"Demons I get, people are crazy!"-Dean Winchester

Y/N stood frozen next to the glowing table, her eyes wide with disbelief as Sam carried his brother’s limp, broken body into the Bunker. 

He wasn’t safe, but he was home. 

“Sam- what-” 

Her voice was a distance crackle in the grief surrounding them both and Sam couldn’t find an answer that would soothe the break.

He stopped at the bottom of the staircase and looked at her with red, tear-soaked eyes. His lip quivered and he sucked in a quick, aching breath. 

“I don’t- I don’t know what to do,” he said. 

Shock crept through her bones and twisted every vein until the blood stopped flowing. She felt her heart stop short as if it had been slammed into a wall, crushed by an anvil, or trampled by a herd. 

Time slowed. She shook her head, unable to process the sight of Dean’s left arm falling from his chest as Sam’s knees buckled. Blood dripped from his fingertips and she couldn’t tear her eyes away from his watch. Of all things, she focused on that stupid black watch. She could hear it ticking over the lack of breath and each click brought her closer to insanity. 

Sam’s balance shifted and Y/N broke free of Chrono’s paralyzing curse. She rushed to his side and put her hands beneath Dean’s cold form. 

He was heavy but she insisted on helping. 

She kept her eyes on the watch as they carried him through the hallway. 

“I wanna clean him up,” Sam whispered. “I… I gotta clean him up.” 

Y/N could barely breathe as they laid him down on the icy bathroom tiles. She couldn’t look at his face, couldn’t believe that it was Dean. She regarded him as an object while wiping the dried blood from his face and carefully dabbing his lips with a damp cloth. She gazed at the wound in his chest with vacant eyes as if it were merely a tear in a shirt she needed to mend. 

It wasn’t real. It couldn’t be. 

She smoothed out the beige blanket on his bed; fluffed the pillow and placed it in the middle, just as he would have. Dean always liked a tidy bedroom.  

Sam carried him in and gently laid him down. 

Standing back, Sam gazed at his brother and broke. Tears swept down his cheeks and his entire frame shook with tiny, nearly imperceptible tremors. 

Y/N touched his arm, gingerly reaching for her friend while the world shattered around them. 

He jerked away from her touch and turned, leaving her alone with the body. 

With his body. 

With Dean.  

Finally, she let herself look, really look at his face. His skin was bruised and broken, sliced open by Metatron’s fists. For a moment she worried that the cut above his eye would scar, but it never would. The flesh would never heal; the marks would never fade. 

“Dean…”

His name had left her lips a million times before but this felt like the last. Her breath caught deep in the back of her throat and her body crumbled. She fell beside the bed and grasped his hand, tugging it to her lips. She kissed his bloody knuckles, cradled the stiff joints, and left her tears on his palm. 

The Mark was there, forever tattooed on his arm, looming over her like some sinister warning. But it meant nothing. The threat was gone. Without Dean, it had no power. Without Dean, it was nothing more than an ornate laceration. 

She wasn’t sure how much time had passed, but eventually, she got up. Somehow she released his hand and placed it at his side. By some Grace of Heaven, she managed to turn her back on the man she loved and walk out of the room. 

Sam was drunk. 

Y/N found him sitting in the dark at a table in the Library, a bottle of whiskey slowly emptying into his veins. 

She tried to say something, to make her presence known, but nothing came out. Her words were trapped, and her thoughts were a mess. 

She sat down next to him at the head of the table and reached for the bottle. 

The cheap whiskey was poison and she wanted it to do her in. 

“What do we do?” 

Sam stiffened at her question and scoffed. “We?” He turned and snatched the bottle out of her hand. “We do nothing. I find a way to bring him back.” 

The offense tightened in her chest. “I can help,” she whispered. “I want to help. I have to.” 

Sam filled his glass to nearly overflowing and drank it down in two swallows. “No.” 

“No?” 

He wouldn’t look at her. The wood creaked as he leaned back and stretched his long legs out, purposefully turning away. 

“You’re not part of this family.” His voice was soft but the tone was viscous. Drunk and distraught, he aimed to take his pain out on anything he could. Y/N was the only one there. 

“Sam-” 

“You’re not.” He poured another drink and lifted it with a shaking hand. “Never were.” 

Y/N’s stomach cramped. “Don’t say that. I’m as much a part of this as-”

“As what?” Sam turned, spinning around so fast that he nearly knocked the chair over. Hazel eyes narrowed on her face; pink lips formed words she’d only heard from the mouths of demons. “As me? As Dean? Cas? No. You’re nothing. You’re not family. You’re not even really a friend. Just some girl Dean picked up on the side of the road and forgot to drop back off. You’re here by accident. By circumstance. Not because we want you here.” Licking his lip slowly, he dragged a drop of whiskey into his mouth. “You’re here because he was too nice to tell you to leave.” 

It was everything she thought to herself when the nights got bad; when trauma and depression worked together to try to bring her down. 

She held her breath in a feeble attempt to keep her voice steady. “You don’t mean any of that, Sam.”

He laughed. “Wow. You’re as dumb as you are useless.”

A sharp pain spread up her arms and Y/N realized she’d been gripping the armrests of her seat so tightly her nails had dug into the wood, forever marking her presence and Sam’s evil words. 

She stood up with fists and jaw clenched tight. “You’re drunk and you’re in pain.” 

“Oh, I am drunk.” He shrugged and took a long sip. “But that doesn’t mean it isn’t true.” 

Her palms suffered the same fate as the armrests. She cringed at the sting. “Why are you doing this?” 

Slowly, he stood and stumbled a bit as he turned to look at her. He towered over her, a giant blocking out the light and all hope. 

“I want you out.” His tongue was slow but his teeth were sharp. “I want you out of the Bunker, out of Kansas. Out of my life!” 

Y/N couldn’t move. A tightness inside was forcing a disconnect between her mind and body. Her legs felt like dead tree logs, her arms like lead weights pulling her down. Unable to blink away the tears, she turned her eyes towards the rows of books on the walls, the artifacts gathering dust on the lower shelves. 

“Sam…”

He would not be stopped by a display of tears or the meekness in her stance. 

“I said get out!” he roared, arms waving as his voice boomed through the empty rooms. “Now!” 

Y/N flinched, sure that he meant to strike her. 

When he saw the fear in her eyes, he stepped back, but not down. He grabbed the bottle and drank straight from it, chugging down more than he should have. 

“Just go,” he sighed. “Please.” 

Y/N bit the inside of her cheek, needing a little pain to help her do what she needed to. 

She nodded. 

He turned away and slumped back into his chair, giving up on everything but the whiskey. 

She walked up the short steps and pressed her hand against the stone archway, saying goodbye. 

“You’re gonna regret this, you know.” 

He laughed bitterly. “Doubt it.” 

It didn’t take long to pack. Most of her stuff was already in her car, ready for a case or an easy escape. What she did have in her room, she crammed into a backpack. 

Leaving behind the place she’d called home for three years was hard. 

Leaving him behind was worse. 

Y/N stood in his doorway and said her silent goodbye. 

Dean was right where they’d left him; head on the pillow, bowed legs slightly bent, sleeping forever. 

When her eyes began to burn, she wiped them with the back of her hand and turned to leave. Sam was right. She was never really part of this. 

It was time to go. 

How long had it been? A month, two? She’d stopped counting after two weeks. It seemed pointless by then. Dean was gone, and Sam had kicked her out. There was nowhere to go, no place to call home. With no one waiting up for her, time didn’t matter. 

Y/N could tell that the summer was close to beginning its descent into autumn as she tracked it across the country. She drove relentlessly, pushing her beat-up white Tucson from its namesake to Annapolis and back again. The roads were too long; the future so unclear. 

She needed a plan for the rest of her life. Should she keep on hunting? Maybe try for that picket fence life she’d only seen on TV? A passing dream brought her to Costa Rica, but her Spanish was rusty and the Expat life seemed lonely. 

She needed to stop and figure things out. 

The only problem was, when she stopped, she had to think. And thinking was something she wasn’t too fond of. 

Whenever she closed her eyes she was met with beautiful memories of her time with Dean; of late nights cuddled in the back of the Impala, talking about life and counting the stars when they came out. If she tried hard enough, she could feel his calloused fingertips drag across her cheek, taste his bourbon-stained kiss. 

But, even the sweetest memories faded into blood-soaked dreams. She watched Dean’s death on repeat. Each time was slightly different, tiny details shifting and expanding here and there. She hadn’t seen it, she didn’t know the truth. She’d only seen the aftermath, so her horrible imagination filled in the blanks. 

Sometimes he reached out for her, screaming her name as Metatron plunged the blade into his chest. Other times, he was racing with her toward safety when she let his hand drop, losing him to the Scribe’s murderous intent.

She never slept much anymore.  

The third week of August found her sweating in the muggy heat of Savannah, a city she’d always loved to breeze through but never had the chance to visit.

Now, she was falling in love. Walking the brick-laid sidewalks of the historic district made her feel at ease. The dense air seemed to warm something frozen inside, and the weeping willows mirrored her heart. 

She breathed a little deeper, walked a little slower, and took her time exploring. 

She rented a tiny apartment in the attic of a little house on the border of town by charming the owner into a week-by-week lease. There was no way to tell how long she would stay, but the city was as haunted as any she’d seen, so if nothing else, there were a few weeks of cases she could work.  

Days were spent napping and pondering the existence of a real life out of the shadows and nights were draped in them. When the sun sank below the trees, she went out, walking the streets without fear or obligation. She followed the heavy wind and the sounds of music that pulsed from bars and clubs late into the night. 

One Tuesday evening, a mournful blues riff pulled her into a bar and she sat at a table in the back, nursing a cocktail that made her nose crinkle up after every sip. 

“Looks like you’re not a fan.” 

Y/N swallowed a bubbly sip and shook her head before looking up. “Not really,” she answered. “But hey, when in Rome.” 

She set the glass on the little square napkin and sighed as the band hit a crescendo. The music was blaring and it was hard to hear below a shout. 

“You should try their bourbon. I hear it’s amazing.” 

The voice tugged at her brain and Y/N finally looked up, nearly jumping out of her skin when she did. 

Dean Winchester stood before her, alive and well with a sparkle in his eye and a smirk upon his lips. 

Her heart pounded, her limbs tingled. 

“What the fuck-” 

Her entire being tensed and her feet prepared for a quick escape. 

The door was forty steps to the left- she always counted when entering a room. There were three tables in the way that she’d have to weave through, and only two people in danger of being knocked over. She could make it quick.

Dean smiled softly and placed his hands on the back of the chair closest to him. He leaned down a bit and sighed. 

“It’s good to see you, Y/N/N.” 

She flinched at the sound of her nickname and reached for the knife in her jeans. 

His eyes went right to her hand. 

“Come on, babygirl. You don’t need that.” He laughed sadly and licked his lip. “It’s me.”

She laughed sarcastically. “You’re dead.” 

Comically, Dean looked down at himself and then stood up straight. He patted his chest and shook his head. 

“I don’t appear to be.” 

Wide eyes studied his face and scanned his body for anything out of place. He looked a little bigger than last she saw as if he’d been working out or at least eating a little better. His hair was longer and stuck up on his head a little higher, but he moved the same; smiled the same. His voice- 

“Look, I know this is insane, but- come on, kid. It’s me.” 

She shivered. Everything she knew, every part of her said to run. But somewhere, deep in her heart, she held some blind faith that said Dean would never hurt her. Even if at his worst, he’d never raise his hand against her, never do anything but keep her safe. 

She prayed that her heart knew best. 

“I can’t-” She paused and looked around at the crowded bar. “I can’t do this here.” 

He nodded in understanding and gestured towards the door. 

“You first,” she insisted. 

Dean smiled and led the way. 

“How are you here? You… you died, Dean. I washed the blood off of your face myself,” she asked once the music had faded and the crowd had vanished. 

They stood in an empty lot behind the bar, two old friends amongst broken bottles and thriving weeds. 

“Thanks for that,” he said with a gentle laugh. 

“That’s not funny.” 

He sighed. “I know.” Dean kicked at a shard of glass with the tip of his boot, searching for the words she needed to hear. 

Impatient and brimming with nerves, Y/N took a step away. “Talk. Now. Or I’m out.” 

“OK. OK.” He held up a hand, begging for patience. His eyes were sad, his voice cracking. “It was Sam,” he said slowly. “Sam brought me back. He uh- he made some deal with Crowley and-” He looked off into the darkness and chewed his lip as if worried. “I don’t know the details, they wouldn’t tell me. But- I woke up in bed and… not even a scar.” The Mark burned his forearm and he covered it with his left hand, rubbing the ache beneath his shirt. “Well, except that one.” 

Hesitant, she moved closer. “How can I believe you?” 

Dean shrugged. “To be honest, I don’t even know if I believe it. But, I feel fine. They- Sam and Cas- they did all the tests. Holy water, silver… Fuck- Cas even did that reach into your chest and feel your soul thing… It’s all me.”

He sounded so sad, like her disbelief was breaking his heart. She took a breath and then another step in. 

“Dean, I-”

Green eyes filled with tears, and Y/N held her breath. 

“I woke up and you were gone,” he whispered. “Why did you run away?” 

Sam’s hurtful dismissal echoed in her head, but she didn’t want Dean to feel any worse than he already did. 

“I uh…” She looked down at the broken concrete, unable to watch his tears fall. “You were gone,” she said after a moment. “I didn’t see any reason to stay.”  

When she looked back up, he was impossibly close, his lips drawing ever nearer. She held her breath and wished for the strength to run away, but it was Dean. He was alive. He was really fucking alive. 

He brushed his fingertips over the apple of her cheek and she closed her eyes at the touch. It had been too long. Her soul was reaching out to him and she knew she was stuck. 

“I missed you so much, Y/N,” he breathed. “So fucking much.” 

She kissed him before he could get there, popping up on her toes to press herself against him. His hand came to rest on her cheek and his thumb massaged her temple like it used to. His tongue was just as warm and needy, his taste was still the same. 

When she let him go, she smiled and the tears came. When he kissed her again, that old familiar heat returned.

“Dean…” 

She led Dean to her apartment, too drunk on the moment to do anything but revel in the fact that he was alive. 

“What was the deal, do you know?”

“Crowley’s been kind of a dick lately, are you sure there’s no catch?” 

“What did Cas say when he soul-scanned you?” 

Dean laughed sweetly as he followed her up the three flights of stairs to her attic rooms. “Calm down, Y/N/N. I’ve already told you what I know.” 

When they reached the top landing, Dean grabbed her by the waist and tugged her to him. She gasped as her back hit his chest and his lips found her ear. 

“Why don’t we just focus on us for tonight?” he breathed. The tip of his tongue shot out to trace the shell of her ear and Y/N’s eyes rolled back in pure arousal. 

“Yeah,” she whispered. “Us…” 

Begrudgingly, Y/N pulled herself away long enough to unlock the door. Stepping into the dark living room, she flipped on the light and tossed her bag onto the kitchenette counter.

Dean was hovering outside the door with hands on the frame, pondering something. He scanned the room and cocked a brow. 

“What?” she asked, looking suspiciously at him. “Did Crowley bring you back as a vampire? Do you need to be invited in?” 

Dean laughed darkly and licked his lip. “No. Just, uh-” 

Y/N’s nerves kicked up. “What’s wrong?” 

“You stay here all by yourself?” 

She laughed and let out a calming breath. “Yeah. And? I’m a big girl, Dean.” 

He nodded with a smile. “Oh, I know you are. I’m just… worried. Ya know, about…” His face darkened slightly. “...Things. I don’t see any safety precautions.”

Y/N felt her cheeks blush. “Aww. You worried about me?” 

He grinned and shrugged. “Can’t help it. It’s my job.” 

With the movements of Vanna White, Y/N moved about the small room, showing off her hidden stash of supernatural weaponry. A silver knife tucked beneath the couch cushion; a bag of goofer dust in a decorative box on the bookshelf. A spare gun in the corner top cabinet of the tiny kitchen; a spray bottle filled with holy water by the aloe plant in the window. 

“Impressive,” he admitted. 

Y/N beamed with pride and then held up a finger. “Oh! And… so I don’t lose my security deposit by fucking up the hardwood…” 

Rushing to the door, Y/N lifted the small, brown welcome mat and flipped it over. On the underside, crafted in bright orange spray paint, was an intricate Devil’s Trap. She winked up at him and tossed the mat to the side. 

He seemed impressed. “Smart.”

“I got it all covered.” 

Dean smiled and stepped inside. “You absolutely do.” He reached for her shoulders and pulled her close. “I’m glad. I don’t wanna lose you. Not again.” 

Her heart ached for him, for the months they’d lost. “I’m so sorry I bolted, Dean. I just - I didn’t know what to do without you.” 

Gently, he framed her face in his big hands and pressed his forehead to hers. “You’ll never have to find out, OK? I’m not going anywhere ever again.” He kissed her softly. “And neither are you.” 

Each kiss was like magic. Every sweet memory was birthed into life and every nightmare faded away. 

They fumbled in the living room, kissing like teenagers while stripping layers of clothing away. He kissed the redness her bra strap left behind and pinched each nipple in turn. She dragged his jeans down to his calves and licked at his boxers, covering his clothed dick with her hot mouth. It swelled against her tongue and she hummed hungrily.  

Dean swayed above her and dropped a hand to her head, massaging gently. “Fuck, I missed you.” 

She looked up with wide, innocent eyes and wet lips. “I want you,” she mewed. “So, so bad.” 

He held her chin between two warm fingers and urged her to stand. “You’ve got me, babygirl. Always.” 

She fell forward against him and went limp, her mind swimming with shock and desire, love and hope. He kissed her slowly and lifted her in his strong arms. She gasped as the floor fell away and looked at him in awe. 

“I’ve got you.” He grinned. 

Her bedroom was small, nearly filled wall to wall by the full-sized bed. 

Dean laid her down and fell over her in one motion, suddenly between her thighs and rocking slowly. 

Y/N moaned into his mouth and drew her hands over his body. Warm, solid. Alive. 

He tugged at her panties and she shimmied herself free as he kicked his shorts away. 

“I’m so fucking hard for you, babygirl,” he moaned, staring at her soft body, her vulnerable position spread open wide for him. 

Her eyes fluttered, her nipples hardened. She arched her back and reached for him, but he had other plans. 

Instead of returning to her arms, Dean slid down onto the bed and grabbed at her hips, tugging her close and locking her pussy against his mouth. He licked a hard stripe up her slit and her jaw dropped. He nudged her clit with his nose and her vision blurred. He dipped his tongue into her cunt and her hips bucked. 

