A small thing for Oikawas birthday, fashionably belated of course. There’s this saying around where I live that if your piece of cake fall over with wrong side up, you won’t get married. But hey! Who decides which side is wrong!!?
(The cake has been thrown around enough Iwa, though the temptation is understandable)
Summary: the reader is cursed by a witch with the ‘gift’ of mind-reading, resulting in a very suspicious Dean.
The drive back was a blur of streetlamps and asphalts, both washing over your sight as you stared ahead.
“You good back there?” Dean looked at you through the rear-view mirror.
“I don’t know” you said quietly and sank further into the seat. Throughout years of hunting your head had never hurt this badly. The quiet music that was dwindling away was suddenly too loud and you turned onto your side. Every pothole made your vision blur even more. This felt your worst hangover but intensified. The Impala finally rolled up to the garage and you followed Dean through the door after waking Sam up.
“What time is it?” Sam asked, stretching in the library.
“Two in the morning, go to sleep” Dean said and patted his brother on the back, who nodded and disappeared.
You reached up and ran your hands through your hair, applying pressure to your head.
“Are you stoned?” Dean asked while waving a hand in front of your half-shut eyes.
“No! I’m not stoned! I think the witch messed with my head” you said, rubbing your temples.
“Get some rest” he said and you nodded, walking over to the couch and shutting your eyes.
Does she ever realize how she ends up back in her bed? Why doesn’t she just go into her room?
“What?” you said loudly, sitting up.
Dean turned around, “I didn’t say anything.”
She’s definitely stoned
You shot your eyes open once more and turned around to see Dean disappear into the hallway.
“Fuck.” you whispered and sighed as you realized the witch cursed you with more than a migraine.
Morning came unbidden, it was a break in the only peace your head received. Reaching over to stretch you found yourself back in bed, and all that occured last night came tumbling back like an avalanche. Two abrupt knocks sounded at your door and you shouted a few choice words.
“Woah, easy” Dean raised both hands as he walked in. “Get up, we have another case” he said and yanked your blanket off you.
“What if I wasn’t wearing pants? Or a nude sleeper or something?” you asked, sitting up.
“Even better” Dean said and you rolled your eyes.
“Pack up, we’re hitting the road in an hour” he said while picking up a picture of the two of your off your desk. You began changing when you realized the door never shut, and you turned to see Dean shuffling through all your photos.
She looks so good in every picture
“When did you take these?” he asked and you shrugged.
“Whenever I get the chance.”
As promised, an hour later you found yourself in the backseat of the Impala, picking at a dried blood stain on the seat from last night.
“Did you pack the silver bullets?” Sam turned around and you nodded. As he turned back he began, “In about two miles take the exit and we’ll find a motel. The werewolf’s house isn’t too far from it.”
“I think I see a diner” Dean said and made a sharp right. In the daylight the ‘Roadside Diner’ sign continued to glow faintly, a few lights stuttered. Sam chose a booth and slid in, immediately catching the attention of a waitress. You sat next to him, and Dean took the seat across you. Sam began to tell you a story about a similar diner he and Dean were in when they were little kids and you laughed when he said that nine year old Dean tried flirting with the waitress.
Son of a bitch
“It’s funny, Dean. There’s no need to be mean to Sam” you said.
“I didn’t say anything” Dean spun a salt shaker in between his fingers. “Are you sure you’re feeling OK?”
“Yeah, fine” you said.
No she isn’t, Dean thought as he turned to look at the special’s board on the wall. But she’s hot when she’s confused.
You opened your mouth to reply then sighed. When the food arrived you dug in immediately, only to be stopped by Dean’s internal moaning.
“Hey, so” you said loudly, “Do we have to speak with the victim’s family first?”
“We already know where the wolf is” Sam said and popped a french fry into his mouth. He specified for them to be baked and not fried. After an odd look from the waitress, Sam got his un-crispy fries.
“Should we go tomorrow morning?” Sam asked and looked between you and Dean.
“Sounds good” you shrugged and took another bite.
There’s ketchup on the side of her lip
You reached up and wiped it, “Thanks.”
Dean leaned forward and stared at you.
“What? Something on my face?” you asked while grabbing a napkin.
“Are you sure the witch didn’t do anything to you?” he asked and you nodded no, hoping the spell would just wear off.
“I’m fine Dean, I promise.” you pushed your plate forward and leaned back.
Y/N better be telling the truth or I’ll bring that witch back and kill her again
You bit back a smile.
