Pairing: Demon!Dean x Reader335Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡvO4gjUuE5M
Warnings: language… always… 335Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ4JCICTMQLp
A/N: Oh demon!Dean… The things you do to us…
”Dean.” Crowley stared at the elder Winchester as he downed another shot of tequila. “Dean…” he said again, this time with a bit of an edge to his voice.
”Crowley!” Dean threw his arm around the shoulders of the King of Hell and let out a burp that caused several other bar-goers to turn and stare. “Loosen the knot in your undies, huh? It’s almost karaoke time!” Dean grinned. “What do you say we do a duet tonight? Come on! You know you want to!”
Crowley shrugged off Dean’s arm and stared at him. “Don’t you think it’s time we get down to business? Not that I haven’t enjoyed our… fiestas—you know I have—it’s just that I have a realm to run and I was hoping that perhaps you may be interested in a partnership of sorts…”
Dean laughed into his beer. “How many times do I have to tell you? I’m not gay, Crowley, even for the King of Hell.”
Crowley gave Dean a smile that was more of a grimace. “Charming, as always.” There was a pregnant silence. “Dean, I have a surprise for you,” Crowley said. “Perhaps you could take a brief interlude in your alcoholism and follow me.”
Dean lowered the beer from his lips and stared at Crowley questioningly. “I do just fine on my own without you hiring me a hooker,” he said.
Crowley rolled his eyes. “For Hell’s sake would you just follow me? If I have to listen to you do another rendition of some bad Ricki Martin song I’m going to carve my own heart out with that demon blade of yours…”
Dean chuckled and set down his beer. “Alright! I’ll bite. Lead the way, El Capitan!”
The demon heaved a heavy sigh. ”I would almost trade this Dean for human Dean and a side of sincerity…” Crowley muttered to himself as he slid off his barstool and started through the bar to the exit that led into the hotel.
Dean followed behind Crowley silently, all the while wishing he was still back at the bar with another one of the drink specials set in front of him, perhaps with the busty bartender sliding it over and—
”Here we are,” Crowley said, stopping in front of room number 69.
Dean stared at the door for a moment and then glanced over at Crowley. “69? Really?”
”There’s a surprise waiting for you inside,” Crowley said.
Dean smirked. “But it’s not my birthday!” he said.
”Just open the damn door,” Crowley growled. “I’ll be at the bar again if you need me.” In an instant, he was gone and Dean was staring at the hotel room number. He wondered if he should play into Crowley’s little game or perhaps just return to the bar without entering to spite him. But curiosity soon overwhelmed him and he grabbed the handle.
It was locked. Dean raised a fist and rapped lightly on the door.
In a few seconds it pulled open rather violently and he was confronted with an unexpected figure.
”Y/N,” he said, his eyebrows lifting in his surprise. “This is a surprise,” he said, flashing you a smirk.
You attempted to slam the door in his face but he threw a hand out and it bounced back towards you. You stared at each other for a long while, neither of you speaking, but a smirk growing on Dean’s handsome face, all while yours continued to darken.
“Aren’t you going to invite me in?” Dean asked, blatantly looking you up and down.
You did your best to look disgusted and leaned against the doorframe. “Screw you. Get out.”
Dean threw a hand out again as you tried to shut him out and caught the door deftly. “You’re drunk,” he said, pointing at you with an amused smirk playing across his lips. The slur in your speech was quite obvious.
“And you’re a demon!” you retorted angrily.
There was a pause where Dean pursed his lips and nodded thoughtfully, seemingly considering your words. When he next blinked he flashed black eyes at you. “Guilty,” he said with a smirk.
You scoffed at him and raised the glass tumbler to your lips again, nearly sloshing some of the liquid inside down your front as you retreated farther inside the room.
Dean slammed the door behind him and followed after you. “Aren’t you supposed to be with Sammy? You know, saving the world and helping him get over my death and subsequent ultimate betrayal?”
You peered at him with bleary eyes, marching over to sit down heavily in one of the stiff dining chairs and leaning your elbow on the cheap plastic tabletop. “I was.”
Dean studied your expression for a moment before turning back to the whiskey bottle sitting precariously on top of the television and filling his own glass. “I see. So how did you end up here then?”
”Crowley,” you growled, your nose wrinkled in obvious dislike. “He—he stole me.”
