#imaginingsupernatural
Author:hogwartsismyhometoo
Word Count: 1,630
Read Part (1) (2) (3) (4) (5) (6)
Dean
Dean called everyone into the kitchen the next day, disguising his true intentions behind the promise of greasy, sizzling bacon and fried eggs with plump yolks. He tried to focus on the hot pan in front of him, but it was hard not to look at Y/N instead, her sneaking grins at him every few seconds and winking.
Sam, Cas, and Charlie all got there about the same time, taking their seats around the table. Sam ruffled Y/N’s hair before he sat down across from her, and Dean had to turn away to hide his wide smile. She was already part of the family, this would just make it official.
“What brought this on?” Sam asked as Dean set a full plate in front of him. He looked confused, but happily so, half-smiling up at Dean with furrowed eyebrows. “You haven’t cooked in weeks.
Dean shrugged nonchalantly, getting himself a plate once everyone else had been served. He sat down next to Y/N and reached for her hand under the table. Apparently she’d been thinking the same thing, because she found his immediately and squeezed, the diamond of her ring rubbing up against his callused skin.
“Just felt like an eggs and bacon kinda day,” he said. “But Y/N and I have something to tell you.”
The scraping of silverware on plates stopped, everyone looking up at them. Cas’ fork hung in the air between the table and his mouth, steaming egg drooping off the end of it.
“You want to say it?” Dean murmured to Y/N, rubbing his thumb across the back of her hand.
She nodded, her lips pressed together the same way they always were when she tried to stop herself from beaming. She gave his hand another squeeze and gently pulled hers away from his, resting it on the table for the others to see. Here, under the bright spotlight of the kitchen, the diamond glittered like a thousand suns.
“We’re getting married.”
Charlie leaped from her chair with a squeal, knocking it over, and was at Y/N’s side in an instant. She threw her arms around her, saying, “I knew it! I knew it! I shipped you guys from the start!”
Dean laughed at the two of them until he felt Sam’s gaze too strongly to ignore. He looked hesitantly at his little brother, but though his smile was small, his eyes were bright and wet. “Congratulations,” he said quietly. “I can’t think of a better match than you two.”
“Thanks man.” Dean’s voice was suddenly tight and hoarse as he clapped Sam’s shoulder, his throat constricted.
He was getting married. He was getting married to the most beautiful woman in the world. She would be Mrs. Winchester. They would be the start of a whole new kind of family, something rich and magical. His mind filled with images of him flipping burgers on the grill in the backyard of a suburban house while Y/N chased a little boy or girl in the grass. Daydreams of her holding up a child to look outside at the starry sky in search of Rudolph as Dean stuffed the stockings. His imagination showed him years of watching their kid grow up in front of their eyes as they grew older together, sitting by the fire with a book and a blanket, the two of them together in a happy, peaceful silence.
He pulled himself out of it just as Y/N caught his eye and beamed at him for the first time that morning. Her eyes were full of enough life to power the earth, bright and twinkling and filling him with the spark of a match struck. Soon his insides were a blazing fire.
“If I’m not mistaken,” Cas spoke for the first time, carefully setting down his fork. “At human weddings, there is someone called an officiant, correct?”
“Yes, Cas,” Y/N said, one arm still around Charlie, who’d taken the seat next to her. “They’re the ones who make the marriage happen.”
He nodded slowly. “I see. And this person—they are a religious leader?”
“Usually, yeah.” Dean couldn’t help but notice that she hadn’t stopped twisting the ring around her finger since Charlie had pulled away. It sent a surge of energy through him. “Most of the time they’re priests or ministers.”
He nodded again, staring intently at the table as he mulled this over, the wrinkled brow and slightly parted lips showing his confusion. “Then if I may, could I suggest myself as your … officiant? I do have a closer connection to God than any minister could ever have.”
Dean laughed. “Sure, Cas,” he said, smirking. “I’d be happy to have you as our officiant.”
“Well as long as we’re making wedding plans,” Y/N said, glancing at Dean before turning back to Charlie. “Charlie, would you be my maid of honor?”
Charlie squealed again and said something in such a high-pitched voice, Dean couldn’t make out what it was. She almost tackled Y/N in her rush to hug her. Dean shook his head a little at the two of them, giggling and speaking at the same time about the wedding. He looked back at Sam.
“Sam,” he started quietly. “Would you—”
“Yes,” Sam said, before Dean had even finished.
“You don’t even know what I was going to ask.”
“Yes,” he said again. “You don’t have to ask.”
Dean threw his hands up in the air and said, “Hey, I won’t argue you agreeing to be our indentured servant for the foreseeable future.”
Sam rolled his eyes, then said, “Dean, seriously, I’d be honored.”
Dean swallowed hard and nodded, his eyes prickling. “Thanks, Sammy.”
Y/N
The wedding was small. There weren’t many people Dean and I wanted to invite besides Sam, Cas, and Charlie—who were all already part of the wedding anyway—but Jody came with Alex. And Garth and his wife, and even Claire. Everyone looked stunning, sparkling and blood-free, genuine smiles on their faces. I couldn’t remember the last time everyone had looked so happy.
The whole time I was getting ready with Charlie’s help, walking down the aisle, standing barely a foot away from Dean dressed in a tux with his bright green eyes filled with tears, I was reminded of that quote from “Lilo and Stitch.” The one about family that Stitch says: “This is my family. I found it all on my own. It’s little and broken, but still good. Yeah, still good.” That was how I felt in that moment. That was how I’d felt all along.
The vows, the kiss—quickly followed by more squeals from Charlie and a wolf whistle from Garth—, walking away from the park bathed in sunshine and endless summer days, passed by in the blink of an eye. The others knew better then to write anything on the Impala, but they could resist putting up a sign in the back window that said, “Just Married!” and a few streamers off the back of the car.
