Dean x Reader (w/ Sam x Reader friendship)246Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡbYYJHDKUw4
Warnings: mild language246Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡUV00Egnk5M
Summary: Y/N borrows the Impala to run an errand but things quickly turn south.
246Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ0glAB9FqlT
You eyed Dean from the doorway to the library. He was slumped over a huge lore book, looking bored and frustrated. This probably wasn’t the best time to ask but…
”Hey,” you said, walking over and taking a seat in the chair next to him, giving him a small smile. “Slow going?” you asked, taking a closer glance at the text in front of him.
”How can you tell? Am I drooling with boredom?” He sat up and stretched his arms out in front of him.
You squinted down at the book. “Ugh… you know this book you’re reading isn’t bound in the usual type of leather.“
He eyed it uneasily. “What the hell does that mean?”
”I don’t think you want to know…” He gave you a disturbed look. “It’s bound in human skin, Dean.”
He wrinkled his nose and gave the book a look of disgust like he had something distasteful in his mouth. “What the—“ he pushed it away from him with the eraser side of a pencil. “Thanks, Y/N. I totally didn’t need to eat tonight.”
You gave him an amused look. “No problem.” You considered him for a moment, trying to decide what strategy to take. You leaned your head on your hand, propped up on your elbow. “So, listen…”
That got his attention. You flashed him a smile and he narrowed his eyes at you suspiciously. “What…”
”Could I maybe, possibly, please borrow the Impala?” You gave him a toothy grin.
”What? No. Baby? No. Why?” His voice got lower and huskier with each subsequent question.
You rolled your eyes at him. “I need to run to just the next town over really quickly!”
”Why?” he pressed again.
You sat up straight. “Some stupid reason. There’s some problem with one of my accounts. I got a call from the bank today,” you said dismissively.
Dean frowned and his brow furrowed. “I don’t like it.”
”What? What don’t you like?”
”Any of it,” he said gruffly, standing up and walking towards the hallway.
”Dean!” you got up and trailed behind him. “Come on. It’s just a simple errand to Smith Center. It’s like a twenty-minute drive, tops.”
He turned to look at you as he set out the glass on the kitchen counter, appraising you. “What’s wrong with your account?” he pressed again.
You gave him a look. “Can I borrow the Impala or not?”
”Answer the question,” he argued.
”You answer the question!”
He let out a low growl of frustration at you. “Doesn’t this seem a little weird to you? I mean when is the last time you used that account?”
You threw your hands up. “Oh my God! Now you’re suspicious of the bank? You are not far off from Frank-level paranoia if you keep this up, buddy.” You crossed your arms in front of your chest.
Dean stared back at you. You raised your eyebrows and met his glare, completely unwavering. He heaved a sigh and pulled out his keys, holding them out to you. As you smiled widely and reached for them he snatched them away just before your fingers could close around them. “You know the conditions,” he said.
You rolled your eyes at him. “No dogs, no hookers, no homeless people. And if I get even a scratch on it you’ll give me the silent treatment for a year and have free-rein pranking privileges for life,” you recited.
He gave you a smug smile. “That’s right. No joy riding, okay?”
You snatched the keys out of his hand. “You’d think he drove the frickin’ Batmobile or something,” you mumbled under your breath as you headed for the door.
”What was that?” Dean called after you.
”I said ‘thanks’, Dean! See you in a little while!”
_ _ _ _ _ _
You tapped your thumbs on the steering wheel, singing along loudly to the radio and savoring the purr of the engine and the wind whipping through the open window. The road stretched out before you in a smooth ribbon, not another car in sight.
You glanced at your speed on the dash, knowing the county sheriff liked to pull people over on that stretch of road. You did a double take… you could have sworn the needle had just flickered rapidly and yet your foot was smooth on the gas. You shook your head, blaming it on a trick of the light. You turned the radio down, feeling suddenly uneasy. You frowned and squinted through the windshield. The road was still empty and smooth.
Your ears pricked up at an unusual clicking sound. You looked down at the odometer, which was suddenly spinning its number dials rapidly with no particular order. Some numbers were climbing and others were falling, all spinning at different speeds. You stared, perplexed and horrified, and applied pressure to the brake. Nothing happened. You swore under your breath, looking up at the road again, still all clear. You punched down on the brake harder. There was no response from the Impala. It continued to gallop over the blacktop, accelerating if anything. You hear a metallic clunk and looked over to see that the door lock had depressed of its own volition. Fuck.