”Stole you?” Dean repeated, spinning around to face you again.
”Yeah.” You stared as unwavering as you could in your current state.
Dean considered you for a moment. “And were you already drunk when he nabbed you or did you do this to yourself afterward?” Dean asked.
You stood up abruptly, suddenly glaring at Dean. “You don’t get to ask me any questions,” you growled, pointing at him vehemently and starting to advance on him. The menacing look you had been going for was diminished by your unsteady gait.
Dean stared at you, half amused and half surprised. “I’m pretty sure I get to do whatever I want,” he countered.
”You—you have no idea…” you trailed off, faltering in your advance, but the venom in your voice was clear.
Dean now started toward you. “No idea about what?” he asked.
You didn’t shrink from him. “About what you left behind,” you replied, your chin tilted up in defiance.
Dean kept advancing on you until finally, you had no choice but to back away from him. Soon your back was up against the wall behind you. Dean stretched a handout and placed his palm flatly against the wall next to you. He leaned on it, his face close to yours. You stared into it unblinkingly, trying to conceal your nerves. There was a long heavy silence where you peered at each other. It felt like it dragged on forever before Dean spoke. “Why would Crowley bring you here?” he asked.
You gulped, trying to push the lump in your throat down with difficulty. “I don’t know,” you responded in a whisper. “Why don’t you ask him yourself? Apparently, you two are besties now.” Dean could hear the shakiness in your voice and his lips curved into a subtle smirk. He hovered for a moment and then backed away from you, leaving you up against the wall with your heart pounding.
Dean returned to the glass of liquor he had poured himself and turned back to stare at you where you were still leaning up against the wall, your chest heaving up and down in hurried but deep breaths. He found that he didn’t want to take his eyes off of you. You, on the other hand, had shut your eyes, seemingly trying to steady yourself.
”How is Sammy then?” Dean asked nonchalantly, trying his damndest to sound casual.
Your eyes flickered open and you only peered back at him.
”Hmm. That bad, huh?” Dean said. “Can’t say that I’m surprised…” He sipped at his glass of whiskey. “Sam never was able to let things go.”
You suddenly pulled away from the wall, looking angry again.
Dean glanced up at you over the rim of his glass. “What? What’d I say?”
”You—you stubborn ass! You arrogant dick!” you yelled at him. “I should kill your right here and now!” You suddenly bent and pulled a knife from a hidden sheath in your boot in a whirl of movement.
Dean laughed and held a hand up unconcernedly. “Whoa! Easy, Y/N! Let’s not do anything we’ll regret.” His indifference was only further infuriating you. “Besides, you know that won’t kill me. What’s the point?” he shrugged, again taking a deep drink from his glass before topping it off again.
”Well, it’ll make me feel better!” You rushed toward him, not even entirely sure what you were planning to do as you lunged, but in a flash Dean’s hands were encircling your wrists and his whiskey glass had dropped and bounced on the carpet, sending little rivers and drops of the liquid shimmering and skittering. You fought against his grip, still unsure what you had planned to do with your knife, and marveled at how easily he was resisting you. Fuck demons are strong… His face was only inches from yours and you could smell the booze on his breath. You were sure he could smell the whiskey on yours too.
You struggled harder against him, your heart racing. “Let go of me,” you said through gritted teeth.
His thumb traced up your wrist and broke open your trembling and clenched fist around the knife handle. It clattered to the ground and lay next to Dean’s dropped glass. Your breath was coming even more quickly now.
Dean’s thumb gently drew absent circles on your palm and he seemed to be studying your eyes. You fought the urge to tear your gaze away from his.
”Let go,” you repeated.
A small smirk tugged at the corner of his lips. “Why? Doesn’t this bring back memories?” he asked cheekily.
You lurched away from him, yanking yourself free. In the next instant, you had cocked back your fist and punched him squarely across the jaw. His head snapped back and to the side, and when he looked up again his eyes were black. You bit down on your tongue to keep from whimpering at the pain radiating up your arm from your hand and the hot, rushing feeling across your knuckles. “Obviously that was a mistake!” you growled at him, an inferno blazing in your eyes.
”You and Crowley can both go to hell, and I hope you rot there!” you spat at him. You bent a little unsteadily and grabbed your knife off the floor, kicking Dean’s dropped glass hard with your boot where it collided with the baseboard and cracked, a spindly jagged break like a lightning bolt.
