#thatfanficstuff

It was the time of night where the lull in the ED didn’t seem dangerous, like it was taking testing fate. Normally, as a nurse, you never had time to rest. But tonight you actually had time to sit in the break room, drinking stale coffee.

“Don’t know how you can stand that stuff,” Abbot said as he sat down next to you. You looked up at the night shift attending, brow cocked as he sipped from his own mug.

“Pot, meet kettle.” Abbot smiled at you.

“Did you need something, Jack?”

“Didn’t see you on the floor. Wanted to make sure you were good.”

“Flimsy excuse, Jack. I know you saw me walk in here.” You looked to his face. Hazel eyes met yours, and you glanced away first.

“I miss you, that’s all. We had a good thing going.”

“Jack. We had fun. But we were like oil and water. Impossible to mix.”

“Are you telling me you didn’t love me? I loved you.” You sigh at his confession.

“You never told me that. And no, I don’t think I did.”

Jack stood up and walked over to you. Without warning his lips were on yours, kissing you. His hands threaded through your hair. You moaned, and opened your lips, deepening your kiss. The kiss ended and your foreheads rested on each other.

“You say you don't love me, but you kissed me back like you did. Let’s give ourselves another chance. Please.” Jack Abbot begging for you did something to you, making your stomach flutter.

You pull against the constraints around your wrists, trying to create even the slightest bit of slack in the rope to free your hands. No amount of movement loosens the rope. Instead, you are left beyond frustrated with wrists that were not only tied behind your back but aching and raw from the forced movement. You let out a sigh of exhaustion as you try to recall what happened. 

It had been dark and you can remember being frustrated, but from what, you couldn’t place. You’d been outside in the dark, motel parking lot, your bag slung over your shoulder as you debated calling a cab or just walking the three blocks to the nearest bar. You’d quickly decided on the latter, shoving your hands deep in your pockets as you started the short trek to the local bar. You moved quickly, in part because of the brisk fall wind but also because no matter how capable you were as a hunter, there was that fear that rose up within you whenever you walked alone through seemingly abandoned, dark streets.

You vaguely remember something catching your attention, causing you to reach for your sidearm, only to come up empty, having left it in the motel room. You cursed in frustration as you quickened your steps, only about a block left between you and the bar. You recall hearing the roar of a car engine, your gaze shifting towards the street because you only knew one vehicle that sounded like that. And then suddenly, a force pulled you away from the street, into the dark recesses of the alley. Your heart thudded wildly in your chest, your limbs flailing wildly in a desperate attempt to connect with something and free yourself of the tight hold. After that, you couldn’t remember anything but darkness. 

Everything clicks into place as you realize what actually happened. “Help. Somebody help.” You scream, moving with a renewed vigor in an attempt to free yourself from the ropes. “Somebody, anybody...please.”

“No one can find you here, so you might as well stop screaming.” His voice sends your heart racing into overdrive as you try to locate him in the semi-darkness. 

“Stay back you sick fuck.” You snarl, your eyes following a figure as it steps into view. He has a ball cap pulled down low on his brow, hiding his eyes from what faint light lit the room. His dark hair curled up underneath the hatband, his lips twisted in a wicked smile. 

“You’ve got a mouth on you.” He snickers, moving close enough to you to drag a hand down your face, one of his grimy fingers trailing slowly over your lips. You shrug away from his hand, turning just enough to spit in his face. 

He unhurriedly wipes the spit off his face, a wicked smile growing on his lips. “Fiesty, aren’t we?” He leans in close, his putrid breath spreading out over your face, and in an attempt to escape his proximity, you push yourself away from his as best you can. His face quickly contorts into a furious snarl, his hand flashing out to roughly grab your chin.

“You’d better watch yourself. You’re going to be here for a long time and I can make it absolutely miserable for you.” His words slash at that small grain of hope you’d been holding onto, leaving you with nothing but dread and fear.

“What do you want with me?” You scream, shocking him just enough that he let go of your face. 

Pain erupts in your face before you even realize he’d hit you, a loud gasp passing your lips just as he hits you again. Your vision blurs as your eyes fill with tears but you keep yourself from crying out. The last thing you wanted was to seem weak in front of this man, who would do nothing but prey upon your vulnerability. He lands a few more well-placed, heavy-handed blows, leaving you drifting in and out of consciousness, your head rocking back when you finally succumb to the darkness.

Warm air blows in through the open windows, the sound of Lynyrd Skynyrd blasting from the speakers. You lean forward, your gaze drifting to the open road as you rest your arms against the front bench seat of the Impala.

