#devour me | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

undressmewithyoureyes · 2 months

Text

Devour Me - Ten

Your head pounded and your stomach churned as you felt your body floating in the air. The last thing you remember is Pyramid Head covering your face with a chemical covered cloth. Slowly, you open your eyes to see him carrying you. The area was dark ad the only indication that gave away that it was him, was how close you held you against him.

“Wh-where are we going?” You mumble out with a stutter. He doesn’t answer and a part of you felt stupid to even ask a question like that knowing he cant talk. His heavy footsteps caused your head to throb more and the nausea to overtake you.

“I’m going to throw you,” you say as you quickly get out of his grasp. He lets you go, and you almost fall on the dark floor, but he catches you at the last second. Your back hunches as your double over, spilling what little bit was left in your stomach. Your vision blurred as the pounding in your head increased.

You took a deep breath and hunched over again, this time nothing coming up – just hopeless dry heaving. “Don’t touch me,” you snarl when you feel his massive hand on your back. “Because of you, I have this pounding headache causing me to throw up.” You could barely see him, but feeling the ground shake from his stabbing his giant knife in the ground caused you to jump back and reconsider your tone.

A large hand gripped your arm firmly as many thoughts went through your mind about how you could have handled this situation and your tone a little better. With your arm still in his grasp, he starting walking further into the surrounding darkness – pulling you with him. You didn’t like it. You didn’t like the feeling you were getting, and this feeling had nothing to do with the nausea in your body. No, this was a gut feeling that was saying ‘Danger. Get out’.

You plant your feet on the floor as your heels dig into the hard surface as you try to pull yourself from his grasp. Your body jolted forward here and there at your pitiful attempts. “Let me go,” you say lowly through gritted teeth. Knowing Pyramid Head isn’t going to respond but hearing that low growl coming from under his helm made your heartbeat in your chest move between your thighs.

You jerk your arm back again – still failing to get out of his grasp. “I said,” you raise your voice this time. “Let me the fuck GO!” You end the last word in a scream. Pyramid Head stops, turning towards you and you feel the hair on the back of your neck stand up as your voice vibrated off the walls around you. You swallow hard as you hear his breathing becoming heavier, knowing you were testing your limits with him. He had a soft spot for you, obviously, but it often crossed your mind what would be your last straw to him.

His grip on your arm remains the same, but you decided to test the waters again by jerking your arm back. This time, you were successful. You take a step back and the ground shakes from him stomping a step forward. You scanned the area around you the best you could now that your eyes were adjusted to the darkness with the faintest light you probably ever seen. Literally like 1% light and the rest was total darkness.

Your eyes scanned the area ahead of him and you could make out two doors on the right and two doors on the left. Problem was, you had to get past him and last time you tried, it got you knocked out and carried to this dark shithole. “Look, I need a break to take all of this in,” you start off softly - hoping this would ease him. Deep down, you were trying to get his guard down. “I don’t know where we are. Why I’m here and where you’re taking me.”

Pyramid Head’s breathing started to die down as he listened to the calmness in your voice. “I just,” you pause, “I just want to go back and get in be-“you stop as you look past him on his left. You widen your eyes and point your finger. “W-what is that?” you say with terror in your voice. Pyramid Head quickly jerks around to see what you’re talking about and you take the opportunity to run past his right side.

That deep low growl radiated out of him whenever you past him, vibrating your organs. Sweat glistened at your hair line as you felt cool air hit you from his attempt of grabbing you. You ran as fast as you could to the first door on the right, slamming the door shut as soon as you entered. Pyramid Head was right on your heels and trying to come through the door right after you shut it.

“Fuck,” you breathe out as the door your back is pressed against vibrates from him trying to come through. Inside the room is another door to the wall on your right and lockers parallel to the wall, the door with your back against. Quickly, you run to the other door and open it as his roars make you rethink this decision. You make your way to the lockers and find one that’s open and get in. Hopefully this plan will work.

