Summary: Dean’s upset when a Cupid marks him with an arrow but not his soulmate, or so he thinks. As he struggles to come to terms, he calls her everything other than her actual name, though maybe that’s just a part of getting struck by true love.
Warnings: language, name calling, kissing, implied smut (established friends with benefits relationship), fluff
A/N: Something silly just for fun. Enjoy… and Happy Valentine’s Day Written for @howbadcanitbebingo.
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“Stupid, Cupid.” Said Dean, walking into the motel room, stripping off his soaked jacket and throwing it onto the chair.
“What are you muttering over there, sourpuss?” You asked, pulling off your wet clothes since you guys had gotten caught in the rain chasing down the monster of the week.
Which turned out not to be the cupid you ran into, who of course Dean just had to go and make friends with. He wasn’t a fan and he made sure to tell you that every two minutes on the ride to the motel.
There wasn’t much privacy in the room to begin with and since the two of you had a sort of friends with benefits thing going on for a while now, you didn’t care to cover up. You’d certainly seen it all and so had Dean.
“Nothing, sweetheart.” He brushed you off, muttering under his breath, “…dumb, giant baby.”
With Valentine’s day fast approaching, Sam took some time off to go who knows where, doing who knows what with Eileen. Leaving you to deal with one very grumpy Dean. He’d been in a mood since the start of the case and there’d been nothing you could do to snap him out of it. And you tried everything, until you’d finally had enough of his attitude.
“That’s it! What is wrong with you, De?” You snapped, tossing your wet shirt at him, leaving you in your bra and jeans. It hit him in the face with a satisfying slap sound and you giggled at the face he made.
“I’m not even talking to you, nosy parker.” He stated, his eyes lingering a little too long on your chest to just be friends and he muttered again, “…frigging, wingless diaper muncher.”
“You’re obviously not talking to anyone else, old man.” You bickered, putting your hands on your hips and staring at him.
“Don’t start with me, sunshine- And you’re not a hell of a lot younger than me so I’d watch it, dollface.” He said, pulling off his wet shirts and tossing them in the pile on the ground with yours.
It was your turn to cast him a lingering glance. He was the perfect combination of soft and muscular and you bit your lip trying to trap a sigh. Your cheeks heating up too quickly, but he didn’t notice, too busy trying to hide his own growing feelings for you.
“I know but you get so angry when I call you a geezer. It’s adorable.” You smirked, you didn’t know why but you always loved teasing him when he was already annoyed.
“And you think that’s funny, little girl?” He asked with a raise of his eyebrows.
“Uh-huh, plus I think you’re kinda cute when you’re all flustered, tough guy.” You chuckled.
“I’m not the one who’s redder than a tomato right now, jiggles.” He pointed out, finally noticing the hue in your cheeks.
“Whatever, nipple sucker.”
“Hey. You like it when I do that, pumpkin.” He said matter-of-factly, his tongue peeking between his lips as he grinned at you and tilted his head.
“That was one time-”
“And every other time after that-”
“Shut up or it’s never happening again, dork.” You threatened, feeling even hotter than before.
“I can hold out a lot longer than you can, sweetness.” He bet, sliding his jeans down his thick thighs, leaving him in just his fitted red boxers. The ones with the little black hearts that you’d gotten him. He watched you squirm and bite the inside of your cheek as you filled with need. “Tough noogies, kitten.”
“Tease.” You called him.
“Brat.”
“Jerk.”
“Ass-butt.”
“Watch it, Dean, your Cas is showing… Hoser.” You muttered.
“Excuse me, peanut, what did you just call me?”
“…Honey.”
“That’s not what you said, darling.” He shook his head.
“How would you know, weirdo? You’ve been ignoring me all night; muttering insults every time you think I’m not listening, dick.” You cursed, finally calling him out on it.
“Not everything’s about you, cupcake.” He shook his head.
“Sure it’s not, babe.” You rolled your eyes, if it hadn’t been something you’d done, it had to be about you. Otherwise, you would’ve gotten it out of him by now, you always did. Sam called it your superpower. “You know I’ll get it out of you sooner or later, buddy, and I’d rather not do this all night. I’ve got other plans in store for you, big guy.”
“If you must know, princess, that damn cupid jabbed me with an arrow before he disappeared. So I’m not really in the mood for your teasing. Alright, buttercup?” Dean explained dryly.
“Alright… Why aren’t you with your soulmate then, Casanova?” You continued to tease ever so slightly.
“The butthead didn’t mark her. Said something about karma- I don’t know, he was still pissed that I punched in the face, the cry-baby.” Dean rolled his eyes, he never liked cupids, especially when they greeted him with a hug in their birthday suit no less.
“Oh… Are you sure about that, handsome? I mean, how do you even know who she is?” You asked, chewing on the edge of your thumbnail.
“Trust me, beautiful, I know. I felt it before he even touched me, it’s just more… intense now.” He said, his emerald eyes searching yours for something.
“So what are you gonna do about it, Romeo?” You egged him on, knowing exactly how he was feeling.
“Not much I can do, sugarplum.” Dean breathed with sad eyes, avoiding your gaze.
“You sure about that, stud muffin?” You asked, scrunching up your forehead.
“Yeah…” He sighed.
“Yeah?” You questioned, squinting up at him and grinning like an idiot.
“Uh- what are you getting at, chipmunk?” He replied, mirroring your grin after a moment.
“He marked me too, squirrel.” You admitted, tugging your bottom lip between your teeth and letting it go slowly.
“When?!”
“While you were renting the room, dumby. Cupids don’t mess around with true love, love-bug.” You said, noticing a look of relief in his bright eyes, like a weight was lifted off of his shoulders. “So, good-looking, you like me, eh?” You asked, wetting your lips in antici… -pation.
“Cuddle bug, you have no idea.” He breathed, closing the distance between you far too slowly for your liking.
“Why don’t you show me, squishy.” You pulled him down by the back of his neck and into a needy kiss.
His lips slipping between yours as he struggled to keep up, still shocked that you were actually meant for him this whole time. He loved the idea of that, belonging to each other after craving all of you for so long. You were written in the stars together.
“Pretty girl, wait.” He panted, breaking the kiss but staying close enough to feel your moist breath on his skin. He was having second thoughts already ‘cuz let’s face it, it’s Dean; he never thinks he’s good enough even when he most definitely is. “Maybe we should call Cas, maybe he can reverse this.”
“Is that even what you want, doofus?” You pleaded, just wanting to keep on kissing him.
“No, Y/N/N. Of course I want you, angel.” But he had to ask one last time. “You sure you want me for keeps, baby girl?”
“Shut up and kiss me, tiger.” You moaned, pulling him down to meet your lips again, letting out a small squeak when he nibbled on your bottom lip and unhooked your bra.
Summary: When Dean runs into you at the Roadhouse, things get a little… complicated
Pairing: Cowboy!Dean x Reader
Word Count: 2,300
Warnings: Language. I can’t help it.
A/N: It took a little longer than I was hoping, but I feel confident blaming Marvel and Sarah J Maas for thoroughly distracting me this past week. New movies and books really threw a wrench into things. Anyway, this one’s from Dean’s pov which always stresses me out… hope y’all like it!
A/N: I hope y’all can feel the intense judgement and displeasure coming from my cat, who is less than thrilled I’m on my computer instead of snuggling him… lol… anyway, hope you enjoy the next installment! Not too exciting but that’s coming, I promise!
“Right here, kid. Right here,” he yelled from below. His words were steady, but his heart was not. “You able to get down?” He was pacing, though he didn’t stray too far from you.
You shuddered, held tighter to the inclined platform, and shouted down, “No.” Most of your weight was on the backboard of the basketball hoop, which was held up horizontally by pulleys on the ceiling. It was a twenty foot drop from where you sat, which was a fatal fall—or worse, paralyzing. If Bobby was any indication, that wasn’t fun.
“Do you want me to come up there?” He was already gauging the structure, figuring out how to get to you.
“No,” you said miserably, stopping him. Because what would that do? Then you’d both be stuck up here.
“Okay, okay, just—” A loud banging from outside the gymnasium cut him off.
The minotaur was close.
“Dean, you need to get out of here,” you urged.
A minotaur was not something you wanted to tango with unless you had the right weapon. They were bulls on steroids. If your research sessions with Sam had taught you anything, it was that bullets were hardly going to tickle this thing.
Dean edged closer. “No way.” He was both frustrated and scared for you. “How did you even get up there?”
“Do you really not see the person sized hole in the ceiling?!”
“I see it, I just—” another banging rattled against the gym’s doors, which made you both flinch. “I fail to see how you always end up in these kinds of situations!”
“Better this than five feet in any other direction!” Ironically, you were very lucky to land on the basketball hoop, and not straight down onto the polished hardwood floor.
“Right, I forgot. You’re the luckiest unlucky person I’ve ever met, and that’s saying something, considering I’ve met myself.”
You snorted, but it felt forced.
Dean paced, raking a hand through his messy hair and looking desperately around the gym. Then, he abruptly stopped, muscles tensing as an idea came to him. “I got an idea, but you’re not gonna like it,” he said. “At all.” He began walking over to the doors.
“Dean?” No reply. “Dean?!”
For a second, you thought he was going to open the doors for the minotaur, but then he paused right in front of the control panel and picked open the lock. “Do you trust me?!” he shouted across the gym. Even from so far away, the look in his eyes was intense.
“I—yes—but Dean—!”
He flipped a switch.
Without warning, the hoop lurched into motion. You scrambled, clutching onto any handhold for dear life as the backboard slowly got steeper. “DEAN?!”
“Easy, easy, I’m right here.” He was beneath you again, watching your every move.
You were tense, heart beating against your ribs like a bat in a cage. “A little warning would have been nice!”
“Trust me, okay? Just sit tight, I’ll catch you if you fall. You’re going to be okay, you hear me?” His arms were ready just in case you slipped.
The hoop was halfway down when the wooden gym door shattered.
The minotaur had rammed through it, having heard your commotion, and it was huge. It had horns as long as your entire leg; beady, soulless eyes; and clouds of dust stirring from its flared nostrils.
Your blood ran cold. “Run!” You kicked your right leg for emphasis, despite the risk of falling.
Dean hesitated.
The minotaur charged, leaving Dean barely enough time to roll out of the way.
It’s horns drove deep into the hardwood where he missed, tearing up the floor like butter.
Somewhat of a silence overcame the room, only to be filled by your hoop noisily clanking in place.
The minotaur paused, reared its massive head around to look at you, and growled.
For once, you were glad to be high up.
Until it stood, that is. It was at least nine feet tall, horns adding an extra few feet to its height. It could most certainly ram its head into the hoop and kill you.
Dean’s eyes were blown wide as he made the same conclusion. “Hey, you!” he shouted, pulling out his gun. “Pick on someone your own size!” And he shot it point blank.
As predicted, it just made it angry—except, it was too stupidto know who to be angry at. Funny, since it had nested in a freaking public school—because apparently they were the modern day labyrinths. But mostly not funny, considering it attacked you.
It roared, and the entire gym trembled.
Dean booked it for the doors. You couldn’t blame him, but… man, that was cold.
The minotaur stomped toward you until you could feel its furious breath in your face, its grunts sending all your hair flying back. This was it.
Without warning, everyone—including the minotaur—stopped to listen to another obnoxious creaking which overcame the room.
You were like a statue, still staring into the dark eyes of the beast, not even daring to turn your head in the direction of the sound.
The minotaur flared its nostrils once more, pivoting on an angry hoof to look at the basketball hoop that was slowly but surely descending from the other side of the gym.