“Dean, I’m starving.” You say, turning to focus your attention on Dean. He gives you a look, a satisfied grin on his face.

“Me too sweetheart. That’s why we’re stopping at the next diner we come across.”

Sam lets out a loud groan. “Guys, seriously? Just once could we go somewhere where the food won’t send you into cardiac arrest?” He asks in an exasperated tone, his brown curls tousled from the wind, giving him a wild look.

“Yeah, thanks but no thanks, Sam. I have yet to eat a salad that tastes better than a side of greasy fries and a slice of cherry pie.” You say with a grimace. Dean lets out a laugh, the sound filling your ears and you give him a soft smile. Something about that sound, freeing in a way all its own, leaves you feeling warm and content.

“Geez, you two are always going to side together aren’t you?” Sam questions rhetorically, leaning back against the leather seats. He jabs a hand at the stereo. “I’m even outvoted on the damn music.”

“Sammy, you’re bitching like a schoolgirl,” Dean says matter of factly and you can’t help but let out a snort of laughter. And almost as an afterthought, Dean glances at you and adds “No offense.”

Sam quirks an eyebrow at Dean. “When’d you start to care about who you offend?”

Dean takes his eyes off the road long enough to give Sam a coy smile before answering, “She’s my girl. Of course, I’m going to care.”

You sit back, a dopey grin growing on your face as you lean into the cool leather of the backseat. Sam looks back at you and smirks. “Your girl, huh?”

“Damn straight Sammy,” Dean responds emphatically, turning up the music. “Now shut your cakehole. This is a great song.”

You awake with a start, a heavy pounding in your head that brings you rushing back to reality. Although it hadn’t been real or even a memory, it had been so tangible that you had felt as though you could just reach out and touch him. 

“You’re finally awake.” His voice makes your skin crawl and sends a shiver of revulsion down your spine. “I’ve been waiting hours for you to wake up.” You cringe at his words, a sick feeling settling in the pit of your stomach.

“Trust me, it hasn’t been long enough.” You quip, blinking a few times in an attempt to clear the fog from your brain. 

He lets out a vexatious laugh, causing your already strung tight nerves to be pulled even tighter. “You better get used to it.” He leans forward, his face only inches from yours as he breathes out, “I’m going to be here every time you wake up.” He tilts his head just a little bit, his lips just barely grazing the corner of your lips. 

You quickly push away, at least as much as you can with your hands tied behind your back, your skin burning where he’d touched you. “And the longer it takes you to accept that, the harder it will be for you here.” He says coldly, shoving away from you before storming up a narrow set of stairs and out a door you couldn’t see. 

Your heart rate slows and you eventually quit holding your breath at every sound, afraid that any slow creak or moan of the old building meant that he was back, ready to try some new, sadistic type of torture on you. Your mind drifts to Dean and as you think about his emerald eyes and his sly smile, the fog in your brain starts to loosen. Pieces of your memory start to fall into place and you begin to remember what had happened the night you’d been taken.

“Damnit Y/N, would you just listen?” Dean snaps, throwing his hands up in the air.

You spin around, marching straight up to him. “You, Dean Winchester, do not get to tell me what I can and can’t do.” You jab a finger into his chest, tears burning in your eyes. “I am just as good of a hunter as you. I won’t stay back because you think ‘that’s what is best for me’.” You finger quote, throwing his own words back at him. 

Dean lets out a heavy sigh, dragging a hand through his short hair. “All I...fuck.” His viridescent eyes bore into yours, searching for something within them. “Please, Y/N. Would you stop being so hardheaded and just listen to me for once?” 

You let out a snort of sarcastic laughter. “Me hardheaded? That’s rich coming from you.” You shake your head before continuing. “Tell me why Dean. Why do you want me to stay behind?” 

“Because...because you’ll fuck up the hunt.” He forces out, his words cutting you like a knife. 

You stride forward and slap him hard across the face. “You are an asshole.” You say coldly, turning quickly towards the door. You grab your bag and jacket on the way out, so furious with Dean that the prospect of spending the night in the same room as him left you with a heavy feeling in your stomach.

Your throat clenches and tears spring to your eyes as you come to the realization that you’d probably never see Dean again. You’d never get to tell him that you felt far more for him than you’d ever said out loud. In fact, all those fantasies that you’d spent the last two years dreaming about, the house, the concerts, and the long, summer road trips, the puppy followed by two green-eyed children, were going to die with you.

