When a cursed piano needs playing, the Winchesters find out more about the reader than she wanted them to know.
Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader (Y/N)
Warnings/Promises: secrets revealed, half-mention of loss of family, Supernatural-normal violence, SMUT, some spanking, FLUFF, implied further smut
Word Count: 2040
Note: Saw a cute prompt and came up with this hot mess. One of my more sensual smut writings. Reblogs and comments are fantastic ways to let me know you liked it. Tag lists and requests are open. Please enjoy!
“It’s just a hunt, Sam. I don’t need to learn to play the piano.” You stormed into the library. “Besides, where are we going to find a piano?” You turned to glare at Sam, closely followed by Dean. “Is there one hiding in the bunker?”
Dean pursed his lips. “Um, actually-“
“You can’t be serious.”
He shrugged and nodded his head for you to follow him. He led you to a back room that you could have sworn was filled with more shelves and boxes and dust.
“Sam was looking for some files, like we do, and while I was going through this room,” he opened the door and let you walk in first. “I found… yeah. Cleaned her up.”
It was a baby grand. Dark wood with a healthy shine. Gracefully carved legs. The golden inlays on the backboard caught the light. Under the fall were ivory keys slightly yellowed with age. You ran your fingers over them, smiling at the clear notes they sang with.
“She’s beautiful.” You sat down and looked over the music on the stand. Fur Elise. “Dean, I don’t know.”
He sat down next to you. “You won’t have to play much.” He bit down on his bottom lip and swallowed. “I… I could teach you. Just enough for the hunt.” He waited for your response, but it was caught in your throat. “If you wanted too. I mean, there’s always YouTube, or there’s an app for everything.” He waited with baited breath as you tried to keep your breathing even. Dean sighed and moved to leave.
“No, Dean, wait.” You licked your lips and tried to find the words. “I would… um… appreciate it if you could teach me a little.”
“Sure. Great.”
“Great.”
Sam stood watch by one door. Dean stood at the other. You were by the bar, nursing a whiskey on the rocks, drinking away your nerves. The piano sitting a few feet away was cursed. But, in a good way? If the person played what the piano apparated onto the rack, then any children of Eve (ie. monsters) would lose their ability to hide their forms from hunters, or anybody. This had led to a string of murders of pianists, in various ways meaning various monsters. Usually, the artists had been killed before the show before music could be played, but the last had been killed during an evening party. Her sister had helped get you as the replacement.
And now you had to play and hope that the guys could spot the monsters before they got to you.
Your employer for the evening gave you the signal. You walked up the few steps and sat on the bench. Under your breath, you cursed. The music on the stand changed from Fur Elise, what the last victim had been prompted to play, to Sonata Pathétique. Dean had skipped lessons on reading notes and had gone straight for memorizing the keys to play. You didn’t know this music. You shared a look with him, letting him know the situation.
All eyes were on you. They felt like icicles colliding with your skin from all directions. So, you took a breath.
The Winchesters almost forgot to watch the room as you played. Your hands glided across the keys, filling the room with the mournful tones dancing across the pages. It had been a while since you had to read sheet music, maybe it was like riding a bike, maybe it was the piano. The pages turned themselves, keeping up perfectly with your hesitant-to-practiced tempo.
Dean was so enraptured that he almost missed the vampire standing right next to him. Sam saw the teeth lower out of the man’s gums before either the man or Dean had noticed. When the shifter behind the bar began to shed his skin, the room suddenly emptied with screaming and plenty of pushing and stumbling. You kept playing, keeping the monsters visible. A few of them seemed surprised to see each other. The longer there was music, the less proportionate the room became between hunters and hunted. Thankfully during the bunker’s piano room cleaning, Dean had found a bomb-like item. The pages faded away and you dove behind the piano while the brothers hid behind the bar. When the dust settled, that was all that remained of the creatures.
“It was a shame we had to leave the piano,” you mused, dropping your heels on the library desk. Dean had called some other hunters with a large cursed object storage. It was probably never going to see the light of day again, much less be played. “It was such a beautiful instrument.” Sam went on a mental tangent, wondering if the piano in the bunker and that one were sisters. He left to do research. You cracked your knuckles and avoided looking at Dean.
“How long?”
“Hmm?”
“How long have you known how to play?” Dean’s voice wasn’t hard. Or teasing. More… confused.
You braced yourself on the table. “My mother taught me. I was about to have my senior concert when… I haven’t even looked at a piano since then. Until the other day.” You flinched, surprised when Dean laid his hand over yours. His fingers lightly pressed on your fingernails like he had to ‘teach you.’ “I didn’t mean to hide. I didn’t think I could do it.”
Dean stood behind you and wrapped his arms around your waist. “But you did.”
It was getting harder to breathe. To think. “It must have been the piano. It knew, Dean. It knew my last recital piece.” He tensed behind you as what you said registered. “We got the monsters, though. That’s what matters.”
“We did.” He sighed. “I’m sorry, Y/N.” He kissed your temple and went to step back. You stopped him by entwining your fingers in his. “Sam’s going to be back in a minute.”
You chuckled. “I doubt it. Research?” You turned to face him. “That could take all night.”
He nodded in agreement. “True. But there’s something I wanted to do first.” He took your hand and took you back to the piano. Before you could sit down, he fumbled around in the bench and found some music. “Close your eyes.” You did and let him guide you to sit down. His shoulder bumped into yours as he joined you. The first few notes he played confused you. By the chorus, you recognized Hey, Jude. Dean started singing on the second stanza.
“Hey Jude, don’t be afraid. You were made to go out and get her. The minute you let her under your skin, then you begin to make it better. And anytime you feel the pain, hey Jude, refrain. Don’t carry the world upon your shoulders. For well you know that it’s a fool who plays it cool, by making his world a little colder.” You opened your eyes for the nahnah’s and saw him looking at you with a small smile. “Hey Jude, don’t let me down. You have found her, now go and get her. Remember to let her into your heart. Then you can start to make it better.”
You joined in for the nah’s and the yeah’s and the ‘hey Jude’s’ that filled up the rest of the song. Dean really got into it and sang the high shouting yeah’s like he was in the recording studio with the Beatles. You smiled and laughed, encouraging him to get wilder with it. By the time he finished, his lips were close to yours and your heart was thundering so heard you could barely feel it.
Dean lightly tapped the tip of his nose against yours. His shallow breathing puffed over your lips. You closed the last distance between you before either of you could change your mind. Everything you didn’t say over the years went into that kiss. It felt natural, giving it all to Dean. To have him listen in such a way where words weren’t needed, and to tell you in the silence that if you ever found the words that he would be there too.
Fingers fumbled with buttons and layers until your fingernails could rake down his torso and leave tiny red welts behind and he could do the same all the way down your back. He reached up under your skirt and made you buck when his fingers brushed over the soaked fabric covering you. You moaned into his mouth as he pushed it aside and began to stroke you, thrust into you, and open you up. Both of you were quickly covered in a thin sheen of sweat. He kissed across the curves of your face down to the hollow of your throat while he thumbed at your clit. You lost sight of his bright green eyes as your thighs tightened around his wrist, shivering and sending ripples through your body.
You closed the cover over the keys while Dean pushed down his slacks and briefs. His fingertips dug into your skin, controlling how fast you sank down onto him. It was a slightly awkward position, straddling him on the bench while he leaned back against the piano, but you were too focused on bringing back the earlier high to care.
He groaned as you tugged on the short hairs at the base of his neck. You whined, begging him to let you move but he adamantly held you down. He chuckled as you pouted against his lips. When you wouldn’t let him in, he smirked and gave you just enough of a thrust to make you gasp. He swallowed your cries as he continued to hold you right where he wanted. Finally, he had his feet planted firmly enough on the floor. You gripped his shoulders tightly for stability while he gave you what you wanted.
The edges of the bench dug into your shins, but you didn’t care. The room was stuffy and if felt like every particle of dust was collecting on your skin, but you didn’t care. You could tumble onto the floor at any second, but you didn’t care.
Dean could take you on the floor if he wanted too, as long as he kept moving.
Soon you had control and was bouncing with reckless abandon. Your eyes were heavy, and you fought to keep them open, so you could watch Dean. His lips were parted, panting, and perfectly pink like the tint in his cheeks. Your skin was probably equally flushed. To you it felt like ice, so cold it burned and sparked where ever Dean touched you. You jolted again. His touch trailed down your stomach, bypassing your sex to cross over your thighs and work back to your ass. You yelped shortly after the loud crack. Dean sputtered as your walls clamped down on his cock.
“You like that, Y/N?” He gasped and pressed his forehead into the valley of your breasts as you squeezed again. “I’ll save that info for later.”
“Please…” you begged. You reached down towards your front, but Dean beat you to it. Stars spotted your vision. You were so close. So. Close. The ringing in your ears barely let you hear what he was saying.
“Let go, Y/N. Cum for me, darling.”
With a short scream, you grappled at any of Dean that you could reach. He quickly followed you, pulling out to shoot onto your stomach. Some landed on him, dribbling down his soft stomach as it flexed. He waited for you to catch your breath before helping you off his lap to sit beside him.
You wanted more, whether your body could take it or not.
“When do I get round two?” you hummed, bringing Dean’s hand up to eye level and intertwining your fingers.
“My room or yours, sweetheart?”
“Hmm. Shower. We’re both sweaty and dusty.” You tried once to stand but almost fell over. “Then I’ll pick.” You braced yourself on his shoulder while your legs wobbled underneath you.
He chuckled at the sight. “I’m just going to get you all sweaty again if that’s what you want.”
“Deal.” You grabbed your clothes off the floor and stopped at the door. “Are you going to help me conserve water?”
Note: Something to warm us up while it’s cold outside. Please let me know if you liked it with comments and reblogs. I really appreciate feedback and it encourages me to write more. If you like my style, both my requests and tag lists are open. Now, please enjoy!
“Seriously,” Dean shouted at the sky. It was roiling with dark clouds and rumbling. A few seconds later you were both drenched in the downpour. “Son of a bitch! If I didn’t hate this case already-“
You left Dean to his grumbling and continued searching the woods for the shifter. It had been attacking campers. Your ears were filled with the static of water hitting wet leaves and soggy undergrowth. The rain was coming down so hard, the leaf cover did nothing to help. You could barely see five feet in front of you. Bursts of winds chilled you to your bones. Your shivering almost made your vision blurry with the vibrations.
“Dean?” you called out. “Can you see anything?”
“He can’t see much of anything at the moment.”
The shifter gripped your shoulder and sent you flying into the closest tree. Faster than you could recover, she had your arms bound in a rope that kept them spread out around the trunk. Through the rain, you could see she wore a jacket similar enough to yours that Dean or Sam wouldn’t notice. You were thankful for the curtain of precipitation as she shed the last of her former skin and took your form. It sickened your stomach to see your smile stretched back into a smirk.
“I’m sure by now my husband has borrowed your partner’s form to find the third one. Sam, right? Dean is going to watch his brother die, and then I’m going to kill him as you. Oh!” She gripped her chest as you strained against the ropes. “I felt that. Ah, he’s your… good to know we will be preventing any baby hunters from coming after our future generations.” She twisted away from you towards a shout from back the way you came. The rain static was so loud you couldn’t identify whose it was. The shifter laughed in triumph and ran off towards the noise.
You wanted to call out to either Winchester, but you also strained to hear anything else. A shout from you might help the shifter’s charade. If you could hear when she arrived, maybe you could alert the guys it wasn’t you.
Boots on wet dirt came towards you and a Dean-like figure came into view. His face was splattered with blood. You struggled against the ropes.
“Y/N! It’s me.” He came close enough to you could see his eyes. They were wild with the hunt but also filled with a gleam that could only be him.
“How’d you get loose?” you asked as he cut you free.
“Sam showed up too early for the husband to take me out. I got the wife when she tried to attack Sam.”
“And none left for me. Some ‘love of my life’ you turned out to be.” You failed to keep a straight face through your chastisement.
Dean mirrored your smile and wrapped his arms around your waist. “I know. You just despise me. I wonder if Vegas Elvis does divorces too.”
You poked him hard in the chest. “Don’t you dare. Annoying as you are, you’re stuck with me and no amount of Dean-shenanigans is going to get rid of me.”
Dean laughed and held your hand on the way back to Sam. “Since when do you say ‘shenanigans?’”
Sam was just finishing up with the bodies when you regrouped. He took their car to town to tell the local sheriff what happened and to pick up the extra car from the bunker. You and Dean headed back straight from the woods. The case was one of the few ones that happened close to the bunker, only a few hours away. You slept for most of it, even though you offered to trade with Dean if he wanted to rest. He woke you by shaking your shoulder gently.
“We’re home, sweetheart.”
He led you to the shower and helped you out of your damp clothes. The mirrors were soon fogged with steam that flushed your skin and made you want to melt. The water cascaded off of Dean onto you as he stood directly under the shower head. Your own Winchester waterfall.
It started out innocently enough.
You were spreading soap across his chest while he was doing the same to you when your thumbs flicked over his nipples. He gasped a little, then passed the sensation along to you. It became a game. You ran your hands up his shoulders so you could play with the short hairs on the back of his neck. His hands sank down to your hips, then around so he could squeeze your ass. Each tug or squeeze caused a moan or sound of delight. Dean’s eyes, newly wild with desire, raked over your form as you leaned in to nip at his chest. You watched his lips as they descended to your neck to gentle suck at your sweet spot.
“Dean,” you sighed.
