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Dean x Reader247Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡvm0nKx6vUV
Warnings: Some language, some mildly graphic imagery247Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡTic147WLTq
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“Y/N!” Dean’s voice was faint and far away, somewhere behind you in the building. “Where the hell are you? Y/N!!” He sounded frantic.
Sam’s voice echoed to you next from the same direction, calling your name in a panic.
You looked down at your bloody hands and dropped the silver knife you were white-knuckling. It fell like it was made of lead and the metallic sound rang harshly in your ears. The crimson spatter flew from the blade as it collided with the cement, spraying dots of blood across the floor. Your breath was still coming in heaving gasps as you stared down at the corpse in front of you, which was wearing your face. Your heartbeat was thunderous in your ears.
The rushing of Sam and Dean’s footsteps was getting closer.
Still, you didn’t turn. Your eyes were fixated on the body at your feet. Your mouth was partially open in mixed horror and revulsion; sickly mirroring the identical partially open lips of the shapeshifter sprawled before you.
”Y/N!” came Dean’s voice again, now inside the room. This was possibly the only sound on earth that could rip you back to reality out of your frozen shock. You saw him there in the doorway and he made a rapid motion to rush to you but Sam grabbed him by the arm and held him back. Dean made an effort to break away. “Get off me, Sammy!” He yelled, his angry voice cleaving through the sound of your labored breaths. But Sam held him fast.
”The floor! Look at the floor, Dean!”
You watched Dean’s searing green eyes dart down to the crumpled form on the floor and take in the thick trickle of blood oozing from the lips, your lips, and the still expanding circle of crimson around the torso. Dean looked back up at you standing there numbly, shoulders still heaving, hands bathed in the sticky residue of the life you had taken. You saw in his eyes a brief wave of disbelief and something else you had rarely seen; fear. It flashed through visibly for a moment, clouding the light you were used to seeing in Dean’s eyes. You tried to find your voice but failed. You couldn’t speak.
”We don’t know if it’s her or…” Sam said. He was afraid to finish the sentence as if somehow saying the possibility would make it real.
Dean relented in his struggle and Sam released him. Sam clenched his jaw, his face conflicted and trained his gun on you cautiously. Even though Dean knew he should, that it would be smart to aim his weapon also, he couldn’t bring himself to point his pistol at you. It hung limply at his side. “Y/N?” Dean said, gravel in his throat.
You nodded, still unable to find your voice to say the words which were screaming in your head. It’s me, Dean.
Sam chewed his bottom lip, approaching you slowly, making sure that he could take the shot if he had to… You raised your hands in a sign of surrender, acutely aware of Dean flinching at the sight of your bloody palms. Sam’s gun was aimed right at your heart. You knew there were silver bullets in the chamber. And though his hands were steady, you could hear his breath shaking more and more the closer he got.
”Sammy!” Dean called suddenly. “Her knife. It’s plated in silver.”
Sam’s eyes darted down to the discarded bloody knife and back to your face. You noticed the muscles in his jaw clench again.
Dean moved next to Sam. “Y/N, baby, if that’s you, you gotta pick up the knife so we know. Just pick up the knife, nice and slow.” He was talking to you in a calming voice, soft and gentle but with the familiar gravelly quality that was so entirely Dean. The daze in your head cleared slightly. Dean was willing with all his might for it to be you standing before him. It simply wasn’t possible that the bleeding and broken corpse could be anything but a shapeshifter that had commandeered your pretty face. Dean’s stomach twisted at the very thought and he felt nauseous, remembering all the kisses he had placed on your cheeks, on those lips, along your jaw…
You nodded at Dean again and bent slowly at the knees, extending one hand and again gripping the knife. As soon as your palm closed around the hilt, Sam dropped his tense arms to his sides and let out an audible sigh, his eyes closing in relief. Dean rushed to you. He surrounded you, clutching you to him and grasping at every part of you he could reach. He rested his chin on top of your head and clasped you to his shoulder tightly, smoothing your hair. You breathed him in allowing yourself to shed a few relieved tears onto his worn jacket and wrapped your hands around him. He brought both hands up to clasp your face and pulled you away so he could look you over.
”Are you ok?” His eyes traveled rapidly over your face and down to the rest of you, checking for injury. His thumb found the small nick on your cheekbone and wiped away the bead of blood there. “You’re okay. You’re okay.” He grasped you to his chest again and you began to feel yourself revive, the remaining fog of shock lifting. You knew he was reassuring himself just as much as he was telling you.
”Dean…” you managed.
He closed his eyes and kissed the top of your head, breathing in the sweet scent of your hair. He lessened his grip on you and you pulled away just enough to look into his face. The trace of fear was still there in his green eyes, despite you being pressed against him.
”I’m okay,” you said. He nodded at you and attempted to swallow the tightness in his throat. He released his hold on you and you turned to face Sam who was staring blankly at the shapeshifter. You saw Sam gulp and avert his eyes from the pale face (indistinguishable from yours) and the blood clinging there stubbornly, a terrible contrast between the deep red and the faded lips.
