Demon!Dean x Reader299Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ4mjwnXiesf
Warnings: Swearing? There MIGHT be some naughtiness. Maybe. Maybe not.299Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡjLCAUKG2PQ
299Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡWtiHzQnGeU
You couldn’t help letting out a surprised laugh. “What, you’re stealing my bit now?” you asked him, trying to keep your tone unconcerned. “You know, the sudden and mysterious appearing is supposed to be my thing.” You turned on your bar stool and faced him.
His green eyes were surveying you. “I had a very interesting conversation with Sam, Cas, and Crowley recently,” he said, casually sitting down next to you and flagging down the bartender for a beer.
You let out another careless laugh. “God, Crowley is still around? I really thought Sam and Cas would have skewered him by now.” You kept your eyes toward the shelves of liquor behind the bar now but you could feel Dean’s on you.
Dean ignored you and forged ahead. “They told me somethin’. Something about you.”
You drained the rest of your beer, pulled a wad of cash out of your pocket, and tossed a generous amount down on the bar. “Look, I can see what you’re doing here, trying to be all vague and intriguing but there’s one important thing you forgot,” you said.
“And what is that?”
You looked him squarely in the face. “I really don’t give a shit.” You strode to the exit and headed down the block toward the shitty motel you had been using as home base, trying to shake off how strangely intense seeing Dean so suddenly was. You wondered if he had felt that way when you surprised him. It was like someone jerked on a knot you didn’t know you had deep in your chest. You were throwing all your gear back into your duffel bag, grabbing your jeans off the floor, tossing in your knife, when the hotel room door burst open. The silhouette was instantly recognizable.
”What the fuck are you doing?” you barked. “I shouldn’t need to spell this out for you again, Winchester.”
“‘Dean,’” he said seriously, pacing toward you.
”What?”
“You never call me ‘Winchester.’ You call me ‘Dean.’”
He was only a few feet from you now. The humid outside air was streaming in through the open door, making the atmosphere in the room suddenly feel thick and heavy. “I thought I made myself pretty clear during our last little rendezvous, but your skull is apparently thicker than even I estimated.”
“Then why haven’t you killed me yet?” he challenged you.
You planted your feet and glared at him. “Oh, believe me. I’m thinking about it.”
“I don’t think you want to,” he said, shoving his hands into his pockets. His voice was low and for some reason, perhaps because of the unacknowledged truth behind his words, it sent a shiver running up your spine.
You could feel your breathing and pulse quicken but you rolled your eyes and simply reached for your duffel bag. But Dean’s hand closed around your arm.
Your eyes shot up to meet his. “Let go of me,” you said dangerously.
He didn’t move. He was extremely close to you now, and his hand clasped onto your arm felt white-hot.
”I mean it, Dean. I’m not asking.”
He studied you fervently, his green eyes narrowed and burning into yours. “You’re running,” he said.
”I don’t have to run from anything.” You yanked your arm away from him.
”Then why are you?”
”Fuck you. You don’t know anything about me! You think because you’ve been tailing me all over the country like a lost puppy that you have me figured out?”
Dean’s breathing was hurried now too. “I know enough,” he said. “I know what you’ve been doing and now I think I know why. I also know that despite the rumors flying around you aren’t the least bit interested in taking over Hell. But I’m not about to tell Crowley that.”
He had your attention.
“You’re running because you’re angry. And afraid,” he said.
You let out an audible scoff. You blinked and your eyes went black. “What could possibly be scaring me? You of all people should know what this feels like.”
Dean nodded. “I do know. That’s the point.”
You started to turn away. “You’re wasting my time. If you know what I’ve been doing, which I don’t doubt because of the aforementioned trailing me all over Creation, then you know I have an endless line of targets.”
Dean chuckled to himself and your eyes flitted over to him involuntarily. “You really are the worst demon,” he said. There was an annoying boyish smirk on his face. You felt a swell of anger rise like a rogue wave in your chest.
”What the hell did you just say to me?”
“It’s pretty obvious from the look on your face that you heard me,” he responded. “You can’t even go out like a demon and kill just to kill. Don’t you see that? You’re killing shitty humans and your own kind. It’s like some part of you still needs to justify what you’re doing, some corner of your black little demon heart isn’t completely giving in to the chaos.” He laughed again. “It’s kind of hilarious if you think about it. You’re not free at all.”