“Yep.” He turned off the water just as it was beginning to get cold. He wrapped you in a fluffy towel and played with a water droplet on your nose. “You’re all wet.”
You hummed in agreement. “Maybe you should warm me up so I don’t catch a cold.”
Next thing you knew you were over his shoulder and bouncing down the hallway to the bedroom. You gave his still naked ass a light tap as he made it to the door. He dropped you and pinned you against the outside.
Dean let out a low growl as you let the towel gather at your ankles. It stayed in the hall while he backed you into the room, kissing you and feeling your skin under his hands all the way. He kept moving you back until the back of your knees hit the edge of the bed and you fell back. Dean leaned down to kiss up your stomach. He worked up to your collarbone and then back down to one of your breasts. He blew gently on the bud, hardening it further in arousal. He latched his lips around it, even as you backed up further onto the bed. By the time you made it to the pillows, Dean had shifted his attention to the other one, while palming the first. He smiled against your skin while he listed to you pant. You whimpered as he pulled away.
Your whimpers collapsed into mewls as his fingers danced up and down our thighs before collecting some of your slick.
“Hmm, still so wet. Guess I need to continue to warm you up.”
Within a few strokes and curls and the addition of a second finger, you were bucking to meet his movements. The remnants of the shower had been replaced with sweat, on you and Dean. For while he worked you, you worked him. He shuddered when you twirled your thumb around the tip of his cock. He fucked you faster with his fingers, spreading your arousal up to your clit. His hips jumped as you gave his length a tight squeeze.
“Please, Dean. Need you.” You batted his hand away and guided him into your heat.
You arched with a cry as he snapped his hips forward to bottom out. You continued to cry out, begging for more as Dean kept a languid pace. You raked your fingernails down his back. Moaned loudly into the kiss you gave him. Contracted your walls. Anything to make him move faster. With that, he finally took your wordless plea and snapped his hips to meet your bucking ones. Dean’s grunts in your ear sent you tumbling over the edge, pulling him with you with your walls clamped hard around his length.
He pulled out and helped you settle to lay your head on his chest. You traced invisible designs into his skin as your eyes drooped.
“We almost need another shower,” Dean murmured into your hair.
“Sam will complain if we take all the hot water.”
You convinced him to get ready for bed instead. Pajamas found. Hair combed. Teeth brushed. Dean gargled until you giggled. You kept brushing against one another during the night routine up to spooning under the thick blankets. Dean’s arm wrapped possessively around your waist, and his chin rested on your shoulder. You curled your fingers in his, then fell asleep, warm and protected.
The Mark keeps Dean awake again, so the reader does her best to take his mind off it.
Pairing: MOC!Dean x Reader (Y/N)
Warnings/Promises: bit of angst, SMUT
Word Count: 1360
Note: Its finals where I am, so have a study Dean to help you relax at the end of your tests. As always, comments and reblogs are appreciated. Tags and requests are open, and I will have time to do some real work now that winter break is upon us. Enjoy!
When you reached back for Dean, he wasn’t there.
For a split second your mind raced with every worst-case scenario you had ever thought of. Leaving the life and you all in one night. Getting taken by some monster looking for power or a bargaining chip. The Mark taking over.
You took a deep breath. Opening your eyes in the darkness, the door was open and you could see the faint glimmer of light coming from the library. You wrapped a blanket around you and followed the glow to find him.
Dean was slumped over a lore book, one hand on a bottle of beer, and the other stretched out enough to where the Mark peaked out from under his robe. His eyebrows were almost touching. His green eyes, pale in his fury, darted back and forth across the page. You knew it wasn’t there. The information how to remove the Mark. He knew it wasn’t there. “But maybe we missed something” was always on his mind.
“Dean?” Your soft voice carried quickly, startling him. “Shh, it’s just me.” Your feet thumped across the wood flooring as you came to stand behind him. Dean leaned back into your touch as you worked your hands under the collar of his robe and began to massage his neck.
“You should be asleep,” he mumbled. He sounded so… broken.
“So should you.” You reached down for his hand and tugged it with you as you took a step towards the hallway. “Come back to bed.”
Dean twisted his wrist out of your grip. “Won’t do any good. Go back to sleep, Y/N.” He turned back to the book and seemed to forget you were in the room.
You stood there for a second, hovering between taking his suggestion/order and coming up with something to get his mind off the Mark. “You have an idea,” your brain provided. Now wasn’t really the time. It’s the perfect time. It’s midnight.
“Hey, Dean.” Your voice sounded stronger than you felt.
Dean’s jaw dropped as you dropped the blanket from around your shoulders. Sleeping in the same bed as Dean was like living with an electric blanket, so there was never a need for clothes.
“And if my memory serves me correctly,” you walked over to him as he scooted his chair back, “this is your favorite robe for a reason.” With a gentle tug on the sash and a flick of the wrist, you opened up Dean’s robe to find that he wasn’t wearing clothes either. Your tongue dashed out to wet your lips. “See something you like, Winchester?” Dean let out a shuddered breath as you ran your finger up his aroused length.
“Sweetheart, I was ready for you the moment you walked in the room.”
The question was out before you thought it through. “Then why didn’t you come to bed?”
Dean looked away. His arm with the Mark tensed and he gripped the armrest till his fingers were white. “I… I don’t want…”
You pushed the robe off his shoulders and down his arms. “You’re not going to hurt me, Dean.” You bent your knees till you were sitting on his lap. He still wouldn’t look at you, so you kissed along his jawline until his mouth found its way to yours.
“What did I do to deserve you?”
“Everything.”
Your heart began to beat wildly in your chest as he gripped your waist and kissed you harder. Rushed. Hungry. Needy. His length was trapped between you, radiating heat that igniting inside you a need of your own.
Dean ignored your squeak of surprise as he stood with your legs wrapped around his waist. You helped him scoot the book and beer out of the way, uncaring of any noise that might wake Sam. Dean sank to his knees despite your efforts to stop him.
“I’m supposed to be helping you,” you rasped.
Dean nuzzled his nose to the inside of your thigh. “Trust me, this will.” He kissed the top of your mound, just above your clit, then began to meticulously take you apart.
In another life, if Dean Winchester had been an incubus, he could have ruled the world. Even as you held your hand over your mouth to silence your moaning, the obscene slurping and lapping coming from Dean echoed through the library. Your knuckles were white where you gripped onto the table. A warm haze settled over you. He was taking it slow, but this only heightened every sensation. Where his fingers dug into your thighs, there would be bruises in the morning. The blue and purple marks would make him fret, but you would wear them like badges of honor. Not that you could think that far in advance at the moment. The twist and playfulness of his tongue in your pussy was draining all thoughts from your head except one.
Dean. Dean. Dean. Dean. Dean.
“Keep calling my name like that, Y/N, and I won’t make it to the main event.” Dean chuckled and made you gasp as he curled two fingers into your heat. His other hand snaked its way up your body, laving trails of icy fire in their wake. With him half stretched over you, you couldn’t thrash or buck up to meet his face. A loud keen fell from your lips as Dean began to play with your breasts. He alternated sucking lightly on your clit and running his tongue along next to his fingers.
“Please. Please. Please,” you chanted, finally finding the strength to curl your fingers into his hair.
Dean growled. He sucked hard on your clit and pistoned his fingers in and out of you. Then he was on his feet, kissing you as you screamed into his mouth. He prolonged your orgasm into another as he continued to pump and curl his fingers over your sweet spot. Dean chuckled as you melted into the table. You caught his arm and rubbed your thumb over the mark. His skin prickled under your touch.
“Don’t go.”
You ignored the dark circles under his eyes. The seemingly permanent crease in his brow. The heavy droop in his head. You fought to keep your eyes open so he could see everything you couldn’t say out loud in them.
He broke the gaze but nodded. You leaned up with him to sit on the edge of the table and to press your forehead against his. His hands remained on either side of you flat on the table as you guided his length to your entrance. With one shuddered breath, Dean thrust into you. Then there it is. The starvation for control. You give it to him.
Hips snap against you. Fingertips leap to your hips. Dean’s grunts and your moans fill the air. The table slides a little with each thrust, but Dean keeps chasing you and release. One of your hands claws at the small of his back, pulling him closer. The other grips at the Mark, covering it up so all Dean can hear and see and feel is you. The feeling of your walls fluttering around him. How tightly your eyes are closed now in bliss. Your whimpers and begging gasps of breath for more. More of him. Only him.
Your body shivers and your toes curl to the cramping point as Dean twists his hips to hit the spot that sends you over the edge. Your legs quiver around Dean’s hips when he stills and holds you on him while his release coats your walls. Dean finally slumps over you, raised up just enough not to crush you, not that you would mind. His chest heaves down to yours puffing up.
You whine as his warmth disappears, replaced by the colder robe that smells like him. Dean wraps your blanket around his hips and carries you back to bed.
“I love you, Dean,” you whisper with a yawn. Dean strokes your hair until you’re asleep, clasping tightly onto his arm wrapped around your waist.
“I love you too, Y/N.” Then he’s out like a light, barely leaving a hair’s breadth between you in the bed.
The Winchesters and the reader go to London during the Whitechapel murders, also known as the Jack the Ripper murders, with the theory that the perpetrator is not human. They are correct, but when the killings don’t stop, the team has to retrace their steps and riddle out what stone they left unturned. Written for @kittenofdoomage and @saxxxology-main SPN History Challenge.
Pairing: Dean x Reader (Y/N)
Warnings/Promises: Jack the Ripper violence (no more than what’s on SPN), case details (softened), references to smut, angst (self-doubt)
Word Count: ~3450
Note: Good heavens, this took forever to write. I had a lot of fun doing research and found a lot of tiny details to include for anybody who really knows their Ripperology. I used CaseBook for pretty much all of my research. I hope you guys enjoy it and let me know what you did/not like. My tag lists and requests are open.
Thank you, Kitten and Saxxy for this challenge!
29 September 1888
Dutfield’s Yard, Whitechapel, Victorian London
With the setting of the sun, the lamplighters began their work. Each new flame illuminated the cobble streets busy with hansom cabs rushing people home and last-minute business deals in shacks set up along the street. Mothers gathered their skirts in their hands against the puddles of condensed London mist. They pulled their shawls tighter and held their children closer as the two imposing men walking behind you came down the way.
Dean continued arguing with Sam. “Of course this is our kind of case.” He dropped his voice. “Throats and abdomens slashed, and the second girl had an organ removed.”
“We’ve seen just as much from attacks that were by humans,” Sam whispered back. “There were nine days between the killings of this ‘Whitechapel Murderer,’ why wait so long between days?”
You pulled the Winchesters into a dark corner not lit by a lamp. “Perhaps the killer keeps getting locked up for another crime. Or comes into town on short business. Human or not, whatever is doing this is a monster. Which is what we hunt, right? It may be just a drop in the bucket, but if… when we find this thing it will be one less killer on the streets.”
Sam sighed. “You may be right. But we’ve been patrolling the streets for three days now.”
It made your feet ache to hear the patrolling mentioned. From dusk to just after dawn the three of you had hunted the killer of the two prostitutes. Reading about it in the Central News Agency paper didn’t seem so extraordinary except for the accompanying letter from a ‘Jack-the-Ripper.’ You kept a clipped copy in your notebook, reading it as the brothers continued to debate. It read:
“Dear Boss
“I keep on hearing the police have caught me but they won’t fix me just yet. I have laughed when they look so clever and talk about being on the right track. That joke about Leather Apron gave me real fits. I am down on whores and I shan’t quit ripping them till I do get buckled. Grand work the last job was. I gave the lady no time to squeal. How can they catch me now. I love my work and want to start again. You will soon hear of me with my funny little games. I saved some of the proper red stuff in a ginger beer bottle over the last job to write with but it went thick like glue and I can’t use it. Red ink is fit enough I hope ha. ha. The next job I do I shall clip the lady’s ears off and send to the police officers just for jolly wouldn’t you. Keep this letter back till I do a bit more work, then give it out straight. My knife’s so nice and sharp I want to get to work right away if I get a chance. Good Luck.
Yours truly, Jack the Ripper”
With a little more digging, a trip to the newspaper agency who received the letter (who obviously did not wait for more of his work), and a visit to a friend in Scotland Yard, you and Dean talked Sam into taking the case. But there was too much ground to cover, and neither of the guys wanted to split up and let you patrol on your own. You shook your head to push away that heated argument and rejoined the present conversation.
“Fine. If this is a monster, then what kind? We can’t keep wandering around blind.” Sam crossed his arms and looked down at you and Dean. Dean growled and furrowed his brow as he thought. You tapped Dean’s shoulder as your mind came up with a hypothesis.
“What about a shape-shifter? You guys remember that case we did a while back, and the shifter took Dean’s form? The victims were sliced nearly to ribbons with various blades. These victims have similar cuts, but more focused. More technical.”
Sam shook his head in agreement. “And that would fit with your copper friend’s eyewitness accounts. They gave conflicting descriptions between the men with Mary Anne Nichols and Annie Chapman.”
“Fantastic,” Dean said, “so we have something to look for now.”
“And I think we should split up.” You waved away the instant dissention. “Just in two groups. One brother off on his own. The other with me.”
“I claim dibs!” Dean wrapped his arm around your shoulder. Sam chuckled and came up with the plan for that night. You and Dean would continue to hunt in Dutfeild’s Yard south of Commercial Street; he would do the same in the north part of the Yard between Whitechapel High Street and Commercial Street. With that in place, you went your separate ways, setting up to meet up in the middle after a few hours.