When we drove back to the bunker—me beaming and rubbing my thumb across the back of his hand, Dean smiling softly—and got out of the car, Dean scooped me up. I squealed and clung to him so I wouldn’t fall, but his strong arms held me steady.
“What are you doing?” I giggled, voice trailing off at the end as I stared up at him, hand cupping his cheek. I traced my fingers along the side of his face, marvelling at just how much of the universe lived in his eyes. I saw a thousand stars in a thousand galaxies, bright and endless and waiting to be explored. His gaze locked onto me, freezing me in place.
“Welcome home, Mrs. Winchester,” he whispered.
“I’ve always been home,” I whispered back.
He leaned down and pressed his lips to mine, pulling me closer against him. My fingers stopped their tracing, tangling in his hair instead. I could see him even with my eyes closed, the feel of him painting the perfect picture. A hint of stubble tickling my smooth skin, his breath mingling with mine, his arms wrapped around me and keeping me warm like a roaring fire at Christmastime.
When he pulled away, I felt like I was waking up from a wonderful dream, half-asleep in a golden haze at eleven a.m. with nothing but a day of lying in bed ahead of me. The crinkles at the corners of his eyes appeared as he smiled.
“I’m glad you saved us that night,” he murmured.
“Well I’m glad you didn’t stand me up.” I nuzzled my face against his neck as he carried me inside and down the steps.
“I’d have to be stupid to stand you up.”
I flushed and grinned against his skin at his words, remembering how he’d said almost those exact same words to me on the first day we met. It was like no time had passed at all, yet we’d spent eternity together all at once.
“I love you,” he said as he laid me down on the bed.
I smiled, feeling like pure sunshine was radiating from every cell in our bodies, and cupped his cheek. “I love you, too.”
Dean
It was three weeks after they’d gotten back from the honeymoon. Dean was sitting on their bed, checking his e-mail on his laptop. Y/N was in the bathroom, taking a little longer to get ready than usual. He’d been about to call out to her to make sure everything was okay when she opened the door.
Her eyes had been wide and shiny. Her mouth had been halfway open with unspoken words. Her hands had been shaking as she held the stick so he could see.
The strip had been pink.
Imagine Sam making you feel better when you feel ugly.
Author:and-be-loved-in-return-xx
Requested By: ca-stiel
Word Count: 1,250
You stood in front of your wide floor length antique mirror that sat it your room of the bunker, you had never had so much detestation for an everyday house hold object (even cursed ones). That was actually wrong, you only hated what the mirror showed. It showed your flaws, something you were already intensely aware of but it was one hundred times worse them being laid out in front of you. You had never had great body confidence throughout your teenage years, but since you had started hunting with the Winchester’s your confidence and insecurities had improved, it was something to distract you but also made you feel like you were actually doing something worthwhile, something that you were good at; and Dean’s winks and flirtatious comments didn’t hurt either.
However, today those- what you thought were- minor insecurities had all come crashing back, making you sick in your stomach, you could feel them wriggling, swirling around your insides. You’d just returned from a hunt involving a particularly cantankerous Pagan God who only sacrifices young women. Of course, this involved interviewing many of the victims young and pretty friends and watching both Sam and Dean get flustered and lustful at their gorgeous figures, flowing hair and confident personas, it had left you feeling more self-conscious and down than you’d been in months.
You sighed dejectedly, a hideous feeling in your gut as you dragged your eyes up your chubby figure and in vain tried to suck your stomach in and pull it back; of course it didn’t help. “You look like shit, (Y/N),” you said to your reflection a look of disgust on your face.
You’re heart dropped as you heard a sigh from behind you, turning your head begrudgingly you were greeted with the sight of Sam, stood leaning against the door frame. Your face went hot as you blushed, you hadn’t realized he was stood there and he heard you making a comment to yourself, he was bound to want to talk about it and that would make this worse.
“Sam,” you said trying to make your voice sound casual and not let it shake, “I didn’t realize you were there.”
“I was coming to give you this,” he held out the steaming cup of coffee awkwardly before placing it on the dresser, you really wanted him to leave or for you to leave, he was looking down at you, almost confused. “Do you really think that?” he asked, voice soft.
You looked down at the floor, not wanting Sam to see the tears in your eyes you didn’t need his pity and they were tears of embarrassment along with other horrid feelings that put a thick lump in your throat. Little did you know that the main feeling in Sam was confusion and astonishment, you were the most beautiful girl he had ever seen. You weren’t perfect in the cliché way but his stomach always fluttered when you smiled or when you were glowing with adrenaline when you’d finally finished a hunt.
Unbeknownst to Sam’s beliefs though you continued to stare at the floor but you gave a tiny nod, not knowing what he’d say but suddenly all your thoughts came pouring out, you made a mental note to kick yourself for it later, “I’m fine. It’s just I hate this,” you gestured down to your figure, “and usually I just ignore it, concentrate on the hunt or the research or you and Dean or something but I know that I’m fat and not good looking and it was just that hunt with all those gorgeous girls…”
“Wait,” Sam lifted your face gently and studied your eyes, “that’s what this is about?”
You held his gaze for a moment and considered confirming his inquiry but lost your usually ever-present courage and looked away moving back slightly, “It’s nothing Sam, leave it. Is Dean back from the supply run yet?” you forced a smile and it ached slightly, you made your voice sound bright and casual but you winced as you heard the strain in it.
“He only just left. (Y/N), talk to me, I had no idea you felt like this.”