Dean touched a couple of fingers to his chin and watched you striding for the door, a vague smile reappearing on his face. Just as you reached for the doorknob the door swung open to reveal Crowley standing at the threshold.
He looked at you cradling your fist and at Dean still rubbing absently at his chin. “Having a nice cozy catch-up, are we? I hope I’m not interrupting.”
”Fuck you!” you growled at the King of Hell, and you pushed past him, knocking hard into his shoulder. Surprisingly, he let you go.
”Pleasure seeing you too, love!” he called over his shoulder at you, watching you stumble a little as you turned the corner. He looked back at Dean, who was bending to pick up the glass tumbler. Crowley closed the door behind him and wandered toward Dean. “Dean,” he began.
Dean was scratching at the crack on the rim of the glass.
”Dean…” Crowley snapped again.
Dean looked up at him. “What?”
Crowley frowned at him. “Well, that went about how I expected it to, though not as I had hoped,” he said, glancing around at the shabby hotel room.
Dean let out an unconcerned scoff. “And what exactly were you hoping for? You think Y/N is going to talk me into being human again?”
”Of course not,” Crowley replied gruffly. “But I was hoping she would at least snap a sense of purpose into you. You’re drifting… aimlessly,” he said.
Dean flopped back onto one of the beds heaving an undaunted sigh. “And why should I do anything but that?”
”Because you’re missing a golden opportunity here!” Crowley urged. “You. Me. Hell! I’m proposing this business venture and all you’d like to do is ogle the bartender and bore everyone with your rendition of ‘House of the Rising Sun’ for the millionth time!”
”How is Y/N going to get home? She said you zapped her here,” Dean said, sitting up.
Crowley blinked in disbelief. “…What?”
”She was completely sloshed. How is she gonna get back to wherever Sam is?”
Crowley’s eyes narrowed involuntarily as he peered at Dean. ”…That’s what you’re worried about right now? I thought you were a demon! I’m pitching you the new apocalypse and a front-row seat and all you can say is ‘how will Y/N get home?’”
Dean shrugged. “And?“
Crowley rubbed a hand over his face. “Holy mother of torture… I think I’ve made a mistake,” he said, sighing heavily. He turned to leave.
”What mistake?” Dean called after him.
”Y/N was the mistake!” Crowley slammed the door, leaving Dean alone to pour himself another drink, still using the tumbler you had cracked.
_ _ _ _ _ _
You strode into the convenience store, several hours after you had run from Dean and Crowley, pushing open the door far harder than necessary. You’d spent the interlude in a diner, sobering up over coffee and water and a few fries. Brooding about seeing Dean again like that—brooding about what you had said, what he had said, what you had done… Now, you made eye contact with the clerk behind the counter who seemed to be heavily inspecting you and you just gave him a stiff nod.
You stopped in front of the soda machine and filled two cups—one with Coke and one with ice for your hand, which was pulsing with heat and swelling fast. You suspected you had broken it when you punched Dean. That wasn’t Dean, you reminded yourself.
You paid the clerk and returned to the car you had rented, filling the gas tank and speeding out of the parking lot and back to the highway.
In a few hours' time, you arrived back at the bunker, and when you stepped into the hallway from the garage, the darkness was almost the same as it had been outside where night had fallen heavily.
”Sam?” you called out, though truthfully you didn’t really expect an answer. You turned the corner and could see a narrow strip of light barely spilling into the hallway from his bedroom door, which was cracked open. You approached and knocked. “Sam?”
You nudged the door open farther and peeked inside. Sam was laying on his bed on his side, just a small lamp illuminating the room from his desk, which was crammed with old books and papers, though a heavy layer of undisturbed dust coated everything.
You moved farther inside and Sam looked up as you did so. “Hey,” you said, coming to sink down on the foot of the bed, mustering the best smile you could for him.
Sam pulled himself up into a sitting position with what seemed to be a great amount of effort and he leaned his back against the headboard. The heavy circles were still beneath his eyes. “Hey,” he returned. His voice was a little raspy with disuse. “Where have you been all day?” he asked.
You gave him a small smile. “I got held up with a job—it’s nothing,” you said. “I’m sorry I was gone so long.”
