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.”
“You’re not real,” Dean stood in front of you, tensed up while you had your arms by your side, standing across him and Sam.
Bobby stood in the middle of you two, looking between you and Dean.
“I’mreal-”you started.
“No, you died years ago. Dad told us you were dead,” you couldn’t read his expression, you couldn’t tell if it was anger or sadness.
Maybe it was too soon after John died for you to come back. They both needed some time to process, without you being there.
“Dad lied-” you took a step forward as he moved back.
“Dean-” he shook his head, sighing deeply before he walked past you, walking out of the house.
There were tears in Sam’s eyes as you looked at your youngest brother. You reached for his cheek before he moved away from your hand.
“You left us,” you felt your heart pang in guilt as you shook your head.
“Sammy,” you tried to speak.
“It’sSam,” he said coldly.
“Sam,if you could just let me-”
“I gotta go,” he moved past you, running after Dean as you turned back to Bobby.
“Bobby,” you said softly.
“Give them time. They’ll come around,” he replied.
You nodded before he smiled at you softly, pressing a small kiss to your forehead before taking your bag, walking up the stairs.
—
“Dad, I want to go back, please,” you begged, holding back your tears.
It had been a month since you last saw your brothers, last had contact with them.
He ignored your words as you followed behind him, letting out a shaky breath.
“I think I’ve more than redeemed myself. I-I’ve listened to everything you’ve said, I-I’ve done everything,” your voice wavered.
“I made a stupid mistake, I get that-”
“Shut up,” John yelled as you tensed slightly, freezing as he looked back at you.
“They’re better off without you. Your shitty influence. You’re not going to see them again, end of discussion. Go clean the weapons like I told you to. I won’t say it again.”
You walked up to Dean, seeing him turn his head away from you before looking back at the book.
He had given you the silent treatment. Sam would somewhat react when you spoke, never saying anything back. It felt like hell.
You couldn’t be mad at them, you were the one who disappeared.
“Did you track down Ellen?” Sam asked Dean.
Before he could reply, you interrupted.
“Ellen? I know her. What do you need her for?” you asked.
Dean went back to being quiet before Sam looked between the two of you, answering.
“She left a voicemail on Dad’s phone,” he said softly.
“I can take you to her,” you nodded.
“We can do it ourselves,” Dean said coldly.
At least he spoke to me
“I know where she is, she’s just-”
“We’ve done fineon our own for the past twelve years, we don’t need you now,” he raised his voice slightly.
“I’m still coming with you guys,” you tried to stay calm as Dean rolled his eyes.
“We’re leaving in ten minutes,” he replied.
“Okay,” you smiled softly at him before he walked past you, purposely bumping into your arm.
Your face fell into a sad smile before you began to gather your stuff.
—
You had your arms wrapped around yourself, standing in the cold as you stood outside Sam’s dorm room.
John told you he got into college, and that he left. You were more than proud of him, you felt empty that you missed both of their lives and they were moving on.
It was freezing, you kept your knife close as you hesitated to knock at the door.
You didn’t know what he would say, you don’t know how he would react.
You heard voices coming down the hall, turning as your eyes went wide.
Sam didn’t give any attention to you, he was talking to another woman next to him.
“I thought you had two siblings,” she said.
“No, I only have Dean, he’s the only other one,” you felt your heart
drop as he bumped into you, apologizing.
You kept your back to him, wiping your tears before you walked out.
“Did you come to visit me in college?” It was nice to know at least one of them wanted to talk to you.
Sam’s eyes were filled with tears, he walked into your room, sitting next to you.
“How did you-” you started.
“I remember bumping into you, I-I just thought I was going insane or something, but you’ve been alive this entire time,” they replied softly.
“Sammy,” you stroked his cheek, wiping away his tear.
“After Dad told me you got into college and you left, I had to see you. I heard you say Dean was your only sibling, I just thought you were mad at me for leaving, I didn’t know he told you I died. I would’ve reached out sooner,” they sniffled before shaking their head.
“Why did you leave?”
“Dad made me. After I went to jail… he was really mad. You know that I never would’ve abandoned you two like that. You meant everything to me,” he wrapped his arms around you tightly, you could feel his body shaking.
“After you left that night, I woke up Dean, I told him you went out. He said that it would be fine and that you would’ve come back. Two days later, Dad told us that he took you on a hunt and you died,” Sam’s voice was weak, he spoke between his cries while you held him tightly.
“He was just really mad, I’m so sorry. I-I would’ve never left you,” he nodded softly, while you kept your arms around him, pressing your lips to his forehead.
—
“Dean, just hear them out” you overheard Sam following Dean, talking to him.
“Why don’t you tell me then?” Dean exclaimed.
“I did! Dad forced them to leave after that whole thing happen! (Y/N) never would have left us, you know this, Dean!” Sam yelled back.
“Did you believe them? Dad didn’t spend all of his time with them, you at least have that much of a brain to know that. They could’ve easily left and come to us, but they didn’t. That’s on them, not on us,” you knew Dean would be too stubborn, he always kept people and things closed off. You pushed him away after you left, he didn’t have you to keep him safe from John.