Your heart lifted, and you spotted Dean beaming at you from the control panel, probably high on relief.
You gestured around you. Excellent work, but don’t get too smug, now. We still gotta get me out of here.
Dean mouthed one word, pointing to his phone: ‘Sam.’
Well, that was good news. If Sam was on his way, then he probably had a weapon to kill it.
You both jolted as the minotaur slammed its monstrous head into the adjacent hoop and ripped it to shreds. Glass and plastic the size of plates dropped and shattered on the surrounding floor. All that was left were the beams that once held the backboard.
That would have been me.
Dean ran to you—having set off the third, fourth, and fifth hoop—and urgently mimed for you to jump into his arms.
You mimed back that, no,that was not something you could do. But you paused, his words from before coming back to you. Do you trust me?
And, yeah, you trusted him. You trusted him with your life.
So you clamped a hand over your mouth to keep from screaming and pushed yourself off of the hoop.
Dean caught you with bent knees, cushioning the impact of your landing. One hand supporting your legs, and the other catching your back. He set you down, and, locking eyes, gave you a proud nod before turning a wary head toward the minotaur.
The hoops still occupied it, as it violently bashed its head into one hoop after another. Glass rained down in sheets, gliding dangerously on the polished ground until there was a small mountain of glass surrounding the minotaur.
You tried to stand—to get away—but your knees were weak.
Dean noticed, slipping your arm over his shoulder, hauling you up, and guiding you to the emergency exit all in one move. His priority was you.
You held your breath as a heavy rumble reverberated from outside the exit. At the moment, you wanted to strangle Sam for the worst timing ever.
You and Dean shared looks, glancing back at the minotaur who was aware of you once more.
Dean scooped you up, not even bothering to deal with your uncooperative legs, and tore his way to the exit. He barreled through the door, tumbling onto the concrete, with you falling out of his arms.
You watched, stunned, as the minotaur rammed at the door. It’s horns were too large, locking in inside the building, for even it, for now, was no match for the sturdy brick that held it in place.
Dean interrupted your daze by breaking into a random fit of laughter. There he was, on the ground of a wet, public school parking lot, throwing his head back and enjoying himself for no obvious goddamn reason.
You weren’t sure whether to be concerned or laugh with him. “What the hell is so funny?”
“S—” he could barely spit it out. He couldn’t breathe. “S-Sam’s got a—ahaha—aha—hehehe’s got a—haha—”
You turned to see what on earth Sam hadand felt your eyebrows rise to your hairline as you watched a freaking wrecking ball crane align itself with the gym.
You had heard of the Winchesters 'borrowing’ equipment, but this was next level. Where had he come across a wrecking ball?
And that bass you had heard from before? As Sam came nearer, it became more distinct.
Your jaw dropped.
Sam was blasting the song ‘Wrecking Ball’.
Dean’s howling laughter only became louder as Sam drove closer.
You could tell Sam was smirking, obviously aware of what he was doing to Dean. As Sam hit the brakes, you could see him grin and chuckle—oh he was patting himself on the back for this one.
The minotaur, dumb as a rock, was still slamming itself at the doorway. If it had any brains, it would know to get out of the way because something much larger was about to come through those doors.
Dean eventually sighed, wiping tears, sitting up to watch the demolition.
“You think the cops’ll show?” you asked.
Dean shook his head. “Nah. Otherwise, he wouldn’t be blasting music at midnight for the entire neighborhood to hear with a wrecking ball crane on school premises.” He stood and offered you a hand.
You took it. “Good point.”
The wrecking ball collided with the doorway. It caught the minotaur by the chest, crushing every bone in its body.
“If it isn’t the Winchesters. And… Winchest-ee.”
Crowley.
“Did I miss the party?” When you both glared at him, he smiled. “Is Sam enjoying his little gift?”
“You gave it to him?”
Crowley hummed. “I’m letting him borrow it. In exchange for one minotaur.”
“You want the dead minotaur?” you asked. “Why?”
“I’m going to mount it on my wall.” Crowley shrugged.
“That's… it? Taxidermy?” Dean asked skeptically.
“Yes. Do I need a betterreason? It’s cool. Obviously, I want it in Hell. Why, did you expect I’d want his soul or something? Well… of course, I want his soul, but that would never happen. We all know he’s smarter than that, Dean, no need to go full mama bear.”
Once Sam dismounted the wrecking ball crane, it vanished with a dark smoke.
Crowley sighed. “Well, I suggest you skip town—I’m expecting the school won’t be happy about your renovation.” Crowley began walking toward the now destroyed exit, disappearing into the dust and not walking back out.
Sam made his way over, smirking at the ground with his hands in his pockets. “So, how did it go for you guys?”
“Horrible.”
“Great.”
Sam was glancing between you both. “Well, someone’s lying.”
You shot Dean an odd look. “If you count me getting stuck on a basketball hoop twenty feet in the air with a minotaur trying to kill us, then you have a twisted idea of 'great’.”
“Oh, c'mon, you handled it like a champ.”
Sam’s eyebrows quirked. “You were on the basketball hoop?”
“I fell through the cheap ceiling.”
Dean snorted. “Guess they needed a renovation anyway.”
You socked him in the shoulder. “You’re an idiot.”
You and Sam had been wrapping up a wendigo case. The wendigos had been twins, so you had split off. You and Sam taking on the first one, and Dean on the other side of the park taking the second.
Shortly after ganking the first wendigo twin, Dean called Sam for backup… which apparently didn’t include you, because Sam hadn’t even blinked when he abandoned you with the Impala.
It was ten miles up this stretch of road. Course, it wouldn’t take Sam very long. But you? That was at least a two-hour walk, if not three. Running would be faster, but you were wiped after being out in the blistering sun all day.
The sky was dimming, too. Even if you had ganked the wendigo, walking alone in the woods at dark was a big hunter no-no. Your pistol was useless against a wendigo, and Sam had taken the flare gun.
You could take a shortcut through the woods to get to the campground. Less than a half a mile in, and you’d be right next to tents and RV’s. Surely you could hitch a ride from that point, if not, hot-wire a car.
With that, you veered off the trail. The terrain was muddy and covered with old, dead leaves. “Stupid Winchesters,” you said, kicking at the tall grass and brooding. It was like you were a freaking balloon. Appealing, but easily forgotten. Replaceable. Dispensable.
You kicked again at a tree and a rock. And when that wasn’t satisfying, you kicked a patch of grass.
Excruciating. Pain.
Your vision whited out, momentarily going numb, then refocusing entirely on your leg. Your scream echoed back into your ears.
You had fallen. You wheezed, trying and failing to collect yourself before finally sitting up. Carefully, you moved your leg in front of you to look at the injury. Your teeth tore at your lip to hold back a scream when the movement jolted your leg.
It was a bear trap. The muscle and fat had cushioned most of the blow, but it had cut deep enough to let blood seep into your jeans.
You could still wiggle your toes, which was a good sign. It wasn’t like the movies; they designed bear traps to catch the leg of a bear, not cut it off. But holy hell if it didn’t feel like it had.
You need to push down on the springs. Dean’s voice bounced around in your head.
“Springs…” you muttered. “Okay, okay, springs.” You pressed down on each of the springs with all your might and the trap pried open. You pulled your leg out, releasing the trap altogether and letting it snap onto itself.
With your leg free, you rolled your jeans up so you could assess the damage. You had multiple stabs from where the spikes drove into your skin, and each spike had made about a centimeter long incision into your calf. You had dry blood caked along your leg, so it was hard to see how bad it really was.
Wearing layers as a hunter always came in handy. You ripped a large strip of fabric from your shirt, wrapping it around your leg wound; zipped your jacket closed; and pulled your jeans down over the wound, thankful that they were dark enough to hide the blood stain.
Now, to get help. Sam took the flares, so you pulled out your phone. You could probably call emergency numbers. Except… the Winchesters didn’t need ambulances, cops, or authorities snooping around until this Wendigo thing blew over. You would just be putting more people in danger.
You scrolled through your contacts, muscle memory bringing you to Dean’s number first, since it was alphabetical.
It rang for two beats before something clicked.
“Hey, what’s up?”
You fell back with relief. “Dean, hey, could you pick me up? Your stupid brother left me stranded out here.”
You could almost feel the glare Dean was giving his brother in his voice. “Course, where are you?”
It would probably be smarter if you had him pick you up on the trail, rather than search for you. “Sammy knows where it is. Same stretch of road.”
You could walk back. It wasn’t too far.
“Alright. Be there in a few.” And then he hung up.
You wiped the stray tears from your eyes and prepared yourself. You stood with the help of a tree, teetering. Your leg was painfully tender, and your knees rocked under your weight.
It was possible to walk, sure, and it wasn’t far on two good legs, but you had largely underestimated the effort you were going to need to get there.
You were going to take a helluva long nap when this was all over.
///
When you made it to the road, you took it upon yourself to sit down at a large stump. The day had faded into night, and you could hear the raccoons shrieking.
Finally, the low rumble of the Impala could be heard over the cicadas. You stood, albeit a little wobbly, and somehow walked closer to the road without limping.
Headlights washed over the ground and made long shadows. Dean’s window was rolled down, and his eyes drank you in. Satisfied that you didn’t look too roughed up, he motioned to the back door.
Sam had a tight smile. “Hey, I’m sorry about—”
“It’s cool,” you said. “Seriously. No harm done, I just wanna get back to the motel and shower.” Well, yes harm done, but the shower is the escape. I just need to escape for a little while. The last thing you wanted was the Winchesters getting all freaked.
Dean looked at you a little skeptical. “Forgiven that easy? Dude, if he had done that to me I’d’ve punched him.”
Sam scowled at his brother.
You laughed. “Yeah, well, I’m not one for grudges. I know he didn’t mean it.” Or did he? Then, you went quiet.
Dean was giving you ‘the look’ in the rearview mirror, and you tried not to acknowledge it, but you could tell that he knew something was off. Did you leave blood somewhere?
“You sure you’re okay? You’re kinda pale,” he questioned.
You wanted to retaliate, to shout, Dean, shut up, I’m literally fine. But then he would know. So you shrugged instead. “I’m cool.” You stretched, careful to set your leg somewhere comfortable before resting your head on the window.
The peace didn’t last long. The Impala went over a pothole, jostling your leg and you cursed out loud before you could bite your tongue.
“What is it?” Dean asked.
“I’m trying to nap back here,” you snapped. “You’re shakin’ the whole car.”
“My bad.”
You rolled your eyes.
The rest of the ride went fine. Until you had to get out of the car. You swung your leg around, but when you put pressure on it, you nearly fell on your face. Fortunately, you caught yourself, gingerly shifting your weight onto your other leg.
“I knew it. I knew you were hurt,” Dean growled, coming over to haul you up by the shoulder. “Why do you insist on hiding this stuff from us?”
You let him shoulder most of your weight, leaning on him. “Because you baby me!”
“We don’t baby you, we make sure you’re freaking okay, so we don’t screw your injuries up even more. And you’re not really the reliable type,” Dean said, scowling.
He pulled you into the motel a little roughly. He was irate—the upturn of his lips were not a smile, rather, a sneer. Yeah, he was sick of your crap. You didn’t blame him.
He sat himself on the bed across from you, clapping his hands together. “Let’s see it.”
You didn’t move. You needed to explain first. “Dean, before you—”
“No. I don’t want to hear it.”
“I was—”
He said you name in a low, warning tone.
Welp. You let your shoulders drop, sulking. “You’re not gonna like it.”