You glared at him and ignored the obnoxious tightness in your throat, doing your best to brush off some stupid feeling Dean had elicited. Why did that keep happening? You gathered your gear up again, turned your back on him, and made a step toward the door but his next words froze you in place.
“It doesn’t help, does it? The killing. Not really.”
When you didn’t make any other move to leave, Dean continued. “You’re just doing it to occupy your time. You’re trying to fill that emptiness that you think is going to consume you. That’s the thing you don’t know about being a demon until you are one: it’s rage, and it’s freedom, and it’s violence, and it’s power, but it’s all empty. You can’t feel things like a human can. Drugs, booze, sex. Even the highest, most heightened sensations are deadened compared to before. No wonder Crowley started shooting up with human blood…”
”Crowley’s weak,” you retorted.
Dean laughed and nodded. “It’s all relative.”
You wouldn’t turn to face him.
”But you’re furious. You didn’t choose this. You didn’t choose this emptiness. It was forced on you. And part of you blames me, because if I hadn’t gone dark side and refused to come back or to play nice then Crowley would never have turned you.” Dean’s voice was casual. He was keeping it forcibly so. He knew if the words he was saying were right he didn’t need to inject them with intensity, and the fact that you were still standing there, the breeze coming through the open motel room door sending your hair fluttering, told him he was right. “So you’re angry at the emptiness that you didn’t choose, but you’re even more afraid of the fact that, even as a demon, I’m the one thing that makes it stop.”
You turned around to look at Dean, keeping your expression emotionless at first before coercing it into what you hoped was a smug smile. “Isn’t that typical? The world revolves solely around the arrogance of Dean Winchester. Here’s some advice: stop projecting your bullshit onto me, Dean.”
“Face it. We’re connected. And you’re running scared.”
”Or perhaps it’s just possible that you’ve got the whole thing wrong,” you retorted. Your heart was hammering inside your chest, but you concealed your nerves, refusing to acknowledge that if Dean was wrong you wouldn’t have nerves to conceal.
Now he was getting a little angry at your obstinacy, at your denial when he felt he had just bared much of himself that was left. He knew he had it right. “I know you felt it,” he demanded.
“The only thing I feel now is my blade when it goes into my target.” You started to turn to leave, but just then Dean made a move toward you as if he planned to grab onto you again. Instinctively you flicked a hand up and he was sent flying into the opposite wall, his back colliding with the drywall and leaving a mark as a meteor had just struck.
As he climbed to his feet you adjusted your duffel bag on your shoulder and finally turned to leave again but there were suddenly three other demons in the room. “Oh, for fuck’s sake,” you muttered, immediately dropping your bag again. “I’ve told you to stop—fucking—following—me!” you yelled.
Dean was shaking off the stunned feeling left from colliding with the wall, but he quickly snapped out of it when you raised a hand, palm out, and the three demons who had just arrived disintegrated. Not exorcised, or killed with a demon-killing knife, or a spell… Disintegrated. To three piles of ash. The next instant, you and your gear were gone. Dean watched the ash catch and drift in the current of air still streaming in from outside.
What the fuck had he just seen? Shit. Maybe Sam, Cas, and Crowley had it right. You’d thrown him, a fucking Knight of Hell, across the room like it was nothing and then vaporized demons and their vessels in a split second. Fuck.
_ _ _ _ _ _
If demon blood could boil within veins, curdle and roll as it pumped through a vessel, yours was positively bubbling over. You kicked out at the nearby coffee table with a wild scream of frustration and sent it sprawling and splintering across the room. You could feel your entire frame heaving up and down as you breathe. Anger was seething out of your pores.
You stared down at the corpse on the floor in front of you. The pool of blood from her slit throat was so dark that it was almost black on the beige carpet where it had soaked in. The top of the saturated layer was dry and flaky. She’d been dead a while. At least a day. You jammed your clean knife back into the sheath at your hip. You stared down at the extinguished husk before you. Fuck. You had been really looking forward to offing this bitch too. She was nearly as bad as they came.
There was no sign of a struggle in the house beside the coffee table you yourself had destroyed. The doors were all bolted and chained from the inside. The windows were all in perfect condition, latched and whole. If you didn’t know any better, you would have said you had done the job yourself.
You shut your eyes and when you opened them again you were hidden in the shadows of a copse of trees in the backyard. You glanced around you slowly, willing there to be a shift in the shadows, a hint of movement. Something for you to chase down. Something explaining your spoiled planning.
