“will you write a fic where dean exorcises a demon, and i’m the demon”
thanks @incarnite for the request!
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It had always been like a game to Dean.
He and Sam would find a lead, follow it, and eventually find the source of whatever monster or demon was fucking with what should have been a quiet, sleepy town in the middle of nowhere. The game was in finding out who would show up to gank the thing first: he and Sam, or her.
For years this had been the pattern. Every once in a while she would beat him there, sometimes she would even have the job already done, and the brothers would pull up to find her, patiently waiting for their arrival. Other times, she would be the one to show up last, but she would almost always have to step in and save the day.
Over the years, she had developed a sort of friendship with the brothers. Sam would invite her to eat after a hunt, and Dean would use any opportunity to ask her what the hell she had been thinking, how did she find them- he’d say anything besides thank you. That was always a part of the game in Dean’s eyes too; with every question and accusation, she’d throw out a sarcastic sentiment.
“You know if you keep showing up like this you’re going to get us killed.”
“Wow, (Y/N), thanks so much for you help! We couldn’t have done it without you!”
“You’re a damn idiot for just jumping in there like that, (Y/N)!”
“You want to buy my meal for being such a valuable asset today? That’s so kind of you, Dean!”
He’d never admit it to her, but he enjoyed it, to a certain extent. She royally pissed him off in every sense of the phrase, but she had an effect on him that he couldn’t overlook. And he knew she was well aware of what she did to him, which pissed him off even more. Half of the time he could barely look her in the eye from across the table in whatever two-star diner the three of them had settled into after a hunt.
However, tonight wasn’t a game. Tonight had turned from almost enjoyable to literal hell on Earth so fast that the brothers almost hadn’t noticed a difference.
When Dean and Sam had pulled up to the inhabitable house on the outskirts of Bumfuck, Nowhere, hoping to kill whatever was luring locals in and dismembering them with relative ease, they found that she had beat them to the chase. I small pang of anger, and some other feeling that Dean didn’t have the time to process, hit him when they pulled up behind her beat up Toyota. As he made his way inside, walking through the already busted-down door, Dean was considering all of the different ways he could convey his frustrations later when the trio sat down to eat.
However, his thought process was cut short when he and Sam entered what must have been a kitchen some years ago. There she were, standing dead center of the room, back to the brothers.
“(Y/N), what the hell are you doing?” Dean said, ready to verbally rip her in two. Just as he was gearing up to let it out, Sam stopped him.
“Something’s wrong, Dean,” Sam said, his eyes locked on her immobile frame. “(Y/N)?”
She still hadn’t moved. The only light in the room came from Sam’s flashlight, which was focused on the back of her head, waiting for her to turn around.
“What’s going on, (Y/N)?” Sam said, raising his voice as if she weren’t ten feet in front of him.
At this point, Dean had shifted from angry to somewhere between concerned and unsure. He took a step forward, and by the time he had put his foot back down on the ground, she had gone from standing still to being face to face with the elder Winchester.
Dean, who could never look her directly in the eye, was now staring her down. He wasn’t looking at her, though. Where her eyes should have been were now glazed over in black, and Dean realized exactly what was wrong.
“(Y/N)?” He sputtered out, before she lashed out, shoving him headfirst into the ground. The last thing in Dean’s vision were the eyes; the black pools that replaced the green that he had wished he had looked at more often.
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When Dean finally came to, it took him a moment to register what exactly was happening in front of him.
The first thing he noticed was the pounding headache that seemed to originate from the back of his head. Next, he registered Sam, who was towering above him, shining a flashlight in his face.
“Dean? Are you okay?” He said, concern spreading over his features. Dean sat up, only then realizing he was lying on the ground. Once he recognized his surroundings, everything came flooding back.
“Where’s (Y/N)? Where the hell is she?” he demanded, rushing to stand.
“I’m right here, Dean,” said a familiar voice, somewhere in the darkness in front of him. Dean grabbed the flashlight from Sam, shining it in the direction of the noise.
The flashlight gleamed off of the eyes of whatever was possessing her, and while the idea of expressing emotion was the most foreign concept to the elder Winchester, every feeling he had ever been able to feel came over him. He wanted to lash out, attack the thing that was impersonating one of two people he cared about. Because damn it, he did care. He didn’t know when he had started or even why, but he knew there was no way he could let this thing just take over.
At some point while Dean was out, Sam had subdued her enough to have her surrounded by a circle of salt.
“You’re not (Y/N) you fuck,” was the only thing Dean could muster. He turned around and pointed the flashlight to the ground, frantically searching for the duffel he had carried in with him. He needed the book, he had to get the demon out, he had to save her this time, he had to-
“Dean,” Sam said, stopping Dean’s flow of thought. Dean’s head whipped around, and he pointed the flashlight at his brother, who was holding the very thing he needed.
“Let me do it,” Dean said as he ripped the book from Sam’s hands. He flipped the over-used, bookmarked page, and came as close to the salt circle as possible.
She lifted her head and made eye contact with him, a sick smile spreading across her face. Dean took one look at the demon in front of him, and started to read.
-------------------------------------------------------
“You know, you can finally say you saved the day this time, Winchester,” she said through a mouthful of fries, a small smile on her face.
She, Sam, and Dean were seated comfortably in the back of a local diner, enough food on the table to feed an army, but not nearly enough to feed the three of them. Dean looked across the table, making eye contact with her for what seemed like the thousandth time that night. He couldn’t help but feel somewhat relieved every time he looked up to see a normal set of eyes looking back at him.
The exorcism had taken forever. The screams that ranged between demonic and screams of human pain were still ringing in his ears, even a day after, but when finally exorcised, her limp body on the rotting wooden floor of the house was all Dean could think about.
The boys had taken her back to their motel to recover. It took her a day to come to and assess the real damage to her person, and besides a few aches and pains, the only issue she had was an extreme craving for something greasy. None of them had talked about what had happened until that moment in the diner. Dean responded with, “You owe me for it, (Y/N). Better start thinking of ways to pay me back.”
A look that Dean couldn’t quite register flashed across her face before she said, “I could think of a few ways.”
“You guys are fucking disgusting,” Sam interjected, and Dean straightened up, removing all emotion from his face as he focused intently back on his food.
She and Sam picked up a conversation, and he only looked up once, making eye contact with her one more time.
He knew exactly what she was thinking, and suddenly he was hungry from something other than food.