“I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again. Demons I get. People are crazy.” He says a perplexed look on his face as he looks over the newspaper article describing the grisly killing spree of a long-time serial killer.

You quirk an eyebrow at Dean. “How do you know it isn’t a demon? It’s one article.”

“Sweetheart, I’ve seen enough to know that this,” he gestures to the paper, now tossed haphazardly on the vinyl table, “This is the work of a lunatic - a human lunatic.”

You glance at the picture taken of the inside of the killer’s home, a dark, dingy sort of place, and you can’t stop the shiver that runs down your spine as you couldn’t help but hope that you’d never have to see firsthand just how truly insane people could be.

“Damnit Dean, where the hell are you?” You say, the frustration and fear rising like a tide within you. You close your eyes against the bright daylight filtering in through the curtains. The heavy fog of exhaustion starting to settle in over your brain was making it almost impossible for you to even guess how long you’d been tied to the chair, let alone think of a way out of the situation.

You had begun to realize, with a sinking heart, that maybe there wasn’t a way out. Maybe this was where you’d finally go down. You’d hunted everything that the supernatural world could throw at you, and then some, and yet here you were, facing your inevitable death, not because of any of those beings, but because of a psychopath, not unlike the ones you’d seen on those middle of the day reruns of Dateline on the cheap motel TVs.

“C’mon Winchester.” You say as you lean your head back, trying to find a position that eased the harsh aching in your head. “I need you, Dean.” You whisper in desperation as if your words alone could speak him into existence.

“Well, well, well, why don’t you tell me more about this Dean character.” You lift your head, watching as he steps into view.

“You’re out of your damn mind if you think I’m going tell you anything.” You snark back, setting your chin in defiance. He closes the space between the two of you, his large hand clasping tightly around your throat. The sudden lack of air catches you off guard and you fight to free yourself from his hold. The meat of his hand slowly crushes your windpipe and black dots begin to dance in your vision. 

“Watch your mouth.” He snarls out, his face twisted in an ugly, predator-like manner. “This is the last time I’ll warn you.” His grip around your throat stays strong for a beat or two longer before he withdraws his hand. The sudden rush of air clears your distorted vision, leaving you in a fit of coughing as you try to regain your breathing. 

“Now, I will ask you one more time. Who is Dean?” His face is still only inches from yours as he awaits your answer.

“Sounds like someone didn’t do their homework.” You rasp out, the ache in your throat matching the throbbing in the rest of your body.

He lets out a wicked laugh. “I warned you girl.” He reaches behind you, grabbing something out of sight. . A sharp knife glints in a ray of sunlight as he steps back into view. You tense, preparing your body for whatever he had planned. He traces it lightly over the exposed skin of your shoulder, down your arm before stopping right about your hip. Without a moment of hesitation, he plunges it heavily into your side. You bite back a shout of anguish, not willing to let him see just how much it hurt. He twists it deeper within you, finally earning a cry of pain from you.

He steps away then, leaving the knife buried within you. “I’ll be back for that later.” He says before leaving. You can feel the blood soaking through the bottom of your shirt, your head starting to swim from the pain and loss of blood. 

Your mind starts to journey back to those sun-filled hours in the Impala, Dean’s laugh ringing in your ears, the soft sounds of Led Zeppelin in the background. You could almost feel the wind rush over your face and if you tried hard enough, you were sure you could smell Dean, that heady combination of leather, whiskey, and the unmistakable scent of the Impala. Just as you are starting to get lost in the bliss of it all, an unmistakable voice calls out to you, drawing you away from the endless pools of green that always brought you comfort and security.

“Y/N, Y/N!” His voice sounds so real that you almost think that maybe this was what heaven was like, or your heaven, for that matter.

“Come on sweetheart, wake up.” Something jostles your shoulder and you force open your eyes. 

Dean’s face slowly comes into focus, his green eyes full of worry and distress. “Hey there. We’re going to get you out of here.” He says softly at the same time you feel the rope around your wrists loosen. Your arms ache as you move them for the first time in hours, your hand coming to gingerly rest near the wound in your side. 

“Fuck.” You mumble, your fingers gripping the handle of the knife tightly before you tug it out.

“Shit sweetheart.” He swears as he quickly pulls off his flannel, wadding it up to press against your side. His eyes meet yours and he gives you a forced smile, almost as if he was trying to tell you it was going to be okay. “Let’s get you out of here.” He carefully scoops you up, somehow still managing to keep the shirt pressed against your side. 

“We are going home.” He murmurs and you can’t think of a time when four words sounded better together.