Loved that Steve didn't volunteer to be the bait when they were trying to lure the Mindflayer to the cliffs in the finale. The Steve from the beginning of the season would have jumped at that before Robin even finished speaking. Being bait for a giant spider monster has been a Steve Harrington job since he first started fighting monsters. Instead, there's that long pause after Robin says it, and to me it looks like Steve looks at Dustin and Dustin looks at Steve. He doesn't even step up when Nancy says she'll be the bait. He really is taking Dustin's concerns seriously. He really is choosing Dustin over everything else this season and that is everything to me
idk any of the technical ways to describe this but I'm obsessed with how the lighting and coloring in early seasons spn is fairly grainy and dim and desaturated but it's all still easy to actually see what he's happening...like with so many other shows that go for the Dark aesthetic it's impossible to gif or even watch sometimes bc you can't see anything but supernatural was so good at using light sources while still giving you the general Vibe of a desaturated and low lighting scene
brought to you by 2x20 bc this scene is in a cemetery in the middle of the night and you still get that feeling of darkness while being able to see where it matters and where the focus is (especially obsessed with the lighting in the last part of the scene)
Y'all ever think about that episode where Dean was at the boys home with Sonny and ended up doing well in school and joined the wrestling team and had a date to the school dance and the look on his face when he realized John was there to get him and he'd have to leave all that behind? Yeah me neither.
Characters: (mostly) Beau Arlen / (flashbacks, for now) Dean Winchester x hunter!reader, also Denise and Cassie
AU: "Supernatural" x "Big Sky" crossover, set after S15 of SPN
One Shot (???)
Warnings:
- Major MC death mentioned (end of SPN spoiler), implied panic attack, angst and just buckets of tears (I'm coping with a certain someone's death here)
- No use of Y/N
- English is not my native language
Words: ~4,050
Setup: "Winchester" - That's the name you applied with at the police department, when you started a new life in Big Sky, Montana, 4 years ago. It's your deceased husband's name. Or rather, meant-to-be husband, since Dean died 2 weeks before he got to propose to you.
Today you return from your one month time-out. But a lot has changed since you went to visit Sam; You've got a new sheriff.
And he's the same man you thought you'd never see again.
The Broken Circle
Cold.
In one word, that's your last memory of when you gingerly cupped Dean’s face. How your tender fingers caressed his bruised cheeks and wiped away the dirt from his battered skin. Shakily combed out the rubble from his damp brown hair and scrubbed the dry blood off his fingers.
The last time you squeezed Dean's lifeless hand before it slipped from your trembling fingers. Cold and busted lips scraped against yours when you gently kissed him goodbye for the last time in this life.
...Or so you hoped. Who knew what heaven had in stock for you two.
You just wished you could have been there, in that damn barn. Been with him in his last minutes. Could have held his hand next to Sam. Could have told him how much you loved him. Reassure him that you'd give up the hunting life like you both had planned. That you'd try and live a good life for him... and that you were sure you'd see each other again.
But instead you had to take leave of Dean's lifeless body. Hollow. Drained of everything that made him the man you loved and had planned to spend the rest of your life with.
Dean gave his life for so many innocent people – hell, for the entire world. But he never got to have his own life. Never got to live it the way he wished to.
It just seemed so damn unfair. You had so much planned for your future. Have yourself some rug rats, a dog maybe, a house, a garden with those ridiculous white picket fences. You’d live a cherry pie life once you’d leave the hunting life behind you.
Or so you liked to picture it in your heads. On those rare, peaceful nights where you'd rest in each others arms like an old couple. His fingers combing your hair while your thumb carefully stroked his battered knuckles. Whispers of daring dreams filling the silence.
But reality was cold. Bloody. Like an animal put down. With a last effort, put to rest on his bed in the bunker by Sam and you.
This image will haunt you for the rest of your life, you know it. It already did for the past 5 years. If only you could have —
"Winchester?"
You blink rapidly, your mind thrown off for a moment when you snap out of your spiraling thoughts.
Denise waves with a paper in front of you to get your attention back. "She was mutilated. And it wasn't a bear. Her heart had been cut out."