“I shot the bed!” you shouted as you walked into the room.
“You got it last time” Sam said and dropped his duffel on the table.
Dean walked in and took off his jacket. “I’ll take it so you don’t fight” he said and dropped onto the bed.
“No way” you exclaimed and jumped on right next to him, causing Dean to roll his eyes.
“I’ll go ask for a different room, so we have two beds” Sam began walking to the door.
I’d rather share it with Y/N
You looked at Dean quickly, then back at his younger brother, “It’s fine, Sam. We’ll share.”
It’ll be like that case in Phoenix when I woke up to her spooning me
“It wasn’t me who was doing the-” you began then jumped off the bed. “I- I need to put on some other clothes.”
“Y/N” Dean sat up, “If something is wrong just talk about it”
“Oh because you know how to do that” you retorted sarcastically then immediately covered your mouth. “Sorry. I didn’t mean that.”
Dean bowed his head and sighed, “You’re right” he said and laid back down, turning onto his side.
She’s always right somehow. She’s too good for this fucking job
It was hard not to answer to that. Not to tell Dean how good of a person he is too. Not to admit to him that he was the one who was right most of the time, and that growing up a hunter wasn’t his fault. Instead you crawled onto the bed and turned over to Dean, pressing your head into his back.
When you opened your eyes again, the red digital numbers read ‘3:04 AM’ and you rubbed your eyes. The room was dark and all you heard was Dean and Sam’s breathing. Mostly Dean’s though because you found just how close his mouth was to your ear. Quietly you kicked your boots off and raised the blanket over the both of you, rolling back over and into his embrace.
When morning finally did come, Sam was gone and you were sweating. Between Dean’s body heat and your jacket there was hardly any room for the motel’s weak air conditioning.
“Get up” you nudged his shoulder and kicked off the blanket.
No, he thought.
“Yes! Now get up!” you shouted. Hearing him was both a blessing and a curse. His thoughts infiltrated your mind every second, and you could only pick out the thoughts that stood out the most. How Castiel did this for all his celestial life, you didn’t know.
The door swung open and Sam came in and tried balancing three cups of coffee and a brown bag.
“Careful” you smiled and helped him put breakfast on the table.
That better be pie I’m smelling
You shook your head and opened the bag.
“Want some pie, Dean?” you asked and he shot up from bed. You laughed and passed him his breakfast.
“We should head out now” Sam said, “It’ll be easier to find it during the day.”
“Don’t they only turn at night?”
“Not this one. That’s why all the killings happen in the afternoon, it’s powerful and fast.” Sam explained.
“Let’s go” you said and put down your half empty cup.
I really don’t want her going on this hunt
You crossed your arms and looked up to find Dean staring at you with an unreadable expression.
The front door was left unlocked and you opened it slowly. Dean motioned to turn left and you cocked your gun as you walked.
What the hell was that?
And then you heard it too. A loud bang sounded from the kitchen and immediately Dean took a step in front of you and ran in. Sam was already there and had a gun pointed to a man’s head.
“Please don’t shoot” he said, “I’ll give you anything”
“Your wallet?” Dean cocked a brow up and stepped closer. You sighed and pulled out your blade.
“You don’t mind if I just touch you with this right?” you asked and took a step closer.
Stop. Don’t. Don’t!
Dean was shouting in his mind but clenching his jaw on the outside. You turned back in time to see him grit his teeth before a horrible howling sounded next to you. Sam took a step back as the wolf transformed. You raised your gun but the werewolf sent you flying into the wall. The table you crashed onto split beneath you and raw wood poked at your sides. A thin line of blood followed the cut from the wood.
“Y/N!” Dean ran over to you, only to be tackled.
“Sam, shoot!” you shouted but the wolf turned around and threw Sam into the kitchen counter.
Sammy. Wake up, get up
Dean begged silently. Meanwhile the wolf jumped on him again and you only got a bullet into its side. If you did wound it, the wolf didn’t show it. Dean flipped it off but it landed on you. Dean looked over and clenched his jaw, gripping the gun with a shaking hand. You’d never seen that before. While still on the floor, Dean let out three bullets into its chest while a claw ripped deep down into your side. The first thing you felt was heat. An intense heat so powerful it burned as blood began pumping out of your side.
“Sammy!” Dean shouted and began pressing his hands against the gash. You looked down at yourself to see Dean’s bloody hands applying pressure to your numb stomach. Sam ran over and crouched down next to you. You looked up at the ceiling and fought the tears that began swimming in your eyes. Sam was saying something and Dean was shouting back but your ears were buzzing.