The streets were dark by then. Yet they were full of life, even at midnight. Business continued as usual despite the setting of the sun. The dim lamplight was hardly enough to keep away the gloom; if anything, it gave every corner and figure a flickering shadow like a personal ghost. You were confused. Nobody seemed to be bothered that two young women had been brutally murdered just a few blocks away. You questioned as much to a gaggle of women sitting on someone’s front stoop while Dean hovered a little way away.
“That ‘appens every day, dearie. Between the Irish, and the Russians, and those of us already here, there was bound to be some chap to go mad on a few tarts.” The woman nodded and sucked on a pipe. Her companions continued to chitter as you walked away.
“It’s incredible,” you muttered to Dean. He nodded in silence, then lightly grabbed your forearm to pull you into a dark corner. “What are you doing?”
“Instead of hunting this thing, do you think we could lure it to us?” Dean pushed back your shawl and ran his fingers across your exposed collarbone. “Do you want to pretend to be a local lovely lady? You’d only need one customer.” He winked, making you giggle.
“Honey, you couldn’t afford me Mr. ‘I robbed the last victim we encountered to afford dinner.’”
Dean whistled and leaned close to your ear. “That may be, but he also paid for the room where I made you scream last night.” Dean’s green eyes glowed with the memory also playing in your mind. He grinned as you shuffled your feet to clench your thighs together. Dean stepped away from you as Sam’s shadow came around the corner. You covered up just as the rest of him followed.
“You guys get anything yet?”
“Would have if you hadn’t interrupted,” Dean grumbled under his breath. You punched him in the shoulder and was about to comment when a figure caught your eye.
The black suit the man was wearing was overly nice for the area. He had a middle-aged woman on his left arm, also dressed in all black. From your position across the street, you could see the splash of color from a rose and green sprig posy. She was smiling and laughing, pulling the man towards a dark side street and playing with the lace on her crepe hat. The man fiddled with something in his right pocket; it flashed silver as he pulled it out and hid it in his sleeve. Could be money.
The way his eyes reflected the light of the lamp they passed under changed your mind.
“Guys, I think we should move.” You didn’t wait for their reply as the figures slipped into the darkness. The roll of cart wheels coming your way sounded distant, but you kept your eyes on the side street across the way.
“Y/N!” Dean’s arms wrapped around your waist and pulled you back before the horse and cart could run you over.
“Watch where you’re goin’!” The driver cursed in another language and spurred his horse forward.
“What were you thinking, Y/N?” Dean kept a vice-like grip on your wrist while Sam looked around.
“I think I saw him, our shifter. His eyes reflected before he went into that side street with a woman.”
Sam looked where you pointed and took the lead. Dean fell in behind you and kept his hand on the silver blade in his jacket. Sam’s hand didn’t enter his jacket till he has half enveloped in the shadow of the alley. You slipped on your silver-studded brass knuckles and followed him into the dim.
The three of you kept close to the wall and approached the standing figure also huddled close to the wall. Broken glass cracked under your boot. Silver glowing eyes honed in on you. You tightened your grip on your weapon as he slightly turned to let you see the state of his new victim. The figure let the woman sink to the ground, a deep gash already present in her throat. The figure tipped his hat, then sprinted down the alley.
“Sammy…”
“I got him.” Sam dashed after him while you and Dean circled around to the next street over to cut him off. You stood on opposite sides of the exit, making a mini-gauntlet for the shifter to run through. You balanced on the balls of your feet, ready to pounce, as the sound of running got closer and closer. Large hands blocked your blows and Dean’s flashing knife.
“Stop. Dean, Y/N, it’s me!” Sam stepped into the light panting and irritated. “I lost him. He may be hiding in some dark corner though, so come on.” Dean followed him and you followed Dean. The lamps were fewer and farther between, clustering the most around corners. Sam led you back to the place where he lost sight of the shifter. The alley split into three: back the way to the murder scene, down the street to yours and Dean’s gauntlet, and south. Moving southward, the group began to find chunks of sloughed flesh.
“He’s shifting.” Dean switched places with Sam; you stayed to the rear keeping an eye out against becoming the hunted. The trail led you southwest, then slightly north to another busy intersection. Sam nudged your shoulder. He helped you up onto a crate.
“I see him,” you said. The same suit, though now stretched across slightly broader shoulders, moved its way through the crowd. The shifter looked like any other Londoner, except he was wearing the same posy as the woman before. A keepsake. A taunting. “Oh no,” you murmured, “he’s already found another woman.” You watched as he drew a flask from his vest pocket and passed it to the woman. She was already unsteady on her feet. The shifter pulled her closer to him, keeping her upright and guiding her away from the bustle. Again, you caught the silver glimmer of his eyes as he passed under a street lamp.
Your blood ran cold as he caught your eye. He paused to match your gaze. Then smiled.
He faded away with the woman down a passage.
You tugged on both Winchester’s arms and began the fight with the one o’clock business of Aldgate Street.
“It’s so nice of you to share a bit of warmth with me. It’s a bit crisp for September id’it?”
The shifter hummed in agreement. His fingers fiddled with the handle of the blade in his pocket. He had told himself tonight would be his last slashing. Enough to put a stop to the thundering in his veins that could only be silenced by blood. Then those men, and the woman with them, interrupted him. His fingers twitched, making the woman at his side giggle.
“Cold, dearie? We’ll get you warmed up soon enough.”
“Yes, soon enough. All will be well… soon enough.”
With each shoulder that Bumped into your smaller frame, your heart sank further and further into your stomach. Each hindered step was another second for the shifter use his knife. By the time you reached Church Passage, all hope of saving the woman was gone. The three of you ran shoulder to shoulder, preventing any doubling back.
The shifter was huddled over the body on the ground. Carving. He withdrew his knife from the woman’s cheeks and sat back on his heels with a contented sigh. He was just reaching his blade for her ears when Dean’s hurrying boots echoed through the passage. The shifter leapt to his feet and ran down the alley before Dean could reach him. Sam followed, but you stayed behind with the woman.
Her eyes looked so scared. They held you for what could have been two minutes or ten.
You jumped as a hand landed heavy on your shoulder. Dean backed off as you lifted your brass knuckles toward his face. “Hey, it’s just me. We got ‘im. Sam’s already calling us a cab so we’re gone before the patrol comes by.” He helped you to your feet, leading the way out and not seeing how you looked back at the woman you failed to save.
You pushed that aside and followed Dean off into the night, believing that was the end of the case.
November 10, 1888
London
The first thing you heard upon returning to London from a salt-and-burn was the crying of a newspaper boy. You called him over and paid him in exchange for the paper. He gave you a curt nod then continued with announcing the top story.
“Another Whitechapel Murder! Another terrible crime! Read it here, sir. Woman cut to pieces; body found yesterday morning! Excitement in Whitechapel!”
You quickly scanned the details as Sam and Dean looked over your shoulder. “During the early hours of yesterday morning,” you read out loud, “another murder of a most revolting and fiendish character took place in Spitalfields. This is the seventh which has occurred in this immediate neighborhood, and the character of the mutilations leaves very little doubt that the murderer in this instance is the same person who has committed the previous ones, with which the public are fully acquainted.” You handed it off to Sam to continue reading while you helped Dean carry the bags into the boarding house.
“I thought we got him,” Dean growled.
“We did. In an empty apartment and burned the body in the fireplace.” Sam sat at the small table. “I’m sure this isn’t the same killer.” He ran his finger over the line of text, mumbling to himself. “They’re saying the heart was missing.”
“So, what? Now we’ve got a werewolf?” Dean crossed his arms and leaned against the door frame while you sat next to Sam.
“I guess so.” You sighed. “I suggest we get some rest, then take a trip to the Yard before going out tonight.”
“Agreed,” the brothers said in unison.
That night, with the patrol information from your friend at Scotland Yard, the three of you began the hunt closer to the river-side of Whitechapel. It was surprisingly less busy when compared to the last hunt. Sailors had drunk and bedded much earlier than the rest of London, eager to enjoy a little rest and friendly company indoors after sailing. One bar, in particular, was still bright with life, though the revelers were beginning to thin as pairs began to form and break away.
The woman who had latched onto him for the evening was feeling up his arm again. He downed the last of his drink, then roughly gripped her hand in his.
“Easy, darlin’. No need to get rough… unless that’s how you like it. Come on! You said you were goin’ ta show me a good time.”
The shudders of change echoed at the base of his spine. He eased his grip on her hand and let her lead him out of the bar and into the night. He didn’t trust his voice not to betray him. Did his crewmate feel this rush every time? Or did it begin to fade a little with each act as it was with him? Even if this wench gave him only a spark of joy, it would be enough. Better than the drifting life he was living now.
“Hey!” Dean grunted as a man bumped his way out of the bar, pulled along by a giggling woman.
“Sorry ‘bout that sir,” she said.
They ducked around the corner, but Dean caught Sam’s arm before they disappeared completely. They communicated silently with each other, then with you. The three of you followed the couple into the alley. You stuck close to the walls. Weapons out in the darkness and raised at the ready. Ahead the footsteps of the couple stopped. You stopped. You could hear a sound akin to stone scraping, then a muffled cry followed by harsh growling.
“No! Stop!” you called out. Without another second’s hesitation, you surged forward, aware of the Winchesters on either side.
The gloom parted to reveal the woman huddled and crying on the cobbles. The werewolf was clawing at the bricks over her head as his face contorted in pain and transformation. He turned towards you with bright yellow eyes and sharp teeth as they slid down from his gums. With a roar, he gave one last claw to the bricks then leapt away further down the alley. Sam and Dean rushed after him.
You hurried to help the woman to her feet. She was babbling in incoherent thoughts and fears of getting eaten. When she dipped into the half-coherent thoughts of the claws and teeth, you patted her shoulder. “Yes, I saw the same strange knives. Such a cruel man to scare the wits out of a woman who’s had a bit to drink. Wherever did he come up with such a mask? Could scare the pale right off a ghost with that.” You tutted away her questions and palmed her a small piece. “Don’t worry. Go back to the bar and have another drink to calm your nerves. My husband and brother will make sure he doesn’t scare anyone else with that costume.” You had barely finished before she was off like a shot with the coin for a drink. You hated lying, but monsters should stay in nightmares.
The alley was silent. Thinking about it, it shouldn’t have.
You dropped to the ground and flattened your back against the wall as a gunshot echoed off the brick.
“Dean? Sam?” you called. They didn’t answer. You pulled your gun as a shuffling made its way towards you. Your eyes accustomed to the night could see a huddled figure stumbling towards you. The werewolf clawed at his shoulder and growled at you.
“Is it too much to ask to let us have some blood every once in a while?” He fell to his knees, but was back on his feet soon and shifting into the balls of his feet. “Let ‘Jack’ have a tart every once in a while.”
“Which one of you was Jack?” You stepped forward. You forced your breath to be even so your aim would be true. “You or the shifter?”
“We were employed on the same ship, helping each other through the changes due to us by nature. When he didn’t come back and I heard that the killings had stopped… I knew I could fill the vacancy.” He tried to ease closer to you but stopped with a growl as you pulled out your gun. He sniffed the air and shuddered back with the scent of silver. “Even if ya’ do kill me, dearie, there will always be ‘nother child of Eve to feast on God’s precious mud creations.” He grinned, showing his were-sharp teeth. “Jack the Ripper will always be hungry.”
“And there will always be those mud creations that will hunt and kill every monster on this earth until you are gone.” The werewolf slipped back into his human form as you stopped him from speaking again. You lowered your smoking gun and jumped as a hand landed on your shoulder.
“Hey, it’s me.” Dean steadied himself on the wall, where Sam joined him. Dean waved away your checking for any cuts or bites. “Just some bruising. How ‘bout you?”
“The usual. Dirty. Tired. Did you hear what he said?”
“About how Jack will always be hungry?” Sam asked. “Yes.”
“You’ve been reading too many train novels, sweetheart, with a dramatic closing line like that.” Dean grinned and took the hit to his shoulder. He pulled you close by your waist and let you rest your head on his shoulder while Sam left with a chuckle to call a hansom cab.
Agent Dean Winchester and Y/N celebrate a completed mission with a steamy night in.
Pairing: 007Agent!Dean Winchester x Reader (Y/N)
Warnings: Action violence, SMUT, blindfold, slight Dom!Dean, little bit of spanking, oral (both receiving)
Word Count: 1700
Note: Whew. After that season finale, I needed a happy Dean. We all do. Please let me know how you like this by commenting, liking, or reblogging, or all three!
He rolled as the wood paneling exploded above his shoulder. Half an inch lower and Dean wouldn’t have a shoulder.
Dean Winchester. 007. Agent.
You couldn’t wrap your head around the fact you were working with him.
“Y/N, it’s getting tight in here. Type faster.”
“Trying.” Your fingers flew across the keys as you watched the green script appear on the screen.
In and out, he said. Hack an email. Simple, he said. 007 said a lot of things.
“You ready, Q?” you asked the coms.
Sam’s voice crackled in your ear, “send it through.”
You tapped the enter key and the text spiraled down into the secure link you coded in.
“Got it. Now get out of there.”
“Yes, sir,” Dean echoed with you. He grabbed your hand and dragged you down the side exit. The bookshelf slid shut behind you just as the enemy operatives rushed the room. You could hear them scrambling to find the latch as Dean pulled you out into the night.
At the safe house, Dean’s keys clattered into the alcove bowl then he took your stealth coat. You smirked at him as you unlaced your boots and he shed his mission gear.