Pyramid Head busts through the door and you cover your mouth with your hand to silence your heavy breathing. He steps into the room and freezes, trying to listen and figure out where you’re at. With three large strides, he’s at the door you opened to throw him off. You close your eyes and let out a silent deep breath. He enters into the room, and you open the locker door getting out quickly and as quietly as possible.

You walk backwards keeping an eye on him – seeing his large muscular back standing in the doorway scanning the new room he went into. Your hip collides with a metal table, causing a loud screech to fill the room and Pyramid Head to turn on a dime with no hesitation. His helm locked onto you. Your chest heaved up and down as you quickly turned around and went out the door you first went through. Pyramid Head on your heels.

You turn right, grabbing onto the door frame to help swing you and keep your balance. You run down the long hallway, passing doors on your left and right. He was gaining on you and hearing his heavy breathing getting louder caused the panic in your chest to build even more to the point where you could barely breathe.

The last door you could make out on your left was your last option. After that, it was a dead end. You run as fast as you can making it seem like you’re just going to keep straight – then at the last second, you turn left and head through the door. You heard him run past you, roaring as he comes to a stop. Dust fell from the ceiling as the building shook. He was pissed and now you were committed. There was no saving yourself from this.

You blink a few times trying to adjust your eyes from the dust that just fell in them. You see four figures in the room that look like humans, but it’s Silent Hill; there aren’t going to be humans out here. You take in a deep breath and hold it, your hand still on the handle of the door. Quietly, you try to push down on the handle to open the door, but it’s locked.

Your heartbeat filled your ears as the figures in front of you moved in jerky motions from the faint sound of the locked door. You tried the door again thinking it was jammed and to your demise, it remained locked. Another jerked motion from the human like figures as they made their way towards you. They react to sound. Great. You thumb the handle to see if it was a push lock like on traditional doors. Nothing.

The figures in front of you moved again and you held your breath trying not to make a sound. With each movement, a moan escaped their lips. You could see a faint white color coming from them and the more you stared at them, the clearer they became. Nurses. Well, what used to be nurses. They wore short white dresses with traditional old-style hats and they had bandages over their faces. All of them covered in blood.

The door hand jiggles from the other side and the nurses quickly jerk their way towards you – moaning with each movement. You look down a little further and see them carrying knives in their hands – slashing with each motion. Pyramid Head jiggles the handle again, and you quietly get away from the door and scale the wall to the right of the door.

The nurses get to the door, moaning with each stab they penetrate through the wood. You try to get as far away as you can, scaling the wall in the process – not wanting to be a victim to their sexual fantasies. Just as you get to the corner of the room, your arm bumps into something wet and cold. Slowly, you turn your head to the right as terror reaches your face. Another nurse.

Without hesitation, she raises her knife and cuts you deeply on the arm, moaning as the blade tears through your skin. You let out a scream and instantly regret it. The other four nurses turn rapidly and make their way towards you. The nurse that cut you, sends her knife towards you again, slicing at your ribs. Your cuts burned as you tried to remain quiet.

The door handle jiggled again and two of the nurses turned back around to head to the door. Tears fell from your face, knowing the cuts were deep and more than likely would get infected. Three nurses were now headed in your direction, moaning with each step they took. Another roar shook the building from the monstrous being on the other side of the door. The nurses stopped in their path and froze. Were they scared of him?

You take in a deep breath taking a risk, “Pyramid Head!” you shout as all the nurses in the room quickly make their way to you. All five were now in front of you as Pyramid Head banged on the door to bust it down. This time, they didn’t care about the noise coming from the door, but rather the noise they heard in the corner that smelled of fresh iron.

They each brought their knives down in their own fashion, cutting through your arm as it felt like fire burning your skin. You tried to cover your face, but one managed to cut diagonally across your face. The door to the room busted open as Pyramid Head made his way inside, quickly making his way to you. The nurses froze as he approached. Blood poured down your face and from your arm you used to shield yourself. Your ribs ache from the one slice they gave you.