You almost grimaced and Sam’s harmless naivety but instead let out a breathy, humorless laugh, “Well what do you expect? I’m fat, no don’t-”, you held up your hand as Sam opened his mouth, presumable to pointlessly argue, “I am and I put up with that but that case got to me, seeing Dean flirt with anything that breathes is easy enough but you…” your words caught in your throat as another shocked expression formed on Sam’s defined features.
“What girls? The one’s from the hunt?” he paused for a moment and took your silence as confirmation. “(Y/N), sure those girls were good looking but they were nothing like you. They wouldn’t have been able to do the research for a case like you did, or chase down whatever monster we’re hunting like you’re out for an easy jog or kick a full grown man’s ass or shoot on the range like you. They don’t have that gleam in their eyes that you have when you talk about something you love. You’re the one who’s whole face lights up when you’re laughing at something Dean said.” He stopped for a moment but you couldn’t tear your eyes away from him.
“Your flawless,” at this you did roll your eyes at, what Sam had said had lightened and loosened the knot in your chest and you were half-convinced at his words but this you were tempted to laugh at. He just smiled softly, “No, you are. What you think are flaws are really just things that make me love you more, when you have lines under your eyes it just reminds me of those late nights we spend talking or enjoying ourselves for a change in a bar. You have scars but that just reminds me of all the battles you’ve fought and won and how you’re a survivor. The only problem I see here is that you don’t see how beautiful you are.”
You were slightly overwhelmed by his words as you absorbed them, one by one. Did Sam really think that? Sam Winchester? The guy who was 6’4, totally ripped, softly spoken and kind-eyed. The guy who could have any girl he wanted but didn’t. “Sam…” you said in a shaky voice, you were about to protest or deny his words and he could sense it.
He sighed slightly and rolled his eyes, still in disbelief that you couldn’t believe the things he saw no lies in. Throwing all caution (and he realized that the way you friendship was; there was a lot of caution) to the wind he closed the already small space between you, leaned down and gently pressed his lips to your own. It was a gentle kiss, soft but with the promise of something. Sam was trying to tell you something. He was trying to prove to you that you weren’t the things you thought you were and that you were so much more than your reflection in the mirror. Sam cupped your face before gently pulling back and you knew in that moment what he was really trying to tell you, he was trying to tell you that you were loved. As you looked into Sam’s eyes, you realized that- with a few more kisses like that- he might just convince you that you were.
Imagine Dean surprising you for your birthday.
Author:hogwartsismyhometoo
Word Count: 2,472
Y/N
Traveling with the Winchesters was like falling asleep after a really bad day and having the best dreams. I found a great quote by Dr. Seuss that I scribbled down and left for Dean in his hunting bag: “You know you’re in love when you can’t fall asleep because reality is finally better than your dreams.” That’s what being with Dean was. I tossed and turned every night, every inch of my body tingling with energy and anticipation of the next day, the next hunt.
And it wasn’t just Dean, it was everyone. It was belonging, it was being a misfit then finding your place in a group full of them. It was knowing that you had a place in the bed next to the man you loved, a seat in the back of the car reserved for you, an ongoing conversation with your family. It was having nothing but the open road ahead of you. It was adventure and laughter and passion and love. It was Sam’s hugs, Charlie’s bad puns, Cas’ comfort, Dean’s kisses. It was all of it and it was mine.
My mind used to wander back to Starryedge and to the diner for the first few weeks on the road. But after realizing that there was no going back, that there was nothing worth going back for, the details of the town started to blur in my mind. I couldn’t remember what Hadley looked like anymore, couldn’t recall what color my bathroom had been painted. Then I realized I didn’t care.
The bunker, the Impala, Dean, this was my home now. This is right where I wanted to be.
No matter how many times I kicked Dean’s butt when we practiced in the training room of the bunker, he still insisted on keeping me in his sights at all times during cases. Whether I was posing as FBI or doing research at the library, he had to be right by my side. When he’d broken his ankle on a hunt and had to stay behind while Sam and I took a case a few hours away, I couldn’t help but smirk at the glare on his face. It probably didn’t help that I had to be Sam’s date to a dance in order to blend in.
But the best moments were when we were alone. When it was just the two of us, in the dark, finding light in each other’s eyes. They say eyes are the windows to the soul, but Dean’e eyes were so much more. When I gazed into his bright green irises, I could see my past, my future, all of it with Dean. And it was wonderful.
Weeks passed. Dean only brought up Starryedge once in conversation, which I quickly shot down, insisting that I was never going back there. Weeks turned into months, months turned into years. The guest bedroom, which the boys had politely asked me to refrain from decorating when I first arrived, was now painted lilac and plastered with posters. It was my room. The bookshelves were crammed with different adventure stories, a beautiful, hardback, Lord of the Rings set from Charlie sitting front and center.
Christmas had passed twice in the time I’d known them. The first one we missed due to being on a hunt and a graceless Cas lying in the hospital with a concussion. Nobody slept that night. The second one I’d insisted on spending at home, in the bunker, with Charlie and Cas. We exchanged presents. We wore the ugly Christmas sweaters I’d bought everyone. We laughed. We drank a little bit of eggnog with a lot of vodka, though I rejected every offer of alcohol. I wasn’t about to ruin a fourteen-year streak of soberness, especially after what had happened the last time I was drunk and stupid.
In early January, my birthday came and went, barely remembered as Sam, Dean, and I were in the middle of a case. Dean gave me a kiss and mumbled, “Happy birthday” against my lips in the morning, grinning. Sam surprised me by bringing a store bought birthday cake to the motel room. Charlie sent an e-mail. Cas texted, adding a dozen different emoticons, including one of a present, a slice of cake, confetti, balloons, and a duck. He hadn’t quite gotten the hang of it, yet.