“I figured, when you decided not to tell me about it. Show me the damn wound, or so help me—”
“Promise you won’t yell.”
“I’m not making promises I can’t keep.”
That shut you up. You reached down reluctantly. Rolling up your jeans, you brought your eyes to the wall. You didn’t want to see his face. When he was silent for longer than you were comfortable with, you mumbled, “It was a bear trap.”
“Yeah, I’m seeing that,” he snapped.
That’s when Sam walked in with the bags. His expression crumpled. He murmured your name in alarm, tossing the bags on the adjacent desk. He looked so disappointed in you. “What the hell? You said you were—”
“I was fine. Cool. Yeah, I know. I lied, okay?” you admitted uncomfortably. “You two are just a bit overwhelming sometimes. I was going to tell you—”
“When? When were you going to tell us?” Dean barked.
You knew Dean loved you and was protective, but sometimes he was so pushy. “I don’t—I was handling it, okay?”
Sam’s expressions shifted into realization. “Hold up, did you walk back to the road?”
Dean analyzed you, and did not like his findings. “She did,” he announced. “She freaking—” he stood up and disappeared into the bathroom.
You sighed, pulling your head into your hands.
Sam shook his head. “The bear trap would have been in the woods, and we picked you up at the road.”
“I took a brief detour, which never would have happened if you hadn’t ditched me!”
Sam snapped his mouth shut.
Dean came out of the bathroom with a med kit. “Lets see how bad this thing is.” You stuck your leg out on display, wincing as you placed it on the bed.
Dean dug out the alcohol and cotton balls. Right. He had to sterilize the wound.
Not much missed Dean Winchester. He could read your body language pretty dang well. He watched as you stiffened, and his expression softened. He nodded to Sam, who moved to sit beside you on the bed.
You breathed deep, a slow panic setting in, and it hitched as Sam’s hands fell onto your shoulders. “Relax your shoulders”, he said. “It’s going to sting a little, but it’s nothing you can’t handle.”
Winchesters. In all irony, as much as they left you in the worst freaking moments, they were also there when you needed them afterward.
Or maybe that was just you getting sentimental before Dean agitated a painful wound of yours.
You hissed as he first dabbed the cotton ball onto the lacerations. He wasn’t harsh with it, but he wasn’t gentle, either. His movements had a clinical urgency to them— quick and fluid.
You leaned into Sam’s loose embrace, which tightened a little as you settled yourself.
Dean hummed at his work. “You’re lucky. It worked deep, but it’s nothing that some stitches can’t fix. You’ll have some ugly bruising tomorrow, though.”
That was some good news. You sent them a soft smile. “Thanks, guys. Really. I know I can be a bit… secretive. Sorry for that.”
“We just want you to open up a little more. That’s all we’re asking.”
You huffed a little laugh, then squirmed as Dean drove the needle in for the first stitch. “I wonder who I learned it from.”
Dean flashed you a cheesy grin. “You did good out there tonight. Proud of you.” His cheeks were flushed from the alcohol, but he still seemed mostly sober.
He was checking out the group of women up at the front of the bar, who wore more revealing clothing than you dared.
You envied their confidence. Sometimes you wished you had the grit to do that stuff.
Dean didn’t fake reluctance to leave you or Sam. He knew what he wanted, and he knew how to get it. When he finished his drink, he made his move, leaving the table, and you and Sam with it.
The younger Winchester smiled at you awkwardly. You could tell he wanted to leave as well—he and some girl at the bar had been making googly eyes at each other since he walked in—but was conflicted on leaving you.
“Sam,” you said impatiently. “That girl has been giving you the eyes since we walked in. And don’t think I don’t see you sending them back. If you don’t get up now, I’ll push you over there.”
You were glad that women weren’t assuming you and Sam—or Dean—were together; it made everything much less complicated. Both of the Winchesters were way out of your league. You were more likely the sister they never had.
He was a little surprised, and a little amused by your attitude. “Oh, really?”
“Don’t test me,” you joked.
He laughed, collecting his jacket and walking away.
Your deluding smile fell from your face once you were alone. Bars were usually their choice of festivity, but they mostly just made you uncomfortable.
You were now alone, as both of the boys hit on some chicks and snuck off to get laid. You were used to it. It wasn’t your ideal celebration, but if it made them happy, you’d bear it. You supposed they just assumed your interests matched theirs. Even if all you wanted to do was go home and sleep.
Anyway, the faster the Winchesters both left with broads, the faster you could leave. It was just that simple.
You sipped your whiskey that Dean had paid for. It was strong, and hard to swallow, but in small portions it was tolerable. You appreciated the gift, even if it wasn’t your preferred drink. Dean had a big heart, and you wouldn’t ruin your sweet moments with him because you were feeling picky.
You let your mind wander to a darker place.
You were still coming to terms with hunter life. And from what you’ve gathered, it was cruel, unfair, and thankless.
The Winchesters didn’t sugarcoat it, either. Everything that society looked down upon—the suspiciously cult-ish tattoos, borderline or over-the-line alcoholism (a line you were uncertain where Dean fell), and cheap clothing with leather jackets—was a signature of a hunter’s life. Not to mention the trigger-happy hands, suspicious glares, and their off-putting, dark looks.
It opened your eyes.
That “gothic” girl you saw in your neighborhood? That might have looked like a satanic tattoo, but it was actually an anti-possession tattoo that she got because she was terrified of the demons that wanted to kill her. And those knives in her pocket and backpack? That was for her safety, and probably yours, too.
Or that shady alcoholic up the street? Werewolves brutally murdered his friends, and he has to live with the survivor’s guilt. He drinks while obsessively researching how to hunt them down. Though he’ll likely die of a failing liver before ever taking on the pack.
The point was…
Looks weren’t always transparent.
And, well, you were everything hunters weren’t.
Your pain tolerance was pathetic, for one. Tattoos? Big nope. You hated all things needles, and despite tattoos looking cool, you liked to avoid pain, thanks.
Second, your wardrobe. As if that wasn’t blatantly obvious.
And, last, you were a hopeless lightweight. A few shots and you were tipsy. Dean thought it was hilarious.
Still, you drank your whiskey, feeling guilty that you hated it.
You were tired. It was dark out, and you could already feel the whiskey in your system. You just wanted to go home.
So the last thing you expected that night was for a guy to hit on you. You, feeling unlike yourself—and very drunk—warily flirted back.
He was charming. Thing was, with your buzzing vision, all you noticed were his eyes and handsome smile. You didn’t notice the more important things, like, say… the roofies dissolving in your drink.
Too bad you hadn’t—because you wouldn’t have let him breathe down your neck like he had been… or breathe at all, for that matter.
Your words slurred, and you leaned into him when he stood. “Hey, hey, h-hey, mister. Wheeere ya’ goin’ off to?”
You were smashed.
You didn’t feel too hot, either. You were practically dangling off his shoulders as he helped you from your chair, and your stomach churned. “I don’ feel so guud…” you slurred, keeling over to vomit on the pavement. Huh. You were outside?
You made out two shapes that looked dubiously like him. Albeit one may have very well been a trash can. “Yeeuur kindouf prr…retty.”
He snickered, though you weren’t sure what was so funny. “Just let it sink in,” he said. “It’s okay, babe.”
What was he talking about? You frowned, troubled. “Doe… don'ttt… calmeh that.”
There was only a muddy sense of direction. You fizzled in and out of consciousness, and your memory escaped you.
You were completely at this man’s mercy.
///
You woke up feeling like hell. The lights… the sounds…it was all too loud.
Your head felt like a crushed soda can. You turned—inch by inch—trying to get a view of the entire room, tied up—which, yeah, was a big red flag—and leaned awkwardly against the wall. When you finally saw behind you, you met the eyes of multiple other women in your same predicament.
The previous evening was a haze. Your mind was still catching up with the present, much less the past.
Something in the shadows of the room moved, and you watched as two figures loomed over an unconscious woman covered in dark, bloody bites around her neck and chest.
“Vamps,” you spat. But it came more like “vamffptss” through your gag with a few lisp-y expletives.
They spun around, smiling to themselves. A vampire crouched down to your level, taunting you, “Ah, so there is more to her than a pretty face! Who would have known? Are you a hunter, babe?”
A memory clicked as he said that. You might say it rang a bell—an alarm bell, anyway—but you couldn’t place it. His voice was bouncing around in your head and it was hard to focus.
“Sssgrew you.”
He stood, gave you a smirk, and drove his foot into your abdomen. Hard.
“Wow. I mean, you were a little feisty at the bar, but I never would have envisioned you’d have so much kick.” He winked at you, then turned back to his goonies. “Alright. Ship ‘em. Mark the pretty ones. They’ll be worth more.”
You puffed, still recovering from the harsh blow, as a skinny redhead yanked you up by the ropes. He was watching you like one looks in a microwave at their meal.
You thrashed. It was a weak move, hardly knocking him back on his heels, but it was also a minor triumph.
Then said vampire punched your throat, and all smugness disappeared.
The lead vamp turned to see the commotion and erupted, “Are you kidding me? Christ—get the gag off her, will you?!” When the others looked at him in alarm and skepticism, he barked, “She’s no use to us dead! Do you want her suffocating?”
Carrot Top worked the gag from your aching jaw, and you just laid there, winded, like a dead dog.
The Lead Vamp grabbed the shirt collar of your redhead attacker. “Hey, maybe don’t punch 'em in the throat next time. They’re gonna squirm a little—it’s what they do. So ignore it.”
“Yessir’.”
“Good. And, hey, guys—bag the ugly ones. I got a client for them.”
You coughed, propping yourself up by the elbow. You were concerned. Am I ugly?
The redhead vamp kicked you down by your arm, hissing, “Not you. We got a special guy for you. Likes the fighters.”
You were so tired and weak and helpless. Couldn’t do anything but lay there. You could only watch as the other vamps manhandled poor, terrified women.
“Leeches,” you said, earning you a foot to the face.
“Do yourself a favor and shut up.”
It was hard to not comply. As your head lolled, you spat blood at his feet. You would not go down easy.
He hauled you up, and his punch cracked like a whip.
You stared at his bloody knuckles, feeling your own arms twitch. The ropes were loose. You wondered briefly if you could even run—
Another strike had your vision swimming with stars.
“Hey. I got a question—huff—” You said, taking the punches like a champ and distracting him. “Has anyone ever told you—uff—that you look like—guh—Strawberry Shortcake?”
The ropes worked off your wrists and when he swung, you ducked—or fell, more like—away from his swing. Breathless, you pulled yourself to your feet to run.
The adrenaline was really the only thing keeping you going. Thing was, adrenaline didn’t give you accuracy, it just gave you strength. And little that strength was.
And, woah, was the ground spinning. You gagged as you watched the hallway sway. You were not in any shape to run, but you sure as hell tried to. You stumbled down the hallway, your knees giving out multiple times before you couldn’t pick yourself up again.
The vamp’s yell echoed down the hallway. “You’re not a hunter anymore, little lamb! You’re the hunted!” It probably wouldn’t take much for him to follow the sound of your hummingbird heart.
That was enough encouragement to get anyone on their toes. Even someone who was shaking like a leaf.
Whatever roofie they’d given you, it was enhanced. Everything was so hot and bright and loud. You wished the world could just be quiet. Your heart was beating so loud you could feel it in your teeth.
You clambered to the exit, reaching for the doors to push them open.
Just then, a hand pitched you backward, pulling down on your shoulder. You yelled out, petrified.