“God, it’s been too long,” she cried, squirming against him, desperate for him to devour her. 

He took his time, expertly using all his knowledge of her body to drive her insane. Each breath, movement, flicker, kiss: it was all designed to edge her to the point of breaking. Up and down, like a coaster, he drove her need higher and higher only to drop it back down again until she was shaking and sobbing his name.  

When he had licked every drop of will from her soul and her lips could no longer form the words her mind was screaming, Dean crawled over her trembling body and pressed his cock against her slit. 

“P-plee-”

Dean thrust gently and circled his hips. “What’s that?” 

Y/N shivered and licked her lips, desperate for some moisture to return to her mouth. “Pleea-”

“Try again.” He grinned. “Tell me what you want and it’s yours.” 

Clenching her teeth, Y/N lifted her shoulders from the bed and clawed at his broad shoulders. “Fuck me. Please.” 

Her begging made him growl and Dean dipped down to suck at her mouth as he pressed into her. 

She screamed into his mouth as the fullness of his cock buried deep in her cunt spread pleasure through her system. She tightened around him, dug her heels into the dimples of his lower back, and nipped at the thick muscle of his throat. 

“Missed… every… part… of this…” Dean's thrusts quickened with each word and Y/N broke, cumming hard and milking his cock with her pulsing muscles. He grit his teeth and let out a deep grunt as he came, flooding her cunt and settling against her.  

“Jesus, Dean…” 

They lay in quiet bliss, her back curled against his chest, his arms wrapped around her body. She traced the lines in his left palm with a delicate fingertip and sighed at the warmth pulsing off his skin. 

It felt like Heaven to be back in his arms, so close once more.  Safe and smiling, she started to drift off next to him, each rise and fall of his chest against her lulling her to sleep. 

“So glad you’re here,” she whispered. 

Dean kissed her shoulder and dragged his hand down her arm. “Me too.” When he reached her elbow, he moved down to her knee and lightly scratched up the side of her thigh and into the curve of her waist. “I would have come sooner, but I had some things to take care of first.” 

She hummed happily at the tingle radiation from his touch and snuggled a little closer. 

“Oh yeah?” 

“Mhm.” Another kiss on her shoulder, one on her throat. “Some things couldn’t be avoided…” His nails ran down her thigh and back up again, the pressure increasing slightly. 

“Yeah,” she sighed. “What were you doing all this time? It’s been months… you could have called or something.”

His touch hardened and she cringed as his nails scraped hard against her hip bone. 

“I told you, I was busy.” Another scratch over her belly, a jab on her ribs. “People to see, places to burn.”

She stiffened. “What?”

Dean sucked hard on her pulse and clawed at her leg. 

“Hey! Ouch!” Y/N squirmed and tried to pull away, but he kept her there, held captive by his strong arms. “Dean!”

He hissed into her ear and cut the skin on her hip with the blunt nail of his index finger. “Stop. Squirming.” 

“What are you doing? Stop!”

She thrashed against him and his hand clamped down into the meat of her thigh and tore until she felt a gush of warm blood.

“Dean!” 

Y/N slapped at his arms, bucked her hips back, and fought against his hold, but he wouldn’t be moved. 

Annoyed, he sank his teeth into her shoulder and broke the skin, forcing a cry from her lips. He licked the wound and swirled his tongue into the grooves he’d made, laughing. 

“You stupid cunt. You should know better than to invite a dead man into your bed.” 

Pain and fear flashed through her and Y/N managed to get away and turn over. 

Blood dripped down his chin and he moaned in ecstasy as he licked a drop from his lips. 

Her heart pounded. Her skin crawled. 

“What are you?” 

In a flash too quick for her to register, Dean was on his hands and knees, stalking toward her like a lion. 

“What am I?”

He grinned as she cowered and set his hands on either side of her hips. He leered down at her, upper lip twitching and breath heavy. 

“I’m Dean 2.0, bitch.” 

He blinked and her world shattered. 

Icy black ink flooded his gorgeous green eyes, eclipsing every bit of him, body and soul. 

Y/N sucked in a terrified breath and he laughed wildly. 

“You thought I was back from the dead? I never died. This- thing- this mark on my arm- it kept me alive. It gave me a new life.” 

“It made you a monster,” she spat, determined to go down swinging if she was indeed headed that way. 

Dean exhaled hard and his glee turned to devilish anger. His face turned as dark as his eyes and he sneered. “It made me better.” Reaching down, he cupped her left breast and circled the globe with his fingers splayed out. “All the fun, all the charisma, and sex appeal… None of the pesky guilt or morals…” His hand flexed and each nail ripped deep into her flesh, opening new wounds and drawing fresh blood. 

He covered her scream with a kiss and Y/N tried with all her might to kick him off, bite his tongue, anything to get him to back up. When he jabbed his tongue down her throat, she gathered up every ounce of strength and brought her knee to his crotch, smashing his sack upwards. 

Demon or not, he felt it. 

Dean let out a roar and released her, rolling onto his back and grabbing himself in pain. 

“You bitch! I’m gonna rip your fucking heart out!” 

Shaking, she bolted, running through the closest door she saw. 

The bathroom was old and ill-lit, but the cabinets were deep and filled with supplies. 

Grunts echoed behind the door as she quickly wrapped a bandage around her shoulder and poured a painful ounce of alcohol onto her chest. She hissed at the sting and held onto the edge of the sink to catch her breath. 

“Did you really just run into the bathroom? I can break down that door with my pinky finger.” 

He was closer, surely stumbling through the messy bedroom. Y/N looked at her reflection and held back a stream of tears. 

“Just leave and we’ll forget this ever happened!” She shouted at the door. “I won’t tell if you won’t!”

Laughter answered her. “And who the fuck do you think you’re gonna tell? Everyone you know is gone!”

Her stomach flipped. She froze. “Sam?”

Dean jiggled the doorknob. “Oh, didn’t I tell you?” Casually, he turned and leaned his back against the door. “Sam’s out of commission. Permanently.” 

“You… you killed him?” 

“Nah. Just put the fear of God into him. Sent him off for a little me time in the I.C.U.” 

Y/N yanked open the cabinet under the sink and pulled a worn leather toiletry bag from the back. 

“See, he and Cas, they got stupid. They thought they could cure me. Rip the demon outta me.” 

She swallowed hard. “Oh? How’d that go?” 

“How do you think?” 

Just for fun, he jiggled the locked knob again, making her jump. 

“Tell me all about it. You know I love a good ritual!” Trembling, she pulled a pistol from the bag and loaded it with bullets from the medicine cabinet. It wouldn’t kill him, but it would slow him down. 

Dean knew she was stalling, trying to keep him talking while she regrouped. Hell, he’d taught her that. Still, he enjoyed fucking with her, so he played along.

“That whole closing the Gates of Hell thing? The last trial was curing a demon. You remember. You were there, cheering Sammy along.”

Y/N shivered at the memory of the dank chapel and Sam nearly collapsing with each syringe of blood she extracted from his veins. “I remember. So what, it didn’t work on you?”

Dean turned and pressed his palm to the door. “Not. Even. A little.” 

“Huh. Weird.” 

“Oh, don’t misunderstand. They tried.” 

Y/N withdrew an old metal canteen from the bag and shook it. A tiny wave of holy water sloshed inside. It was enough, she hoped, to get her out the door and down the stairs.

Dean ran his finger down a groove in the door and pushed his ear against the wood, listening for her racing heart. 

“Did a good job of it, too. Tied me up in the dungeon… big Devil’s Trap on the floor. I was stuck for a while, I’ll admit that. Good old Sammy coming in for the save. But ya know something, Y/N/N? I just couldn’t let him do it. I like what I am now. It’s fun. Hell, I feel like I’m on a permanent fucking vacation! This is great!”

Ready to attempt an escape, Y/N tugged on a dirty shirt and a pair of shorts from the floor and braced herself. 

“So what happened? How’d you get out?” 

He laughed. “Oh, you know me. I always find a way out. And trust me, when I did… Sammy was not happy. Neither was I. Not until I bashed - his face in - with my boot.” 

Every pause was a punch against the wood and Y/N felt each in her gut. 

She swallowed hard. “And what about Castiel? You said he was there.” 

Dean sighed. “Oh, I sent his ass packing. Little graffiti on the wall and bam! He got sent off to wherever the fuck angels go when they get blasted off the Earth. Sayonara, auf wiedersehen, good riddance.” 

“And-”

The door shook as Dean slammed his hands into it, cutting her off. 

“Can we just get to it, please? I’m bored with this monologue.” 

She unscrewed the canteen’s cap. 

“Actually, it’s a dialogue. If it was just you talking, it would be a monologue.” 

Dean clenched his jaw and growled. “Oh, I am truly going to enjoy biting that tongue out of your mouth.”

Another slam on the door and the wood splintered. The cheap lock gave way and Dean pushed inside, grinning. 

Not a second was wasted. With a nearly perfect mix of dexterity and core self-preservation instinct, Y/N lunged forward and swung the canteen, dousing Dean’s face with the blessed liquid. His skin burned instantly and he let out an aggravated roar as she spun around him and leapt for the front door. 

He caught her before she reached the couch, roughly grabbing a fistful of her hair and yanking her up off the floor. Her shriek echoed through the small attic abode and she grabbed at his forearm, desperate to hold herself up and relieve some of the pain spreading across her scalp. 

Dean laughed and lifted her higher. 

White flashed on the edges of her vision and Y/N swung her legs back hard, kicking down into the top of his kneecap, making him stumble. 

His ire was evident. Effortlessly, Dean tossed her down and Y/N slid across the old hardwood floor as if she were a ragdoll. Her bare legs skidded on the thin planks, stopping her before she slammed into the wall. 

Dizzy and aching, Y/N withdrew the gun from the waistband of her shorts and took aim. Heels dug into the floor and shoulders tight, she flipped off the safety and took a deep breath. 

Her finger tensed on the trigger, but Dean was fast. A swift kick had Y/N screaming again and she felt the bones in her right wrist snap. 

The gun flew from her hands and landed on the rug by the kitchen sink, too far out of reach. 

Dean cocked his head, looking down at Y/N as she cradled her arm. “A gun, Y/N/N? Really? What were you gonna do, shoot me?” 

Panting, she sneered up at him. “That is generally what one does with a gun.” 

Dean sucked his teeth in annoyance and shook his head. “You’ve always been a witty bitch. It’s very annoying.” 

“I seem to recall you liked it.” 

Onyx washed over his green eyes again and her pulse quickened. 

“Not anymore,” he whispered. 

Her body was rigid with fear; her veins throbbed with panic. Dean shifted and bent down at her feet. Y/N jolted back, kicking at him while pulling herself toward the door. He grabbed her calf and yanked her back, nearly dislocating her hip. 

His voice was steady, too calm, too sure. “Where the fuck do you think you’re going? I didn’t say you could leave.” 

Shaking, she thrashed in his grasp, trying to twist her leg free. He held tight. 

“Let me go!” 

Dean laughed. “Oh… come on. You really think I’m just gonna let you walk out? Sweetheart, you’re not leaving here. Not breathing anyway.” 

Knowing what was coming, Y/N took a deep breath and tensed her body inward. 

His hands were impossibly huge, wrapping nearly entirely around her neck. His palms pressed hard into her windpipe and his fingertips dug in deep. 

She slapped at his arms and kicked at his shins. 

“Just stop,” he whispered. “It’ll be easier if you just stop.” 

Going back to the playbook, Y/N brought her left knee high, but missed his crotch entirely, jabbing into his thigh instead. 

Dean groaned and removed his hold on her throat.

She gasped in relief but the moment was short. Tangling his fist in her hair, Dean lifted her head only to knock it back down with a hard punch to her jaw. Sparks littered her vision and Y/N could feel the broken blood vessels under her eye leak. 

Defiant, she blinked until her head was clear, and spit. “Fuck you.” 

Another punch nearly knocked her unconscious and the third broke her cheekbone and shifted her nose out of alignment. Dean heard the snap and smiled viciously. He leaned in close and watched the bridge of her nose swell. Blood dripped from a cut above her eye and he pressed his tongue flat against it, licking up the mess. 

“So fucking sweet…” 

Dean let go of her hair and Y/N’s head crashed back onto the floor, her neck limp and useless like a crushed flower stem. 

“Why?” 

He sat back, pinning her legs beneath him, and pondered her question. 

“I don’t know. Maybe you eat too much sugar…”

His laugh made her cringe and Y/N shook her head. It felt as if her brain was both swollen and sloshing around in her skull. It was hard to think; her thoughts were disjointed and fleeting.

“W-why are you doing this?”

Dean took a deep, satisfying breath and leaned forward. “Freedom,” he whispered, caging her head with his arms and moving in close, brushing his nose against hers. His eyes were still dark and he never blinked, looking deep into her aching soul. “Because I wanna be free from all the drama and responsibilities. Free from all the goddamned whining and guilt and love crap. I took out Cas, nearly killed my baby brother, and now it’s your turn. I can’t leave loose ends, Y/N. Don’t want any of you coming after me and putting an end to the fun.” 

Darkness was gathering around her like a vignette closing in on the image of her life. She fought against it, ignoring the searing pain in her bones and the growing urge to let go and sleep. 

“Someone will,” she moaned. “Might not be me, but someone’s gonna stop you. Cas will. Sam will. They won’t let you live like this. Not like a filthy fucking demon asshole piece of shit!”

Dean grabbed her throat again, squeezing tight with one large hand. “Knight of Hell, actually,” he corrected with a slick smile. “But that’s quite a potty mouth you’ve developed. I approve.” His thumb and index finger pressed into her artery, blocking the blood and making her head spin. She clawed at his wrist but her body grew weaker by the second. 

Desperate, she looked up at the man she used to love with tears flooding her eyes and whispered his name with her last breath. 

“Dean…” 

The air returned in a rush as if someone had opened an airplane door mid-flight. She gasped and the color around her brightened, including the emerald of his eyes. 

“Oh, I’m having too much fun with you, Y/N/N. Way too much fun.” He slid a hand slowly down her body, enjoying the look of revulsion painting her broken face. “I was planning on killing you outside that bar, but- I saw this… body again…” He grabbed her unmarred breast and kneaded it hard. “Saw these curves…” His fingers trailed downwards; his touch feasting on every ample curve. “I just had to have you one more time.” 

“Get. Off. Of. Me.” Her words were clipped, her throat raw and bleeding inside. 

With a smirk, Dean reached into her shorts and grabbed her pussy. His nails pinched the delicate flesh of her labia and Y/N grit her teeth at the pain. 

“No,” he answered. “Don’t think I will.” 

With demonic strength, he flipped her over in a split second and slammed her onto the floor. He held her down with a firm palm pressed between her shoulder blades while the other yanked her hips up high. He tugged down her shorts as she cried; slicked up his cock with a handful of spit while she struggled. Sharp, hot pain spread up her spine and down into each nerve. She screamed and he laughed, thrusting into her tightness without hesitation, violating her body without care. Her entire being revolted and fought, but it was no use. 

She closed her eyes and tried to pray but the words were fading, her vision blurring. She held her breath, trembling while he finished, covering her lower back with a thick rope of his evil seed. 

Momentarily satisfied, Dean dropped down on top of her, his full weight crushing her deeper into the unyielding hardwood floor. He licked the line of tears from her cheek and nibbled delicately on her ear. 

“Ya know, I’m having so much fun with you, I may keep you around.” 

Y/N shuddered. “I’d…I’d rather you killed me, thanks.” 

Feigning compassion, Dean rolled off of her back and onto his side. He pressed his face to the floor, mirroring her position, and softly brushed the hair back from her eyes. 

“I’m not going to kill you. Not yet.” He winked and pressed his lips to hers. 

It took all her strength not to scream. “Please,” she choked, “just… end it.” 

With a sigh, Dean popped up onto his elbow and debated. “I could. Very easily. Just one… little… twist of my wrist around your throat and you’d be dead. Clean. Easy.” 

“So, do it.”

“No.” Again, he ran his fingers lightly through her hair and tucked a few strands behind her ear. “I think we’ll keep playing.”

Tears ran freely from her eyes. “Please, Dean-”

“How about this…” He laid back down and moved in closer so she could feel the breath of every word against her lips. “We’ll play hide and seek. If you can hide well enough, I’ll let you live.”

“W-what?”

He kissed her cheek. “I’ll give you a head start. Thirty-six hours to hide and then… I’mma comin’.”

Before she could answer or even absorb his words, Dean pulled her head up and slammed it back down, shutting out the lights. 

She was sure an alarm was going off. A high-pitched shriek pulled her out of the darkness and Y/N peeled her eyes open only to realize that the ringing was in her head. 

Sunlight broke through the shabby window blinds and stabbed her eyes. She groaned at the pain and tried to sit up, but her head was throbbing, her body bruised and covered in scabs of dried blood. 

For a moment she couldn’t remember where she was. The apartment looked strange, the air foreign. A rotten, metallic scent filled her nose. She cringed and sat up, instantly regretting it as pain gripped her body. Her ribs were cracked; her wrist shattered. Confusion tickled her mind like drops of acid rain. She closed her eyes and the blackness there brought it all back. 

Coal eyes. 

Ruddy lips. 

Leather, and smoke, and cheap cologne. 

Dean’s evil, blood-tinged smirk flashed in her mind and Y/N broke. Tears welled and fell without permission and her stomach emptied, washing the antique hardwood with hot bile. 

When her body calmed and she could shift the pain enough to think clearly, his words came back to her.

“I’ll give you a head start… Thirty-six hours to hide…”

Thirty-six hours to run and try to hide from him. Thirty-six hours to figure out how the hell to come out of this alive. 

For a moment, all she wanted to do was climb into bed and sleep until zero hour, but she wouldn’t go down without a fight. 

It took her twenty-two minutes to grab her Go Bag, pull on some clean clothes, and leave. 

She left her interim life behind and headed out to meet her fate. 

The roads were long and her body betrayed her at every turn. The face she was in the rearview mirror wasn’t her own. It was broken and flushed; her gaze devoid of hope. 

Just outside of Alpharetta, she stopped for gas. She ignored the looks of concern from strangers and declined an offer of help from the station attendant. Breezing through, Y/N slammed two bills on the counter and left as quickly as she came, accompanied by a symphony of chimes that rang above the door. 

Twice, she had to pull over to vomit. She retched onto the dusty roadside, heaving fluid and burning her throat. There was nothing left inside of her, nothing keeping her going but pure, dim-witted faith that everything would turn out fine.  

She called Sam every few minutes, timing her attempts with the passing exit signs. There was never an answer, never a ring. Her calls went right to voicemail and after the twentieth try, she gave up. 