"Jesus," Cassie breathes with a look of shock and disgust, shifting uncomfortably next to you.
"Yeah," Denise's face grimaces into a painful one. Her eyes are darting from Cassie, down to the report and back up to your still slightly absent gaze. "What do you make of it, Winchester?"
"Sounds like a werewolf." Damn it. The words slipped your lips before you could fully snap out of your memories. “I mean, sounds like a bit far-fetched but I’ll let Sheriff Tubbs know.” You force a wry smile when you grab the piece of paper from Denise’s hands, ready to head out of this messed up conversation.
“Sheriff Arlen,” Cassie calls after you and you stop in your tracks to look back at them with arched eyebrows.
“Sheriff who?” You inquire with a puzzled look. How the hell could you have missed this much in just one month off duty?
“Sheriff Beau Arlen,” Cassie repeats and Denise quickly adds with a teasing hum, “And his ass is just- mmmh-” she makes a chef’s kiss hand gesture while Cassie rolls her eyes with an amused chuckle.
You let out a huff in mock-annoyance but can’t help the faint grin on your face. Maybe, one day you’d dare to befriend them. Maybe, whenever you’d feel ready for letting people into your life again. But not today.
Ready to pick up your work at the police department, your eyes immediately land on the new name on what used to be Sheriff Tubbs office. ‘Sheriff Beau Arlen’ is written in an arched, golden text across the door’s glass.
You raise a sceptical eyebrow at the name. “Beau” you spit out the name under your breath, already feeling a distaste for this new sheriff.
In your defence, it wasn’t personal. It is just in your nature to feel sceptical towards anything new, especially people. Perhaps you gave up your hunting life. But any hunter will tell you between a swig of whiskey and a loaded shotgun that you’ll never lose your hunter instincts, no matter how hard you try. That’s not how it works. You don’t end this business by walking out the door.
It ends you.
In some way you were like trained bloodhounds. Always one chase away of your next kill. Unable to ignore the smell of blood. You were painfully aware of that fact. You could never live a fully normal life without the occasional hunch or a nervous look over your shoulder.
But you’d learned to accept it and make the best of it.
Here you can still help people. Save people. And once in a while nudge the sheriff into the right direction when you suspected something more than a suicide. Or you’d discreetly plant anti-possession charms on people when you had a hunch that demons were involved in a case.
Yet Sam believes you had retired fully from hunting like he did. And you liked to belief so, too. But on some days you weren’t so sure whether you even wanted to.
In some twisted way, hunting will always connect you with Dean. And at the same time it pains you, like a slow poison. Because you know it’s what he hated and never wanted for you.
And what took him from you.
It is a walk on a tight rope, really.
With a little huff of defiance you push the door to the sheriff’s office open. Your eyes dart around the empty room as you lean slightly forward, “Sheriff Arlen?”
Nothing. Oh well. With a quick glance over your shoulder you decide to take the chance and just drop off the report. You step inside, your fingers tracing the edge of the paper as your mind is instinctively drawn back to the case. I’ll have to look into this… bloody werewolf —
“Ah, Deputy Winchester, ain’t it?”
You freeze in mid motion.
And so does time. The paper slowly slides from between your trembling fingers and flutters to the floor. The unmistakable voice jolting through your mind and body like a lightning bolt. Your breath is caught in your throat, your mind and body paralysed.
The world holds its breath.
This is impossible.
“...Winchester, innit?” he repeats as he steps into the office and casually walks up to you, a wide smile spread across his face.
It can’t – NO.
You don’t dare to turn around.
Not that your body would be capable of any movement anyway. Every muscle is tense, your spine’s gone completely rigid. And your heart’s hammering against your ribs like it’ll crack your chest open from the inside.
You stand there like a deer caught in headlights. Headlights of a ‘67 Chevy Impala called Baby.
It has to be my imagination.
“Ya got somethin’ for me there? Oh-” You feel his elbow briefly brush your side as he bends down to pick up the paper next to your foot.
You don’t move an inch and stare ahead.
He straightens up again and steps around you to place it down on his desk. When he finally moves into your view and turns around to face you with his warm smile – your heart stops.
