Pairing: Demon!Dean x Reader300Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡW43NNWW843
Warnings: language
300Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ4dGVlB7q3p
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!” Nothing. Finally, he noticed the cold light beneath Sam’s door and he knocked hard. “Sam!”
”Cas? What’s the matter?” Sam’s disoriented 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 is it?”
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.
”Uhh, 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 date and 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 something. I believe that Crowley has Y/N and is going to…” he trailed off.
Sam’s face was desperate and he hung with horror on the angel’s words. “Going to what? Cas. Tell me. What’s happening?”
”I think Crowley is trying to turn 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. He tried wrapping his mind around what the words Cas had just said would actually mean. You. A demon. With Dean gone you were all he had—and now… His hazel eyes were wide and glistening as he looked up at Cas, dumbfounded. 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. “It is time to pull yourself up. Y/N has been here for you this whole time. She’s been there for me and for Dean more times than I can count. And now we need to be there for her.” He stared deeply into Sam’s hazel eyes, still a little wide, and nodded. “Can you do that?”
The silence stretched for a moment and Sam admitted to himself that what he was chiefly feeling wasn’t anger, though that was there too, it was fear; fear of another loss. He couldn’t withstand another loss. Sam’s fist tightened. “Okay.” He managed to nod.
”And perhaps we will be able to save Dean at the same time.”
Sam nodded again and stood, though a little shakily. And despite most of his muscles feeling weak, his heart began bounding in strength again. He had a job to do.
_ _ _ _ _ _
”You’ve reached the cell phone of Dean Winchester, demon extraordinaire, and your #1 call for a good time. You know what to do.” “Oh for the sake of all demonkind—this is ridiculous.” Crowley pinched the bridge of his nose and waited for the beep to sound. “Dean! It’s Crowley. This is urgent so if you could please get over here at your earliest convenience it would be much appreciated.” He hung up the phone and his eyes found you still bound in the chair in the middle of the room. He checked the time and realized it was time for the next injection.
For a brief moment, the King of Hell hesitated. He had never actually turned a human to a demon this way before—by injecting demon blood. The idea of course came from his own time in the church with Sam—when he acquired a specific craving for the humanity Sam’s blood had given him… There was a vague worry in his mind that you wouldn’t survive this transformation. After all, you had a human soul still and he wasn’t sure what the demon blood would do to that. It was risky. Generally, he would prefer the old way of centuries of torture in Hell before humanity was stripped from the victim, but frankly, in the current political climate and with the pressing issues troubling him (read: rogue demon Winchester), he didn’t have the time to wait.
He approached you with a syringe ready. He was cautious. Your head was slumped forward and your hands were limp in their handcuffs. There were already numerous needle marks on your arms from your previous injections.
Crowley was hoping you would stay unconscious for this one. Each time he injected you so far you had exhibited more pain than the last. It wasn’t that he was concerned about you, he told himself, it was just that—well, he didn’t like the way you looked at him afterward like you were imagining dismembering his meat suit.
Unfortunately for Crowley, you roused as soon as he touched your arm and your head snapped up. You glared at him with a savage light in your eyes. For a moment he thought it faded… You would pull in a few steadying breaths and it seemed to withdraw, but the next instant it would rise again and he would have to snap his fingers to restrain you so you were still enough for him to give the injection.
You cringed as the demon blood surged into your arm. It took all you had to suppress a scream of pain as it began to travel through your veins. It burned like a shot of acid. You could track its progress through you from the heat and scalding of it, setting your nerves on fire. You shut your eyes tight, simply hoping that you would pass out from the pain again before you couldn’t hold in your agony. You didn’t want to give Crowley the chance of any sick satisfaction… You began to tremble violently from head to toe, your jaw locking, your teeth clenching down on one of your cheeks involuntarily. A little trickle of blood leaked from the corner of your mouth.
Crowley stood in the middle of the room watching with wide eyes, the empty syringe still in his hand. “Y/N—stop that,” he growled. He thought perhaps you were putting on a show in hopes that he would relent. “Y/N!” But as he watched, your eyes rolled back in your head and you seized more violently—once—twice—three times. The syringe fell from the King of Hell’s grip and clattered on the floor. A crimson droplet leaked from between your lips again and ran down your chin. More blood flowed from deep wounds on your wrists where your bindings had sliced into your flesh during your fit. “Son of a—“ Crowley rushed over to you and lifted your limp head, examining your face, any pretense that he was unconcerned gone like a puff of smoke vanishing into the empty space surrounding you both. “Y/N!” He slapped your cheek and shook you. Your skin was feverish to the touch. Crowley released your face and your chin slumped to your chest. He grasped your shoulders in the last effort to rouse you, yelling your name, shaking you, but there was no modicum of a response evident.