The case was simple, though, so after a quick salt and burn, we were back to the bunker before eight. We went to our rooms to unpack our things. I was putting my clothes away when Dean knocked on the door frame.
“Hey,” I said, smiling at him. He hadn’t shaved for a couple days, so the golden stubble was coming in thicker than usual. “What’s up?”
Dean shrugged, though he didn’t meet my eyes. There was something he wasn’t telling me, but I didn’t push it. He was always a little more down in the wintertime. Bad memories of his past, I guess, though November was the worst.
“Nothing,” he said. “I just feel bad. We didn’t really celebrate your birthday this year.”
“Don’t feel bad,” I reassured him. “Your birthday gets pushed off a lot, too. And Sam’s. I knew what I was signing up for when I got in the car that day. I don’t expect to have a huge party every year.”
“Still,” Dean said, shrugging again. “I want to do something. For you. Can you meet me at the car?”
“Sure.” I pulled on my leather jacket, a birthday present from Dean last year. It made me feel truly badass when I looked at myself in the mirror, like one of the gang. “Where are we going?”
“It’s a surprise. Be out in five minutes.”
He left, giving me a little time to touch up my makeup and run a brush through my hair. I stared at my reflection in the mirror, examining the faint scars on my face. I’d had a few nasty cuts while on the job, and the silver lines never completely faded away. The scars told my story, though, told everyone that I’d gotten out of the town I’d lived in all my life for something exciting, something better. It told everyone, this is me. This is my life, and I love it.
Then the most prominent feature of all, the smile that seemed to be perpetually carved into my face. It said, I am in love.
Dean was leaning against the Impala when I stepped outside, looking about ten years younger; boyish smirk, ruffled hair, cool car, leather jacket. He opened the passenger side door for me, letting me slide in before taking his own seat and starting the engine.
“Should I have brought anything?” I asked him as we backed out of the driveway.
“Just yourself,” he said distractedly, still looking at anything but my face.
We drove for a long time, passing twenty-four hour grocery stores, gas stations, fast food establishments. He didn’t say a word, didn’t even put on his music. I resisted the urge to ask if everything was okay, because I knew if I did, he was give me a clipped, “I’m fine,” and shut down completely. If I let him come to terms with whatever was happening on his own, he’d eventually tell me and we’d work it out together. Everything always turned out okay if we gave it time.
“We’re here.” Dean pulled off to the side of the road and killed the engine. Silence fell, broken only by the hum of a few crickets braving the cold.
“Dean?” I said uncertainly. “We’re in the middle of nowhere.”
He gave a small smile, looking out at the dead cornfields flanking us. “Exactly.”
We both got out of the car. He looked somewhere just below my eyes when he took my hand and led me to the hood of the Impala, helping me up so we could both sit on top of it.
“Look up,” he whispered.
I let out a little gasp. The navy blue of the sky was almost impossible to see. What was once just a sprinkle of stars, a small moon to decorate the dark canvas, was now a sheet of spotted silver. Stars upon stars upon stars surrounded us. The infinite condensed itself to a blanket that tucked us in, filling us with warmth and possibilities.
“It’s hard to see the constellations,” Dean said apologetically. “But it’s still—”
“It’s beautiful,” I interrupted him. “I’ve never seen so many stars.”
“I thought you’d like it.” His tone softened, low, smooth, and warm, like a sweet mocha drink. I felt his gaze upon me, but I couldn’t tear my eyes away from the sky, the endless sky.
“Are you cold?” He asked, upon seeing me shiver.
I nodded, and he pulled a thick blanket from the trunk, along with a beer for him and a coke for me.
He threw the blanket over the both of us, for once not protesting when I tucked my feet up on the car. We pressed our bodies together for warmth, clinking our bottles together.
“Happy birthday, Y/N,” he whispered.
I kissed him in response, long and slow, under all those stars. The seemed to act as a kind of bubble, a form of protection from the outside world. In this silver, speckled dome, only we existed. Everyone else, all of our troubles, melted away into the breeze, into the soft music made by the rustling corn stalks.
“Was it a good birthday?” He asked when we broke apart, putting his arm around me.
I nodded against his shoulder. “A wonderful birthday. Even if my name was misspelled on the cake.”
“Your name was misspelled?” Dean said in incredulity.
“Last I checked, that ‘e’ was extra.”
He laughed, a loud, rich sound that made the bubbles in my stomach extra fizzy. Even after two years, we’d managed to simultaneously keep that first date tingle alive and fall into a comfortable rhythm. We were strangers and best friends. But we were the best possible combination of both.
I felt him lean in before I saw him, felt the tickle of his stubble against my cheek. “I love you,” he murmured into my ear.
“I know,” I whispered back.
He pulled away a little bit, matching my wide grin with one of his own. “Did you just quote ‘Star Wars’ at me?”
“It’s possible.”
He laughed again, then sat up, staring at the waxing moon. The full would be upon us soon, and with the full moon came werewolf attacks. It wouldn’t be long before we were out on the road again.
“What is it?” I asked him, the words slipping out before I could stop them. I cringed as I sat up, dreading his typical Dean response. “Nothing.” “I’m fine.” “Don’t worry about it.”
But instead, he said, “I’m scared.”
This answer left me speechless for several seconds. I watched him fiddle with the half-empty beer bottle, his head dropping to face the hood of the Impala, face darkening. I could almost feel his pounding heart.
“Scared of what?” I asked him, so wanting to reach out and touch him, to comfort him, but too confused to know how. Dean Winchester admit that he was afraid? His fear scared me more than any monster could.