“Why would (Y/N) lie about that? You know how Dad was, do you really think they’re lying?!” the two of them yelled at each other, you prayed Bobby would come home soon.
“Dad would have never-”
“Dad hurt you! He hurt all of us!”
“He’sdead, Sam!”
“That doesn’t change the fact! Dad was crazy! He was a terrible person, a shitty father who was only obsessed with hunting and his twenty-two-year-old revenge story! All he did was abuse us repeatedly! If mom was still alive, they would have gotten divorced and you know it too!” you heard Dean shove Sam back, hearing Sam hit the wall as you tensed, running into the room.
You pulled Dean off of Sam, pushing Dean back as you exhaled shakily.
“What the fuckare you doing, Dean?” you said shakily.
“This doesn’t concern you, (Y/N)! Why don’t you go back to being dead?” you felt a pang in your chest as your face dropped.
“Dean-” Sam started.
“Sam,stop,” you said softly.
He was breathing heavily, standing behind you as you looked at Dean.
“I get that you’re mad at me, but you should only be mad at me. If you want to hurt someone, you hurt me. Don’t ever touch Sam like that again,” you stayed tensed as Dean rolled his eyes.
“I know you’re mad that I left, I know you felt abandoned, I can’t even imagine what Dad could’ve done to you, but I’m sorry, Dean. He’s gone, and I wanted to… I wanted to see you two again, but it was my mistake. I’m so sorry for coming back into your life like this, I really am. But please, don’t take it out on Sam. I’msorry that I couldn’t protect you against Dad. I’m sorry that I got arrested in the first place, I’m so so sorry that you’ve had to suffer for these past eleven years, I’m sorry,” tears filled your eyes as you looked at Dean, he kept his eyes on the floor.
“I think-”
“I think it’s better for all of us if you leave,” he said coldly.
More tears fell from your cheeks, your heart racing in your chest.
“Okay,” you cleared your throat, wiping your eyes.
“I’ll leave,” you nodded softly.
Dean nodded, crossing his arms before he walked out of the room.
“(Y/N), don’t go. Not again, please,” Sam begged.
You turned to face him, wiping his tears.
“Sam,” before you could finish your sentence, he wrapped his arms around you tightly, you felt his tears as you held back a cry.
“I-I don’t… I don’t want you to leave again, I-I don’t want… please don’t go,” he cried softly.
“Dean doesn’t want me here, Sam-”
“Iwant you here. Please, don’t leave us again, please,” you sniffled, shaking your head.
“I will text you where I-I’m going if you’re ever nearby, o-or if you just need to escape, my door’s open,” you whispered.
“(Y/N),please,” he cried softly.
“I’m sorry,” you said.
You could feel his hands shaking as you held them.
“Kiddo, what’s wrong?” you asked softly.
Sam sat on the floor, his arms wrapped around himself as you sat next to him.
“I feel weird,” you looked down at him, seeing him shaking slightly.
“Hey, are you scared? What’s going on?” You frowned.
“I found Dad’s journal…” you tensed, realizing.
Sam was only nine years old, it was too early for him to learn about this.
“Sammy-”
“Are monsters real?” he asked.
You nodded, sighing deeply as you wrapped your arms around him.
“Dad is something called a hunter. He saves all the little kids like you, he gets rid of all the monsters,” you said softly.
“All of them?” Sam whispered.
“Yes, all of them. Here, I want to give you something,” you took your necklace off, putting it in Sam’s hand.
He looked down, slightly confused before you stroked his arm.
“It’s a special necklace. It’ll keep all the monsters and all the bad stuff away from you, okay?” you said.
He nodded, wiping his eyes before looking up at you.
“I’ll keep it forever.”
You finished packing your bags, wiping your tears before taking a few breaths, trying to calm yourself.
Sam knocked at your door, before walking in.
“Let me help you,” you nodded softly as he helped you carry your bags, following you down the stairs.
Dean was nowhere in sight, you tried to ignore it, feeling a pit in your stomach.
“I want you to have something.” he handed you your old necklace as you laughed softly, sniffling.
“I-It’ll keep you safe from all the monsters and all the bad stuff,” you sniffled, holding back your sobs before smiling softly, putting it in your pocket.
Sam helped you out, loading your bags in the car before he looked back at you.
“I love you, (Y/N/N),” he whispered softly.
“I love you too, kiddo, you pressed a kiss to his forehead, feeling your vision being blurred by your tears as you hopped into the car.
Don’t look back
You screwed up
You lost it all
You wiped your face, your hands were shaking slightly as you turned on your car, driving away. You didn’t look back, you kept driving until you couldn’t see Sam’s broken figure looking at you, a look of desperation on his face.
“Dean snuck behind as the vamp lead Danie out to a side ally. It didn’t take long for him to bare his teeth at her, to which Danie started to giggle. "What the hell is so funny?” The vamp said with slight anger at the fact that she laughed. “Nothing. It’s just that Dean Winchester is behind you,” She told him.“
Supernatural fanart ended up on a WWII anniversary banner in Russia
A friend of mine posted these pictures of her SPN fanart stolen and used on a banner in her city. Good example why you shouldn’t use random pictures for a purpose this serious. RIP, Sam and Dean, you died for the USSR (apparently)
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.