“I don’t see how you get around so conspicuously in that car, Winchester.” The Impala was beautiful, but it seemed to attract a lot of eyes rolling through town.
“Sometimes the best place to hide is in plain sight, sweetheart.”
Both of you flopped onto the couch and let out heavy sighs. You were content to close your eyes and breath slowly till maybe you fell asleep. Forget the coms on the coffee table and leave the paperwork till morning. Dean’s fingers had another plan. You grinned as they feathered up your bare arm.
“Not back for five minutes and you’re already trying to seduce me.” The couch’s fabric was cool on your face as you turned to look at him. His lips parted as his tongue darted out to wet them. Freckles danced across his face and his afternoon stubble coming in.
“What are you thinking about?” he asked.
“Nothing.” You averted your gaze to the window as rain began to beat against it. “What are you thinking about?”
“Something incredibly sinful.”
Your eyes darted to his and found them lust-blown. The mixture of the storm outside and your quickened blood pounded in your ears as your breath began to come out in short bursts. Your skin prickled with a sudden chill, even as you felt a rush of warmth all over. After a shuddered breath, you leaned close to him and put your hand on his chest.
“Show me.”
You were expecting him to push you into the pillows of the couch. You were expecting his lips to latch onto yours. His hands everywhere. Clothing to be removed hastily. But none of that happened.
Instead, he reached up and loosened his tie before pulling it from around his neck.
“Do you trust me?”
Agent instincts kicked in. Dark rumors rushed in. You considered telling him no. But knowing him, if he wanted you dead, you would be. Blindfolded or not.
“Yes.”
Dean helped you stand and held the tie over your eyes without tying it. With one hand in yours, he led you through the safehouse, murmuring commands so you wouldn’t stub your toes. Light stopped seeping in over the edges of the tie. There was a moment where you couldn’t sense anything except his hand holding the tie behind your head, then he let it drop.
“I requested it specially in hopes that the mission would end well,” he said.
In front of you was a low four-post bed draped with dark, soft fabric. The cloth swayed in the breeze coming in through the seemingly open windows. Safe house smoke and mirrors, but effective. You walked to one corner, swaying your hips a little more than usual. It was unnecessary as Dean caught your wrist in his tie before you got too far.
“So, it’s going to be one of those nights, is it?” you asked cheekily. Dean hummed in agreement and brought your wrists together behind you around the post, securing them with his tie. He breathed hot air over your lips and backed away. You watched hungrily as he shed his holster and his shirt. You hoped he would let you lick your way up that soft stomach one day. Those thoughts changed as he pulled his belt out in one sweep. Dean let his pants fall and stepped closer to you clad in only his straining compression shorts.
Electric shocks coursed through you as he finally pressed his mouth against yours. It was rough. Starved. More intense without the option to touch him. You whimpered as his evening stubble scratched your cheek while he nibbled on your ear. His hands squeezed your hips before reached back to cup your ass. He pulled you closer, pressing his hardening length into your clothed stomach.
“What if I said no coming till I said so tonight?”
You pulled away from him with a groan and a pout. “But I did everything right.”
“You were a little slow with the coding.”
“Next time you can code, and I’ll shoot the bad guys…” you gasped and rested your head on his chest as he slapped your ass. When you caught your breath, you looked up to see his arched eyebrow. He rubbed the ache away but kept staring at you till you made a decision. Either way, you were going to have a good night. “Yes, sir.”
“Good girl. If your arms start to hurt, let me know, and we’ll figure something else out.”
He pushed you down till you were eye-level with his pelvis. He worked his thumbs inside the hem of the shorts and inched them down till his cock sprang forth.
You didn’t wait for a command. The salty taste of his precum made you hum around his head. Dean stifled a groan as you began to bob up and down his length, taking him deeper little by little. With a final deep breath, you pushed as far as you could go before your gag reflex would take over. Dean braced one hand on the post and the other behind your head. He gave a shout as you alternated sucking and hollowing your cheeks around him. His hips jerked, following your mouth as you backed off, running your tongue along his vein. You pulled off with a pop and a wink. Before you could move to start again, Dean pulled you to your feet.
“Enough.” He winked back. “My turn.”
With a tug, your wrists were released. He rubbed the ache out of your shoulders and wrists while peppering kisses along your jawline. His hands rubbed their way to your chest and down your front, pulling the fabric up and over your head before unclasping your bra. Your own hands worked to get off the stealth pants, but they hugged your thighs too much for you to remove them by yourself. You fell with a giggle onto the bed as Dean pushed you down. He tugged on them and your panties till he could throw them on the floor, then pulled you by your ankles to the edge of the bed. He ran a finger up your slit, making you shiver. You watched as he licked away the slick.
He leaned over you and whispered in your ear, “Remember, don’t come.” Dean tossed you further up the bed before following you. He laid in front of your parted legs, grinning like a proud panther. You weren’t sure if you were the cream or the canary. Dean gave a delighted hum as he ran his tongue up your slit.
Cream then.
Your hips bucked as Dean began to lap and suck and pull every moan from your lips. He splayed a warm hand over your abdomen, pinning you into the sheets. His teeth grazed your clit and you out let out a mangled cry. A finger began to work in and out of you as he continued to suck and kiss your clit.
Release was right there. You could feel it building.
Dean laughed into your heat before pulling away. Your legs quaked as he crawled up your body, planting open-mouthed kisses up your stomach and over your breasts and up the side of your throat. You were so sensitive you could feel him throbbing against your stomach. Your eyes fluttered shut as you panted.
“Y/N. Look at me.” Dean tilted your chin up as you forced your eyes open. “Can you hang on a little longer?”
“Yes,” you croaked.
You gasped as Dean began to work himself into you an inch at a time. Again, he pinned you down, keeping you from speeding up the process. You both gave a soft ‘umpf’ as he bottomed out. Your walls contracted around him, making him shiver and growl.
Then he let loose.
Breathless gasping gave way to cries of pleasure as Dean thundered into you. The earlier spiral that had faded into a dull ache came back in full force. You focused on how tight he was holding your hips to keep from coming. There wasn’t air enough to beg.
“Come, Y/N,” Dean grunted at last, “come for me.”
He twisted his hips till your cries heightened in pitch. You clawed at his shoulders as he continued to ram your g-spot. With a final guttural cry, your muscles relaxed throughout your body. You were flying, soaring. Dean kept going till his grunts faltered with his hips. His hot cum coated your walls, jolting another spasm through them again.
The bed was suddenly cold when Dean got up. He came back with a towel to clean you up, then again with a glass of water. You could barely keep your eyes open to drink.
“Here’s to another mission well done, 007.”
Dean leaned in to nuzzle your noses together. “And here’s to many more celebrations, Agent Y/L/N.”
He guided you under the sheets and wriggled close till your back was flush with his chest.
The morning would bring another mission, but for tonight, Dean “007” Winchester was all yours.
Prompt: “My request is this: DeanxReader where the reader has Endometriosis but she’s hiding it from Dean but one day on a hunt when it gets bad she collapses and finally has to tell him and lots of fluff and so on and she explains how painful it is and he helps her and is supportive. I hope it’s something you’ll want to write! I’m trying to bring awareness to the disease.” – @destielshipper222
Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader (Y/N)
Warnings: period stuff (to the extreme), angsty beginning, eventual fluff, mild language
Word Count: 1500+
Quick Background: Endometriosis is when uterus tissue grows where it shouldn’t be. It can cause cysts and fusing of the uterus to other organs. The tissue reacts to the menstruation cycle and leads to interior bleeding because the broken-down tissue has nowhere to go. This leads to intense pain before/during periods and during everyday life. It affects millions of women around the world and is often waved off by doctors as “normal pain.”
Note: I had no idea this disease affected so many women before doing a little research for this fic. I’m not a huge blog yet, but I hope this gets the word out there. Incredibly painful period pains are not normal, so if any of this sounds familiar you might want to consider talking to someone.
You hoped to finish the case before it hit. You hoped it would hold off for a few more hours. You hoped the monster couldn’t sense the pain you were in. It was unlikely it wouldn’t. Vampires had a way of seeking out such things.
“You ready?” Dean asked, handing you a machete from the trunk.
“Yeah.” A jab inside your abdomen made you steady yourself on Baby, playing it off as casual leaning.
“What’s wrong with you?” His brow instantly furrowed. That’s how he was every month. So far, you’d been able to hide the truth from him.
“Just cramps. It’s a good thing I’m the bait. Sam, do you have any other info?”
“He seems to be a loner, maybe trying to start a new pack. Another casualty of the British Men of Letters probably.”
You grunted as another pain shot through you. “Then let’s get this show on the road.”
The three of you avoided the main drive towards the house. You signaled the boys when you saw the vamp walking around inside. Sam broke off to find the back door. You and Dean made your way to the front, crouching under the window sills. Dean mouthed “be careful” when you found the door was unlocked.
At the center staircase, he went left, you went right. The vamp had wandered into another part of the house, leaving the picturesque country living room empty. You ignored the dust fairies swirling in the sunlight, choosing instead to focus on the next doorway. It was getting harder to hold the blade up high enough to hit anything. Wave after wave of pain surged through you as your cramps hit near peak intensity. As usual, the morning meds weren’t doing much. Between the cold sweat and the pounding heart, you were sure the vamp would find you soon enough. The goal was to distract him enough to take him out, but your sight was beginning to tunnel to five feet in front of you. You never saw the fist coming.
The vamp sent you sprawling and your machete clattering under the couch. He pinned your arms to either side with his knees and clamped his hands over your mouth, hovering just above sitting on your chest.
“Well hello there. I didn’t think I was expecting visitors, but you’ll do.” He leaned down and took a long sniff up the side of your face. “Hmm. There’s something wrong with your blood, love. You know, one little bite will fix all that.”
“Ngho Phank Wu,” you mumbled through his fingers. You kicked your legs, hoping to get the boys’ attention.
“Don’t worry. Your friends will be down shortly, but with a new stamina I’m sure you’ll appreciate.” He laughed openly as you struggled beneath him, intent on signaling Dean before he or Sam went upstairs.
“Hey, douche bag!”
The vamp looked up just in time to be beheaded. You were sprayed with blood and yelled to Dean, “there’s more upstairs!” He dashed off, leaving you to gather yourself and follow him.
Only you couldn’t.
The cramps controlled your body now. Your skin felt like it was vibrating. You could hear your breaths coming out in short bursts. The air that should have been coming in was nowhere to be found. Ceiling turned into wall and turned into floor as you curled into a ball praying, willing the agony to go away. Dean came thundering down the stairs covered in blood and proud of himself. Then he saw you.
“Y/N!” He kneeled by your side and cradled your head in his lap. “What’s wrong? Did he turn you?”
“No,” you gasped out before curling up again.
“I’m taking you to a hospital, now.”
“No. We’re covered in blood. Too many questions. Just get me to the car and my bag.” His face hovering over you upside down was the last thing you saw before blacking out.
The tree line breezed by in brilliant shades of green.
“Hang on, Y/N. We left your bag at the motel. Just, hang in there. Please.”
You mentally compared his irises to the trees before fading out again.
When you woke up Dean was sitting next to you with your meds and a glass of water. You felt warm and appreciated that he had dressed you in your usual sleeping clothes.
“Steady,” he murmured while he propped you up. You took the pills and the water, swallowing both in turn and not looking at him. You could feel him practically buzzing with questions, but he waited for you to finish the glass. You sat up further on the bed and realized he had also found your heating pad. He sat against the headboard next to you and put his arm around your shoulders. “How are you feeling?”
“No worse than usual.” You found a stain on the wall to focus on when his eyebrows shot up.
“What was that, Y/N? That can’t be usual!”
Unfortunately, it is. “Dean, I’ve been living with this for a while. It’s not something you get used to, per say, but there are ways to circumnavigate the pains.”
“Why didn’t you ask Cas to do something?”
You found a different spot on the wall. “We’re busy fighting things a lot bigger than my Endo.” Shit.
“Your what?”
“Endometriosis. It’s what my disease is called.”
Dean pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed. “The second Cas gets enough mojo back, we are zapping it away, no matter what. Deal?”
You curled into his chest as the meds kicked in, easing the pounding in your stomach. “Deal.”
Sleep was probably a few minutes away when there was a knock at the door. Dean leaped out of the bed and pulled out his wallet. “In the meantime, I ordered food.” He paid the pizza guy and turned to show you the pie with all your favorite toppings, even the ones he doesn’t like. “And when we’re ready for dessert, the motel office had an ice cream cooler.”
Pizza and ice cream. Your usual go-to cramp food. He’d been paying attention.
“What did I do to deserve you?”
Dean chuckled. “The real question is who did you piss off to get stuck with me?” He pulled the covers over his legs as he joined you in the bed. “Because you are stuck with me, sweetheart.” He took a slice and began to pick off the undesirables. “So, how long have you had endomet…metro… the thing?”
“Since I was about twelve. I was in class thinking they were normal pains, then I woke up in the nurse’s office. That was long before I started hunting. I learned how to deal with the pain in a normal life.” Your voice dropped off to barely a whisper, “I don’t know what I would’ve done if I’d been hunting alone and collapsed like that.”
“What do they feel like, if you don’t mind talking about it?”
“Like getting stabbed. And considering that I know how that feels, it’s accurate. It’s never just one jab though. It’s all day, and usually lasts the whole week.”
