The Reader needs some comfort. She finds it in cuddles with Dean and a little bit of time with guns and family.
Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader (Y/N)
Warnings/Promises: loss of a loved one, ANGST, food mention/eating, getting to shoot guns (non-live targets), FLUFF
Word Count: 1000
Note: I’m sorry this is not the smutty thing I wanted to share, but it’s what I needed. And the only thing I could seem to write. I didn’t mean to jip you guys two Dean fics in a row. Hopefully, the next fic will be better.
I couldn’t breathe. Everything hurt. Every muscle yearned for release as if from a brutal workout. My very heartstrings ached.
“Y/N?” Dean’s voice came before his gentle knock on the door. When I didn’t answer, he hesitated then slowly pushed the door open. “Oh, Y/N.”
Dean kneeled by my bed and pushed the hair out of my face. He grimaced to see how red and puffy it was. I closed my eyes, half hoping he would take the hint, and half hoping he wouldn’t. His hand smoothed across my forehead and down my cheeks, brushing away the wetness there. “What happened?”
How to say it? To say it out loud would make it final. Something I couldn’t change. Or maybe it was final.
“My mother called.” My face grew hot again. Tears I did not want threatened to spill. “I… she…” Breathe Y/N. That’s all you can do. Breathe. “My grandmother. She passed away last night.” My voice cracked. The already soaked pillowcase didn’t do a good job of hiding my face because Dean crawled in beside me.
He pulled me close so I could cry into his chest instead.
“Vampires and demons and monsters. I know how to kill them all. What was I supposed to do against this? Dementia hurt enough. Hearing the same stories over and over again. Fearing the day she would forget me. The stroke took everything else.” My voice shrank to a whisper. “She couldn’t speak a month ago.” The back of my throat hurt but I had to keep going or it would sink deeper and choke me. “But she knew me. She held my hand and squeezed it. She knew me.”
Dean rubbed my back. “She knew you. What about a couple of weeks ago? You never told me…”
“She was asleep.” I puffed a broken laugh. “She kind of looked like the pit mummies I learned about in class. Curled on her side, her hands pulled to her chest. The wrinkles I know… knew.” I thought back to it, my last visit. “I sat there for almost an hour trying to remember what she looked like over the years. My uncle tried talking me out of going to see her. Said I wouldn’t be able to see past how she looked at the end. But I could. Her squinty eyes when she laughed or was trying not to. How her nose would scrunch when she disapproved of what my brother or I was doing.”
He smiled. “I’m glad I got to meet her.”
Again, I laughed. “You were glad to have the Y/L/N breakfast. Nana gravy and Pop’s country ham especially.”
“Not only. I was also happy to hear all those embarrassing stories about you I’d never heard before.”
We shared a laugh, and I took note of how my chest didn’t hurt as much. Still, my skin buzzed. “I can’t lay here all day.”
He grunted in agreement.
“I need something to do. One thing I can complete, start to finish.” He wasn’t going to like it. “I need a case.”
“That’s the last thing you need to do right now.” Dean leaned back enough to look at my face. He thought for a moment. “We have a shooting range.”
“That should work.” I quickly crawled out of his arms and grabbed a flannel. “Let’s go.”
At first, I thought I would shoot a target or two, then maybe crash with a movie to not be alone with my thoughts. But the bunker was stocked. Like super stocked. Handguns of various weights. Tiny boot guns to heavy revolvers. The shotguns were probably the most satisfying. Whole sections of the paper targets were shredded. It matched what I felt like. What I wished I could do to the intangible illness that took my grandmother.
I shot targets for hours. Until my shoulder hurt and the smell of oil and gunpowder were burned into my nose. The smell of baking replaced it.
Dean was nearly comical to look at. The white apron had done nothing to keep flour from covering him up to his elbows or all over his face. To one side, it was a miracle he could still see the computer screen he was using for a recipe. On the counter was a large basket covered with a hand towel.
“Are those,” I gasped, “are those… Nana biscuits?”
He turned, surprised to hear my voice. “Ah, yeah. I, uh, I remembered you said something about filming your grandmother the last time she made her family-famous biscuits. I found it. I wanted to surprise you with a double batch, but it got away from me.” He held up his arms as proof.
There were enough to sink a ship. But the fridge was also stocked with everyone’s favorite jams and jellies. Dean put himself in charge of cooking up bacon while I fried bologna. Sam, when he finally got home with Cas, cooked eggs (scrambled and fried). Cas watched and snuck a biscuit with honey as an ‘appetizer.’
It was home.
After dinner, Cas pulled a few strings and snuck me in to see her heaven. I was there. The memory she was reliving was watching my brother and I play on the porch. It had been eventually closed in and functioned more like a hallway, but the kitchen alcove still had the windows that slid up and down. We were hopping through them, delivering supplies by one of Dad’s old toy covered wagons. She looked… content. Relaxed. Not in pain or searching for lost time. Like Nana.
