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not-quite-girl-nor-quite-boy · 1 year

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dean Winchester was the most prolific criminal in Kansas. His husband Castiel Novak on the other hand, was the most successful detective in the state. He had the highest arrest record in his precinct and he had held that record for over a year. Dean however was (to his colleagues) the one arrest he never could land. It was actually perfectly designed so that dean could slip away undetected without rousing any suspicion. By some miracle castiel was always sent to head up raids for dean Winchester, meaning dean always had just enough warning to make his seamless disappearance.

that morning Cass sat at his partners desk, detective Anna Milton, they were good friends but she could be a bitch sometimes. She was always passionate about how she didn't believe that the justice system was nearly strict enough. Captain uriel exited his office,

"Milton, Novak. We gotta lead on the Winchester. come on." He hailed them in. Briefed them on where he was supposed to be and they were on their way. Cass was worried he hadn't really been able to warn his husband of what was happening. He crept inside Anna on his left guns drawn. They carefully scoured each room, hallway, corridor. They heard dean's voice from around the corner and they deciphered his dialogue.

"so, why did you do it Gordon? Why did you kill those children?"

"I don't know what you are talking about."

"sure you do, come onnn. Was it because your were afraid they would tell someone? Tell someone of the horrific things you did to them?"

"I didn't do anything."

"bullshit. You hurt children, innocent little kids. Defenseless minors, did it make you feel strong? Powerful? Did it make 'little Gordon'" dean implied. "finally feel big?"

This is what Cass loved about Dean, why he could be with a murderer. Dean never killed the innocent, the undeserving, he was a dramatic vigilante. And he only killed those who were evil, flawed to the very foundation of their being. And dean prided himself on that fact, as did Cass.

"what are you doing? Why are you doing this?" Gordon asked.

"if I'm honest, I'm waiting for someone, he's usually here by now," Dean looked around smiling, Cass felt a blush rise to his cheeks. He calmed himself down. Anna drew his attention to her, while dean was talking. "ok, so S.W.A.T will be here in about 30 seconds and by here I mean in this room. So I say we go in now."

castiel felt his heart stop and his stomach plummet.

"S.W.A.T?" He asked, not nearly quiet enough.

"shush, and yes S.W.A.T this guy is a murderer, he kills people, how could captain not get S.W.A.T involved?" She asked rhetorically.

"ok, 3, 2, 1." She said writing the numbers on her fingers as she said them. She broke down the door Cass stood behind her, looking like a distressed child hiding behind its mother. Dean turned and smiled at Cass, looking straight past the notably attractive redhead in front of him, he saw his sad face and his face changed.

"nice to see you, boys in blue, well boy." He said flashing Anna a look

"funny." Anna said. "drop the knife and put your hands up."

"actually I think I'm gonna not, if its all the Same." She smiled sarcastically.

"actually," she mocked "its not... Knife down, hands up." Cass stepped next to her he Gave dean a troubled look, he didn't know how to enterprate it, it could have meant do as she said, something bad is gonna happen, I hate having to pretend I don't love you. Frankly Dean had no clue. He squinted at Cass, he mouthed something, swat Dean read his lips, his eyes widened, internally in a way that allowed only Cass to see the fear In his eyes. He ran to the back of the room just as S.W.A.T burst through the door they hunkered down and readied themselves to fire. Time moved In slow motion. Cass burst in front of Dean catching a bullet in the stomach, dean watched him fall, watched the intrusive bullet enter his stomach unpermitted. He screamed "NOOO." he ran forward lifting Cass in his arms before his husband lost consciousness, Cass smiled at dean.

"go" he whispered seemingly only realising the pain he was in then. "don't get caught for me. Go, I'll see later." He wheezed. Castiel passed out, Dean pushed down on his wound hard. He lifted Cass and ran out the room, unaided by anyone, miraculously he only got hit in the arm. He would live, right now Cass was the priority. He drove fast, when they arrived at their shared home, Castiel's condition had worsened he was pale and sweaty, he was bleeding alot. He carried Cass indoors, Castiel came to in Deans arms. He smiled at dean, who was panicking, for some reason though, Cass was strangely calm. He felt safe in deans arms.

"hey, morning sunshine." Dean said smiling still obviously concerned, Cass blearily watched dean take off his belt. He held it in hand.

"so, good news you're only wounded on one side, bad news that means I have to get the bullet out. Bite down on this."

he put the belt in Castiel's mouth, he bit down hard, dean fished around in his insides desperate to find the bullet as quickly and gently as possible, it didn't help Cass' screams.

"there we go, got it." He pulled it out and saw s very passed out Cass on the bed in front of him. He checked his pulse, it was there, it was weak, but he was alive.

"but why would he take a dying cop?" Anna argued.

"he was there, weak and defenseless, easy prey." Uriel said.

"sir I feel like you are overlooking the obviousness of this situation, obviously something is going on between them that we don't know about."