When the pain was bad and her body cramped up, protesting the old car seat and the constant pressure of her foot on the gas, Y/N took a breath and closed her eyes. She prayed to Cas, begging him to help, to show up and heal her, to find Dean and…

She wasn’t sure what she wanted for Dean. He’d ripped her to the core and there was no coming back from what he’d done, but still- it was Dean. He needed- deserved- to be saved no matter what his slick black heart wanted. 

And what he wanted right now was her limp, exsanguinated corpse at his feet. 

Outside of Dalton, she changed course. Dean was a midwestern boy and most likely to keep to the west, so she headed east, aiming to land as far from the Bunker as possible. 

Time was ticking away and her hope was fading. 

Miles stretched on forever and her eyes grew heavy. Watching the sun begin to sink behind the lush mountains of New York State, Y/N felt as heavy as the sky. Struggling to keep her eyes open and consciousness with her, she dug her fingers into the wound on her shoulder, clawing at the skin his teeth had ripped. The surge of fresh pain pulled her awake long enough to get to the next exit, and the next.. and the next. 

Sam never called her back. 

Cas never showed. 

Dean’s dark laughter and poisonous words echoed in her soul, haunting every moment.

Somewhere near Rockport, she collapsed. The blackness peaked around her vision and overtook her, knocking her out as the lights from oncoming traffic reflected on the windshield. She came to at the last second, pulling at the wheel and jerking the car away from the blue minivan headed straight for her. The vehicle left the road and slid across the rain-slicked shoulder into an open lot. Tires skidded on loose gravel; the air was silent as she held her breath. 

She gripped the wheel tightly and slammed her foot onto the break, nearly busting through the floorboard. 

The crash was quick. Silence was shattered by the sound of metal hitting concrete as the Tucson's front end crumpled against the corner of a building. The impact knocked her back out and Y/N slumped in the seat, her body held up by the seat belt, not will. 

Ringing woke her again. Heavy head lolling on her shoulders, Y/N managed to quiet the noise as she yanked her cell from her back pocket. The screen was cracked but she could still read the message: 

‘Time’s Up. Ready or not- here I come.’

Ice ran through her veins and she shook herself, desperate to clear her vision and think. There was no way he had followed her. Pointless turns, random exits, and twelve hundred miles left a mere dusting of breadcrumbs. It would be a hard path to track, even for a demon. 

Another ding made her jump. 

‘Better run 😈’

Every joint protested; her flesh screamed. Y/N bit back a cry as she forced the door open and fell onto the damp stone ground. A light mist began to fall, peppering her bloodied face with cool droplets that offered a moment of relief.

‘I’d get away from that wreck if I were you - the engine could blow…’

Y/N fell back onto her ass when the text came through. Shocked and terrified, she scanned the open lot for any sign of him but she was alone. The only tracks were her own, the only sound was the busted radiator hissing behind her.

“Dean?” Her voice was weak. Fear leaked into every inch of her but she clutched her phone tight and struggled to her feet. “You don’t have to do this, you know!” Grimacing, she pulled open the back door and dug through her bag. “We can just- I don’t know- call it even and walk away.” She tucked a flask of holy water into her right back pocket and tucked an anointed silver knife into the left. “No harm, no foul.” She withdrew her pistol and checked the magazine. “What do you say?” 

“I choose harm.”

He was close. 

Y/N fumbled with the gun; hand shaking as her broken wrist sent white-hot shards of pain up through her elbow and beyond. Swinging around, she readied herself for the fight, but he was nowhere to be seen. 

“Dean?” She swallowed hard and dug deep. “I thought I was the one doing the hiding.” 

His laugh wrapped around her. 

“Oh no, sweetheart. That’s you. And you should hop to it.” 

His voice was coming from every direction at the same time. Left, right, behind her, below her. It was like standing in a fun house full of mirrors and Y/N felt her stomach churn. 

“Go on!” He clapped his hands and the sound thundered around her. “Run!” 

Instinct drove her to the left and quickly she fit herself through the rotted planks of what used to be a door. She stepped inside and blinked into soft darkness. 

A shadowed silhouette in the dim light, Y/N rushed through the ruins of the abandoned fishery. Thick steel columns rose from the concrete slab beneath her feet to high overhead. Wind hissed through gaps in the roof, slithered through broken window panes, and whirled around her like the icy breath of death. The stink of seawater and fish lived forever locked into the essence of the building and Y/N gagged as she ran through the space. There was nowhere to hide safely and the ache of pain and exhaustion threatened to pull her down.

Dean broke through the pitiful door with one swift kick of his right leg. He stepped inside, his shadow reaching across the gray stone floor. 

In a panic, Y/N dove behind a stack of wooden crates and crouched down. She readied her weapons.

His boots fell like anvils and his steps echoed loudly. 

“Here kitty, kitty, kitty…” 

Y/N shuddered. Her breath was ragged and loud. She bit her lip to try and hold it in.  

“Give up, Y/N/N- There’s nowhere else to go!”

He was right. She was fucked. 

“H-how’d you find me, anyway?” she asked, lifting her voice and projecting to her left. 

Dean turned towards her words. He walked slowly but deliberately and every step made her heart beat harder in her ears. 

“I’ve got my ways,” he called back. 

She could hear the smirk on his lips and it made her sick. “Oh? Do tell…” Carefully, she crawled to the right and slipped around another pile of boxes. 

Dean searched for her around each column and stack, taking his time as if eternity was his to play with. 

“I honestly thought it would have been a little harder,” he confessed. “But as it turns out, Little Miss Clever forgot to turn off her phone’s GPS.” 

Y/N’s heart sank. “Fuck.” 

“It’s OK. We all fuck up sometimes. Some of us more than others.” 

He sounded far away, so Y/N stood up to peer over the crates. She saw him on the other side of the massive room and let go of a breath of momentary belief. When she turned back, her heel slid through a puddle of slimy muck and she faltered, tumbling into the crates. The topmost box careened off the pile and smashed onto the floor. 

Dean’s head snapped towards the splintered mess and his green eyes flickered black. “Gotcha.” 

They both ran. It was hardly a proper chase. Dean leapt across the floor with demonic speed as Y/N stumbled, her body too broken and twisted to perform beyond a halfhearted sprint. 

Dean grabbed a fistful of her hair and whipped her backward, tossing her to the ground. She hit the concrete with a gut-wrenching crash that sent a shockwave of numbness down her spine. Her head bounced off the stone and she swallowed a scream. 

“Wow.” Dean stood over her, looking down with a narrow, curious gaze. “You really look like shit.”

Blood pooled on her tongue and Y/N rolled onto her side to spit it out. “Me?” She laughed, pained but brave. “You should see yourself. The Hellfire’s not doin’ you any favors.” 

A wide grin broke out across his freckled face and the demon ran a hand through his hair. “Oh, come on,” he teased with a wink. “I make this look good.”

The walls were spinning and Y/N was sure her time was up. She grit her teeth and pushed up with her hands, ready to spin and run if she could. “Hey, Dean? Fuck you.”

His grin morphed into a sneer. “Been there. Done that. Not lookin’ for a replay.”  

“Yeah,” she agreed, rolling onto her hands and knees. “It wasn’t that great for me either.” 

Irked by her nerve, Dean lunged for her but Y/N had other plans. His fingers curled around her shoulder, and as he jerked her back, she pulled the blade from her hip pocket and swung, burying it deep between his ribs. Dean lurched back, teeth clenched with a roar. 

“You bitch!” 

The blessed silver burned his flesh but he pulled it free and the skin closed easily. 

It wasn’t enough to stop him, but it gave her time to get away. 

Offices sat at the back of the building, their doors promising a moment’s reprieve. Y/N tried door after door in a panic, but each was locked. When she heard Dean’s approach, she gave up and slipped around a corner, doing her best to keep quiet as she pulled another trick from her pocket.  

Dean grabbed her before she could get far, his nails breaking the skin on her left forearm as he hauled her back into the open. She spun to face him and spit a mouthful of holy water into his eyes. The water soaked into his demonic skin and burned him deeply. Steam rose from his cheeks, singed his lashes, and pulled a terrifying cry from his burning lips. 

“Keep running!” he dared, doubled over as the flesh on his brow healed. “I’m enjoying this!” 

Back into the night, Y/N ran from the building and down a long wooden pier. The derelict packing plant was situated on the edge of the Atlantic, with slips for fishing vessels still seated in the cold water. The gray ocean slapped at the aged wooden posts and the spray mixed with the rain, chilling Y/N to the core. 

Hopping over broken planks and discarded hunks of metal, nets, and empty bottles, Y/N ran until there was no place left to run. The pier ended in a steep drop off with nothing below but the sea, and Y/N finally lost faith.

The pain was too much, the path too broken and pointless. 

Looking out at the horizon, she prayed one last time. Not for herself, but for Him. She prayed that Castiel would return from wherever the hell he’d been blasted off to. She prayed that Sam would wake up and fight. She prayed that Hell would spit Dean out and Heaven would take him back. 

She heard his footsteps; felt the danger on the nape of her neck. She closed her eyes. 

“You really don’t have to do this,” she whispered. 

He sighed. “You’re right. I don’t have to…” 

A tiny spark of hope burned in her chest and Y/N turned around with a small smile percolating on her lips.

“But I want to.” 

The First Blade cut through her like she was nothing. Dean pressed the bone deep into her stomach and lifted his arm, dragging Y/N up off of her feet. Her body tensed and then went limp, her eyes wide with shock, her lips parted with a dying breath. 

“Dean…” 

He caught her against his chest and cradled her head on his shoulder. 

“Sorry, kid. I can’t leave loose ends…”

He kissed her forehead and then pulled back quickly. Her body fell at his feet and he wiped the blade on his jeans, smearing the last of her blood on his thigh. 

Rain fell freely, washing the blood away and pooling it like a halo around her body.

Her phone rang, but the sound did not wake her. 

Sam’s name flashed over the screen.

‘Y/N I’m so sorry. Stay away from him. He got away. We tried to save him but he got free. Please. If you see Dean-

Stay Away.’

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You were frozen, in shock, unable to process what he was telling you. 

“Y/N?”

“I… I need to see him,” you whispered.

Sam was quiet for a moment before he forced out, “I gave him a hunter’s funeral.”

You shut your eyes in pain. “What?” You could feel your throat tightening as well as your chest.

“I’m sorry, Y/N, but I had to. I couldn’t…” You heard him take a breath. “I couldn’t make the long drive with… I just couldn’t.” You could hear those breaks again and you should have been hurting for him, that not only did he have to watch his brother die but he’d had to burn him alone. But right then you got angry and you couldn’t help snapping at him.

“Why would you burn his body, Sam? You know we need his body to bring him back!”

“Y/N, he didn’t want to be brought back.”

“You don’t know that!”

“Yeah, I do. He told me right before he died. As long as I was going to be okay,” Another break. “He was done.”

A tear rolled down your cheek and regret immediately consumed you. You knew Sam was telling you the truth. Dean making sure Sam would be okay as he was dying clinched it for you. Sam had always been his main concern. You started mentally berating yourself then. If only you hadn’t let fear stop you, you could have given him something to live for, to fight for. He would have let Sam call for help, call Jack, something. He would have made sure he somehow made it home, just like he always did. But you didn’t and now, he was gone. Truly and irrevocably gone.

Another tear slipped down your cheek and you quickly wiped it away. “I have to go, Sam.”

“Y/N, I—”

You ended the call and tossed the phone onto the bed. You weren’t trying to be heartless. Sam was obviously struggling and you should be there for him. That’s what Dean would want, you knew that. The two of you being there for each other, helping one another, you looking after his little brother while he looked out for you. But you just…couldn’t.

Why hadn’t you called Dean? After everything that went down with Chuck and Jack? Why hadn’t you reached out? You owed him that at the very least. So why hadn’t you?

You knew the answer to that. You were scared and like a coward, you’d told yourself it wouldn’t have made a difference. It wouldn’t have changed anything. But a part of you knew it would and that scared you just as much.

You thought back to the last time you’d seen him, right after he and Sam went to try to get Amara on board against Chuck. He was still reeling with the news that Cas had told him before he’d left, that Jack was going to sacrifice himself to kill Chuck. He cared about Jack, more than he let on, even though the kid had accidentally killed Mary. Jack was family to him and he was having a serious moment of doubt. If Jack’s plan would work; if he should let it happen; if he should tell Sam; if Chuck hadn’t been right, he would win in the end. He was so beyond tired of that: Chuck winning. He didn’t want to sacrifice Jack but if they could be free of Chuck and have a chance… 

He was torn up about it and he’d called you, asked you where you were, then begged you to come to the Bunker when he found out you were only an hour or so away. You hadn’t wanted to, you could hear the desperation in his voice and you knew all too well what would happen if you went. You were still hurting and you didn’t know if you could survive that. 

You didn’t bother telling him that the reason you were an hour outside of town was because you’d temporarily settled there, not sure where to go or what to do. Sure, you took on hunts here and there, but ultimately you were lost. Ever since Dean broke things off with you because he couldn’t tell what was real anymore versus what had been Chuck all along. The breakup had hurt, of course, but that caused pain in you that you weren’t really sure you would ever come back from. Him thinking everything between you might not be real? After you’d given him everything you could because you deeply loved him? In your heart, you knew it was real, but when you had said this to him, he’d simply responded with “I don’t” in his typical detached way he adopted whenever he had made up his mind that he had to do something for the greater good, no matter how hard it might be. You thought he had already broken your heart, but it shattered right then in your chest.

Since it was Dean, though, and he never begged, you went. And sure enough, what you worried would happen, happened. One minute, you’d been wiping the rare tears he let fall around you, and the next minute, he was kissing you and gently pushing you back onto his bed. You could feel the desperation in his movements, his touches, the way his lips trailed over your skin. Shockingly, he took his time with you, and it only hit you halfway through that this was his real goodbye. It wasn’t guaranteed that Billie’s plan would work but he hoped it would. And if it did, then that meant he and Sam would finally be free and they could hang it up if they wanted to, do something else with their lives and move on. And that possible future didn’t include you. 

You’d silently cried then, holding onto Dean as he moved and moaned into your ear. When he pulled back to kiss you, your cheeks were free of any tear tracks and you kissed him back. You wondered how on earth he couldn’t feel that this was very real between you as you moved your hips to meet his in a tender rhythm as he held you in his lap, his green eyes staring into yours as he held you close. Sex was sex but this right here, this right in between you right then that he refused to put a name to, it was beyond real. You knew he could feel it just as much as you could…so why was he still hellbent on throwing it (and you) away?

A little while later, you had laid there, with his head on your chest, running your fingers through his hair in soothing strokes, his body still entangled with yours, staring up at the ceiling as you both were still trying to catch your breath. Your heart spoke for you before you could stop it. “I love you,” you whispered, meaning it with every fiber of your being.

It shocked the hell out of you and made something warm and fluttery happen inside your chest when he sleepily murmured to your skin, “Love y’too. Don’go.” You ended up chalking it up to him being in a post-sex sleep daze though, not knowing what he was really saying or even really having heard you correctly. That or he only meant for the night because the very next morning, things went back to how they were.

Dean seemed surprised when he woke up to find you next to him, scrolling through the news feed on your phone for any new cases. You’d given him a warm smile. “Hey, sleepyhead,” you teased.

Instead of smiling back, though, he cleared his throat and ran a hand through his hair. “Hey.” You could see that familiar detached expression settle on his features and you knew he was regretting the night before. He had been drinking by the time you got there, sure, but he hadn’t been inebriated. He was incredibly lucid by the time he made a move on you so try as he might, this couldn’t be chalked up to a drunken mistake.

You could literally feel that wall going back up and you gave one last ditch effort to keep him from shutting you back out, even laying a hand over his. “Dean, don’t—”

He pulled away from you and got out of bed, quickly slipping on his Scooby Doo boxers and jeans that he grabbed from the floor. You might have smiled seeing the familiar underwear that you hated but secretly loved if you weren’t hurting so much. “I’m hungry. You hungry?” He asked, slipping a black t-shirt over his head. “I’ll go see if Sam’s cooking anything up. I need a serious cup of coffee. You just…” He glanced back at you, seeing you holding the sheet tightly to your chest as you watched him, compulsively swallowing when he saw your eyes glistening. “You, uh, just come out when you’re ready.” He then made his way out of the room, closing the door behind him and never looking back. 

You sat back against the headboard, dissolving into a fit of tears and quiet sobs. You knew you should have never come. Once you were able to breathe without fresh tears welling up, you got yourself cleaned up and redressed. You splashed some water on your face and you took a deep breath before leaving the room. You were near the bunker stairs when Sam called out to you.

“Hey! Y/N!” 

He was coming over to you, a big smile on his face. He was pleased to see you.

“Hey,” you greeted back just as warmly, forcing a smile.

He gave you a quick hug and you could see Jack a little ways behind him, giving you a smile and wave. “I didn’t know you were here. We were just about to have breakfast. Why don’t you join us?”       

“Oh, I…”

You were saved from having to make an excuse when Dean appeared next to Jack, his expression severe and cold all at the same time. “She’s got a hunt she’s heading out for. Possible vamp nest in Duluth. Right, Y/N?”

Just when you thought he couldn’t hurt you even more, there he went proving you wrong. “Right,” you agreed quietly. You turned a wan smile onto Sam. “I’ll take a raincheck.”

“Duluth?” Sam glanced from his brother to you. “Maybe we can give you a hand on this one.”

“We can’t,” Dean stated firmly. He gave his brother a look and Sam’s brows furrowed before realization played upon his features and his jaw tightened. He turned apologetic hazel eyes onto you. “Donna’s up that way. If she needs a hand, she can call her,” Dean added.

You felt sick to your stomach. Obviously, you weren’t heading to Duluth or anywhere near Minnesota but the way he dismissed you so casually…the pain was overwhelming. The smile you kept on Sam turned into more of a grimace. “I appreciate the offer, Sam, but I’m good. Like your brother said, I can call Donna if I need anything. Don’t worry. Thanks, though.” You squeezed his arm and then turned to make your way up the stairs.

“Best of luck,” Dean gruffed out. You turned to see pure ice staring back at you. 

You pressed your lips together to keep from falling apart right there, from demanding why Dean had obviously only called you for sex and a pick-me-up when there plenty of women in Lebanon that could do that for him, from begging him to wake up and see you were right in front of him and that what you had was very much real before it was too late. Instead, you continued climbing the stairs. 

“Keep us updated and give us a call if you need anything,” Sam called after you.