This was the fourth time this month you had selected a target, did careful surveillance, stalked them, learned their habits, and showed up for the kill to find that someone had done it first. And not just the fourth target; four targets in a row. One was perhaps a coincidence. These people were garbage: child abusers, murderers, rapists… There were probably plenty of people who wanted to of them for the same reasons. You could have believed maybe even two were a coincidence. But three? Four? In a row? No fucking way.
This was deliberate. This was fucking deliberate.
Another failed hunt. Your fingers went to the hilt of your completely clean, unused knife. You felt like you had an itch you couldn’t scratch. You were unsettled. You rocked your weight from side to side, still peering around your surroundings. Nothing.
Suddenly you felt sick. What the fuck was this? Someone or something was messing with you. You didn’t need two guesses about who it was likely to be. Another wave of rage rose in your chest and threatened to swamp over you completely. Your vision even tinged a little red on the outside, like blinking through blood in your eyes. Your jaw clenched. He was trying to take away your sense of control? Sense of purpose? Why? Because you had told him to fuck off? Because he’d revealed too much to you and now was trying to exert his power? Because you’d tossed him into the wall? Your hands clenched into fists. Truthfully, the reason didn’t really matter.
Dean Winchester just couldn’t leave you alone.
The question now was how was he doing it? It’s not like you were easy to follow when you moved between jobs. You didn’t walk or drive from place to place. You were a demon. You wanted to be somewhere and you were instantly there. Sure, once you were in a new town, you’d steal a car you liked and travel like you used to. You’d walk to and from the bar or whatever hotel you were calling home that week. Well, that was over. No more human bullshit. You’d zap yourself anywhere you wanted to be from now on.
With that thought, you were back at the motel. You glanced around the room, checking to see if anything had been moved.
It all looked the same as when you had left. You grabbed a beer from the fridge and kicked off your boots. You let yourself fall backward onto the bed, mimicking the stupid trust fall move companies seemed to think bonded their employees at forced “professional development” workshops. You stared up at the cobwebs clinging to the textured ceiling. You didn’t feel anything now. You were just numb. You shut your eyes.
Then the sick feeling returned. You pulled yourself up so your back was against the headboard and was just about to crack open your beer, shoving down that hollow feeling when it suddenly evaporated of its own accord. The hair on the back of your neck suddenly stood on end. There was a sensation like all the air had been sucked from the room. You felt like electricity was crackling over your skin.
You didn’t need to look. Your jaw clenched.
Your hand flew to your knife and in a fluid movement, you pulled it from its sheath and sent it smooth sailing, toppling in the air, hilt over the blade, straight at Dean.
But it didn’t meet its target in the way you had intended. He was prepared this time. He was ready. He caught the blade between his fingers deftly like it was the easiest thing in the world. And maybe it was… for a Knight of Hell.
“You son of a bitch,” you spat at him, climbing to your feet.
“I missed you, too,” he said, examining your knife carelessly now. There was a half-smirk curving his lips and you suddenly remembered when you had drunkenly punched him in the face, right in that cocky smile, back in that motel when Crowley had kidnapped you—a lifetime ago.
His green eyes lifted and landed on your face. Your heart began to race.
“Not much point throwing this at me, is there?” he said. He flung the knife straight down where it stuck upright into the carpet.
You didn’t say anything. You were tensed from head to toe. You wanted to scream at him. You wanted to tear him to pieces. But you couldn’t. It was like your feet were rooted to the floor.
Something about your expression made him smile and laugh lightly. He stepped over the knife and surveyed you from a few feet closer, narrowing his eyes slightly, looking like he was trying to read your thoughts. “You look like you’re thinking about the best way to dismember me,” he said. There wasn’t a trace of fear in his voice, which only further infuriated you.
“I want to know how you’re doing it,” you demanded.
“Doing what?” The stupid smile was still on his face.
“You know what.”
He raised his eyebrows at you but said nothing. Dean wandered over to the fridge and took out a beer. He twisted off the top and was about to take a sip when—
There was a sharp crack accompanied by a pop, followed by an exploding fountain of beer which splattered all over Dean.
You couldn’t prevent the tiniest satisfied smirk from turning up one corner of your mouth as you looked at him, now dripping wet and covered in foam.
Dean licked the beer dripping down to his lips and blinked a few times. The next instant he was clean and dry again. “Alright,” he said, clearing his throat. “Fine. We can play that way.”