There was a surreal moment where you felt suspended over yourself, suddenly time was crawling. Your right hand left the steering wheel, reaching for your bag on the passenger seat, groping inside for either your flask of holy water or the little bag of rock salt. The Impala suddenly veered and you watched with desperation as it slid farther out of your reach and hit the passenger side door. Time crawled even slower. You turned from the bag, clutching onto the steering wheel again with both hands, knuckles white, and looking out at the scene rushing past the windows. The grass was so green and the sky was so blue, entirely cloudless, and the road glistened with shiny pebbles and the blurred reflective lines, which you were surprised you could have counted one by one in the slow-motion of that moment. One thing was certain. The road was clear. You felt weightless for one more long second, feeling your hair float out as you turned your head. And rapidly and viciously time remembered the rate at which it was supposed to flow.
The Impala turned sharply without slowing and without your instruction, skidding on melting rubber until it was turned perpendicular to the ribbon of road. You watched helplessly as the horizon began to tilt and suddenly you were deafened by shattering glass and crunching and screeching metal, screaming as it warped and tore, completely at the mercy of the asphalt. You didn’t know which direction you were facing or where your hands were or if you were still conscious. The Impala rolled feverishly until one tire caught the edge of the pavement and jerked the whole car violently, sending it spiraling into the grassy roadside ditch. The momentum of the roll finally was spent and the Impala settled upside down, wrinkled and torn like a wet newspaper, in the ditch. The last thing you saw before crushing redness and blackness suffocated you was the momentum of the odometer dial ceasing.
_ _ _ _ _ _
Sam slammed the bunker door behind him and pulled the earbuds from his ears.
Dean met him in a rush at the bottom of the stairs. “Sam—“
”Hey. What’s up?” Sam asked, wiping the sweat from his brow. He had gone on a long run, taking a much different route than usual.
”Something is wrong,” Dean said as Sam brushed past him into the center of the room.
Sam’s footsteps faltered when he heard the tone of his brother’s voice and those words. He turned back to face him. “What? What is it?”
Dean cracked his knuckles restlessly. “I don’t know. It’s this sick feeling in my gut. And Y/N took the Impala.”
Sam knit his brow. “Took it where?”
”She said the bank in the next town over called, said there was a problem with one of her accounts.” He began to rush down the hallway towards his bedroom, Sam following behind, rushing to keep up. “The whole thing sounded a little weird to me but I let her go anyway,” Dean said. He opened the armoire in his room, revealing his arsenal of guns. He grabbed his favorite pistol, checking the chamber quickly. Sam watched as he reached out and also grasped one of his larger knives.
”Whoa, Dean. Hold up,” he said, eyeing the weapons and Dean’s set jaw. “What the hell do you think is going on here?” Dean was already blazing out of the room, back towards the entryway.
”I don’t know,” he tossed over his shoulder.
”How long ago did she leave?”
”Just after you left for your little frolic through the fields,” Dean said with a scowl. Sam clenched his jaw, reminding himself that smart-ass comments were a coping mechanism for his brother…
”And you tried calling her?” Sam said.
”Did you lose your common sense as well as your sense of urgency?” Dean remarked. “Yes, I called her! I called her like 4 times! It went straight to her voicemail.”
Now Sam’s mind was starting to race too. “Alright. Alright,” he said thinking as fast as he could. “So her phone is off or out of service. Okay.” He chucked his iPod down on the table. It landed with a heavy thud that reverberated in the empty space.
”Let’s go,” Dean urged. He started up the metal staircase, his duffel bag over his shoulder.
”Go, how? We don’t have a car, Dean,” Sam called after him, clattering up the stairs in his wake. "Did you forget that we’re ways out of town?”
Dean turned around and gave him a stern look. He fished another gun out of his bag and held it out for Sam. “We’re going to borrow one.”
_ _ _ _ _ _
Sam and Dean had run to their nearest neighbor, a run-down house with far too many vehicles sitting in the front yard. Dean was hoping against hope that one of them was in working condition. They got lucky. The first old sedan they broke into and hotwired started up right away. Dean tossed the duffel bag in the back seat and they peeled out with squealing tires.
Sam was clutching onto the handle above his window, staring out through the windshield. His eyes were narrowed as he searched for any trace of the Impala. Every so often he allowed himself to glance over at Dean.
Dean’s hands were steady on the wheel, but he was grasping it much tighter than he needed to. His jaw was set. His eyes whirring over the panorama framed out by the old dirty windshield. They were driving the same route you would have to get to the next town.