Crowley released you yet again and hesitated as he leaned over you. His heart was thundering away in his chest. A long moment stretched where he simply hovered there, partially bent, hanging over your still frame. Finally, he gulped at the annoying lump in his throat and pressed a finger into the side of your neck, just below the jaw.
After a careful pause, he staggered back.
There wasn’t a pulse. Not that he could feel.
But what did that mean? Was this just a necessary step as you were transitioning from human to demon? Or had his whole plan been a complete and utterly failed experiment that had just resulted in your death?
Crowley straightened up with a somewhat panicked feeling rising in his chest, tightening a band around his lungs.
It was just then, possibly the absolute worst time, when the King of Hell’s cell phone rang. He fished it out of his suit coat pocket absently, still studying your silent and motionless form slumped in front of him before allowing himself to glance down at the screen.
Incoming call – D. Winchester
”Bollocks…” Crowley muttered. He paced away toward the door—he wasn’t sure why… you weren’t going to be making any sound in the background–and pressed his phone to his ear. “You’ve finally decided to respond to my twenty or so messages,” Crowley said, irritation easily audible in his voice in the sharp edge on his words.
There was noise in the background on Dean’s end. It sounded like a boisterous pub. “Yeah, well, what can I say? Curiosity finally got the best of me.” Dean belched loudly into the speaker. “What’s so urgent, el capitán?”
Crowley wrinkled his nose at the burp. “Nothing I will be divulging or discussing over the phone. And if you know what’s good for you, you’ll sober up and get here as soon as you can.”
”Aww, come on, Crowley,” Dean threw back another shot of tequila. “It’s all work and no play with you lately. Is this about the management of the lower level again? Because I gotta say, the case you make for me helping you run things is not compelling.”
Crowley’s patience was wearing thin, but it was also somewhat tempered now with a twinge of worry. He couldn’t predict how this new demon version of Dean was going to react to the news that you were dead… The old Dean? Generally consistent in angry and righteous responses. But this one—absolutely unpredictable. One minute he could be singing ‘Living la Vida Loca’ and the next he gave you a look that suggested he had a long list of ways to destroy you filed away for a rainy day. “Just get here!” Crowley snapped. He ended the call abruptly and spun around again to take a look at your crumpled form at the other end of the room.
There seemed to be no change. If anything, the color in your face was graying. With another heavy sigh, Crowley conjured himself a chair (gold and scarlet cushioned throne, of course) and a substantial glass of Scotch and seated himself, facing your direction.
All he could do now was wait. For whatever would come.
_ _ _ _ _ _
Dean tossed back another shot of tequila and slammed the glass down on the bar. A curvy girl with long, glossy black hair slid her hand into his back pocket and Dean partially turned to give her a boyish grin. “Hey,” he said. “Getting handsy now, are we?” he said.
”Why don’t we get out of here, cowboy?” she whispered, her lips close to his ear. She bit her bottom lip and gave him an unmistakable look of desire. “My place is close.”
Dean took in her expression and flashed another grin. “I’d love to but I just got word that I’m needed elsewhere.”
Her face dropped. “What? Now?” She scoffed, somewhat recoiling from his rejection. “You’re wasted. Don’t lie to me. There’s no way you’re going into work now.”
Dean straightened up, the grin sliding from his face now too. “Who said anything about work? Sorry to disappoint you, sweetheart, but I’m afraid tonight is over.”
”So, you just led me on all night, and now you’re just gonna leave?” she asked angrily.
Dean could feel his temper flaring. “I don’t remember making you any promises. It’s not like I agreed to pick out curtains,” he said dismissively. He turned back to the bar to pay his tab and dropped a healthy tip down just as a splash of cold liquid hit him in the neck and ran down his back and over his shoulders.
Dean froze, every muscle tensed, and his jaw clenched.
She’d thrown her drink on him.
He put his wallet back in his pocket and spun slowly on the spot to face her. She was standing there, looking pissed but self-satisfied, with her empty glass still in her hand.
Dean took a few measured steps toward her until he was close. She was breathing hard, presumably from anger at his dismissal of her. Dean peered down at her and she continued to scowl up at him.
But a blink and his eyes went from that deep and mesmerizing shade of green to solid black, and she gasped and stumbled backward in fear.
The next moment when she looked back up, still off-balance, they were just as they had been all night; multi-faceted green irises.
The corners of Dean’s mouth flicked upwards in a smirk and he breezed out the door, leaving her wondering if she was just too drunk and had imagined it, or if what she had just thought she had seen had really happened.