Dean leaned his forehead against the side of your head. “Shit, Y/N. I had no idea. Besides the food and the meds and the heating pad, what do you usually do to keep them at bay?”
You smiled. “Sleep usually. Focus on being research central for you and Sam. Some of the yoga Sam taught me helps, but I have to be willing to move in the first place.”
“Next time you need someone to motivate you to do yoga, I’ll join you. Only if we do it in the garage, where Sam can’t see!”
You giggled at the mental image of Den trying to hold tree pose and not fall over. You would definitely find the effort just to see that.
“Now what? Do you want to sleep?”
You shook your head. “Pizza was too good. But… can you…” you hovered between wanting to be pampered and not wanting to be a bother. “Can you get me some more water… please?” Out of nowhere, Dean handed you another glass. You peeked around him to the lamp table between the beds to see a small army of glasses filled with water. And one with what looked like whiskey.
Dean shrugged with a nervous grin. “You were out for a while. I may have panicked a little.” He smiled in full when you giggled. “Okay, what’s your usual next step?”
“Netflix.”
You were a sucker for Bollywood films, and “Bang Bang” was probably your favorite. Dean kept his mouth shut about having to read the movie, but he laughed more as the film pulled him in. Even your favorite songs weren’t enough to pull your focus back to the laptop screen. Dean was pressed close against you and steadying the tech on his knees. You slept perfectly that night curled into his chest. No sex, minimal pain, just cuddling into his warmth better than the best heating pad. Having him next to you, knowing what you were going through and being supportive, was more effective than any medical remedy.
Notes: I am describing Michael Mulligan more towards the way the archangel is depicted in art. Adam would not be in the same weight division as Dean, and I couldn’t find a good way to explain otherwise. Either way, I liked giving Michael Adam’s last name. Please enjoy and please like/comment/reblog. As always, my requests are open, and I’m going to need some as this series comes to a close. Bring me your obscure characters and receive a fic in any style (fluff, smut, angst) you like.
Bobby peaked his head out of the room. “Dean, he coming too.”
For a split second, Dean held back. Then he stepped forward, Y/N at his side.
Sam’s face was swollen from the repeated blows. His neck was in a brace. With the pillows wrapped around him, he looked smaller. No mean feat. Cas and Bobby stood to one side of the room, looking between the brothers. Y/N could feel Dean’s grip tighten, so she squeezed back. He blinked and looked down at their hands. He ran his thumb over her knuckles as he put on a smile.
“Heya, Sammy,’ he said softly.
Sam opened his eyes, which were thankfully not swollen shut.
“Hey, Dean. Y/N.” He tried to sit up further in the bed but Dean rushed forward to push him back down.
“You don’t need to move at all.”
Sam grunted in agreement. “How’d the after party go with Raphael?”
“I’m supposed to lose. Mulligan is one of theirs too.”
Bobby groaned. “Michael Mulligan?” He growled as Dean nodded. “I was afraid of that. Raphael’s got the northern canvas so tight I couldn’t get any information about the head of the ring. Style-wise, he’s good. He took out the Prince of Darkness in the south to win semifinals.”
“The finals aren’t for another week,” Sam said. “You’ll have plenty of time to…”
“To what, Sam? I’m supposed to lose.”
Sam looked at Dean with his nose wrinkled in confusion. Then he looked at Y/N, who focused her attention on the floor. “Oh.”
“And if it’s not Y/N, they’re going to come by the hospital for a visit. I can’t win.”
The hospital room swelled with silence as everyone tried to come up with a solution. No matter which way they turned it, an answer did not present itself.
All through the week, Cas left the Winchesters, Y/N, and Bobby at the hospital while he went back to the ring. His former injuries kept him from competing, but he still had his hearing. He talked to boxers from before the reign of Raphael, people who were still allies, but none of them knew any more information about Michael. He knew who he had to talk to, but it wasn’t going to be easy.
Uriel watched Balthazar like a hawk.
His only chance was to find him outside the ring. It was a weekend, and Balthazar wasn’t due to show for another hour, so Cas found a quiet corner and watched the others train. Even with a match that night, the guys were trying to keep loose. A while later, Cas knit his brow in confusion as a visitor came in followed closely by the boss’s satellite himself. Cas guessed the big man was Michael. He was broad shouldered and narrow waisted, strong but hard to hit. His knuckles were thick from breaking repeatedly, something Cas could see on several of the better boxers in the ring. He knew Michael was good, and Cas had never even seen him fight. If Uriel was with him, then Balthazar was without his traditional guard.
He left for Balthazar’s usual back entrance and waited outside. He grinned as the referee quickly rounded the corner and bumped into him.
“Castiel! Um, I’m going to be late for… something. Excuse me.” He tried to shoulder his way past, but Cas blocked his path.
“That something wouldn’t happen to be a meeting with Raphael’s northern progeny, would it?”
Balthazar was taken aback. He started to form an excuse but sighed instead. “What happened to this city, Cas?”
“Men with too much power and not enough chin took hold. What’s Raphael’s play?”
“You know I couldn’t tell you that, even if I did know.” Again, Balthazar tried to step by, and again Cas kept him from taking another step.
“Would you tell me if you knew? We used to be ring brothers.”
“I know that, but Raphael is different. I know I can trust you, but he’s got so many guys scared or in his pocket that I can’t trust my own shadow. If you make me late, I won’t even have that.”
Cas kept him from opening the door, drawing out a frustrated groan. “A hint. A guess. What do you think is going to be the plan?”
Balthazar sighed, kicking himself for not using another door. “I don’t think Dean is going to make it out of this fight. What nobody knows about the Prince of Darkness is that he’s tied up in his own hospital, practically in a coma. Michael fights for himself as much as he does for Raphael. If he knows Dean is public enemy number one, and that he’s going to get paid to make it look good… Dean better hope he’s got life insurance.” Balthazar took the moment of Cas’s shock to make his way inside, leaving Cas with a brain full of dark, swirling thoughts. Then he was off like a shot, only to lose consciousness as something hit him in the back of the head.
It was getting close to when Dean was supposed to show up to the ring, and they still had not heard from Cas. The final match was to be in the center of town, “neutral ground” between the rings. And it was in the middle for ease of fan access, meaning more money.
“Where is he? I told him hanging around the canvas all week wasn’t a good idea.” Dean was leaned against the wall, but Sam was counting down to when he would start pacing.
Y/N saw the look and stood to keep him from starting. “Maybe he’s found something out. You know we could use the information, and good information takes time. If you don’t think he’ll make it back in time…”
“No. If Castiel doesn’t show up, you are going to stay here with Sam.”
“Like hell, I am.” She poked him in the chest, smirking as he raised an eyebrow. “No more polite doormat, remember? And that goes for speaking to you too.”
“The plan is to not let them catch us together.” He took her hand from its position on his chest and held it in his, noting its delicateness. His voice fell, borderline to a breaking point. “I’m not going to let them force you to watch the match from the office. And I don’t trust Uriel not to…” Dean glanced at Sam, who nodded in agreement.
“I’ve convinced one of the nurses to bring in a radio,” Sam said. “You won’t miss a second of the match, and afterwards Bobby is going to sneak in some drink from his prohibition days,” he added with a grin.
Dean looked down at her, his eyes begging her to stay. She shook her head, punching out as much air from his chest as a blow from Cole.
“I am not staying here. Now, Dean Winchester, are you going to let me ride with you, or are you going to call me a cab?”
He sighed and walked over to the phone, dialing the number. “Hello, I would like to call a cab to Southern Indiana State Hospital.” He looked at Y/N one last time as the receiver asked how many passengers.
“Just two.”
Black faded into a bright white before fading once again into black. Castiel continued to blink slowly, bringing the world into focus. He found himself laying under the stars in the back alley. He launched to his feet instantly regretting moving too fast. He steadied himself against the wall while thinking over what Balthazar told him. As soon as he could see straight, he made his way to the street and hailed a cab.
“So, are we undercover, or…?” Jo whispered to Y/N. She took the bag of popcorn from the vendor and passed it to Claire.
“No. Dean didn’t want to leave me alone. He’s so sure the opposition will do anything to get to him, even if we haven’t been seeing each other long.” It wasn’t the whole truth, but it was enough when coupled with free tickets to the fight.
“Do you think we could continue to get tickets even if he loses? Ouch.” Claire rubbed her shoulder where Jo smacked it. Y/N grinned. The world could be ending and these two would never change.
From the corner of her eye, Y/N spotted a ruffled top of black hair towering over everyone else. “Castiel!” She waved at him till he located her, but took as step back as he stormed over to her.
“Y/N, where’s Dean?” He gripped her arms tight and pulled her to one side of the crowd. “Why are you alone?”
“He’s in his locker room getting ready. And I’m not alone, I’m with my roommates. Castiel, this is Jo and Claire.” She nodded to the girls as they caught up.
“Pleasure to meet you,” he rushed out. “We’ve got to get to Dean.”
“Why, what did you… hey girls?” Y/N turned to Jo and Claire as Cas let go of her. “Go ahead and claim our seats. They’re assigned for the night, but people might try to fight the system.”
“What about… sticking to you?” Claire asked, looking leerily at Castiel, who mirrored her expression.
“I’m with Cas. You had to hear some of that, he’s a friend of Dean’s. And he’s a boxer, so I’ll be well defended.” She laughed when they didn’t budge. “Just go.” Y/N waited till they were halfway to their seats before continuing. “Okay, so what did you hear?’
“Balthazar thinks Dean’s not going to make it out of the fight alive.”
“Balthazar Smith? The referee?”
“Yeah. He’s usually under Uriel’s thumb, but he’s been getting squirrely lately. He doesn’t like how the matches have turned in this last season.”
Y/N hummed in thought. Mostly to herself than to Cas she asked, “would he be squirrely enough to…?”
“No.”
“What?” She brought her attention back up to Cas. “I didn’t even finish my thought.”
“Dean told me about that face. He said you promised him…”
“I did. But he claimed nobody would talk. If Balthazar would talk, maybe he could inspire the rest of the guys too. Do you know which ones would be willing?”
Cas pursed his lips. “I can name several, but a greased palm could take this plan out before it got started.”
“And you? If you could help make sure no other boxers get hurt because of Raphael, would you do it?” Y/N watch his face as it contorted between ‘yes’ and ‘hell no.’ She grinned as he slid into a hesitant ‘yes.’ “Good. Now, where’s a phone?”
The door swung open as Bobby was helping Dean into his colors, John’s fighting coat. Uriel floated in. His smug mug made Dean want to punch it. Then again, it could be not smug and Dean would still want to punch it.
“So, tonight’s the night you retire. I’m sorry to see you go, Winchester.”
“I’m sure you are.” Dean turned to let Bobby check his gloves, counting the seconds till he would leave.
“Aren’t you going to ask what the script is? For old time’s sake.”
Dean groaned through gritted teeth. “What’s the script?”
“I’m going to miss that. And I’m going to miss seeing you bloodied in the ring. The fifth, Winchester. And stick to it this time. We’ve got all your aces.” He left before Dean could give a retort.
Bobby let go of his gloves and snapped in front of Dean’s eyes. “What did you decide?”
“Sam says I should fight to win. Y/N says I should fight to win. But I have this stone in my stomach telling me I should follow the plan one last time and maybe nobody gets hurt.” He paused for a moment, letting his next question float around a bit, hoping Bobby would answer it before he could ask.
Bobby knew that look. He’d seen it when John asked him to help him start the ring. He never could turn down a Winchester.
“Balls. I think you should fight to win too.” He stopped a grinning Dean from saying anything. “But don’t let that make you sloppy. Michael’s a hard hitter. Block your stomach and guard your face. You’re buying the first round tonight if you let him cut open your eye again.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Alright. They should call soon, so show me your shadow punches.”
Y/N slapped the side of the receiver. “Please, it’s urgent. I need to speak to the Captain.” Cas looked at her through the door to the phone box. She waved away his worried glance.
“I can’t just let you through ma’am. We have…”
“Oh, just put her through,” an accented voice said in the background. “Line two if you can manage it.” There was a buzz and a click before she heard the voice again. “Captain Crowley of Chicago PD. What can I do for you today miss…?”
“Y/N. You have to stop the match at LaMotta Arena tonight.”
“And why would I do that? Maybe I’ve got some money riding on one of them myself.”
The statement made her stop cold. She pushed through the idea that Uriel had gotten to him. “Because I know you would love a chance for some good publicity. I’ve got songbirds for you, Captain. Good ones. Break up the fight tonight and you’ll have a massive shot at something bigger than you’ve ever caught before.” A little Hollywood, maybe, but it was worth a shot. Y/N waited with baited breath as the line remained silent for a hot minute.
“Do you have a songbird nearby that I can talk to?”
She held the mouthpiece to her shoulder and exhaled. She motioned for Cas to come into the phone box. She handed him the phone and shut the door, taking her turn to stand guard. He came out a few minutes later looking pale and relieved at the same time.
“He’ll do it. He’s rounding up a squad and he’ll be here by the fifth round. He can’t make it any sooner.” Cas chuckled. “Considering the speed of the force in other incidents, this will be like lightning.”
As they walked to the seats, Y/N asked, “how do we get the news to Dean?” They looked up as the doormen gave the five-minute warning.
“We don’t. If this goes south, it will look better on the Uriel side if he doesn’t know. I’ll find a way to signal Bobby.”
Y/N shook her head to silence Jo and Claire’s questions as they found their seats. The buzz was quieting down before the announcer stepped towards the ring. Dean and Michael were still in their tunnels, awaiting the call.