“It’s me, it’s just me,” Dean whispered quickly, easing you through the door, around the corner, and to where Baby was parked.
Your heart was still jack hammering in your chest as he pulled you in for a hug. You were high as a kite on adrenaline.
“Been looking all over for you.” The pitch in his voice was more stressed than usual. You were like a little sister to him.
You leaned into his embrace. It was warm and solid and safe. And it was exactly what you needed to ground yourself.
“He drugged me,” you blurted. “He drugged me. I couldn’t—he just—”
He paled. “Did he touch you?” When you paused, his expression darkened. “I’ll rip his lungs out. I’ll kill every single one of them. I'll—”
“He didn’t touch me,” you interrupted. “Not like that.” You rested your forehead against his chest.
“Thank god.”
“But I think they would’ve.” You practically melted as he smoothed your hair down. “They’re human trafficking. Selling women as blood bags.”
Dean turned to Sam, who was leaned up against the Impala, and nodded at him. Sam took that as his cue to go ahead without Dean. “I got Sammy on it right now. You sure you’re alright?”
His arms around you were the only thing keeping you standing. “Just tired. And my head really hurts.” Gunshots went off behind you, and you flinched. Your ears were still sensitive.
“Sounds like nothing a little sleep can’t fix.” Dean patted your back and opened the back of the Impala.
You crawled in and fell asleep before Dean could even pull out of the parking lot.
You tried following your heart, once, as a senior in college with straight A’s, a bright future, a career so close you could almost touch it. You were so close to satisfaction. So close to that diploma.
And all at once, that dream ceased to be. And all you could think was my heart must be very very lost.
It all began on a cloudy Friday evening, you were just about to end your shift with the dogs. It was a tangled mess of leashes when you made it back to the animal shelter. Sweat and dog hair covered you, and after a good shower of puppy kisses, you finally untangled yourself from the mass of dogs and return them to their rightful cages.
You refused to meet their sad eyes. You made that mistake, once, and had spent half an hour reassuring each heartbroken dog that they were, indeed, a good boy.
“I’ll see you guys in the morning!” you promised with a wave and a jangle of your dog whistle, and after a reply of barks, you left the building at dusk.
The road was silent, the street lamps weren’t on yet, and the clouds had become heavier in the sky. You had read in the forecast it was going to rain, but hadn’t expected this.
The tightness in your chest only continued to build as you made it to the campus. The sun was just barely visible behind the storm clouds that had rolled in. The wind had become cool, and the wind had picked up, sending chills up and down your spine.
Perhaps it was just a combination of paranoia and reasonable worry for a woman walking alone at night to her college dorm, except your blood chilled the moment you unlocked your room and entered.
The hair on your arms and the back of your neck were on end. Your eyes adjusted to the dim light, and you realized that the window was open, and the harsh breeze was whipping past you.
You laughed it off, feeling silly. Though that night you slept with your cover tight against your chest, back against the wall, and your little silver paring knife under your pillow.
The next day, you experienced the same fear. Except, this time, it was sunny out.
What was triggering these feelings of dread? It was like you couldn’t focus anymore. Everything just felt… itchy. That was the only way you could describe it.
With each day that passed, the source of your terror was slowly revealing itself. Little, weird things that wouldn’t be so noticeable to an outsider, but as someone who valued cleanliness and order, it might as well have been an elephant in the room.
Things were never as you left them. On Sunday morning you couldn’t find your hairbrush. Monday evening, your bed was mysteriously unkempt, even though you’d recalled making it that morning. Tuesday, the caps of your perfume bottles were all off and littered on the floor of your bathroom. Someone had been in your dorm.
You didn’t have a roommate.
You called the police at midnight on Wednesday, and they showed up to your dorm to find you locked in the bathroom. They chalked it up to a wild imagination. You were three floors up, after all. Nobody was breaking in. You were just a stupid, homesick college student.
Right?
Pah, it wasn’t like you were a senior, or anything. Or that you’d ever even cried wolf in the last three years of living alone. But yeah, sure, call it paranoia.
Three weeks later, there was a knock on your front door.
It startled you enough to send you on your ass. You stared at the door from the floor, and it loomed over you like a bad dream.
Your stalker had been your shadow for almost a month at that point. A gaze that burned into the back of your skull, even when there was no one around. You wanted them to keep their distance.
You stood like a whisper, careful not to make any noise as you tiptoed to the peephole of your door. This was it. There would finally be a face to your terror. Someone you could blame.
A weird combination of disappointment and relief washed over you when you saw two FBI agents instead. Your fear of it being your stalker morphed into a fear of the justice system. Had they come to laugh at you just as the police had?
When they knocked a second time, you opened the door.
They showed you their badges and introduced themselves. “Mind if we come in?” Agent Young asked. He had longer, brown hair and kind eyes. You couldn’t hold a gaze with him worth your life.
Strangers in your home, even authorities, made your hackles raise. What the helllllll was all you could think as you welcomed them into your tiny dorm as your legs shook.
A million questions raced around your head at once.
“Could we ask you about the death of your professor? Mr.Cleveland?”
Your heart plummeted and all hope died within you. Oh. This was about that whole freak-show. “What about it?” you said. Your feet shifted.
“Well, it’s said that you were there at the time of his death. Is that true?” Agent Scott asked. He was more intimidating—more rough around the edges—but you supposed he was just professional.
“Um. Uh, yeah. It…” the agents were watching you with intrigue, and you looked to the carpet. “It was horrible.” And it was. It was bloody and scary, and all your fault because you had just stood there—watched as the professor died right in front of you.
Upon seeing your haunted look, Agent Scott spoke a little gentler. “Did you see what happened?”
“I—yeah… I saw it all. He—he had been helping me with something. An essay. I was flunking and he suggested a one on one.” That had only been a week ago. Your grades had suffered as you juggled your classes. When Mr.Cleveland died… you abandoned college altogether and let the dog whistle collect dust.
“I don’t know… he just…” started dying at your feet. You hadn’t even tried to pick up a phone. You just stood there, and you watched. Your breath picked up. “…he just—”
Agent Young’s voice was sympathetic. “He started coughing up blood?”
“Yeah. I didn’t—I didn’t know what to do. I kept thinking about…” the stalker, you thought. I couldn’t stop thinking about the stalker. “I froze and, a-and I just watched—”
“Easy, easy. It’s okay. We just need to know the details,” Agent Scott said.
You paused, then. Something didn’t add up. “Wait… why is the FBI interested in a guy that died of a lung disease?” When the agents exchanged glances, you squinted at them, your anxiety briefly replaced with confusion.
“We don’t think it was, erm, lung disease,” Agent Scott said. “We think he might have been…” He searched for the word a little too long for your liking. “…uh, poisoned.”
“Poisoned?” you yelped. “Who could have… oh god, that makes me a suspect, doesn’t it?”
“Unfortunately.”
Your stomach sank, and that anxiety returned. “You guys have to know I wouldn't—I would never—”
“If we thought it was you, you would be in custody,” Agent Scott informed you curtly.
Agent Young frowned at his partner as if to say not helping and then turned back to you. “We just want to know what you saw that day. Anything weird? Strange noises? Smells?” He narrowed his eyes. “Is there anyone you know who would want to kill Mr.Cleveland?”
This was your chance to tell them about your stalker. If there was anyone who could help you, it was the FBI.
Yet you clammed up. "No, not really,“ you blurted. "Nobody I can think of, honest. Not to be rude, but I have finals tomorrow. Could you… leave?”
Who were you kidding, your grades had dropped so low lately that even finals wouldn’t save you. But they didn’t know that.
…probably.
They offered you a trained smile that didn’t reach the eyes. “Of course. We’ll get out of your hair. If you think of anything else, here’s our card.” And with that they left the room.
The tightness in your chest did not ease.
///
That night, you had dreams of monsters and of evil people that could poison someone and smile. You dreamed of your stalker, and them laughing as you choked on your own blood.
You woke up in a cold sweat, eyes snapping open to the glow of an agape window. It was shut when you fell asleep, but it was open now, blowing in a breeze that chilled your blood.
Your dog whistle was gone.
It was a fear like no other. Your gut was screaming at you to launch for the phone. You did, automatically dialling the number on the business card that laid discarded on the other end of the room. You had memorized it after hours of staring at the numbers, debating whether or not to call them, then ultimately deciding not to with anxiety gnawing away at you.
They answered it on the second ring.
“Hello?” said a gruff voice. Agent Scott.
“I remembered something,” you blurted. “You-you said to call… if I thought of something…” You trailed off when you saw the clock. “Oh god, it’s three in the morning. Maybe this can… this can… this can wait…” It couldn’t wait.
“No, wait. What is it? Might be important if it’s got you up at three in the morning. Unless it’s just finals?”
You shook your head and then realized he couldn’t hear that. “Not finals. Someone’s been stalking me for the past week. I thought… maybe, I was paranoid. I was… constantly told that I was paranoid. But someone was in here while I was asleep. And might… might still be close.”
“Okay, you got a knife?”
“A knife?” You squeaked.
“Yeah. A knife. To defend yourself.”
“Oh. Right. Right, okay. Uh. Well, uh, I have a paring knife?”
“You have… a paring knife,” he repeated.
“Um, yeah? Is that okay? The dorms have rules against big knives. For safety reasons. It’s a silver p—”
“Silver? Okay, you know what? That’s fine. That’s good. Use that. Is it sharp?”
“Sharp enough, I hope.” You ran over to your cabinet, pulling out the knife and holding it to your chest. Your ragged breaths were loud in your ears. “Now what?”
“Well,” he said, and you could hear an engine starting in the background. “We should be there in a few minutes. Stay on the phone, you hear me?”
“I—should I have called 911? This has never happened to me—”
“You’re doing fine. Now, what made you so sure that someone had been in your room?”
“Well, the open window. I live up a few floors. There is no way they could have opened it unless—”
“Unless someone had been in your room. Alright. Just sit tight, okay? Don’t hang up.”
“O-okay.” The agents will be here soon. They will help me. You had the knife and phone held so close to your chest and tight in your fist that your knuckles were white.
I will not die.
Without warning, you choked. It was wet, coppery, and lukewarm on your tongue. You clawed at your neck for air. You fell to your knees. The phone clattered on the wooden floor’; it buzzed with muffled shouting, but you couldn’t pick it up, nor could you answer.
Just then, a massive shadow crawled in from your window, and it grunted like an animal. You barely had enough strength to look at him as trails of red spit hung from your face.
The man had claws. The man had claws. The man—the thing, had—for the love of God, inch long claws.
Down the hallway, there was a muffling of running feet. They would be too late. You realized then: you were probably going to die. You were no fair match.
You could feel the monster’s breath on your neck when the beast abruptly fell down like a sack of potatoes, howling and twisting.
Blindly, you stabbed it in the chest with all your strength, twisting the blade and then collapsing once again into a fit of retching.
The agents burst into the room.
But instead of moving to help you, they tore the room apart in search of something. You couldn’t help but sob in despair. Why weren’t they helping you?
But when Agent Scott whipped out a little bag from your drawer and lit it on fire, the choking miraculously ceased.
You melted into the floor to catch your breath again. For a minute everyone just breathed. You really appreciated the minor break.
Agent Young helped you up, closely inspecting your heavy, slightly bloody, zoned-out face, and decided you were okay.
You licked your lips, still not processing any part of the last hour. “What,” you said, “just happened.”
The agents exchanged looks.
You looked at them. Really looked at them. “You’re not FBI, are you?”
Agent Scott shrugged at his partner. “You gonna give her the talk, Sammy, or should I?”