Things were clear until about halfway down the highway. Dean’s mouth dropped slightly open and he punched the accelerator as the blazing red and blue lights caught his eye. His breaths were rattling in and out shallowly as dread crept over his skull and made its way into his mind.
”Dean…” Sam said. His own eyes were also glued to the flashing lights. He swallowed but it did nothing to loosen the hardened rock that seemed to have settled in his chest. As they pulled up the closer they could see the police cars and fire trucks parked alongside some shredded wreckage in the ditch. “Dean,” Sam said again, more weakly and desperately, as the demolished shape came into clearer view. “Dean, it's—“ he broke off.
Dean could barely hear Sam beside him. His brother’s voice sounded faraway and echoed harshly in his ears. His jaw dropped open wider in horror and suddenly every second felt as if it was lasting ten times longer than it should. He watched the firefighters milling around the wreckage and the police officers trying to wave them through in slow motion. He brought the car to a stop and forced it into the park, grinding the gears but not even noticing. In a second he was rushing towards the wreck and being stopped by strong hands on his chest, a police officer yelling at him, trying to hold him back. The officer’s yelling pulled him back to reality and he suddenly realized that he was stuttering out yells in response.
”Is she in there?! Goddammit, where is she?!” He craned his neck around to try and see past all the uniforms and the haze of smoke in the air. “Y/N! Y/N! Where is she?!” Dean was losing it, hot tears stinging his eyes, unwilling to believe even though he was looking at the wreckage solid in front of him. Sam grabbed onto him, restraining him from busting past the officer.
”No ambulance, Dean!” Sam shouted at him. “Look! No ambulance!” He shook his brother in an attempt to get him to listen. Dean came to a little bit, taking ragged breaths and staring unseeing at the ground. “Sir,” Sam called to the nearest officer, afraid of the answer to the question he was about to ask. “Our friend… she… that’s our car. Was she—“ he broke off.
”She’s been bused to St. Katherine’s in—“
They both tore away from the police officer, clambering back into the stolen sedan. Dean punched the accelerator, not caring whether the cops decided it was worth it to chase them or not.
_ _ _ _ _ _
Sam and Dean tore through the double doors and burst into the reception area, both talking at once.
“A car accident—“
“–She would have come in not long—“
“—room number!”
“–where she is now!”
The nurse looked at them, overwhelmed with wide eyes. “I need you to calm down! I can’t understand you!”
Sam and Dean both heaved some frantic breaths. Dean started again. “We’re looking for a car accident—“ he faltered on the word ‘victim,’ unwilling to use that word which didn’t fit you and had too many meanings, “there was a car accident, the girl who came in. Where is she? How is she?” His eyes bore into the nurse’s; pleading her to say that you were fine. “We’re…we’re family,” he finished in a gravelly drawl.
The nurse glanced down at the computer in front of her, clicking a few times and looking back up into the panicked faces in front of her. “She’s in critical condition. She’s been taken for an MRI and then is scheduled to go right into surgery.”
Sam gripped and leaned on the counter in front of him for support. “What does that mean?” he asked. He didn’t even really hear what she said in response.
Dean pushed off the counter and paced a wide circle in front of the desk, his hands clutching the sides of his head and digging into his hair. He froze as he came back to his point of origin and stared at the nurse again, eyes wide and strained and his jaw dropped slightly open. His arms fell to his sides. “Where do we wait?” he asked numbly. He hardly heard the directions to the intensive care wing and his feet trudged out the path, Sam at his side, without much conscious direction from him.
The fluorescent light and the neatly arranged furniture in the waiting room seemed out of place. It was much too orderly for a place so near to a room in which you were fighting for your life. Dean sank into one of the stiff chairs, cradling his head in his hands. He rubbed his fingers over his face. The ghost of his last conversation with you began to play through in his head unbidden and Dean felt nauseous.
Sam sat next to his brother. His face was frozen with his eyebrows raised in disbelief but still furrowed as anxiety ate at him. His eyes were wide. The whole effect left him with a disconsolate and desperate expression. He stared straight ahead at the double doors that led to the operating rooms, willing them to swing open and a doctor to come tell him it had all been a mistake, that you were perfectly fine.
_ _ _ _ _ _
Eventually, a surgeon did emerge.
”Dean,” Sam whispered hoarsely, standing quickly.
Dean’s head snapped up out of his hands and he drifted over to stand beside Sam.
”Y/N is in recovery. She’ll be moved to a room here in intensive care. You’ll be able to go in and see her when we have her settled in.”
