

“So, you have family there? Mary’s family?”

“Sure do!” he barked out a laugh, “A whole clan of Campbells. Aunts and uncles, cousins. Both grandparents. They, ah… they have this big ol’ ranch up there. It’s really beautiful.”

“They must have been happy to see you, it’s been a long time.”

“I didn’t tell them who I was. Made up a story about passing through looking for work. Helped them get one of their tractors up and running again, but I moved on after a couple of days.”

You found his hand in the dark and laced your fingers through his. He squeezed back, latching onto it like a lifeline.

“They didn’t recognize me. Dad always said I looked like her, but they didn’t even look at me twice. I told ‘em my name was John Bonham! That should have at least raised an eyebrow.”

“What did Sam say about it?”

Dean sat up, his knees pulled up so he could rest his elbows on them, “He doesn’t know I went.”

The rejection and grief seeped out of the old wound in his heart. The pain so acute that you felt it as your own. You knew what it was to lose a mother, but you were never alone with it. You had Gran. Dean bore his burden on his own. By necessity and by choice.

“Tell him. He’s your brother, he wouldn’t want you to go through this alone.”

“Sweetheart, that’s exactly the point. Sammy’s always saying we’ve got family out there, always wanting to know more about them. Well, now I know about ‘em.”

“You went to Greeley for Sam.”

“I wasn’t gonna let him get hurt.” Dean hopped down from Baby’s hood and kicked a few stones from his path,

“My mom loved this spot. She used to drive us up here all the time, even before Sammy was born. This was where she told me I was going to be a big brother! Hell, she even told me before she told Dad. Taking care of that kid is my job, the only one I ever gave a damn about. The only one I was ever any good at.”

You got down from the car and pulled Dean into a tight hug. Your fingers curled around the nape of his neck as he buried his face in your shoulder. You stayed like that for a long time, absorbing the hurt along with the dampness of old tears.

“You’re doing a good job, Dean,” you whispered into his ear. “She’s very proud of you.”

He crushed you to him and closed his eyes until he could breathe again. After a time, the heavy cloud of grief lifted, and he felt better than he had in a long time. When he released you, he found calm and kindness in your gaze instead of judgement. You were far too young to have eyes so wise.

He shifted gears, deliberately trading melancholy for frivolity. He reached into the Impala through the driver’s side window. “You know Y/N, I’m not doing a very good job of keeping my word to your Gran.”

Your head tilted, not entirely sure what he was up to. “What do you mean?”

“I promised her to treat you like a princess.” His voice was muffled as the radio came to life. The first chords of Dylan’s Knockin’ on Heaven’s Door floated out into the night.

Your eyes grew wide as he held out a hand to you with a dashing smile, “Every princess deserves a dance.”

“Oh! No, Dean. I don’t know.”

“Why not? This is a great song!”

“Well, ah… I just never,” you cleared your throat and whispered, “I don’t know how to dance.”

He paused for a moment. He saw the uncertainty in your gaze, and he banished it with a wink, “Just follow my lead, Sweetheart. I’ll teach you all you need to know.”

Before you could protest, he grabbed your hand tugged you out into the clearing. He quickly spun you in a dizzying circle, making you crash into him with a laugh. One of your hands was guided to his shoulder and he told you to hang on tight. You only stepped on his toes a couple of times before you found the rhythm.

“Look at that,” he beamed down at you, “You’re a natural.”

Warmth spread through you like sunlight as you settled into the dance. You focused on new and fascinating sensations, like the feeling of his hand on your waist. The subtle scent of his cologne. The smoothness of his clean-shaven cheek as it brushed against yours. The way your hands fit, like they were meant to go together.

“Y/N?”

His voice was rough, but softened when he said your name.

“Hmm?”

“Does it always feel like that?”

You didn’t dare look at him. “What do you mean?”

“Magic,” he said at last. “Back at the school, there was this zap.”

Your grip on his shoulder tightened. “You felt that?”

A laugh bubbled up from his throat as he swayed you back and forth, “Hell yeah, I did! It was like a lightning strike! Is it always like that when you twitch your nose?”