”Sam,” you said softly, calling his attention to the real you, alive and breathing.
His brow furrowed as he looked at you and you noted that his eyes were glistening slightly. “Come here,” he said. He wrapped his arms delicately around your small shoulders and gave you a soft squeeze. “You scared the crap out of us,” he said as he pulled away. Sam’s eyes settled back on the shapeshifter and he tore them away again immediately. He found it too hard to look at a scene that was like one of his and Dean’s worst fears realized.
Dean had his back to you and Sam, facing the entrance to the room instead. He couldn’t bear to look at the shapeshifter. Each time his eyes had landed there it stole his breath and twisted his stomach. You wandered over to him and touched him on the arm. He glanced at you, his face drawn with anxiety. He made a motion to entwine his hand with yours but you stopped him, turning your bloody palm face up again. He pulled you in close and wrapped his arm around your shoulders instead. “Sammy,” he called over his shoulder. “Let’s finish this and get the hell out of here.”
_ _ _ _ _ _ _
The ride back to the hotel, your temporary home base, had been markedly silent. There had been something supremely disturbing to all of you about the clean-up. Even though the real you was alive and well, breathing and talking and moving, it seemed foreboding that on your first hunt with Sam and Dean something with your likeness was killed. But none of you were willing to articulate it and so you rode together in near silence. Dean had even shut off the rock music he usually blared after a ‘successful’ hunt, leaving you with only the hum of road noise. Sam sat in the backseat, resting his head against the window and staring blankly out at the white lines whirring past on the edge of the road.
You rode upfront with Dean who wouldn’t release your hand except for when he had to shift gears. His eyes wandered over to you frequently, as if he was worried he would turn away once and look back to find your seat empty.
_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _
That night the mood continued to be subdued. There were beers but they weren’t the festive celebratory ones you had all looked forward to before the hunt. It was clearer than ever that neither Sam nor Dean could shake off the sight of your limp body, bloodied and cold on the concrete and then wrapped in a sheet and burning, a scene which was all too close to what would occur should you really be gone.
You made a half-hearted toast to your first hunt with the boys, gratefully acknowledging that the good guys had won out and you were all in one piece. The Winchester brothers listened and drank but no playful comments were exchanged or sarcastic jokes proffered at the conclusion.
You and Dean bid Sam goodnight much earlier than usual, retiring to your own hotel room and getting ready for bed. Dean’s eyes followed you as you moved around the room after your shower in just a towel, drinking you and the normalcy in. His eyes were soft and pensive. You approached him and clasped his face, leaning in and brushing a soft kiss on his lips. He exhaled and reached out for you, drawing you in closer. His hands found your waist and he pressed his forehead to yours, closing his eyes, just feeling you solid underneath his hands.
”That’s not exactly how I saw your first hunt going in my head,” he murmured, almost a whisper.
”I know. Me either,” and a vision of yourself laying bloody on the concrete floor, your wide-open eyes cloudy and veiled flashed into your mind and made you shudder.
Dean felt your unease and opened his eyes to look up into yours. “You’re alright. I promise I will never let anything bad happen to you,” he pulled you in for another kiss. It was sweet, pleading, and you felt the weight of his promise behind it. His hands were gentle as he clasped your face, his fingers almost hovering over your skin. You pressed in against him deeper, wrapping your arms around his neck, your fingers finding their way into his hair. Dean’s hands slid down to your bare shoulders and the roughness of his palms against your skin, which was silk, sent you reeling with tingles.
Before long you were entwined together in the sheets. Dean’s fingertips were lightly tracing over the bare skin on your hip and along your side, sending goosebumps across your skin. You were nestled against him in the crook of his arm, your fingers linked with his free hand under the pillow. You rested your head against his bare chest, breathing him in and feeling the waves of his body heat and his strong heartbeat, alive and vibrant and pulsing. You drew gentle lines with your fingers, tracing down his chest and onto his stomach, relishing the touch of his smooth skin and the muscles underneath it. Gently you drifted off to sleep, feeling safe in his arms.
_ _ _ _ _ _
You clutched the knife in your hand, keeping yourself flat up against the wall and making your way towards the doorway as silently as possible. You’d gotten separated from Sam and Dean almost immediately after entering the building. Now you were hurrying towards the source of the movement in the next room. You steeled yourself as you made it to the doorway, pressing yourself up against the wall tightly and readjusting your grip on your silver knife. The noise inside had stopped. You tried to control your breathing, which was becoming hurried due to your racing heart.
With a flash of movement, the shapeshifter grabbed you by the wrist and whirled you into the room. You shuddered at the feeling of the strong hand on your arm and broke free, stumbling backward. You raised your knife and set your stance, circling around the figure in front of you.
The man’s face smiled, baring perfect teeth, and you wondered whose likeness it was wearing, hoping they were still alive. The shapeshifter began to writhe and you watched with revulsion as it tore and shed off the skin and hair, sending oozing patches of flesh down to the concrete with sickening noises. It sunk down in discomfort, twisting and making awful gasping noises as a new layer of skin grew over the raw, red canvas. It rose up and you felt a jerk somewhere behind your belly button. You were staring at yourself, down to the last detail. The smile it gave you now was the one you had seen yourself make in the mirror, and the eyes narrowed at you with savagery were identical to yours.