“Will do,” you forced out.

“Good luck,” Jack offered.

When you reached the top, you glanced once more at Dean. His expression hadn’t changed one bit. The green gaze staring back at you was cold, hard. You let out a huff and shook your head, turning to open the door and close it behind you. That had been the very last time you saw him.

After that, you went back to the motel you had been renting a room in, packed up, and headed across state lines. You ignored Dean’s calls but took Sam’s. 

Apparently, at some point, you had vanished when Chuck disappeared everyone. You had no idea until Donna filled you in. That explained the several missed calls from both Sam and Dean and the voicemails they left. Both had sounded desperate, especially Dean. 

“Please, Y/N. I know you’re pissed at me and I get it but please call me back. Or call Sam. I don’t care. Just as long as we know you’re still with us and that you’re okay.” His tone sounded rough around the edges but considering the context Sam gave you when you did call him (there was no way you were calling Dean, especially not now), you realized they were just desperate to get in touch with anyone, having lost Cas and being the only three forms of life left on the planet.

Dean was right, you were angry. Angry that he’d used you that night, angry that he’d broken your heart in the first place. He had pursued you before you got together, not the other way around. By the time you let your guard down enough to let him in and things kicked off between you, he was deep in. Or so he’d said. By the time he ended things, you were deep in yourself. Now…now you were in even deeper thanks to him, so deep you were pretty sure Dean would haunt you the rest of your life no matter how you tried to shut him out of your heart.

Another tear rolled down your cheek. Though, you’d never meant the word haunt literally.

You wiped your face with your sleeve and let out an aggravated breath before getting to your feet. You grabbed your coat, your emergency bag, your hunting bag, and the car keys from the table near the door. You locked up and got into the car you only used for hunts and grocery trips now, starting it and backing out of the driveway. 

It’s not that you doubted what Sam had told you or Sam himself, but you needed to see things for yourself. You turned the car in the direction that would lead you to Kansas.

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You opened the door to the Bunker, seeing nothing but darkness greeting you, the clanking of the door being the only sound to echo in the large chamber. That was strange. They never shut it down when they left for hunts. You hit the lights and hearing a loud thrumming sound, you watched as they came back on, one by one. You had your own key since you were also a Legacy. You’d never been more thankful for that fact when you arrived to find the Bunker locked down, no Sam in sight.

You shut the door behind you and dropped your bags near the table. You bit your lip to keep your eyes from welling up when you noticed an unfinished chess game on the table, most likely one that Dean and Cas had been engaged in, but now neither of them would be back to complete it. Instead, you focused on the matter at hand. You pulled your gun out and an angel blade, slipping the latter into your coat pocket in case you needed it. In the other pocket, you slipped a flask of holy water and a small piece of iron bar you could wield if need be. In your gun sat silver bullets; you couldn’t be too careful nowadays. Especially if the word was out to the world of the supernatural that Dean Winchester was gone and only Sam was left now, alone. 

You slowly made your way down the stairs, listening intently for any other noises you might hear. All that you could make out besides your footsteps was the low hum of electricity that was commonplace for the old bunker. You cleared the library, the hallways, the kitchen, the shower room, the infirmary, the Dean Cave where you’d been forced to watch The Lost Boys and slasher films more times than you cared to count (you had dug your teeth into your bottom lip to keep from crying when you saw the DVD cover of Tombstone left near the TV), every single room in the place until you came to the one that made a lump form in your throat. You swallowed it back down and forced yourself to focus, raising your gun that much higher. You opened the door and hit the lights, scanning every which way. The room was clear.

You lowered your gun and made your way inside, the lump in your throat back again. Your eyes roamed over the hastily made bed; the empty dog bowls on the floor (which made your brows furrow in confusion slightly); the messy desk; the empty beer bottles on the table; the headphones on the nightstand; the shotguns on the wall; the books scattered about; the load of laundry sitting off to the right in a corner. Memories washed over you and your eyes began to sting as tears welled up. 

You’d walked into the room to find Dean jamming out on his bed, listening to music through the headphones he’d insisted on buying on your last trip. You huffed out a laugh and dropped the laundry basket of folded clothes onto the bed, garnering his attention. 

He opened his eyes and glanced up to find you smiling at him. 

“What are you listening to?”

He held one of the phones away from his ear and you could hear some serious strumming of heavy metal guitar coming out of it. “Huh?”

“I said, what are you listening to?” You asked a little louder.

“What?” He nearly yelled.

You picked up the top item from your pile, his Scooby Doo underthings, and playfully tossed it at him. It landed squarely on his chest and he immediately jumped up as if it had burned him, his cheeks turning redder by the second as he threw the headphones onto the bed.

“You did my laundry?” He asked in horror.

Amazing. You two had explored every single inch of each other time and time again, been sort of rooming together for the past month, but he was embarrassed that you washed his dirty underwear?

You shrugged and began to place his folded clothes on the bed. “I had room in the washer so I figured I’d grab yours, too. You’re welcome.”

“You washed our clothes together?” He sounded genuinely surprised.

You gasped and gave him a mock look of horror. “Oh no, not together.” You tossed a pair of jeans over at him and he caught it in time. “I used detergent, fabric softener, dryer sheets, and everything,” you teased. “But putting it away is where I draw the line, pal. That’s on you.” You pointed to the neat pile sitting on the bed before moving over to the door to head to the room you kept your things in down the hall. 

Arms wrapped around you from behind, stopping your trek, and Dean murmured into your ear, “You washed my clothes for me?”

“And folded, too,” you pointed out. “Don’t forget that.”

“Mmm, what else can I get you to do for me?” He grabbed the basket from you and placed it down before gripping your hips and moving in to kiss your neck.

“Hey, I’m not your maid. I had room in the washer, that was it. Don’t get used to this,” you laughed before digging your teeth into your lip when you felt his tongue on a particular part of your skin. 

“What if I want to get used to this?” He moved up to your jaw line.

“I’d say you’re SOL. Unless…”

“Unless?” He hummed near your lips.

“Unless you finally let me tidy up this room a little.”

His head shot up, frowning down at you. “What? Why, what’s wrong with how it is now?”

“Well,” You wrapped your arms around his neck. “Some of these papers on the desk need organizing, the books can be put in a stack on the table over there, these empty beer bottles can be thrown out, the shotguns you have near the bed can be put away…”

“There’s nothing wrong with anything you just mentioned,” he grumbled.

“Oh, really? So the other night when you were doing that thing—”

“That thing you really like,” he interrupted, smirking cockily at you.

You had to keep from rolling your eyes and smirking yourself. “When I moved, I knocked into the shotgun and it fell. It almost went off. You remember that?”

“Nothing happened or went off, well, except you.” His smirk got even bigger. “You remember that?”

This time you gently swatted at his shoulder. “Dean.”

He heard the warning in your no-nonsense tone and laughed, leaning in to kiss you. “Alright,” he whispered to your lips. “I’ll put the shotguns up out of the way. But everything else stays.”

You huffed out an exasperated breath. One of these days when he wasn’t looking, you swore you’d do as exactly as you’d suggested. Clear out the empty bottles and stack the books at the very least. 

“Hey, it’s all about compromise, right? Speaking of that,” He turned you around in his arms and you were once again facing the laundry basket he’d left on the floor. “Find a space and keep some of ‘em in here.”

A pleasant shock ran through you. “Are you sure?” You whispered.

He slowly turned you back around and gently cupped your chin. “Yeah, sweetheart, I’m sure. You’re practically sleeping in here every night, anyway. I’d rather you not have to put back on the same clothes from the night before or walk naked down to your room. Then again, naked…”

You glared up at him, making him chuckle and brush his lips against yours. “I just didn’t want to crowd you,” you admitted after a moment. “It’s your space. If I’m in here too much, I can—”

 “I want you here.” You gazed into his green eyes, unsure, but all you saw staring back at you was softness with a glint of earnestness. He was telling you the truth; he really wanted you to stay. 

“Okay,” you agreed with a shy smile.

He beamed at you and then picked you up, making you gasp loudly and wrap your legs around his waist. “Not that you’re gonna be needing them right now.”

You shook your head and kissed him as he walked you both towards the bed. When he had you on it, you could hear the music coming from the forgotten headphones. “Is that…Whitesnake?”

Dean smirked down at you. “Uh huh. One sec.” He reached over, quickly clicked something on his phone, and the music suddenly changed. You smiled when a familiar song started up.

“Really?”

“What? It’s our song.”

You framed his face with your hands, looking up at him affectionately. “Dean Winchester, secretly sentimental and sensitive guy extraordinaire,” you teased him.

“Shut up,” he mumbled. “I’m not any of that crap. It’s the first song we made good use of Baby’s backseat to, that’s all. Now that you’re staying in here, we gotta celebrate.”

Romantic. You rolled your eyes but smiled. “Like I said, sentimental.” You pulled him down to you and kissed him sweetly. Needless to say, he had been right; you hadn’t needed your clothes for a little while.

You took in a ragged breath, your fingers gently touching over the papers on his desk. While you hated the empty beer bottles and you didn’t want to end up possibly shot with a salt round during a passionate moment of sex, you really hadn’t minded how he had things. You knew this was the first home he and Sam ever really had. He could keep things messy or disorganized if he wanted to; he had more than earned the right. It might sound silly to someone else but he deserved to experience living in a home, mess and all, like everyone did at some point in their lives. Not only did he not have a place to do that since he’d been four years old, he’d never felt comfortably settled in anywhere ever to be able to do it. You remembered him and Sam telling you how long it had taken Dean to settle into this room, to think of the Bunker as not just theirs but home. You’d kick the crap out of anyone who tried to take that away from him, and you would be the last person to try to do it yourself. You still thanked him when he hung the shotguns up on the wall; you were beyond grateful. That time, he was the one who went off and quite happily.

A sob nearly tore its way out of your chest when you saw his handwriting on one of the papers. Your fingertips traced each letter. How could he really be gone?

You ran your fingers over an open file, wondering what he had been looking at, when you heard the clicking of nails on the floor behind you. You spun, lifting your gun, to find Sam standing in the doorway, watching you with wide eyes as a dog appeared beside him. That must have been what you’d heard. You lowered the gun and let out a relieved breath. “What are you doing here?”

You winced internally at your question. He had every right to be here, this was his home. You were the intruder.

“The monitoring system we set up… I was alerted that someone was in the Bunker. I locked it down and I know only he and I had the keys, so I didn’t know if…” You watched as he compulsively swallowed.

You turned back to the desk. “I get that. Where were you, by the way? Why did you lock it down?” He didn’t answer for a moment when you glanced over your shoulder at him, seeing his gaze glued to the ground. “Sam?”

His eyes flicked up to yours and he swallowed again. “I was on my way to Austin. For a case. But then…” He gestured towards you. “I turned around and headed back to see.” You noticed he didn’t mention why he had locked the Bunker down but then again, he didn’t really need to. Who else would be coming here now that Dean, Cas, and Jack were gone? Mary was gone as well as most of the other hunters you’d worked with over the past couple of years. Apocalypse World Bobby was still up in Minnesota somewhere. Apocalypse World Charlie and Stevie had moved East, choosing to retire after what happened with Chuck temporarily disappearing everyone. Garth and Bess still lived in their home with their family. Jody and the girls had their own operation up in Sioux Falls with Donna lending a hand every now and then. And you…well, you never told Sam where you were. 

You gave him a slow nod and dropped your eyes back down to the desk, running your fingers over the pages of an open lore book Dean had been reading. It was probably ridiculous but you thought maybe you could somehow still feel him here (though you did not want him to be a ghost), that perhaps by touch or sight or smell even that you could somehow connect to what his last days had been like. You wondered if he somehow knew deep down or if he hadn’t seen it coming. Even though he had always told you that he didn’t see a good ending for himself down the road, that he was forever bound to this life, you knew he also secretly fantasized about his life going in a different direction, one he’d included you in once upon a time. You then wondered if there was a girl somewhere who was either waiting for a phone call she would never get or was crying her eyes out because Sam had given her the news like he had you. It hurt to think that maybe he had found someone that he envisioned another future with instead of you, with someone he knew without a shadow of a doubt that Chuck hadn’t inserted into his life as a manipulation or a story device. Someone that he didn’t question what he had with them, if it was real. Though at the same time, you hoped he found a little piece of happiness. You still loved him enough to want that for him.

You briefly closed your eyes in pain when you remembered that last night you spent with him, telling him you loved him. You truly meant it and even though he hurt you again and again, you still did. You forced the thought away and instead chose to focus on the open book in front of you. “What was he working on?” You choked out, quietly clearing your throat once you heard how rough your voice sounded.

You turned the page, seeing mentions of witches and vampires, when you realized Sam never answered you. You glanced back at him, arching your brows in question.

Sam’s eyes were wide and laser focused on your body, his mouth hanging open. Shit.

You should’ve known that despite the dark clothing you were wearing, the long black coat you were sporting, turning away from him, that you wouldn’t be able to hide your secret much longer. Truthfully, it wasn’t even something you’d thought about when you set out for the bunker. Had Sam been here when you arrived, he probably would have seen it then.

You turned towards the younger Winchester and Sam’s eyes flickered up to you. “Are you…?”

“Yes, Sam.”

Sam closed his mouth and swallowed, glancing back and forth between you and your protruding belly. You read the clear question in his eyes that he was burning to ask.  

“You’re going to be an uncle.”

Except the few times he’d been close to death, you’d never seen Sam look so pale.

<-->

You and Sam sat on the edge of Dean’s bed, Miracle (as you’d come to find out was the dog’s name) laid at your feet, his head on his paws.

“How?” Sam finally asked you.

You snorted in amusement. “You know how.”

“No, I mean… Why didn’t you tell Dean? Did you tell Dean? Because he didn’t tell me and I don’t think that’s something he wouldn’t have told me.”

You wet your lips with your tongue, feeling the heavy weight of guilt and sadness wrap around you once more. “No. I didn’t tell him,” you whispered. It was now the biggest regret of your life, right before the second biggest one of you walking out of the bunker the morning you’d last seen him and not fighting harder to get him to let you back in.

“Were you ever going to?”

Your eyes snapped to Sam at the judgment clear as day in his tone and they narrowed. “No, I wasn’t. He made it pretty clear he wanted nothing more to do with me or anything related to me. So, no, Sam, I wasn’t,” you snapped.

He pressed his lips into a thin line and looked down at his lap.

You turned your gaze forward again, taking a breath to tamp down the familiar anger and resentment that you’d worked so hard to try to let go of. After a moment, you rubbed at your forehead. “Yes,” you muttered. “I don’t know. I think so…”

Sam stayed quiet and let you sort through your thoughts which you were grateful for. You’d been caught completely off guard by the pregnancy yourself. When you found out, you thought back to how you unwisely didn’t take your usual precautions and since you and Dean had broken up long before that, you hadn’t been too concerned with maintaining your birth control. 

You’d thought over your options. Bringing a kid into the hunting lifestyle was the worst thing you could do to it. Dean and Sam were living proof. Their mom herself had known it which was why she tried to get out when she married their dad. Not to mention, it would make you vulnerable in your line of work and the kid would always be in danger, always have a target on its back. Plus, you were pretty sure that even if you told Dean, he’d be less than thrilled. He always told you he didn’t want kids, for the very reasons you were now facing. And did you really want to bring a kid into the world that Chuck was about to end, only to have a father who was dismissive of it, or even hated it? You didn’t think Dean would be capable, he’d been great with Jack and Ben after all, but this was different. This kid would have his blood, his genes, would look like him somewhat. Sure, he had that in Emma once and that had torn him up, but this would also be different. This was for the long haul. And that’s only if he even wanted to be in this kid’s life. Which he might opt not to. How could you do that to your child? So you considered choosing to end the pregnancy, which would have been a true mercy given everything stacked against it before it would be born, but eventually you decided otherwise. 

You’d heard the baby’s heartbeat on a checkup while you were still mulling it over, and that was it. Dean wanted to know if what you had was real or not? Here it was, its little heart thumping away deep within your body. After that visit, you’d decided the hell with it. You were someone who believed everything happened for a reason, well before things with Chuck went bad though you still operated on this age-old belief most of the time. You were having a kid, one who would be half of you and half of Dean, the love of your life for all intents and purposes. Though it had hurt when he dismissed you that morning, perhaps this had been the reason why he called you out of the blue, wanting you to come to him, and why you went despite knowing what would most likely happen and how much pain it would cause you.

So you made a decision to start pulling out of hunting. Donna rented her family cabin in Hibbing to you. Bobby hadn’t been back since Mary died so it was sitting empty and unused. You hid the pregnancy as best you could but ultimately, once the first trimester was over and you had popped, you couldn’t hide it anymore. Donna found out though she never knew who the father was. She didn’t pry which you appreciated. When she called you to warn you that Billie was making people disappear left and right, a familiar fear clawed at your chest. Not only fear for your child but also the fear of what if Dean found out about it. That was the only thing that kept you from offering to come down to Kansas to help. 

“We’re going into some place warded to protect us. You should do the same. I can send you pictures of the sigils they’re using.”

“Okay, thanks. Are you sure you’re going to be alright?”

“Yeah, don’t you worry. We’ll figure this out. You just stay safe in the cabin. You and…well, you know.”

You appreciated her staying discreet when you heard Sam’s voice in the background. “I will. Thanks, D.”

“You betcha. Talk soon.”

You hung up and Donna did indeed send you the pictures. You did your best with what you had but it didn’t matter in the end. The last thing you remembered was painting a sigil on the window and then everything went black. The next thing you knew, you were back at the window, your finger extended towards the glass, the half-finished sigil staring back at you. You noticed the sun was in a different position in the sky than it had been and you immediately grabbed your cell phone. Two days had passed. How? 

It hit you then what happened and you dropped the phone with a cry, immediately grabbing at your stomach. You ran for the machine Jody had shipped to you after Donna told her. At the time you’d been annoyed, but right now, you couldn’t be happier at the sheriff knowing about your pregnancy once your baby’s heartbeat echoed throughout the bedroom. You let out a huge sigh of relief, rubbing your belly affectionately. “We had quite a scare there, didn’t we, kiddo?”

It dawned on you then that while you had vanished, you were back, baby and all. Did that mean everyone else was back, too? You went back downstairs for your cell phone and immediately called Donna. Yep, everyone was back, they had all disappeared, and it wasn’t Billie but Chuck who had done it. You asked after Dean and Sam and that was when she told you about Cas and then Jack. You knew both brothers would be devastated, especially Dean, and you considered breaking your radio silence to call him. However, you chickened out at the last second and called Sam instead to check in.