His lips twitched into an almost smile. “Of you,” he finally said. “Of what you do to me. I’m terrified, actually. I haven’t felt like myself in years, but—I don’t mind it. It’s almost like I pretended to be something I wasn’t for so long, I forgot it was all an act. I can’t remember the last time I’ve felt so—”
He broke off, looking at me in the eyes for the first time that night. His gaze pierced me to my very soul, leaving me breathless. “I have a present for you.”
It took me a few seconds to realize what he was talking about. “Oh, you didn’t have to—”
“No, I wanted to,” he insisted, setting his beer down on the bumpy pavement of the road. He dug in his pocket for something. “But I can’t exchange it, so I hope you like it.”
“I’m sure I will,” I assured him, setting aside my own bottle so I could take the package from Dean.
It was small, square, and simple, tied up with brown paper and string. I gave him a curious look before tugging one end of the string to untie it and unwrapping the paper.
People always talk about how their heart speeds up when they’re nervous or excited, but mine slowed way down, pounding heavily but steadily, a strong thudding rhythm. Thu-thump. Thu-thump. Thu-thump.
It was a tiny velvet box, as deep a blue as the almost-black sky. I noticed the hinge, indicating where to open it, but I couldn’t bring myself to do anything but stare.
“Go on,” Dean prompted me, sounding as breathless as I felt.
Thu-thump. Thu-thump. Thu-thump.
I could hardly feel my fingers as I pried it open.
And there it was. Small and shining like one of the stars in the sky above us. A single diamond on a thin, golden band. A ring.
“Dean,” I whispered. Only his name came out. My brain was a total blank to any other words available to me.
Dean slid off the hood of the Impala, turning to face me, bending down on one knee. Tears sprung in my eyes, a breathy laugh escaping from my lips. I could barely see him now.
He cleared his throat, then, as strong as he could manage, said, “Y/N, will you marry me?”
There wasn’t anything to think about, nothing to say, no hesitation necessary. Somewhere, tucked away in the corner of my mind, the answer had always been there.
“Yes,” I laughed, falling into him and wrapping my arms around his neck. “Oh my god, yes!”
He laughed back, his body melting into mine in relief, the perfect fit. He squeezed me so tightly, I couldn’t draw in a single breath, but it didn’t matter. He kissed me hard, enough life for the both of us. All I could see was stars and night and green eyes. It was several minutes later before he actually slid the ring on my finger.
“Thank god it fits,” he sighed when I stretched out my hand for the both of us to see.
“It’s perfect.” I leaned into him, placing another kiss on his scratchy cheek. “Thank you.”
The ride home was a different kind of silence, a shared one. We both had so many things to say to each other, but all we could manage a smile and a gentle squeezing of each other’s hands, interlocking our fingers in between our car seats. Some things didn’t need to be said. Not with words.
Imagine Sam and Dean discover you, an abused child, while working a case.
Requested By: one-ofthose-fandomgirls
Word Count: 1,256
Your stomach was in an endless acrobatic routine, flipping and flipping until you were glad you skipped lunch today. It was the smell of dried blood. You knew it well, but never had it been so overwhelming before. It pooled on the floor, splattered the walls and spotted the hoodie that hung all too loose on you.
You had been staring at your hands ever since the police arrived. The blood had stained your skin an ugly brown-orange color, one that was now burned into your retinas. It wouldn’t be until you got home later that night that you realized the same shade had been smeared on your forehead.
Your evening was a blur of bright caution tape and faceless uniforms asking you the same questions over and over again. You dodge their eyes, well aware your answers didn’t make any sense. They either thought you were crazy or a liar. Or both.
Your reputation with the law certainly didn’t help, but you would have thought the two dead bodies lying on the ground inside would have prompted them to look past your petty crimes and finally take you seriously. This was the wrong assumption to make.
There was one cop however that dropped the condescending tone the rest had. He was younger than them, with a roguishly handsome face and melting brown eyes that crinkled at the edges when he spared you a smile. Rodriguez was the name on his badge, but he told you to call him Jerry.
He wrapped one of those orange blankets around your shoulders and told you what you were experiencing was shock. Your mind was overcompensating due to all the horrific things you saw. Your memories were broken and your imagination was doing it’s best to fill the gaps.
He was kind, obviously trying to be a comfort, but he was wrong all the same. You knew what you saw.
You had taken residence leaning against the outer wall of the convenience store, trying fade into the brick so that no one could bother you. This, of course, was to no avail, and you were reminded that when Jerry walked over to you once more.
He laid a hand on your shoulder. It was tentative and light, but you still flinched away. The contact faded instantly. You tried to ignore the awkward guilt that warped his features.
“Two agents are here to see you. I know you’re tired but just try to answer their questions the best you can,” Jerry said, and your eyes slid past to the suits that towered behind him. You nodded briefly and the officer left you with them.
“I’m Agent Witford,” the taller one said while he flashed his badge at you. His hair was long enough to brush his shoulders and his eyes were kind.
“And this is my partner, Agent Kramer.” The second man had a stronger gaze, but his green eyes flitted from you quickly.
“Can you tell us what happened tonight?” Kramer asked. You almost couldn’t see the freckles that dusted his cheeks.
“Some guy came into the store and murdered my manager in front of me. I don’t know why, and I don’t know how he died either,” you said shortly, tired of repeating the same stories. No one believed you anyway.
“Did you happen to smell anything odd?” Agent Witford’s question caught you off guard. There were two dead guys rotting on the floor inside and this was what he asked? Good to know the FBI has their priorities straight.
“Aside from all the blood? Not really.”
“The officer told me you saw fire after your boss had been killed. Is that right?”
You paused, staring down and the brown-orange of your hands once more. Your brow was pulled together as you debated telling the truth.
“Miss?”