The shapeshifter lunged at you suddenly, letting out a savage cry. Even in your panic as you defended yourself you marked that the scream had been in your voice. You grappled with the shapeshifter, the most surreal struggle you had ever been in. You cried out as the shapeshifter overpowered you back into a table. Several old glass jars crashed to the floor and you were thrown down on top of them as the shifter kicked out your knees. You felt your cheek burn as the side of your face smashed into the cement and was cut by a piece of glass. Glass ground into your palms. You managed to get your hands under you and turned yourself over as the shifter lunged at you with all its weight, groping hands going for your neck to throttle you.
But the fingers never found your throat. You had intercepted the shifter with your raised silver knife. The force of the shapeshifter’s own movement plunged the knife deep into its chest, right into the heart. You continued your momentum and got up and out from under the suddenly heavy body, trying to throw it to the ground. The shifter was now on its knees, staring at you with wide eyes and surprise on its face…your face. Blood was pooling out from the wound you had inflicted, and now a trickle was also seeping from the mouth. It convulsed slightly, lips opening and closing like a fish, expelling blood. It raised one hand to reach toward you again with a fumbling hand.
You twisted the knife and used both hands to pull it from the heart with a groan, pushing the shifter in the chest and off your weapon. The body fell back and to the side, crumpling to the concrete where it rebounded slightly and rolled onto the stomach before lying still.
You were panting, your breaths painful from the tightness in your diaphragm. You stared down at the motionless body feeling as though you might vomit at the sight. This was more than you had bargained for on your first hunt, fighting and killing ‘yourself.’
There was the clatter of your knife on the ground. There was a spray of blood droplets. There were the footsteps. There was blood staining your palms. There was Dean screaming out your name. There were your feet rooted to the cement and your words caught in your throat. There was Sam holding Dean back.
There was Sam raising his gun, approaching you cautiously.
There were Sam’s pupils, dilated as he looked into your face.
There was the muscle twitch in his jaw as he clenched his teeth.
There was his finger finding the trigger.
There was the muzzle, trained on your heart.
There. There were Dean’s pleading green eyes filled with dread. You drew in a long breath.
Bang. There was the bullet streaking into your chest.
You jolted awake, gasping in the air as you sat up in bed, clutching at your chest. It had been a dream, a horrible nightmare.
”Y/N? Baby, what is it?” There. There were Dean’s green eyes, filled with worry.
You threw yourself on him, wrapping your arms around his neck and burying your face against him. You were struggling to calm your pounding heart and slow the air rushing in and out of your lungs. But I’m still breathing. My heart is still beating. It was a nightmare.
”It’s ok. It was a nightmare. You’re alright,” Dean said, guessing the reason for your panic. He enfolded you in his strong arms and embraced you tightly. “Y/N it’s ok.”
You couldn’t stop the tears from collecting in your eyes but you squeezed your eyes shut tight to prevent them from spilling out. Dean smoothed your hair and kissed the side of your face, the only part he could reach with you clutching so tightly to him.
With a shuddering sigh, you pulled back and Dean looked into your face. You refused to meet his eyes at first as he pulled the blanket up around your shoulders. “What happened?” he asked.
You hesitated, wondering how to explain it. ”I saw it. I saw it all again. I wanted to say something and I couldn’t. The blood. All of it. Except for this time, Sam pulled the trigger.” The last sentence sent into the silence seemed to deepen it somehow. “And I keep seeing that shapeshifter. But it looked just like me…so it's me. I keep seeing myself dead. I can’t,” you shook your head unable to find the words to describe it, the tears threatening to pour out again. “It’s messing me up,” you managed in a hoarse whisper.
Dean’s brow furrowed and he drew you to him again, closing his arms about you and the blanket he had wrapped you in. ‘” Hey, hey. It’s alright.” He paused and you felt his jaw tense where it was leaning against you. “I know. Seeing that… it was like my worst fear realized in front of me,” a far-off look grew in his eyes. “The mere possibility that—“ he stopped himself and pulled back from you so he could look into your face, his hands grasping your shoulders. “But it’s not real. I’m right here. I’m holding onto you and you’re here and you’re solid underneath my hands. And I’m solid underneath yours. And I swear to whatever God can hear me, that I will never let anything happen to you.” There was a fire glowing in those green eyes. “I would go through the darkness myself and come out on the other side if that’s what it takes.” You believed every word he said. He clasped your face gently in his hands, his thumb running first over the cut on your cheek and then over your bottom lip.
You couldn’t wait any longer and pressed yourself to him, landing a gentle kiss on his lips. Dean’s fingers wove into your hair and his other hand traced your jawline. He deepened the kiss and you responded hungrily, melting into him, safer than you had ever felt.
ns 15.158.61.39da2