Your mind raced, there was no way he should have felt that! No mortal would have, not even someone close to you. Only a witch born to the craft would be able to detect an energy fluctuation like that. And even so, it would have been minimal.

“No, not always. It depends on what I’m feeling.”

“So, back there you were… pissed?”

“Yes. Anger carries heat, makes it snap and sizzle,” you carefully explained. “Magic always comes from within. From your heart. Emotions give it fuel.”

“Can you do it again?” His green eyes curious, “Another spell, a different one.”

When you didn’t answer right away, he thought he’d offended you. But you didn’t push him away. Another song came on the radio, and you pulled him in close. He wasn’t lying earlier; you were incredibly light on your feet. This time you led, spinning him around in pleasant circles to the music. The full skirt of your dress swishing around your feet.

Your lips barely brushed his ear as your whispered, “The star that guides you shines brightest in the dark.”

He didn’t know what the words meant, but goosebumps broke out as soon as you said them. Similar to what he felt back at the prom, but not as sharp. This was warm and seductive, like a good bourbon. Honeyed gold. Rays of the sun that filtered through the Aspens in autumn. Completely relaxed and a bit tipsy. It felt good, and so did he.

The light broke him out of his magic haze. And it took him a minute to realize that it was coming from you. You were glowing.

Actually glowing.

It started with your dress. The tiny sequins shimmered, then got brighter. Twinkling stars against the violet fabric like the night sky. Delicate threads of iridescent silver light wove through your hair and swirled over your skin. The light gathered and grew bright between your joined hands. Not even your satin gloves could keep the heat from radiating at the connection.

When you raised your dark eyes to meet Dean’s, everything stopped. Even the music stopped. He was aware of nothing except you. The way you looked at him, like he hung the moon in the sky. The shape of your lips as you said his name. It was plain as day and he’d been a fool not to see it.

You raised your hand and with a flick of your wrist, the clouds whisked away. Millions of stars danced in the sky and a comet blazed a path over the mountains in the distance. The moon came out and shone down silver beams so bright that you and Dean could see each other clearly. There was no hiding in the shadows. No dancing around the half-whispered rumors that plagued your family.

Dean’s wide eyes scanned the sky in wonder before landing on you. You held your breath, the confidence that flooded you a moment ago ebbed away. This was you naked. Exposed. Vulnerable. Rule one, never reveal your magic! Witches were burned for that sort of thing.

He gently brushed his knuckles over your cheek, proving to himself that you were real. “How? How did I not see?”

“I don’t normally perform spells in public.”

His other hand came to rest on your waist, certain that if he didn’t keep contact you would disappear like a dream. “I don’t mean the magic, I mean you. You grew up, Y/N.”

You bit your lip, “So did you.”

“You did a better job of it, Sweetheart.”

“Oh, I don’t know,” you replied, running your hands over the lapels of his suit. “You look pretty grown up to me.”

Eyes closed and lips met. Cautious and curious at first, then warm and open. As natural and essential as breathing. Moving in tandem and growing in intensity. It was impossible to tell who initiated it, but it didn’t matter. It was the sweet connection of souls that inspired playwrights and poets.

Dean wasn’t a believer in fate, but he couldn’t deny the feeling of rightness. Every step he’d taken, even when he walked away from you, was leading him here. He knew it, all the way down to his bones. He wasn’t always sure what he wanted his life to look like or what he wanted to do with it. But now he knew one thing for certain, he wanted it to include you.

You blinked up at him with a dazed expression as he gently pulled away. He tucked a strand of hair back behind your ear with a soft chuckle, “Everything okay?”

Ever so delicately, you brought your fingers up to trace the shape of his face. The ridge of his brow, the angle of his cheekbone. No one had ever touched him with such softness or reverence. Your touch ghosted over his lips, and you smiled.

“Everything’s perfect.”

Dean walked you to your door just as the clock struck twelve. He kissed your hand, certain that anything more than that would lead to the backseat of the Impala, and you deserved better than that. He wanted better than that, for both of you.

“Thanks for tonight, I had a really good time.”

“Me too. Sleep well, Princess.”

You shyly ducked your head before closing the door behind you with a quiet click.