“Smoke,” you sighed, “It was black smoke. I saw it coming from where they were standing. Next thing I know the guy that beat my manager’s head in is on the ground, bleeding out with his legs bent like a pretzel. He didn’t take a hit the whole fight but in an instant he was dying right in front of me.”
The two agents exchanged a brief look. It was different from the expressions of disbelief the officers had worn before when you told them the same story, but you couldn’t figure out what it meant.
“Did you overhear anything between the two of them?” Kramer continued.
“No, but the blonde guy, the killer, he said something to me right before he clocked out. Dreikwood Cemetery. He was choking on his own blood. It was the only words I could make out.”
Jerry put a hand on the long-haired agent’s shoulder and muttered something into his ear. You were given a curt nod and he followed the officer back into the store.
“Dreikwood Cemetery, huh? Do you know if that’s far from here?”
“Yeah, it’s just a couple miles down the road that way,” you said, pointing behind him. You had raised your arm just high enough for your oversized sleeve to slide down your arm. The skin was ugly, stained with varying shades of purple, brown and yellow. As soon as the color flashed you tried to retract your arm and conceal the skin, but you were too late.
“Have they kept you here this whole time? You should be at the hospital getting this checked out. I’ll make sure one of the officers drives you. This is freaking ridiculous. I can’t believe they would …” he trailed off as the realization dawned on him. “The blonde-haired man didn’t do this to you, did he?”
“It’s nothing,” you said, “I’m just clumsy. That’s all.” Your mouth was dry.
He didn’t speak for a moment, his green eyes boring into you. As uncomfortable as it was, you forced yourself to stare back, a blank expression masking your face. You had perfected it by now.
“I used to say the same thing when I was your age.” His smile was grim and his laugh was short and humorless. He looked away first, his jaw set hard and something horrible flashing in his eyes.
“I know it’s hard, but sometimes you’ve got to do what’s best for you. Even if it hurts the ones you love.”
He was serious now, desperation dripping from his words. You couldn’t break his gaze, not because of your need to sell a lie but because those green eyes held all the fear that had grown inside of you all these years.
The words “you wouldn’t understand” felt heavy on your tongue now. They did not fall from your lips as easily as you were accustomed to. You couldn’t say it, not out loud, because he did understand, all too well.
“I can’t,” you whispered in a hoarse voice. If you spoke any louder than that your words would break or get stuck in your throat.
He sighed, rubbing his eyes. He must have been expecting this answer.
Agent Witford was back, muttering something to him in a hushed tone. They had to leave. There was a desperate urgency in his voice, but Kramer still hesitated between yourself and his partner.
He resolved by digging in his wallet for a crinkled business card. He crossed off the number and scribbled a new one on the back then handed it to you with these words echoing in your ears. “My name is Dean. I’ll be in town for a few days. If you need anything, anythingat all, call me.”
Imagine leaving home to become a hunter with Sam and Dean.
Author:hogwartsismyhometoo
Word Count: 2,958
Y/N
There was something about his eyes. It felt so cliché to say it, but it was true. There was something about the way he looked at me that made me want to do something crazy.
Although really, what was crazier than running off with two guys I barely knew to fight monsters?
I supposed saving a person from a vengeful spirit was one way to form a bond with someone, but that’s not what sealed the deal. I swear, it was his eyes. It was everything: it was the way he treated me as his equal, the way he listened, his thoughtfulness, and his eyes.
“Fan-fiction green,” they’d been described by Supernatural fans. Apparently Carver Edlund’s Dean had eyes just as amazing as my Dean did.
I snorted out loud. My Dean. How easily I’d claimed him as my own.
The now familiar rumble of the Impala’s engine alerted me to their presence. I took one last look around the house, drinking in every detail. Just in case, I couldn’t help but think. But that was ridiculous. I’d come back, of course I’d come back. It’s not like I was leaving forever.
You don’t just leave the life. Dean had said it so many times in the books, and his voice came to me now. His husky, smokey voice warning me that if I left, this could be it.
But apparently I didn’t care if this was it. What life was this? No friends, no family, a crappy job with an even crappier house. My landlord was a jerk and had been threatening to evict me for months now after I’d been late with the payments so many times. It’d just make it easier for him if I left now.
I dragged the two suitcases filled with my clothes and toiletries to the door, then pulled my duffel bag over my shoulder. I’d grabbed only the essentials, everything I’d need to be on the road and nothing more. Everything else in the house I could live without. I’d been meaning to get rid of some of the junk, anyway.
Someone knocked on the door. I opened it, grinning before I even saw Dean’s face. He smiled back, his body slightly hunched over so we were closer together in height. He stuffed his hands in his pockets, apparently content to just look at me.
“Hey,” I said brightly, relieved that he hadn’t changed his mind. “We’re better coordinated this time.”
He chuckled. “Just took a little practice, I guess. That all your stuff?”
“Yup.” I attempted to hold the door open and pull the suitcases outside at the same time, but ended up tripping over the welcome mat, stumbling into Dean. He gripped my elbow to steady me, and I noticed then that Sam was watching the two of us. His expression was serious, but not so much skeptical or annoyed as he was curious and observant.
“Your brother’s staring,” I said, smirking up at Dean.
His face had been tinged a perpetual pink since I’d opened the door. It could’ve been from the early March chill, but somehow I knew it was unrelated.
“Let him stare,” he said, and swooped down without warning to kiss me.
I let myself melt into his touch, one hand drifting to grip the side of his flannel shirt for support, the other holding tight to my suitcase. It didn’t last long, but it warmed me from the tips of my toes to the top of my head. I bit my lower lip to keep from grinning any wider than I already was.
“You’re sure?” Dean whispered, taking my hand in his own.
I nodded. “I’ve never been more positive.”
