A/N: Hey guys! This is the product of yet another request- keep them coming! As usual, requests are OPEN. Enjoy!
Description: You’re dating Dean, despite not being a hunter. When the Winchesters are on a hunt and you find demons breaking into your home, you know you’re in deep trouble. (I’m sorry this one isn’t gender neutral. If you guys would like, I can post a version with he/him pronouns. Let me know).
The TV droned on about the world’s latest disaster. Or maybe another celebrity pregnancy. You weren’t paying any particular attention. You were mostly glaring at your cellphone, waiting for Dean to call you. When he was on a hunt, your contact with him was sporadic at best. But he had said a couple days ago that things were starting to wrap up, and he’d call tonight when he and Sam checked out of the motel.
You hated what Dean did for a ‘job’. He’d told you a couple of weeks into your relationship, to explain his constant 'business trips’. But you knew hunting was a part of Dean. 'Love’ wasn’t the right word. He needed hunting. But he needed you too, as he had said when he first explained hunting to you. 'I’m telling you because I want this to last’, he’d said.
There was a clicking sound by your front door, like a key was going into the lock. Except the only person who had a spare key was your landlord. And he would never drop by unannounced.
Your heart automatically dropped, and paranoia pulsed through your veins. Do you call Dean first, or arm yourself? You went for the latter, and snatched the gun from where it had been resting on your coffee table.
You heard the door swing open, and you held up the gun with shaking hands.
There were only two of them, all black eyes and sinister smiles.
“I’d turn back around if I were you.”
But your voice was soft and scared and the demons were only amused.
“We were told that the Winchester’s new plaything would be far better equipped.”
“I’m new,” you muttered.
Your phone rang suddenly, and you jumped. The demons cocked their heads, daring you to answer it. You reached for it, and they pounced.
You were on the floor in a second, the phone still in your grip.
“Dean, help! Two demons, gun won’t work!” You cried into the phone.
One demon pressed his knee into your chest, and you let out a shout of protest.
You thrashed, trying desperately to hear Dean yelling for you on the other line.
You were overpowered almost pathetically easily. Your hands were bound in seconds, but you continued to scream for Dean, for Sam, for your weird neighbor next door, anyone.
But no one came
“Y/N? Y/N, can you hear me?” Dean was shouting into the phone, and Sam was frowning deeply, trying to piece together what was happening.
Dean heard your screams pierce through the phone, and he closed his eyes, trying not to think. Trying to disconnect himself. Remain professional. Calm.
It didn’t work. His stomach was still churning, his nightmare unfolding on the other line. He heard you call his name a couple more times, screaming for dear life.
All Dean could do was say your name back, making empty promises. “I’m coming,” he assured you, even if it wouldn’t reach your ears. “I’ll be there.”
Lies lies lies. He wasn’t there. He was in the Impala, an hour from you, and countless miles. He wasn’t there, and you were in danger. The inevitable was coming, and Dean was cursing himself for thinking this time would be different.
Your screams were cut off suddenly, and there was a small rustling sound.
“The girl will remain unharmed,” a deep voice said, “but we can’t promise she’ll stay that way. Crowley is seeking an audience.”
“Well you can tell Crowley-” Dean snarled.
“One hour, Winchester. That charming little warehouse behind your girl’s house.” The son of a bitch paused. “Better make it under an hour. Patience is running thin.”
The line went dead, and Dean was tempted to throw his phone out the window. Instead, he slammed on the gas, letting the Impala accelerate to an unprecedented speed.
“They get her, Sammy. We need to work quick.”