It’s not that a part of you didn’t want to tell Dean he was going to be a father, it was that you were scared of what would happen when you did. Originally, you had feared that he would turn his back on you completely, more importantly on his kid, but now you were worried that maybe it would be the exact opposite. While you would be happy for him to be actively involved in your child’s life as its dad, you also knew Dean. He would try to resume things between you, make it work for the kid’s sake. Just look at how long he tried to make it work with Lisa for Ben’s sake. Not that he didn’t love her and he ended up leaving to protect them, but even Lisa knew his heart wasn’t in it. While that had been for different reasons involving hunting and Sam’s reappearance in his life, he still tried to make it work. But as he’d told you, the family thing didn’t work for him, and besides he already had a family with Sam, Cas, and Jack. You hadn’t missed how he didn’t include you in that group; you supposed you should’ve known then. 

You didn’t want him to fake wanting to be with you just to give your kid some semblance of a family life that Dean himself hadn’t really had. You didn’t know if you could take him forcing himself to kiss you goodnight before turning his back on you every single night. Or forcing a smile when he’d come home after a long day and you were the first thing he saw when he stepped inside. It was a ridiculous fear to have, you knew that, and you should be stronger than this — you were stronger than this. Not to mention, you knew you were being selfish and not at all fair to your baby or Dean. But the images kept replaying over and over in your mind, making you flinch, and you told yourself you’d tell him the next day. The next day turned into next week, then the next month. Before you knew it, you were in your third trimester and you were getting a call from his younger brother to inform you of his untimely death.

Maybe that’s really why you raced down here from Hibbing. Maybe that’s why you wanted to see for yourself that he was gone. Not only to confirm that the man who had your heart was gone for good, but also so you could tell him, hoping he might hear it wherever he now was. Or maybe by some act of mercy Jack could relay it to him, wherever Jack was. It was cowardly, you were a coward, and you hated yourself for it. You knew you should have told Dean months ago, after you found out that he and Sam had beaten Chuck, Jack was in charge of the universe now, and the world was not coming to an end anytime soon. Regardless, you couldn’t turn back the clock.

A tear escaped that you quickly wiped away, not caring if Sam saw or not. “You know, when you first told me about Dean, I considered a demon deal.”

Sam’s head snapped up. “No! That’s not what he would want! No!”

You held out a placating hand. “I know. I’m not going to do that.” He seemed to deflate slightly in relief. “I can’t, anyway.” You motioned to your bulging stomach. “I couldn’t do that to my kid. Only be around for 10 years and then poof, I’m gone? Even if it had Dean, if Dean wanted it that is, it’s still terrible to do that to a kid.” You winced slightly when you realized you were saying this to Sam Winchester of all people.

“Dean would’ve wanted it,” he assured you quietly.

You grimaced and dropped your gaze down to the dog who was staring up at you. “Maybe.” You reached down to pet his head. 

Sam placed a gentle hand on your shoulder. “He would’ve.”

You stayed quiet for a moment, thinking over his words, when you murmured, “Is there any way to get him back?”

Sam let you go and his hazel eyes began to shimmer. “No,” he choked out. “I, uh, checked with Jack and he said it was his time. So…no.”

“What?” You snapped, getting to your feet. “After everything you’ve done for that kid? He just—”

Sam got to his feet, tenderly cradling your shoulders. “I know. I didn’t want to hear it either but…Jack’s right.” Your jaw dropped, ready to let some f-bombs fly (which you usually tried to avoid since the baby could now hear you), when Sam’s hands moved up to your face, trying to get you to listen. “He was ready to go. Jack confirmed it. Dean’s in Heaven and he’s at peace.”

Tears were on the edge of falling when you heard that. “He’s in Heaven?”

Sam nodded, a tear making its way down his cheek. “Yeah. He is.”

If Dean was in Heaven…well, then that was some consolation at least. Just when he thought he’d never make it there thanks to his being a demon for a short stint, being killed by a Hell Hound, and everything that had occurred over the years — even some of the things he’d done. But that also meant he was gone, for good this time. It was confirmed; he wasn’t coming back. It hit you like a freight train and it punched a huge hole in your chest. You felt as if you were falling, falling, and would never stop. Dean was…gone. “Then he’s…”

“He’s gone,” Sam confirmed. “He’s not coming back.”

Your knees buckled and you nearly fell, Sam thankfully having caught you. You heard a wailing sound but you had no idea where it was coming from until you felt it ripping its way out of your body. Sam gingerly picked you up in his arms and moved you onto the bed. You were violently sobbing and you barely noticed Sam holding you, gently rocking you back and forth, his own tears falling into your hair. Miracle had jumped up and laid next to you, whining quietly and trying to shove his head under your hands, rubbing his body carefully against your belly. 

There was no way. No way that this was real. This had to be a nightmare. But when you heard Sam sniffle above you, choking out, “It’s going to be okay, Y/N. I promise, it’s going to be okay,” you knew that it wasn’t. Memories of Dean’s face, his laugh, his smiles, his touch, his scent, the way he looked at you when you’d both been happy together, his kisses, the way he felt like home in a way that no other person or place ever could, the way he made you feel safe — all of it smashed over you like a tidal wave and it didn’t let up. Dean Winchester, the man you’d loved with all of your heart, the man whose child you now carried inside of you, was gone. And there was nothing you could do to bring him back.

<-->

Dean had just pulled the Impala over at a beautiful spot, where you could see nature’s beauty for miles. He rested back against Baby and marveled at it all. There was even a double rainbow that showed up and Dean chuckled, knowing that had to be Jack’s doing considering there hadn’t been any rain. Then he wondered if it did rain at all. How did things like that work up here anyhow?

He was still enjoying the view when Jack popped in next to him. 

“There he is.” Dean grinned and went to give him a hug before he thought better of it. “Am I still allowed to…you know?”

Jack smiled. “Of course. I like hugs.”

Dean laughed and embraced him tightly. “Thanks, kid. For everything you did up here, I mean. Bobby told me.” He pulled back, clapping his shoulder in thanks. “So, where’s Cas?”

“He’ll be along shortly but first, I need to show you something.”

Dean’s brows furrowed but he shrugged. “Okay.”

Jack placed a hand on Dean’s shoulder and next thing Dean knew, he was back in his old room at the Bunker. “Whoa,” he whispered, thinking Jack and Cas had built the Bunker just for him. He would be able to wait for Sam here, in his home. He hoped the TV in the Dean Cave worked and that he still had access to his music. Baby’s radio had worked so he had high hopes. He was about to thank Jack when his eyes suddenly caught sight of someone in his bed. Well, two someones. 

He glanced towards Jack who gave him a subtle nod, silently encouraging him to get closer. Dean shot him a confused look but did move closer. When he caught sight of you, his heart dropped into his stomach. Even being dead, he felt the same exact thing he felt the last time he had seen you. You were the one who got away, or more appropriately, the one he pushed away. 

Sure, he’d been confused when he found out everything in his life was a lie when Chuck revealed himself to be a giant dick, but he did love you. He had such trouble reconciling the two: what he knew to be true and what his mind was telling him. No other romantic relationship had worked out for him, all two of them prior to you, and now he knew why. Chuck liked him better on his own, being the guy with no strings attached and rolling through town to save the girl, kill the monsters, get thanked, and move on his way. The only other person Chuck liked having in the Impala regularly was Sam. You, well, you he hadn’t seen coming and after the Big Bad Chuck reveal, he had to wonder why. 

He had never meant to hurt you, though he couldn’t seem to stop from doing it. If things weren’t real between you all of this time, he didn’t want to keep pretending like they were. That wasn’t fair to either of you and he certainly didn’t want to continue stringing you along when his heart was no longer in it like it used to be. So he let you go, as painful as it was and as wrong as it felt, he did the right thing by you. Then that night he’d called you out of the blue, he’d been torn up about Cas’ revelations about Jack’s actual role in Billie’s plan, how badly he wanted Chuck gone, and how while he didn’t want to sacrifice the kid, he wanted his and Sam’s freedom more. Without thinking, he’d picked up the phone and dialed you. He shocked himself when he asked you to come over after hearing you weren’t that far away, and you shocked him even more when you agreed. 

Dean hadn’t planned for you two to be intimate, but once you were there, right in front of him, it hit him hard how much he missed you, missed what you had together. So he made a move and you let him. He’d put everything he had, everything he felt but couldn’t tell you, into this stolen moment in time between you. And then the next morning, he thought it had all been a dream until he turned his head and saw you laying there, hair adorably disheveled, sheet covering you, doing something on your phone. It briefly reminded him of the many mornings he’d woken to find you in this exact same position, already up after a wild night, searching for cases. He wanted to bask in the comfort and familiarity for a moment longer, but when you turned and smiled at him, greeting him like you always had, he started kicking himself internally. He didn’t want you to think that this meant things would change when he knew they wouldn’t. He was being unfair to you and it wasn’t right. He’d been a selfish bastard and now he had to go into dick mode which would hurt you again. And sure enough, he knew he did when he saw your face fall as he easily dismissed you, not once but twice. He winced at the memory; he certainly didn’t blame you for not taking his calls or returning his voicemails after that.

The truth was that while he had initially been confused about his feelings for you and their validity, he knew he cared deeply about you and the most important thing was keeping you safe. He didn’t want you involved in the Chuck showdown, which is why he rudely dismissed you that morning, making up an excuse of a case in Duluth, something he knew you’d go along with. After watching you leave, as the door closed behind you, his heart fell into his stomach and he felt about three inches tall. He hated hurting you, hated pushing you away, but he knew it was for the best. You needed to be safe; not a target for Chuck.

After Chuck had been defeated and Jack took over, Dean realized in those months that he’d been a grade A idiot when it came to you. Sure, he’d been a cold dick, but he also had been a complete dumbass. He still loved you and he missed the hell out of you. What you had together had been something special that he stupidly threw away. There were quite a few nights after quite a few drinks, he’d picked up his phone and hovered over your number but he never actually called it. How could he even think of asking you to forgive him and give him another chance? After everything he’d said and done? He truly was a selfish bastard. 

When he didn’t call, he then switched over to all of the photos and videos he had taken of you and both of you together. As he heard your laughter, saw both of your smiles, watched how you looked at him and the affection you’d shown him, he continued drowning his sorrows. He wanted so much to talk to you, to apologize and explain, and ask if he could come see you, but he never let himself ask. He didn’t deserve it; he knew that. 

Now, here you were, asleep on his bed, Miracle curled up next to you. Staring down at you, he wondered how the hell he had ever let you go. And now, he’d never get to hold you again, feel your touch, or even share a conversation with you ever again. Even though Dean was at peace with his fate, regret languished within his chest the more he studied your face. He reached out to brush some hair back over your face but sadness overwhelmed him when he realized he couldn’t even do that small simple touch. Not anymore.

Dean’s eyes narrowed when he noticed an arm curled around you, almost protectively, pinning you to another body. His gaze traveled up that arm to find his younger brother, asleep right behind you. That surprised him but he quickly put two and two together. You must have gone to the Bunker when Sam called you to tell you the news and here you were, in Dean’s room, asleep on his bed with his dog. And while he didn’t begrudge you or his little brother some comfort you both might need, he didn’t like the look of that embrace or that Sam’s face was buried into the back of your neck.

Dean glanced back down at the arm, seeing Miracle staring right up at him. He couldn’t help but smile at the canine who had been his companion for months before he died. “Hey, boy,” he whispered, not sure if he would be heard or not but not wanting to startle you if he was. “How are you?”

Miracle didn’t seem to react at first, not until he got up and moved closer, wagging his tail. Dean went to try to pet the dog, hoping he could at least touch the animal, but he never got that far. His eyes zeroed in on just what Miracle’s body had been blocking.

His wide eyes flicked up to you, to Sam, back to you, and back to your fairly large and round stomach. The hell with being heard and possibly scaring you two. He glanced back to find Jack watching him. “What the hell is going on here, Jack?”

“They’re sleeping.”

“I’m aware of that,” he growled. “But what—”

Just then, Cas popped in next to Jack. When the angel saw Dean, he offered a soft smile. Dean felt himself relax slightly and a part of him wanted to go hug the angel but another part of him was nervous to. Plus, he really wanted to know what the hell was going on. He shifted his eyes towards Jack, his jaw tightening. “What the hell are you showing me?”

Cas glanced towards the bed, realization lighting his features, before he turned to Jack as well.

“The present,” Jack simply answered.

Dean cursed under his breath, not caring that both Cas and Jack could hear him. “The present of what? Because from where I’m standing, it seems like some time has passed.” He gestured towards your stomach. He tried not to be angry with you or Sammy, he really did, but dammit, his brother knew how he felt about you! Him dying didn’t change that! Besides, Sam had something going with Eileen last he knew, whatever happened to that?

“What you’re seeing is a few days after your death.”

Surprise ran through Dean at that revelation. So, this wasn’t some screwed up future scene he was witnessing? His eyes roamed over you, coming to rest once again on your stomach. You were very pregnant, looking as if you might be ready to pop any day now, he wasn’t sure. But one thing was clear; there was no way the baby was Sam’s. Sam wouldn’t have been able to keep that secret from him that long and he just didn’t see you or Sam going behind his back like that while he was alive. You were pissed at him, maybe even hated him, but you would never do that to him. Nor would Sam. The only answer was that you had found someone else and you were starting a family with them. Now he understood your radio silence even more. You might currently be sad at the news of his death, awash in memories in his room to where you’d fallen asleep on his bed and Sam had to comfort you, but you had truly moved on. That burned him even more. While he was happy if you were happy, knowing you’d found someone who wouldn’t break your heart and would treat you better than he ever could, a part of him was saddened by this knowledge. He knew you were too good for him, that you deserved better, but to see it confirmed in such a way, well, it was heartbreaking.

“So if she’s… Then she’s…” He couldn’t even put it into words; it hurt too much.

Jack clasped Dean’s shoulder. “The child is yours, Dean.”

Dean wasn’t alive anymore but if he had been, his heart would have stopped. He turned to Jack, shocked. “What?”

“You’re going to be a father,” Jack supplied, letting him go.

“But…how?” Dean’s gaze fell on you once more.

Cas suddenly appeared on his other side. “You don’t remember how you conceived the child?”

“What? No, I just…”

“Dean,” Jack called. 

When he turned to look at the new God, the latter held up a glowing finger to him that almost reminded him of that movie E.T. “What are you gonna do with that? Check my temperature?” Speaking of E.T., hadn’t that been one of the last movies picked for movie night before the Chuck showdown?

Jack smiled and touched the finger to his forehead. Within seconds, Dean was reliving every single moment between you two:

…When you’d met. 

…When he decided he’d liked you while you decided you didn’t like him too much.

…His constant flirting and trying to win you over.

…Your begrudging friendship that then grew into something more.

…Your relationship.

…Your breakup.

…All of the times you’d been in pain because of him.

…That last night.

…The next morning. 

Then the memories shifted to yours from after that morning: 

…You finding out about the pregnancy a couple of months later.

…Your hemming and hawing over calling him to tell him.

…Your fears.

…When you’d vanished with everyone else.

…Your panic upon your reappearance.

…The time you spent getting ready to retire from hunting and set up a normal life in Hibbing while preparing for the baby.

…The call from Sam with the news of his death.

…Your regret at not telling him about his child and your drive down here.

…Your conversation with Sam.

…Your collapsing in grief at finally realizing that he was gone and not coming back.

All of it that led to the scene he was witnessing now. He felt everything you felt, heard every thought, saw every tear, every smile. 

By the time Jack pulled away, Dean’s eyes were wet. He wasn’t sure how he was able to produce tears as a dead man but he did. Not only did he feel how deeply he’d hurt you, but he also felt just how deeply you loved him. He already knew he’d been an idiot when it came to you, but he really had no clue before this just how incredibly stupid he’d been. It had always been real between you. That hadn’t been Chuck. Not by a long shot.

Dean discreetly wiped his eyes. “Send me back.” His tone was firm and he wasn’t really asking.

“I’m sorry, Dean, but your time on Earth is up.”

Dean turned a menacing glare onto Jack. New God or not, he didn’t care. “She’s having my kid and she needs me. They both need me. Sam, too. After everything I’ve done for this world, you owe me.” Jack stared him down, unbothered by the taller man’s attempt to make demands. “Now I appreciate the Fixer Upper: Heaven Edition, I really do, but I should be with them. I deserve a shot at this and you know it.”

Jack mused on that for a moment before staring up at Dean sadly. “I’m afraid it doesn’t work like that.”

Dean scoffed. “Then why bother showing me any of this? Why bother telling me that it’s my kid she’s about to have? What’s the point, dammit?”

“You were afraid that you had left nothing behind of value, except Sam and your beloved car. Afraid that your life hadn’t amounted to anything in the end. No matter how many people you saved, no matter how many connections you made, no matter what good you did. ” Jack gestured towards you. “It did amount to something. You are leaving behind something, something important. A legacy,” Jack gestured to your stomach. “A family,” he waved his hand over you and Sam. 

Dean’s jaw clenched and he ignored the stinging in the corner of his eyes. “So this was just to show me what I can never have. The girl, the kid, the life…that’s just aces,” he muttered.

“No, Dean,” Cas spoke up. “What Jack is trying to explain is—”

“--your life amounted to more than you thought it had,” Jack finished.

Dean watched as Miracle went back and curled up against your belly once more, his head on his paws as he watched the scene in front of him. The corner of Dean’s lips tipped up into a smile. It was almost as if the dog knew it was his kid in there. And he was determined to protect it in Dean’s absence. His smile faded though when he thought of how he wouldn’t be able to see his kid, at all. He’d had enough of this. “That’s great. Appreciate the pep talk, fellas. Now, if you could send me back so I can actually raise my legacy and take care of my family, that’d be much appreciated.”

Jack and Cas exchanged a glance. Dean knew he wasn’t winning this one but that didn’t mean he wouldn’t keep trying. “It’s not your time yet,” Jack answered cryptically.

Dean’s head snapped in his direction. “What the hell does that mean?”

“It means that now your time is in Heaven, not Earth. And it’s best if you return to it.” Before Jack could snap his fingers, Dean held up a hand.

“Whoa, wait! That’s it? You’re not even gonna let me stick around to see what I’m gonna have?”

Jack smiled once more. “You’re going to have a son. A strong, healthy son.”

Dean reeled from that information. “A son?” He choked out.

Jack gave him a happy nod and held his fingers up again.

“Wait, wait! I’m serious, Jack. Why can’t I stick around?”

“You know what happens to ghosts, Dean. Besides, you’ve already been admitted to Heaven.”

