I Got You Part 2
Characters: Reader, Dean, Sam
Summary: Sam and Dean rescue reader from captivity. Who held her captive? Why?
Word Count: 1484
Warnings: Violence (alluded to)
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I Got You Part 2
Dean lays you down gently on a bed. The room is spartan in its furnishing, there are no windows, but it feels secure. A man trails him into the room, wearing a trench coat and tie.
Dean sits on the edge of the bed. “(Y/N), this is my friend, Castiel. He can heal you, he’s an angel.”
Your eyes widen in surprise. You’d heard the stories of course, but you’d never met an actual angel. “You’re real?” you blurt out.
Dean chuckles and Castiel looks puzzled. He looks down and pats himself, as if to reassure himself that he is, indeed, real. “Of course I’m real. Do I look strange?”
Your cheeks redden, embarrassed. You have no idea how to address an angel. Probably formally. You’d heard from another hunter that angels are egotistical pricks.
“Cas,” Dean says, “can you just get with the healing? She needs to rest.”
“Oh, yes, of course, Dean.” The angel crosses the room and reaches out a hand to your forehead. You cringe, not knowing what is about to happen. He touches you briefly, light seemingly emanating from his palm. It’s as if you can actually feel your body healing itself - bones knitting together, skin growing back into place. A sense of peace washes over you while he touches your skin. When he removes his hand, you feel whole once again.
“Thank you,” you whisper.
“You’re welcome,” he says simply before slipping out of the room.
Dean stands too, the mattress springing upward, free of his weight. “Get some rest, (Y/N). We’ll talk more in the morning.”
There is a slight moment of panic when you wake in the morning, the room unfamiliar. Your heart pounds against your ribcage. It takes a moment to focus and remember that you are safe. Safe. Is there really such a thing? Yes, you decide. You’ve felt it in the last twenty-four hours. Every time you are near Dean Winchester.
You realize that you’re still wearing his flannel. You wrap it tightly around yourself, as if it’s some kind of magical armor, and step out into the hallway. It doesn’t take long to figure out which way to go - you follow the tantalizing aroma of bacon wafting down the hall.
“Mornin’, sunshine,” Dean says when you step into the kitchen. The smile on his lips reaches his eyes when he sees you’re still wearing his shirt. “Have a seat, I’ll grab you a plate.” He jerks his head to indicate the blonde woman standing in the kitchen. “(Y/N), this is my mom, Mary. Mom, this is (Y/N).”
Mary crosses the room to you. She extends her hand and you shake it. Her grip is firm, her face is a mask. You can’t quite get a read on her. “It’s nice to meet you. My boys told me what happened. How are you doing?”
“Much better, thank you.” Dean slips a plate in front of you and you tuck in, still feeling the effects of starvation. “Do you know who it was that tortured me?”
Mary and Dean exchange a look as if they are deciding what to share with them. Smart move, considering they don’t know you from Adam. Mary shakes her head, almost so slightly that you barely miss it. Dean tilts his head as if silently arguing with her.
Apparently, Dean wins, because he answers you. “I don’t know if you remember much from last night, but this is the Men of Letters bunker,” he says, waving his hand around.
“Wait - the Men of Letters were real?” you ask, snatching another piece of bacon from the tray. Mary’s lips quirk up in an approving smile.
“Yep, Sam and are I legacies,” Dean responds with a twinge of pride.
“Oh, congrats…I guess?” you ask.
Dean deflates a little and Mary stifles a giggle. Did you hurt his feelings? God, you feel like a moron.
“Yeah, yeah,” he says, but he doesn’t seem mad. “Our grandfather was a member. It’s a long story, but he traveled through time and told us about the Men of Letters. We moved in here shortly after. We figured the Men of Letters was essentially defunct after all these years.”
“I’m sensing a plot twist,” you comment and that earns you a dazzling smile from Dean. It makes you feel warm and tingly all over.
“Turns out the British Men of Letters were still operational all these years. And they’ve decided that they need a foothold here in America too,” Dean explains.
“Yeah, and they are total assholes,” Sam’s voice booms out behind you as he enters the kitchen. He reaches out and squeezes your shoulder. That small kindness is worth more than a thousand words. “We’re pretty certain they were the people who tortured you.”
Your fists curl into tight balls, anger flooding through you. Though your body may be healed, the rage you carry at being tortured can’t be healed as easily as your body. You were going to kill every one of those bastards. “Where are they?”
“We’re trying to track them down, but we don’t have much to go on. We’ll let you know as soon as we know anything,” Dean assures you. “Don’t worry, we’ll find ‘em. I got you.”
