Title: Broken - If It Can Bleed Part One
Characters/Pairing: Dean x Female!Reader (next part), Sam, Cas (one line, though he’s not seen.)
Word Count: 2300
Warnings: Blood, reader is badly injured, implied violence, maybe a swear word or two.
Series Summary: The reader is a genetically enhanced assassin who’s on the run from her creator, but what will happen when she get’s taken back to the bunker by Sam and Dean? Or falls for one of the Winchesters…
Author’s Note: Okay guys, this is part one of that assassin story I told you about! I’m not 100% sure how long it will be at this point but right now my guess is around 7 parts, not too long, not too short, and I hope you guys are as excited about it as I am! If you want to get tagged in the following parts of this please send me an Ask or add yourself to This List. Feedback is always appreciated, and enjoy!
If you would like to read any of my other fics please check out my Masterlist!
*Gif is not mine, all gifs used on my blog are from Google Images.*
Light streamed in the in through the glass your cheek was currently pressed against, stinging your eyes in the seconds you managed to keep them from falling shut again and warming your sticky, blood-covered skin. It took you all of one shuttering, raw breath to remember what had happened - the fists and claws, the panic and pain. They’d found you.
Recognition surged through your thoughts as your heightened sense of hearing picked up on the powerful engine of the vehicle you were in, speeding down the road surely faster than what was legal. You were being taken somewhere - you were being taken back to her. No. You couldn’t allow that, you couldn’t go back.
Not now, not ever.
You didn’t have time to formulate a solid plan, didn’t even stop to think about the extent of your injuries and whether or not you were even capable of executing one, and flew solely on fear and the guttural need to get away from the people holding you captive. So with what sorry bit of strength you had left you fumbled for the seatbelt pressing in on your slashed chest, curled your hand under the seat to let your claws discreetly slid free, and then –
“How much longer ‘till we get to the hospital?”
You paused at the unfamiliar voice.