“But you can do something about that, right? Like bring me back?” When Jack didn’t respond, Dean became desperate. “At least let me check in on them every now and then or something! You’re telling me you can’t even do that? You’re freaking God!”

Jack’s smile faded. “You’re not an angel, Dean.”

“No,” Cas interrupted. “But I am.” Cas stretched out his wings that were a lot brighter than Dean remembered. If he wasn’t dead, he was pretty sure he would at they very least be blinded from the brightness right about now. “I can take him back when he’s ready and I can escort him on any future visits.”

Dean was shocked but also beyond grateful at Cas’ offer. While they hadn’t spoken yet about how things were left between them before The Empty took away the angel, he couldn’t imagine it would be easy for Cas to watch as he pined over someone else, as he watched his kid grow, but Dean was grateful all the same. 

Jack appeared to think this over before meeting Cas’ intent gaze. “You will make sure to bring him back each time.” At Cas’ nod, Jack gave him a knowing yet affectionate smile. “I expect you to keep to the rules during these visits.”

“Of course,” Cas agreed.

Jack then glanced over at Dean. “If you’re worried about her and your child, you don’t need to be. Sam is going to watch over them.” Dean’s eyes widened slightly and his head snapped in your direction, his eyes shifting to Sam’s arm around you.

“What the hell does that mean?” He demanded.

“It means that your family is going to be safe. They’re going to stick together. Sam is going to help Y/N raise your son. He won’t allow any harm to come to them.” 

His jaw tightened, thinking it should be his arm over you, him behind you, him helping you raise your kid, you two together. He should be the one to take his son fishing, teach him about girls when he got older, show him how to keep Baby going, be the father his old man had the potential to be but minus a few things. He’d do whatever it took to keep the kid out of hunting, to give him a shot at a full happy life. He’d give up hunting himself in order to make it happen. And you…if you’d take him back, he’d never leave your side. Hell, he’d marry you if you let him. After Jack had caught him up to speed on everything you went through, everything you had felt and were feeling, he’d spend the rest of his life making it up to you, letting you know every single day just how much he loved you, if only you’d let him. If only Jack would allow him to come back. It felt beyond wrong that he wasn’t there and Sam was stepping into his place. Sam shouldn’t have to; he should be able to go and build his own family with Eileen or whoever, get married, have a couple of kids, buy a house, get out of hunting and go back to school — do whatever he wanted with his life. Not this.

“Dean.”

His eyes slowly lifted to Jack’s, who was a lot closer now than he had been before. He laid a reassuring hand on the man’s shoulder. “It’s as it should be. After you died, Sam was lost. She’s going to need help when the child is born.” He stared at Dean meaningfully. “They all need this.”

Dean’s gaze briefly roamed over the three of you on the bed before landing on Jack again. He thought back to his cryptic words from before. “Will I ever meet my kid? Get to see her again? Outside of Heaven?”

Jack’s expression didn’t change nor did he say anything but he squeezed his shoulder. That was the only response Dean was going to get apparently. 

Dean huffed a snort and shook his head.

“I told you, Dean. There would be no more meddling with the world from on high. I will not repeat Chuck’s mistakes. Everything is as it should be.”

Dean’s jaw clenched and he dropped his gaze. No, everything wasn’t as it should be. He made up his mind then to talk to Bobby when he got back. There had to be something he could do to get back to Earth, to get back to you and Sam and the baby…to get back to you all. If he couldn’t convince Jack to send him back, he’d find some other way.

Jack released him as Cas came to stand next to Dean. “I’ll see you back in Heaven.” He then looked at Cas. “Not too long.”

Cas gave him a nod and like that, Jack disappeared, leaving the angel and the hunter alone. Dean wasn’t thinking about how that might have set them up to talk about Cas’ last words to him before dying; right now, his focus was on you.

“Cas, please…can I touch her?”

“Dean…”

“Please,” he begged. “Just one last time. I’m not gonna get to be with her or raise my kid. I just want to touch her one last time. Please, Cas.”

Cas thought it over and then moved closer to the bed, leaning down to place two fingers against your forehead. Dean’s brows furrowed when he noticed a golden glow appear from the touch. “Whoa, whoa, Cas. What are you doing?”

“I’m giving you what you asked for. Y/N’s a light sleeper, like all of you hunters. If she wakes up, she could think she’s being attacked by a ghost or some other entity. I doubt you want that.” He pulled away and gave Dean a look.

“No,” Dean quietly agreed. Cas moved away to make room to let him in. Dean gingerly sat on the bed, about to touch you when he glanced up at the angel, unsure. Cas gave him a nod and Dean turned to gently run the backs of his fingers down your cheek. He felt your warm and soft skin this time when he came into contact with you and he let out a small breath of relief, sadness filling his chest. 

“I’m so sorry, Y/N. Had I known, I would’ve…” He supposed it didn’t really matter what he would’ve done. “I should’ve been there. You shouldn’t have had to go through all this alone. I should be there with you now, ready to help you take care of the kid. I…” He tenderly moved your hair behind your ear. “I’m sorry, sweetheart. I never wanted to hurt you, but I had to keep you safe. I didn’t want you to become a target for Chuck. And I never should’ve…” He could feel a familiar stinging at the corners of his eyes and he wasn’t surprised that his voice was a bit gruffer when he next spoke. “I knew what we had was real. I know I questioned it for a second there but I always knew. That’s why it was so important to me that you were safe. But it doesn’t make what I did and said okay. And I’m sorry for that.” He ran his fingers lightly over your lips, wishing he could kiss you one last time, feeling you kissing him back. “I love you,” he whispered, a single tear falling down his cheek that he hastily wiped away. He stroked the apple of your cheek tenderly with his thumb. “And I always will.”

Not really wanting to pull away from you but knowing he was on a time clock, he reluctantly moved his fingers away from your face and laid his hand on your belly. He couldn’t feel anything except the taut skin underneath his fingertips, but it was enough to make him smile. “Being that you’re my kid, you’re probably going to give your mom a run for her money. Try not to make her too crazy, huh?” He let out a watery sounding laugh. “I’m sorry I can’t be there but your Uncle Sammy is going to make sure you and your mom are taken care of. Okay? He’s going to show you how to toss a ball around, help you with your homework, all that stuff. Just do me a favor, though. Don’t let him feed you kale the whole time and don’t let him get you into his true crime podcasts. The guy is a classic nerd, don’t let him turn you into one, too.” His smile slowly faded. “Saying all that, he’s one of the best guys I've ever known and I know he’ll be good to you, be good to your mom. So cut him some slack when you get older, alright?” He rubbed his thumb in gentle circles. “Take care of your mom for me. I’ll be watching over both of you. I hope I get to meet you someday.” Unable to resist, he leaned down and pressed a kiss to your stomach before sitting up and coming face to face with Miracle. The dog quietly whined and Dean gave him one last good head scratch. “You look out for them, okay buddy?” The dog whined again and Dean patted him.

“Dean,” Cas gently called.

Dean nodded and slowly got to his feet. His eyes shifted to Sam who was sound asleep, giving him a soft smile. “Thanks for taking care of them, Sammy,” he whispered. He didn’t vocalize that it was only temporary, that he was hell bent and determined to find a way to get back. His eyes then landed on you and he reached out to you one last time, trailing a fingertip along the dried tear tracks on your cheek. “Cas, can we just stay until they wake up?”

“Dean, Jack said—”

“I know what Jack said,” Dean snapped, glancing back at the angel whose parted lips pressed into a thin line. Dean immediately felt sorry for snapping at him; it wasn’t Cas’ fault and he wasn’t angry with him. He softened his tone. “I just want to be here when she wakes up. That’s all.” Cas seemed to be wrestling with his request. “Please, Cas,” he begged. “I just want to see her like this, awake.” He was slightly embarrassed at admitting that to his best friend but he wasn’t sure when he’d be allowed to visit again (and what he might be able to figure out to get himself back or how long it would take), and he had the strongest urge to see you up and about, walking around, pregnant with his kid. Not to mention he wanted to hear your voice one last time. “Please,” he whispered in a broken plea.

Cas stared at him for a moment before giving him a nod. “But after she wakes, we go back.”

You had just gone out to get some food, that was it! Dean and Sam had been hunting a vampire nest, and since you were out of food you were going to go steal some for the guys, knowing that when they got back they’d be hungry. The one time you tried to be useful, and you just ended up getting caught.

The worst part was that you hadn’t been caught right away. Nope, you’d run all the way to your hotel, and you’d hoped that you could get into your room before the cop saw which way you turned, but it didn’t work out like that. Instead, the officer caught you with one foot in the door, which meant that he saw the wall covered in pictures and clippings of the victims of the vampires your brothers were hunting.

That predicament led to this one; you sitting in an interrogation room, your hands handcuffed to the table. You tried to imagine how Dean would be in this situation; would he be sarcastic and ornery, or would he be stoic and silent?

Not that it mattered what he would do; it was all you could do to keep from going into a panic attack, you definitely couldn’t pass for sassy or stoic at the moment.

“You’ve got a lot to explain, kid.” That was the first thing the officer said to you after he stepped into the room. “Look, we know you didn’t kill those people. But we also know that you checked in with a couple of men, right? Well we can get you off the stealing charges if you tell us what they did.”

“I want my phone call.” You didn’t even acknowledge the man’s words; the only thing you’d been able to think about since the second you got caught was ‘I need Dean.’

“Well maybe if you gave me some information I could arrange that for you.”

“I want my phone call.”

“I understand that.” The officer’s voice rose in agitation. “But I need you to tell me what those men did.”

You again ignored his words. You didn’t—couldn’t—think of anything but your big brother right now.

“I want my phone call.”

…

“Y/N? Gosh, kid, we’ve been calling you! Where—“

“De-Dean I’m so sorry,” you whimpered. “I-I didn’t mean to, I just—“

“Hey hey, slow down.” Dean’s voice lowered, trying to ease your panic. “It’s alright, we’re almost at the motel. Now—“

“No, no! Dean, don’t go back to the motel.”

“Why not? Baby, you’ve gotta tell me what’s going on.”

“I got—I got arrested,” you mumbled, blinking back tears.

“You what?! Y/N, what happened?”

“You can’t go back to the motel! They-they saw all the pictures, they’re waiting there!”

“Ok, ok baby we’re not, calm down. Me and Sammy are gonna figure it out, ok? We’ll come and get you. We might need a diversion, can you do that?”

“I-I…” your voice quavered when an officer returned to the room, tapping his watch.

“Y/N, listen! I need you to pull yourself together, ok? Can you do this?”

“I-I can,” you breathed. “De, I’m—I’m scared.”

“I know baby,” Dean sighed. “We’re coming to get you, ok?”

“Time’s up,” the officer interrupted.

“I gotta go,” you said shakily into the phone.

“Ok, that’s ok,” Dean soothed. “I’m gonna see you in just a little while, ok?”

Before you could say anything, the officer took the phone from your grasp and hung it up.

…

When it was clear that you wouldn’t speak without a lawyer or guardian present, one of the nicer officers suggested that you could wait in his office where it was more comfortable. Even so, you were so wound up that when a branch hit the window you just about jumped out of your skin.

“Things would go so much easier for everyone if you just told us about the guys you were traveling with,” the officer said. You didn’t respond.

Bang! Scrape! The branch continued to hit the window.

“You’re just a kid. You probably won’t even serve jail time if you just tell us what those guys did.”

Scrape…bang…bang.

You sat up straighter in your seat as you began to listen more intently to the sounds the branch was making.

D…

Bang! Bang! Bang!

You knew it! Morse code!

E…

Bang! Scrape!

A…

Scrape, Bang!

N.

Dean. He was here!

You tried not to let your emotions show on your face as fear once again clenched in your gut. If Dean was giving you this signal, that meant it was time for your diversion. You had to get this guy out of the room.

“I need another officer,” you said suddenly. The man’s eyebrows rose in surprise; he hadn’t expected you to speak.

“Another?”

“A woman,” you clarified. “I…I have a problem. If-if you get me a women officer, and she helps me with my…problem…” you made sure to make your pauses as awkward as possible so that the guy would get the message. “Then I’ll talk.”

“Oh!” That got the guy’s attention, whether because he wanted you to talk or because he was uncomfortable, you didn’t know. Either way it worked, and he disappeared out the door, closing it behind him.

As soon as he was gone, you jumped up on the chair you’d been sitting on and pulled open the window.

“Hey baby,” Dean‘s voice came from outside. “You ok?”

“Yeah,” you muttered nervously. “I-I don’t know if I can get out the window, the chair isn’t high enough.” The chair was just high enough for you to grab onto the window sill, but you weren’t strong enough to pull yourself up.

“That’s ok, I’m coming to get you.”

You looked up, trying to catch a glimpse of Dean through the window. He was climbing a tree just outside the window, and you jumped back in surprise when he leaped from the tree branch to the window. He pulled himself in easily, and dropped to the floor without making a sound.

You knew you were on a time-sensitive mission, but you couldn’t help yourself. As soon as Dean was in reach, you threw yourself into his arms. He staggered back slightly, lifting his hands to steady you by your shoulders.

“Ok, you’re ok kid,” he promised. “C’mon, we gotta get out of here.”

With Dean’s boost, you managed to climb through the window, but once you were through you became dizzy looking at the ground so far below.

“Kid come on, we gotta go!” Dean insisted.

“It-it’s too high,” you whimpered.

“No it’s not. Just lower yourself down by your arms and drop, it’s not too far I promise.”

You took a deep breath. If Dean said it was safe, then it had to be safe. It had to be. You put your palms on the windowsill, gripping it tightly as you slowly lowered yourself down. You were still a long way from the ground, but you could already hear Dean climbing up onto the chair. You couldn’t let him down, not after he did all this to save you from your own mess.

You closed your eyes tightly, took a deep breath…and dropped.

The second your feet hit the ground, you rolled in the grass, lessening the impact of the fall. Dean was right; you were ok.

Speaking of Dean, he followed right behind you, shooting you a grin as soon as he was on the ground next to you.

“See? That was easy. Now let’s get going.”

You were in the Impala and on the road before anyone had any idea you were gone.

To your surprise, Sam was sleeping soundly in the passenger’s seat. When Dean saw Sam was sleeping, he spoke up.

“Alright, let’s talk. What happened, kid?”

You lowered your gaze to your lap as you struggled to speak, the adrenaline of your capture and escape still making your heart pound.

“I just wanted to get some food.”

“Why didn’t you just wait?” Dean demanded, still annoyed.

“I wanted to help.” You mumbled.

“Ok,” Dean sighed, relenting. “But you can’t just do that, ok? We had no idea what happened to you.”

“I’m sorry.” Your voice was thick as you blinked rapidly.

“Ok, ok.”

You looked up in surprise when Dean pulled the Impala over.

“What—“

Dean stepped out of the car and pulled open your door.

“Come here.”

You stepped hesitantly out of the car, your legs shaking.

“Am I in trouble?”

“Baby,” Dean sighed, shaking his head as he pulled you into his arms.

You didn’t know where this sudden affection came from, but you decided to run with it.

“I’m really sorry,” you said, your tears suddenly spilling over. “I-I didn’t mean to make it all harder. I just—I just thought I could help.”

“I know you did,” Dean sighed. “But next time you gotta tell us, ok?”

“It was just a stupid supply run, and I couldn’t even do that right!”

“Ok, ok,” Dean cradled your head with his hand, pulling you against his chest as you cried harder. “It’s alright. We all screw up, ok? It’s not important. You’ll do better next time, right?”

You nodded, “Yeah. I will, I promise.”

Dean smiled as you pulled away.

“That’s my girl.”

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Sam rushed past his brother, nearly knocking him to the side as he fell to his knees to check on Carrie. She lunged forward into his big arms, finding a bit of comfort as they wrapped tight around her.

“It’s OK,” he whispered, “I got you.”

She looked up from Sam’s shoulder to Dean, her eyes huge with shock and betrayal. “Dean, I-”

A loud, blistering pop of air ripped through the room, accompanied by a rotten smell so foul that Carrie could not hold back her disgust.

“Dean, I- I-” The smell permeated her senses and her gag reflex activated. “Oh god-”

Jared laughed, his giant body shaking, still wrapped around Y/N. She gagged loudly and tried to pry herself out of his grasp.

“Cut!”

“Oh my god!” Y/N held her breath and shoved at Jared’s chest, finally pushing him away.

Above them, Jensen looked down with a wicked smile. “Jesus, dude, what’d you eat!” He waved a hand in front of his face as the smell finally reached him.

“You’re disgusting,” Misha added, standing off to the side on his mark. “So gross.”

Jared stood up and shrugged as he adjusted his jeans, yanking them up back into place. “Hey! Shit happens!”

Jensen burst into a loud cackle that bent him clean in half. “Did you shit yourself?”

Y/N tried to stay calm, keep herself professional, but the smell seemed to be getting worse. “Wow.”

“Think something died in your ass, dude,” Jensen went on, hands on his knees as he laughed.

Jared took it all in like he was winning an award, smile beaming as the crew reset.

“OK! Settle! Let’s go again.”

Dean raised his fist high, his jaw twitching with anger.

Carrie shrank down and away, terrified and aching from his previous blow. “Please, don’t!” Her voice trembled, her hand shot up to hide her face from his wrath.

Dean froze, his fingers unfurling as he looked down at her, pain and sadness filling his freckled face. “I- I didn’t mean to…”

Carrie stared up at him, tears flooding her pretty eyes.

Jensen licked his lips slowly, seductively, and raised an eyebrow at Y/N.

Sam rushed past Dean and dropped down to his knees next to Carrie. She fell forward into his big arms as her breath became labored with heavy sobs.

“It’s OK,” he whispered, “I got you.”

Jensen bared his teeth and ran the tip of his tongue across the edges, licking his chops like a wolf as he stared at her.

Carrie looked up from Sam’s shoulder and a tear fell from her eye. “Dean, I-”

Again, Jensen used his tongue, this time flickering it quickly between his teeth, then rolling it suggestively. He smirked as Y/N shivered, distracted by his movements.

“Dean, I-”

Another slow, long roll of his tongue.

“I, uh…”

“Cut!”

Jared leapt to his feet and went over to Jensen, continuing a conversation from before the first take. Misha pulled out his phone, and Y/N simply stayed on the dirty studio floor, wiping real tears from her face with the hem of her shirt.

“You OK?”

Blue eyes were wide with genuine concern, but Y/N waved Misha off. “I’m fine. Thank you.” Her smile was weak but managed to help calm her frustration.

“OK, people. Let’s go again! Take ten…”

And so it went.