The closer Pyramid Head got; the nurses backed away from you. His heavy breathing filled the room and you knew if he wouldn’t kill you, the nurses would have no problem doing so. He reaches out and grabs you by your severely cut arm. You scream as the burning sensation intensifies, but he doesn’t care.

He drags you out of the room, slamming the door shut behind you both. Without hesitation, he lets go of your arm and slams you against the wall beside the door. The wall cracking around you. Here you were in the same situation you were in several hours ago - still not learning your lesson. Your hands find his to alleviate the pressure he has on your throat. It was the most he had ever put on you and for once, you were scared that he might kill you.

Blood dripped off your elbow from your cuts as the smell of your blood filled the small area around you both. “I-I’m sorry,” you barely make out. The low growl that came from him told you that he was fed up with your shit. You closed your eyes as the world around you was becoming a blur. Just as darkness was consuming you, he lets you go and you fall to the hard ground, yelling out as your body collides.

Everything hurt. Your wrist from earlier, your fucked up arm, your face, and your ribs. But the fucked-up thing about it, it was all your fault. If you would have just listened and stayed put, none of this would have happened. Your headache was getting worse, and you got on your hands and knees to hunched your back – dry heaving yet again.

Your head hung low when nothing came up and tears spilled out your eyes from the pain you were in. Pyramid Head stood there watching you. Watching how broken you had become and your only saving grace in the fucked-up world was pissed off at you.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper out again as your shoulders shake from crying. You hear him walking away and you pick your head up watching him through blurred vision. He doesn’t help you up. He doesn’t wait on you. He picks his sword up and continues walking – forgetting you’re there. You swallow hard as you get to your feet and follow behind him. You fucked up and you hoped that you didn’t fuck up to the point where you were next on his list and your time here in Silent Hell was over.

#pyramid head x you #pyramid head x reader #pyramid head #silent hill 2 #silent hill #alessa #ao3 fanfic #fanfic #devour me

35 notes · View notes

zepskies · 9 months

Text

Devour Me - Part 1

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Plus-Sized/Latina!Reader

Summary: When you and Dean start to press each other’s buttons, both of your tempers ignite. To make up for it, you give him an impromptu salsa dancing lesson…one he didn’t exactly ask for. (18+)

AN: This is a two-part sequel to “Midnight Espresso!” I would read that one first before you dive into this one. (It’s fun, I promise!)

Word Count: 3,800 Tags/Warnings: Supernatural shenanigans, tiny bit of body insecurity, hurt/comfort, fluffy fluff, and a cliffhanger...

☕ Midnight Espresso Masterlist

Part 1: "A Takeover"

When Dean asked you to move in with him, he really didn’t think it would come to this.

Clearing a nightstand for you, half of the dresser, a section of his closet. Those things are reasonable.

But this is a total takeover, he thinks, as he surveys the sheer amount of crap you’ve brought into his room.

Mind you, despite this still being a bunker, the décor is nice. You brought in sturdy, but stylish wicker baskets for his pile of cassettes (and your CDs) next to the TV, filing bins for the haphazard shuffle of papers on his desk, installed dark wood shelves on the wall for his various weapons and your collection of books.

But he’d had his music organized—not alphabetically or chronologically, but by his own personal rankings of awesomeness. Now they’re all shuffled together by band name.

Plus, he likes having his shotgun on the floor by the bed, within reach, not three feet above his head. And where the fuck is his collection of…magazines?

The point is, every time he looks for something, you’ve put it in a different place. Not to mention the damn bathroom (don’t get him started on all your shea butter lotions, makeup brushes, frilly-smelling soaps, and the army of hair products now taking up space in his cabinets and drawers).

Dean is sitting on the edge of the bed, trying to figure out where the hell his cassette of Zeppelin IV is, when you breeze into the room he now shares with you. You’re dewy with sweat in a Guns & Roses shirt and some yoga pants you reserve for cleaning.

And that’s another thing. You’re more anal than Sam about having the bunker smelling like Pine Sol. However, as you’ve expressed before (after nagging him to pick up his dirty, and occasionally bloody clothes from the floor), while you like a clean house, you are not in fact the maid.