"we should be looking for him, why am I defending myself to you?" he stormed out of the office without another word.

hours passed and dean sat there worried, terrified for his husbands welfare. He stitched Cass up and bandaged over his wound. He just sat there waiting, looking at Castiel's chest rise and fall. He suddenly felt weak and dizzy, the adrenaline was wearing off he suspected, until he heard a faint dripping sound, he looked around enraged by the dripping. It had been a long, awful day and he was in no mood. He noticed the thick red blood dripping from his fingers, from his palms onto the hardwood floor of the bedroom. He looked in disbelief, he remembered suddenly, unable to believe he cared about anyone enough to forget: he was shot in the arm. He looked at his coat, a hole shot straight through. He took it off wincing at every movement. He was weak, he didn't know when Cass would wake so he had to fight to stay conscious or he would just bleed out, then who would help Cass? He tore the sleeve off his shirt thinking it couldn't possibly hurt as much as having to manoeuvre the shirt off, he was wrong. The sudden movement of his arm in turn made his hole body move sending out a shockwave of pain through his arm ricocheting off his veins and bones thus intensifying his pain. He bit back screams not wanting to disturb his sleeping spouse. The wound in of itself wasn't that bad, it was more the bleeding. The red fluid oozing out from beneath his skin even still, despite hours having passed. No wonder he felt so weak. He started to sew the wound shut when Cass stirred, his eyes flickered open, he grunted, the pain wearing through him. Dean immediately stopped what he was doing and scrambled to his feet and ran over to Cass. Unbeknownst to him, it tore the stitches he had done and further aggravated the wound, but that didn't matter now. Cass tried to sit up but he winced and fell back down onto the bed.

"easy, are you ok?"

"I'm fine." Cass said.

"hun, you just got gut shot, I wouldn't call you fine."

Cass chuckled. He looked his husban over and realised the this red stain trailing down his arm from his shoulder.

"are you ok?" Dean looked at his shoulder, and winced as he wssaw how bad it was.

"damn," he mumbled. "it wasn't that bad a minute ago." He stumbled

"Dean?" He weakly collapsed trying to catch himself on the bed, to no avail.

"Dean!" Cass scrambled over to Dean, miraculously he didn't pop a single stich on his way There. Dean was passed out on the floor, bleeding severely from the wound on his arm and Cass was barely able to sit. The work was cut out for him. He saw the needle dean was using earlier, he grabbed the thread and started suturing deans wound. He grunted as the needle repeatedly pierced his skin.

"I know, I know, I'm sorry." Cass repeatedly said to comfort the unconscious man he loved on the floor. When he was finished he yanked the duvet and pillows off the bed so he he could sleep next to his husband, Cass wouldn't have been able to lift dean on a good day, let alone when he had a gunshot wound. He turned Deans head onto the pillow and covered him with the sheets. They fell asleep cuddled into each other on the floor.

the next morning when dean woke up he just smiled in admiration of the man he loved. He set up a bed system on the floor for dean, he had cuddled him close and he was ultimately more injured than him. Dean smiled. And kissed castiel. Who smiled. In that moment all was good, they were safe, and they were happy.

I’m sorry it’s been two months, I know there is literally no one here reading but still, apologies.

This was a little weird fpr me but the idea sort pf just struck I suppose :)

anyway hope you had fun <3

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szlez · 5 months

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Let Me

Dean & Cas

#destiel #spn #supernatural #illustration #destiel art #destiel fanart #dean winchester #castiel #my art #whump #hurt/comfort #hands #healing

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box-box-blorbos · 2 years

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https://www.tiktok.com/t/ZTRyPc4XM/

The primal urge to use this sound over an edit of Sam and Dean. The season 7 in the mental hospital Sam saying “I’m tired.” Literally any one of their deaths but especially Cold Oak and the barn scene.

#sam winchester #dean winchester #supernatural #cw: supernatural #hurt sam #hurt dean #in my FEELS

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lostwhump · 8 days

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Supernatural (2005-2020) || Bring 'em Back Alive (13.18)

#supernatural #dean winchester #jensen ackles #if the colouring seems off i apologise #this was a fucking nightmare #i would sooner set myself on fire than try this again lol #whump #whumpedit #spnedit #supernaturaledit #spndeanwinchester #deanedit #hurt!Dean #jensenacklesedit #jacklesedit

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jarpadandjensens · 1 year

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baby | hurt sam and dean

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highfunctioningflailgirl · 3 months

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Damage Control - 1x10 Asylum

Back at the motel, they’re both quiet and subdued; both pretending that what had happened at the asylum - Sam trying to kill Dean - was just another Thursday. They hadn’t talked in the car, but Dean had felt Sam’s discomfort and bad conscience. And as much as Dean wants to deny it - he’s hurt, both physically and emotionally.

The rock salt from Sam’s shotgun had hit him square in the chest. When he stiffly goes to the bathroom and slips out of his blood-stained t-shirt, he finds the skin underneath peppered with small wounds. They sting, the salt embedded in them having dissolved. Bruises are blooming around the wounds. It’s nothing serious; he’ll live. But he will be in pain for a few days - a constant reminder of the near-fratricide he survived today. And of Sam’s hurtful words.

Of course, Sam had been under Ellicott’s influence. His brother hadn’t been himself when he’d first blasted him with salt and then pulled the trigger of Dean’s Colt, aimed directly at Dean’s head, several times. Thank God the gun had been empty.

And yet. It had been Sam. Sam on supernatural steroids, but still Sam. Ellicott’s brain scramble hadn’t turned him into someone different. It had only taken what was already there and amplified it. The ghost doctor’s “treatment” had boosted and multiplied whatever feelings of anger Sam had been carrying around with him. And, apparently, those were a lot.

Dean knows that his brother has a quick temper. People always thought Sam was the softer one of the two, the one who thought before he acted. That wasn’t entirely true. Sam could be mercurial and rash. When Sam and their father had fought - which had happened all the time - tempers on both sides had flared equally quickly. A small trigger, even a single word could be enough to cause an explosion, and many times Dean had been caught in the middle, unable to defuse the tension before scathing insults flew and doors were slammed. If it hadn’t been for Dean’s intervention, things would’ve turned physical more than once.