Sam nodded and scooted over on the mattress to make room for you to come and sit beside him. You crawled up and leaned your back against the headboard too, tilting your head back and staring at the shapes of the shadows on the wall and ceiling. You heaved a heavy sigh. “Did you get any sleep?” you asked.
”A little,” he said quietly, also allowing his eyes to wander over the shapes cast from the dim light on the desk.
”That’s good.” You knew it wasn’t enough.
Sam didn’t reply. His broad shoulders, once so strong, sagged and hung on his diminished frame. He just always seemed so weary. You did your best to try and keep some semblance of life in him, but everything was wearing on both of you.
“Cas came by today,” Sam said.
You looked at him in surprise. “Yeah?”
Sam nodded. “He thinks I’m sick,” he said flatly.
You frowned, but couldn’t help somewhat agreeing inwardly. “Why do you say that?”
”He put his hand on my head,” Sam said. “He was trying to heal me.”
A long silence stretched and you felt that familiar heavy sadness sinking in your chest and weighing down your limbs.
Sam turned his eyes away from the ceiling and looked down at his hands, limp on his lap and pale. “He can’t heal me though,” he whispered. “I’m just—broken,” he said. “From all of it.”
”Hey,” you snapped at him. “You’re not broken. Okay?” Sam looked up at the forcefulness in your voice. “We’re fine. It’s tough right now but—but it’ll be okay. We’ll figure out a way to get him back.” At that moment, you weren’t sure whether you were being truthful or lying to him and to yourself.
Sam’s doleful eyes caught yours for just a brief moment. He nodded stiffly, then turned his eyes back to his hands.
“Did you eat anything today?” you asked. When Sam didn’t answer you took that as a telling response and nodded. “Come on,” you said, patting his knee warmly. “I’ll make you something.”
It was now that Sam saw the bandage across your hand and knuckles. “What happened?” he asked as you climbed to your feet.
You had since set the break in your hand and iced it in an attempt to keep the swelling down, but your fingers were turning angry purples and reds. You laughed it off. “Just that job. It’s nothing. Come on. Dinner,” you said. “I’ll meet you in the kitchen in five,” you added, give him a piercing look that clearly told him that if he didn’t show on his own you would drag him out. You forced a smile and retreated back into the hallway.
When you made it to the kitchen you found yourself leaning over the sink, having to shut your eyes tightly for a moment against tears that were threatening to spill over. You had to be strong—for Sam… and after today, for yourself.
You forced a few deep breaths in and out and set about starting some water to boil on the stove.
Over the clattering of pots and pans, you didn’t hear the rustling of angel wings. “Y/N.”
You jumped and clutched your chest, spinning around to see Cas peering at you with those blue eyes, earnest and concerned. “Cas—you scared me,” you said.
”I’m sorry,” he said. He looked at the bandage on your hand immediately. “What happened?” he asked, approaching to examine it more closely.
”Uhh—“ you rubbed your other hand anxiously across the back of your neck, wondering how much to tell him. After a second of listening for Sam’s footsteps in the hall, you decided to divulge what had happened. “I punched Dean.”
Cas’s blue eyes flitted up to your face and narrowed in intensity. “What?”
”I left the bunker to go on a supply run and Crowley was waiting outside. Next thing I know I’m in a hotel room and Dean comes waltzing in.”
Cas dropped your injured hand from his and pressed two fingers to your forehead, instantly healing your hand and the hangover headache that was lingering. “What happened?”
”Thank you,” you said, unraveling the bandage from your hand. “Well—I was drunk—Crowley had kept me waiting in there for like six hours. And then Dean came in—“ you shook your head, anger seizing you again at just the thought of it. “He’s such an asshole,” you said, turning away from the angel and continuing to throw ingredients together into a nearby bowl. “We argued. I hit him. I left.”
Cas took a few more steps closer to you, wishing he could read what you were thinking, knowing you were feeling much more than you were letting on. “And?”
”And that’s it,” you said, turning back to look at Cas.
”Hmm.” Cas’s expression grew thoughtful, though his concern didn’t disappear. “What was Crowley’s purpose in bringing you there?”
You shrugged and your eyebrows lifted. Cas could see vulnerability in your eyes. “I honestly don’t know. I don’t know if he had a plan or if it was just to torment me… I don’t know.”