“Hey, baby. Can you fold these for me?” you request. “I need a shower.”

He raises a brow as you dump a new basket of fresh laundry onto the bed. It looks like you washed your clothes mixed in with his, which he actually doesn’t mind. He fishes out one of your red, lacey thongs with a hint of a smile. He bought you these last week, and they already have a tear. (His fault.)

“By the way, next time you move one of my things, mind leaving me a post-it note or something?” he dryly remarks. “It’s like a scavenger hunt in my own damn room.”

You pop your head out of the bathroom, though he can tell by your bare shoulders that you’ve already gotten undressed. Your mouth is quirked at the corner.

“It’s called organization,” you tease. “Apparently a foreign concept to you.”

You disappear back into the bathroom, giving Dean the privacy he needs to grumble almost inaudibly to himself. But then he hears your voice behind the door.

“Oh, by the way. Your vintage collection of smut is in the bottom of your nightstand,” you call out. “That 1996 edition of Busty Asian Beauties is particularly classy.”

Dean hears the wryness in your tone, and his face actually heats up in embarrassment. He frowns at the bathroom door, his jaw tensing, but he takes a breath. Deciding to let it go with a roll of his shoulders, he puts on the TV to catch up on Dr. Sexy M.D. He also neglects the task you gave him, just for a little while.

When you’re still in the bathroom an hour later, Dean starts to get curious about what the hell you’re doing in there. The shower isn’t even running anymore.

That’s when he hears the hairdryer go on.

He knows he’ll never be able to concentrate on his show with all that noise. So with a sigh, he clicks off the TV and eyes the pile of laundry. You probably cleaned the whole freaking bunker this morning. Despite his annoyance, he figures folding your clothes along with his own is the least he can do.

Dean scoops up the pile back into the basket and takes it elsewhere.

He finds his brother at the kitchen table and joins him with his basket. Sam’s gaze raises from his laptop to meet his brother’s grumpy face. He watches in mild curiosity as Dean plops down across from him and dutifully begins folding one of your shirts.

“You okay?” Sam hazards the question.

“Fucking peachy,” Dean replies. “Looking for a new case?”

“Yeah. Nothing yet.” Though Sam raises a brow when Dean all but tosses one of your girly sundresses on the table after it’s folded. (It’s yellow, and it happens to be his favorite on you.)

“Everything all right?” Sam asks.

Dean glances up, finds his brother’s knowing eyes, and doesn’t have it in him to lie. He lets go of a breath, as well as one of his undershirts to rub at his forehead.

“She’s nosey, Sam. She’s all up in my business.”

“Your girlfriend?” Sam clarifies, with raised brows. “Of six months.”

“Yeah, that one,” Dean quips, with all due sarcasm. “Ever since she moved in, she’s been going through everything, moving my crap every which way, making it so I can’t find a damn thing.”

Sam’s mouth edges at a smile.

“I’m tellin’ you, Sam, she’s damn near taken over,” Dean insists.

“You done?” Sam teases. Dean just leans in, like he’s about to level his brother with a secret.

“Matter of fact, she locks herself in the bathroom for like, forever. I just heard the hairdryer go on, meaning another hour at least. What the fuck is she doing in there, getting ready for prom?”

Sam finally has to chuckle. “Clearly it’s been a long time since you’ve lived with a woman, Dean.”

Dean scoffs. “Right.”

“And she’s actually been a big help in cleaning up around here,” Sam says, with a growing smirk. “Which is, quite literally, a refreshing change.”

Dean snorts at that.

“Of course, you’re happy,” he says. “A new damn dish rack turns you on.”

Sam shoots him a wan look. “The question is, are you happy?”

That manages to take Dean by surprise. He hesitates to answer…

But he’s saved when he hears someone approaching. He knows it’s you because he can smell the mix of your floral soap and coconutty shampoo; it’s a scent that often lingers on your pillow and has unconsciously infiltrated Dean’s nose.