To Dean’s knowledge, Sam’s anger had rarely been directed at him. Sure, he’d become tired of being ordered around by his older brother during teenagehood. But that was normal, right? However, in the asylum’s basement, shotgun pointed directly at him, Dean had been shocked by the vitriol in Sam’s voice.

“I'm just telling the truth for the first time.”

Had it been the truth? Sam’s accusation that Dean was just “Dad’s good little soldier” and desperate for their father’s approval?

Dean steps into the shower, wincing when the pelting water stings in his wounds. The dried blood washes off him, swirling rusty brown into the drain, and he wishes he could wash the uneasiness about Sam’s attack off just as easily. They’ve faced manipulative creatures before who’d played fucked-up mindgames with them. Their recent run-in with the shapeshifter is the latest example. Sam seems to have shaken that one off without qualms. But somehow, Dean can’t shake his feelings of doubt - and anger.

Desperate for approval? As if John Winchester had ever shown much appreciation for any of his sons. Sure, he’d put more and more trust in Dean’s hunting abilities and relied on him as Sam’s guardian whenever he’d left them alone. Both had filled Dean with a quiet pride as much as it had put pressure on him and, sometimes, overwhelming responsibility. But considering their vicious fights, Sam had been the desperate one, pleading for acceptance and for his father’s blessing when he’d wanted to go to college.

Sam is the emotional one. The one who needs a pat on the head and a warm word to thrive. Dean doesn’t. He’s content with who he is. And, right now, all he wants is to go back to the way things were a few years ago - hunting alongside Dad and Sam. He doesn’t need approval. All he wants is his family back together. What’s left of it, anyway.

“You okay in there?” Sam knocks on the door, sounding worried.

Dean shuts the water off. “I’m fine!”

He hurries to dry himself off, surprised at the amount of steam that’s built up in the small bathroom. He must’ve been in the shower much longer than he’d intended. The mirror’s fogged up, but when he looks down at himself, he can see that the wounds on his chest look less garish, now that they’re clean. With his skin still red from the shower, the fresh bruising isn’t all that apparent, although he can feel it alright and knows he’ll be mottled in shades of purple come tomorrow. Only a few specks of blood remain on the towel when he dabs at his chest, so he doesn’t bother with disinfecting or bandaging.

Towel slung around his waist, he steps out of the bathroom in a billowing cloud of steam. He could’ve taken fresh clothes with him and put them on, but, somehow, he wants Sam to see the damage he caused. He wants him to have a bad conscience.

And he succeeds.

“Does it hurt?” Sam asks ruefully, face twisted in remorse, as Dean walks past him to rummage around in his duffel bag.

“No,” Dean lies.

“You know that I’m sorry, right?” Sam gets up from the bed he’d been sitting on, all 6’4 of him somehow looking contrite and ten years old. “You know I didn’t mean any of what I said, right?”

Dean remembers Sam aiming the gun at him.

“That's the difference between you and me, Dean. I have a mind of my own. I'm not pathetic, like you.“

And he remembers his own, defiant words:

“You hate me that much? You think you could kill your own brother? Then go ahead. Pull the trigger.”

And then Sam had. That’s the problem. No matter what Sam says now, no matter how much Dean wants to believe him - he still feels the shock of the shotgun blast blowing him off his feet. He still sees the hate in Sam’s eyes as he points Dean’s own Colt at him and pulls the trigger, once, twice, three times. If the gun had been loaded, Dean‘s face and brain would be splattered all over that basement floor now.

“I know, Sammy,” he says, forcing the creeping doubt down, down, down, along with the anger and the hurt. “That wasn’t you.”

“I just feel that–”

“It’s fine, Sam,” Dean interrupts him. He really doesn’t want a discussion about their feelings now. “Just forget it.”

“Only if you do, too.” Sam does the sad puppy eyes now, and Dean cannot with those. The drama makes him bristle.

“I will! I do!” he almost shouts, turning away to rummage in his bag again. He grabs a fresh t-shirt and pulls it over his head, over his wounds, putting them out of sight and out of mind. “Can we just…” He takes a deep breath, then looks around. “Where’s the beer?”

“In the fridge.”

Dean stalls to the small kitchen counter, opens the fridge and grabs two bottles of Mariekugel’s. He holds one out to Sam. It’s a peace flag.

Hesitating a little, Sam grabs it. The crease above his nose softens and his shoulders relax. Only now does Dean realize there’s a bruise blooming on his brother’s face, where he punched him in self-defense. He’d almost forgotten about that.

“How’s the jaw?” Dean asks him, pointing with the opened bottle.

Sam rubs it. “Sore.”

“Well, you deserved it.”

“True.” They both take a swig, nodding in agreement. Dean takes his clothes and goes back to the bathroom to put the rest of them on. Some uneasiness lingers, but he’s willing to let the ground feel steadier beneath him again. While he’s not one to forgive easily, this is Sammy. He’s family. Right now, his only family. He’ll let it go and move on. He has to.

Read the whole series on AO3 here:

#spn #supernatural #1x10 #asylum #the damage control series #dean winchester #sam winchester #hurt dean #angst #brotherhood #mild injury cw #they really need to use their words #winchester woes

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jasmines-library · 2 months

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Hiii!! Firstly, I love your writing and I hope you’re having a great day!! I was hoping to request a Winchester sibling fic where the reader is really comforted by physical touch but is really observant and receptive to the fact their brothers are emotionally constipated and touch starved so the reader has never really asked for it but then one day either just a bad day or bad hunt and the reader just asks the boys to hold them or one of them to sit in the back of the Impala with them? Thank you so so much and I hope you have a lovely day!! 🫶

So close, yet too far.