Emerald green eyes look back at you. Deep and sparkling green oceans. Alive.
Your brain freezes. Your mind scrambling for an explanation but failing to come up with anything.
This can’t be.
After a moment of tense silence, the tremors of your bottom lip make way for what your mind refuses to believe in.
“Dean?”
His name slips you in a mere breathless murmur. Afraid that whatever this is, will shatter the moment you dare to breath again.
Beau raises a brow. “Dean?”
He repeats the name with such nonchalance, such valuelessness, like it’s just some random clerk who he’s got no business with. As if that name didn’t mean the world to you once. Still would. Still does.
But the way his name dropped from his lips…
It clogs your airways. And the question mark at the end was him ramming a dagger into your heart and twisting it, without him even realising.
“Uh, no ain’t that.” He gently shakes his head and his lips melt into a cheeky smile as if that would make his next words any less painful.
“I’m Beau.”
Silence. Once again you feel like the air’s sucked out of your lungs. Like someone had pushed you off a cliff.
Someone who is an imposter of your deceased husband.
Beau. Your jaw clenches. And the name bounces off your mind. Your initial reaction being immediate rejection. No, you’re not... Beau.
Your eyes flicker across the man in front of you.
He might look quite… changed. He’s got a beard, neatly trimmed even. His hair is longer and… soft. Gone was the rugged and calloused man you loved. But it is still him. His eyes with their hidden secrets lingering behind those intense glinting, emerald green pools. His bow legs you’d recognize out of a hundred. His voice, his features, his – everything. Everything on him seems much softer but still… in your eyes, it’s Dean. No doubt.
“Why are ya lookin’ like you saw a ghost?” Beau questions with a tilt of his head, leaning back against the edge of his desk.
His voice snaps you out of your intense gaze. Your mouth opens, but no words make it past your quivering lips. All words drowned out in a flood of a million questions. Your focus drifts off, your eyes darting around the office like you’re expecting Gabriel to pop up any second and laugh at you.
But the room stays reduced to the two of you.
You feel like you’re on a tipping point.
Hands clenched, one subtly moves back to your hidden silver dagger – you do what you were trained to do in situations like these; Your mind grips for the lifeline and kicks into hunter mode. You rattle off the list of possible monsters; Shapeshifter? Ghoul? Am I dreaming? Is it some sick game of a trickster God? —
“Darlin’? You alright?” he asks, his voice now more concerned. You look terrified. As pale as a sheet, the blood drained from your face. Close to a panic attack, he guesses by your rapid breaths. Beau reaches out with his hand, gently patting your arm to get your attention. “Hey… Easy, just breathe.”
At his touch you jolt and finally snap out of your state of shock. The hand hovering over the concealed weapon falters. His worried eyes lock with yours.
The life-line snaps. Your mind tips over. Enough to make your stomach twist and turn, about to throw up. With only one shared look, everything’s back; The pain, the poignant grief, the cold skin under your fingertips, Dean’s lifeless expression, emerald eyes gone dull, the stench of decay, of old blood and dirt and his burning flesh and-- it all crashes down on you. All the emotions and memories you had buried in the depths of your mind, now laid open.
Fresh and hungry. Slowly swallowing you whole. Again.
“I- I don’t feel so… good – sorry,” you sputter, your hand clutching your chest in an effort to keep it together. The same second you spin around on your heels and storm out of the office without looking back once.
Beau. His mere presence was suffocating.
You remember the moment you and Sam cleaned up Dean’s lifeless body. How your fingers brushed against a folded paper, carefully tucked away in his jacket’s inside pocket.
Sam’s face had contorted the moment you pulled it out. Clearly, he had known what secret the paper held and before you got to question his knowing look, he suddenly got up. While walking out, he said he’d give you some time alone with his brother.
Once you unfolded the notepaper halfway, your breath stopped. Your eyes slowly shifted from one scribbled word to the next, each of them hitting harder than the next, each of them taking more of your breath. You swallowed past the lump in your throat when the realization of what you’d been holding in your hand slowly set in.
They were notes of Dean. Notes for your upcoming anniversary in two weeks.