Just then, you heard a faint door close down the hall. “Don’t say anything to Sam about it. I don’t want him knowing,” you said. “I just told him I was on a job today.”
Cas nodded and moved to stand across the room as Sam entered the kitchen. He was surprised to find the angel there again and nodded at him. Cas tried to give him a smile but found it difficult when he could so easily feel Sam’s pain radiating out in waves.
The three of you sat down to spaghetti, though of course the angel didn’t eat and Sam just managed to choke down a small amount and pushed the rest around endlessly in his bowl. But at least you had gotten him out of bed. These days even that was a victory.
After dinner, Sam and Cas helped you clean up, and then Sam muttered a goodnight to both of you before retreating back to his room. You watched him wander down the hallway with a stitch in your chest that was becoming nearly permanent.
Once he disappeared around the last corner, Cas apologized that he, too, must be going. He put a firm hand on your shoulder.
”You’re doing the best you can right now,” he said, “and that is more than enough. We’ll figure this out.” The same words you had said to Sam earlier sounded again empty to your ears, but you nodded and forced a sad smile before accepting a hug from the angel. Another instant and he was gone.
_ _ _ _ _ _
You awoke in a fog of pain and your vision was tinted with a distinctive reddish glow, particularly to your right. You quickly realized from a stinging sensation that you were bleeding and the blood was dripping into your right eye. There was a crick in your neck and as you lifted your head you tried to reach an arm up to rub at it and wipe the blood off your face, but you were stopped cruelly by a handcuff linking your wrist to the arm of the chair you were seated in. A glance at your other hand revealed the same thing.
”Precaution, love. You understand.” You didn’t need to look up at the owner of the voice to know who it was.
”Crowley. What the hell is this? What are you doing?”
”You know, I took a calculated risk bringing you to see Dean the other day. I was really hoping that you would make some sort of impression on him, shake him out of his laziness and aimlessness and into some sort of action.” Crowley was seated comfortably on a throne and peering at you in complete relaxation.
”So, I’m guessing it didn’t work, then?” you replied, wincing a little as more blood ran into your eyes.
”On the contrary,” Crowley said, pulling himself up from his chair and approaching you casually. “It definitely thrust him into some sort of action. Just not the right kind, if you catch my meaning.” Crowley gave you a long penetrating look, the corners of his mouth twitched upwards and there was a twinkle in his eyes that you found extremely infuriating and annoying.
You clenched your jaw and felt your heart speed in anger. Crowley noted how your brow fell darkly over your eyes.
”He’s been throwing himself at just about anyone who will have him since that day,” Crowley said with a smile. “And that, along with something he said when you left gave me an idea.”
”What’s that? New demon pimp operation?”
He scoffed at your retort. “Please, Y/N. A little decorum, if you don’t mind. I’m a businessman, but even I have principles.” You rolled your eyes at him as obviously as you could.
Crowley moved close to you and withdrew a handkerchief from his pocket. You flinched as he wiped the rivulet of blood from your eyebrow and forehead. He looked at the crimson stain on the cloth for a brief moment before tossing it at you carelessly where it landed on your lap. You glared at him.
”As I was saying,” he said, beginning to pace in front of you. “After you left, Dean, a demon,” he sounded incredulous, “asked how you were going to get home in your intoxicated state. And now he’s sleeping with anything in a skirt,” he paused and raised his eyebrows at you, “well—even more than usual. So, I realized that despite the fact that he is now a demon, he seems to have some…” Crowley searched for the right word, “—soft spot, we’ll say, where you are concerned. After seeing you he is doing everything he can to forget about seeing you. Filling the hole with fake blondes and bad, drunken karaoke singers. As you can imagine, he’s a little too distracted at the moment to support my new business venture.”
You scowled at Crowley, ignoring the sour taste his words about Dean were leaving in your mouth. “Why do you even care? Why are you so desperate to have Dean involved anyway? Big, bad King of Hell just not drawing the crowds like he used to?” You could tell that you’d touched a nerve and allowed yourself a small smirk.
Crowley suppressed the urge to retort with a snarky response and merely continued on. ”After so many management changes it’s no surprise that many demons who used to be loyal to me are a little skeptical of the new vision for Hell that I’ve been trying to sell. So you see, having Dean Winchester onboard and participating would go a long way toward consolidating my power and putting things back on track. If I’ve tamed a Winchester, what couldn’t I do?”