_ _ _ _ _ _
Crowley’s phone began to buzz in his pocket and he shifted his glass of Scotch to the other hand so he could answer it. “Go,” he said. “Right. Of course. Send him down.” Crowley hung up hastily and downed the rest of his drink. He was on his feet in another instant, his throne disappearing with an absent wave of the hand, and he rushed to stand outside the door with one final glance at your form, now laid out on a metal table. You were no longer restrained—either you were actually, really, and truly dead, or you would awake as a demon, so Crowley didn’t see further need for shackles. Your hair fell away from your face exposing skin that was just too pale and too gray, and lips that normally had a warm blush to them were an unnatural blue.
Injection and track marks crisscrossed your arms, blemishes that remained as a result of Crowley’s perhaps ill-conceived plans.
But there was no taking them back now. There was only determining the next move.
The heavy door slammed behind him as faint footsteps echoed toward him from the long, dark hallway stretched out before the King of Hell’s feet. And Dean the Demon was the source.
He stopped when he reached Crowley, looking relaxed despite being summoned for some sort of urgent meeting. “You’re getting to be a real nuisance, you know that, Crowley?”
”Apologies,” Crowley replied. “But I think you’ll be glad you took time out of your busy schedule.”
”Well, what’s so important that you had to drag me away from my very full social calendar?” Dean inquired curiously. “And if this is another job pitch, I swear to Hell that I’m going to turn you inside out.”
Crowley cleared his throat. “Noted. But there’s something you need to see,” he said. With that, Crowley led Dean back through the heavy door and into the room where you were laid out in the center.
Now Crowley’s nerves were requiring quite a bit of focus to ignore…
Dean didn’t seem to register just who the body was in the middle of the room at first and he only glanced at it, somewhat puzzled, and gave a measured glance over his shoulder at Crowley. But as he moved closer with curiosity he came to rest, frozen, about ten paces away.
Crowley lagged back by the door. There was a heavy and uncomfortable silence that stretched as Dean only continued to stare at the laden table.
Finally, he began to close the distance to you, his steps deliberate and steady, but somehow resistant, as if he didn’t want to get close enough to confirm what he thought he was looking at.
Crowley looked on with apprehension tinged with curiosity as Dean finally stopped at your side.
Dean’s brow drew down darkly over his green eyes and they floated over every inch of you, finally settling on your face; eyes closed, lips slightly parted, skin sallow. He raised a hand and reached out until his fingertips barely brushed your cheek. He withdrew immediately after contact—your skin was cold and it threatened to send a shudder through his chest. Next, his hand drifted down to your arm and his eyes settled on the strange marks there.
A shadow deepened on his face and his gruff voice broke the silence. “What the hell happened?” he demanded of Crowley. But his voice was controlled. His hand was closed gingerly around your wrist and rotating your arm so he could examine the marks marring your skin.
Crowley cleared his throat. “I’m not entirely sure—“ He had barely gotten the words out before Dean was on him, slamming his back into the wall behind him, a strong hand gripping his throat.
Dean’s eyes were black, and rage boiled in the darkness. “Don’t. Lie. To me,” he growled through clenched teeth.
Crowley struggled to talk through the compression on his throat. “It wasn’t supposed to happen—accident–!” he sputtered.
”You killed Y/N!? You KILLED Y/N!” Dean pressed the King of Hell harder against the wall. “WHAT THE HELL WERE YOU DOING?!”
Crowley managed to come to his senses enough to disappear from Dean’s grip, leaving him gripping only air which he quickly crushed into his fist, and reappear behind him. He held one hand up and rubbed at his throat with the other, out of breath, before straightening his tie. “I promise you, Squirrel, that Y/N’s death was not what I had intended…”
Dean stalked toward him, a fierce fire burning in his eyes still. “What you intended?” His voice was a growl but the stifled rage was almost more threatening than his blatant attack. “What the hell were you doing? Why did you even have her? What are those marks on her?” he demanded.
Crowley held his ground. “I was trying to turn her into a demon!”
Dean seemed frozen again, but his glare had lost none of its potent fire. “Why?”
Crowley hesitated. He hadn’t forgotten Dean’s warning that if this was about helping him with the hell he’d gladly rearrange his meat suit. He shrugged, trying hard to remain nonchalant and appear unconcerned. “I just thought, considering how the two of you got on at your last little meeting, that this warranted further exploration. With a few minor adjustments.”
”Minor adjustments,” Dean repeated. “Abducting Y/N and trying to turn her into a demon is not minor.” His face darkened again. “And I warned you once, Crowley. Don’t. Lie. To me.”