After five days of filming the first of her seven episode run, Y/N had messed up nearly every shot she was in, whether by design or fear of having it ruined. Jared and Jensen were terribly wicked, making her break constantly, tripping her, making faces at each other or her, farting- it was almost unmanageable. Through it all, Y/N tried her best to stay calm and keep going. It was a huge thing- landing a spot on such a great show, but she didn’t know if she could do it for much longer. The frustration was boiling up inside of her, and- not to mention- she felt unwanted and severely disliked. Everyone always talked about how nice Ackles and Padalecki were to guest stars, how playful and loving the set was, how the cast and crew were like family. Y/N sure as hell wasn’t feeling like family. More like the black sheep no one wanted to talk about. Or to.

Dean raised his hand once more, ready to strike, and Carrie cringed in fear, shrinking down into a tiny thing, like a flower retreating from the frost.

“Please, don’t!” Her voice was weak and trembling just like her fragile frame. Blood trickled down from the cut on her lip, bruises blossomed beneath her smooth skin.

Dean froze, his fist hovering in the air above his head. He caught his breath and crumbled inside, green eyes going wide with sadness. “I- I didn’t mean to…”

Sam rushed past his brother, nearly knocking him to the side as he fell to his knees to check on Carrie. She lunged forward into his big arms, finding a bit of comfort as they wrapped tight around her.

“It’s OK,” he whispered, “I got you.”

She looked up from Sam’s shoulder to Dean, her eyes huge with shock and betrayal. “Dean, I-”

Jensen looked up at the ceiling, refusing to meet her gaze. He puckered his lips as if whistling, completely ignoring her.

“Dean-”

He tongued his cheek and sighed, seemingly annoyed by her acting.

“I… um…”

Y/N cleared her throat and grit her teeth, determined to make it through the take.

“Dean- I’m so sorry.” Carrie let loose a stream of loud tears, pouring them into Sam’s shoulder. “I’m sorry!”

“And...cut! We got it. That’s dinner, people.”

Y/N stepped out into the cold Vancouver night, totally uninterested in dinner or anything other than collapsing into her bed back at the hotel. She needed a shower, a drink, and a call back home to her best friend. The job she’d been looking forward to for weeks had turned out to be a nightmare.

Finally alone, she closed her eyes and lifted them towards the dark sky, taking a deep breath to calm her nerves. Things were not what they had seemed.

Boots echoed behind her and Y/N startled, turning to see Jensen walking towards her, a kind smile upon his plump lips.

“Hey.” He stopped a few feet away and tucked his hands into his pockets, rocking back on his heels nervously.

Y/N’s anxiety spiked and her stomach tightened. “Hey.”

He licked his bottom lip slowly, green eyes flashing over her face. “Great job today. Made it through that scene nicely.”

Confused, Y/N swallowed down her annoyance and nodded. “Thanks. You too.”

“It’s not easy to cry like that,” he complimented, voice smooth and sweet. “I’m impressed.”

Her eyes narrowed on him, not sure what was going on. “Thanks?”

“Really,” he pushed with a smile, the apples of his cheeks burning pink under the lot lights. “You did great.”

Y/N couldn’t respond; her thoughts twisted in utter confusion. She stared at Jensen as if he were some alien being sent to drive her insane.

He tipped back on his boot heels and took a deep breath, prepping for something. He cleared his throat and locked his knees. “So anyway… I was wondering if you… wanted to come get a drink with me? We’re pretty much done for the day. I think they’re just reshooting Jared’s scene with Misha next, so you and I could sneak away.” He held his breath and dug his front teeth hard into his bottom lip, waiting for her answer.

It was not what he expected.

Y/N’s jaw dropped and she blinked furiously at him, stunned. “Excuse me?”

Jensen laughed timidly. “There’s a bar we like to go to downtown. We can… go hang out? Get a buzz on?” He shrugged and smiled.

Y/N snapped. “Are you fucking kidding me?”

He jolted. “What?”

“I said, are you fucking kidding me?” she spat, turning towards him with rage pulsing from her form. Jensen took a step back but she came closer. “You… you have been fucking with me all fucking week!” Her voice echoed down the alleyway, giant metal buildings amplifying her rage like a blow horn. “You’re so mean! You… you and Jared have been fucking up every take for me! You tripped me twice, I slammed into a wall yesterday; you’re making disgusting remarks and faces at me while I’m trying to cry. You’re ruining this for me!”

Jensen’s hands lifted from his pockets to surrender, his palms facing her in the dark. “Whoa. It’s not… we’re not-”

“You’re not? You’re not! You’re gonna get me fired! Do you even care about anyone but yourself? This is a huge deal for me and you’re going to ruin it. I’m gonna get fired because you can’t keep be fucking professional and Jared can’t stop eating burritos for lunch!” Y/N caught herself, gasping for a breath while her pulse raged in her ears. “Fuck!”

Jensen shook his head in shock and lowered his hands. “Y/N, it’s… really not what you think. Fuck, I’m so sorry.”

“You’re sorry? Oh, he’s sorry!” She spun around, telling the world. “He’s sorry he’s going to get me fired, everyone! Jensen Ackles is sorry! That makes it all better!”

He stood, dumbfounded and guilty, his shoulders falling low, his eyes filling with hurt. “Wow. I’m… really sorry.”

Y/N took a deep, shaking breath and turned her eyes away, not wanting him to see her cry. “Yeah. Thanks for the apology.” She crossed her arms and spun on her heel, turning her back on him. “Think I’ll pass on drinks.”

Jensen tried to say something, to find some way to smooth things over, but his voice died in the back of his throat, his mind empty and unsure. “Yeah,” he mumbled, backing away. “OK.”

She heard him walk away and she did the same, stalking towards the parking lot.

From the shadows, a dark figure emerged, black hair a mess, trenchcoat flapping gently in the breeze.

“You know he’s just fucking with you.”

Misha’s voice called to her and Y/N turned to see him leaning against the corner of the building, clearly having heard and seen everything.

“You usually lurk in the shadows like that?”

He laughed and shrugged. “No, but I’m usually in the right place at the right time.”

Y/N shook her head. “Not me. I’m clearly in the wrong place, wrong time, wrong profession.”

Misha pushed himself away from the wall. “Nah. You were really good today.”

“Was I?” she snit, sarcasm coating every inch of her. “Sorry. I’m just- they’re torturing me and I don’t know why.” Her voice cracked. “They fucking hate me. What did I do?”

He laughed.

“Oh, that’s funny to you?”

He shook his head. “They don’t hate you, Y/N.”

She huffed. “I highly doubt that, but thank you.”

Misha came closer and lowered his voice. “You know, they only torture those they like. Especially Jensen. He’s only like that with people he… really likes.” He emphasized the last like as if he were the grade school gossip and Y/N scoffed.

“Yeah, right.”

He grinned and shrugged. “Believe me or don’t, but it’s true. At least with you around, I’m getting a break.”

Y/N’s shoulders scrunched up high as she processed the new information. “He… likes me?”

Misha nodded. “Yup. He’s like a kid on a playground,” he told her. “If he dips your pigtails in ink tomorrow, don’t be upset. It’s like his mating call.”

Y/N cracked the first smile in days and hummed devilishly. “Hmm…”

“That’s a scary hmm,” Misha laughed.

“It is,” she agreed, turning to meet his gaze. “Maybe we can use this,” she said, lowering her voice to a harsh whisper. “Maybe we can prank him back.”

He laughed. “Yeah, that never works. I’ve tried.”

Again, Y/N’s brain turned in circles as her plan pieced together. “Hmm…”

Misha leaned back and watched her think. “Oh, this is gonna be good.”

Carrie walked into the kitchen, her face covered in bruises; a tiny butterfly bandage above her eyelid holding together a deep cut. She tiptoed down the steps and skirted the perimeter, eyes ever on Dean who sat alone at the table. He nursed a beer, two empty bottles haphazardly lined up next to it.

“Rough night?” she asked, her voice cracking with nervous emotion.

Dean didn’t look at her. He lifted the bottle to his lips and took a long sip, his eyes closing as the brew flooded his tongue. He came up with a heavy breath. “Rough life.”

She nodded and took a step towards him. “Yeah. I don’t doubt it.” Bare feet were sticky on the tile as she went to him, stopping at the edge of the table. “Do you wanna-”

“Talk about it?” he snapped, cutting her off, looking up with pained, red-rimmed eyes. “No. Do you?”

Meekly, Carrie shook her head. “No.”

She started to turn, meaning to leave him alone to wallow, but Dean’s hand shot out to grab her wrist, pulling her down to him. He looked up, a little drunk, mostly guilty.

“Why are you still here?” he whispered, tears choking his deep voice.

Her bottom lip trembled as his grip tightened. “W-what do you mean?”

Dean sat up, drawing closer to her, gaze digging into her soul. “Why are you still here? I almost killed you.”

She swallowed hard and leaned down, breath passing over his lips like a warm breeze. He closed his eyes but the kiss never landed. She pressed her cheek to his and whispered in his ear. “Because I can’t leave you…”

Dean’s eyes welled with tears.

Y/N’s whisper continued as the camera zoomed in over her shoulder on Dean’s reaction. “Because all I can think about is taking you out back and sucking your big, juicy cock over and over until you die of dehydration.”

Jensen choked on his own spit, so shocked by her words. He coughed to clear his throat and the scene was dead.

“Cut!”

Y/N pulled back and stared down at him, daring him to say anything. Jensen was stunned, looking up with wide eyes.

She winked.

He shivered.

“Back it up! Reset!”

Carrie tiptoed down the steps into the kitchen, bruised and battered from the night before. She saw Dean and shivered, body tensing up as she walked the edges of the room

“Rough night?” she asked, voice shaking.

Dean ignored her and lifted the bottle to his lips. “Rough life.”

Carrie took a step towards him. “Yeah. I don’t doubt it.” She floated towards him, nervous but needing to help. “Do you wanna-”

“Talk about it?” he growled, looking up at her.

Y/N let her eyes go soft and parted her lips. The tip of her tongue shot out to slowly drag across her bottom lip. Jensen swallowed hard.

“No,” Dean snit. “Do you?”

Carrie shook her head. “No.”

She started to leave but Dean reached for her wrist, pulling her down to him. He looked up and gasped.

Y/N puckered her lips into a perfect circle and Jensen couldn’t think of anything else but her mouth wrapped around his cock.

“W-Why are you... s-still here?” he whispered, chest heaving, eyes gazing over.

Carrie’s lip trembled “What do you mean, Dean?”

Y/N spoke his name with half a moan and Jensen squirmed in his seat, feeling his dick grow.

“Uh…Um...Why? W-why are-”

“Cut!”

Thrice more, Jensen mucked up the scene. Staring at Y/N, he couldn’t get any words to properly form, let alone a tear to fall. She licked her lips, batted her lashes, sucked her fingers, moaned in his ear. The closer they got to finishing the scene, the harder she teased him, and in the end, he could barely stand.

Dean stood quickly and Carrie backed away, afraid he would strike her again. Her wrist was snagged in his hand, his grip unbreakable.

“Let me go!” she demanded, twisting in his grasp.

Dean walked her backwards until she hit the countertop, her breath pushing out in a shocked huff.

“Dean!”

He kissed her silent, releasing her hand only to hold her cheeks, push his breath into her, his pain, his guilt.

“I’m sorry.”

She licked his kiss from her lips and closed her eyes. “I know.”

“Cut! We got it!”

Jensen dropped his hands from Y/N’s cheeks but didn’t back away right away. She bucked her hips forward and he groaned deep in the back of his throat. He was hard against her, his erection straining in his jeans.

The crew carried on their business and slowly, Jensen backed away, clasping his hands in front of his crotch.

“You figured it out,” he said with a faint laugh.

Y/N tongued her cheek and looked away, over his shoulder. “I had a little help from an angel,” she confessed.

Jensen dropped his head. “Damnit Misha.”

Y/N lifted her eyes to his. “Damnit, nothing.” She cocked her head and leaned close. “Wanna go get that drink now?”

Jensen’s lips puckered and he let out a slow breath. “Hell yes.”

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Biting your lip, you slowly began to rock your hips. You had to let out a shaky breath as your clothed core found delicious friction against his muscled thigh, through his pants.

Dean broke through your nerves by claiming your lips. He sucked your bottom lip between both of his, grazing with his teeth. Your fingers sunk into his hair and gripped tight.

He groaned a little, and he slipped past the seam of your lips to slide his tongue against yours, curling and mimicking motions you’ve felt his tongue make inside you.

You moaned a bit too loud at that.

“Shhhh,” he said, low and quiet.

The back of his curled fingers grazed your neck, then down to squeeze and tease one of your breasts through the soft wool of your dress, over the satin bra underneath.

You had to utter a more restrained sound of pleasure at his touch; it was gentle, but firm and purposeful in every way. You couldn’t help but roll your hips harder, finding more friction against your clit and seeking more of the heat now throbbing inside you.

But just as you were about to encourage him to take the dress off, there was a knock on the cubicle door. 

You froze, gripping his shoulders tight as your eyes went wide.

Dean broke his lips from yours fast. You were already starting to blush down to your neck. He glanced at you with a cocky smile before he subtly cleared his throat.

“Yeah?” he answered.

Everyone knew his policy: if his door was open, then it was fair game for anyone to pop in on him. But if his office door was closed, he was either busy with paperwork, or taking a nap. AKA: Do Not Disturb.

“Hey, Lieutenant. Just letting you know that lunch is almost ready,” Jack said through the door.

Dean nodded at that in relief. Nothing serious.

“Okay, sounds good. Thanks,” he said. He started to brush his fingers up and down your spine, eliciting a small shudder from you.

You still gave him an incredulous look. How could he keep touching you when one of his teammates was on the other side of the door?

“Oh, and I went to the store yesterday and got the right coffee this time. Gevalia, right?” Jack asked.

“Yep, good job. I’ll be out in a few minutes,” Dean replied. He chanced slipping a hand up the inside of your thigh. His thumb leisurely stroked your clit through your underwear, enhancing the flood of wetness he could already feel through the fabric.

It took everything within you to keep your lips pressed together with no sounds escaping, though a slightly ragged breath released through your nose. Your nails bit warningly into his shoulders. His lips twitched at a smirk.

“Sure thing,” Jack said. “And we’re running drills later, right?”

Dean held himself against an impatient sigh.

“You got it, Candidate. Be ready, I’m kicking your ass today.”

Jack chuckled gamely. “I look forward to it, sir.”

Dean didn’t really like being called “sir.” It made him feel like his dad or something. He wouldn’t say anything about it now though. He preferred to hear Jack’s steps retreating.

When he sensed the coast was clear, he turned his attention back to you. You met him with a reluctant smile. But he stilled your hips when you moved to get off him.

“Where’re you goin’?” he teased.

You let out a quiet laugh. “I think we’ve pressed our luck enough for today.”

Dean leaned in to kiss your cheek. His lips then veered off toward your ear.

“But see, I’m pretty damn sure that pussy’s still on fire,” he said.

The depths in his voice made you shiver. Your spine undoubtedly prickled with arousal again.

He smiled. “You understand, I can’t let you go just yet.”

Was it getting hard to breathe, or was that just you? You swallowed and let your fingers thread through his hair.

“What…um…where then?” you whispered. “Anyone could walk in here…”

He smirked against your neck and teased you with a nipping kiss there, making you inhale sharply. He doubted anyone was dumb enough to walk into his office without knocking, but these walls weren’t by any means soundproof. And he could see that you had your reservations. 

“Okay, come on,” he said.

He released your neck and finally let go of your hips. He helped you stand on shaky legs, and you smoothed your pretty dress back down. You gave him a helpless look that said, Dear God, what now?

He smiled and took your hand.

“There’s one last stop on the tour,” he said. 

You couldn’t help but smile, shaking your head as he led you outside the firehouse and through a side door—into what felt like a large coat closet.

Essentially, that’s what it was. It held all the firefighters’ gear, from helmets, gloves, and overalls to matching navy jackets, lined with neon strips on the sleeves and mid-sections, as well as emblazoned with their last names on the back.

“I see why this was last on the tour,” you remarked dryly. Dean’s hand dropped to your hip as he flipped on the light and shut the door behind him. You felt the heat of his body against your back and tried to resist leaning into him.

“You’re getting the VIP treatment,” he said. You could hear the smile in his voice.

But instead of turning you in his arms and pressing you against the wall, like you half-expected, Dean showed you where his gear was hanging up, further into the closet. You first tugged out the sleeve of his jacket. You ran your hand over the capital letters stitched on the back: WINCHESTER. It looked clean, but well worn.

You pulled out a large, but kind of scary looking mask next. It was black and yellow and had a large filter in the front. You knew this was what allowed him to breathe while walking through smoke-filled buildings, but you couldn’t imagine having to wear it for very long.

“This just looks uncomfortable,” you said.

Dean’s lips quirked. “Eh, you get used to it.”

You were curious though. You tried slipping the mask on and struggled, even when Dean tried to help you. Eventually he got the SCBA mask fitted correctly over your face. You were sure you looked ridiculous, and even though you weren’t claustrophobic, this certainly made you feel uncomfortable and closed in.

“It’s like living in a fishbowl,” you complained, already struggling to get it off. “How the hell do you see anything, let alone storm burning buildings in this thing?”

Again, Dean helped you with a chuckle. He was careful not to catch your hair as he slid it off your face and over your head.

“With a lotta training,” he said. “I practiced here at the house, at home, wherever I could. First just 10, 15 minutes at a time. Then half an hour, an hour or more. However long I could take it. I’d watch TV, cook, listen to music. Anything to make it feel more natural, like a pair of pool goggles.”

Your brows raised. “Color me impressed. I think I’d pass out.”

You adjusted where he put the mask, making sure it fit properly on the shelf next to his black helmet. Your hand passed over his jacket once more before you turned to him and let your hand run down his chest.

“Thanks for showing me around,” you said with a smile. “This place has got to be like a second home to you.”

Dean smiled back as he tugged you closer by your hips. “I’m here more than I’m at home.”

Your expression faded a bit as you considered that, and his hanging jacket.

“Have you ever gotten hurt?” you asked. You didn’t think you’d ever asked that yet.

His eyes dimmed, just a little, but his good humor remained. He was about to deflect. You just knew it.

“A couple scrapes here and there. Nothing major,” he said.

You didn’t know how much of that you could believe. You had a feeling he was like your grandfather, and not just when it came to his taste in music. Dean was a certified “downplayer.”

“Right,” you said. You also wracked your brain, trying to remember if you’d seen any noticeable scars, or even burns on his body.