He loaded the larger of the two suitcases into the trunk and stuffed the smaller one beside me in the back seat. He rifled through my duffel bag at the hunting supplies I’d collected, nodding with satisfaction.
“You really did your research, he said. “I’m impressed. Of course, there’s still a ton to learn. And we’ll have to get you some better weapons. The knives are good, though they could be sharpened. We have a ton of spare guns and flasks of holy water back at the bunker. We can teach you how to draw devil’s traps, and I’m sure Cas would be more than willing to show you some angel sigils—”
“So Cas is okay then?” I interrupted him. “Last I read, Metatron took his grace.”
“Yeah, Cas is fine,” he tried to reassured me, his smile tight-lipped an unconvincing. “He’s using someone else’s grace right now, so that buys him some time. What do you know about exorcisms?”
“I haven’t memorized it yet, if that’s what you mean.”
“We’ll work on that. For now we can record one on your phone. You have a phone, right?”
I nodded and pulled my cell phone from my pocket.
“Great. We’ll get you added to our contacts. Come on, let’s get going.”
“Welcome back, Y/N,” Sam said, grinning at me in the rearview mirror. He seemed truly pleased to see me in the backseat of the car. It was nice, how easily they’d welcome me into their lives, their home. I knew from the books how choosy Dean was about the people who got to ride in the Impala, and the fact that he’d picked me made my heart pound harder than ever. “I hear you’re a hunter now?”
“Not quite,” I said uncertainly. “But I’m getting there. I think Dean’s already planning some sort of training regimen.”
“It’ll be fun,” Dean said, sliding into the driver’s seat. He revved the engine and pulled out of the driveway. I had to force myself to stare straight ahead, focus on his shoulders or his hair, so I wouldn’t look back. “I haven’t properly trained anyone in forever. I mean, sure, Cas and Charlie needed a little help sometimes, but they weren’t exactly starting from scratch.”
“We should add you to our phones,” Sam said. “Having your emergency contacts on speed dial is a necessity when you’re a hunter.”
I gave them my phone numbers, and they gave me theirs. I put them both on speed dial, along with Cas and Charlie, who they assured me I’d be working with soon enough.
“I’m really excited,” I said, a little sheepishly. “Thanks for bringing me along.”
“Our pleasure,” Dean said softly. He caught my eye in the rearview mirror and grinned. “It’ll be nice to have someone else in the bunker.”
That was the beginning. The first chapter of a new story. A wonderful story.
Dean
“On your left!” Charlie shouted.
Dean ducked just in time, a knife whizzing by his head and clattering against the wall of the basement. He darted forward, trying his best to slice at the vampire who had thrown it, but missed. Vamps were fast, and she was no different.
He bumped into Sam, and the two brothers pressed their backs against each other, falling into a familiar rhythm. Sam managed to hack one vampire head clean off its shoulders. Dean took one down right before she got a chance to sink her teeth into his skin.
“Y/N,” came Cas’s warning tone, somewhere off to Dean’s right.
“I see him,” she muttered, and swung violently at the oncoming vampire. He went down like a broken Lego tower.
She was a natural, Y/N, and Dean had to force himself not to get distracted by her for too long during hunts. It had only taken a couple weeks of training for her to learn their styles and fit herself right into their routine, like a missing puzzle piece. Charlie and Cas had quickly welcomed her into the family. Charlie was happy to have another girl around, latching onto her like she was her long-lost twin. Cas had become intensely protective of her, never leaving her side for more than a few seconds during a case.
Y/N caught him staring, and winked. Dean felt his heart skip a beat as he beamed at her. How did she manage to look so good all the time? Even now, covered in muck and blood, tank top fraying, the knees of her jeggings ripped wide open, face bruised from the view vamps that had gotten to her, she was gorgeous. Absolutely freaking beautiful, and Dean had to work hard to tear his eyes away.
His staring cost him. One of the vampires managed to tackle him from behind, her long nails digging into his arms as she pinned him to the floor. He struggled against her, knife lying uselessly out of reach. He had enough fight in him to keep her fangs away, but not enough to push her off.
Luckily, Y/N had seen and rushed the vamp, kicking her hard with the heel of her boot. Dean shoved her in one direction, using his leverage to slide out from beneath her grip. He grabbed his blade to finish her, but Y/N had already taken care of it.
“A little slow on the uptake today, eh, Winchester?” Y/N teased him, bumping his shoulder with hers. They were almost level with each other, her in boots with a large enough heel to make a noticeable difference. Just another way she’d proved her worth to them. She was able to hunt just as well with heels. Even Charlie hadn’t managed such a feat.
“I got half an hour of sleep last night,” Dean said defensively. “While I was reading up on the local disappearances, you were getting your beauty rest.”
Y/N made a pfft noise. “Please. You were dozing in your chair while Sam did all the work.”
“You guys, get a room,” Charlie joked, pretending to be disgusted by their playful banter. “We’re going to do one last sweep of the house. You coming?”
Y/N and Dean followed the other three up the basement steps, blinking against the sun streaming through the windows. It took a few minutes for Dean to adjust to the sudden brightness, and he stumbled into Y/N.
“Careful,” she said, gripping his elbow. “Seriously, are you feeling okay?”
“Shut up,” he muttered, nudging her with his elbow.
“We will send you to the car if you two don’t stop flirting,” Sam warned them. “That was the deal, remember? No mush on the job.”
“This isn’t mush, this is war,” Dean protested. “She’s insulting my hunting abilities.”
“That’s because you’re off your game,” Charlie piped up, unhelpfully, from down the hall. “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine,” Dean grumbled, looking away so Charlie’s grin wouldn’t cause him to break into one of his own. Her smiles were almost as infectious as Y/N’s.