Crowley knew he needed to concede. “Well, I’ll admit that I was hoping that I could use Y/N to persuade you to assist me with—“
Dean’s eyes narrowed dangerously. “I knew it. This was all to compel me to help you with your insignificant, pointless, selfish plans with Hell. It’s not my fault you have an inferiority complex and weigh your self-worth based on the number of minions willing to shine your shoes! You idiotic, pitiful little–I should gut you right now—“ Dean started menacingly toward the King of Hell but found that Crowley suddenly wasn’t there. “And if you had turned her? You can’t even handle Y/N as a human. How were you going to control her as a demon?”
Now Crowley’s anger flared. “Can’t handle Y/N as a human? Am I confused or did I BLOODY WELL KIDNAP HER TWICE?! Right from under the nose of that vegetable brother of yours, mind you, and your ex-friend with wings!”
Dean’s eyes went black. “You’re the King of Hell. You make deals all the time. You use whatever demon voodoo you have to and bring her back. Now,” he said. His tone was unmistakably an order and there was no veil over the threatening tone.
Crowley stood silently glaring back at Dean.
”I’m not asking you, Crowley.”
Crowley resumed his usual business-like tone. “Ahh, yes… Do you really think I didn’t consider that option before I called you here? Believe me, I’d rather have undone what I’ve done without you ever knowing about it. Do you think I was looking forward to bringing you here and explaining this to you? But–there seems to be a bit of a complication with bringing her back…”
”I don’t care if there are a hundred complications, Crowley! YOU FIX IT!”
“Yes, you see, I would… But I’m not entirely sure where she is or even what is happening.”
Anger swelled in Dean’s chest again. “What’s happening? I think the dead body on that goddamn table is pretty clear!”
Crowley was losing his patience with Dean’s yelling and attempts to boss him around. “By the time most humans go demon, they don’t have anything resembling a soul left. Y/N still had a human soul when I started the process. I’m not sure what happened to it, or what that would mean… And there still remains the possibility that this is just—part of the process. Your own transformation took some extended measure of patience if you remember.”
But Dean wasn’t receptive to his excuses or pro-offered possibilities. “I don’t give a rat’s ass about any of that. I don’t care if Y/N is in Heaven, or Hell, or Purgatory, or fucking who-knows-nowhere-land. I don’t care if she does wake up as a demon,” he began. He was slowly stepping toward Crowley and so far the King refused to yield, refused to step back in the face of his advance. “I don’t care if you find a magic potion that turns her back to a human as good as new with only happy memories… The fact is you fucked up. Big time. You dragged her into this. You dragged her into something she shouldn’t be a part of. And I perfectly intend to take you apart piece by piece until you’re begging to go back to being Lucifer’s little puppy dog. Got it?”
It struck Crowley despite the warning rising in his mind how unusual this was… Dean, a demon, who rarely showed any thought for anything that couldn’t be poured as a double or invited back to a motel room for a no-strings-attached romp, was actually pissed that Crowley had nabbed you… This suggested that despite being a demon, buried deep down, Dean still felt something for you. And the fact that Crowley had shrewdly perceived that that connection still existed gave him only the tiniest measure of gratification under the current circumstances. And it also scared him. Because it reminded him of his own weakness and craving for humanity…
But Crowley only cleared his throat and straightened his coat and tie again. “Well. I suppose that is my cue.” And he was gone.
”CROWLEY!” Dean roared, though he knew it wouldn’t do any good. Crowley had disappeared as he was want to do at the slightest hint that a fight may not go easily his way.
And Dean was alone now with your corpse. Hatred was boiling in his stomach. He couldn’t turn and look at you again. Not yet. Not now. Dean let out a violent yell and smashed his fist into the concrete wall, leaving a dent the size of his fist.
He would deal with Crowley.
And he now realized he would probably also have to deal with Sam and Cas sooner rather than later. Crowley had snatched you, and he was willing to bet that meant that they couldn’t be far behind…
_ _ _ _ _ _
”What is it?” Sam asked, urgently, his hands gripping the steering wheel far harder than was necessary.
Cas had just shut his eyes and looked vaguely ill. He shook his head. “I’m—I’m not sure. Something isn’t right.”
Worry grew on Sam’s face. “What?”
Cas shook his head. “I’m not sure. It’s just a feeling.”
Sam’s face was panicked. “You have to give me more of an explanation than that, Cas.”
”It’s difficult,” the angel said, pressing a hand to his forehead like he had a growing pain behind his eyes. “It’s almost as if—something has shifted.”
”What do you mean? Something? What?”
”I’m not entirely sure. Like, something has changed in the balance of power.”
Sam’s throat tightened. “What is it? Y/N? Dean?”
”I don’t know. I suppose we will find out,” Cas said.
Sam’s jaw tensed and he slammed his foot down, pressing the pedal to the floor.
ns 15.158.61.43da2