“Thank you, Cas.” Heaven faded away as he brought us back to the bunker. I landed on the couch next to Dean.
My cheeks were warm again, and my chest ached. But in a good way. I knew it wouldn’t go away for a while. But I would get used to it, like a brick in my pocket. A weight that I would forget about for a while until she would come to mind. But that would be okay. I would be okay.
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.
Y/N gets dragged to a boxing match by her friends where she meets Dean “Raisin’ Cain” Winchester, a boxer who is forced to win or lose depending on how much money his bosses want to make in matches. Can their combined effort break the fixed boxing ring? [Series Masterlist]
The reader is trying to cook, but she can’t reach anything in the cabinets.
Pairing: Sam Winchester x Reader (Y/N)
Warnings/Promises: fluff, implied smut
Word Count: ~515
Note: For all my short readers, we’ve been here. Tall readers you can still read this and laugh at our troubles with Sam. Lucky. If you like the fic, let me know with comments and reblogs and… likes. If you want to be put on a tag list, or have a request, shoot me a message!
“Seriously, Winchesters?” You groaned as you tried to reach the casserole dish on the top shelf. “If you two would just stay out of my kitchen, I could reach everything.” With a growl you took a chair and stood on it. You also grabbed a few more things to replace at lower levels later. “This is my kitchen, and I’ll be damned if Dean moves things around again.”
“Don’t let him hear you say that. He thinks the kitchen is his.” Sam chuckled from his leaning position in the doorway when you almost fell off your perch. “If you needed help, you could’ve just asked.”
You crossed your arms. “But I don’t want to have to ask. I want to be able to reach everything without assistance.” You squinted at him as his face twitched with a grin. “What? Stop looking at me like that.”
“But you’re cute.”
“Sam shut up.”
“What? You’re just adorable. And tiny.” His sweet smile finally shined through. No, Y/N. You’re mad at him.
“I am average height, Winchester. Average. Height! You’re just ridiculously tall!”
He stepped closer to you. Balanced as you were, you didn’t have anywhere to go. “I don’t think you are, Y/N. If you were, you wouldn’t need a whole chair to stand eye to eye with me.” He stepped close enough to prove his point. It worked out better than he thought. You bobbed up on your tiptoes to actually glare at his level. He laughed at your movements. The cute one that sounded like bells that only happened when he was really feeling carefree.
“Your cute laugh isn’t going to make me less angry, stop hugging me, put me down! Put me down!” Sam lifted you up and scooted the chair out of the way. He sat you on the counter and stood between your parted legs. “No. I’m not kissing you. I’m mad at you for-“ You were cut off with a kiss. He broke away for a second, then cut you off again, repeating as needed until you leaned forward to follow his retreating lips. Your hands roamed up to the nape of his neck where your fingers could curl in his hair.
Then a thought popped into your head. A memory.
You placed a finger on Sam’s lips and pushed him away. “Dean didn’t put those dishes that high, did he? He never uses these dishes, nor can he reach the back of the top shelf either.” He averted his gaze, dimples making an appearance. “Sam?” you asked, drawing out his name.
“A guy likes to feel needed.” He leaned down to rest his forehead on yours.
“You could’ve just asked,” you repeated at him.
“Can I ask for something else first?”
You nodded, humming in delight.
Sam nuzzled his nose to yours then whispered in your ear, “will you come with me to my room?”
“Only if you help me off the counter first.” You squealed as he lifted you up where you could wrap your legs around his hips.
Dinner preparations were on hold until further notice.
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.
“Where we goin’ Mama?” You asked your mother, Amber, while swinging your feet up and down in the backseat of the car as you watched the road pass by out the window.
“We’re going to see your daddy.” She told you in a tone your three your old brain couldn’t process. She seemed sad but was using a happy tone with you.
“Daddy!” You shouted in an excited voice, your father worked a lot and you didn’t get the chance to see him often. He worked constantly with your uncle and was always driving around fighting the bad guys. There were only a few times a year when you got to see him; your birthday, father’s day, Christmas, and two or three weekends out of the year; so whenever you got to see him it was a big deal.
“I’m so excited to see Daddy, Mama!” You told her as you continued to swing your feet even faster as you grew more eager. “When we gonna get there”
“We’ll be there in about an hour, we’re going to Mr. Bobby’s house. Daddy and Uncle Dean are there.” She said with a smile.
Fifty minutes later your mom pulled up to Singer’s Auto Salvage and you were bounding up and down your car seat. “Dad, dad, dad, dad, dad.” You repeated happily over and over as you waited for your mother to open the backseat door so you could get out.
As she opened the door you looked up to the house and saw your father walking out with a confused look on his face, “Daddy!” You shouted as you ran towards him with your arms open in a ‘pick me up’ motion.