“Remember what I said, keep your face blocked, and jab him before he can jab you.”
“You said that already. Any more times and I’ll hear it in my sleep. Ow.” Dean flinched as Bobby smacked him up the backside of his head.
“Don’t get smart. I was there when you were brought into the world, I don’t want to be here when they take you out. Don’t let it be tonight, Dean.”
They both looked towards the ring, glowing outside the comforting dark of the tunnel. The announcer was calling out the usual pleasantries and requesting that nobody smoked.
“Bobby?”
“Yeah.”
“No matter what happens, thank you for all you’ve done for me and Sam.”
Bobby nodded and patted Dean on the back. Then they walked out into the lights as Dean’s name was called.
“In this corner is Dean ‘Raisin’ Cain’ Winchester! Weighing one hundred and seventy-five pounds and wearing the black shorts with the white stripe. He wears his father’s, John Winchester, colors tonight as he makes his way to the ring.”
Y/N craned her neck to see him, but there were too many people. Even as he made his way under the ropes, people had their arms in the air cheering for them.
“In the other corner is our other semi-finalist for tonight, Michael “Feather Feet” Mulligan. Weighing one hundred seventy-two and a half pounds and wearing the white shorts with black stripes. He wears the red and gold colors on his way to the ring.”
Y/n could see him plain. He was like Cas described to her earlier. He didn’t bounce or shadow-box his way to the ring, just walked. Marched to it. Like this was the battle that he intended to win the war with. Y/N sent up a prayer to anyone who was listening that Dean could hold him off till Captain Crowley and the squad arrived.
Deana and Bobby met Michael and his trainer in the middle of the canvas.
Balthazar swallowed a throat-full of air and asked for a fair fight. He had them bump gloves, then sent them to their corners. The match hadn’t even started yet and he was already sweating. He jumped as the opening bell rang.
Dean bounced out to meet Michael. They jabbed out at each other, testing the range of their opponent. Michael landed the first hit, glancing off the side of Dean’s head. He followed with a quick series of one-twos to Dean’s ribs before Dean could catch him in a clinch. Michael continued to reach up to land blows to his head, which Dean returned till Balthazar separated them with difficulty.
Dean saw his opening as Michael reached in for his face. It glanced off his cheek, allowing Dean to dig in close and land several blows to Michael’s torso before ending with a sweeping uppercut. Michael staggered back. He nodded with a mouth-guard smile.
Y/N sat on the edge of her seat in silence as the crowd around her screamed for their favorite. She kept her eyes on Dean as he circled Michael, bobbing and looking for a way in. She cringed as Michael swooped in to get Dean in a clinch. He thundered hits into Dean’s ribs until Balthazar separated them again.
“Come on Dean,” she whispered. Dean’s reaching blows kept being warded off by Michael’s glove. He stayed just out of reach, circling to Dean’s outside.
The crowd spun behind Michael and Dean watched his gloves for the next blow. Dean reached out as Michael did, giving a glove to the face as he received one. Then he zoomed into Michael’s chest, firing them as fast as he could till the bell rang.
He backed away to meet Bobby.
“That was good. Keep wearing him down. Try to aim lower, more to the stomach.”
Dean nodded as he took his mouth guard back, standing with the bell.
Sam pumped a fist into the air as the commentator relayed the fight.
“The pace is fast as ever, and the fight is even-Steven. Raisin’ Cain trying to drive those hard jabs into the body and face. Mulligan trying to get in murderous body blows of his own.”
He listened to the exchange of hits wired down to him. It sounded like rain on a tin roof, but Sam knew from experience how hard those drops could be. He flinched at a particularly heavy one, only to happily crow as the commentator kicked back in, laughing as a frowning nurse walked by.
“Winchester landing a seriously solid blow to Mulligan, doubling him over. Mulligan retreating to catch his breath. He’s still got that smile, though, enjoying the match. If he turns it one like he did in his last bout, Winchester will have to pick up his step. Otherwise, Winchester’s got this in the bag.”
It was too easy. Dean kept his distance when he could. Michael was encroaching on his space, making himself easy to hit, while at the same time limiting Dean’s ability to pull back for a harder hit. Dean bounced back as Michael round housed a blow into his ear. Dean shook his head through the ringing. He looked over Michael’s shoulder at Bobby to see if the ringing was outside or inside his head. He bit down harder on his guard when Bobby stayed on the floor.
Michael chased Dean to the ropes, cinching him again and hammering blows into Dean’s torso. Dean kept his abs tight, minimalizing the impact. But he took a second to take his breath back as Balthazar pulled Michael away. The bell rang, ending round three.
Bobby continued his flow of advice, but Dean barely heard it. He kept his gaze level as Michael stared at him from his own corner.
As they came out for the next round Dean could feel a shift in the air. Michael twisted his hips, putting his other foot in front. Michael advanced towards Dean quickly, too fast for Dean to retreat. He pulled back then released a hard uppercut into Dean’s chin.
Dean fell back into the ropes. The lights above him swam in circles. He could see a blurred Balthazar racing forward to stop Michael, but the blows to his upper chest hit first. The lights gave way to the canvas rushing up to meet him. He gasped for air, though his lungs burned and sent magma towards his heart. He landed on his gloves and knees, shuddering with the fall. He realized he made a mistake as he looked up, taking Michael’s jab to his face, sending him collapsing onto his shoulder. The world was ringing and glowing and moving like molasses, but Dean fought to climb up the ropes.
Y/N sat down as Dean wobbled to his feet. She could feel three concerned faces to either side of her but kept her gaze on Dean. He stumbled out into the center, pulling up his gloves as Michael attacked him again. She clenched her hands in her lap as Dean sent out weak jabs.
The police will be here soon. The police will be here soon. Please, God, let the police be here soon.
Dean felt Bobby catch him as the bell rang, ending the fourth round. He spat out the guard into Bobby’s hand.
“This guy is incredible,” he slurred, sputtering bloody spittle into the bucket. “It’s gonna be a hell of six more rounds.” He grinned sideways at Bobby, who didn’t fully grin back. He gave Dean back his guard and pulled his gloves over his face. Bobby pushed Dean to his feet as the bell rang. If he wanted to end with any shred of dignity, he would dive this round.
To hell with dignity. Time to clip those Feather Feet.
Dean brought his gloves together to catch Michael’s jabs. He shot out one, landing it to Michael’s crown. Michael rushed in, cinching Dean’s arms to his side and towering over him. He backed off before the ref could intervene, but circled back around. He was able to keep an arm loose as Michael trapped him again. He jabbed at Michael’s upper ribs, but it made his arm shudder to hit him. He was forced back into a corner, his shoulder blades dug into the iron pins. His breath was coming out in pants. Dean could feel Michael grinning at the labored rise and fall of his chest, too punch-happy to see it himself.
Michael let Balthazar push him back and waited for Dean in the middle. He shared a look with Balthazar. Dean wasn’t going to make it out in one piece even if he did fall now, the exchange proved it.
Dean took a breath, then launched himself at Michael. He didn’t keep his hands up as Michael pummeled his face. He didn’t let the blows make him retreat. He didn’t reach to hit back. He just forced his way into the center of the ring and stared Michael down.
“Oh no.” Cas moaned.
“What? What does that mean?” Y/N asked, tugging on his sleeve.
“Please Dean, don’t,” was all she could get out of him.
Dean buckled as Michael rained down hits to his back. He shouldered his way into Michael’s chest, forcing him backwards. He didn’t stop till Michael’s arms flew back as his spine collided with the opposite corner pins. Dean pulled back, then sent in as many punches as he could into Michael’s stomach till Balthazar pushed him away.
Michael roared through his guard and chased after him. He was hunched over, but that didn’t stop him from repeatedly sending his glove into Dean’s face. Dean squared his stance, refusing to give any ground even as his head snapped back with each hit. Michael started using both gloves, the other going into Dean’s chest cavity. His torso rippled with pain till his heart’s thumping turning into one long throb. With a deep breath that burned through him harsher than cheap whiskey, Dean swung. Michael spun and fell.
He turned and walked away a few steps as Balthazar swooped in to count. Dean dropped into the canvas as the bell rang, ending round five and the match. He found Y/N’s face as he fell, missing the swarm of police officers that rushed in through every door and tunnel.
His vision bounced and faded to black as pandemonium erupted around the arena.
Raphael stood by his window drinking his hardest Scotch as someone knocked on his door.
“Enter,” he said, watching the police round up his officials and gamble men. Dean stayed where he fell, unswarmed as people tried to avoid being handcuffed. Michael rolled out of the ring and got caught by a tunnel.
“Raphael, it’s been too long.”
He turned and watched Crowley step into his office. “Evening, Captain. Have I not been paying you enough?”
Crowley shook his head. “Not on your payroll. Not one copper.”
“Shame. Would you like to be?”
He thought for a second, eyeing the liquor stand next to a silent Uriel. “No.” He helped himself to some ice and a drink as two sub-officers walked in. “Cuff ‘em tight, boys. They’re slippery.” His revolver was in Uriel’s chest before he could surge forward.
Y/N fought her way to the ring, sliding under the ropes to get to Dean. Bobby was fighting his through the cops, trying to explain whose trainer he was. Dean’s face was pale despite the beating, and his lips were purple.
“No. Don’t do this to me. Dean Winchester, you wake up right now or… or… or I’m going to slap you.”
She let out a shuddering breath as he continued to do nothing. With a screech, she slapped him across the face, instantly bringing her hands to cover her sob.
“I take it I didn’t win if you’re hitting me,” Dean mumbled with his eyes still closed.
Y/N fell over his chest, crying with an irritated smile. “Don’t you ever fall like that again.”
Dean leaned up with a groan. “Does that mean there’ll be a next time?” His eyes glowed like candle-light through a bottle, mischievous. “You’re not ordering me to stop boxing?”
She sighed. “Hell, no. It’s who you are. Besides, my roommates want free tickets for the rest of their lives. Can’t keep up unless I’m dating a boxer.”
They shared a grin before Y/N helped him over to the edge. They sat and watched the chaos around them. On other sides of the apron, Jo and Claire cheered the police, and Bobby and Castiel laughed.
“I’m sorry you won’t get the belt,” Y/N said. “They’ll probably have a whole ‘nother season to figure this out, won’t they?”
“I don’t need a belt,” Dean said, kissing the top of her head.
“I wouldn’t be so sure that you lost it,” Crowley butted in, fighting with a handcuffed, gagged, and fuming Uriel. “The way that several of the witnesses have been singing, you’ve been fighting for real for the whole season. If that story keeps floating around, you might get the belt by default. Congratulations, Winchester.” He nodded at Dean and winked at Y/N, then disappeared into the crowd.
They laughed and Dean wrapped his arm around Y/N’s shoulder.
“Are we still celebrating with Bobby’s booze and Sam?”
“Yeah. He’s gonna be frosted he missed all this.”
It took an hour or so, but they finally made it to the hospital where Sam was, indeed, incredibly angry that he missed the chaos. They had him calmed down to irritated within a few drinks.
Note: Sorry this got out a little later than usual. If you can believe it, even this isn’t the climax to everything. Let me know how you like it by commenting, reblogging, and liking my fic. I hope you guys enjoy it!
Dean was buttoning up his shirt when Sam burst in.
“Jeez, Sam, can’t you…”
“Uriel’s goons are coming down the hallway.”
Dean and Bobby shared a glance. “Bobby, take Sam and get to the ring; don’t let him out of your sight. They won’t hurt him before, they might try afterward. Sam, watch Bobby’s back while he watches yours and get out of here. They don’t need to see you warning me.”
Sam nodded and waited for Bobby by the door, keeping an eye on the hall.
Bobby clapped Dean on the shoulder, “Be careful, boy. Get out to the crowd if you can.” He and Sam left.
Dean finished his tie. He wasn’t going to rush. Maybe a little. He grabbed his hat and coat and almost made it to the arena entrance before they caught up to him, one running up behind him and two blocking his path.
“Come on, Winchester,” the back one said, poking something hard into Dean’s spine.
“I hope that’s a gun you’re packing back there,” Dean grumbled.
“No,” one of the front guys said pulling out his own pistol, “he’s just happy to see you.”
From her seat on the second row, Y/N twiddled her thumbs and bounced her knee waiting for Dean. He’d won, like what was agreed. Dean wondered on their way over if Cole was going to fight for real to go to the finals himself.
“You’re making me nervous, Y/N,” Cas chuckled.
“Oops. Why isn’t he back yet?”
“It takes a while to shift into civilian clothes. There’s a lot of cleaning to get the ring stench off.”
She sighed. “I’ll appreciate it… when he gets here.” She didn’t stop twiddling and bouncing.
Uriel pulled Dean into Raphael’s office, pistol whipping him to the floor. “You’re done breaking contract, Winchester.”
Dean rubbed his jaw and stood to his feet. “You said the win was mine, that Cole would take a dive. If anyone’s broken their word, it’s you.”
“That’s where you’re wrong, Dean,” Raphael growled from his desk, “you have been nothing but disrespectful. Uriel told me what happened this morning. Yes, you took your win fair and square, but you can’t leave the ring without paying your dues. Since Cole didn’t finish taking it out of your hide, our visitor is going to take it out of Sam’s.”
Uriel had the gun pinned to Dean’s ribs before he could launch forward. “You want me to pay? Then let Cole finish it out back. Sam stopped being part of the deal…ugh.” Uriel jabbed the muzzle further into Dean’s side.