The bunker is comforting, a refuge, you feel safe within its walls, but you are a woman of action. Sitting around doing research is nothing short of maddening. When Dean stands and says he’s running into town for a supply run, you jump at the chance to go with him.
The ride into town is pleasant, it’s a mild day and the windows are down. You ask Dean about his car and listen while he describes it. It’s clearly the love of his life. It’s almost sexual the way he describes the sleek lines and the purring engine. Most of the technical detail is beyond you, but you are happy to listen, to see the way he lights up talking about something he’s passionate about.
You are acutely aware of the way his hand rests on the back of the bench seat, close to your shoulder. How would it feel for him to reach out and touch you? What is it about him that draws you to him so strongly? He’s certainly easy on the eyes, but it’s more than that. He turns to you and smiles, the sun glinting off his face. His fingertips barely graze the bare skin on your shoulder. Your stomach fills with butterflies.
God, you are so done for.
At the market, you place your items on the counter. “Dean,” you say quietly. “Don’t look, but we’re being followed.”
Dean pitches his voice so only you can hear, leaning his head down close to yours, your foreheads almost touching. You imagine how it looks to anyone around you, the two of you inclined toward one another, whispering like a couple sharing secrets. “Where?”
“Standing by the magazine rack, blue shirt. He’s been watching us since we came here,” you respond. Dean lifts his shirt and slips a blade out his waistband and pushes it into your hand. You haven’t handled a weapon quite like it but you know how to use it.
“K, when we leave, turn down the alley to the right. I’m going to come around the other side, we’ll surround him.”
“Got it,” you reply. Dean hefts the grocery bag in one hand and the two of you exit the store, splitting up.
The guy exits shortly after and turns to follow after you. So that answers who he’s looking for - he’s after you. Hiding flat against the wall, you listen to his footsteps approaching. Taking a deep breath, you ready the blade. As he makes the turn, you use the element of surprise to you grip him by the shoulder and whirl him around. You slam him to the wall, the blade glinting in the sunlight as you press it to his throat.
“Who are you?” you demand.
“I’m nobody,” he says.
“Fucking hell, you’re nobody. Why are you following me?” You press the blade a little further into his flesh, blood dotting the shiny metal.
“There’s a price on your head, girl,” he says smugly.
“Who is looking for me?” you question, increasing the pressure on his throat.
He shrugs in your grip. “Don’t know, don’t care. I’m just in it for the prize.”
Boot treads indicated Dean’s presence in the alley. “What prize, you fucking prick?” you question.
“Freedom,” he says.
“(Y/N), watch out!” Dean shouts. You realize your mistake - so caught up in questions that you didn’t see the weapon your stalker pulled from his pocket.
You spring back, the knife slicing through your shirt. He charges at you, knife raised high. You duck and twist to the side as he runs at you. Sweeping out your leg, you knock him to the ground. He keeps his grip on the knife, but he’s had the wind knocked out of him. Quickly you grip the blade in your hands and slam down with as much force as you can, breaking through his rib cage and stabbing him in the heart.
By the time Dean reaches you, the body below you is sparking, orange light emanating from the body. Dean kneels down and grabs you by the shoulder, “You okay?”
You’re breathing rapidly, the adrenaline coursing through you. There’s a thin line of blood streaking your shirt, but it’s a shallow wound. Yes, you are okay. You are more than okay. It felt really fucking good to kill something, to let that anger out that you’ve been holding at bay since your capture.
“Good, yeah, I’m good.” Dean stands and reaches out a hand to pull you to your feet.
“Why is a fucking demon following you?” he asks, staring down at the body.
“I don’t know, but he says there’s a bounty on my head.”
Dean snaps his head up, eyes clouded with concern. “Let’s get back to the bunker.”
Back at the bunker, Dean explains to Sam and Mary what happened in town. You’re glowing with pride at the way Dean describes you taking down that demon like you’re some kind of goddamn superhero.
“So now is every demon after (Y/N)?” Mary asks.
“I don’t know, I tried calling Crowley but he’s not answering,” Dean responds.
Sam’s phone beeps and he holds up a finger and steps out of the room. “What do we do know?” you ask.
“We’ll figure it out. In the meantime, keeping you safe is my number one priority, don’t you worry,” Dean assures you. Your heart skips a beat, just a tiny little erratic skipped a beat, when he focuses his attention on you. Your eyes lock together and you feel the intensity of his gaze. Neither of you seems willing or able to tear away.
The enchantment is broken when Sam enters the room. “We have a problem,” he announces. “Two more hunters are dead.”
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