There’s a case in your hometown, but when you arrive nothing looks the same.
Pairing: None
Warnings: Angst, sense of lost time, childhood stolen angst, plot without point, fluffy ending (oops)
Word Count: 1965
Note: I wrote this around my visit to my former hometown this weekend, but I’ve tried to leave it vague and open for other towns. Happy (or un-happy) SPN Angst Day!
Taking a deep breath, you opened your eyes and stretched. Sam and Dean were in the front of Baby talking low about the case.
The case. The one in your childhood hometown.
You shot up, looking out the windows for anything familiar.
“We’re still a few miles from the state line,” Dean piped up. “You haven’t missed it.
“Ah, but have we passed the peach butt yet?” You giggled as the both looked back at you; Dean through the mirror and Sam turning sharply in his seat. “I guess not.”
“The what?” Sam asked.
“The Peach Butt. I think it’s a water tower, or used to be, but its painted like a giant peach. Even has a leaf and the little nob at the bottom. The area is known for their fruit. And fireworks. But mostly the giant peach. It’ll mean I’m almost home.”
The peach crested over the hill a little while later. Both of the boys were amused at the water tower and you taking pictures with your phone. Almost fifteen years had passed since you last saw it, when your family moved south, and it still looked just as freshly painted and bright as ever. Then the highway dipped, and the peach disappeared from sight. Within another twenty minutes, the exits for your childhood county zoomed into view.
But as Dean pulled up the ramp, everything went wrong.
There was the Waffle House, and the hotel, and the Cracker Barrel. Gone was the family-run Italian restaurant that had the best cannoli’s in the world and the little pet shop where you got your first fish. There were over twenty new business squeezed into a strip mall over what used to be the park.
“Where do I turn?” Dean asked, breaking through the rising panic in your chest.
“There should be a ‘Scott Road’ on your left. That will take you through a small town before we get to ‘Hickory Grove Road’ and the straight shot to the case.”
Sam pointed the sign out to Dean. Memories stuttered in your mind as the trees that used to grow there were replaced by a budding neighborhood, many still under construction. After a few minutes, Dean slowed Baby to a stop. The road came to a dead end with a bright orange construction sign. You stayed silent as Sam typed the address into his GPS and shared it with Dean as he turned Baby around.
Your heart throbbed in your chest. Heavy, chest-rattling thumps that felt like they were pushing molasses through your veins. Air shuddered out of your lungs in short bursts and long silent sighs. Sam kept glancing back at you. Instead of looking back at him, you watched the town roll by your window different in almost every way. Just when you thought you were completely lost, a landmark would roll by and you knew where you were.
When had everything changed?
The landmarks became more frequent as Dean drove further out of the town and into the country. Out there, you saw more boarded up windows and crumbling buildings than replacements. Then things got really familiar.
“Dean, stop the car.”
“What?”
“Stop the car. Let me drive.”
You slid into the front seat next to him at the next red light. It was cramped with all three of you shoulder to shoulder but you weren’t focused on that at the moment.
At the salon go straight. Pass the soccer field. Pass the rusted sculptures. Follow the curve to the church. Turn left on the gravel road.
“Where is it?” you mumbled under your breath. Baby jumped and tilted over the gravel. Dean growled as pebbles bounced off the doors. With a curse, you made a sudden U-turn in some random driveway that wasn’t there before. “Where is it!” you shouted, slapping your hand against the wheel.
“Where’s what?” Sam looked at his phone and the road. “There’s nothing back here.”
“That’s the problem,” you muttered. Dean cursed as you slammed on the breaks. Then you were off like a shot.
“Y/N! Wait!” Dean moved Baby to one side of the road, then followed you with Sam to the open field. When they caught up you were sitting in a tree looking over the expanse of green. “What are you doing? What were you looking for?” Dean demanded.
“My house.” Your voice was soft but hoarse. “It was right here. I used to climb this tree all the time. Nearly broke my arm dozens of times.” You shifted against the bark. The swell in the limbs where you now sat was smaller than you remembered. The whole thing felt lower to the ground. “Why is my tree here but not my house?” The question hung in the air unanswered.
Sam checked his watch and nudged Dean, who nodded back.
“Y/N, we have to get to the crime scene. We’ll come back. I promise.”
You nodded. But you didn’t move. Not until the green of the field was replaced with the green of Dean’s eyes. You never thought how similar they would be.
“Sweetheart, we have to go.” He took you hand and gently tugged on it till you hoped off the tree.
You were silent as Dean pulled up to another new neighborhood. The show house was surrounded in police tape still, and a news crew stood out front.
“I thought everything happened… three days ago?” Sam asked.
“I did too.” Dean straightened his tie and led the march over. He was the first to duck under the tape after you all showed your fake badges. Sam broke off to find the commanding officer, and Dean wandered over to listen to the news crew. That left you standing alone. You usually went to check out the scene first, but your feet wouldn’t move.