⛤⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽⛧☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅⛤

Summary: You just really need a hug.

Word Count: 1k

Warnings: Touch Starved, character death mentioned, swearing

p.s. Sorry for the long wait! I've got exams at the moment so they're taking up a lot of my time.

⛧ SPN MASTERLIST ⛧

⛤⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽⛧☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅⛤

Life as a hunter was never still. You were constantly moving. Constantly looking over your shoulder. Constantly chasing what could be your last day on earth. And you wouldn’t ever have said you regretted it. No. In fact, you wouldn’t have changed it for the world. Hunting creatures and saving the world? It was all You couldn’t have imagined a better life…

But sometimes you found yourself wanting life to just slow down for a minute. It was so hectic and you just needed a breath. A hug. With such a busy life, there was no time for just spending quality time with your brothers. Or anyone for that matter. It was an endless cycle: Wake up. Research. Hunt. Drive. Sleep. There was no time for sitting on the couch and watching cheesy movies together. Nor was there any time for curling up together like you used to do when you were smaller. You found yourself yearning for it. For a hug or simply just a gentle arm around your shoulder. It used to bring you so much comfort. But times were tough with all that had happened recently. The three of you were even more on edge than ever before.

Your brothers had always told you that you could ask them for anything. That you could tell them whatever you wanted… but this wasn’t just something you could ask them for. You had seen how they often shunned away from touch. From relationships. Having seen so much pain and having lost so many people…they struggled to allow themselves to let their guard down enough to enjoy a tender moment. Even with you. So no matter how much you yearned for it you could never bring yourself to push the want from your mind and into words.

So when the hunt went worse than you could have imagined you kept quiet.

Dean’s hand was right there; peeking out from the hem of his flannel. His fingers were bloody and calloused, scarred and covered in small cuts and yet his touch was still tender. You felt your own fingers itch to reach out and lace them between his. You wanted for him or Sam to wrap you up in their arms and hold you close. To squeeze your hand. Or a shoulder. But you knew that they had much more pressing matters to deal with that overshadowed “needy little sister”.

You trailed behind them, dragging your feet ever so slightly to kick up the dirt and leave trails between the orange leaves. You did not look up at your brothers because you knew you would see Dean's set jaw and Sam’s pinched eyebrows as they too mourned the hunt.

A small boy had been caught by a shtriga. He had been no older than 5 or 6 with these big, blue eyes that got impossibly wider as the creature stalked toward him. And his scream…it pierced through the air like a beam of light: clear as day yet providing no clarity. No safety like light should bring. Instead it was cold and filled with a gripping terror.

The three of you had been too slow. No matter how hard you dragged your stubborn limbs you couldn’t get to him fast enough. So now you trudged along in silence.

The sight of Baby did not, in fact, provide you with the relief you thought it would. Instead the gleaming of the bonnet against the moonlight just made your stomach churn. You knew that you would all try to bury the memory in a box, deep in the back of your mind. But it was never that easy. They tried hard, but you would hear them late at night. Dean hardly slept as he tried to drink his troubles away and Sam barely left his room. And then there was you who lay awake staring blankly at the ceiling as you wept softly, wrapping your arms around yourself to curl up in a ball. It didn’t bring the same comfort as theirs did, like it had done when you were small and naive when you crawled into their bed after a nightmare. When things weren’t so fucking complicated.

Tears pricked in the corner of your eyes as you reached for the metal handle. You couldn’t do it. You couldn’t sit in silence to be left with your own thoughts. You couldn’t be alone. Not right now.

“Sammy…” Your voice was quiet. Hushed. Barely a whisper pushed out on cracked lips that trembled.

Sam paused, his hand halfway between where he had been picking at the hem of his jeans and the handle of the passenger door. He lifted his head, humming softly in acknowledgement.

“Sit with me… Please.”

“Of course.” His face melted and he moved in one swift movement.

He slid in the backseat, leaning against the door frame and stretching out across the seats. He pulled you in to lean against his side, wrapping his arms around you. You lay your head on his shoulder, snuggling into his side. And began to weep.

“Kiddo?” Sam asked gently. “What’s up?” His hands traced small circles on your arm.

Dean reached over the back of the seat with a concerned look, though part of it could be easily mistaken for fear. “It’s not your fault, Sweetheart-” He started.

“Just…hold me. Please.” You clung onto Sam, your other hand reaching out to settle atop of Dean’s. Their touch was comforting, yet you couldn’t help the wavering as you wept. “I don’t want to be alone right now.”

And so they did. Sam nestled you further into his side, tucking your head beneath his chin and Dean clambered out of his seat to join the two of you in the back. He settled down on your other side, sandwiching you between the two of you. And they held you. They ran their fingers through your hair, held your hand and spoke to you. They held you tight and the three of you stayed close together, with no intention of moving any time soon.