His reply to Sam dies on his tongue when he sees you.

“Hey,” you greet both men, all bright and smiley with your hair in wild curls down your back.

A lot of the time you keep your hair straight or loose and wavy, so it’s rare for Dean to see your natural look. It’s a good one for you, he thinks. Along with those jean shorts hugging your curvy hips, and the V-neck top you’re wearing, which offers a nice peek of cleavage.

Your hand falls on his shoulder, with your thumb stroking his neck. You then brush that hand across his back as you pass by on your way to the kitchen. If possible, you’ve become even more touchy since you two got together.

Dean holds fast to your hand, stopping you in your path.

“So that’s what you were working on in there,” he remarks. “Thought I was gonna need to break out the fire extinguisher.”

You grin in amusement and do a little twirl under his hand, shaking out your curls a little.

“You like?” you ask. Dean tugs you back over. He reaches out and fingers at the soft ends of your hair.

“Beautiful,” he says.

“Looks real nice,” Sam adds.

“Why, thank you.” Your smile is contagious, and Dean can’t help reciprocating. You drop a hand on his shoulder again.

“I know you’re our resident Gordon Ramsay, but I kinda feel like cooking today,” you say. “Is Cas coming home anytime soon?”

Dean nods. “Yeah, he called this morning. Probably dropping back in tonight.”

You nod. “Good! I’ll make plenty then…oh, wait, he doesn’t eat.”

“What did you have in mind?” Sam asks.

“Well, I know you guys haven’t had much Cuban food, so I thought you might like to try some ropa vieja,” you reply. Sam’s brows knit together.

“Old clothes?” he translates. His two years of high school Spanish can give him that much.

“Yeah! But it’s basically shredded beef with onions, garlic, tomato sauce, and a bunch of other good stuff,” you explain. Then your eyes brighten. “Oh! And I can make my grandma’s famous black beans, white rice, some bread with crushed garlic and olive oil…”

By the time you finish listing the things you plan on making, Dean is already salivating.

Later that evening, when Dean actually gets to sample said food, he’s eaten enough for three men in the span of forty-five minutes.

“Jesus, man. Going for a record on indigestion?” Sam cautions him, despite his amusement.

Dean pointedly ignores his brother to look over at you. After he swallows another forkful of beef stew, he says, “Not for nothin’, this is probably the second-best meal of my entire life.”

“Oh, yeah?” You giggle. “What’s number one?”

“Diner called Slammies in Alabama. Best fucking pie on Earth,” he easily recalls. “Double applewood bacon cheeseburger, chili cheese fries, brick oven pizza. Bar none.”

Sam inclines his head, remembering the food coma he and Dean had that night. They’d hit the rock-hard pillows at the motel and slept like they’d been on an all-night bender.

“But this is like, right there,” Dean says to you, leveling his hand up by his head.

“Well, let’s see if this moves the needle,” you reply as you get up from your seat. You answer the question in his eyes. “Forgot something, hold on.”

But before you can leave the table, Dean reaches over and takes your hand.

“Thanks, sweetheart. For all of this. I mean it,” he says.

A soft, genuine smile grows across your face. You lean down and press a tender kiss below his hairline, stroking his cheek before you go.

Dean quirks a smile. It’s taken him time to get used to how open you are with your affections, but he likes it. All of it. Every time you reach for him, touch him, brush against him, intentionally or not. He always has.

Though he has to resist embarrassment when he notices the way his brother is watching him. Sam raises a brow, smiling that irritating smile of his.

“Oh, yeah. You’re not happy at all,” he intones.

“Never said I wasn’t,” Dean says defensively. But he perks up when you return. Maybe you’re bringing more garlic bread.

Instead, you’re holding a tin pan.

“What’cha got there?” he asks.

“Dessert,” you announce. It’s a Cuban flan: creamy, rich custard with a consistency smoother than cheesecake, and thicker than pudding.