You unfolded the rest of it and your eyes widened. The paper began to crumple in your shaking hands while wet stains swallowed some of his jotted down keywords. When your burning eyes reached the last four words, it had felt like whatever was left of your broken heart had just been ripped out entirely.
The raw emotions rolled down your cheeks, your tears mixing with his last unspoken words…
“Will you marry me?”
Beau was left back staring at the slammed door in bewilderment and a little stunned. After a moment, he sighs and pushes off the desk to follow after you.
“Winchester!” He calls down the corridor, watching you stumble out the front door into the outside.
He jogs after you, slightly panting, while his eyes dart around the parking lot in search for you.
The rain crashes down on him the moment he steps outside. His head briefly tilts up to face the grey sky with an annoyed groan. The raindrops are pattering against his creased forehead, running down his cheeks to pool at the tip of his beard.
But then he hears a muffled sniffle next to him. Strands of his soaked hair fall into his face when he whirls his head around, spotting you leaned against the wall.
“No- no – it can’t be you – Damn it – it can’t…” you mutter under your rapid breaths, somehow trying to fight your scrunched up, stinging eyes with words of common sense. Your chest feels constricted. Your heart’s hammering in your ears and your breath’s clipped, feeling like you might faint any moment of lack of oxygen.
Leaning back against the wet wall for some support, your mind’s on the brink of a breakdown. There’s no explanation for this. This can’t be happening.
Beau suddenly appears in front of you and before you get to react, he places a hand on your shoulder. You flinch but don’t pull away. His hand feels heavy against your soaked jacket, grounding, gentle – but casual, like you would with a stranger. You are strangers.
“Hey, hey take it easy. You’re gonna give yourself a panic attack. You’ll be okay.” He says as he crouches down to your level. He glances over your trembling body and how your eyes try to avoid his, your expression like you’d just witnessed a murder in slow-motion.
“Look at me, deep breaths.” Beau speaks in a firmer, yet gentle tone, trying to break through your panicked state.
When you refuse to look up, he tilts his head down to meet your eyes behind some soaked stray hair that sticks to your skin. He pushes them out of your face, his intense gaze searching your contorted face for some form of hint for what’s got you so spooked.
He gives your shoulder a gentle squeeze. While his soothing words just keep coming, his voice now a lower whisper as he’s desperately trying to understand what is going on in that head of yours, “Hey, c’mon… talk to me, Winchester…”
Your eyes are burning from the tears that have been building up until now. Eyelashes heavy and clumped together by the droplets of the rain. And his intense eyes staring into yours, the very same eyes you fell in love with over 10 years ago, do nothing to ease your pain.
You try to tear your gaze away from his, but find yourself caught in them. It’s like you’re staring into a beautiful forest after years of living in a desert. They pull you in, and you feel like you are right back where you’d always longed to be. Home.
But a home that isn’t yours any more. The soul behind those eyes looks familiar and yet unfamiliar at the same time. You thought you’d never see those eyes again – but those very same eyes hold no memory of you.
The same question keeps repeating in your head, ripping at your heart and soul like a Hellhound.
Dean… is this you?
His voice cuts through your thoughts like a soft knife. “Take deep breaths darlin’, it’s oka-”
“Please- just-” you cut him short, a painful, shaky breath rippling through your voice, “Just stop talking.” Beau’s voice is like a dagger to your heart, twisting it whenever he speaks up. Mocking your memories with that uncanny tone of his.
I’m just tired. You hear Dean’s voice in your head and just like him, you wished you didn’t feel a damn thing.
Beau raises a brow and tilts his head forward, studying your face. For a moment he opens his mouth about to speak again, but when he sees you flinch, he forces himself to shut it closed.
His jaw’s clenched from fighting the urge to talk and feeling a bit overwhelmed with the entire situation. Not knowing where to go with himself or what to do without making things worse. He isn’t sure what it is, but something about you tugs at his heart in a way he can’t quite understand. But he quickly dismisses it, for now.
His eyes snap up to the sky when the rain starts to increase. Heavy drops splatter off the both of you, coaxing a single tear to let go of the corner of your eye. It was like the sky cried for you. Eyes that parched exactly 5 years ago.