⛤⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽⛧☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅⛤

SPN TAGS:

@defonotashleyr

@aestheticdaisies

@xxrougefangxx

@hell-o-kittys

@inlovewhithafairytale

@harleycao

⛤⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽⛧☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅⛤

#supernatural x reader #supernatural #spn x reader #spn x sister reader #supernatural x sister reader #supernatural x little sister reader #supernatural fanfiction #hurt/comfort #touch starved #Dean Winchester #Dean Winchester x Reader #Dean Winchester x sister reader #Sam Winchester #Sam Winchester x reader #Sam Winchester x sister reader

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diminuel · 3 months

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Hurt Cas~

This is a scene of chapter two from @casblackfeathers’ fic The Stars Will Remember~

#Supernatural #Destiel #Dean Winchester #Castiel #hurt!Cas #Fanart

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seasononesam · 2 months

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Stackednatural- 214/327

The Raid (12x14) March 2nd, 2017

#supernatural #spn #dean winchester #mary winchester #spnedit #supernaturaledit #stackednatural23 #*#oh you too you're gonna hurt me too

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lila-lou · 2 months

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✨Beyond saving✨

Summary: Dean became a demon and left you overnight. Three months have passed since then, in which you wanted nothing more than for him to finally come back. However, when he returned, it became painfully clear that he could no longer be saved.

Pairing: Demon!Dean x Reader

Warnings: 18+ only! Smut, Rape, Language, Angst, Hurt, Violence, Humiliation - it´s just pure darkness

Word Count: 4289

A/N: English isn’t my first language, so please be lenient. 💙✨

You sat alone in the bunker, your breaths shallow and pained, the echoes of recent battles still reverberating in your mind. Sam, fueled by determination and desperation, had embarked on a relentless search for Dean, accompanied by Castiel. Left behind, you nursed your injuries.

Your ribs ached with every breath, a testament to the encounters with some demons in your relentless search for Dean. Each shadow seemed to whisper his name, taunting you with his absence.

Cradling your injured side, you sank into the cold embrace of a chair, the weight of uncertainty pressing down upon you. How long had it been since Dean had disappeared into the night, consumed by the darkness that had claimed him? The minutes stretched into eternity, each tick of the clock echoing the ache in your heart.

Outside, the world continued to spin, oblivious to the turmoil within the bunker's walls. But for you, time stood still, trapped in a limbo of fear and longing. Every creak of the floorboards, every gust of wind, raised hopes that Dean would materialize before you, his familiar presence a balm to your weary soul.

But as the weeks slipped by, despair threatened to overwhelm you.

In the depths of your despair, a voice whispered a gentle reminder: hope. It was a fragile thread, woven with memories of shared laughter and whispered promises.

With each heartbeat, you whispered a silent vow to never give up on Dean, to keep fighting until he was safely by your side once more.

Two long weeks had passed since Sam and Cas had departed, leaving you to grapple with the silence that hung heavy in their absence. And three months had slipped by since Dean, consumed by the darkness of his demonic transformation, had vanished into the night, his departure leaving a void that seemed impossible to fill.

As you made your way to the kitchen, your movements slow and deliberate, the pain in your ribs flared with every breath.

Reaching the refrigerator, you paused, your hand hovering over the handle as a wave of loneliness washed over you. The prospect of facing another day without Dean, without the warmth of his presence, felt like an insurmountable burden. But you couldn't afford to succumb to despair, not when there was still a glimmer of hope flickering in the darkness.

With a determined exhale, you opened the refrigerator door, the cool air washing over you. Amidst the assortment of food and beverages, your fingers closed around a cold bottle of beer, the familiar label offering a brief respite from the ache that threatened to consume you.

Bringing the bottle to your lips, you took a long swallow. For a fleeting moment, you allowed yourself to linger in the memories of happier times, when laughter had filled the air and the future had seemed full of endless possibilities.

That’s when you heard heavy footsteps echoed through the silence, sending a shiver down your spine as they drew closer. Your heart pounded in your chest, a mixture of fear and longing coursing through your veins. You knew without a doubt who stood seconds later right behind you, his presence a familiar yet chilling presence that sent a tremor of apprehension rippling through your body.

Dean.

The name hung heavy in the air, laden with the weight of everything that had transpired in the months since his transformation into a demon. Three long months had passed since you had last seen him.

And now, as he stood mere inches away, his chest pressed against your back, you couldn't bring yourself to turn around. The air crackled with tension, thick with unspoken words and the palpable sense of danger that surrounded him.

You felt his breath ghost across the nape of your neck, a chilling reminder of the darkness that lurked within him. The urge to turn and face him, to confront the demon that wore Dean's face, warred with the instinct to flee, to put as much distance between you and his darkness.

But as the seconds stretched into eternity, you remained rooted to the spot, paralyzed by the fear that gripped you like a vice. Dean wasn't here to do nice things, of that you were certain. He was a harbinger of chaos, a reminder of the perilous path he had chosen.

And yet, despite the fear that coiled in the pit of your stomach, there remained a flicker of hope, a tiny ember that refused to be extinguished. Deep down, buried beneath the layers of uncertainty and despair, you held onto the belief that somewhere within the depths of the demon that stood behind you, a fragment of the real Dean still existed.

But as the moments ticked by, the silence stretching taut between you, you couldn't shake the nagging doubt that whispered in the recesses of your mind. Would Dean ever be the same again? Or had he been consumed entirely by the darkness that now held him in its thrall?

With a trembling hand, you reached for the bottle of beer on the counter, the cold glass a tangible anchor in the storm of emotions that raged within you. And as you took a fortifying sip, steeling yourself for whatever came next.

Dean's voice cut through the silence like a blade, his words laced with a dark edge that sent a shiver down your spine. "Sweetheart", he drawled, the term dripping with mockery, a cruel reminder of the tender endearments he had once whispered in your ear. "Missed me, did you?", he taunted, his tone sending a chill down your spine.