You haven’t even sat back down yet when Dean carves himself a generous slice. He moans when a large forkful melts in his mouth. You start to blush as you watch him with crossed arms and a hand over your smile. You don’t know whether to be amused or flattered.

Sam watches his brother stuff his face with a subtle shake of his head.

“You’re enabling him,” he tells you. You shrug, but then you rest your hands on both Sam and Dean’s shoulders.

“Now I have someone to cook for,” you say. You have tears in your eyes, but you quickly blink and try to turn away. Frowning, Dean takes your hand.

“Hey, where you going?” he says, and aims to pull you into his lap. You hesitate, knowing you’re not going to be able to squeeze between him and the table.

“It’s okay, these hips don’t fit,” you chuckle wryly, with a sniffle. But Dean just backs his chair up from the table a bit to make room.

“What’re you talking about? You fit right here,” he says firmly, and he tugs you down. This is the one thing Dean has tried his damndest to break you out of—that self-deprecating streak of yours.

You finally accept being guided into his lap, where you indeed fit snugly across his thighs. His arm comes around the front to hold you close by your hip, while his other hand rests comfortingly on your back.

Looking up into his eyes, you draw enough courage to be honest.

“I was mostly raised by my grandma,” you begin to explain. Your father wasn’t ready to be one, and so wasn’t in the picture. Your mother died when you were in high school. So when your grandmother also passed away a few years ago…

Well, you’ve been alone for a while.

You sniff and wipe at your face, but your eyes close as Dean’s lips press above your brow. When you next open your eyes and cautiously look between the brothers, Sam’s sympathy warms you.

“If it isn’t obvious, you have a home here,” he says. “We can never replace what you’ve lost, but…we’re your family too.”

You know that Dean feels the same way by the way he brushes the tears from your cheek, thumbing at your bottom lip.

"You're right where you need to be," he says, with a hand squeezing your hip. His sincerity is in his even tone, in the firmness in his eyes.

You’re able to smile a bit.

“Ah…I’m interrupting, aren’t I?”

The three of you turn to the kitchen doorway, where Castiel stands awkwardly. He clearly senses emotional tension, but it breaks the moment you turn to him with a tearful laugh.

“Hey, Cas. Have you ever eaten ‘old clothes?’” you ask.

His puzzled expression is absolutely priceless.

When Sam finds a possible hunt in Hope, Indiana, Castiel agrees to go with you all. It’s a small, corn-fed town in the middle of nowhere, and five people have gone missing over the course of a year.

The latest is a nine-year-old kid named Andy Campbell. That alone upsets you; if you have one weakness, it’s for kids.

“Local farmers have been reporting dead cattle too, drained of blood,” Sam says from the passenger seat in the Impala. “I’m thinking vampires trying to keep a low profile.”

“Sounds about right, if a bit sloppy,” Dean remarks. They are in the Midwest though. If this is a coven, or even a rogue vamp who’s been here a while, maybe they got lazy. “So what, police station first? Get any details they might’ve missed.”

“I want to talk to the kid’s mom,” you say. It earns Dean’s gaze at you in the rearview mirror. “We can get the last time she saw him, where he went missing, anything she might’ve held back from the police.”

He nods and shares a glance with Sam. “I’ll go with her. You and Cas scope out the station.”

The angel has gotten better at pretending to be a Fed, but not by much. Sam agrees, even though Dean sees in his face that he’d rather be taking his brother. Dean tempers a smile and keeps driving to the closest motel in this dusty town.

You don a sensible pantsuit to match Dean’s Fed suit, along with your badges: Agents Buckingham and Nicks.

When Andy’s mom, Rachel Campbell, opens the door of her modest home to you and Dean, he lets you take the lead. You’re good at this part, connecting with the victims and getting them to talk. He sometimes worries about you though—that your soft, sympathetic heart will get the best of you.

“How long has Andy been missing?” you ask, accepting a cup of tea from the woman.

Rachel is around your age, maybe a few years older. She looks run down, a shell of a human as she looks at the carpet rather than at you or Dean. You can’t know exactly how she feels, but you have a vivid imagination.