Without a word he moves closer, gently wrapping his free arm around your waist. But you stop him before his palm touches your side. Your hand's shaking as it clings to his wrist like a lifeline.
Beau’s eyes widen in surprise, but he doesn’t comment on it. His expression grows pensive and his eyebrows slightly furrow, watching your trembling form. Your chest's heaving heavily, like you’re struggling for air. And your eyes are out of focus, like they're reliving some nightmare.
He suddenly feels a strong protectiveness - decides to hold himself back, though, afraid he might make things worse. But it pains him terribly to see you this way, even if he might not know you, yet.
You don’t say anything. Unable to form the right words as nothing could express the storm of contradicting emotions you are trapped in. The wavering grip on his arm is clenching and unclenching subtly as if unsure whether you want to push him away or pull him in.
“Sorry,” you finally croak between shuddering breaths, unsure what you were even apologizing for, “I’m sorry…”
Why were you apologizing? A strange feeling settles in his guts, one of this being a lot bigger than he could comprehend.
Next moment you know, you’re pulled into a tight hug. Both his arms wrapping around you to pull you close and hold you together.
At first you stiffen. Standing there like a fragile, shaking tree. Your arms pressed against your sides, unable to comprehend any more what is happening.
But he keeps you in his embrace, murmuring soothing words, muffled by your hair and the heavy rain. You lift your head slightly, just enough for your wavering eyes to meet his again.
That’s when the realization hits you. He looks so whole. So unbroken. His skin and his hair was smooth and tender beneath that thin layer of rain. He lacks any form of scar, any edges or any memory of the horrors you and he had faced and committed. Your heart twists; This isn’t what a scarred hunter looks like. And at the same time you feel your heart sink at the next conclusion… Beau would have been Dean’s idea of a perfect life, without ever having been born into the hunting business.
And it makes you wonder whether he was granted that alternate life.
Beau feels your trembling body against him and how your gaze is searching his face for something he doesn't know. Why are you looking at him like that? A lump forms in his throat. His hand gently caresses your back in a circle motion, while his other keeps stroking your hair.
“It’s alright, s’okay. You’re okay.” Beau says in a soothing, comforting tone and he tugs you a little closer, allowing you to rest against him.
Your wet hair falls into your face once more when your head drops to his chest. You both stay still, the only sound being the pitter-patter from the raindrops against the hood of his truck and the puddles around you. Your ragged breath’s nearly drowned out by the rain. The world seems to have shrunk to the beat of his heart softly thudding against your ear.
And that breaks the dam. Tears it down as the floods of emotions search their way out. Your shoulders rise and buckle against his chest. The tears finally break free, streaming down your face, mixing with the rain soaking your clothings. Your body wracked with sobs – raw, desperate, painful. Liberating.
You begin to shake uncontrollably, the sobs growing more and more powerful. They start to rack through every fibre of your body. Your legs grow unsteady beneath you, daring to crumble from the weight of every emotion you had buried in the past 5 years released and unloading all at once.
“I don’t know what’s going on, but I’ll stay right here as long as ya need me to. C’mere…” He reassures you, and pulls you even closer. His chin comes to rest on top of your head, his facial hair brushing against your scalp and his warm breath wafting down at you. “Just let it out… you’re gonna be okay… you’re not alone, ‘kay?”
You clutch at his jacket tightly, holding onto him like you’re drowning. Like you’re afraid he might be a dream after all. Might disappear from your grasp at any moment. Everything spills out of you, incoherent words bubbling from your wet lips. “Y-y-you’re alive- you’re alive- a-alive- I missed you so much, Dean- so so much-”
Beau can’t exactly make out the words that are tumbling from your mouth, but he can feel you shaking against him terribly. He quickly takes his big jacket off to drape it over you, to try and keep the rain and cold off you.
His heart tightens at the sight of your curled-up body, clinging to him while shivering badly and breaking apart in his arms. He slowly begins to speak again, a hint of an encouraging smile on his face, “Hey, ‘m gonna pick ya up. Ya ain’t gonna stand that cold and rain. Ya’ll get sick.” He then places his arms on your back and under your thighs, before lifting you up off the ground in one smooth motion.