“Just shuddup and watch. We’ve even got a perfect seat for you.” He shoved Dean towards a bar stool set up by the window. Dean looked down over the crowd and into the ring. Bobby was double checking Sam’s gloves. Dean took a split second to find Y/N and Cas, letting out a relieved breath to see her safe. Uriel forced Dean to sit down, then laughed, “enjoy the fight.”
The final people rushed to their seats as the announcer stepped into the ring.
“Ladies and gentlemen, our stadium’s trumpeter will play our National Anthem.”
Everyone in the stadium stood. Dean shot a look at Uriel as he stood too, but he didn’t turn his attention to the flag. He was too busy boring a hole into Castiel’s head, hoping that somehow he could get his attention.
As the Anthem finished with applause and whistles, Castiel looked up towards the office, growling to see Uriel backlit, and hovering over Dean’s shoulder in the window. He caught Bobby’s eye and directed him towards Dean, then turned to Y/N. “I don’t know how much of this you know, but Dean’s not going to sit with us.” He nodded up to the office, making Y/N gasp. Cas barely caught her in time to help her into her seat as her knees buckled. “They won’t kill him, he’s got to attend finals. They can still make money off him, but be ready to run just in case.”
The announcer spoke into the mic, “the officials appointed by the State Athletic Commission are: the attending physician attending at the ringside, Dr. J.D. Houston, the timer at the bell, Bill Stapleton, counting after knockdown, Bill Doty, the judges, Mike McAddams, and Captain A.R. Dowdy, and the referee, Balthazar Smith. The contestants: 10 rounds at 158 from Kansas, wearing white trunks with a black tracer, and weighing 183, Sam Winchester, the defending Cruiserweight Champion. And his opponent,” the announcer pulled a card out of his pocket and began to read, “from St. Louis, Missouri, weighing 182 and one-half, and wearing black and red trunks, Virgil Akins. Referee Balthazar Smith will now give the contestants their instructions.”
Balthazar stepped to the middle and ushered Sam and Virgil forward. He looked anxiously between them. He laid out the rules like he always did, but somehow the words “I want a clean fight” meant more. “Now go to your opposite corners, and at the bell come out fighting.”
The bell rang and the radio reporter in front of Y/N and Cas launched into action. “This is the opening round, and this is the chance of the spectators, as well as the fighters, to study style. This is a brilliant audience on hand, half of Chicago must be crowded into the space, and the other half listening at home. Movie stars, politicians, and of course the fans all squeezed into the hall here. They’re all watching Virgil Akins use his unique jumping-jack style. Referee Smith cautions him for a kidney punch Akins lands on “Law Breaker” Winchester. He shows no fear of Winchester; in fact, he’s bullying him around the ring to say ‘I’m the boss in here.’ They are matched nearly pound for pound, and looking like one of the greatest fights this ring as ever seen.”
Sam was taller than Akins, giving the smaller man plenty of space to hit him. Y/N couldn’t help but see how the smaller man used it. She could feel Cas’s nervousness, and she could see Dean watching them from the office.
“Akins landing punches like he’s the boss and he knows it. Winchester biding his time, learning his opponent. Beautiful long left by Akin. But he’s doing the most damage while in Winchester’s clinches. Winchester digging for the body, trying to lower that guard as he towers over Akins who carries his gloves high. Protects his chin well. Glancing right off the cheekbone of Sam Winchester. There might be blood early, folks.”
Dean tensed as Sam staggered back, stunned. He kept the smile to himself as his brother then dove back in. Every second he was watching Sam, he was hyper aware of the firearm in his back.
“Winchester digging with light left jabs. Akins using an up and down elevator style, now each pushing leather gloves into each other’s faces in the clinch. Beautiful right and a left hook, making Winchester coming back on his heels then; that was a stiff punch. Those thumps are the punches in close that Winchester had a great deal of trouble smothering. A champion, Winchester, but up against a very unorthodox boxer. And that’s the bell ending the first round.”
They sat in their opposite corners. Sam showed Bobby his mouth. It wasn’t gushing yet, but Bobby and Cas knew it could become a problem. Cas explained how it could possibly even choke him around the mouth guard if it got too bad.
Y/N watched Virgil sit in his corner and noticed him glance up to the office behind Sam. Virgil shrugged at something his coach said and stood up, sending up a quick prayer as the next bell rang.
“Akins relaxed in his corner, whether it’s phycological warfare or not, we don’t know. But he’s acting like this is just another outing. He doesn’t have a care in the world. He’s crossed himself as the gong sounds and comes out ready for round two. Winchester has suffered some cuts inside his mouth. He keeps circling clockwise around Akins’s best punch and his stiffest hand. The one that does the most damage is the left as Winchester staggers back again. Winchester is angry now, nearly puffing smoke like a bull ready to charge. Winchester, maneuvering to land his combination punches, steps back but Akins moves in swiftly. Gives him no chance to take a step.
“Come on, Sam,” Dean mumbled. “I know we’ve worked on this.”
Uriel chuckled behind him.
“Winchester bends down in the same kind of a bob as Akins. But Winchester is mostly fighting standing up while Akins bobs up and down as a very difficult target. Akins is a natural middleweight, but he’s gained some heavy muscle to fight at the cruiserweight level. Winchester reaches out and lands on Akins’s face, snapping his head back! The crowd cheers for Winchester!
“Akins grins through his mouth guard, clearly enjoying himself. Winchester disinclined to fight too much in the clinches. Referee Smith keeps cautioning against the whipping punch over Winchester’s shoulder. A blow to the neck is a strong reason for disqualification and for being disbarred from boxing altogether. Winchester has very little success blocking that. Both men are now trying to out-feint each other. Winchester keeps reaching down for Akins, who backs away out of reach of the taller boxer. Akins uppercuts, but misses him by a mile. And that bell is round two.
Y/N kept her focus on Virgil. Something about him seemed off. She watched him as he shot a look towards Balthazar, who nodded back.
“Cas, something’s wrong.”
The bell rang over her worries, preventing her from sending any kind of warning to Sam.
“And here we go, round three, still at the start of this match but it’s been hot. Winchester has held his own against the bouncing Akins, and Akins is not being kept down due to the height difference. Akins is out maneuvering him at every turn. Of course, what he has is a good punch in either hand and a lot of strength in those clinches. Akins really pounds Winchester with that left hook; you can see Winchester’s back jarring from the blow.”
Y/N turned with a shout into Cas’s shoulder as Sam was knocked into the ropes. She peaked out and whispered, “come on Sam. Hold him off.”
“Winchester still in the fight, but a little feeble with that right, shoulder hurt. Akins paying no attention to Winchester’s cut mouth or shoulder pains. He has his man really studied. Akins swings in with a right lead just as Winchester was feigning with his shoulder. Winchester steadies himself on Akins’s shoulders, rolling them into the ropes. The ref separates them, but no rest. As soon as Winchester steps back to ready himself, boom, Akins moves right in on him. Winchester needs a little bit of a moment to prepare an attack, and that’s when Akins takes the moment, breaking his opponent’s flow. Winchester over stretches his stance, cinching Akins’s arms where he can, but Akin reaches up to beat him around the head. He almost hits the ref that time. Akin seems to back just out of punching range, then Boom, shoot in.”
Dean laughed as Sam’s glove made contact with Virgil’s waist, sending him jerking upwards from the force. “This guy is definably yours.”
“What makes you say that, Winchester?”
“All cheap shots and no gut. Sound familiar, Uriel?”
Uriel replied with a low growl and tightened his grip on the pistol.
Y/N was not listening to the reporter anymore but heard it all as background noise.
“Akins is remarkably hitting powerfully with each hand, favoring neither the right or left. Winchester sets himself to move around and hit with a hard right only. Now he’s moving in retreat. He hasn’t had a hard shot at Akins’s head other than one or two times so far, and it looks like Akins is going to keep it that way. And of course, Akins is not cut up or marked in any way. He keeps back just enough to make Winchester overreach, then leaps in, giving him a little pat in the ribs. Getting in the closing minutes now of the round. There’s a champion in that ring, only time will tell which man it is. Winchester still pounding away, right down to the last second. His face is bleeding, and he looks groggy already, but he’s still rapping away at the body. Oh! And down goes Referee Balthazar Smith!”
The audience and judges leapt to their feet as Balthazar went over the ropes and apron. Everyone’s view of the boxers was obscured by the person in front of them, and the front row people were craning to see Balthazar. Virgil took the moment of distraction to hit Sam in the back of the neck, then upper-cutting him to explain the fall.
Sam fell to the canvas with a thud. The counting ref swooped in and made it to ten and could have made it to thirty before Sam even groaned, but there was too much pandemonium to get him off the canvas. There’s was a deliriously happy crowd circling Virgil’s corner, already celebrating the win.
Bobby jumped into the ring and pushed everybody back as the announcer lifted Virgil’s arm high. The crowd’s cheers died down as the doctor followed him in, cracking Sam’s eyes open. The doctor shook his head and motioned for the cot to haul Sam to the hospital.
“Well that was some fighting, wasn’t it Dean?” Raphael said, relaxed in his office chair.
Dean was fuming. He stood, even as Uriel pressed the pistol to his temple. “You won’t shoot me. All those witnesses down there? And how are you going to explain why the semi-finalist is dead, no matter which way you throw it?”
Raphael nodded and motioned for Uriel to lower his gun. Uriel sneered and twisted it. “Uriel. Put it away,” Raphael commanded. When it was out of sight, Raphael poured himself another shot of bourbon. “Even with what’s unfortunately happened to Sam, you are still owed a congratulation. You’re going to the Amateur Finals, well done.”
“What’s your play, Raphael?”
“Michael Mulligan. Smart kid. Young in the face, I admit. But he’s got a fighting wisdom about him. Beat our darkest prodigal to meet you.”
“Do you ‘not own’ this one too?” Dean mocked.
Uriel piped up, “you are correct. Not even the heat knows we control that canvas, and we are going to keep it that way.”
Raphael down the last of his drink then walked to tower over Dean. “You are going to lose one last time, then retire. Make it look good and you can leave with a shred of dignity.” His voice dropped, sending an uneasy shiver down Dean’s spine. “You will throw it, Dean, or I will personally pay a visit to Sam and your girl to prove my point.” He grinned. “Now go see your brother, I think he’ll want to be seeing you.” Raphael turned away like nothing happened. Uriel stepped out of the way begrudgingly.
Dean was off like a shot.
Y/N considered her stomach to be a strong one, but when she finally caught up with Sam at the hospital, she almost fainted dead away.
“How is he?” Dean croaked, catching her as she swayed on her feet.
“Dean, you’re alright.” She embraced him, shivering against him. She met his gaze, holding his face in her hands. “He’s really beaten up, Dean. The doctor hasn’t said how bad yet.” Y/N felt her heart shudder in her chest as he closed his eyes in defeat.
“This is all my fault.”
“No, it isn’t.” Y/N surprised herself with how strong her voices sounded but kept going. “It’s not your fault. Or Sam’s fault, or anyone who is held under your bosses’ thumb. They are the ones deciding who lives and who dies. You have fought against their power and they are doing everything they can to crush you. They are afraid of you, Dean. You can’t stop now.”
“Y/N,” Dean choked, “they’ve threatened to come after you next if I don’t do what they say. I can’t keep doing this if you are at risk. I thought Sam would be able to hold his own, but they stooped lower than I ever thought possible. I can’t let them take a jab at you.”
Dean moved to walk away, but Y/N grabbed his vest.
“Don’t you walk away from me, Winchester. You need all the friends you can get right now.” She poked him in the chest, flicking it into his nose when he looked down at her. “Do you think they’ll leave me alone because you broke up with me? They may be a lot of things, but they are not stupid. I am safest with you, and Castiel, and Bobby, and Sam.” Y/N sighed and wrapped his arms around her before wrapping her arms around his waist. “You are strong with a support system. Sam knew what he was walking into, and you need people to watch your back. Don’t push us away.”
Dean chuffed and squeezed her closer. “How did you learn me so good, so quick?”
Y/N laughed into Dean’s chest. “Cas ratted on you. He’s worried you’ll do what you always do when trouble comes.”
“That jerk.” Dean rubbed his hand up and down her back. He kissed the top of her head, whispering into her hair, “thank you.”
The doctor stepped out of Sam’s room. “Mr. Winchester?”
“Yes, sir.” Dean let go of Y/N, but held onto her hand, focusing on not crushing her delicate fingers with his stress.
“Sam is going to pull through.” He gave Dean and Y/N a moment to let out a sigh of relief before continuing. “We’ll need to keep him her for a while, and we won’t know the full damage till some of tonight’s boxing wounds heal, but I really think he’s going to be alright. If I could confide in you, though,” he looked passingly at Y/N. Dean nodded for him to go on. “It is of my personal, and professional opinion that this man’s injuries were not caused by an upper cutting punch. If you have anyone you can trust, I have enough evidence to prosecute his opponent.”
Dean thought for a second. “Thank you, doctor. I’ll keep that in mind and in my pocket. Thank you.” The pair watched the doctor as he left.
“You’re going to try, right?” Y/N asked.
“No. Not yet. It’s enough for Virgil, not for the top level.” Dean looked at her, taking in how her focus listed to one side. “No. Y/N you can’t go to the police. Not yet. You promised.”
“And your boss promised you’d win with no ramifications too,” she snarked. “Fine. I won’t go. But the second we have something I’m the voice. You guys are too close. Deal?”
“Deal.”