///
“Were-witches,” you deadpanned. Monsters, hunters, hex bags, and were-witches.
“Yep,” Agent Scott—or Dean Winchester, you were now learning—said. “He probably got a whiff of you covered in dog hair or something. You’re lucky we got here in time. The pervert was, I kid you not, jellifying human hearts with dark magic. Like, alive. And then he’d make you regurgitate—” He caught the hard look from Agent Young—Sam—and shut up. “But, yeah. Were-witches.”
You frowned. “I can accept witches and werewolves, but… were-witches? For real?”
“Trust me, we didn’t know they existed either,” Sam informed you.
Dean laughed to himself. “Hey Sammy, should we call him a son of a witch or a son of a bi—” His smile faltered with both Sam and your glaring. “Get it? Witch jokes? Dog jokes? Sheesh, okay, you guys are seriously no fun.”
Sam sighed. “We should probably take the, um, dead werewitch, out of here.”
You followed his eyes to the heap of fur on your floor. Seeing your stalker dead was a major weight off your shoulders. It was such a relief that you felt high.
Sam was still talking. “—and you have finals?”
You sobered. “Right. Those.” Like you would do anything except bomb them.
Sam must have known the look. “You haven’t studied, have you? At all.”
Shaking your head, you slumped into the mattress. “Nope. This stalker thing screwed me up big time. There’s just no way.” You sighed. Sam’s dark look made you squint at him. “What?”
“I just, uh, know the feeling,” Sam said.
“Yeah?”
“Yeah,” he said thoughtfully. “I got a free ride to law school before the hunting life took me away. I was already a hunter, I didn’t have a choice. But you still do. You can still have that life you want.” He tapped the card, still on the desk from his last visit. “Stay out of trouble and call us whenever. Especially if it’s three in the morning.”
Right then, you noticed the dog whistle was back, as if it had never left. Realization hit you like a brick to the head. “You did that! You blew the whistle.”
“Yeah, well, I knew it was a werewolf. So I took a gamble and… borrowed it. Guess I didn’t think you’d miss it—it was pretty dusty.”
“You stole my whistle!”
“Hey, no, I borrowed it—”
“You gave me a heart attack! I thought the werewitch had stolen it! That’s what set me off and made me call you—not the window!”
Dean cracked a smile. “Hey, it saved you, though, yeah? If I hadn’t taken it, who’s to say I could have saved your damsel ass?”
“Jerk.”
“Bitch,” Dean said automatically.
You blinked in surprise at the speed of his reply.
His eyes widened. “Sorry. That's… uh, Sam usually says that and I respond with…”
You laughed. Really laughed. You doubled over, struggling to breathe for the second time today, but this time it was welcome. The Winchesters inevitably joined in as you howled. You wiped away your tears of laughter, occasionally breaking into a smaller fit.
“You good?” Dean asked, grinning,
You sighed, the hysteria wearing off. “God, it wasn’t even that funny! You just caught me by surprise. Thanks, though. For saving me, and all.”
Dean smiled, patting you on the back. “No problem, kid.”
You settled into a comfortable silence. You were still trying to calm down as they watched you with looks of fondness.
“Are you going to be able to sleep?” Sam asked.
You knew what he meant: were you going to be able to sleep alone? And honestly, you had a feeling you would sleep like a baby tonight. However, you had no purpose staying here anymore. “Would I be stepping too far if I asked to come with you? Just for the night.”
Summary:Y/N prepares for the perfect Valentine’s day with Dean Winchester…
▪️▪️▪️▪️▪️▪️▪️▪️▪️▪️▪️▪️▪️
The alarm clock blared and Y/N sat up in bed bleary eyed and fatigued.
She frowned at the ringing and reminded herself that she didn’t need to set the timer anymore. The Bunker had been empty for a while now and she didn’t have much to do without the boys around, anyway.
Y/N looked to her right and saw Dean’s side of the bed was vacant. “You’d think I would be used to that by now…” She stretched with a soft groan and stepped out from under her covers. It wasn’t until she checked her phone that she was finally spurred to action.
The screen read February fourteenth.
She gave a small smile at the date. “Well Dean, looks like you’re in luck!” With a renewed sense of purpose, Y/N set out to get her Valentine’s plans ready.
Every February fourteenth, Dean and Y/N would celebrate the holiday with all its clichés. Chocolate, romcoms, and a couple of beers was all it took to make the day a good one. Though their celebrations were modest, the way they saw it, having each other was enough.
Y/N walked over to her closet and put together an outfit. It was an important day and she had to dress accordingly. Once clothed, she gave a weary smile at her reflection and stepped away.
Y/N ambled down the Bunker’s empty hallways until she reached the main room. She fetched her keys, two bottles of beer she had laid out the night before, and a DVD copy of Say Anything before rushing out the door to meet Dean.
A crisp February wind met her outside and she squinted at the clear sky above. Y/N smiled at the perfect weather and stepped into her car. She turned on the ignition and let out a deep breath “Here I go,” she whispered.
Valentine’s Day, One Year Ago
“Though I respect your affections, couldn’t you perhaps ease your passions?”
Sam entered the room and rolled his eyes. “Guys, come on. Cas is right. Take it easy, we ALL live here.”
Dean and Y/N grinned from their spots on the couch. “It’s just a kiss Sammy. Get over yourself,” Dean chastised.
“You guys are making out in our movie room. It’s not just a kiss,” Sam retorted. He and Castiel weren’t really offended, but liked to nag whenever they could.
Y/N shifted in her seat and kissed Dean’s cheek. “Sorry guys. We can’t help it if we’re hopelessly in love with each other,” she teased.
Dean turned around and kissed her back. “That’s right,” he started. “Hopelesslyanddevastatingly in love…”
Sam and Castiel shared a look as the pair carried on from where they had left off. In each others arms and against each others lips. “Maybe we should-” Cas stammered. Sam nodded. “Right ahead of you.” The angel and the hunter spared a last smile at their friends before leaving the room and locking the door behind them.
“I think they’re gone…” Y/N mumbled mid kiss
Dean pulled back and winked. “I figured that would do the trick.”
Y/N laughed at his callousness and moved away from him. She lay down and settled her head on his lap.
“How’s the view from down there?” he asked.
“Spectacular.”
Dean frowned. “Honestly? You usually hit me with a testy one-liner.”
Y/N shrugged. “I’m serious. I’m getting a great look at the ceiling from this angle…”
“Yup. There it is.”
Y/N giggled. “I set myself up for that one didn’t I?” he laughed, leaning his head back on the couch.
Y/N grabbed hold of his hand and squeezed gently. “You totally did,” she admitted.
They stayed quiet for a moment, comfortable in their easy connection. Dean started humming and Y/N listened as the faint tune carried on. She closed her eyes and smiled. “What are you humming?” she asked, already knowing the answer.
He hesitated and Y/N opened her eyes, taking in the glint in his eye. “Mr. Roboto,” he said carefully. “Styx.”
Y/N quirked a brow. “Is that so?”
“Is that a problem?” Dean asked, glancing down at her.
“You mean, is it a problem that you only ever hum the same ten songs from eons ago?”
Dean raised a brow and hummed louder.
Y/N raised a hand and reached out to touch Dean’s cheek. “I love you,” she whispered. He sighed and leaned into her touch. “I know,” he said softly. “And you have no idea what that means to me.”
Y/N moved to sit up. She looked into his eyes and saw him staring back. “Happy Valentine’s day,” she said. “I can’t wait to see what this year will hold for us.”
Dean leaned forwards and kissed her lightly. “As long as you’re still by my side, I couldn’t give a damn.”
With their favourite movie playing in the background, and plenty of sweets and beer waiting on the table, the two hunters nestled against each other and took comfort in the small moment they shared together.
***
Y/N drove past vast green pastures and earthy plains before finally reaching a sparse forested area. She knew exactly where to find Dean and felt her heart race as she drew nearer to her destination. She parked her car and stepped out, taking her Valentine’s treats with her.
I wonder if Sam has passed by lately… Y/N thought as she walked down a woody path. She could hear the buzzing of insects as she hiked, the unlucky few that hadn’t left for the winter. Their humming sounded suspiciously like Dean’s beloved rock hits… Y/N hiked for the better part of an hour before entering a familiar clearing. It was there that she saw Dean waiting just up ahead, the grin she knew so well tugging at his lips.
“How’s the view from down there?”
Y/N felt her eyes sting as she stepped forwards, a shaky smile on her face. “Dean,” she said softly, “you have no idea how much I’ve missed you.”
“And you have no idea what that means to me.”
Y/N walked towards the clearing’s centre. Her heart ached as she caught a flash of Dean’s laugh. She stopped when she reached a patch of blackened ground.
She knelt down before a heap of scorched wood. It had been months since she’d last been here and the ground was still stained with ash. She laid out the DVD and bottles of beer she had been holding. “Happy Valentine’s Day,” she whispered.
Above Y/N, standing cold and out of place was a pyre. It had been months since she had lost Dean to the vampires and he had been laid to rest. She still remembered the night Sam had driven the Impala home, passenger seat, empty. He had left the Bunker shortly after and she hadn’t heard from him much since then. She winced and cast away the memory, thinking instead of her last Valentine’s with Dean. They had been hopeful then, trusting in their future. He had told her that day that he would be content so long as she stayed by his side.
Y/N looked up to the sky and closed her eyes, reveling in the sun’s soft touch upon her skin. She took a breath and spoke.
I have no idea why I did this. It sounded like a good idea at first but then by the end it was just too late to turn back. Don’t worry, I’m writing another Dean Winchester V-Day fic as we speak to atone for this one. HAPPY VALENTINE’S DAY YOU GUYS!!!!
If you’d like to be tagged in any future Supernatural fics, just tell me in the comments… or visit mytaglist! (and if you’d rather not be tagged in ALL Supernatural fics, please specify; EX: Reader x Dean, Christmas with TFW series, etc…)
Warnings:You better be 18+ before you read this. DEMON!DEANNON-CONSENSUAL SEX. IMPLIED MAJOR CHARACTER DEATH. Slight fingering, dubious consent, unprotected vaginal penetration, slight cock-warming, creampie, hints of dominance and submission, orgasms. Possible Stockholm? If I forgot anything, please let me know, I want to make sure readers are aware. Read with caution.
Summary: You are in the bunker with Demon!Dean. Sam has been murdered and the exits are all locked down. No matter how much you run, you can’t escape. He’s hungry and he’s coming for you.
Paring: Demon!Dean x Trapped Fem!Reader
A/N: I am used to writing smut for Demon!Dean, but this time I felt like taking a darker route. D!Dean in his full-on, not giving a shit, no morals style. This story is triggering and is meant to be triggering, so feel free to simply scroll past it if it’s going to offend you.
Please don’t post any of my work anywhere else, do not steal, copy, or use parts of it. I have worked hard on this story and it’s not yours to take.
Word Count: 3.5k
The sounds of Sam’s screams were never going to leave your mind. It was a broken record that played over and over inside your mind. His death seemed like it had taken forever. A part of you blames yourself. If you maybe had been more firm in your stance on this whole situation, Demon Dean wouldn’t be here, Sam would still be alive, and you would be lying in your comfortable bed far away. However, he was insistent, and look where it got him.
It’s been a while I know but my life is just a hot mess anymore haha. Hope you like it though. :) I’m posting from my phone I’ll add the tag list later today ☺️
Fic Summery: Sophia has never known love, her always picking the “good guy” him always turning out to be like a snake in the weeds. What will happen when she's took home one night by a “bad guy” him showing her things she never knew about herself.