He holds you close against his chest, wrapping his jacket over you for extra warmth. The rain patters against the concrete floor while his boots splash through the puddles, carrying you over to his truck.
You don’t protest as your body was giving in at this point. Like a run down shed in a storm.
Your fingers slowly going numb from the death grip, the wet and cold. You choke on your sobs while the tears keep rolling down your reddened cheeks.
But from joy.
You don’t know whether he is Dean or not. Whether this is real or you finally lost it.
But in this very moment you didn’t care.
You let yourself drift back to the happiest place in your mind. One you hadn’t dared to visit for many years. Locked up and keys buried along your husband. Deep down in your broken heart.
When you close your eyes and press the side of your face against his chest, you can hear his heart pounding. When he speaks, you hear Dean’s voice above you, soft and peaceful.
And you feel his body through the drenched pieces of clothings between you.
He feels warm.
Warm.
A/N: it was meant to be a drabble IT WAS MEANT TO BE A DRABBLE
I'M NOT CRYIN'- OKAY FINE I'm still coping with his death - I haven't even watched it since I'm still catching up with the seasons. GAWD I HTE THIS - I JUST NEEDED CLOSURE DAMN IT
Anyway, I just had to get this story off my chest before next year. I don’t know yet whether it deserves more parts but do let me know if you think so!
Summary: Can Dean and Y/N ever go back to normal after Demon!Dean paid a visit?
Pairing: Dean x Reader, Demon!Dean x Reader (kind of) Could be seen as a romantic or platonic relationship.
Warnings: Angst. Lots. Brief show level violence.
Word Count: 1, 986
A/N: So, this is a request from @kayyay1219:
So I was thinking Demon!dean x teen!reader where Dean has the mark of Cain and he does and comes back as a demon and he kidnaps her and Sam saves her and Sam gets the demon out of Dean. Then the reader is scared of Dean because all the trauma she went through. So Sam talks to her one night and she ends up going to Dean’s room and talking to him. He makes it up to her and they both have a movie night and cuddle.❤️
I made some changes to the request hon, hope they're okay. I didn't specify that it was a teen!reader, but it certainly could be. I tried to leave the reader as open as possible. Their affection can be read as romantic in nature or platonic. I also didn't include as much Sam in it as you requested, and kept the story a little simpler. It's just the way it came out, and I hope it still works for you.
Hope you all enjoy and please let me know what you thought - your feedback means everything! ❤️
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Dean felt as though there were razors under his skin, cutting him slowly, leaving him to bleed out; the pain was too visceral. Images rushed through his mind in a constant merry-go-round of horror; Y/N, her face terrified, her words dripping desperation as she begged and pleaded for him to stop.
“I know you’re in there, Dean, please, please don’t do this.”
The crack and rattle of her bones as he laughed away her tears and the blood-curdling scream of fear from deep in her throat pierced his ear drum until his mind was black with it all.
He lifted the full bottle of Jack Daniels to his lips and downed almost half of it before slamming it onto the table and gasping from the fire that burned his esophagus.
Sam came into the dimly lit library; Dean hadn’t bothered with many lights. The darkness was where he belonged. He cut off his little brother before he could offer him the solace and excuses that were just waiting there in his warm, hazel, puppy dog eyes.
“Don’t Sam. I absolutely don’t wanna hear it.”
Sam snapped his jaw shut and clenched it tight as he sat across from him. He let the quiet reign for a little while before speaking softly.
“Cas healed her, and I gave her a mild sleeping pill, should help her…” He cleared his throat. “Should keep her from dreaming too much.”
Dean nodded, hoping that was all his brother was going to say on the subject. But of course he should’ve known better.
“Dean. No, just listen.” He interjected when Dean started to interrupt him again. “What happened was awful, and it’s probably going to take Y/N some time to get over it, but she will.” Sam sighed deeply. “She loves you, Dean. She knows it wasn’t really you.”