You could feel his presence behind you, his breath warm against your ear as he leaned in closer. The sensation sent a wave of unease washing over you, his proximity a stark reminder of the danger that lurked within him.

But even as his lips brushed against your ear, sending a shudder of revulsion coursing through you, you couldn't bring yourself to pull away. The memory of the man you had once loved, the man buried beneath the darkness that now consumed him, lingered in the recesses of your mind, a faint echo of a love that refused to die.

And as his lips lingered against your ear, his touch a visceral reminder of the danger that surrounded you, you felt a flicker of defiance ignite within you. Steeling yourself against the fear that threatened to consume you, you squared your shoulders and met his gaze head-on.

"Dean". you murmured, your voice barely above a whisper, "this isn't you. I know you're still in there, somewhere"-. It was a desperate plea, a faint glimmer of hope in the darkness that threatened to engulf you both.

But as you spoke, the shadow that lurked behind his eyes seemed to deepen. And though you longed to reach out and pull him back from the brink, to save him from the darkness that haunted him, you knew that the battle ahead would be fraught with peril.

For Dean wasn't just fighting against the darkness within him; he was fighting against the very essence of his own soul.

Dean’s words struck you like a barrage of bullets, each one piercing your heart with a searing pain that threatened to consume you.

“All I want is to fuck that tight little pussy of yours”, he sneered, his voice dripping with venomous lust. “Tried so many girls these past few weeks, but none of them felt like you”.

Your breath caught in your throat. His words were like a dagger to your soul, shredding any remaining fragments of hope or love you had clung to.

As he pressed you against the unforgiving surface of the kitchen counter, his touch rough and unforgiving, you felt a surge of pain shoot through your body. Bruises blossomed beneath his fingertips. Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes, but you refused to let him see your weakness.

You were overwhelmed, broken by his actions and his words, but you refused to let him break you completely.

“Stop talking”, you whispered, your voice barely above a hoarse whisper.

Dean's laughter echoed off the walls of the kitchen, a cruel symphony of mockery that reverberated in your ears like a relentless assault. The sound of it sent a shiver down your spine.

"Aw, sweetheart, don't tell me you're jealous", he taunted, his voice dripping with derision as he leaned in closer, his breath hot against your skin. "You wanna know how I fucked all those other girls while you were out there playing the hero, searching for me?".

The words hit you. You had risked everything to find him, to believe in the possibility of redemption, only to be met with scorn and betrayal.

But despite the pain, despite the overwhelming sense of despair that threatened to consume you, you refused to let him see your weakness.

"Go ahead", you spat, your voice laced with a bitter edge. "Show me. Show me just how little I meant to you. How easily you threw away everything we had".

And as he smirked, his features twisted with triumph, you braced yourself for the inevitable onslaught of pain and humiliation. Dean wasn't the man you had loved; he was a monster, a demon wearing the face of the man you once knew.

But even as he moved closer, his hands reaching for you with a hunger that made your skin crawl, you refused to back down. You were broken, yes, but you were not defeated. And as you stood your ground in the face of his darkness.

Dean's eyes gleamed as he leaned in closer. "Oh, sweetheart, you have no idea", he snarled, before he gripped your wrists with a force that made you flinch.

"I'm about to show you just how hard I fucked those sluts", he continued, his voice low and menacing. "Hard enough to land them in the hospital. They begged for it, you know. Begged for the touch of a real man".

The bile rose in your throat at his words, a sickening mixture of disgust and despair threatening to choke you. How could he speak of such violence with such casual indifference?

But even as the questions raced through your mind, you knew there would be no answers. Dean was lost. And as he moved closer, his hands trailing down your body with a possessiveness that made your skin crawl, you knew that this was about to get messy.

Dean's voice dripped with disdain as he sneered, "Where's your motivation, huh? You call yourself a hunter, but here you are, doing nothing to stop me". His words cut through the air like a whip, each syllable laced with hate.

You gritted your teeth against the surge of anger that threatened to consume you, meeting his gaze with a defiant glare. "My motivation", you spat, your voice trembling with suppressed rage, "is to stop you from hurting anyone else. To stop you from causing any more pain and suffering."

Dean's laughter echoed off the walls of the kitchen, a cruel mockery. "You really think you can stop me?", he taunted. "At the end of the night, sweetheart, I'll get what I came for. And there's nothing you can do to stop me".

“You´re pathetic, Dean”.

Dean's hand struck your cheek with a brutal force, the sharp crack of skin against skin echoing through the kitchen. Pain exploded across your face, a searing heat that radiated through every fiber of your being. You stumbled backward, the force of the blow sending you crashing against the wall, the impact jolting your already broken ribs.

Stars danced at the edges of your vision as you fought to regain your bearings, struggling to draw breath through the haze of pain that enveloped you. But even as you gasped for air, the taste of blood filling your mouth, you refused to let him see your weakness.

Dean loomed over you, his features contorted with a twisted mixture of triumph and cruelty. "Is that fire I see in you now, sweetheart?", he sneered, his voice a low, menacing growl. "Good. Because I want something to burn while I fuck you".

Your fists pounded against Dean's chest, each blow fueled by a desperate fury that threatened to consume you. But his laughter only grew louder.

"Aw, sweetheart, is that the best you can do?", he taunted. "I expected more from a hunter like you. But I guess I overestimated your abilities".

With a primal scream, you launched yourself at him once more, determined to land a blow that would wipe the smirk from his face.