But the truth was, Dean was off his game. He’d been off his game ever since Y/N had waltzed into his life and demanded a spot in the backseat. Every brush they shared was electric, every smile a spark, every kiss a roaring flame. She was fire and he was burning. It was hard to focus on anything but that.
“Come on,” Y/N whispered, falling back to let the other three walk ahead of them. She grabbed Dean’s shirt, tugging him down a different hallway.
“Where are we going?” Dean asked, not really caring what the answer was.
She waggled her eyebrows at him, lips quirked up enough to make her dimples show. He let her lead him farther away from the group, gazing into the endless depths of her eyes. Down and down he fell into the blue, no parachute or safety net to save him now. He was all in.
“What—” Dean started when she pulled him into a dusty study.
She shrugged, still holding his hands. “They said to get a room.”
Dean wasn’t sure who initiated the kiss. They both collided into each other, the magnetic pull he’d always felt so much stronger. There was a strange buzzing in his ears, a blissful fogginess of ignorance as he lost himself in her. Nothing else mattered right then. He didn’t even care about the pounding of his aching head, the shooting pain in his sliced leg, the bruises on his knuckles. They were nothing more than minor distractions he could push away when he was touching her.
Y/N pulled away, just enough so he could still feel her warm breath on his face.
“What is it?” He murmured, stroking her damp hair. It’d been raining outside before they came in, and she was still wet.
“You’re bleeding,” she whispered, lifted her hand, dragging her thumb across his cheek. She winced when he winced, hissing through her teeth. “Sorry.”
“’S okay,” he assured her. “Just a scratch. No big deal. My leg is worse.”
Her eyes widened when she noticed the dark stain on his jeans, slowly spreading. He remembered when she’d worn that exact same expression so many moons ago in the graveyard of Starryedge, gaping at his chest wound. She’d been so surprised that he’d dismissed his injuries so easily. Surely she was used to it by now, he thought, but she was protective, as usual.
“We need to get that patched up,” she said.
“I’m fine,” Dean said. “Let’s just finish checking the house, all right?”
But he may as well have been speaking in Chinese for all the attention she gave him. She dragged him outside, ordering him to sit down on the trunk of the Impala while she fished the fished the first aid kit from under the passenger’s seat.
“Y/N, you have to stop fussing over me like this,” was Dean’s half-hearted attempt at getting her to listen. “I’ve been on hundreds of hunts in my life, maybe thousands. I can handle a little cut.”
“Dean Winchester, you’ve just been sliced open by a vampire. I think your girlfriend is allowed to stitch you shut.”
He smirked, lifting the leg of his pants obediently while she poured alcohol over the wound. “So you’re my girlfriend now, huh?”
“You’ve only now realized that?” She said sarcastically.
He shrugged. “You never said it before.”
“Not out loud,” she mumbled. “But there are some things that don’t need to be said. Not with words.”
Dean brushed a strand of hair from her face, letting his hand linger against her cheek. She pretended not to notice, though he felt her skin burn hot.
“This is going to hurt,” she said.
“Nothing I haven’t dealt with before.”
“Ready?”
Dean nodded. He gritted his teeth as she pulled the needle, her movements quick and precise. He held very still and tried not to let on that he was in pain. It would be over in no time, it always was.
“There.” She swiped the needle clean with a cotton ball of alcohol, looking up at Dean with satisfaction on her face. “Try not to bust it open again, okay?”
“Y/N.” He caught her hand before she could walk away, gently leading her back so she was standing in front of him again. He had all these things to say, but the words he could hear so clearly in his head wouldn’t find their way to his lips. He wanted so badly to be able to speak them, express himself as easily as Y/N or Sam or Charlie could, but he wasn’t like that. He didn’t know how to be an artist. He didn’t know how to translate thoughts into words.
“You’re staring at me again,” she whispered.
“What do you mean again?” Dean asked.
She shook her head a little, gentle so her hair barely moved, only a slight motion of the head. Her eyes searched his for something, but he wasn’t sure what. “Back at the restaurant, for our first date. You were staring then, too.”
He couldn’t believe she’d remembered. He’d thought for sure he hadn’t been so obvious, but then again, she was a hunter. Hunters were trained to look for little details, small clues, any sign that could lead to the answer to the mystery.
When he didn’t speak, she continued, “Back then, I thought maybe—maybe you were trying to say something, but you didn’t know how. Then I thought I was crazy. I mean, it was nuts, I wasn’t thinking straight.”
“What did you think I was trying to say?” Dean could barely get the simple sentence out of his mouth. His heart was pounding so hard, he couldn’t get a decent breath in.
She bit her lip and glanced down, hands slick with sweat in his. “I thought—I thought you were—no, I shouldn’t say this.”
He squeezed her hands, gently, but firm enough to tell her that she could go on.
She took a deep breath and looked up at him again. “I thought there was something in your eyes. I thought you were in love with me.”
He could see the worry and the doubt etched upon her every feature, from her wide eyes to her lower lip caught between her teeth to the slight tremble of her hands. He leaned forward so their foreheads were pressed up against each other.
“You weren’t wrong,” he murmured. “I loved you then, I love you now.”
She began to shake in earnest now. She gave a hearty sniff, a fat tear trickling down her dirt-stained face, carving a path that twisted and curved.
“You know,” she said, voice wobbling. “I really believe you’re the greatest thing to ever happen to me.”
Dean’s lips twitched, corners quirking up into the very same smile he’d smiled at the diner all those months back. It seemed like decades ago. “Right back at you, kid.”
They were still kissing when the others came out. They didn’t notice until there was a collective groan and Sam said, “Seriously, you guys, do we need to separate you two?”