”So she…I mean, how is she?” Sam asked hesitantly.
The doctor tightened her lips into a thin line. It was the look all doctors had before they delivered bad news. Dean felt the knots in his stomach twist brutally tighter.
”She sustained extensive trauma. We managed to stop the internal bleeding and repair much of the damage in her abdomen. But we won’t know the extent of the damage that resulted from the head trauma until she wakes up.”
”When will that be? When the anesthesia wears off?” Sam asked.
The doctor looked down at her hands. Another bad sign…
”Answer my brother,” Dean said gruffly.
”We’re not sure. The MRI showed signs of swelling in her brain. Her head collided with the steering wheel, side window, and roof of the car as it rolled.”
”Son of a bitch…” Dean turned away, a hand over his mouth.
”Her seatbelt saved her life…” the doctor added half-heartedly.
Dean rounded on her. “Did it? You just said you don’t know if she’s going to wake up!”
”Dean,” Sam said softly.
”Goddammit! I can’t just sit out here anymore! We’ve got to do something, Sam!” Dean turned away again and paced in a tight circle.
The surgeon looked at him sympathetically. “I promise you we’re doing all we can. The nurse will call you when you can come back.”
_ _ _ _ _ _
The next hour crawled by, and the next one after that. Dean continued to spiral through stretches of despondent silence, restless pacing, and angry outbursts.
Sam sat still, facing the doors, waiting with bated breath. Finally, a nurse came out and waved them over. They both rushed up to her, brows deeply lined but faces expectant and starving for news.
”Y/N is settled in her room. You can see her now if you’d like…” The Winchester brothers followed closely behind her. She led them down another sterile hallway and paused outside a door. “I need to warn you that this may be a little bit of a shock. She is pretty banged up. And we have a breathing tube in.”
”Is there any sign of her waking up soon?” Sam asked.
The nurse gave him a pitiful look and shook her head, finally pushing the door open and letting Sam and Dean into the room.
Sam gulped and looked away for a moment after his eyes had first landed on you. It was too hard to think that this could be the last state he ever saw you in… tears stung in his eyes and he tried to blink them away. He and Dean each came to one side of your bed. “Y/N…” Sam’s arms hung limply at his side and he stared down at you. He gently took hold of a couple of your fingers, the only ones that didn’t have heart rate or oxygen or temperature sensors clipped to them, and looked down at how small your hand looked in his. Somehow you had always seemed to be made of stronger stuff but he realized now that you were just flesh and bone, no steel or Kevlar.
Your face was bruised and swollen. The cuts from where the flying glass had nicked your skin or been ground into it were too numerous to count. But most alarming by far were the staples in your forehead. Those were your real adversary, the enemy.
Dean turned away and collapsed into a chair along the wall. His hands clutched to his head again. “Son of a bitch…” He tried to take a few steadying breaths but the feeling of light-headedness did not dissipate. He ventured another look at you feeling like there was a knife twisting in his stomach. Your shoulder was supported in a sling and the swelling on one side of your face would be enough to prevent your eye from opening. “This is my fault,” he said out loud. He winced at the breathing tube shoved down your throat, your lips dry and cracked, one had a split that they had put two stitches in. Even your lips were damaged…
Sam looked at his brother and shook his head. “No, Dean. It’s not.”
”Yes, it is,” Dean said as he stood and returned to your bedside. He rubbed a hand over the scruff on his face and looked at how Sam was holding your hand in his. “I had a weird feeling about that phone call and now look what—“ his gruff voice crumbled with guilt, founded or not. “I shouldn’t have given her the keys. I shouldn’t have let her go.” Dean reached out and brushed a strand of hair away from your face, his fingers so light it could have been a breeze. He reached down and cradled your hand in his, covering it with the other.
At that exact moment, when his hands closed around yours, a cacophony of beeps and buzzers began to sound and you were suddenly choking and gagging on your breathing tube. But your uninjured eye was open and you were struggling against the tubes and wires, disoriented and railing. Sam dropped your hand and flew to the doorway. “Nurse! We need a nurse in here!” he roared. Dean held your other hand tighter trying to talk to you in calm tones and preventing you from ripping the tube out and further hurting yourself.
Two nurses rushed in and quickly held you down, giving you firm directions. They removed the tube and you gasped in your first unassisted breath. They stood looking at you in surprise. Once you had stopped coughing and fallen back against the pillow your face clouded with pain. “We need to check her stitches quickly,” one of the nurses set. Sam stepped back and moved over next to Dean, who was still gripping your hand tightly. A quick look over and the nurses determined that you hadn’t done further damage to your abdomen in your sudden fit. They left again, saying a doctor would be in shortly.