Dean just closed his eyes as the mark on his arm warmed slightly to remind him that the demon may be gone for now, but the darkness that had turned him into a knight of hell was still there, still coursing through his veins like poison. How was it not him? It was his hands, his cruelty, his evil that had hurt one of the people he loved most in the world.
How were he and Y/N ever supposed to get past that and just carry on like before? He had no answers, so he picked up the bottle of Jack to see if there were any waiting at the bottom.
The red lights flashed throughout the bunker and the alarm blared; the color of blood and the sound of mechanical screaming kept Y/N running aimlessly through the halls, desperate to try and outrun the demon who snarled out his laughter.
She saw him appear at the end of one long hallway, so she darted down another, even though she knew his long, determined stride would eventually catch up to her. She ran into the kitchen and grabbed a butcher’s knife just as he hopped jauntily down the steps after her. She spun around with the knife raised as he stood smiling at the foot of the stairs.
He shook his head. “Oh, Y/N, silly girl. What do you think that’s going to do to me? I always thought you were smarter than that.”
He stalked towards her and she started to circle around the island. He followed, a soft, sardonic smile never leaving his face. She loved that smile, usually. But now, she didn’t see it reflected in his eyes as they blinked oil slick black.
“Please.” She said breathlessly as she half-heartedly waved the knife towards him. “I know you’re in there, Dean. Please, please don’t do this.”
His smile widened and suddenly he lunged at her, grabbing her by the neck and shaking her like a ragdoll, so hard that the knife clattered pointlessly from her numb fingertips. He slammed her back against the stone wall and a blinding pain erupted through her head as her skull cracked against it.
She felt nauseous as the pain rippled through her. He pulled her close to him, sneering into her face as she scratched at his hand to try and loosen his grip. She knew it was pointless, but he was letting in very little air as she flailed in his hand.
“I told you and Sammy to leave me alone. All you had to do was listen, all you had to do was stop being a nagging pain in the ass. All the two of you had to do, for once, was stop being my biggest fucking burden, stop trying to keep me down. I just wanted to fucking party, howl at the moon, like Crowley promised me. I just wanted the two fucking weights around my neck to drop off the face of the earth, and give me some goddamn peace and quiet.”
He slammed her back against the stone wall again, making every bone in her body ache. “But of course not. Of course Saint Sammy and Little Orphan Annie had to come try and save me. Well, if you won’t leave me alone, then I’ll just have to take you both out of the fuckin’ equation.”
Dean’s fist tightened around Y/N’s throat until black spots sprung up in front of her eyes. She believed beyond a doubt that this demon was about to end her. She tried to scream, but had no breath. The world went dark and she woke up finally able to scream out her terror.
Her bedroom was dark, and she fumbled with her bedside lamp to try and illuminate it. Just as she got it on, her bedroom door opened and light from the hallway spilled in.
Dean stood in her doorway, filling it up with his broadness. His face was slightly flushed and his gaze was a little frantic as he looked at her. The fear and worry that clouded his gaze was so very “Dean” that it brought new tears to her eyes. God, how much she’d missed him.
And yet, as he strode towards her, her body moved instinctively, scrambling to sit up against her pillows and headboard, pulling herself as far away from him as possible.
Dean stopped dead and didn't move for a moment. Finally he took a step back.
“Sorry, sweetheart. I heard you scream and I just…” He shook his head and took another step back towards her door. “But that was really stupid.”
He thumbed at the door behind him. “Okay, I'll uh, I'll send Sam in to check on you.”
“No, don't.” Y/N said quietly.
Dean looked her in the eye and nodded, seemingly confused. “Oh, okay. Then just…get some more sleep, I guess.”
He left the room quickly, quietly clicking the door behind him.
Y/N felt awful. She meant she didn't want Sam to come because she wanted him there. But when it came down to it, the words asking him to stay wouldn't come.
Dean was the person who'd always made her feel safest in the world. She'd always known she could count on him, that he would wade through hell to save her. She knew too that what the mark turned him into wasn't truly him. But the sneer on his beautiful face sat burned into her memory. She was having a hard time separating it from Dean's warm and occasionally goofy grin.