He was halfway down the sidewalk, congratulating himself on his restraint when the door opened. He turned just in time to see a cloud of purple sparkles barreling towards him. He caught you with a happy grunt as you wrapped your arms around his neck and kissed him with enough enthusiasm to take his breath away. Electricity zinged over his skin and made his heart jump.

Your grin was triumphant, and you gave his lips one last peck, “Goodnight, Dean.”

“Goodnight… Y/N.”

You spun away laughing, and skipped back to the house, “Let’s get coffee tomorrow!”

“Okay,” Dean said, as much to himself as to you. The door closed again and this time the lock latched. Viv’s tall shadow passed by the window, evidently you were in for the night whether you wanted to be or not.

Dean shoved his hands into his pockets and whistled to himself as he walked back to the Impala. Tonight turned out to be the best rollercoaster ride of his life, and he never wanted to get off.

As his hand reached the garden gate, a low growl sounded from the darkness. He stopped dead in his tracks as a massive black dog came out of the shadows. It stood between him and the car. Its eyes glowed an eerie red and the hackles on it’s back made the long fur stand up in warning. The night air, light with new love turned stale and sulfuric. Even the silver moonlight shifted to sallow green.

Dean slowly moved his hands to his jacket, searching for a pocketknife or his keys. Anything to use as a weapon. Coming up empty, he knew speed was his only hope. The evil thing threw its head back in a terrifying howl and Dean ran! Back up the flagstone path to the house, but he only got a few feet before he was tackled to the ground. Sharp teeth gleamed and gnashed as he struggled with the monster. It was impossibly strong and smelled like death and decay.

It went for his throat and Dean was just able to deflect its attack. It missed his jugular but clamped down on his forearm. Blood poured, skin and muscle shredded away from the bone and Dean screamed. Another soul lost to the beast.

Bam. Bam. Bam.

“Dean! Get up, damn it!”

Dean bolted upright in his bed. Soaked in sweat and sticking to the sheets, he frantically looked around the room for the wolf. Met with only frilly fabrics and case files, he rubbed a hand over his thudding heart.

“Come on, you jerk!” Bam. Bam. Bam. “Open up!”

Oblivious to the fact that he was in his boxers, Dean stumbled to the door and slid the dainty gold chain off the lock.

“What?!”

Sam rolled his eyes and shoved past his brother, “What the hell took you so long? Were you sneaking a chick out the bathroom window?”

Dean stepped out on to the tiny porch, his eyes squinting in the sun as he scanned the street. His Baby was still parked right where he left her, along with a few other cars. A woman jogged by pushing a stroller, white puffs of air rose as she exhaled. A typical, crisp morning in Silverton.

“Dean, you alright?” Sam asked from the doorway.

“Did you see a dog a few minutes ago?”

“What?”

“A big, black dog. Maybe a wolf?”

“A wolf?’ Sam’s brow furrowed, “No. What’s going on?”

“I must be losing my damn mind,” Dean muttered, going to the kitchenette and pouring himself a cup of day-old coffee. “What are you doing here, Sammy?”

“I’ve been calling you all morning, when you didn’t call back, I figured you forgot to charge your cell or something.” Sam’s clear gaze faltered, “There’s been another murder. Called it in an hour ago.”

“Damn it.” Dean grabbed his discarded suit and headed for the bathroom. “Give me a minute, I’m right behind you.”

He splashed cold water over his face, not bothering with a shave. The vivid dream turned nightmare was still fresh in his mind. But he couldn’t focus on any of that now. He had a killer to catch, God willing this latest strike would yield more clues than the others did.

Dean’s reflection stared back as he jammed the toothbrush into his mouth. He looked like hell. Weeks of late nights and early mornings left dark circles under his eyes and carved lines in his forehead. His hair was shaggy and the stubble on his chin was turning the corner from scruff to beard. He was starting to look just like his dad!

As he rinsed the brush, he noticed something on his arm. Two crescent shaped marks raised and red on the skin of his forearm. Tender to the touch. The size and shape of a dog bite.

A Hellhound, you’d said. A death omen.

Dean scooped up your Black Obsidian from the counter and fastened the silver chain around his neck before he buttoned up his shirt. He wasn’t a superstitious man, but if nightmares could become reality, then he’d need all the help he could get.

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