”So, why the hell do you need me? It sounds like you just can’t compete with cheap booze and bad dye jobs in a skirt.”
For some reason this made Crowley smile. He strode close to you again and leaned in toward you, his hands on your wrists, pressing them into the wood of the chair arms and the handcuffs painfully. “Let’s be honest with each other, Y/N. We both know that there was something between you and Dean once upon a time.” You felt your stomach drop. “And obviously, he isn’t over it. Even as a demon.” Crowley studied your reaction and perceived the change in your breathing. “And I’m willing to wager that you aren’t either.”
You wondered if the way your eyes flitted away from his briefly gave you away.
It must have. Because Crowley smiled and straightened up. “SO. I’m going to bring you on board now. And once Dean realizes that he doesn’t need to go looking elsewhere to fill that empty hole in his little demon heart, we’ll be back on track.”
Crowley withdrew a syringe from a little black case and filled it with a dark liquid that you suspected you knew the identity of.
You struggled against your bonds as he approached you. “Don’t! Crowley—don’t!”
The King of Hell snapped his fingers and you found that you were unable to move. Your heart was racing in your chest and you felt lightheaded and dizzy. You were desperate to move, but it was impossible.
Crowley slipped the needle into your arm and depressed the syringe stopper delivering a dose of demon blood right into your veins.
_ _ _ _ _ _
Cas arrived in the bunker in the late afternoon and first checked the library and the kitchen. There was no sign of you, so he rushed farther inside, calling your name and receiving only lonely silence in response.
”Y/N?” His footsteps echoed up the hallway. “Y/N!” There was no sign of you. Finally, he noticed the cold light beneath Sam’s door and he knocked hard.
”Cas? What’s the matter?” Sam’s voice came drifting out from inside his room and Cas pushed inside frantically.
Sam was laying on his bed, propped up on one elbow. His hair was disheveled, mirroring how Cas’s tie and trench coat were askew, which the younger Winchester found more alarming than the angel’s yelling had been a moment before. “What’s the matter?”
Cas felt a knife to his heart at the heavy circles and haunted look on Sam’s face. ”When did you last see Y/N?” the angel asked desperately.
”Just before I went to sleep. Last night, when you were here,” Sam said, now sitting up on the edge of his bed. “What’s going on?”
Cas’s brow was heavy. “That was almost two days ago. You didn’t see her this morning? Or yesterday?”
Sam mouthed wordlessly and glanced at his phone on the nightstand, picking it up to look at the time. “I thought it was still morning now—I—Cas? What’s happening?” Now a sick feeling was growing in Sam’s stomach as Cas rubbed a hand over his mouth and paced in a quick, tight circle before settling himself again.
”I caught wind of some intelligence. I believe that Crowley has Y/N and is going to…” he trailed off.
Sam’s face was desperate. “Going to what? Cas. Tell me. What’s happening?”
”I think Crowley is turning Y/N into a demon.”
The words hit Sam like a punch in the stomach and he felt the air rush from his lungs, leaving him winded and sick. With Dean gone you were all he had—and now… His hazel eyes were wide and glistening as he looked up at Cas, dumbfounded. Sam would be alone. How could he possibly get both of you back when he couldn’t even save Dean? His mouth fell partially open and his eyes were unseeing. He felt his hands begin to shake and he smoothed them over his sweatpants, his palms sweaty.
Cas watched Sam spiraling with the news. “Sam,” he said, trying to call him back to the present and out of whatever reeling thoughts he was being consumed by. “Sam!”
Still, Sam sat motionless on the edge of the bed, seemingly staring at nothing, his expression hopeless and vague.
”Sam!” Cas yelled, grasping the youngest Winchester firmly by his shoulders. It was enough to call him back to the present. “Sam, it is time to pull yourself up. Y/N has been here for you this whole time and now she needs us.” He stared deeply into Sam’s hazel eyes, still a little wide, and nodded. “Can you do that?”
Sam’s fist tightened. “Okay.”
”And perhaps we will be able to save Dean at the same time.”
Sam nodded and stood. And though most of his muscles felt weak, his heart began bounding in strength again. He had a job to do.
ns 15.158.61.39da2