And from the various pictures of her and Andy on the wall, just the two of them, you deduce that she’s a single mother. Just like your mom had been.

“Almost four months,” she admits. “The police station doesn’t even return my calls anymore.”

That upsets you, but you keep a lid on your emotions to focus on the woman in front of you.

“Andy’s father, he’s not around?” Dean asks. Rachel shakes her head, confirming your suspicions.

“No, we split up shortly after he was born,” she replies, her tone tired and resigned. “I was at work. I uh, I work at a doctor’s office. Andy was supposed to come home on the bus, like any other day…but he never did.”

She sucks in a shaky breath as the beginnings of tears make her eyes red and glassy.

“His school couldn’t tell me why he wasn’t on the bus. But one of his friends said he was late getting out of class, so he must’ve tried to walk home. Even though he knew he could call me when that happens…anyway, somebody must’ve grabbed him.”

Rachel looks away as a tear streams down her cheek, followed by another. You feel your throat tighten with a sympathetic burn behind your eyes, but you keep it at bay long enough to set down your tea. You reach out and lay a hand on the woman’s hand. She meets your steady gaze.

“I promise, we’ll find your son,” you tell her.

“What?” you ask Dean as the two of you leave the small house, walking back to the Impala in the driveway. You just know there’s something up with him by the stoic look on his face. It isn’t so stoic to you.

He waits until the two of you are in the car before he levels you with a raised brow.

“Look, I know you want to find this kid. I do too,” he says. “But watch out about making promises you can’t keep.”

You frown back at him. “What’s better, letting that poor woman have no hope at all?”

In his mind, Dean thinks it’s worse to give her false hope. But he sees how stubborn you’re getting, so he doesn’t push it. The fact that you care about people like Rachel is part of what drew him to you in the first place, but there’s a line, he thinks. A point where you can care too much.

When you two eventually meet up with Sam and Castiel, they’ve been able to confirm from the body of a recent Jane Doe, with a row of lethal bite marks on her wrist, that this is definitely a vamp case.

After narrowing down where each of the victims were taken, the four of you sketch out a perimeter of where the monsters could likely be hiding. It’s Dean who finds the old barn on the verge of a corn field, about three miles away from the school where Andy was taken.

You all wait until high noon the next day to scope it out. Looking into the front windows is useless; all evidence points to an empty home.

The back of the barn is another story. Cracking the barn door open reveals a large storage area, where a nest of vampires are sleeping in their beds. Some are coupled off, but you note a few on single beds.

Then, your eyes narrow on the humans sleeping piled together in the corner—three women, a young man, and Andy Campbell on a twin-sized bed of his own.

Dean carefully closes the barn door, and the four of you regroup back to the Impala.

“It’s a bigger nest than we thought,” Sam says, though he keeps his voice quiet. Dean is already opening the trunk for his favorite machete.

“First, let’s get those humans out,” he says. You agree with a nod when he hands you a weapon.

Dean shoots you a wink. “This one’s Brenda.”

“What happened to Lucille?” you ask, taking the knife from him.

“That’s the bat wrapped in barbed wire. Matter of fact, I should break her out.”

Dean reaches into the trunk and pulls out the blood-stained bat. He rubs the handle fondly.

“Ahh, Dad loved this thing.”

You sidle up next to him and glance over wryly. “You want some alone time with your big stick, there?”

Dean flashes you a smirk, giving you a long once over in your form-fitting shirt and jeans. “Well, you’re certainly welcome to join me, sweetheart.”

You snort in response, bumping into his side with your hip. Dean teasingly bounces one of your curls in your face. You smile and swat his hand away.

Sam subtly rolls his eyes, despite a small smile as he shares a look with Cas.

“All right. Can we go, please?” Sam says in amusement. Castiel awkwardly straps on a machete to his belt. He doesn’t believe he’ll need it, but Sam and Dean are always prepared. He wants to be as well.

You’re ready to go, but Dean holds you back by your shoulder. You look up at him curiously.