But before your fist could connect, Dean moved with speed, his hand closing around your wrists with a vice-like grip. Pain exploded through your body as he squeezed, the bones in your wrists grinding together with a sickening crunch.

You cried out in agony as he pushed you against the kitchen table, the unforgiving surface digging into your spine. Tears welled in your eyes as you struggled against his iron grip, but it was futile. Dean was stronger, more powerful than you could ever be.

"Look at you, all fire and fury", he sneered, his breath hot against your ear. "But in the end, you're just a weak little girl, aren't you?".

With a trembling hand, you tried to push yourself up from the table, but Dean’s hand came down with a force that sent shockwaves of pain radiating through your body. You cried out as he pushed you back down, the unforgiving surface digging into your stomach, leaving you gasping for air.

“Oh, princess, don’t strain yourself”, he mocked. “You’re much prettier when you’re lying down”.

“You know, sweetheart”, Dean taunted. “I always did like a woman who knows her place. And your place is right here, beneath me”.

Dean's laughter filled the room like a sinister symphony, his eyes gleaming with pleasure as he towered over you. "Oh, sweetheart, look at you", he taunted. "All bruised and broken, yet still trying to get up. Admirable, really".

You winced as pain shot through your broken wrists and ribs, rendering you helpless against his looming presence. Every movement sent waves of agony coursing through your body, but you refused to let him see your weakness.

With deliberate slowness, Dean reached for his belt, his fingers tracing the buckle with a predatory precision. "You know, princess", he murmured, his voice low and dangerous, "I've been looking forward to this. Been craving it ever since I left".

Your heart pounded in your chest, a sickening mixture of fear and revulsion churning in the pit of your stomach. You wanted to scream, to fight back with every fiber of your being, but the pain held you captive, a prisoner in your own body.

As Dean slowly undid his belt, a smirk played across his lips, his eyes alight with twisted desire. "You're going to love this, sweetheart", he groaned, his voice laced with a dark promise. "I'll make sure of it".

You knew what was coming, but you were powerless to stop it.

Dean's grip tightened around you as he pushed you further down the table, his movements rough. You winced as your broken wrists bore the brunt of his force, each new position sending fresh waves of pain shooting through your body.

With a smirk, Dean reached for the waistband of your shorts and panties, his fingers trailing along the fabric with a slowness that made your skin crawl. "Let's see what we have here, shall we?", he mused, his voice thick with anticipation.

As he pulled them down, exposing your dry folds to his leering gaze, a wave of humiliation washed over you. You felt exposed, vulnerable, as if every last shred of your dignity had been stripped away.

Dean's eyes alight with amusement. "Well, well, well", he taunted, his voice dripping with disdain. "Looks like you're making this harder than it should be, sweetheart. What's the matter? Not as wet as you used to be?".

You wanted to scream, but all you could do was lie there, exposed and humiliated, as Dean continued to mock and degrade you.

"Oh, sweetheart, this is going to hurt", he chuckled.

"You always did have trouble taking me, didn't you?", Dean jeered. "But don't worry, sweetheart. I'll make sure you feel every inch of me".

His words struck you like a physical blow, a reminder of the intimacy you once shared, now twisted into something dark and grotesque.

You lay on your stomach on the table, your breaths coming in shallow gasps as you braced yourself for what was to come. Your ass faced Dean, vulnerable and exposed, as he hovered over you.

With a chuckle, Dean reached for his jeans and boxers, pulling them down just enough to free his throbbing length.

"Oh, sweetheart, look at what you're missing out on", he taunted. "You used to beg for this, didn't you? Beg for me to fill you up until you couldn't take it anymore".

As Dean moved closer, his hands tracing the lines of your body, you felt a surge of panic rise within you. But even as you struggled against him, you knew that resistance was futile. He was too strong, too powerful, and you were helpless to stop him.

With a hard thrust, Dean tried to shove himself inside you, but your tightness proved too much for him to handle. The pain was excruciating, a searing agony that threatened to consume you from within.

"Fuck", Dean cursed, his voice strained with frustration as he tried to force himself deeper. "Why do you have to be so fucking tight?".

Tears welled in your eyes as the pain intensified.

"Looks like I'll have to make do," he sneered, his voice thick with contempt as he spat down on his cock. "All because of you, princess. Can't even get wet for me anymore".

Dean gripped your hips with a brutal force, before he thrust himself forward once more. The pain was unbearable, a searing agony that threatened to consume you from within.

"Please, Dean, stop", you pleaded, your voice raw with desperation. But he only laughed, the sound ringing in your ears like a mocking taunt.

"Stop?", he scoffed, his grip on your hips tightening even further. "Why would I stop when we're just getting started, sweetheart?".

Tears streamed down your cheeks, knowing that there was no escape.

With a grunt of effort, Dean pushed himself inside you with force.

You cried out, the sound muffled by the unforgiving surface of the table beneath you, as he filled you with a brutal intensity.

"Fuck", Dean groaned, his voice strained with exertion. "You're so fucking tight".

As Dean continued to thrust into you with a relentless determination, the agony intensified, threatening to overwhelm you completely.

Your body bore the marks of Dean's brutal assault, bruises already blossoming across your skin despite his relentless onslaught having barely begun. Each movement sent shockwaves of pain rippling through your broken form, the agony etched into every line and contour of your battered body.

Tears streamed down your cheeks, silent yet relentless, as you fought to endure the torment that Dean inflicted upon you.