“Y/N?” A voice said behind you. “Y/N Y/L/N?” You turned around and saw an aged version of a familiar face.
“Mz. Cindi?” You couldn’t help but let a smile break out over your face. She used to baby-sit you when your parents wanted a night out. You ducked back under the tape to give her a hug.
“Oh sweetie, it’s so good to see you! Let me look at you.” She held you at arm length but still had to tilt up her head to look at you. You were taller than her in sixth grade. “A FBI agent. I’m so proud of you. Obviously, this terrible business brings you to town, but I’m sure you’ve heard enough of that already. How’s the family?”
“Oh, uh. My parents are…” Murdered. “…they died.” Vampires. “Car accident. I was away at college.” I was home. The vamps kidnapped me and bled me for days. “Other than that, I’ve been all right.”
“My poor child.” She wrapped her short arms around your waist, then jumped back with a start. “Oh goodness. Did you drive by…”
“My house, or lack of? Yeah. What happened?”
“The family living there didn’t keep it as well as your parents. It became mold infested; poisoned the people living there. The mailman saw their bodies through the window. Just terrible. It had to come down, so the city had the volunteer fire department burn it down for practice. That was seven years ago. But most of the trees are still there.”
Seven years. Odd.
“Now this house was infested with hornets. The town seems intent on dying before the corporations can get out here. Oh, who’s your tall drink of water?”
You looked over your shoulder and saw Dean walking over. “Dean? He’s my partner. Well, one of them. The other one is talking to the chief.”
“Ah,” she whispered knowingly, “but which one is yours?” You rolled your eyes as she giggled.
“Dean, this is Mz. Cindi. She used to watch after me.”
“Pleasure to meet you, ma’am. Hate to steal Y/N away from you, but we need her inside.” He walked away after you nodded.
Mz. Cindi gave your hand a squeeze. “Don’t worry about the change dear. It’s the way of the world. And there’s always a little pain when you go back home and it doesn’t look the same as before. But after you and your boys solve this, don’t wait another fifteen years to show up. There are still good people around, and we miss you. You’ll have to tell us about the world some time since you’re one of the few that made it out.”
“I’ll do that. Is your number the same?”
“Hasn’t changed in over thirty years. I’ll talk to you later, sweetie.” She gave you one last hug, then let you walk back to the house.
Dean started filling you in on the case. The surviving son came back and got hit by a second wave of hornets. But his voice sounded far away.
Change is the way of the world.
“Y/N!” Dean snapped his fingers in front of your face. “Are you okay?”
“Yeah, just thinking.”
You passed on the information about your old house after Sam joined you two inside. The timing was too perfect a number. Sam did research, and Dean cleaned his guns. You walked out to the train tracks and reminded walking the rails with your friends after school. And wondered whether any of them had moved out too. There was still a lump in your throat when Dean called you with the plan. You swallowed it and got to work. Bones to salt and burn. Ghost of the town legend to put to rest. It should have felt good, saving everyone. It should have felt like the world started turning again.
Instead, it felt like it was heavier on your shoulders.
No other families would be hurt. No more children would wake up one morning and find their family dead. Not like you had. But it didn’t feel like enough. All the lives you saved couldn’t get back the memories corrupted by the last few days. They couldn’t fix how lost you felt in a town that you used to know so well. You were almost welcomed leaving at this point.
“Do you want to get out and take pictures?” Dean broke through your brooding. He hissed as gravel bounced of the car again as he pulled to a stop in front of the field.
“Not really. Let’s just go home.” You turned your head to face inside the car.
Sam cleared his throat. “Y/N, hate to be that guy, but you know you’ll regret it. Come on.” His door creaked and his shoes made the gravel crunch. Your side of the car was shadowed before he opened your door. “Come on. I’ll take the pictures if you won’t.”
You snorted with a grin. “No, you’ll take them wrong.” Sam stepped out of the way and you stepped out. You took a deep breath before taking that last step between gravel and grass. If you’d left the shutter sound on, your phone would have driven Dean crazy. The dozens of pictures were silent instead.
Sam’s hand enveloped yours. “Go sit where you were yesterday.” He crouched a little and took your picture as you sat in your spot. “Dean, go away!” he grumbled. Dean shot back a determined “no” and placed his warm hands on your shoulders before tickling your neck. He laughed openly as you squealed.
“Come over here, moose-man. And bring your selfie-stick arms.” You giggled as Sam shot you a disgruntled look, but he posed and smiled all the same.
“I bet I can race you to the top of this tree,” Dean said several pictures later.
“Honey, you couldn’t make it half-way.” You gave him a shove that sent him sprawling into the grass, then climbed as fast as you could before Dean could catch up to you.
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.
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.
Our Deepest Desires 