The next moment he was gone. You waited—heart and breath stalled—your eyes searching the room a bit frantically. You willed your body language to stay the same, to not show that he was unnerving you. Then that electricity seemed to crackle up your back again…and you went rigid at the sensation.
“Y/N.” His deep voice was low, the familiar gravel sounding right in your ear. The next moment you could feel his breath on your neck. “You can’t tell me you don’t think about that night,” he whispered. You felt frozen. He was standing so close behind you if you just wavered back an inch you’d be pressed against him.
Move. Do something. What are you doing!? The voice in your head was almost screaming. But the memories came rushing back and you were suddenly overwhelmed as if you were there—as if you had transported back into that moment. The same emotions, the same feelings. It was so strong and so sudden that it almost crippled you. You let out an involuntary gasp and squeezed your eyes shut. You felt your knees buckle and the edge of the bed beneath you. Your fingers clutched the blanket.
It was too much. You shoved it down. You gasped for air. You fought it. You fought it. You pushed it back. You surfaced, completely unbalanced but again in control, heaving breaths and waiting for the horizon to steady.
To your surprise, Dean wasn’t smiling now. He was staring at you with keen interest, studying your expression. You felt that your eyes were wide and that your lips had fallen slightly open. You adjusted. You closed off. Dean watched it happen. He watched you retreat into that cold stare.
“Don’t,” you warned him.
“Don’t what?”
“Don’t do that.”
His voice was calm. “All I did was remind you of what happened.”
Your breathing was hurried again, making up for the long moment when you felt like you were drowning. “Don’t,” you said again.
“Or what? You’ll run?” he challenged you. “I’ll find you. Again. And again. And again.”
You stood and faced him with a steely expression. You watched him recoil and put a hand up to his forehead, squeezing his eyes shut. When they opened again, there was anger there but also something else you couldn’t quite define.
He didn’t look cocky or confident anymore. You had sent another flash of your corpse into his mind.
He tried his best to recover, arranging his face into a casual smirk, though not without some difficulty. “How is that fair? I remind you of the good times and that’s what I get back? Hardly fair.”
“Fair? Do you want to talk about fairness? Tell me how! Were you just—were you following me? Did you send someone or something to follow me? How did you know where I would be, who I was after next? I want to know! You are taking away the one thing–” you stopped yourself before you revealed too much.
Dean didn’t answer. He just watched you starting to spiral.
“Why won’t you just leave me the fuck me alone?!” You were squaring off with him. “Just go—just go get drunk and do blow or whatever the fuck you’re into now and fuck whoever you like and leave me the fuck alone!” A force like a shockwave shot outward from you, but Dean was ready—he had steeled himself and it only pushed him back a couple of steps.
“Leave you alone? You started this whole thing!” he argued back, his voice raised for the first time. There was a flash of lightning outside and the unmistakable bass of thunder rolling.
You scoffed. “Me?”
“Yes! You, Y/N! You! I didn’t turn you! I didn’t do that! That was ALL Crowley! But as soon as you’re back, I’m getting punished! You’re sending me—” he actually stopped and let out a noise like a frustrated growl, “You come back as a demon and the first thing you do is start shoving images of your dead body into my fucking head! And now you want me to leave YOU alone?!”
You actually started laughing sardonically. “You are such a fucking prick. You still have no idea. You know what? I’m not going to explain it to you. You can figure it out, Einstein.”
“Oh, now you’re done? Now we’ve hit your limit?” Dean started advancing on you. “Go on, Y/N. Go ahead. Runaway from it. Like I said, I’ll find you. Eventually, you’re going to have to face it.”
You felt heat rising into your face. “Face what, Dean?” you challenged him.
His jaw clenched and his eyes were flitting between yours, stormy and intense, but he was less than a foot away from you now. The next instant he was kissing you.
You stumbled back in shock and pushed him away from you. “What the hell are you doing?” you gasped.
Dean gave a vague shrug and stared at you incredulously. He couldn’t take his eyes off you. “I—I feel like that should be pretty obvious at this point.”
You ripped your eyes away from the fire burning in his and started to rush toward your bag of gear, ready to grab it and be gone, but Dean was suddenly right there again, blocking your way.
“Move.”
“No.”
“Dean—“
For some reason, he smiled. “No. I’m not moving. If you want me to move you’re going to have to make me. And we both know you’re capable of it.”
But you didn’t. You could have sent him flying across the room. You could have pulled the building down around him. You could have disappeared. You didn’t need your bag of clothes and gear—it was all replaceable. But you didn’t. You stood rooted there unable or unwilling to break the eye contact you had with Dean. You could hear a torrential rainstorm outside.