With a cruel grip, Dean pressed your head tighter against the table, his hands exerting a crushing force that threatened to suffocate you. "You're not enjoying this as much as I am, huh?", he taunted.

And then, with a suddenness that left you reeling, he pulled out completely, leaving you gasping for air as he prepared to thrust into you once more. "Let's see how much you can take", he growled.

The table shuddered beneath you as Dean drove himself into you with a brutal force, each movement wracking your body with a searing agony that threatened to consume you whole. "You like that?", he sneered, his voice laced with amusement. "Or do I need to go harder?".

Your pleas for mercy fell on deaf ears as Dean continued his assault, his grip tightening in your hair, pulling your head up with a violent force. "Tell me how much you missed my big cock", he demanded, his voice a menacing growl as he forced you to look him in the eye.

You winced as your ribs cracked even further under the strain, the pain nearly unbearable as you struggled to form words through the agony. "Please", you gasped, tears streaming down your cheeks. "I can't...I can't do this anymore. Please, Dean, just stop".

But he only laughed, the sound sending a chill down your spine as he forced your head back down, his hands like vices around your hair. "Not good enough, sweetheart", he sneered, his voice dripping with contempt. "Tell me you missed it. Tell me you've been dreaming about it every night since I left".

You choked back a sob, the words catching in your throat as you fought to resist his demands. But with each tug of his hands, each crack of your already fractured ribs, the pain became too much to bear. "I missed it", you whispered, your voice barely audible over the sound of your own ragged breaths. "I missed you".

His smirk widened at your admission.

"That's right, sweetheart", he groaned. "You missed me, didn't you? Missed my big cock pounding into you, making you scream".

With each brutal thrust, your cries of pain mingled with his laughter, the sound a symphony of torment that echoed off the walls. "Look at you", he sneered, his hands gripping your hips with a punishing force. "Crying like a little bitch while I fuck you senseless. You love it, don't you? Love being my little whore".

Dean's voice dripped with satisfaction as he hovered over you. "You feel so fucking good", he purred, his words like venom as he surveyed your broken form. "None of those other bitches could compare to you. None of them had that perfect ass and tits. None of them were as tight as you".

You winced as the pain in your ribs intensified with every thrust, each movement sending shockwaves of agony coursing through your body. It felt like your lungs were being crushed, the pressure unbearable as you struggled to draw breath.

Your face was red and swollen from being shoved over the table, tears mingling with sweat as you fought to endure the torment.

With a cruel grip, Dean pulled you around, forcing you to sit on the edge of the table. Your body felt heavy and limp, your senses dulled by the relentless onslaught of pain. You barely registered his rough handling as he grabbed your jaw with a painful force, forcing you to look into his eyes.

"Look at me", he snarled as his eyes transformed into pools of endless blackness. "I want you to see exactly who's doing this to you".

You whimpered weakly, your gaze meeting his dark, soulless eyes as he pushed himself inside you once more. The pain was blinding, a searing fire that threatened to consume you whole, but you were too far gone to fight back. Each movement leaving you teetering on the edge of consciousness.

"You're pathetic", he scoffed. "All this pain, and you still can't look away. You really are mine, aren't you?".

Tears welled in your eyes as you struggled to stay upright, your body wracked with pain and exhaustion.

Dean's grip tightened around your neck, nearly choking you as he held you up to keep you from falling. Your vision blurred, the edges of consciousness slipping away as the pain and lack of oxygen overwhelmed you. Yet, you remained trapped in his grasp, unable to break free from his cruel hold.

"You're still in love with me, aren't you?", Dean sneered, his voice dripping with disdain as he mocked your lingering affection. " You actually think there's redemption for me. How sweet".

Your breath came in ragged gasps, each word he spoke a dagger in your heart. The weight of his words, combined with the physical agony, threatened to crush your soul entirely.

Dean chuckled darkly, his grip on your neck tightening even further. "I'm going to come inside you. Every last drop. So that even when I'm gone, you'll still have a piece of me to remember".

As Dean's lips crashed against yours with brutal force, you felt the sting of his bite on your lip, drawing blood as a surge of pain shot through you. With a loud groan, he released himself inside you, his body trembling with the force of his release.

Through the haze of pain and exhaustion, you felt another rib give way under the pressure, causing agony to lance through your already battered body. But you were trapped, unable to move or escape as Dean held you there to steady himself.

"You took me so well", Dean murmured, his voice thick with satisfaction as he kissed your forehead tenderly. "You always gonna be my favorite".

Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes as he finally released his grip on you, leaving you slumped against the table, broken and defeated. "I'll come back for you", he whispered, his voice filled with a promise of further torment to come.

Before he left, Dean turned back to you, his eyes cold and devoid of any trace of humanity.

"Stop trying to heal me", he commanded, his voice laced with a chilling finality. "I'm beyond saving".

His words hung in the air like a heavy weight, crushing your hopes and shattering your illusions of redemption. With a heavy heart, you watched as he disappeared into the darkness, leaving you alone with your pain and despair.

As Dean's words echoed in your mind, the world around you faded into darkness. The pain, both physical and emotional, overwhelmed your senses, pulling you into unconsciousness.

———————————

A/N: Please let me know what you think.🥰 I'm thinking about turning this into a multi-part Story. You up?

Part 2

#jensen ackles #spn #smut #dean winchester #supernatural #demon dean #demon dean x Reader #hurtful #rapekink #misogny #deanwinchtser #dean x you #dean x reader #dean winchester x y/n #dean x y/n

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