Part Summery: Sophia learns more about the boys and meets Bobby
I don’t know when I fell asleep, or even how I did it. I felt like that’s all I’ve been doing lately. Maybe that’s why I felt so groggy when I woke up.
I woke up in the back of the car. It was dark, rain pitter pattering on the car roof. I was surrounded by different cars, all of them looking abandoned. But I couldn’t see much, the only light came from a street light in the distance.
A crushing weight of abandonment feels my chest as I think I’ve been left behind. The thoughts of Dean saying he would protect me seems like empty promises now.
With my eyes starting to burn I climb out of the car. The rain washes over me in a biting chill. I wrap my arms around myself and with no sense of direction I start to walk towards the light.
It’s not as far as it seems, it’s just behind a tower of crushed cars.
A two story faded blue house stands just a little ways away. Despite the distance I can see the light coming from the windows.
With no other options I walk towards it. Having no idea how late it is and if they would even let in a stranger.
I glup knowing I wouldn’t be able to speak to them. Dean was the only one who could get me to talk and it seemed that he was nowhere around.
By the time I reach the door I’m shivering the cold rain soaking the clothes I’m in. My bare toes aching at the cool weather.
With a shaking hand I lift it to knock on the door, hoping someone would answer.
I jump when the door swings open, Dean standing there with a hooded jacket on his toned frame. A large umbrella in his hand.
I watch his face soften as he sees me. Most likely looking like a drowned rat.
“Oh, Kitten. I was just about to come get you. Come in here and let’s dry you off.” He says, wrapping his arm around me and pulling me into the house.
It is considerably warmer than outside. The inside of the house is cluttered but homey at the same time. Books and papers are littered on every surface.
Sam is sitting at the folding card table in the kitchen, an older man is standing by him.
“Who is she?” The older man asks, looking at me like I was a threat.
“Dean new damsel in distress. You know my brother and his savior complex.” Sam says, making me wonder what I did to make him not like me.
“Shut it Sammy.” Dean says, pulling me around the corner into the next room. Towards the lit fireplace.
“Come on Sophia, let’s get you warm.” Dean says placing me right in front of the flames.
I instantly start to relax as the heat wraps around my body.
“I’ll get you something to drink.” Dean says peeling off his jacket and placing it on my shoulders.
I smiled at him. Wondering how I could ever think he forgot about me. Of course Dean wouldn’t abandon me.
As he walks off I hear him whisper something to someone, the sound of heavy footsteps approaching me.
I turn around seeing the older man just a few feet away from me.
“Well seeing as you’re in my house I think you ought’ to know my name.” He says holding his hand out to me.
“Bobby Singer, paranoid bastard.” He shocked me with his introduction.
Despite it I take his hand and shake it, smiling at him.
“You’re a quiet one huh?”
“She doesn’t talk.” Dean says joining us, handing me a cup of coffee.
“What for?” Bobby asks, looking at me. Like he expects me to answer.
Gluping I shrug, knowing why but it was hard to explain.
“Her last boyfriend was an abusive dick is why.” Dean says sipping his coffee casually like he didn’t just say what he just said.
“Ahh.” Bobby says, nodding his head.
“Well, did you boys teach him a lesson?”
“Not yet.” Dean says winking, making an uncomfortable feeling settle in my stomach.
“But enough about that. Let’s get down to business.” Dean says, as Sam walks into the living room with us. Him holding his own cup of jo.
“Do you trust her?” Bobby asks, jerking his head towards me.
I sigh hating being talked about like I wasn’t there but what was to be expected when I was mute all the time.
“Like he said. She doesn’t talk. Dean’s the only one she will talk to.” Sam says, making me blush.
I drop my head feeling embarrassed.
“She just needs some time to get back on her feet. I’m helping her, yes I trust her. She doesn’t know anything about what we do but she’s on our side. Right Sophia?” Dean asks, making me look up at him.
I nod my head with a smile, having no idea what he was talking about but clearly they were into something shady. But I expected that when I went to work with Dean. When they were selling something that seemed impossible to own.
But I wasn’t going to tell anyone. Even if I could, Dean and Sam had been nothing but good to me. I wouldn’t betray them. I just knew I wouldn’t.
“Alright if you idjits trust her, that’s good enough for me. Now let’s get down to business.” He says taking one more swig of his drink and moving to turn towards a large book with a bunch of numbers on it.
It was a records book of some kind.
Dean smiles at me, both him and Sam finding a place to sit. Bobby sitting behind the desk, closes to me. Even though I was still cold I moved away from the fire to sit next to Dean on the couch.
“Lucky for you Cas gave you a heads up on the ones hunting your asses.” Bobby says looking at Sam like he was in trouble.
“Going after Dick Roman alone was stupied even for you.”
“I got close.” Sam says, looking away clearly annoyed.
“Close ain’t close enough. I thought I taught you better than that.” Bobby says, making me wonder if he was their father.
I look at Dean wondering what they were talking about. Who was Dick Roman? Did Sam try to kill him? Was the blood on Sam’s shoe human?
A sinking feeling of realization hits me like a ton of bricks. Sam and Dean were murderous.
“So what do you want us to do?”
“It ain’t up to me. Your father left the family business to you boys. You made the mess, you get to fix it.” Bobby says, pointing at Sam.
“It was a mistake Bobby. But mistakes can be fixed.” Dean says sitting up straighter.
“We need a plan. Get rid of the heat off of Cas before that chief Naomi fires him and business can go back to usual.”
“What stealing and selling rare artifacts to Bella so she can make more of a profit then you boys? John might not have been father of the year but he started this to help people not just make a quick buck.” Bobby says scolding them.
I was more confused than I have been in a long time but I couldn’t help listening to them. Trying to figure out what was going on.
“So what do you suggest?” Dean asks, seeming to honestly want Bobby’s advice.
“Break him down from the bottom up. Take what matters most and we can watch Dick shrivel.”
“Alright? Where do we start?” Sam asks.
Bobby digs through the book in hand and pulls out a picture sliding it over to Sam. I couldn’t really tell but it looked like a picture of a dock.
“These are empty shipping containers that are going to be full of drugs, guns you name it this weekend. But that’s not what I’m interested in. Dick’s got kids he plans on putting on one of them. Gonna trade them for something. Don’t know, don’t care. But there are folks kids about to be taken forever and that doesn’t sit right with me.”
“When do we start?” Dean says his jaws locked, Sam’s forehead wrinkled in worry but both of them looked different.
Like they were ready for battle, ready to do anything. Ready to kill.
I didn’t know what this was, or what I got myself into. What did Bobby call it?
The family business?
Either way, I was in it and didn’t see a way out.
It didn’t take long for them to hatch out a plan as if they had done this a hundred times. Sam and Dean decided to stop the kids from ever getting to the docks and if that didn’t work, worse case they could just break the kids out.
I didn’t understand what was going on. Luckily for me it seemed I didn’t have to. No one asked for my input or help. The three men moving around the room talking about so many illegal things as if they were talking about the weather.
I sat on the couch watching them. I should have been more freaked out I know but I wasn’t. I ran away from Sam just because he had blood on his shoe but listening to these men talk about busting open shipping containers and stealing the contents didn’t phase me.
I’m sure there was something messed up in my head. All the beatings from Harry most likely did some damage up there.
Or maybe I was just numb to it all. Yelling and violence was the only thing that seemed to scare me.
I was in no danger with these men. They were clearly criminals, clearly what people would say bad men but despite knowing that.
Despite knowing that Sam definitely tried and might have killed someone and Dean helped cover it and Bobby seemed like the crazed uncle that was behind the whole thing and to top it all off I was a vulnerable mute. I felt safe. Safe enough to pull my feet up under me, curling up and falling asleep.
When I woke up the house was silinet. It is still dark out. The only noise was from the crackling fireplace and soft breathing.
I sat up looking around me to see the only other person was Dean sleeping on the floor beside me.
I look at the clock on the wall seeing it’s just a little past two in the morning. I laid my head back down on the arm of the couch knowing I should go back to sleep but I was wide awake.
I lay there, tossing and turning for a bit trying to get more comfortable but nothing was working. Seeing that it was now fifteen past three I knew there was no chance I was going back to sleep. Sitting up again I let out a frustrated sigh.
I flinch when I hear how loud it was, my eyes snapping to Dean. I frown at myself seeing his green irises staring at me.
“You okay?” He asks softly unlike my loud mouth.
I nod looking down at him.
“S-sorry.” I force out wanting him to know I didn’t mean to wake him.
“S’okay.” He says sitting up, the blanket over him falling to show his bare chest..
He yawns, lifting his arms over his head showing his toned body. I flush, realizing I have never seen this much of him.
I turn my head, not wanting him to catch me looking. It clearly is not working when I hear a chuckle.
“You know I don’t care if you look right?” He says standing up.
I take a breath and look up at him towering over my body. I only came to his waist from sitting on the couch.
“I’m gonna get something for us to drink and then maybe you can try going back to sleep okay?” He asks using his fingers to tuck my hair behind my ear.
I nod and smile at him, butterflies feeling my stomach from his simple touches.
He smiles at me and turns to head towards the kitchen. From there I sat. I could see him open the fridge but I could see what he grabbed.
It only takes him a moment for him to return with a beer in one hand and an orange juice for me.
I blush, smiling that he bothered to remember that I liked it. Taking it from him I take a sip of the cool tart liquid sliding down my throat with ease.
Dean sits to the right of me taking a drink of his own beverage. Us sitting on the couch in siliance for a moment or two.
“Did you just say sorry?” He asks out of the blue, making me turn to look at him.
I nod confused by his sudden question.
“That’s what I thought I just wanted to make sure I wasn’t dreaming. I have dreams about you talking to me all the time.” He says, surprising me by his honesty.
He never seemed to mind being open about what he thought that was for sure.
Yawning he runs his hand across his face, something he does when he’s tired I noticed. I don’t know what gave me the courage to do it but I reach my left hand out and place it on his thigh patting it.
He looks down at my hand then up at me, giving me a playful smile.
“Careful Sophia, I might think you’re flirting with me.” He says teasing.
I knew he was joking but that doesn’t stop me from blushing.
I try to pull my hand away but he grabs it pulling me closer to him with it.
“Come’re.” He says pushing his words together, something else he seems to do when he’s tried.
I do as he asks setting my glass down and crawling over to him
He lets go of my hand dropping his grip to my hip, him using it to guide me to sit on his lap. I blush from the intimate possession but I don’t protest. Knowing Dean would never do anything I didn’t want to do.
He reaches up grabbing my face gently with both hands, him pushing my hair out of my face.
“You know you’re a very good girl right Sophia?” He asks, his question catching me off guard.
My body also catches me off guard by the flip my stomach does.
I don’t know how to respond to that even if I did talk but Dean doesn’t seem to mind. Dean pulls me closer to him, lowering my head down until our foreheads are pressed together.
He closes his eyes shut for a moment making me wonder what’s going on inside him.
“The things I would do to you…” He whispers under his breath making something deep inside me ache.
“But I can’t…” He says letting out a sigh, it’s a sigh of disappointment.
“It’s not a good idea. But I’ve never been known to be the one to do the right thing.”
I wrinkle my forehead completely confused on what he’s getting at.
I didn’t have time to process it either. Dean tilting his head just enough so his lips touched mine. They were soft, but firm. Just like how he was. A gentleness to him that made you want to fall into him. Trust him completely.