As she laid wide awake in her bed a frustrating dilemma played out in her mind. She was shaking from head to toe, internal shivers making her insides quake.
Ordinarily, when she was this scared and hurting, she'd run to Dean and cuddle up with him under his covers. She'd ask him to hold her close, tuck her head under his chin and envelop her in his muscular arms where she'd finally feel as though nothing could ever hurt her.
But she didn't think that would work this time. Running to him when he was also the thing she was running from just didn't make logical sense.
But as she laid there feeling alone and terrified, logic started to matter less and less. She considered going to Sam with her fears; she knew he'd reassure her and comfort her. But it was never going to be the same. She needed Dean.
She slid her feet into her warm slippers to guard against the freezing concrete floors and padded down the hallways to room number 11.
She stood outside for far too long, contemplating turning around. But finally she knocked, her knuckles barely a whisper against the wood.
“Yeah.” Dean's voice was slightly gruff and muffled on the other side of the door. The harshness almost sent her running back to her room, but instead she turned the knob and threw the door wide open before she could completely lose her nerve.
Dean was laying on his bed, stretched out on his back with his head pillowed on his hands, but he sat up quickly, surprise filling his expression.
“Y/N?” His voice was incredulous.
Y/N thought of everything she wanted to say, and it all came out in a slightly gushing ramble.
“I need a hug. I need a hug from you to make me feel better and safe. But also, you nearly killed me less than twenty-four hours ago, and it terrified me. But I think I'm even more terrified of losing you as my best friend and protector because of it. I want you to be those things again. I want you to tell me that the things you said weren't true. That I'm more than just a burden to you, that you don't secretly long to get me out of your life. I need you to swear you'll do absolutely everything in your power, no matter what, to get rid of the mark, so that you never become that thing again.”
She paused and breathed deeply as her tears ran freely. “I need you to promise me that you're actually my Dean.”
Dean rose slowly from the bed and came to stand in front of her. He reached out, moving ever so slowly, to wipe away her tears, and his voice was adamant as he spoke.
“Sweetheart, you're the best thing that's ever come into my life, you fill it up with meaning and purpose. You and Sam are the two most important people in the world to me. The demon was a fucking liar.”
He cupped her cheeks and then tucked her hair behind her ear. “I swear to you that I will not rest until this thing is off my arm and gone from our lives.”
He very slowly dropped his forehead to hers, making sure she could escape him if she wanted. “Baby, I can never fully describe how much it hurts to think of what I did and said. ‘I'm sorry’ isn't enough words, not by a longshot, to explain how much it kills me to think about.”
They stayed like that for a little while, their foreheads just touching and their souls reaching out to one another, testing the sore spots and seeking to ease the ache.
Finally Y/N stepped fully into Dean's arms and he sighed and wrapped them tightly around her. Her head fit just below his chin as it always did, and she felt her internal shaking slow and then stop as the cold in her bones was warmed again by Dean's embrace.
They stood in that position for a long time, drawing strength from one another. Finally, Dean pulled back slightly and kissed her temple.
“Wanna kick back in the Dean cave with some truly cheesy rom-coms? I'm talkin’ Hallmark level or better.”
Y/N's laugh was a little watery, but still genuine. “Don't you mean Hallmark level or worse?”
“Tom-ay-to. Tom-ah-to.” Dean said with a teasing grin.
god dean's reaction to meeting gay people will never fail to amaze me. he's so surprised but also genuinely curious and you just get the feeling that he hasn't had the chance to be around queer people much in his life which makes me so sad but also so happy for future dean who will surround himself with queer friends and family.
i just watched 5x09 the real ghostbusters and the scenes with dean at the end just really got to me. like here he is when he finds out the guys they've been working with are a couple:
and then the next time we see him in this episode he's leaning against the impala with the absolute cutest smile. like.... seeing someone, dressed as him, be openly gay made him smile like this!
and finally sam shows up and asks if he's okay and there isn't really a whole lot to explain his answer except that he just found out that the guys who helped them on the hunt, guys who idolize the characters sam and dean, are gay and in love.
i just think everything about this is really so cute
Big Dean And Sam Fan @winharry - Tumblr Blog | Tumgag