Dean shook his head and dipped down to kiss you. It took you a bit by surprise, but you inhaled sharply as your eyes closed at the feeling of him.

“You’re thinkin' too much,” he said against your lips. And he claimed you again, deeper and deeper, until you were gripping his arms for dear life and he was walking you back to press you against the nearest wall. His hand clenched in your hair, then dragged down the column of your neck, raising goosebumps wherever he touched.

His lips soon replaced his hand. They burned a trail of wet, teeth-grazing kisses down your neck, along the scoop neckline of your dress, dipping his tongue between your breasts. You held him to you with panting breaths. But you also let your free hand wander.

You untucked his shirt from his pants and began roaming the planes of his back underneath the fabric, then the firm wall of his chest and sternum, all the way down to his belt.

He grabbed your wrists and pinned them up against the wall by your head. His molten green eyes stared down into yours, as his knee pressed between your legs. You shuddered and arched into him. Your fingers curled around his hands unconsciously.

“Dean…”

“Gotta thank my girl for giving me such a nice surprise at work,” he said. You felt his lips grinning against yours, even as he grinded his hips into you with blinding friction. You tried to restrain your gasp at the feel of his hard length pressing against your core. Even though you wanted nothing more than more of this, you still had to voice your concerns.

“Dean,” you whispered with more urgency. “I don’t want to get you in trouble.”

He chuckled. “Don’t worry about that.”

You stared up at him incredulously. How could you not?

But he distracted you by sliding his hands sensuously down your arms. Down your sides and hips, just to drag the knitted hem of your dress up from your thighs. Then he slid down, all the way to his knees.

Your eyes widened as his smirk grew deeper. He looked up at you slyly from the ground, and it reminded you of giving him a very similar look when you’d gone down to your knees for him for the first time.

His fingers brushed your skin as he slipped your panties down to your ankles, over your knee-high boots. You fought a shudder at the feeling.

“You’ve got a thing for sexy shoes, huh?” he remarked.

A smile crossed your lips. Shaking your head, you helped him by kicking off your underwear.

“I think you’re the one with the fixation,” you teased back. “I just like what I like.”

Dean chuckled. “Couldn’t agree more.”

He hooked a hand behind your knee and brought one leg over his shoulder. His hand traveled up your leg, and his head turned to press a line of wet kisses up the inside of your thigh.

You sighed, letting your fingers run through his hair as your eyes closed. But your eyes popped open on a gasp as you felt him suck hard near your center, biting and then soothing the spot with his tongue.

You shot him a furrowed look, despite the incredulous smile tugging at your lips.

He just grinned. “Had to be sure you were paying attention.”

You huffed a laugh and gave a sharp tug on his hair. It made him grunt and try to swallow a groan, deep in his throat.

“How’s that?” you quipped back.

“Touché, baby,” he said. But the problem with that was, you felt his lips against your skin, just before his tongue licked a hot stripe across the seam of your pussy. You inhaled sharply and reached for something else to hold onto, otherwise you might rip his hair out.

Your hands found purchase on the adjoining wall and the supporting rail holding all the coats. And a practiced tongue swiped between your folds, carrying wetness to your clit. His face delved in deeper to swirl and graze that bundle of nerves with his teeth, while two fingers slipped inside your wet heat and into your core.

You shuddered and bucked against him, but Dean held your hip firmly. His body weighed against you, pressing you into the wall to keep you in place. Then his hand and tongue became unrelenting. His fingers stretched you open, exploring your inner walls and finding what made you writhe and choke on your moans.

“Oh my God, Dean…”

He was tempted to smile and tease you some more, but he knew he had to be quick about this; they’d spent a long time in here already.

Still, he was nothing if not thorough.

He sucked and bit down gently on your clit, right before his fingers found and curled into that spongey part deep inside you that damn near made you weep when you came.

And your eyes really did burn as they fluttered closed. Your whole body trembled with the force of your release as you gasped and panted for breath. His name fell from your lips, almost reverently. Soon enough, you were able to wrench your hand from the metal rail to sink back into his hair.

His tongue continued to lap and swipe, more languidly as he felt your tremors subsiding. When he eventually pulled away, he was heaving for breath himself. He barely had a chance to wipe at his mouth and nose before your leg slid forcibly off his shoulder.  

He looked up in time to find you sinking down to his level, using his shoulders as leverage. You took his face into your hands and kissed him as thoroughly as he’d worked you over, making you a warm, shaking puddle in his wake. Dean held you to him and kissed you back between panting breaths.

Your hands pressed and made room between you, only to fiddle with his belt and palm at the almost painful hardness of his cock through his pants. He groaned into your mouth.

Fuck it, he thought. He had half a mind to take you right here in the coat closet.

But of course, that was when a knock sounded at the door. It was quiet, but there was no mistaking that warning. Which meant that someone was probably looking for Dean (and was also doing him the solid of tipping him off).

Dean broke from you, and you looked up at him with wide, questioning eyes.

Is that what I think it means?

Yep. Time to go.

With a nod, he helped you up to your feet and found your underwear. You slipped them back on, despite the grimace you made. You were now a bit uncomfortably wet, but you supposed you could deal with that until you got home.

You slipped down your dress and attempted to fix your hair, as well as Dean’s. You bit your lip and tried not to laugh at how you’d wrecked his light brown strands in all directions.

Dean smirked, but he had no time to tease you now either. He held a finger to his lips and closed his eyes for a moment, willing his hard-on to subside. It took him a few moments (deep breaths and unsavory thoughts), but eventually he was able to calm down enough to turn around and crack the door open.

Once he saw that the coast was clear, he slipped out of the closet first. He beckoned you next with his hand. It fell to the small of your back when you stepped out.

He spotted Benny coming out from around the Squad truck. He was wiping grease off his hands, like he’d just been working on the truck. He shot you and Dean a nod.

“Chief’s looking for you,” Benny said.

Dean nodded. “Thanks for the heads up.”

Benny gave him a salute, with deep amusement in his eyes. You blushed and tried not to think about what that look probably meant. You just hoped he hadn’t heard anything.

Dean smiled and walked with you back inside the firehouse. You wished you could just make your escape to your car, but you’d forgotten your purse in the kitchen.

Most of the team seemed to be almost done with lunch. You said hi to Meg again, who gave you a suspicious smile. Your blush started to burn down to your ears.

Gordon was also sitting on the couch. You hadn’t seen him since that somewhat unsavory moment at the Roadhouse, when he’d “shot his shot” with you. He greeted you with an incline of his head.

“Gettin’ the grand tour, huh?” he asked. His smile was pleasant, but there was a gleam of dry knowingin his eyes.

You froze slightly, as your mouth parted and embarrassment threatened to swallow you. You subtly glanced around, trying to see if anyone else was listening, and knowing for that matter.

Dean noticed your discomfort. Again, he rested a hand on the small of your back and shot Gordon a firm look with raised brows. It said, Shut the fuck up, man.

“The Chief’s looking for you,” Gordon said, nodding up at Dean.

“Yeah,” Dean replied flatly.

“Winchester.” A commanding voice carried down the hall.

Your head raised toward it, as did Dean’s. He was more relaxed than you to see the firehouse Chief coming down the hall. You fell into step with Dean as his hand on your back gently urged you forward.

“Chief,” he nodded. He introduced you as his girlfriend, and though you noted the other man’s subtle brow raise, Bobby Singer’s gruff expression lightened (just slightly). He shook your hand, firm and steady. You smiled and greeted him with a respectful nod.

“Hello, sir. It’s a pleasure to finally meet you,” you said. You almost felt like you were meeting Dean’s father, the way the Chief seized you up a bit.

“Good to meet’cha,” he said. He gestured with a hand over to the now half-devoured cakes in the kitchen. “I was told you brought those in for us.”

Your face briefly ducked with a smile. “Uh, yes. That was me.”

“Well, thank you. I’m sure the whole house appreciates it,” Bobby said, pointedly raising his voice at everyone else in the common room. Meg, Chuck, and others voiced their appreciation and thanks.

“It’s my pleasure,” you said with a short laugh.

Dean smiled as he watched you. But a look from Bobby shifted his attention.

“We need to go over some things,” said the Chief.

“Yes, sir,” Dean said.

Bobby turned back to you. “Thanks for feedin’ the guys.”

“Thank you for letting me visit,” you said. Your sincerity showed in your eyes. “You have a great house here. Otherwise I think I’d still be stuck in that elevator.”

“Thank you, darlin’.” Bobby’s lips lifted in a rare smile. It fell when he glanced over at Dean.

“Meet me in my office.”

“You got it,” Dean replied. He took a moment, however, to touch your arm and press a kiss to your cheek. “I’ll call you tonight.”

That he said lowly in your ear. You bit your lip against a deeper smile, but you nodded, squeezing his hand one more time before you went to get your purse. Dean watched you leave (and he enjoyed the natural sway in your hips, as well as the tousled, slightly frizzy bounce of your hair).

With a long breath, he steeled himself to follow the well-worn path to the Chief’s office.

Bobby was sitting behind his desk, signing some paperwork. Dean’s phone quietly buzzed in his pocket. He discreetly fished it out halfway and found a text from you.

I’ll take care of you when you get off shift, Lieutenant. ❤️‍🔥

Dean smirked, but quickly schooled his expression (and pocketed his phone) when Bobby looked up at him.

“Seems like a nice girl you found there,” Bobby said. 

Not that nice, Dean thought salaciously. He looked forward to whatever plans you had for him after his shift tomorrow. He wasn’t the only one with a talented tongue…

“Yeah. You try the cake yet?” Dean asked. He leaned a hand on the spare chair in front of the Chief’s desk. “Orange poppy seed. Who knew, huh?”

“Though next time, when we have a visitor, the tour should refrain from including the coat closet,” Bobby said, his tone both dry and censuring.

Dean’s brows knitted with “confusion.”

“What do you mean, sir?”

Bobby’s frown sharpened. “Do you think I was born yesterday, Dean?”

“Now how could I think that, Chief?” Dean said, deceptively earnest. There was enough gray in the older man’s beard to speak for itself. 

Bobby’s face fell into the most long-suffering deadpan.

“Don’t get cute with me, son. I’m not in the mood.”

He’s never in the mood, Dean thought. But his lips twitched with a small grin. 

“Sorry, sir.”

“Damn right. And wipe that goddamn smirk off your face! I should write you up for this,” Bobby snapped. 

“For what, Chief?”

“You know damn well, for what. You’re just lucky there ain’t no cameras by the coat closet, or I’d be suspendin’ you. Right here and now.”

Bobby peered at Dean closely, but the younger man gave nothing away. Dean now stood with his hands folded behind his back, like the damn professional he should’ve been. 

After a moment, the Chief heaved a sigh of ever-mounting exasperation. Like a parent who knew you were guilty, but had no defining evidence.

“This is a firehouse, not the Motel 6,” he barked. “You understand me? You’re my Lieutenant, for God’s sake. You’re supposed to set a fucking example.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Good. Now get. For damn sure you’ve got work to do.”

Dean’s face was nothing if not respectful, but Bobby spotted the edge of Dean’s smile when he turned to leave. 

This was what Bobby got for going soft on John Winchester’s boy. He shook his head and went back to his mountain of paperwork.  

“Idjit,” he muttered, turning the page. 

Dean headed back into the common room after he left Bobby’s office. His good mood soured when he saw Gordon pass through the hall. Dean followed him all the way to the locker rooms. He hadn’t shown you this part of the firehouse, only because the guys tended to change clothes right there, instead of heading to the bathroom. 

“Hey,” he called out.

Gordon stopped short and looked over his shoulder.

“You got a minute?” Dean asked.

The other man wordlessly agreed, waiting for Dean to catch up with him. They went into the men’s bathroom for privacy. Dean shut the door, then made sure no one else was in the stalls before he met Gordon’s expectant gaze and crossed arms. He was casually leaning against the wall.

Dean’s hands went to his belt.

“We got a problem, Gordon?” he asked.

Gordon’s brows rose. “You got one with me, Lieutenant?”

Dean’s lips thinned. He crossed his arms as well, and met Gordon’s gaze directly.

“Keep making my girlfriend uncomfortable, and we will,” Dean said. His tone was firm in warning. 

Gordon took that in with a mild nod and a humorless scoff.

“You know, if anyone but you pulled that shit today, they’d be suspended on the spot,” he pointed out. “But because you’re the Chief’s pseudo-son, you get a pass. And a promotion at that.”

Dean’s frown deepened. He should’ve known it would all come back to that.

Gordon had completed his training and passed his test to be promoted to lieutenant as well, the exact same month as Dean. Gordon was older, with a few more years of experience. But Dean had it on good authority (from Bobby himself), that his own scores had edged out the competition.

“That had nothing to do it,” Dean said.

Gordon shook his head with a rueful smile. “Keep tellin’ yourself that, Winchester.”

Dean sighed in frustration and let his hands fall to his sides.

“Look, if that’s really how you feel, then why not issue a formal complaint with the Chief?”

“And what difference would that make? You’re their boy scout,” Gordon said wryly. “Me? …Maybe I just don’t fit the mold.”

Dean could see that side of it too. Gordon was a damn good firefighter. Dean trusted the man with his life…but there was an edge to him, one that sometimes put people off from getting to know the guy. Dean had known him long enough to see through it, to the good man underneath.

But being a leader was more than just the job. If he’d been in Bobby’s shoes, and it had been down between Gordon and Benny…Dean knew who he would’ve promoted.

“Gordon, you know your worth here. Ain’t nobody thinks you’re not one of our best,” said Dean. “But I am your Lieutenant. If you can’t handle that, then we’ve still got a problem.”

“Look, Dean. I like you. I do,” Gordon said, shrugging his shoulders. “Most days, I do respect you. But you’re also a cocky son of a bitch.”

Gordon then left the bathroom, and left Dean contemplating as a result.

Even after his long 24-hour shift, Dean replayed moment after moment from yesterday. From seeing you, inviting you into his office, reminiscing on memories, both happy and painful to relive, and everything that came afterwards.

He’d had to put his conversation with Gordon aside to focus on the job, but now, what kept coming back to him was seeing you trace the framed picture of his mother. That was one of the few pictures John had been able to save from the fire.

So when Dean left the firehouse in the morning, instead of joining some of the guys for breakfast, he drove over to the 84th Precinct, where his dad was already hard at work at his desk. By the look of his scruffy beard and loosened tie, maybe he hadn’t gone home last night.  

Dean knocked on the desk, earning his father’s surprised glance.

“Burning the midnight and the daylight oil I see,” Dean remarked.

John’s mouth tugged at a smile. “Hey, son. To what do I owe the visit?”

“Haven’t seen you in a while,” Dean remarked. They used to do dinner at his and Sam’s apartment every couple of weeks, or at least grab a beer at the Roadhouse more often. For the past few months though, John had been even more buried in his work than usual. Dean could guess why.

“Any progress on the case?” he asked.

John huffed. “Which one?”

He gestured at a stack of folders on his desk. All of them signified an ongoing case. But both Winchesters knew what Dean was getting at.

He raised his brows and dipped his chin, trying to catch his father’s gaze. “Dad.”

With a sigh, John looked over at his son fully.

“Nothing I can tell you right now, Dean,” he said. It was a dismissal.     

The younger man’s face fell into a frown, his brows knitting together. He dragged a spare rolling chair over and sat, making it clear that he wasn’t going anywhere just yet.

“So you drop a bomb on me about Mom’s killer, and then it’s radio silence for weeks?” Dean said. “That’s not fair, and you know it.”

John finally stopped typing on his computer. His eyes were red-rimmed and tired. Just then, Dean could see the lines of age in his dad’s face more than he had before. It worried him.

“I want to help,” Dean said earnestly.

At that, John firmed up, with a shake of his head.

“This guy’s an arsonist,” Dean tried.

“We’re working with Arson,” John said. “The rest is my jurisdiction, and you’re on a need-to-know basis.” 

Dean blew out an aggravated breath and sorted a hand through his hair.

“Dad—”

“Don’t you get it?” John snapped. But when a few heads turned in the office, he forced himself to lower his tone. He met Dean’s eyes. “This man is…well, he ain’t a man, Dean. He’s a monster. I’ve told you enough for you to keep your eyes open, but you’re not stickin’ your nose in this. You understand me?”

Dean’s brows furrowed further, but he finally read the underlying worry in his father’s eyes. Just not for himself.

“For all intents and purposes, Azazel was a mafia leader in the middle of Kansas,” John continued. “He’s got over four decades in the business, and even with Narcotics’ help, finding him and pinning him down’s been a goddamn needle in a haystack, let alone connecting him to these murders. Even with the brand marks on the victims, we don’t even have evidence that someone ain’t just copying his signature, so to speak.”

Dean rested an elbow on the desk and brushed a hand over his mouth as he processed what his father was telling him.

“And those brandings. That’s the only thing tying the victims together?” Dean asked. He watched John closely, how the man’s frown deepened a bit. His eyes never shifted, just met Dean’s head-on.

“We’re still looking into it,” said John.

After a beat, Dean took that with a nod. He was still unsettled, but he got up and clapped his father on the shoulder.

“Call once in a while, huh? Maybe drop in for something to eat,” he said. “My girl’s a good cook.”

John rubbed a hand over his face, but he perked up with a bit of interest.

“Girl? You’re actually seeing someone…in the regular sense?”

Dean rose a brow. “All right, you don’t gotta sound that surprised.”

A smile tugged at John’s lips as he sat back in his office chair.

“Right, right. Cas mentioned something about that,” he said. “…How long you been dating?” 

“A couple months now,” Dean said. Honestly, no one was more surprised than him at that fact.

John hesitated, but he nodded.

“Good,” he said. “Good for you, son. Hope I get to meet her soon.”

“You will, if you ever leave this damn desk,” Dean replied, nodding back with a smile. “See ya.”

But his smile dipped as soon as he turned to leave the precinct.

His gut was telling him one thing: his father was still holding something back. Something important.

AN: And there we have it! A little firehouse shenanigans, a bit of Bobby, a fair bit of tension, and a pinch of angst. What did you think?

Next time, we're going to start getting into the meat of the mystery. Along with a bit of drama...

Next Time:

“Dean,” you managed, though your throat became clogged with emotion. Your tears blurred your vision and finally slid down your cheeks.

You tried to push at your seatbelt; it felt like it was cutting your circulation across your chest. But that proved to be a mistake, as the tight fabric just pressed into the bruising you already felt forming against your skin. You couldn’t contain a small whimper.

“What’s wrong?” he asked. His tone was more alert now, changed with the distress he likely heard in your voice.

You took in a shuddering breath as more tears rolled down your face.

“I need help.”

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