It was a scary feeling if I’m honest. Something I couldn’t understand. How I could trust him as much as I do given everything that has happened between me and Harry.
Maybe it was because he was so honest with everything. Maybe it was because he acted like he was the messed up one. Maybe it was because despite him seeing me broken he still decided to help me.
I don’t know what it was but no matter what I couldn’t deny that I trusted him. More than I’ve trusted anyone for a long time.
This is part 10 of Kitten. I know it’s been a while since I posted anything. I’m sorry about that. Life is crazy. Anyways. Here is the next part please don’t hate me for it. It’s not what I planed on writing but writers block sucks. Hope you like it.
Fic Summery: Sophia has never known love, her always picking the “good guy” him always turning out to be like a snake in the weeds. What will happen when she's took home one night by a “bad guy” him showing her things she never knew about herself.
Part Summery: Sophia suspects the truth about the brothers and what they really do for work.
After we ate dinner Dean led me back to my room. Him casually talking about things that didn’t matter. I knew he was doing it for my benefit to help me relax.
But before we could get down the hall the door opened at the top of the steps Sam walked inside.
He turns to see us, greeting us with a simple Hey.
I smile and wave back thinking about trying to reply but stop myself. Wanting to save my words for Dean. Well at least for now.
“Dinners in the kitchen.” Dean says, nodding his head towards that direction.
“Thanks.” Sam says, taking a breath as he reaches the bottom of the steps. Him running his fingers through his hair.
“Everything okay?” Dean asks, prompting me to look Sam over.
I stop when I spot a dark stain on Sam’s shoe. It was dried telling me it’s been there at least an hour.
That also made me realize that Sam was wearing different clothes. He was still dressed in a nice suit but it was a different color than before. Faint scratches were on his neck as well.
There was blood on Sam’s shoe. Why?
I felt a wave of fear run through me as I took a step away from him.
“What’s wrong Sophia?” Dean asks, turning to face me.
I ignore his question only pointing to Sam’s shoe. My stomach drops when Dean looks at it, seeming to be unfazed.
Sam look’s down and clenches his jaw as he looks back up at me.
“Look, it’s not what you think.” He says taking a step towards me but I ignore him.
Turning a bolt down the hall my mind screamed at me to run to get out of here as fast as I could.
I ran as fast as I could hearing both Dean and Sam call after me. Reaching my bedroom I close the door behind me, locking it and moving to slam the desk against it.
I frantically look around for something to defend myself with suddenly not wanting to be around either of them. Every shady thing the brothers did came to mind all at once.
I was living with bad men. Killers it seemed.
I jump and even scream as someone knocks on the door.
“Sophia, it’s me. Calm down.” Dean says his voice is gentle and even.
“Sophia I’m sorry I scared you. Let me explain.” Sam says, him sounding just as kind. Even a bit sad.
I shake my head as if they can see me and run to lock myself into the bathroom, shutting and locking the door behind me.
I hear them knocking and trying to get me to open the door so I cover my ears to block out the sound.
Tears stream down my face as I picture them breaking down the door and dragging me out to kill me too.
I knew too much right? What did I expect? Trusting complete strangers I met at a club. The banging gets louder, making me cry out in fear and sobs.
I never saw either of them angry but I was about to. Curling up tighter into a ball I can only blame myself for my fate.
But neither of them come. Soon the sound of their muffled voices and knocking stop. Only the sound of my crying is left. I stay that way crying myself to sleep.
When I wake up I’m still in the bathroom, it feels like hours have passed. My stomach twisted in hunger telling me maybe it was longer than that.
Sitting up from the hard floor I move to my feet and open the bathroom door seeing the desk is exactly where I left it. Pushed against the door.
I walk cautiously towards it half expecting them to still be standing there. I look over at the clock to see it’s well past midnight. Nearly five in the morning.
I wonder if Sam and Dean left for work. Work? What really was their job? Dean said it wasn’t exactly legal. What did that mean?
I push the desk back into it’s palace quietly hoping they are gone and I could get out of here. The thought of leaving fills me with mixed emotions. I wanted out, scared they were gonna hurt me but I also wanted to stay the feelings I was growing for Dean still very much there. It also didn’t help that they saved me.
Opening the door slowly I jump seeing Dean there but I quickly realize he was sleeping. He leaned against the wall, his arms crossed and his bend down. Gently snores leave his mouth making me wonder how long he’s been there.
Since I locked myself inside my room most likely.
I leave my bedroom door open and walk down the hallway not really sure what my plan was.
Was I leaving? Where would I go? Was I going to stay? I didn’t really know either one of them.
I carefully move down the hall towards the exit. The whole bunker is pitch black except for the red lights lighting my path along the wall.
Walking past the kitchen I ignore the very loud growl my stomach lets out. I jump when a light clicks on my head snapping to the source.
Sam sits at the wooden tables, the lamp in the middle being turned on by him. Him most likely hearing my stomach.
He looks as if he’s been up all night, a deadly serious look on his face.
I glup at the sight of him, scared of what he will do to me.
He pushes a chair away from the table, pointing to it.
“Sit. We need to talk.”
A/N Do you want me to add some supernatural things to this fic? Do you want some Sophia x Sam action? Thank you for reading :)
This is part 4 of Angel Eyes sorry for not posted in ages. But I found this on a flash drive from like 2017 so I edited and thought I should post it. I hope you like it.
Fic Summary: This is backstory to kind help people understand Dean and Callie’s relationship. Sam, Dean and Callie go get tattoos :P
Walking into the bathroom I bent over untying my boots. Kicking them off I stood up and met my green eyes in the mirror. Reaching up to take my hair down I stopped when there was no longer a black string around my wrist. I quickly opened the bathroom door shocking Sam he was behind it and I almost hit him.
“What’s wrong?” Dean asked dropping his bags by the door and walking up to me. I was taken back when he grabbed my arms softly as if I was going to pass out.
“I lost my antipossion charm.” I say biting my lip.
“You what?” Dean and Sam asked, clearly mad.
“I didn’t mean to. It was on my wrist and I guess it must have broke.”
“Great, what are we going to do now? I doubt Booby just has another one laying around.” Dean asked, throwing up his arm and walking away from me.
“Even if he did, who says she wont lose it again.” Sam says sitting on the bed.
“I’m right here, ya know. Maybe it’s in the hotel room.”
“We just got here. I doubt you lost it in the past five minutes.” Sam said.
“Well it’s not like I can just tattoo the thing to me.” I said throwing up my arms and moving to the door shutting it, probably a little too rough., but I hate being treated like I’m five.
“Wait a minute.” Dean says, making me turn to face him.
“Why not get it tattooed. It would get rid of having to keep up with it. And plus its one sure way, no demon would ever get into us ever again.”
“That’s not a bad idea.” I say agreeing. “I always wanted to get a tattoo anyways.” I say shrugging.
“And what if I don’t.” Sam says standing up.
“Oh come on Sammy it’s common sense, to get one.” Dean says lifting his hands.
“Yeah, it’s the smart thing to do.” I say smiling, getting butterflies about the thought of getting tattooed.
“Oh and what are we meant to tell the person that does it?” Sam asks.
“The truth. It looks like some tribal tattoo that people walk around with all the time. The worse case they think we are weirdos but there still going to do it.” I say sitting down beside Dean on the bed.
“Callie is right, money is money. They don’t care as long as they get paid.”
“What if they only take cash?”
Sighing I throw my head back hitting Dean’s shoulder.
“Then we go to the bar, play a little pool and go back. With cash. Why are you so against getting a tattoo?” I ask
“Yeah, Sammy it can be on your ass for all I care.” Dean says laying back on the bed’s headboard making me fall, sence I was still leaning on him.
Glaring up at him I sat back up, only getting a small laugh out of him.
“How do we even know it will work?”
Sighing again I laid back on Dean’s legs reaching back to grab my phone off the nightstand. Flipping it open I pressed 3 it calling Bobby.
“Callie, it’s 1AM what the hell do you want?” Bobby answered sound sleepy and mad.
“Sorry Bobby. I didn’t realize it was so late but I have a important question.”
“About what?” He said trying to be helpful but not hiding his anger.
“The charms you gave us. If we tattoo the symbol to ourselves will that work the same as wearing them?”
“What kind of idjit are you? Of course it will work. Next time you decide to bother me while I’m sleeping make sure it’s a damn good question.”
“Sorry Bobby, just wanted to make sure.”
“Yeah, yeah.”
“I’ll let you go back to sleep. Good night Bobby. Sweet Dreams.”
“Yeah, I’ll bet.” He says hanging up.
“He is mean when he is sleepy.” I say looking up at Dean as I close my phone.
“What did he say?” Sam asked.
“Looks like your getting inked up, buttercup.” I say smiling at him.
Sighing, he clenched his jaw.
“I’ll be in the car. Hurry up.” He says walking out to the car grabbing his jacket as he went.
“I think he needs a nap. He is a little grumpy.” I say looking back up at Dean.
“I think you’re right. Better not keep him waiting.” He says smiling, clearly enjoying this as much as me.
Sitting up I walk to the bathroom grabbing my shoes and sitting on the tub to put them back on.
“Where do you think I should get it?” Dean asked leaning against the door frame to the bathroom.
Looking up at the ceiling I bit my lip, thinking of where a tattoo would look good on Dean. The first thing was anywhere. Shaking away that thought. I thought of where I like tattoos on guys.
“Hmm… Shoulder, shoulder blade, or chest.” I say tying my boot and pulling on the other one.
“What about you. Where are you going to get it?”
“I don’t know. I don’t want it super viable. Like I don’t want to have to worry about people being like what’s that?”
“I think you should get it on your ribs.” Dean says as I finish tying the other boot.
“Why the ribs. That’s the worse place to get a tattoo.” I say standing up and walking out of the bathroom, feeling Dean follow me.
“Well one because it’s hot and two I know you can take the pain.” He says making blood rush to my cheeks.
“Is that so?” I ask turning to face him, a smirk finding my lips.
I almost smack myself for how flirty that sounds but it’s hard not to when you have Dean in front of you.
“Yeah. You’re kinda a badass.” He says smirking and winking at me.
I laugh softly, him joining me. Rolling my eyes I shake my head a little.
“Maybe.” I say walking to the door, stepping out into a soft sprinkle.
“Rain!” I say smiling up at the sky loving the cool drops on my heated cheeks.
“What was about not being five?” Dean asked behind me and pinched my side, making me jerk a little.
“Shut up.” I say sticking my tongue out at him, earning a laugh.
I jump when Baby’s horn goes off. Looking at Dean’s price postion I see Sam sitting in the front seat looking like a parent who just cought his child having sex.
“Again, I repeat, grumpy.” I say looking back at Dean and stepping off the curb to get into the car.
“Why not bug him a little more.” Dean says opening the driver door for me.
Taking the hint I get in and move to the middle, Sam clenching his jaw making me laugh.
“Oh don’t be so grumpy. It’s only a little seat sharing.” I say poking his hard jaw.
“Just can we get this over with?”
“Damn Sam, Bobby is not the only one that’s mean when he is tired.” Dean says starting the car backing out.
“I just want to get this done so I can take a shower and get a few hours in before I have to get up in the morning.”
“Hey, you’re the one who wants to run before dawn.” I say shrugging.
One look from Sam is enough to make me shut up and hold up my hands as a surender. I lean into Dean to get away from Sam before he bursts a blood vessel. Feeling bad for now getting up front, for wanting to bug him more.