Bobby peaked his head out of the room. “Dean, he coming too.”
For a split second, Dean held back. Then he stepped forward, Y/N at his side.
Warnings: Hand job, oral (male receiving, implied female receiving) implied later smut
Word Count: 508
Note: Happy Smut Appreciation Day! At first, I wasn’t going to write anything since I’ve planned another Dean post to come out later this week, but then this hit me. I highly recommend reading while listening to this Ambient Mixer.
You woke as Dean shifted next to you. He continued to snore lightly, something that made you smile. He always denied that he snored.
Morning was starting to break through the curtains, blinding the spot over your pillow. You curled into his chest, hoping it would block out enough of the light. It was dark, but also close enough for you to feel other things in greater detail. Like the stiffness presently pressed into your stomach. You suppressed a giggle as he draped an arm over you, keeping you from moving too much.
Y/N meets Dean for a date after his semi-finals win, after some convincing. Dean is warned about what happens to those who fight the plan.
Characters: Y/N, Jo, Claire, Dean, Bobby, Uriel, Raphael
Warnings: threats of violence, past relationship abuse trigger (separate from the first warning)
Word Count: 2500-ish
Note: This one wrote a lot quicker than the last installment, which you can read here: Part 1 – Ringside. Please let me know how you like, or why not, and any guesses as to how it’s gonna go. If you like my style, my requests are open! Be on the look-out for a few coming out soon. Now, enjoy…
“You have to go!” Claire looked at Y/N, incredulous that her roommate didn’t want to show up to her date. “He’s going to the semi-finals… he’s hot! Why don’t you want to go?”
“It was an off-hand promise,” Y/N groaned, sinking onto the couch. “I didn’t know he was a… the boxer. I thought he was just some guy trying to get a date. Then in the hype from the fight, we set a place and time. I’m thinking clearly now.”
“No, you’re not,” Jo said. She hung a series of dresses on the door. “You’re panicking like every girl does before a date.”
“But you know what happened the last time I did something like this…”
“This is a different guy.” “A new start,” they said, overlapping one another.
Y/N looked back a forth between Jo and Claire. They were going to make her go, even if it meant they had to drag her there. A new start. “Fine, I’ll go.” She stopped their triumphant grins by pointing at the dresses. “I don’t know why you brought all those out; the one I wore to the fight will be fine.”
“Oh sweetie,” Jo said, dragging Y/N to her feet, “you are going to look perfect for tonight.”
“Trust us, looking pretty isn’t for the guy. It’s a real self-boost and since you’ll be wearing one of mine or Jo’s dresses, you won’t have to worry about ruining an outfit with bad memories… ouch!” Claire rubbed her arm where Jo slapped it.
Y/N laughed as they chattered plans between them, then waited for her input. They were good friends. Y/N wouldn’t have anybody else looking at her, waiting to hear her ‘okay’. If this did go sideways, they would know how to help her through it.
“Alright then. Let’s get going.”
All three of them squealed as Jo and Claire started to dress her for the night.
The summons was almost as ominous as Dean thought it would be: a quick call with a single command. He attempted to walk quietly through the arena, but his steps continued to echo through the dark space. Raphael’s office provided the only light, shining from one corner of the rafters except for two dark forms moving on the inside. Bobby was waiting for him at the door with a heavy pat on the back but didn’t enter with him.
“Winchester,” Uriel sounded surprised to see him, “sit down.” Dean sat in the only available chair, which was situated in the middle of the room. Uriel started to pour a drink with his back turned to Dean. Dean knew it wasn’t for him. Uriel took it instead to Raphael, who was leaning against the windows in the far corner.
“You know why you’re here?” Raphael asked, wafting the glass under his nose. Dean could smell the aged brandy from his chair.
“Are you the principle now?” Dean snarked.
“No. I’m your boss.” Uriel sipped the drink slowly, keeping his voice low and dangerous. “And when I tell you to lose, you lose. Not that KO from last night.”
Dean shifted in the chair. He’d never met Raphael in person before, but he didn’t like it.
“We lost money last night, Winchester,” Uriel chimed in. “I want to take it out of your hide, but Raphael’s got a better plan.” Uriel poured himself a shot of whiskey and downed it quick, snarling through the burn.
“Cole gets a rematch.”
“What? You son of a ” Dean tried to stand, but Uriel pushed him back down and kept his hand clamped over Dean’s shoulder.
“A rematch. I’m leaving it up to Cole to figure out the particulars of why he wants one, but it’s also your second chance. If you follow orders like a good little soldier till then, I might let you keep your win. Otherwise, I’m going to tell some of the more obedient players to give your brother a visit.”
“Leave Sam out of it.”
“Can’t do that, Winchester.” Uriel squeezed Dean’s shoulder harder, then left to sit on the edge of Raphael’s desk. “When one of the team messes up, it ripples through the whole operation.” Uriel stood to his feet under Raphael’s glare.
“What’s it gonna be, Dean? You can win either way if you play along.”
Dean gripped the arms of the chair, almost wishing he could hear them splinter if he squeezed hard enough. But he relaxed his gaze and loosened his grip. “What’s the script?”
“We’ll tell you when it’s time.” Raphael nodded to Uriel, who grabbed Dean by the arm and pushed him towards the door. Dean had his hand on the knob when Raphael laughed. “See, following orders isn’t too hard.”
Dean turned to growl but kept moving instead. When Bobby wasn’t outside, he left the door open, relishing in Uriel’s harsh curse.
She knew she was early, but every minute felt like an eternity. The table for two by the jukebox was empty, reserved with her name on a tented piece of paper. She laid it flat at first, but now she was fiddling with it till it was shredded. Again, she checked the clock on the wall. He wasn’t late, yet, but damn did it feel like it. Did he have the same idea to skip out? He couldn’t, or the table wouldn’t be reserved. Right?
“Did he stand you up, doll?” A well-dressed man sat in the other chair, looking very much out of place. His grin was not unpleasant, but it was too big. Too bright. “What’s your handle? I’m Richard.”
“None of your business. I’m waiting for someone.”
“And he’s late. His loss.”
“Actually, he’s still got a while. I’m early. Your miss.” Y/N turned to face away from him, hoping he’d take the hint. Instead, he reached across the table and took her hands in his, gripping them tightly so she couldn’t get away.
“But a lovely girl like you shouldn’t be waiting alone, and not without a second opinion.”
“The lady said to get lost. Sorry, I’m late.” Dean yanked the man to his feet. Richard straightened his jacket as they stared each other down.
“Actually, you’re right on time.”
Richard twisted his head, “Dean ‘Raisin Cain’ Winchester. Out of the kennel for the throw last night?”
“Shut your mouth, before I kick it wide open.”
Richard chuckled, “what? You don’t want your girl knowing it’s all planned to a tee? A scam. A fake.”
“You want to see how real it is? Take a step out back and I’ll show you.” Dean and Richard grabbed each other by the lapels at the same time, but Y/N jumped to her feet and pushed them apart. She pulled Dean to her side of the table and wrapped her arms around his waist, positioned to defending and being defended by Dean.
“I’m not interested in seeing him bloody you, sir. I’m not interested in you at all. So get moving.” Her heart hammered in her throat as Richard grunted and walked out.
“If you squeeze any tighter, darlin’, I’m gonna get bumped down to a middleweight.”
Y/N let go of his waist, “sorry. I just ruined my chance, didn’t I?”
“Not at all. That was wonderful,” Dean laughed. “Just remind me if I get too big for my gloves that you could KO me in a heartbeat.” He helped her into his chair before hanging up his coat and hat and joining her. “Does that always work?”
“It didn’t at the fight, thankfully. It comes from a promise I made to myself.”
“And what was that?”
Y/N grinned, “stop being a polite doormat.”
Dean gave her a thumbs up and sighed. They sat in silence till Dean asked, “Hey! This is a date, isn’t it? Do you want dessert first or last?”
“Please?” Y/N thought back to some of the phrases Jo and Claire had taught her. Was this one of them?
“This place has the best pie in Illinois. Sometimes I eat it first so I don’t run out of room, but if that’s too strange we can wait.”
“No, that sounds perfect.”
“Alright, blueberry or cherry?”
He was a comical sight. Y/N could tell he wanted to wolf it down while it was hot, but he ate slowly to stay neat. In the meantime, she learned more about him, and he learned more about her. Just the basics. The dinner slowly emptied out till there was only the cook and the bar. By the time they ordered and their main meal came out (burgers with a slice of pineapple!) they were joking like old friends, but she could tell he was holding something back.
“Just spit it out, Dean.” She giggled as he looked around confused after having taken a huge bite of his burger. “Not the food, the question you’ve been holding back on.”
Dean nodded and swallowed, but thought about it for a minute longer before trying to throw it into the air. “So, I get the moving away from home and the freedom and the roommates. But why Chicago? You sound too high-class to be living on this dark side of town.”
It took her by surprise, deeper than the rest of the questions. She took a breath and tried the usual brush-off. “Chicago was less expensive than New York, so here I am.”
“No, it’s more than that. I’ve seen… I’ve had that face before. What are you running away from?”
She nearly choked on her drink. But his eyes were attentive and deep. And don’t get lost Y/N, or he’s going to think you’re crazy. “It’s not a what. It was a who.” She shrank back into her chair, questioning if she was really going to tell him. He reached out for her hand, and she gave it to him. The warmth and the small squeeze spurred her on. “Honestly I didn’t want to go to the fight. I thought I’d had my fill of seeing punches thrown.” The next words died in her throat, refusing to leave.
“I know the feeling.”
Y/N looked up at him, surprised. He nodded and looked away, but didn’t add any more. He didn’t have too. He gave her hand another squeeze then stood in front of the juke. Dean had paid enough to keep it going all night, but he switched over what was playing to one of Sinatra’s new albums. Come Fly With Me began to spin, crackling to life as trumpets started the tune. He pushed as few of the tables out of the way before pulling Y/N to her feet. He started swaying slow but picked up the pace as the music hopped.
By the time Moonlight in Vermont rotated in, Y/N was as close to him as she could be with their clothes still on. He led the way, turning her and swaying while humming along. But she couldn’t help but feel the questions bouncing around in his head as his back stiffened and he swayed out of time.
“What’s on your mind?”
“Hmm?”
“You’re stiff.” She smiled into his tie as his steps faltered, making a note to thank Jo. “You’re not swaying to the music as you were,” she continued. “Something in your thoughts is blocking your steps. Do you want to talk about it?”
Dean considered it. But she was too new, freshly escaped from other problems. She didn’t need his. Her voice broke through his wonderings.
“Say what you can. Your heart will follow.”
Dean spilled in one breath, “what would you do if… have you ever… I mean… ugh. I’m not very good at this.” Dean stopped swaying. Y/N placed her hands on his chest. They were so small and delicate. He couldn’t break her. “I’m sorry; I can’t.”
“That’s alright. But you still need to talk to someone. Somebody you trust.” Y/N ran her fingers under his tie, searching for anything comforting. “I talk to Jo and Claire about anything I’m not sure about. And I’m just a phone call away.”
Dean perked up. “Are you offering to give me your number?”
Y/N blushed. “Yes. But be warned, it’s a party line. It’s probably worse than getting spied on by the police.”
“Hey, mine is too. Same boat.”
“Miss?” the bartender interrupted the moment, and Y/N realized she was again pressed up against Dean.
“Yes,” she said, stepping back.
“There’s a call for you. A young lady named Jo?”
“Oh.” Y/N looked at the clock. It was half an hour later than when she’d said she be home. She ran over and took the receiver. “Jo?”
“How are you still there? We figured you’d be home or elsewhere by now.” Y/N heard Claire giggle in the background.
“Sorry. We were, um,” Y/N turned to face away from Dean, “we were dancing to Sinatra.” She heard him snort and start to gather their things.
“Alright. Will we be seeing you tonight?” Now they were both giggling.
“No. I just didn’t realize how late it was. I’ll be home shortly.” She ignored their teasing and hung up. The waiter waved away her coins with a smile and continued to clean up the bar. “It seems I am late for curfew.”
“I’ll call you a cab.” He nodded to the waiter, who nodded back and dialed. “And before we get interrupted again, what’s the number?” She laughed and wrote it on a napkin before sliding it into his coat pocket. He wrapped her shawl around her shoulders and led her to the door. They stood in the window until the cab honked. Dean handed the cabbie his cash, despite Y/N arguing that she could pay her own way.
“What about you?” she asked, leaning out the window.
“I walked here; I’ll walk back.” He chuckled at her worried face. “I’m Dean ‘Raisin Cain’ Winchester. I’ll be fine. And I might take your advice. So, thanks for that.” The driver started up his motor. “And Y/N, thanks for coming out.”
“Thanks for asking me.” She blushed and peaked at the driver. “I hope we can do it again soon.”
“I’ll call you.” He waved after her as the cab pulled away. His apartment could have been a block away or fifty. He didn’t care; every step felt like it was on air. As for Uriel and Raphael… well, he pushed them out of his mind. They could wait till daylight. Their damned plans weren’t going to bring him down now.
Y/N sprawled out on her bed still in her roommates’ date dress. Jo and Claire were whispering like giddy snakes in the living room, waiting for her to regale them with everything. But first Y/N wanted to remember the way he felt pressed against her, the way he smelled, his smile.
What couldn’t he tell her?
She sighed the question away. When he was ready, he’d say something. And maybe, if her luck held out, she could tell him things too. Things she hadn’t even told Jo or Claire.
Our Deepest Desires 