Your face reflected the pain you were feeling coursing through every part of you. One of your legs felt like someone had stored hot knives in your shin. The rest of the pain was more of an overall curtain, indistinct but very much present. Yet even though the grimace on your face, you began to look around the room.
Sam was back at your other side and he grabbed your hand again. You tried to smile but the effect was more akin to a wince. “Sam,” you choked out, looking up into his sincere face, seeing the tears glistening in his eyes. “Hi Sam,” you said again. He gave your hand a squeeze and smiled down at you, wiping his face with his sleeve and sniffling a little.
”Hey Y/N,” he said through watery eyes.
You stared up at his handsome face. “Don’t give me those puppy dog eyes, Sam. I’m not ready to get out of bed yet…” he let out a small laugh at your attempt at humor despite the situation. It was an exchange you often had with him when he tried to convince you to get up and join him on an early morning run.
You turned your face slowly the other way and saw him there, standing beside you, desperation written all over his face. When you looked at him through your one bleary, un-swollen eye, he had to swallow hard to try and get rid of the lump in his throat. “Hey, hey Y/N,” he gave your hand a gentle squeeze. “How are you feeling?” his gruff voice rolled out to you like low thunder.
You stared at his face, dark and furrowed with worry. He couldn’t stop his green eyes from flickering up to the staples in your head. As you looked at him tears began to well in your own eyes for the first time. “I’m sorry,” you choked out. Your own voice felt like sandpaper in your throat suddenly. “Dean—the car. I’m sorry,” you said.
His eyes widened. “What the hell are you talking about? I don’t give a rat’s ass about the car…” he trailed off, running his thumb over the back of your hand. “You’re in one piece. That’s all that matters.”
”Mostly,” you murmured with a wry smile. “But the car. Your dad’s car,” you swallowed and looked up at the ceiling.
”Hey. Did you forget that I’m a master mechanic? We’ll fix it. That’s all. We’ll fix it up just like we’re going to get you fixed up, ok?” his tone was forceful and steady. You wondered if he was convincing himself as he said it too…
”You’re talking to me. That’s something. I thought I was going to be getting the silent treatment for a year…”
Dean finally allowed himself a short, gruff laugh and shook his head at you.
”Could you do me a favor?” you asked, looking back over at Dean.
His brow furrowed further. “Of course. What is it?”
”Could you at least wait until I’m out of the hospital before you start the free-reign pranking?”
Dean gave your hand another squeeze and a half-smile grew on his face, the furrows in his brow lessening slightly. “Yeah. I suppose I could do that.”
You looked back up at the ceiling. “Thank God,” you sighed, feeling suddenly tired. “Hey guys,” you said suddenly. They both perked up and looked at you. “Is my leg in a cast?” you asked, not moving your head from the pillow.
Sam rifled through the covers and pulled them back to see a heavy boot of plaster on one of your legs. “Yup,” he said.
You sighed again. “Ok. Because I couldn’t bend my ankle.” You swallowed again. “My head feels like it’s going to split open,” you said, turning to Dean again with a suppressed wince.
His eyes traveled up to the staples in your head again. “Poor choice of words,” he said.
”Ahh.” You gritted your teeth against the waves of pain.
Sam offered you a small cup of water and you took it gratefully. After a few long moments of silence, the question you had been waiting for was asked. “So, Y/N. Do you remember what happened?”
You knit your brow involuntarily and then immediately lessened it, cringing at the unpleasant pull on the staples in your head and the swelling and bruising on your face. You could picture the odometer spinning in your mind’s eye. You turned and looked at Dean again. “Something was messing with your car,” you said seriously.
He looked at you, perplexed, and shook his head slightly, narrowing his eyes in confusion. “What do you mean?”
”I don’t even know what I mean. But it was either a spirit or a demon or something. And it made me crash. The dials all started going crazy and the doors locked me in on their own. The brakes and the steering wheel didn’t respond to what I was doing.” You stared back up at the ceiling. “I was trying to reach for my holy water or salt when the Impala turned completely sideways and rolled.”
The silence settled heavily for another minute. When you finally glanced back down at Dean his jaw was clenched and there was anger in his eyes. “So something messed with you and my car?” he said in vague disbelief.
You nodded hesitantly.
Dean looked up at Sam, who was watching him with concern. “Sam. We’ve got work to do.”
ns 15.158.61.43da2