Dean took another small step toward you. You tried to ignore how the closer he got the faster your heartbeat.
He hesitated for a moment, trying to read what was going on behind your eyes but he found it impossible. He reached a hand up and slid it into your hair, his fingers floating down the side of your neck and tracing down to your collarbone. His expression was hungry, almost desperate.
You felt yourself crumbling. “Move.” It came out as a whisper, and Dean could hear the emptiness, the weakness. It wasn’t a command. It was like you were begging him not to.
He licked his lips as his eyes flitted down to yours. “Make me.”
You crashed into him, colliding. The heat between the two of you was instant and you were ready to be consumed, to give into it. Dean kissed you hungrily, biting your bottom lip, his fingers tangled in your hair, one hand grabbing your hip. You pressed into him, wanting more, needing more, and you both toppled backward until his back hit the wall.
Dean suddenly had both your wrists in his hand and he spun you forcefully until he had you pinned up against the wall. Both of you were out of breath, drinking in each other with hungry eyes. Dean kissed you hard and his lips moved to your neck, to your collarbone. He bit at your earlobe and you couldn’t stifle the gasp that left your lips. He released your wrists and you slid one arm around his neck, your fingers sliding into his hair. Your other hand slid up under his shirt, pressing into his lower back, pulling his hips into you. You wrapped a leg around him and bit his bottom lip as he slid his hands over you tracing your waist, the curve of your hips, one sliding around to grab your ass.
The thunder outside cracked and rolled and flashes of lightning made their way through the edges of the curtains. It was a complete downpour outside, but neither you nor Dean heard any of it.
Dean pulled off his jacket and you stripped off his shirt. His hands found the hem of yours and did the same. You kissed him hungrily and unbuttoned his jeans, your fingers tracing over his stomach and back as he kicked them off. Dean lifted you up so you were straddled around his hips and carried you over to topple you onto the bed. He dropped you down and you bit your lip as he undid the zipper and button on your jeans and tugged them down.
There was an unmistakable desire in his eyes and you felt your chest and cheeks flush with the same. Dean trailed kisses from your hips up until your sides and up your chest. He pinned your arms above you with one hand and slid the other into your hair, pulling it hard enough to turn your head and hold it there so he could kiss your neck.
Soon you were both just skin on skin, and you gasped as he pushed inside you, your fingernails digging into his back. Dean smiled at your reaction and relished your hand splayed out on his lower back and the feeling of your skin like silk against his. You wrapped your legs around him and both of you were consumed with tingles and electricity skittering over your skin. The building heat between you was rising to a peak and you kissed each other hungrily. Dean pressed into you and waves of pleasure traveled down to your toes. His kiss became less hungry, less desperate, and softer. You both gasped out of breath, heat radiating between you, and now completely consumed by the realization that neither of you had felt anything like that, like this in your entire lives, as humans or demons. No other sensation since Crowley had turned you had been even a modicum of this intense. Even your rages and violent retribution paled in comparison…
You looked into each other’s eyes, bewildered and spent. Dean settled down next to you, a hand still draped across you resting on your hip. You were both reeling. He reached over and smoothed a hand through your hair. There was something questioning in your eyes that made him laugh.
You bit your bottom lip and mouthed wordlessly for a moment, which only made him laugh a little harder.
“That was—uhh…” Dean couldn’t find the words and just cupped your face in his hand and kissed you passionately again. “…Yeah.” He flopped down on the pillow beside you. “Did you know that that would be—?”
You shook your head, knowing your cheeks were pink, the heat still blooming there. “No,” you said, biting your bottom lip. “Did you?”
A small smirk curved one corner of his mouth. “I had a hunch,” he said.
The question was still there in your eyes. “What?” Dean prodded you.
“I guess I’m just trying to reconcile what just happened,” you said.
Dean raised his eyebrows. “With?”
“With how much I wanted to kill you right before it happened,” you said, baffled.
Dean let out a gruff laugh. “Yeah. Yeah… Give it some time.” He gazed up at the ceiling for a moment. “Would it help if we did it again? You know, to help you reconcile?”
There it was. A genuine smile. And goddamn, Y/n's smile is beautiful. Dean had been wanting to see that since he’d woken up as a demon. Nothing else in the world matter for Dean to see his beloved Y/N happy, because all he wants to see her beaming with joy.
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