“Hey, follow our lead on this one, okay?” he asks.

You sense that he’s hedging at something more specific with that request.

“What do you mean?”

“The kid. I know you wanna beeline for him the second we get in there, but hold off,” Dean says. His gaze is serious. “He could be turned.”

He got a good look inside, the same as you. The kid was lying on a bed while the other humans were chained up on the floor. Still, you shoot him an incredulous look.

“Why would they turn a kid?” you ask. “They have the others.”

“Yeah, and they were chained up. Why not him?” Dean asks, imploring you to think logically. He shares a look with Sam, who silently agrees. You look between the brothers with pursed lips.

“Maybe they don’t give a fuck, because they’re cocky assholes,” you retort. And you walk past them to head back towards the barn.

The brothers and the angel share one last look, with Dean letting out a subtle breath before he follows you.

You creep back into the barn, as quiet as possible through the room of snoring vampires. The brothers and Castiel go to the sleepy women in the corner. They look dirty and malnourished, wearing threadbare clothing. Sam feels the pulse of the man prone on the floor, but he’s already dead.

When one of the girls wakes with a whimper, Dean holds his finger to his lips, warning them all wordlessly to be quiet. He looks over and doesn’t find you next to him. He nearly curses out loud when he sees you heading for Andy’s bed across the room.

Meanwhile, you touch the little boy’s shoulder and shake him a little. He wakes with a small sound of reluctance, but you shush him gently.

“Andy?” You grasp his shoulders. He nods, though his blonde brows are furrowed with confusion.

“Who…who are you?” he asks. He rubs at his sleepy brown eyes.

“I’m here to help,” you reply in a whisper. “I’m going to get you back to your mom, okay?”

After a moment, he nods and lets you pick him up into your arms. You hazard looking over across the room, and you find Dean’s annoyed gaze. Despite the uncomfortable churning in your belly, you ignore him for now and head for the back door.

You’re only able to take a few steps when you feel a hand wrap tightly in your hair and pull it away from your neck, just for rows of several razor-sharp teeth to sink into your neck.

AN: 😬 ...Sorry. If you don't know me by now, I love a cliffhanger. But how'd you like Dean getting used to sharing his space? (And having someone to occasionally put him on his toes.)

Part 2 will feature a good old fashioned "you should've listened to me" fight, some angst, some making up, some salsa dancing, and a healthy dose of smutty smut.

Next Time:

“I don’t care what that legendary gut tells you,” you sass back. “I’m not a little girl, and you’re not my damn father!”

Dean raises incredulous brows at the way you’re shouting at him. He crosses his arms.

“What’s this, some kind of Latina temper?” he asks snidely.

You truly become incensed at that.

Keep Reading: PART 2

Series Masterlist

Dean Winchester Masterlist

Main Masterlist

Series Tag List:

@hobby27 @this-is-me19 @kazsrm67 @letheatheodore @agothwithheavysetmakeup @jacklesdeanvessel @foxyjwls007 @wincastifer @ades106 @emily-winchester @deans-baby-momma @melancholictearz @luvs4dria @nic-kolas @katherineann83 @sleepyqueerenergy @wayward-lost-and-never-found @tipthejar @ajjustice @thewritersaddictions @samanddeaninatrenchcoat @deanwanddamons @antisocialcorrupt @adoringanakin @deanwinchesterswitch @freewastelandstrawberry

@theonlymaninthesky @teehxk @midnightmadwoman @mrshalverson2021 @iprobablyshipit91 @agalliasi @venicesem @waters-2567 @chriszgirl92 @lyarr24 @ladysparkles78 @solariklees @xsophianicolex @deansbbyx @mimaria420 @candy-coated-misery0731 @curlycarley @sarahgracej @bagpussjocken @ultrahviolentart @beskarfilms @skyesthebomb @deans-spinster-witch @tmb510 @iamsapphine @fics-pics-andotherthings-i-like @chernayawidow @syrma-sensei

262 notes · View notes