Maybe feeling the same or seeing Sam’s face. Dean lays his arm over my shoulders and pulls me closer to him, giving Sam as much space as he can get with all of us up front. Leaning into Dean’s side I close my eyes and just listen to the rain picking up and hitting the Impala’s roof. Moving his arm down, I shift slightly laying my head on Dean’s shoulder, feeling completely relaxed. No not relaxed. At home.
When Dean’s neck starts vibrating with him humming I let myself enjoy it till the point of my eyes don’t want to stay open anymore.
I softly smack Dean’s chest, making him stop.
“What was that for?” He asks sounding shocked.
“You’re making me fall asleep.” I say a yawn leaving my mouth, making a laugh leave Dean’s.
“Dean, maybe we should go back to the motel. Let Callie sleep.”
“Oh your not getting out of this that easy, buttercup.” I say sitting up and looking at him, making me slightly dizzy but I ignore it, it fading quickly.
“Yeah, because we are here.” Dean says pulling into the parking lot of a tattoo and piercing shop.
Getting out of the car, I quickly follow Dean to escape the picking up rain.
“Welcome. What can I do for you?” Asks the tattooed bearded main at the front desk.
“Hi, we’re looking to get a tattoo. We heard this was the place to come.” Dean says, making the man laugh.
“Well that’ll be right. I’m Chet, nice to meet you.” Chet says holding out his hand to Dean.
“Dean.” He says taking it.
“And you Miss?” He asks looking down at me.
“Callie.” I say waving and smiling.
“And the tall fella?” He asks looking over me at Sam.
“Oh that sour thing is my little brother Sammy. Sammy come say hi.” Dean says waving him over.
“It’s Sam.” He says holding his hand out to Chet.
“Well, nice to meet you folks. So like I said before, what can I do for you?”
“We all three want this.” Sam says handing Chet a piece of paper with the simbel roughly graw on it.
“You draw this yourself?” Chet asks, taking the picture and looking down at it stroking his beard.
“Yeah, I did. Look, not to be rude, but can we hurry this up I would really like to get some sleep.” Sam says, looking tired.
“Well just slow down there a minute.” Chet says not even the least bit surprised with Sam’s mood.
“How big are you three talking? Because if you want something huge It’s going to be more than one trip. Plus you have how are you going to pay and where you want it at.”
“No bigger than three inches.” I say getting an agreement from both the boys.
“Altight. That will be 75 each. That’s without color.”
“You take credit?” Dean asks.
“Yes, sir we do.”
“Well, let’s do this.” Dean says, pulling out his wallet and handing him his card.
I’m a little surprised when he doesn’t look at it or ask for ID.
“Alright, well let me go draw this up and you three can talk about where you want it and who goes first.” Chet says taking the picture Sam drew and walking in the back.
“Sam you can go first.” I say sitting on one of the black leather couches, Dean sitting beside me.
“Why do I go first?” Sam asks sitting in a plastic chair across from us.
“Because you won’t have to wait you can go out and sleep in the car while we get ours done.” I say like it’s obvious.
“Okay sure, whatever.”
“Man he really is tired.” Dean says laying his arm on the back of the couch.
“Yeah, well it will be over soon and we will never have to worry about it again.” I say smiling up at Dean, because I would probably just get a glare from Sam.
On the note I could feel his death glaze burn a hole in my head.
“So did you decide where you are going to get yours?” I ask, whoever wants to answer.
“I’m working on it.” Dean says winking at me, making me roll my eyes.
“What about you Clauda?” Sam asks
“Still thinking.” I say biting my trying to think of where would be the best place.
All three of us fall into a comfortable silence waiting on Chet. He returns around thirty minutes later.
“Alright I got everything all set up. So who is going first.”
Both me and Dean pont to Sam.
“Alright, son, follow me back.” Chet says holding the beads hanging over the door out of Sam’s way.
“Be nice!” I say getting a Yeah, Yeah and a wave from him.
Chet laughs and walks thru the door with Sam in front of him.
“So, you really don’t know where you are getting yours?” Dean asks looking down at me.
“No, everywhere I think don’t seem right.” I say biting my lip.
“I have an idea.” Dean says.
“Oh gosh.” I say covering my face, slightly worried.
“Well at least hear me out first.”
“Okay fine, fine. What is your idea?” I ask, looking up at Dean to meet bright green eyes.
“You pick for me and I pick for you.” He says shrugging.
“That way if we can get an outsider’s thoughts on it.”
Smiling, I nod my head.
“You know I really like that.” I say, saying exactly how I felt.
“See and you didn’t trust me.”
“Oh, I trust you. I trust you get me into trouble by putting it on my forehead.”
Laughing Dean ran his hand down his face.
“I was thinking more your cheek but if that’s what you want to go with, its your face darlin’.” He says pulling me closer to him and tickling me softly.
Giggling I push his hands away, just as Chet and Sam walk out.
“Well that was fast.” Dean says, sounding halfway disappointed.
“Yeah, I’ll be out in the car.” Sam says doing just that.
“Alright who’s next.”
“Me!” I say standing up and walking over to Chet.
“You gonna bring your boyfriend with you?” Chet asks nodding at Dean.
Blushing at the boyfriend comment, I ignore it and turn to face Dean feeling dumb since he is picking the spot for the tattoo.
“Oh, yes, yes, yes!” I say running to him and grabbing his forearm just to pull him up from his seat.
I hear Chet laugh behind us making me wonder exactly what life he thinks we have.
Following him back into the other room, Dean laces his fingers with mine making me smile up at him. He quickly returns it making my stomach do flips.
“Room three.” Chet gestures to the last door.
Dean quickly takes the lead pulling me behind him. When we step into the room I can help the rush I get when I see the chair with the gun beside it.
“You okay?” Dean asks looking down at me.
“Yeah, why?” I ask, confused as why he would ask that.
LIfting our joined hands he lets go to show me how my hand is shaking.
“Oh. They’re the good kind. Here feel my heart.” I say taking his hand and placing it to my chest before I can think.
Realizing what I did I feel myself blush a little but I keep his hand there. He is my “boyfriend” after all.
Smiling Dean moves his hand up to my neck, pulling me to him to kiss my forehead.
“One hell of an adrenaline rush huh?” Dean asks moving so Chet can get to his spot beside the chair.
“So do we know where we want it?” Chst asks when he sets down.
“He does.” I say pointing to Dean and moving back a little.
“Oh, alright what’ll it be son?” He asks looking up at Dean.
“She wants it on her rib. Here.” Dean says placing his hand on my right side just under my bra strap.
“And you’re okay with that?” Chet asks looking at me, making eye contact. I guess to see if I’m lying.
“Yes, it’s perfect.” I say telling the truth.
Feeling all at once how I could not picture it anywhere else.
“Alright well take a seat, I’ll fix the chair once you’re on it. Dean there is a stool in the hall if you want to grab it so you have somewhere to sit.”
“Alright.” He says walking out of the room quickly returning since the stool was just outside the door.
“Is this your first tattoo?” Chet asked, fixing the chair so he could reach my rib easily.
“Yep.” I say popping the P getting comfortable on my left side.
“Well let me tell you it’s going to hurt a lot.”
“She can take it.” Dean says sitting on the stool my face becoming even with his belly.
“Well just let me know if you need to take a break. Don’t worry though I got 20 years under my belt. Or should I say gun. You’re in good hands.”
“Thanks Chet.” I say smiling at him and laying my head on my left arm, my other one laying in front of me.
“Lift your shirt for me please.” Chet says.
“I got it.“ Dean says before I can even move. Pulling my shirt up I feel as if it’s in slow motion but maybe that’s just because I’m suddenly very aware of how many scars I have on my stomach and hips.
I realize that it’s not Dean seeing them, it’s Chet. I can hear the questions now. But they never come. Instead I feel something like paper being stuck to my sink.
"So you from around here?” Chet asked, one of us.
“No. Road trip. She got it in her head that we all should get tattoos.”
“Hey! It’s for a good reason.” I say sticking my tongue out at Dean even though he is not eye level with me. Well he is never eye level with me.
“About that if you don’t mind me asking. Your brother said something about it being in the family. He didn’t make much since. He was not in a chatty mood.
"Yeah, it’s been in his family for years. All the way back to the tribes. The people believed that it could keep you from getting posed.” I say smiling a “what the hell smile”.
“Oh thats a new one.”
“Yeah, but like I said she got it in her head. So it had to be done. But at the end of the day it’s a badass tattoo.”
“That it is.” Chet said starting up the gun making a buzz fill the room.
“Ready?” He asked from behind me.
“Ready.” I say as Dean seems to shrink down to my level. Him pulling the lever on the bottom of the stool. He still has to bend down a little to be eye to eye with me but that’s better than nothing.
When the needle of the gun first touched my skin it felt like I was being punched so hard it made my ribs brake. Groning I clenched my jaw and grabbed onto the nearest thing which happened to be Dean’s forearm.
“Are you okay?” Chet asked, pulling the gun from me.
“Yes” I say closing my eyes and groaning again.
“Man that hurts worse than getting sticked up.” I say taking a deep breath thru my nose and blowing it out of my mouth.
“Should I keep going?”
“Yeah, keep going.” I say moving my hand to Dean’s.
Feeling the pain again I bit my lip so I didn’t make a noise. It still hurts but this time I knew what to expect. It felt like someone was digging a white hot nail down my side.
After a minute it slowly turned into a dull pain as my skin in that spot went numb.
“Dean is it?”
“Yeah.” Dean says pushing my raven hair off my face.
“You got a keeper. Never have I ever seen a first timer get a tattoo on their ribs and be this quiet or still.”
“Yeah, she is good at that.”
Laughing I moved my right arm over my head and looked down as best as I could watching Chet wipe away ink from my side.
Smiling at the butterflies again I laid my arm back down. Dean laying his hand on the back of mine lacing his fingers through mine.
“That scar on her hip. I walked in on her sewing it up herself.” Dean said, sounding almost like he was bragging.
“Yeah and you should have heard the ear full I go for it.” I say, smiling softly, my eyes closed.
It seemed to help with the pain, the less I talked. So that’s what I didn’t do. I lay there listening to Dean and Chet talk about me and what happened so I had to get sewn up. Dean came up with the lie that I was a nurse in afghanistan. That’s where we met, that’s where the scar he was talking about came from. If only it was that noble. When really it came from breaking up a bar fight between Dean and some dude hitting on me very, very hard. To the point I almost stabbed him. Dean did walk in on me sowing up and I did get an ear full. But it was not just him telling me how I should not have tried to break up the fight. Or sow myself up.
It had a mix of the crystal green his eyes get when he is hurting. It didn’t take two glances to see that he was mad at himself more than me. He thought it was his fault.
Always dose.
“Callie you alright?” Dean asks, making me open my eyes and look up at him, a yawn leaving my mouth.
“Well I guess that answers my question.” Chet said laughing.
“What?”
“I thought you passed out of something. I told him you were fine but he wanted to be sure.”
“No, yeah, I’m okay. Just listening to you talk. Your voice is relaxing.” I say smiling up at him, making him scratch the back of his head telling me I embarrassed him which didn’t happen often.
“Well you’re halfway done. So finish your nap.” Dean says, trying to laugh it off.
“Thanks.” I say smiling and closing my eyes.
Lucky me Chet started another conversation with Dean about what all he has hunted.
He went on about telling him something about a bear which I think was one of the werewolves we have killed or maybe a windigo.
“Alright, you are done.” Chet said, turning off everything.
“Can I see?” I ask sitting up a little. An ache in my side.
“Let me clean you up first.”
Nodding I layed back on the chair and poked Dean’s chest making him look down at me.