Don’t you leave, don’t you fucking dare
You finally heard something clearly and let the tears roll down your face.
“Dean” you said, “I can’t feel anything.”
“It’s fine, you’re fine” he said and picked up your head in his hand. You moved your eyes to look at Sam whose hands were gripping your thigh as if he holding onto you alive would keep you there.
“My head hurts” you whispered.
“It’s been hurting for two days” Dean said and you sputtered out a laugh. It burned your throat.
I love you. Don’t leave. Please. Don’t leave me. I don’t want you to leave me.
Dean kept repeating the same phrase like a mantra in his head.
“I won’t leave you” you said and Dean’s eyes went wide. He dropped his head down and pressed his forehead to yours.
I love you so much
Sam began telling you something but his voice dwindled away. Suddenly you became very cold and then saw nothing but blackness flow into your vision.
Please don’t go, was the last thing you heard until a familiar sound resonated through the buzzing and the pain. Then you felt heat. A burning heat spreading from your side down to your legs. You inhaled sharply and shot upwards.
“You having fun, princess?” Dean grinned crouching down to eye-level with Jody.
“Yes, Daddy!” she nodded, her small hand leaving yours as she threw her arms around his neck. Dean lifted her up easily, bouncing her playfully and making her giggle. “Can—can we go get ice cream now? And then go seeing Mickey?”
“See, baby,” you corrected her with a smile. “And we can, honey. Right, Daddy?”
“Of course,” Dean said, kissing Jody’s cheek. “Anything for our little princess.”
You should definitely avoid ever looking at either of them. Do not notice the strong line of Dean’s jaw or the sharpness of Sam’s cheek bones. Don’t look into Sam’s eyes when they are filled with emotion. Don’t notice that Dean’s eyes are sometimes the exact color of a midwestern sky just before a summer tornado. Don’t admire the way Sam’s shoulders hunch over dusty books while he researches for a case. And you should not let yourself enjoy watching Dean’s lips wrap around the neck of a beer bottle when he takes a drink. Don’t ever focus on the way Sam’s forehead wrinkles when he raises his eyebrows or how his adam’s apple dips when he clenches his jaw. Don’t think about Dean’s freckles or his stupid adorable smirk. Don’t watch Dean walk. Trust me, just don’t. Avoid looking at Sam when he’s sprawled over a chair.
Don’t go to a bar with them. Or a diner. Don’t let them buy you a cup of coffee because then you’ll probably notice how Sam’s hands make that coffee mug look like a child’s toy. Don’t look at Dean when he smiles with his tongue just visible behind his perfect teeth and his eyes crinkling at the corners. Don’t imagine what he looks like when he bites his bottom lip. Don’t go for a ride in their car because then you’ll just be asking for it. Don’t watch Dean while he drives, tapping his thumbs on the steering wheel in time with the classic rock spilling from the speakers. Don’t look at Sam’s long legs folded into the passenger seat, his head practically hitting the ceiling. And under all circumstances, avoid seeing Sam smile; those dimples will definitely do you in.
Especially don’t imagine what they look like under all that flannel and denim. Don’t even think about what it would be like to run a hand through Sam’s hair or the way his hands would feel on your skin. Don’t imagine what it would be like to feel his lips on yours, to feel his hand wrapped around the back of your skull or cupping your ass, pressing you against him. Do not imagine Dean lifting you up, wrapping your legs around his waist, his fingers digging into your hips possessively. You also shouldn’t imagine what it would be like if Dean took you up against a wall or what it would be like to have Sam’s head between your legs. Don’t ever let them wink at you (you might implode).
But most of all, don’t listen to their stories—about how they kill monsters and demons. About how they save innocent lives everyday. About how they saved the world once. About how they always save each other. Don’t ever imagine them saving you from a supernatural being. Avoid realizing the expanse of the guilt they carry for every person they could not save, for all their loved ones that have died, for letting each other down. Don’t let them show you the depth of love they have for each other, how either would do anything for the other, how all either wants to do is sacrifice his own life so his brother can live. Don’t talk to them about growing up together in cheap hotel rooms and a chevy impala, when all they had was each other. Don’t let them tell you stories about their prank wars or their teenage dares. Don’t let Dean tell you about how he will always always look out for Sammy. Don’t let Sam tell you that Dean is his hero.
Just don’t do any of that, okay? If you don’t do any of that, I promise you’ll be fine.